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This was not the time or place.

Olive Jardine stared at the man walking toward her, knowing she had a lot of explaining to do, and even more apologizing, but she stood at the back of the church in the middle of a church service, although it was well after noon on Sunday in Raspberry Ridge, Michigan. The town she’d grown up in. The town she’d spent her childhood in, although her parents had moved away before she graduated from high school.

Doyle McKenny, the man who had almost reached her side, was part of the reason she hadn’t been back in years.

“Olive? Is that you?”

Olive swallowed hard. There was amazement on his face, but there was also a hint of the hurt that she’d inflicted, and once he knew for sure that it was her, she was sure that part of his expression would balloon into something she could hardly stand. Perhaps there would also be hate.

She glanced around the church. A couple of heads had turned when Doyle got up, but Olive’s sister, Mertie, and some man Olive was pretty sure was Mertie’s best friend from childhood, stood in front of the microphone, speaking, and most people were hanging on their every word.

Olive hadn’t taken the time to try to figure out what they were saying. She’d been too shocked when she’d stepped in and seen the back of Doyle’s head. It was unmistakable, since he was taller than everyone in the sanctuary, and if that wasn’t enough to set him apart, he had hair the color of carrots.

Back in their childhood, when she had described his hair that way, he had always laughed. It hadn’t bothered him a bit, even though originally Olive had said it as an insult, since Anne, from Anne of Green Gables, had been so upset about the comparison.

Men were different. At least Doyle was different.

She hadn’t realized how different, maybe special was a better word, until she had travelled the world a little. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that what she had left behind in Raspberry Ridge, thinking that there was something better out there, had been the best.

It amazed her sometimes that God had started her out with the very best.

It also frustrated her that she hadn’t been smarter, more aware, more grateful.

“Olive?” Doyle said again, and she realized she hadn’t answered him.

“Not now,” she said, more because she didn’t know what to say than because she couldn’t have told him she wanted to go outside and talk.

She met his eyes again, deep, deep green, and felt the inexpressible shiver that went up and down her spine.

His eyes narrowed, but his gaze didn’t move away.

She allowed her eyes to linger for just another moment, noting the square jaw, the sharp nose, the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes that didn’t used to be there, before she turned, hooking her arm in the handle of the car seat and straightening back up.

Her eyes shifted back to his once more, even though she didn’t mean for them to, and she caught the surprise, betrayal, the...hurt. She had hurt this good man, badly, and yet he had come to her, not with anger, but with curiosity, and...maybe even forgiveness?

But now, seeing the baby she held, the open expression in his eyes closed, and his gaze became guarded.

“Yours?” he said, low, under the murmur of the people speaking at the front of the church.

She nodded. Ashamed, but keeping her chin up. She’d made mistakes, a lot of them, but she didn’t regret her daughter. Maybe she regretted the circumstances, regretted the decisions that led her to Ecuador and all of the things that happened there, but she could never regret her little girl.

Doyle nodded curtly, then, rather than turning and going back to his seat, he murmured, “Excuse me,” and then walked around her and went silently out the back door.

She wanted to follow him, wanted to explain, to beg forgiveness, to make things right between them, but she wasn’t sure that was possible.

Finding an open pew toward the back, she set her baby down, who was thankfully still sleeping, and slipped in beside her.

Livvy was a good baby, which was one of the many blessings that at one point in her life she might not have been thankful for, but she was so grateful for now. God had been so good to her, and she hadn’t appreciated much of anything.

When she had been lying in her hospital bed in Ecuador, not sure whether she was going to live or die, barely conscious, and having no clue of who was watching her child, she had promised herself that if she got out of this, she would make a point to be grateful to God every day, for the many things that He did for her that she, up until that point, had taken for granted.

Things like waking up with no pain, being able to breathe without thinking about it, growing up in a small town in a country like the United States, which, while it was not perfect, was better than any other country she’d ever visited.

Better because of the freedom, better because of the open friendliness of the people, better because of the godly heritage she didn’t even realize she rested on.

She hadn’t been taught to stop and appreciate things. She’d been taught to constantly strive for more, like what she had wasn’t enough, when it certainly was.

Although, right now it wasn’t. But she’d cross that bridge later.

“I wanted to give everyone a chance to ask any questions they wanted to. So, we’ll open the floor up for that right now.”

The man at the front, who looked so much like Garnet, her sister Mertie’s longtime childhood friend, that Olive couldn’t believe it would be anyone else, stood at the microphone, one arm around Mertie and one around some young girl that looked like a carbon copy of Mertie beside him.

“I didn’t think you were married. But your daughter looks exactly like Mertie Jardine. What’s going on?”

From where she sat in the back, Olive couldn’t tell who was speaking. It had been years since she had been back to Raspberry Ridge, and while she almost certainly knew the person, people changed, and looking at the backs of their heads didn’t give her much of a hint.

But the question struck her, because the man was right. The little girl that stood beside her sister looked exactly like her sister, but as far as she knew, Mertie didn’t have any children.

“Well, that’s a good question.” Garnet spoke, glancing at Mertie, who gave a small nod, before glancing at the young girl, who nodded as well. The girl shifted, slipping her arm through Mertie’s, and Mertie reached over with her other hand, patting the girl’s fingers and then holding them.

It was a sign of comfort and solidarity, and it made Olive smile to see it.

“Mertie and I are planning on getting married. I didn’t mention this when I was candidating, but since the Bible clearly says that a pastor should be the husband of one wife, I wasn’t going to accept the pastorate on a full-time basis if I wasn’t married. That was just something between the Lord and me, something I knew needed to happen in order for me to be a pastor.”

There were a few murmurs in the congregation, but most people seemed to be accepting.

“Mertie and I have decided to get married, and I’ve already spoken with Dominic, the head deacon. He has agreed that I won’t be on full-time until Mertie and I have set a date and are actually married in the sight of God. We don’t know when that’s going to be, but soon.” He glanced over at Mertie, and she gave him such a soft, sweet smile, so uncharacteristic of her commanding, in-charge, always-plowing-ahead older sister, that it almost made Olive tear up.

Would she ever give such a tender look to a man?

She glanced down at Livvy, sleeping quietly beside her. There had been no tender looks, nothing with the kind of love in it that flowed between Mertie and Garnet. Of course, Mertie and Garnet had always been friends, good friends, and now, with her travels under her belt, Olive thought that perhaps being friends was a prerequisite to being more.

She couldn’t imagine getting married to someone she didn’t like. Lust and like were two different things. She wished she hadn’t needed to travel to Ecuador to find that out.

She wouldn’t have minded if she had never found that out, and she wouldn’t have, if she had taken what God had put right in front of her. Doyle.

“What about your daughter? Dabney?” the man reiterated.

“There are some things that we need to discuss among the three of us before I can answer the rest of that question. I know you understand. I’m not trying to hide anything, I just can’t give some information out before certain things have been taken care of.”

The man nodded, and then someone else said, “We might not have hired you if we had known you’d had a child out of wedlock.”

“And that’s reasonable,” Garnet said, not seeming to be angered by the statement at all. “I feel like I would have been misleading you if I had not told you that I had a child out of wedlock. But I did not. I adopted Dabney when she was a baby, but I had nothing to do with her conception.”

“You and Mertie were good friends. And that looks like Mertie’s daughter.”

Olive had come to the same conclusion, and after glancing around the congregation to see who had spoken, she looked back toward Garnet to see what he would say.

“We were good friends. We are good friends. And she does look a lot like Mertie. I promise, we will tell you everything, but there are a few other things that we need to do before we can do that.” He lifted his brows. “Any other questions?”

“Are you going to go to the hospitals and do visits? Visit nursing homes? Work with us to figure out how we might be able to grow our congregation?”

Garnet started to answer, and Olive tried to pay attention, but her mind wandered, wondering where Doyle had gone and feeling bad that he had left what was obviously an important meeting for the Raspberry Ridge congregation.

The meeting dragged on, and Livvy started to stir.

She stood up, grabbing the handle to slip back out of the church, when her eyes met the eyes of a woman who had turned around. She was sitting beside a man, his arm around her shoulders, and he looked down at her as she turned.

Amara. Her sister. She recognized her almost immediately. And just after she did, Amara’s eyes lit up with recognition, and she hopped a little in her seat, then turned quickly to the man beside her and whispered furiously in his ear before she stood up, walked in front of him out the end of the pew, and hurried back to Olive.

“Olive!” she said softly, but her voice burst with excitement. “You’re here!” She went to throw her arms around Olive, but just at the last second, she saw the car seat Olive held.

Olive hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy, hadn’t mentioned the ill-fated relationship, hadn’t mentioned all of her regrets, and had not mentioned Livvy.

In fact, the excuses that she had given for not coming to Raspberry Ridge sooner had been just that, excuses, most of which had not been true, which Olive hated. But she hadn’t wanted her sisters to worry. If they had known that she was lying in an Ecuadorian hospital, near death, they might have tried to find a way to get down to her, and she knew that neither one of her sisters, with their high-paying jobs, would have time to do that.

“Let’s go outside,” she said softly, wondering if she could put Amara off until Mertie was with them. That way, she wouldn’t have to tell the story twice.

But it looked like she was going to have to tell it to the men in her sisters’ lives as well as her sisters, since both of them seemed to have gotten attached to someone since the last time Olive had seen them.

Amara nodded, some of the excitement slipping off her face and concern and confusion replacing it. But she waited while Olive squeezed out of the pew, which was thankfully still empty, and carried the car seat with an awakening baby Livvy in it to the back, slipping out and into the bright Michigan sunlight.

The lake shone, deep blue and sparkling in the distance. She always loved this view. As she took a moment to stare at it now, taking in a deep breath and letting it ground her, center her, it fixed her thoughts on what was important. God. Bringing glory to Him. Bringing others to Him. It wasn’t about her. Whatever her sisters’ reactions were to what she had done, she couldn’t control them and didn’t need to be worried or upset about them. She could regret her actions while admitting that she had determined not to do them again.

That she had changed.

“Whose baby is this?” Amara asked, as soon as the door clicked closed behind them.

“Mine.” She knew that was going to open a whole plethora of more questions, but she still hoped to head them off.

“When did you have a baby? I didn’t even know you were pregnant!” Amara looked at her in amazement. “It wasn’t that long ago that we cleaned out the condo in Chicago. You weren’t pregnant then.”

“It was winter. I wore bulky shirts. Sweatshirts. Coats. You guys just didn’t notice, and I wasn’t showing that much.”

“I guess I remember that. I remember thinking you’d put on a little weight, but I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t just a little weight.”

“It’s legit that you have questions, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to assume that Mertie has the same questions.”

“I wondered if she knew things I didn’t, and she just wasn’t telling me!”

“No. I haven’t told either of you. There’s...a lot we need to catch up on.”

“Well, this afternoon seems like a good time to do it, although Mertie might be tired. It’s a big day for her.”

“What was going on?” She had assumed that Garnet had been sworn in as pastor, but why was Mertie up there with him?

“Today the church voted Garnet in as pastor.”

“What was Mertie doing up there with him?” she asked as they walked down the steps and away from the door a little bit. She didn’t think their voices would carry into the sanctuary, but just in case, it was better to be safe than sorry. Plus, she needed to get a bottle out of her bag since Livvy was starting to fuss.

“She and Garnet are together. At least, I think so. Everything happened so quickly.”

“Then maybe we should just all have a get-caught-up session, because I noticed that you were sitting with a man I didn’t recognize.”

“Yeah, we’ll definitely need a session for that. You aren’t going to believe what happened to me, and I need some time to explain, because you might be upset at first.” That was actually a relief to hear, that she wasn’t the only one with news that might be upsetting to her siblings.

“After Mom and Dad died, I thought that we would be closer than ever. You know? I wanted that.”

“I still want that! But it’s hard to be close to someone who’s halfway around the world.”

“I’m here to stay. At least stay as long as I can get a job and support myself.”

Amara stared at her, looking confused, then thoughtful.

Olive allowed the baby bag to slip off her shoulder as she set the car seat down and knelt beside it, digging in her bag for the bottle of water she kept there and the formula, grabbing both, and setting everything out to get ready to feed Livvy.