Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [24]
“Give me the letter,” she told him, and held out her hand.
“Sarah…”
“Dennis, please.”
His reluctance was obvious. She clutched the small manila envelope and was about to tear into it when she paused. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, her voice shaking. All at once she was afraid of what she’d find inside.
“Open it,” Dennis said now. “You might as well. Get it over with.”
He was as ambivalent as she was. Sarah sighed deeply. Confronting her fear was more difficult than she’d expected. She opened the envelope, reached inside and pulled out half the airline ticket.
Sarah’s chest tightened and for a moment she could hardly breathe. Calla had torn the airline ticket in two and returned both halves.
“No letter?” Dennis asked, sounding as discouraged as she felt.
Sarah looked again and shook her head. “Why would she do something so cruel?” she asked.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Dennis said. “Let’s go home.”
“I don’t know why she hates me so much,” Sarah whispered. “If only she’d talk to me. If only…”
Four
Pastor Larry Dawson and his family had lived in fifteen different states in the past forty-three years, but he’d never thought of anywhere but Buffalo Valley as home. This was where he’d been born, where he’d gone to school, where he’d buried his mother and three years later, his father. From the day he left for the seminary, he’d planned to return to his childhood home—only, he hadn’t expected that to take over forty years. He was near retirement age now, and it made sense that he pastor a church in the very town where he’d spent his youth. His life was about to come full circle.
For a time, his return had looked doubtful. It seemed that despite all of Joshua McKenna’s and Hassie Knight’s efforts, Buffalo Valley was about to be snuffed out, like so many other small towns that dotted the Dakotas. Then, unexpectedly, the community had sprung back to life. Larry was thrilled and had managed to convince the church hierarchy to send him to Buffalo Valley.
The only church available belonged to the Catholics. It’d been closed for a number of years, ever since Father McGrath, hampered by age and failing health, had retired. Despite circumstances, the elderly priest had continued to stop by every few weeks to celebrate Mass. Recently, however, Father McGrath had entered a retirement home in Minnesota and the Bishop was eager to sell the property. The Methodist Church had bought it.
Soon after Larry had accepted the assignment, he’d found a nearby house to rent. The spare bedroom served as his office. The house was smaller than he would’ve liked, but it was fine for the time being. Fortunately his three daughters were grown and settled in careers and raising their own families. Unfortunately, they lived in three different states—Connecticut, Nebraska and Oregon.
Larry’s first official duty had been to officiate at the funeral of Bernard Clemens. He remembered the rancher, but it’d been years since they’d last spoken. The funeral, sad as it was, had been an opportunity to become acquainted with the people in town, those he’d once known and the younger people, whose families he often remembered. Larry had spent a good part of the day meeting and greeting his new neighbors.
In some ways, not much had changed in Buffalo Valley. When he’d left, there’d been a reserve toward strangers, a hesitancy. It remained in place to this day. The town…well, it looked better than he’d expected, but there was still much to be done. People were pleased with the most recent improvements and planning more. Then there was—
“Lunch is ready,” Joyce called from the kitchen, breaking into his musings.
He’d met Joyce while he was in the seminary. His wife had been raised in Boston, but over the years she’d come to love small-town life.
“What are your plans for the afternoon?” she asked as she sat across the table from him. She’d prepared one of his favorites, a chicken salad made with cold noodles and tossed with a soy vinaigrette,