The Heart's Voice. Arlene James
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breath, but the next moment she heard herself babbling, “Oh, Mr. Holden, you remember me, don’t you? I’m Becca Kinder.”
“From the store,” he mumbled in a voice so low that she had to lean close to hear him.
“That’s right.”
He glanced past her, his blue gaze sliding over Jemmy to John Odem. Becca released him, a little abashed by her forwardness now. He nodded at John and said, a little too loudly this time, “Mr. Kinder.”
“Hello, Dan.”
But Holden’s gaze had slid right on past John Odem to Abby. “Ma’am,” he said, and then he slipped away, edging and elbowing his way through the throng moving sluggishly toward the door. By the time Becca gathered her daughter to her side, he was gone.
“That man is downright peculiar,” she said to no one in particular.
“Aw, I bet he’s just having a little trouble settling into civilian life,” John Odem said, tweaking Jemmy’s ear.
Becca ducked her head. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Maybe you ought to call on him, John,” Abby suggested, crowding her family out into the aisle.
“Sure thing,” John Odem agreed. “I’ll go soon as that side of beef is delivered in the morning. Then you can do the butchering.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Abby retorted.
“Why not?” John Odem asked innocently. “I figure it’s time for some thumb soup.”
“What’s thumb soup?” Jemmy wanted to know.
“That’s what we’ll be having for supper once Grandma lops off her thumb with my butcher knife.”
“Ewwww!” Jemmy exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.
“Stop that, John Odem Kinder,” Abby scolded with mock severity. “We’ll be having no disgusting soups, sugar,” she assured her granddaughter, “because I’m not doing any butchering.”
“You two are going to put this child off her feed for a month,” Becca said reprovingly. “Honey, no one makes soup out of thumbs. Grandpa’s just joshing you.”
“Grandpa!” Jemmy scolded, sounding for all the world just like her grandmother.
John Odem laughed delightedly. When they drew even with the pastor, however, he did ask about Dan Holden.
“Anybody talk to that Holden boy since he came home, Pastor?”
The middle-aged preacher shook his head. “Not for lack of trying, John. He doesn’t seem to have a phone. Shep Marcum and I have stopped by the house a few times, but no one ever came to the door. He seems to be keeping pretty busy.”
“He seems to be keeping to himself,” Abby commented, and the pastor nodded.
“That, too.”
Becca bit her lip, mulling over this information. It seemed that Dan Holden didn’t want to have anything do with anyone around Rain Dance, but if that were so, then why had he come back here?
The puzzle of Dan Holden just wouldn’t leave Becca alone. She lay in her bed that night trying to decide what it was she’d seen in his eyes that disturbed her so, but try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a solid explanation. Her first guess was loneliness, but why would a lonely man hold everyone at bay, avoiding conversation? Did his past hide something dark that he feared others would discover, something that shamed him? Maybe it was something that had forced him out of the Marine Corps, but what?
Maybe he was AWOL, absent from the military without leave.
No, that didn’t make any sense. He would be plenty easy to find in a little town like Rain Dance, especially since he had family connections to the community. Besides, a Christian man with a guilty conscience would be compelled to make things right, and she felt in her heart of hearts that Dan was a true Christian. She’d seen the tears standing in his eyes when the pastor had described the suffering of Christ as He’d willingly paid the sin debt for all of humanity, witnessed the quiet intensity of his emotion as he’d listened to the dramatic reading of Scripture, watched his silent joy as the Resurrection was proclaimed. Yes, Dan believed. It was obvious. So why, then, did he bolt like a scalded hound whenever anyone tried to connect with him?
Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was the one he didn’t want to have anything to do with, and he really had been busy when the others had come to call. It was a lowering thought, and one she felt compelled to put to the test on Tuesday next.
She stayed late to close the store on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so John Odem and Abby could have their dinner together at a decent hour, and it had become the family custom for the kids to eat with their grandparents and on occasion stay overnight. This was just such an occasion, so Becca found herself driving alone about eight-thirty in the evening past the Holden place on her way out of town. As she drew close to the house, she naturally glanced toward it.
Dan Holden’s profile appeared in an open living-room window. He was sitting in a big, comfy chair watching a large television screen. The way he sat there, so very still, hands resting on the wide rolled arms of the chair, had a lonely feel about it, and something inside Becca said, “Stop.”
She shivered, as if God Himself had tapped her on the shoulder, and before she could even think to do it, her foot had moved from the gas pedal to the brake. She sat there for a moment, the engine of her battered old car rumbling in competition with a cricket calling for his mate. Then with a sigh she yielded to her initial impulse and turned the vehicle into Dan Holden’s drive. She parked and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition as usual. Reluctantly she let her tired feet take her along the hedged walkway to the front steps and then up those steps to the broad, sheltered porch. From this angle, the light of the TV flickered against the windowpane, but now only that persistent cricket could be heard.
Becca knocked on the door. She thought its berry-red paint made a very pretty display with the pristine white of the siding, new grass-green roof and black shutters. She waited, but the contrary man couldn’t be bothered to answer his door.
She tried again, her irritation growing. No response. Well, that took the proverbial cake. The man obviously didn’t want or need a friend. It must have been a perverse imp who had compelled her to stop, but this time she was going to let Dan Holden know that his rudeness had been noted and marked. In a rare fit of pique she moved to stand directly in front of the window, which she pecked insistently with the tip of one forefinger before turning to stomp across the porch and down the steps on her way back to her car. Her feet had barely hit the paved walk when that red door finally opened.
“Who’s there?”
For an instant she considered giving him a dose of his own medicine, just stomping off into the night without another word, but that was not Becca’s way.
“It’s me,” she said, somewhat grudgingly. “Becca Kinder. I was just—”
The porch light suddenly blazed. “Mrs. Kinder,” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “Is that you?”
Becca frowned. “I just told you so, didn’t I?”
“Come up here into the light,” he dictated, stepping out onto the porch, “and tell me what I can do for you.” His voice had a stilted, uneven quality to it, as if he wasn’t quite sure what tone to use.
Sorry that she’d come at all, Becca climbed the trio of steps again, realizing that she had no idea what she’d meant to say to him in the first place. An honest response was always the best one, so she licked her lips and said, “I was hoping you might be interested in working on my house now.”
He cocked his head, as if he found something odd about that. “Sorry. Not possible.”
“But you’ve done such fine work on this place,” Becca heard herself arguing.
“Thank