small space between them, then settled next to Aunt Hilda on the rounded bench, tears brimming in her eyes.
Aunt Hilda took her into her arms, hugging her close. “Rest then. Rest here as long as you need. You’re safe now. You’ve come home to the Father.”
Willa couldn’t speak. So instead, she wept. Gently, with little sound, but with deep, cleansing, purging tears of relief and restoration. If only her haughty, distant adoptive mother would have ever held her in her arms. If only she could have known her real mother. Could have. Would have. There were so many things she needed to know, so many things she needed to take care of. Urgent, frightening things.
But not tonight. Tonight, in spite of her growing feelings for Lucas and her determination to curtail those feelings, she felt safe and secure, as if she truly had returned home from a very long journey.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said into Aunt Hilda’s lace collar. “I’m acting like a big baby.”
Hilda chuckled, then patted Willa on the arm. “Not a baby, dear. A child. A child who needs desperately to be held and loved.”
“How did you know?”
“Oh, me?” Hilda lifted Willa’s head, then placed a warm hand on her wet cheek. “I’m not referring to me. Our Father is holding you now, darling. And He won’t let go.”
Willa closed her eyes. “Never?”
“Ever,” Aunt Hilda told her.
“You seem so sure. How can you do that—let go and just believe?”
Hilda waved a hand in the air. “Look around us. This is my Father’s garden. He created all of this. He created you and me. And because He loved us so much that He was willing to send His son to give us everlasting life, I have to trust that no matter what happens to me, good or bad, God will be there to comfort and sustain me.”
Willa thought about her future. She might be facing some very uncomfortable, life-altering things. And what if the worst did happen? Who would she have to turn to? Who would she have to trust?
“It would be nice to know that kind of assurance and comfort, no matter what.”
Hilda sat silent for a minute, then said, “All you have to do in order to receive those gifts, those assurances, is accept. Accept that God will see you through.” Then she took Willa’s hands in hers and smiled.
By the time Lucas found them there, they were laughing and talking like old friends. It burned him to no end that Willa seemed to be having a great time with his aunt while he suffered in silent misery. But he hid that unwarranted jealousy behind his usual carefree manner.
Leaning into the open gazebo with a flourish, he asked, “Now what are you two whispering about, out here in the dark?” Fanning at his ear, he added, “With nasty mosquitoes gnawing at your heads.”
Aunt Hilda lifted up off the bench, her hand tightly encircling Willa’s. Willa stood, but Lucas noticed she looked different somehow. Almost…peaceful.
And she also looked as if she’d been crying.
“Lucas, Willa is coming to church with us Sunday,” Aunt Hilda said, beaming.
Lucas whistled low, then shot his aunt a loving but quizzical look. Then he studied Willa’s face. “She got to you, didn’t she, jolie fille?”
But before Willa could answer, Aunt Hilda shook her head. “Not me. Apparently, it was you. You and your saxophone. She liked the song you played. It touched her.” She held a hand to her heart. “It touched her here, Lucas.”
Lucas shut up his whining and stared in amazement at Willa. She did seem different. “Is that true?”
Willa’s eyes went wide. “Your music, Lucas…It was so beautiful, so perfect. I don’t know…I just walked and walked and I wound up here and then Aunt Hilda found me—”
“And we had a good heart-to-heart talk,” Aunt Hilda said, filling in the blanks. “A good soul talk.”
“Le coeur a ses raisons,” Lucas replied dryly, wondering why he couldn’t have been the one to break Willa’s code of silence.
“Yes,” Aunt Hilda said, nodding, “the heart does indeed have its reasons. And humans also have reasons for not opening our hearts to the abundant love in front of us.”
“Is this a quiz?” Lucas asked, frustration dripping like Spanish moss from each word, his gaze still on Willa.
She looked more at peace, but she also looked as if she didn’t want to talk to him.
“No,” Aunt Hilda replied, smug and proper. “But you might want to relax and figure things out for yourself. Everything comes to pass in God’s own good time, Lucas.”
He ran a hand through his tattered curls. “Oui, but I’m tired of waiting for that good time to come.”
His aunt stepped forward on tiptoes to give him a kiss. Lucas bent to receive the show of affection, his eyes moving over Willa.
“I’m going to turn in now, children,” Aunt Hilda told them. “This has been a good night. A very good night.”
She was still chuckling as she went off down the path.
“Shouldn’t you help her to the house?” Willa asked, her voice strangely quiet.
“She would refuse my help. She has her pride.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Besides, she’s walking on air from saving another lost soul.”
“She has been a tremendous help to me,” Willa replied, her head bent. “At least, she’s made me see that with God’s help, I might be able to come to some conclusions about my life.”
Lucas couldn’t be angry for that. “Then I’m happy for you.”
Willa caught his hand in hers. “I want you to be—happy, that is.”
Casse pas mon coeur. He didn’t say the words out loud, but he wanted to. He wanted to tell her, Then don’t break my heart.
He gave an eloquent shrug, then pulled his hand from hers. “I’m happy. Completely happy.” For about three seconds, he stood there, a hand on his hip. Then he pivoted toward her. “That’s not the truth. I’m not happy. I used to think I was. But that was last week, before I saw you standing in my gardens.”
Willa held her head down. “See, I’ve already made you regret—”
He pulled her close then, needing answers, wondering how she could tell his aunt things she had yet to tell him. “I don’t regret meeting you. I only regret that you can’t trust me the way you seem to trust my dear aunt. I want you to share with me the things you just told her.”
“I didn’t tell her anything, Lucas.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. We talked…about God. About me.” She stopped, sucked in a breath. “Something happened here. Something I can’t explain.”
