Beyond Tuesday Morning by Karen Kingsbury Read Free Book Online Page B

her friend, and then back at Jamie. “The way you shared it with us the first time we came in.”
    Jamie patted the woman's shoulders. She was passing with flying colors. Usually by now widows who weren't ready would be breaking down, asking questions of their own. Questions they had a right to ask, but that proved they weren't ready to work at St. Paul's. Not this woman.
    “I understand there's an application we have to fill out?” The strength in the woman's eyes was softened by a compassion that only came from knowing pain personally.
    “Yes.” Jamie hesitated. “I'm sorry. I remember you, of course, but I've forgotten your names. A lot of people come through here.”
    “I'm Janice.” She nodded to her friend. “This is Beth.”
    “And Beth, what about you? Tell me about your husband.”
    She lifted a dainty shoulder. “I don't know; he was my hero, I guess.”
    “You were married a long time?” Just because Jamie was ready for work at the chapel didn't mean Beth was.
    “We'd only been married three years. I was—” Her voice broke. She looked up at the cross and bit her lip. “I was expecting our first baby, our son, when he died.”
    “I'm sorry.” Jamie leaned forward. “Would you feel comfortable talking about that with strangers?”
    For a moment Beth said nothing, only kept her eyes glued to the cross. Then, as tears streamed down her cheeks, she gave a slow shake of her head. “No, his memory is too precious for that.”
    Jamie waited.
    Beth looked at Janice and then at Jamie. “I guess I'm not ready for this. I'm sorry. I thought I was. I wanted to be ready.”
    “There are lots of things you can do, Beth, even if this isn't one of them.” Jamie's heart ached for the woman. Next to her, Janice gave her friend a hug.
    After a moment, Jamie handed Beth a tissue. When she was more composed she looked at Jamie. “What can I do? Everywhere I go, people have forgotten about September 11. It's as if it bothers them to remember that it ever happened at all. But I want to do something.”
    “You can go home and love that little boy. He's three years old, Beth. He needs you. And you can keep alive every single memory you ever shared with your husband. You can write them in a journal so that when your son is old enough he'll feel as if he knew his daddy personally.”
    Beth's eyes filled with another layer of tears, but there was something else there. A light, a ray of hope the woman hadn't had before. “I never thought of that.”
    Jamie kept her tone compassionate. “If you don't do that for your son, who will?”
    When the women left late that morning, Janice had an application, and Beth had a plan, a purpose. Proof again that Jamie's work at St. Paul's was important, that it did indeed carry on Jake's legacy—offering people hope in the name of Jesus Christ.
    And that morning, the results were so strong, so eternally important, Jamie could almost feel Jake working beside her.

 

    F OUR
    Some volunteers stayed on at St. Paul's indefinitely—people like Jamie and Aaron Hisel. But most worked for a season and then moved on. Which meant the little chapel always needed new volunteers.
    As Jamie headed for the stairs that morning, she thought about Janice. From what she could tell, the woman would be a wonderful addition to the staff. Close enough to share the pain of visitors who needed comforting; strong enough to offer them the spiritual hope they needed.
    But as wonderful as the morning's outcome had been, Jamie was exhausted, emotionally drained. More so than usual. She headed for the break room and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the table. People were always bringing in cases of water or trays of baked goods for the volunteers. A way of encouraging them to continue the work they did at St. Paul's.
    Jamie peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. The issue with Sierra was weighing on her. How was she supposed to tell her daughter the truth? Should it happen in stages? Maybe start by telling