Hearts Surrender Read online

  But his legs felt like lead.

  Hearts Surrender: Woodland Series

  4

  The following Sunday Ken’s psyche morphed into radio receiver mode. He prepared for services, yet all the while, he twisted and tuned an internal dial, seeking Kiara, hoping she’d show up and wondering what she chose to do about Andrew’s scintillating offer. When she walked through the double doors and entered the narthex, a sense of relief slid so powerfully through his body that it rendered him dissolved. The relief he’d expected, the degree of near euphoria that accompanied, however, took him by surprise.

  After church, he found her sitting in the deserted sanctuary, head bowed, hands folded, eyes closed. He couldn’t walk away. For a few unobserved moments, he watched her through the etched glass of the main doors to the sanctuary, riveted in place. Reaching forward, he grasped the cool chrome handle and slowly pulled it open.

  Quiet footsteps led him to her pew. “Hey, Kiara.”

  “Hi, Pas…Ken.”

  He laughed and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re getting better.” He sat down.

  “Old habits and all.”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all.” She looked at him with an eagerness that reassured. “I’m glad to see you. It’s just…well, it’s not often I get a chance to absorb the silence and just be still. I sat here, just like this, after the baptism last weekend, and it really helped me find my center.”

  “Prayer time always does. Really, I don’t mean to be rude. I can leave…”

  Kiara pondered that statement for a moment, and watched him steadily. “Please don’t. It’s not so much that I’m even praying; I just take everything in, if that makes any sense.” She shrugged shyly and went quiet, as though a bit discomfited by the topic of prayer and her spirit life. Ken, on the other hand, took in her every nuance and revelation.

  “For me those are the moments when God speaks loudest,” he offered. “Even silence is a prayer.”

  “Like we’re listening instead of monopolizing.”

  “Exactly. But there’s nothing wrong with petitioning,” he amended. “Either way, I think God just wants us to be with him.”

  Kiara looked up at him and smiled. His blood pounded thick and heavy.

  “I never got a chance to tell you what a beautiful job you did with the baptism.” Her eyes went wide and she gasped, cutting off any kind of response he might offer. “Shoot! That reminds me. I forgot your handkerchief at home. I meant to bring it back to you today.”

  Her chagrin caused him to chuckle. “Don’t worry about it.” Crazy, yes, but for some reason Ken liked the fact that she had something of his. So instead of dwelling, he switched topics. “Collin’s the picture of contentment and pleased fatherhood, isn’t he? Plus, over two years after the wedding, I still see Daveny’s glow.”

  Kiara went unusually still, looking toward a large vibrant floral arrangement at the center of the altar. “They deserve it. They’re very special people.”

  Wistfulness coated her every word. Her tone and posture left Ken more curious than ever as to why she had refused Andrew’s extraordinary invitation to jet off to Europe.

  “So are you, Kiara.”

  She shrugged in too dismissive a way.

  “I’m glad to see you here today.”

  “Where else would I…” The words, and her puzzled expression, faded away. She studied him for a long moment, and then her eyes went wide as the broader implication of his comment sank in. Ken regarded her calmly, remaining steady so she could come forward and feel safe about it. “Oh.” She blinked. “Oh, my goodness.” She enunciated each word and her shoulders drooped beneath a figurative weight. “You know? How could you have known…Daveny.”

  “No. Daveny would never betray a confidence. I overheard you and your boyfriend talking about Europe. It was at the Christening party. I was in the kitchen getting food. You and Andrew were in the other room talking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Kiara wilted further. She tilted her head back and groaned. “Great. To have someone I respect, my Pastor of all people, think of me as a woman of loose morals. That’s just great.”

  On the inside Ken froze. My Pastor. Respect. Not bad things, to be sure, but those terms defined the parameters of her feelings. Her perceptions. He didn’t come away feeling altogether flattered.

  He stood in an abrupt motion. “Thanks for the confidence, Kiara. I only brought it up because I thought you might have some faith in my care and friendship.” He snapped the words and moved toward the aisle. Her eyes revealed she was stricken. Too bad. Simplicity turned complex with regard to her presence in his life these days.

  But then she stopped him with a restraining hand. “I said no to him. Obviously. I’m here. I didn’t end up going.”

  “That’s between the two of you,” Ken concluded more gently this time. He didn’t sit quite yet. He felt raw, his vulnerabilities exposed.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She sounded miserable. He sat, and let her continue. “I’m so sorry you heard that conversation, and I’m sorrier still for what you must think of me because of it.”

  Once more with what other people thought. Ken wanted to cringe. “Does the opinion of others matter that much to you, Kiara?” He sighed, agonized over an onrush of want. He’d always admired her tender, energetic spirit. Now, however, he had no idea what to do with a desire that intensified each time he saw her. “Let me assure you. I’m nobody’s judge. That’s not what I’m about, and judgment is certainly not part of my job description.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way! Still, I can’t help caring about what you think. I value your opinion because I care about you.”

  The admission stopped him short, flowed against his unsettled heart like a softly curving breeze. “So you want to know what I think?”

  She nodded. Her eyes remained turbulent, though.

  He gathered in a breath, ached to reach for her hands, which still lay folded in her lap. He couldn’t cross that physical line right now though, so he held back. “I think you displayed a lot of fortitude and strength turning down what must have seemed like a wonderful opportunity. Fortunately, you realized to do so would surrender a part of your soul. I’m gratified you didn’t. It says a lot to me about who you are.”

  She nipped at her lower lip. Released it. “Don’t hold me up to that kind of an ideal, Pastor Ken. Please. Trust me; I’m nobody’s moral barometer.”

  He shook his head. Restraining the connection to her vanished. He stroked her cheek with a light touch. “Funny. Neither were any of the apostles, the saints, right on back to King David.” He shrugged. “We’re all flawed, Kiara, so it seems to me you’re in good company.”

  She looked at him, her wide eyes reflecting the patterns and uncertainty of a questing soul.

  For now, those words had to be Ken’s final say on the subject. He hoped—prayed, in fact—that his words might be enough to spur her onward. He stood and slid from the pew, stepping resolutely into the main aisle. He retreated, seeking the safe haven of his office.

  There he could find respite from a woman who played through his heart like a sweet, promising song.

  Sitting behind his desk, Ken decided to bury himself in fiscal bureaucracy. It was preliminary budget time, and number crunching would put an end to any kind of romantic revelry. Though he loathed the annual numbers process, he couldn’t avoid the matter, so he opened up last year’s manila file folder and slid it into place, determined to make progress on the upcoming model.

  He pulled open the top drawer of his desk, sifting through clutter in search of a red pen. There, almost hidden beneath a box of paperclips and a square of yellow sticky notes rested a single rectangular admittance ticket, dated just about two years ago.

  Woodland Church —Autumn Fest

  The sight of it stilled Ken’s hand at once. He carefully drew out the ticket, and then stretched back in his chair to study it for a moment. Like a port-key, t
he small piece of pumpkin colored cardstock sent him reeling backward in time, awash in memories both painful and beautiful. Unable to focus on the here and now, Ken allowed himself to drift.

  He sank into the moment completely, reliving that fateful night, and its aftermath, all over again.

  In a figurative sense, Barb had twisted his arm to attend the event. She seemed to have recovered well from her two-days-ago chemo treatment and was eager to participate in the festival. It’s not that he didn’t support and appreciate the event. Instead, Barb’s continuing battle with stomach cancer pinned his focus to the exclusion of everything else.

  New this time was a parade of costumes. Parishioners, young and old alike, would strut a catwalk that cut through the center of the church activity center.

  Committee member Kiara Jordan had coordinated that aspect of the proceedings while Daveny and Elise Edwards championed the music and food/beverage offerings respectively. The event promised to be a huge success, but in truth, Ken had paid attention with only half a heart.

  He worried about Barb overdoing it, but had no strength to argue against her wishes. Not after everything she had been through during the past eight months.

  “This is just what I need tonight, Ken,” she said as they walked into the already crowded hall.

  He kissed her cool, pale cheek, smiling down at her. “I know, so I promise not to be a pest as long as you—”

  “Promise to let you know if I start to get tired,” she finished, rolling her eyes.

  They laughed and she squeezed his arm, her weight transferring to him bit by bit as they neared a table. Small steps, he thought. The treatments mean she’ll tire easily, and rebound faster if I let her rest in spells.

  Ken seated her at a table that included the Edwards family so she could visit with friends while he dispensed with some mandatory mingling, and searched for Kiara. During the course of planning meetings, she had worked enough magic to convince Ken to emcee the costume display, so he needed the order of participants and accompanying descriptions.

  “Want some pop?” he asked Barb. “There’s also some veggies and fruit at the food table, pumpkin bread, too.”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thank you.”

  “Be right back.”

  He glanced up, at a raised runway, which was the focal point of the room. Tables and chairs surrounded the platform. Behind the runway he saw a curtained off staging area. The curtain, of orange, yellow and deep red, featured an overlay of white netting plastered by vivid colored leaves that had just fallen across the grounds of Woodland. Under Kiara’s supervision, the youth group had raked, then created, the display. Further enhancement came in the form of a dozen or so cut outs of pumpkins, cornucopias and shimmery red apples. Cornucopias and a few small pumpkins also served as table highlights.

  Ken grinned. Kiara’s touch again. She had mobilized the youth group into a decorating frenzy and come up with terrific results. He enjoyed the atmosphere while he stood in line and prepared Barb’s soft drink and food plate. He greeted a few parishioners then returned to Barb briefly before leaving to find out more about his emcee duties.

  Figuring he’d find Kiara in the staging area, Ken ducked behind the black curtain where fashion show participants had already started to gather. Kiara stood at the center of the crowd, clipboard in hand. She gave him a smile of such warmth and vitality its impact stroked against an unexpected, vibrating spot and brought it to life.

  She sported the attire of a woman on safari, right down to the tan colored jacket and matching calf-length shorts. A safari hat rested atop hair plaited into twin braids. Binoculars, of course, dangled from her neck.

  “You look great,” Ken said when he joined her.

  “Our master of ceremonies is here! Hey, Pastor Ken. And don’t you look every inch the dashing emcee.” She reached up to fuss with the black bow tie at his throat. “Let me guess—you’re the groom at the top of a wedding cake?”

  He laughed. “Close, but not quite. The tuxedo might lead you to that conclusion, but I’m not a groom—although this is a dual costume with my bride.”

  “Oh?” She waited on elaboration.

  He gave her a sheepish look. “Think about it, Kiara. Barbie and –”

  She burst into laughter. “Ken! I love it! I can’t wait to see Barb all done up.” The jovial moment stilled. “How’s she doing?”

  Ken couldn’t—wouldn’t—slide into sadness. Not right now. “She’s fighting hard. She’ll love seeing you. She says she’s feeling good, but she gets tired fast.”

  Kiara reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze then offered an ease-restoring grin. “Is she in pink, I hope?”

  “Oceans of it, in satin of course, along with a gleaming, way-too-perfect blonde wig.” That covers steadily thinning hair, he added in silence. “It’s a hoot. She’s having fun with it.”

  “Tell her I’ll see her right after the show.”

  “I will.”

  From beneath the clip of the board she held, Kiara slipped free a stack of note cards. “Here’s your script, in order.”

  “Thanks.”

  A young boy with eyes full of moisture and lips quivering stepped up and tugged on Kiara’s cropped jacket.

  “Miss Kiara, my tail fell off!”

  Dejected, this young Mustafa the Lion King offered up a long brown snake of cloth with a fuzzed, fluffy tip. A tear made its way down his plump cheek. Above the boy’s head, Kiara gave Ken a quick look before taking her charge by the hand, saying, “No worries. I can fix it. Your costume will be just fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Promise. So, no tears, OK? Remember, you’re going to be on stage soon!”

  Kiara’s excitement turned the tide. Ken watched them walk away while crowds pressed in, increasing the noise level as well as an air of backstage anticipation.

  Elise Edwards came charging into the cordoned off space, expelling a huge sigh of relief when she caught sight of him. “Ken. Ken, you need to come with me. Now.”

  The concerned look on her face prompted him to move fast. She pressed a hand against her chest as they trotted out the doors of the activity center. “Barb had to leave, to go to the ladies room. When she didn’t come back right away, I went to check on her. Well…”

  Oh no.

  Ken pushed into the lavatory without hearing anything else Elise said.

  “Barb?” He called with studied calm. He crumbled on the inside when he saw waves of pink satin on the floor of the second stall. She breathed hard, and he could hear her crying. “Barb, honey. Let me in.”

  “No.”

  “Sweetheart, please. Let me in.”

  She didn’t reply. A series of tense, silent seconds beat past, but at last the door latch slid slowly free. She didn’t rise from her kneeling position on the floor. Ken moved in carefully while she flushed the toilet then wiped a shaky hand across her damp mouth. She began to sob uncontrollably, then choked, “Can you take me home?” She pulled the shimmering wig from her head, leaning her elbows on the bowl. She didn’t make eye contact of any kind, she looked shamed, and beyond that, devastated.

  “You bet. Come here.” Ken lifted her up, alarmed anew by how light she felt, even at a near dead weight.

  “I’m sorry, Ken. I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh. You have nothing at all to be sorry for.”

  “I thought I could do this. Honestly I felt fine until I ate.”

  “I know you did. Don’t worry. It’s OK now. We’ll get you home, you’ll get a good night’s rest and you’ll rebound. Don’t worry about it.”

  He set her gently on her feet, holding her snug to his side. He guided her outside the building, into cool, reviving air.

  “Oh, Ken.” She paused after whispering the words, breathing deep. “Thank you. This helps a lot. I got so hot, and it hit me so fast.”

  Despite renewed comfort, Barb’s skin remained splotched by the red stains of a blood rush that contrasted violently against the milk-white to
ne of her skin. He captured her face gently between his hands and looked into eyes that were still too bright.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “For?”

  “For keeping your promise.”

  He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. Her eyes filled. “So have you, Ken. You always do. I love you for that, and for so much more.”

  He touched her cheek, so soft despite her physical battle against illness. “That road works both ways. I love you, too.”

  He drove the few short blocks home. Barb’s head lolled against the seat and she sighed. When they arrived, he nearly called Collin to take his place as emcee, but Barb wouldn’t allow it. She needed rest and peace, so he didn’t push. Instead, he brewed a mug of green tea for her.

  Just looking at her, Ken knew she fought valiantly to keep down the offering, but minutes after settling into place, she calmed. She laid on the couch, beneath a quilt she had made years ago during a church sponsored quilting bee. She looked frail and pale to the point of translucence.

  “It's bad this time,” she murmured. “I just want to rest.” Tears beaded on her lashes. “I hate that I don't have energy anymore. That I'm not even strong enough to move around. This is horrible.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “No. Ken, you need to go back to church. They're counting on you.”

  “So are you. And you're more important than anything else. Period.”

  She touched his face. When she reached up, he noticed how elongated and too thin her fingers had become. “Will you pray with me, Ken?”

  The request melted his soul, poured it free. “Of course.”

  They joined hands and bowed heads; a fine tremor translated from her hands to his, further depleting his control mechanisms. He closed his eyes, fighting to find the ability to persevere. “Lord Jesus, we pray for the touch of Your healing, for the merciful grace of Your comfort through each and every cell of Barb’s body. Give her rest. Bless her with peace and calm in the midst of the storm she faces. Assure her of Your steadfast, faithful love and provision.”