Small-Town Dreams (11 page)

She found Henry in his study, reading a thick text with a magnifying glass. He looked up and grinned. “More questions?”

“No. A simple goodbye. I’m going home, Henry. Thanksgiving’s less than a week away and I need to see what I can salvage of my relationship with Grandfather.”

Henry shook his head. “Your grandfather doesn’t have a thing to do with this. You’ve talked to Josh.”

Cassie nodded. “I’m hurting him by being here. I’m not sure how much of this I understand, but I know that. And seeing him day in and day out would hurt me too much, too. I need to leave.”

“But if you stayed—”

Cassidy interrupted with a shake of her head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Joshua Daniels in the nearly three weeks I’ve known him, it’s how stubborn he is.” She smiled, and knew it was a sad one. “It seems I’ve met my match in more ways than one.”

Henry pushed himself to his feet and held out his comforting arms. “Give an old man a hug before you disappear from our lives, then, will ya?”

The goodbye to Irma was no less difficult. Cassidy walked into the café and found Irma waiting. “Henry called. We’ve been two very selfish people, dear. And we’re sorry. Both Henry and I thought you’d pull Josh out of this determination to stay alone. I never wanted to see you hurt.”

“I know that. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t give up the experience of having known Josh for anything. And knowing him simply means loving him. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s. Maria has my address and I’ll keep her informed where I move to. I won’t be staying in my apartment long.” Cassie remembered Irma’s reaction to the tale of her apartment and its decor, and she smiled a little more easily this time. “It has terrible light and someone decorated it in the most ghastly style.”

Irma came around the counter and hugged her. “Good for you, dear. You let us know how things are going. I’ve packed you some dinner so you won’t have to stop anywhere after dark.”

Tears filled Cassie’s eyes, and she couldn’t control her quivering lip. “I’m going to miss you so much. Thank you. Thank you for everything. Please, take good care of him.”

“Always,” Irma responded. “Now go if you’re going before I blubber all over you.”

Cassie nodded and ran for her car. How could it feel as if she were ripping her heart out and leaving it behind in a place she’d been for less than three weeks? As she headed out of town, she passed Earl’s Car Emporium and slowed down as he walked toward the street from the old barn he called a garage.

He stopped about twenty feet away and shook his head sadly as she opened the car window. “Sorry to see you go, little girl,” he said. “Real sorry.” Then he waved her off and turned away.

“Sorry to be going, Earl,” she whispered brokenly. “Real sorry.”

Cassidy stepped on the gas and drove away from the only real home she remembered having in over twenty years.

J
osh woke, the morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom windows. His first thought was of Cassie. He knew she’d be thrilled with the strong morning light. She might even be able to finish the painting she always worked on between eight and ten.

Then he remembered.

Cassie would never be more than his friend, and she’d had tears in her eyes when he’d told her. She’d tried to hide them, but he’d seen—and her pain had tripled his. She should hate him for hurting her this way.

He hated that he’d hurt her. If only he’d told her sooner. If only he’d realized how deep her feelings for him had become. But he hadn’t thought it possible for her to care for him. She was so far outside his small world that it had never occurred to him to tell her to guard her heart.

There was always the hope that she’d quickly come to see how inappropriate he would have been for her. She might already have come to that conclusion. Then they could be friends, and he could love her from a safe distance. His love would never change for her, but he prayed hers for him would. He didn’t want to think of her hurting the way he was.

Josh decided to stop by her studio some minutes later—and froze, horrified, in the doorway. Her paintings were gone and the supplies Maria lent her were packed in the box she’d sent them in. He rushed down the hall, his heart pounding as he approached her room, but he stopped abruptly before he got there. Her door was open. Cassie never left her door open.

And then he knew for sure.

He rushed forward, but the awful truth didn’t change. The room was empty. Anything that spoke of Cassie’s presence was gone.
She
was gone.

Josh wandered in and sank down onto the bed in a haze of pain and loss. He tried to come to terms with her total absence from his life. It was better, he told himself. A clean break was better. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to convince his aching heart.

Empty. For the first time since realizing that he had no idea who he was, he felt totally empty. She wouldn’t be there to brighten up the dinner table or a slow afternoon. There would be no more impromptu art shows when something she’d attempted came out just right. He’d never again look out at the congregation and see her soaking up his Wednesday or Sunday night’s teaching like a sponge. Or hear her slightly off-key voice raised in song next to him at Henry’s Sunday morning service.

He’d survive. He knew that. He was a survivor. But right now, he didn’t know how he’d do it. This day suddenly looked years long. And long, lonely years loomed ahead. He closed his eyes and clenched his hand in the quilt. Tears streamed down his face.
Oh please, Lord, take the pain away. Please.

Philadelphia had been cold, damp and rainy for days since Cassie’s return. The walls of her apartment and the tones of the furniture were all still just as gray as her decorator had insisted they should be.
Restful,
the woman had said. Depressing, Cassie had always thought. Her last two paintings were depressingly gray, as well. Even the sky, as she looked out her big floor-to-ceiling windows, was gray. It all matched her mood.

She’d been home a week and her heart still felt bruised and raw. She watched the clouds toss raindrops against the glass and let the sky cry for her. She was all cried out—drained.

Today was Thanksgiving, so she’d finally gotten up the strength to call her grandfather to tell him she was home. It was a family day, and he was her only family. And she
was
thankful for him. For all his faults and mistakes, he’d always loved her. She saw that now.

On hearing her voice, he’d immediately insisted on seeing her. She expected him at any minute. And she wanted to see him. She really did. She just wasn’t looking forward to telling him she wouldn’t be returning to Jamison. But it had to be done.

The doorbell rang, and she turned from her gray study. There was no time like the present to get it all out in the open, she thought, and headed for the door.

“Hello, Grandfather,” she said as she opened it.

Her grandfather stared at her. Right then he reminded her of a hawk assessing its prey.

“You look better,” he said. “About time, too! We need to talk.”

“The last time someone said that to me, he cut my heart out,” she told him, her thoughts once again returning to Josh.

But he misunderstood. “I’m sorry about the vice presidency. I did it for your own good.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the foyer mirror. “Just look at how much better you look.”

Cassie stared at the woman in the mirror. He was right. Josh had inadvertently broken her heart, but he had done so many positive things for her, too. Showing her how foolish it was not to take care of her health had only been the first. He’d given her back her art. And most important of all, he had given her Jesus. It was He who had sustained her these past days.

She met her grandfather’s blue eyes, so like her own, in the mirror. “Grandfather, I don’t care about the vice presidency.”

“Never try to fool me, young lady. I could see how miserable you were. I was wrong to coerce you into coming to work at Jamison. I overheard you talking to your doctor about your ulcer and I watched you all week before I made the decision to give the position to Jon Reed. You weren’t meant for corporate politics. You were meant to create pretty pictures. I don’t care if you can’t earn a living at it. You have your trust fund from your father, and I’ll set up another if that isn’t enough.”

Cassie smiled. “Let’s go sit. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that I won’t need another trust fund. And I really don’t care about the promotion.”

Her grandfather followed her and sat down, staring at her in stunned silence for a few seconds. “You don’t?”

“I don’t. I admit I feel better knowing you did what you did for my sake. My anger was really hurt. I thought you didn’t appreciate my hard work. And I’ll also admit that it’s the best thing you ever did for me. I never would have stormed off the way I did if you hadn’t. I never would have had the time to think about why I was sick and unhappy.

“I did a lot of thinking while I was away. And the reason I did was the family I met in Mountain View. They showed me what’s really important in life. They don’t have much, but they have each other and they have God in their lives. And they’re happy. Their son got me painting again and introduced me to an artist who thinks I’m talented. Her agent wants to see my work.”

“It sounds as if I was more than a little off base about your chances in the art world. I’m sorry, Cassidy. I didn’t understand your talent, and I was wrong to discount it.”

“Forgiven.”

He graced her with one of his rare smiles. “So who is this agent? Want me to have him checked out?”

“No. But you could do something else for me. You could explain to me why you never took me to church. My parents were both churchgoers.”

The old man sighed. “Your father joined that church of your mother’s, and after that the company fell into third place in his life. By that point in my life I
was
Jamison Steel, so I felt more than a little abandoned. I’d been mad at God for a long time—ever since I lost Betty in childbirth. And now I felt He’d taken my son, as well.

“Gregory and the steel mill were all I’d had since your grandmother died—and I was angry. Then he and your mother were killed, and I had a chance to have you all to myself. I took it. If I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

Cassidy nodded. “You were wrong for both of us, Grandfather. You need God as much as I do. And believe me, right now I need Him desperately.”

Winston Jamison narrowed his eyes and examined her again. Cassie fought the urge to squirm.

“If you aren’t upset anymore about the promotion, why does my granddaughter look so unhappy?”

“Because of the man who got me painting again while I was in the Poconos. I love him. But even though he loves me, he isn’t free. No, that isn’t accurate. He doesn’t
feel
as if he’s free to offer me a future. Since there’s no future for us, I came home.”

“Suppose you tell Grandfather why he thinks there’s no future for you.”

So she told him all about Joshua Daniels, who’d been named by the pages of the Bible he’d since come to love. She told him how committed Josh was to his Lord and all about how devastated he’d looked that last afternoon while he’d explained why their love was doomed. She was crying again by the time she finished.

Gruff as always, Grandfather handed her his handkerchief. “That’s the most harebrained thinking I’ve ever heard. I realize I don’t understand much about God, but I doubt He’d expect this young man to keep himself for a woman he’ll never find and can’t remember. Especially when there’s every chance she’s as dead as he almost was. And what are you thinking? You came home to sulk while the man you love sits up there all by himself? I raised you better than that.”

“But he thinks it’s wrong. I can’t persuade him to go against his conscience,” she protested.

“You said Henry Tallinger thinks Joshua’s off base. Tallinger is a pastor. If he thinks this woman in the picture isn’t an impediment, then what I’m telling you to do is try to convince Joshua that he’s wrong. Try to get him to see that you two deserve a life together. I don’t know if you’ll succeed, but I know I raised you to try. Think about it!”

He smiled broadly. “Now show me these paintings that are going to make my granddaughter rich and famous. Then we have reservations at the Four Seasons for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Joshua put the leash on Bear and adjusted the orange vest Irma had made for the big dog last year when a hunter took a shot at him during bear season. Then he stood, picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be home by this time day after tomorrow, Ma,” he told Irma, who still looked worried. It was her concern that had driven him to go up the mountain to the cabin for a few days.

He needed space. Time alone.

“You ought to be headed to Philadelphia,” Irma said, and hugged him.

He shook his head. He wasn’t getting into that again. No one understood how strong the feeling was when he looked at the photo of the woman. They just didn’t get it.

“Come on, Bear.”

“Now you be careful,” she added, as he stepped out onto the back steps.

Josh chuckled. “Ma, it’s December. Deer season. Bear looks nothing like a deer, and neither do I. The land’s posted. We’ll be fine.”

It took the better part of two-and-a-half hours to reach the cabin Henry had inherited as a boy. It was that cabin that had brought Henry to Mountain View. It was the church and Irma that had kept him there.

Josh sat on the porch and couldn’t help wondering how different his life would have been if the people who’d left him by the road had stolen the photo along with everything else. Cassidy might still be in Mountain View, and he’d be in town enjoying her company.

Bear growled and stood. A rustling in the brush drew Josh’s attention, as well. He stood and walked to the edge of the clearing, Bear at heel next to him. “That’s why you’re on a leash. It’s probably another skunk to get you in trouble again.”

There was no warning but Bear’s whimper. Josh had just bent down to comfort the dog when the shot rang out.

Josh’s left leg crumpled beneath him. Bear yelped and sagged under Josh’s weight as they both fell to the ground. In a fog of pain, Josh heard a voice about thirty yards away.

“Buck, you fool, I think you just capped a dog! We’d better get out of here before his owner comes after us. I told you we shouldn’t hunt on posted land.”

Josh called for help, but darkness suddenly swamped him and his shout was little more than a whisper.

Cassidy threw the brush down and stepped back from the painting. It was good. But it was wrong. She’d sat for over an hour in the park across from the old man, sketching him as he’d fed the squirrels and pigeons. The colors were fine and clear. His skin tones were as near to perfect as she could get them.

She picked up the sketch she’d done and compared the two. And groaned. This had to stop! The problem with the painting was simple. The eyes were too young and hauntingly familiar.

Fixing the problem—really fixing it—wouldn’t be simple at all. Because the eyes she’d given the old man were Joshua’s eyes. Proof that she never got him completely out of her head. Not for one single second. Even when she prayed, it was in some way usually connected with him.
Help me forget. Help him forget. Bless Irma. Tell me if I should go back and fight for him or if he was right about his marriage.

It was as if her life was in Philadelphia, but her heart and soul were in Mountain View.

It had been two weeks since she’d returned home and a week since her grandfather had challenged her to go after what she wanted. And she was still torn and undecided about what to do.

She looked again into the eyes she’d painted. They looked just the way his had that day in her little makeshift studio. Desolate. Hopeless. But there was something new, too. They were dark with pain.

She turned away, knowing with a certainty that he was as miserable as she was. And so stubborn. Well, she was just as stubborn! She’d match her stubbornness against his any day of the week.