Read Dogwood for Free Online

a Kleenex. Then she placed the black behemoth on the floor as a knight might shed his coat of armor and sword and took off her glasses. She rubbed the lenses, then stuffed the tissue back in her purse. “I don’t get direct revelation. I told Richard that. I don’t want anybody thinking I’m so close to the Almighty that he talks to me, but I got an impression last night that won’t leave me alone. A feeling about this fellow. Clarkston’s a place you need to go, and I want to be there when you walk in.”
    I shook my head. “I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But you know how busy a time this is. And I have children. The responsibilities at the church are enough for me to say no to this, but with the kids . . .”
    “I talked it over with the preacher. He said he would work everything out. You can be gone the whole day. Why would you want to pass up such good company? And the trees and hills this time of year are just sprouting green.”
    I had settled into a good life, a busy life, one that made me feel important, as if I were holding up four pillars of my little world, and if any of them moved the slightest, the whole thing would come tumbling down. But I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept the whole night with my husband. I also couldn’t remember when we had last made love.
    “Well, if you don’t want my help, I’ll understand,” Ruthie said.
    “Did he put you up to this? Richard?”
    Ruthie pursed her lips and cocked her head at me. “I’m going to Clarkston next Tuesday. I’ve set up the meeting with the people there. If you want to get on board the Ruthie train, you’d best be making your decision.”
    “Wait,” I said as she reached the door. “If I come with you, will you come to the luncheon?”
    She squinted.
    “The Lord told me you needed to come,” I said, managing a smile.
    “You come with me, and I’ll make sure it’s a spring luncheon those hyenas in there will never forget.”
    Later that night, while the children were occupied, Richard asked how my day had gone, a fresh newspaper folded under his arm. I told him Ruthie and I had met in his office at the church and what she’d asked.
    “I think it would probably be good for you to go,” he said.
    “You’re not jealous? You’re not afraid that . . . ?”
    He put an arm around me. “I trust you, Karin. Who knows? Old feelings may come up. That’s normal. But maybe they need to.”

K arin’s J ournal
    I remember the first day I saw Will. It was sixth grade, back when that was the top rung of elementary school. My family had moved a few miles east from the country to town. Wild, wonderful Dogwood, the gateway to the end of the world. No stoplight. One grocery store. Two gas stations directly across from each other on Route 60. The water treatment plant that sent a haze over the town.
    I wore shiny shoes with buckles, socks to the knees, a ribbon in my hair, and a dress I held down during recess. I was trying hard to fit in with the others, but my clothes set me apart. Most girls wore jeans or shorts. I was so happy in that outfit, so secure and full of joy. Others stole the joy, and I returned home determined to mute my beauty as much as possible.
    The instant Will walked through the door of the classroom, my face flushed. He had an air of confidence that none of the others had. A gentleness. An awareness of others. His body already lanky, his fingers already calloused and hardened by farm work, he glided into his chair instead of collapsing like the others.
    Will wasn’t what anyone would call handsome, at least the way it was defined back then. There were slight imperfections:his hair was too short, his clothes not in style—a product of life on a farm—and his ears were a bit large. He looked like Alfred E. Neuman without the overbite or goofy face.
    But there was something about him that transcended outward definition or judgment. An innate sense of himself. He was the kind of boy who carried