Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(69)

And then there came a story that had half the bar in stitches—it seemed that when Rick was struggling to adjust, the man sitting beside him at the bar, Dan, challenged him to a fight out in the street. Dan, over thirty-five years old, took off the prosthetic leg no one knew he had! “It was a circus,” Jack said. “But it seemed to turn Rick onto the idea that life could go on.”

There were more stories; clearly the folks in town enjoyed sharing their tales with newcomers and strangers. And while they partook of some of the finest stew George had ever tasted, along with the softest, sweetest bread, he was able to get to know Ellie a little bit. Of course, he’d heard all the details that brought her here from Noah, details that Ellie would never know George knew. George was interested in her children and how she was settling into town.

George was captivated by her. She was a pip, as George’s father might have said. But what he saw quickly, what he was sure Noah was oblivious to, Ellie was very like Noah’s late wife. She was unique, confident, funny and impossibly positive.

Noah and George enjoyed a brandy after dinner while Ellie and Jack had coffee, then both men walked her home to her rented room. And while Noah was walking George back to the RV for the night, he told him about some of the things he had found in the town and surrounding mountains that could use his attention. “If you’ll stay a few days, I’ll take you out to the vagrants’ camp, give you a car tour of some of the more isolated cabins dotting the landscape, take you to Valley Hospital and the nursing home, and to meet the pastor in Grace Valley.”

It’s a gold mine for Noah, George found himself thinking. It has everything the young man has ever wanted or needed. A sense of family, strong community ties, not to mention the girl. But George said nothing about Ellie. What he did ask was, “Someone mentioned Ellie was helping some young mother with her children…?”

Noah explained the situation at length. “That’s precisely what we were talking about when you arrived,” Noah said. “Ellie seemed drained, not from the work of helping with the kids, but from the ache it gave her to think of an unloved child. I never asked her to keep that confidential, not any part of it. It would be futile, as the whole town knows about Vanessa and Paul. She’s a natural, George. A helper by nature. She’s armed with all these old sayings her grandmother left her with and they have roots in psychology, but they’re all lore. The girl grew up in two rooms with her grandmother; they slept together on a pullout couch her whole life. Then she added two small children to the family and they all worked together to care for one another.” He laughed. “Talk about evidence that money can’t make you happy.”

“Correct,” George agreed. “It needn’t make you miserable, either. I may be an old fool, but Ellie strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn’t be destroyed by a little money. I could be wrong, however. She’s very inexperienced.”

Noah laughed. “George, if there’s one thing Ellie is not, it’s inexperienced. Well, maybe with money, but in all other things, she’s had way too much experience.”

George thought, He’s fighting for his life. And he smiled at that. No one loved a battle more than Noah! He wasn’t your mother’s preacher; not a sweet and docile guy, but a warrior. He’d fought his father and his father’s shallow television religion for so many years; then went on to fight the injustice and apathy of the world at large. He wanted to bring peace and love to his people, but inevitably he brought courage and muscle. And that part of Noah, the part he constantly resisted, that was the part that made George proudest.

“I’m staying at least a few days,” George said. “I’m interested in this place.” But what really interested George was Noah in this place. With these people. With that woman.

The woman was perfect for him. She was one of the people—not some female bred to stand beside a man of the cloth. She would bring laughter, excitement and passion to his life, his work.

On Saturday, Noah took George with him to bring the jackets and some wool socks to the boys in the woods. At George’s stubborn insistence, they took a couple of Preacher’s pies and two Bibles. The men in the camp sniffed appreciatively of the pies and wrinkled their noses at the Bibles. But, they turned over a few buckets for stools and Noah read to them for a little while. Of the whole camp, there were just a few who enjoyed that, but those few might as well have been a multitude for the way it made Noah feel.

They made the rounds of the nursing home, Valley Hospital and Sunday church in Grace Valley. George, being a fine figure of a seventy-year-old man, garnered the attention of some of the more mature ladies, though even the younger ones were inclined to look his way more than once, something he enjoyed perhaps a bit too much. He was a consummate flirt and flatly admitted he liked women. By the time they left Grace Valley, he was armed with e-mail addresses and promises to stay in touch, and of course to return. “Absolutely,” he said. “But by then the Virgin River church will be open and you’ll have to attend services there. Noah will entertain you completely.”

Later that afternoon, they were prowling around the inside of the Virgin River church, talking about the possibilities in renovation. “Noah, tell me about that stained-glass window,” George asked.

“I researched it. This was a poor church when it was constructed and pretty much depleted the funds of the congregation. The population was smaller then—about three hundred. But one member went on a campaign to find something special for the church and wrote to every artist in the world until she found a man willing to donate the window, though he’d probably never attend the church. His name was Josiah Piedmont and his only requirement in the deal was that it never be destroyed. It came to this church in the sixties and Josiah lived in Connecticut at the time. He has since died and left behind amazingly beautiful Christian art in all mediums. When the church was forced to shut down because they couldn’t support it anymore, the people in town boarded up that window to keep it safe. Now, times having changed, you can find a Web site for the artist and see where his works are displayed. When I get organized, I’ll add this piece to his Web site, with the location. It boiled down to one woman on a mission.”