Chapter 7
“Dad . . . the lady from the wharf is here.”
At the tug on his sleeve, Aaron glanced down at Isabel, seated beside him in the Grace Christian pew. Her gaze was directed toward the other side of the church as she spoke in a hushed voice.
He tracked her line of sight, homing in on a willowy woman near the back, her blond hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows that lined the nave.
It was her. No question about it.
And she was still alone.
“Dad.” At Isabel’s more insistent tone, he redirected his attention to her. “Do you think she lives here?”
“I doubt it, honey. A lot of tourists come to Hope Harbor in the summer.”
“She doesn’t look like a tourist.”
The organ struck up the opening chords of the first hymn, and he pressed his finger to his lips.
Isabel stopped talking—but that didn’t keep her from sending curious looks toward the rear of the church.
Why on earth was she so fascinated by the visitor?
Could it be the woman’s beauty?
Very possible.
Heck, it had even captivated him—a guy who had no interest in getting involved with another woman.
Truth be told, it took every ounce of his willpower not to follow Isabel’s lead and steal a few peeks at the lovely stranger throughout the service.
But while he managed to keep his focus on the sanctuary, his mind refused to get with the program.
When the final chords of the closing song faded away, he put his hymnal in the rack on the back of the pew in front of him and took Isabel’s hand.
“She’s not leaving, Dad.”
No need to ask who.
He gave the rear of the church a surreptitious scan.
The blond woman had retaken her seat after the hymn as the rest of the congregants filed out, head bowed.
“Do you think we should say hello?” Isabel tugged on his sleeve again.
“No. I don’t want to bother her. She may be praying.”
“But what if she’s lonesome? Doesn’t God want us to be nice to people who are sad?”
His daughter had learned her Bible lessons too well.
“Yes, but sometimes people want to talk to God alone in church.”
Isabel gave the woman another once-over. “She might be happy to talk to someone who answers back.”
“God answers back.”
She shrugged. “I guess. But it’s not always easy to hear him.”
Amen to that. How often over the past few years had he felt alone and adrift despite his prayers?
He assessed the woman again.
Should they stop by her pew, extend the hand of friendship?
His conscience said yes, but his gut said no. There was something about her that raised a red flag. A sense that getting too close could put his heart at risk. And after his experience with Olivia, why take a—
“Dad!” Isabel elbowed him. “I think we should say hello.”
“Not today, honey.” He took her hand and urged her from the pew.
“Why not?”
“Shh.” He pressed his finger to his lips again as they approached the pew the woman occupied.
Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t lift her chin as they passed. A sense of loneliness emanated from her.
For a millisecond, his step faltered . . . but he quickly picked up his pace again.
The good Samaritan may have stopped to help a stranger in need, but whatever this woman’s problem, she might not appreciate an unknown man butting in.
Once they entered the vestibule, Isabel towed him toward the fellowship hall, as usual. The donuts and Danish served during the social hour were a highlight of her week.
He let her lead him that direction, away from the church.
Staying for a treat should be safe. Unless he was misreading her body language, the blond in the pew wouldn’t seek social interaction after she exited.
Whatever burden she was carrying appeared to be a heavy load, and small talk wasn’t likely to be on her agenda.
Nor was it on his.
But for Isabel’s sake, he’d suck it up, smile during the social hour—and try to forget the woman sitting alone in the church who looked like she could use a friend.
She couldn’t hide in the church any longer. The hum of voices in the vestibule was fading, and she’d run out of prayers.
It was time to go back to the hospital and try again to convince Lauren to accept the help she was offering.
If she failed?
There was nothing left to do but book a flight home.
Spirits drooping, Devyn draped her sweater over her shoulders, picked up her purse, and headed toward the vestibule.
A few hangers-on were chatting in small clusters, but for the most part the place had cleared out.
Excellent. She ought to be able to escape fast.
She picked up her pace toward the door, fishing in her purse for her sunglasses and—
“Good morning. Welcome to Grace Christian.”
As a male voice spoke behind her, she stifled a sigh.
So much for sneaking out.
After reaching deep for the smile she used on performance nights when she wasn’t feeling 100 percent, she pivoted.
The minister who’d conducted the service walked toward her, hand extended, his demeanor welcoming.
A niggle of guilt nipped at her conscience.
Unless this small church had two ministers, the cleric approaching her had to be Reverend Baker—and she owed him a thank-you for his concern and assistance. Her plan to duck out without speaking to him was a definite breach of etiquette. She should be grateful it had been foiled.
She took his hand. “Thank you.”
As he gave her fingers a squeeze, he introduced himself—confirming her assumption about his identity. “Are you a visitor in our fair town?”
“Yes and no. I used to live here. I’m Devyn Lee, Lauren Collier’s sister. We talked a few days ago.”
His forehead creased. “I’m happy to meet you, but not under the circumstances. We’ve all been worried about her. How is she doing?”
“Making a remarkable recovery. They moved her out of the ICU and into a regular room on Friday.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
“I agree. Thank you for asking the congregation to pray for her, and for arranging to have someone pick up her mail.”
“I was happy to be of assistance. If there’s anything else I can do to help you while you’re in town, please let me know.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Good morning. May I interrupt for a moment?” A thirtysomething man, tall and muscular, joined them.
“I should be going anyway.” Devyn eased back.
“Let me introduce you first.” The minister motioned to the man. “Devyn, meet Steven Roark. Steven, this is Devyn Lee—Lauren’s sister.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Steven shook her hand. “We’ve all been praying for her.”
“Thank you. The message seems to have gotten through, because she’s making excellent progress.”
“That’s great news.”
“Steven is the director of Helping Hands, a charitable organization here in town that is true to its name.” Reverend Baker clapped the man on the back. “He does a fine job.”
“I appreciate the kind words, but the credit for getting the group off the ground a number of years ago goes to you and Father Murphy. Helping Hands is actually why I need a minute of your time this morning, Reverend. I have a question about our latest project.”
“Don’t let me stand in the way.” Devyn took a step back. “Thank you again, Reverend Baker, for—”
The front door opened, and a man in a black clerical shirt and white collar entered, zeroed in on their group, and hustled over. “Greetings, one and all.” He beamed at everyone.
Reverend Baker arched an eyebrow and tapped his watch. “Shouldn’t you be greeting parishioners after Mass?”
“Short homily today. Since we finished early, I decided to come over and check out the rumor I heard.”
“What rumor?”
“That you introduced a new flavor of Danish to your social hour spread. Lemon curd. True or false?”
“True. But why don’t you eat those homemade donuts you’re always raving about at your church instead of mooching our treats?”
“I ate those too, after the early Mass.” He patted his stomach, eyes twinkling.
Reverend Baker gave his fellow cleric a head-to-toe and folded his arms. “Yes. I can see you take your sampling duties seriously.”
“Very funny. Maybe if you put on a few pounds, it would help your golf game.”
As Devyn’s lips quivered, Steven muffled a chuckle with a cough.
The two clerics were a hoot.
“Kevin Murphy, at your service.” The priest leaned forward and thrust his hand toward her. “If you get bored with the good pastor’s sermons, you’re always welcome to join us at St. Francis.”
“Did you come for Danish, or are you trolling for new parishioners?” Reverend Baker’s scowl was offset by the glint of mirth in his eyes.
“I’ll take whatever I can get.” The priest turned to Steven. “I’m glad I ran into you. What’s the latest on the show?”
“I was about to ask Reverend Baker if we could use the fellowship hall for auditions—assuming we can line up a production team. And we may want to borrow it for rehearsals too, if we get that far.”
“I’m sure we can work out a schedule.” The minister angled toward her. “Helping Hands is doing a musical this summer as a fundraiser.”
“Oklahoma.” Father Murphy clasped his hands behind him and rolled forward on his toes. “I believe I’ll sign on too.”
Reverend Baker stared at him. “You mean, join the cast?”
“If I’m picked after I audition. I always wanted to be a cowboy.”
“You’re a priest.”
“So? Jesus went where the people were, and a lot of residents will be part of this effort. It’s a wonderful chance to mingle with townsfolk.”
“Do you sing, Father Murphy?” Steven joined the exchange.
“Of course I sing. Every priest sings.”
“Not necessarily well.”
As Reverend Baker spoke under his breath, the priest propped his hands on his hips. “I heard that. At least I’m willing to let my voice be heard in support of a worthy cause.”
“It will definitely be heard. What you lack in quality, you make up for in volume.”
“I’ll have you know our choir director says I have a fine tenor voice.” The padre dusted a spec of lint off his black shirt.
“You pay his salary. What do you expect?”
“You’re just jealous because you can’t carry a tune in a bucket.
” He finger poked his fellow cleric in the chest. “As for my voice, we’ll let the musical director of the show decide whether it’s worthy.
” He turned his back on the minister and spoke to Steven.
“Do you have someone in mind for that yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I was hoping your choir director would consider taking the job. Since he also teaches music at the high school, he’s known in town. Do you think he’d be interested?”
“I’ll be happy to ask him, if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that. If he agrees, the last remaining slot we have to fill is the choreographer.”
Reverend Baker pursed his lips. “It’s a shame Devyn is only passing through. She’s a famous ballerina.”
All heads swiveled her direction.
“I didn’t know that.” Father Murphy gave her his full attention, admiration sparking in his eyes.
“You don’t know everything in town.” The minister refocused on her. “Lauren mentioned once that you’d been promoted to principal dancer in New York. That’s an impressive achievement.”
“Indeed it is.” Father Murphy bobbed his head. “Can we convince you to stay around long enough to help us out?”
“Kevin. She’s here to assist her sister.” The minister wagged a finger at his fellow cleric. “I doubt she’d have time to take on that job even if she was going to be here until the show—which I doubt.”
Once again, everyone looked at her.
Devyn shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“I have no idea how long I’ll be in town.
Lauren may not need me for more than a week or two.
” If she even agreed to that. “And I’ve never done any choreography, only danced it.
” Though it would be an interesting challenge to take on if she stayed around.
“Understood. No pressure.” Steven hiked up one side of his mouth. “But I have to say, having someone of your stature attached to the show, in addition to Katherine Parker, would generate a huge amount of publicity. I wouldn’t be surprised if we sold out every night.”
Devyn stared at him. “Katherine Parker, the actress?”
“Yes. She moved here from Hollywood a couple of years ago. She still acts and directs on the side, but her main focus is Chocolate Harbor. Her candy is getting lots of buzz in media all over the country.”
“She left Hollywood behind to make candy?” How had she missed that piece of theater news? Then again, the world of ballet tended to be rarified and insular.
Father Murphy chimed in. “Not just any candy. She’s building a candy brand known for stellar quality—a feat she’s on the way to accomplishing, based on my sampling experience.”
“Hmm.” Reverend Baker gave him a once-over. “I wonder if chocolate indulgences are weighing you down on the golf course. Your scores have been slipping lately.”
The padre waved that comment aside. “I’ll disprove your theory at our weekly game on Thursday. Loser buys the winner two truffles from Chocolate Harbor.”
“Deal. I’ll have to wander by in a day or two and peruse the latest selections so I can have my choices ready.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.”
“I can this time, because I know you’ll lay an egg on the golf course.”
“Ha-ha. Save the humor for your sermons.”
“I don’t put humor in my sermons.”
“No wonder people need a sugar infusion after your services.” Father Murphy licked his index finger and drew a line in the air. “Speaking of sugar, would any of you like to accompany me to the hall to sample a lemon curd Danish?”
“I think I can convince Holly to detour that direction.” Steven motioned to a woman with long, light brown wavy hair who seemed to be sporting a baby bump. “She’s always hungry these days. Eating for two and all.”
Baby bump confirmed.
“I’ll have to pass. I want to get to the hospital in Coos Bay as soon as possible.” Devyn pulled out her sunglasses. “Best of luck with your show. I wish I could help, but my schedule is up in the air.”
“No worries.” Steven held out his hand again. “Nice to meet you.”
Father Murphy pumped her hand too. “Don’t forget, you’re always welcome at St. Francis. We’ve been praying for your sister too.”
“I appreciate that—and I know Lauren will as well. Reverend Baker, thank you for your warm welcome.”
“My pleasure. Drive safe.”
Devyn left the trio in the vestibule, slipping on her sunglasses as she pushed through into the warmth of a cloudless day.
Maybe the weather was a positive omen. Perhaps the sun would banish the chill from her sister’s heart.
If it didn’t?
She could be winging back to New York as soon as tomorrow—her mission to start a new chapter with Lauren a total failure.