Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

W ednesday evening, two days later, Jacob ran into his steward in the stables on his way to go undercover as the Dorshams' driver. He glanced at the repaired thatched roof and noted the renovations. "The barn is coming along." He clapped Mr. Welsh on the shoulder.

His steward winced.

"You all right?" Knotted thread of hastily sewn fabric trailed an inch long down Mr. Welsh's coat sleeve. "What happened to your coat?"

"A loose nail jabbed me in the stables." Mr. Welsh raised his elbow and eyed the material before pointing to the spot where the assault took place. "Poked straight through my jacket."

Jacob had had his own run-in with a nail. Lord help him if word got back to Lieutenant Scar that he'd fainted. "We'll need to have the nail dealt with so it doesn't happen again."

"I had it removed. It won't bother anyone else, milord."

He eyed the steward, whose appearance had grown even more haggard in the past few weeks. "Perhaps I should send for the town physician to look at your shoulder. Make sure it's not infected."

"Don't bother." He raised his palm. "It's already healing."

"Very good. Why don't you get some rest, then?" Jacob mounted his horse. "You've been working too hard with the renovations."

Mr. Welsh bowed. "Thank you, milord."

As twilight loomed, Jacob trotted down the lane. A chill left over from winter hung in the air. At the Dorsham estate, he settled his horse inside the farthest stable, paid their coachman to enjoy a night off again, and climbed into the perch of the coach. Only a few minutes passed before the Dorsham family called for their carriage to be brought around. He lowered his beaver hat and tugged his collar points higher to hide his face. Snapping the reins, he urged the team to the main entrance.

The family moved from the house, and the conveyance tilted as Lord Dorsham entered the carriage, followed by his wife and daughter.

As the sinking sun lay shadows across their path, Jacob drove the team along the darkening turnpike toward the Rogers' party. He scanned for movement—any approaching men on horseback—his weapon ready at his hip.

All remained quiet until he pulled into the Rogers' drive. Lines of coaches dropped off guests who filed out and entered the Georgian-style home. The windows glowed with the occasional guest passing in front and dimming the chandeliers' blaze.

Lady Dorsham and Miss Dorsham were assisted from the carriage by a footman. They ascended the stairs, Lord Dorsham followed behind, and handed their card to the butler, who swung the doors wide and announced their arrival.

Jacob pulled the conveyance around to wait and turned his ear to the other coachmen's gossip while watching guests enter the party.

Lady Benton arrived with Lady Anne Fenster.

Several hours passed while Jacob listened to the coachman mostly complain about their employers and the toll workers who tried to charge double. The number of guests arriving dwindled.

A coach pulled in front of the residence. The emblem and driver's livery looked familiar, but both were hard to determine in the moonlight.

A short man dressed in finery exited the coach. He extended his hand for another passenger, flashing the red silk lining of his cape. Jacob straightened and strained for a better view.

A blond woman emerged, her head lifted high with a sparkling tiara restraining pinned curls.

He held his breath. When she turned toward him, there could be no doubt.

Sarah.

The Duke of Charlton had a holding in the upper Cotswolds, not far from here.

The old, familiar pain struck him in the chest. The hurt remained, but the desire he'd held for so many years had dissipated. She was still beautiful…but not what he wanted. She'd withheld his son from him, and for that reason, any beauty she'd once possessed no longer appealed to him.

Besides, he'd developed an affinity for petite brunettes, vicar's daughters with small pert noses and artistic talent.

"There's the duke and duchess." Burton's driver slapped the shoulder of the coachman parked parallel to him. "I bet you a shilling we'll see the duchess depart in under ten minutes."

The man snorted as his and her grace entered the party. "I'll take that bet."

Another coach reined to a halt in front of the grand manor, and a man exited.

Jacob squinted. He'd seen that tall silhouette before, but where?

A woman descended and tucked her hand into the man's arm.

Lady Copeland?

Hound's teeth.

The tall man… Wasn't he the one who'd had the clandestine meeting with Miss Dorsham? What was Miss Dorsham thinking, dallying with a married man? There was no good ending to that situation. Heaven help her if she wound up carrying his child. She couldn't force a man to the altar if he was already married.

Someone needed to talk sense into Miss Phoebe Dorsham before it was too late, but it couldn't be him. It needed to be a woman.

Emily?

She was Miss Dorsham's closest friend.

A side door opened, and Sarah strode onto the Rogers' veranda.

A man stepped from the shadows. Jacob was too far away to get a good look at their faces, but the mysterious man appeared hesitant.

Sarah glanced around before approaching the poor lad. She slid her white gloves up his arms and toyed with his hair. She whispered something in the man's ear, and the bloke responded by wrapping her in an embrace and kissing her with the fiery passion of a starved man being offered a delicious treat. The kiss deepened with hands and arms roving over backs and hips.

With a snort, Jacob was ready to look elsewhere. But Sarah broke the kiss and walked away.

The poor fool followed, his palms up as if pleading with her.

Instead of retreating to the garden or greenhouse, where guests met for trysts, she led the man into an unmarked carriage. They climbed inside, the driver cracked his whip, and the coach sped down the lane.

It must be a new trend of the fashionable set to hold their clandestine assignations inside coaches.

"Where do you think those two are off to?" Jacob addressed a nearby coachman, nodding at the retreating coach turning onto the road.

The round-faced man pushed down on the top of his driving hat with the palm of his hand. "I shouldn't be sayin', but she and that young fellow often leave parties together. It's not a secret that the duke and duchess don't hold any love for one another."

Was Sarah's hard heart even capable of love? "Where do they go?"

The man shrugged. "I figure the nearest inn."

"The closest inn is an hour's ride there and back." Jacob checked his watch. It was already past midnight. They wouldn't be returning until three in the morning. "Wouldn't the guests be leaving by then? The duke?"

"Bah." The driver peered toward the door. "The duke dips deep in his cups. I've never seen him leave before my charges, and they often leave with the rising sun."

Jacob had heard rumors of the duke being a gambler but tried not to pay the gossip any heed lest he celebrate the man's shortfalls. Just because wagging tongues said he, too, initially had been beguiled by Sarah didn't make the duke a bad person. Lord knew Jacob was working on his faults.

One of the coachmen he'd spoken to earlier excused himself. He snapped the reins and picked up his charges. The other drivers pulled their coats tight and settled in for a long wait.

Jacob yawned. His eyelids grew heavy as the sound of carriage wheels crunching down the lane grew distant. These late nights were taking their toll. He leaned back in his seat and drifted off for a quick nap.

He jolted awake to the sound of an approaching carriage.

The unmarked conveyance had returned, but only Sarah exited. She checked the positioning of her tiara and, with a defiant air, strode up the stairs, not seeming to care if anyone noticed her return.

Jacob leaned toward the lantern and flicked open his pocket watch. Two in the morning. She certainly hadn't made it to the inn. He snorted. Although, back when she owned his heart, they hadn't needed an inn to escape their fathers' verbal attacks and find comfort in each other's arms. A hayloft had sufficed, but she'd left him for finer things.

He'd have thought she'd hold higher expectations now.

Lord, Lady, and Miss Dorsham exited the building, and Jacob lowered the brim of his hat and snapped the reins to drive up in front of his charges.

"What a waste of an evening," Miss Dorsham said to her mother as the footman aided Lady Dorsham into the carriage. "I thought for certain Lord Warren would be in attendance." She accepted the footman's help up the mounting block. "Pity because I'd hoped to dance with him without Emily around as a distraction."

Lady Dorsham harrumphed. "She's setting her sights too high with Lord Warren."

Set her sights for him? He wished. Jacob strained to hear more.

"Everyone knows she'll marry Peter Mathis." Miss Dorsham's tone spoke of whining. "Why make things harder for me? Mr. Mathis confided that he left for London to purchase a ring and should be returning?—"

The door closed, cutting off the rest of her sentence.

Mathis.

That sour-faced cuffin would snuff the joy out of Emily. An image of her entered his mind. She was dressed in a drab, high-collared gown scrambling to pull over a footstool and hand Mathis his pipe. Mathis would read the paper while she stood dutifully by, ready to wait upon him.

Blast . Jacob snapped the reins a little too hard, and the horses burst forward. Emily believed the worst of him after discovering he was Christian's father. He'd need to find a way to redeem himself in her eyes, and quickly, before Mathis returned.

T wo days after she'd last seen Jacob, Emily stared at his painted face, so much like the image that had preoccupied her thoughts as of late. She returned her attention to the background and painted the silhouette of a tree against a red sunset. The cool air chilled her nose and cheeks, but her hands remained warm from furiously working to finish the commission and be done with him.

It wasn't her typical choice of backdrop. She preferred blue puffy-cloud skies, but the colors reflected her mood. How could she have been so foolish to think Lord Warren might be a man of character? What did he plan to do next? Would he take Christian from them?

Her tight grip on the brush hindered her from working. She forced her hand to relax.

"Emily, dear," Mama called from the open doorway. "Do come inside. It's almost time for the evening meal, and we're having company. I'll send Samuel to help move the canvas."

She finished the small tree she'd been adding as Samuel arrived to aid her.

"Please tell me our company isn't the chatty Mrs. Evans with the odd giggle or dreary Mr. French whose only delight in life is to complain."

"Thank heaven, no." Samuel carried the canvas into the salon. "It's?—"

"Set it right over there near the window." Emily pointed to the spot, and Samuel grunted when the canvas's edge hit the oil lamp wall fixture. Emily righted it before any oil spilled. Thanking her brother, she said, "You go on and tell Mama I must clean up first. It will only take a minute."

Emily put away her paints and cleaned her brushes. She entered through the kitchen and scampered up the stairs. The clock in the hallway chimed the six o'clock hour. Drat! She hadn't even changed.

In her chamber, she quickly stripped out of her sturdy nankeen dress and rang for Mrs. Hayes, who helped her to fasten the buttons on the back of her muslin day gown. She hustled downstairs to the dining room, where she could hear Papa's laughter and forks clanking against china.

"My apologies for being late." She strode into the room and froze.

Jacob was seated beside Papa at the family table. Her mother and Samuel were there as well.

Emily's jaw clenched, and a white-hot flame lit inside her belly.

The gentlemen rose.

"Emily, please have a seat." Mama gestured to the only empty pacesetting at the table, which was, of course, next to Jacob. "Samuel ran into Lord Warren in town, and he was nice enough to agree to join us for supper." She turned her attention back to him. "He was just telling us that his brother, the marquis, is arriving next week to see Brownstone Hall's progress."

Jacob pulled out her chair, and Emily sat.

The men resumed their seats as well.

She said a quick prayer and dug into her food, preferring to focus on eating instead of the infuriating man next to her.

"Nora, my sister-in-law, will be visiting as well. She wants to see the progress and layout before ordering fabrics and whatnot from London." Jacob sipped from his cup.

Emily could feel Samuel's eyes on her, no doubt wondering about her cool behavior.

"Tell us about the marchioness?" Mama cut a piece of ham but didn't remove her gaze from Jacob. "I do hope I get a chance to meet her. We are so blessed to have the privilege of the aristocracy in our town."

"She is a splendid woman filled with grace and a charming personality. She's patient with my dictatorial brother. Also perceptive and merciful, much like your daughter."

Emily felt his regard, but she kept her gaze locked on her mother, who practically glowed from the compliment.

"But is she as talented as our Emily?" Mama said.

"With a brush, no, but she can play the pianoforte like Mozart."

"Truly?"

"I've seen her play his piano concerto number twenty-one blindfolded."

"Remarkable." Papa grunted his approval. "She is talented, indeed. They should be pleased with all your work at Brownstone Hall. I passed by the other day. The home has regained its former splendor."

"It is coming along nicely. Thanks to the help the Sylvanwood community has provided, for finding craftsmen and hiring a small army of workers is a tremendous feat. Once again, I thank you for your assistance."

Samuel swallowed a bite of bread. "When will it be complete?"

"The roof is finished," Jacob said, "and the rotted boards replaced. The west wing still needs a fresh coat of paint, and a few windows need re-glazing, but for the most part, the rest of the work is cosmetic. Hence, why I've asked the marchioness to pay a visit." Emily felt his gaze on her but only allowed herself to look at his right hand holding his fork with a dripping piece of roast speared on the end. "I was hoping Miss Thompson could aid Nora in determining colors. I'm also looking forward to my brother and his wife seeing Miss Thompson's painting. Although, it may not be completed."

"It will be finished." Emily stabbed at a cooked carrot.

"That soon?" Mama drew back.

"I'll make certain of it." The sooner, the better.

Jacob ate a bite of roast and swallowed. "The food is delicious. Thank you for inviting me to dine."

"It's our pleasure," Mama said.

With her fork, Emily pushed the carrot from one side of her plate to the other. "If only Mrs. Hayes had served Brussels sprouts."

Jacob hid a snorted laugh by coughing and sipping from his glass.

"What did you say about Brussels sprouts?" Papa leaned closer.

"They're his lordship's favorite." Emily dared to look at Jacob and wanted to blot out the playful spark in his blue eyes with her paintbrush.

"Had I known, I would have had Mrs. Hayes prepare some." Mama sighed. "I shall note that for next time you dine with us."

Emily muttered, "With any luck, there won't be a next time."

"Did you say something?" Papa stared at her.

"Next time, of course," she said.

"Speak up, my dear. We didn't raise you to mumble." Papa turned his attention to her brother, giving her a moment's reprieve. "So Samuel, how was your visit with the Pearsons today?"

As Samuel recounted his day, and while her parents listened to him, Jacob leaned toward her and whispered, "We need to talk."

She pretended to wipe her mouth. "I don't believe that's necessary."

"I insist."

"Lord Warren"—Papa cut a piece of his roast—"have you taken the time to pray about God's purpose for you?"

Emily focused on her food, trying to appear uninterested.

"I have, and I believe God is answering, but how do I know if I'm hearing God's will or my own?"

Papa sat back in his chair and smiled. "Brilliant question."

"I'd hoped asking God to help me with my situation wasn't being disrespectful."

"Not at all. David brought his questions to God." Papa tapped his fingertips together. "The answer isn't simple. God reveals Himself in different ways to different people. When He called me into ministry, I resisted. I didn't know how to shepherd people. I wasn't an expert on the Bible. I was a sinner. God, however, continued to put the call on my heart. I even tried to go another route—used my savings to buy some land with a plan to become a gentleman farmer, but the restlessness I felt wouldn't go away. The further I drifted from His purpose, the worse it became until I wasn't even sleeping at night. I finally handed my fears over to God and worked to become a vicar. I was installed into a living in Sylvanwood and have found peace and joy in doing God's work." He patted the table. "That's not to say it was an easy road once I submitted to God. I had a fair share of problems, including our first vicarage burning to the ground, but I knew God was for me." He eyed his children. "And ‘if God is for me…'"

Emily and Samuel chorused their response. "‘Then who can be against me?'"

Papa's proud smile showed his love not only for his children but also for God. He turned to Jacob. "Does that help?"

"Quite." He stared at the basket of rolls in the center of the table. "I have been restless, as though I need to fill a void and haven't been able to. It sounds petty, but I tried to fill the emptiness with parties and outrageous people, but the hole only seemed to grow bigger."

"And you said God is showing you some of your giftings?" Papa sipped his drink.

"Since I've come to Sylvanwood, I've found satisfaction in restoring the Hall—breathing new life into something. I'm meeting the tenants, seeing their needs, and helping however I can. There's a lot of fulfillment in it. The odd thing is that it's not about me. I struggled for so long, stuffing everything into my void, but it never filled. Then I assisted others with their needs and found that my restlessness disappeared. Who would have thought aiding others would help me?"

Papa saluted with his glass. "Welcome to the upside-down world of Jesus, where the meek inherit the earth and the poor in spirit are the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. Where we forgive those who have wronged us, and where whatever you do for the least of these you do for God."

"I feel as though I'm moving in the right direction."

Emily sent up a silent prayer of forgiveness for her earlier childish behavior. God was doing a great work in Jacob, and her attitude was a poor example of Christlikeness. But God, even if Jacob is changing his ways, please don't let him take Christian from us.

Papa asked Mama to pass him the Bible on the sideboard. When she did, he handed it to Jacob and tapped the cover. "Read this book. I believe you'll find Ecclesiastes and the book of Matthew helpful to answer your questions further."

"Thank you." He flipped it open and stared at the fine print on the pages. "I shall return it to you?—"

"Keep it. I have access to more. All the answers can be found within those pages."

"I'm sorry to hear that your first parsonage burned. I hope no one was hurt."

"Praise God everyone got out all right." Mama glanced at the ceiling, sending her thanks to heaven.

"We were newly married, and Christian was just a baby." Papa patted Mama's hand. "A log had rolled out of the hearth. Mrs. Thompson and I were out back planting a garden. Mrs. Hayes was in her pantry packing food baskets to take to the sick. Samuel was in the field."

Emily twisted the napkin in her lap. The memory still raised the fine hair on the back of her neck and brought back the image of flames licking the curtains and her desperation to get to Christian.

Mama put down her fork. "Emily saw the flames first and hollered. I don't know why we hadn't smelled the smoke. It could have been the breeze was blowing the opposite way. Christian was napping in the nursery. I screamed, running toward the house, but Emily burst through the door carrying Christian. We didn't even know she'd gone inside." She splayed a hand over her chest and exhaled as if reliving the moment. "Angels watched over us that day." She issued Emily a motherly smile. "Emily's been protective of Christian ever since."

Emily swallowed the sip of soda water and set her glass down. Her defense of her younger brother started before then. She'd bonded with Christian the day he was born, when she vowed to keep him safe, even from his birth mother, who'd discarded him like an outdated gown. She wanted to glare at Jacob, question him with her eyes if he'd be willing to risk his life for Christian as she had. Mama and Papa would be astounded by her lack of manners, so she kept her gaze on the plate in front of her.

Papa cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hayes ran out, hearing Mama's scream. She had no idea the house was on fire. The house went up like dry kindling. We lost all our material possessions, but they were only things." He smiled at his family. "Our small community came together, and God raised us from the ashes."

"And you are a tight-knit family because of it," Jacob said.

Papa nodded. "Indeed, we are blessed."

"Where is young Christian?" Jacob asked. "Does he take his meals in the nursery still?"

Emily eyed Jacob, her heart pounding. What was he after?

Mrs. Hayes collected the dishes, and Mama rose. "He's sharing a tutor with our neighbor's son. They are of a similar age. The tutor took them on an outing, but Christian should be along in an hour or so."

The rest of the family and Jacob rose, but Jacob waylaid Papa. "Might I have a moment alone with you?"

"Certainly. Come and join me in my study."

Emily stared at Jacob's retreating form. He didn't walk with his usual swagger. Instead, he respectfully bowed to Papa and trailed him. She itched to follow, to press her ear to the door as she and Samuel used to when Mama and Papa had private discussions. She glanced down at her hands. Her napkin lay twisted into a tight coil between her fingers. She tossed it onto the table and followed her mother into the sitting room.

What was Jacob telling Papa?

Mama picked up her embroidery, and Emily grabbed her sketchbook. After scribbling a mess of lines that didn't take any shape, she put the drawing down and stared at the open door to the hall. She wanted to scream and pound on Papa's study.

She wanted to yell at the man, You can't take Christian from us!

J acob tried to calm his breathing and focus on the spot above the vicar's eyes in between his brows. He found no deep creases there as his father had, the result of holding a constant scowl. But Jacob wasn't facing his father's vicious temper.

He sat opposite the vicar and watched the man over a well-used mahogany desk. Even so, his nerves were screaming and his stomach twisting. Because whether or not they approved, he was already entwined with their family. He wanted to earn their respect, and that started with honesty.

Jacob never had far to fall from his father's already low opinion of him, but the vicar was different. The plummet was a steep drop. This man had welcomed him into his home, to his table. He'd conversed with Jacob as if what Jacob said meant something, as though his opinion held merit. When the truth came out, all of that would change.

"So, Lord Warren..." Mr. Thompson leaned back and laced his fingers across his stomach, reminding Jacob of his older brother, Robert. "You had something you wanted to discuss?"

Jacob scooted forward in his chair and wiped his palms down the top of his breeches. "Since you are a man of the church, I'm going to confess my sins, of which I have many, and ask for your grace, mercy, and forgiveness."

The corner of the vicar's brow twitched, but he held back any display of emotion. It must have taken years of training for such a feat.

Jacob rolled his lips. "As you already may know, I do not hold a good reputation in London, and my ill repute is deserved." He inhaled a breath to steady his nerves. "The summer I graduated from university, I fell in love with a woman of the Quality. At least, I thought it was love. She was beautiful, and I was besotted. I planned to marry her, but we did things out of order, and she became with child."

Jacob paused, waiting for a tongue-lashing or, at the very least, a lecture, but none came. He dared not meet the vicar's gaze for fear of seeing the breadth of his disappointment.

"I proposed, but she refused my offer because she endeavored to marry a wealthy, titled aristocrat." He relayed the entire tale with his head hanging, staring at his quivering hands. When he was finished, he glanced up, expecting to see a scowl of loathing, disappointment, or anger.

He didn't expect to find sympathy reflected in the man's eyes.

Jacob exhaled and forced out the words that would surely send the man into a tirade. "Christian is my son."

Mr. Thompson's brows lifted, and his eyes widened, but his surprise lasted only a moment. His face softened. "I see." He closed his eyes, breathing slowly. Was he praying? When he opened his eyes, he didn't smile, but neither did he shout or scowl. "God has been preparing my heart for this. I've had the impression that this day would come since Christian was born. Christian is a joy that God has loaned to us, but I won't place my son into unworthy hands."

Jacob's chest tightened. He wanted to rile at the reverend. Christian was his blood, and he'd altered his entire life in search of him. Who was he to stop him? But looking into the reverend's face, an awareness settled that this man, this family, had also sacrificed much for Christian and loved him dearly.

"God has placed you and Christian in the forefront of my mind lately. You—Christian's father—have been at the top of my prayer list." Mr. Thompson inhaled as if to steady his emotions. "We have always known that you or his mother could appear on our doorstep. We've never regretted adopting. We understood there'd be unanswered questions and stigmas associated with it. At least Christian has the opportunity for some answers." He tilted his head. "I can see the resemblance."

"So did Miss Thompson."

"Emily is more observant than most."

"Indeed. She confronted me a few days ago, and I admitted the truth to her. When you invited me to dinner tonight, it seemed clear she hadn't told you. While I appreciate her silence, it seemed wrong to deceive you and Mrs. Thompson any longer."

"We care for Christian very much."

"I know. It's evident in the boy's actions and confidence. He is well loved here."

"What are your plans?"

Jacob massaged the back of his head. "Truthfully, I don't know. I've been searching for my son for five years. I arrived intending to bring him back with me to London."

"And now?" The vicar's voice sounded tight.

"I want to be part of his life, but I also want what's best for him."

"As do we." Mr. Thompson shifted in his seat. "Besides Emily, is anyone else aware?"

"My aunt, but she keeps to herself and isn't prone to gossip."

Mr. Thompson grunted. "I'd say that's an understatement. Before your arrival, Lady Athol hadn't spoken to anyone except a few words to my wife as long as I'd been in Sylvanwood."

"Lord Athol was an unkind man."

"Your arrival has been good for her." He inhaled a deep breath. "And I believe it will be good for Christian, but informing him must be done properly and with God's guidance."

Jacob leaned forward. "What would you have me do?"

"Pray about it, and so shall I."

Jacob straightened. "That's it?"

He nodded. "There isn't a better source of wisdom than the Almighty. We are not to trust in human wisdom but instead seek God's power. The book of James states that if you seek God's wisdom, He will give it generously without finding fault."

Without finding fault? Jacob blinked. Could God and Mr. Thompson see him for the man he wanted to be and not just the man he used to be?

Mr. Thompson stood, and Jacob followed suit.

They walked toward the door, but Jacob stopped and shook his head. "Why would God bother with me? I have so many shortcomings."

"We all have sinned and fall short of God's glory." Mr. Thompson clasped a hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Sin separates us from God, but Jesus offers us a clean slate. Like the spotless lambs our forefathers sacrificed so the people could be purified before God, Jesus died, offering his blood to cleanse us from our sins." He pulled a well-worn Bible off the bookshelf and read from Psalms. "‘As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us.'"

Jacob rubbed his chin. "You can't sail that in a day."

"No, you cannot." Mr. Thompson chuckled and reached for the doorknob. "While you're praying for God's insight with Christian, why don't you ask for God's wisdom with Emily as well?"

"You're right. I owe her an apology, even though she doesn't seem eager to be in my presence right now."

Mr. Thompson clasped Jacob's shoulder. "That's not what I mean, son. I've seen how you look at her, and she holds you in regard also." He snorted. "Maybe not at the moment, but give her time."

Jacob stiffened, and his knees turned as brittle as dried kindling. "You'd consider me for your daughter? What about Mathis? I thought everything was predetermined."

"I will obey whatever God's plans are for my children, for His ways are higher than ours, and we want God's best for all. Whatever He determines that to be." Mr. Thompson swung the door wide.

Jacob's mind whirled, and somehow, his legs held as he walked through the door. He peered over his shoulder needing one last confirmation that he'd heard correctly. "I have a lot of praying to do, then."

Mr. Thompson's warm gaze held a peace Jacob couldn't fathom. "‘Ask and it shall be given to you. Seek and ye shall find. Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.'"

Jacob patted the Bible given to him. "I have some reading to do also."