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neighborly,” Paul said, “to push a woman out of town before you know anything about her.”
    He met Chuck’s dark stare and walked away.
    Had he really just thrown himself in with the Pickle Lady?

    “You don’t have to help, Suz.” Andrea filled buns with sloppy joe meat while Tom and Suzanna sliced watermelon.
    “I don’t mind.” Suzanna took up another melon, tapping the rind out of habit. Heavy. Hollow. Perfect.
    If she weren’t helping, she’d be leaving. She dropped her eyes when tears began to burn. Andrea had introduced her to at least two dozen people. They smiled, shook her hand, and asked about her roots. Most were kind. A few, however, were definitively not.
    Funny how those names stuck in her mind. She’d never remember the names of all the nice people she’d met. But Shelby, Kimberly, and Trish—those she couldn’t forget.
    All three belonged to the men who’d come out wanting her place. Friendly offers were one thing, although a sincere hello would have been nice. But these men had been aggressive. Their pressure tactics intimidated Suzanna.
    Apparently they had schooled their wives in the art of persuasion. Each woman had raked her over with silent contempt, their scorn making her blood hot and her core tremble. Their scorching glances devoured every other kind word. Were it not for Andrea and the desire for a friend, she would have climbed in the Jeep and driven west to the state line.
    “You’ve just earned yourself a devoted friend for life.” Tom grinned first at Suzanna and then at his wife. “Dre is big on service. To her, it’s a mark of a humble, generous soul.”
    Andrea smiled, nodding. “You bet, but you were already my friend, Suz.”
    Suz . She liked how Andrea kept calling her that. There was something familiar, cherished in a nickname. Only her father—and Jason—ever called her anything but Suzanna. Her mother, her sister, even the few friends she’d gathered as an adult all called her by her full given name.
    Except for Mr. Rustin. Irritation tangled with some sort of secret pleasure as she recalled his slip into familiarity. She pushed it aside.
    “Speaking of friends, and service—” Andrea nudged Suzanna with her elbow. “I’d love for my new friend to come with me to worship service tomorrow.”
    Suzanna dropped her eyes and sliced through the thick green rind. She wasn’t going to get out of it. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Sundays always felt vacant. Maybe going back to church would plug the hole.
    “What time?”
    “Sunday school begins at nine and worship at ten thirty.” Andrea stopped working and focused her attention on Suzanna. “We have sweet rolls in between if you wanted to do both, but if you’re only comfortable with worship service, that’s perfectly fine.”
    Worship service. Sounded like so much more than church. Church was a building, a habit. In some circles, a requirement. Worship sounded personal.
    Suzanna examined her frayed emotions. She was tired of brokenness. Tired of pain pulsing through her soul. She’d tried emptying herself of it, but it stuck to her like the gummy sap of an elm tree.
    Worship. Before a God who had disappointed her?
    Suzanna took in Andrea’s warm sincerity. She would go to the service, but not before she had her heart securely locked away. Worship was not something she could muster.
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Paul sat on the right side of the sanctuary near the back. The stained-glass window and the ten-foot cross behind the pulpit looked different from that side, that distance.
    His Bible lay open to the third chapter of 1 Peter while his finger rested in Ephesians 4.
    To sum up, all of you be harmonious, sympathetic, brotherly, kindhearted and humble in spirit; not returning insult for insult, but giving a blessing instead .
    Brotherly. Kindhearted. Paul’s attention floated to his regular seat. To where Tom, Dre and the kids sat with the Pickle Lady on the far end. His gut clenched,