Finding Hope (16 page)

“He won't come,” Hope said in a gravelly voice. “If you'll just give me a few minutes, Mom, I'll pull myself together.”

What was she so afraid of, anyway? She'd already faced dying, she was intimately acquainted with intense physical pain and she would never again see the man she loved. What could possibly hurt her
now?
Cold fingers of bitterness wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

“Never mind, Mom,” she said, lifting her chin. “Let's just go, right now. It doesn't matter anymore.”

 

“Coffee, Dr. Hartman?”

Charles turned to Pastor Bill in irritation. “I'm not here for coffee,” he said shortly.

“Then, Dr. Hartman…Charles,” the pastor began, “please tell me what I can do for you.”

Charles stopped pacing and stood before the window of the pastor's small study. Yellow sunlight squeezed through a break in the heavy clouds, making the raindrops that clung to the glass sparkle like diamonds. He thought of Hope's tears as he touched the window, tracing with one finger the wet trail of a falling jewel.

He loathed himself more with every breath he drew. After all she'd done for him, he had again turned his back on Hope.

But what else could he have done? He spun away from the window and flung himself into an armchair. As he met Pastor Bill's steady gaze, the anger drained from him as if a plug had been pulled. “I honestly don't know why I'm here,” he confessed. “There was just nowhere else to go.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I guess Hope got me in the habit of coming to church.”

Pastor Bill smiled. “A man could have worse habits,” he suggested. “What's troubling you, Charles?”

“I've hurt her,” he said steadily.

“Yes,” said the pastor. He looked genuinely sorry. “I thought you would, in the end. I tried to warn her.”

Charles swallowed hard. “Is there anything I can do? To make it easier for her? Her God has failed her and I just—”

“What makes you think God has failed Hope?”

Charles shuddered. “He didn't protect her from me. And I asked Him to.”

Pastor Bill's eyebrows lifted slightly. “Did you? Why?”

“I have no heart,” Charles said dully. “I can't return her love. And there's something more. Something she doesn't know. I'm dangerous to her now because I want—” He drew a breath, let it out, looked the man in the eye and told him the truth. “I want what she can't give.”

Pastor Bill didn't look at all shocked.

“I thought it would be best to leave her alone,” Charles continued. “But she's so miserable.”

Pastor Bill gave him a dismissive shrug. “Well, there's really nothing you can do about that now, is there?”

Charles stared at the floor. “I knew what I was doing,” he said brokenly. “I knew she was tenderhearted and I knew what it would mean for her if she came to love me. I knew the risk and I took it because I was selfish.”

He pressed his fingers to his temples in an effort to stop the throbbing inside his head. But his chest hurt, too, and his throat burned. Guilt overwhelmed him, causing physical pain.

After a long silence the pastor spoke briskly. “Well, now that you've got that off your chest, why don't you go on home?”

Charles stared.

From a cup on his desk Pastor Bill removed a pencil and examined it. “You can do nothing for Hope,” he said bluntly. “So unless there's something else you'd like to discuss…”

Charles eyed him suspiciously. “Such as?”

Pastor Bill held the pencil at both ends, absently flexing it by pushing with his thumbs. “Oh, I don't know,” he said a little too casually. “Maybe you'd like to tell
me what it is that's got you so paralyzed with fear?” He looked into Charles's eyes and deliberately snapped the pencil.

Charles flinched.

“Exactly,” said Pastor Bill.

Charles leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “There's a struggle in me,” he said baldly. “It has something to do with God and it scares me.”

“Ah,” said the pastor. “Yes. It
is
frightening. I felt that struggle myself, nearly forty years ago, and I've seen many men face it since then. Why don't you just let go, Charles?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Because I will fall.” As soon as the words were out, Charles realized how horribly true they were. He looked down, suddenly aware of his death grip on the arms of the chair.

All his life he'd been clinging desperately to the edge of some terrifying precipice, but he was just too tired to hold on any longer. What was the point, anyway? Mere survival was not enough for him anymore.

“Yes,” Pastor Bill Barnes said gravely. He nodded for emphasis. “If you let go, you will definitely fall.” His vinyl swivel chair squeaked a protest as he rose from it. He moved away from the desk, coming to stand just behind Charles, where he rested heavy hands on the doctor's slumped shoulders.

“But God will catch you, Charles. Why don't you just let go?”

H
ome at last, Hope was settled on the living room sofa with soft pillows and a handmade quilt. Tom's latest floral tribute, a lovely bouquet of pink roses and fragrant white lilies, graced the coffee table in front of her. Under the canopy of flowers lay a box of Hope's favorite chocolates, left by Matthew for her homecoming, and an untouched cup of peppermint tea.

When the rain ended, Grace opened the living room windows. The fresh, damp breeze tickled the lace curtains, making the late-morning sunlight dance across the bare pine floor and up the wall. Numbly watching the intricate and ever-changing patterns of light and shadow, Hope reflected that Charles had told her it would take at least six weeks for her broken body to heal.

He hadn't said a thing about her heart.

The telephone rang. Fresh waves of grief washed over Hope as she remembered that he wouldn't call—not today or ever. She closed her eyes and two tears slipped out. Surely someday, she thought miserably, she would run out of tears.

She took her sorrow and confusion to the One who knew both her heart and Charles's.
If You want me to let him go, Lord, You're going to have to show me how to do it. I'm so frightened for him that I just want to hold him tighter. I thought—and Gramps thought—that he was to be one of Yours….

“Sweetheart, it's Pastor Bill.”

Hope opened her eyes and saw her mother standing in front of her with the cordless phone. She took the phone and spoke into it. “It's nice of you to call,” she said listlessly.

“I have some news,” the pastor said. “It's very
good
news, but it's going to shock you a little. Are you ready for it?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes,” she said faintly. “What is it?”

“Hope, Dr. Hartman came to see me this morning.”

“Charlie?”
She could find no other words for her amazement.

“Yes.” The pastor's voice trembled with eagerness. “It's wonderful news, Hope—everything's all right with Charles. He was ready, finally, and he gave in to God.”

Hope's face crumpled. “Charlie?” she whispered. “Oh!” The pain in her chest was nothing to her now. Her profound relief could be expressed only by sobbing, so she did that.

Clearly alarmed, Grace took the telephone from her. “Bill, what's happened?” she demanded. She listened for a moment, murmured something into the phone and hung up. “Oh, Hope!” she said incredulously. “It's wonderful!” Her voice shook with excitement. “He said Charles is on his way here. I'll wait to let him in and then I'll take Bob for a nice long walk, okay?”

Hope was still too moved to speak, so her mother took her hand and offered a prayer of awed thanks. She said
a quick “amen” as they heard Charles's car in the driveway. “I'll tell him to come right in,” Grace said. “And I'll see you later.”

As her mother left, Hope again bowed her head.
It's okay that he doesn't love me. What I couldn't bear was his not loving You. Thank you for this wonderful gift. But, Lord, don't let him go to San Diego. He needs to be close to Tom and he needs to reconcile with his family. Don't let him be afraid that I'll cling to him. I won't pester him anymore. I'll be content now that he's safe.

The front door opened and Hope looked up to see the answer to her prayers. He wore jeans and a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He was unshaven, and from the state of his hair, she guessed he'd pushed his fingers through it a time or two. But he had never looked more handsome.

“Hello, kid,” he said softly. “May I come in?”

She gave him a tremulous smile.

He stepped inside and closed the door, but he didn't approach her. Biting his lower lip, he looked like a nervous schoolboy in a principal's office. “I'm not heartless,” he said in a low voice.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

“You've known that all along,” he stated.

She nodded.

He licked his lips. “That's why you wouldn't let me go.”

It required a tremendous effort for Hope to speak past the enormous knot in her throat. “You had come so far,” she managed. “I was afraid you would slip back, out of reach, and be lost forever. How could I let you go?”

He slid his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “But that stubborn loyalty cost you dearly, didn't it? Hope, ‘thank you' sounds ridiculously inadequate,” he said huskily.

No, it was plenty good enough for her. Her heart overflowed with gratitude and she was afraid she was about to cry again, so she said nothing at all.

“You stuck by me,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “but I abandoned you twice.” He looked up, meeting her eyes, and she was astonished to see his were shining with unshed tears.

He swallowed so hard she could hear it across the room. “Hope, I swear to you, whatever happens, I'll never turn my back on you again. Unless…you don't want me now?” He winced like a man expecting to receive a blow.

It took Hope a moment to understand why he was so nervous: he was afraid she didn't love him anymore. But why on earth would he be worried about that, when he didn't—

Or
did
he?

A delicious tingle spread through her body as she looked into his worried eyes and saw something so impossibly wonderful that she'd never even allowed herself to dream about it.

She dared to ask. “Do you love me, Charlie?”

Wide-eyed, he nodded. “Is that…all right with you?” Without waiting for an answer, he rushed on. “Because if it isn't, I'll understand. I don't deserve it, after everything, and I wouldn't blame you for changing your mind. I just want you to be happy, Hope, and—”

“Charlie…” She began a protest, but was unable to halt the raging river of words that flowed from him.

“—I'll do anything you say. Just tell me what you want. Please tell me what to do now.”

And he called
her
a chatterbox, she thought in amusement. She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you finished?”

He hung his head. “No, there's more,” he said. “I
have to tell you how sorry I am. For everything. I hope you can forgive me for hurting you. And I want to thank you for showing me the way to God.” He looked up. “That's all. Should I leave now?”

“No. You should come over here and kiss me.”

His amazement showed plainly on his face. “But…you can't love me,” he objected.

She lifted her chin, defying him. “Oh? Is there a law against it?”

His relief was almost comical as the breath he had been holding came out in an audible rush. “There probably ought to be,” he admitted as he approached the sofa and carefully lowered himself to sit next to her.

Hope shivered deliciously as his long, graceful fingers touched her left earlobe, then lightly traced the line of her jaw before exploring her sensitive lips in a way that made coherent thought impossible.

She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss. When she felt his warm breath against her face, flutters of delight raced up her spine. But nothing
else
happened. What was going on? Why wasn't she being kissed breathless?

She opened her eyes. Yes, he was still there, just two inches away. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Taking my time,” he murmured. “Savoring the moment.”

She was incredulous. “Well, stop it!”

He did. Without further delay his mouth settled right where she wanted it. If she had been able to think at all, she would have agreed that it was worth waiting for.

A minute later she pushed her forehead against his neck and sighed.
Just let the world stop here,
she thought. Nothing could ever be more perfect than this moment.

And then the world
did
stop. It came to a crashing halt as Charles spoke in her ear and ruined everything.
“You have to marry me,” he said urgently. “You just have to.”

Hope's heart pounded, wild with frustration. Couldn't he have held her a little longer, kissed her again? Did it have to end so soon? “I can't marry you,” she said miserably.

He leaned away from her and looked into her eyes.
“What?”

Her hands fell to her lap, where they twisted and fought. “I can't,” she said woodenly, afraid to look at him. “I've told you before.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” she agreed sadly. “But I can't get married. Please don't ask me again.” She gave a quick, tiny shake of her head and stared at the hands in her lap. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

He sighed deeply and pressed her head against his shoulder.

“Please, Charlie,” she choked. “I just need—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, stroking her hair. His voice was infinitely gentle. “I know you, Hope. I know what you need.”

He held her silently, and as she grew calmer she became aware of the steady thudding of his heart. She flattened her palm against his warm, solid chest, drawing strength from him as she allowed herself to remember the night Trevor Daniels had broken her heart….

She'd waited until her parents were asleep, then she'd gotten out of bed and removed the torn yellow dress from its hiding place on her closet shelf. She'd stuffed it into a paper bag and had sneaked out to the garage.

She buried the bag in the middle of a full trash can, then tiptoed back to her room and quietly cried herself to sleep. She would never wear yellow again.

At breakfast she explained the bruise on her cheek by
saying she'd been hit with a basketball in phys-ed class. That was partially true—she'd actually been hit on the side of the head, but nobody at school would remember that. The bruises on her upper arms were easy to hide under long sleeves.

And only God could see the bruises on her heart.

Three weeks later, Trevor was dead. Supported by her father's arm, Hope had walked on unsteady legs towards the casket. Taking a deep breath, she'd peered into the casket, assuring herself that he was really gone.

And that he could never hurt her again….

Hope shivered and Charles put his hand under her chin, lifting her face to study it. He drew a long breath, holding it for a couple of seconds before he asked, in a voice thick with emotion, “Did a man hurt you?”

She nodded, and with the movement of her head two tears fell. Charles watched their slow progress down her cheeks. “Tell me what happened,” he urged.

She trembled violently. “I can't,” she whispered, knowing that by
not
telling, she had just explained everything. She sucked her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the quivering of her chin.

He reached for her hand. His voice was all tenderness. “Who was it, Hope?”

She took a ragged breath. “My b-boyfriend. Trevor.”

“When?”

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her free hand. “Just before my s-seventeenth birthday.”

“You never told anyone, did you?”

Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head.

“Why not?”

Her anger flared, and she turned it on him. “How could I? It was all my fault! How could I tell my father that I—”

“No!” he said forcefully, making her heart jump. “It
is
never
the woman's fault. Nobody deserves it, Hope. Not ever.”

“But it…must have been my fault,” she said brokenly, although she was less certain now. “Because I…” she faltered.

“Why?” he spoke harshly. “Because of the way you let him kiss you? Some provocative thing you said? You might have been unwise, but nothing could excuse what he did to you.”

“But you don't understand!” she cried bitterly. “I let him in the house when nobody was home. It was against the rules, but I thought it would be exciting to be alone with him and—”

“So you made an error in judgment,” Charles interrupted, reaching for her other hand. “You disobeyed your parents. But Hope, that's
all
you were guilty of.” He raised both of her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “It wasn't your fault.”

For the first time she began to believe it. She watched in wonder as Charles closed his eyes and pressed his mouth hard against the hands he held. “It wasn't my fault,” she echoed softly, tasting the words for the first time. She shook her head. “But he died, Charlie. He got drunk and ran his car into a tree. And I wasn't even sorry! I had been afraid that he would hurt me again, so after he was gone I felt…safe.”

“That's understandable,” Charles soothed. She withdrew a hand to wipe her wet cheek, but he still held the other one to his mouth. He spoke against it and his words were muffled. “Let it go, Hope. Don't let it matter anymore.”

He let go of her hand and carefully wrapped his arms around her. “Hope, I love you,” he murmured in her ear. “You're a beautiful woman, inside and out. Please say you'll do me the honor of becoming my wife. I promise
to give you all the tenderness you deserve. I'll make you forget everything that—”

She pushed him away. “But he hurt me!” she whimpered, dropping more tears. “He was angry because he thought I was teasing him. He hit me and…and then…it was so
awful!
”

Charles kissed the tears from her hot, damp cheeks. “I'll never hurt you, Hope. I love you.”

She sighed and leaned against him. “I want to marry you, Charlie. But I'm afraid, and I can't help it.”

“I know,” he said. “So I'll just stick around until you stop being afraid. I'll wait a year, two years…whatever you want. I swear I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

She raised her face to him and his kiss was unbelievably sweet. It was warm and comforting, healing. When she looked into his soft eyes, she understood that he really
would
wait, as long as she needed him to.