From the Heart (Sandy Cove Series Book 5) Read online

  Sheila seemed thrilled with her decision. “I’m coming down, Mom. We can sort through everything together. And I’ll get the guest room ready.”

  As much as she loved the idea of living with her daughter, Joan was determined not to get in the way of Sheila’s relationship with Rick. “I’ve been thinking about that, honey, and I’d like to live on my own somewhere. Where I can still feel like I have a place to call home.”

  “But, Mom,” her daughter began.

  “No buts. The best thing you can do for me right now is to look into what’s available for me up there. Maybe a senior apartment? Or some kind of assisted living home? I’m not getting any younger here, and I will not be a burden to you or Michelle.”

  Although Sheila protested, Joan finally convinced her she was serious. “Otherwise, I’m not moving up there,” she declared.

  “You’re certainly being stubborn about this, Mom.”

  Joan smiled. She knew when she’d won a battle with her daughter. “Yep. I’m a stubborn old coot. Now you get to looking around for a nice place for me up there, and I’ll start sorting through all my accumulated stuff. Once I know the size of the place where I’ll be living, it will help me know how much I should keep and what to give away.”

  The following day, she hired Trent to carry boxes down from the attic. “You be careful up there, young man. I’m sure there are plenty of little eight-legged critters who’ve been making their homes in the nooks and crannies.”

  “I’m not afraid of spiders, Mrs. Walker. But I’ll be careful,” he added with a grin.

  Two hours later, the living room was full of an assortment of boxes of various sizes. Half of them were handwritten sermons from Phil’s days as a full-time pastor. “Well, would you look at that?” she exclaimed. “I had no idea we still had these stored up there.”

  Trent pulled out one of the files. “He wrote out all these?”

  “Yep. Every one of them. He liked to use pencil so he could make corrections.” She paged through the files, which were in order from Genesis to Revelation. “I wonder if Ben would want any of these?”

  “What?” Trent asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  “Okay. Well that’s the last of the boxes,” Trent said, standing off to the side.

  Joan reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. “What do I owe you, son?”

  “Nothing. It was no big deal. Let me know if you need anything else moved.” He started walking toward the door to leave.

  “How about a slice of lemon pie?” Her dream had sparked a craving for it that would not leave her alone.

  “Now that I’d take,” he replied with a grin, following her into the kitchen.

  It took Joan several days to go through the boxes that didn’t contain sermons. She’d already determined that if Ben weren’t interested in Phil’s messages, she’d keep them and try to compile some kind of devotional notebook for the grandkids and great grandkids.

  The rest of the boxes contained memorabilia from their early years of marriage and Sheila’s childhood. She pulled out a plaster mold of Sheila’s hand from kindergarten. Placing her own hand over the small impression, she marveled to think that even Sheila’s grandchildren had bigger hands than this now.

  There were paintings that had seen their day on the refrigerator display, prize ribbons for school awards, and even a few book reports that had earned extra high marks. Each treasure brought back a flood of memories.

  One shoebox was stuffed with old photos from their vacations. Faded images of Yosemite, the Sequoia National Forest, and Yellowstone were mixed in with various road trips to destinations throughout the western United States. Phil always loved a good adventure, and his ‘girls’ learned to love them, too.

  They’d even gone river rafting one summer. Imagine that, Joan thought as she studied the photos of the three of them perched in their raft among a large group of people on a guided tour. She looked closely at her face and saw a bit of Sheila and a bit of Michelle looking back at her.

  We sure did have some fun times, she thought as she sat back in her chair. “What should I do with all this?” she asked Thumper.

  He looked up at her in eager anticipation of some announcement. When none came, he rested his head back down on his paws.

  That evening she called Sheila and reported on her finds from the attic. “Do you think Michelle and Steve’s pastor friend would like your father’s sermon notes?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. We can ask.”

  “What should I do with all the old photos and your treasures from elementary school?” A long pause made her wonder if they’d lost their connection. “Sheila, are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. Keep the photos for sure. I just don’t know what to tell you about the rest of that stuff. It’s nothing I have room for here in this little house. I guess you can toss it.”

  Joan knew her daughter was right. But it seemed so sad to throw away those memories. “Maybe I’ll hold on to a few of the things,” she said.

  “Okay, but remember—you probably won’t have a lot of storage space in your new place either, once you move up here.”

  By the end of the conversation, Sheila had persuaded her that she should come down in a couple of weeks and help her pack. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a treasure or two that I decide to keep myself,” she added.

  “I hope so, honey. We’ve been holding onto these things for so long. It seems a shame to just toss the whole lot of it,” Joan replied, hoping that her daughter would, indeed, want to keep a few things from her childhood home.

  Sheila sighed as she hung up the phone.

  “Everything okay?” Rick asked.

  “I guess,” she replied, gazing off into space.

  “Sounds like she’s doing some packing,” he offered, to fill the silence.

  Sheila turned and looked at him. “What?”

  “Packing. It sounds like your mother’s doing some packing.” He reached over and took her hand. “You look worried.”

  “I am. A little. I just hate for her to be there alone.”

  He nodded. “Well, at least she’s open to having you come down to help out.” He released her hand, draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m going to miss you,” he said as he kissed the side of her head.

  Sheila leaned into him. Her heart swelled with love and gratitude. What an amazing thing to be in a new relationship at her age. She placed her hand on his leg and gave it a pat. “I promise I won’t be gone for long.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” he replied.

  They sat nestled together for a few minutes. Then Sheila patted his leg again and stood up. “I’d better get to these dishes,” she said, beginning to stack the plates on the coffee table in front of them from their dinner.

  “I’ll help you,” Rick offered.

  They carried their plates and glasses into the kitchen, and Sheila loaded them into the dishwasher while Rick leaned against the counter watching her.

  “Want to go out for some dessert?” he asked as the last piece of silverware dropped into the basket.

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. I could go for a hot fudge sundae right about now.”

  She laughed. “Where does your food go?” she asked, glancing at his trim waistline.

  “I have secret compartments,” he replied with a wink. “So what do you say? Are you game?”

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this, but…”

  “But you’ll go.”

  “If you insist,” she replied, smiling.

  “Then we’re off,” he said as he reached for her hand.

  Soon they were settled into a corner booth at The Igloo, a large hot fudge sundae perched in front of them, with two long-handled spoons reaching out from the mountain of ice cream and whipped topping. Rick pulled out one of them, filled it with all the delectable ingredients, and lifted it to Sheila’s lips.

  “Yum,” she rep
lied as she took a bite. “Now your turn.” Following suit, she fed Rick his first bite, feeling like a kid back in high school.

  As Rick wrapped his mouth around the mound of ice cream and fudge, a drip ran down his chin.

  “Oops,” Sheila said with a grin, grabbing a napkin and dabbing it away.

  He leaned in and kissed her. Then holding his spoon up, he said, “Ready, set, go!” and dove into the sundae, quickly taking a bite. Sheila plunged her spoon into the frozen concoction and grabbed a bite for herself as well.

  Three bites later, she put her spoon on her napkin and held up her hands in surrender. “Brain freeze,” she said.

  “Okay. I guess the rest is mine,” he replied with a wink, pulling the bowl in front of himself.

  “Not on your life,” she said, pulling it back to the middle. “Just give me a minute.”

  He looked at her and grinned, not saying a word, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “What? Do I have ice cream somewhere?” she asked, dabbing her napkin on her lips. “Why are you staring at me?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

  She felt the heat rush to her face. “You’re just on a sugar high,” she replied.

  “No. I’m just wondering how I did life before you.”

  She studied his face. A hint of sorrow in his eyes caught her by surprise. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

  He nodded. “Yeah.” After pausing, he added, “Thanks for giving me a chance. I mean it.”

  Sheila’s mind flashed back to the first time she’d heard about Rick Chambers. He was Michelle’s anthropology professor and took pride in rattling the beliefs of the Christian students in his classes. A staunch atheist after his mother’s early death, he’d felt it was his duty to shake the Christians on campus from their fantasies about God.

  On the last day of class, Michelle had given him a letter explaining how she came to her faith through her father’s desperate suicide attempt. She’d used the letter to invite him to church. But it wasn’t until years later when Sheila and Michelle had run into Rick at the local Coffee Stop, that he’d actually decided to take her up on the invitation. Now, nearly a year later, he was a changed man, seeking God, studying scripture, and drawing Sheila into his world.

  “You don’t regret it, do you?” His voice broke her thoughts.

  “Hmmm? Regret what?” she asked.

  “Giving me a chance.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw a vulnerability she knew he rarely showed anyone. Placing her hand on his, she replied, “Not for one second.”

  As Sheila slipped back inside her house later that night, Rick’s goodbye kiss still warm on her lips, she caught the tail end of the phone ringing. I wonder if that was Mom again, she thought, hurrying into the kitchen to check the caller ID. It showed Michelle’s name.

  Picking up the receiver, she dialed.

  Michelle’s voice immediately greeted her, “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. Sorry I missed your call. I just got home.”

  “Really? Where were you?” she asked, sounding a little concerned.

  “Just out with Rick.”

  “Oh, I thought you two were eating in tonight.”

  “We did. Then he got inspired to go to The Igloo for a sundae.”

  “You guys are getting pretty serious aren’t you?” her daughter asked.

  “Because we went out for a sundae?” Sheila teased.

  “No, because you spend almost every waking moment together.”

  Sheila paused for a moment. Was Michelle feeling like she was neglecting her or the grandkids? Before she could ask, Michelle spoke, almost as if reading her mind.

  “I’m just kidding, Mom. I’m glad you two are happy.”

  Sheila smiled. “Thanks. So how are things with you?”

  “Crazy busy with school. You know—lesson plans, getting to know the new kids, plus getting Caleb and Madison launched into their new school year, too.” She paused and then added wistfully, “Sure wish Steve and I had more dates like you and Rick.”

  “Maybe in a few weeks, things will settle down and you can get more time together,” Sheila suggested.

  “Yeah. Maybe. I was even thinking I might try to arrange for a weekend away, just the two of us. Would you be able to stay with the kids?”

  “Depends on when it is. I’m heading down to Mariposa in a couple of weeks to help your grandmother pack.”

  “Speaking of Grandma, she called me tonight,” Michelle said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. She wanted to talk to me about some old family pictures and memorabilia she found in the attic or somewhere. She said that you told her she probably wouldn’t have room for it at her new place.” Michelle hesitated and then added, “She sounded really sad, Mom.”

  Sheila’s heart was pierced. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hasty in making that statement. Before she could respond, Michelle continued, “I really think we should go easy with Grandma about getting rid of stuff. This whole move is going to be a huge step for her.”

  Her daughter’s wisdom hit home. “You’re right. I should have waited until I got down there and then sorted through stuff with her myself. I’m sure I can find room somewhere for the things that she really treasures.”

  “She asked me if I wanted any of her furniture or pictures on the wall or china or anything.”

  “You know, Michelle, maybe it will be easier for her to part with some of her things if she knows they’ve found good homes with family. If there is anything you’d want, just let me know. I can set it aside for you when we’re packing.”

  “Good idea, Mom. Why don’t you figure out what you think she can keep and then text me pictures of the stuff that won’t fit into her new place. I know you are planning to store some of her stuff in your garage while she’s staying with you. I can ask Steve if we can park our cars out on the driveway so more stuff can be stored here, too.”

  “That would be great, honey. Thanks.”

  “Sure. No problem. Are you and Rick still coming over for an early dinner on Sunday? The kids are eager to see you again.”

  “We’re planning on it,” Sheila replied, the heaviness in her heart over her mom’s difficulties lifting as she shifted her mind to Rick and the grandkids.

  “And you’re bringing the salad?” Michelle asked.

  “Yep. And dessert.”

  “Great! We’ll see you Sunday.”

  As Sheila hung up the phone, thoughts of her mother once again flooded her mind. Dear Lord, please help Mom get through this move. And give me wisdom so that I can be supportive and compassionate in the process.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As the time for Sheila’s arrival got closer, Joan found herself caught up in a myriad of emotions. Not wanting to be hurried through her sorting process once her daughter arrived, she tried to go through as many closets and cupboards as she could.

  Each day brought a slew of reminders of Phil. And Joan’s heart ached deeply with every image of him that crossed her mind. Sometimes she’d close her eyes, wrap her arms around herself and imagine that he was hugging her.

  What would it be like to leave their home and never return? At least here, she could sometimes feel his presence in the memories. When she lived in a new place, a home he’d never even been in, would she lose the little bit of him that remained? Sometimes she even felt fearful that she’d forget what he looked like or the sound of his voice, bringing on increasing anxiety about the move.

  Am I ready for this, Lord? Will I miss Phil all the more if I move?

  Although her morning quiet times alone with God were becoming critically important to Joan, she still yearned for Phil’s calming voice and the way he used to lift their petitions toward heaven. She loved the Lord with all her heart, and sometimes His presence seemed to fill the room in ways that brought great comfort and peace. But she realized how important Phil’s spiritual leadership had been in their home and mar
riage.

  She found herself trying to grasp the idea of being the bride of Christ. A concept that never held the same desperate appeal in the past as it did now.

  Phil spent his life in communion with God. It didn’t matter if he was walking the dog, pulling weeds in the garden, or preaching a sermon. Joan needed that now—God’s presence in her life, moment-by-moment, as she learned to navigate the waters of widowhood.

  Sitting on the porch swing one morning, she set aside her devotional book, closed her eyes, and began sharing the depths of her heart. “Dear Jesus, I don’t know how to do this life now. I’m not sure I can make it without Phil. I feel so alone, and I honestly don’t know why I’m still here. I’ve done my best to be a good wife and mother. And I’m thankful for the chance to do that. But now? What does life hold for me now? I’m just an old woman without a purpose.” A tear slipped from her eye, and then another one, until she let go and sobbed. “Please, God, would you just take me home?”

  And then it happened.

  Without opening her eyes, she suddenly knew that she was not alone on that porch swing. She could feel Jesus’ presence and her heart could hear Him speak.

  You are not alone.

  She froze, afraid to move, and desperately wanting Him to stay this close, this very real and present.

  Await My plans, Joan. Pray and prepare for a new purpose.

  A new purpose? At her age? All she could do was to nod her head. “I will, Lord.”

  She spent the next few minutes with her eyes closed as she soaked in the love of God. Then, drying her tears and gazing out over the property, her focus lit on the shed.

  It was Phil’s special spot. He’d made it into a little office, and he loved to work on his projects there. Before he died, he’d been working on one, but he’d never gotten the chance to show it to her. And she’d forgotten all about it in the wake of his medical needs when the cancer overtook his body.

  “Should I go look, Lord?” she asked aloud, feeling torn between her curiosity and the pact she and Phil had made about her never peeking before he was finished. Would she find a half completed project of some kind that would only break her heart all the more?