A Treasure of the Heart. Valerie Hansen

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      “No, no. According to old Rayford Evans she just wandered on home. He was havin’ coffee in here with the other retired farmers, just like he always does, and that waitress, Helen, sent him over to her house to check. He said Darla Sue was bakin’ cookies when he got there and actin’ as if everything was hunky-dory.”

      “How long ago was that?”

      “Only about two weeks, I guess. Seems like years.”

      “I’m so sorry,” Lillie said. “We’ll make arrangements to get you some help, I promise.” She glanced over her shoulder as the back door slammed. “Helen! Thank goodness. I was afraid poor Rosie was stuck here all by herself.”

      Helen engulfed Lillie in a smothering, motherly embrace. Lillie couldn’t help noticing that the portly woman’s clothing and hair smelled of vanilla, bacon and cigarettes. Gram used to smell like that, too, except without the nicotine. The familiar aromas tugged at Lillie’s heart.

      “I just went to dump the trash and grab a quick smoke,” Helen said. “It’s been crazy here lately. Miss Darla’s gone off the deep end, business is terrible and somebody’s been tryin’ to run off the new preacher at the Front Porch Christian Church. I was just talkin’ to Rayford and a few of the other regular customers about it.”

      Lillie blinked, disbelieving. Storytelling had long ago risen to the status of a fine art in Gumption and she didn’t presume for a second that the rumors were true. Still, if Darla Sue was having problems, as Rosie had intimated, maybe there was a grain of truth to Helen’s statement.

      “What’s wrong with Gram?” Lillie asked.

      “It’s a long story. You plannin’ on stayin’ a spell? Miss Darla can use a shoulder to cry on right about now.”

      “Business is really bad?”

      “The pits.” Helen glanced at the morose cook. “It’s not Rosie’s fault. She’s doin’ her best. So am I. It’s just that Miss Darla did all the ordering and we’re not keeping up very well without her.”

      “Why hasn’t she been coming in?”

      The waitress tsk-tsked and shook her head. “That’s for her to say. Personally, I think she had a nervous breakdown or some such thing.”

      “Oh, dear.” The last part of Helen’s earlier revelation was echoing in the back of Lillie’s mind. “What does that have to do with a new preacher at Gram’s church?”

      “Nothin’. That’s a whole other story,” the waitress said. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go see about Darla Sue first. The gossip about the preacher’ll wait.”

      “Are you positive there were attempts to get rid of the man? I mean, things like that just don’t happen around here.”

      “Looks like they do now. The minute Brother James started talkin’ about buildin’ a new church, strange things started happening.”

      Lillie knew how the locals hated change but she couldn’t picture them resorting to violence to stop it. “Maybe the guy is just accident-prone.”

      Helen snorted. “If he is, it’s rubbed off on the church, too.”

      Although Lillie was intrigued, she knew her primary duty was to Darla Sue. “Okay. Tell you what. I’ll go say hello to Gram like you suggested and look over the situation at home. When I get back, I want to hear the rest of your story about the new preacher.”

      “Take your time,” Rosie said with a stifled yawn. “This is Friday so we’re open for supper, too. We’ll be stuck here till after nine, like it or not.”

      Lillie was almost to the door when she heard Rosie add, “And I don’t like it. Man, I hate this job.”

      The echo of her own career woes gave Lillie the shivers. Even paradise had its share of problems, didn’t it?

      The engine of the massive motorcycle didn’t hum or buzz like those little imported bikes; it thumped in a galloping cadence reminiscent of the old single-cylinder gas engines that had once powered farm machinery and primitive factories from Maine to California.

      Pastor James Warner often thought of the sound as the heartbeat of the beast he rode. Though he’d given in to the deacons’ urging that he wear a helmet, he was not about to give up the independence he’d found riding such a formidable machine. The Harley was the only thing he’d salvaged after his former life had fallen apart around him and he intended to hang on to it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had to drive a car in order to ferry family members. Except for God, he was essentially alone. And that was the way he liked it.

      Snug in his black leather bomber jacket, he reveled in the sensation of the cool wind on his face, the unfettered freedom of movement, the way the motorcycle seemed to become an extension of his personality. Riding was more than an escape. It put him in tune with nature and that somehow brought him closer to God.

      Funny, he thought. There had been times lately when he’d felt so blessed he’d wondered if he’d accidentally wandered into someone else’s life!

      He began to grin. Members of his flock had made no secret of their worries that riding the bike would bring him face-to-face with his Maker before his time. He respectfully disagreed. Either he was in God’s hands all the time, or he never was. Psalm 139 said he was “fearfully and wonderfully made” and that God had known him even before he was born, so how could it be otherwise?

      He shifted, banked and cornered, passing DD’s café. One of his recent disappointments was his inability to get through to Mrs. Howell. But he wasn’t going to give up. No, sir. Darla Sue Howell had once been a driving force in his church and she would be again. All he had to do was figure out how to inspire her and draw her back into the fold.

      James grimaced. The last time he’d paid her a call he’d had to talk to her through a closed door. He knew she’d heard the Harley pull into her driveway because she’d slammed the front door practically in his face.

      “It’s me, Mrs. Howell,” he’d called pleasantly, helmet in hand so she could see his face if she chose to peek out. “Brother James Warner.”

      “I know who it is,” Darla Sue had shouted from inside the house. “Go away.”

      “I’d have called first but your phone is out of order.”

      “No, it’s not. I took it off the hook.”

      “Are you feeling all right?”

      “Right as rain,” she’d answered.

      “We miss you at church. It’s not the same without you sitting in the front pew, keeping an eye on things.”

      “Bah. Nobody misses me.”

      “I do.”

      “You’re supposed to miss me. It’s your job,” she’d snapped.

      James had been at a temporary loss for words. She was right, yet there was much more to it than that. He did care. Deeply. It was one of the drawbacks СКАЧАТЬ