Excerpt from ONE SWEET DAY

(Though this book has been out since January of this year, I realized I've never offered an excerpt. In anticipation of the release of LEFT BEHIND, starring Nicolas Cage, here it is.)

Why was he driving the hearse? That was Jason Nolan’s job. Tremayne worked in the office, consoling families and helping them with the arrangements. Mark Wagner had also been training him to do other things, but driving wasn’t one of them. Now, for some reason, he had the keys to the hearse.

“Tremayne, come here—look at this! Something’s wrong.”

He followed his boss’ voice to the rear of the vehicle. What was Mr. Wagner doing there?

Even stranger, the funeral director and three other people Tremayne didn’t recognize were surrounding an open casket, which had been tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. The carriage that was supposed to transport it to the grave was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, Lord,” Tremayne said as calmly as he could manage. “Where is the deceased?”

“He was in the casket.” One of the other men sounded nervous. “You saw him, didn’t you? I know I saw him. He was in there. Now he’s not. He’s not there, but he was…”

Tremayne squinted at him. What sort of roundabout, nonsensical talk was that? And who was the man, because he didn’t recall ever seeing him before?

Was this even really happening? Or was it a dream? It couldn’t have been a dream because a woman on a bike swerved just in time before colliding with him. A biker disrespecting a funeral procession? So, so strange.

“Hey!” he hollered. “Be careful!”

An older gentleman passing him stopped and pushed his hat further back on his head.

“Hurry, son,” the man urged him. “He’s coming, He’s coming! Hurry.”

“Who’s coming?”

Tremayne didn’t wait for an answer, and even if he had, the man was gone.

And he knew the answer. He knew it instinctively.

With the funeral forgotten, he followed the crowd. His heart beat faster with fear and anticipation. Anticipation, because he was starting to understand what was happening. Fear, because he couldn’t believe his eyes: Several of the graves he was passing had been disturbed. Headstones had been toppled over. Graves were open, revealing fresh, soft earth, with rocks strewn in between. Caskets, long buried, torn open.

Open…and empty.

This was it. Tremayne knew it in his heart. He moved from a fast walk to a sprint.

He recognized that hill. It was actually nowhere near the cemetery; it was the same hill that had been behind his childhood home, where he and his brother had been raised together. By his estimation, there were tens of thousands of people—or more—on that hill, hurrying to climb it. Even with all those people, he spotted Lita in the distance. She smiled and waved at him.

“Wait for me, Lita!” he cried. Her face was almost angelic, beaming, and she was dressed in a pristine white robe.

“The blessed hope, Tremayne!” she called back. “The rapture. Oh, Jesus, my Lord—”

For that moment, he looked away from her to the sky.

It looked like the heavens were opening like a scroll. That brought to mind the words of an old hymn: “And Lord, haste the day, when my faith shall be sight; the clouds be rolled back as a scroll…”

It was as if the clouds were pushed away by an invisible hand and ribbons of color appeared in the sky. Ribbons of gold, of red, purple, every shade of blue, green.

Tremayne couldn’t move. His feet might as well have been bolted to the ground. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life as that sky.

The rapture. This was the rapture.

The blessed hope.

The day that had come, as Jesus had told His disciples, as “a thief in the night.”

Abruptly, Tremayne opened his eyes. He swallowed hard and found that his throat was dry. His right arm was hanging over the side of the bed, and Duke was licking his hand. The puppy wanted to be let out in the backyard to do his business.

“Okay, boy, okay. Give me a second,” Tremayne mumbled with a sigh.

He always wore his checkered pajama bottoms and a short-sleeved T-shirt, that one bearing the name of a local apple orchard, to bed. Tucking his feet into his slippers, Tremayne shuffled down the stairs with the dog in tow.

Opening the back door, he let Duke out and looked out into the backyard. He and Lita had talked about buying a grill for the patio, along with one of those outdoor table and chairs, so they could have friends and family over for hot dogs and cheeseburgers. Eventually, they’d put up a swing set when their children came along.

No rapture yet, he thought, surprised by that flicker of disappointment.

No rapture. Just that present life, with its pain and its suffering, with its wars and hunger and violence and hatred.

But that life wasn’t without its blessings, too. Life on earth had brothers whose big dreams sometimes managed to come true, and mouth-watering, seven-layer cakes were baked by loving, beautiful future brides. And a job that perhaps wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but which he enjoyed because it allowed him to help families, treating them with respect and kindness, during a difficult and heartbreaking time in their lives.

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul.

“Not time yet, I guess, Father,” he prayed under his breath. “But maybe in our lifetime. Only You know.”

Excerpt from DISTANT FIRE

ENJOY!

That morning, in church, Drew thought he’d seen the same beautiful girl looking back at him with those loving eyes. And something else that had totally caught him by surprise; she had looked at him with yearning, even allowing her gaze to rake over him.

With desire. The way a woman hadn’t looked at him in so long.

He had only been standing there long enough to watch the next bunch of children and their parents board the carousel, in that familiar, mad dash to find a painted horse with a seat to fill. The breezes carried the unique scent of the ocean that he loved so much, mingled with the aroma of boardwalk pizza and other Jersey shore delicacies.

That was when Linda appeared, stepping lightly through a crowd of teenagers and young families. Drew could see that she was looking around for him, dressed in a long pair of brown shorts with a purple top, a mini purse dangling from a long strap wrapped around her shoulder. Her brown sandals dressed up her casual outfit.

Oh, boy. Here we go, he told himself, taking a deep breath and pushing away from the railing.

I don’t know if that’s really what she was feeling this morning, Lord, but she still brings up those feelings in me as a man.

Having admitted the truth about his thoughts, Drew pulled himself together and waved to get her attention.

“Hey, Linda! Over here!”

More as a greeting than anything meant romantically, Linda reached forward to initiate a hug. Drew let her fill his arms, unable to stop his eyes from closing, and probably holding her a second or two longer than he should have.

At the same time, unbeknownst to him, Linda was also closing her eyes. He’s the musical guy at church, she thought. I probably should let go now.

Yet, music director or not, he felt better than he should have, there in her arms. She’d hugged men since her divorce; men like Pastor and male friends at church, and also recently, her now-former boss. Those had been chaste embraces, greetings between believers, expressions of unfeigned affection for a man who had been a good, decent employer who had helped her put food on the table for her daughter and herself.

This was a different sort of embrace. One she hadn’t expected to enjoy as much as she did.

“The carousel,” she murmured as she reluctantly pulled away. “That was easy to remember.”

It was as if he had to remind himself to withdraw his arm from around her, at last dropping it to his side.

“You didn’t forget that,” Drew sounded surprised.

“No, of course not. Not since it was always our meeting place. Whenever we were at Seaside Heights.” She walked beside him, not sure of where they were going and not caring. “I haven’t been there since before Hurricane Sandy…and then there was that fire.”

“Is it still there? Because there were two carousels. But we always met by that one, the older one.”

“The newer one was destroyed in the fire. I read that in the paper. Our carousel survived.”

Our carousel. Linda hoped it didn’t sound too forward, but then Drew commented on it.

“That was our carousel, that’s right,” he said softly. “So many times meeting there. Riding it. Shame about the other one, though.”

“It is, yes.”

He stopped walking and handed her the gift in his hand. “That’s—that’s not much. Just a little something to thank you for coming out today. You probably had something else to do.”

“I had absolutely nothing else to do!” She flashed one of those playful smiles that were still familiar to him. “My Valerie has met a young man, so Mom is on her own these days. But thank you, Drew. I should have gotten something for you, too.”

“Nah. I wanted to do that. You can open it now or—”

“Oh, no, you know me and suspense.”

Linda had an inkling as to what was in the small, rectangular box, judging by its size. Undoing the bow, she opened it and found that she was correct. Inside was a simple red, baby rose.

Just like the one he had given her years earlier. It may have been tiny and delicate, but it emitted its sweet perfume, and she didn’t know why but she felt her throat tighten with a sudden urge to cry.

Lord, Jesus, what’s happening? She avoided Drew’s gaze, which seemed to be awaiting hers.

“That’s as beautiful as the one you gave me years ago.” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady.

“Uh-huh. I was happy to find a florist who had one.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, want to take a walk? Catch up?”

“That’d be great.”

“Ride the carousel. Later, maybe.”

Whenever you’d like. After so long, she felt shy saying those words. As if shyness had ever been a problem for her, when it was in Linda’s nature to speak up for herself or others.

“Later, if we get a chance, that’d be nice,” she said. “But, okay, let’s walk.”

This was a date. She hadn’t been sure before, when he’d invited her to meet him on the boardwalk, but the carousel, the tiny rose, the tender looks—everything was pointing to this being a date.

“On the beach? On the boardwalk?” he specified, giving her the impression that he, too, was out of practice, date-wise.

“On the beach. It’s less crowded. Or at least we can make our way better.”

“On the beach, it is.” At the nearby ramp, one of many along the boardwalk, he turned to her.

“Leave our shoes up here, right? By the boardwalk?”

How strange, yet how familiar! They were behaving as if no time had elapsed between them. Doing what they’d done as young people.

Except she hadn’t kissed him. Or he hadn’t kissed her. Lord, she wanted to kiss him so badly, like a teenager in love, with that crazy, now-or-never urgency of a teenager.

This was the music director at church. At True Vine, her home church, with her pastor and Maribel, and her friends. Where she was fed spiritually, where she attended service and worshipped and fellowshipped. The place she would have to leave if things went awry this time with the man who’d been her boyfriend years ago. And finding a new church was always a daunting task.

“Let’s leave them up here,” she said and slipped off her sandals. “Andrew Lingerfelt…what happened to your guitar?”

Drew was bent at the waist, pulling off his shoe when he squinted up at her. “I told you. It got burned up in a fire.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, both of us know that’s not what happened. Now, if it’s something that’s none my business, Drew, then just say so. But don’t tell me something that I know in my heart isn’t true.”

Was he offended? And if he was, would he put an end to their first date? Unless he had changed, he’d always been even-tempered. Unlike her ex-husband, he had never been snippy, either.

“That must’ve been bothering you,” he grumbled.

“It has been bothering me. Again, if it’s none of my business—”

“I sold it. I didn’t get much for it, because someone had...put a lot of little flowers all over it. But I got a few bucks for it at a time when I needed money.” He had slipped on his sunglasses, which effectively hid his eyes, and lifted his chin in defiance. “So now you know the truth about my guitar.”

Or part of the truth. Because there was more to the story than what he was telling her. Linda began to walk beside him, both of them barefoot on the sand. She knew she couldn’t press him further.

“How did you used to do that? How do you still do that?” Drew sounded more amazed than irritated.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s instincts after having been a mom.” Not a very romantic response, and she doubted it was what he wanted to hear on a romantic date. She decided to change the subject in an effort to lighten the mood. “So you know about where I’ve been these years. Tell me about you, Drew.”

“Actually, I have a question I need you to answer.”

They had been making their way down to the water. Linda watched a young family—a dad and mom in their late twenties, with two boys, toddlers, in the water.

“What's that?” She pushed past her fear to ask.

“Why did you leave me, Linda? Why did you marry someone else, a guy you barely knew, when we’d been together for years?”

It wasn't quite an accusation, though there was a trace of anger in those words. No—not anger, but hurt.

“Excuse me, but you were the one who broke up with me,” she reminded him sharply. “You were the one who left me.”

That wasn’t the conversation that she wanted to be having with him. What had happened to that carefree afternoon they were supposed to have been sharing? Chatting with an old friend, catching up with each other’s lives.

What they were doing was dealing with the proverbial elephant in the room. Questions that had gone unanswered for years. Linda turned to Drew, who stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the water. In the distance a party boat of leisure fishermen and women chugged along, past the waves.

“I can understand you wanting him,” he said without looking at her. “He was a young guy with a future. I was—I had no direction back then. I just wanted to play music—”

“My father pushed for that. And that ‘young man with a future’ got me pregnant. I was responsible for what happened, too, except he wasn’t the perfect guy my father made him out to be. He proved that by walking away from me and his child.” There was no bitterness there; it was only the truth. The truth wasn’t always pretty or neat.

Drew removed his glasses, nodding. “I would’ve married you. I wouldn’t have done that to you or the baby.”

“No? She was another man’s daughter.”

“She would’ve been my daughter, Linda. Or at least I would have raised her that way. I would’ve loved her. Because I loved you.”

His voice was hoarse. She pressed, “Still, it was you who said goodbye—”

“Because your father said I was a loser.”

“My father? What he thought about you didn’t matter to me, Drew.” Linda tried not to raise her voice with emotion.

“That’s how you feel now. Back then, he controlled you, Linda. And we were also fighting a lot. I thought you didn’t want me. That you didn’t love me. And then I went to the church on the day of your wedding and I would’ve—”

Linda stared at him. “You were there?”

“No.”

“Drew, you just said you were!” Her patience was dwindling. “Now which is it?”

“All right. I was there. And I was going to ask you not to marry him. To marry me instead. But I didn’t do that. I didn’t want to ruin your wedding. Or your life, Linda. It was June 11, 1988. It was a Saturday. About two in the afternoon. St. Joseph’s of the Palisades. West New York, New Jersey.”

Stunned, she touched her throat with her hand. “Oh. My Lord…you were there.”

Drew shrugged. “I just want you to know. And I wanted you to know that’s what happened.”

She didn’t know what to say. Apparently, he didn’t, either, though he gently took her forearm and led her down the beach along the wet, darkened sandy. On an impulse, more to see if he would accept the gesture of affection, she let her hand slip through the crook of his arm.

That was when he looked at her. Intensely, without rancor or anger.

Excerpt from UNCONDITIONAL

For the convenience of people who used the pier to fish, the restaurant had designated a restroom for their use with an outdoor restaurant right behind the bar. Valerie loved to fish, but she didn’t love the fishy smell that clung to her hands after handling bait and fish all day. After washing her hands, she used a travel-size bottle of hand cream in her backpack, warm vanilla scent, that she’d picked up at the mall, before checking her cell phone.

One missed call from Kylie, a text from Mom—Have fun, my love! Tell me about it when u get home, k? It was cute to her, how her mother had mastered short cuts on texts as well as any teenager.

The second text message had come from Zed. Reading it brought an exasperated sigh from Valerie.

so whos the fisherman? I no we said we were taking this slow and could see other people but wow that was quick. we just got back together and u didnt say a word bout it either. alright not a big deal just kinda sneaky of you but ok.

“Sneaky? Really, Zed?” she mumbled to herself as she jammed the phone back into her shorts pocket.

This was coming from the same guy who had done his share of “sneakiness,” and not only when they were younger, either. The very last time she’d been his on-again girlfriend, he’d secreted away a side-dish girlfriend, someone from Lodi who’d been visiting Wildwood with a few of her friends. Valerie had found out from the grapevine, because Zed would have kept the little game going for as long as he could if he hadn’t gotten caught, that they had continued to see each other for months. All the times he’d said he was going to New York on business, he’d really been driving up to Lodi to visit his little redheaded secret.

Could it be that Kylie was right? She tried to avoid the subject whenever her best friend and her mother were in the same room, because those two agreed with each other when it came to Zed. But Kylie had said something that had stuck with Valerie.

Zed was your first love. I don’t believe he was ever really the person your heart made him out to be, but you haven’t stopped believing the dreams of the teenager you used to be. That’s why you keep holding on, because you think your love is going to make him into something he’s never been and never going to be.

Valerie smiled, walking back along the long pier, past others who were dropping their lines into the water below. She remembered how she’d teased Kylie about behaving like an amateur psychologist.

And yet…it rang true. Her best friend was like that sometimes, very insightful and, Valerie would say, even wise. Maybe Kylie sometimes seemed to just know her better than she knew herself.

Up ahead stood Josh, checking her line. He had paused and was watching her approach, standing with his long, slim legs spread apart. His tan was deepening from the time they’d already spent out in the sun that day, and there was something oh-so-hunky about the way his complexion went so well with his wind-tossed, sandy brown hair. His sunglasses concealed his eyes, and she mused how he reminded her more of some handsome secret agent rather than a beach-going local.

Awesome guy, she thought.

She found it funny how she’d gotten his choice of drink right on the money. He hadn’t even waited until they’d broken out the sandwiches, either. Josh had whipped out the chocolate milk container and had begun to sip it.

Chocolate milk, an occasional soda, and iced tea. He told her that morning that he never drank except when he was younger, and that he’d done that only to be part of the crowd. Now, he said, he felt no such peer pressure. He claimed not to like the taste of beer, wine or liquor, and that he wasn’t into drugs, either.

Then maybe April was mistaken about…that other matter? Josh hadn’t mentioned a word about it. In fairness, though, that wasn’t something a person offered to bring up, especially while out on a first date.

Please,let it not be true, Lord, she prayed. I don’t know—can I pray that? I guess not. You can do anything, I know. You’re God. But the past is there; it is what it is. It can’t be changed. Please let him be honest with me. I’ve had enough of a man keeping secrets from me, Lord. I’d rather he not disrespect me with a lie. That he be honest with me.

Josh was wiping his hands on a small towel he’d brought with him when she made it back to their spot on the pier.

“You missed it,” he announced.

“What? Oh, man—I wasn’t even gone that long!” she moaned.

“Yep. Feast your eyes on this baby…”

He opened his cooler, which they’d used to store any fish they’d caught—if any were, in fact, caught. Fishing was often a gamble, but a fun one. Inside the cooler, resting on a bed of ice, was a fish big enough to produce two suitable fillets.

“Oh, that’s one gorgeous fish,” she said reverently.

“Yeah, ain’t he good-lookin’? He’ll look even better on a dish with lemon and tartar sauce.”

“Next to some of those yummy, little fingerling potatoes. Roasted fingerlings.”

“And corn on the cob.”

“With butter.”

With all that talk of food making him hungry, Josh licked his lips. That made her think of kissing. The thought of kissing him made her have to catch her breath.

“That menu sounds perfect,” he declared.

“And we forgot biscuits. I know how to make really good ones from scratch, like the ones you get at Red Lobster, with some shredded cheddar and rosemary and garlic spice.”

He cleared his throat. “You think you’d like to…have that for dinner tonight? Or…You’re busy after your volunteer work?”

One date…to be continued. Tonight.

Excerpt from MORE THAN SPARROWS

If you're like me, you're finally setting down after a day of preparations for Easter tomorrow. I've spent the day preparing for family who'll be coming over for dinner. Now that the house is clean and spruced up and some side dishes are done, I can finally settle down and get some work done on the final book of The Larkspur Valley Series.

In the meantime, now that you've got your coffee and are ready to kick back, how about an excerpt from Book 1, MORE THAN SPARROWS? Enjoy!

Henry Gordon was proud of his car, a bright orange-red 1960 Chevy Impala, which he’d only had for a year. The last thing he wanted was to wreck it in an accident, but he was even more afraid of his pregnant granddaughter being injured. Driving in inclement weather had always made him nervous.

So he drove slowly, both hands gripping the steering wheel, his eyes fixed to the road, while the all-news radio station droned on with details of the storm. “An historic storm,” they were calling it. Those four miles from town to his farm might as well have been a hundred and four miles, for how long it was taking him, but with the Lord’s help he’d get them home safely.

The girl hadn’t said much along the way. That was fine, since he had to concentrate on his driving. She’d been crying, too. He had to grin when he thought back to a few minutes ago, how she’d smiled and quickly dried her face, though her red eyes gave her away. The little girl was trying to be brave, and he respected that in someone so young. Henry knew his daughter; he knew what Vera must have put that poor child through before casting her out of her own home.

Gratefully, he pulled into the familiar long driveway. To cut through the silence, he announced, “Well, Penny, honey, we’re home.”

“Are we? I’m glad.” She turned to him shyly, her voice trembling in spite of her smile. “Home sweet home.”

Pleased, Henry chuckled. “Yes, that’s right. Home sweet home.”

He wanted to admit to her that it would be sweeter now that the place wouldn’t be quite so empty anymore. Naturally, it was also about to get a lot less quiet in that old house, too. As a man who was up and about at the crack of dawn, it would be an adjustment for him, having a little one crying and fussing at all hours of the night.

But that was all right by him. Henry was no stranger to babies. He’d fathered six children in all; three had been stillborn, the fourth—a boy—had died during the night at the age of two months. His beloved wife, Opal, had always been of delicate health, and she was the never the same after finding her infant son dead in his crib that terrible morning.

Time, like people said, heals all wounds. But that didn’t mean he’d forgotten all that. Tonight, for him at least, was a happy occasion. Still, emotionally speaking, he was keeping a bit of a distance. Just in case Penny, like her mother, wouldn’t want that to be her home at all.

“Easy. Careful,” he advised as he helped her out of the car. “Is that all you have, girl? Just those shoes? You don’t have any boots?”

She looked down at her feet. “That’s all I have. And an old pair of bedroom slippers. They won’t do me any good in this snow, but—”

“Some of the boys who’ve worked for me are about your age. I think I can find their old boots in the stable. They’re not pretty boots, but they’ll do better on the snow and ice.”

“That’d be good. Thank you, Grandfather…Grandpa.”

He retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, then helped her up the snowy path to the front door. “You hungry?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to be any trouble. I can wait till tomorrow to eat something.”

“Well, no, you can’t. You’re a mama now, eating for two,” he corrected her firmly. “I can make you a sandwich. Won’t take but a minute and you won’t have to go to bed hungry.”

Willingly, she accepted the offer at that point. “Okay.”

Lots of things in the house needed fixing. What house over half a century old didn’t? Still, Henry had to admit that his home looked almost picturesque on such a white, wintry night such as that one. The sideways-falling snow had blown onto the plain porch, leaving a thick layer of snowflakes on the four old rockers that were there year-round.

Once inside, he watched Penny’s reaction. Long before her mother was her age, she couldn’t wait to leave the old farmhouse. Penny, on the other hand, immediately surveyed the house with one sweeping glance. Curiosity filled her eyes as she looked around at the sparse furnishings, her gaze resting on the fireplace set in a wall of rock.

“That’s a real fireplace!” she exclaimed.

“Yep. Sure is.”

“We don’t have one. We have this little furnace-type thing in the apartment. Or we did.”

The fact that her voice had trailed off forlornly didn’t escape him. Henry studied his granddaughter, who at seventeen was at that crossroads in her life, not a little girl anymore but just embarking on young womanhood. Some would consider her plain, but he thought she had an honest kind of beauty. He suspected her light auburn hair, tamed back in a single long braid, could be a mess of tight, unruly curls. A heavy dusting of freckles dotted the fair complexion of her face. Penny’s eyes were a dark, almost murky green, beneath long eyelashes the same color as her hair.

There was an unmistakable innocence about her. An innocent child who’d gotten herself into trouble with a boy who was now nowhere to be found. How could Vera have done that? Thrown this little girl away like that?

He tamped down on the anger that was at a slow boil inside him, not wanting her to think it was directed at her.

“Let me show you to your room.” He led the way up the staircase with her walking behind him, wearily. “Then I’ll make you something to eat. I’m not going to make a fire tonight, Penny. The house is drafty, I know, but I think we’ve got enough blankets.”

“I think it’s a wonderful house, Grandpa. Tonight, it feels more like a storybook castle.”

“I’m sure that won’t last long!” he exclaimed, laughing heartily, though his heart went out to her.

Surely, to someone with no place to go, no roof over her head, that old farmhouse built at the turn of the century had to feel like a grandiose castle. He was touched, too, but he refused to take it too seriously. She was young and she’d lived in the city. It wouldn’t be long before country life bored her out of her wits.

“Grandpa, I want you to know that I’m a quick study. I’ve never worked on a farm before, but I learn fast.”

Henry had just set her suitcase down on the bed for her. He considered it an insult to his granddaughter, after what she’d been through, to place her in her mother’s room. Instead, her room was the one that had belonged to her Uncle Timothy. That one boasted a rocker by the window, covered by an afghan older than Penny herself. He recalled wistfully that her grandmother had knitted that afghan shortly before her death.

“Work? No, Penny. No, no.” Adamantly, he shook his head. “Ladies in your condition don’t do farm work.”

“But there has to be something I can do, Grandpa.” The girl dipped her head down, as if afraid to meet his gaze. “I want to be useful to you. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You won’t be, Penny. But a woman having a baby shouldn’t work.” Seeing her bottom lip quiver, he conceded reluctantly, “Guess you could feed the chickens or something—”

“I could do that. Yes.”

“But only that. You get settled. Come down to the kitchen when you’re ready. I’ll go fix your sandwich.”

On his way back down the stairs, Henry shook his head. The girl wanted to do farm work. Of all the crazy things he’d ever heard!

She’s only a little girl herself, he reminded himself.

This was her first baby. From the little Vera had told him over the phone, Penny had done everything she could to conceal her pregnancy for the first four months. When she’d begun to show, she wore clothing that was looser around her waist.

She’s a deceitful little witch.

His jaw tightened at the memory of the vicious tone in his daughter’s voice when she’d said those words. At the kitchen counter he put a generous helping of ham and cheese between two slices of bread, spreading a thin layer of mayonnaise to the sandwich.

Vera hadn’t bothered to explain anything to her daughter, “the deceitful witch.” She hadn’t told her about taking proper care of herself because she had a little one to consider. That she needed to eat well and stay off her feet, because it was too easy for a delicate young girl to lose the baby inside her.

Vera hadn’t cared about her daughter or her grandchild. She’d only wanted Penny and her baby out of her life and her new husband’s.

“Apple juice or milk?” he asked as Penny entered and seated herself at the table. “I suggest the milk.”

“I like both, so I’ll take the milk. It’s better for the baby.”

That was the first real smile he’d seen on her face since he’d met her that evening, prompting a chuckle from him.

“Good girl!” he exclaimed, pouring them each a glass. “That’s from right here, too, from our cows.”

Penny sampled a big, refreshing gulp. “Delicious. The sandwich looks good, too, Grandpa. And that room…that was Uncle Timothy’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but he won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Will I maybe get to meet him sometime?”

“Maybe.” It wasn’t a lie; just an evasive answer to a painful question. He sat himself across from her. “I need to go into town for some supplies tomorrow morning. You’re welcome to come with me.”

“Go into town? Okay.”

“’Course, that all depends on how the roads are tomorrow. If this storm ever ends.” He watched her pick up the sandwich and gently informed her, “We say grace in this house, honey.”

“What? Oh—sure, Grandpa.” Penny set down the sandwich and folded her hands in front of her. “Sorry. We don’t do that in Mama’s house.”

I’m sure. He kept that comment to himself and said a little prayer of thanks, then waved his hand at the sandwich. “Dig in.”

He wanted to ask about the father. All Vera would say was, “He’s nowhere to be found.” She’d also gone on to say something to the effect of boys being boys. Penny, who she claimed was now no longer her daughter, was the loose girl with no morals for having enticed him. Henry had held himself, wanting so badly to defend his granddaughter. He’d only held his tongue for the sake of not angering Vera, who was capable of not sending Penny to him in retaliation.

And he held his tongue now concerning the boy who’d impregnated her. When she was ready, she’d talk about him. It wasn’t important right now, anyway. The only thing of significance was making her feel at peace in her new home. That subject, Henry would approach.

“I know this goes without saying, but this is your home now,” he said. “I want to feel comfortable here, like you belong, because you do.”

She swallowed a bite of her sandwich. Her eyes again moistened. “I can’t tell you what that means to me, Grandpa.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here. Look around, Penny. I don’t have a lot, but what I have is yours and the baby’s.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way, have you given any thought to a name?”

Her surprise at the question turned to delight. “I have. What do you think about the name Benjamin?”

“That’s a good name. It’s from the Bible, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, the Old Testament. One of Joseph’s brothers. The twelve tribes of Israel. That’s a fine choice. And what about if the baby is a girl?”

“Oh, this is a boy.” Penny giggled and gave her stomach an affectionate rub.

“You know that for sure?”

“Yep. It’s a boy. This is Benjamin. I call him Ben sometimes. And he must hear us talking about him right now.”

“Oh? Is he kicking right now?”

“Yes. Look, Grandpa. See if you can feel him.”

It had been a long time since he’d gotten that invitation. He’d always believed it would come from his only daughter first, not his granddaughter. Yet he willingly, if shyly, obliged by letting her guide the palm of his hand to her abdomen. It was solid, like a mother-to-be’s belly typically was. Within moments he could feel soft, wonderful movement against his hand.

“Well, if that don’t beat all. Hello, my great-grandson!” He laughed heartily.

“He likes you. He didn’t kick you. Sometimes he just touches you.” Penny paused to sip her milk. “You can feel when he touches you instead, like he’s pressing his little hand up against yours. I can’t wait to meet him, Grandpa.”

“I can’t, either.”

Barely trusting himself to say anything else, he was quiet for a few moments. By nature, he was a reserved man, never given to histrionics. Yet he couldn’t help but feel more emotional than usual.

As he waited for her to finish her sandwich and milk, he thought about bringing up another subject, then ruled it out. She really did need female guidance in this whole baby business. As a man and her grandfather, there was just so much advice he could give her. Had Opal been alive, she would have lovingly taken their granddaughter under her wing. Henry had wanted to ask her if she would mind him asking around—discreetly, of course. There was one person he had in mind, a decent, kind woman from church. She wouldn’t look down on Penny like some other women would. Henry trusted her. He would approach her on Penny’s behalf.

In any case, tonight wasn’t the night to discuss those things. There would be time later.

“The bathroom is upstairs and down the hallway,” he told her as they rose from the table. He placed her dish in the sink. “I’m a light sleeper, so if you need anything, wake me up.”

“I’ll be fine, Grandpa. But that’s good to know.” She turned to face him. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Well, I gave you my word I’d come.”

“I know. But you didn’t have to keep your word. Just like you didn’t have to give me someplace to go. I won’t forget you saying that to me on the phone, Grandpa. When you said, ‘You can come here. Come home as soon as you can.’”

Her voice cracked softly. He wasn’t expecting that hug that felt like it was coming from a scared little girl…which, in spite of the fact that she was carrying a child of her own, was exactly what she was. Henry had never been particularly good at physical displays of affection, but he managed. Clumsily, he managed, hugging her back.

“Good night, honey,” he mumbled. “Sweet dreams, you and your little man.”