Where Truth Lies Page 2

  Gregory. A nice strong name. Looking back at the minister again, Miranda wondered if his friends called him Greg. Somehow the nickname sounded too informal for him in her mind. The man presiding over this wedding, now to the part where the couple exchanged rings, looked more like a Gregory to her. “Are you all right, dear?” she heard Winnie whisper in her ear.

  “Just fine,” she told her aunt. “Where did you say the reception was again?”

  “I didn’t. But it’s going to be a lovely event on the lawn at the bride’s parents’ home. I hear they’ve rented the largest blue-and-white tent ever seen in Stoneley. And they’re using the caterer I think Portia and Mick should look at first.”

  “Then of course we have to go,” Miranda murmured, a little distracted by the brilliant smile Gregory Brown gave the newly married couple as he presented them to the assembly as “Mr. and Mrs. Franklin” for the first time. They looked so incredibly happy. Miranda couldn’t help smiling herself as they walked down the aisle together, grinning like two people in love.

  Haunting and lovely. It was the only way to describe the woman on the bride’s side of the church. Greg didn’t know when he’d had to pull his attention away from a wedding guest and back to the couple being married this many times during a ceremony. Surely not since the second or third wedding of his career when the parents of those two-year-old twins had both been attendants and their little darlings had spent the entire service racing up and down the front pew from end to end over their harried grandmother.

  At least this time his attention had wandered for more pleasant reasons. The beautiful young woman sitting next to Winnie Blanchard had to be one of her nieces. He remembered most of the family from the funeral he’d officiated at this spring. At that time all of Ronald Blanchard’s daughters had been so grief stricken that their sorrow was what he’d noticed about them.

  Today was a different story. For a change he actually looked forward to the receiving line. Certainly Winnie would introduce him to her niece. She had such a doelike quality about her with those large dark eyes and even darker glossy brown hair caught up demurely in a twist.

  Still fixated on the young woman who was leaving the sanctuary with her aunt, Greg was reluctant to pay any heed to the tugging at his elbow getting more and more firm. “Reverend Brown?” It was the officious photographer again; the man must have had dreams of a career in Hollywood. “We’re almost ready for the family photos at the front of the church if you want to straighten up a little before that.”

  “But what about the receiving line?” Greg asked, his attention still on the Blanchard woman.

  “Oh, no. That is terribly passé. Photos, digital video and off to the reception,” the photographer said, all but clapping his hands in command.

  Greg Brown’s disappointment almost let him tell the man what he thought of his digital video, but he pulled himself together to present behavior fitting the senior pastor of Unity Christian Church. Besides, the quicker they got this over with, the quicker they could all move on to the reception where he could see Winnie and her lovely niece again.

  TWO

  “You’re right,” Miranda admitted to her aunt. “This is the largest tent I’ve ever seen outside a circus.” It felt like acres of space inside the airy blue-and-white canopy, all of it taken up by a sea of white tablecloths on round tables for eight. Miranda scanned the nearest table, looking for place cards.

  Winnie waved a hand at her. “Don’t worry about finding our place, dear. I’m sure I can do that. Why don’t you go take a moment to freshen up and I’ll meet you back here in a bit.”

  Sweet, motherly Winnie was always looking out for her. Miranda nodded and picked her way through the tables until she found one of the smaller tents set up to cater to the female guests who wanted to relax a moment, check their appearances and otherwise take a breather.

  She tried not to grimace as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her heavy hair never stayed as smooth as she wanted it to, and her mouth always looked too wide when she put on anything besides clear lip gloss. Sighing a little, she opened the navy clutch bag she carried to find the small pink bag holding her tiny collapsible hairbrush, lip gloss and the lace-edged handkerchief Winnie always insisted she carry. The handmade bag was just another reminder of how much Winnie had taken care of her over the years. Its fine-wale corduroy was faded and worn now, but Miranda would never let it go. Finding the rose lip gloss, she refreshed the color and gave herself one more critical glance in the mirror before leaving.

  Since Winnie was finding their places, Miranda stopped by one of the tables where teenage girls who must be relatives of the bride were pouring cups of punch. She picked up some for herself and her aunt. It looked refreshing on this day beginning to turn warm under the tent. Weaving her way through the crowd, Miranda scanned the tables for Winnie. Near the front she spied her waving discreetly.

  “Oh, good. You brought us some punch. Set mine down here.” Winnie patted the place in front of her. “You’re on my right.”

  Miranda looked at the place card where Winnie pointed. “How interesting. My name is written in the same calligraphy as everyone else’s. Now how do you suppose they did that when I only agreed to come this morning?” She watched her aunt to see what her answer would be.

  Winnie’s cheeks turned a bit rosier, and she smiled impishly. “Well, I may have mentioned your name when I told them I’d be coming. I thought that perhaps you or Portia might accompany me. At least I hoped so.”

  “That’s fine, Aunt Winnie. I wasn’t accusing you of anything, just curious.”

  “Healthy curiosity is a good thing,” Winnie said. “In fact I’m glad to see you interested in something outside the realm of poetry or your family for a change.”

  Before Miranda could open her mouth to argue about her interest levels, Winnie appeared to be focused on something behind her instead of what she was going to say. “Well, there you are, Reverend. What a delightful wedding. I’m so happy that we happen to be sitting at the same table.”

  Miranda turned to see Reverend Brown no more than three steps behind her. His smile was even more interesting from this distance, and up close she could tell that his eyes were a warm, deep brown. His dark suit and crisp white shirt rivaled anything one of her father’s executives might wear, along with a tie that appeared to be nearly the same shade of blue as the bridesmaids’ dresses.

  “I couldn’t wish for any better company, Miss Blanchard. And do I remember that this is one of your nieces?”

  “Very good. Your ability to recognize people after only a brief meeting always impresses me. But then, I suspect it must be a part of your job.”

  “That it is, Miss Blanchard. But I’m still at a disadvantage, because I have to admit that I don’t remember which of your lovely nieces this might be.”

  “Please, I’ve asked you repeatedly to call me Winnie. And if you want to have a formal introduction, please allow me. Gregory Brown, I’d like to introduce my niece Miranda. You haven’t had the opportunity to truly meet before, so I took the liberty of changing her place card for mine so that perhaps you two could get better acquainted.”

  He has a nice laugh, too, Miranda thought. It made the skin around his eyes crinkle in a charming fashion.

  “Winnie, you continue to surprise me each time we talk. And Miranda, it’s very nice to meet you formally. I hope you’ll excuse me for a few minutes while I do some official things. I look forward to getting to know you much better when I return.”

  “Definitely, Reverend Brown.” Only when he stepped back and walked toward the head table did Miranda realize that during the introductions he’d taken her hand. His touch felt so right that she only noticed when he let go.

  In a moment he had a microphone and effectively silenced the buzzing crowd of wedding guests with just a few words. “Weddings were important to Jesus. We know that because he began his public ministry at a wedding reception. I’m sure you’ll join me in welcoming the people who
made today’s reception possible by inviting all of us to share their joy. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s thank Deborah and Jim Franklin.”

  A burst of applause and good wishes greeted the happy couple just entering the tent. Once they made their way to the head table and got seated, the minister quieted the guests again and said a brief but eloquent table grace. Afterward he turned the microphone over to the best man. Miranda was sure that whatever the best man said was probably charming, but she didn’t really hear it. Instead she watched as Gregory Brown made his way back to the table. His progress was slowed by four different women making conversation. Even though they were too far away for her to hear what was said, Miranda was impressed by the pastor’s apparent skill in speaking with each.

  When he got back to the table, Winnie and Miranda had introduced themselves to the other guests at the table—a family of the bride’s cousins who had traveled from Vermont for the wedding. Miranda found herself wondering just how creative Winnie might have gotten with the place cards, as there was an empty seat on the other side of the minister, and next to that the youngest of the cousins’ family, a boy who looked about nine.

  Then Gregory was there again, standing behind his chair, introducing himself to the cousins. He sat down next to Miranda, a wry grin on his face. “Sorry about that. Somehow it always seems to take longer to finish these little duties than I expect.”

  “That might have something to do with the fact that your progress was so impeded by congregational well-wishers—all of whom seem to be the mothers or other relatives of women I recognize from the area. Young, single women, I might add.”

  “How observant of you, Miss Blanchard. I must admit that you’re right. There do seem to be many people concerned that I meet their friends and relations, all of whom are coincidentally women under the age of thirty-five.”

  “Hmm. Could it be that your congregation believes you might need a companion?”

  His answering smile was the warmest yet. “It’s quite possible. And if that is true then I must say that your aunt is the greatest believer of all.”

  Miranda had never felt such relief at the sight of a server with a tray full of salads. The bustle of the first course gave her enough time to cool the flush in her cheeks before she made any more conversation with the quick-witted Reverend Brown.

  By the time the servers were clearing the empty plates after the main course, Miranda found herself charmed into talking with the minister again. Not that she’d been able to avoid doing so all through dinner, but she had been a bit on her guard. She just wasn’t used to pleasant, handsome men sitting beside her and making her feel as if she were truly interesting.

  Gregory Brown seemed to have that knack with everyone, Miranda decided. During dinner, he’d drawn out the boy sitting on the other side of him, discovering how the wiggly redhead would be spending his summer. Once he learned that young Jack was going to a church-sponsored camp, they discussed lanyard making, canoeing and whether mosquito bites or poison ivy was the worst scourge of campers.

  “Sounds like you have a bit of camp experience,” Miranda remarked once the plates were cleared and Jack and his sister had left the table in search of other cousins to hang out with before the cake was cut.

  “A fair amount. I had a few years of scout camp when I was in grade school like that young man, and later I worked as a camp counselor a few summers in high school and college. How about you?” Light danced in his dark eyes. “Somehow you don’t look like the camping type to me, but I could be mistaken.”

  “No, you’re perfectly right on that one. My father and grandfather didn’t approve of us going to camp, so we didn’t. I might have liked to go somewhere that featured horseback riding when I was Jack’s age, but soon after that was when we lost our mother and came back to my grandfather’s house in Stoneley.”

  “Ah. Sorry to have touched on a sore subject, even by accident.” He looked so solicitous that Miranda believed him. It made her want to try to put him at ease.

  “Reverend Brown, if you avoided every topic of conversation that might remind someone of misfortune, I have no idea what you’d talk about, do you?” With Miranda’s family, so many paths led down those roads to despair she couldn’t imagine how to avoid them all.

  “There are still quite a few subjects we can discuss, Miss Blanchard. There’s this wedding and the joy surrounding it, the beauty of the sunshine and the rest of God’s creation around us, and what creative ways I can come up with to avoid being part of the lineup when Jim Franklin tosses Deborah’s garter in a bit.”

  “But if you refuse, think of how disappointed all those lovely matchmaking ladies you talked to earlier will be at your lack of participation.”

  “Not half as disappointed as I’ll be if I let myself be dragged into that,” the reverend said. “No matter how far back in the pack I move, it seems that silly thing heads my way.”

  “Maybe we can do a little favor for each other then, and when the time comes we’ll profess to be in such deep conversation with each other that you don’t have to be in the garter parade and I’ll avoid the bouquet toss.” Miranda wrinkled her nose.

  Greg’s answering laugh was short but warm. “Not a big fan of the tradition either, I take it?”

  “No, and not a believer in the impossible either. Since I’m unlikely to ever marry in the first place, I don’t like to call attention to my still-single state.”

  Greg lifted a hand, index finger pointing skyward. “Well, if that’s all it is, let me convince you that there’s no such thing as ‘impossible’ for God. He delights in doing the things we call impossible, and does them on a daily basis.”

  “You know, Reverend Brown, you say that with such conviction I’m almost inclined to believe you.”

  “Please, call me Greg, or at least Pastor Greg. I hate to stand on formality with someone so entertaining to talk to. And I hope that we can talk more at length soon, Miss Blanchard, so that I can get you to remove the qualifying ‘almost’ from that sentence. At least, where the subject of what God can do for us is involved. I imagine it might take another conversation or two for you to be inclined to believe me on other topics.”

  The man was astute and direct. Miranda found herself smiling again. “Fine, Pastor Greg. But if I’m to be less formal with you, then I must insist you call me Miranda instead of ‘Miss Blanchard.’ For me that’s Aunt Winnie, and although I seem to have cemented my position as the family’s maiden aunt, I’m not ready to put myself on her level yet.”

  “I heard that part about maiden aunts, Miranda,” Winnie said, coming back to the table after a visit with another parishioner at a nearby table. “And perhaps I can hand that title of ‘Miss Blanchard’ off to you some day. After all, I’m not so old that I’m destined to keep it forever.”

  For the second time in an hour, Miranda found herself rendered speechless by one of her table companions. “My goodness. Are things that serious with Tate?” Tate Connolly had just come back into Winnie’s life after over forty years of silence. Miranda knew they’d been seeing each other, but talking about a wedding was news to her.

  “Should I leave room in my schedule for premarital counseling?” Greg Brown flashed a smile that made Miranda’s chest flutter.

  “Not yet, but I’m hopeful I’ll make that call eventually.” Winnie’s answering smile was sweet-ness itself. Miranda shook her head. Maybe Aunt Winnie was right in telling her she needed to get out more. If today was any indicator, she could use a lot more practice when it came to the fine art of conversation.

  Mercifully, the rest of the reception passed without Miranda making more forays into any verbal minefields with Winnie or Pastor Brown. The rest of the conversation managed to be pleasant but inconsequential. Thirty minutes later she found herself looking at the small white box in her hand in bemusement. Winnie unlocked her car and settled her own box, handbag and other accoutrements in the back seat. “You know, when I was a girl they always told us that if we slept with wedding
cake under our pillow we’d dream of the man we were to marry.”

  Miranda slid into the passenger seat, still cradling the small cardboard container with one slice of cake in it and the happy couple’s names and wedding date inscribed in gold on the top. “That sounds rather messy, don’t you think?”

  “It most certainly does. That was one of several reasons why I didn’t ever do it. Of course back then I was also sure that Tate Connolly and I would never get married, thanks to my father’s disapproval.” Winnie was quiet for a moment, and Miranda found herself wondering what it must be like to love a man for over forty years without the hope of marriage and a home of one’s own.

  “I have to gather from what you said back there at the table that you’re not quite so positive anymore,” Miranda remarked.

  Winnie backed the car out of its spot and got on the main road headed for home before she answered. “No, I’m not positive anymore that I’ll stay single forever. As that dynamic young man back there is so fond of saying, nothing is impossible with God. If I’m to believe that’s true, then I have to think that God can find a way around my father and his hatefulness, and the bitterness it caused in Tate for so many years.”

  After that they were silent in the car for quite some time. Winnie’s words kept echoing in Miranda’s head, especially the part about nothing being impossible with God. Faith and hope seemed to have brought the right men into her sisters’ lives, and instilled another kind of hope in all of them—the hope that Trudy might still be alive after all. Miranda so wanted to share that hope, and today she felt as if she could.

  Before she knew it, Miranda found herself back on the wide circular driveway in front of the house, stepping out of Winnie’s car with the box of wedding cake still in hand. Back in her room, changing into more comfortable clothing, she looked at the clock and did a double take. It was after five o’clock; they’d been out of the house for the better part of six hours and she hadn’t even had the hint of a panic attack. Where had the peace she’d experienced all afternoon come from?