A Matter of Trust Read online

  A Matter

  of Trust

  Mystery

  and the Minister’s Wife

  Through the Fire

  A State of Grace

  Beauty Shop Tales

  A Test of Faith

  The Best Is Yet to Be

  Angels Undercover

  Into the Wilderness

  Where There’s a Will

  Dog Days

  The Missing Ingredient

  Open Arms

  A Token of Truth

  Who’s That Girl?

  For the Least of These

  A Matter of Trust

  Funny Money

  To Have and to Hold

  How the Heart Runs

  A Thousand Generations

  Home to Briar Mountain

  Flight of the Sparrows

  A Firm Foundation

  Off the Record

  A Distant Memory

  Tea and Sympathy

  The Master’s Hand

  Strangers in Their Midst

  Mystery and the Minister’s Wife is a registered trademark of Guideposts.

  Copyright © 2009 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to the Rights & Permissions Department, Guideposts, 110 William Street, New York, New York 10038.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or occurrences is coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.

  Scripture on page 25 is from The Holy Bible, New King James Version. Copyright © 1997, 1990, 1985, 1983 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  The author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920.

  Guideposts.org

  (800) 932-2145

  Guideposts Books & Inspirational Media

  Cover design by Dugan Design Group

  Cover illustration by Dan Brown

  Interior design by Cris Kossow

  Typeset by Nancy Tardi

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  The first sign that Kate Hanlon’s morning was about to turn topsy-turvy was when the tiny dog at her feet stopped munching his gourmet breakfast, tilted his head toward the front door, growled, then yipped wildly.

  Not minutes before, Kate had padded into the kitchen, fed Kisses, and turned on the coffeemaker. It was 5:00 AM, her favorite time of day. Quiet. Serene. Undisturbed. A time for precious moments with God before the rest of the world noticed that the sun was about to proclaim the beginning of a new day.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Kisses, Renee Lambert’s teacup Chihuahua, barked again, his ears standing at attention. Like a miniature tornado, he spun around the corner of the kitchen toward the entry, lost traction, and slid several inches into the wall. He scrambled to regain his footing and then raced to the door, yipping and dancing on his hind legs.

  Hurrying along just a few feet behind him, Kate tightened her bathrobe and hoped the predawn commotion wouldn’t wake Paul.

  A quick calculation of the time difference between Tennessee and Italy, and Kisses’ yipping dance made the identity of Kate’s early morning visitor no secret: Renee Lambert was back in town. And she had wasted no time coming to the Hanlons’ to retrieve her “Little Umpkins” even though the sun hadn’t yet risen.

  With a sigh, Kate whispered a prayer for an extra dose of grace and reached for the door.

  Then two things happened simultaneously: Renee barged in and gathered the Chihuahua into her arms, saying, “Did Little Umpkins miss his mommy?” and Paul came around the corner from the bedroom, barefoot, robe half tied, and blinking sleepily.

  Kate had always been the early riser in the family. Paul usually didn’t wake until the signs of dawn were well in place—a bit of birdsong, the scent of coffee brewing, and the palest hint of coming daylight.

  Renee was still fussing over Kisses in the entryway. Kate reached behind her to close the front door, then met Paul’s gaze just before he rolled his eyes. He looked immediately sorry, and Kate, knowing her husband well, figured his prayer for grace had come as swiftly as hers.

  Kate interrupted Renee’s kissy-cooing and gave her a quick hug. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it, Renee?” Kate said, trying not to reveal her impatience. “When did you get back?”

  “Last night, but I couldn’t sleep a wink.” Renee sighed dramatically. “I know you’re probably dying to hear all about the trip—especially because you were supposed to come with us. And do I have a story to tell...” She put Kisses on the floor and, without waiting for an invitation, marched to the living room. “But before I get started, I must have a cup of tea.”

  Kate avoided exchanging glances with Paul, then said, “Of course, let me put on the teakettle.”

  Renee plunked down on the sofa, and Kisses hopped onto her lap.

  “Actually,” she called after Kate, “I brought you a little gift. A tin of Earl Grey—loose-leaf, of course—that I picked up at the duty-free shop at the airport.”

  Kate turned at the doorway as Renee rummaged around in her oversized handbag. “That’s so nice of you to think of us. Thank you.”

  Renee gave her a half smile as she stood, a small ornate English tin in hand. “Partly for you, mostly for me when I’m visiting.” She handed the tin to Kate. “Now skedaddle,” she said. “I’ve got stories to tell that can’t wait.”

  Kate shot another prayer heavenward. It was now 5:18, and she hadn’t even brushed her hair or had her first cup of coffee. She put on the teakettle and heard Paul excuse himself, presumably to brush his own rumpled hair and put on his slippers.

  She poured coffee for them both and took a sip from her mug before setting it on the tray along with Renee’s teacup and sugar lumps. As she waited for the teakettle to whistle, she warmed a small pan of half-and-half, then poured it into a creamer. Kate knew that Renee preferred real cream, but that was a luxury Kate rarely indulged in unless they were having guests. She and Paul had expected Renee to stop by to retrieve Kisses after their two-week “babysitting” stint, but not before Kate did her grocery shopping later in the morning.

  “Don’t forget the cream,” Renee called from the living room.

  The teakettle whistled, and Kate poured hot water into the teapot and carried the tray of coffee and tea into the living room. After she placed the tray on the table in front of Renee, who was sitting on the sofa, she excused herself and hurried to the bathroom to make herself at least a bit more presentable. As she passed Paul, he raised his brows and grinned. She couldn’t help chuckling.

  As soon as Paul and Kate were seated in the living room, Renee settled against the couch, took a sip of tea, and sighed again, this time even more dramatically. “What a trip!” Then she took another sip of tea, watching both Paul and Kate over the rim of her teacup.

  “First of all, we were in the air for what seemed like forever yesterday, then there was the interminable sitting in the airport for hours on end because flights were delayed. You know how it is, bad weather, that sort of thing. It’s enough to make a person never want to travel again, especially abroad.”

  She raised one brow. “But then one wouldn’t get the culture and the enrichment that international travel brings.” Renee closed her eyes and breathed deeply, dramatically. “Now, this is real tea.�
�� She sighed and then held the teacup out for Kate to fill again.

  Kisses was once again on Renee’s lap, looking straight up at her face. She slipped into doggie baby talk as she rubbed his ears. “Here I am talking about myself and the terrible flight we had yesterday, and I haven’t even once asked about Kisses and how he got along while I was gone.”

  Kate smiled as she poured more tea into Renee’s teacup. “Kisses got along just fine. He missed you, of course; we all did. And we’re so glad you’re home safe and sound.”

  What Kate didn’t say was how from the beginning, her heart had ached to be part of that trip to Italy, especially to visit Assisi, the home of Saint Francis, a dream she had held for years.

  “Well, now,” Renee said, leaning forward, “I need to get to the best news of all...” Her face glowed as if she was holding a special and dear secret in her heart. “I’ve met someone. Someone wonderful. We met the very first day of the tour when we were in Rome.” She fluttered her fingers and her blush deepened. “He’s a widower, a retired professor of antiquities from Oxford. Can you imagine?”

  Kate blinked and then took a sip of coffee to clear her head. “You met someone on the tour?” she finally managed to ask Renee.

  “Oh, I met a lot of people on the tour,” Renee said. “But this was different.” She sighed again, this time even more dramatically. “This debonair man literally rescued me from getting drenched in the rain while I was shopping in Rome. We were on a city tour, with a guide, of course, in our coach—that’s what they call their luxury busses. Our guide had the coach drop us in the very upscale shopping triangle, an area between the Spanish Steps, Piazza Venezia, and Piazza del Popolo along Via del Corso. You should have seen the place. It was glorious!”

  She looked at Kate over the rim of her teacup, her eyes shining with the memory. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I was about to tell you about Collin—”

  “The man you met...?” Kate prompted.

  Renee’s brow shot up as if to say, “Of course, who else?”

  Kate took another sip of coffee. Paul cleared his throat, smiled, and did the same. Kate’s heart went out to him. He still looked rumpled and somewhat sleep deprived, but when it came to his parishioners, even a challenging one like Renee, Kate’s husband was a portrait of grace. Kate met his eyes. How she loved this man.

  “He’s English, a genuine aristocrat, if you know what I mean. You can tell by just looking.” Renee’s tone held a sense of awe as if she thought he might as well be a member of the royal family. “Collin Wellington. Oh, how I love those British names.”

  Paul leaned back in his chair, appearing to be in desperate need of more coffee. “Was he one of your guides?”

  Kate rose to fetch the coffee carafe from the kitchen. She overheard Renee’s response as she reached the doorway.

  “Oh, goodness no,” she said. “Our tour guides were all Italian, of course.”

  “I thought perhaps because of his antiquities expertise—”

  Kate imagined Renee’s raised brow when she interrupted Paul. “I’m sure he’s much too busy to work for the pittance tour guides receive.”

  “Ah yes,” Paul said.

  Kate swallowed a smile as she rounded the corner with a fresh pot of tea for Renee and the carafe to refresh the coffee mugs.

  Renee was so wrapped up in her tale, she didn’t seem to notice the fresh Earl Grey. She went on to describe the new man in her life, rhapsodizing about the trip and about how he stayed by her side throughout the remainder of the tour.

  “The amazing thing,” she said, “is that it was as if we had known each other forever. In fact, he said the same thing. We were soul mates from the beginning.”

  She paused thoughtfully, then added, “He even helped me pick out a souvenir, a most glorious souvenir, that is a replica of a centuries-old urn. It was terribly romantic when he insisted we have our photo taken with the urn in front of the Neptune Fountain, right after the dear man followed our tour coach to Florence.” She blushed. “Maybe I should say after he followed me to Florence. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” She rushed on without pausing for a breath. “The Neptune, as you probably know, is in the Piazza della Signoria, in the heart of Florence.”

  “We would love to see it,” Kate said. “The photo and the urn.”

  Paul nodded. “Indeed we would.”

  Renee’s eyes brightened. “I assumed you would. Livvy was the one who took the picture, or it might have been Danny. Or even one of the others—LuAnne or Millie or even Mayor Briddle or Lucy Mae.” She laughed. “Or maybe all of them.

  “No vehicles are allowed in the piazza, so the coach parked a distance away, and we walked. But when we entered the piazza, cameras started clicking. There are glorious sculptures everywhere you look in the piazza.” She sighed. “But the urn and Collin and, dare I say, moi were the stars of the show when we posed in front of the fountain.”

  She paused to catch her breath. “But enough about the photo. It’s the real thing you want to see. It’s in the car. Paul, I’m sure you won’t mind going out to get it for me. It is truly a glory to behold. In fact, I have arranged for it to be displayed at Faith Briar.”

  Paul’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “You have?” He pushed himself to standing and blinked. “You’ve had time to do that already?”

  “Of course,” Renee said with a laugh. “I called the other board members just before I came over here. They were half asleep, but all said yes. I was certain you would agree as well.” Her smile was confident as she settled back and took another sip of tea. “With such a unique and gorgeous piece of religious art, it would be a crime to keep it to myself. Collin himself suggested it would be wonderful to display at Faith Briar once he knew how important my church is to me.”

  Renee handed Paul the keys to her car. While he was outside, she looked up at the framed print of the peace prayer attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi that hung above the piano.

  “Well, now,” she said with a decisive nod. “That’s perfect.”

  Kate followed her gaze. “Perfect? My print?”

  “Of course. It will be perfect to hang next to the display case spotlighting the urn.” She turned back to Kate. “I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  Before Kate could answer, Paul returned with a cardboard box. It was stamped with Italian words on the sides Kate could see and, in one corner, had a fancy floral design and what she assumed was the shop name where Renee made her purchase. He set the box at Renee’s feet, went into the kitchen for scissors, handed them to her, and then sat down again.

  Renee’s expression softened as she sliced open the taped edges of the box, gently pushed Kisses aside, and then lifted the bubble-wrapped urn from the box and placed it on her lap. Kate and Paul exchanged glances and then leaned forward as Renee gently unwrapped the obviously heavy object.

  She dropped the bubble wrap to the floor, then unwrapped a layer of tissue paper, until only the urn was visible.

  “Ahh,” she breathed, and Kate thought she saw moisture in the older woman’s eyes as she touched the relief carvings on the sides. “It’s more beautiful than I remembered.”

  She held the urn to the light from the sliding-glass doors, turning it this way, then that. It appeared to be made of alabaster and seemed almost translucent between the relief figures. “Oh my...”

  This time there was no mistaking the tears in her eyes.

  “Just holding it in my hands again reminds me of Collin.” Renee’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “And how much I miss him.”

  She held the urn out to Paul, her arms trembling with the weight of it. Paul stood to take it from her, then sat down again.

  “It appears very old,” he said, squinting as he examined the relief carvings. “Ancient, in fact.” He touched one of the carvings reverently.

  “It’s a reproduction,” Renee said. “But Collin told me it’s one of the most authentic he’s ever come across. He insisted I buy i
t.” She paused, her lips curving into a rare soft smile. “And I’m so glad he did.”

  Paul handed the urn to Kate. When she took it in her hands, she noted that it weighed about as much as a stack of Paul’s theology tomes. It was about twenty inches long, half again as high, and perhaps the same depth as height. On each side was a scene depicting something of religious significance. On one of the longer sides, two angels hovered over two bowed, cloaked, figures, one on either side. Around the figures, various animals had been carved: lions, sheep, wolves, and doves—some of which were depicted in flight, others perched on foliage carved into the corner of the design, and still others perched on the shoulders of the human figures.

  Kate turned the urn to the other side. Only one human figure was depicted, a monklike figure with wolves on either side of him. One wolf stood on its hind legs, teeth bared, ready to lunge. On the opposite side of the monk, another wolf slept by the monk’s sandaled feet. Behind them stood a crowd of villagers, their features and medieval clothing amazingly detailed. On the top of either end of the urn, cherubim perched, turned slightly so they were both looking down upon the monklike figure and the wolves.

  “Francis of Assisi,” Kate said as her smile widened. “It’s the story of Francis preaching to the Wolf of Gubbio. It’s not really two wolves but the same wolf before and after Francis’ words.”

  “Yes,” Renee said. “That’s it exactly! We were there and heard about it firsthand. Apparently the wolf was terrorizing the town until Francis sat him down and had a little talk with him. His personality changed, and he was adopted, so to speak, by the townspeople, who cared for him until he died.”

  As she reached for the urn, Kate got up and placed it back in her hands, then sat down beside her on the sofa.

  “There’s even writing here that Collin says tells the story, though you wouldn’t know it from me.” Renee laughed and shrugged. “He’s the expert on ancient languages. Plus he speaks several modern-day languages—French, Italian, and Russian, besides English, of course.”