Coming Home

David Lewis

Description

A world-weary woman's bittersweet return home may lead to a peace and triumph she never imagined. Drama with a hint of mystery.

Sujets

• Historical romance

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2004
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781585587629
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

© 2004 by David Lewis
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan. www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 04.14.2016 (VBN), 09.23.2016, 12.12.2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-58558-762-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2003023582
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture is taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc.
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by David Lewis
Back Cover
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to David Horton and Julie Klassen for their keen editorial insight. I’m also grateful to Gary and Carol Johnson for believing in this story from its inception, and special appreciation goes to Barbara Lilland. Thanks to Janie and Jonathan for filling our days with laughter and warmth, and to Julie and Ariel for providing the spark that ultimately led to the title.
Most importantly, I wish to thank my dearling, Beverly Lewis, for her love, prayers, and everlasting support. As Vanauken once said ( A Severe Mercy ), “If it’s half as good as the half we’ve known, here’s Hail! to the rest of the road!”
Dedication
For Bev,
for always.
Prologue
THE GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN took her breath away. Like a wide-eyed child, she sat smack dab in the middle of the beach, staring in wonder, a single rose in her lap. Surrounded by shell seekers, she soaked up every detail—the brilliant sun, the salty wind, the endless blue horizon—feeling more alive than she had ever felt in her life.
Then gradually, as if in tandem with the setting sun, the wonder faded and she was left alone, hugging herself against the descending Oregon temperatures. She’d spent a lifetime getting here. A lifetime of planning and preparation. But now that she had finally arrived . . . what? The ancient philosophers were right. The journey was better than the arrival; the fantasy greater than the reality.
Maybe I expected too much, she thought. Was it the endless grains of sand that made her feel so empty? The never-ending reach of rolling water? Or was it beauty itself—the melding of cerulean and turquoise—that reminded her of something she had once lost?
She smiled wistfully. Perhaps it was much simpler than that. Even now, she couldn’t stop thinking of him—his playful blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the way he’d made her laugh so effortlessly . . . and how much she missed him.
She struggled to her feet, brushing sand from her gray sweats. The beach was now deserted. The rocks beyond seemed cold and unforgiving, and the sea birds chirped mournfully.
Stepping gingerly across the beach in her sandals, making her way to the ocean’s edge, Jessie became annoyed at the clingy granules of sand between her toes. She chuckled suddenly at a memory of one of her father’s favorite shows, Star Trek, and the segment in which interstellar hippies hijacked the Enterprise for a trip to paradise, only to find it unfit for habitation. Not only unfit, in fact, but deadly. The apples were poisonous and the grass melted the soles of their feet.
As a child, Jessie had never understood her father’s fascination with Captain Kirk and, especially, with Mr. Pointy-Ears. Even then, she suspected her father had a lot more in common with the emotionally distant Vulcan than with his own daughter. Her mother once said, “When I get well, your father will get well, too.” But Mom never got well . . . so neither did he.
Jessie gazed beyond the crashing waves and kept herself from surrendering to her disappointment. The rose she carried was a fitting reminder of how her journey had begun—with an entire bouquet of roses, their blooms unopened, full of promise.
Carefully avoiding the thorns, she breathed in the aroma of her rose, her senses filled with the fragrance of hope. A rose is worth its thorns, she reminded herself, smiling at her own inclination to ponder the unfathomable, realizing that most people accept life at face value and seem much happier for it.
When she was ready, she stood at the edge of the moss-covered rocks, struggling against the windy roar of eternity, and tossed the rose into the ocean.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .
The rose floated, rolling with the waves. Jessie watched, allowing herself to wonder, for a moment, what might have been. Then the rose began to sink, merging with the ocean foam, until only the memory of its scent remained . . . .
Chapter One
IN THE MORNING, his bouquet of roses had seemed little more than a consolation prize. The stubbornly unopened petals, once a glorious promise of their unfolding future, now appeared to be a harbinger of their demise.
Jessica Lehman held the flowers to her face, breathing in the fresh apple-sweet fragrance, but the lingering aromatic sensation was more in line with the foul-smelling weeds in the field behind their apartment building. At least weeds never made false promises.
The night before they were to leave together for Oregon, a simple dinner conversation had turned into a train wreck, and now the entire evening played over and over in her mind, like the hopeless melody of a maudlin country song.
Over salmon and chicken, she’d been prattling on about tomorrow’s trip, places to visit on the way, suggesting a quick side trip to Lincoln City once they’d settled in Corvallis, all the while oblivious to Brandon’s growing preoccupation.
To anyone else, his sudden question would have seemed innocent—“How did your parents die?”—but she had to gather herself momentarily, glancing out the window to buy herself time. The brilliant sunset was casting purple hues across the horizon, a peaceful contrast to her sudden internal storm.
“It’s a simple question, Jess.”
She’d brought her napkin to her mouth, dabbing it slowly—her mind racing. In her experience, one question was never enough. They always led to another, and then another, and none of them were simple. She must have made some kind of deferring remark, but she couldn’t recall exactly. She might have said, “It was a sad time,” without answering his question at all.
Brandon removed his own napkin from his lap, placing it on the table. “We’ve been dating for how long now?”
“Uh . . . let’s see,” she said, glancing at the date on her watch as a humorous gesture. “Six months?”
Brandon wasn’t amused. “It might as well be a week.”
She pursed her lips.
“It’s not just your parents, Jess. Or your past. It’s everything . I know you want to live in Oregon, but do you have any other dreams? Anything substantial?”
You don’t want to know about my dreams , she thought, waiting for him to finish. He ended with the typical cliché, the one that is rarely spoken with honesty, “Maybe it’s just me, Jess. Maybe I just need more than you can give.”
Brandon bowed his head slightly as if defeated or acquiescing to something bigger than himself. She felt her eyes fill with moisture and while stung by his criticism, she didn’t want to lose him. She wanted to make this relationship work. After all, the whole thing was her fault. She opened her mouth and willed the words to come.
“My mother died when I was twelve . . . .”
Even now, after all these years, the words sounded empty on her lips. Impossible to believe. Brandon looked up, meeting her eyes, and for a moment it seemed hopeful.
“She was sick for a long time.” Jessie paused and added a lie. “I thought I told you.”
Her stomach clenched as Brandon’s frown transitioned into an expression of disbelief. He shook his head, his shoulders rising
slightly as if to say, So what? And she felt a sudden mixture of emotions—mainly anger, but a little stupidity, too. Anger with Brandon for making her say it, and stupidity for how difficult this was. Normal people adapt to loss and death. How many times over the last twelve years had she told herself that?
She forced another smile, still hoping what she saw in his eyes wasn’t true.
“Jess . . .”
“Brandon, can we talk about something else? I’m getting another headache, and we need to leave early tomorrow. Have you gotten any munchies for the trip, because I’ll be stopping by the store to get a few personals. I could pick up a Sports Illustrated . Do you have the latest? You know, the one with the—”
She was about to say, Royals on the cover, but stopped because Brandon was shaking his head again. “I thought I could do this, Jess.”
“Do what?”
“I’m not going.”
She stared back at him for the longest time, watching as an expression of stone now masked his usually soft handsome features. He leaned back appraising her, shaking his head softly but deliberately. “This isn’t w