A Touch of Grace. Linda Goodnight

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      Gretchen was too uncertain about his motives to answer.

      “Maddy was a sweet girl,” he went on. “A gentle and kind person.”

      “And weak.” She took another sip of lemonade. The sides of the cup dripped condensation onto her black crepe dress.

      “We all have weaknesses.”

      “Even you, Reverend?”

      “Me most of all. And one of my weaknesses is being called Reverend. I prefer Ian.” Lightly, he slid a hand under her elbow. “Your nose is getting pink. You need to get out of the sun.”

      Normally opposed to anyone telling her what to do, Gretchen was too numb and exhausted to resist. She walked with him to an iron bench in a small, shady spot. Her insides trembled with fatigue and emotion. She really should go home.

      “My roommate will be worried.”

      “The woman with you? Tall. Black hair.”

      She expected him to expound on her roommate’s beauty as most men did, but he didn’t. He settled onto the bench, keeping a polite distance between them. Gretchen couldn’t help but appreciate that.

      “Carlotta Moreno. She’s a good friend.” She shook her head and studied the real slice of lemon floating in her cup. If Maddy had more friends like Carlotta, maybe someone would have been with her that night. “I wish…”

      As if he understood the direction of her thoughts, Ian said, “Maddy had friends, too. People who cared about her.”

      Unable to stop a bitter laugh, she swept her arm around the cemetery. “Oh, yes, the place is brimming with them.”

      “They were here.”

      She looked at him, trying to comprehend why he would tell an obvious lie. His startling eyes gazed back at her, steady and quiet.

      “Are they invisible?” she asked sarcastically.

      “In a manner of speaking.”

      “Metaphysically speaking, you mean? As in astral projection or some spiritual out-of-body experience?”

      He laughed. She was dead serious and he laughed.

      “I meant that some of Maddy’s friends were here, paying their respects out of sight of the other mourners. They were worried that you’d be upset if they showed themselves.”

      “Are you telling me that there were people behind the tombs listening to the funeral service?”

      “The residents of the mission who knew her and a few street people.”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      He shrugged. “Come to Isaiah House and ask them yourself.”

      Gretchen smiled grimly. She should have seen that one coming.

      “Maybe I will.” But not for the reasons he had in mind.

      “We have chapel mornings and evenings at seven. Bible studies are pretty much ongoing, some formal, some informal.”

      “Or I could come for the soup.” The silliness slipped out and she laughed. Then guilt rushed in. How could she laugh on the day of her sister’s funeral?

      “Laughter is the best medicine, and it’s a lot less expensive.”

      The preacher was uncannily intuitive. She’d better be more careful. “But my sister was buried today.”

      He grew quiet for a minute, as if he drew inside. Gretchen wondered if he was praying. Elbows to knees, hands clasped together in front of his face, he bounced thumb knuckles against his chin.

      “I won’t pretend to understand Maddy’s death, because I don’t. If I was God, she’d still be alive today.”

      His intense honesty surprised her. He didn’t sound like any preacher she’d ever heard before. She had expected platitudes.

      “Aren’t you going to tell me that Maddy’s suffering is over now? Or that she’s in a far better place?” Trite little sayings that infuriated her.

      He shook his head. A small scar gleamed white through the brown hair above his ear.

      “All I know for sure is this, Gretchen. God cared about Maddy. He loved her. And Maddy wanted to love Him in return.”

      Yes, Maddy had always longed for God, tormented that she’d left the faith but too wise and too scared to go back. She could almost hear her sister’s frequent worry. “What if Brother Gordon was right? What if we’ve lost our only chance at Heaven?”

      Gretchen jabbed the straw up and down in her lemonade cup, rattling ice. The noise seemed out of place here among the quiet tombs. “Do you think my sister went to Heaven?”

      “I don’t know.” Again he answered honestly and she was grateful. “No one but Maddy and the Lord knows what transpired between them in those last hours of her life. But she was on her way back to the mission. Don’t you think that means something?”

      Sincerity oozed from the man like whipped cream between the layers of a sweet cake. She wanted to believe he was the “real deal” as Maddy had claimed. But she always came back to the same thing. Maddy was dead. Where was Ian Carpenter and Isaiah House when her sister needed them most?

      “Why did she leave there in the first place?”

      He drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, shoulders hunched. His gaze grew distant. “At some point in her counseling Maddy hit a wall. She was afraid to face something from her past.”

      Gretchen knew Maddy held secrets. She also suspected what some of them were. “Did she give you any indication?”

      Ian shook his head. “More than once she talked about needing to find her higher purpose. And then she’d clam up.”

      Gretchen froze. Higher purpose? A vision of Brother Gordon’s gentle face reared up before her, urging her and Maddy to do things in order to attain their higher purpose. In the end, the higher purpose had been Brother Gordon’s bank account and his desire to control others.

      The memory had no place at her sister’s funeral. She stood. The movement, coupled with the heat and fatigue, made her wobble. Ian reached out to steady her, his strong hand oddly comforting. She slid away from his touch, not wanting her reporter’s objectivity to be hindered by the fact that the preacher was an attractive man and outwardly kind. The inner Ian was the one she needed to know about.

      What was his part in Maddy’s death? Was he as innocent and kind as he seemed? Or did he make false promises and give false hope to the vulnerable? She’d once reported on a ministry that had tragically convinced a suicidal teen to stop taking his antidepressants and spend more time in prayer. The boy had shot himself.

      Did Isaiah House also indulge in unethical and dangerous practices?

      A headache pushed at the inside of her temples.

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