Hearts Surrender Page 6
Silence held sway. She couldn’t help thinking about the fact that every word he spoke worked through the spots in her psyche that most craved affirmation and the knowledge that her life, her actions, could have meaning. And, to be validated by a man of such…
Substance and honor.
Daveny’s words came back to haunt Kiara—circling around to the one who sat before her, calm and confident, charismatic in his own powerful right. But he was a pastor—a chief custodian of God’s mission on earth. Her more secular, world-driven life contradicted that pathway. What could ever come to be between the two of them?
It would never work.
Still, her heart swelled, lessening the impact of that thought. Her skin warmed.
Nonplussed by her silence, he continued. “Your instinct may be to step back, and then away, thinking this may be more than you want to take on. I’d only ask you set those feelings aside and take a hard look at the good you’ll do. The benefit you’ll provide to this family. Think it over. Give it some serious prayer time. If your answer is no after that, then please know I understand. I just don’t want you to reject it out of hand because it’s something so new, and different for you—or worse yet because you’re afraid of a faith jump. You’ve come so far, so quickly. You’re on an important mission, Kiara, whether you join us in Pennsylvania or not. OK?”
She diverted her attention and reclaimed the information folder, fiddling with its edges while silence played out. His words, his spirit loosened her control grips, and left her wanting to fly. “I’m serious about this, Pastor Ken, and I do promise to think everything over very carefully. I just…is it wrong of me to want a little time? A few days maybe? I know my yes should be automatic.”
As automatic as my ‘No’ should have been to Andrew and his offering of a sensual odyssey to Europe. Being a mixed-up mess, spiritually speaking, seemed par for the course these days.
Ken didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded and said, “Take what time you need, Kiara. I’ll be here.”
Hearts Surrender: Woodland Series
6
“OK, gang,” Ken called. “Let’s gather up and finish check-in. We need to hit the road.”
Duffle bags decorated the asphalt in front of two vans parked before the entrance of Woodland. He surveyed the milling group of slouching, subdued teenagers dressed in blue jeans, t-shirts and hoodies. There were sixteen in all—yawning and murmuring to one another as dawn crept across the sky. Pale blue turned to mauve, turned to orange then pink behind clouds skirting inland over the horizon of Lake Saint Clair. He leaned against the front of the church’s old, reliable standby—an F-250 van—consulting a clipboard of attendees. Dressed in jeans as well, sporting a sweatshirt from his alma mater of Wayne State University, he began to account for staff and teen volunteers.
Daveny drove up, and his focus zipped far from registrations and attendance; Kiara rode shotgun. The car rounded into the lot where Daveny parked then popped the trunk. Kiara climbed out and for a moment, he stood transfixed. Forcing himself forward, Ken moved toward the two women. Kiara tucked a pair of oversized black sunglasses on top of her head. Her eyes roved the assemblage. She nibbled her lower lip, a tiny furrow appearing above her brows while she looked around.
Kiara Jordan, the quintessence of feminine confidence, gave every indication of being tentative. Beguilingly tentative, he amended with a push to his heart that enlivened his spirit.
A week—in service with Kiara. The push exploded into a heady rush of anticipation, and joy.
“Hey.” He stepped forward, taking the suitcase from Kiara’s hand to lighten her load. Her grip was tight, though, and his action took her by surprise judging by the way her gaze lifted to his. She cleared her throat softly and relaxed a bit, surrendering the luggage.
Daveny gave Ken a knowing glance; she hugged Kiara and delivered a wax-coated bakery sack into Kiara’s custody. “Don’t forget this. Have fun, girlie.”
Kiara nodded, continuing to study her surroundings. Ken longed to assure, to draw her in. He understood her reaction. His first few mission trips had featured just such nervousness. Stepping into the unknown never came easy, so all he could do for now was lead her away from Daveny’s safe zone.
Daveny, meanwhile, returned to her car and drove away. Distraction might do the trick, Ken figured. So he started to fill in details to help set Kiara’s mind at ease. “We’ve got a two van convoy.” A vague gesture indicated both vehicles. “Maggie and her husband are in charge of the second vehicle. I figure you and I will take charge of this one.” He patted the engine hood of the Woodland van, and she looked it over.
“Just tell me what I need to do.” The words came out heavy, and uncharacteristically shy.
He set her suitcase aside to take her hands, stilling her progress toward check in. “First?” He waited ’til she made eye contact. “What I need you to do is rest easy. OK?”
A pause fell between them. She looked down, seeming embarrassed. Ken quirked a finger beneath her chin and drew her gaze to his once more. “Let go of everything else and embrace the opportunity.” He couldn’t fight the tremors being near her stirred, nor the hot, dissolving sensation that moved through his body when he took a tumble into her clear, green eyes. “I'm not used to you being unsettled. Relax, Kiara.” An intent interlude passed before he concluded, “Here’s the itinerary.” He handed her a folder, which she accepted with a nod. Her attention reverted to the van. Ken embraced the opening. “Don't worry about her. She's still got plenty of life left where it counts.”
Kiara smiled. Really smiled. “I’m not worried. I trust the mechanic.”
Her glance swept over him in a visual caress, gliding down the front of his sweatshirt, causing an electric circuit to zing to completion. He now realized a smudge of oil residue dotted the bottom edge of the shirt from when he had double-checked engine and fluid levels a few minutes ago.
His tone went huskier than usual. “We don't have the money for a new vehicle, so I work on it, and keep it in shape. Hones my mechanical skills and gives me a sense of accomplishment. So far, so good.”
Kiara fumbled a bit with the folded edges of the baker’s bag she held. Meanwhile, he retrieved her suitcase and stowed it in the back.
“So,” she said, “are you hungry?”
“Always.” Ken accepted the bag she offered and opened it wide. Swirls of warmth, and the aroma of cinnamon and apple, wafted upward on a tempting cloud of steam. He peeked inside, marveling. “Fresh apple fritters? Kiara, you're amazing.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Shopping at a store for baked goods puts me right up there with the saints.”
“In my eyes it does.”
Ken leaned down and slid his lips against her cheek, ending the connection in a kiss that lingered too long—yet not long enough. He pulled back and her widened eyes struck a chord in his soul. He stroked the skin he had just kissed with a trailing fingertip then tore off a piece of fritter and ate. The confection melted on his tongue, melting into tasty sweetness.
Kiara followed his lead.
“There’s a thermos of Italian roast between the front seats. Coffee is the only way I knew I’d survive,” he told her.
“That goes for me, too. Thanks for thinking of it.”
He continued to eat while she spoke.
“I wish…”
She came up short. Curious, Ken prodded. “What do you wish?”
“I wish…I wish I didn’t feel so much like a fish out of water.”
He returned the bag to Kiara so she could eat the second fritter. When she tried to take the bag from his grip, Ken held fast until he won her full focus. “If it helps, remember you’re surrounded by friends, and you’re doing something miraculous. Further? The kids will adore you.”
Deflecting her gaze, Kiara murmured, “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“I swear, it’s a gift, the way you can look into a person and see exactly what they’re feeling.”
&n
bsp; Her words struck home, glided against him like a provocative ripple of silk. Pleasure sizzled through his body. “It’s a job hazard—part of what I do.” Beauty and grace, sweetness—all of the most attractive elements of her personality combined to leave him bold, and intrigued enough to say, “Besides, Kiara, everything you are is right there—in your eyes, and on your face. Open book. It’s not hard to see what you’re feeling. I like that about you.” Ken took a meaningful pause. “Here’s what else I do.”
Ken took her free hand in his. With a nod and a gentle tug, he walked her toward a secluded spot on the other side of the van. Wearing a puzzled expression, Kiara glanced around for a moment—at the quiet roadway, at the fragrant, shimmering grass kissed by morning dew, and the waking shoreline of Lake Saint Clair.
It was perfect.
Ken kept hold of her hand, and said in a whisper, “Pray with me? Privately? Before we do so with the others?”
Her hold on his hand weakened, but not in refusal. Her eyes, wide and wistful, touched on his; she seemed eager to share the moment, and Ken realized the weakness wasn’t weakness at all. It was a melting. A surrender to something powerful, intimate, and graced. In silence, she nodded.
He bowed his head, murmuring into the quiet air, “Lord, you’ve granted us an opportunity to serve You, to lend assistance to the most needy of our brothers and sisters. Keep us strong. Keep us centered in your will, your plans and provision. Lord, in a special way, please bless Kiara as she reaches out in mission for the first time. Show her Your calm and love. Keep us all safe. In Jesus’ name we pray.”
“Amen,” came the unison conclusion. Birds began chirping, starting to arise from towering tree branches that rustled in the building breeze. Ken released her hand, but glided a touch upward, against her arm. “So about that feeling of intimidation? It’s God’s now. Leave it right here in the parking lot. You’re not going to regret this, I promise. And you’re most certainly not alone.”
He continued to look into her eyes, lingering over a final peaceful moment. Her answering nod and the squeeze of her hand against his arm reassured.
“Ken?” Maggie Voorhees stepped up, her brows knit as she studied them. It occurred to Ken that he stood very close to Kiara, his arm nearly around her, their eyes connected, their posture eloquent in its intimacy. “Everyone’s here and supplies are loaded. We’re ready for the group send-off and prayer.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Ken replied. Reluctant to end the moment, he knew he had to turn away. Praying with Kiara had been spontaneous and stirring, but the team needed to get going. Besides, he’d have hours of travel time with her, and for now, he wanted to stymie the inquisitive, darkened expression on Maggie’s face.
****
The mission squad barely crossed the state line of Ohio before debate broke out over potential movies to watch.
“Little Women? No way! That movie is so lame!” Charlie, one of the teen volunteers spoke up first—and with emphasis.
“You get to pick the next movie,” said Amy, the spokeswoman for the women. “We're going to be here for a while, guys. Compromise, right? And PS? Deal with it. It's a good movie.”
“C’mon, it’ll be fine,” said Tyler quietly. Tyler was one of the shyer members of the posse.
“Whatever,” groused Alex, another of the Woodland teens.
“Groan!” said David. “Never have I been so grateful for an iPod.”
Kiara looked over her shoulder to monitor the crew. Ken glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see David tune out, white ear buds stuffed into place. The youth fingered his iPod, then closed his eyes and settled in for a doze. The other guys in the group pretty much followed suit.
Amy, Carlie, Liz and Jen—the ladies of the van—shared a grin at their victory. Amy pushed the DVD into a portable player. The foursome shifted seats until they were tucked together to watch. When the movie began to play, Ken shared a wry look with Kiara, and a grin.
Tyler remained quiet thereafter, seeming immune to the teen-style negotiation process. Instead of an iPod connection, he opted to page through a guitar magazine. Ken kept tabs on him and Amy because there seemed to be undercurrents flowing between the two. Well, on Tyler's part anyway. Ken noticed the way Tyler sat to the side and periodically watched the bubbly, blonde.
That in mind, Ken looked sidelong at the gorgeous woman who rode next to him and found he could completely relate to the longing he detected in Tyler’s eyes.
They rumbled along, and the movie played. Dialogue drifted through the vehicle. On screen, Meg had just returned to her loving, though humble home following a society coming out party. Meg conversed with Marmee about its aftermath:
“I liked to be praised and admired,” Meg said. “I couldn’t help but like it.”
“Of course not,” Marmee answered. “I only care what you think of yourself. If you feel your value lies in being merely decorative I fear that someday you might find yourself thinking that’s all you really are. Time erodes all such beauty. What it cannot diminish are the wonderful workings of your mind. Your humor, your kindness, your moral courage, those are the things I so admire in you.”
Kiara sat quietly and listened, but Ken noticed a turnabout in her mood. Her effervescence dimmed over the next long stretch of highway. Intending to call her out, he reached behind the seat and secured a pair of cups. Next, he lifted the thermos of coffee. “Interested?”
She nodded and smiled. But the quick gesture struck him as false. “Thanks. Here, let me pour.”
“You got quiet all of a sudden.”
“Yeah. I suppose I did.”
The soft-spoken words did nothing to remedy his concern. Neither did the manner in which she turned her head after settling his cup into the holder between them. Looking out the window, she sipped her coffee.
Rather than press, he watched her, indulging a desire to soak her in. The details of her captivated him. A windbreaker, worn to ward off the morning chill, now resided over the back of her seat. She paired a sleeveless, sunshine yellow blouse with tan Capri’s. A yellow ribbon wound through the French braid of her hair, securing its end and trailing loose a few inches beyond.
The accessory intrigued him. Considering what it would feel like to slide that piece of satin ribbon free came at him hard, prompting him to look elsewhere in a denial both physical and emotional.
The trip progressed in a mix of movie dialogue, chatter, and an underlying buzz of music from MP3 devices played at decibels only the young could tolerate. Soon the massive state of Pennsylvania welcomed the caravan. The road turned hilly, punctuated by deep, picturesque valleys. Lush green land was dotted by homes and white, clapboard churches became focal points with steeples that soared skyward. Around the valleys rose a rim of mountains skirted by the tree-lined highway.
That’s when Ken proposed a ‘getting to know you’ exercise.
“Kiara,” he began, “make a list of five items you see somewhere in the vehicle. It can be anything, but it has to be something here with us.”
Everyone started to look around and chatter. Kiara asked, “Can I get some help from the team?”
“Absolutely.”
For the next few minutes, the kids called out things they saw and Kiara drafted a list.
“Crayons, from the gift basket we made for the family.”
“Bottled water.”
“A hoodie!”
“Pop!”
“There’s a box of rubber bands back here.”
Ken glanced back for a second. “I wondered where those ended up. Thought I had left them at the store.”
Seeming puzzled, Kiara kept sidling him glances; Ken remained silent.
“We’re all set,” Kiara said. “Now what?”
“Write one of our names by each item, starting with mine and yours.”
She scribbled, looking more confused than ever. He grinned—and relented. “Let me show you how the game is played. Kiara, what’s the item by your name?”
Ken nodded, and thought about pop for a minute. “How is Kiara like pop?”
Everyone burst out laughing. “Seriously?” One of the mission members asked. “We’re comparing ourselves to the things on the list?”
“No. Starting with me, the person sitting next to you is.” He began again. “Kiara is like pop because she’s bubbly. Just like pop, when you take her in, her spirit sparkles through you.”
She turned to listen, leaning her back against the door. Ken’s words caused her to stare, her lips slightly parted. Luminous eyes drew him in, just like when they had prayed. That particular recollection causing a spark—like sweet, cool pop—and Ken knew he needed to move things along, fast, before the kids caught on.
“I’m next, right?” Ken asked.
Kiara blinked. “Ah…yeah.”
“What item did you assign to me?”
She toyed with the edges of the paper she held, the list on her lap now of paramount importance. “Bottled water.”
“OK. How am I like bottled water?”
She blew out a breath, shrugged shyly, and fidgeted with the pen she held. “Pastor Ken is like bottled water because he’s…he’s clear. And pure. He has a kindness that’s thirst-quenching and a heart that gives to others and refreshes. Just like water.”
She never glanced his way. She didn’t need to. The words spoke strong, and the heat index shot upward. He realized for certain this woman was unaccustomed to being out of her comfort zone with a man.
She recovered fast though, turning to Tyler. “You’re next, and you’re talking about Amy. Amy’s name is by crayons.”
Chortles filled the air, prompting Kiara to retort, “Yuck it up for now, hot-shots, but you’re all going to have a turn.”
He marveled anew at her ease with the teens and kept tabs via the rearview mirror, noting the way Tyler looked at Amy with surprising steadiness. Amy, meanwhile, watched him right back and waited, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.