Healing Autumn's Heart

Matt indicated the pin. “You’re a survivor, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Hannah said, always finding it easy to smile with the thrill that she was in remission now. “But I also lost my mother to breast cancer, like Autumn. So I know how much it hurts.”

Matt tilted his head, curiosity at Autumn’s awareness still evident on his face. “Well, for some reason, she was drawn to you.”

Hannah felt flattered … and honored. She remembered her silent prayer, asking God to let her help this little girl. He’d undoubtedly granted her request. “Maybe because I’m meant to help her?”

That made him smile, and Hannah couldn’t deny the impact that his smile had on her heart. He was so genuine, so honest and so concerned with his daughter.

“I know this will sound a little odd,” Matt said, “but I think maybe you’re right. Maybe the reason I picked this town, the reason Autumn and I are here is … because of you.”

Dear Reader,

Current statistics show one in every eight women in the United States will develop breast cancer over the course of her lifetime. By telling Hannah’s story, I tried my best to cover the way she held on to her faith for both the good and the bad news she received from having the disease. Battling trials brings us closer to God, but some choose to turn away from God in times of struggle. I hope that Healing Autumn’s Heart may cause someone who has turned away in times of struggle to reconsider their faith and hopefully find their way back to our Savior.

I enjoy mixing facts and fiction in my novels, and you’ll learn about some of the truths hidden within the story on my website, www.reneeandrews.com. You can enter a contest on my website to win a pair of Toms shoes similar to the ones worn by Hannah in the book. I am very impressed with this company and the fact that they donate a pair of shoes to a child in need for every pair purchased.

Additionally, my website includes alternate scenes for some of my novels and deleted scenes that didn’t make the final cut. If you have prayer requests, there’s a place to let me know on my site. I will lift your request up to the Lord in prayer. I love to hear from readers, so please write to me at renee@reneeandrews.com.

Blessings in Christ,

Renee Andrews

RENEE ANDREWS spends a lot of time in the gym. No, she isn’t working out. Her husband, a former All-American gymnast, co-owns ACE Cheer Company, an all-star cheerleading company. She is thankful the talented kids at the gym don’t have a problem when she brings her laptop and writes while they sweat. When she isn’t writing, she’s typically traveling with her husband, bragging about their two sons or spoiling their bulldog.

Renee is a kidney donor and actively supports organ donation. She welcomes prayer requests and loves to hear from readers! Write to her at Renee@ReneeAndrews.com or visit her website at www.reneeandrews.com. Check her out on Facebook and Twitter as well.

Healing

Autumn’s Heart

Renee Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This novel is dedicated to my husband,

J.R. Zeringue, and my boys, Rene and Kaleb Zeringue.

“A happy family is but an earlier heaven.”

—George Bernard Shaw

The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in Him.

—Nahum 1:7

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Special thanks to breast cancer survivor Doris Green

Zeringue, my wonderful sister-in-law,

for sharing her diary, her knowledge and her heart.

All mistakes are mine.

Chapter One

Matt Graham had to walk with a slight lean to hold Autumn’s small hand as they exited Nelson’s Variety Store. He’d hoped that the uniqueness of the old-fashioned five-and-dime with its soda jerk counter, malt machine and 1950s charm would appeal to his six-year-old daughter and maybe even result in a smile. Or, if he could be so lucky, more than a single word.

He glanced down and admired the shiny miniature black and white tiles displaying the store’s name on the concrete in front of the building. The letters were block-style and reminded him of Autumn’s homework from last night. Her first-grade class had been learning about a different letter of the alphabet each week since school started, and this week’s letter was E. For each of the last four weeks, while she studied A, B, C and then D, he tried to bring her homework into their daily conversations, or rather his daily conversations, since most of their discussions were entirely one-sided. It was merely another attempt to converse with his daughter. So far, he hadn’t had much success, but maybe this week would be different.

God, let me break through her wall somehow. And please, God, let it be soon.

Matt sighed, wondering why he still found himself praying at all. He supposed it was more habit than anything else. Because he’d prayed continuously two years ago, and it hadn’t saved Rebecca.

He looked back at the tiles and hoped God had decided to give him a little help this week with his daughter. Heaven knew he needed all the help he could get.

“Look, Autumn, that says Nelson’s. And it has an E right there—” he pointed to the letter “—just like the ones you were writing on your paper last night.”

Her soft brown curls brushed against his arm as her head tilted to look at the tiles.

Matt paused, waited, hoped.

After a couple of beats, he prompted, “Maybe we could buy some tiles or blocks from the toy store and you could make your letters the way that they did to spell the name of their store. We could put them on the coffee table in the playroom or on the kitchen table, if you like.” He smiled. “I think it’d be fun to make letters that way, don’t you?”

Brown doe eyes, his precious Rebecca’s eyes, looked back at him, and the sadness filling their depths pierced his soul.

Matt’s heart squeezed tightly in his chest. She looked so much like her mother. He forced what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “What do you think? Does that sound fun?”

She blinked, looked back at the tiles and whispered, “Maybe.”

Matt swallowed, nodded and started down the sidewalk toward Tiny Tots Treasure Box, the toy store located on the other side of the town square. He tried to feel positive about the fact that at least she held his hand. There was some form of connection left between them if she’d still do that, or that’s what the last psychologist they visited in Atlanta had said. But Matt didn’t want a “connection” with the one person he cared for more than any other.

He wanted a bond.

Moving to the tiny community of Claremont, Alabama, had been his last-ditch effort at making that happen. Away from Atlanta, away from his research, and away from the home that held way too many sad memories and not nearly enough happy ones.

The quaint country town nestled amid the foothills of Lookout Mountain had “friendly and inviting” written all over it, right down to the town square, where he’d brought Autumn today after school. But they’d been here two months and she was still trapped inside the protective cocoon she’d created when Rebecca died.

A six-year-old shouldn’t know what it’s like to lose her mommy. He sighed and realized that a thirty-year-old shouldn’t know what it’s like to lose his wife, especially when the one person who could have potentially saved her was … Matt.

They continued down the sidewalk, and Matt took in the town’s charm, from the splashing tiered fountain that centered the square to the colorful planters filled with cascading flowers hanging from wrought iron lampposts along the street. Resident geese gathered near the fountain and squawked loudly as they awaited bits of bread from a gray-haired man sitting on a bench nearby.

Matt inhaled, and the air still held the faint scents of summer, but the gentle coolness of fall. Several couples window-shopped hand in hand, and Matt easily recalled when he and Rebecca would have done the same thing on a beautiful day like this, enjoying the comfortable weather of late September by spending the afternoon outside. They’d never lived in a small town since his research kept them in Atlanta, but she would have liked Claremont. She would have taken great pleasure in sharing this picturesque town square with Matt and Autumn. If Rebecca were here, she’d be laughing, no doubt. She had loved to laugh. He imagined her mocking the squawking geese and coaxing Autumn into doing the same.

Matt glanced at the geese, their black mouths stretching wide as they encouraged the old man to toss more bread, then he looked down at Autumn to see what she thought of the noisy birds. Her head was down, her attention focused on the sidewalk beneath her feet. Matt didn’t even attempt to mimic the birds. It wouldn’t come across the same way it would have if Rebecca did it, and it really wasn’t the type of thing he’d ever done with his little girl. He was always the serious one and Mommy the funny one, until Rebecca became so sick that she stopped laughing at all. Matt tried to recall the last time he heard Autumn laugh.

He couldn’t.

Obviously he’d have to settle for small steps toward connecting with his daughter. Today she held his hand. He supposed that would have to do.

A few people said hello as he and Autumn met them along the square. Matt made sure to nod, smile and return the greeting. He was the new doctor in town, after all, and even though he was still learning the families that were the backbone of Claremont, he realized that most of the small town knew who he was, which was evident when he and Autumn met an elderly woman standing outside of the square’s barbershop.

“Well, hello, Dr. Graham. It’s good to see you again,” she said, then turned her attention away from Matt and to his daughter. “And how are you today, Autumn?”

Matt racked his brain but couldn’t place the lady. She hadn’t been in to his office, he was sure of that. He made a point of remembering each patient’s name. “Knowing someone’s name lets them know you really care, not only about their health, but also about them as a person,” Rebecca had often reminded him, and Matt had agreed. But even though this lady wasn’t a patient, her face looked vaguely familiar.

“Are you having a good time with your dad?” the woman continued, and Matt realized she was waiting for some type of response from his daughter.

He gently squeezed Autumn’s hand and hoped it was enough encouragement that she would say something. Anything.

Autumn nodded, and Matt figured he should be thankful that she responded in some manner. Even though school had only been in session for a month, her teacher had already called him in twice to discuss her lack of communication skills, and Matt had assured the lady that Autumn was still coping with losing her mom and that she’d be better soon.

He’d been telling himself the same thing for two years.

“How did you like the book you checked out this week?” the woman asked. “You got a Curious George one, didn’t you?”

Autumn nodded, and Matt’s mind clicked into gear with the memory of this woman—Mrs. Ivey, he now recalled—showing off Claremont Elementary’s updated library at the school’s orientation night.

“Her grandmother has been reading it to her each night before she goes to bed,” Matt said, and smiled, picturing Maura sitting beside Autumn in the bed and telling her all about the adorable monkey and the man with a yellow hat.

Matt’s mother-in-law had been grateful to him for asking her to move with them to Claremont. She’d wanted to be a part of her granddaughter’s life and was more than happy to take care of Autumn each afternoon until Matt got home from work.

“Well, we have plenty of Curious George books in the library,” Mrs. Ivey said, “so if you want, you can check out another one next week when your class has their library day. Okay?”

Another nod from Autumn, and Matt didn’t miss the way Mrs. Ivey’s mouth flattened at the solemn gesture and then the undeniable look of pity that she reflected toward his precious little girl.

Thankfully Mr. Ivey chose that moment to exit the barbershop and join his wife. Her attention taken off of Autumn, the librarian introduced her husband, told Autumn she would see her at school and then the couple continued down the street.

“She’s a nice lady,” Matt said. “And she even remembered which book you checked out. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?”

He took a few steps then heard Autumn whisper, “Yes.”

Yes. One of four words he’d heard out of his daughter’s mouth since Rebecca died. Yes. No. Okay. Maybe. Nothing more, nothing less.

Matt didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know what else to say. The disconnect between himself and his little girl, between everyone and his little girl, was so intense that he was starting to think it’d be easier for him to perform surgery blindfolded than to get her to open up, which was why he thought he was imagining things when she stopped walking, pointed to the toy store and said her first full sentence in two years.

Her words were softly spoken, so quiet that Matt couldn’t make them all out at first. So he asked, “What, honey? What did you say?”

Autumn didn’t answer, but her brown eyes widened, and she moved closer to the toy shop’s window, where Matt now noticed a woman assembling a complex display of several miniature houses.

Apparently realizing that she had visitors, she finished placing a tiny barbershop pole outside one of the buildings then turned, looked at Matt and Autumn, and gave them a full smile.

Beautiful. The first word that came to mind at the image in the window. Her face radiated happiness, confidence, and a mesmerizing beauty that rendered Matt quite speechless. With dark eyes, high cheekbones and full lips, she had an exotic appeal, in spite of her traditional attire. She wore a pink T-shirt, cuffed blue jeans and sparkly silver ballet slippers. Her brown hair was short, with the edge of wispy curls barely touching her collar, and her bangs were pulled to the side and pinned back with a bright pink jeweled barrette. Still smiling, she motioned toward Autumn and crooked her finger, inviting them to come inside.

To Matt’s shock, Autumn tugged on his hand, looked up at him and smiled. She really smiled. Then his dear little girl repeated the same words Matt thought she’d said earlier, only he heard them clearly this time.

“She’s like Mommy.”

Hannah Taylor felt like a kid in a candy store, or maybe a kid in a toy store, since that’s exactly where her work had taken her for the past week. She had been over the moon when Mr. Feazell approved her window display for the Tiny Tots Treasure Box. Recreating Claremont’s town square with dollhouses had definitely been one of her biggest challenges as a window dresser, but she’d risen to the occasion, and the toy shop’s owner was thrilled with the interest the display was already getting from the community.

Plus, the fact that he’d sold six of his most elaborate dollhouse kits since she began the display last Monday didn’t hurt his enthusiasm. And today, even though it was the middle of the week, the town square had been filled with people eager to enjoy this beautiful weather. Naturally, they all window-shopped, which meant they all noticed Hannah’s displays at each store.

She grinned. Who would have thought that she could make a career out of designing the windows in the Claremont square? No, she wasn’t exactly using her interior design degree to its fullest potential, but she hadn’t really gotten that degree for a job anyway. She’d gotten it because her mother had asked her to, and at that point in time, she’d have promised her mom anything. Anything at all. And she was designing, even if that meant decorating single windows instead of entire houses.

Hannah still had one more promise to keep for her mom, and she had no doubt that she would. Eventually. God had been too good to her to let that other part of her mother’s last wish fall through the cracks. Besides, that had been one of her own dreams, too, that she would find the man God had made just for her and that they’d live a long, happy and hopefully healthy life together.

Please, God, let it be a healthy life.

She rocked back on her heels and eyed the town square coming to life before her in intricate dollhouse form. It was a bit difficult working on the houses at floor-level, but she’d placed the display low because she knew who her real audience was—the children of Claremont. There would be lots of kids at the First Friday celebration next week and they would undoubtedly be captivated by seeing the center of their town brought to life in the toy store’s window.

Hannah still had a good deal to accomplish before the monthly festivities, but everything was coming together fairly well, and she truly believed that she’d make good on her promise to Mr. Feazell that his window would be one of the favorites at October’s First Friday event.

Today she’d added Mr. Crowe’s Barber Shop to the group of buildings already complete. Hannah knew his portion of the square was extra special to the locals. For the past sixty years, practically every little boy in Claremont got his first haircut in Mr. Crowe’s chair.

Many of the retired men in town were actually younger than Mr. Crowe and remembered when the eighty-two-year-old first opened the shop way back in 1951. Back then they were excited about the swirling barber pole and the friendly young man who ran the place. Now they all hung out there for more than the customary cut, shave and hot towel that the sweet old man provided. They gathered there for the camaraderie, for the memories of days gone by and for a glimpse of the future, as the next generation brought their little guys in to crawl up on the big black chair, sit on the cracked leather booster seat and create a memory.

Hannah smiled, enjoying the fact that she could bring the town she loved to life in the display. Every store had a story, and she hoped that the exhibit encouraged some of the folks around town to share those stories.

That had been her goal, the primary selling point that she’d used when she convinced Mr. Feazell to go with the rather elaborate, detailed display. She’d told him that this wasn’t merely an exhibit; it was a collaboration of Claremont memories. Hannah’s life had taught her how important family and friends were, how important your hometown was, and how extremely important memories could be. This display brought all of that together.

She had recognized most of the people who’d stopped to view the scene today, which was to be expected, since Claremont was fairly small and most everyone knew everybody in town. In fact, merely a half hour ago, Mrs. Ivey, the librarian from the elementary school, stopped by with her husband. They’d come inside the toy store so they could get a better look at Hannah’s interpretation of Mr. Crowe’s shop. Mr. Ivey had marveled at the tiny black barber chair and laughed when he noticed the abundance of miniature newspapers and magazines scattered around the customer chairs. He’d been surprised to see that Hannah had even included a mini shaving brush with the barber tools on the counter and that it appeared to be covered in white foamy cream.

“Look at the window,” Mrs. Ivey said, pointing.

Hannah had taken a fine-tipped paint brush and written Crowe’s Barber Shop on the small rectangular window in bright white craft paint. She’d taken the time to walk down to the shop, copy the cursive style of the writing on the actual window and then mimic that font on her dollhouse replica. The little details were what made a scene special, and Hannah loved adding those unique tidbits to the display.

“Isn’t it amazing that you can get that kind of detail in a dollhouse?” Mr. Ivey had said.

Hannah and Mr. Feazell, who made sure to visit with each person that came in to see the display, both agreed.

Mr. and Mrs. Ivey’s admiration cemented the fact that the scene had the impact Hannah desired on folks that viewed the tiny town. In fact, the two of them recalled the day Mr. Crowe opened his barbershop sixty years ago, when they were merely dating teenagers, accomplishing her personal goal of stirring up memories. She hadn’t missed the way Mr. Ivey wrapped an arm around his wife and squeezed her tenderly at that shared memory.

Hannah sighed. One day she’d have someone look at her that way, hold her close like that. She’d make memories with a man that she loved, memories that they could share for a lifetime. In other words, she’d have exactly what her mother had wished for on the day she died.

Have mercy, she couldn’t wait. God, if it be Your will, don’t make me wait too long.

Hannah was still imagining that day, that man, when she had the strong sensation that she was being watched. That was the thing about working in windows. She was on display, too.

Turning, she found a beautiful little girl, her long brown curls pulled up in two pigtails and her dark eyes sparkling as she gazed toward the window. Pulling on the hand of her father, she edged closer. Hannah smiled at her reaction and was instantly proud that her display had caused such palpable enthusiasm in this child.

The little girl pointed at Hannah and said something to her father, who seemed genuinely mesmerized by his daughter. He was totally absorbed by her every word, as though there was nothing more important in the world than what she had to say.

Hannah’s heart tugged at the scene. She crooked her finger and motioned for them to come inside and see the display, not only because she wanted the little girl to have a better view, but also because she wanted to get a firsthand look at the closeness these two shared.

A pang shot to Hannah’s heart as they made their way around the side of the window and through the toy store’s front door. When Hannah was about that little girl’s age, she had spent afternoons at the square with her father. Daddy-daughter days, that’s what he’d called it back then. She’d also had her mommy-and-me days with her mom, and then the entire family would have family fun days, which included Hannah’s older sister Jana. Daddy-daughter, mommy-and-me and family fun days had consumed Hannah’s existence as a child.

When she was thirteen all of that changed, and their family had never been the same.

She blinked a couple of times, sniffed back the emotion that occasionally pressed its way to the surface with old memories, and found another smile for them as they passed through the curtain separating the display window from the rest of the store.

“Hi,” Hannah said, primarily to the little girl, since she was still on her knees and the girl was eye level. “What’s your name?”

She was even prettier than Hannah had realized, her dark eyes framed with a bounty of even darker lashes and her skin as smooth as the porcelain dolls in the toy store’s wooden curios.