Nella sniffed, sparing Kizzie a glance. “You're not too keen on that?”
Kizzie shook her head. “I've been a fool about Charles.”
“You're young.” Nella set the dough aside to rise. “And you acted young. You ain't the first and won't be the last. Time and the Lord will make you smarter, if you let ’em.”
Kizzie ran her fingers down Charlie's cheek. “I hope so.”
Silence quieted the moment, the sound of the fire crackling in the next room the only interruption.
“You're gonna get through this, Kizzie McAdams.” Nella's strong voice broke the silence. “It's gonna be hard. And it's gonna hurt. And the past may tag along with you for a while yet, but there's another side to it all. And you'll get there.” Her gaze never wavered from Kizzie's. “But you get to choose how you move to the other side of it. Beatin’ yourself up from your own foolishness, or wiser and braver than before.” She released a sigh, the energy in her look softening. “God ain't done with you, girl.”
Kizzie's eyes stung, and her throat closed up with a sudden rush of emotion she didn't know how to explain. Not sadness. No. Nella's words inspired the same inexplicable response Kizzie experienced when she saw the winter pansies.
The idea that something good waited beyond the hard.
Something strong beyond the weakness.
“Why don't you come on to church with us in the morning? You wouldn't have to be alone then.”
The intensity of Nella's words still reverberated in the room, stealing any rejection of the offer from Kizzie's lips. Whether she fit into Nella's church or not, she knew the Chappells wouldn't abandon her, even after what she'd done. And even if Nella knew about Charles staying overnight only three nights ago.
She probably knew. For some reason, Kizzie felt as if Nella had the same inexplicable intuition as her mama.
Mama always knew things.
But even if Nella knew, she still invited Kizzie to join them. The thought bumped into another. Was God the same way? Welcoming? Even to her?
“All right.”
Nella's expression failed to change except for the small sparkle in her eyes. “Good.”
Good. Was it? Her trembling heart failed to reassure her.
She'd belonged somewhere once, so she knew what belonging felt like, but being an outcast from home, she'd lost her footing, trying to find or create a place of belonging in a story with Charles that seemed now as fragile as glass.
If the morning conversations with Mrs. Morgan and Charles taught her nothing, it reminded her, again, of how little power she held over Charles’ choices.
Or his heart.
Kizzie chose to walk home after the Sunday service instead of returning with the Chappells. Besides, they planned to stay for an after-church dinner, and Kizzie's heart squeezed with too many emotions left over from the preacher's message.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd heard the story of the woman who met Jesus at the well, but the way Preacher Jones told it … His voice and words reached all the way across the church and hit her right in the heart. Kizzie felt that woman's brokenness, the need to feel superior or sarcastic, her ready distraction when the truth got too close, and her wonder, a wonder that left her dazed and curious and maybe even a little afraid that the promise was too good to be true.
Too beautiful.
Was it all just a story? Did God's love really work itself into broken lives nowadays? Like hers?
It was so hard to grasp. Too big, too out of reach. Nothing as touchable and “real” as the baby in her arms or Charles’ kisses.
She stretched out her shoulders as she continued her brisk walk, the deeper ache in her back only confirming what her eyes told her. Charlie was getting bigger.
Of course, he was just over a month old.
A month.
The time seemed fast and slow all at once. Plus, her little boy had started staying awake a bit longer in the day, his bright eyes taking in the world around him. Especially during the church service they'd just left.
Kizzie had never imagined such a lively service. And singing? One woman stood right up in the middle of the offering and started singing “Amazing Grace,” like something straight from heaven. And somehow, the piano player followed all her different tones and twists as if they'd planned the whole thing. Kizzie had never heard so many “Hallelujahs” or “Preach it, brothers” in her life. Joy breathed through the little clapboard building, spilling out the front doors, even as Kizzie left.
