Carnations in January (13 page)

“Try, Joel. You told her that on Sunday. Today is Tuesday. I don't want her believing my accident was her fault.”

Joel stood. “Fine. I'll go now, but you need to eat that.”

“No, I insist you eat it.” Elliott pushed the plate of unappetizing food toward his brother. He hated hospital food and couldn't wait to go home. His broken leg wasn't the problem. The staff wanted to make sure the head injury wouldn't cause any lasting problems. Which it wasn't. He remembered everything, knew who everyone was, even knew who the Prime Minister was and how many days it was until Christmas. Which the nurses found amusing as it was only the third week in January. He wasn't going to own up to the fact he had the countdown to Christmas app on his phone.

Joel pushed the plate back. “Thanks, but I had lunch already.”

Elliott sighed and picked up his fork. He took a small bite. “See, I'm eating. Now go charm the woman, explain to her what you were trying to say, and bring her here. Don't come back without her.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Would Grace come? He prayed she would. But more than anything, he prayed for her soul, that what happened to him wouldn't push her farther away from God.

~*~

Grace sat in the shop, looking at the order book. It was filling nicely. And the day's trade had been brisk. She glanced through the window at her house. More snow had fallen over the past couple of days. Workmen had been busy building brick walls, despite the freezing conditions. She just wished it hadn't been as the expense of Elliott's life.

She looked down. Half of her wished she hadn't said she'd stay now, but running away solved nothing. The bell over the door tinkled, and she glanced up.

Pastor Carson stamped the snow from his shoes and rubbed his hands together. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi, Pastor. How can I help you?”

“Maggie asked me to check on the flowers for the wedding on Saturday.”

Grace flipped to the weekend and looked up blankly. “There's no wedding for Armitage booked for this weekend.”

He blew on his hands to warm them. “It'll be under Turner, probably.”

“Ah, yes.” The penny dropped. “Everything will be ready Friday evening for delivery Saturday morning. I'm decorating the church Friday night. In total she wants ten buttonholes, two corsages, three bridesmaids' bouquets, one bridal bouquet, two altar decorations, twenty-four pillar decs and thirty table decs.”

Pastor Carson's jaw dropped. “Wow. I had no idea she'd ordered so many.”

Grace looked up from the order book. “That's about right for a wedding. She asked that one corsage and nine buttonholes be delivered to you by nine AM on Saturday. The other corsage and buttonhole, along with the bouquets are to be delivered to her place.”

“OK, thanks. Can I add three things to that order?”

“Sure.” She picked up her pen.

“I'll pay for these now, if that's all right?”

“Sure. What would you like?”

He paused for a moment and studied his hands. “Umm…three of your best bouquets, please. Two to be delivered to the reception venue, I'll write cards for those.”

Grace slid the book of photos over to him. “And the third?”

He grinned. “For delivery to the manse, addressed to Mrs. Armitage, the day we get back from honeymoon. It'll be the day after Valentine's Day, I'm afraid. But I'd like twenty-four red roses, if possible.” He pointed to one of the photos. “That one times two, please. One for each of the mothers.”

“Sure.”

He pulled out his wallet.

“Roses at Valentines aren't going to be a problem. And you'll only pay current prices, not the ones that get set for the fourteenth of February.” She wrote the orders in the diary. “Although, I'm seriously considering not hiking the prices like everyone else. It doesn't seem fair somehow.”

He glanced up as he wrote the cards. “So, how are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Try that again,” he said. He almost visibly slipped back into pastoral mode from excited groom-to-be. “I overheard you in church on Sunday.”

Her face burned. “Oh.”

“We're not all goody-goodies. Actually, I'm an ex-con.”

Grace straightened and her jaw dropped. “Seriously? But you're a pastor.”

Pastor Carson held her gaze. “Yeah—a pastor with a prison record. So if God can forgive
me
, then surely there must be hope for you.”

“I'm beyond it.”

“No one is
ever
beyond God's love and forgiveness. You got a few minutes to come walk with me?”

“OK.” Grace looked at Shana. “You're in charge 'til I get back.”

“Cool.” Shana grinned and turned to Mandy. “You can scrub the floor with a toothbrush.”

Mandy crossed her arms and smirked. “In your dreams.”

Grace slid into her coat. “Play nice, kiddies.” She followed Pastor Carson out into the snow.

“Your house is coming on,” he said.

“Slowly. I just wish…” she broke off, chewing her bottom lip.

“Go on.”

“Elliott got hurt because of me. I feel like it's my fault. I tend to destroy things, he even said so.” She couldn't meet his curious gaze but continued speaking. “But listening to you on Sunday, and what he'd preached on the week before, I let myself hope that perhaps this time things would be different from before. That I'd be able to fit in.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “My life is a mess and there's nothing I can do about it.”

Pastor Carson sat on the bench and indicated that she sit beside him. “We all ‘stuff up' as the kids so quaintly put it these days. I'm not perfect. Even now I lose my temper, think things I shouldn't, especially when stuck in traffic or behind someone doing ten on the main road. And I say things I shouldn't, as well…the old me is closer to the surface than I like to admit to anyone.”

Grace furrowed her brow. “But you're a pastor,” she repeated, trying to get her head around a man of the cloth admitting he was a sinner.

“But you're missing the point, I'm also human, and a man, and just as fallible as
everyone else
this side of glory.”

“Aunt Tilja used to say ‘to dwell above, with saints we love, in heaven that would be glory.'”

Pastor Carson grinned. “‘To dwell below, with saints we know, well that's another story.' Christians aren't perfect—we hurt each other all the time without meaning to do it. What makes the difference is Jesus. You can't really have a proper relationship with anyone until you have a proper relationship with Him.”

She glanced up, seeing Joel walking towards them. “He blames me for the accident, too.”

“Joel's a good man. A little short sighted when it comes to his brother, but I think all of us are like that with family. Hear him out. Whatever you think he said or perhaps he actually said, I'm sure he didn't mean it the way you interpreted.”

“I didn't.” Joel sat beside her. “Hello, Pastor.”

“Joel. I'll leave you both to talk. Grace, have a read through Mark's gospel tonight if you get chance. Ring me if you have any questions.”

“OK. Thanks.”

Silence fell until Pastor Carson was out of earshot.

Joel coughed. “I should have followed you and explained. I wasn't saying that they were allowed and you weren't. I'm sorry you misunderstood. I was trying to tell you that only relatives were allowed. I was going to say they were visiting the hospital only to be turned away.”

Grace felt heat creeping into her cheeks. “Oh.”

“Elliott wants to see you. He told me, in no uncertain terms, not to come back without you. I didn't mean to upset you.”

Now she felt foolish and...relieved.

Elliott was apparently recovered enough to speak.

Grace shoved her hands into her pockets.

“And he wants to see you, so please?”

“I'm sorry I reacted the way I did.” She held his gaze. So like Elliott, but so different. How could she have ever gotten them confused?

Joel held out a hand. “I'm sorry, too.”

She took his firm grip, shaking it. “Forgiven.”

“So, coming to see El?”

~*~

Grace gazed at the motionless figure lying on the bed across the ward, his brown hair the only splash of color on the white sheets and pillow. “Are you sure he's all right?”

Joel waited a moment before he responded. “Doc says he'll be fine.”

“Can I see him alone for a minute?”

“Sure. I'll go down to the shop and get him some supplies. He's probably dying of malnutrition by now. According to El, the food in here is inedible.”

“OK.” Grace crossed the ward to Elliott's bed. His plastered leg lay on top of the covers. A saline drip went into his arm and steri-strips held together a long cut on his forehead. She bit her lip. He looked so fragile, despite the breadth of his shoulders and height.

He opened his eyes as she perched on the edge of the chair by the bed. “Hello.”

She managed a smile. She still felt as if she'd done this to him. “Hi.”

Elliott held out a hand and she slid her smaller pale fingers into his larger tanned ones. They folded around her, warmth spreading from him into her cold, numb frame. “How are you, Grace?”

She looked at him, surprise filling her. The bloke was lying there, half dead, and he was concerned about her? She really didn't understand. “I'm fine. Worried about you.”

He squeezed her hand, holding her gaze. “I'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks or so.”

“I'm sorry you got hurt. I feel responsible.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How'd you work that one out? Because I got injured while working on your house?”

“You were right. I seem to destroy everything I touch.”

“No, you don't.” His voice took on a firm tone that surprised her. “I made a stupid schoolboy error and am paying for it.”

“So did I,” she said quietly, looking down. “I assumed all Christians, and all men, were the same, and you're not.”

“Oh?”

She folded her hands on her lap as she explained about what had happened at uni, only looking up when she'd regaled the whole sordid tale. “Since he said he was a Christian, I let myself believe that all Christians weren't to be trusted either. They said one thing and did what they wanted. That's when I stopped attending church and after that, I never allowed myself to get close to anyone or trust any man again. That's why I kept you at arm's length.”

“I see.”

She dropped her gaze, not wanting to see the recrimination in his eyes. “Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “I'm glad you're going to be all right. I decided not to leave.”

He gently lifted her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Good. I'm glad.”

“I should make a move and get home.”

He shook his head, not letting go of her face. “Please. Grace, I want you to stay.”

“But you know all about me now. Know what I am. A man like you wouldn't have, couldn't have, anything to do with me.”

He gripped her hand with his free one. “A man like me?”

Grace struggled with the emotions filling her, as equally conflicted expressions flitted across Elliott's face. “Please…let me go.”

“No, you're not running out on me this time. Grace, I'm just like everyone else.” He tugged her arm. “Sit on the bed.”

She did so, her nerve endings tingling with his nearness and his touch.

“Let me tell
you
something. I was seventeen. I thought I knew everything. Dad got me a motorbike—Joel never wanted lessons, said bikes were deathtraps. But I finally persuaded him to get on the back of mine. We went for a day trip. On the way back, I was going too fast, showing off, and lost control. I crashed. Joel was almost killed. I walked away without even a scratch. Sitting in the hospital waiting room, Dad read me the riot act; told me I was on the road to hell, and if I didn't get off, it'd be too late. He told me how Jesus had died and created a bridge between the two roads. The slip road was right by where I was standing.”

“Sounds like the sermon on Sunday morning.”

“You were there?”

“Yeah.”

“Grace, this is the single most important decision you have to make in your life. The choice between life and death.”

“That simple?”

“Yes it is.” Passion flared in his blue eyes. “Grace, someone like me
is
interested in someone like you.”

“You can't be, weren't you listening? You're an elder in your church, and I didn't realize it before…but I am lost, a no one, but I want…” She broke off, tears blurring her vision. She was so confused, but she wanted things to be right more than anything.

“Maybe it's time to stop running from God as well.” Elliott raised her hand to his lips. “Grace?”

“I want it,” she whispered. “The trust, the faith, the love I once knew.”

“Then pray with me,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “That's all you need to do. Turn to Jesus and accept Him.”

“Here? Joel will be in, any second now.”

“Pull the curtains,” he said gently. “He'll know to wait outside.” He kissed her fingers again. “Let's pray and get you right with God.”

12

Grace took an hour-long break from work to visit Elliott in the hospital with a bunch of carnations in hand.

He grinned as he took them. “This is the second time you bought me flowers,” he said. “What's the occasion?”

“Joel and I are taking you out for some proper food,” she said. “He's just getting a wheelchair.”

“I have crutches,” he objected.

“Quiet, you.” Joel said, appearing beside the bed. “It's hospital policy and you know it. Besides, you'll get plenty of practice on those things when you go home tomorrow. Get in.”