# Walls of Jericho

Lynn Bulock

WOULD THE WALLS COME TUMBLING DOWN?After sixteen years of wedded bliss, Claire Jericho yearned to be more than just a housewife. God meant her to do something meaningful–but what? When a ministry to help unfortunate women started up at church, Claire knew this was the answer to her prayers. If only she could persuade her husband….Ben Jericho still saw Claire as his helpless young bride. But the «sweet young thing» had grown up into a smart and capable woman. Convinced her ministry was just a crazy scheme, Ben was against the project from the start. Could Claire show him this was truly her heart's desire?

## “Are you telling me you’re unhappy? That you want a change?”

“Maybe.” Claire stepped away, where he wouldn’t confuse her. “I guess I want to change the partnership a little.”

She turned around and looked into Ben’s warm, dark eyes. If she weren’t careful, this argument would end with him promising plenty, changing nothing and romancing her into complacency.

“But I look at you and still see the sweet thing I married. And I promised to honor you, protect you and cherish you.”

That sounded like a caveman talking.

“But you didn’t promise to treat me like a child! Your sweet young thing is all grown up. And she’s got a lot more sense than you give her credit for!”

## LYNN BULOCK

lives in Thousand Oaks, California, with her husband and two sons, a dog and a cat. She has been telling stories since she could talk and writing them down since fourth grade. She is the author of nine contemporary romance novels.

## Walls of Jericho. Lynn Bulock


www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him who have been called according to His purpose.

—Romans 8:28

To Joe, always


And

To my parents, Walter and Betty Hosea,

a truly matched pair

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

## Chapter One

It was going to be a lovely wedding. Claire Jericho was sure of it. Now, if she could just marshal the troops to get there in time she could enjoy her father’s lovely wedding.

Was she the only one in the whole extended family who could get ready on time? She paced the living room, hearing the click of her heels on the hardwood floor. She could hear the boys thumping around upstairs. Her two had the vague excuse of adding their cousin to the normal chaos of getting ready. But Ben had no excuse at all, and Laurel had their father’s whole apartment to herself to get ready in. Where was she?

Running late or trying to replace panty hose at the last moment, Claire told herself. Old habits died hard. She could still remember the bathroom mirror wars when all three girls were at home, in this same house. Laurel was always the last one ready, no matter how much time they gave her.

Carrie, of course, was first. But then she had to be talked into wearing something better than jeans, a ball cap and T-shirt, which made the whole process last twice as long. And while her parents squabbled with Carrie, or tried to hurry Laurel along, Claire quietly got ready for whatever event they were going to.

Most of the time, it was church at Friedens Community Chapel—where they were all heading today if the rest of them ever got ready. She picked a tiny piece of lint off the skirt of her pink dress, and sighed. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”

As if Laurel had actually heard Claire for a change, she came through the front door. “Sorry it took this long. I put a run through the first pair of panty hose with my fingernail.” She waggled her bright fuchsia nails. “Not used to these most of the time. They are elegant, though, aren’t they?”

“Definitely.” And probably cost more than Claire’s weekly grocery bill. California was far different from Friedens, for sure. Laurel looked elegant from head to toe, with her brown hair in a perfect chignon, slim suit the same shade as her nails, and gorgeous pumps in a shade Claire couldn’t even describe.

Her sister saw her looking at the shoes. “Yeah, I know, they’re a bit much. But everybody says gray is going to be the new neutral for a couple seasons. I saw them at the mall and bought them before I thought about them. Would you believe that I actually had them halfway home, ready to show them to Sam, before I remembered—” Laurel’s voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears.

“Okay, now don’t smear the makeup,” Claire said, grabbing a tissue out of the side pocket of her dress. That was one of the reasons she’d worn this pale pink one. It had pockets, and she knew she’d need them to fill with tissues. But she hadn’t thought she’d need them until church. “We said we’d get through this without thinking about Mom or Sam or any of those things.”

Laurel’s lip trembled. “I know. And I really meant it.” She ran the backs of both hands up her cheeks. “There. I’m done. Now let’s see where those guys are.”

“I think they’re about to find us.” Claire could hear somebody marching down the stairs. It was a lighter step than usual, but all four males upstairs had traded their usual athletic shoes for something dressier today. The sounds rounded the bend to the landing, and shiny black loafers with pinstriped pant legs came into view. That had to be Ben.

Claire’s heart still lifted at the sight of her husband. He looked so fine dressed up. He looked pretty good in the khakis and shirt he wore to work most days, but this was even better.

“It’s about time,” she told him. “You’re supposed to set an example for the rest of that bunch. I thought I was going to have to come drag all of you down.”

His grin was brighter than the sunshine streaming in the windows. And when he smiled like that, the same dimple appeared in his left cheek that she could trace now in Trent and Kyle.

“What if I don’t want to set a good example?” Ben got to the bottom of the staircase and put his arms around her waist. “What if I want to kiss you, instead? You look wonderful. How much of my money did you spend on that new dress?”

“None, silly. Because it isn’t new.”

He held her at arm’s length. “I’d remember that one from before, wouldn’t I?” His slightly wolfish grin suggested that the dress was as flattering as she’d hoped.

“Honest, it’s not new. I’ve, uh, enhanced it a little,” Claire said.

“New jewelry? Different belt?” He was still holding her around the waist, and it made Claire want to squirm slightly, combined with the way he was still admiring her.

“Try about ten pounds less inside the dress,” Laurel piped up from across the room. “Or does it take another woman to recognize that?”

Ben shrugged. “Whatever. It looks great, Claire. Want me to holler at the guys to get them down here?”

“Only if I get to cover my ears first,” Laurel told him. “I remember your hollering, Ben Jericho. And it could shatter glass.”

Claire braced herself for the ruckus she knew would erupt when Ben called the troops. At least this way they’d get to church on time.

Thirty minutes later everybody had made it the half block to church. With a minimum of fuss, they were all seated in the front pew, on the groom’s side. As the organ music played and the minister spoke, Claire sat and helped her sister work through a whole purse-size package of tissues. “This is silly,” she whispered as they stood for prayers. “I couldn’t be happier.”

It was a gorgeous June day. Sun streamed in the stained glass windows like a blessing, and the church was filled. Everything was going just right. But she was still crying. At least she wasn’t alone. She could hear sniffling down the aisles behind her. Weddings just seemed to naturally do that to people. Women, at least.

“Me, too. We just show it oddly, I guess,” Laurel said wryly. “The wonders of waterproof mascara.” She fished another tissue out of the package and dabbed at her eyes. “Daddy looks so happy.”

“He really does. I didn’t think this would ever happen.” Claire watched her father, beaming as he faced Gloria at the altar. It was amazing to Claire that after nearly a decade of being on his own, Hank had found someone to share his life with again.

He’d grieved long and hard after her mom had died from cancer. Who could have imagined that at sixty-one he’d be a bridegroom again? But it felt so right. Gloria was such a sweetheart. And she was so thrilled to have “lots of girls,” as she put it. Claire could understand that. It was nice having another female around the house this weekend, even if it was her big sister, and only for a few days.

The couple looked more than happy. Hank still cut a dashing figure in a tuxedo. But then, he even looked good in his usual sheriff’s uniform. And Claire had never seen Gloria look anything less than perfect, even when she was tending to her grandchildren. The pearl-gray suit she wore now fit her to perfection, and her wrist corsage of roses and baby orchids was luscious.

There was a shifting down the row, and Claire started to turn her head to see what her awful boys were getting up to. Laurel put a hand on top of hers. “Don’t look. You really don’t want to. I know that between yours and mine, they’re doing something horrid. Just nudge Ben and have him take care of it.”

That brought a smile to Claire’s face. Ben handle the disturbance? Her husband was the biggest boy of all. He was probably in on whatever those hooligans down the row were doing. As was their Aunt Carrie, most likely. Her baby sister was never much for either romance or decorum. Even a wedding was not likely to change that. At least they’d talked her into wearing a dress. That sight itself might have set the boys off. They’d probably had no idea Carrie had legs.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to give Laurel’s suggestion a try. “Ben?” she called softly. “Sit on whatever those guys are doing, okay?” She reached out to squeeze his arm and get his attention, in case her words hadn’t. Good old solid Ben—her rock since she was no older than her fourteen-year-old nephew Jeremy.

“Right,” Ben whispered back, leaning over her. His lips brushed her ear, making Claire shiver a little. His touch still did that to her after almost twenty years of dating and marriage. Just the solid wall of his arm in that dark suit, the touch of his mouth as he whispered to her, made her spin. She was so fortunate. The tears welled up again, and she grabbed another tissue from Laurel.

“We’re a mess,” her sister muttered. “A happy mess, but we are definitely a mess.”

“It can only get better. I think they’re almost to the end. At least we won’t cry during the reception.”

They didn’t, because there was just too much going on all at once. The huge hall beneath the church was packed with people. Her father had insisted that they were not going to do a sit-down dinner and band and all the trimmings. “We know too many people who want to be here,” he’d told the girls. “Nobody would have room to dance.”

Claire had felt like arguing at the time, but her dad was right. The hall held several hundred people without a problem, and it was filled to capacity. Everybody in Friedens seemed to be here to wish Hank and Gloria well.

When Claire thought about it, that didn’t surprise her. Gloria had been the leading Realtor in town about as long as her dad had been sheriff. Between them, it would be hard to find a family within twenty miles whose lives hadn’t been touched by the people standing near the front table, smiling at each other.

Had she and Ben looked that happy nearly sixteen years ago? Of course they had, Claire told herself. But then, at the time she was all of eighteen, and Ben not quite twenty. They were too young and stupid to be anything but happy.

Not stupid, really, she mused. But they hadn’t had any idea what they were up against—unlike Hank and Gloria, who’d been married before, raised children and each lost a spouse. Still, they looked radiant. Claire was filled with the impulse to go over and hug her dad, to tell him how happy he looked.

Not that he’d take well to a hug in public, even now. But she could get away with it here. As she crossed the floor toward Hank, she looked around to see where the boys had gotten to. Kyle must have seen her searching, because he bounded up to her.

At least he’d looked presentable during the wedding. The eleven-year-old was actually wearing a white shirt and tie, although the tie was drooping now and the top collar button was undone.

“Hey, Mom. You never told me Aunt Carrie could burp the alphabet.”

Claire couldn’t help shaking her head. “It just never occurred to me, Kyle. It’s not a talent that gets much use, even for Carrie. Tell me she’s not doing that for you guys here. Is she?”

“Not exactly. But she can spell words. Jeremy still has her beat on sound volume, anyway.”

There was that familiar dimple beside his grin. It looked just as appealing on her blond son as it did on her dark-haired husband.

“Which has more bubbles?” he asked. “Fountain soda or cans?”

“Cans. Don’t shake them and don’t join the contest, understood?” She ran a hand through his hair, only to have him pull back.

“Gel, remember?”

Of course. Trent and Jeremy had helped him style the unruly mop before the wedding. “Right. Sorry. And I mean it about being good, got it?”

“Got it,” he said over his shoulder, heading over to join the beverage line and get his can of something extremely bubbly.

Maybe she should hunt down the boys and Carrie, and settle them down. Shaking her head again, Claire sought her father, instead.

“Sorry you didn’t have a band?” she asked him, giving him a quick hug. She was surprised when he answered her with a hearty squeeze right there in the middle of the church hall. If this was what marriage did for her usually reticent father, she liked it.

“A little bit. It would be fun dancing with Gloria. But then I’d get roped into dancing with all you girls, and two dozen ladies with blue hair, and I’m just as glad not to have to do that.”

“I imagine.” Claire looked over at Gloria, who had her granddaughter Mikayla on her hip and was straightening the stretchy headband in the child’s fluffy pale hair. “So, are you two going to sneak out soon?”

Hank shrugged. “Don’t see how we can for a while. I’m just glad we decided to go off to Branson for a few days. It will seem calm compared to this.”

He put an arm around Claire again, and she marveled at the happiness in his blue eyes.

“Did I give you the last set of keys to the apartment?” he asked. “I can always come get them when we get back, to clear out the last of the boxes.”

“You sure did. They’re on the dresser, next to Ben’s huge ring of keys from the hardware store. You could have kept a set if you wanted, though.”

“It’s safe this way. In more ways than one. This way if we have a spat, I don’t have any way to go home to the family.”

Claire giggled. “Right, Dad. That will happen. You two look like you couldn’t be happier. And I’m sure it will last.”

Hank winked at her. “If it lasts as long as you and Ben, we would make the papers as the oldest couple in the county, I think.”

She thumped him on the shoulder, but gently. “I meant your happiness. And anyway, in sixteen years you’d only be—”

He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t even go there, my dear. I know it’s true, but I don’t want to be reminded.” Pulling back, he smiled, then came in to kiss her on the forehead in a very uncharacteristic, but endearing gesture. “I’ll check in next week when we get back from Branson, and bring the truck over to move the last of the boxes. I’m down to odds and ends that Gloria doesn’t want to see, I imagine.”

“Like that elk head from Canada that Mom wouldn’t let in the house, I’ll bet.”

Hank grinned. “You didn’t notice that was already out of the garage? Gloria put it in the mudroom for a hat rack. The woman has quite a sense of humor.”

“Yeah, she married you,” Claire teased. “Seriously, though, all happiness. Have a good trip to Branson.”

“We will. You two taking off now?”

Claire shook her head. “Not yet. And you know that by the time we leave it will be seven, not two. We’ve still got Laurel and Jeremy. And the boys, who are having some kind of contest with Carrie that I don’t want to know about. I just wanted to come over here and catch you while I could.”

“Good job,” Hank told her. “Of course you’d manage to come while Gloria was holding Mikayla. I’m sure that was pure coincidence.”

Gloria, hearing her name, came closer. “Coincidence, hmm? Where Claire and babies are concerned, I don’t think so, Hank. I’d offer to let you hold her, but she’s at that age where there aren’t many people, besides her mom, that she’ll go to.”

“She is a doll baby, though, isn’t she?” Claire stroked the wispy hair, not getting close enough to frighten the wide-eyed child. “Like I told Dad, all the best. And have a great time in Branson.”

“I’m sure we will.” Gloria’s eyes glowed with happiness, and possibly with a few unshed tears.

Claire wondered what kind of feelings went through a woman’s head on a second wedding day like this. It was hard for Claire to imagine.

Suddenly she had a question—for Ben. She knew it might be hours before she got her answer. But it was very important. She made her goodbyes, and found him discussing the fall football season and Friedens’s chances against their biggest rival in Union.

Some of the folks in the discussion seemed to think Trent would automatically follow his father’s lead as Friedens High School’s star quarterback. Ben didn’t disabuse them of the notion, even though he knew how Claire felt about the boys playing football. She was nervous enough that Trent would probably be on junior varsity in the fall.

When Ben slipped an arm around her, it was almost without looking—and, she suspected, without thinking. Just one of those automatic reactions because she was there.

The thought was still playing over in her mind later that same night, when she was standing at the bathroom mirror, brushing her hair before bed.

Sometimes it was very helpful to have your husband run a hardware store. Even if he didn’t have the time to do all the work himself, they could afford all the materials to keep the place in shape. She was glad that they’d done the remodeling of the old house, giving them a real master bathroom. This way she could look in the mirror and through the doorway, if the door was open, see Ben in bed stretched out the way he was now, propped up on one elbow. How somebody looked that appealing in a plain gray T-shirt was beyond her.

“Ben? Wasn’t it a nice wedding?” She put down the hairbrush and smoothed her shoulder-length waves. Still no gray among the light brown. Not everybody could say that at thirty-four.

“Nice? Sure. It was real nice.” Ben seemed to be interested in the sports magazine on the bed.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Any time.” He still didn’t lift his head from the magazine, but he was listening. That much she knew.

“I got the strangest feeling while I was at the reception watching Gloria and Dad. They looked so happy. Were we that happy?”

“Of course. We were so happy we nearly floated.”

She could see his eyes in the mirror now, behind her, looking a little puzzled. “If you knew everything then, do you think you’d still do it the same way? Getting married that young, and all?” She wanted to add that she would—in a moment. But something stopped her. Perhaps it was the silence from the bedroom.

She could hear crickets outside through an open window. And little night-peeper frogs. But no answer from her husband. “Ben?” she asked again.

“I heard you. And honestly, I don’t know.”

As Claire turned toward the bed, it was as if the foundations of her world slipped slightly, pushing her off center.

## Chapter Two

Claire sat on the side of the bed, wondering what to say. What have I gotten myself into? Was the question a prayer, or just an enquiry for her own spinning brain? She decided it had to be a prayer. She needed all the help she could get, because Ben’s answer was not the one she expected.

“You want to explain that?” Her lips felt slightly numb as she spoke.

Ben looked down at his magazine, then flipped it closed and tossed it to the floor, backing up on the pillow to give her his full attention. She wasn’t sure whether to be gratified or disturbed by the change.

“I know the safe answer would have been better, Claire. But it wouldn’t have been the truth. And we’ve always told each other the truth.” Ben’s blue eyes were frank. That was Ben. He didn’t ever pull his punches.

“If my answer upsets you, it must be because yours is different. Does this mean that you’d do it all again, the same way we did it, without any questions? Even if you knew everything you know now?”

“Ten minutes ago I would have said yes. Of course.” Claire noticed that her feet were cold. And her fingers were, too. She pulled up into a ball on the bed, tucking her toes under the hem of her cotton gown. She must have shivered, because Ben pulled her close.

She felt as if she should pull away, given their discussion. Her husband had just told her that he might not marry her again at nineteen if he had the wisdom of a thirty-five-year-old. But still, this was Ben. He had been part of her life forever, or at least since she was barely fourteen, younger than Trent. “How can you say no?” she asked through lips that were still numb.

He pulled her even closer, and Claire snuggled in to his body. She felt traitorous for seeking comfort from the very man who had upset her, but there could be no one else for her in any situation. “I didn’t. You asked if I’d do it again. And I told you the truth. I don’t know.” He rested his head back on the headboard.

“Why don’t you know?” Claire wasn’t so sure she wanted to find out, but she had to ask.

“Don’t you ever wonder?” His voice sounded almost harsh. “What if we’d waited? What if you’d finished college instead of marrying me and having Trent so quickly? Would we still be here, living in your parents’ old house, in the town we both grew up in? I know I would have kept playing college ball. Maybe even gone pro instead of coming back here to run Dad’s hardware store. Don’t you ever think that maybe we could have done better?”

Claire buried her face in his neck, feeling his arm around her, knowing she could never have done any better than this. How did she tell him that, and still answer his question honestly? They were talking about two different things.

She was asking if he loved her in the same way, if he would go through all the thrills and storms of marriage again, knowing now what no nineteen-year-old could know. He was answering with a practical thought about the rest of their life choices.

To Claire, it was apples and oranges. To Ben, it was more like Golden Delicious versus Granny Smith.

“Claire? Now I’ve got to ask. You still there? It never takes you this long to answer.” He sounded amused and worried at the same time.

“I’m here. And thinking. Maybe if you put it like that, I’d have to answer the same way. Sure, I wonder what things would have been like if we’d waited. But I can’t imagine life without Trent and Kyle.”

“I can. We could afford vacations, have shrimp for dinner instead of hamburger, and I’d drive a convertible—”

Even without looking Claire could tell that her husband was grinning as he spoke. It made her want to poke him in the rib cage.

“But I’d probably hate every minute of it.”

Relief washed over Claire like a wave. “You had me worried for a minute.”

“Sorry. I didn’t intend to.” He kissed her softly, first at the hairline and then on the lips, gently. “You know I don’t like worrying you. You worry too much as it is.”

“Who, me?” Claire batted her eyelashes at him, watching him smile.

“You’re the queen of worriers.” But the words were teasing and familiar, making Claire smile.

She didn’t feel cold anymore. But she was getting sleepy. “Want to turn out the light?”

Ben’s answer was to reach his free arm over to the nightstand and find the lamp. In a moment they were in the dark, with only the crickets and peepers for company.

Did those stupid frogs ever shut up? Ben lay awake in the dark, listening to them. Every spring Claire could hardly wait to open the windows in the bedroom while they slept. For him, it was four to six weeks of aggravation. When the pollen wasn’t killing him, the frogs were keeping him up. Still, Ben didn’t have the heart to ask her to sleep with the windows shut all year round. He got his way most of the time. What were a couple of nights of rocky sleep?

Besides, if he were truly honest with himself, it wasn’t the frogs that were keeping him up tonight. It was Claire’s question, and the look on her face when he answered. For a minute there, he thought she was going to lose it.

This was one of those times when a polite lie would have been better than the truth. But polite lies had never been what he and Claire told each other. Not for things that really counted.

Of course, there were his business worries. But the store was his problem. Definitely not something he needed to share with his wife. A good accountant, maybe. But the conversation they had just had was something different.

Running it through his mind, he was still confused. Even his more complex answer wasn’t what Claire had wanted. What was she really asking, anyway? It was harder to figure out his beautiful wife than to figure out some of his customers at the store—even the ones who came in with half a part missing from something, having no idea what they were looking for.

She had looked so beautiful today. He’d been struck in the church hall, watching her talk to Hank and Gloria, how little she’d changed in twenty years. If he closed his eyes a little he could imagine that the woman across the hall was wearing white satin and his freshly bought ring.

Now there was one of the things he’d do differently if he could. He would have bought Claire a diamond to go with that skinny little gold band. Not that there had been many times when he could have afforded a diamond. Certainly none in the first ten years they were married. And not really now, either.

But she deserved the diamond. That was the kind of thing he was talking about. And if they’d waited to get married, would he really be running the store now? Yeah, probably by now. Thirty-five was ancient in pro football. But surely he would have gotten his chance for a couple of years. Between college and running the store there might have been somebody willing to pay the big bucks.

Claire could have her diamond. There’d be college savings accounts for the boys. Maybe even a new house in one of those subdivisions outside town where the doctors and lawyers all lived, instead of her parents’ house, which was older than him or Claire. Who could say?

So many facets of life might be different if he hadn’t talked Claire into getting married when they were both still teenagers. And how many things would be different if he hadn’t been somebody’s daddy before his twenty-first birthday? Not that he had anybody to blame for that but himself. Trent had been as big a surprise to Claire as he had been to Ben. They both adored him, and Kyle, too. The boys were great. Still, Ben had to wonder what life would be like without kids, or at least without kids so early.

Claire slept peacefully beside him. He listened to her even breathing, felt the soft exhalations near his arm. She was so sweet, so lovely that it didn’t seem like twenty years could have passed since their first date in high school. Wasn’t she still a freshman?

Ben shook his head. No, afraid not. Their oldest son had just finished freshman year. And Ben himself was the guy responsible for putting food on the table to feed two growing boys, and keeping a roof over their heads. No time to lose sleep over daydreams of what might have been.

For a change he decided to really listen to the dumb peeper frogs. Maybe if he listened long enough, they’d bore him to sleep. This late at night, anything was worth a try.

The next morning Claire had to face the fact that her sister was going home to California. “Are you sure you have to go back so soon?” Laurel didn’t look happy about her decision, either. To Claire, Laurel seemed close to tears as she picked up the last suitcase.

“I don’t want to. When we made the reservations it made perfect sense to just come for the long weekend and then go back there,” Laurel said. “I’d forgotten how different it is here.”

“It has to be a change from California.”

Laurel nodded. “In so many ways. When Sam was around it made sense to stay there. I mean, where else does a screenwriter make a living? But now that he’s gone, it just doesn’t make as much sense.”

“You’d have a revolt on your hands if you tried to move back here, though, wouldn’t you?” They looked out to the broad asphalt driveway between the garage and apartment and the main house. Laurel’s gangly son Jeremy was showing his cousins another trick on his skateboard, while Trent and Kyle had their in-line skates on and the hockey equipment out. Neither side appeared to convince the other that their way was better, but both were having fun.

Each taking a suitcase, the women went down the stairs. They put the baggage on the pavement for the kids to load into the car in a few minutes when Ben came back. “You know it. Jer is a California kid. He can’t imagine anyplace else. But I worry about the influences out there, and the schools and everything. I miss my family, and I guess I’m just too practical for California.”

“How’s that?” Claire asked, still watching the boys banter on the driveway.

“We could probably get by on about a third of what we do out there, if we moved back to Missouri. Not that Sam left me hurting for money, but I want to keep everything I can in savings to send Jeremy to college.”

“I hear you. It’s scary to think they’re that close to going, isn’t it?”

“Not that Jeremy appreciates the idea.” Claire could hear the aggravation thick in her sister’s voice. “He says he doesn’t need to go to college to be a pro skateboarder, which is what he wants to do.”

“But think of how much money it would save you. Surely, that’s what he’s thinking of, isn’t it? Trent hasn’t even tried the ‘I don’t need college’ argument. He knows that Ben and I are both determined that he’s going to start—and finish. There’s going to be at least one Jericho with a four-year degree around here.”

Claire felt her sister’s hand on her shoulder. “I always thought that you would be first.”

She looked at Laurel. Her sister wasn’t teasing. “Really? What would I do?”

“I don’t know. Art. Fashion design. Something using all those creative talents. You always did better in school than I did, Claire. It didn’t bother Mom and Dad as much when I dropped out after one year of college. But when you and Ben insisted you were getting married right away, and he was the only one going back to school, I thought Daddy would explode.”

Claire shrugged. “He survived. And so did I. And it really was for the best, anyway. What would I do with a degree?”

“Something. You’ve still got the same wonderful talent and creativity. It shows up in almost everything you touch, whether it’s painting the bathroom or putting together an outfit for Dad’s wedding. And it’s certainly wasted on your family.”

Claire bristled and started to argue. Then she closed her mouth. No sense getting into an argument with Laurel when they only had moments before driving to the airport. Especially when her sister was more than half-right. She was aggravating as only a big sister could be, but on track.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. And I am about ready to do something different. What about you?”

Claire turned to her sister, surprised to see her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She hadn’t realized that Laurel was that serious about things. “Hey, we’ll both be okay,” she said, gathering her for a hug.

“I know,” Laurel said shakily, returning the hug. She pulled away, wiping one escaping tear off her cheek. “It’s just that everything is so hard sometimes. And I know what I want to do, but not whether I can do it.”

She looked back at the apartment. “Just don’t rent that out right away, will you?”

“I hadn’t planned to. Do you really think you could move back here?” The thought of having both her sisters close enough to visit with on a regular basis was a new and heady thing.

Laurel nodded. “I’m praying for change. And you know how dangerous that is.” Her use of one of their mother’s favorite phrases from their childhood made Claire smile. Ever the optimist, Susan Collins had told her daughters to pray for change, and then count on God to make it happen.

“But expect to be surprised.” Claire could hear her mother’s rich voice. “Because the Lord’s idea of change and ours isn’t always the same.” It hadn’t been in her mom’s case, that was for certain. Still, through six years of struggle with cancer and remission, and ultimately more cancer, Sue had found healing. It had always been there for her spirit, if not for her body in the end.

“Pray for some of that change for me while you’re at it.” Where had those words come from? Claire had surprised herself. Wasn’t she perfectly content with her life just the way it was?

No, she wasn’t. Her life was wonderful and fulfilling, but it was time for a change. Even in the warm June sunshine, the thought made her shiver.

Laurel saw her shudder, and put an arm around her again. It felt so good to have her comforting, annoying older sister this close. Maybe it would be a good idea to have her around all the time.

“We’ll pray for each other,” said Laurel. “For the most wonderful and dangerous changes we can think of. Now where is that husband of yours? It’s an hour drive at least to the airport.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Claire countered. “You forget how he drives. Still, I better go in and call.”

Claire went into the kitchen and punched in the familiar number. “Jericho Hardware,” said a friendly voice. It wasn’t Ben, which gave her hope.

“Hi, Pete. Great. Tell me you answering the phone means that Ben is on his way back here to get to the airport.”

“Uh, not exactly, Mrs. Jericho.”

Claire could feel her spirits fall. Not again. The young clerk sounded like he had bad news, or at least news he was reluctant to break himself.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, please,” she said through tight lips. Pete put her on hold for a while. About the time she was ready to hang up, Ben finally came on the line.

“Hi. I’m not there, obviously. Something came up.”

It was all Claire could do to keep herself from scowling or saying something rude. If this weren’t a normal occurrence, she’d be pleasant. But it happened far too often lately. “Oh? Ben, you knew when you left this morning that you were supposed to be coming back to take Laurel and Jeremy.”

He sighed. “I know. But the person I’d set up an important appointment with, for tomorrow, just breezed in the door ten minutes ago. Apparently we got our days mixed up.”

“Can’t you just—” Claire started.

“No. I can’t do anything right now but stay here and be cordial.” Ben wasn’t leaving any room for argument or compromise.

That surprised her. Usually when this happened he tried to find some way to placate her. Not this time.

He went on, still sounding just as firm. “This is too important to do anything else. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Tell Laurel and Jer goodbye for me, okay?”

“Sure.” Claire hung up the phone and looked around the room for her keys to the truck. Great. It probably didn’t even have gas in it—not enough to get to St. Louis, anyway. At least it wasn’t rush hour.

“Looks like we’re on our own,” she told her sister.

Laurel made a face. “Lovely. Just promise me I won’t be explaining anything to the highway patrol. Although, I expect we could get Carrie to fix any ticket you got.”

“Not this month. I’ve already made my quota.” It was worth the teasing just to see the look on her sister’s face. Claire wondered what Laurel would say if she knew that her teasing had an edge of truth. She promised herself to watch the speed all the way to the airport. At least the boys were staying home, so there wouldn’t be anybody along to rat her out.

She called them to the truck to load the suitcases. If she was surrounded by big hulking males, might as well put those strong bodies to good use. No need to do everything herself, even if Ben was leaving her in the lurch. Again, a voice in her mind told her.

“Definitely pray for some change around here,” she told Laurel. “It’s about time.”

## Chapter Three

Claire was almost glad Ben didn’t come home in time for supper that night. The dinner table was no place to argue. And she knew that given the chance tonight, she’d argue. It was easier to put together sub sandwiches and get the guys fed early, then get them to their respective activities.

Kyle was getting ready for Scout camp. He was old enough now that he went to Boy Scout camp without a parent, and he was excited about it. Claire was thankful that he’d reached the age of going with the Boy Scouts instead of the Cubs, because there was no way Ben’s schedule could have accommodated a week of camping. When had they all gotten so busy?

Trent was just going over to a friend’s house with his street hockey equipment for a quick game. It stayed light so long at this time of year, they could play for hours. Once both boys were dropped off, Claire could escape to the relative peace of her women’s fellowship at church. When Ben came home he’d find her note telling him where everybody was, and a sandwich in the refrigerator, so everything was taken care of.

After a weekend of activity, and seeing so much of her sisters, it was fun to be in the company of her church friends again. Many of them had been at her dad’s wedding, and had some comment about the flowers or the music. It was nice to remember her happy weekend instead of her aggravating day.

Finally Debi Baker, the head of the fellowship group, got everyone to settle down so she could get the evening’s program started. The woman she introduced looked so polished and put together that Claire felt a twinge of envy.

Granted, anybody presenting a program to a group wanted to look her best. But how long had it been since Claire had come to fellowship in something other than a denim skirt, or maybe a pair of khakis and a cotton shirt, if she’d gotten to the ironing? Her household priorities, and picking up the slack for Ben as often as not, made her own appearance last on the list quite often. This woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of a corporate meeting.

Debi introduced her, and the woman smiled at their welcoming applause. “Thank you. I feel like part of the group already. And that’s good, because I want to lay something on your hearts this evening. It’s June. Traditionally the season for graduations. And weddings. Who could tell me what they were doing in June, say, four or five years ago?”

A few hands went up. Claire could have told the lovely speaker what she was doing any June in the last fifteen years. And none of it involved the kind of glamour she was sure that this young woman had seen in life.

“As Ms. Baker told you before, I’m Nessa Hart, and I’m the regional director of The Caring Closet. And five years ago this June, I was a single mom with two small children, collecting public assistance while watching them grow up in a St. Louis housing project.”

There was a murmur through the group. Claire found herself backing up in her chair. This woman? Collecting welfare? It didn’t add up with her polished appearance and self-confidence. When Nessa Hart began to explain how the changes in her life had come about in five years, Claire felt a thrill go through her. Talk about dramatic change.

“Once I knew Jesus, my whole life changed. But it was harder to match the changes on the inside with changes on the outside, where people could see them,” Nessa told them. “I could change my life and become a different person. But that person needed schooling to do a job, and clothes to go to interviews and get that job. That’s where The Caring Closet came in. Obviously, I’m a believer in what they do.” Nessa was smiling as she spoke. “I passed up a promotion at another job to come and work for them. And I’ve never had any doubts that this was the right decision for me. It was the only thing I could do to give back, to launch somebody else on the same path I followed.”

While Nessa went on explaining The Caring Closet’s mission in outfitting women for the work world, a persistent thought began whispering over and over through Claire’s mind. You could do this. You could really do this. It wasn’t the sort of thing she had had in mind when she asked Laurel to pray for change. But maybe it was even better. She could hardly wait to get home and talk to Ben. She didn’t even stay for cookies after fellowship—and they were chocolate chip with pecans, her favorite.

Every light was on in the house when she got to the driveway. Ben’s car was parked, and Claire could hear the commotion of the guys in the kitchen as she got out of the truck and headed for the back door.

Trent’s hockey equipment nearly tripped her just inside. Kyle was digging into the closet in the mudroom, holding a piece of pizza in one hand. “Hi, Mom,” she heard him say from halfway in the closet. “Do you know where the rest of the tent stakes are?”

“Should be in a zipper pouch with the tent, Kyle. And either look for tent stakes or eat pizza, but not both at the same time.”

“Okay.” The hand holding the pizza disappeared inside the closet with the rest of Kyle. That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant, but Claire decided to let it slide for now. She was so anxious to talk to Ben, she’d even let Kyle eat in the closet.

As she looked into the kitchen for him, an explosion rumbled from the table. It was the kind of noise that could only come from the gullet of a well-stuffed human male loaded with pizza and cola. “Ugh. What do you say, Trent?” she prompted.

“Nice resonance, Dad.” Her son’s reply brought Claire’s head up quickly.

“Benjamin Trent Jericho, you didn’t do that—did you?” His grin was all the answer she needed. “That’s terrible. What are you teaching these guys?”

“Nothing. At least, not on purpose. I’ve been on my feet for a good solid twelve hours, and I guess I ate dinner too fast. Sorry.”

Ben was pushed back from the kitchen table, tie loosened and shoes kicked off. His face showed signs of fatigue behind the grin. Claire came up behind him, not sure whether to stroke his dark hair or yank it out by the roots. The softness beneath her fingers convinced her not to pull.

“Okay, I guess I’ll let you off this once. But you didn’t have to bring home pizza. There was dinner in the refrigerator.”

Ben looked up into her face, seeming surprised. The motion pushed his head into her midsection, almost making her forget the exciting things she wanted to tell him about her fellowship meeting.

“Wow. You must want something. You don’t usually let me get away with anything that easy.” He quirked one eyebrow, questioning her.

The man knew her way too well. That was one of the downsides of marrying your high school sweetheart. Things got very predictable at times. “Maybe. Well, okay, yes. I do want something. Let me tell you about what I found out tonight.”

Ben held up a hand. “If it’s church gossip, I don’t want to know.”

Claire resisted the urge to really yank that beautiful wavy dark mane. “You know better than that. Do you want more of that soda to drink while you listen to this?”

Ben sighed. “Sure. But if you pour some for yourself, make it decaffeinated. You seem to have enough charge already this evening.”

Ben sat at the kitchen table, trying very hard to focus on what Claire was saying. It wasn’t easy. There was already so much other stuff bouncing around in his brain. And her enthusiasm made her glow. Both those things together made him want to scoop her up and take her upstairs, instead of having a serious discussion.

Claire really wanted this discussion, though, so he was going to have to put his thoughts on hold and pay attention. It was still hard for him to follow her train of thought.

“Now let me get this straight,” he said, when she paused for a moment. “This is something you really want to do on your own?” It just didn’t sound like Claire.

Claire nodded. “It really is. The women’s fellowship group is really excited about starting this community closet idea. And I could do it.”

“Sounds to me like a giant rummage sale with no profit.” At least it wasn’t going to cost him anything. Although knowing Claire, she’d find a way to make it cost him something.

Claire’s brow wrinkled. “Then you’re missing the point, or I’m not explaining things very clearly.”

“Must be me. We know you’re always crystal clear in your explanations.” That would probably get a coaster tossed at his head, but he couldn’t resist.

“Very funny. Let me try it again. Maybe I should start by asking what you don’t understand.”

“Why anybody would want to spend weeks, or maybe even months, sorting through a bunch of cast-off clothing, if you’re not going to either bale it up and send it someplace to a mission, or sell it to make a profit.”

Claire took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try to give you the short story that Nessa gave us. I did tell you about Nessa, didn’t I?”

Now it was Ben’s turn to nod. “And she must have really impressed you.”

“She did. And what she said was so simple, Ben. See, this program gathers good, gently used women’s business apparel. Then it recycles the clothing to people who need to go on job interviews, start an office job, whatever.”

Her eyes widened into dark pools again, bringing back Ben’s urge to hold her.

“Imagine it. You gather the skills to get your family off public assistance and finally be self-supporting. But when you go out to do interviews, nobody hires you because you don’t have a suit or nice shoes or a briefcase to carry your papers in.” Her eyes blazed. “Ben, that’s just not fair.”

“Of course it isn’t. Life in general doesn’t seem to be most of the time.” If Claire hadn’t figured that out by now, he must have been sheltering her even more than he thought.

“I know. But most things that aren’t fair, I can’t do much about. This I can.”

Claire pulled her long legs up in the chair with her, wrapping her arms around them. Then she started ticking off reasons on her fingers, while Ben tried to listen instead of just watching the dancing fingertips.

“I know how to organize things. I know who to get hold of to get the church a quality supply of gently used business clothes. And they’ve already got most of the space in the Sunday School building, so I wouldn’t even have to take up much room here.”

“Much room? We don’t have any room to run a thrift shop out of the house.”

There was that forehead wrinkle again.

“It’s not a thrift shop. I keep trying to tell you that. It’s a community service. And we wouldn’t do anything but sort a few things here, anyway.”

Ah, Claire and her enthusiasm. “Please, define a few of those terms. Like who ‘we’ would be, and what kind of ‘few things’ you would be sorting, whoever you are.”

She sighed. It was really more of a snort of impatience, but if he pointed that out she’d offer to deck him. Claire saw herself as more genteel than sixteen years of life with the guys had made her.

“I don’t know who everybody will be yet. Whoever else decides that this is the project of their hearts, I guess. And we’d sort things here until we got them in some sort of shape to take to church. And when I say here, I really mean Dad’s apartment. It’s vacant, and nobody needs it for anything.”

“So nice of you to consult me before deciding that.” Now Ben knew he was the one who sounded sharp.

“Well? Do you need it for anything?” Claire challenged.

“I might.” That sounded like the boys arguing. Maybe even less mature. “I guess it would have been nice to be asked before you made up your mind on all this. You didn’t tell them at church that you’d do it, did you?”

There was that snort again.

“I most certainly did not. Am I usually that impulsive?”

Ben shrugged. “Where good works are concerned, I have to say yes, sometimes you are.”

“Not on anything this big. This is a project that won’t be over in six weeks. Just setting it up will take that long or longer. And then whoever commits to leading the group will probably have to commit a year or more to the leadership.”

Ben whistled. “A year? As in twelve months, volunteer, just out of the goodness of your heart?”

“A year. Not full time or anything. Some weeks it would be only a few hours, some more like fifteen or twenty, depending on what stage of things we’re in. And yes, it would be all volunteer. This is a service, a ministry.” Her brow wrinkled again. “Besides, it’s not like anybody’s paying me now to do anything.”

“That’s true. But I thought that was the way you wanted things. The way we both wanted things.” This conversation was changing his whole opinion of his wife.

“It was. And it still is, for the most part. But I believe I can do this. More than that, I want to do this. It sounds like a really good fit for me. I just told Laurel to pray for change. I’m ready for a little change in my life.”

Great. So now this crazy scheme was the answer to a prayer. “So now if I protest I’m keeping you from doing what God wants you to.”

Claire bristled. “I didn’t say that. Is there something else you’d rather see me doing?” She looked so determined. And so appealing, eyes sparkling, lips in a decisive pout.

“Not really. It just seems like they’re taking advantage of your good nature in a big way. I mean, I wouldn’t volunteer to take on a project like this for anything. It would be stupid.”

Her mouth compressed. “Well, maybe that’s just the difference between us, then. I won’t make a decision tonight, anyway. I need to think on it, pray on it.”

“And sleep on it?” Ben tried not to sound suggestive. Claire knew how he felt, anyway. He was as hopeless in his admiration of her as he had been fifteen years ago. Why was he arguing against this crazy scheme? It would probably keep her from being interested in any changes he made at work in the near future. And that would be a very good thing.

“And sleep on it.” Funny, it sounded different when she said it. Like she actually intended to sleep. Ben tried not to sigh or look too wishful. That would just get her more stirred up than she already was.

On Wednesday morning Claire was still thinking and planning. She hadn’t given anybody an answer at church on whether she’d take over The Caring Closet, but she was pretty sure she would. It sounded like a lot of work, but interesting work.

In the long run it would be a project that helped so many people. Women who needed a way to improve their lives, and the lives of their children, would get help in a positive, encouraging way. And at the same time, a lot of people who had closets full of clothes they weren’t using could feel good about clearing those things out.

Claire thought about her own closet. There were several outfits that would be going to this ministry, whether she headed it up or not. That blue blazer she hadn’t worn since she stopped being president of the PTA. And there was that wool dress with the pleated skirt. Ben liked it on her, but she always felt like it made her hips look too wide. Besides, it was wool and it itched. She always felt like fidgeting or running her finger around the inside of her collar about halfway through Sunday School. Since she was always admonishing the boys not to wiggle, she couldn’t very well do the same thing.

She decided to get two things done at once: go through the closets for discards for church, and get a load of laundry done.

She thought best while doing things like that, anyway. Those dozens of little mindless tasks that had to be done around the house kept her hands busy, but not her mind. She could weigh the decision in front of her while she sorted laundry and matched socks.

Her side of the closet was easy. None of her dirty clothes ever got waylaid on the way to the hamper. She found the two things she wanted to set aside and laid them on the bed, then looked around the room.

There weren’t many of Ben’s clothes strewn around, for a change. If she had a nickel for every stray sock she’d picked up in sixteen years, she could probably buy a new washer. One pair of khakis was draped over the chair where he’d left them. Claire picked up the pants, looking them over for odd stains or rips. Ben was as hard on his clothes as were the boys.

The khakis seemed to be in one piece, and there were no obvious ugly stains like machine oil or paint or the other stuff he got into at the hardware store and then forgot to tell her about. Washing clothes was often an adventure around here.

As she put the pants over her arm to take to the basket in the hallway, Claire heard a rustle. She reached into the front pockets, checking for whatever Ben had left in there. There was a piece of paper, folded in quarters. It was nice business letterhead. There was a matching business card folded into the paper. Claire read it, wondering what it was all about. Going to the nightstand, she dialed the phone. Surprisingly enough, Ben answered himself.

“Hey. It’s me.” She balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I’m doing laundry, and I found some papers in your pocket. Who’s Marcy McKinnon?”

“You remember her. From high school. Except she was Marcy Farley then.”

“Oh.” Marcy Farley McKinnon had been the prettiest blond cheerleader at Friedens High when Ben was a senior. She was the one people had always said Ben should have been dating instead of mousy, scholarly sophomore Claire Collins. Even Claire knew folks said that behind her back.

“Has she moved back to town, then?”

“No, still living in St. Louis. But she was my business appointment the other morning, when you ended up taking Laurel and Jeremy to the airport.”

“Oh.” She sounded like a broken record, but she felt stunned. “What kind of business were you discussing with Marcy McKinnon?”

There was a long pause on Ben’s end of the line. She could hear somebody ringing up a sale on the cash register, then the rattle of plastic bags as a purchase was handed over. It seemed like forever, and he still hadn’t answered.

Finally he cleared his throat. It was still a moment before he spoke. “I can’t tell you what I was discussing with her.”

“Not at all?”

She could almost feel him shaking his head in that slow, solid way he had.

“Not at all. Just put the papers on my desk in the living room, okay?”

Like a good little wife, his tone seemed to say. “I guess. Does this mean we’ll discuss this when you get home?”

She could tell that he was trying to sound light, but his voice sounded strained. “Afraid not. This isn’t something I can discuss with you. Not for the present, at least. But it isn’t anything to worry about. I’ll see you at dinner.”

With that the phone went dead. And Claire was standing in the middle of the bedroom holding a strange woman’s business card and feeling more confused than she had in years.