A Time of Hope

She’d expected, wanted, the new pastor to be like Pastor Anders. A man in need of an assistant. Older, willing to have her serve him and the church.

She needed to be of service. But somehow she doubted Pastor Durand would understand as Pastor Anders had. He’d helped her through the worst years. Kept her from spinning toward depression with his suggestion she could find more useful ways of serving God than wallowing in self-pity.

That’s when realization had come to her. If she wanted God’s forgiveness she needed to earn it.

Her organizer lay on the farm-style kitchen table in the middle of the living room. She closed the book with a decisive snap, which dislodged a stray garnet-colored bead. The bead rolled off the edge of the table and landed in the green shag carpet. She plucked the bead from the fibers of the carpet and set it in the box with the rest of the materials she used for making jewelry.

Time to finish what she’d started. She slipped into her brown leather walking shoes and briskly set out for the pastor’s residence. There were no cement sidewalks, so she walked on the paved road past the manicured yards of her neighbors. She admired the well-kept houses and wished she had the extra funds to fix up her house.

But that wasn’t a priority.

At the door of the pastor’s cottage, she hesitated. She could hear the strains of guitar music coming from inside. Apparently another difference between the old pastor and the new.

Maybe she should have called, warned him she was coming over. She squared her shoulders. She had a job to do, and he was just going to have to let her do it.

She rapped her knuckles loudly on the door. The music stopped. As she waited, she wiped the bottoms of her shoes, dirty from the road, on the shoe rug she’d bought for Pastor Anders last spring.

Sudden tears sprung to the backs of her eyes. She missed the old coot. He’d been gruff and set in his ways, but she’d loved him like a grandfather. He’d become the closest thing to family she had in the world.

Heavy footfalls sounded behind the door. Mara quickly forced her sadness down and blinked to clear the tears.

The door opened. Pastor Durand stood on the other side wearing light-colored sweatpants with a matching sweat jacket unzipped to reveal a white T-shirt. The edges of his dark brown hair appeared slightly damp and his running shoes were rimmed with mud. Mud she suspected he’d tracked throughout the cottage.

He cocked his head to one side. “Miss Zimmer, what can I do for you? Today isn’t Thursday.”

“I know that,” she snapped, then promptly clenched her teeth. Not the best way to go about gaining his cooperation. She put on what she hoped was a pleasant smile. “Actually, I am scheduled to be here today.”

His intense eyes darkened with annoyance and disbelief. “Really? What for?”

“I need to use the computer. I’ve been working on a project Wednesdays and Fridays from nine to noon. I’ll just slip into the office, and you won’t even know I’m here.”

“I doubt that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you want to use the computer in my office.”

She blinked. “Yes. But…” She made a hopeful face. “I could move the computer to my house and then return it when I’ve completed my project.”

Amusement now danced on his face. “Doesn’t the computer belong to the church?”

Her hope that he’d go for the offer wobbled. “Yes. But the work I’m doing is for the church.”

“You don’t have your own computer?”

“No.” She didn’t explain that her budget wouldn’t allow for the expense.

He shrugged. “I may need the computer at some point.”

The hope took a nosedive and crashed with a burn in her stomach. “Then I guess I need to continue to work here.”

He studied her for a moment, and she had the strangest urge to primp. She lifted her chin.

The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth and determination solidified on his handsome face. “Grace tells me you helped the late pastor organize for services. I could use some help, as well. And since Uncle Ben and Aunt Abby are busy with the feed store, I could use a tour guide. Someone to show me the ropes of small-town living. In exchange, I’ll give you unlimited access to the computer.”

Wariness kicked up its heels in her chest. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need unlimited access. Just Wednesday and Friday mornings.”

He laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Whatever. Is it a trade?”

Mara tugged on her bottom lip with her front teeth. She did need to finish the project as a way to honor Pastor Anders, and helping Pastor Durand would count a lot toward the debt she owed God.

She made up her mind. “Yes. We have a trade.” She opened her organizer. “I’ll find time in my schedule to help you get acquainted with Hope and the church.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Her cheeks heated. “Can I get to work now?”

“By all means.” He stepped aside and motioned for her to proceed.

She crossed the threshold and entered the cottage. The smell of rich coffee permeated the air. A portable CD player sat on the dining room table surround by stacks of CDs, and a guitar sat propped up in the worn, brown leather recliner in the living room.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he shut the door behind her.

She ran a hand over the brim of Pastor Anders’s hat, remembering how he always wore the hat tapped down low over his ears whenever he left the house.

“You miss him,” Pastor Durand said.

She looked up and found him watching her. The open, caring expression on his face made her heart pause. To hide her discomfort at knowing he’d glimpsed her grief, she answered his first question. “Coffee would be fine, thank you.”

Without comment, he went to the kitchen, and she went into the office. Nothing had changed as far as she could tell since the last time she’d worked in here. The metal desk that had come from the old high school before they remodeled dominated the west-facing wall.

The computer with the seventeen-inch screen and wireless keyboard sat off center to the stack of spiral notebooks that she was laboriously working her way through. Over forty years of pastoring was compiled in those journals.

A priceless collection of a man’s life.

Mara heard the clang of the cupboard closing, the clink of a cup being set on the counter-top.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Black, please,” she called back, feeling awkward to have him waiting on her. How was she going to concentrate with him in the cottage?

She sat and tried to focus on the task in front of her. Going through the routine of turning on the computer, opening the top notebook and finding the place where she’d last left off eased some of the tension that had settled on her shoulders the moment Jacob had answered the door.

The fine hairs on her arm tingled with awareness and the tension tightened in her shoulders again seconds before Jacob stepped into the confining office.

“Here you go,” he said as he set a cup of steaming coffee on the desk beside her.

“Thanks.” She opened the file on the desktop.

“What are you working on?”

He had a right to know. “I’m taking Pastor Anders’s sermons and turning them into a book.”

He arched a brow. “He was that good?”

“Pastor Anders loved the Lord passionately. Yes, he was good.”

“I have a lot to live up to, then.”

Was he being sarcastic? A quick glance showed her there was something in his expression, an uncertainty that tugged at her. Was he nervous about Sunday’s service? “I’ve transcribed more than half of his sermons. You’re welcome to look at them and use one as an example. I’m sure he would have been honored.”

“I might do that. Though they do equip us young pastors with outlines in seminary,” he teased.

She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile. “I’m sure they do. How long ago did you complete seminary?”

His jaw tightened. “Two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” He was brand-new at this. She made a few clicks on the computer and then the printer hummed as it spit out paper. She grabbed the sheets and handed them to him. “Here. Have a look at these.”

“Thanks. I won’t be here very long, you know. A permanent pastor will be found soon.”

A strange sense of disappointment shot through her. “So you said. I’m sure you’ll do fine while you’re here. God wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose.”

He backed up, an odd expression on his face. “I’ll let you get to work.”

Mara sat there staring at the closed door for several seconds after he left. She shook her head, marveling that God would send such a young man to pastor their community. A man who obviously didn’t want to be here.

Not her concern. She had enough on her plate without worrying about Pastor Jacob Durand.

She turned her mind to the work at hand. Just as she was getting into the words she was typing, a noise caught her attention and she froze.

The lyrical notes of the guitar washed over her. She closed her eyes and let the tune flow through her. She recognized the chords, could visualize the placement of her fingers on the keyboard in accompaniment.

He was very good on the guitar.

Rats! With much effort she pulled herself out of the music. How was she supposed to concentrate when he was playing the guitar so beautifully and everything inside her ached to harmonize to the music filling the air?

For an hour she battled to stay focused on the words her fingers were typing. Finally, silence reigned. Mara breathed a sigh of relief.

Then moments later, music from the CD player invaded the stillness. She recognized the tunes of a popular contemporary Christian rock group.

A smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth. They shared the same taste in music. This she could work to as background noise.

She lost herself in the work at her fingertips. When a loud knock on the door broke her concentration, she was startled to realize it was already noon.

The door popped open and Jacob stuck his head inside. “I’m making myself a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Would you like one?”

“Oh, no. Thank you. That’s not necessary.” She deftly saved her work and shut down the computer.

“Maybe not necessary. But you do schedule yourself a lunch, right?”

“Yes. Of course.” She grimaced at the defensiveness in her tone. She doubted he’d think a ten-minute lunch break would suffice. She wasn’t expected at the Hilty house for another hour.

Usually, she spent the hour between commitments running errands for the church or replenishing her cleaning supplies. Today she didn’t have any errands and she was all stocked up. The slight cramping in her stomach made her hesitate. The bagel and yogurt she’d had for breakfast had filled her at the time. Now she was hungry.

“Come on.” His engaging grin made her pulse jump. “You’ve been working hard for the past three hours. You deserve a break. Let me make you a sandwich.”

She consulted her schedule book as a means to stall. She didn’t have a good excuse not to stay.

“We need to discuss our arrangement,” he said. “Schedule time for you to show me around.”

The coaxing tone in his voice prodded her to accept his invitation. After all she had agreed to his deal. “Okay. But I can make my own sandwich.”

“Not in my kitchen,” he stated, and walked away.

Slowly, Mara left the office, and for some reason resentment simmered low in her belly. This was Pastor Anders’s home, not his. But Pastor Anders was gone. She had to accept that.

“There are casseroles in the freezer,” she said as she took a seat at the round kitchen table.

“I saw that.” He opened a jar of mayonnaise. “Mayo?”

“Sure.”

She liked the way his hands moved with fluid grace. She’d like to watch him play his guitar. She forced that thought away and made herself focus on assisting him instead. “You can help yourself to the casseroles.”

He slapped a pile of ham on the bread. “Did the hospitality crew make them for Pastor Anders?”

“Hospitality crew?”

“That’s what my sister and I call the ladies in the congregation who are generous with their cooking.” He glanced her way as he put the sandwiches onto plates.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks. “No, the ladies of the church didn’t make them. Though I’m sure they would have been happy to.”

“You?” he asked, extending a plate toward her.

She looked away and took the plate in front of her. The sandwich spilled over the sides with ham. She’d be stuffed for days.

“Yes. Pastor Anders wasn’t much of a cook,” she said, hoping Pastor Durand didn’t hear her stomach rumbling with hunger.

He opened the refrigerator. “I have lemon-lime soda or bottled water.”

“Water’s fine.”

He came to the table with his plate and two bottles of cold water. “You sure took good care of him. Were you related?”

“No.” A pang of sadness crimped her heart. “Though I would have liked to have had him as a grandfather.”

He bit into his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Grandfathers are pretty special.”

She picked up her sandwich. “You speaking from experience?”

He grinned, his whole expression lighting up. “Yes. I admire my grandfather. He’s the pastor of The Shepherd’s Way Church in San Francisco. When I’m done with my interim assignment here, I’ll go on staff with him. The church has a congregation of over five thousand, with three services a week. Occasionally, his sermons are televised.” He tilted his head back and took several long swigs of water.

From the pride and awe in his tone, Mara guessed Pastor Durand saw his grandfather as some kind of hero. “Is he your maternal or paternal grandfather?”

“My mom’s dad.” He took a long swig of water, nearly emptying the bottle.

Mara liked his strong jaw. Liked the angular line of his nose and chiseled cheekbones. He had nice thick hair, the color a walnut-brown that matched his puppy-dog eyes. Eyes that were watching her with interest.

She blinked and realized she’d been staring.

Quickly turning her attention to her sandwich, she asked, “What do your parents think of you following in your grandfather’s footsteps?”

“My mom’s fine with it. As long as her children are happy, she’s happy. My dad had hoped I’d go into business with him. The high-tech industry doesn’t float my boat.”

The hint of tension in his tone piqued her curiosity.

“In college I majored in business, but I really enjoyed the psychology and sociology classes more. I thought briefly about going into a profession that utilized those studies, but I really want to be like my grandfather. I want to reach the masses with God’s word.”

“Pastor Anders once said that change came by touching one heart at a time.”

He lifted a challenging eyebrow. “Big change can come from touching many hearts at once.”

Mara shrugged, not sure she agreed, but what did she know? She was just a small-town girl with no experience in the world outside Hope. “As long as hearts are being touched, I guess the venue doesn’t matter.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

She supposed her look gave her away. “I’ve never been out of Hope, so frankly I don’t know.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “Tell me about your family, Mara.”

An anxious flutter rippled through her. She sighed. “You might as well hear it from me.”

She wasn’t sure what slant the gossip would take. Besides, she’d learned that the truth kept people at a safe distance. As if somehow her family’s scandal would rub off on them or something equally silly. Whatever the case, she needed to keep a safe distance from the all-too-attractive pastor. Emotional attachments only ended in pain. She didn’t want any more pain.

“My mother’s dead, my father was arrested for her murder and then acquitted when her death was ruled an accident.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The sympathy in his light-chocolate-brown eyes scraped across her soul. She didn’t deserve sympathy. She sought the comfort of her organizer. Nothing had changed since she’d last checked it.

“Where’s your father now?”

Her shoulders slumped. Another death she was responsible for. More pain she had to live with. “He died eight years ago from a heart attack.”

He sat forward again, concern and compassion softening his expression, making her want to cry. “Man, that’s tough. Uncle Ben had said you had a sad story. I didn’t image how sad.”

Anger sliced a jagged path through her nerves, chasing way the weak tears. She knew the town pitied her. They shouldn’t pity her, they should hate her.

With jerky movements, she flipped open her planner. “Since I cleaned the cottage on Tuesday, I have a few hours available in the morning tomorrow that we could work on organizing you for Sunday’s service.”

Skimming her finger over the pages, she continued, “Friday afternoon has some free time. Saturday is pretty crammed, though.”

She looked up to find him studying her. She resisted the urge to squirm. “What would be good for you?”

“What about tonight?”

She glanced at the note she’d written herself for the evening. Four orders. And complicated ones at that. “No, tonight won’t work.”

“Do you always live your life so scheduled?”

Cocking her head to one side, she stared at him with disapproval. “You have a problem with organized people?”

“Organization is one thing, but chaining yourself to a schedule is another.”

Tucking in her chin, she stated succinctly, “It makes life easier.”

“What about spontaneity? That’s not something you can schedule, is it?”

She pulled a face. “I don’t have time for spontaneity. Do you want to choose the time or do you want me to?”

Jacob liked the kaleidoscope of greens, golds and browns swirling in her steady gaze. There was something about the stubborn jut of her chin that he found charming. She was so different from the city girls he’d become used to. His ex-girlfriend Karen had been polished and sophisticated, requiring only the best in life. And his sister, well, her motto was image is everything. Needless to say she was normally impeccably done up at all times, even during her bad days.

“Pencil me in for both days,” he said.

“Both?” Her raised eyebrows were nearly hidden by her wild curls. “You do realize Hope is a small community. It won’t take too long to show you around town.”

He could just bet she’d drive down Main Street and call it good. “I don’t want the two-dollar tour. I want to meet the people. Get a pulse on the community.”

Even though he wasn’t going to be staying long, he wanted to do a good job while here.

Her nose twitched. “You sound like a politician.”

That would have pleased Karen to no end. “I’m just a man who loves God.”

She smiled, drawing his attention to her mouth. She really had a nicely shaped mouth when it wasn’t all tight or scrunched up. Her hair wasn’t nearly as dark as he’d first thought. The wild curls were more of a chestnut color.

Today she wore an oversize tan blouse, which she left untucked from her light khaki pants. An outfit his sister would gag over.

He suppressed a smile as he watched Mara block off time in her schedule book. He doubted she realized that she’d hugged the book to her like a shield as she told him of her parents’ deaths. He wanted to believe she’d dealt with the tragedies. Mostly because he didn’t want to become emotionally involved with her when they’d be seeing so much of each other.

And because he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him trying to help her.

But Jacob would appreciate her help. “Do you have the name and numbers for the associate pastors?”

She slanted him an odd look. “There are no associate pastors.”

Tension pulled at the muscles in his shoulders. “Who’s been filling in since Pastor Anders passed on?”

She pushed a curl away from her forehead. “We haven’t had services for the last few weeks.”

“What about when Pastor Anders went on vacation or was sick?”

She looked at him as if he was a dense child. “Pastor Anders never went on vacation. And he never was too sick to preach.” Her expression turned sad. “Except the last few weeks before he passed away.”

“How did he die?”

“The doctors said lymphoma. No one even suspected. He never said a word or showed signs of pain. He just started to slow down over the course of a few months. The man was eighty years old so I thought slowing down was a good thing.

“One day I came to see him, see what errands he needed done and he was sitting in the recliner with his eyes closed. He said, ‘Mara, girl. I think its time to go to see Doc Hanlin.’ He was admitted to the hospital that day. He died a few weeks later.”

“That must have been hard for you.” Jacob didn’t even want to think about the day when his own grandparents or parents would go to be with the Lord. His chest hurt with sympathy for Mara.

“Yes.” She closed her planner and picked at the edges with short, unpainted nails.

“Did he have any family? Children?”

She gave a negative shake of her head. “No. His wife died forty years earlier and they’d never had kids. I think that was one of the reasons he took such an interest in me when my mother and later my father died.”

“That was good of him. I’m sure he meant a great deal to you.”

Her sad smile and little sigh made Jacob want to wrap her in his embrace and offer her some comfort. He resisted the urge. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure she wouldn’t see his gesture as some sort of advance.

Jacob refocused. “Is there a worship director? A youth pastor?”

“Well, Grace plays the organ on Sundays. And there’s a real nice couple who’ve started up the Sunday School classes.”

He felt his stomach sink. He’d assumed there would be a team of pastors just like in his grandfather’s church. Why hadn’t Grandfather mentioned the lack of staff when he’d sent Jacob to Hope? “So I’m it.”

“You’re it.” Mara stood, her black organizer clutched to her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jacob rose, amazed his legs could hold him with the shock he’d just been given. “Tomorrow.”

He walked her to the door.

She hesitated at the threshold where she tilted her face and peered at him with those amazing eyes. “You’ll do fine, Pastor Durand.”

He wished he shared her confidence. “Call me Jacob.”

“I don’t know if being that informal is a good idea.”

Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “Why?”

Tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, she seemed to be searching for words. Finally, she said, “It seems disrespectful to call you by your first name.”

Hoping to put her at ease, he grinned. “Respect comes through attitude. Whether you call me Jacob, Jake, like people did in college, Pastor Durand, or Durand won’t make a difference in the respect I have for you—and won’t make me feel disrespected—because I know you have a pure heart.”

The stricken expression in her eyes confused him.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

“No. No, I—” She swallowed. Her grip on her organizer tightening. “I need to leave now.”

“Okay.” He touched her upper arm. She trembled beneath his palm. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

With a slight stretch of her mouth that wasn’t really a smile, she nodded. “Bye.”

He watched her hurry down the walk and out onto the road. She didn’t look back, but he thought he saw her wipe at her eyes. Probably just pushing those wild curls out of her face. Odd girl, likable though. Definitely would make living in Hope interesting.

He closed the door and picked up his guitar but didn’t play. “Okay, Lord. I know You have some plan going on here. But You didn’t prepare me for this.”

No pastoral staff, no help. Just him. Whew!

He picked out the chords to “Amazing Grace.” Three years of seminary, tucked away in a classroom studying the Bible, had given Jacob a deeper understanding of God and His word. But the few practice sermons in front of his classmates weren’t going to cut it.