Fearless Hope: A Novel by Serena B. Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

except his father. He was no closer to learning the man’s name than he had ever been. He had given up trying to pry it out of her.
    It had been many years since he’d gone to St. Patrick’s, but she continued to go weekly. He had once asked her why she went when she wasn’t even Catholic.
    “There are places on earth that feel holier than others,” she had said. “Some people feel inspired by the Grand Canyon, or in a great redwood forest, or standing beside the ocean. For me . . . it’s right here in the middle of the city.” She had glanced up. “These beautiful, soaring ceilings, these gorgeous stained-glass windows. The quiet. The candles. It feels holy to me, and healing.”
    Then she’d tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they had walked out. She always stopped, held her head high, and breathed deeply when they emerged from the church. It was her way of preparing herself for another week of putting criminals behind bars, or keeping innocent people free.
    He thought about that conversation now as he stood, alone in the echoing stillness of the old house. It, too, felt holy to him . . . and healing. It felt like he belonged here.
    Coming here might not be the magic cure he needed to get over this emotional bump in the road that was keeping him from writing well, but it felt good to be here, and for now that was enough.
    •  •  •
    Over the next few days, he furnished his rooms with the solid Amish-made furniture he had admired on his first trip. Lehman’s delivered a propane stove and refrigerator. Verla’s husband showed him how to light the gaslights. He picked up utilitarian dishes and linens at Walmart.
    Within a week, everything necessary to basic living was in place. Kerosene lamps on the tables; firewood bought cheaply from an Amish teenager who was selling it door-to-door from a horse-drawn wagon. The boy’s name was Simon, a good-natured young man who stacked it neatly behind the house at no extra cost.
    “I used to work for the man who lived here before you,” Simon said while waiting in the kitchen for Logan to get the cash to pay him. “I helped him put up hay in the summers. He was a gut man.”
    Even after he was paid, Simon did not seem in a hurry to leave. Logan noticed him eyeing some day-old doughnuts left out on the table.
    “Would you like some doughnuts?” he offered. “I’m afraid they’re a little stale. I was planning to throw them out.”
    Simon fell upon them as though he had not eaten in days. Of course, teenage boys tended to get hungry easily, but still, he ate as though he was starved.
    “Would you like some coffee?” Logan asked. “It’s left over from this morning.”
    Simon nodded and took another huge bite of doughnut, practically swallowing it whole.
    With no microwave, Logan heated the coffee up on the stove. It was boiling hot when he served it, but Simon slurped it down anyway. Then he stared longingly at the last two doughnuts.
    “Please,” Logan said. “Help yourself. I don’t plan to eat them.”
    He did not have to ask twice.
    Slightly unnerved by the boy’s hunger, he added an extra ten dollars to the small amount Simon had charged.
    “For stacking it,” he explained. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
    “But you fed me,” Simon protested.
    “That’s okay.” To his own surprise, he found himself adding, “If you get hungry again, you’re welcome to come back.”
    “Thank you!”
    In his opinion, Simon’s gratitude was more heartfelt than a half dozen stale doughnuts warranted, but Logan liked the boy and hoped he’d stop by again.
    He was finding it hard to live for even a week with nothing but isolation and silence. He had worked so hard for so long that it felt strange not to be sitting down at his computer every morning. It felt even stranger not to check email or fuel other social media outlets with his words. Marla had strictly forbidden him to even use his smartphone unless it was to contact her or his