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I’m Loving You
A CHRISTIAN ROMANCE
JULIETTE DUNCAN
WATER’S EDGE SERIES- BOOK 7
Cover Design by http://www.StunningBookCovers.com

Copyright © 2023 Juliette Duncan

All rights reserved.

I’m Loving You is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for
fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trade marks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no
association with the author, and are used for fictional purposes only.

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by
permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
 Contents

Note from the Author:

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue

Other Books by Juliette Duncan

About the Author
 Note from the Author:

HELLO! Thank you for choosing to read this book - I hope you enjoy it! Please note that this story is
set in Australia. Australian spelling and terminology have been used and are not typos!
As a thank you for reading this book, I'd like to offer you a FREE GIFT. That's right - my FREE
novella, “Hank and Sarah - A Love Story” is available exclusively to my newsletter subscribers. Go
to: http://www.julietteduncan.com/subscribe claim your copy now and to be notified of my future
book releases. I hope you enjoy both books! Have a wonderful day!

Juliette
 Prologue

B ronte McAllister’s hands paused midfold when the telephone’s insistent ring pierced the air.
The abandoned laundry lay forgotten as she sprinted towards the phone, desperate to silence it before
it had a chance to awaken Archie, her three-year-old son, from his afternoon nap.
With Archie’s hypersensitivity, he was prone to meltdowns if woken abruptly, and she could sure
do without a meltdown today.
Snatching the receiver, she shot a reproachful glance at Percy, Archie’s playful companion terrier,
who’d seized the opportunity to make off with a sock, his hairy face sporting an impish grin.
That sock would return with a few extra holes.
But a holey sock was the least of her worries.
“Mrs. McAllister?”
She didn’t recognise the caller, but their tone hinted at something significant. Holding her breath,
she silently implored God not to let Scott be in any trouble.
Another crisis was the last thing she could handle right now.
Ever since his discharge from the army two years ago, her husband had been locked in a
relentless battle to reclaim his life. The injury that ended his military service was merely a fraction of
the challenge he faced. The haunting turmoil that ravaged his mind fuelled a deep-seated depression
rooted in the unyielding grip of post-traumatic stress disorder. Despite her unwavering support and
their pastor’s counsel, he refused to seek help, leaving her heartbroken and helpless.
Instead, he’d turned to alcohol as his coping mechanism. A few hours ago, he’d set out to run
errands, but she already knew where he’d end up: a dimly lit bar. It’d become an all-too-familiar
cycle, a painful repetition etched into their lives.
“This is P. C. Harvey,” the voice stated. A brief pause followed, instantly sending her stomach
plummeting.
The police? Had Scott managed to get himself arrested? Her husband was struggling, but he
wasn’t a bad man.
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. Your husband’s been taken to the hospital,” the officer
relayed.
 “An accident?” Her heart pounded, the rhythm echoing in her ears.
“Yes. I’m sorry. He’s been in a car accident.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, and she clenched the receiver. Until now, Scott had possessed enough
sense not to get behind the wheel when he’d been drinking. But his behaviour had become
increasingly reckless, veering towards self-destruction.
“Is he… badly hurt?” Her words tumbled out, her mind racing.
A pregnant pause lingered before the officer responded. “I’m afraid so. He’s undergoing
emergency surgery.”
Her trembling hands scribbled down the details, and once done, she replaced the receiver, only to
pick it up again to call her neighbour.
The hospital was out of the question with Archie in tow. Thankfully, their elderly neighbour was
wonderful with him.
Freya picked up and offered her assistance, her voice filled with concern. “Of course, I’ll come
right over.”
As Bronte ended the call, Archie descended the stairs, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Percy bounded
alongside him, clutching the missing sock in his mouth.
It’d been Scott’s idea to get Archie a dog when their son was diagnosed eighteen months ago with
a neurodivergent disorder. “Assistance dogs work wonders for children on the autism spectrum,”
he’d enthused, a rare glimmer of happiness in his eyes. “We can adopt a puppy and have it trained by
the time it’s a year old.”
Despite his battles, Scott had always been a dedicated and caring father. Bronte’s eyes welled,
but for Archie’s sake, she had to remain strong. She drew a steadying breath, reminding herself that
Scott was still alive. Then she gathered Archie in her arms and pressed a kiss onto his soft brown
hair. “Mummy needs to go out for a little while, sweetheart.”
“No.” His body stiffened, and an invisible weight bore down on her shoulders. How could she
explain the heartbreaking truth to her exquisitely sensitive child?
Then the phone rang once again, and her body went cold. She already knew what the caller was
about to reveal.
Her husband hadn’t survived.
 Chapte r

One

Four years later…

W ith a sense of urgency, Bronte burst into Archie’s classroom, her gaze darting across the
room in search of her son.
For a moment, he eluded her. The chairs stood empty, and apart from Mrs. Broomfield, his
middle-aged teacher, who stood by her desk, the room seemed deserted.
But then, there he was. Curled up in a corner, his tiny form huddled with his hands pressed over
his ears and his eyes clenched shut as if trying to shut out the world.
And in that moment, her heart melted.
Bronte lowered herself to his level, crouching in front of him, her voice gentle and steady despite
her tumultuous emotions. “Sweetheart, it’s Mummy. Can you tell me what happened?”
Although he shook his head, his eyes flickered open, revealing the vulnerability hidden behind
their innocent gaze. When she reached out her arms, he lunged into them, and the powerful force
nearly sent her reeling backwards.
Collecting herself, she fixed a firm gaze on the teacher. The woman had never warmed to Archie,
but then again, few people did. Still, his teacher should show him the kindness and consideration he
deserved, shouldn’t she? The headmistress had assured Bronte the school was well equipped to deal
with special needs children. The thought of dealing with an ill-prepared institution sent shivers down
Bronte’s spine.
“How did he get into this state?” She winced at her accusatory tone, but this was the third time in
a month Archie had had a meltdown in class, even though she’d repeatedly given advice on how the
teacher could make the class experience easier for him.
The woman spread her hands. “We had a music session on steel pans, and the children got
excited. There was a lot of noise.”
With Archie’s face buried in her stomach, Bronte straightened and rubbed his back. She could
only imagine how much noise steel pans and a class of rowdy seven-year-olds had created. It would
have been deafening.
“You didn’t offer Archie his headphones? Or let him sit it out?”
The woman waved a hand. “There was no teaching assistant to take him out of the class, I’m
afraid.”
Bronte pursed her lips. She wouldn’t lose her temper. She. Would. Not. One McAllister meltdown
was enough for this classroom today. “What about his headphones? Like I’ve explained, a lot of this
could be avoided if a few environmental changes were made for him.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. “If we let Archie wear headphones, the other children would want
to wear them, too. They’d want to know why Archie was being treated differently.”
Because he is different! Bronte gritted her teeth, holding the retort in, her brow lifting as she
glared. Despite what the headmistress had said, neither the school nor the teacher was equipped for a
neurodivergent child, and that was that.
Bronte knew what she had to do. She took his hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Archie.” The woman’s voice was bright, as if the whole episode was
forgotten.
Bronte squared her shoulders. “No, you won’t. He’s not coming back.”
The woman gaped. “You can’t remove him!”
“I can, and I will.” Bronte spun on her heel and left the room with Archie clinging to her hand.
They strode across the car park in silence. By the time they reached the car, her breathing had
calmed, and her heart had returned to its normal rhythm. She didn’t normally get so worked up, but
that woman! Grr.
Archie frowned as she strapped him into his seat. “Did you mean that? I don’t have to go back to
school?”
She kissed his forehead. “That’s right. I’m going to homeschool you from now on.”
“Yay!” The delight accompanying his fist pump confirmed her split-second decision.
She started the engine and adjusted the rear-view mirror, her gaze settling on her son before she
reversed out. She was all he had. Sometimes, the weight of that responsibility was almost too heavy
to bear.
As she drove homeward, her mind spun. Could she take on the responsibility of homeschooling
him? While he had his sensory needs and experienced upheaval when his routine was disrupted, he
also seemed to be her polar opposite academically. Art and drama, her favourite subjects, held no
appeal for him, while his advanced prowess in mathematics and science far surpassed his tender age
of seven. He effortlessly delved into computer tasks she didn’t even know existed.
The daunting question loomed… Where would she even find the resources to educate him? So
much was left to unravel. As a graphic designer, she could conduct a considerable portion of her
work from home. Perhaps it was time to consider freelancing if her boss proved unsupportive. The
notion had been simmering in her mind for some time.
 A weary sigh escaped her lips. Somehow, she’d figure it out. She’d navigated all the challenges
thrown her way since Scott’s death. She’d cope, just as she’d coped before.
Becoming a widow and a single mother shortly after turning thirty hadn’t been on her radar. Not at
all. But with no family other than her elderly parents, she’d learned to cope.
No—not totally on her own. Her faith and best friend had kept her sane.
Without them, where would she be?
“Does that mean I can do maths all day?” Archie looked at her hopefully in the mirror.
She chuckled. “You’ll have to do all the other subjects as well, but I’m sure you can do as much
maths as you want.”
“Cool.” He kicked his legs against the back of the seat. She didn’t say anything.
His face brightened further. “Percy’ll be happy.”
Catching his eye in the mirror, she winked. “He will, indeed.”
As she turned into their picturesque street lined with charming seaside cottages, she drew a deep,
fortifying breath. She harboured no illusions. Embarking on the journey of homeschooling Archie
would present challenges. But the way he’d been returning home miserable, to the extent that she
contemplated uprooting their lives and seeking a fresh start elsewhere, had weighed on her heart.
Where could they go? Her one close friend lived in Water’s Edge. They’d already started over
once, and she was reluctant to consider starting over yet again. In her experience, making friends
wasn’t easy when one had a special needs child. People smiled and were polite, but they didn’t
understand.
No. Somehow, someway, she’d make it work.
She pulled into the driveway and climbed out. Archie was old enough to unclip himself, and he
beat her to the door.
“Mum, hurry up.” Standing in front of her, he jiggled from one foot to the other as she fumbled
with her keys while Percy yapped on the other side.
Once the door opened, Archie launched himself at the dog.
Thank goodness he was a robust creature.
A little later, as the pair played in the backyard, Bronte settled at the kitchen table with her laptop
and a steaming cup of coffee. To gather information on the essential requirements of homeschooling,
she researched the available resources. Hmm, homeschooling wasn’t as uncommon as she’d
presumed. However, she’d need a customised approach as the conventional curriculum alone
wouldn’t cater to Archie’s unique needs.
No surprise there. The school system had proven ill-equipped in meeting his requirements as
well.
She slumped back in her seat and folded her arms. Had she bitten off more than she could chew?
And what if her income dropped because she couldn’t work as much? Could Scott’s pension cover
the extra expenses?
 She bowed her head as her gut churned. “Lord, please lead and guide me. I believe this is the
right path, but I feel anxious and inadequate. Give me peace and help me find people to support us on
this journey and to have the funds to afford the help I’ll need. Help me to be the best mother I can be.
In Jesus’ precious name. Amen.”
She closed her laptop, her hands resting atop the case as dappled sunlight filtered through the
blinds and landed on the photos in the family room. Although Archie’s memory of his father had
faded, he enjoyed looking at the photos, and every night, he stood before them and said goodnight to
his dad.
It was still hard to accept Scott was gone. Powerless to do anything to help him other than ask
God to intervene, she’d watched him self-destruct, and it’d been heart-wrenching. Until he suffered
PTSD, their marriage had been good. They loved each other. She still struggled to understand how
it’d gone so wrong. It had tested her faith and her understanding of prayer. How many well-meaning
Christians had told her she just needed to pray harder, placing guilt on her? Was God not listening to
her prayers because she wasn’t a good enough Christian?
Francesca told her that was nonsense. Bronte slowly accepted that God was sovereign and—
although He could step in and heal Scott—if He didn’t, it didn’t mean He didn’t care. Scott was
responsible for his own decisions, and even though he was troubled, he was capable of seeking help
for both his PTSD and his alcoholism, if he chose.
While that reduced the pressure on her, it left her questioning Scott’s love for her. Surely, if he
loved her and Archie enough, he’d do everything possible to heal.
If he’d lived, perhaps he might have.
She huffed out pent-up tension. Indulging in self-pity served no purpose. Perhaps venturing into
homeschooling would be a transformative experience. However, she couldn’t disregard the crucial
social aspect. Archie must remain connected with other children lest he become isolated in his own
world.
Francesca had assured her he’d be welcome at the church youth club, but Bronte wasn’t so sure.
Few places like that were equipped to deal with kids like Archie.
Everything was fine until it wasn’t.
Like at school today.
But she had to do something.
Shortly after Scott’s passing, her old school buddy proposed the idea of relocating to Water’s
Edge, encouraging her to embark on a fresh start. However, it’d taken Bronte considerable time to
work through her grief before mustering the courage to bid farewell to everything familiar and
embrace the unknown.
Although Water’s Edge lay a mere hour’s drive from her former home and her parents, its coastal
allure and laid-back atmosphere made it feel a world apart.
Yet, despite Francesca’s constant encouragement to get involved, plagued by apprehension
regarding how people would respond to Archie, Bronte’d chosen to keep to herself, isolating herself
from the community.
However, some nights she found herself lying in bed, eyes fixated on the shadowy ceiling, as
overwhelming loneliness hollowed places deep within her.
Shaking off her melancholy, she turned her attention to Archie. As he and Percy continued their
play, she reached for her phone and dialled Francesca’s number.
Her friend answered after a single ring. “Bronte, how funny! I was just thinking about you.”
“Great minds indeed.” Bronte’s laughter lightened the weight of her emotions. Then she recounted
the day to Francesca.
“You’ve made the right decision. Archie deserves better,” Francesca affirmed, her support
unwavering.
Still, Bronte furrowed her brow. “But I also want him to interact with other kids.” She swallowed
hard. “I–I thought of trying him at the youth club.”
“Wonderful! He’ll enjoy it. The leaders are compassionate and will take care of him.”
Hmm. If only it were so easy. “I hope so. I guess time will tell.”
“I know you’re sceptical, and I understand why. But you can’t shield him forever.”
If anyone other than Francesca had made such a remark, Bronte would have defended her
parenting approach. Instead, as her friend’s words struck a chord, she softened her voice. “I just want
to protect him, you know?”
“I know, and I admire your dedication.” Francesca’s empathy soothed. “But he needs friends, and
so do you. An entire community is waiting to welcome you both. You should give them a chance.”
Every few weeks they’d had this conversation, and so far, Bronte’s answer had been the same.
She wasn’t ready. After feeling judged by members at her old church because of Archie’s
unpredictable behaviour, she hadn’t attended a service in over a year.
She fingered the silver cross around her neck.
“I don’t need to attend church to be a Christian.”
“True, and you have a strong faith. But church is about community and fellowship. You’d be
welcome… and so would Archie. No one will judge you if he has a meltdown. I promise.”
Bronte’s hand stilled on her cross. Could she try again? Could she handle the looks? The
whispers? The embarrassment? She released a breath. “Okay. You win. I’ll come on Sunday.”
“Wonderful!”
Imagining her dark-haired friend beaming, Bronte smiled. She did miss being part of a Christian
community, and the way Francesca gushed about her church made it sound like the perfect place.
But she was biased. She worked there.
She’d also suggested Bronte may have been using Archie’s behaviour as an excuse to avoid
situations and places she found uncomfortable.
Although it rankled, it was probably true.
Looking at Archie throwing sticks for Percy, she prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.
 Chapte r

Two

“H ello! Anybody home?” A cheerful, older female voice called out through Daniel Taylor’s front
window, interrupting his unpacking.
His brow furrowed. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but setting aside the half-unpacked box of
model cars, he rose from his seat, made his way to the door, and opened it.
On the doorstep, a white-haired woman with a flamboyant hairstyle and sparkling blue eyes stood
clutching a cake tin. “Hello there. I’m Charlotte. I run the diner on The Esplanade. I was good friends
with the previous pastor, and he mentioned you’d be arriving today—so I’ve brought you some
homemade muffins.”
“Wow.” What a welcome. The petite powerhouse could probably stand in for everyone’s
favourite aunt or grandma. “That’s kind of you. I was just making some tea. Would you like to come
in?”
Those vital eyes twinkled. “Oh yes. I’d love a cup. Thank you.” She breezed past him, making her
way down the hallway towards the kitchen in a burst of lively conversation.
He followed, amused by her spirited nature.
Clearly, she knew her way around his new home. After placing the cake tin on the counter, she
faced him. “Now, I understand you’ve just moved in and it’ll take some time to settle, but I wanted to
invite you to a little welcome lunch I’m hosting at the diner tomorrow. Everyone’s thrilled to meet
you, and it’d give you a chance to get to know some of the church folk before Sunday.”
His chest further warmed as he touched her shoulder, stilling her bustling movements. “That
sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Noah, the previous pastor, had described Charlotte as a remarkable woman with an indomitable
spirit. His description had been spot-on.
Daniel pulled out a chair. “Please, sit while I prepare the tea and fetch a plate for the muffins—
I’ve already unpacked most of my kitchen things.”
“Smart man. Start with the essentials—bedding and whatnot can wait.”
No need to tell her he’d been working on unpacking his model cars and army vehicles. They may
not be essentials, but he’d wanted to see how the fragile collection survived the move.
As he joined her at the table, she insisted he try a muffin. He couldn’t admit he’d just eaten
breakfast, so he selected the smallest, but when the soft gooey treat melted in his mouth, he eyed the
dwindling delicacy. He should’ve chosen a larger one. “These are delicious.” He caught a crumb
before it landed on his plate and popped it into his mouth. “I bet they’re popular at the diner.”
Scooting forward, her eyes even more aglow, she lowered her voice. “I have a secret recipe,
handed down from my grandmother.”
Daniel chuckled.
She waved at the boxes still open on his counters, the packing material strewn by the recycling
bin, and the pots and pans stacked over the stove. “You must know a bit about cooking, being a
bachelor.”
His gaze narrowed as she regarded him over the rim of her cup. She might be a wonderful
woman, but was she also the town gossip?
Nothing about her suggested a malicious streak, so perhaps she was simply interested.
He shrugged. “I don’t go hungry. But I’m a widower. It’s been five years now.”
She placed a delicate manicured hand over his. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, just the slightest heat gathering behind them. Then he lowered his
hand and raised his gaze. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it now. I suppose I am a bachelor these days.”
“Well, I hope you’ll find happiness here in Water’s Edge. You have big shoes to fill, but I have
faith in you.” She patted his hand and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
He turned his hand to squeeze hers, then pushed his chair back, and stood as well. While she’d
given him no choice but to attend the welcome lunch, he appreciated her kindness. “I’ll look forward
to it.”
He walked her to the door and bid her farewell before returning to his unpacking, his fingers
slowing as he slid a model army car from the sock protecting it.
He did have big shoes to fill. He’d accepted the position at the last minute, stepping in when the
original replacement fell ill. After serving as a pastor in a large city church for the past eight years,
he’d been seeking a smaller congregation. With no family commitments to consider, he was able to
accept at short notice, especially as his previous church had several pastors on staff. Although they
were sad to see him go, the congregation understood his need for a change. The church provided him
with a house, not overly spacious, but sufficient. The way everything fell into place made him believe
God had guided him to Water’s Edge.
Moreover, he welcomed the change. Following Emily’s battle with breast cancer and her eventual
passing, he’d thrown himself into his work, living on autopilot for the first years. Then he began to
feel disconnected, as if without her he no longer belonged in the community they’d shared.
The offer came when he needed a fresh start. And now, here he was in this quaint seaside town,
surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
 Well, almost everyone. He now knew Charlotte. If the rest of the residents were anything like her,
he was in for an interesting time.
He started whistling as he delved into another box, but the doorbell once again interrupted. This
time, he opened it to a smartly dressed, dark-haired man, around his own age.
Introducing himself as Dr. Anthony Petersen, the gentleman extended a hand. “I was passing and
saw your car, so I thought I’d pop in and introduce myself.”
After shaking the doctor’s hand, Daniel opened the door wider and stepped aside. “The lady from
the diner brought me some muffins. Why don’t you come in and have one? Apparently, they’re made
from her secret recipe.”
The doctor rubbed his hands together in a let’s-get-at-it gesture. “I won’t say no to one of
Charlotte’s muffins.”
Once again, Daniel heated the kettle and fetched the muffins.
Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, the doctor savoured one while Daniel
prepared another pot of tea.
“I’m assuming you’re a member of the church?” Daniel enquired.
The doctor nodded. “Yes. My wife, Francesca’s the women’s worker. I believe you chatted with
her over Zoom.”
Daniel set the doctor’s cup beside him on the counter. “Dark-haired and bubbly. Right?”
The doctor plucked another corner off his muffin’s top. “That’s her.”
Before his appointment, Daniel had undergone online interviews by the church board, but he’d yet
to meet any in person. “I’m looking forward to meeting everyone. Charlotte’s organised a lunch
tomorrow so I can meet some of the folk.”
Anthony saluted him with his mug. “Sounds like something Charlotte would do. It’s a great
community. I have a feeling you’ll be happy.”
Daniel sipped his tea as he cocked a hip against the opposite counter. “I think I will. Although I
can’t help but feel anxious stepping into the previous pastor’s shoes. He was here for such a long
time, wasn’t he?”
Anthony nodded. “And he was deeply loved. But change happens, and I’m sure God has led you
here for a reason.”
“You might be right.”
As Daniel shared the story of the last-minute job offer, Anthony’s grin widened. “Francesca
always tells me that, in God’s Kingdom, there aren’t any coincidences. I’m inclined to agree. The
people He brings to Water’s Edge always seem to come for a reason.”
Daniel took another sip of tea. What purpose awaited him in this seaside town?
In His own time, God would unveil the reason.
Anthony stayed and chatted. Then, when he left, Daniel grabbed another muffin and stepped
outside. The deck needed tender loving care, with boards in need of oiling and a timber balustrade
begging for a fresh coat of paint. But the soothing sound of the ocean and the fresh sea air made all
those things seem less important. He might be able to relax here.
However, Pete, his older brother, was never far from his thoughts.
He’d told Pete he was moving but hadn’t provided details. The last thing he wanted was for him
to show up unannounced and cause trouble. What would his new congregation think? If Pete could
kick his habit, it’d be a different story, but until then, Daniel would rather visit him.
As he settled into a cane armchair, his phone rang. Even without him looking at the caller ID, his
shoulders sagged. Somehow, he knew it was Ruth, the counsellor from the private rehab centre he’d
admitted Pete to a week ago. Phone calls from Ruth followed a prearranged schedule, so her calling
now couldn’t signify anything good.
Had Pete suffered another PTSD attack? His brother, deeply traumatised by his frontline service,
had never fully recovered, unlike Daniel, who’d served as a chaplain in the army, sheltered from the
most harrowing aspects.
Taking a deep breath, he answered the call and mustered all the calm he could. “Hello, this is
Daniel speaking.”
“Daniel, it’s Ruth. Can you talk?” Her worried tone sent a chill down his spine. A counsellor
wouldn’t be rattled by a trauma episode—they witnessed them frequently. Something more ominous
must have occurred.
Fixing his gaze on the vibrant lorikeet perched on the nearby grevillea bush, he readied for the
worst. “Yes, I’m available.” His voice remained composed, masking the inner turmoil as he braced
himself. “Has something happened?”
“Well, I was hoping you could tell us. Have you heard from Peter?”
His brow furrowed. “No. Not since he called on Monday evening. What’s happened?”
“He checked himself out yesterday, and we’re worried about his mental state. He hadn’t quite
completed his first phase of his rehabilitation. We’ve been unable to reach him.”
Daniel let out a heavy sigh, transferred the phone to his left hand, and raked his right hand through
his short brown hair. This wasn’t Pete’s first attempt at rehab, nor the second. At least this time, he’d
managed to stay longer than before.
But this time, he’d seemed so determined to get sober—desperate, even.
Daniel clenched his jaw. “I’ll keep trying his mobile. If I manage to get through to him, I’ll call
you.”
“We’d appreciate that. I’m worried about him.” Her voice softened. “We wouldn’t be able to
readmit him immediately as his place has been filled. And you’d have to pay the full amount again.
There’s a no-refund policy.”
Although he’d used the last of his army payout to get Pete into this rehab facility, money was the
last thing on his mind. All that mattered now was finding his brother and ensuring his safety. There
was only one reason Pete would have walked out of rehab—he needed a drink.
 And just like that, Daniel’s tranquil afternoon came to an abrupt end. The sense of relaxation
vanished, replaced by a gnawing worry for his only sibling.
Even as he phoned Pete’s mobile, his gut tightened. He didn’t want to deal with another crisis, but
he’d never turn his back on his brother. Pete had always been a good man, but trouble seemed to
follow him wherever he went, even back when they were children.
As his phone rung Pete’s number, the call going unanswered, Daniel rested the phone on his knee
and lowered his head to his hands, gripping his hair into his fists. Was any of this his fault? Maybe he
should have tried harder to dissuade Pete from going to the frontline.
But he’d been determined. He wanted to be in the middle of the action. Admirable, but
detrimental in the long run.
Pete had always been the strong one, the brave one. Daniel idolised him since they were kids.
Now, the roles had shifted. Daniel was the one trying to save Pete, but Pete seemed unwilling to be
rescued.
As expected, the call went unanswered. Instead of calling again, Daniel left a message and sent a
text. But it could be days or even weeks before Pete responded. He never seemed to comprehend how
much worry his actions caused Daniel and their parents. It was as if he didn’t care.
But Pete was sick, plagued by his demons. He needed help, but help couldn’t be forced on him.
He had to want and accept it.
Daniel bowed his head, his elbows braced on his knees, his clasped hands pressed to his
forehead. “Lord…” The word emerged in a groan from somewhere so deep within him he marvelled
that the place could find words. “I come before You once again with a heavy heart. I’d hoped this
time there might have been a breakthrough, but it seems that’s not to be.
“Would You keep him safe, Lord, and heal his mind and his soul? He’s tormented—but You’re the
Great Healer, and if he’d only open his heart to You, he could begin his journey to wholeness. Free
him from the chains of addiction and help him find sobriety. Surround him with people who care
about him so he knows he’s not alone in this fight. He’s not alone, Lord. You’re with him, but he keeps
pushing You away. And it breaks my heart.”
Daniel brushed away a tear and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Wherever he is, Lord, look
after him and keep him safe.”
He lingered there, a renewed peace calming him as he remained in the presence of the Lord.
“Thank You for bringing me to Water’s Edge. Help me to minister to these people and be a good
pastor to them. Help me to love them and lead them as You would have me do. In Jesus’ precious
name, I pray. Amen.”
With a lighter heart, he rose and returned inside to resume unpacking. Surely, God had heard his
plea.
Although he didn’t know Pete’s whereabouts, God did.
 Chapte r

Three

T he delightful scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted Amelia as she stepped into the diner,
bringing a smile to her lips. In her hectic morning, she hadn’t had a chance to finish the cup she’d
made earlier, so the promise of Charlotte’s special brew was a welcome treat.
Her friends occupied their usual booth near the front window. She greeted the group with a jaunty
wave. “Sorry I’m late. Jonathon was fussing and wouldn’t settle at day care.”
Joanne scooted over, making room. “You’re not late at all. We just got here ourselves. Francesca
isn’t here yet, either.”
“Good timing, then.” Amelia slid into the booth, placed her bag on the floor, and unfolded her
napkin. These lunch gatherings with all the women were a rare but cherished occasion. Willow, her
sister-in-law, was there, along with their friend Kylie from church. Hayley, from the hang-gliding
centre, was present as well. As was Joanne, the newest addition to the group, the writer who’d
moved to Water’s Edge over a year ago and recently married Shane, the surf shop manager.
Willow lowered her menu, her eyes sparkling. “We were just talking about the new pastor. None
of us have had the chance to meet him yet, but Charlotte visited him this morning and said he’s
lovely.”
“Oh yes, he is!” Charlotte chimed in, materialising to pour water into their glasses. “A bit younger
than what we’re accustomed to, but he’s friendly, polite, and exudes a comforting presence. There’s a
humility about him. I suspect he has a kind heart and a genuine passion for helping those in need. Did
you know he was a chaplain in the army before serving as an inner-city pastor?”
Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle. How had Charlotte gathered all that information from one brief
visit? “Well, I hope Water’s Edge doesn’t come off as too boring after his previous experiences!”
Joanne joined in the laughter. “I don’t think Water’s Edge could be boring. There’s always
something happening here.”
Hayley’s gaze turned dreamy. “I love it here. Jamie and I wouldn’t have mustered the courage to
confess our love for each other if we hadn’t set up the centre in Water’s Edge. There’s a certain magic
to the place.”
Willow sipped her water before raising another topic. “Speaking of love and marriage, does the
new pastor have a family?”
Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, but Francesca rushed into the diner, interrupting as she
offered apologies for her tardiness.
Amelia grinned. “You’re not the only one running behind schedule today.”
As Francesca settled into her seat and the group placed their lunch orders with Charlotte, the
topic of the new pastor faded. But when their conversation picked up again, Francesca leaned
forward, a glimmer in her eyes. “Hey, I’m bringing a friend to church on Sunday. Some of you have
already met Bronte. She’s been struggling with loneliness and moved to Water’s Edge from
Wollongong not long after Joanne.”
Amelia sipped her water while recalling the familiar face. “I know her. She has an autistic son,
right? I met her at your place.”
“That’s right.” Francesca smoothed her long dark hair over her shoulders. “Archie’s
neurodivergent. She’s been through a lot since her husband passed away, and I’ve been encouraging
her to come to church. Getting involved in our church community might be what she needs, especially
now she’s planning to homeschool Archie.” She sipped her water as the waitress set baskets of warm
bread on the table.
Amelia’s stomach grumbled. Not only had she skipped her coffee but also most of her breakfast.
She reached for a piece of bread and spread butter on it, savouring the warm and comforting aroma.
Meanwhile, Francesca continued her thoughts.
“I also suggested Bronte bring Archie along to the youth group. I assured her they have the
resources to support children with special needs.” She arched a brow at Amelia, seeking reassurance.
Holding up a finger asking her friend to wait, Amelia swallowed her bite of the bread. “Don’t
worry. I’ll inform Lucas about Archie’s situation. We’ll make sure he feels welcome and supported.
But hold on. You mentioned Bronte plans to homeschool Archie?”
“Correct. He’s been struggling in mainstream school, and Bronte believes homeschooling might
be their best option.” Her dark brows furrowed. “It could lead to further isolation for them. She plans
to work from home as well.”
“You know what?” Amelia scooted forward and gripped Francesca’s hand. “She should come to
the homeschooling club. It’d be perfect for them.”
“I’ve joined the club, too,” Kylie chimed in. “Sophie enjoys mixing with the other kids, and it’s
been great for her. Taking her out of school wasn’t an easy decision, but it’s been so worth it.”
“That’s a great suggestion. Why didn’t I think of it?” Francesca rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell Bronte
about the club. It’d be great if they joined and found a sense of community there, too.”
As their meals arrived, the lively conversation continued to flow. Every time, they had so much to
talk about and got along so well. Despite their diverse backgrounds, their friendships had grown
deep, and Amelia cherished each and every one of her friends.
Before parting ways, they hugged and said their goodbyes, though Amelia and Joanne decided to
walk together since their cottages were nearby. Amelia linked their arms. “How about a stroll along
the beach?”
Joanne waved her free hand towards the glorious blue sky. “A walk sounds great. It’s such a
beautiful day, and I don’t have any looming deadlines.”
They made their way down the path, kicking off their shoes to feel the warm sand. Amelia
breathed in the salty sea air. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a
soothing backdrop.
“You look deep in thought.” Joanne ducked her head, thrusting her face closer to Amelia’s, her
hazel eyes searching.
Amelia sidestepped her and let her gaze drift towards the seagulls gliding overhead. “I suppose I
was. My life has changed so much since I came to Water’s Edge.”
“Ha!” Joanne nudged her. “You and me both. Who would’ve thought I’d end up marrying a
surfer?” She’d been engaged to a wealthy businessman before finding her way to Water’s Edge.
Amelia squeezed her friend’s arm. “And when I arrived in town, working as a barmaid, I was so
unaware of the future awaiting me. I never imagined I’d marry a pastor and have two kids.”
Joanne adjusted her ponytail. “How’s Ivy doing?”
At the mention of her daughter, warmth buoyed Amelia, and she almost skipped along on her next
step. “She’s doing great. She loves her teacher. But I can’t help but feel for Bronte. It must be
challenging when your child struggles with school.”
Joanne nodded. “I can’t relate directly, not having any kids, but I can imagine.” She slowed their
steps, dragging her toes across the sand, and her voice dipped. “But you’ve had your share of
struggles. I heard about Ivy’s illness. It must have been a terrifying time.”
Amelia exhaled. “It was, but she’s healthy now, praise God. Sometimes it feels like a bad dream,
looking back on how sick she was.”
Raising her face to the sun’s warming rays, Amelia let a cloud drift through her mind—the right
time to tell Ivy she was adopted. Lucas insisted there was no rush, but wouldn’t it be better to share
the truth while Ivy was still young, so it wouldn’t come as a shock later?
Perhaps Joanne, so perceptive and level-headed, could provide valuable insight. “Did you know
Ivy’s adopted?”
Joanne’s brows winged up. “I had no idea.”
“We don’t talk about it often because we consider Ivy to be our daughter, but yes, she’s adopted.
I’d had a miscarriage when Charlotte discovered this young woman outside the diner one day and
brought her straight to the surgery. I used to work there as an assistant. Courtney was pregnant, but she
wasn’t in a position to care for the baby. Long story short, she asked Lucas and me to have her. We
believe Ivy was a gift from God.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. I can’t imagine the strength it’d take to give up your own child. It must
have been challenging, but she couldn’t have chosen better parents.”
 Amelia’s lips twisted. “That’s so kind. We feel so blessed to be Ivy’s parents. It’s just, well, now
we’re struggling with knowing how and when to share the truth with her.”
When Amelia’s voice trembled, Joanne reached out and rubbed Amelia’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll
know. You’ve given Ivy a loving and stable home. She knows you as her parents, and that’s what
matters. The fact that you weren’t her birth parents won’t change the bond you share.”
And that was what Amelia needed to hear. She leaned on her friend, a weight lifting off her
shoulders. “Thank you. That means so much to me.”
However, the conversation also stirred an urgency. They couldn’t keep Ivy in the dark about her
adoption indefinitely. Amelia didn’t want her daughter to learn about it from someone else or stumble
upon the truth unexpectedly.
But what if Ivy wanted to search for her birth mother someday? Would that suggest Amelia and
Lucas were insufficient as her parents?
Shaking her head, she dismissed those doubts. Joanne was right. Ivy knew she was cherished and
loved. Amelia had to trust in God’s plan and purpose, knowing it was Him who’d brought them
together.
She’d face her fears head-on. Ivy deserved to know, and they had a responsibility to tell her.
As they arrived at Joanne and Shane’s cottage, a cute beach shack they’d spruced up after their
wedding, Joanne squeezed Amelia in a quick hug. “See you at church on Sunday. I’ll be praying for
you.”
Amelia returned the embrace with a grateful smile. “Thanks. That means so much.”
She continued on her way, humming and offering silent gratitude to God for the many blessings in
her life. When negativity threatened to creep in, Lucas reminded her of Proverbs 17:22: “A cheerful
heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Cultivating a cheerful heart, even
during challenging moments, was a lesson she was still learning, but she’d come a long way since her
struggles with postpartum depression.
On the opposite side of the road, a young woman approached. Even from a distance, something
was oddly familiar about her. The way she walked with an awkward gait, the slight hunch in her
posture—it sent a shiver down Amelia’s spine.
Her gaze narrowed as she tried to get a better look, but just as quickly as the woman had
appeared, she disappeared down a laneway.
The chill intensified, sending waves of unease through Amelia’s body.
Could it be Courtney?
No, it was just her imagination. The mere mention of Courtney’s name had conjured up memories
and created a sense of paranoia. That’s all it was—a figment of her overactive mind.
Nevertheless, the feeling lingered, refusing to be dismissed. Throughout the rest of the afternoon,
Amelia couldn’t shake its haunting sensation. Had she indeed seen Courtney?
What if it had been her? What if she’d returned, searching for Ivy? The possibility loomed like a
dark cloud, casting shadows over Amelia.
Unsettled, she pushed aside her fears. She and Lucas had provided Ivy with a safe and loving
home. They’d given her everything she needed. There was no need to fear.
Still, the lingering doubt persisted.
She made a silent promise to herself. She’d be vigilant, keeping a watchful eye, ready to protect
her daughter and confront any potential challenges head-on.
And she’d refuse to let fear dictate her actions.
 Chapte r

Four

T he following day at the diner, Lucas had the chance to meet Daniel, the new pastor, face-to-
face. During their Zoom chats, Daniel seemed to be a likeable person, which was a relief considering
they’d be working closely together. Meeting in person solidified the positive impression.
Although much younger than Pastor Noah, Daniel had a good demeanour, and the community was
already warming to him. Lucas had wondered how the congregation would react to a single pastor,
considering how Pastor Noah’s heavily involved wife had been a great support. However, God could
use anyone He called, just like the apostle Paul, who’d been single and played a significant role in
building the early church.
Being single could even have its advantages. How many times had Lucas planned to focus on
church work but needed to set that aside to attend to Amelia or the children? Not that he resented it—
after God, they were his priority, but being single could offer more flexibility with serving the
congregation.
Although Daniel’s official start date was still a few days away when he’d be introduced to the
congregation, he expressed eagerness to see the church and understand its inner workings. Lucas, as
the youth pastor, invited Daniel to visit the following afternoon.
True to his word, Daniel arrived at two o’clock, and Lucas gave him a brief tour of the church
complex. They explored the rooms and outdoor areas dedicated to workshops, Bible studies, youth
group meetings, and the recently established homeschooling club.
After the tour, while seated in Lucas’s office with cups of coffee in hand, they discussed the
various church ministries, and Lucas outlined Daniel’s role within them.
“I’m excited to get started, although I must admit I’m feeling anxious about filling Noah’s shoes,”
Daniel confessed.
Hearing that hint of uncertainty, Lucas offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about that. Each
of us brings unique gifts to the table, and nobody expects you to be a carbon copy of Noah. Just be
yourself and let God work through you. You have a lot to offer this community.”
Daniel came with an impressive background. He’d served as an army chaplain for a decade,
followed by eight years of pastoring in an inner-city church. Furthermore, he’d experienced personal
grief, having lost his wife to cancer. Such trials often led to significant personal and spiritual growth.
Undoubtedly, God had called Daniel to Water’s Edge for a reason. His unique experiences and
genuine heart would make a positive impact.
Daniel took a deep breath, his gaze distant as he swirled the remnants of his coffee in his cup
before draining it. “Thanks for that. We’ll see how it goes on Sunday.”
Setting his cup down, he stood and extended his hand to Lucas. “I’ll let you get back to your work.
I appreciate your showing me around. I’ll stop by the youth group tomorrow and introduce myself.”
Lucas reached across the desk and shook his hand. “That’d be great. Don’t be surprised if the kids
bombard you with questions about your time in the army, though.”
Daniel chuckled. “I’m used to that.”
After he left, Lucas tidied his desk and prepared to head home. Earlier than expected, he might
catch Amelia before she left to pick up Jonathon and Ivy. Joining in on childcare and school runs was
a rare opportunity he cherished.
Leaving the centre on foot, he waved at Samuel Turner, the town’s elderly doctor, who stood
across the road chatting with Charlotte. A damp patch on the bottom of the doctor’s partly rolled
trousers suggested they’d just returned from a beach walk. Perhaps one of these days they’d get
together, although they seemed happy enough being friends.
Samuel raised his hand in greeting, but after exchanging a few more words with Charlotte, he
crossed the road and caught up with Lucas. “Hey, Lucas. Have you got a moment?”
Something in the doctor’s voice suggested Lucas might not like what he was about to hear. Still,
Lucas stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis and rocked back on his heels. “Sure. Is
everything all right?”
The older man adjusted his glasses. “Slow day at the surgery, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to
you.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I can’t disclose too much due to patient
confidentiality, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Ricky Smith’s been diagnosed with terminal lung
cancer, and the prognosis isn’t favourable. He doesn’t have much time left.”
Lucas’s shoulders sloped. Ricky Smith, despite his flaws, had raised Courtney on his own and
deserved a measure of respect. Moreover, he was Ivy’s biological great-grandfather, even if he didn’t
seem to care about that.
“How long does he have?” Lucas kept his voice low.
Samuel drew a breath and shrugged, his wispy white hair lifting in the breeze. “Three months, at
most. He’s struggling to accept it. I’m trying to convince him to consider a hospice, but he’s insisting
on remaining independent until he has no choice. You know how cantankerous he can be.”
Despite the gravity, Lucas rolled his eyes, giving in to their friendly banter. “That I do.”
But Samuel was confiding in him for a reason. Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Does Courtney know?”
Samuel rubbed his neck. “I’m not sure. When I spoke to Ricky yesterday, he mentioned feeling
guilty about how he treated her. Apparently, he heard from her at Christmas, and she’s doing much
better in Wollongong. I encouraged him to reach out to her.” Samuel met Lucas’s gaze. “I’m sure you
understand.”
Lucas swallowed hard. He didn’t resent Samuel for doing what was best for his patients, but how
would he feel about the possibility of Courtney returning to town?
And how would Amelia react when she found out?
A lump settled in his stomach. They’d always known Courtney might come back. After all, her
grandfather still lived in Water’s Edge, but they tried not to dwell on it. And now, it seemed
inevitable.
Pulling his hands from his trouser pockets, Lucas kept them at his side to hide their sudden tremor.
“Of course. It’s the right thing to have done, for both of them.”
“I don’t anticipate any trouble.” Samuel clamped a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “But as a friend, I
thought it was fair to give you a heads-up, rather than having you run into her unexpectedly.”
“Thank you.” Lucas offered a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”
With that, Samuel bid him goodbye, and Lucas continued his walk home, lost in thought.
Courtney had been a frightened and sullen teenager, and he hoped she’d found her way in life. He
and Amelia prayed for her often.
But what would happen if she saw Ivy?
He quickened his pace. He needed to speak to Amelia before the children arrived home. She
deserved to hear the news from him, despite the anxiety it might cause her. Lately, she’d been happy
and was even contemplating returning to her nursing job on a part-time basis.
He didn’t want to disturb her newfound contentment, but he couldn’t keep this from her. They’d
promised to always be honest with each other.
He stepped through the front door, passing Amelia’s discarded holdall, then stilled. Something
was wrong. She stood by the kitchen window, staring outside, unaware of his presence.
“What’s wrong, hon?” He stepped up behind her, rubbed her upper arms, and turned her to face
him.
Her lips formed an anxious line on her pale face. They remained pressed tight before she
whispered. “I–I think I saw Courtney today.”
His heart sank, and his lungs deflated. “What makes you think that?”
She took a deep breath. “I’d just left Joanne on our way home from the diner when I saw this
woman. I’m not sure it was Courtney, but something tweaked me—some resemblance. Maybe I’m
being paranoid. Telling Ivy she’s adopted has been weighing one me lately. Perhaps I’m just anxious.”
Clasping Amelia’s cold hands in his own, he held her gaze. He prayed for the right words. “I need
to tell you something. But don’t worry. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Come. Let’s sit down.” He slipped his arm around her and led her into the living room.
This conversation wasn’t going to be easy.
 She stopped in the doorway and faced him. “Just tell me.”
Huffing out a breath, he braced himself. “It’s likely you saw Courtney. Samuel just told me
Ricky’s ill. So, Courtney could be back in town, but if she is, she’s probably only here to see her
grandfather.”
At least, that’s what he hoped.
A range of emotions flickered across Amelia’s face. “We should pray for them.”
Lucas blinked. He hadn’t expected that, but hey, it was a good response. He squeezed her, his
chest swelling. “That’s a great idea.”
As they bowed their heads, he settled his thoughts and emotions before starting the prayer.
“Heavenly Father, be with Ricky and Courtney at this time. Surround them with Your love. Give them
the strength, courage, and healing they’ll need to get through this challenging time. Break down any
barriers between them, and may they both come to know You before it’s too late.”
He paused, inhaling deeply. “And thank You for blessing us with such wonderful children. Keep
them safe from harm and give us the strength and compassion to deal with any situations that may
arise. And help Amelia to cope with any anxiety she may have about this situation. Envelop her with
Your love, grace, and protection.”
“Yes, Lord,” Amelia continued, her voice soft. “Bless Ricky and Courtney. Help me to trust in
You and not to worry. Protect our family, and we thank You for blessing us with Ivy and Jonathon.
Thank You for Your everlasting love. In Jesus’ precious name. Amen.”
Drawing her close, Lucas wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
“Everything will be okay.”
If only he could truly believe that himself.
 Chapte r

Five

“Y ou’ll be fine,” Francesca assured Bronte as they pulled into the car park of Water’s Edge
Community Church. “Both of you will be.”
Not so sure, Bronte stole a glance in the rear-view mirror. Archie had his headphones on, and he
was staring out the window. Percy, wearing his assistance-dog harness, sat beside him with his nose
in Archie’s lap.
Her old church made a fuss about them bringing Percy, despite her explanations that assistance
dogs should be allowed access just like guide dogs for the blind. “Are you sure it’s okay to bring
Percy?”
Francesca patted her hand. “Of course it is. Stop worrying.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” Lips pursed, Bronte opened her door and stepped out of the car.
Joyful laughter and conversation drifted from the church, but it did little to ease her apprehension.
Had their decision to come been a mistake?
She helped Archie and Percy out of the car, holding Archie’s hand as he surveyed the church and
the people gathered outside the entrance. His body remained stiff, overwhelmed by the surroundings.
She gave him a reassuring hug. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
He looked up with those large dark eyes, so like his father’s. Then, to her relief, he gave a slow
nod.
She kissed the top of his head. “Okay. But if you want to go home, let me know.”
He nodded again before she reached inside the car for his headphones.
With Francesca, they approached the church entrance. Archie shrank back at the sounds coming
from inside—laughter, chatter, and lively band music.
A perfect storm of overwhelming stimuli.
Bronte handed him his headphones. “You’d better put them on.”
But before he could, Amelia emerged from inside the church, beaming. “Bronte! Good to see you.
And you, Archie.” She bent to his level, but he avoided eye contact, kicking the gravel with his shoe.
It was all too much for him.
They shouldn’t have come.
 Then Percy wagged his tail and tipped his head up, offering reassurance as if sensing Archie’s
unease. The hours of training had paid off.
Archie visibly relaxed, and her tension eased.
Francesca tugged Bronte closer and introduced her to a couple she hadn’t met before, Joanne and
Shane. Francesca had mentioned that Joanne was an author and Shane ran the local surf shop. He
walked with a slight limp, a result of a shark attack he’d endured the previous year.
Francesca then turned to another couple and a young girl. “And this is Kylie and Ryan and their
daughter, Sophie.”
The woman, petite with an impish face, smiled warmly at Bronte and then at Archie. Sophie, a
few years older than Archie, knelt and began stroking Percy. He’d been trained to back away from
anyone showing him attention since Archie didn’t like strangers fussing over him. However, this time,
Percy wagged his tail—and Archie spoke to the girl.
“He likes you.”
Bronte blinked. Archie never spoke to strangers.
The girl responded with a pretty smile. “I like him, too. He’s cute.” She continued to pet Percy’s
head. “What’s his name?”
“Percy,” Archie replied.
The girl hopped to her feet, her enthusiasm evident. “Do you want to come inside with me? I’ll
show you the kids’ room. It’s really cool, and Percy can come.”
Archie looked to Bronte for approval.
She nodded her consent.
Taking the girl’s hand, he walked off into the building.
Bronte watched them, her mouth agape. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Francesca nudged her. “I told you it’d work out, didn’t I? Although I must admit, I wasn’t
expecting that, either.”
Kylie checked her wristwatch. “I’ll follow them in. Nice to meet you, Bronte. I hope you enjoy
the service.”
Bronte smiled, and as Francesca continued introducing her to others, warmth soothed her body
and soul.
She shouldn’t have stayed away from church for so long. One bad experience didn’t mean all
churches were the same. Already, this one seemed different—friendlier, happier.
A slender man in dark trousers and an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt stepped out of the
building. He seemed to be looking right at her, and although surely they’d never met before, a strange
familiarity drew her in. He had dark brown hair and sideburns, captivating dark eyes, a strong
jawline, full but masculine lips, and a physique that hinted at a regular exercise routine. Her cheeks
flushed as her sudden awareness surprised her. She wasn’t the type to notice men in that way. What
was happening to her?
 It felt as if he could read her mind, and their gazes locked, both seemingly captivated.
Then he averted his gaze, cleared his throat, and faced Francesca. “Good morning. It’s lovely to
see you again. Is Dr. Petersen not here?”
She brushed a strand of dark hair off her shoulder. “He had a last-minute house call but should be
here soon.” She tugged Bronte’s sleeve.
Bronte almost stumbled, her heart racing.
“Daniel, this is Bronte, the friend I told you about. She’s fairly new to town, too.”
Francesca had talked to this man about her? What was she thinking?
Regaining her composure and balance, Bronte offered a polite smile. She’d have words with
Francesca later. “You’re new to the church as well?”
His brown eyes twinkled. “Sort of. I’m the new pastor. It’s lovely to meet you, and don’t be
nervous. You’re very welcome here. I just saw your little boy and his dog, and they appeared to be
getting along just fine.”
This handsome man was the new pastor? Heat rushed to Bronte’s face.
So of course, he hadn’t been looking at her in that way. It was all her imagination. He was doing
his job. She mumbled a response, mangled a smile, and then followed Francesca inside.
They found seats together towards the middle of the packed auditorium, the band enlivening the
space with uplifting music. Bronte leaned closer to Francesca and whispered, “I’m going to check on
Archie.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
Bronte rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, but I should be fine.”
As she made her way down the aisle, the new pastor approached. She considered turning away,
but that would be childish. After all, he knew nothing of her previous thoughts. They exchanged warm
smiles as they passed.
But when their gazes met, her heart skipped a beat.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss the fluttering sensation. This was going to be an interesting
morning.
In the kids’ room, Archie was colouring pictures with a small group, Percy faithfully by his side,
watching his every move.
She crouched beside him. “Are you doing okay?”
He continued colouring. “I’m good.”
“I’m glad, sweetheart. Let the nice lady know if you need me, okay?”
“Okay.”
As she stood, a woman with bouncy blonde hair scooted over to her with a half wave. “Don’t
worry. I’ll let you know if he needs you. I’m Willow, by the way.”
Bronte returned her smile. “Thanks. I’m Bronte, Archie’s mum.”
Of course, Willow would already know that.
 “Nice to meet you. He seems to be settling in well. And his dog has been great.”
Bronte’s tense shoulders relaxed another fraction. “I’m so relieved to hear that.”
Willow rubbed her arm and smiled as a little girl tugged on her other hand, seeking her attention.
Bronte left Archie in her capable hands as the worship was starting. How many years had it been
since she’d fully been able to participate without worrying about him?
She settled in, the beautiful music uplifting her spirit. As the band played modern versions of her
favourite hymns, peace and comfort enveloped her, a feeling she’d almost forgotten.
The drums, bass, guitar, and keyboard combined with the a cappella singing beckoned her to join
in. When they sang her favourite song, ‘Here I am to worship’, all her earlier apprehension vanished.
Then Pastor Daniel stepped to the front accompanied by a slightly taller man. He placed his hand
on Daniel’s shoulder and addressed the congregation. “Good morning, everyone.”
The congregation returned his greeting.
The man beamed. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Lucas Kelley, the youth pastor here at
Water’s Edge Community Church. It’s my great honour to introduce you this morning to our new
pastor, Daniel Taylor.” He patted the hand already resting on Daniel’s shoulder. “I’d like to pray for
you before you address the congregation.”
Lucas then bowed his head and spoke in a strong voice. “Lord God, we give You thanks for
bringing Pastor Daniel to this place to minister to us. Bless and guide him, Lord, and may he feel
welcome in this community. We look forward to getting to know him and learning from him. We pray
all of this in Jesus’ precious name. Amen.”
A chorus of amens echoed through the auditorium before Lucas left the stage.
Bronte’s gaze settled on Pastor Daniel. She should not be noticing how handsome he was.
Not that easy, though, because the man exuded charm and confidence.
She hadn’t seen his wife. Might he be single?
Wow. Where did such errant thoughts come from? Sitting straighter, she redirected her attention to
his words. After all, she’d come eager to hear the message, not ogle the man.
“Good morning, everyone. It’s an absolute joy and privilege to be standing before you today as
your new pastor.” His voice, deep and strong, resonated a warm sincerity. “As we gather here on this
beautiful Sunday morning, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for the warm welcome I’ve
received since arriving in this lovely seaside town. Your kindness and hospitality have made this
transition easier for me, and I’m excited to embark on this new journey together with each one of
you.”
He raised both hands, smiling. “Today marks a new beginning for you and for me. We don’t often
get the opportunity to have a new beginning, a chance to turn the page and start afresh, but here we
are!”
His expression now serious, he leaned on the podium, and his gaze took in the congregation.
“Have you ever found yourself yearning for a fresh start? Maybe you’ve faced difficult
circumstances or made mistakes that left you burdened and weary. Perhaps you’re carrying the weight
of regrets or unfulfilled dreams. We all encounter seasons in life when we long for a fresh start. A
new beginning.”
He paused. Did she imagine it, or did he swallow hard before continuing? “We’re not alone in
this longing. Throughout the pages of Scripture, we find stories of individuals who experienced this
desire for new beginnings. Consider Noah and the ark as he and his family started afresh in a new
world after the flood. Abraham left his familiar land to embark on a journey of faith, trusting God for
a new beginning. The Israelites experienced the redemption and liberation of the Exodus, entering a
new chapter of their history.
“Within this congregation, I’m guessing many of you carry desires for new beginnings. Some of
you have faced personal struggles, losses, or hardships. Change can be both exciting and challenging,
and I stand before you today as someone who understands that intimately.”
He drew a breath and gentled his tone. “Some of you might know I lost my wife, Emily, to breast
cancer several years ago. It’s hard to leave the past behind, but I’m praying coming here to Water’s
Edge will be the fresh start I need.”
Bronte blinked. So, he was single.
“As we embrace new beginnings, we need to remember we’re not alone. We have each other, and
most importantly, we have God who walks beside us each step of the way.
“From the beginning of time, He’s been guiding His people through new seasons, offering them
hope and direction. Proverbs chapter 3, verses 5 and 6, reminds us to trust in the Lord with all our
hearts, leaning not on our own understanding, and acknowledging Him in all our ways. God’s
promises are true, and His guidance is sure.
“Psalm 32 verse 8 reassures us of His intimate involvement in our lives: ‘I will instruct you and
teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.’
“What a comfort to know that, as we seek God’s guidance in our new beginnings, He’s there,
watching over us with a loving eye.”
“Within this congregation, there must be stories of God’s faithfulness and guidance in your lives. I
invite you to reflect on those moments when God led you through new beginnings, when His hand was
evident in your circumstances. Feel free to share those testimonies with one another and let us
celebrate together the goodness of our faithful God.
“As we embrace this new beginning together, let’s hold fast to the hope and trust we have in
God.” Pastor Daniel raised his voice, his conviction reverberating through the auditorium.
“Remember challenges may accompany change, but we can face them with confidence, knowing our
heavenly Father is guiding our steps. Let’s support one another as a community, leaning on each other
for encouragement and helping those who need a hand.
“I’m eager to get to know each of you and to learn about the journey you’re on, whether it be a
new one or an established one. May we grow together in faith, trusting in God’s unfailing love and
guidance. Let’s pray.”
As he bowed his head, Bronte did likewise.
“Lord God, creator of heaven and earth, You know each one of us intimately. You know our
deepest secrets, our deepest longings, our deepest sorrows, and our deepest joys. You care about us.
You care when we’re excited about new beginnings, and You care when we’re anxious. This journey
we’re on is sometimes hard, sometimes easy. Help us to remember You’re with us always, guiding
and leading, giving strength and wisdom. Help us to look to You always and not to trust in our own
strength. Go with us this week and bless our families and loved ones. I pray all these things in Jesus’
precious name. Amen.”
Brushing her eyes, Bronte continued the prayer silently as her chest swelled. “Lord, thank You for
that message.”
When she raised her head, Francesca leaned in, her brow creased. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, Bronte released pent-up breath as if she could release the burdens she’d carried. “It
was just what I needed.”
Francesca squeezed her hand. “Good. I’m so glad you came.”
And Bronte was glad, too. “It feels like the beginning of something beautiful, a new chapter in my
life—I can barely wait to see what God has in store.”
Indeed, why had she waited so long?
After the band concluded the service with a final round of uplifting worship songs, she made her
way to collect Archie. Francesca had mentioned that many people stayed for lunch in the café after the
service, but when Archie yawned, it was time to leave. While he’d enjoyed himself, she couldn’t risk
pushing him to the point of exhaustion, lest he suffer a meltdown and spoil his happy associations
with this new place. Especially considering their plans to attend the homeschooling club.
“I’ll drop you home,” Francesca said when Bronte found her in the vestibule area chatting with
her husband.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a trouble.”
Her warm smile encompassing Bronte in a sisterly hug, Francesca rubbed Bronte’s arm. “You’re
not a trouble, and besides, it’s too far to walk in this heat. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” Bronte gushed forward to hug her friend. “Next time, I’ll bring my car.”
As they drove from the church, heat prickled her eyes, the special kind of tears she hadn’t had
cause to cry for a long time. What a blessed experience she’d just encountered, and oh, how the
sermon on new beginnings and trusting in God resonated. Could this indeed be the fresh start she’d
been searching for, a chance to rebuild her life in this seaside town? Eyes closed, she tipped her face
away from Francesca to the passenger-side window and whispered another prayer, a prayer of
thanksgiving and renewed commitment to embrace this with faith and optimism.
 Chapte r

Six

“G ood morning, Pastor Daniel,” Charlotte’s cheery voice greeted him as he approached the
diner’s dark timber counter.
Returning her greeting, he slid onto the matching timber stool, glimpses of the beach and the
breathtaking ocean beckoning from the window beyond. Amazing, really, how God had led him to this
town. Though it had only been three weeks, a sense of belonging already embraced him—as had the
church community. Plus, his Sunday sermons flowed effortlessly. Not his own doing, of course, but
the Holy Spirit working through him.
Charlotte finished drying a glass and placed it on the shelf before turning her attention to him.
“Now, what can I get you? Your usual? Carrot cake and an iced latte?”
As he nodded, Samuel Turner, the elderly doctor who worked alongside Anthony, winked from
the stool next to Daniel. “She knows everyone’s order.”
The warmth in the old doctor’s expression suggested a deep bond and friendship between the two,
as though they were a long-married couple. However, they insisted they were ‘just friends’.
When he’d mentioned his observations to Lucas, his friend had winked. “You’re right. Everyone
sees it except the two of them.”
It seemed a pity they couldn’t see what was so evident to others. But Daniel was a pastor and not
a matchmaker, and after five years of being a widower, he didn’t consider himself an expert on
matters of the heart. He’d become accustomed to a settled life on his own.
“Coming right up,” Charlotte sang out, her movements as fluid as the coffee she prepared.
Strange the sparseness of patrons at the outside tables. Besides Charlotte and Samuel, only a
handful of people were inside. “It’s quiet in here today.”
“The lull before the lunch rush.” After placing his coffee and cake before him, she planted her
plump hands on the counter. “There you go. Things quiet at the centre today as well?”
His gaze lingered on the tempting slab of homemade carrot cake, his tastebuds tantalised. “Not
really. I thought I’d take a short break. The homeschooling group’s there this morning, and I’m not
needed for anything specific until this afternoon’s men’s Bible study.”
She wiped the counter and then folded her arms. “I heard the homeschooling group’s going well. I
was talking to Bronte the other day, and she said Archie’s thriving. Seems he had a hard time at
school.”
At the mention of Bronte, the slender, russet-haired woman who never failed to fluster him,
Daniel’s attention sharpened.
Had Charlotte noticed his reaction? He’d be surprised if she hadn’t. While she might be oblivious
to Samuel’s feelings, it appeared she possessed an uncanny sixth sense when it came to others.
He swallowed hard, taking a sip of his coffee and attempting to compose himself. “From what I
hear, he now seems to be enjoying it.”
Charlotte studied him, her eyes twinkling, before she let out a giggle. “It’s okay, pastor. She’s a
nice woman.”
His shoulders sagged before he shook his head and joined her in laughter. “There’s nothing
happening between us.” And that was the truth.
Each encounter with Bronte at the centre left him flustered. Her captivating hazel eyes and her
tender care for her son intrigued him. However, he was her pastor, and involving himself in a
romantic relationship would be inappropriate. So, he’d begun avoiding her.
But that wasn’t the right approach, either.
He’d prayed about it, yet the undeniable pull hadn’t diminished. Could God be signalling Daniel
had been alone for too long and perhaps should consider the possibility of remarriage? The notion
swirled in his thoughts, stirring an uncertain hope.
His gaze shifted to the glistening ocean, memories of Emily flooding him. She’d endured immense
suffering, yet never once complained. They’d been so in love, and during his tours of duty, they
counted down the days until they could be reunited. Losing her had been devastating, and with her
passing, he’d also lost the future they’d envisioned as a family.
How many nights had he wrestled with God, much like Job had done centuries ago? Countless
nights before he’d accepted God was sovereign. Who was he, Daniel, to question the plans of the
Almighty? At last, he’d echoed Job’s words of surrender:
“I know that You can do all things; no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.
You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures My plans without knowledge?’
Surely, I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.
“You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer Me.’
My ears had heard of You, but now my eyes have seen You.
Therefore, I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”
Samuel nudged him in the ribs. “You look miles away, son.”
Blinking, Daniel resettled on the stool’s padded top. “Sorry. I was reflecting on the past weeks.”
And the years before that, but no need to burden Samuel. “I’ve been welcomed here. As an elder of
the church, you’ve played a significant role in that reception, for which I’m grateful.”
The doctor’s warm blue eyes crinkled at their edges. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s been a big change
for us all, but God knew what He was doing when He led you here. You’ve been part of our new
beginning.”
Daniel ducked his head beneath the burden of such leadership. Could he live up to those
expectations? With God, only with God. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Samuel shrugged. “Not at all. We wondered if you’d be content in this quiet little town. It’s quite
different from the inner city.”
Daniel gestured to the tranquil scene beyond the window. “There’s no comparison—that’s for
sure.” He popped another piece of carrot cake into his mouth, savouring its delightful richness. Truly,
no comparison. As he relished the flavours, the bell above the door tinkled with the arrival of a new
patron.
He turned on his stool, and his eyes widened.
Pete?
And he was intoxicated, though not to the extent that it’d be apparent to those who didn’t know
him well. Nevertheless, a familiar swagger and a hint of belligerence crept into his demeanour.
One more drink, and he’d cross that line.
Daniel slid off his stool and hurried over. “Pete, come and sit down. How did you find me?”
Pete blinked. “You told me you were moving here. Remember?”
Hmm. Daniel couldn’t recall the exact conversation, but it didn’t matter. Tracking him down
wouldn’t have been too difficult. Perhaps their parents had let it slip.
At least his brother was alive. Neither Daniel nor their parents had heard from him since he’d
walked out of the rehab centre. Daniel had assumed he’d been sleeping rough somewhere.
Despite the warm day, Pete was clad in a worn leather jacket and a grimy T-shirt that had
probably gone unwashed for days, if not weeks.
Daniel took a deep breath, silently praying for wisdom as he led Pete to a booth close to the
entrance and sat opposite him.
Charlotte appeared, placing a refill on the table before addressing Pete. “Hello there. Can I get
you a drink?”
“Yeah, a neat whiskey, thanks.”
Unfazed, she smiled. “I’m afraid we don’t serve whiskey in here, but I can make you a coffee.”
Daniel lifted his gaze. “Make it a strong one.”
With a nod, she departed.
Lowering his voice, he focused on his brother. “I’ve been worried about you. You never returned
my calls.”
“I lost my phone.” Pete shrugged.
Daniel ground his teeth. More like sold it. Loosening his tight jaw, he suppressed his annoyance.
“So, how have you been?”
“Never better.” His brother reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tobacco packet.
 Daniel clasped his wrist. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“Let’s go outside then.”
When his brother made to stand, Daniel held him down. “How about you don’t smoke?”
“You always spoil the fun.” Pete returned the tobacco to his pocket. “You seem to have a good gig
here. Nice little place.”
“It is. Maybe you should stick around.” The comforting aroma of Charlotte’s Diner wrapped
around Daniel, homey and healing—the kind of thing he wanted to offer his brother. But, if Pete
stayed, his new congregation would soon meet his troubled brother, something he’d been trying to
avoid. Yet, in the few weeks he’d been here, he’d witnessed the church embrace those seeking solace.
Perhaps Pete could find peace and healing here.
“Nah.” He snorted. “But if you could lend me some money, I can get back on my feet.”
Every fibre of Daniel’s being deflated. How many times had he provided Pete with money for
shelter, food, or some ill-conceived scheme to rebuild his life, only to watch him squander it on
alcohol?
A weight pressed on Daniel as he kept his voice gentle but resolute. “I’ve told you before, I won’t
lend you money, but I can offer you a bed and food. Stay for a while.”
“Nah.” Pete ducked his head, his shoulders hunching. “I won’t ruin your nice little life. What
would your friends think?”
Daniel exhaled, but couldn’t release the weight in his chest. “They wouldn’t think anything. Come
back to my place. I’ll get you some food, and we can talk.”
“No. I just want money. And a real drink.” Pete waved Charlotte away as she arrived with his
coffee.
While Pete swayed to his feet, Daniel jumped up to steady him. “Don’t go.”
Pete shook off his hand, a sneer twisting his thick lips. “Leave me alone.”
The weight increased, threatening to crush Daniel’s shoulders as his brother staggered towards
the exit. He scrubbed his face with his hands. He should go after him, stop him from going to the pub,
but it’d be futile. He’d never been able to prevent his brother from doing anything, especially
succumbing to his cravings.
He had to let him go and pick up the pieces later.
Just like he always did.
Daniel returned to the counter with his drink and winced at Charlotte. “Sorry about that.”
She waved it off. “Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. You did your best to help the poor man.
Now, drink up your coffee. You look shaken.”
As Daniel settled back onto the stool and sipped his coffee, Samuel swivelled his stool, lifting a
wispy white brow. “Someone you know from your old church?”
Daniel clutched his mug with both hands. “Not really. Pete’s my brother. He’s a veteran and
suffering from PTSD. I try to help him when he lets me, but he walked out of rehab not long ago,
and… well, you can see what kind of place he’s in.”
Charlotte reached over and patted his wrist. “It must be awful for you and for your poor brother,
of course. I’ll pray for him, and if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
A bit of warmth melted some of the cold weight pressing on him. Daniel raised his head. “Thank
you.”
Samuel clucked his tongue. “I’ve seen it happen far too often over the years. Veterans don’t
receive the support they need to cope with the war trauma, and alcohol becomes a crutch. But it tends
to take over their lives.”
He had that right.
“I’m willing to talk to your brother and see what we can do to help him, but ultimately, he has to
be willing to receive it.”
Daniel let out a frustrated huff. “And that’s the problem. I’ve learned I can’t force him to do
anything. All I can do is pray he reaches a point of asking for help… and then is open to receiving it.”
“You’re right.” Samuel rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. “All you can do is be there for him
and continue praying.”
Daniel picked at the remaining crumbs of his cake, finding it unappetising. Despite their genuine
concern, he couldn’t shake this weight, the shame and frustration. Here he was, a pastor ministering to
others, and he couldn’t help his own brother!
How much longer could Pete go on like that?
Please, God, soften Pete’s heart and let him turn to You. Please, help me to respond with grace,
not judgement or shame. We’re all sinners in need of Your mercy and grace.
Pushing up from the stool, he sighed. “I should get back to the centre.”
However, instead of heading straight back, he crossed the road and made his way to the park. He
needed time alone to clear his head and gather his thoughts before returning to his work and resuming
his role as Pastor Daniel.
 Chapte r

Seven

“M um, can we go to the park? Please?” Archie tugged Bronte’s hand as they left the community
centre after spending two hours at the homeschooling club.
Laughing, she agreed. “I’m sure Percy could do with a run as well.”
As Archie whooped and went ahead with his dog, Bronte couldn’t help but smile. He’d been so
much more relaxed in the past few weeks, his days settling into a soothing rhythm. She was enjoying
homeschooling him, and although she’d taken a pay cut, they had enough to get by. Seeing him happy
was worth sacrificing a few luxuries.
A tutor experienced with autism came to their home twice a week, and with the support of other
homeschooling mothers, Bronte enjoyed being proactive in his education. She should have taken the
leap sooner.
At the park, he ran towards the climbing frame, while Percy darted around beneath it, looking up
at his master. Most terriers would have barked, but he’d been trained not to. Instead, his tail wagged
so fast she thought it might come off.
As she walked towards a bench, the dark-haired man sitting on a swing caught her eye. His head
was down, and his hands were clasped as if he were deep in thought or prayer.
Trying not to disturb him, she stepped past quietly. But he looked up, and her breath caught.
Pastor Daniel.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Her voice sounded flustered even to her.
He smiled that disarming smile. “Not at all. It’s a children’s park. I was just… reflecting.” A
shadow crossed his face, hinting at hidden sorrow.
He was a widower.
And he didn’t have children.
Had he and his wife wanted a family? Was that the reason for his sadness?
Empathy overtaking her, she sat on the swing next to him before she could question her actions.
Yes, he was the pastor, and yes, she’d been trying to hide her attraction to him. But right now, he
looked like someone in pain.
“Is everything all right?” Somehow, she resisted the urge to lean in and touch his shoulder.
 He shrugged. “Just a family matter. That’s all.”
Although he smiled, it seemed forced. Was he downplaying the problem?
She was about to say more when he nodded towards where her son was now throwing sticks for
Percy. “How’s Archie doing? He looks like he’s having fun.”
“Really well.” That reality sighed through her, and she hooked her arms around the swing’s
chains, using them to twist herself side to side. “He’s much better being homeschooled, and he loves
his tutor and the homeschooling club. I’m so glad Francesca told me about it and convinced me to
come back to church.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“Yes. I’ve known her since our schooldays. She’s always been caring.” And she was gushing like
she was back in those giddy schoolgirl days. Time to get a grip and face him. She twisted her fingers
on the swing’s chains, scuffing her pristine shoes in the sand at her feet. Perhaps sitting here was what
had her reverting to preteen jitters. She raised her chin and met his eye, pretending she was the mature
woman she thought she was. Still, her traitorous heart fluttered. “So, are you settling in okay?”
He might be a pastor, but he was also a man—one whose good looks she couldn’t ignore.
He glanced away, seemingly lost in his thoughts once more, and they clearly troubled him,
because he didn’t reply. He might want privacy, but how could she leave him here like that?
“Would you like to talk about it?” She kicked off the ground, rocking the swing but remaining in
place. “I don’t mean to pry, so tell me if I’m being rude, but you seem… sad.”
An apologetic smile quirked his mouth. “You’re not being rude, and I’m sorry I’m not better
company.” His expression changed as if donning a mask, and his voice grew stronger. “I should be
asking after your wellbeing—I’m the pastor, after all.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’ve wondered about that. I mean, who pastors the pastor? I’m sure it can be
lonely at times.”
Toeing the sand under the swing, he kept his head lowered, the mask still in place. “It can be. But
God’s called me to this, and He’s all I need. Thanks for your concern, but it’s nothing to worry
about… just some family stuff.”
Right. Sadness oozed from him. He wasn’t fine. Nowhere near.
Everyone needed a friend. She had Francesca. Who did he have?
“If it helps, I’ve had experience with family stuff myself.”
“Oh?”
She twisted her fingers against the cold metal links, letting them pinch. “It was a while ago, but
I’m happy to share.”
“That’s kind of you.” He raised his head, and once again, her heart fluttered when their gazes met.
A breeze lifted, swishing hair into her eyes. She tucked a strand behind her ear. Where should she
start?
The beginning. Fixing her gaze on a distant sailing boat, she let the words sail out, a monotone
pushed forth by a heavy breath. “My husband was discharged from the army after having a mental
breakdown.”
“Really?” Something in his tone made her face him.
He was eyeing her curiously. Right. He’d been an army chaplain. Of course, he’d look at her like
that.
“I guess you saw a lot of that in your time.”
“Sure did.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Scott lost so many friends, and he didn’t cope well. There was no real support—” she was about
to say, “not even from the chaplain,” but she bit her tongue in time. No doubt, Daniel would have been
great.
“I tried to help him as much as I could, but he shut me out. He started drinking and became
addicted. He died in a car accident when Archie was three. Archie”—her voice caught—“hardly
remembers his father.”
Daniel reached over and gripped her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
The warm weight of his hand somehow replaced the weight she’d been carrying there. She
wobbled out a smile. “You’ve lost someone you loved, so you know what it’s like. It took time to
grieve. I was so frustrated he wouldn’t get help. And then he had the accident…”
She blew out a long breath. Remembering that time always tugged at something deep inside her. It
probably always would, although Francesca had assured her it would lessen over time. And it had.
Instead of the deep gut-wrenching ache it had once been, it now felt like a dull pain.
“I’m much better now. Getting a fresh start by moving here and going back to church has helped a
lot.”
He met her gaze, compassion in his soft browns.
And something shifted inside her.
He understood.
“You know…” Pastor Daniel squeezed her shoulder and released it. Then he gripped the swing’s
chains, stretched himself back to lie almost flat, and tipped his face to the sky. “Perhaps it wasn’t a
coincidence we met here today. My brother served as well, and he’s in a similar situation to your late
husband. He recently checked out of rehab, and he’s back to drinking.”
As each word seemed to come from a hollow place, her heart went out to him.
So that was it.
They had more in common than she could ever have imagined.
“I’m so sorry. I hope your brother overcomes it. I’ll be sure to pray for him.” But what about the
countless times she’d pleaded with God to heal Scott and He hadn’t? She still wrestled with that. Yes,
many times God didn’t answer prayer in the way she expected, and He’d never force Himself on
anyone. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t pray.
“Thanks.” Pastor Daniel pulled himself up straighter. “I appreciate that. My brother’s heart has
hardened, and he seems to have no faith anymore.”
She pushed her ring finger through a link in the chain, the thick metal nothing like the ring she’d
once worn—just like her marriage had changed into something nothing like its start. “I understand. My
husband lost his faith as well. I can’t imagine the things he saw, but it changed him.”
“War has that effect on people.”
“And what about you?” She twisted the chains so she was facing him, her feet holding her in
place. “How did you cope?”
“It wasn’t as bad for me, but it was never easy. It’s hard to believe in a loving and kind God when
your best mate gets blown to pieces.”
That’s what Scott had told her. “I still grapple with the whole thing, but it all comes down to sin,
doesn’t it?”
Daniel nodded. “It sure does. We live in a fallen world.”
They sat in silence, no longer strangers but people who shared similar heartache.
Then, breaking the moment, Archie ran over with Percy trotting after him, carrying a stick bigger
than he was.
“Hi, Pastor.” Although Archie didn’t meet Daniel’s gaze, he’d said hello, and that was huge
progress.
“Hello, Archie.” Daniel released the swing chain to give a quick wave before Percy shoved his
nose into Daniel’s lap after dropping the stick at his feet. Chuckling, he greeted the dog and stroked
his wiry head, bringing a smile to her lips and warmth to her soul.
He was a good man.
“He wants you to have the stick,” Archie said in a serious tone. “He must like you because he
hates dropping his sticks, doesn’t he, Mum?”
“He certainly does.” Her chest swelled.
“Well, thank you very much, Percy.” Daniel addressed the dog, who wagged his tail. Then he
pushed to his feet, cradling the stick in his arm. “And I hope to see you both at church on Sunday.”
But Archie had already run to the slide.
Daniel faced her. “Thanks for sharing. It mustn’t have been easy.”
“I hope it helped.”
He ran his finger down the stick and picked off a rough spot. “It did. Just talking about it helps.”
“Not many people understand, do they?” With a jerk of her neck, she flicked her hair over her
shoulder, her grip still firm on the swing’s chains.
“No. And that’s not their fault.”
“Not at all. Anyway, I’d better get these two home. It was lovely talking with you.” She gave him
a warm smile.
“And you. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Sure.”
 Almost expecting him to ask her out, she chastised herself. He was her pastor. Of course, he
wouldn’t ask her out.
But she wouldn’t mind if he did.
He waved and headed out of the park.
She watched him, pumping her legs for a few blissful moments as the swing carried her and her
burdens lifted, before she stilled, stood, and turned to Archie. “Come on. Time to go.”
“Oh, Mum. Do we have to?”
“Yes. You still have schoolwork to do.”
“Okay.” Huffing, he grabbed her outstretched hand while Percy settled in to trot alongside him.
Another random document with
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unintentionally sunk as the result of a cannon shot, and spot and red sailed
into harbour. With Thomas's miss I scored eleven. Unfortunately, off my
next stroke, Thomas again went down.

"Billiards," he said.

"You don't think I want to put the rotten thing down, do you? It's such a
blessed rabbit. Directly it sees a hole anywhere it makes for it. Hallo, six
more. I shall now give what they call a miss in baulk."

"Oh, good miss," cried Myra, as spot rested over the middle pocket.

"That was a googly. You both thought it would break the other way."

The game went on slowly. When Thomas was ninety and I was ninety-
nine, there was a confused noise without, and Archie and Miss Blair burst
into the room. At least only Archie actually burst; Miss Blair entered
sedately.

"Who's winning?" cried Archie.

"What an absurd question," I said. "As if we should tell you."

"All right. Dahl—Miss Blair, have you ever seen billiards played really
well?"

"Never."

"Then now's your chance. Ninety, ninety-nine—they've only just begun.

This is Thomas's first break, I expect. There—he's got a clear board. You
get five extra for that, and the other man is rubiconed. Ninety-nine all. Now,
it is only a question of who misses first."

I put down my cue.

"Thomas," I began, "we have said some hard things about each other to-
night, but when I listen to Archie I feel very friendly towards you."

"Archibald," said Thomas, "is a beastly name."

 "So I told Miss Blair. For a man who was, so to speak, born with a
silver billiard-table in his mouth to come here and make fun of two
persevering and, in my case, promising players, is——"

"You'll never finish that sentence," said Myra. "Try some more
billiards."

"It was almost impossible to say what I wanted to say grammatically," I

answered, and I hit my ball very hard up the table at the white.

"It's working across," said Archie, after the second bounce; "it must hit
the red soon. I give it three more laps."

"It's going much more slowly now," said Miss Blair.

"Probably it's keeping a bit of a sprint for the finish. Wait till it gets its
second wind. No, I'm afraid it's no good; it ought to have started sooner.
Hallo, yes, it's—— Got him!"

"It hasn't finished yet," I said calmly. "Look—there!"

"Jove!" said Archie, shaking my hand, "that's the longest loser I've ever
seen. My dear old man, what a performer. The practice you must have had.
The years you must have devoted to the game. I wonder—could you
possibly spare an hour or two to-morrow to play cricket for us?"

CHAPTER IV

A FEW WIRES

A hundred and eighty for none. The umpire waved his lily hand, and the
scorer entered one more "four" in his book. Seeing that the ball had gone
right through a bicycle which was leaning up against the pavilion, many
people (the owner of the bicycle, anyhow) must have felt that the actual
signalling of a boundary was unnecessary; but our umpire is a stickler for
the etiquette of the game. Once when—— But no, on second thoughts, I
sha'n't tell you that story. You would say it was a lie—as indeed it is.

"Rotten," said Archie to me, as we crossed over. (A good captain always

confides in his wicket-keeper.)

"Don't take Simpson off," I said. "I like watching him."

"I shall go on again myself soon."

"Oh, it's not so bad as that. Don't lose heart."

The score was two hundred when we met again.

"I once read a book by a lady," I said, "in which the hero started the
over with his right hand and finished it with his left. I suppose Simpson
couldn't do that?"

"He's a darned rotten bowler, anyway."

"His direction is all right, but his metre is so irregular."

At the end of the next over, "What shall I do?" asked Archie in despair.

"Put the wicket-keeper on," I said at once.

The idea was quite a new one to him. He considered it for a moment.

"Can you bowl?" he said at last.

"No."

"Then what on earth——"

"Look here; you've tried 'em with people who can bowl, and they've
made two hundred and twenty in an hour and a half; somebody who can't
bowl will be a little change for them. That's one reason. The second is that
we shall all have a bit of a rest while I'm taking my things off. The third is
that I bet Myra a shilling——"

Archie knelt down, and began to unbuckle my pads. "I'll 'keep' myself,"
he said. "Are you fast or slow?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. Just as it occurs to me at the moment, I

expect."

"Well, you're quite right; you can't be worse than some of us. Will you
have a few balls down first?"

"No, thanks; I should like to come as a surprise to them."

"Well, pitch 'em up anyhow."

"I shall probably vary my length—if possible without any alteration of

action."

I am now approaching the incredible. The gentle reader, however, must

not be nasty about it; he should at least pretend to believe, and his best way
of doing this is to listen very silently to what follows. When he has heard
my explanation I shall assume that he understands.

Bowling is entirely a question of when you let go of the ball. If you let
go too soon the result is a wide over the batsman's head; if too late, a nasty
crack on your own foot. Obviously there are spaces in between. By the law
of averages one must let go at the right moment at least once. Why not then
at the first ball? And in the case of a person like myself, who has a very
high action and a good mouth—I mean who has a very high delivery, such a
ball (after a week of Simpsons and Archies) would be almost unplayable.

Very well then; I did let go at the right moment, but, unfortunately, I
took off from the wrong crease. The umpire's cry of "No-ball" and the
shattering of the Quidnunc's wicket occurred simultaneously.

"Good ball," said Archie. "Oh, bad luck!"

 I tried to look as though, on the whole, I preferred it that way—as being
ultimately more likely to inspire terror in the batsman at my end. Certainly,
it gave me confidence; made me over-confident in fact, so that I held on to
the next ball much too long, and it started bouncing almost at once.

The Quidnunc, who was convinced by this that he had been merely
having a go at the previous ball, shouldered his bat and sneered at it. He
was still sneering when it came in very quickly, and took the bottom of the
leg stump. (Finger spin, chiefly.)

Archie walked up slowly, and gazed at me.

"Well?" I said jauntily.

"No, don't speak. I just want to look, and look, and look. It's wonderful.
No elastic up the sleeve, or anything."

"This is where it first pitched," said the Major, as he examined the

ground.

"Did you think of letting in a brass tablet?" I inquired shortly.

"He is quite a young man," went on Archie dreamily, "and does not care
to speak about his plans for the future. But he is of opinion that——"

"Break, break, break," said Simpson. "Three altogether."

"Look here, is there anybody else who wants to say anything? No? Then
I'll go on with my over."

Archie, who had begun to walk back to his place, returned thoughtfully
to me.

"I just wanted to say, old chap, that if you're writing home to-night
about it, you might remember me to your people."

Blair was about the only person who didn't insult me. This was because
he had been fielding long-on; and as soon as the wicket fell he moved round
about fifty yards to talk to Miss Fortescue. What people can see in her——
Well, directly my next ball was bowled he started running as hard as he
could to square leg, and brought off one of the finest catches I've ever seen.

"The old square-leg trap," said Archie. "But you cut it rather fine, didn't
you? I suppose you knew he was a sprinter?"

"I didn't cut it at all—I was bowling. Go away."

Yes, I confess it. I did the hat trick. It was a good length half-volley, and
the batsman, who had watched my first three balls, was palpably nervous.
Archie walked round and round me in silence for some time, and then went
over to Thomas.

"He's playing tennis with me this evening," he began.

"I was beaten at billiards by him last night," said Thomas proudly.

"He's going to let me call him by his Christian name."

"They say he's an awfully good chap when you know him," replied
Thomas.

I got another wicket with the last ball of the over, and then we had
lunch. Myra was smiling all over her face when we came in, but beyond a
"Well bowled, Walter" (which I believe to be Brearley's name), would have
nothing to do with me. Instead she seized Archie, and talked long and
eagerly to him. And they both laughed a good deal.

"Arkwright," I heard Archie say at the end. "He's sure to be there, and
would do it like a shot."

Like a wise captain Archie did not put me on after lunch, and Simpson
soon began to have the tail in difficulties. Just after the eighth wicket fell a
telegram came out. Archie took it and handed it to me. "From Maclaren, I
expect," he said with a grin.

"You funny ass; I happen to know it's from Dick. I asked him for a wire
about the Kent match."
 "Oh, did Kent win?" said Archie, looking over my shoulder. As I
opened it, the others came up, and I read—

"Please be in attendance for next Test Match."

"HAWKE"

I got three more that afternoon. One from Fry, one from Leveson-
Gower, and one from Maclaren. They all came from Lord's, and I've half a
mind to take my telegrams with me, and go. Then Myra would probably get
six months in the second division.

"But I shouldn't mind that," said Myra. "You could easily bowl—I mean
bail—me out."

A silly joke, I call it.

CHAPTER V

AT PLAY

I selected a handkerchief, gave a last look at the weather, which was

beastly, and went down (very late) to breakfast. As I opened the door there
was a sudden hush. Everybody looked eagerly at me. Then Miss Fortescue
tittered.

Well, you know how one feels when that happens. I put my hand
quickly to my tie—it was still there. I squinted down my nose, but there
was no smut. To make quite sure I went over to the glass. Then Simpson
exploded.
 Yet nobody spoke. They all sat there watching me, and at last I began to
get nervous. I opened my mouth to say "Good-morning," but before I got it
out Miss Blair gave a little shriek of excitement. That upset me altogether. I
walked up to the tea-pot, and pouring myself out a cup said, with
exaggerated carelessness, "Rotten day, isn't it?"

And then came the laughter—shout after shout.

I held out my hand to Myra. "Good-bye," I said, "I'm going home.

Thank you for a very jolly time, but I'm not going to be bullied."

"Oh, you dear," she gurgled.

"I am rather sweet before breakfast," I admitted, "but how——"

"It was too heavenly of you. I never thought you would."

"I think I shall go back to bed."

"It was rather rough luck," said Archie, "but of course the later you are
the worse it is for you."

"And the higher the fewer. Quite so. If this is from Breakfast Table
Topics in The Daily Mirror, I haven't seen them to-day; but I'll do my best."

"Archie, explain."

Archie took up a piece of paper from the table, and explained. "It's like
this," he said. "I came down first and looked at the weather, and said——"

"Anyone would," I put in quickly.

"Well, then, Blair came in and said, 'Beastly day,' and then Simpson
—— Well, I thought I'd write down everybody's first remark, to see if
anybody let the weather alone. Here they are."

"It's awful," put in Myra, "to have one's remarks taken down straight
off. I've quite forgotten what I said."
 This was the list:

Archie: "Bother." (So he says.)

Blair: "What a beastly day!"

Simpson: "What a jolly day!"

The Major: "Well, not much cricket to-day, hey?"

Myra: "Oh dear, what a day!"

Miss Blair: "What a terrible day!"

Miss Fortescue: "Oh, you poor men—what a day!"

Thomas: "Rotten day, isn't it?"

Me: "Rotten day, isn't it?"

"I don't think much of Thomas's remark," I said.

Later on in the morning we met (all except the Major, that is) in the
room which Myra calls hers and Archie calls the nursery, and tried to think
of something to do.

"I'm not going to play bridge all day for anyone," said Archie.

"The host should lay himself out to amuse his guests," said Myra.

"Otherwise, his guests will lay him out," I warned him, "to amuse
themselves."

"Well, what do you all want to do?"

"I should like to look at a photograph album," said Thomas.

"Stump cricket."
 "What about hide-and-seek?"

"No, I've got it," cried Archie; "we'll be boy scouts."

"Hooray!" cried everybody else.

Archie was already on his hands and knees. "Ha!" he said, "is that the
spoor of the white ant that I see before me? Spoorly not. I have but been
winded by the water-beetle.

"Sound, sound the trumpet, beat the drum,

To all the scouting world proclaim
One crowded stalk upon the turn
Is worth an age without a name."

"Archie!" shrieked Myra in horror. "It is too late," she added, "all the
ladies have swooned."

We arranged sides. Myra and I and Simpson and Thomas against the
others. They were to start first.

"This isn't simply hide-and-seek," said Archie, as they went off. "You've
got to track us fairly. We shall probably 'blaze' door-posts. When you hear
the bleat of a tinned sardine that means we're ready. Keep your eyes
skinned, my hearties, and heaven defend the right."

"We ought to have bare knees really," said Myra, when they'd gone.
"Boy scouts always do. So that when they go through a bed of nettles they
know they've been."

"I shall stalk the stairs to begin with," I said. "Simpson, you go down
the back way and look as much like a vacuum-cleaner as possible. Then
they won't notice you. Thomas and Myra—— Hush! Listen! Was that the
bleat of a fresh sardine or the tinned variety?"

"Tinned," said Myra. "Let's go."

 We went. I took the Queen Anne staircase on my—in the proper
stalking position. I moved very slowly, searching for spoor. Half-way down
the stairs my back fin slipped and I shot over the old oak at a tremendous
pace, landing in the hall like a Channel swimmer. Looking up, I saw
Thomas in front of me. He was examining the door for "blazes." Myra was
next to him, her ear to the ground, listening for the gallop of horses' hoofs. I
got up and went over to them.

"Hast seen aught of a comely wench in parlous case, hight Mistress

Dahlia?" I asked Thomas.

"Boy scouts don't talk like that," he said gruffly.

"I beg your pardon. I was thinking that I was a Cavalier and you were a
Roundhead. Now I perceive that you are just an ordinary fathead."

"Why," said Myra at the foot of the stairs, "what does this button mean?
Have I found a clue?"

I examined it, and then I looked at my own coat.

"You have," I said. "Somebody has been down those stairs quite
recently, for the button is still warm."

"Where is Scout Simpson?"

At that moment he appeared breathless with excitement.

"I have had an adventure," he said hurriedly, without saluting. "I was on
the back stairs looking like a vacuum-cleaner when suddenly Archie and
Miss Blair appeared. They looked right at me, but didn't seem to penetrate
my disguise. Archie, in fact, leant against me, and said to Miss Blair: 'I will
now tell you of my secret mission. I carry caviare—I mean despatches—to
the general. Breathe but a word of this to the enemy, and I miss the half-
holiday on Saturday. Come, let us be going, but first to burn the secret
code.' And—and then he struck a match on me, and burned it."
 Myra gurgled and hastily looked solemn again. "Proceed, Scout
Simpson," she said, "for the night approaches apace."

"Well, then they started down the stairs, and I went after them on my—
scouting, you know. I made rather a noise at one corner, and Archie looked
round at me, and said to Miss Blair: 'The tadpoles are out full early. See
yonder where one lies basking.' And he came back, and put his foot on me
and said, 'Nay, 'tis but a shadow. Let us return right hastily. Yet tarry a
moment, what time I lay a false trail.' So they tarried and he wrote a note
and dropped it on me. And, afterwards, I got up and here it is."

"The secret despatch," cried Myra.

"It's addressed to the Scoutmistress, and it says outside: 'Private, not to

be opened till Christmas Day.'"

Myra opened it and read: "Your blessed scouts are everywhere. Let me
just have five minutes with her in the nursery, there's a dear. I'd do as much
for you."

But she didn't read it aloud, and I didn't see it till some time afterwards.
She simply put it away, and smiled, and announced that the scouts would
now adjourn to the billiard-room for pemmican and other refreshments;
which they did. The engagement was announced that evening.

CHAPTER VI

IN AND OUT

"Well," said Thomas, "how are we going to celebrate the joyful event?"

We were sitting on the lawn, watching Blair and Miss Fortescue play
croquet. Archie and Dahlia were not with us; they had (I suppose) private
matters to discuss. Our match did not begin for another hour, happily for the
lovers; happily also for the croquet-players, who had about fifty-six more
hoops, posts, flags and what not to negotiate.

"It's awfully difficult to realise it," said Myra. "My own brother! Just
fancy—I can hardly believe it."

"I don't think there can be any doubt," I said. "Something's happened to
him, anyhow—he's promised to put me in first to-day."

"Let's have a dance to-morrow night," continued Thomas, relentlessly

pursuing his original idea. "And we'll all dance with Miss Blair."

"Yes. Archie would like that."

"I remember, some years ago, when I was in Spain," said Simpson——

"This," I murmured appreciatively, "is how all the best stories begin."
And I settled myself more comfortably in my chair.

"No," said Simpson, "I'm wrong there. It was in Hampstead." And he

returned to his meditations.

"Tell you what," said Thomas, "you ought to write 'em an ode,
Simpson."

"There's nothing that rhymes with the lady."

"There's hair," I said quite unintentionally.

"I meant with Dahlia."

"My dear man, there are heaps. Why, there's azalea."

"That's only one."

"Well, there are lots of different kinds of azalea."

"Any rhymes for Archie and Mannering?" said Simpson scornfully.

 "Certainly. And Simpson. You might end with him—

"'Forgive the way the metre limps on,

It's always like that with Samuel Simpson.'

You get the idea?"

"Hush," said Myra, "Miss Fortescue has passed under a hoop."

But it is time that we got on to my innings. Archie managed to win the

toss, and, as he had promised, took me in with him. It was the proudest and
most nervous moment of my life.

"I've never been in first before," I said, as we walked to the wickets. "Is
there any little etiquette to observe?"

"Oh, rather. Especially, if you're going to take first ball."

"Oh, there's no doubt about my taking the first ball."

"In that case the thing to remember is, that when the umpire calls 'play'
the side refusing to play loses the match."

"Then it all rests on me? Your confidence in me must be immense. I

think I shall probably consent to play."

I obtained guard and took my stand at the wicket. Most cricketers

nowadays, I am told, adopt the "two-eyed stance," but for myself I still stick
to the good old two-legged one. It seems to me to be less wearing. My style,
I should observe, blends happily the dash of a Joseph Vine with the patience
of a Kenneth Hutchings; and after a long innings I find a glass of—— I've
forgotten the name of it now, but I know I find it very refreshing.

Being the hero (you will admit that—after my hat trick) of this true
story, I feel I must describe my innings carefully. Though it only totalled
seventeen, there was this to be said for it: it is the only innings of less than a
hundred ever made by a hero.
 It began with a cut to square leg, for which we ran a forced single, and
followed on with a brace of ones in the direction of fine slip. After that, I
stopped the bowler in the middle of his run-up, and signalled to a spectator
to move away from the screen. This was a put-up job with Myra, and I
rather hoped they would give me something for it, but apparently they
didn't. At the end of the over, I went up and talked to Archie. In first-class
cricket, the batsmen often do this, and it impresses the spectators
immensely.

I said, "I bet you a shilling I'm out next over."

He said, "I won't take you."

I said, "Then I huff you," and went back to my crease.

My next scoring stroke was a two-eyed hook over point's head, and then
Archie hit three fours running. I had another short conversation with him, in
the course of which I recited two lines from Shakespeare and asked him a
small but pointed conundrum, and afterwards I placed the ball cleverly to
mid-off, the agility of the fieldsman, however, preventing any increment,
unearned or otherwise. Finally, I gave my cap to the umpire, made some
more ones, changed my bat, and was caught at the wicket.

"I hit it," I said, as I walked away. I said it to nobody in particular, but
the umpire refused to alter his decision.

"I congratulate you," said Miss Blair, when I was sitting down again.

"I was just going to do that to you," I said.

"Oh, but you were kind enough to do that last night."

"Ah, this is extra. I've just been batting out there with your young man.
Perhaps you noticed?"

"Well, I think I must have."

"Yes. Well, I wanted to tell you that I think he has quite an idea of the
game, and that with more experience he would probably be good enough to
play for—for Surrey. Second eleven. Yes. At hockey."

"Thank you so much. You've known him a long time, haven't you?"

"We were babes together, madam. At least, simultaneously. We actually

met at school. He had blue eyes and curly hair, and fought the captain on
the very first day. On the second day his hair was still curly, but he had
black eyes. On the third day he got into the cricket eleven, and on the fourth
he was given his footer cap. Afterwards he sang in the choir, and won the
competition for graceful diving. It was not until his second term that the
headmaster really began to confide in him. By the way, is this the sort of
thing you want?"

"Yes," smiled Dahlia. "Something like that."

"Well, then we went to Cambridge together. He never did much work,

but his algebra paper in the Little Go was so brilliant that they offered him
the Senior Wranglership. He refused on the ground that it might interfere
with his training for the tug of war, for which he had just obtained his blue
—and—— It's a great strain making all this up. Do you mind if I stop
now?"

"Of course I know that isn't all true, but he is like that, isn't he?"

"He is. He put me in first to-day."

"I know you really are fond of him."

"Lorblessyou—yes."

"That makes you my friend, too."

"Of course." I patted her hand. "That reminds me—as a friend I feel
bound to warn you that there is a person about in the neighbourhood called
Samuel Simpson who meditates an evil design upon you and yours. In
short, a poem. In this he will liken you to the azalea, which I take to be a
kind of shrubby plant."

"Yes?"
 "Yes, well, all I want to say is, if he comes round with the hat
afterwards, don't put anything in."

"Poor man," smiled Dahlia. "That's his living, isn't it?"

"Yes. That's why I say don't put anything in."

"I see. Oh, there—he's out. Poor Archie."

"Are you very sorry?" I said, smiling at her. "I'm just going, you know."

"Between ourselves," I said later to Myra, "that isn't at all a bad girl."

"Oh, fancy!"

"But I didn't come to talk about her. I came to talk about my seventeen."

"Yes, do let's."

"Yes. Er—you begin."

CHAPTER VII

ALL OVER

"May I have a dance?" I asked Miss Blair.

She put her head on one side and considered.

"One, two, three—the next but five," she said.

"Thank you. That sounds a lot; is it only one?"

"You may have two running then, if you like."

 "What about two running, and one hopping, and one really gliding?
Four altogether."

"We'll see," said Miss Blair gravely.

Myra, who was being very busy, came up and dragged me away.

"I want to introduce you to somebody. I say, have you seen Thomas?"

"It's no earthly good introducing me to Thomas again."

"He's so important because he thinks the dance was his idea; of course
I'd meant to have it all along. There she is—her name's Dora Dalton. I think
it's Dora."

"I shall call her Dora, anyhow."

I was introduced, and we had a very jolly waltz together. She danced
delightfully; and when we had found a comfortable corner she began to
talk.

She said, "Do you play cricket?"

I was rather surprised, but I kept quite cool, and said, "Yes."

"My brother's very fond of it. He is very good too. He was playing here
yesterday against Mr Mannering's team, and made six, and then the umpire
gave him out; but he wasn't out really, and he was very angry. I don't
wonder, do you?"

I had a sudden horrible suspicion.

"Did you say your name was Dora—I mean his name was Dalton?"

"Yes. And just because he was angry, which anybody would be, the
wicket-keeper was very rude, and told him to go home and—and bake his
head."
 "Not bake," I said gently, my suspicion having now become almost a
certainty. "Boil."

"Go home, and boil his head," she repeated indignantly.

"And did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Er—did he understand—I mean, don't you think your brother may

have misunderstood? I can't believe that a wicket-keeper would ever
demean himself by using the word 'boil.' Not as you might say boil. 'Cool
his head' was probably the expression—it was a very hot day, I remember.
And ... ah, there's the music beginning again. Shall we go back?"

I am afraid Miss Dalton's version of the incident was not quite accurate.

What had happened was this: I had stumped the fellow, when he was
nearly a mile and a half outside his crease; and when he got back to it some
minutes later, and found the umpire's hand up, he was extremely indignant
and dramatic about it. Quite to myself, sotto voce as it were, I murmured,
"Oh, go home!" and I may have called attention in some way to the "bails."
But as to passing any remarks about boiling heads—well, it simply never
occurred to me.

I had a dance with Myra shortly after this. She had been so busy and
important that I felt quite a stranger. I adapted my conversation accordingly.

"It's a very jolly floor, isn't it?" I said, as I brought her an ice.

"Oh yes!" said Myra in the same spirit.

"Have you been to many floors—I mean dances, lately?"

"Oh yes!"

"So have I. I think dances have been very late lately. I think when the
floor's nice it doesn't matter about the ices. Don't you think the band is
rather too elastic—I mean keeps very good time? I think so long as the time
is good it doesn't matter about the floor."

"Oh, isn't it?" said Myra enthusiastically.

There was a pleasant pause while we both thought of something else to

say.

"Have you," we began.

"I beg your pardon," we said at once.

"I was going to say," Myra went on, "have you read any nice books
lately, or are you fonder of tennis?"

"I like reading nice books about tennis," I said. "If they are nice books,
and are really about tennis. Er—do you live in London?"

"Yes. It is so handy for the theatres, isn't it? There is no place exactly
like London, is there? I mean it's so different."

"Well, of course, up in Liverpool we do get the trams, you know, now....

I say, I'm tired of pretending I've only just met you. Let's talk properly."

At this moment we heard a voice say, "Let's try in here," and Archie and
Dahlia appeared.

"Hallo! here's the happy pair," said Myra.

They came in and looked at us diffidently. I leant back and gazed at the
ceiling.

"Were you just going?" said Archie.

"We were not," I said.

"Then we'll stay and talk to you."

"We were in the middle of an important conversation."