no intention of sticking around here longer than I have to.”
Too late, he realized how harsh that sounded. He tempered his comments with a smile. “We’ll have fun together, and once you move to Vancouver, then we’ll spend a whole lot more time together,” he said. “It’s a beautiful city, and the winters are much milder than our Alberta winters.”
“We’ll see.” She gave him a sorrowful smile, and he could tell he hadn’t convinced her to leave yet. “I know you want me to sell the place. It’s too hard to run with hired help.” She waited a moment, holding his gaze with hers. “I guess I had always hoped you would come back,” she continued, sounding wistful. “And maybe now that you’re here...”
“Please don’t,” he said, interrupting her hopeful words. “Cedar Ridge hasn’t been my home for a while, and certainly can’t be now.”
“Does your father still have such a strong hold over you?”
His mother’s mournful voice created a mixture of feelings. Resentment that she should ask when she knew precisely what he had gone through, blended with emotions he had struggled against for most of his life. Where had she been while his father was being so hard on him? Why hadn’t she stood up for him? Taken his side?
“You haven’t forgiven him, have you?” she continued.
Noah pulled in a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders, trying to settle the sorrow he knew he should have been done with long ago.
“He’s not around to forgive, so it doesn’t really matter anymore does it? Besides, it’s memories too.” He gave his mother an apologetic smile.
“I pray for you every day,” she said. “That you can find it in your heart to forgive your father. I think when you do, you will find your way back to your other Father. The one who loves you perfectly. His love will give you real peace.”
“You don’t have to worry about my faith life,” he said finally, pushing down the wavering emotions his mother’s words created. For the past few years he and God had had an understanding. Noah wouldn’t bother God, and God wouldn’t bother him.
Besides, God wouldn’t want to have much to do with someone who couldn’t even take care of his own employee.
Someone who would never, ever be referred to as a hero.
Like Shauntelle’s husband was.
* * *
“Mom, can I put those out?” Millie pointed to the cooler holding the layer cakes Shauntelle had spent hours baking last night and icing this morning. Her mother had let her use her car until she figured out what to do about transportation, but it was tiny and Shauntelle had worried about how the cakes would travel in the little hatchback.
“I’ll take care of them, honey,” Shauntelle said, hurrying over. There was no way she was letting anything happen to those cakes after all the work she’d put into them.
She had found the cakes while she was on Pinterest and plunged down the rabbit hole that is the internet. When she read the recipes, she was intrigued. If people liked them, they could be potential dessert menu items for her restaurant.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Margaret asked, shivering as she pulled her jacket closer around her. “And why couldn’t we be inside today?”
“Just a few weeks ago you were wishing we could be outside.” Shauntelle tapped her daughter playfully on her nose.
Though she found the weather a bit cool herself, she was still glad to be outdoors. Last week they had set up in the multipurpose room of the old arena, stuck in a damp, echoing space that was always too noisy and cramped.
The new arena couldn’t be completed soon enough, for the other members of the Farmer’s Market or her. Next week she could finally implement all the ideas roiling around in her head ever since she’d come up with her plan for a restaurant and snack bar.
For a moment she felt a shiver of panic. What if all her plans for her own business were a waste of time and money? What if she was fooling herself, thinking people would want to come to her restaurant for dinner? Cedar Ridge already had the Brand and Grill in town, plus Angelo’s, and she heard the bakery had just set up a bistro.
Was there room for her restaurant? Would she make enough to take care of herself and her daughters?
She struggled to fight down the anxiety she always felt when doubts about her decision attacked her. And lately they’d been coming harder the closer she came to implementing them.
But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d put her husband through med school, raised the girls on her bank salary while Roger pursued his dream and vision during his internship. She put in long hours to make sure they had the basics in life. And after Roger died, she dug back into her emotional reserve and carried on. She fought her own sorrow and put on a brave face for her daughters while her own heart was breaking. And now she was supporting her parents through their own grief over the loss of their son and her brother.
As well as dealing with her own grief and anger.
She hadn’t quit then, and she wasn’t about to quit now. Through it all she had depended on her Lord to give her the strength she needed, and He hadn’t failed her yet. Come what may, she knew she always had her faith.
“That looks really nice, Mommy,” Margaret said, full of admiration as Shauntelle set out the third fancy layer cake.
“I thought they turned out well,” she said, with a touch of pride, as she shifted the one chocolate cake with its fancy trimming to show it off the best. While she did, she imagined cakes, cheesecakes, pies and fancy squares lined up on shelves in a glass case at the entrance of her new restaurant, tempting the patrons even before they sat down to order dinner.
She’d set up far too many boards on Pinterest with ideas for decor, layout, furniture and menus. It was endless, and she often had to stop and prioritize.
“Sweetheart, can you set out the muffins?” she asked Millie as she set some loaves of bread on the shelf in front and to one side of her table.
“I want to see what Rory has,” she grumbled. “She told me she would have some new jewelry when she came this week.”
“I want to see too,” Margaret chimed in, abandoning her job.
“Later. The market will be open in ten minutes and I want to be ready.”
“Hey, girls!” Sonya called out, dragging two rolling suitcases past Shauntelle’s table. Sonya DeBree was short and heavyset, her dyed black hair worn in a perpetual braid down her back. The young woman stopped and whistled loudly. “Wow, those cakes turned out fantastic. I’d ask you to save one for me, but I think I’ve got enough cake stored up in me to last me until I die.” She massaged her protruding belly, laughing as she did so. “Once you start that restaurant I’m going to be in such trouble.”
“I hope so,” Shauntelle said with a wry look.
Sonya must have caught the hint of concern in her voice. “It will be just fine. Here’s hoping those construction people can get the arena done in time though. Heard things were slowing down.” Then, before Shauntelle could ask her what exactly she meant by those unsettling comments, she swished her long skirts and headed off to her table to set up her spices, homemade jam and condiments on her table.
Shauntelle felt a tremor of unease at her comment, but then shrugged it off as Farmer’s Market gossip. The usual chitchat of people who had time on their hands and a listening ear.
She turned her attention to getting the last of her baking set out. Ten minutes later everything was ready, and people were already drifting into the parking lot where they were set up, wandering around the tables.
A few people came directly to her table. These were her regulars who showed up every Saturday to pick up preorders that she couldn’t deliver.
“Thanks so much,