Heart of Gold - By Tami Hoag Page 0,1
was headed to a managerial position in a business office in Cincinnati.
“That’s where our brains are taking us,” Bryan said, pulling his cap off to comb a hand back through his hair as he always did when he went into one of his “deep-thinking modes.” “I wonder where our hearts would take us.”
If anyone knew the answer to that, it was Bryan, Faith thought. He was the one they told all their secret dreams to. He was the one she had confided in that she aspired to nothing more than having a husband and children and a small business to run. That was the end of her heart’s rainbow.
It probably would have seemed an exceedingly boring dream to Jayne and Alaina. Faith herself admitted it lacked pizzazz and had nothing in the way of driving ambition, but Bryan had assured her it was a wonderful dream.
“That’s the question we should all be asking ourselves,” Jayne said, wagging a slender finger at her friends. “Are we in pursuit of our true bliss, or are we merely following a course charted by the expectations of others?”
“Do we have to get philosophical?” Alaina asked with a groan, rubbing her temples. “I haven’t had my mandatory ten cups of coffee yet this morning.”
“Life is philosophy, honey,” Jayne explained patiently, her voice a slow Kentucky drawl that hadn’t altered one iota over the four years she’d spent in northern Indiana. The expression on her delicately sculpted features was almost comically earnest. “That’s a cosmic reality.”
Alaina was nonplussed for a full twenty seconds. Finally she said, “We don’t have to worry about you. You’ll fit right in in California.”
Jayne smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Why thank you.”
Faith chuckled at the look on Alaina’s face. “Give up, Alaina. You can’t win.”
Alaina winced and held her hands up as if to ward off the words. “Don’t say that. I abhor losing.”
“Anastasia,” Bryan declared loudly. He gave a decisive nod that set the tassel on his cap dancing. The statement would have seemed straight out of left field to anyone who didn’t know Bryan Hennessy and the workings of his unconventional mind.
Immediately Faith’s heart-shaped face lit up. Anastasia was the small town on California’s rugged northern coast where the four of them had spent spring break, a beautiful village nestled in a quiet cove. She smiled now at the memory of the plans they had made to move there and pursue idealistic existences. Jayne’s dream had been to have her own farm. Alaina had grudgingly admitted a secret desire to paint. Bryan had wanted to play the role of local mad scientist. An inn with a view of the ocean had been Faith’s wish.
“That’s right,” she said. “We’d all move to Anastasia.”
“And live happily ever after.” Alaina’s tone lacked the sarcasm she had undoubtedly intended. She sounded almost wistful instead.
“Even if we never end up there, it’s a nice dream,” Jayne said softly.
A nice dream, Faith thought. Something to hang on to, something to take along on the journey into the big world. Like their memories of Notre Dame and each other, warm, golden images they could hold in a secret place in their hearts to be taken out from time to time when they were feeling lonely or blue.
Just the thought made her feel empty inside.
Bryan set the timer on the camera once again, then jogged around to stand behind her. “Who knows? Life is full of crossroads. You can never tell where a path might lead.”
And the camera buzzed and clicked, capturing the moment on film for all time. The Fearsome Foursome—wistful smiles canting their mouths, dreams of the future and tears of parting shining in their eyes as a rainbow arched in the sky behind them.
ONE
“MAMA, WHERE DO babies come from?”
Faith stopped in her tracks on her way across the spacious old kitchen. Her gaze shot first to her daughter, Lindy, who sat on the floor pretending to feed her doll from a toy baby’s bottle, then lifted skyward. “Couldn’t she have waited another year or two?” she whispered urgently.
Lindy looked up at her expectantly, her warm brown eyes shining with love and trust.
Faith tugged a hand through her mop of curls, a gesture of frustration that only added to their disarray. Loose spirals of dark honey-blond shot through with tints of red tumbled across her forehead. She blew at them as she searched frantically for an answer that would satisfy a four-year-old’s natural curiosity.
In some distant part of the house a doorbell chimed.
Smiling lovingly at her