Neither did he. “I guess so.” But even with his easy shrug, more verses stirred inside him. The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but the Lord tests the heart.
He could almost hear himself, a younger version, reciting the verses. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.
The last one came with a different voice. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Deep, soft and sure, settling into his bones.
It left him momentarily wrung out.
Caleb to the rescue. “The fire is supposed to burn away everything but our faith and character.”
“And what if nothing remains?” Mack asked, his gaze away from Caleb.
“Then you rebuild with new materials, the kind that last despite the flames.” Caleb clamped a hand on his shoulder.
Raven came in carrying a bucket of water and a brush. “Delivery from SHS,” she said. “Brushes and cleaning solution and masks and gloves.”
He looked past her and spotted a teenager unloading supplies from the bed of a truck, a Shelly Hardware Store logo on the side.
“Tony is a local member of our congregation as well,” Caleb said and headed outside to help.
“And Annie is bringing over donuts,” Raven said.
Yes, Mack very much wanted to belong to this town.
“Where do I get started?”
He turned toward the voice and found a woman addressing him. She wore her long brown hair down, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans and looked at him with eyes so blue, for a moment he couldn’t move.
Impossibly blue, the color of the lake at twilight. And even as he stood there, something reached out and wrapped around him. A feeling different from the verses, something almost violent and raw, and he gasped.
She raised her eyebrow, a smile stealing across her face.
“Grab a brush from the truck. You can start on the walls.” Raven had come up beside him. Put her hand on his arm.
The woman’s mouth opened, but he nodded, suddenly aware of how much alike they looked. Dark hair, blue eyes, but Raven was a little more petite. And younger, maybe by a couple years. More, Raven had an innocence about her that this woman didn’t possess. In fact, she radiated an earnestness, a sense of confident urgency about her that felt a little unnerving.
Maybe that was it. Clearly the familiar vibe was simply the resemblance and the fact that he oh so very badly wanted to recognize someone.
He turned back to the woman, and for some reason, he held out his hand. “My name is Mack.”
He searched her face for a hint of recognition, something—
She looked at his hand, then took it, frowning. “Um, you can call me Sydney.”
Sydney. Nope, not the slightest nudge. “Thanks for helping today. The church congregation is really nice to help Jethro like this.”
She offered a slight smile, nodding. “Yep.” She held his hand for a moment too long, and he took it away. Then she drew in a breath. “Okay,” she said and walked away.
Weird.
People had brought in ladders and brooms and now set up the ladders, climbing up them to start washing the walls. Others attacked the cement floor. Mack joined them, grabbing a brush for the floor.
Voices raised in a cappella song, a hymn that, oddly, he knew.
Turn your eyes upon Jesus…Look full, in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim…In the light of His glory and grace.
Caleb came up beside him. “Hey, since you’re sticking around, probably we should recruit you for the big game next week.”
“What big game?”
“Main versus Lakeside.”
Mack just looked at him.
“I can’t believe Jethro hasn’t mentioned it. He’s one of the troublemakers who sets it up. It’s a big all-town softball game we hold every year right before the World Series during Harvest Festival. The Main Street businesses play a softball game against the resort owners in town. It’s sort of an end-of-the-season reminder of a fabulous summer, and it’s a big deal. We’ve been practicing for a couple weeks now, but you could join us tomorrow as a member of the Mains.”
“You’re a member of the Main Street team?”
“The church is just a block away. And we have a fantastic pitcher—she used to play fast-pitch for WU. Do you play baseball?”
It was a good question, and certainly he should have an answer, and probably one better than, Um, I think maybe I do…so, “Yes. Yes I do.”
Didn’t every American kid play baseball?
“Excellent. Practice is at the rec center Saturday morning.”
“Donuts!” Raven’s voice singsonged through the open room, halting work. She came in carrying two huge boxes of donuts. Behind her, a woman with a handkerchief tied around her pink hair and wearing an oversized shirt that said Happy’s Donuts carried two thermoses of coffee.
Caleb headed for the donuts, and Mack moved to follow, but as he did, a giant crash sounded in the far end of the building as someone jumped off their ladder, jostling it and sending it careening to the ground. The noise bulleted through the room, a cacophony of violence that echoed into Mack’s bones and soul.
The memory rushed him.
He was in an apartment with cement walls, a tile file, and it seemed he was young, because he was scared.
No, not just scared, terrified. Fear, like a cold rush of water filled his entire body, his throat, his mouth, drowning him.
With a whoosh, he saw three men wielding metal pipes, beating someone who lay prone on the floor. The pipes clanged against the cement floor.
His breaths released hard and fast, and he turned and practically fled toward the scorched kitchen.
Anything to not unravel in the middle of the pub.
The memory followed him, adding screams and the tinny smell of blood, and he hung on to the charred doorframe to the back office where he’d rescued Jethro. Sweat ran down his spine, and he might pass out.
The world swirled around him, tilted—
Something touched his back. Then a voice. “Mack?”
He knew that voice. It stopped his world from tilting, and he turned, hard, fast, staring at her.
She jerked away from him. Held up her hand.
Oh. The brunette. Sydney.
His heart raced. “Sorry.” He hadn’t a clue why he’d acted that way. Still, she’d rattled him.
Concern filled her blue eyes and she reached out again, this time grabbing his arm. “Are you okay?”
Her voice sounded so familiar. He looked at her. “I don’t know. I…I think so.”
She glanced back toward the pub, then to him again, and cut her voice low. “We’re alone now, so you can talk to me if you need to.”
He just stared at her. Was she making a pass at him? Suddenly, what Jethro had said about him being blind to women rushed at him. Maybe—
“This reminds me of the smell of a Russian train station. Doesn’t it? Like gritty and dirty, the smell of smoke.”
His mouth opened. “I, I don’t know. I’ve never been to Russia.”
She drew in her breath, and he wanted to add, Have I? But then, as if she hadn’t heard him, she said something in a foreign language.
“Pravda? Ya ne veryo tebe.”
She paused then, as if her words might mean something.