No response.
After a moment, she stood. “Did you say a prayer?”
For a kitten?
“Uh . . . no.”
“They said a prayer for Nana.”
If a prayer made her happy, what was the harm?
“We could do that now. Do you want to say it?”
“A grown-up should do it.”
Scrambling to come up with some appropriate words, he rose too and bowed his head. “Dear God, we commend our friend, Button, to your care. We know you created all the creatures on the earth and that you love them. We loved this kitten too. We ask you to comfort us—and Jeannette—as we say good-bye, and we ask your blessing on Button. Amen.”
He checked on Molly.
Her expression was somber, but there were no tears as she walked to the edge of the yard and plucked a few of the yellow wildflowers that had sprouted past his property line.
She returned to the small grave and bent to arrange them next to the stone. “Is Button in heaven?”’
He stifled a groan.
How was he supposed to answer that one?
“Um . . . I don’t know, sweetie.” But he doubted it. After all, animals weren’t created in the divine image, like humans. Yet he needed to comfort this child who’d endured too much loss. “God wants all his creatures to be happy, though.”
“I hope he is in heaven. I hope he’s with Nana.”
She touched the flowers again, rose, and began walking back to the house.
“Sweetie.” This wasn’t how he’d expected—or wanted—the conversation to end. They should discuss what had happened.
But Molly had other ideas.
She turned at his summons but didn’t rejoin him or respond. She just waited for him to speak.
“Why don’t we sit on the porch for a while?”
“I want to play with Toby.” She started forward.
“Molly.”
She stopped again and half-turned toward him.
“Do you want to talk about Button?”
“Why?”
“Sometimes talking helps if we’re sad.”
“It won’t make Button—or Nana—come back.” She toed a divot of grass Toby had no doubt unearthed. “When people you love die, they’re gone for always.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“But you have me.”
She lifted her head . . . looked at him . . . and walked away.
Pressure built behind his eyes as he watched her plod back to the house as if the weight of the world rested on her tiny shoulders.
She was too young to carry such a heavy load. To be perennially glum. A girl her age should be skipping and chatting and laughing.
Yet in all the months she’d been with him, he’d never once heard a little-girl giggle.
That wasn’t normal.
He rested his hands on his hips and exhaled.
Perhaps it was time to arrange for some counseling.
She circled around the plate with the cinnamon roll they’d left on the porch and disappeared inside.
He followed more slowly, bending to retrieve the uneaten treat as he passed.
Ants had already moved in to stake a claim, but several had gotten stuck in the gooey icing. They were attempting to extricate themselves from their sticky dilemma, but the harder they tried, the worse off they were.
He could relate.
A ray of sun peeked through the gray clouds scuttling across the sky, dispersing the gloom and revealing a patch of blue—suggesting the hours ahead would be bright despite the lingering effects of the storm that had raged last night.
If only that was true of his relationship with Molly.
An excited bark sounded inside as Toby celebrated his release, and Logan continued toward the door.
At least one occupant of this house was happy.
Hand on knob, he paused as a line from Reverend Baker’s sermon this morning replayed in his mind.
“It’s easy to get discouraged in the midst of life’s storms. But God has our back—and when the raft we’re clinging to begins to sink, he’s always ready to extend a hand. All we have to do is trust him enough to take it and let go.”
Could that be his problem?
All along, he’d been holding fast to the hope he could fix everything himself if he muscled through, instead of putting his troubles in the hands of the Almighty.
And he was getting nowhere—with Molly or Jeannette.
So why not add prayer to his daily agenda, see where that led?
It couldn’t hurt.
Besides . . . he was out of ideas. None of his go-it-alone attempts to wedge open a door to their hearts had been successful.
But perhaps with God’s guidance, he could find a way to help his niece and neighbor step out of the darkness of fear and grief and into the sunshine of hope and love.
23
She missed Logan.
Molly too.
And her conversation on the beach four days ago with Charley, along with that kiss from her neighbor last Saturday, had left her more confused than ever.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Jeannette kneaded her forehead with the other as she drove through Hope Harbor.
If she listened to her heart, she’d scrap all the rules she’d made for her life when she’d moved here and take another chance on love.
If she listened to her brain, she’d add a moat to the tall hedge around her property and let no one in but paying customers.
Which was the right course?
Only God knew—and he wasn’t sharing his thoughts, despite all the prayers she’d dispatched his direction.
Either that, or she was missing the still small voice of his response, as Elijah had.
Jeannette slowed as she drove past St. Francis church. From the street, a tiny sliver of the meditation garden in back that Father Murphy lavished with care was visible.
Might the serenity she’d heard people say could be found there quiet her mind and help her tune in to any guidance from above?
Dare she drop in for a visit, even though she wasn’t a member of the congregation?
Jeannette eased back farther on the gas pedal.
It couldn’t hurt to pull into the parking lot and take a peek at the garden from the car. Father Murphy wasn’t the type to make anyone feel unwelcome.
She hung a left, rolled past the church and attached rectory, and swung into a parking spot near the garden.
From here, she could see the sign beside the rose-covered arbor at the entrance.
All are welcome.
The invitation couldn’t be clearer.
And since no one else was about on this Thursday noon hour, why not stroll through the beckoning archway and let the peace and tranquility seep into her soul?
She set the brake, picked up her purse, and left the car behind.
One step into the garden, she found herself immersed in a piece of heaven.
Lips curving up, she surveyed Father Murphy’s handiwork.
A stone path followed a circular route through the well-tended space, where colorful flowers shared space with restful greenery. The soft tinkle of water from a fountain in the center provided a soothing background refrain that enhanced the harmony of the setting. A bird feeder hung from the sheltering bough of a towering Sitka spruce, and two wooden benches were placed along the path.
She ambled toward the one beside the small statue of Francis of Assisi and sank down, letting the peace envelop her.