The last call was from Millie Bruester. “Abby died this morning,” she wept. “I thought you’d want to know.” The telephone beeped twice . . . and then silence.
Eunice sat, stunned. She was just reaching for her purse as Paul came in from the garage. “What’s the matter?”
“Abby died.” She dug in her purse for her keys. Unable to find them, she dumped everything on the counter. Crying, she rummaged through the things scattered across the counter—pocket organizer, lipstick, notepad, sunglasses, checkbook, change purse, wallet, keys to the church.
“I’m sorry, Euny.” He spoke quietly. “I know how much she meant to you.”
“How much she meant to all of us, Paul. She nurtured everyone, and Samuel . . .” Her voice broke. Poor Samuel. She knew why he hadn’t called. He would’ve known everyone was out at the ground-breaking ceremony. He wouldn’t’ve wanted to interrupt the festivities. Clutching her keys, she stuffed everything else back into her shoulder bag. “I need to call the Hebers. I don’t want Tim to find out at church tomorrow.”
Paul took the keys from her hand. “We’ll pick him up and go over together.”
Surprised, she glanced up and saw the moisture in his eyes.
The man still had the power to surprise her.
Stephen left the ground-breaking celebration early and headed for Sacramento. He called Kathryn on his cell phone, hoping to set up a time to visit with Brittany sometime during the week. “She’s gone.”
He knew it was within his rights to press the issue. He was supposed to have time with his daughter each month, but it had been almost six weeks since he’d last seen her. Things still weren’t right between them. He felt the chasm widening. Was it just her age? Or was it something deeper? “I need to talk with her, Kathryn.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to build a bridge.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Well, good luck. She doesn’t listen to anyone these days.”
“I thought you two got along.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
Even when he spoke in a neutral tone, Kathryn took offense. “No, I wasn’t. How long have you been having trouble with her?”
“I don’t remember a time when I haven’t had trouble with her. All she does is gripe. I’ve dedicated my life to making sure she has everything she wants, and she treats me like I’m nothing. I’m sick to death of fighting with her.”
He winced at the vitriol in Kathryn’s voice. Brittany had always been a weapon in her hand, a way of wounding him repeatedly. But the animosity in his ex-wife’s tone now went deeper. There was a hard edge of dislike that worried him. “You want to talk about joint custody?” Maybe there would be light at the end of this tunnel.
“I’m not fed up enough to give her to you.”
Every time he gave her an opportunity to bury the hatchet, she sank it deeper into his heart. He was done with fighting back, answering in kind. He didn’t want her taking out her wrath on their daughter. “Okay,” he said carefully. “When would be a good time to call Brittany?”
Kathryn didn’t answer immediately, and when she did, her tone was weary. “Your guess is as good as mine, Stephen. She’s hardly ever home, and when she is, she’s so sarcastic I end up sending her to her room. I’m so tired of trying to keep peace in this house. Jeff and I aren’t getting along, and it’s her fault.”
So she was blaming Brittany for her marriage problems now. He had to stop and remind himself that he had made a habit of blaming Kathryn for most of what went wrong between them. “I’m sorry to hear that, Kat.” Live and let live. His ex-wife would have to find her own way. Maybe she’d find it easier if he lighted the way instead of blowing out the candle every chance he got.
Another hesitation. Stephen waited for the next barb.
“You haven’t called me Kat in years.”
“Sorry.”
She sighed. “Brittany left a note saying that she’s with friends. That’s all I know right now, Stephen. I have her cellphone number, if you want it.”
“Sure.” He flipped up the center console, where he had a pad of paper clipped. “Shoot.”
She gave it to him. “Not that there’s any guarantee she’ll answer. I tried calling earlier, but she has caller ID.”
If she and her mother were at odds, Brittany wouldn’t answer. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Good luck,” she said dryly and hung up.
Brittany didn’t answer. He left a message that he wanted to spend some time with her. “I’m staying in Sacramento for a few days. I’d like to see you.” He told her he was staying at the same Residence Inn as his last visit. “I have my cell phone with me.” She had the number, if she’d bothered to keep it. “I love you, Brittany. It may not seem that way sometimes, but I do. More than you’ll ever know.”
He called Kathryn on Monday night and got the answering machine. He left another message for Brittany and spent all day Tuesday in business meetings with possible clients. His daughter didn’t call. Wednesday, he checked out and headed south.
The tension left him as soon as he took the on-ramp to 99. Maybe he just wasn’t a city boy anymore. He missed his friends in Centerville. Especially Samuel. Wednesday night Bible study was even more important to him than Sunday worship. It had become his lifeline. For some reason, he came away from church dissatisfied. As though he’d had hors d’oeuvres, but missed the main course.
The mail was piled up below the chute. He went through it quickly, tossing junk into a wastebasket. He had just enough time for a microwaved TV dinner before heading for the Masons’.
The porch light was on. He saw people through the sheer curtains in the living room of the little American bungalow. He checked his watch, wondering if he was late. Nope. He was thirty minutes early. He picked up his Bible. As he got out of his truck, he spotted Eunice’s white Saturn. His pulse jumped. It had been a long time since she had attended the home group.
The Masons always left the door unlocked. The minute Stephen stepped inside, he knew Abby was gone. Instead of laughter and lively conversation, people sat around the living room speaking in subdued tones, their faces solemn. Samuel sat in the wing chair everyone had dubbed “the rabbi’s seat,” and Eunice was on the edge of the sofa, holding his hand and talking with him. Stephen’s longtime friend and mentor looked old and frail.
Samuel squeezed Eunice’s hand, rose, and came to greet him. “Stephen.” He extended his hand. “I thought you were in Sacramento.”
“I just got back an hour ago. When did it happen?”
“Abby went home Saturday morning.”
Stephen felt as if someone had hold of his throat with both hands, choking him. His eyes were hot. “Sorry.”
Samuel’s face softened. His eyes filled with tears. He bowed his head and gestured. “Sit. Please.”
Eunice gave him her space on the sofa. When she put her hand on Stephen’s shoulder, he felt the warmth run the course of his entire body. “Would you like some coffee or tea, Stephen?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Coffee. Black. Thanks.”
“So . . . ” Samuel took his seat again. “How did things go in Sacramento?”
It was so like Samuel to think of others at a time like this. “Not so good, but I’m not giving up.” He clasped his hands between his knees. “What are your plans?”
“Abby’s memorial service will be on Saturday.”
Stephen figured Samuel couldn’t look any further ahead than that. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to lose a wife of sixty-two years. He’d known in the first year with Kathryn that their marriage wouldn’t make it. And in truth, he hadn’t done much of a job trying to keep it together. It took resurrection power to make love last through the long haul. And it took a man and woman willing to surrender themselves to one another and to the One who came up with marriage in the first place. He’d fouled up his chance, but that didn’t mean his heart didn’t yearn for the kind of relationship Samuel had shared wi
th Abigail. “She’ll be missed.” Sorely. He could already feel the difference in the house. Abigail Mason was gone. He could already see the difference in his friend. Samuel couldn’t hide the raw pain in his eyes—or the fact that he probably hadn’t slept since Saturday.
Eunice returned with a mug of black coffee. His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug. She looked as worn down as Samuel. He ached for her. She took a seat across the living room beside Marilyn Heber.
Gradually, people began to talk again, sharing memories of Abby and how she had impacted their lives. Stephen talked about the time he visited her in the hospital. “She wouldn’t let me get away with anything.”
“Me neither,” Samuel said.
The others laughed. Everyone shared funny stories and the mood lightened. By the end of the evening, the focus had changed from losing her to knowing she was with Jesus, that her pain was over, that she was no longer trapped in a body that kept her in bed. Not that everything said had made losing Abby any easier on Samuel.
It was after eleven when people started leaving. The ladies put all the food away. Samuel had enough to last him for a month. Stephen was one of the last two to leave. Samuel walked with him to the door. Stephen shook his hand. “Mind if I drop by tomorrow? See how you’re doing?”
“Anytime, Stephen.”
The night air was cold, without a whisper of wind. Stephen tugged up his collar and went down the steps. As he opened the gate, he looked back and saw Eunice and Samuel holding one another in the doorway. Samuel patted her cheek. He lifted his head and looked at Stephen standing at the gate before he closed the door. Strange how one look like that could give a word of warning.
Stephen held the gate open for Eunice. “How’s Tim taking it?”
“Hard.”
He didn’t ask about Paul. He knew enough about the strained relations between Samuel and the pastor not to bring that up. Still, he had never heard Abby or Samuel say a single word against Paul Hudson. Paul was the one who did all the talking. Too much talking, now that Stephen thought about it. Why wasn’t he sitting in that living room, sharing stories about Abby?
Eunice drew her coat closer around her. Stephen could see the sheen of tears. He should stand aside and let her go home. “Abby was a good friend to a lot of people.”
“She was the best friend I had in this town. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”
Her comment troubled him. “You have a lot of friends, Eunice.”
“Precious few I can trust.” He saw her grief in the soft glow of the street-light. “A pastor’s wife has to be very careful what she says and to whom she says it. I never had to worry with Abby. I could talk about anything with her and know it would go no further than her own heart. And maybe Samuel.” He heard the soft catch in her voice, the helpless grief grabbing hold again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her, and that makes me so angry.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s so selfish.”
“I’m not taking it that way.”
“She was suffering, Stephen, and here I am feeling sorry for myself.”
He wanted to comfort her, but kept his distance. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder. Were there problems between her and Paul? He knew there was trouble between her and other members of the church. Surely her husband should be her best friend. He knew some people were uncomfortable around Eunice Hudson. She walked into a room and people changed the course of their conversation. It was as though Jesus had entered with her, and people became aware of what they were saying and doing. Jesus was everything to Eunice Hudson, and everyone knew it. “I’m your friend, Eunice.”
She looked up. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Anything you say to me now won’t go beyond this gate.” He felt her stillness and knew she’d heard him. He sensed she heard even more than he said.
“I can’t.”
“Because I’m Paul’s friend?”
“Partly.”
“Because I’m a man?”
“That, too.” She searched his eyes. “You’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Me?” He started to make light of it until he realized what she meant.
“Good night, Stephen.”
The soft, broken sound of her voice made him give her the room she needed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as she stepped past him. He wanted to follow her to her car and tell her he’d never do anything to hurt her. She could trust him.
Yeah, right! He had good intentions. He’d make promises. But a man of character kept his promises, and Stephen knew he wouldn’t have the strength to run from temptation if it ever came to his door in the form of Eunice Hudson.
Stephen liked Paul, even admired him as a pastor who could move and shake his congregation. But that didn’t mean Stephen was blind to his friend’s faults. Paul took his wife for granted; he was so caught up in building a church that he paid little attention to the stresses and strains within his own family. Stephen recognized disaster on the horizon because he’d been as self-absorbed while helping destroy his own marriage.
Was it possible for a church to rip a marriage apart? And would Paul be wise enough to make sure that didn’t happen?
Stephen had seen Tim stalking away from his parents at the ground-breaking celebration. He had seen Eunice hunched and setting out the picnic things while Paul talked down to her and then went off to spend the rest of the day with other people. Stephen had left early because he knew if he didn’t, he would say or do something he’d regret.
Tonight, Eunice was vulnerable. Grieving and unguarded, she had spoken frankly. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see she was already regretting it.
Stephen’s heart hammered as he got into his truck and jammed the key into the ignition. She knew how he felt. She’d drawn the line once before. Tonight she’d drawn it again. But it was thinner this time, and not as straight. He watched the taillights on her Saturn as she turned left at the corner. Starting his truck, he had the urge to follow. She was lonely and hurting, maybe a little confused. He could pull up beside her at the next intersection, ask her if she wanted to have a cup of coffee out at the truck stop. It wasn’t a place CCC members patronized. They could talk, maybe sort some things out between them.
He knew where he was heading. The mind tends to justify whatever the heart has chosen.
“Lord,” he said under his breath, “Lord, You’d better help me out here.”
Stephen pulled up to the corner and stopped. He saw her taillights again. She was within easy reach. He let the truck idle a moment longer before he made his decision.
He turned right and headed home.
Fewer than a hundred people came to Abby’s memorial service. Ashamed, Eunice sat at the piano, fighting tears as she played her friend’s favorite hymns. Samuel sat in the front row, Tim beside him. Paul would open the service and then quietly depart, leaving Pastor Hank Porter to stand in the gap. Eunice had been told only this morning.
“This is wrong, Paul! Wrong!”
“It couldn’t be more right. Just listen.”
“If it’s so right, why did you wait until the last minute to tell me?”
“Because you’ve been so emotional lately. Sometimes you aren’t reasonable, Eunice. Listen to me for a minute! Hank Porter is a gift from God. He couldn’t have come at a better time. Howard MacNamara is the key to the planning commission. I’m not about to cancel on him and risk delays with the building project.”
“What about Samuel’s feelings? What about Abby’s years of service to this church? Don’t they matter to you?”
“Hank Porter arrived from Oregon yesterday. I’ve already spoken to him, and he’s more than willing to take over the service. God’s hand is in this. Can’t you see that? Porter should be the one conducting the service anyway, Eunice. He was Samuel and Abby’s pastor for forty years! I’ll start the memorial, say a few words about Abby, and then step down. No one will even notice when I leave.�
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“I’ll notice.”
“I’m doing this for the church!”
“Abby was important to this church.”
“She was important for a time, Eunice. Most people don’t even know who she is or care that she’s passed on.”
“And that’s a symptom of what’s going wrong in your ministry, Paul. They should care.” It was the wrong thing to say.
“There’s nothing wrong with my ministry! If there was, the church wouldn’t be putting on four full services. You’re the only one in the congregation who doesn’t seem to think I’m fit for the job! New people are coming every week to hear my sermons. They’re opening their pocketbooks and falling all over themselves to give us the money to build a bigger facility. You tell me that isn’t God’s blessing on my ministry.”
“Just because something grows, doesn’t mean it’s good, Paul. Cancer grows.”
She’d never seen such a look on his face.
“What do you know about anything, Eunice? You didn’t grow up the way I did. All you ever knew was that little shack in the hills. How many members did your father have at the last? Fifteen? Twenty? You call that a church? That’s nothing!”
She had almost retaliated, almost lashed out in anger that her father had been more of a pastor than his father had ever been. But she had lowered her head, shut her eyes, and prayed frantically that God would keep her silent, that God would keep her from throwing stones back at him, heavier stones than his contempt of her and her heritage. She had said too much already, and not a word she had said in the last five years had been heard.
Now here she sat, struggling to keep a peaceful facade for those who happened to look her way. She was Pastor Paul’s wife, after all. Never had her role pinched her more uncomfortably than today!
Hank Porter was short, balding, slightly overweight, and though not eloquent, he spoke brokenly of Abigail Mason. No one doubted his love and respect for her. “She had a servant’s heart,” he said and took his handkerchief from his pocket.