Wounded Grace (2 page)

“I didn't mean—” She stumbled over her words and for the first time, Lance felt a twinge of guilt over his uncharitable attitude.

“I was so sorry to hear about Gwen, Lance.” The sincerity in her soft tone heightened the twinge to an unwelcome pang. “She was…”

“Special.” He finished the sentence for her.

“Yes, she was.” Two years had gone by since the five-car pile-up that had taken his wife from him, and the pain felt just as sharp as if it had happened yesterday.

“I wanted to come to the funeral, Lance, but I had just had my own accident…”

“Yes, I know all about that. I didn't expect you to come.” He knew he was being rude and unkind but somehow, it just didn't seem right for Madison Harper to talk about Gwen.

He looked around. She'd led him to the foot of the long staircase and he glanced up. “Where's Viv?”

“She's resting. We were up all night at the hospital, filing paperwork. She's exhausted, so I thought this would be a good time for us to talk.”

The hackles that had risen the minute he'd seen Madison rippled again. “Look, I've driven all night. I'm tired, hungry and not in the best of moods. I'd really just like to talk to my sister.”

Madison took a slow, measured breath. “I can take you to see her, but I doubt you'll get much out of her. The doctor gave her something to help her sleep. We could drive a truck through her bedroom right now, and I doubt she would wake up.”

Her stiff tone said he'd finally gotten to her. Was he trying? Was that the reason for this unexpected attitude? Payback?

He ran a hand through his hair and tried to shrug the tension out of his shoulders. “I'm out of line. I'm sorry.” But he couldn't take the curtness out of his voice.

“It's not your fault,” Madison said. Her calm, collected tone only served to further irritate him.

“Excuse me?”

“It's not your fault. That's what I've been trying to tell you. Heart's Haven is experiencing something…strange. Surely, you felt it the minute you stepped out of your car?”

He had felt the humidity…unusual for this time of year. And it had seemed exceptionally heavy. But he'd chalked that up to his own emotions and the misfortune that had brought him to Heart's Haven in such a rush.

“Tempers are short, here,” Madison said.

“That's understandable considering what's going on.”

“Not for Heart's Haven. People here…well, we look out for each other. Take care of each other. Lately, though, disagreements come up frequently, and fights start for no reason. Old hurts rear their ugly heads.” She hesitated. “With our history, I figured you and I would be prime targets.”

“Me? A target? Wait a minute.” Lance held up both hands as a thought finally got through his sleep-deprived mind. “Are you talking about spiritual warfare?”

Madison nodded.

Lance stared at her for a moment before a sound almost like a laugh slipped out.

Madison studied him, letting him have his moment of humor before she said, “You don't believe in spiritual warfare.”

“Oh, I believe in it. I just can't believe I'm hearing those words out of your mouth, any words about faith from you.”

This time his barb reached its mark. Madison flinched. He felt his first real wave of regret. What was wrong with him? He was never this rude or unkind to anyone.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there was spiritual warfare going on at Heart's Haven. He frowned and tried to look at the woman, he'd once considered a friend, without a veil of resentment. Her expression was open, honest. Something had definitely changed.

“It doesn't matter what you think of me.” Weariness edged Madison's voice. “In point of fact, I probably deserve some of what you'd like to dish out. But we're both here for Vivian. We need to try to bury the hatchet and get along. She needs us.”

He couldn't argue with that, even though he wanted to. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to shout and rail at Madison…and she didn't deserve it. At least not as much as he wanted to “dish out,” as she put it. Something was going on with him, and right now, he was too weary to figure it out.

He ran a hand around his neck and looked around, almost at a loss.

“You said you were tired and hungry.” Madison sounded almost sympathetic. “I think I can help with the hunger. Follow me.”

She headed to the upstairs kitchen. The downstairs cooking area was reserved for the tenants to rent or use for meetings. He followed, disjointed thoughts flitting through his mind. He watched her back, seeing a younger, cockier version of Madison, with her too slender shape and always picture-perfect appearance. Now she was softly rounded, more casual and walked with a slight limp. Other memories floated in as well.

“If I remember correctly, you didn't cook,” he said as Madison crossed the bright kitchen and pulled a large casserole from the fridge. His sister's professional hand for interior design showed itself in the bright spots of red throughout the cheery room. They made him feel comfortable and relaxed.

But apparently, he'd said the wrong thing again because Madison tensed. With a quick shrug of her shoulder she placed the casserole dish on the counter, spooned out a helping and popped the plate in the microwave.

“Don't worry. Friends and neighbors have been dropping off food. You're not in danger of me poisoning you.”

As soon as the microwave dinged, she placed the plate in front of him, and pulled out a bowl of fruit salad from the fridge. Plopping it on the table, she said, “I have some phone calls to make. Just leave the dishes. I'll clean up later. When you're finished, the third door on the left is your room. Rest while you can. We'll talk later.”

With that, she spun and slipped through a door to an exterior flight of stairs that would take her into the back yard. Lance paused with a forkful of tuna casserole halfway to his mouth and watched the door close behind her. He couldn't stop the little sigh of relief that escaped his parted lips.

 

****

 

Madison scrubbed soap bubbles over the back of the plate. Washing dishes was relaxing for her, something she never had time for in her life before. The lemon scent of the soap drifted up to her as she wiped another plate and rinsed.

The big house was quiet, so quiet she could hear the Grandfather clock ticking by the door. She looked up at the dark window, framed by red-gingham curtains, and saw her reflection. Seeing herself always gave her a little jolt. She looked the same, but she expected to look different after so much change. Her life before the accident looked nothing like her life after. So much had happened to her, she felt as if those amazing events should show on the outside. But they didn't.

Things here at Heart's Haven should be different, too. Mr. Hart was gone and everything felt empty. Hollow. She hadn't mourned the loss of her career, her husband, or her home as much as she now mourned the loss of that wonderful old man.

She'd tried to push aside her grief to help Vivian wherever she could, answering the non-stop phone calls, keeping food on the table and the dishes cleared away. Once she knocked on Vivian's bedroom door and found her friend staring at her closet, unable to choose an outfit to wear. Madison had pulled out a top and a pair of slacks and laid them across the bed.

Hart's nephew, David, and his wife, Pia, were not faring much better. Madison hadn't exaggerated when she told Lance that Hart was the glue that held them all together.

Her instincts about Lance had been correct as well. Level-headed, patient, and kind, he'd led them all through the non-stop phone calls, visitors, appointments, and arrangements. His was the strong, thoughtful presence they needed…except of course, whenever she was around. Lance struggled to contain his resentment any time she showed her face. Things had been like that between them for years. Madison hadn't really expected much of a change. Still, she couldn't stop a little sigh of regret as she tackled the pots.

Their relationship hadn't always been this strained. She was a college freshman when she first met Vivian. One of her instructor's had brought Vivian in to speak to the students about the business end of interior design. Madison and Vivian had hit it off immediately. Vivian took Madison under her wing and became her mentor and friend.

After that, Vivian, her husband, her brother Lance and his new bride, Gwen, opened their homes to Madison. She considered them family and opted to visit them more than she did her parents' chaotic house.

It wasn't until she met and married Tony that things began to go sour. But was that true? Now that she thought about it, she realized things had begun to change long before that.

Madison searched through her memories, trying to pinpoint exactly when Lance and Gwen's attitude changed toward her. It hadn't been one moment, one incident, but a gradual transition. And now that she really thought about, maybe her attitude had changed first. Maybe they had only reacted to her.

A noise at the front of the house ended her woolgathering. There were more pots and pans than she realized. Bits and pieces of leftover dishes filled the fridge, not enough to make a full meal, so Madison had put together a large pan of lasagna. If she didn't get busy, she'd still be here cleaning when Lance returned.

David, Pia, Vivian, and Lance spent most of the afternoon at the funeral home making arrangements for the service. They were calling it a
celebration of life
. Madison liked that. What's more, she was sure Mr. Hart would, too.

Vivian and Pia had returned, exhausted and wrung out. Vivian went straight to bed.

“Pia, please have a bite,” Madison encouraged the younger woman. “All my work will go to waste if you don't.”

Her guilt trip worked. Pia agreed to eat a small portion of lasagna before she left. Madison was relieved. She was actually a bit worried about the lovely Pia who looked even more pale and fragile than Vivian.

You know why.

Yes, I know. I wonder how long it will take Pia to realize why
.

Be patient.

Madison nodded. Patience was something she'd learned only recently. Lying immobile in a hospital bed had taught her how to be patient…and how to listen.

Smiling, she slid the last pan into the soapy water and started to scrub. The sound of the front door clicking open wiped the smile off her face. Lance was back, and she wasn't finished. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself for the inevitable awkward moments.

He walked into the kitchen, and she noticed—yet again—that he hadn't changed much over the years. His dark hair was streaked with gray at the temples. He'd stayed fit and trim, and still had the same even features, the same calm demeanor that put everyone at ease. Still, right now, those handsome features looked drained and weary. His steps faltered when he saw her standing at the sink. “Oh, hello.”

She smothered a sigh. He sounded about as pleased to see her as he had the day he arrived.

“I'm just finishing up. I'll be out of your hair in just a moment.” She turned back to her work. “There's a plate of food for you in the fridge.”

“Thanks. I think it might help.”

Madison didn't ask what it would help. She was tempted, but it would only lead to more conversation and that was dangerous territory. She forced her lips to seal in a tight line.

Lance placed the plate in the microwave and punched the buttons. As he stood waiting, he braced his hands on the counter and shook his head.

“I didn't realize what an important part Andrew played in the lives of the folks around here.”

Madison hesitated, trying to come up with something non-committal to say. “Mr. Hart was one of those special people.”

“I've never heard you call him by his given name. Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I don't know…just my way of showing him respect, I guess. I had a lot of respect for him.”

The microwave dinged. He opened it and took out the plate.

“That's how David talks about him, too. A mixture of awe and exasperation.”

Madison smiled. She couldn't help it. “Yes, that's it exactly. One never knew just how to take Mr. Hart. He always put up this grumpy front, but deep down, you knew he had the kindest heart. Still, he never backed down from saying the most truthful things, even if they were painful.”

“You're talking about things the angels told him.” Lance's tone sounded almost doubtful, and she turned to watch him as he sat down at the breakfast bar with his plate.

“Don't you believe he talked to the angels?”

Lance paused. “Yes…at least I think so. I'd like to. My faith tells me I should. Vivian's told me so many stories. I accept them, and I feel it in here.” He pointed to his heart. “But when it gets to my head, the reality, the touch and feel and must-see reality makes it slip away.” He paused and slipped a forkful of food into his mouth, staring off into the distance. After a moment, he looked her way again. “How about you? Do you believe?”

Madison thought of her own, ever-present, comforting voice and nodded. “Yes. I believe.
Especially
in guardian angels.”

 

 

 

 

3

 

“Well, whether he talked to angels or not, Hart had a profound effect on everyone here. David has some really big shoes to fill.”

“Is that where you were, with David?”

“He asked me to pray with him at his church. He feels terribly inadequate.”

“He shouldn't. He's a great pastor.”

“And a faithful follower. But he's so young…” Lance pushed the lasagna around his plate. “So inexperienced. Life has barely knocked him around. He still has much to learn.”

Madison sighed. “Like how to live with your mistakes.”

“Or your losses,” Lance added, his voice so low she could barely hear him.