Makin' Miracles (5 page)

“I know so.” Zola patted his knee and turned brown eyes to his. “That makes it hard for me to hate you when God's creatures trust you so.”

“You're an odd girl.”

“So you've said before.” She gave him a considering look before lowering her lashes.

He flexed his fingers. “You were right that I acted rude to you yesterday, Zola. I regret that.”

“Thank you for the apology,” she said, putting her plate on the ground beside her and settling back to rock gently in her chair.

He rocked, too, looking out over the valley, enjoying the sense of being with her even if they weren't talking. Spencer looked over and saw Zola's eyes closed, a smile on her face.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She turned warm eyes toward him. “I was simply communing with my Maker, Spencer. It's hard not to do that when it's so beautiful here, even when I'm with a comfortable earthly companion.”

“Well, I guess I won't resent that extra presence.”

They rocked for a few more moments in quiet.

Spencer cleared his throat then. “I thought you would ask me about the woman—and about what happened.”

She continued to rock. “I already know what happened.”

He scowled, and she saw it.

“I don't know
everything
that happened, Spencer.” She placed her hand on his knee again and an odd sense of calm spread through him. “I only know that she didn't take anything from you. That she didn't steal from you.”

Feeling twitchy now, he caught her eyes with his. “How do you know that, Zola?”

She looked up and smiled. “Your Maker is very interested in you, Spencer, which I know means you belong to Him.”

Spencer felt even more fidgety and uncomfortable now. He wasn't used to having intimate talks about God or his faith. Faith to him was personal, a deep, inner thing not to be discussed lightly.

She studied him. “Faith isn't diminished by being expressed, Spencer.” A smile touched the edges of her mouth. “In fact, most of the time sharing and speaking about faith enhances it.”

“Well, I'm not used to that.” He got up abruptly and began to load up the cooler.

She didn't say anything else, and when he turned back toward her again she was putting the last scraps of her meal out on the shelf for her friends.

“I owe you a thank-you for warning me about Leena.” He watched her to see what she would do.

She smiled at him. “It's not me you need to thank. I've never met you. What did I know about you or that woman? Not a thing. It was God who knew you and God who had an interest in you. I was only the one he used to send the message.”

“Is that how you see it?” He scowled. It was a new idea for him to think about.

She got up from the rocker. “That's how it is, Spencer.”

He noticed then that she wore denim overalls over a T-shirt. Her jacket was unbuttoned now, and he could see better what she had on. He hadn't seen a girl in overalls since he'd lived on Daufuskie, a remote island off the coast near Savannah, Georgia.

Zola noticed his gaze.

“They're comfortable,” she explained.

He nodded.

“I need to go now.” She walked over to look out over the valley one last time.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” he asked impulsively.

“Thank you for asking me.” She turned to look at him, and he watched a small shadow of pain cross her face. “I suppose I'll need an invitation to come from now on.”

He reached out a hand to touch her arm. “Come anytime, Zola. I knew this hut was someone's special place the day I found it. It belongs to you in that way, but I hope you'll let me share it with you.”

She shrugged.

“What time will you come?” he asked.

“After church,” she said. “They're baptizing Tanner and Delia Cross's baby, Thomas Walker, tomorrow. I can't miss that.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “At Highland Presbyterian on Natty Road?” he asked. “I was invited to that. Delia Cross helped me decorate my house here.”

“And you'll be going?' She smiled at him. “If so, then perhaps I'll see you there. Little Thomas is a fine, happy boy, and it's a joyous thing to get to be a party to a baby's blessing in the Lord.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Spencer seldom went to social events, but Zola made it sound inviting.

“Well, maybe I'll see you there,” she said, picking up a walking stick she'd left leaning against the hut and starting down the mountain.

He stopped her with a question. “Zola, what do you call this place?”

“Just Raven's Den—as you know it.” She smiled her dazzling white smile at him once more. “But this small structure here is a meditation hut. A native friend taught me how to build one in Mooréa. I have one there, too, on the top of a hill looking out over the ocean. It has a grand view, also. A person needs a place where they can go to find peace and get collected in their soul. I have always found that peace in a place like this.”

“You're an interesting girl, Zola.”

She studied him. “And you're a man who needs peace in his soul, Spencer Jackson.” She started down the hill. “I will see you in church tomorrow.”

T
he next morning, as Zola filed into the Highland Cumberland Presbyterian Church with her family, she wondered if she would see Spencer Jackson at the service. He said he'd been invited to come but he never said if he would actually show.

Noticing many new faces today, Zola realized the church was more crowded than usual. She took her Nana's arm to help her down the aisle.

“There will probably be a fair passel of folks here today to see the baptism,” Nana said, obviously noting the extra numbers in church as they worked their way down the aisle to their regular seats. “Tanner and Delia Cross have a lot of friends in Gatlinburg.”

Zola slid into the family pew after her grandparents. The Devon family always sat on the sixth row back on the right underneath the big stained-glass window dedicated to the Devons—longtime pillars in the Highland Cumberland Presbyterian Church. As the Devon family had grown, they had spread back into the seventh pew, as well.

Aunt Becky Rae, her husband Gene, their son Jim, and Jim's girls Doreen and Jenny sat in the sixth pew with Zola and her grandparents. Uncle Ray's family filled the seventh pew behind them, with Ray; his wife, Augusta; their daughter, Stacy; their son, Wayne; his wife, Patricia; and Wayne and Patty's children, Hilda and Ronnie.

“We make a right fine crowd when we're all here together.” Nana looked around her in satisfaction. Zola also knew she was checking to see that everyone looked as they should—girls in nice dresses, boys in neat suits, everyone's hair properly brushed.

Zola's cousin, Stacy, had the hardest time with Nana Etta's dress code rules. She sat on Zola's left now, cross to be wearing a skirt and blouse.

“Am I mistaken, Stacy,” Zola teased. “Or are you wearing makeup this morning?”

“Hush your mouth, Zola.” Stacy nudged her with a scowl. “I don't see why we need to dress up or why we can't wear pant suits to church. Look around at all the women who wear pants to church now. You'd think Nana would bend a little on that. I hate skirts.” Stacy was an outdoorsy type of woman, and she thoroughly disliked getting dressed up.

Zola grinned. “It's only once a week, cousin. And it's easier going along with Nana than trying to rock the boat.”

“You've got that right,” she grumbled, as the church music started and the choir and the minister began to file in.

Zola had no time to look for Spencer again until the greeting time in the service. She spotted him as the congregation shook hands and visited, standing near the back of the church. He was making an effort to socialize, but she could tell he wasn't a highly extroverted individual. It seemed an effort for him to make nice. Zola smiled to herself as she sat back down.

When the service ended later, Zola saw Spencer linger as the congregation filed out. Then he made his way down to congratulate Tanner and Delia. The couple had remained at the front of the church with baby Thomas to greet friends and family who came for the christening.

Nana, moving up beside Delia in the line now, patted the baby's cheek. “Little Thomas surely looks pleased with all this attention.”

As if on cue, the baby gave her a cute grin and grasped her finger.

Delia smiled. “He was really good today except for trying to push Reverend Madison's hand away when he put the baptismal water on his head.”

Delia looked up to see Spencer arrive. “Spencer! I'm so pleased you came. It was good of you.” She reached out her free arm, which wasn't wrapped around Thomas, to give him a small hug.

Spencer greeted Tanner Cross, also, and then Nana redirected his attention. “Aren't you the one who bought Raven's Den?” She pushed her glasses up to study his face thoughtfully. “The one who didn't take down Zola's hut?”

He nodded, and his eyes turned toward Zola's with a question.

Zola felt a blush steal up her face. “This is Spencer Jackson, Nana.” She turned to Spencer then. “Spencer, this is my grandmother, Etta Garnett Devon.”

“And this here is my husband, Vernon Rayfield Devon,” Nana added as Zola's grandfather came to join them.

The two men nodded and shook hands, and Spencer shook Nana's hand, too, offering polite greetings to both.

Spencer's brooding gray eyes drifted to meet Zola's then. Zola felt his gaze drop and slide slowly over her fitted shirtwaist dress and down her bare legs to her black patent pumps.

Her heartbeat quickened unexpectedly, and she struggled to think of something to say.

Fortunately, Nana spoke instead. “Well, Mr. Jackson, I guess you'd better come home to Sunday dinner with us, since we're going to be neighbors now.”

Spencer shook his head. “That's kind of you to offer, Mrs. Devon, but it's really not necessary. . . .”

He didn't get to finish that thought before Zola's grandfather interrupted, thumping him on the back. “We have plenty for lunch, boy, and we'd like a chance to get to know you. Your place on the mountain is the view out our back windows, son, and our farm property borders against yours up on the ridge. It would be good if we came to know each other. I'd be pleased if you would say yes.”

Spencer's eyes softened. “I'd be glad to say yes, then, Mr. Devon. Thank you, sir.”

Zola grinned at Spencer.

Nana looked between the two of them thoughtfully. “Zola, you go ride with Spencer back to our place. It's hard to find the turn roads out of Gatlinburg and around behind the mountain to our farm. A person can get lost real easy trying to get to Jonas Creek Road if he doesn't know the way.”

Zola nodded her agreement, and Nana patted Zola's arm fondly. “I'll only be a bit longer before I leave.”

Zola snapped her fingers suddenly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Nana. Mary Ogle is here today, visiting with John Dale and Hallie Madison. She said she hoped she got to see you before she left.”

Nana smiled. “Well, I'll go looking for her right now before Vern starts pushing on me to leave.” She gave him a warning glance. “I haven't seen Mary Ogle in a coon's age and I want to say hello.”

She turned away, making her way back through the church. Zola's grandfather followed, greeting friends along the way.

“You're in for it now,” Zola told Spencer. “We have a big family. They'll grill you about Raven's Den—and probably about your life.”

“I think I can manage it. I travel a lot, Zola. I'm used to being in the public eye and being asked questions as a photographer.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” She smiled up at him and linked an arm through his. “Let me introduce you around a little, since you're a guest today, and then we'll go pay our respects to the minister and his wife at the door.”

After some visiting, they made their way to the vestibule, where Zola introduced Spencer to Reverend Madison and his wife, June.

June swept Zola with an evaluative look up and down and a slight frown. “I see you're back from your trip.”

“I am, June. And I saw your gorgeous little granddaughter here today with John Dale and Hallie. She certainly is cute.” Zola watched June's face soften a little. She loved that grandchild.

“Little Mary Grace had her first birthday last month,” June said, smoothing her short hair back from her face.

“Well, she's a beautiful child.” Zola reached out to take Reverend Madison's hand as she spoke. He was a tall man, dressed in clerical robes, with glasses on a serious face.

The reverend pressed Zola's hand affectionately, making polite greetings. She started to reply but then stopped what she was about to say with surprise, looking up at him.
He's moving to another church,
she heard.

She shook her head sadly. “Oh. I didn't know you were leaving, Reverend Madison,” Zola said. “We'll all miss you here at Highland.”

June slapped at her and hissed softly. “Hush, Zola. We haven't told anyone yet.”

Zola saw Spencer look between them with curiosity.

Seeing his look, June heaved an exasperated sigh. “Our Zola here has a queer way of knowing things which aren't
any
of her business to know sometimes.” She frowned. “And she has a real bad habit of speaking them out, too, when most polite folks would keep their mouths shut.”

Spencer tried to suppress a smile.

Reverend Madison leaned over closer to Zola before anyone else walked up. “It's a decision we only recently made, Zola. And we haven't told anyone, yet. So do keep it to yourself, if you would. I'll make a formal announcement soon.”

“Of course.” Zola smiled at him and then paused once more, listening to that inner voice. “Ahhh. Charleston. You're going back to Charleston, Reverend Madison. That's nice. Charleston has always been a favorite place of yours. And June has wanted to go back for a long time. Your daughter and her family live there.” She smiled at June. “I'm sure everything will work out just fine.”

Zola heard June sputter again, but she ignored it, still listening within. More was coming to her. She saw a clear picture of Perry Ammons, the church's youth pastor, standing in the pulpit.

She patted the pastor's hand. “You know, I think Perry Ammons would be a good interim pastor here at the church,” she offered. “Maybe even a good full-time pastor if he'd consider the job.”

June swung her eyes around anxiously to see if anyone was listening to their conversation and then snapped a warning at Zola. “For goodness' sakes, girl, mind your tongue, and quit talking about this matter. Mrs. Harper is coming and she couldn't keep a confidence if her life depended on it.”

June was obviously becoming annoyed, but Zola noted, with relief, that Reverend Madison looked thoughtful about what she suggested. She was glad. Zola tried hard to say the things she felt she was supposed to.

June turned to Spencer and shook a finger at him. “I hope you know what you're getting yourself into running around with the likes of Zola Devon. I'll warn you. She's a right queer girl. You keep a watch on her.”

Zola watched him suppress a grin.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered politely, taking Zola's arm to walk on out of the church. “I'll keep a watch on her.”

He managed not to laugh until he got to the parking lot, opening the door of his car to let her in. His amused eyes caught hers then. “So, it's not only me you play fortune-teller with, huh, Zola Devon?”

“Hush, Spencer.” She scowled at him, climbing into his brown SUV.

He went around to let himself in and started up the car, still smirking.

Zola glared at him, but after a few minutes she spoke. “I didn't know Reverend Madison was leaving until I shook his hand.” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I'm sorry to learn it. He's been at the church for a long time. Most of the people will be sorry to learn he's moving away.”

She turned to grin at him while she buckled her seatbelt. “However, many won't be too sorry to say good-bye to his wife, June.”

Spencer grinned back at her. “She seems kind of outspoken for a minister's wife.” He paused thoughtfully. “And is it normal for the minister's wife to stand outside after the service to greet the congregation as they leave?”

“No. That's totally a June thing. She's always done it. Says it helps her to get to know all the people in her husband's church.” Zola giggled. “But mostly it gives her a chance to say her piece when she wants to.”

“Did you really
see
that the minister was leaving—and that he was going to Charleston—when you shook his hand?” Spencer lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I did. It was very clear.” She turned her eyes toward his. “And I don't like you calling me a fortune-teller, Spencer Jackson.”

“Aren't you?”

She frowned at him. “No, I'm not. A fortune-teller, to quote Madame Renee's advertising, is a person ‘who foretells your personal future—who uncovers your desires, wishes, and dreams, who finds the answers you've been seeking.' ” She turned angry eyes to Spencer. “And all for
only
a small fee.”

She saw Spencer wince.

Zola blew out a breath. “The tellings of a fortune-teller don't come from God, Spencer. That's the big difference. They come from a person, who may or may not mean well. And who may or may not be right in her fortune-telling arts.”

She twisted the straps of her handbag in her lap. “A fortune-teller provides her arts on demand—and for a fee. A Christian seer gets wisdom or knowledge about some current or future event only as God wills it and never takes money for it. The gift of knowing is given as God chooses—and usually for some purpose or reason.”

Zola saw Spencer thinking about this. “So, why do you think God told you the minister might be moving?”

She thought for a minute. “I don't know exactly. Perhaps to seed the idea to Reverend Madison that Perry Ammons should be asked to fill in as interim pastor and maybe even become the next pastor.” Zola considered this thoughtfully. “Perry Ammons is the part-time youth pastor right now and Perry has a deep faith. I've heard him preach when he fills in for Reverend Madison. I admit, I never considered it before, but I think Perry would be very good for the church.”

Spencer steered his SUV artfully around a lane of blocked traffic on Gatlinburg's main highway through town. “I think I've met Perry Ammons at breakfast at the Garden Café with Tanner Cross and some other guys. They have some sort of regular get-together there every week.”

He paused to let a pedestrian cross in front of his car. “Isn't Perry Ammons the one who has the wedding chapel on the Cosby Highway?”