A Touch of Grace. Linda Goodnight

for a long time, remembering, regretting, wishing for another chance. At one point she glanced back and noticed with relief that Ian Carpenter had disappeared. Good.

      She didn’t know what to make of him. He’d been kind the day of Maddy’s death and she’d been too distraught to see that. She didn’t want to be unfair, but she feared men like Ian. Preachers, as she well knew, wielded power over their followers, whether for good or for bad.

      Which was Ian Carpenter?

      She remembered one of her last conversations with Maddy, two weeks before her death. She’d seemed so full of hope, excited to be attending classes at the mission. Thrilled to see her sister happy, Gretchen hadn’t asked what kind of classes, though a cold fear had snaked down her spine that day. She’d warned Maddy to be careful. Had even begged her sister to let her find a more conventional rehab. But Maddy had assured her that Ian Carpenter was the real deal. He could help her get her life together. She would make it this time.

      But she hadn’t.

      Now Gretchen needed to know. What exactly went on inside Isaiah Mission?

      The afternoon sun angled from the west casting shadows over the rows and rows of pale tombs. As much as she hated leaving her sister behind, Gretchen was too tired to stay any longer. Carlotta would be calling soon, wondering where she was, if she was all right. And she’d promised to be back at the news station tomorrow morning, bright and early. She desperately needed some sleep.

      She leaned her cheek briefly against the vault and whispered, “I love you,” and turned to go.

      A long human shadow touched her toes.

      She jerked her head up.

      Ian Carpenter came toward her, a tall soft drink cup in hand. “You look like you could use this.”

      As parched as she was, Gretchen balked at the idea of taking anything from him. Brother Gordon had been nice at first, too.

      A near smile softened the edges of a very nice mouth. “Go ahead. I promise it’s only lemonade, not cyanide.”

      Did he have any idea how not funny that was?

      She took the cup and drank deeply, the tart citrus cutting the terrible dryness in her throat.

      All the while, she watched him over the rim of the cup. His electric eyes held hers, steady and quiet, studying her.

      He had a serenity about him that was almost eerie.

      “Thank you,” she said, after gulping half the super-sized drink. “I didn’t realize I’d stayed so long.”

      “It’s been a hard day for you.”

      Gretchen was too uncertain about his motives to answer.

      “Maddy was a sweet girl,” he went on. “A gentle and kind person.”

      “And weak.” She took another sip of lemonade. The sides of the cup dripped condensation onto her black crepe dress.

      “We all have weaknesses.”

      “Even you, Reverend?”

      “Me most of all. And one of my weaknesses is being called Reverend. I prefer Ian.” Lightly, he slid a hand under her elbow. “Your nose is getting pink. You need to get out of the sun.”

      Normally opposed to anyone telling her what to do, Gretchen was too numb and exhausted to resist. She walked with him to an iron bench in a small, shady spot. Her insides trembled with fatigue and emotion. She really should go home.

      “My roommate will be worried.”

      “The woman with you? Tall. Black hair.”

      She expected him to expound on her roommate’s beauty as most men did, but he didn’t. He settled onto the bench, keeping a polite distance between them. Gretchen couldn’t help but appreciate that.

      “Carlotta Moreno. She’s a good friend.” She shook her head and studied the real slice of lemon floating in her cup. If Maddy had more friends like Carlotta, maybe someone would have been with her that night. “I wish…”

      As if he understood the direction of her thoughts, Ian said, “Maddy had friends, too. People who cared about her.”

      Unable to stop a bitter laugh, she swept her arm around the cemetery. “Oh, yes, the place is brimming with them.”

      “They were here.”

      She looked at him, trying to comprehend why he would tell an obvious lie. His startling eyes gazed back at her, steady and quiet.

      “Are they invisible?” she asked sarcastically.

      “In a manner of speaking.”

      “Metaphysically speaking, you mean? As in astral projection or some spiritual out-of-body experience?”

      He laughed. She was dead serious and he laughed.

      “I meant that some of Maddy’s friends were here, paying their respects out of sight of the other mourners. They were worried that you’d be upset if they showed themselves.”

      “Are you telling me that there were people behind the tombs listening to the funeral service?”

      “The residents of the mission who knew her and a few street people.”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      He shrugged. “Come to Isaiah House and ask them yourself.”

      Gretchen smiled grimly. She should have seen that one coming.

      “Maybe I will.” But not for the reasons he had in mind.

      “We have chapel mornings and evenings at seven. Bible studies are pretty much ongoing, some formal, some informal.”

      “Or I could come for the soup.” The silliness slipped out and she laughed. Then guilt rushed in. How could she laugh on the day of her sister’s funeral?

      “Laughter is the best medicine, and it’s a lot less expensive.”

      The preacher was uncannily intuitive. She’d better be more careful. “But my sister was buried today.”

      He grew quiet for a minute, as if he drew inside. Gretchen wondered if he was praying. Elbows to knees, hands clasped together in front of his face, he bounced thumb knuckles against his chin.

      “I won’t pretend to understand Maddy’s death, because I don’t. If I was God, she’d still be alive today.”

      His intense honesty surprised her. He didn’t sound like any preacher she’d ever heard before. She had expected platitudes.

      “Aren’t you going to tell me that Maddy’s suffering is over now? Or that she’s in a far better place?” Trite little sayings that infuriated her.

      He shook his head. A small scar gleamed white through the brown hair above his ear.

      “All I know for sure is this, Gretchen. God cared about Maddy. He loved her. And Maddy wanted to love Him in return.”

      Yes, Maddy had always longed for God, tormented that she’d left the faith but too wise and too scared to go back. She could almost hear her sister’s frequent worry. “What if Brother Gordon was right? What if we’ve lost our only chance at Heaven?”

      Gretchen jabbed the straw up and down in her lemonade cup, rattling ice. The noise seemed out of place here among the quiet tombs. “Do you think my sister went to Heaven?”

      “I don’t know.” Again he answered honestly and she was grateful. “No one but Maddy and the Lord knows what transpired between them in those last hours of her life. But she was on her way back to the mission. Don’t you think that means something?”

      Sincerity oozed from the man like whipped cream between the layers of a sweet cake. She wanted to believe he was the “real deal” as Maddy had claimed. But she always came