Read Online Tying the Knot by Susan May Warren - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan May Warren
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Christian, Fiction / Romance - Contemporary, FICTION / Christian / Romance
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your forehead into your steering wheel told me you might need a friend.”
Anne made a face. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
Sandra shrugged. “You haven’t been in town long. Today was a doozy, right?” She tucked her purse, a woven Indian-patterned bag, over her shoulder. “I’m headed to the Footstep of Heaven for some coffee and book browsing. Wanna tag along? I’ll introduce you to the locals.”
With a swell of warmth, Anne nodded.
“Leave your SUV here. I’ll drive you back later.”
Sandra owned a very old, very intriguing, red, restored ’67 International Scout. “I guess seat belts weren’t invented yet?” Anne asked as she slid in.
“I had them installed.” Sandra dug in between the seat and found Anne’s strap. “Haven’t had guests for a while.” Laugh lines crinkled around her blue eyes, inviting Anne’s friendship.
Anne fought the urge to blurt out a stream of frustration and instead measured her thoughts. Wisdom dictated that she determine what team Sandra played on before she started bemoaning Dr. Simpson’s managerial practices. For all Anne knew, Sandra was in cahoots with the doctor and Mr. Grizzly. The woman looked the type to have a soft spot for kids.
Sandra drove out of the hospital parking lot. Along Main Street, seagulls waddled like regal old men, and the smell of fish tinted the cold breeze. The sun had begun to gather the day on the horizon, preparing for departure. Along the shoreline, the lake had piled up driftwood, foam, and debris.
“A storm is brewing,” Sandra commented. The stiff breeze tangled her braids out behind her.
Anne nodded, not adding that her life felt as if the storm had already hit shore. “I noticed that lighthouse in a picture in Dr. Simpson’s office.” She gestured to the white lighthouse on the point. “It’s pretty old.”
“Only about one hundred years. It’s been restored more times than I can count. It’s still in use, you know. She’s guided many a ship home by her light.” Sandra found a parking spot along the street behind a white Lincoln Navigator. Her pickup looked like the wreck of the Hesperus next to it, but somehow it fit better with the rugged scenery.
“The lighthouse has had only one real hiccup,” Sandra continued as she wrestled the stick shift into first. “There’s a wreck offshore, about a century old. The story goes that the lighthouse drew the ship in, giving her hope in the middle of an October gale, and then suddenly, poof! The light vanished. The schooner sank just yards from the harbor.”
Bitterness filled Anne’s chest again. Wasn’t that how life worked? When she thought she was safe in the middle of God’s hand, He dropped her. Her warm knitted world unraveled, the guiding light snuffed. “That’s a terrible story.”
Sandra pointed at a white bungalow beside the lighthouse. “Yes, but that’s not the end. The lighthouse keeper saw the light blow out and knew the ship was in trouble. He took his own whaler out in the middle of the gale, risking his life. Moments after the Elgin went down, he rescued the survivors. Not a soul perished.” Sandra touched Anne’s hand. “In the darkest moment, God’s always there.”
Anne glanced at her. “You sound like my mother.”
“I talked to your aunt in church yesterday.” Sandra offered an apologetic smile. “You can’t keep many secrets in a small town. I’m sorry to hear about your trauma last year.” She squeezed Anne’s hand. “I’m glad you moved here.”
The kindness of the gesture pushed tears into Anne’s eyes. “Thank you.” Her gaze tracked back to the lighthouse, imagining the light that it would broadcast when the sky blackened. She saw a man picking his way along the rocky base of the structure, a bag banging against his hips. Propped up some twenty feet away, a photographer’s tripod explained his puzzling movements. Evidently she wasn’t the only one affected by the mystique of the lighthouse.
Sandra
Anne made a face. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
Sandra shrugged. “You haven’t been in town long. Today was a doozy, right?” She tucked her purse, a woven Indian-patterned bag, over her shoulder. “I’m headed to the Footstep of Heaven for some coffee and book browsing. Wanna tag along? I’ll introduce you to the locals.”
With a swell of warmth, Anne nodded.
“Leave your SUV here. I’ll drive you back later.”
Sandra owned a very old, very intriguing, red, restored ’67 International Scout. “I guess seat belts weren’t invented yet?” Anne asked as she slid in.
“I had them installed.” Sandra dug in between the seat and found Anne’s strap. “Haven’t had guests for a while.” Laugh lines crinkled around her blue eyes, inviting Anne’s friendship.
Anne fought the urge to blurt out a stream of frustration and instead measured her thoughts. Wisdom dictated that she determine what team Sandra played on before she started bemoaning Dr. Simpson’s managerial practices. For all Anne knew, Sandra was in cahoots with the doctor and Mr. Grizzly. The woman looked the type to have a soft spot for kids.
Sandra drove out of the hospital parking lot. Along Main Street, seagulls waddled like regal old men, and the smell of fish tinted the cold breeze. The sun had begun to gather the day on the horizon, preparing for departure. Along the shoreline, the lake had piled up driftwood, foam, and debris.
“A storm is brewing,” Sandra commented. The stiff breeze tangled her braids out behind her.
Anne nodded, not adding that her life felt as if the storm had already hit shore. “I noticed that lighthouse in a picture in Dr. Simpson’s office.” She gestured to the white lighthouse on the point. “It’s pretty old.”
“Only about one hundred years. It’s been restored more times than I can count. It’s still in use, you know. She’s guided many a ship home by her light.” Sandra found a parking spot along the street behind a white Lincoln Navigator. Her pickup looked like the wreck of the Hesperus next to it, but somehow it fit better with the rugged scenery.
“The lighthouse has had only one real hiccup,” Sandra continued as she wrestled the stick shift into first. “There’s a wreck offshore, about a century old. The story goes that the lighthouse drew the ship in, giving her hope in the middle of an October gale, and then suddenly, poof! The light vanished. The schooner sank just yards from the harbor.”
Bitterness filled Anne’s chest again. Wasn’t that how life worked? When she thought she was safe in the middle of God’s hand, He dropped her. Her warm knitted world unraveled, the guiding light snuffed. “That’s a terrible story.”
Sandra pointed at a white bungalow beside the lighthouse. “Yes, but that’s not the end. The lighthouse keeper saw the light blow out and knew the ship was in trouble. He took his own whaler out in the middle of the gale, risking his life. Moments after the Elgin went down, he rescued the survivors. Not a soul perished.” Sandra touched Anne’s hand. “In the darkest moment, God’s always there.”
Anne glanced at her. “You sound like my mother.”
“I talked to your aunt in church yesterday.” Sandra offered an apologetic smile. “You can’t keep many secrets in a small town. I’m sorry to hear about your trauma last year.” She squeezed Anne’s hand. “I’m glad you moved here.”
The kindness of the gesture pushed tears into Anne’s eyes. “Thank you.” Her gaze tracked back to the lighthouse, imagining the light that it would broadcast when the sky blackened. She saw a man picking his way along the rocky base of the structure, a bag banging against his hips. Propped up some twenty feet away, a photographer’s tripod explained his puzzling movements. Evidently she wasn’t the only one affected by the mystique of the lighthouse.
Sandra
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