Seeds of Summer (11 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING, NATALIE SORTED THROUGH THE CLOTHES IN HER
father's closet. Cleaning out his room took longer than she expected, as every now and then she found an item that touched on a particular memory, and she fast-forwarded the event like a scene in a movie.

Had it not been for her promise to allow her stepmom to stay with them, she'd be tempted to leave his bedroom untouched and not pack up his clothes and personal items. What had she been thinking to ask Libby to stay with them—and in her father's room of all places?

Questions churned in Natalie's mind. Why did Libby leave, and was she still married to her dad or had they divorced? It boggled her mind to think of all she didn't know.

She removed one of her dad's favorite western shirts from a hanger and smoothed the material against her cheek. It still smelled of him, and she laid it on her keepsake pile. Again, the craziness of the situation hit her.

Her dad was gone and her stepmom, whom she thought dead, was alive.

Natalie made her way through the rest of her dad's clothes, then moved on to his shoes, among them his worn work boots and the
pair of Tony Lama's she'd given him after the Miss Rodeo Kansas competition. It had taken a good chunk of her savings to buy the exotic elephant hide, but she'd wanted to thank him for his support, and a good pair of boots was the best thanks she could imagine at the time. She hugged the tan leather to her chest and debated whether to add them to the packed boxes. Though she knew they would give some man great pleasure, the rich leather scent embraced her like a hug and reminded her of the precious moments she and her dad had shared. With a pang of guilt, she set them aside for her own keeping then spotted a metal box in the corner of the near-empty closet.

Drawn to the rectangular container, she lifted it up and found it locked. She recalled seeing keys on her father's bureau, and upon returning to the dresser she noted other items that had gone untouched since his death. Left as though he'd deposited them from his jean pockets before going to bed were a pile of quarters, two pieces of peppermint candy, and a wadded up piece of paper. On the silver keychain were two keys tiny enough to open the box. She tried one and when that didn't work, she fumbled for the second.

Her heart drummed like hooves running across the prairie. Could the box hold more money? Possibly even more than the two thousand she'd already found?

When she turned the key, the lock clicked and the metal lid opened to reveal a pile of papers. She thumbed through them and found items normally housed in a safe. Birth certificates, vehicle titles, a marriage license to Natalie's mom as well as her death certificate. Another marriage license, this one to Libby.

Natalie half expected to come across a death certificate for her as well, but instead discovered a certificate of divorce.

It was true. Her father and Libby were divorced.

Her mouth went dry as she considered what her dad would think of his ex-wife staying in his room. He'd probably roll in his grave if he knew Libby intended to once again sleep in his bed. When she
finished going through every slip of paper, disappointment seeped from her lips.

No money.

Her gaze drifted to the wadded paper on the dresser. Probably one of her father's many lists. Prepared to toss the note in the waste-basket, she took a quick peek to make sure it wasn't an important document.

There on the crumpled paper and written in black ink were words not of a list, but of a poem entitled “Poetry.”

Prose and Poetry

Men who had a love for words

Shakespeare, Hawthorne, Keats

Natalie read the words again. Odd words that seemed to be in the pattern of haiku, a form of poetry she'd once learned in high school. While the writing was far from literary genius, her eyes filled with tears. Her dad obviously had a love for words as well—a secret he'd kept from all of them. She wiped the moisture from her eyes and took a deep breath. The job of cleaning out her father's room had turned into an emotional ordeal, and although Natalie had expected it to be so, she hadn't counted on its intensity.

She did her best to straighten the piece of paper and laid it on top of her keepsake pile. Crumpled or not, it was something her father had written, and she would treasure it forever. The poem reminded her of the scrolls he'd left for her brother and sister. Perhaps it was time to let them read his last words to them.

J
ARED GREETED THE CONGREGATION MEMBERS AS THEY FILED OUT OF THE
sanctuary, praying they'd take with them a portion of his Sunday sermon, if only a crumb. His arms and legs were stiff and sore from the previous days' ranch work, but he tried to hide his discomfort.

“Nice sermon, Pastor. A little long, but not too bad,” one parishioner said.

Another grumbled from behind. “A forty minute sermon is more than long—it's agony. The only thing worse is a long line to the coffee pot or to the bathroom.”

“Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it,” he told the first and tried to mask that he'd heard the other. He never understood how some people could speak in front of another as though they didn't have ears.

The complainer shook his hand and fled, not willing to stick around for small talk.

“Don't worry about him.” John McCray stood before him, followed by Gil and Mattie. “Some folks don't know how blessed they are to have a young minister full of energy and eager to spread God's Word. Believe me, I know, because I used to be one of them on the sidelines.”

Jared shook the old man's hand, having met all three of the McCray's yesterday at Natalie's house. “I'm glad you're no longer a bystander—and I'm thankful for your support.”

“I watched you rope those calves yesterday.” John McCray looked up at him with bright blue eyes. “It's not easy to step out of your comfort zone—but you made an effort to help out. That's worth something in my book.”

Jared chuckled. “I'm afraid I wasn't much help, but you're right, I did try.” Eager to know this family better, he made a mental note to visit the McCrays in the future, then moved on to greet those next in line, an elderly couple with a young woman he'd never seen before.

“Good morning, Pastor,” the older woman said. “You haven't met our granddaughter, Jane, have you? She's staying with us for a few weeks this summer.”

He noted the girl's short blonde hair and shook her hand. “I'm sure you'll have a delightful time with your grandparents. And I'll look forward to seeing you at our services while you're here.”

“Oh yes, Jane never misses a church service. She's on her summer break from Bethany College and plans to go into mission work.” The woman's voice gurgled like a brook. “We'd love to have you for dinner one Sunday to visit. Today even?”

Jared rubbed his chin, aware of the woman's intention. It seemed Mrs. Hildebrand wasn't the only one who enjoyed sharpening her matchmaking skills. “Thank you for the invitation, but I already have plans this afternoon.”

And in fact, he did have plans—he wanted to check on a gentleman in his congregation who was in the county hospital, and then he planned to drive out to see how Natalie and the kids fared after their visit with Libby the night before.

“Perhaps another time then,” the woman suggested.

The line had stalled with their ongoing conversation, and Jared smiled with unease. “Of course, I'll look forward to it.”

Back in his office, he hung his stole in the closet and changed out of his linen garments. Glad to have his third sermon over, he hummed the refrain of the closing hymn, “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”

A knock sounded on his door, and Mr. Sanders slipped his head inside. “Pastor, I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

Jared stopped humming, and in stepped Mr. Sanders with his wife prodding him from behind. He loosened his clerical collar and stared at the couple as they stationed themselves like wardens in his office. “How may I help you?”

Mrs. Sanders poked her husband as though her hand was an electric cattle prod. He grimaced back at her. “My wife and I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Sarah.” His gaze fell to his black shoes.

Jared pulled out two folding chairs and invited the couple to sit. “I understand your concern. From what I can tell, though, your daughter shows sincere remorse for her actions.”

Mr. Sanders scratched his thinning hair and took a seat.

“Of course Sarah's sorry.” Mrs. Sanders remained standing. “It's this friend of hers that talked her into trouble. Sarah's never been able to say no, and you see where that got her.”

Jared leaned against his desk and nodded. “Peer pressure can be hard to overcome, especially for a freshman like Sarah.” He didn't doubt for one second that stealing the beer had been Chelsey's idea, but he didn't want to let the Sanders girl off the hook too easily.

“I'm hoping Vacation Bible School will show the girls a more worthy way to spend their time—get them involved in helping others, like the mission work they did last week. I think it might go a long way in teaching them to make good decisions for their future.”

“Maybe for Sarah, but I question how much it's going to help Chelsey.” The woman sat down with a huff and repositioned her suit jacket, clearly dissatisfied, and clearly used to getting her way.

Mr. Sanders shot his wife another warning. “Don't get us wrong, Pastor. The two girls have been friends since grade school. But this past year, we've seen a lot of changes in Chelsey. We're concerned, that's all. Maybe splitting up the two would be better than having them work together.”

Jared couldn't believe the Sanders would be so uncharitable. He sent up a silent prayer for immediate wisdom. “As you said, the girls have been friends for a long time. What good will it do to separate them? Wouldn't it be better to demonstrate a forgiving heart and a helping hand? Let Sarah show her repentance and pray that it has an effect on Chelsey. I'm of the opinion that it will, with God's help, of course.”

Mr. Sanders stretched his arm behind his wife's back. “See, I told you. He knows what he's doing.”

“I'm not convinced. What if Chelsey gets our daughter into trouble again?” The woman's voice bordered hysteria.

Jared tried to understand her fear but wished she would have more faith. “The Bible doesn't promise that we won't be hurt in this
life, but it does tell us that if we don't run the race, we'll never taste victory.”

Mrs. Sanders frowned. “You're determined to do this, no matter our concerns?”

Jared pressed his lips together and nodded. “You can hold me completely responsible for the outcome. If Sarah turns into a delinquent, I'll accept the blame one hundred percent.”

Her frown deepened. “Pastor, this is no joking matter. Your plan better not fail.”

N
ATALIE SAT WITH DILLON AND CHELSEY IN THE LIVING ROOM AFTER
they'd read their poems. It seemed their father had a fondness for haiku and had written one for each of his younger children.

“Why didn't Dad give you one?” Dillon scrunched his freckled nose, having already read his aloud, a poem about horses and puzzles.

“Yeah, I don't get it,” Chelsey said. “And what is mine supposed to mean—‘Find comfort in food, Cook's cupboard is her treasure, Contentment in life'?”

“I don't know, and it really doesn't matter.” Natalie shook her head in bewilderment. “I found the same kind of poem in his room about Shakespeare and some other poets. Dad must have had a secret desire to be a poet—and considering his talent, I guess it's best he kept it a secret.” She chuckled, then got up from her chair and ruffled her brother's hair. “Come on, we should get the chores done before Libby arrives.”

Chelsey chewed her fingernail. “What will it be like having her here? How long do you think she'll stay?”

Natalie shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Dillon sat up from his reclined position on the couch. “What should we call her? Mom or Libby?”

Natalie's throat tightened at what he and Chelsey must be feeling—at what she felt herself. What did you call the mother you didn't know, who'd been absent most of your life? “Call her whatever you feel comfortable with,” she said.

Before they could discuss it further, a knock sounded on the front door. Natalie's heart skipped as she stared at the entrance. “Do you suppose she's here already?”

With reluctance, Natalie made her way through the living room and braced herself for yet another change in their lives. Her relief poured out when she saw Jared on the porch wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt. “Oh, it's you.”

J
ARED SMILED WHEN NATALIE GREETED HIM WITH BARE FEET. DRESSED IN
cut off shorts and a sleeveless top, she wore her hair in a ponytail, tied with a red ribbon.

“I'm sorry, were you expecting someone?” He rested his hands on the door frame. “If you'd like, I can come back another time.”

The warm afternoon breeze whisked a few stray hairs into Natalie's face as she stepped outside. She caught them with her slender fingers and tucked them behind her ear. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to see how you were. After last night, I mean. With Libby and all.” He followed her to the porch railing and shook his head at his incoherence. More often than not, the woman left him tongue-tied. “Willard told me about Libby's identity.” He tried again. “I wanted to make sure the kids were okay after meeting their mother.”

Natalie gripped one of the porch columns and hugged it close. “She's coming over tonight—to stay with us for awhile.”

Jared tucked his hands in his pockets. “I'm glad you're giving Libby a chance. Willard seemed less than enthused about her return. But she might have changed.”

She stared off in the distance. “I couldn't deny Dillon and
Chelsey the chance to know their mom. I'm not that mean, despite what you think.”

Jared studied her profile. Her long shapely neck, refined nose and cheekbones, and haunting eyes—eyes that had experienced great pain. Overall, the most captivating woman he'd ever seen. “I never thought you were.”

“Oh no?” Her thin eyebrows arched. “Just yesterday, you accused me of being insensitive to Dillon's feelings. What did you think? That I was too caught up in my own worries to consider my family?”

Anxiety stabbed his gut. “I thought we'd called a truce. That we were through arguing.”

She pinned him with a hard stare. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who called the truce. I never agreed to anything.”

Jared's face heated at the truth in her words. He had questioned Natalie's compassion toward Dillon and had implored her to recognize the boy's pain. “I apologize for second guessing you. That was ill mannered of me. I'm sure you have your brother and sister's best interests in mind.”

“Their welfare is all I've thought about for days. It's all I've thought about for most of my life.”

The young woman put up a tough front, but Jared had seen Natalie at her most fragile state, and her eyes, though cold and determined, couldn't always conceal the pain. “Don't you have family? Aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

She released an exasperated breath. “Our grandparents are dead. Our only other relatives are too old or live too far away. And I'm not moving the kids from their home. No matter how you look at it, the burden's mine.”

“You have Willard…and me.” He held her gaze, unblinking.

“So you've said.” She paused as though considering. “You mentioned before that you helped your granddad on his farm when you were a boy?”

“Every summer.”

Her gaze traveled past him to the barnyard. “You probably did your share of haying, then?”

“I've done it all—mowed, raked, and baled.” Jared noticed the tractor parked inside the open machinery shed and recalled that Mr. Adams' death had been tractor-related. He suspected that Natalie needed help but would rather eat worms than ask for it. “I'd offer my assistance, but I'm sure you'd prefer someone with more experience than a city boy like me.”

She uttered the softest snort.

“Of course, then you'd have to worry about them taking advantage of you,” he went on, “like that Tom fellow.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What about your congregation? Wouldn't another job interfere with your church duties?”

The unguarded hope in her voice came through loud and clear. “I'd be happy to oblige with whatever you need. Haying, fixing the fence—laundry.” Jared grinned. “I'm sure I could work around my schedule at church. It'd give me something to look forward to. Get me away from my desk and paperwork.”

She seemed to study him. “Why did you choose to be a pastor? I mean, if you enjoy farm life so much?”

Jared marveled at the woman's skill in manipulating a conversation. Somehow she'd managed to turn the wheel away from herself and point the arrow directly at him. “My dad was a pastor, as was my mother's father.”

“And you wanted to keep it in the family?”

“Something like that.” His jaw tightened. The subject still caused his nerves to bristle, even after all this time. He thought he'd surmounted the problem in seminary, but if that were the case, why did he feel such guilt now? “It seemed the right path for me to take.”

She bit her lip. “You don't sound very sure.”

“No, I am.” Jared straightened to his full height, calling on every ounce of confidence he owned. “I loved my granddad and his farm, and I'll always treasure the time we had. But that chapter's over.”

“Sounds like it must have been an important chapter.”

“It was a good one.” Some days his granddad's gruff voice tracked him every step like a faithful hunting dog. Jared hated that he'd turned against the man in the end and wished he could redo that part of his life. He cast the futile thought away and stared out at the distant pasture. Lush green bluestem covered the hills, making the white outcroppings all the more noticeable. A Scissor-tailed Flycatcher perched on a nearby fencepost, its sharp raspy chirp drawing his attention.

Second chances were for the living. Better to learn from his mistakes and find purpose in today. “In the end, I felt called to the ministry.”

Natalie groaned and stepped away from him.

“What? Haven't you ever felt God's call?”

She sunk onto the porch step and stretched her legs. “Maybe God doesn't look out for everyone the way he does you. Maybe our family isn't good enough to deserve his interest.”

“No one is good enough in God's eyes. We don't earn his mercy.”

“Well, I don't remember him ever talking to me, let alone directing my steps.” She stared up at him. “Where was he when my mom died? Or when Libby left? Or how about when Dad was caught under that tractor? Seems if he was going to show up, those would have been good times to do so, don't you think?”

“I understand your anger.” Jared sat beside her on the step. “Sometimes it may seem like God has abandoned us, but we aren't always able to see the big picture. When we do, we realize that he's been with us all along.”

The frown on her face showed she wasn't convinced. “If I hire you to do the haying, will you be able to round up your own work crew?”

Amused that they'd circled back to the topic of her needing assistance, Jared grinned. “I think some boys from church would be willing to help out.”

“All right then. Let's discuss the plans over dinner tonight.”

Jared hesitated. “Are you sure? Tonight's a big night for your family.”

Her forehead wrinkled as she peered at him from the corner of her eye. “I could use the support. It's not like I can invite Willard, considering his aversion to Libby.” She pursed her lips in appeal. “Please?”

Unable to take his eyes off her full lips, Jared raised his hands in submission. “When you say it like that, how can I refuse?” Only after the words were spoken did he comprehend the amount of leverage this woman had over him. That, if asked, he would probably do anything for her.