Read Online Wildflowers from Winter by Katie Ganshert - Free Book Online
Authors: Katie Ganshert
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lit-up television screen.
“We’ve heard about the free basketball camp run by Peaks’s star athletes, Hank and Joe Tipton,” the reporter said. “We’ve also heard about the tutoring service started by some of Peaks’s high school students. What other ways do you encourage the youth to make a change?”
Fenton smiled.
Bethany squeezed the top of the banister.
“To be honest, the ministry has outgrown me. These kids are coming up with all sorts of things. From cleaning up trash by the Mississippi River to volunteering at the local children’s hospital.” His brown eyes sparkled. “The attendance at First Light has increased steadily ever since the ministry began. We’re getting attendees from Albine and even some from across the river. People are curious. They want to know what we’re all about.”
The reporter tucked more hair behind her ear. “In a time of economic strife, I’m sure people appreciate a helping hand. It sounds like you’re experiencing the aftereffects of the community’s appreciation.”
Fenton nodded. “We’ve seen the blessings God has poured out on our church since I started this ministry. It just goes to show, God will always bless the righteous.”
“Thanks for your time, Pastor Fenton.” The reporter turned to address the camera, holding the microphone beneath her mouth. “The mayor of Peaks will be honoring Pastor Fenton for his service to the community at Peaks’s annual New Year’s Eve ball. So if you’d like to meet the man behind the ministry, mark it on your calendars.”
The screen panned to the newsroom, where two unfamiliar anchormen sat behind a desk. Bethany’s eyes lost focus. Pastor Fenton’s words swept through her body, uncovering memories she didn’t want uncovered.
God will always bless the righteous .
Maybe his words sounded good, but the layers beneath them dripped with unsaid meaning. She’d witnessed the damage those words had inflicted on her father.
Bethany released her hold on the railing and slogged up the stairs. She knew a sign when she saw one. Peaks was honoring Pastor Fenton. The Universe wasn’t just telling her to leave. It was using a bullhorn.
SEVEN
R obin Price clawed at the tissue in her lap, staring at the shreds of white dotting her jeans. Bethany shifted beside her while the organ procurement coordinator, a woman with a gray business suit and hair to match, ran down a list of questions. Questions about Micah. Robin gnawed on the inside of her cheek and didn’t stop until something warm and metallic touched her taste buds.
“Does your husband have any tattoos?”
She shook her head.
“Any piercings?”
“No.”
“Was he a drug user?”
She blinked.
The woman looked up from her script and frowned. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Price. These questions are part of the process.”
Robin jerked her head—an attempt at no .
The woman gathered the papers into a stack and tapped them against the table. The matter-of-factness of the moment made Robin flounder. That was it? They were finished? What about the other questions? The questions that had haunted her for the past week.
Like who was going to read the rest of the Grisham book on Micah’s nightstand? The one earmarked on page eighty-three. Or what about his Bible? His New Year’s resolution had been to read the entire thing in oneyear, and the inked margins stopped somewhere in the middle of Acts, followed by stark white space that made her want to scream. Who would fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen or clean out the boxes crammed in the rafters of their garage or finish a dozen other projects Micah had started? What about their dream to open a café together?
She massaged her throat with ice-cold fingers.
The woman slid the papers across the table and smiled, like Robin should be proud of herself—like she wasn’t about to sign her husband’s life away. “Your decision will change a dozen lives for the better.”
But not her own. This decision wouldn’t
“We’ve heard about the free basketball camp run by Peaks’s star athletes, Hank and Joe Tipton,” the reporter said. “We’ve also heard about the tutoring service started by some of Peaks’s high school students. What other ways do you encourage the youth to make a change?”
Fenton smiled.
Bethany squeezed the top of the banister.
“To be honest, the ministry has outgrown me. These kids are coming up with all sorts of things. From cleaning up trash by the Mississippi River to volunteering at the local children’s hospital.” His brown eyes sparkled. “The attendance at First Light has increased steadily ever since the ministry began. We’re getting attendees from Albine and even some from across the river. People are curious. They want to know what we’re all about.”
The reporter tucked more hair behind her ear. “In a time of economic strife, I’m sure people appreciate a helping hand. It sounds like you’re experiencing the aftereffects of the community’s appreciation.”
Fenton nodded. “We’ve seen the blessings God has poured out on our church since I started this ministry. It just goes to show, God will always bless the righteous.”
“Thanks for your time, Pastor Fenton.” The reporter turned to address the camera, holding the microphone beneath her mouth. “The mayor of Peaks will be honoring Pastor Fenton for his service to the community at Peaks’s annual New Year’s Eve ball. So if you’d like to meet the man behind the ministry, mark it on your calendars.”
The screen panned to the newsroom, where two unfamiliar anchormen sat behind a desk. Bethany’s eyes lost focus. Pastor Fenton’s words swept through her body, uncovering memories she didn’t want uncovered.
God will always bless the righteous .
Maybe his words sounded good, but the layers beneath them dripped with unsaid meaning. She’d witnessed the damage those words had inflicted on her father.
Bethany released her hold on the railing and slogged up the stairs. She knew a sign when she saw one. Peaks was honoring Pastor Fenton. The Universe wasn’t just telling her to leave. It was using a bullhorn.
SEVEN
R obin Price clawed at the tissue in her lap, staring at the shreds of white dotting her jeans. Bethany shifted beside her while the organ procurement coordinator, a woman with a gray business suit and hair to match, ran down a list of questions. Questions about Micah. Robin gnawed on the inside of her cheek and didn’t stop until something warm and metallic touched her taste buds.
“Does your husband have any tattoos?”
She shook her head.
“Any piercings?”
“No.”
“Was he a drug user?”
She blinked.
The woman looked up from her script and frowned. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Price. These questions are part of the process.”
Robin jerked her head—an attempt at no .
The woman gathered the papers into a stack and tapped them against the table. The matter-of-factness of the moment made Robin flounder. That was it? They were finished? What about the other questions? The questions that had haunted her for the past week.
Like who was going to read the rest of the Grisham book on Micah’s nightstand? The one earmarked on page eighty-three. Or what about his Bible? His New Year’s resolution had been to read the entire thing in oneyear, and the inked margins stopped somewhere in the middle of Acts, followed by stark white space that made her want to scream. Who would fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen or clean out the boxes crammed in the rafters of their garage or finish a dozen other projects Micah had started? What about their dream to open a café together?
She massaged her throat with ice-cold fingers.
The woman slid the papers across the table and smiled, like Robin should be proud of herself—like she wasn’t about to sign her husband’s life away. “Your decision will change a dozen lives for the better.”
But not her own. This decision wouldn’t
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