“So he’s looking, then?”
Beau screwed up his face, complaining, “I don’t know. What’re you asking me for?”
“No reason,” she answered nonchalantly. “It’s just that I promised him we’d try out his church this Sunday, and I wanted to know what you thought about him. That’s all.”
Dropping his chin, Beau sent her a pointed look. Clearly she wasn’t fooling him. He knew she was interested in Marcus. She rolled her eyes as if to say she wasn’t, and for some reason Beau chose to let it go. She wondered if that signaled approval or if it meant that he figured she had no chance of attracting Marcus’s interest for herself.
She cleared her throat. “Well? Do you want to go to church on Sunday or not?”
He thought about it before asking, “What about Dad?”
“The way I figure it,” Nicole said, “is that if he goes out on Saturday night, then he’ll be sleeping in on Sunday morning.”
“And he always goes out on Saturday night,” Beau said matter-of-factly.
They stared at each other for several long moments, neither saying aloud what they both knew. It would be better if their father didn’t realize they were attending church, at least initially. Maybe once he saw that it wouldn’t interfere with his lifestyle, he would be amenable. That had proven the case with the issue of Nicole attending college.
For some time before she’d graduated from high school, Dillard had grumbled that Nicole should put any plans to further her education on hold until Beau was old enough to take care of himself. Wisely, Nicole had said nothing, and when the time had come to enroll she had not sought Dillard’s permission. Instead she’d simply taken herself down to the university, signed up for classes and applied for every grant, scholarship and tuition aid she could find. She was halfway through the first semester before her father had realized that she was attending college and his life had not truly been impacted at all. Hopefully, it would be the same way when he found out that they were attending church.
On the other hand, it might turn out to be a one-time deal. Marcus Wheeler’s church might not be to their liking. They might not go back. That’s what she told herself anyway. In her heart, Nicole knew that regular attendance was definitely in her future. She missed going to church, but she hadn’t seen any point in risking her father’s wrath until now.
“You’d better try on your dress slacks,” she told Beau, rising to her feet. “You’ll probably have to wear one of Dad’s shirts.”
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.
