Czytaj książkę: «To Heal a Heart»
Laughter came easily to Piper, Mitch noticed, despite the deep well of dark emotion that he had glimpsed behind that pretty face earlier. A quick smile and an impish sense of humor were second nature to Piper Wynne, but they did not disguise her pain.
She was harboring some sort of secret; yet when her amber eyes lit with that personal sense of the absurd, Mitch couldn’t help smiling. Something in her spoke to him.
After dinner she insisted on helping his mother clean up. He could hear the women chatting as he rose to follow his father into the den. He’d have stayed were he was and eavesdropped on the conversation if he could have—not because he particularly wanted to know what they were talking about, but just to hear their voices. Listening to the two of them talking together made him feel peaceful and cozy.
Why had he waited so long to start looking for someone with whom to share his life?
ARLENE JAMES
says, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”
The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!
To Heal a Heart
Arlene James
MILLS & BOON
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Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for Thou art with me. Thou dost prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; Thou has anointed my head with oil; my cup overflows.
—Psalms 23:4–5
Dear Reader,
The Twenty-Third Psalm is a familiar passage of Scripture beloved by generations. Like many, I memorized that eloquent Old Testament chapter as a child but had difficulty relating to it. I couldn’t conceive of death, let alone the “valley of the shadow of death,” and I had no enemies. Even taken allegorically, neither term seemed applicable to anyone I knew. Thankfully, I reached adulthood before I came to a personal understanding of the concepts involved. When I got to that point, this Psalm (along with other precious Scriptures) helped me remember the sufficiency and intention of God’s love for us.
Some find the concept of a loving God who can and will allow tragedy into our lives for reasons that we cannot always comprehend to be an impossible contradiction, and yet every successful parent knows what strength, wisdom and love are required to allow a child to learn by suffering. Of course, we do everything in our power to minimize our children’s pain, but some very necessary lessons, like learning how to deal with loss, can only be accomplished via experience.
Thankfully God loves us enough, as Mitch and Piper’s story demonstrates, to supply our every need, and that includes joy. He wants the very best for us, and, remember, sweet is best when it follows sour. I hope I’ve given you a taste of each and that you always have more of the sweet!
God Bless,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
The first day of September was shaping up to be one for the record books, Mitch thought wryly, jogging down the airport causeway, briefcase containing his laptop computer in one hand.
First he’d overslept, unaware that the electricity had been off for several hours during the night due to an industrial accident that had taken out a transformer. As a result, he’d missed the early flight to Houston. To make matters worse, in his haste he’d grabbed a pair of mismatched socks and hadn’t realized it until he’d looked down while retrieving a dropped pen during a witness deposition. The witness, a prim and proper middle-aged woman, had already been irritated because Mitch had shown up more than an hour late for their appointment. One look at his black-and-blue-sock combination and she’d become convinced that he was a “low-budget shyster,” to be exact, and had terminated the interview.
As if that weren’t bad enough, he’d been caught in one of Houston’s infamous traffic jams and was in danger of missing his return flight to Dallas. Thank God for cell phones and understanding shuttle bus drivers. They’d sped all the way from the rental car agency to the terminal, taking turns without an inch to spare and gunning through a yellow light along the way. The worst part was that he hadn’t gotten the information he needed to prevent his client from receiving a stiff sentence for what had essentially been a foolish prank.
Maybe God was trying to tell him something. It wasn’t the first time Mitch had thought about slowing down, maybe lightening his case load a little, but work had been his focus for so long now, he wasn’t sure what he’d be slowing down for. If he did manage to make the flight, maybe he could find time later that evening to think about some important personal issues, like his priorities and his future.
He rounded a column and jogged into the waiting area of Gate 27 just as the ticket agent was about to close the boarding-ramp door.
“Wait!”
The agent, a stocky Hispanic male, turned, smiled and inquired, “Mr. Sayer?”
Nodding, Mitch came to a stop and bent forward slightly, gasping, “Did I make it?”
“Barely,” he answered as Mitch set down his briefcase and batted back the side of his suit coat to fish his ID from the front pocket of his pants. “If you hadn’t called ahead, I’d have given away your seat and already released the plane.”
“Thanks for waiting,” Mitch said, lifting his briefcase from the floor.
The man checked his identification, nodded and stepped back. “Have a nice day.”
Mitch smiled and flipped his wallet closed, slipping past the barrier tape to the door beyond, briefcase in hand. He heard the ticket agent radio the flight attendant to reopen the hatch as he trotted down the enclosed ramp.
Just as Mitch rounded a sharp turn, he spotted a folded sheet of paper on the floor. Small and lined, it looked to be filled on both sides with handwriting. Thinking that someone who had boarded the plane before him might have dropped some important notes, he scooped up the paper. The hatch slid open just then, and an attractive brunette female flight attendant smiled at him.
“Find a seat quickly,” she instructed as he twisted past her. “We’ve got an immediate departure window.”
Mitch meant to hand her the sheet of paper he’d found, but she hurried away the instant the hatch was secured. Not wanting to hold things up a second longer, Mitch shrugged and slipped the paper into his suit coat pocket as he made his way down the narrow aisle between the seats. Spying an open place about halfway down, he made for it quickly.
The passenger in the aisle seat looked up as he neared. Warm amber eyes regarded him politely. A small but plump mouth curved into a rosy smile. He noted the bright, healthy sheen of light coppery-blond hair smoothed neatly over her head and culminating in a long, thick braid that draped across one shoulder. He forgot all about the sheet of paper in his pocket.
“Excuse me,” he said, aware that his voice had deepened. “May I slip in?”
She tilted her pretty head, looking him over quickly. Her high, wide cheekbones, pert nose and slightly pointed chin gave her face a gamine appearance that he found utterly charming.
“It’ll be easier if I move over,” she said, releasing her safety belt.
She lifted the arm that separated the seats and slid to the center space, next to a gaunt adolescent girl too interested in her fashion magazine to notice much of anything else.
Mitch stuffed his briefcase into an overhead bin and dropped into the aisle seat just as the flight attendant approached to secure the storage locker. He reached for his safety belt as the plane began to creep backward from the bay. Mitch snapped his belt, and the attendant went on her way. Immediately he offered his hand to the pretty strawberry blonde, a little surprised at himself.
“Mitchell Sayer.”
She placed her small, cool hand in his. Her nails, he noticed, were short and bare of polish.
“Piper Wynne.”
“That’s an unusual name,” he heard himself saying, “but a lovely one.” It also seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t imagine why.
She laughed and took back her hand, which he realized only then that he’d held too long. “Thank you, and no, I wasn’t named after an airplane. It was a bird, actually.”
“I’m guessing that would be the sandpiper.”
She cocked her head. “Yes. How did you know?”
He folded his arms, not lamenting the close confines for once. “Seemed a logical conclusion.”
“You’re a birder then, are you?”
“No, not particularly, but I always read the nature magazines we get at the office.”
“Office,” she mused, tapping her chin with the tip of one forefinger. “And if you’re getting magazines by subscription, then you must have people waiting to see you. So what are you? Doctor, dentist…”
“Attorney,” he supplied.
“Ah.”
“And the magazines are usually for the people who sometimes accompany my clients. I have a thing about keeping people waiting.”
“A prompt attorney?” she quizzed with mock skepticism.
He laughed. “Evidence notwithstanding.”
She smiled and tugged at the hem of her moss-green straight knit skirt as she crossed her legs. A small woman with small feet and hands, the latter happily devoid of rings, she cut a trim figure in the knit top and tailored jacket that matched her skirt. Mitch looked away, a little embarrassed that he had noticed both her ring finger and her shape, but then he looked back again, too interested to let the connection drop.
“Tell me about this sandpiper association,” he said, settling back to listen.
She laughed and began relating her mother’s fascination with the quick, darting shorebirds that migrated yearly to the Far East. Again something tugged at his memory, some note of familiarity, but he was quite certain that he had never met the captivating Miss Piper Wynne. She was so captivating that only when the flight attendant returned to offer them a drink did Mitch even realize that they were in the air.
Piper waited several seconds for Mitchell Sayer to give the attendant his drink order, but she realized that he was waiting for her to do the same thing. Only after she had expressed a preference for water and the girl next to her had requested a diet cola did he ask the flight attendant for tomato juice, confiding offhandedly, “My mother’s a big believer in vitamin C.”
“Maybe you’d prefer orange juice,” the flight attendant suggested, but Mitchell shook his head.
“I would like some hot sauce or pepper, though.”
The attendant searched the cart for pepper packets even as she poured diet cola into a plastic cup of ice. Seat trays came down, tiny napkins were dispensed and the drinks were passed. Piper noticed that Mitchell didn’t so much as open a pepper packet until she and the girl next to her had tasted their drinks.
She smiled over the rim of her cup. He was a real gentleman and a very attractive one. Big and ruggedly handsome, with dark, slightly wavy hair and wide, deep blue eyes, he possessed an air of quiet confidence coupled with a boyish charm that eased into a quick, dimpled smile. Piper took the smile as a sign that her new life was getting off to a promising start.
Instantly her brother’s face flashed before her mind’s eye. Startled by the doubt that lanced through her, she gulped water and fixed her attention on the man at her side. Having stirred several packets of pepper into his tomato juice with a swizzle stick, he was sipping the bright red brew experimentally.
“How is it?” she asked.
He shrugged and said, “Too salty. I prefer to make my own, and lace it with hot sauce.”
“A purist,” she pronounced, smiling at him, “with a taste for spicy foods.”
He chuckled, his velvet-blue eyes crinkling at the edges. She wondered if he was married. He took another drink, then lifted his arm to check the time on his wristwatch. She noticed that he wore no wedding ring—so, it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little. Would it?
She didn’t for an instant think anything would come of this chance encounter, but it seemed an important omen somehow—not that she actually had doubts about this move. She was determined to enjoy every moment life had to offer from here on out. No more crisis management with roller-coaster emotions for her. She was finished with risk assessments and double shifts, second-guessing every move made in the heat of the moment and those soul-tearing life-and-death decisions. Especially the latter.
Exhaustion, guilt and heartbreak had all been left behind in Houston with the emergency-room nursing position that had engendered them. Piper was determined to find relief and happiness in Dallas, beginning now—and who knew? One day she might even meet a special man. Twenty-six certainly wasn’t too young to be thinking about marriage and family. Twisting in her seat, she pasted on a bright smile and caught herself literally fluttering her eyelashes.
“I bet your favorite food is Mexican,” she said.
“My favorite food is edible,” he quipped. Then he admitted, “I do love a good tamale, though…and blackened steak, Indian curry, Italian diavolo, Szechuan Chinese, anything spicy. My mother says that if you put enough peppers on old shoes, I’d eat them.”
Piper laughed, ignoring an underlying and all-too-familiar pang. Firmly she told herself that all the tears and grief and self-flagellation in the world would not change anything. Why not laugh? After all, she was just trying to follow her father’s advice. He was so fond of saying, “God expects His people to face life’s difficulties with smiles and cheer rather than tears and recrimination.” That’s all she was trying to do—find some smiles and cheer with which to face the rest of her life.
She forced herself to think of a clever rejoinder to the handsome attorney’s banter, and pretended that the world was a bright and sunny place. The warm smile and pithy remarks of the man beside her coaxed her to think she had made the right decision in pulling up stakes and starting a brand-new life. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much.
By the time the airplane touched down at Dallas Love Field, she was congratulating herself on the wisdom of this move. Everything was going to work out fine. It was just a pity that Mitchell Sayer would play such a small part in it all, but she didn’t fool herself that his interest was more than momentary. A handsome, successful man like him would never seriously pursue a confused, worn-out ex-nurse. Entertaining conversation was one thing; real life was something else, and that was all she was hoping for—something else. It couldn’t be worse than what she’d left behind.
Standing back to let a lady exit in front of him was as natural to Mitchell Sayer as breathing. He didn’t think twice about stepping into the aisle and blocking the flow of traffic while Piper and their teenaged seat-mate slipped out into the narrow aisle and began making their way forward. The usual rush to deplane was in full swing by that time, of course, so those seated ahead of them naturally took advantage of the short pause to pop up and fall in behind the two females. Then, of course, the woman seated across the aisle from him must naturally be accorded the same civility as the other women in his immediate vicinity, and before he knew what was happening, half the people on the plane were between him and that bright, quickly receding head.
A momentary sense of loss seized him, but then reason returned, the product of a long-held and carefully nurtured faith. Without even thinking it, without the words forming in his mind, he reminded himself that God was in control of his life. What was truly his would return to him; what was vital to his well-being God would supply. Long ago Mitch had intentionally yielded his life and heart to a loving God. That did not mean, of course, that he didn’t hope Piper would be waiting for him when he reached the gate area.
He stepped into the busy airport expectantly, and when he did not immediately spot that shiny pale copper hair, he sidestepped the traffic and took a good look around. Piper Wynne was nowhere to be seen, and he felt a pronounced disappointment.
He had seen his last of that gamine smile and those mysterious amber eyes, behind which he had sensed deep wells of emotion. They had not even said goodbye. Well, at the very least she had given him a wakeup call.
Since the death of his wife, Anne, Mitch had wondered if God meant him to live the rest of his life alone. His parents and his friends all said not, that if ever a man were meant to be a husband and father, it was him. Eventually, and for some time, he had actively dated—a lot. Yet as the years had passed, he’d begun to wonder. His work was important, requiring great dedication and much time, and his personal ministry brought him untold satisfaction and fulfillment. Perhaps that should be enough.
For a long time it had been enough, but lately something had changed. He’d started wondering if he hadn’t filled his life with work instead of people. Now he knew of one bright young lady for whom he’d like to find a place in his life.
Just how had that happened?
He’d spent not quite three-quarters of an hour with a sunny, fetching woman, and suddenly the part of his heart that had been dormant was awakened. A need that he had believed dead suddenly lived and breathed inside him. And why not? He was only thirty-eight as of August 11 just past. He was still young enough to find love, marry and start a family, and he realized suddenly that he still wanted to do that, wanted all, in fact, that manhood could afford him—things he hadn’t felt able to face in a long time.
A sense of quiet wonder rose inside him. He had trusted God to set the course of his life, and the journey obviously still had some surprising twists and turns ahead. Maybe Miss Piper Wynne was not a part of it, but she was certainly a signpost on the path that he might take, and a very pretty signpost at that. He smiled to himself, adjusted his grip on the handle of his briefcase and set off, content to let God unfold the pathway as He would.
Ten minutes later he slid behind the wheel of his luxury sedan and glanced at the time readout in the dashboard. He still had time to change into jeans before arriving at his parents’ house for dinner. As he drove through the city to his University Park home, he thought about how invigorated and hopeful he suddenly felt, as if God had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered a delightful secret in his ear.
He left the car in the drive and let himself into the house through the front door. Walking straight past the seldom-used living room, he went through the open French doors into the study and punched the button on the answering machine on a corner of the cluttered desk. He turned up the volume so he could listen to his messages as he changed clothes in the next room.
As he was unbuttoning his shirt, the rustle of paper in the front pocket of his coat reminded him again of the notes he had found. He hoped they weren’t important, because it was too late now to do anything about returning the sheet to its owner. Might as well just toss it. Before he could follow that thought with action, however, the answering machine beeped and the familiar voice of a local assistant district attorney reached his ears. The woman whom Mitch had gone to Houston to interview had called the D.A.’s office. She’d remembered something after he’d left, and while he’d been fighting traffic she’d called the district attorney with the information.
Mitch tossed aside the jacket and rushed back into the study to take notes. He wasn’t surprised that she had called the D.A. instead of him. Most witnesses considered the district attorney to be an ally and the defense attorney an unprincipled enemy out to free criminals to pillage and plunder at will. Few realized that all exculpatory evidence must be shared, by law, with the defense. Few stopped to consider who might champion their cause if they should find themselves facing unexpected criminal charges.
By the time Mitch had the details on paper, he was elated to think that his client, a teenager, would be spared the horrors of prison. Mitch didn’t delude himself that the young man was blameless, but the mitigating factors that had come to light had induced the district attorney to offer probation and a fine. Eager to tell the boy’s parents, he made a phone call. They were relieved, but still laboring under the disappointment of their son’s poor judgment and its results. Mitch figured that the kid would think twice before he pulled another “prank” that could end in injury to an innocent third party.
Eager to see his own parents, Mitch hurriedly popped out the tape, locked it in a fireproof file cabinet until it could be formally transcribed and finished changing his clothes. All the while, he kept thinking that God had definitely moved this day in awesome and definite ways.
Marian Sayer pressed her hands together in a typical expression of delight, her elbows braced against the dark wood of the kitchen table, where the family had dined. Though retired from the classroom for several years now, she had never lost her “teacher” mannerisms, the slightly exaggerated gestures and articulations that so easily captivated the attention of children.
“Why, that’s wonderful, Mitchell!” she was saying. “What a lovely ending to a difficult day. I’m happy for your client.”
Vernon nodded sagely. “Sometimes God lets us think we’ve blown it just so He can remind us that we’re not the ones in charge.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mitch said, grinning again.
“Your cases don’t usually put that sparkle in your eye, though,” Vernon noted astutely.
Mitch felt his grin grow even wider. His father knew him too well. “Let’s just say that I had another ‘interview’ of sorts today, and it let me know that I’m ready to make some changes in my life.”
“How so?” his mother asked expectantly.
He shrugged, trying to keep the conversation casual as he related how he’d met Piper Wynne.
“What did you say her name is?” his mother asked after he’d told as much as he intended to.
“Her name’s Piper Wynne,” he answered, taking a sip of iced tea so as to savor the taste on his tongue. “But that’s not important, Mom. I’ll probably never see her again. The point is, I realized today how very much I want to have someone in my life again. I think God’s been trying to tell me for some time that it is a possibility.”
Vernon Sayer removed the stem of his unlit pipe from his mouth. Typically, removal of the pipe weighted whatever words followed with significance. His father hadn’t actually smoked that pipe in years, but he often sucked on it just as if he did. It was part of his dignified lawyer persona, and it had stayed with him even after retirement and the doctor had made him understand how harmful tobacco was to his health. Half a decade later Vernon still hadn’t given up the pipe. The tobacco, yes; the pipe, no.
“You’re finally ready for a wife and family,” Vernon announced.
“Let’s just say that I’m ready whenever God is,” Mitch clarified, then lifted an eyebrow at the dramatic flourish Vernon employed as he waved the pipe through the air.
“Well, it’s about time. Your mother’s not getting any younger, you know, and you’re her only hope of having a brood of rowdy rug rats scampering around here one of these days.”
Mitch laughed outright. His dad was an endless source of dry witticisms and pure delight for him. His mother, on the other hand, was patience and acceptance personified. They were wonderful parents, and they deserved to be grandparents. Perhaps they would be. Surely God was about to bring someone special into his life.
Their joy at the prospect humbled him. For so long he had rejected the very idea of marrying again. He wondered now if he hadn’t let his grief over Anne cheat his parents of a grandchild. Though he’d always been keenly aware that, as an only child, he was a major supplier of his parents’ happiness, Mitch had never felt pressured to fulfill some parent-defined role of the good son. Goodness, consideration and integrity were expected of him—yes, even presumed—but he had always felt free to be his own person, to live by his own rules and expectations. Now he wondered if he hadn’t been selfish—and he’d always thought of himself as such a loving son.
Oh, he had fought the usual adolescent battles, demanding more freedom than he was entitled to or able to handle, but eventually he had come to understand and appreciate what wonderful parents God had given him. They trusted the man he had become. They trusted his faith and abilities, and he trusted their judgment, wisdom and love implicitly, so he pretty much told them everything—had since reaching adulthood. That had helped him in unexpected ways after Anne.
Maybe he didn’t call his parents every day anymore, but he did try to get over for dinner once a week, and he never hesitated to pick up the phone and ask for advice if he needed it. For the first time, that didn’t seem enough. He owed them more than simple thoughtfulness.
They sat at the kitchen table for a while longer, talking over the day’s events. Mitch was as comfortable in this house as in his own home. He’d grown up here, after all. Yet this was his parents’ place, a part of him but not his. Oddly, he had never felt the distinction before. It was as if he now stood, quite unexpectedly, at a crossroads in his life, a vantage point from which he could clearly see much that had before been obscure.
When his dad began to yawn, Mitch rose to leave. As usual, his parents got up and the three of them walked through the house together.
“Glad you could come, son,” Vernon said, “and I’m glad that everything worked out as it should. Your client’s blessed, and I hope he knows it.”
“I think he will,” Mitch told him. “Before we part company, I intend to make sure that he realizes God’s had His hand on him.”
“I rather expect he’ll live his life a little differently from now on,” Marian said.
“No one walks away from the touch of God unchanged,” Mitch observed.
“And that includes you,” Vernon said, shaking his pipe at him. “I expect the right little gal will come waltzing into your arms any day now.”
Mitch chuckled, kissed his mother and hugged his dad. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said, pulling away.
He went out the door and down the walk feeling happy and loved. It had been a good day after all. Perhaps knowing what God had in store for you or why life sometimes unfolded the way it did was impossible, but Mitchell had learned, at very dear cost, that God never did anything without the best interests of His children at heart.
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