4
The next morning as the sun began its journey across the quiet sky, Dalton drank his first cup of coffee, hoping it would clear the cobwebs from his brain. He’d spent more time than he should have last night thinking about Harper Blessings, trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. He used to be good at that. He also used to be able to read people from a football field away. But not this time. She’d said her relationship with her baby’s father was complicated . He could only think of one reason. The man must be married. Harper didn’t seem the type. Or maybe Dalton was losing his edge.
Tossing and turning in his sleeping bag long after the rest of the carnival company slept, he came up with a dozen scenarios as to why Harper might have gotten involved with a married man. The obvious being that she was looking for a father figure. He could understand that. She no doubt carried baggage from her father’s abandonment. In any case, it didn’t seem as though things had worked out for her, which was a shame, but he wasn’t about to involve himself in some weird love triangle, no matter how captivating she was. He didn’t need that kind of drama.
He didn’t need any kind of drama at all.
Which was why he couldn’t stay in Redford’s Crossing.
She’d been right in trying to discourage him from taking the job. It would be best if he just moved on. The fact was, he was an emotional bundle of dynamite, and she was a lighted match. Last night’s dream was proof of that. Sometime in the dark hours of night he’d fallen asleep and been plunged into nightmarish images of sirens and police tape, a dark house in which he sorted through the fragments of a hundred broken balloons, desperate for a way to put them back together. He’d awakened in a cold sweat, overwhelmed by grief and an unspeakable sense of loss, longing for something he hadn’t even known he possessed. He was mostly OK, if he didn’t think about that night, but Harper seemed to have triggered the memories. And now he was imploding again.
Swallowing the last of his coffee, he headed for the washroom, all the what ifs and the maybes still fighting for space in his tired brain. He pushed them away. He had no answers and no will to look for them. The nightmare had put him in survival mode. Fight or flight. And he was too emotionally drained to do battle.
When he emerged from the washroom twenty minutes later, the shouts and laughter of working men and the banging of hammers on metal filled the morning air. The crew was tearing down the carnival. By tonight they’d be set up in a small town in Kentucky, a new carousel operator in place, Dalton King a distant memory. He’d heard of a massive windmill project that spanned rural Ohio and snaked up into Indiana, had been told the recruiting office in Cincinnati was looking to hire more than a hundred men to drive the loads of equipment from place to place. Maybe he’d join up. Maybe he wouldn’t. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t be painting Clara Blessings’s gazebo after all. He’d join them for church, because he’d promised Clara he would, and after that he’d be on his way.
At a quarter to ten, dressed in black jeans and his only clean T-shirt, he pulled into the parking lot of the big white church. He sat for a while watching the congregation as they filed inside. He didn’t have the first idea of how to act in church, or what the protocol was. His parents had taken him for the occasional Easter or Christmas service when he was a boy, but religion wasn’t something they’d felt strongly about. Later, Tasha’s family had been devout Christians, but he’d been too preoccupied with his work to attend Sunday services with them. What faith he had, he’d borrowed from them, and now… He sat for a moment longer, indecision swirling in his gut, before he jammed the car in park and went inside.
The church had a hushed, sacrosanct feel about it; an organ playing softly, a wash of sunlight streaming through the stained?glass windows, coloring the sanctuary in muted shades of red and gold. In the middle row he noticed Harper, and beside her, Clara, and Nicky. His stomach clenched. There was still time to change his mind if he did it quickly. But before he could decide, Nicky noticed him.
He grinned, and with a thumbs up, slid over for Dalton to join them. “I can’t believe you actually came,” Nicky whispered as Dalton slid into the pew beside him.
“I said I would.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Do you guys do this every week?”
“Most weeks.” He shrugged. “It’s the only thing Aunt Clara asks of us.”
Clara wiggled her fingers at him, a wide grin lighting up her face.
Sitting beside her, Harper acknowledged him with a nod.
A pleasant looking, fifty-something woman in a turquoise dress approached the podium and announced the opening hymn. Dalton fumbled with his hymnal. Finding the right page, he quietly joined the congregation in singing about grace and glory, redemption, and everlasting love. With the songs finished, Pastor Roberts, an athletic looking man in black slacks and a turquoise shirt that matched the song leader’s dress, announced the church business, an upcoming men’s retreat, and the progress of the Ladies Bible Project. The pastor had a smooth, mellow voice, a radio voice, and Dalton settled in to listen.
“I see some new faces out there. Welcome,” the pastor said. “This morning I’d like us to take a look at the book of Ephesians, chapter four. Turn there with me if you will.”
Dalton clasped his hands in his lap as all around him people pulled out Bibles and flipped through them. When they’d settled, the pastor began to read.
“Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.” The pastor looked up from his notes. “That seems like a pretty tall order, no? But as Christ followers, forgiving others is not a suggestion. It’s a command. We find it echoed again and again in the Scriptures.” He referenced several verses, and then said, “Forgiveness. Not a suggestion. A command. Do you have someone you need to forgive? Most of us do. But what does that look like?”
Dalton felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.
“Sadly, most of us are also in need of the forgiveness of others because face it, we are every one of us imperfect beings. In Ecclesiastes chapter eleven the writer reminds us there is not a just man on earth who does good and does not sin. Not even your pastor.”
A wave of soft laughter rippled through the church.
“Bitterness and resentment can make us see people who have wronged us through glasses of hatred. But we need to remember that we have also done wrong, and God does not see us through those kinds of glasses. Forgiveness looks at others through prescription lenses. And that prescription, brothers and sisters, is the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“Amen,” someone said softly from the back of the church.
“Forgiveness looks like not playing God. No matter how deep the hurt. No matter how much you feel you deserve to get even. Just. Don’t. Paul tells us in Romans twelve, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ You see, forgiveness looks like repaying evil with good. And we all know that humanly speaking, that’s just not possible.
“So, how do you do it? How do you forgive? You ask God for help. You ask Him to fill you with love, even for those who have wronged you!”
Dalton felt uncomfortably warm, his mouth suddenly dry. He pulled out his phone and inconspicuously checked the time. Ten twenty-three.
“And when you can repay evil with goodness, well, that, brothers and sisters, is when you know you have finally forgiven.” Pastor Roberts shuffled his notes, and then looked out at the silent congregation. “I’ll let you in on a secret. The more you think about the person who has wronged you, the more you allow that person to control you! If you don’t let go of the bitterness, you will become like that person. Just as physically you are what you eat, spiritually you become what you think about. So, this week, let’s make it a point to think about God and His love and goodness. Philippians :8 reminds us whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. So, let’s not waste another day on hatred and bitterness, friends. God has much, much bigger plans for you than that.”
When the sermon ended, the woman in turquoise announced the final song, but this time Dalton didn’t bother with the hymnal. The pastor’s words had rattled him. Yes, everyone did wrong. It was human nature. But there were some things, some people that were too evil to be forgiven. Surely God understood that?
“I’m so glad you came, dear.” As they moved down the aisle, Clara clasped his hand. “Did you enjoy the service?”
He smiled at her. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“I’ve got our lunch in the oven on the timer. I hope you’re hungry?”
“Actually, Clara, I?” He’d planned to make his apologies and beat a quick retreat. If he left now, he could be in Cincinnati by one. But the hopeful expression on Clara’s face tugged at his heartstrings.
“I made a special dessert just for you.” Her brow creased. “At least I think I did.”
“Yes, Aunt Clara,” Harper said gently, “You stayed up late last night baking, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. I stayed up late. I so enjoy having company for Sunday dinner.” Smiling, she tucked her hand in the crook of Dalton’s arm and steered him outside.
~*~
Aunt Clara was clearly enchanted. She’d spent hours last night making her signature cream puffs and most of the morning putting together a meatloaf, oven browned potatoes, and a pan of Virginia baked tomatoes. In the kitchen she was transformed into the old Clara again, mixing dough and chopping vegetables by pure instinct. The joy of company for Sunday dinner had restored the old woman to her former self. Harper should be thankful for that.
Even so, Harper was still on the fence. Last night on the Ferris wheel Dalton’s soulful brown eyes had cast a spell on her, setting her tummy to fluttering and loosening her tongue. She’d told him too much about herself. And she still knew virtually nothing about him. She’d done an online search for information in every combination she could think of but found no trace of Dalton King. If that was even his real name.
As they moved outside, Harper could feel the curious eyes of their fellow congregants all over them. She tried gently to coax her aunt away from the crowd, but after church mingling was the best part of Clara’s week, and she would not be hurried through it.
“Miss Clarabell, are you stepping out on me?” Austin Delany leaned in and kissed Clara’s cheek. She giggled. As a teenager Austin had done odd jobs for Clara to earn extra money. More than a decade later, the police detective still had a deep affection for the older woman.
“Not a chance, darling. This is our friend, Dallas. He’ll be painting the house for us.”
There was so much wrong with the statement Harper didn’t know where to begin, but Dalton extended his hand. “It’s Dalton, actually.”
“How are you doing, girl?” Austin’s wife, Kat, rearranged the sleeping child in her arms to give Harper a hug.
“I’m good. And how’s the little nugget today?”
Kat smiled and tucked a stray wisp of red hair behind baby Harley’s ear. “Growing like jimson weed and looking more like his daddy every day!”
Harper and Kat had been friends since they were toddlers together in the church nursery. They’d gone through all the usual phases, from scouting to gymnastics. Together, Harper, Kat, and Ashley had led their high school volleyball team to the state championships. Then Kat fell in love with Austin Delany and nothing else seemed to matter to her.
“Girl, call me some time,” Kat said. “I miss you.”
“I will,” Harper promised.
But she wouldn’t because what was there to talk about? She and Kat had nothing in common anymore. Kat’s life was perfect, and hers was a mess.
“Harper! Hold up, honey!”
Harper groaned.
Babe Wayland made her way across the lawn in a short pink dress, the mile-high heels of her sandals catching in the grass.
Lord, give me strength.
Reaching them, Babe enveloped first Harper, then Nicky, and finally, Clara in a patchouli-scented embrace. Her expertly made-up eyes skimmed across Dalton.
“And who is this?”
“This is our new house painter,” Clara told her. “I can’t think of his name.”
“Didn’t I see you working at the carnival yesterday?” Babe asked.
“Yes, Ma’am, you probably did.”
“Interesting.” The collection of silver bracelets on her skinny arm clattered as she extended a bejeweled hand. “Now where are my manners? I’m Babe, an old friend of the family. Harper and my daughter, Ashley, were best friends. I think of Harper as my own daughter.”
It was all Harper could do not to roll her eyes. It didn’t seem to her that Babe had even thought of Ashley as a daughter. At best, a younger sister. At worst, an inconvenience.
“Nice to see you, Babe,” she said. “We should probably get going. Aunt Clara’s got Sunday dinner in the oven.”
“How cute!” Babe exclaimed. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to remind you about our appointment in the morning. I’ll be by for you at nine o’clock.”
Harper’s stomach clenched. As if she could forget. She was already regretting mentioning the appointment to Babe at all. She should have known Babe would want to accompany her.
They crossed the parking lot to where Clara’s old sedan was parked. Beside it sat a small red car she didn’t recognize. At least Harper thought it was red. It was almost too dirty to tell. Dalton’s car, she assumed. She was thoroughly unimpressed, but the car stopped Nicky in his tracks.
“Bro, this is yours?”
Dalton shrugged. “It’s just a car.”
Nicky moved close and inspected it. “A convertible ?”
“On good days. You want to ride in it?”
“Heck, yeah.”
“Why don’t you take Clara for a little spin?” Dalton tossed Nicky the keys.
“Are you serious?”
“Sure.”
Nicky climbed behind the wheel and Dalton settled Clara in the passenger seat and showed Nicky how to put the top down.
“You be extra careful, Nicky,” Harper warned.
“I will.”
“No speeding. And no running red lights, either.”
“Harp, I won’t. ”
Harper’s gaze flicked over the fast-food bags and the sloppily folded tent and the rumpled sleeping bag in the back seat. Despite the vehicle’s dirty condition, she could see now exactly what kind of car it was. In what universe did a carnie drive a very expensive automobile?
When she and Dalton pulled into Clara’s driveway a few minutes later, Finley was waiting on the front porch. They chatted about the festival and the week’s weather report until finally Nicky and a very windblown Clara pulled in the driveway. Clara’s eyes sparkled as Nicky helped her from the car. Nicky and Dalton discussed horsepower and beauty rims and dual exhaust systems.
Harper went inside to set the table.
Throughout lunch, despite Harper’s relentless questioning, Dalton managed to smoothly steer the conversation away from himself and she knew nothing more about him an hour later than she had that morning.
Except that he was a charmer. Clara was clearly besotted, and even Finley, though it was becoming obvious that she and Nicky were more than friends, was tongue tied and flustered in Dalton’s presence. Even so, it was nice to have people at their table again. When she was growing up, Aunt Clara’s Sunday dinners had been a weekly celebration. But since her aunt’s decline, the meal had consisted of sandwiches or take out. It was nice to gather with friends.
No, she corrected herself. Dalton was not their friend. He was a man for hire and nothing more.
“Have another cream puff, darling.” Clara thrust the plate of pastries at Dalton.
“Thanks, but I’m full to overflowing.”
“I’ll have one,” Nicky said.
“I swear that boy is a bottomless pit,” Cara said, beaming.
Harper rose from the table and began to scrape the dishes. As she filled the sink with soapy water, Nicky and Finley went off to play video games. Dalton remained at the table with Clara. As Harper rinsed and stacked the dishes, Clara chatted about her plans to restore her beloved gazebo.
“Can you show me how to use this contraption Harper bought?” she finally asked, retrieving a laptop from the nearby desk. “I know there’s a channel where you can go to look at paint colors. I’d originally thought to just repaint the gazebo white, but now I’m wondering if I’d rather have you paint it in three colors, give it a little punch!”
“Sure.” Dalton booted up the laptop and began to scroll. “I want to take a minute and check the availability at the nearby campgrounds if you don’t mind. I’ll need to find a place to pitch my tent for a couple of days.”
“Don’t be silly. You can pitch your tent right in the back yard.”
Harper turned, alarmed. “Ah, Aunt Clara, I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“Oh, wise pies!” Clara flapped her hands. “There’s no reason for Dallas to pay for a camp site when we have plenty of room out back.”
There was no use in arguing. Aunt Clara clearly had her mind made up.
“Come and sit with us, dear. You can help me pick out paint colors.”
“I have to go to the park and get the food truck.”
“Do you need a ride?” Dalton’s bottomless brown eyes fixed on hers and she glanced away.
“No, thank you, I’ll walk.”
As she hurried down the sidewalk, Harper felt as if she might explode. It was all too much. Babe and the ultrasound appointment. The mysterious Dalton King camped out in their back yard. She was losing more and more control and her emotional house of cards was toppling.
Keep it together, Harper.
She took a few calming breaths, repeating her favorite affirmations.
I am strong and kind…
My life is not perfect, but it is beautiful…
I am a beloved child of God…
She had learned to use affirmations to reassure herself that everything would be all right, but as she walked past the church, an uneasy feeling gripped her. The truth was today’s message had upset her. She’d always done her best to live by the values Aunt Clara had taught her. She tried to live by the Golden Rule even if others didn’t. Pastor Roberts’s sermon this morning had made her face the feelings she’d held at a distance for weeks. She could forgive Aunt Clara for inviting this strange, beautiful man into their lives. She could forgive Babe Wayland for being selfish and overbearing. She could even forgive her father for not loving his children enough to stand up to his new wife.
The one she was having trouble forgiving was God.