Beyond These Hills by Sandra Robbins

brim of his hat. “Thank you, Laurel. I’d like that.”
    She moved past him, and his pulse pounded at the scent of lavender. Without speaking he followed her up the steps and into the church. He hung his hat on a rack just inside the door and followed her into the small sanctuary. One glance at the congregation told him he’d been right about attendance today. There couldn’t be more than twenty people sitting in the pews. Two men stood in deep conversation about halfway down the aisle, and Laurel led him toward them.
    The white-haired older man smiled as they approached. The younger of the two glanced from Laurel to Andrew, a wary expression on his face. They stopped in front of them, and Laurel smiled. “We have a visitor today. This is Andrew…” Suddenly she turned to him, an embarrassed grin on her lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your last name.”
    He swallowed before he spoke. “It’s Brady.”
    She turned back to the men. “Andrew Brady. He’s on his way to the CCC camp.” She pointed first to the white-headed man. “This is my grandfather, Simon Martin. He’s the preacher here.” Then she motioned toward the other man, “And this is my father, Matthew Jackson.”
    Her father? Her grandfather? Andrew opened his mouth, but allhe could do was gasp. He took a deep breath. “Then your name is Laurel Jackson?”
    Her forehead wrinkled, and she nodded. “That’s right.” Her frown dissolved into a smile, and she laughed. “Oh, of course. I never told you my last name either.” She glanced back at her father. “I met Andrew yesterday at Mr. Bryan’s store, but we only exchanged first names.”
    Her grandfather smiled and reached out to shake hands. “Welcome to our church, Andrew. We’re always glad to have men from the CCC camp worship with us.”
    Andrew’s face grew warm as he shook the pastor’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”
    Laurel’s father stretched out his hand. “I’m Matthew Jackson. Laurel didn’t tell me she met anybody yesterday.”
    Andrew swallowed before he spoke. “I helped her get some crates out of the back of a truck and inside a store.” He turned back to Laurel. “Afterward I wondered what your name was, but I remembered the name stamped on the crates. Mountain Laurel Pottery.”
    Mr. Jackson nodded. “That’s my wife’s pottery. She sells some of it at Mr. Bryan’s store.”
    â€œI must say it’s some of the most beautiful work I’ve ever seen. I promised myself I’d look up the studio before I left the mountains. I had no idea I’d find out about it today.”
    Laurel laughed and pointed to a woman who was entering the sanctuary from a room at the front of the church. “That’s my mother coming in now. She’s the potter. You’ll have to tell her. I believe you described her work as exquisite.”
    Andrew’s face flushed and he looked down at his feet. “Did I?”
    From the front of the church an organ began to play a quiet tune, and Reverend Martin smiled. “That’s my wife at the organ. She’s giving me a signal that it’s time for services. Why don’t you take a seat, Andrew? I’d better get things underway.”
    â€œThank you, sir. I will.”
    He stepped toward the pew on his left, but Laurel shook her head. “Don’t sit back here by yourself. Come up front and sit with my family and me.”
    Her father and mother stood beside a pew at the front of the church, and her father motioned for Laurel to come. Two young boys had already slid into the pew and were staring over their shoulders at him. He shook his head. “I don’t want to intrude.”
    She laughed, and the sound stirred his blood like nothing ever had before. “You aren’t intruding. We’d love to have you sit with us.”
    He