The Matchmaking Pact

Six years since her responsibilities completely changed the course of her life. Six years since she carried Alyssa away from the hospital, a confused little girl of two, an orphan, with only her aunt Josie to take care of her.

An aunt who up until then had lived life on her own terms. Josie’s life had taken a 180-degree turn, and there were many times since then that she thanked God for a second chance to redeem herself. Both in His eyes and in the eyes of the community.

She was determined to be a good mother to Alyssa, to focus solely on the little girl and her needs.

And now a man’s voice reverberated from the living room. A man was joining them for dinner. And not just any man: Silas Marstow.

After the Storm:

A Kansas community unites to rebuild

Healing the Boss’s Heart—Valerie Hansen

July 2009

Marrying Minister Right—Annie Jones

August 2009

Rekindled Hearts—Brenda Minton

September 2009

The Matchmaking Pact—Carolyne Aarsen

October 2009

A Family for Thanksgiving—Patricia Davids

November 2009

Jingle Bell Babies—Kathryn Springer

December 2009

and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in Northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children, and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in her office with a large west-facing window, through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to

Carolyne Aarsen for her contribution to the After the Storm miniseries.

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

—Matthew 11:28

To those whose lives have been torn apart by storms—without and within

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Questions for Discussion

July 10, 5:00 p.m.

“Alyssa. Lily.” Josie threw the young girls’ names out into the eerie quiet blanketing the town of High Plains.

The quiet that was the aftermath of the tornado.

She took a quick step down the church steps and called out again.

An hour ago her ears had ached from the roaring rush of wind, the screech of wood being pulled free from the nails, the distinctive sound of a roaring train that came with the tornado ripping through the late afternoon.

An hour ago she had held her niece, Alyssa, and Alyssa’s best friend, Lily, close to her side while the storm raged overhead. Half an hour ago, as frantic parents came to check on the children in Josie’s care, Lily and Alyssa were still around. But since that time, as calm began to return, the two girls had disappeared.

“Lily. Alyssa.” She yelled louder this time, as her panicked gaze flicked over the devastation the tornado had wrought, disbelief and sorrow flooding over her.

Tree branches the size of her arm lay on the street, chunks of plywood, splintered timbers and unrecognizable debris littered a landscape she no longer recognized.

The Old Town Hall, one of the first buildings put up in High Plains all those years ago, was nothing more than a jumble of broken wood and windows, as if someone had picked it up and dropped it, with no regard for its history or its place in the town.

So close, she thought, fear clutching her midsection at the sight. The tornado that had ripped the Old Town Hall to rubble had—like the Egyptian Angel of Death—passed over the church doing nothing more than pulling down a sign.

She breathed another prayer, a mixture of gratitude for her safety and supplication for those who might be hurt as she struggled to absorb the wreckage of her town.

A few people stood in front of the businesses lining the street, their faces as dazed as—Josie was sure—hers was at what had just happened.

Where in all of this had her niece gone with her new best friend, Lily Marstow? And why had they left when Josie had specifically told them to stay close?

When they had asked if they could go to the washroom, Josie had watched them go, then a little girl crying for her mother had caught her attention.

Ten minutes had passed before she realized the girls weren’t with her friend Nicki or anywhere in the church. Nor had anyone seen them.

Dear Lord, please let them be okay, she prayed as she stepped out into the wet street littered with branches, wood and hunks of soggy pink insulation.

What had she been thinking letting them even step out of her sight?

She hadn’t. She’d been too busy listening to the stories that came with each new person coming to claim their child from the preschool at the church.

And she’d been too busy trying to call her own grandmother who lived a few blocks away, hoping, praying the elderly woman was safe. But neither the phones nor her cell phone worked. She had no idea what had happened to her grandmother and, up until now, hadn’t dared venture out to find out.