Detour: Destination Abiding Love (13 page)

She looked up. “It's good to be here,” she said softly.

Mere inches apart, he dipped his head a bit closer. What would she do if he kissed her?

Someone cleared his throat, and Cole suddenly remembered where he was.

Sierra took a step back and waved to his employee. “Oh, hey, Sam. How've you been?”

“Can't complain.” He shifted from one foot to another looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Ah, boss, I noticed Clara's car...”

The bell over the door sounded and Clara appeared, her gaze sweeping the store, first looking at Sierra, and then at Cole.

Sierra's breath hitched as Clara raised her chin in battle. “So, this is your decision, then?”

Cole took a step closer to Sierra and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Let it go, Clara.”

The air in the room became volatile.

“You've made your decision, and I've made mine.” She turned and stalked out the door.

Silence filled the room.

“I know she doesn't like me, but I feel like I'm missing something here.”

Cole resigned himself to the inevitable. “Sam, hold down the fort for me, OK?”

“You got it, boss.”

Cole reached for Sierra's hand and led her to his office. “We need to talk.”

 



 

“She
what?
” Sierra was flabbergasted.

Clara had threatened Pastor Bill.

To lash out at her was one thing, but how could Clara hurt Melissa and Pastor Bill like that? If she were Cinderella, the clock had definitely stuck midnight. But she wasn't. There was no glass slipper to drop, not even a kiss, just a promise of one in Cole's eyes earlier.

She ran toward the door.

Cole called after her.

Sierra didn't slow down. She prayed he wouldn't follow her as she ran all the way over to the church and up into the sanctuary. “God, why are you letting this happen? I came to bring peace, but I've only brought hurt to those I care most about.” She despised her situation.
What a fool I was to ever hope I could live a “happily-ever-after” type of life.
“I love him, Lord. Help me.” She cried out and dropped her head into her hands. She didn't know where to go, but she had only one choice. For the sake of Colton, the love she held in her heart for him, the pastor's family, and a few other dear friends, it was time to leave Daviston for good.

Pastor Bill eased into the pew next to her and held out a tissue. “Want to talk?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

He took a deep breath and turned to look out the window. “OK, mind if I do, then?” He took her silence as invitation. “It's through the tough times that we have the opportunities to grow better or bitter. It's a choice we, as individuals, need to make.”

She blew her nose. “Do you know what Clara's doing?”

He had a sad look on his face. “I do. But I keep reminding myself that Christ died for her, too. Strange as it may sound, this isn't taking God by surprise, and He can accomplish His purposes through it.”

“I feel like He doesn't even care.”

“Abiding in Christ isn't about feelings. If you let your circumstance dictate your direction, you will get nothing but trouble.” He pulled the hymnal out from the rack in front of them. “You know, one time you were explaining how violin music is made by friction on the strings. In the same way, God can make beauty from friction in our lives, through a soul surrendered and reconciled to Him.”

“I'd rather be the musician than the instrument.”

He gently smiled. “There are days when we all think that.” He flipped through the pages. “Ah, here's a very old hymn that I have come to love that reminds me that I can't do it on my own. It's called I need thee every hour by Annie S. Hawks. “Listen to this.” He began to sing.

 

I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord;

No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.

 

I need Thee, O I need Thee;

Every hour I need Thee;

O bless me now, my Savior,

I come to Thee.

 

I need Thee every hour, stay Thou nearby;

Temptations lose their power when Thou art nigh.

 

I need Thee every hour, in joy or pain;

Come quickly and abide, or life is in vain.

 

I need Thee every hour; teach me Thy will;

And Thy rich promises in me fulfill.

 

I need Thee every hour, most Holy One;

O make me Thine indeed,Thou blessèd Son.

 

“The threat of temptations, joy or pain, nothing can remove God's hand in our lives. I don't know how this whole situation will end, for you or for me, but I do know that in Christ, we—you—can stand.”

“Thank you, I needed to hear that.” She wiped the tears away and stood. “I'm leaving Daviston. Can I take this book with me?”

He studied her. “Of course. Are you sure that's what He wants you to do?”

“I really do think so, but I'll keep praying about it.”

Pastor Bill nodded. “Good. I will, too.”

 

 

 

 

10

 

Two months before, Sierra had made up her mind. Daviston was simply a detour, not her destination…not her dream. So, when did her music dream morph into something more? Something involving a tall, blue eyed, short-haired country store owner? She sighed. It didn't really matter now, did it? She couldn't go back to Daviston, and she'd never ask Cole to leave. She loved him too much.

She saw the sign for a rest stop up ahead and put on her blinker. Her cellphone chirped, and tempted though she was, she had made a promise when she got the phone that she wouldn't use it in the car unless the vehicle was stopped. If someone wanted her bad enough, they'd leave a voicemail. She followed the signs for car parking and found a spot. Pulling her phone free from her embroidered, cloth handbag she opened the case. One new voice message. She pushed the
RETRIEVAL
button and held it up to her ear. Her mother's voice greeted her.

“Sierra, this is your mother. Please call me as soon as you can.” Her mother rattled off a number and then the line went dead.

Sierra sat in stunned silence. Following her ugly exodus from Daviston, her mother's voice added more stress.
Lord, if beauty can be made by friction in my life as Pastor Bill said, we're going for a masterpiece here.
The only problem is, I don't know how much more friction I can handle before I come apart at the seams.

When was the last time she had spoken to either of her parents and how did they get her cell number? With trembling fingers and one more quick prayer for strength, she hit caller ID then the
CALL-BACK
button.

“Hello.”

She hadn't spoken to her mother in over a year, but she could still pick up on the tension in Mom's voice. “Mom, it's me.”

“Sierra.” Relief poured through the phone. “I'm so glad we were able to find you.”

Sierra watched the sea gulls circle the trash can and hoped none would leave a nasty deposit on her windshield. “Mom, you're scaring me. What's wrong?”

“It's your father.”

Of course. Anger ate at her stomach lining. She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. “What did he do this time?”

A gasp and then silence.

“Mom, you still there?”

“Yes. Sierra, your father is dying.”

Her breathing grew shallow and her vision tunneled to the neon green numbers on her dashboard display. “What?”

“You dad is asking for you. W-will you come to see him?” Her mother's voice was barely audible.

Sierra closed her eyes. Her head felt funny. She let it fall back into the headrest. Guilt pinned her to her seat. How many times had she wished her father would just vanish? Now that the possibility was very real, she realized that although he had repeatedly let her and her family down, he was still her father. Under all the hurt and anguish, she was still his little girl.
Lord, help me forgive him. I need to tell him all that has happened. I don't want him to die without knowing You.
She lifted her head and reached for her purse again. She dug around until she found a slip of paper and pen. “Where are you?”

 



 

Cole held the note in his hand that Pastor Bill had dropped off. How could she leave without a proper good-bye? Actually, the content of the note explained that, but it didn't make it any easier. It had only been six hours since she left, but it felt like six million years. Cole knew what he'd lost, but he was beginning to wonder what it would take for the town to realize what they had done. He tried to call her to tell her he understood, but Sierra wasn't even answering her cell. Would something like this push her over the edge and back into the lifestyle she left? He couldn't go there. Instead, he prayed.
Lord, You love her even more than I do. Protect her.

He folded his lanky body into the car and made a promise that he'd do whatever it took for however long. He'd find a way. How else would Sierra ever come back? Even if he were to leave his job and move to New York, he knew this unresolved issue of unforgiveness and abandonment would follow them, wreaking havoc in their lives. Sierra had lived through enough pain in her lifetime. She didn't need more hurt to stuff inside.

Granted, the price to winning this town could be mind-bogglingly high. Who knew the far reaching implications on his family, the church, his business, even his relationship with Sierra? Yet following through with clearing her name would not only honor the woman he had grown to love, but God as well. He would need to keep his eyes fixed on the prize God promised for a race well run, rather than the price.

He smiled at the thought. When she had arrived, he was drifting, but because of her, his whole life was different.
Lord, Sierra is like my second half. Thank You for the time I had with her, for the way she has encouraged me and spurred me back to You. I don't know what You have for our future. You know I love her, but I leave that in Your hands.
He took a deep breath.
I do know that You are a God of reconciliation. Guide me as I seek to be Your hands and feet here in Daviston. And Lord, if possible, somehow bring her back.
He started his car and backed out of the driveway.

What better place to start than with his own family?

 



 

His parents were resentful for being pulled away from their work and Cole was livid when he found out the full extent of his mother's part in encouraging Clara. Not one soul was happy around the dining room table.

He strove to keep his voice lowered. “It's not right that Clara can throw her weight around town and poison people. She doesn't even live here any longer.”

“Neither does Sierra.” His mother pursed her lips.

“Thanks to you.” He hung his head and sighed. “Look, I didn't come here to argue or point my finger at anyone. I came here because I want you to open your eyes, your hearts, to see Sierra in an unbiased light. Could you at least try?”

His mother's nostrils flared, and his father remained silent.

Cole doubted he was getting anywhere, but he needed to try. “Sierra didn't come here to cause trouble. She came here out of obedience to God and in love, for the people she and her family may have hurt in the past. Why can't you see that?”

His father shifted in his seat. “I don't understand why you're here. What do you hope to accomplish? She's gone.”

That last phrase echoed in his mind. His stomach twisted, and he clenched his molars. “She may be gone, but far from forgotten. I would hope you, of all people, would understand how personal it feels when someone continually seeks to attack your character. That's what Daviston has been doing to her. They forced her out, Dad. Does that sit well with you?”

Mother's eye twitched. “No one forced her out. She left of her own volition.”

He pulled the note from his pocket. “Her own volition, you say? No, Mom, it had nothing to do with what she wanted for herself. It was for you, and Dad and his campaign...me, and Mrs. Whitten's businesses, for the Pastor's and Melissa's jobs...for every life that could possibly be affected in a negative way if she stayed. Doesn't her sacrifice mean anything to you?”

When his mother's eyes remained hard and impassive, he looked at his Dad, who merely shrugged.

Cole stood in disgust. He was getting nowhere, and it was time to leave. “At least think about it, please.”

 



 

Sierra stood outside the hospital room door. She ached to call Cole and have him pray with her, but she decided to call Melissa instead. Melissa would pass her message around to folks on the church prayer chain, and she needed as much prayer support as she could get. With a fortifying breath, she opened the door.

Her mother leapt from the chair and pulled her into a hug. Her mother's hair was a bit longer, with more gray, but the arms wrapped about her still felt the same.

When was the last time they embraced?

She couldn't even remember. She swallowed back the tears and glanced at the sleeping form of her father. He was gaunt and jaundiced. A mere shell of the man she had known. Tubes went in and out of his body everywhere, it seemed.

“They've put him on comfort measures, but for the past week, he's been calling your name in his sleep.” Her mother's soft voice penetrated the fog that had descended over Sierra.

“Does he ever wake up?”

Her mother lowered her gaze, and then hesitantly shook her head. “Not for the past day. He's semi-comatose. But his body still reacts to pain when they test him…I think he's been waiting for you,” she said with a catch in her voice.