The Prodigal Comes Home. Kathryn Springer
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A blast of cold air rolled into the cafe as the door swung open. Matt’s head jerked up. Maybe the woman on the road had decided to take him up on his offer…and give him an opportunity to apologize. But instead of a waif-like young woman with enormous gray eyes, he saw Harold Dinsman, one of Kate’s regulars, shuffling toward the row of vinyl-covered stools to stake his claim at the old-fashioned soda counter.
“Is there something wrong with your breakfast this morning, Pastor?” Kate stood next to the booth again, staring down at the plate of food he’d barely made a dent in.
“Not a thing. I just decided to surrender earlier than I usually do.” Matt waved a white paper napkin in the air to prove it.
Kate fished the bill out of her apron pocket and handed it to him. “Are you heading over to the church now?”
“Not yet. I’m going to stop by Liz Decker’s house and check on her. She sounded tired when we talked last night.”
Kate began to collect the dishes. “I heard she was released from the hospital yesterday. How is she?”
“Stubborn.” Affection for the older woman, one of Church of the Pines most beloved members, curved Matt’s lips into a smile.
“That’s what everyone loves about her.” Kate smiled back. “So far, she’s been refusing to allow some of us to bring in meals or clean her house because she doesn’t want anyone to ‘fuss’ over her. I hope she changes her mind. She’s supposed to be taking it easy.”
“And that’s what I plan to talk to her about.” Matt glanced at the bill and thumbed through his wallet. “Pray for me.”
Kate chuckled. “With no family in the area, Liz is going to have to let her church family help out. She’s the first one to show up when someone else is in need.”
In the year and a half that Matt had known Liz Decker, he’d certainly found that to be true. Her husband, Jonathan, had passed away from a heart attack before Matt moved to Mirror Lake but she continued to remain active in the church. Not only was Liz the choir director, but she had also volunteered to serve on the search committee the congregation had formed to interview prospective candidates after their former pastor retired.
Unfortunately, the members of that committee had quickly discovered that a church with an average attendance of less than a hundred, located in a small town surrounded by thousands of acres of national forest, didn’t draw a lot of interest, no matter how charming and picturesque. The congregation finally agreed to send out letters of inquiry to several seminaries, hoping to hire a recent graduate to serve as an interim pastor until Church of the Pines found someone who met their requirements.
Matt, with the ink still wet on his diploma and needing the experience, had applied. Liz Decker had been the one who called and offered him the position. Matt had looked at the opportunity to serve as pastor as more than a temporary position—it had been an affirmation. A sign that God had a place and a purpose for him during the times of doubt when Matt wondered if the emotional fallout from a failed relationship hadn’t ruined his chances for both.
At the end of the summer, the elders had asked if he would consider staying on. So far, Matt hadn’t regretted his decision. He’d fallen in the love with the area—and its close-knit community—almost immediately.
The entire congregation had gone out of their way to make him feel at home, especially Liz. The woman had become a combination cheerleader, surrogate grandmother and spiritual advisor, offering plates of homemade treats as often as she offered encouraging passages of scripture.
Matt welcomed the opportunity to take care of her for a change.
“Give Liz my love and remind her that tomorrow is pecan pie day. I’ll drop off a piece on my way home from work,” Kate said before turning her attention to a family settling into the next booth.
“Will do.” Matt shrugged his coat on as an image of the young woman by the road flashed through his mind again.
She hadn’t even been wearing a coat. Or boots, for that matter. Winter hadn’t released its grip on the north woods yet.
Locals knew not to pack away their cold-weather clothes until at least the middle of June.
Unsettled once again by the memory of that unexpected encounter, Matt’s gaze swept over the cars parked on Main Street.
Not a purple Jeep in sight.
But even though he couldn’t see her, Matt knew that God could.
Lord, I don’t know her story. I don’t know who she is or where she’s going, but you do. Please look out for her. If she doesn’t know you, put people into her path who do…
Chapter Two
Zoey’s hands began to tremble as she turned onto Carriage Street. At the end of the dead-end road stood a stately Victorian, tucked behind a screen of gnarled willow trees. Built in the mid-eighteen hundreds, the house remained a charming but faded monument to an era when local lumber barons lived and reigned like royalty.
Most people would have chosen to purchase a cute little log cabin on the lake, but not Jonathan and Elizabeth Decker. After her grandfather retired and Mirror Lake had become their permanent residence rather than a favorite vacation spot, he and Gran had purchased their “dream” home—an authentic “painted lady,” complete with sloping rooflines, gabled windows and a warren of rooms designed to hold company.
And rebellious teenage granddaughters.
Memories began to stir. Everything looked the way Zoey remembered it, as if she were looking at a photograph. The siding still wore a coat of pale orchid paint, staying true to its original color scheme. The front door remained a welcoming butter yellow; the gingerbread trim was a muted shade of sea foam green.
A flameless taper candle burned in every window, night and day.
Tears banked behind Zoey’s eyes as she noticed the ruffled curtains framing the windows in the second-floor turret that overlooked the flower garden. Not only because they still hung there—ten years later—but because she remembered her reaction the first time she’d seen them.
Her grandparents had gone out of their way to make Zoey feel at home when she’d arrived, but bitterness and anger had clouded her vision. She had declared that she was sixteen, not six. She hadn’t appreciated the bedroom, which her grandfather had painted a soft, seashell pink in her honor, nor their effort. She didn’t belong there, with them, any more than she belonged with her parents. Zoey had known it was only a matter of time before her grandparents figured it out, too.
And she’d be sent away again.
At the time, Zoey decided it might not hurt as much if she hastened the process. The fact that her grandparents had refused to cooperate had made her decision feel even worse.
Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over, Zoey got out of the Jeep and picked her way up the brick walkway that led to the front door, skirting puddles of melting snow.
Maybe she should have called first. But when her mother had contacted her with the news that Gran had just spent a week in the hospital with complications caused by pneumonia, all Zoey could think about was being there for the woman who had once been there for her.
Even if she hadn’t appreciated it at the time.
Gathering up her courage, Zoey tapped her knuckles against the ornate wooden door. A few seconds later, she heard the thump of footsteps across the hardwood floor in the foyer. They were too heavy to be Gran’s, but her grandfather had been gone for several years now.
Guilt caused the knot in Zoey’s throat to swell. She hadn’t come back to Mirror Lake to attend Grandpa Jonathan’s funeral. It would have meant facing her parents—and her past—and Zoey hadn’t been ready. She’d sent a bouquet of flowers instead. And even though she hadn’t signed the card, she’d hoped her grandmother would know who they were from.