Makin' Miracles (8 page)

“And is she tall with a good smile?” Aston was probably six foot four.

Zola smiled at him. “God isn't hard of hearing, Aston Parker.”

“Glory Hallelujah!” He grabbed up his coat from behind the counter and started toward the front door.

“Hey!” Spencer caught his arm. “You're not going to believe God is in the matchmaking business—just like that—are you?”

“Brother, you're a slow man to believe, aren't you?” Aston punched him on the shoulder. “And slow to see. We serve a good God, you know.”

He pushed through the door, and then reopened it to look back. “You didn't get a name, did you, Zola?”

She shook her head with pleasure at his enthusiasm. These were the best of times with her gift. “It's Carole,” she said, wondering what Maya would think of this. The woman she
saw
in the café was Maya Thomas's daughter.

Spencer watched Aston sprint across the courtyard of the Laurel Mountain Village Mall. He shook his head in amazement.

“Unbelievable. Aston was so excited he forgot to even tell Clark he was leaving for lunch. Let me run back and tell him that he needs to cover the front of the store before we go.”

Spencer started toward the back of the gallery. “I'll be right back.”

The door opened while Zola waited, and Ben Lee came in, loaded down with an armload of framed prints.

Zola ran to hold the door for him. Benwen Lee, whom everyone simply called Ben, was a Chinese man who ran a framing shop in the Gatlinburg area. Zola knew he framed most all of Spencer's photographs, and she often had Ben frame nature prints for her when she needed a framer for Nature's Corner. He did excellent work.

Zola smiled at him. “Hello, Ben. How are you?”

He walked over and leaned the stack of framed photographs, all wrapped neatly in brown paper, against the counter before answering. “Ahhh. I am not good, Miss Zola.” He frowned. “You have been away and perhaps have not heard about my daughter.”

Zola put a hand to her heart. “I hope she's not ill.”

“No. Missing. No one know where. One day she here, one day she gone.” He shook his head sadly. “Police have looked and looked since the first of the year when she went missing and have found no trace of her. There is no peace in that, no peace at all. It is a great sorrow.”

Zola put a hand on Ben's arm in sympathy. She knew Seng Ryon was Ben's only daughter. In fact, it was Seng who'd brought Ben to the States. She had married Juan Hee Chen, who owned the Chen Palace Chinese Restaurant in Gatlinburg, and after Ben's wife passed away in China, Seng encouraged Ben to come live with them. He did live with them for a season, but then started his framing business and moved into an apartment over his shop, wanting his own independence.

Zola was truly sorry to hear about Seng. “What happened?”

Spencer came out as she asked this, interrupting their conversation. He spoke to Ben and signed the receipt for the delivered merchandise. Then Spencer looked across at Zola. “Ben's daughter disappeared while you traveled to the South Pacific, Zola. She went out to the bank at the end of a business day one evening and never came back. The police have been unable to find even a trace of her.”

“Did she get to the bank?”

Ben jumped into the story. “No. Bank say she never come. Money from the day at the restaurant gone, too.”

“The police think it must have been a robbery.” Spencer looked at Ben sympathetically. “They don't hold out much hope Seng is still alive. But it's hard for Ben and the family. They have no resolution.”

Ben pushed his beat-up, tan fedora back on his head. Zola couldn't ever remember seeing him without that hat on.

“Are they still investigating?” Zola knew all of Ben's family, and it was hard to imagine how grievous this time had been for them.

“Police say there is not much clue, but they are still looking.” Ben shook his head sadly. “Juan Hee, Seng's husband, he not same man since she been gone. Seng was right hand partner in the business. She is missed there even though Frank Jie and Zia do much of the work.”

Frank was Juan and Seng's son, and he and his wife, Zia, had worked in the business for years. However, Juan and Seng's daughter, Nina, worked for Ben. Zola had known all the Lee family since girlhood and gone to school with Nina.

“I am so sorry about this, Ben.” She leaned over impulsively to hug him.

“Someone did this bad thing to my Seng.” He looked at Zola pointedly. “We need to know who it is. You see if you can know, Zola. You have gift to know.”

Zola chose her words carefully. “Ben, you know I don't know things of myself. I am just sometimes used by God to share things as He desires. It's His knowing and not mine. But I will pray the police will find the people who did this awful thing to Seng.”

He gave her a stubborn look. “You pray God show
you
. You
make
Him show you.”

Spencer stepped in then. “Listen, Ben. I know you are troubled, but this situation isn't Zola's responsibility. She isn't a fortune-teller. Be careful that you don't threaten her.”

Ben shuffled his feet.

“I truly am sorry about Seng.” Zola patted his arm fondly. “She was a wonderful person.”

Ben left then, and the awkward moment passed.

Zola looked over to see Spencer scowling. “That's the sort of thing I was talking about, Zola. People pushing on you and pressuring you, knowing you have a gift. It could be dangerous for you.”

She spoke softly. “And should I have stayed in bed and not come to wake you this morning to photograph the hoarfrost?”

He laughed. “I'm not even going to consider answering that! Come on. I'll take you home, Zola.”

T
he photographs from the hoarfrost turned out to be spectacular. Spencer knew he would use at least one of the photos in the new book he was working on. Already, several photographs had been enlarged and framed to sell in the gallery as well. Aston said people always stopped to talk about the prints.

February slid into March, and soon April arrived. Spencer saw Zola now and then at the hut behind his house at Raven's Den. He had revisited the church one Sunday and seen her there, too. But he had not asked her out. She was a complicated woman, and he didn't know if he wanted to become more involved with her.

Sitting sprawled on the big sofa in his living room, Spencer realized he was thinking about Zola again. Despite his continual mental reasonings, he thought about her far too often. And whenever he saw her, his blood pumped. He hoped it would go away in time. He didn't want a deeper relationship with her.

In annoyance, he paced back to his office.

I'll check my e-mail, catch up on my correspondence,
Spencer thought, seeking a distraction. He sat down at his computer and booted up the system.

Zeke padded into the room to plop down at Spencer's feet.

Spencer reached down to scratch the dog's back with affection. “We just need to get our minds on something else, don't we, buddy?”

He scanned down the in-box list of new e-mails. It was lengthy. He needed to catch up. But then his eye spotted the e-mail from Bowden.

Hesitating, Spencer thought about deleting it—considered not reading it at all. But then he clicked it open.

Bowden proceeded to chat away about family doings and the Jackson business. He wrote as though he and Spencer were friends who communicated frequently, when the opposite was so and always had been. They never e-mailed congenially like this.

Spencer drummed the desk with his fingers in irritation. What did Bowden want? Why was he suddenly calling and e-mailing like this? His eyes went back to the e-mail.

Spencer scowled. Why was he doing this? Talking about Geneva? Talking about his kids? Spencer had never even seen his nephews. Didn't even know them.

He'd cherished no desire to see Geneva cradling Bowden's babies against her breast. Children that should have been his.

What good times? Spencer's fingers itched to delete the picture and message. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he printed it out. He even stuck a piece of photo paper into the printer for better quality.

Flicking off the computer with annoyance, Spencer carried the photograph back over to the couch to study it. The dog padded after him, sitting down and gazing up at Spencer with concern. Zeke could always tell when something was bothering him. Shepherds were good at reading emotion.

“My parents look older, Zeke.” Spencer talked to the dog to calm him. “My father has more gray hair and there are streaks of gray in my mother's hair now.” Spencer smiled, touching the picture. His mother had her hair pulled back in the traditional bun she favored, and she was wearing her pearls. She'd always loved those for formal occasions.

Spencer's eyes moved over the picture. “Rita looks good. I guess she must have turned twenty-six at this birthday.” He did the math in his mind and nodded.

Zeke pricked his ears up, as if carefully listening.

“Rita was only fourteen when I started college.” He paused, remembering. “She threw her arms around me and cried when I left. I didn't see her again until she turned eighteen. She came down with Mother and Dad for my college graduation in Savannah. But she couldn't come when my parents came a few years later for the big Chatsworth reunion. She was in the middle of her culinary school.”

He petted the dog, letting his mind drift. “Rita always loved to cook—and especially to bake and decorate cakes. That's what she does now with the business. I hear she's greatly prospered that aspect of the catering business working with Mother.”

Spencer studied the photo again.

Despite the years that had passed, Rita still had that fresh, happy face. Being the youngest and the only girl, she hadn't felt the pressure from the family to continue in the family business as Spencer and Bowden had or to excel in every endeavor. He'd even heard his mother say that if Spencer had been a girl instead of another boy, she wouldn't have borne any more children. It seemed like he'd always been introduced as “the middle son.”
Here is our oldest son, Bowden, our little charmer, and our youngest daughter, Rita, and this is our middle boy, Spencer.

Not able to avoid it any longer, Spencer studied Bowden, Geneva, and their two boys. Bowden still looked smooth, confident, and handsome. But then, he always had. His boy Trevor did look like Bowden when younger. And the other boy, Austin, looked gentle and less confident in comparison—eager to please. Spencer felt a wrench in his gut. Poor kid. He hoped he toughened up.

His eyes slid to Geneva at last. She was still beautiful, yet she looked less soft now, and she'd cut her hair off. It hung short, just brushing her chin. He studied her more closely. She looked older, too. Spencer realized she must be thirty now, as he was, and Bowden thirty-four. It
had
been twelve years since he'd seen either of them.

Spencer tossed the photo down. He fought tearing it up as raw pain lanced through him and a shaft of old emotions hit his heart. How it had hurt when he learned they planned to get married. When he realized, once again, that his brother had taken one more thing he wanted. Had flaunted one more victory in his face.

He got up restlessly to pace to the window.

“Let's go out, Zeke.” Spencer watched the dog jump up in anticipation, offering an enthusiastic bark of excitement. “Let's get out of here for a while.”

Spencer took the path down to the hut in long strides, hungry for the peace he always found in that odd place Zola built on the rocky point of Raven's Den.

Rounding the corner toward the edge of the ridgetop, he heard a throaty voice and a soft peal of laughter. Zola. He stopped, frowning. He didn't want her to be here today.

She looked up, catching a glimpse of him, and her face broke into a wide smile. Her dark, curly mane of hair tossed in the April breeze and her warm brown eyes sparkled. She wore jeans today with colorful embroidery stitched down the sides. A bright yellow shirt peeped out from under her old car coat, and a green lizard sat perched on her hand. She'd been feeding the squirrels and birds when he arrived, and all the birds scattered when he and the dog drew near. The two squirrels, however, stayed on the feeder, watching him and Zeke carefully.

As Spencer studied Zola, he couldn't help but see Geneva beside her in his mind. Geneva was so different from Zola. She'd always been poised, polished, sleek, and blond, her movements, her coy smile, and her voice smooth and practiced, her clothes always impeccable. She was the kind of girl that had always liked Bowden and usually ignored him. But she'd fallen in love with him and not Bowden when he was eighteen and a senior in high school. He still remembered how thrilled he'd felt at her interest in him.

Spencer shook his head and focused on Zola once more. Zola in her bright, scruffy clothes, her hair a tangle, her old hiking boots covered with a thin film of dirt, a stray leaf caught in the tangle of her hair. And holding a green lizard on her hand. Bowden's words from the e-mail came back to him:
Acts a lot like you
. . .
Likes strays and weird girls for friends.
Spencer could almost see Bowden's suppressed smile—could imagine him rolling his eyes over Zola and smirking in amusement if he were here.

Spencer stood hesitant in the pathway. He'd worked hard to be successful, to be well-thought-of. To be admired rather than ridiculed and put down. When he was with Zola, his past came back to haunt him. He felt like the young boy with the stutter that the svelte girls, who cruised into the house on Bowden's arm, giggled at. Zola made him feel conspicuous and awkward again. She was like what Bowden typically termed “the geeky girls” who always liked him in high school.

She cocked her head to one side now. “What's the matter?”

“Don't try to read my mind, Zola.” His voice was edgy and curt.

“You know I don't do that. I
can't
do that.” She shrugged her shoulders and walked over to put some more bits of food out on the feeder for the squirrels.

He thought about leaving. Going back to the house. But the hut and the stunning view over the mountains and the valley drew him.

Spencer made his way down the rock path and walked into the wood shelter. He went over to stand by a support beam, gazing out into the blue sky. Puffy clumps of white cumulus clouds floated across the horizon.

He felt Zola walk up beside him after she greeted Zeke. She put a hand on his arm. “That one there.” She pointed to one of the clouds. “It looks like a wolf. See? There are the pointy ears at the top and there's the snout raised up getting ready to howl. It even looks like he has teeth.” She giggled.

Spencer could see the wolf shape clearly in the clouds as she said it, but it annoyed him to see it. It seemed like the games he'd enjoyed when only a boy. It reminded him of the pleasure he'd always taken in nature because relationships with people had been so disappointing.

“Do you like always being weird, Zola?” He gritted his teeth.

She lifted her eyebrows. “I'm simply myself, Spencer. Not afraid to be who I am. Not afraid to be individual. And not wanting to pretend to be something I'm not.”

He scowled. “Only kids look for shapes in clouds.”

“Is that so?” She laughed a tinkling laugh, annoying him. “I wouldn't say that to my grandpa. He's very fond of cloud watching. He likes to brag that he gave me ‘my eye' for clouds.” She punched at his arm in fun, her nose wrinkling as she smiled up at him. Happy. Relaxed.

He pulled away from standing close to her, trying not to let the apple scent of her drift into his nostrils and play with his mind. At Zeke's eager request to explore, Spencer snapped off the leash and gave him the okay to head out into the trails and woods around the hut. Zeke, well-trained, wouldn't go far.

Zola tilted her head to one side, studying him. “What's wrong with you today?”

“Nothing.” He snapped the word out as he crossed his arms. “I've just got a lot of adult things on my mind. And I don't have time for foolishness and fancy.”

“I see.” She went over and sat down in the rocker to rock, closing her eyes and soon smiling. Obviously blocking him out.

It provoked him. He searched for the peace he saw on her face within himself, but it evaded him. Spencer propped a hip on the wall and looked at her.

“I heard Madame Renee came into your shop and threatened you again.” He knew he was purposely trying to rattle her peace, but he didn't care.

She opened one eye to look at him and then closed it. “She is often upset with me. We serve somewhat different masters.”

“That's kind of pompous of you to say, isn't it?” He wanted to pick a fight with her. “How do you know she's not a Christian, too?”

“Oh, she says she is.” She continued her rhythmic rocking. “She tells me she prays before she reads her cards or looks into her crystal ball.”

“So maybe she hears from God that way. How do you know?”

She opened her eyes to study him. “You don't call God up on demand like that, Spencer. Perhaps Madame Renee means well. And I often think she does. But the fortunes she gives people for a fee are not from God, Spencer.”

“And so who made you the great authority on who hears from God and who doesn't?” He frowned at her.

She stopped the rocker and sat forward. “Do you always try to pick a fight with others when you are in a bad mood, Spencer? I doubt it makes you very popular, if you do.”

“And what would
you
know about popularity?” He felt his face redden. “I'm sure you weren't very popular at school when you were younger—with all your odd ways and that seer gift of yours.”

He saw a flash of pain cross her face as she looked out over the mountains. “There are always a small percentage of individuals who seem to rule in every level of schooling. Perhaps even in later life. And, of course, they insist on a specific loyalty and conformity to the popular leaders and their prescribed norms. I may have had my moments when I wanted to fit into those minority groups but I always knew I'd have to compromise my individuality to conform. So I could never do it for any length of time.”

Spencer felt bad for a moment that he'd made her remember earlier hurt and rejection. He understood that. “It hurts to be different. To be ridiculed. To always be one step behind and to never be able to step out ahead. To never be respected or liked.”