Jenna Mindel - Courting Hope

He nodded, but he didn’t look like she’d given him the answer he’d wanted. Well, Hope wasn’t about to pat him on the back for scaring her congregation with his experiences in Haiti. Sure, he’d met a lot of needs and served like any God-fearing person should, but running off to Haiti three years ago had been one of his wild-hair whims. He’d jumped at the chance for adventure. He’d jumped at the chance to run away from her, Ryan and every reminder of what had happened to Sara. He’d run away from his part in it. She wouldn’t applaud that.

“You think I shouldn’t have gone there.”

What did he want from her? Hope shifted, but his direct gaze pinned her like a paper leaf on a classroom bulletin board. “To Haiti? Or last night’s message?”

“Both.”

She didn’t want to answer that. She might let it slip how hard it had been for her after Sara had died. Despite blaming him, she’d needed him then. “All I know is that you’ve seen some crazy stuff.”

“Real crazy.”

By the shadows that glazed his eyes, she feared he might tell her just how crazy. Her throat dry, she whispered, “Why did you come home?”

“I couldn’t keep running from what had happened. God led me home to face Ryan, your parents. Even you—especially you.”

Hope took a deep breath but tears threatened. She fought the clogging of her throat. She didn’t want to get into this. Not now. Not at work. “Don’t.”

“I won’t. But eventually we have to.”

Judy’s words about holding on to her grudge echoed through her mind. It was easier to blame Sinclair than herself. If only Hope had been there. If only she hadn’t gone shopping, Sara might still be alive.

He dipped his head to catch her attention. “Subject change?”

She sniffed. “Please.”

“Tell me about this building project. Why a preschool?”

Hope couldn’t lay open her dreams without figuring out where he was coming from and what he had planned. “Judy said you wanted a youth center.”

“The board would like to eventually hire a youth pastor. To do that, we have to reach the teens in this area. A youth center might draw them to our church.”

Hope gritted her teeth. “Shannon and her husband do a fine job with the youth.”

“Yes, they do. But their time is limited. Especially with a new baby.”

“The preschool has already been approved by the board.”

“Before your minister retired a year ago. Things change, Hope.”

Dread settled in the pit of her belly. “Are you changing the plan?”

He didn’t answer right away. If they dropped the preschool, what then? There’d be no reason for her to stay. How could she face Dorrie when she’d promised to do everything she could to push the preschool through?

“Sinclair?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. What’s a little preschool going to do for this church?”

Hope felt her hackles rise, but she feared letting him know how much this little preschool meant to her. “It’s all in that file. The preapproval for a commercial loan, the bids. Once the pledged money is collected, we should be able to break ground.”

“This is old data. The preapproval expired. The circumstances changed the day your previous minister left.”

“But Judy—”

“She’s in favor of the preschool. Some of the other board members aren’t so sure.”

Hope gripped the edge of the chair. Judy hadn’t described it quite that way. “Why do we need a youth pastor when we have a gracious couple who volunteer? Our teens are a very small group, and we’re not even in town.”

“That’s true.”

“The enrollment projections for a preschool were conservative, but there are a lot of young families in the area who responded favorably to sending their kids.”

“There are good day cares around here.”

Hope forced a deep breath. “We’re talking about early education from a Christian worldview. There’s a huge difference.”

“I know you put a lot of work into this. You were a big part of the project committee and kept the ball rolling, from what I heard. What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”

“Because I have a degree in early childhood education and I want to run that preschool.” She’d let the words slip out before she could catch them.

Understanding spread across his face, but then his brow furrowed. “Makes sense.”

What didn’t make sense was that she’d let him know her dream before she could trust him with it. Trust was a moot point with Sinclair Marsh. He’d always done what he wanted.

A quick knock on the doorway of his office saved Sinclair from having to elaborate any further. A tall, barrel-chested man stood in the doorway.

“Hey, Chuck.”

“Am I interrupting?” Chuck Stillwell, board member, large commercial cherry grower and the church’s biggest financial supporter, stepped into Sinclair’s office.

“Not at all. We’re done here.” Hope bounced out of her chair and left the room.

* * *

Sinclair watched her walk away as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Refocusing his attention on Chuck, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

Chuck closed the office door. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” What else could he say?

“Your message was a little strong last night.”

He braced himself for the complaint Hope had predicted he’d receive. “It’s easy to forget how sheltered we are up here.”

Chuck looped his hands around one knee and leaned back in his chair. “That’s not where I was going. The truth isn’t always comfortable, but sometimes it has to be said. Can I be blunt?”

Again he nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the guy, who was something of a blowhard.

“I know you’ve got a heart for missions. And that’s good. But I’m interested in what goes on in this community, not some faraway place. I want to save you the trouble of asking me to support your school in Haiti, or any foreign missions for that matter.”

Sinclair forced his mouth closed before he said something he’d regret. He had to think like a pastor now and respond the same way. In bible school, the motto had been that good pastors didn’t react—they listened.

He sat a little straighter. “I hear you.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “Hearing is fine, but doing is better. I get hit up for money all the time. I don’t need my minister looking to me for a donation every time I turn around.”

“Fair enough.” He’d never ask the guy for a dime.

“But the idea of a youth center to bring in teens isn’t bad. I’d like to get my nephew up here as soon as he graduates from bible school. He’d be a big help to you as a youth pastor.”

Sinclair knew where this was going, and it registered why Chuck had pounced on his suggestion of a youth center. “What about the preschool? It’s been approved before, and many, including you, have already pledged financial support.”

“Until you’ve collected those pledges, I say we keep our options open.”

Nice tangle. Sinclair could push for Hope’s preschool or succumb to Chuck’s pressure for a youth center to validate hiring a youth pastor—namely, Chuck’s nephew.

He spotted the building project file on his desk and nearly sighed. Either way, he’d let someone down.

Chapter Three

Sunday morning, Sinclair stood by the kitchen sink with a cup of coffee in hand. Staring out at the sloping cherry orchard, he noticed that the fruit had grown since he’d come home. The straw-colored cherries were ripening, and promised an early harvest.

The trees on higher ground had been torn up by the storm that had rolled through the area, stripping many of their crop. A few random cherry clumps still hung in odd spots, making it look like a giant hand had swiped many away.