The Carpenter's Daughter by Jennifer Rodewald

shoulder, a petite princess draped on her knight’s proud arm.
    My stomach hurt.
    “You’re keeping something from me, Sarah.” Dad kindly punctured the image and brought me back to his dark scowl.
    Part of me wanted to thank him for rescuing me from an idea that inexplicably made me nauseous. But I couldn’t wrap my mind around what had wound him so tight. “I’m not.”
    “Why are you going back?”
    I sighed. Because Jesse asked me to. Wait, that wasn’t the whole of it. Going back and helping Homes For Hope had become part of my quest. I needed to see who I was beyond Dad’s supervision. I needed to know what I had inside.
    “I liked helping.”
    Dad frowned. “How is it any different than what you do every day?”
    Please, Daddy, please understand. You want me to be happy, right? I stared at him while the words swirled a new storm inside of me. So, this had become a choice. I could continue pursuing a new identity, which apparently was irritating Dad, or I could stay here and never know who I was. How was I supposed to make that kind of decision?
    “Dad…”
    His shoulders drooped, and he leaned back against the counter. “Forget it, Sarah. You’re a grown woman, and you can do what you want.”
    His concession did nothing to calm my turmoil. I had Jesse’s number on my call log. I could have canceled.
    I didn’t.
    Did you meet someone? As the road slipped by beneath my tires that morning, Dad’s question continued to knot my gut, pulling the loops tighter with every mile closer to the job site.
    What would my dad think of Jesse Chapman?
    Lining him up with the important people in my life, I saw him strikingly similar to Rick and Darcy. His cloak of kindness resembled theirs. I could picture Jesse beside them, blending in with natural ease as they went to church.
    The image unsettled me. Dad didn’t take to that kind. The only reason he tolerated Darcy was because she was his sister. First time Jesse would ask to pray, Dad would spear him with a you’re pathetic look, and that would be that. If they ever happened to meet, that was. Which they wouldn’t. So, that was irrelevant. Besides, why would I assume that Jesse openly wore his religion everywhere he went?
    Because he did. I’d only spent two days with the guy, but I was certain that the God thing wasn’t something that Jesse Chapman hid from anyone. Ever.
    Coming into Holdrege, I continued on Highway 34 until I passed the heart of old town. After a quick check with Siri, I made a right and then a left. An empty lot surrounded by trucks appeared on the right side of the residential street. You have arrived at your destination.
    Yep, there it was—but it wasn’t empty. A slab foundation had been poured, and in front of it, circled in the dirt, stood a ring of people. Not working. Listening. To Jesse Chapman.
    I cut the engine and slid from my truck. With a tentative step, I moved toward the gathering.
    “And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.” Jesse read aloud from a small book in his palm. He smiled as he looked back up to the group. “Let’s pray.”
    See? What’d I say? He’d parade his religion in front of everyone, all the time. Dad would have groaned, stomped back to the truck, and pointed it back toward home.
    I stood, chewing on my lip and wondering why I was captivated by this odd, good-looking man.
    Wait, captivated?
    “Sapphira.” Jesse left the ring of his followers, striding my direction. Had he prayed already? He held a hand out toward me like I was to shake it.
    I did. He pulled me into a hey, buddy kind of hug. “Had some foolish fear that you weren’t going to come after all. I’m relieved to see you.”
    “Why?” Oh dear. I said that out loud.
    “We need you. See.” He gestured to the blank canvas of a foundation. “No walls.”
    I surveyed the site as if I hadn’t noticed the lack of framing and then looked to