Rowles bent down by the shore and lifted a small pebble. Turning, he offered his hand to Joan. The grass was still damp from the morning’s dew, and he didn’t wish for her to slip.

She grasped his hand firmly, her touch sending a shock of awareness through his arm and into his chest, his heartbeat picking up speed as a result. Her hands were dainty, yet capable and firm. They were the hands of a woman who would use them to benefit and bless others, hands that were unafraid of challenges and obstacles. Hands that would change the world.

Hands that could change his world.

“Rowles?” Joan’s voice broke through his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he showed her the pebble in his hand.

“A pebble?”

“Indeed.”

She raised a brow in query.

“One pebble is small, clearly, and seems insignificant, but it is not the pebble, but the pebble’s effect that creates the change.” He tossed the pebble into the water. “Count the ripples.”

Joan lifted her other hand, the one not still holding his, and began to silently count.

He was careful not to adjust the pressure or move the hand still holding hers, lest she realize they were still attached, in however innocent a way. He wasn’t yet ready to let go.

“Twenty,” Joan answered.

“One pebble, twenty ripples. That is an exponential effect. Something small may initiate the reaction, but its effect continues outward, far beyond what the pebble could do on its own.”

“So, you’re saying that assisting one person could in turn create lasting change.”

“Yes. Not that we should be small-minded and only help one person in our entire lives.” He chuckled.

“Agreed.”

“But it gives us perspective that our efforts go beyond. Have you ever heard a sermon on the sower and seeds?”

“I believe so,” Joan replied.

“At the end of the parable, the seeds that fell on good soil produced fifty, seventy-five, and a hundredfold.”

“It replicated itself, as seeds do.”

“Yes, and are we so different? Our one seed of change can create a harvest later.” He met her look, willing for her to see herself as more than one woman. But with the potential he knew whenever he saw her.

“Thank you.” Joan’s words were a mere whisper. Her forehead twitched as if reacting to the thoughts filtering through her mind. “I… That is…” She gave her head a little shake. “I am grateful for this conversation, for your perspective.”

“It’s my pleasure.” And he meant it.

The sound of voices met his ears, and with a swift tug, Joan pulled her fingers free from his grasp and took a step backward, but it was too quick a movement. Her foot slid against the wet lawn.

Rowles reacted as quickly as possible, reaching out for her hand, arm, anything within reach. But it was too late.