Excerpts

Reverend Justine Clemens stood frozen before the entire congregation of First Peninsula Church, managing to hold a smile in place through sheer determination. In her hands, she held the plaque she'd just accepted amid thunderous applause. Clearly, everyone thought she should be thrilled. They were certainly thrilled. But she was devastated. The sign on her new office door would not read "Reverend Justine Clemens - Assistant Pastor." That's what she'd thought Reverend Burns and the board meant when they'd asked her to stay on permanently to assist him. Instead the plaque she now held tightly clutched in her hands read "Reverend Justine Clemens - Women and Youth Pastor." Once again she'd been relegated to a traditional role for women in the church. Once again she was on the road to having no one and nothing to call her own. When Reverend Burns retired - and at seventy, how far off could that be? - she'd thought these people would be her flock. That they would look to her for guidance. Be her family. How could she have so completely misunderstood this position? Had it been wishful thinking? Self delusion? The corners of the brass plaque bit into her hands and she managed to relax her trembling grip just a little. But, as she did, she also had to blink back the tears that threatened to give her away. Reverend Burns had just handed her what he clearly thought of as first prize, but she knew it to be the honorable mention it was. He stood next to her at the front of the church, smiling and looking more like a man of sixty these days. When she'd visited him following his first knee surgery last March he'd looked all of his seventy years plus a few. "There's been a lot of speculation that I'm ready for long days fishing or even quieter days reading my worn and ragged Bible," Reverend Thomas Burns told his congregation, that precious book held lovingly in his hand. "Well, I'm here to tell you I've never felt younger." He smiled fondly down from the top step of the altar and used his other hand to pat his rapidly thinning girth. "It's a miracle what new knees and exercise will do for a body." He chuckled. "Mine, anyway." At a sudden clearing of Dr. Robert Maguire's throat, scattered chuckles echoed through the sanctuary. Reverend Burns blushed a bit. "I know. I know," he said pointing at the doctor. "You've been telling me this for years. And you were right. To be honest with all of you, I had considered retiring. During my enforced downtime, though, I found out rather quickly that I'd go loopy if I did. And I don't think the Lord would be happy with a man in his prime hanging up his robes." Reverend Burns moved closer to Justine, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Well, now, enough about me. Back to the reason I asked the board to hire Reverend Clemens in this new capacity. For a long time I've been feeling out of touch with some of you. So when I noticed how well Justine was able to relate to the younger women and teens, it seemed best for everyone to bring her on board permanently as pastor to the women and youth of First Peninsula Church. "I also want to thank you all for making my young friend feel welcome and for proving Thomas Wolfe wrong. You really can go home again, and we're all glad she's come back to us. The ladies of the Safe Harbor Women's League have put together a little luncheon to officially welcome Reverend Clemens. Won't you join us in the church hall?" Justine blindly followed Reverend Burns out of the sanctuary and down the steps that led to the first-floor basement and the church hall. The morning light streamed through the high arched windows and fell on the mural the church's administrative assistant, Kit Peters, had recently done on the side wall. Justine felt a little peace descend on her troubled soul as she gazed at the pastoral scene of trees and rolling hills and the distant flock of sheep tended by a gentle-eyed Jesus. There was a lot of activity and laughter in the kitchen at the far end of the room, where an array of beverages was already set out on the stainless-steel counter between the hall and kitchen. Folding tables and chairs were scattered around the highly polished hardwood floor. A giant banner stretched above the kitchen pass-through read Welcome Home to Safe Harbor . Of course, she'd been back in Safe Harbor for six months. She'd returned to her hometown for the first time in ten years to answer a call for help from Reverend Burns - a call that couldn't have come at a better time. The day before he'd contacted her asking her to fill in for him, she'd gotten upsetting news. The inner-city Chicago church where she'd served since divinity school had decided to hire a much younger and less experienced minister - a man - to replace the retiring pastor. What had distressed her the most was that the recommendation had come from the pastor to whom she'd been an assistant for ten years. She had been hurt and seeking God's guidance when Reverend Burns called asking for her help. She'd talked to him earlier in the week and he'd mentioned the possibility of needing surgery, but then he'd fallen while trying to help in the search for one of Holly Douglas's five-year-old twin boys. Little Aidan had gotten lost on the nature trails in a sudden early-March snowstorm. Aidan was found, and the accident had seemed an answer to prayers, for Justine as well as for Reverend Burns. It had given her the chance to gain perspective and to rediscover the peace and love of her hometown. She loved Reverend Burns like a father. Certainly more than she did her own faithless father. The reverend had led her to the Lord in her rebellious youth, and his kindly guidance had influenced her to pursue a vocation in ministry. But now, standing at what was supposed to be a celebration of her new position, Justine felt only hurt and disappointed by her mentor and friend. Following his lead, she took off her robe and hung it in the closet, still hiding her inner turmoil. (Continues...) Excerpted from Home To Safe Harbor by Kate Welsh Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.