Kitabı oxu: «The Prodigal Comes Home»
“How long has it been since you two have seen each other?” Matthew asked Zoey.
Zoey stiffened, searching for undercurrents of suspicion in the husky voice. Zoey tried to tell herself it only made sense that his concern would be centered on her grandmother now.
But he probably thought that she had shown up, circling like a vulture, to determine just how sick her grandmother was. He’d seen the condition of her Jeep. The clothing piled in the backseat. More than likely she was down on her luck. Looking for someone to take care of her.
The thought turned Zoey’s stomach.
She wouldn’t try to explain that the reason she’d come back was to give, not take.
It wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as he left, the good pastor would no doubt ask around town—find at least a dozen people who would cheerfully supply all the gruesome details of her past—and he wouldn’t believe her anyway.
KATHRYN SPRINGER
is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper” family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter and hasn’t stopped writing since! She loves to write inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.
The Prodigal Comes Home
Kathryn Springer
“He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear
and put their trust in the Lord.”
—Psalms 40:3
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
She shouldn’t have come back.
The thought raced through Zoey Decker’s mind the moment she spotted a square, unassuming green road sign sprouting from the snow-covered ditch.
Mirror Lake—3 miles.
Spots began to dance in front of her eyes and she stomped on the brake, wrestling the Jeep onto the side of the road. Maybe she should get out of the vehicle for a few minutes. Stretch her legs.
A bracing March wind pinched Zoey’s cheeks as she bailed awkwardly out of the driver’s seat and started down the road, fatigue adding weight to her limbs.
For the past few hours, she’d been telling herself that she’d made the right decision. Now—only a few minutes from her destination—she was having second thoughts.
Zoey’s gaze locked on the sign again.
What was that old saying?
You can’t go home again?
But Mirror Lake had never been home. Not really. It just happened to be the town where her grandparents had retired. The place her parents had dumped her off because they didn’t know how to deal with a full-blown case of teenage rebellion.
And even though Zoey had only lived in Mirror Lake two short years—which must have seemed more like a lifetime to her sixty-five-year-old grandparents—she had definitely made her mark.
A black one…
“Are you lost?”
Zoey whirled around at the sound of a voice behind her. A low, masculine rumble that had her questioning her impulsive decision to stop on a quiet stretch of road sandwiched between two imposing walls of towering white pine.
With not a house in sight.
She hadn’t expected to see anyone. Not this early in the morning. And especially not a man, who’d materialized seemingly out of nowhere.
Zoey caught her lower lip between her teeth as she considered the six-foot-tall obstacle that now stood between her and the safety of the Jeep. Chiseled features, tousled dark-blond hair. The lean but muscular frame of someone who probably earned his living outdoors.
Under ordinary circumstances, someone of his size shouldn’t have been able to sneak up and catch her unaware—but then again, nothing about the last twenty-four hours had been ordinary. Zoey had spent most of the night navigating miles of national forest, where white-tailed deer far outnumbered the population of the towns she’d driven through.
The guy didn’t look like a criminal. But how was a woman supposed to know who she could and couldn’t trust these days? And if Zoey was completely honest, she knew her track record in that department hadn’t always been the best.
He shifted his stance, a subtle movement that positioned him closer to the vehicle.
Had the action been deliberate?
Zoey suppressed a shiver and rolled her hands up in the hem of the oversized, hand-knit sweater that had been a gift from her grandmother many Christmases ago.
The man noticed the gesture and his eyebrows dipped together in a frown. “Are you lost?” he repeated.
In a different situation, the question might have made Zoey smile. “It depends on who you ask.”
The frown deepened. He obviously didn’t understand her wry sense of humor. “Is something wrong with your car?”
“No.” At least, Zoey silently amended, nothing that could be fixed on the side of the road. She cast a fond look at the eggplant-purple Jeep, decorated with its contrasting pattern of rust, intricate as a henna tattoo. It had outlived its warranty by at least a few thousand miles and yet somehow managed to get her from Point A to B. That was good enough for her. “I’m fine. My car is fine, too.”
Zoey inched forward, silently gauging the distance between them and the vehicle.
He was closer.
“That’s good to know.” The corners of the man’s lips kicked up into a smile and, stranger or not, Zoey could feel her heart doing an impromptu tap dance in her chest. Which only proved she could use a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. “I was out for a run and saw your car parked by the side of the road. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
A good Samaritan.
Now Zoey noticed a detail she’d missed the first time. When you were staring at his face. He wore a standard runner’s uniform. Black sweatpants, a fleece-lined sweatshirt with a faded college logo across the front and tennis shoes.
“I appreciate your concern.” However misplaced. “But I just needed to get out and…stretch my legs for a minute.”
Stretch her legs. Gather her courage. Postpone the inevitable.
All one and the same.
“Stretch your legs.” The thread of doubt in the husky voice made Zoey wince.
Right. Most people would have probably chosen to do that at a rest area or gas station. A place with heat.
“That’s right.” Zoey lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She took another step closer to the Jeep.
So did he.
Zoey’s breath hitched in her throat, but all he did was reach out to open the car door for her. And then went still.
Obviously much more observant than she was, he’d immediately spotted the mound of clothing, which happened to be the entire contents of Zoey’s closet, along with an eclectic jumble of her earthly possessions heaped onto the backseat. All evidence of the haste in which she’d left the night before.
To make matters worse, Zoey’s stomach decided to remind her—quite loudly—that it had been more than twelve hours since she’d eaten. She could have grabbed a snack at some point along the way, but she decided that nothing in the deli case of a gas station would peacefully coexist with the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.
A blush added another layer of color to her already-pink cheeks as the man’s gaze cut back to her. His eyes, a warm palette of green and brown that brought back memories of summer walks through the woods, searched hers. Looking for…something.
Afraid of what he might find there, Zoey looked away.
“There’s a cafe in town. It’s called the Grapevine,” he said after a moment. “Could I buy you a cup of coffee? Maybe some breakfast?”
Disappointment arrowed through her. She should have known better. “Does that line usually work?”
“No…” He caught himself. “I mean, no, it isn’t a line. It’s an…offer.” His gaze dropped to her hands, still balled up in the bright cocoon of her sweater, before flickering over the mountain of clothing once again. “I’m not even inviting myself along. It would be my treat.”
Zoey frowned a little.
He was offering to pay for her breakfast? That didn’t make any sense…
Yes, it did.
He thought she was down on her luck, like a stray kitten who needed food and shelter from the cold.
Zoey stifled a groan as she tried to see herself through his eyes. She hadn’t bothered to change clothes after her evening performance at the dinner theater where she worked, but he wouldn’t know that what she wore was a costume. All he would see were paisley-patterned tights peeking through the slashed knees of her faded jeans. Pink canvas tennis shoes, meant for summer instead of snow. A misshapen patchwork sweater that had definitely seen better days.
And Zoey wasn’t even going to think about what her hair looked like.
Mortified, she slipped past him and dove into the driver’s seat. “No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. Really.”
He stepped back as Zoey pulled the door shut and turned the key in the ignition, hoping the temperamental engine would start. It did, after a brief but grating shudder of protest.
When she finally gathered the courage to glance in the rearview mirror, the man was standing in the exact spot where she’d left him.
Watching her drive away.
“You have to actually drink the coffee, not stare at it, in order for the caffeine to kick in, Pastor.”
Matt Wilde glanced up and saw Kate Nichols, the owner of the Grapevine cafe, standing next to the booth, armed with a coffee pot. He flashed a rueful smile in her direction. “Sorry. I was somewhere else.”
“It must have been somewhere pretty far away,” Kate observed. “Usually you’re on your third cup by now.”
Not so far away, Matt thought. In fact, just a few miles from town.
Corduroy Road had been part of his regular route for over a year. It was a quiet back road that looped around the east side of Mirror Lake. He could have run it blindfolded. And other than the squirrels and birds that chattered at him from the trees, he usually had it all to himself.
Until this morning, when he’d rounded the corner and saw a purple Jeep parked at an angle alongside the road. One look at the rust creeping around the wheel wells and over the bumper like a bad rash and Matt guessed it had broken down.
Then he saw her.
A slight figure marching up and down the road, head bent against the wind. The baggy sweater she wore a kaleidoscope of color against a backdrop of gray and white.
Matt had assumed she was a teenager. Until she turned around.
Dark curls framed a face made up small, sharp angles. Her eyes, which by all rights should have been brown, were a pearl gray that reminded him of the lake just before dawn. A dusting of freckles across her nose made her beauty more winsome than exotic.
He hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind.
Maybe because you bungled things so badly?
Matt couldn’t dismiss the inner voice. Not when it was right.
First he’d startled her. Then he’d insulted her.
He closed his eyes briefly, the memory sawing at his conscience. Instead of understanding that his impulsive offer to buy her breakfast stemmed from compassion, she’d thought he was hitting on her. Hence the hasty departure. The rusty Jeep had lurched forward, the loose tailpipe belching exhaust as she drove away…
“Hey! You left again.” Kate waved the order pad in front of his face, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Your breakfast is coming right up, by the way.”
“I didn’t order breakfast.”
“It’s the most important meal of the day.” Kate topped off his cup and flitted away.
Matt couldn’t summon a smile even though it was a standing joke between them. He would come into the Grapevine and order coffee before going to the church. Kate would return with a plate weighted down with her famous “Lumberjack Special,” a mountain of hash browns topped with scrambled eggs and sausage, surrounded by a moat of maple syrup tapped from a local sugar bush.
When she deposited the plate in front of him a few minutes later, Matt shook his head. “No wonder I have to run five miles.”
Kate grinned. “Enjoy.”
As he ate he thought about this crazy insistence on feeding him that his church members had. Everyone joined in. His congregation at Church of the Pines thought that his bachelor status meant he didn’t know how to fry an egg.
He did, but he never turned down a dinner invitation. Jesus frequently went to peoples’ homes and built relationships around a table. Matt saw no reason not to follow his Savior’s lead.
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.
The door opened and Zoey could only stare in disbelief at the person on the other side.
It was him.
The man from the road.
Matt, who had come to the door ready to intercept yet another tuna casserole or pan of lemon bars meant for Liz, felt his heart drop to his feet when he saw who was standing on the front stoop. A woman whose features had already become imprinted in his memory.
The heart-shaped face framed by glossy dark curls. Wary gray eyes that seemed to change like the surface of the lake. The intriguing constellation of chocolate-colored freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.
Matt blinked but she didn’t disappear. And she looked equally as stunned—and confused—to see him.
“I…I’m sorry.” She started to back away.
No matter what had brought her here, Matt wasn’t about to lose her again.
“Please, come in for a minute.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “This time of the year, it’s important to keep the hot separate from the cold.”
And he couldn’t help but notice that she still wasn’t wearing a coat.
She wavered for a moment and then slipped into the foyer. Matt closed the door.
“Now, how can I help you?” He instantly regretted the question when color bloomed in her cheeks, as if she were remembering this wasn’t the first time he’d offered his assistance.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Decker. Does she still…live here?”
In spite of Matt’s initial amazement that the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about was actually there—right in front of him—warning bells began to go off in his head. As long as he’d known Liz, Matt had never heard anyone refer to her as “Elizabeth.” And the fact that the woman from the road wasn’t even sure she had the right address didn’t exactly put his mind at ease, either.
Liz Decker’s reputation for compassion—and generosity—was widely known in the area. Matt wasn’t naive. For every person like Liz, there was always someone willing to take advantage of their kind-hearted nature.
He prayed the woman standing next to him wasn’t one of them, but given the fragile state of Liz’s health, he couldn’t take any chances.
“Yes, Mrs. Decker lives here, but she is resting at the moment. I’ll tell her you stopped by, Ms.…” Matt deliberately let his voice trail off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Zoey.”
But it wasn’t the woman standing in front of him who supplied her name.
Matt spun around and saw Liz standing—no, teetering was more like it—in the arched doorway of the parlor, one hand pressed against her chest and the other groping for something to hold on to.
The change in her was alarming. Five minutes ago, they had been sharing a pot of coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls while Liz, one of those rare people who could find the humor in any situation, entertained him with stories of what Matt guessed had been, in fact, an exhausting weeklong stay in the hospital.
He was at Liz’s side in a heartbeat, tucking her arm through his as she sagged against him.
“I think you better sit down,” he murmured. But his attempt to guide her gently back into the parlor was met with unexpected resistance.
“I’m fine,” Liz gasped, making a feeble attempt to shake him off.
“Gran…I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
Two thoughts collided in Matt’s mind. The woman—Zoey—had followed him down the hall. And she’d just called Liz “Gran.”
His gaze bounced back and forth between the two. Both women had the chalk-like pallor and dazed expressions of victims from an accident scene.
“Okay, I have another idea. Let’s all sit down.” To Matt’s surprise, the young woman took Liz’s other arm. Together they shepherded her toward the comfortable settee in front of the fireplace. Once Liz was settled against the cushions, Matt poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
To his relief, the cracks in Liz’s voice had mended and she sounded more like herself. Her color began to return, too, although she still wore the shell-shocked look of someone who had just received bad news.
And maybe she had.
Matt’s gaze flicked to Zoey, who had perched on the edge of a wingback chair, fingers knotted together in her lap. The mixture of regret and worry simmering in her eyes appeared genuine.
He tried to remember what Liz had told him about her family. He knew she had a son and daughter-in-law on the mission field in Africa, but to his recollection she hadn’t said anything about grandchildren. Or, more specifically, a granddaughter.
He looked for a physical resemblance between the two but failed to find one. Not only was the color of their hair and eyes different, but Matt was also unable to whittle Liz’s soft, rounded features down to the spare, delicate brush strokes that made up Zoey’s face.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Liz said, fumbling with a pair of glasses suspended by two gold chains around her neck.
Zoey ducked her head when Liz put them on, as if she didn’t want to give her the opportunity to take a closer look. “I should have called first,” she murmured.
Liz dismissed the words instantly. “Don’t be silly. The door is always open to friends. And family.”
Zoey flinched but Liz didn’t seem to notice. She turned to Matt. “This is my granddaughter, Zoey Decker,” she said, a radiant smile beginning to bloom on her face now that the initial shock had begun to fade. “Zoey, this is Matthew Wilde. He is one of my very good friends and the pastor at Church of the Pines.”
Matt had gotten used to people’s initial surprise when they discovered he was a minister. He wasn’t sure if their reaction had something to do with the fact that was in his early thirties or because he preferred blue jeans and T-shirts to a suit and tie.
But Zoey Decker didn’t look surprised.
She looked horrified.
It was a good thing she was sitting down because Zoey’s knees turned to liquid. Again. Especially since she hadn’t completely recovered from the shock of seeing him open the front door.
“It’s nice to meet you, Zoey,” Matthew Wilde—Pastor Wilde—said quietly.
She managed a jerky nod, wondering if he would mention the fact that they already had met.
As humiliating as their brief encounter had been, Zoey hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. The man knew nothing about her and yet the genuine concern in his eyes when he’d offered to buy her breakfast had touched a chord deep inside of her.
Maybe that’s why he was concerned, an inner voice mocked. Because he doesn’t know you. If he did, he would have kept right on going…
At least Matthew Wilde’s erroneous assumption that she could use a free meal had motivated her to stop at the first gas station she saw to seek out a mirror. What she saw there had prompted her to take some time to wash up, finger comb her hair into some resemblance of order and dab on a layer of makeup to hide the circles under her eyes. Zoey had also driven around the lake and stopped to watch the rippling waters before gathering up the courage to return to the house on Carriage Street.
“You didn’t drive all night, did you?” Gran leaned forward, in full “hospitality mode” now. “Are you hungry?”
Zoey couldn’t look at Matthew Wilde, who probably could have guessed the answer to both questions. “No, I’m—”
The pastor neatly cut her off. “Even if you had breakfast, you can’t pass up one of these cinnamon rolls.” He transferred one to a plate and handed it to her.
Zoey couldn’t refuse without appearing rude. She balanced the plate on one knee, her throat so tight she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite.
“There’s coffee left in the carafe…” Liz paused and shook her head. “Listen to me! Do you drink coffee, Zoey, or would you prefer something else?”
“Coffee is fine. Thank you.”
Before she could finish the sentence, the pastor had poured her a cup.
Silence swelled and filled in the empty spaces between them. Zoey picked at the edge of the cinnamon roll, if only to give her hands something to do. She could feel the weight of two pairs of eyes.
Suddenly, her grandmother chuckled. “Oh my goodness—that sweater you’re wearing! I can’t believe you kept it all these years. It was my first project after I joined Esther Redstone’s knitting group.”
“I love it.” Zoey looked down and made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down another one of the loops that had worked its way loose in the wash.
Over the years, the sweater had moved with her when she’d been forced to leave other things behind. It might have become a little misshapen and fuzzy, but Zoey hadn’t been able to part with it.
“Your grandpa teased me while I was making it. He said it would be more suited for a man named Joseph than a girl named Zoey. He was right, you know.” A smile deepened the creases fanning out from Liz’s brown eyes. “I must have used every color of yarn in the shop.”
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
