Keeper of the Stars (6 page)

He turned right and set off walking in the direction of the mayor's office. Kings Meadow, he'd discovered, wasn't difficult to navigate. Streets tended to wind a bit rather than being laid out in straight lines, but they still ran in mostly
an east-west or a north-south direction. Block sizes weren't uniform, but that gave the town character.

Christmas decorations glimmered in shop windows along the way, reminding Trevor that he needed to do some shopping for his mom. She had urged him to come home to California for the holidays, but he'd declined. His heart told him Kings Meadow was where he needed to be this year. The belief didn't make complete sense to him, but for a change he was going to pay attention to that small voice inside of him.

It wasn't long before the mayor's office came into sight. It was a single-story building made of white brick, perhaps the size of most of the two-bedroom homes that had been built in the forties. When he opened the door, he heard a small electronic beep, alerting the two employees working in the front office that someone had entered. The woman at a desk off to the right didn't bother to look up from the papers before her. The younger woman behind a long counter smiled in welcome.

“May I help you?” she asked.

He walked toward her. “Yes. I'm Trevor Reynolds. I have an appointment about the maintenance position. But I'm early and can wait.”

“I'll let Ollie know you're here.”

Trevor had barely taken a seat on one of the chairs before a man came out of the office in the back. He was a big man, in both height and width. With the exception of the plaid jacket he wore over a blue shirt above boots and jeans, the man bore
a striking resemblance to a character in an old movie about mountain men.

“Mr. Reynolds.” The man's bushy white-and-gray beard brushed against his collarbone. He thrust out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I'm Oliver Abbott.”

Abbott? His meeting was with the mayor?

Trevor stood. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He took the man's hand and they shook.

“Come into my office so we can talk.” The mayor motioned toward the open door beyond the counter.

On what planet does the mayor interview for a maintenance position?
Trevor swallowed a chuckle and followed Mayor Abbott into his office.

The next half hour was interesting. Ollie, as he insisted on being called, didn't seem interested in Trevor's skills with a hammer, screwdriver, dust mop, or snow blower. Especially not after he learned Trevor had made his living as a musician for the past thirteen years.

“I love country music, and I love to sing,” Ollie said, leaning back in his chair. “But I never had a knack for playing any musical instruments. I envy people like you. You know, we had a young fella here in Kings Meadow who—” Abruptly, he stopped talking. His eyes narrowed, then widened again as he put two and two together. “Brad Cartwright was your drummer.” His affable smile was gone.

“Yes.”
And there goes the job.

“Does Rodney know you've come to town?”

Trevor nodded. “I was out at his place a couple of days ago.”

Ollie steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, the pads of his index fingers tapping slowly. His eyebrows, as bushy and white as his beard, drew closer together.

Trevor heard the muffled voices of the two women in the outer office, then the closing of a file drawer. A large clock ticked off the seconds on the wall behind the mayor. Maybe he should leave. Why draw out an interview that would go nowhere?

But before Trevor could rise from the chair, Ollie lowered his hands and gave an abrupt nod of the head, as if having made up his mind on something. Trevor wished he'd left of his own volition before the mayor could dismiss him, but it was too late now.

“Can you start work on Monday?” Ollie said.

Trevor was tempted to knock the side of his head a couple of times and ask the mayor to repeat himself. He managed to subdue the impulse, instead saying, “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Good.” Ollie stood.

Trevor followed suit.

“We'll have some paperwork for you to fill out on Monday, and then Yuli Elorrieta—Yuli's the public works supervisor—he'll show you the ropes.” Ollie put out his hand once again. “Welcome to Kings Meadow, Trevor.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

A short while later, he stood on the sidewalk in front of the mayor's office. His gaze went toward the heavens. What were the odds, in a town this size, that he would find a place to rent the same afternoon he arrived and then get the first
job he interviewed for? He was no mathematician, but he was certain the odds were great against either of those things happening. And for both to happen to one guy?

I guess You really did mean for me to come to Kings Meadow, God. Brad always said You care about the small details as well as the big. I guess that's true. Now if You could just help me figure out what I'm supposed to do here, I'd be grateful. Real grateful
.

Rodney stared at the computer screen, the heels of his hands resting on the desk, fingers lightly touching the keyboard. Opening the e-mail program hadn't been difficult, but clicking on the link that would open the mailbox named “Brad” was proving problematic. Every time he reached for the mouse, his chest tightened. He hadn't looked at e-mails to and from his son since the day Brad died. But it seemed important that he do so now.

It had been two days since Trevor Reynolds came to the ranch to talk to him and Penny, and in those two days the promise Brad had extracted from the singer had never been far from Rodney's thoughts. His son had had the gift of discernment. He'd cared about and accepted people wherever he found them, then had drawn them closer to God by being a loving friend. Brad had sent Trevor to Kings Meadow out of love. Rodney understood that much.

He clicked the mouse, looked at the long list of saved e-mails to and from his son—dating back to his first year
in college—and scrolled to the one he'd received soon after Brad moved to Nashville.

Dear Dad,

You're not going to believe this. At least I can't believe it. Not that it happened this fast, anyway. I got to audition for Trevor Reynolds, and he hired me. Maybe I'm that good or maybe it's because Trevor and I have become friends through e-mail over the years or maybe it's because I'm so inexperienced he can pay me less than he'd have to pay others. Whatever the reason, I'm now employed as a drummer in a band. We'll be going out on the road in less than three weeks.

Nashville's been a little hard to get used to. It's so big compared to Kings Meadow. Even compared to Boise. Everything moves faster too. But I'm going to like it. I'm sure of it.

This would sound crazy to lots of people, but I know you'll understand. I don't think God brought me to Nashville just so I could play my drums, even though He delights in giving good gifts. I think I'm here to help Trevor in other ways. He doesn't know Christ, first off, and from a few things he's said I guess his dad was rough on him. Maybe even knocked him around when he was a kid. Anyway, they weren't close like you and me, and I've got the feeling Trevor doesn't care much for the idea of a heavenly Father because he never knew what a loving dad could be like. He's a good guy, but he's got a wounded spirit.

Dad, please tell Penny how much I love her. We didn't
part on the best of terms, but you already know that. Tell her I'm sorry I disappointed her but that this was what I had to do. I hope one day she'll see that.

Take care of yourself. I hope your back's not giving you too much grief.

Love you,
Brad

Rodney drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly. He remembered reading this e-mail almost a year ago, but Brad's words hadn't made the impact on him then as they did now.

Lord, help me honor my son's last request. Thank You for sending Trevor to us. Help me know the right things to say and do while he is here in Kings Meadow. Holy Spirit, mend this young man's heart.

After taking another breath, he clicked on the next e-mail in the list and began to read again.

Brad

2007

O
N THE FIRST NIGHT OF WINTER CHURCH CAMP
,
A
fire burned bright in the lodge's stone fireplace, but the heat from the flames didn't reach all the way to where Brad sat, second row, left side of the room. Kids were there from six different churches, seventh graders up to seniors in high school. Brad's first year at winter camp, he hadn't mixed much with kids he didn't know already. Instead he'd hung out with his best friends from Kings Meadow and been content to do so.

But this year he'd come to the opening session ahead of his roommates and had settled onto a chair surrounded by students from a church in Boise. He recognized most of them from the previous year. But it wasn't their familiarity or the church they attended that drew him into their midst. It was something else. He just couldn't say what. It was simply a
feeling that he needed to be there. A strong, deep-down feeling he couldn't ignore.

The guy on his right introduced himself—Mark—then asked a few sociable questions. Normally, Brad wasn't comfortable in get-acquainted situations like this one. There wasn't a lot to say about himself. He wasn't involved in team sports, although he enjoyed watching football. He was a good student and liked to read. He liked to hang out with the friends he'd known all his life but steered clear of the kinds of things that had gotten some of them into trouble. His favorite thing to do was play the drums and he dreamed of being good enough to be in a band someday. But for some reason, he was at ease with Mark and didn't mind answering the older boy's questions.

As more camp attendees filled up the rows of chairs in the lodge, the worship team made its way onto the small stage. After a few minutes of tuning guitars and adjusting speakers, they began to play. Softly at first. Then young people around the room began to rise to their feet and sing along. Words for the song appeared on an overhead screen.

Brad closed his eyes, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. A feeling he couldn't put a name to. Something he'd never felt before, that was for sure.

It wasn't as if the worship song—and then the next one and the next one—was unfamiliar to him. The church he'd attended his entire life, beginning in the nursery at two weeks old, sang contemporary worship songs as well as old hymns. He'd been around plenty of people who talked about
God on a regular basis. But even so, something was different tonight. Or maybe it was an expectation that something was about to change.

That
he
was about to change.

Chapter 4

T
HE
K
INGS
M
EADOW
A
NNUAL
C
HRISTMAS
B
AZAAR
was held on the first Saturday in December. For the past three years, Penny had been in charge of the event. She'd been thankful for the volunteer job this year. It had kept her from dwelling on Brad's death, at least some of the time. Today she was especially glad for it. There was a wonderful sense of community in the fellowship hall of the Methodist church, and it warmed her heart, made her feel almost whole, even put her in a little bit of the Christmas spirit. Perhaps it was seeing so much creativity in one place that did it.

Buck Malone and Antton Zubiar had a table full of leather goods. Plus they were holding a raffle for one of Buck's handcrafted saddles, with all of the profits going to the food bank.

Bling was Skye Nichols's forte. Her booth featured handmade jewelry. Everything in it sparkled in the light that fell
through the windows, threatening to blind people as they browsed.

Several women from Meadow Fellowship Church had a quilting booth, and the quilts hanging on the wall behind their counter were nothing short of stunning.

There was a booth with dolls and toy trucks, another with handmade baby clothes, and another with a plethora of knitted and crocheted goods.

The bazaar wasn't missing plenty of yummy food items either. Shoppers had choices of cookies, candy, pies, and cakes. Nothing like trying to gain the first couple of holiday pounds three weeks before Christmas.

The thought made Penny smile . . . just before she took a bite of a giant-sized snowman cookie. It tasted even better than expected. Food had held little appeal to her the past two months. It was a nice change to bite into something and discover enjoyment again. She continued to nibble on the cookie while she strolled around the room, ready to help if help was needed.

Her smile returned, even broader this time, when she saw Ollie Abbot enter the fellowship hall wearing a Santa hat on his head. With those woolly eyebrows and that beard of his, the mayor of Kings Meadow could pass for the jolly old elf with no trouble at all. But that plaid jacket would have to go.

As if drawn by her smile, Ollie walked straight toward her. “Another successful bazaar, I see,” he said.