Return to Harmony (17 page)

“She shuts her eyes and her heart to everything that goes on in church. She’s told me that herself.” Bethan had to keep staring at her brother. It was only seeing the depth of his gaze, the level of his concentration, that granted her the strength to continue. “I can see it, Dylan. I watch it happen every time I try to talk with her about faith—about God. I have hoped and prayed that being with you would bring her back, open her up again. But it doesn’t seem to be happening.”

“No,” he murmured, so soft she was unsure whether he was protesting what she had said or agreeing with what she had witnessed.

But she knew if she stopped now she would never finish. The band of emotions about her heart was so tight each word was a painful effort. “It
isn’t
happening. You’re staying away with her. She’s leading you—leading you away from God. But you know in your heart that your faith is too important to let this happen. You
know
this, Dylan. You’ve known it most of your life. You can’t let
anything
take faith away from you. It wouldn’t be right—not for you, not for Jodie, not for Momma either.”

Then she stopped. It was done. Not well, but it was all she could manage. There was nothing more inside her now but the hollow ache of facing the truth of what she had said and forcing it out.

Dylan stirred slowly, like an old man awaking from a long and troubling sleep. He ran one hand through his thick hair and gave a sigh that went on forever. “You think I haven’t been seeing this?”

It broke her heart to see him in such anguish of spirit. She reached out a hand, let it rest gently on his sleeve. But she did not speak. There was nothing else she could say.

“I know you’re right,” he admitted, his voice so hoarse it sounded like another speaking. “I can’t go on like this. I never expected it. I mean, I had no idea how bitter Jodie had become about church and faith. I’ve wanted to fight what I see in her, deny it. But…”

Bethan nodded. She understood. It was so hard to say.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, the words almost a moan. “All this time I’ve just been getting in deeper and deeper.” He turned gray eyes fully upon her. “I love her, Bethan.”

Bethan could not stop the tears. They spilled upon her flushed cheeks. “I’m so very, very sorry,” she managed.

He reached his other hand across to hers, gripped it with a frantic strength. “What on earth am I going to do?”

Bethan shook her head. Her heart cried a litany,
if only, if only
, and it seemed as though the very air held still, filled with the moment’s grief. “Pray,” she whispered. “Pray for God to show you. I don’t know of anything else we can do.”

TWELVE

BETHAN FUMBLED WITH
the lock, spurred by an urgent rapping on the heavy kitchen door. But her hands were trembling so hard they had trouble working the bolt. The rapping grew louder still, and Bethan became fearful that the noise would awaken her mother. When finally she managed to draw back the lock, the door shuddered open as though it shared the dread she felt herself.

Jodie stood there, a light shawl thrown carelessly over her shoulders. The fringed edge whipped in the brisk winter wind that also tore at her disheveled hair. She was beyond distraught. Her eyes were red from weeping, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the pale glow of the back porch light.

Bethan caught her breath at the sight of her friend, fear a lance in her heart. “Jodie,” she said, the word a gasp, and drew her into the kitchen’s warmth.

“Is he here?” Jodie’s voice shook so hard the words tumbled upon one another.

“Dylan? No.” He had come in late, spent the night tossing and turning, and left before dawn. Bethan knew this for certain, as she had lain awake and listened to it all.

Jodie’s response was to throw herself into Bethan’s arms. Bethan could only hold her and pat the shaking shoulder with a stilltrembling hand. She swallowed and managed, “Tell me.”

“Dylan,” Jodie said, then stopped. She pushed herself back and fought for control. She was stifling sobs as she fumbled in her pocket for a hankie. Bethan handed her a clean simple linen from her own pocket. Jodie blew and dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. She looked at her friend and said, “I don’t want him to know I came.”

Bethan nodded agreement. That was a sentiment she perfectly understood.

“I was afraid he’d already be back. Maybe I hoped… I don’t know.” She struggled to draw a steady breath and almost succeeded. “No. If that’s the way he wants it, then good riddance.”

“Oh, Jodie,” Bethan whispered.

“He said that he wouldn’t be calling on me. Not ever again.” Her chin trembled, and one tear escaped to roll down her cheek. But she dragged in another breath and managed to hold to her control. “He said we have to stop seeing each other. That it’s all over between us.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bethan murmured.

Jodie stopped to take a long look at her friend’s face. “You don’t sound surprised. Don’t tell me he told you about it first.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Bethan repeated. “I prayed and prayed it wouldn’t come to this. But… but it really…”

Surprise managed to clear Jodie’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Come and sit down,” Bethan hurried on. “I’ll fix some tea and we can talk—”

But Jodie pushed the hand off her arm. Her eyes were beginning to gleam with an emotion other than distress. “Bethan Keane, did you know about this?”

“Well, I…”

“Did you?”

Bethan was unable to look into those dark eyes and face the anger they held. She swallowed and licked at dry lips. She said slowly, “He had no choice.”

“He talked to you?”

For a moment Bethan hesitated. But she had to be truthful.

“We… talked,” she admitted, swallowing hard again.

“You
knew
.” The words were clipped.

Bethan found tears now forming in her own eyes.

“And you…” The blaze of anger in Jodie’s face nearly choked off the words. “You think that he’s
right
.” It was not a question. It was a condemnation.

“He can’t… he can’t marry outside the faith.” Bethan slowly raised her gaze, pleading with her eyes and her voice. “Jodie, you’ve changed. You don’t go to church, you don’t pray, you’ve pushed God—”

“And I thought you were my friend,” Jodie said between clenched teeth and took a step away.

“I am,” Bethan cried, and felt as though all the pain and hurt Jodie had arrived with had been stabbed into her own heart. “I pray for you every night. I—”

“Don’t bother,” Jodie hissed. “I don’t need your prayers. I don’t want your prayers. I don’t—”

“Jodie, please.”

“I suppose
you
told him that he had to be rid of me,” she said in icy tones, belying the fire in her eyes.

Bethan stood mute. There was no point in arguing about how or what she actually had said. But she couldn’t admit to it either— hearing it from Jodie’s mouth made it sound so wrong.

“I thought we were friends,” Jodie said again, biting off the words.

“Jodie, believe me, this has nothing to do—” Bethan suddenly was weeping so hard she could hardly continue. “I love you like a sister—more.”

The contempt in Jodie’s face was worse than the anger. Bethan took a step toward her, but she spun on her heel and headed for the door.

“Jodie, please. Don’t leave like this. Please.”

Jodie whipped open the door, then wheeled about. “I thought you were the
one
person I could count on. And that perhaps Dylan would love me enough…” She shook her head violently, casting off bitter tears. “I see I was wrong. All wrong. There is no real love in this whole sad, sick world. And don’t try to tell me about your loving God. He has never loved me. Never. He took my mother. He took Dylan. And now…”

She did not say the word “you.” But Bethan knew. The unsaid word hung in the air between them.

“Jodie, please.”

“It was
your
choice.” Jodie’s voice was as cold as the wind blasting in through the open door. “Your choice to end our friendship. Something tells me that wasn’t all, though. You had to do the choosing for Dylan as well.” She stepped into the darkness, stopped once more, and said, “I never want to see you again as long as I live. Never.”

THIRTEEN

THERE WAS VERY LITTLE
of spring’s gentle transition. The cold continued through the third week in March, and then was followed by some of the hottest early weather anyone could remember. Jodie walked the lane back toward school beneath trees which appeared to have exploded into bloom. Every street, every garden in Harmony was a riot of color. She scarcely noticed it at all.

The school was strangely silent as she let herself in and walked to the principal’s office, where she had been told to make an appearance. She knocked on the closed door, and at the sound of the muffled voice, she swallowed nervously and let herself in. “Hello, is this, I mean, are you—”

“Yes, yes, come in and shut the door.” The woman wore a brown dress of heavy weave; it looked uncomfortable and scratchy in this sudden hot weather. Jodie watched as the woman shifted with the impatience of someone who was both overtired and overhot. She also refused to meet Jodie’s eye—a bad sign. The woman sighed noisily as she opened the file in her lap, read a moment, and only then raised her head to look—not at Jodie, but at the chair in front of her. “Sit down, please.”

Jodie did as she was told, struggling to keep her sinking feeling at bay. She licked dry lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper.

“My name is Mrs. Roland. I am Assistant to the State College Admissions Director, which means I am responsible for interviewing candidates.” The words were spoken in a distant monotone. She shifted again and said with genuine irritation, “I have been traveling now for four solid weeks, and did not bring a
thing
suitable for this hot weather. I had expected to be home long before now.” She sighed, clearly displeased with this disruption of her schedule. “But after the Chancellor received your letter, he contacted me himself and told me to come by.”

Jodie’s throat was too parched to reply. She gripped her hands together in her lap to keep the trembling from showing and gave a single nod. Which was lost on the woman, as she still had not looked directly at Jodie.

“Your records are very good, Miss…” She had to stop and search the top of the page before she could add, “Harland. But I must tell you, the application request has reached us quite late. Not to mention the fact that you are interested in scholarship assistance.”

“Something… something came up that I thought might change my plans,” Jodie said miserably, her voice barely audible. She did not wish to even refer to the dreams, the plans, much less explain the situation.

“Very good indeed,” the woman continued, ignoring her. “And the written reports from your teachers are equally impressive. Especially the one from, ah, yes, here it is. Miss Amanda Charles.” One long strand of dark brown hair escaped from beneath her flat bonnet and plastered itself to her cheek. Impatiently the woman turned over the letter from Miss Charles, read a moment longer, then sniffed and spoke to herself, “I do so wish these village teachers could learn to write without hyperbole. They do absolutely nothing for their students’ chances by such blatantly exaggerated praise.”

Jodie felt a sudden flush rise of irritation. She kept from snapping out a retort only by biting down hard on the inside of her cheek. Miss Charles was the most honest person Jodie had ever met.

The woman sighed her way back to the front of the folder and read over Jodie’s application once more. “Chemistry. How odd. Not to mention requesting the Lerner scholarship. You realize, of course, that the Lerner is given only to two students each year.”

This time Jodie did not even bother to nod. The woman’s tone said it all. Jodie should not be even wanting to study chemistry, much less applying for the scholarship. The sinking dejection solidified into a leaden ball in her stomach.

The woman plucked a lace handkerchief from her long brown sleeve and glanced out the room’s single window as she wiped the perspiration from her face. “I do so wish it would go ahead and storm. Every single afternoon this week, it has seemed as though I’m being forced to work in an overheated smokehouse.”