A Touch of Grace

“Not every ministry is dirty, Gretchen.”

“His is.” Gretchen shot Ian one more glare and turned away. “I just know it.”

Carlotta sighed and shoved her glossy, black hair over one shoulder. She had an amazing capacity to look cool and fresh in the worst of New Orleans’s heat.

“All right, honey. Whatever you think. I’m not going to argue with you today. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“No. You go on.” Gretchen wasn’t quite ready to leave Maddy here alone.

“All right. Call if you need me.”

Carlotta left, her long legs moving with grace and speed across the narrow patches of grass to her sporty car. Gretchen refused to think another thought about Ian Carpenter. For all she cared he could roast.

Taking yet another tissue, she approached the mausoleum that held her sister’s body. She hadn’t wanted to bury Maddy here in a place where tourists prowled the tombs in search of macabre thrills. But she hadn’t much choice. California was too far away. And Mom and Dad didn’t want her there anyway.

“Oh, Maddy. Why couldn’t I help you get over the hurts? Why couldn’t you ever heal?” Fragile Maddy had been broken by the same evil that had made Gretchen strong. No one would ever fool her again. She would spend her career ferreting out the wolves in sheep’s clothing like Brother Gordon and the Family of Love.

She reached out to touch the white stone. Suddenly, the childhood Maddy was alive and well inside her head. The blond princess in pink ballet slippers. At six, Mama had auditioned her for commercials because she was so pretty. That was when they’d met Brother Gordon. He’d invited them to what he called the common man’s Bible study. And none of them was ever the same after that.

She stood there in front of the tomb for a long time, remembering, regretting, wishing for another chance. At one point she glanced back and noticed with relief that Ian Carpenter had disappeared. Good.

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

Which was Ian Carpenter?

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

But she hadn’t.

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

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

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

A long human shadow touched her toes.

She jerked her head up.

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

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

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

Did he have any idea how not funny that was?

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

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

He had a serenity about him that was almost eerie.

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

“It’s been a hard day for you.”

Gretchen was too uncertain about his motives to answer.

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

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

“We all have weaknesses.”

“Even you, Reverend?”

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

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

“My roommate will be worried.”

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

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

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

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

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

“They were here.”

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

“Are they invisible?” she asked sarcastically.

“In a manner of speaking.”

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

He laughed. She was dead serious and he laughed.

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

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