Love Starts with Elle(29)

She must be crazy. If I had a man like Jeremiah . . .

Stop, Elle, and get moving. Grabbing her bag from the table, tucking her Bible under her arm, she started for the door. Then she saw it, just like the first one.

A feather, surfing the morning sunbeams, its twin lying on the worktable. Catching it in mid-float, Elle felt a wave of awe.

God, what are You doing?



Slipping into the back pew, Elle tried to focus on Jesus rather than the fact she was at Beaufort Community Church without Jeremiah.

Were people staring and whispering? With a quick gaze, she knew. The congregation was not preoccupied with her love life and marital status.

Burley, kind Andy Castleton, the Frogmore Café’s owner, caught her eye and jutted out his chin. Be strong, gal.

All right, Andy.

She closed her eyes, ready to join the singing, when a small voice asked, “Is there room for me here?”

Elle looked down to see tiny Miss Anna standing in the aisle.

“Certainly, yes, please join me.” Elle slid down to let her in.

“I’ve been praying for you,” she whispered, her pulpy cool hand soft on Elle’s arm.

Her declaration generated peace in Elle and when Spicy Brown got up in her frog-green suit to give the announcements, Elle sincerely exhaled.

In the pew by the sanctuary doors, she spied Heath with his eyes closed, the tip of Tracey-Love’s blonde head barely peeking above the pew.

She admired his courage in starting over. And it was good to see him in the sanctuary.

Pastor O’Neal took the pulpit, his sermon lovely and lyrical, but wasted on Elle, who struggled with missing Jeremiah. For the first time, she understood how people succumbed to bitterness.

When the pastor concluded the service with an “Amen,” Miss Anna turned to Elle. “I could use some company in the mornings at the prayer chapel. One puts a thousand to flight. Two, ten thousand.”

Elle faced her pew companion. “What? The prayer chapel?” Damaged in Category 1 Hurricane Howard last year, the church had yet to raise funds to fix the ancient, original sanctuary. Boards still covered several of the windows. The last time Elle had gone in there with Daddy to box up the hymnals for safekeeping, she felt claustrophobic.

“How’s 7:00 a.m.?” Miss Anna slipped her pocketbook down her arm, cradling her worn Bible.

“I don’t know, Miss Anna . . . don’t you have a regular prayer group?”

She plopped her blue hat on her head. Elle grinned as it slipped sideways. “Thursdays at ten. I’m talking about something different.”

“Different? Prayer is prayer.” Elle stood in the aisle with her.

“No, there’s intercession, then there’s face-to-face with the One who loves you intimately. That’s what you’re a-needing, Elle. And God has given you a unique gift—free time.”

Face-to-face? Had anyone seen God face-to-face and lived? Even Moses had to hide in the rock when God passed by. But free time? Yeah, Elle had plenty. “Why the old chapel?”

“Been praying there for forty years. It’s a special place, no distractions. Besides, it’ll get you out of your house. This is your season, Elle.” Miss Anna tapped her heart. “The Lord’s been speaking to me about you. Seek Him now when nothing is demanding your attention. No schedule, no expectations. Then, when demand comes, you’ll be ready.”

God talked to Miss Anna about her? In church her whole life, Elle confessed she always found Miss Anna somewhat odd, but this morning her exhortation carried authority. “Seven a.m.?”

“Elle . . .” Miss Anna laughed. “You have too many faulty ideas. Now, come let the Lord set you straight.”

Faulty ideas. Really? Pretty bold of Miss Anna, if not rude.

“All righty now.” Miss Anna wagged her finger at Elle, stepping out of the row. “Seven a.m. See you there. Edna, are you free for lunch? My treat.”

Watching her shuffle away, Elle wondered how she could break it to the kind, gentle old lady that she probably wouldn’t be at 7:00 a.m. prayer. In fact, she probably wouldn’t even be awake.



Dang it. Had that odd little lady hexed her? Not only was Elle awake, but she was wide awake. At 6:00 a.m. to boot.

After an I’ve-been-dumped-and-want-to-sleep-my-life-away effort, Elle untangled herself from the sheets and headed for the shower. Might as well see what was going on at the dank, smelly prayer chapel.

Soon after, grabbing a packet of stale crackers, she headed toward Mossy Oak in the predawn light. Thinking as she drove, she decided she had a few questions for God. Like why He’d let Jeremiah propose if he was going to dump her. Why He’d let her sell her gallery when two weeks later she’d be without a future.

Maybe a couple of mornings in the prayer chapel would help her reckon with her circumstances.

Turning into the gravel-and-shell parking lot, Elle cut the engine and slipped her keys into her purse. The chapel looked wounded and forlorn sitting on sandy soil, nestled between a half dozen thick live oak branches.

Grabbing her Bible, thinking she’d give this routine three, maybe four days, then resort to sleeping in again, Elle went inside. Yes, she needed to seek direction, but praying at four in the afternoon while driving down Ribaut was as good as 7:00 a.m. in the chapel.

The chapel was dark other than the stage lights and the array of pale color created by the only undamaged stained-glass window. Already up front kneeling at the altar, Miss Anna’s face tilted toward the ceiling, her lips smiling. Music played from a small boom box and Elle tiptoed down the aisle to the second-row pew, right side. The hardwood under the bunching carpet complained.