A Love So Strong. Arlene JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
Beau nodded, shrugged and turned back to the computer, muttering, “Guess you’ll be going through your boxes.”
“Oh, yeah,” she admitted. This occasion definitely called for something special.
She headed for the garage and the half-dozen boxes that contained everything that was left over from her mother’s and grandmother’s closets. Nicole loved digging through them and wearing the clothes. Not only did it play to her personal tastes, it also saved her a lot of money on her wardrobe. Plus, it made her feel closer to those whom she missed most.
Luckily, retro was “in” right now, not that Nicole cared a fig for being in style. Some of the old stuff in those boxes was worth a good deal in resale shops, though. Once in a while, when money was especially tight, she’d pick out a piece to sell. Usually it was one of her grandmother’s old handbags. Grandma Jean had claimed to have a handbag fetish. She’d accumulated dozens by the time she’d forgotten what the word fetish meant, along with so much else, including the family.
Dillard claimed that Jean was lucky because she couldn’t remember the pain of losing her daughter and husband. Nicole didn’t buy that philosophy, though. She was glad to remember. Every memory was a treasure to her, and she hung on to the memories much as she hung on to those boxes of old clothes.
It was too cold to go through her boxes in the garage, so Nicole towed them into her bedroom, one by one. A couple of them were actually made for garments, with poles for hangers. The rest were neatly stacked with smaller items. She knew exactly what each box held, but at times like this she would pull out every article and spread them around her colorful room, arranged by category. Once the contents of the boxes were properly displayed, Nicole would spend hours choosing what she would wear before lovingly packing it all away again.
On this occasion, she pulled everything out, then went to bed beneath an extra blanket of garments, leaving the decision-making process for the morrow. She wanted to relish this turn that her life seemed to be taking. Even if the ultimate destination was not what she hoped, she intended to enjoy the journey.
Marcus couldn’t contain his pleasure when he looked out across his congregation on Sunday morning at the smiling faces of Nicole and Beau Archer. There were other visitors, as well, of course. The place was packed, in fact, as it often was of late. Even the tiny balcony section, reached via a narrow, winding staircase hidden in the back hall, was stuffed with bodies.
Marcus recognized several families whose children attended day care at the church and was glad that preparations were underway for adding a second morning service in the spring, even though it would mean more work for him. Meanwhile, all those involved in the actual production and execution of worship were busily planning what that second service would involve. At times, like this morning, the excitement was palpable as the church poised itself for that next big step forward.
As he moved into the pulpit, Marcus felt lifted up, his words imbued with a special power. Though he considered himself more of a thoughtful teacher than a spellbinding preacher, he seemed linked to his audience in an unusual manner that morning. It was as if he shared a special connection with every person present, and when all was said and done, the church had added three new families, numbering ten souls in all, to the membership roll. Through every moment, he was aware of the Archers.
Even as he stood at the vestibule door, shaking hands and sharing smiles and comments with the exiting throng, Marcus was keenly aware of Beau and Nicole Archer near the back of the line. Beau seemed somewhat hesitant when Marcus paused to speak with him, but Marcus assumed that it had to do with his painfully awkward appearance.
Beau looked like a poster boy for the underprivileged, dressed as he was in a faded black tie and a white shirt which was considerably too large for him. The cuffs of his shirt sleeves had been rolled back several times to keep them from hanging over the boy’s hands, and the collar was in no danger of choking him, despite the tightly knotted tie. To make matters worse, his charcoal-gray dress slacks were a little too short, showing a bit of white sock above worn black shoes. In addition, his shaggy brown hair slid haphazardly in several directions at once, despite having obviously been parted and wet-combed earlier. He held the coat Marcus had given him, clutched in both arms, like a security blanket.
Marcus knew he had to do something. He called over a couple of youngsters around Beau’s age and introduced them. As the trio stepped aside to talk stiltedly among themselves, Marcus at last turned his attention to Nicole.
While Beau’s attire branded him as a poor kid barely surviving in a harsh world, Nicole managed to look amazingly pretty in her odd getup. Considering the last two times he’d seen her, this outfit was fairly subdued, which was not to say conventional.
Her dark hair fell sleekly past her shoulders from beneath a yellow crocheted cap pulled almost to her delicately arched brows. The crochet was repeated in the ankle-length, purple vest that she wore over a slender, black, short-sleeved sheath, yellow stockings and knee-high, white vinyl boots. She clutched her red gloves in one hand and carried a familiar striped scarf folded over one arm with what appeared to be a royal-blue cape, though it could have been a voluminous coat arranged so that the sleeves were hidden.
Marcus couldn’t help laughing. Not because she looked ridiculous—she didn’t, oddly enough—but because something about her just inspired that reaction. It was as if the sun came out from behind drab clouds when Nicole appeared, as if color suddenly washed a black-and-white world with sparkling, breathtaking hues. Yet, no one could deny that she was a quirky character. Marcus saw the way that others looked at her, the smiles hidden behind coughs and throat clearings, the surreptitious glances and whispered comments. She seemed happily oblivious.
“That was great!” she gushed, rocking up onto her tiptoes as she held his hand. “Inspiring. Honestly!”
“Glad you enjoyed it. I’m delighted to see you and Beau here this morning.”
“We’ll be back,” she announced, beaming.
“Wonderful. If you have a few minutes now, though, I’d like a word with you when I’m done here.” A shadow passed across her eyes, dimming them momentarily. “Won’t take long, I promise,” he added quickly, then glanced pointedly over his shoulder at Beau.
“Oh, um, okay. Sure.”
He directed her to a bench against one wall of the vestibule and made quick work of the few remaining farewells before joining her.
“As I said, I’m really glad to see you and Beau here this morning, Nicole,” he told her. “I’m even happier that you plan to return, and I’d like to help Beau fit in, if I can.”
“I’m sure once he gets to know people…” she began.
“Oh, absolutely,” Marcus agreed. “If I could make one suggestion, though?”
Her slender brows drew together, and her voice carried a wary note despite her polite reply. “Of course.”
“Let him lose the tie, or at least wear it loose and drooping.” He touched his own neat Windsor knot and chuckled. “That’s how our minister of youth wears his. Very cool, I’m told.”
She made a face and relaxed. “I guess we were both thinking about the last time we attended church.” Dropping her head she admitted, “It’s been a long time, you know. Beau was just ten, and what was considered appropriate for a boy that age back then and what’s considered okay now…” She waved a hand.
Marcus chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Some of the older folks complain when they see these kids with baggy pants and the shirttails out and hanging down to their knees, but I figure that this is their church, too, and they should be comfortable. That they’re here is much more important to me than how they’re dressed.”
“I see what you mean.”
“We do have standards,” he went on. “We draw the line at T-shirts with slogans other than Christian ones and head coverings indoors for the boys. We don’t even allow the girls to wear those backward caps that are so