A virtuous heart keeps an orderly home. “Dang it!” Bekah Richards said, standing in the middle of her messy living room. “I’m in big trouble.”

Her virtue obviously wasn’t in any state to receive a guest like Brother Martin Branner, head pastor of the Fellowship of True Christian Churches. It was too bad that he was arriving in half an hour.

She flew through the cramped space, grabbing magazines, dishes, stray socks, and at least four pairs of shoes. Most of the mess was her housemate Laney’s, but Bekah only had time to give an impression, not explanations.

Their house was a converted garage, consisting of a small living room, a smaller kitchen, a cozy bathroom, and two cubbyholes they called bedrooms. Laney liked to stand in the middle of the house, spread out her arms, and shout that they were “livin’ the dream!” She still didn’t understand just how ironic her joke was for Bekah. At twenty years old, Bekah was living in her own place, not married, and working a full-time job. She wasn’t living any dream she’d been given under Martin Branner’s pastorate.

Stopping to catch her breath, Bekah glanced down and realized she was still wearing her work uniform—a dark green shirt and black shorts. For a girl who had grown up in the Fellowship of True Christian Churches, wearing shorts was even worse than having a messy house. With a groan, she dashed upstairs to her bedroom.

The skirt she pulled from her closet was too tight. She fastened it around her plump middle with an effort, giving up on the zipper when it was halfway closed. She chose a light pink blouse that set off her gray eyes—and also hung over the waistband of her skirt to hide the straining button.

Pulling out her ponytail, Bekah dragged a brush through her long brown hair and braided it. Seeing herself in the mirror, she was startled. She looked like her old Fellowship self again, and it highlighted just how much she had changed over the last year and a half.

Bekah’s eyes went to the framed tapestry on her wall, which she had cross-stitched herself. It was the second half of Proverbs Thirty-One, and she’d used crimson thread for the one verse that every Fellowship woman knew by heart: Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. That verse, and the passage that followed it, set the standard of womanhood for every Fellowship female.

Bekah’s stock of virtue was pretty low right now, even with a clean house and a skirt on. The quickest way to redeem herself in Martin Branner’s eyes would be to quit her job and move back in with her parents, and she wasn’t planning to do that. But she was anxious to make sure he didn’t kick her out of the church officially.

She heard a knock at the front door. She sucked in her stomach to ease the uncomfortable skirt and hurried downstairs. With a smile, she opened the door. “Hello, Brother Martin. Please come in!”

There he stood, wearing a white collared shirt and black dress slacks despite the Mississippi July heat. His white hair was combed neatly, and his expressive face was remarkably unlined for his age. Just behind him was his son, Rob. At thirty-three, Rob wasn’t as dynamic as his father, but he had been Bekah’s youth pastor since she turned eleven, and she liked him.

“Hi there, Bekah,” Martin said warmly. “Hope you got my message.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

He stepped inside and looked around. “It’s good of you to have me.”

He had phoned while on his way to her house; she hadn’t really had a choice whether to host him or not. But it made her feel gracious to say pleasantly, “Welcome to Maple Court. It’s named for all the oak trees around it.” Both men smiled appreciatively. “Please sit down. Both of y’all.”

“I’m not here to stay,” Rob said with a glance at his father. “Mom needed me to pick up some things while I’m in town. I’ll be back in, what, half an hour sound good?”

“How about you just wait in the car for me, son?” said Martin without looking back at him. “Won’t take long.”

Rob hesitated, then said, “Yes, sir. Good to see you, Bekah.”

“You too,” Bekah replied. He walked back to the silver Mercedes parked at the curb. It seemed a waste of gas to sit in the car and run the air conditioning, but nobody argued with Martin.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Bekah closed the door and turned back to Martin. She had forgotten how short he was, only a few inches taller than she. His personality loomed so large that in her memory he seemed like a much bigger man. Even now he appeared too vibrant for her drab little living room.

“Would you have some tea on hand?”

“Sweet or unsweet?”

“You know I like it just shy of syrup,” Martin answered, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

Bekah should have remembered that. Martin’s wife, Deb, sweetened their tea with honey instead of sugar. All the women in the Fellowship had served “honey sweet tea” for a while. Bekah had hated that fad. “Sweet it is, then.”

He sat down on the brown plaid couch while Bekah hurried into the kitchen. Her skirt was too tight and she wished she could go change.

She got Laney’s blue pitcher out of the fridge and poured up a tall glass of dark, sweet tea. Bekah was one of those rare Southerners who liked hers unsweet, so her tea was in the yellow pitcher. She added a couple of ice cubes to the glass and carried it back out to Martin.

She sat down at the other end of the couch. With a soft pop, the button on her skirt gave up the ghost. Bekah kept her face blank. She realized that Martin was talking to her, and caught up just as he said, “This is a cozy house.”

“Thank you. It’s great if you were a car in a former life.”

He looked at her in surprise, and she mentally reviewed her words. It was a standard joke that she and Laney used for most of their guests, but she realized that reincarnation might not be the best topic for a Fellowship pastor.

Martin said casually, “Well, I’m sure it was worth leaving Currie Creek to live here. You work long hours at that job?”

“Not too long,” Bekah answered defensively. Martin had said some pretty stinging things about a daughter who left her father’s home to pursue money. He hadn’t returned any of the offering checks she’d sent to the church, though. “Seven-thirty to five. And I enjoy working with plants.” She gestured to the thriving plants around the room, all of which had been sickly when she brought them home from Patterson’s Garden Supply. Laney referred to it as “Bekah’s Plant Rescue Service.”

“This person you share your house with—she’s a good Christian girl?”

“Yes, sir.” No need to get picky about definitions, such as whether a “good” Christian girl would teach Bekah how to dance in this very living room.

“How did you meet her? Does she work with you?”

“Her fiancé does,” answered Bekah. “He’s my supervisor. He introduced me to Laney.”

“Her fiancé? Does he come over a lot? With his friends?”

He was trying to find out if she associated with young men in an unchaperoned home, which in the Fellowship was assumed to lead straight to fornication. Bekah replied calmly, “Ty doesn’t come over too often. He’s too busy at Patterson’s and involved in his church.” She said the last part with satisfaction. Ty was a good friend of hers, and she was glad that he could show up to such advantage in her conversation with Martin.

Martin nodded, his expression thoughtful. Bekah quickly lined up several evasive answers in case he pursued the subject of young men. No need for Martin to know that she had her eye on one of the new managers at the store.

But what he said was, “Speaking of church,” and Bekah thought that maybe this was where he was really aiming.

“Speaking of church,” he said again, “We’ve certainly missed seeing you for the last… long while.”

“I know. My parents are still down to one vehicle.” She’d moved to Hampton, forty miles from home, because her dad couldn’t drive her to work every day. At least from Maple Court, she could walk to work. “I’ve attended church with Laney and Ty a few times.”

“Well now,” said Martin with a conspiratorial smile, “we know that not all churches are created equal, don’t we?” She knew he was thinking that Laney’s and Ty’s church probably had a praise band with drums, which the Fellowship frowned upon. Bekah’s opinion was that all churches were pretty much the same, in that God seemed to like them a lot more than she did. She and God didn’t often cross paths these days.

Martin leaned forward. His eyes were serious. “I’ve wondered how you must be doing. It’s a hard thing, making your own way, isn’t it? You’re living away from everybody you know, working in the world, and trying to remain untainted. As you grew up in your father’s home, is this how you pictured yourself living?”

Guilt assailed her. He wasn’t fooled by her proper clothes and demure attitude. Evidently it was harder to hide from Martin than it was from God.

“The spirit of independence creeps in without our realizing it sometimes,” he went on. He let a silence fall between them, until Bekah was uncomfortably aware that she didn’t have anything to say.

“But the reason I came,” he said, sitting up straighter, “is to ask you a favor.”

Bekah looked up. Relief mingled with surprise. “A favor? Of course I’ll be glad to help if I can.”

Again he seemed shocked. It registered that she didn’t used to speak so confidently to him. This was how she talked to her boss, Graham Patterson. Bekah scrambled to rephrase her remark to sound more like her Fellowship self. All she could think of was to quote flippantly from the book of First Samuel: “Speak now, for your servant is listening.” She remained silent.

Martin sat back on the couch, sighing. “To be completely frank, Bekah, things are in kind of a mess in the Fellowship right now. Lots of dissension. It grieves my heart, and grieves the Lord.”

She tensed, waiting to see if he would manage to pin the blame on wayward youth. He went on, “And I’m afraid your parents got caught in the middle.”

“Sir? What do you mean?” Now she was alarmed. Her relationship with her parents, especially her mother, had taken a serious blow when she moved out. Recently they had found their way back to peace, helped largely by the fact that her parents had been assigned to be houseparents on the Fellowship’s church campus. That sign of favor had reassured all three of them that the Richards family was still in good standing.

Martin didn’t answer directly. “I blame myself,” he replied, “but I think when you hear my explanation, you’ll agree that it wasn’t something I could prevent. Not entirely, anyway.”

Bekah had listened to enough of his sermons to recognize a digression when she heard one. It was the same tone he used when he would state a stirring premise—“Nobody who listens to ungodly music can seriously seek God”—and then spend the next forty-five minutes working back up to it. She clenched her hands in her lap and put what she hoped was a patient expression on her face.

He let her wait. The moments crawled by. Finally he said, “I’ll make the news public soon. I’ve been diagnosed with liver cancer. The doctors don’t believe I’ll live past next year.”

Bekah was so astonished that she couldn’t put her words together. “I’m sorry… you don’t look sick… do you really mean that, Brother Martin?”

He nodded gravely. “I do. I’ll announce it to the congregation this week. Thank you for wanting to doubt it.” He patted her hand in a fatherly gesture. “I’ve faced the truth. The hardest part is knowing that I’ll be leaving my wife and children, that I won’t see my grandchildren grow up.” His brilliant blue eyes were sad. Bekah felt sorrow rising up inside her.

“So between doctor’s visits and getting my affairs in order and… a lot of weeping…” He paused and took a deep breath. Tears pricked Bekah’s eyes. “…I wasn’t as present at the church as I’ve always been. It fell to the deacon board to handle church and campus matters. They were frustrated.” Martin cleared his throat. Bekah stared at him, imagining this man defeated by sickness and death. If he died, where would that leave the Fellowship?

In Rob’s hands, of course. He didn’t have his father’s drive, but he was popular. But nobody expected Rob to take over this soon. Martin was supposed to be like his father, Harlan, and live well into his nineties. He didn’t seem old enough, or sick enough, to die.

Martin crossed one foot over his knee. “I was actually up in Jackson, seeing a specialist there, when everything broke loose on campus. I got back yesterday and found out that the deacon board had dismissed your parents from the House and were threatening to remove your father from the board.”

“My parents were dismissed? Why? They didn’t tell me!”

Martin held out his hands helplessly. “I don’t quite understand everything that went on. They can give you more details. All I know is that I came home, weary and heart-sore, and stepped into a nest of fighting copperheads. There is so much anger and dissension and sin.” He put his full preacher volume into the last word.

“But can’t you reassign my parents back to the House?”

He shook his head. “At this point, that would only make things worse. Because, the fact is—and I don’t think I’m saying anything you don’t already know, Bekah.” He looked at her, his blue eyes locking all her attention onto him. “You living away from home like this, out from under your father’s authority, not coming to church—it doesn’t reflect very well on your father as the head of his family. The other deacons are talking about his disorderly household. I don’t think anything I say is going to change their minds.”

That stung. In the Fellowship, the men worked hard to prove they were able leaders of their households. The other deacons were hitting her dad where it hurt most. She looked away and asked carefully, “So, the favor?”

“Return to your father’s house,” Martin said. “Show that you do live under his authority, and that he does have an orderly household.”

It crossed Bekah’s mind that if Brother Martin wanted revenge, this was a fine way to go about it. Bekah had begged relentlessly to be allowed to take the job at Patterson’s. Her mother and Martin had objected. Her dad, who avoided conflict at all costs, had caved. But he’d caved to Bekah, not Martin.

“I respect and love your parents a great deal, Bekah,” Martin was saying. “I want everyone else to think well of them.” He paused. In a softer tone, he added, “I remember when they first came to the church. They had rough edges, but I saw the diamonds. You know they were planning to start divorce proceedings.” Bekah nodded. She knew the story of how the Fellowship saved her family. “And you were, what? Seven?”

“Eight.”

“Eight. You climbed Old Creaky and got stuck at the top with… who was it?”

Smiling briefly at the memory, Bekah said, “Nate Briscoe. He got stuck first. I went up to help him. It was kind of a disaster all around.”

Martin’s smile was warm. “From the first, your little family brought in a breath of fresh air. Your parents were so excited about the gospel, and you were always so energetic, running around the campus and jumping in the creek.” His eyes were distant. Bekah felt ashamed of her distrust. Anyone who could reminisce about her family like this couldn’t be out for simple revenge.

“My parents are very grateful to you and the church,” she said quietly. “And so am I. The friends I grew up with are brothers and sisters to me.”

He reached out and patted her hand again. “Your parents are so involved and so faithful that I think many people forgot they were ever anything else. But when you grew up and made choices that most young women in the church wouldn’t dream of—”

The hazy sadness inside her was pierced by annoyance. He made it sound like she’d fallen into prostitution.

“—then the church finds it hard to believe that your parents can really be walking the line.”

Bekah felt her confidence crumbling. Brother Martin might not hold her family’s sketchy past against them, but he was wrong about the rest of the Fellowship: they certainly hadn’t forgotten. It was simple fact that the Richards family didn’t quite measure up. Bekah had moved out under the naïve assumption that she couldn’t hurt her family’s standing much worse than their hundreds of tiny offenses throughout the years already had.

“Jesus prayed that his church would live in unity,” Martin went on. “In perfect fellowship. Don’t you want that for yourself and for the church?”

He evidently considered his point made. He set down his untasted tea, glanced at his watch, and stood up.

Bekah started to stand with him, then remembered her missing skirt button. As rude as it would be to remain seated while he walked to the door by himself, it would be infinitely worse if she stood up and her skirt fell down. She thought about quoting Rachel, wife of Jacob: “I cannot rise up before thee, for the custom of women is upon me.” And then she’d go upstairs and die.

After a terrible moment, Bekah hooked her right arm around her waist and grabbed her skirt underneath her blouse. She stood. The skirt stayed up.

Martin put a hand on Bekah’s shoulder. His clasp was firm and heavy. “Bekah, you’ve been away too long. This coming weekend is Foundation Day. I can’t think of a better time for you to come back among us. What do you say?”

She wanted to step away from him to gather her thoughts, but didn’t dare move in case she lost her grip on her waistband. Rooted to the spot, Martin’s compelling eyes on her, she found that eighteen months away was no match for twelve years as a faithful Fellowshipper. The words left her mouth almost automatically. “Yes, sir. I would like that.”

“Spoken like a truly virtuous daughter. Fight the good fight, Bekah.”

His words meant more to her than she liked to admit. He squeezed her shoulder once more, then turned and strode out the front door to the car, where Rob was waiting.

As the door closed behind him, Bekah felt an unexpected breeze against her thighs. She looked down. Her skirt had fallen off.

Still disconnected.

Bekah ended the call and slipped her phone into her pocket. It was two days since Brother Martin’s visit, and she hadn’t talked to her parents yet.

Usually when a couple ended their service as houseparents on the church campus, the Fellowship saw to it that their house was aired out and the utilities reconnected in preparation for their return home. It had been four days since her parents’ dismissal, plenty of time to reconnect the phone line. Or for her parents to call her from somebody else’s phone. Or drive up to see her—she was only an hour away, for heaven’s sake. She was beginning to worry that they didn’t want to talk to her.

With a deep sigh, she shut down the register and cleaned up the front desk. Patterson’s Garden Supply was closed for the day. All the customers were gone, and the remaining employees were out back with Graham Patterson, figuring out how to install a pond for display.

Bekah leaned her elbows on the counter, letting herself rest after an enjoyably busy day. The late-afternoon sun shone through the translucent ceiling, bathing the store in a golden glow. Twenty-four aisles stretched out on her left, stocked with everything from rakes to birdseed to baskets of jewel-toned glass pebbles. In front of her, twelve long tables held dozens of varieties of plants and flowers. Though closed, the store didn’t feel empty; it was filled with the quiet energy of life and growth.

In the hush, water from three fountains chattered over resin rocks and stone animals. Bekah straightened. There was another watery sound that wasn’t right.

She left the front desk and walked among the displays and plants, her ears perked up. Just past the brick edging near the geraniums, she splashed into a two-foot-wide stream of water rippling across the floor.

“Mr. Patterson! Ty!” she shouted. “Did you see this?” There was no answer; they were well out of earshot. As the water pooled around her tennis shoe, she pulled out her phone and tapped Ty Williams’s name.

Ty was Graham’s nephew. Twenty-four years old, he’d moved to Hampton with the intention of marrying Laney and taking over the business someday. He was technically Bekah’s superior, but they didn’t let rank interfere with their friendship.

His voice over the phone was warm. “Hey there. Need something?”

“Something’s leaking,” Bekah said. “You need to come see. I’ll try to find out where it’s coming from.”

“Be there in a second,” Ty said.

Bekah followed the stream of water. It took her toward the back of the store, under three tables and past a display of stone squirrels. She could hear the water splattering on the concrete floor. Annoyingly, her brain’s reaction to the crisis was to blare Proverbs Five, in the King James Version, of course: Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of thine own well.

She yanked her thoughts back into line, since the verses quickly devolved into the mention of breasts and being ravished with love. They were a source of embarrassment to Fellowship youth who weren’t encouraged to acknowledge that such things existed.

“I don’t need warnings against adultery right now,” Bekah said aloud. “I need to find this leak.” Not that God bothered to listen to her these days—especially since he seemed to be as good a friend of Martin Branner’s as he’d always been.

In the far corner of the store, she saw water pouring out of a loose joint on one of the pipes that fed the sprinkler system. Bekah crawled underneath a table of ferns, her knees sloshing in the water.

“Is it bad?” came Ty’s voice, unexpectedly close. Bekah turned to see him crawling in behind her.

“Yeah.” She moved against the wall to give him room. He wasn’t a big-framed guy, but it was a tight fit. His open collar gave Bekah a glimpse of his silver cross necklace against his tanned chest. She looked away, her cheeks a little warm. Ty was just a friend. But she’d recently admitted to herself that, with his blond curls and dark brown eyes, he was a very attractive friend.

“Dang, this is the one that leaked last winter after the pipes froze,” Ty said. Only fifty miles inland from the Gulf of Mexico, they could be very specific about when temperatures got that cold. “I told Uncle Graham we needed to replace it.”

“Is it broken?” Bekah asked, reaching for the pipe.

“No, don’t touch it!”

The section of pipe shifted under Bekah’s hand, and water exploded in their faces. They both shouted, and Bekah felt his hands close over hers and move the pipe back into place. They sputtered and wiped their faces on their dark green Patterson’s shirts, which were soaked through. Water bubbled up between their fingers.

“Sorry,” Bekah said penitently.

“It’s okay,” Ty said, shaking a sopping-wet curl out of his eyes. “Look, you slip out and tell Uncle Graham to turn off the water. He’s out back with Jim and Andy.”

“Slip out how, exactly?” asked Bekah. They stared at one another, their hands wrapped around the pipe between them. She was sitting with her back against the wall, her legs folded uncomfortably underneath her. Ty, lying awkwardly on one shoulder, filled up the rest of the available space.

After a moment, Ty said, “See if you can take your hands away.” Bekah did; water sprayed Ty in the face again. “Okay,” he coughed. “Call Uncle Graham and tell him to turn off the water.”

“Say please.” Bekah pulled her phone out of her pocket, relieved that it was still dry. She called Graham but reached his voicemail.

“I bet he left his phone in the office,” Ty groaned.

Bekah thought for a moment, then tapped another name. “I’m calling Laney.”

“You won’t get her,” Ty said, trying to find a comfortable position without letting go of the pipe. “She’s in class.”

Laney’s voice came over the line. “Hey, Bekah.”

“Hi. Sorry to call in the middle of class, but it’s kind of an emergency.”

There was a pause. Then Laney said, “Well, you’re not interrupting class. What’s up? You sound like you’re in a bathtub.”

“She cut class again, didn’t she?” Ty said.

Bekah ignored him. “We need your help.” She explained the situation, and Laney started to laugh. “So we need you to come and tell Mr. Patterson to turn off the water. Otherwise we might be here all night.”

“I don’t know.” Laney pretended to weigh her answer. “I just got back from band practice and I’m pretty tired.”

“I’ll cook supper tonight.”

“Tempting.”

“It should be. You’d hardly ever eat if it wasn’t for me.”

“Laney, come on!” Ty shouted. “I’m drowning over here!”

“As much as I like rescuing him for a change,” said Laney, “I’m really doing this for the food. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.” She laughed again and hung up.

It wouldn’t take Laney long to drive the half-mile from Maple Court. But the moments went slowly for the two people trapped under the table.

Bekah glanced at the time on her phone before slipping it awkwardly back into her pocket. “Darn it. I wanted to go to the bank this afternoon. It’s going to be closed by the time we get out of here.”

“The truck fund will have to wait till tomorrow,” Ty remarked.

“You meant to say jeep fund.”

“Jeeps are wimpy. You need a good truck.”

“When I run my own greenhouse, my company truck will be a jeep. Lots of them, considering it’ll be the biggest greenhouse in three counties.”

Ty grinned. “This greenhouse of yours gets bigger every time you talk about it.”

“I think big,” she replied.

“Yeah, and you’ve got me worried. I think you’ve got a secret stash at the bank. You’re planning to buy out Uncle Graham and leave me in the cold.”

Not exactly. The only stash she had was in a manila folder. It was full of clippings of greenhouse plans, diagrams of garden layouts, and pages of lists. She’d made lists of specialty plants with notes of where to find them and how to grow them. Another page listed every type of event she could think of that involved flowers—weddings, funerals, anniversary celebrations, birthdays, baptisms—and what kind of flowers they were likely to want. She had just started a page of notes about two- and four-year college degrees, trying to figure out what she could afford and when she could start.

The details were still rudimentary, but her dream was clear. She would own a greenhouse filled with rare and remarkable plants and flowers. She’d run her own shop, make her own money, and spend all her time among green growing things.

But the Fellowship voices in her head reminded her, Virtuous women don’t do that. Virtuous women kept clean, hospitable homes, got married, and had children. If a woman was involved in business, it was her father’s or her husband’s business.

Bekah sometimes tried arguing with the voices, explaining that she wanted to get married and have children too. The voices replied, A woman with a career can’t focus on her husband and children the way God intends. She pointed out that Proverbs Thirty-One said of the virtuous wife, “She considereth a field and buyeth it.” She bought the land with her husband’s money and for his use, said the Fellowship.

So Bekah’s folder was stowed under her mattress, the time-honored hiding place for contraband reading materials in the Fellowship Houses.

The splash of water filled up the silence. Ty said, “So it’s true? Your entire friendship with me is just a cover until you can push me out of business?”

Bekah laughed at the exaggerated frown between his dark eyes. “No, I’m also friends with you so I can get a ride to the bank when I don’t feel like walking.”

“And here I thought we had something special,” he said regretfully.

“When you work for me, I won’t make you drive the jeep,” she grinned. A new thought struck her. “Hey, this is kind of a big favor…”

Ty raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Do you think you could you give me a ride home on Friday? Laney can’t take me, and I really need to check on my parents.”

Ty looked thoughtful. “Does this have anything to do with how your preacher showed up the other day?”

“Kind of. What did Laney tell you?” His question was unexpected. Bekah had merely mentioned to him that Brother Martin had visited.

“She said you were upset. But I knew that anyway. You’ve had something on your mind ever since he came.”

“Well,” Bekah said guardedly, “he did tell me that my parents moved back home from a church House. Their phone is disconnected and I haven’t been able to get ahold of them.”

“They don’t have cells?”

“They’re always behind on technology.”

Ty didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he said diffidently, “I guess… I’d just rather you steered clear of that church. Seems like it’s been good for you to be away from it.”

Bekah was insulted, but then thought of herself frantically cleaning the house and throwing on a skirt, hoping she looked Fellowshippish enough to pass muster. She said with irritation, “It’s just for the weekend.” She couldn’t remember if she’d actually said that to Martin or not. “I need to see about my parents. I’m all they’ve got. You should understand that, with your family and all.”

“Yeah,” Ty said a little grimly. “And if I were you, I’d let them find other people to depend on every once in a while.”

“Never mind. I can still try a couple of friends.”

“Nah. I can probably do it. I’ll check my schedule.” Ty shifted position slightly. He added with a glint in his eye, “Or you could ask Spence.”

Bekah was annoyed to feel her face get hot, and Ty’s smile didn’t help. He’d figured out a while ago that she was interested in Spence Henderson, a new assistant manager. He managed to work Spence into most of their conversations.

“It’s a perfect setup,” he said. “You need a ride home, he’s got that excuse for a car. It’s kind of soon for him to meet the parents… unless you cover a lot of ground on the way home.”

“Oh my gosh, no!” Bekah exclaimed. “Girls don’t just show up with guys they aren’t courting. Not in the Fellowship. If I lived in one of the church Houses, I could get sent home just for talking to somebody I liked.”

Ty grimaced as water ran down his sunburned arm into his sleeve. “The more you tell me about your church, the less I understand it.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Come to think of it, Spence’s car probably wouldn’t make it. You’d have to call me to come pick you up.”

“And you’d just leave Spence on the side of the road?”

“Nope. I’d load him and his car up in the back of the truck.”

Bekah giggled, and Ty laughed at his own joke. “But seriously, you should say something to him. Just hanging around waiting for him to talk to you isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“Who says I want to get anywhere right now?” Bekah simply enjoyed the fact that she had a crush on someone and nobody was making her memorize Scripture to cleanse her mind of it. “And he does talk to me.”

“Asking you where to find things doesn’t count.”

“It’s practically all you say to me all day.”

“Not true. I also tell you to go get stuff for me.”

They both laughed, but the truth was that their conversations filled in most of the empty spaces of the workday, and took in everything from gardening to God.

Ty went on. “Ask him out for lunch or something. Heck, just ask him to the break room and give him some of your leftovers. As soon as he finds out what a good cook you are, you’ve got him cold.”

Bekah was intrigued. It was already a foreign idea to accept a lunch date from someone who hadn’t formally asked to court her. To ask him out, just because she liked him—that smacked of the “wrong” Proverbs woman, the Proverbs Seven harlot. She wondered if she dared do it.

She realized that Ty was waiting for a response. He was unaware of the complicated considerations she went through every time she was faced with a decision. Especially since Ty himself tended to launch into a course of action first, and think through it only after he was in the middle of it.

“I’m not asking a gent—a guy out on a date.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a dozen reasons, too,” Ty said. “Anyway, the fact that he hasn’t already asked you out makes me think he’s kind of stupid.”

“Can you call one of your employees stupid?”

“It’s after hours,” Ty shrugged. He groaned and said, “I’ve got to move. My back is killing me. You hold the pipe.”

Bekah put her hands over his. He had rough hands. Even with the water running over his fingers, his nails were still dirty from the day’s work. Ty never confined himself to the office. He was all over the store, outside with the work crew, digging and planting, doing the heavy lifting. Bekah had admired his hands many times before.

“On three,” he said, and counted. Bekah grabbed the pipe as he removed his hands. It shifted, and they were drenched yet again. Laughing, she clamped her hands around the loose joint, and he scooted into a semi-sitting position against the wall.

“Okay, I got it,” he said, and covered Bekah’s hands again. She didn’t pull away.

He said, “You need somebody who’s smart.”

“What?”

“The guy you’re looking for. He’s got to be smart.”

“You know, I missed the part where this was any of your business.”

“He also needs a good sense of humor. He’s got to look past those blue eyes of yours and see you’re not as sweet as you look.”

“They’re gray, not blue.”

“How would you know? You’re on the wrong side of them. He needs a good job, too. Once you get your life figured out, he’s got to be able to keep up with you.”

He meant it as a compliment, but Bekah felt a twinge of anxiety. A virtuous wife didn’t outpace her husband.

His next remark startled her. It was as if he heard the Fellowship voice in her head. “You know what else, you need somebody who knows God, without the weird ideas from your church.”

“Thank you, Mr. Williams. Any more wisdom to share?”

The teasing note slipped back into his voice. “Make sure he drives a decent vehicle. Like a truck. You know, the more I think about it, Spence just isn’t worth your time. You should wait for the guy who’s right for you.”

“I’m surprised you’ve put so much thought into it.”

Ty gazed thoughtfully at their hands wrapped together around the pipe. He said with a small laugh, “So am I.” Then he relaxed into a grin and said, “Well, I don’t give out relationship advice for free. Uncle Graham will take it out of your next paycheck.”

“Who says I’ll take your advice?”

“Hey, it’s really good.”

“But I only know two people who are right for me. According to you, anyway.”

“And they are?”

“Mr. Patterson, for one.”

Ty laughed. “Okay, we’ll take him off the list. Who’s the other guy?”

She looked at him, and he gazed back expectantly. She knew she shouldn’t say it. She did anyway.

“You. Want to go out for lunch sometime?”

The water bubbling between them drained away. Someone had turned off the main water line. Silence filled up the small space under the table. Ty took his hands from around Bekah’s, and she shifted away from him.

Then he laughed. “Guess I walked right into that one.” A red flush crept up his neck and ears.

“Obviously I need a longer list.” Bekah put so much cheer into her voice that it sounded false.

They met gazes, and Bekah knew for certain that she hadn’t been joking. The person she most wanted to be with was Ty Williams.

A pair of shapely legs, one ankle tattooed with a small Chi-Rho, walked up to the table. “Your uncle sent me to see if y’all were still alive,” Laney Phillips said, crouching down to peer in at them.

“Just about drowned ,” Ty replied, his light tone sounding slightly forced. “Thanks, Laney.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. And to get out of having to cook.”

Ty crawled out, but Bekah stayed crammed in her corner. Her heart was beating fast. “You staying there for the night?” Laney inquired, peering under the table again.

“I’m coming. Just untangling myself.” If only she could. As Bekah edged out from under the table, Laney extended a hand to help her up. It was the left hand with the diamond solitaire on it.

Ty leaned forward to greet Laney. She met him halfway, but only with her lips, keeping a safe distance between herself and Ty’s soaking-wet body. He frowned as he wrung out the hem of his shirt onto the wet stone beneath their feet. “This is a rotten way to end a day.”

Water ran in a rivulet from the end of Bekah’s braid down her back. The amusement in Laney’s green eyes confirmed her suspicion that she looked unusually bedraggled.

Laney herself was dressed in a flouncy skirt and purple tank top, her asymmetrical blond haircut framing her face. Easygoing and cheerful, she was usually welcome company. This afternoon, Bekah looked away from her smile.

Laney reached up and tousled Ty’s wet hair. “So do you think you can be dried out and decent in forty-five minutes?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly.

Laney raised her eyebrows. “Then you’ll be leading Bible study soaking wet.”

Ty stared at her blankly, then said with heat, “Dang it! I completely forgot.”

“Is this the third Wednesday?” Bekah usually found an excuse to be away during the high school Bible study that Ty and Laney led for their church. It filled the house with intimidating younger people who threw around pop culture references that Bekah didn’t understand.

“I didn’t remember it either until I was driving over. But the good news is that Bekah will be providing the food.”

“I said I’d cook supper for us, not for the five thousand.” Realizing she’d dropped in a random Bible reference, Bekah amended, “Not for a dozen others.” She wasn’t really daunted by the thought of feeding a crowd—she’d done it often in the two years she’d lived in one of the Fellowship Houses. “There’s popcorn in the pantry and Cokes in the fridge.”

“Really? Sounds good,” said Laney. It was like her to invite people over without knowing if she could feed them. Bekah wondered why it didn’t bother Ty that his future wife couldn’t run even half a household. Then she was ashamed of the thought.

Graham Patterson walked into the store. His gray hair was tousled, as usual, looking as if he never got around to brushing it. His arms up to his elbows, and his legs up to his knees, were covered with red dirt. He asked what the problem was. Ty explained, his mood souring into downright grouchiness. Graham interrupted to say, “Call Mack and tell him to come on out. He owes me a favor anyway. You got his number?”

“No, sir,” said Ty.

“Yes, sir,” said Bekah. “His card is on the bulletin board in the office. I’ll get it.”

Graham smiled. As she walked away, he called after her, “There’s some college brochures for you on the desk.”

“Thanks.”

In the office, she entered the plumber’s number into Graham’s phone, which he’d left on the desk chair. Then she picked up the glossy brochures from the desk. About a week ago, she’d mentioned college in passing, and as she’d hoped, Graham took the idea very seriously. It was the same way she’d gotten a job offer from him two years ago.

She needed Graham’s help. College wasn’t something she could approach her parents about, not until she had all her information and arguments lined up.

When she rejoined the others, Graham was underneath the table, looking at the pipe. She passed him his phone, which he took with a curt thank-you.

Ty was talking to Laney. “What’s with skipping class again?”

“I had band practice,” Laney said.

“Can’t they schedule it an hour later? This is the third time this month.”

“Who’s counting? God forbid I spend too much time messing around on my guitar!”

“Hey, now, that’s what your crazy mom says, not me,” he countered. “Just tell them that you can’t practice during class time. That’s not hard to do, Laney. You do want to finish school, right?”

These squalls were fairly common. Bekah wasn’t surprised at this one, considering Ty’s mood. Laney sounded half-apologetic, half-resentful. “We had to meet early to talk about publicity.”

Bekah seized the moment to head off further argument. “Did you settle on your name yet? Is it Rue the Day?”

“No,” said Ty. “Springboard.”

“No,” Laney said. “Ugh, don’t even bring those up. We have officially decided on…” She paused for effect. “River Ghost.”

Bekah considered. “It works. I liked Rue the Day, though,”

“Yeah, well, I miss the days of Molecular Yellow,” said Ty.

“Ha, ha. Hey, Bekah, you’re really good at ideas. Maybe you could help me tonight? We’re all supposed to make a list of ways to get exposure for the band.”

“Sure,” said Bekah. She headed for the front counter to get her purse, calling over her shoulder, “See y’all at home.” She needed some solitude to sort through her alarming new feelings.

As Bekah walked away, she heard Ty say, “I’m sorry for jumping all over you, Lane. I’m just aggravated right now and you were handy.”

“It’s okay,” Laney replied. “I still think you’re awesome, Tyson.”

It was an endearment left over from their high school days, a reminder of the shared history that let them weather their squalls.

Purse in hand, Bekah pushed open the glass front door. She stepped into the hot summer twilight, greeted by whiffs of asphalt, soil and fertilizer, and sweet gardenia blooms. The familiar smells didn’t give her the pleasure they usually did.

On the way back to Maple Court, her shoes squishing the whole way, Bekah glanced through the brochures, feeling as if she shouldn’t be reading them out in the open like this. Enrolling in college was a statement of outright defiance for a Fellowship girl, indicating that she had chosen the world’s ways instead of God’s.

Back home, she changed into dry clothes and threw her uniform in the washer, then started supper. The pasta was cooked and the sauce nearly done when Laney and Ty arrived. He’d evidently swung by his apartment to change, because he was wearing dry shorts, a t-shirt, and his Mississippi State cap.

He dropped his phone and keys on the lamp table and stretched out on the plaid couch. Laney took his cap off. “Look at this adorable frizz,” she said, running her hand through his curls.

His hair was indeed drying into a frizz, and Bekah did think it was adorable. Ty glanced at Bekah, took his cap back, and pulled it down over his eyes. She wondered if her thoughts had shown too clearly on her face.

Laney picked up her guitar from its corner and sat on the arm of the couch. “Okay,” she said to Ty, evidently continuing a previous conversation, “so what did you mean by a benefit?”

“Your band plays to raise money for a cause,” Ty said shortly.

Laney strummed a chord. “Boy, you’re so much fun today.”

“Sorry,” Ty sighed. “I’ve… got something on my mind.” He pushed his cap up and looked a little more sociable. “Everybody comes to hear you play, and donates toward your cause. The church always needs help with the food bank or the soup kitchen.”

Bekah was interested. She stepped into the living room and said, “You ought to have a sale, too. My church did one to pay for repairs after Hurricane Katrina. Isn’t there somebody you know who does pottery or something? My dad donated some of his woodwork and it sold pretty well.”

Laney bent over her guitar, nodding. She said thoughtfully, “I wonder what we’d play. What do you think?” she asked Ty.

He looked a little blank. “There’s a whole lot to do before you get to the playlist, Lane. Uncle Graham and I could offer some things for auction. Some statues or garden decorations.”

“Maybe flowers,” Bekah said. “Azaleas always sell well.”

Laney picked out a thin melody on her strings, still musing on music. “So what will it be, Bekah? McCartney or Strait?”

Her grin was impish. Bekah stuck her tongue out. “You know I have no idea who those people are. But I bet you don’t know all nineteen verses of ‘O, For a Thousand Tongues to Sing.’”

“Oh, no. You do? Was this one of your homeschool assignments?”

Laney got no end of amusement out of Bekah’s homeschooled upbringing and the odd alternative culture of her church, but there was no malice in her teasing. Bekah replied, “No. A bunch of us memorized it just to see if we could. I mean, you really haven’t lived until you get to stand in front of the congregation and belt out—” she cleared her throat and then sang, “Murderers and all ye hellish crew, in holy triumph join! Believe the Savior died for you, for me the Savior died.”

Laney threw her head back and laughed. “You are a sad, strange little man, Bekah,” she said. Ty seemed to think this was funny, so Bekah assumed it was from yet another show, or song, or movie that hadn’t made it past the church’s long list of unapproved entertainment. She’d grown up, as Laney said, under a Fellowship-shaped rock.

“Oh,” Laney said to Ty, “lucky for you, I already planned out a song set for this afternoon.”

“Is that what you did in class? The part of class you actually stayed for?”

“No. I worked on some lyrics, too.”

Ty sighed deeply. “Why do you brush off school like this?”

Laney shrugged. “I don’t like American literature much anyway.”

“Then why did you decide to take it?”

“You said I should.”

There was a silence. Finally, Ty said, “You could have said no.”

Laney played a complicated scale and didn’t reply. A knock at the door indicated that the conversation was over. The first of the high-schoolers had arrived.

As Ty opened the front door to welcome three giggling girls, Bekah retreated to the kitchen. She took the sauce off the burner, covered it to keep it warm, and escaped out onto the back deck.

Nine potted plants filled the small deck: white and red geraniums, a sweet potato vine, petunias in four shades of purple, a gardenia, and a large container with scarlet impatiens and bright yellow pansies. As she checked the soil, pruned weak stems, and rearranged the pots, she talked. She often conversed with plants. They listened without interrupting, and they never quoted Bible verses back at her.