And the Shofar Blew (10 page)

“Okay. Okay, I get your point.”

“Do you, Paul? Did you know that Samuel has paid the property taxes on the church for three years running, and Otis and Hollis paid to have the parsonage roof replaced?”

His anger seeped away. “Who told you all these things?”

“I’ve learned a lot from the people I’ve been visiting at Vine Hill Convalescent Hospital. They’re a wealth of information about the history of the church, Paul, and who has served diligently over the years.” She smiled tenderly. “All you have to do is ask a question or two and then sit back and listen.”

She amazed him at times. A pity he didn’t have her talent or the time to develop it. “Can you understand when I tell you I don’t have time to spend hours listening to everyone’s life story like you do?” He saw the shadow come into her eyes and tightened his hand around hers. “I can respect them for all they’ve done and love them as Christian brothers and sisters, but I have to move this church out of the past and into the twentieth century, Euny, or it’s going to die.”

“These people
are
the church, Paul.”

His father was right. A woman should learn to be silent and submissive! He ’t have talked with her about his problems. “They’re
part
of the church.” He would concede that much. “But they’re already in the minority.” Why was it necessary to explain? “There were less than sixty when we arrived, and our attendance is up, way up from what it was. Every Sunday we have visitors now. Every Sunday! And that’s not because Hollis or Otis or even Samuel has been out knocking on doors and talking to people all over town or getting involved in community youth activities. I have! It’s the younger generations we need to reach. They’re the future of the church. And we’re accomplishing that. You with your music. Music they didn’t like, if you’ll remember. I’m not going to allow these old men to ride roughshod over the entire congregation and hold us captive to their personal comforts. I want to build this church, Eunice, not stand by and watch it choke to death on outdated ideas and methods!”

“You have the best of intentions, Paul. I know that.”

He could hear the caveat. “Why are you taking their side?”

“It’s not a matter of sides, Paul. It’s a matter of being united with one another, being at peace with one another. We are all members of the body of Christ. We are all needed.”

“So I’m supposed to make peace at any price?”

“Is placing the Bible in the narthex ‘any price’? What is the real issue here, Paul?”

“You’re my wife, Eunice! That’s the issue! You’re supposed to stand beside me, not countermand everything I do.”

She paled at his words, and spoke quietly, gently. “What is the real issue?”

“The real issue is not allowing those old men to dictate what I should and shouldn’t do to turn this church around!”

She bowed her head.

“Daddy? Why are you mad at Mommy?”

Ashamed, Paul winced. “I’m not mad at Mommy, Tim. We’re just talking. Go and play with your toys.” When his son was out of sight, he looked at Eunice beseechingly. “What’s the matter with you lately? You used to stand by me, Euny. Why are you bucking me now when everything is going so well? I fought for you. Remember? They didn’t like the music you were playing two months ago. I had to talk myself blue in the face before they agreed to let us have a mix of contemporary and traditional hymns.” It might have been his idea in the first place, but she had gone along with him.

Her eyes filled, but she said no more.

Paul felt that jab of conscience again. He resented it. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. Had she considered how much her words hurt him? She ought to think about that instead of giving him that doe-eyed look of hers. He was her husband. If she owed loyalty to anyone, it was him. Why did she have to make an issue of this? Couldn’t she understand that he was trying to sweep the cobwebs out of Centerville Christian? It was on his tongue to say exactly that, but he didn’t because he knew she’d say he was sweeping old members out the back door as the new came in the front. That wasn’t his intention. She ought to know that.

Eunice said nothing more about Hollis or the Bible. She asked him if he’d like some more soup. He said no. She cleared the table, squirted liquid detergent into the sink, and ran hot water. He had the feeling she was praying while she washed the dishes. Paul went into the living room and sat in his easy chair. Maybe he should call his father and ask his advice. But why bother? He knew already what his father would say: “Put the Bible away and let God deal with the old men. Get on with building the church and stop worrying about what a few disgruntled people think. There are always enemies in the church, men and women who want to tear down what you’re building.”

But Euny, Lord? Euny has never fought me before.

A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.
And Euny was virtuous. Wasn’t that why he’d fallen in love with her? For all that, and her beautiful blue eyes and sweet smile.
She brings him good, not
harm, all the days of her life.
Euny had always talked with him about his work for the Lord. She had always backed him. She had always been his helpmate, his encourager.

“What is the real issue here, Paul?”

His pride is what she meant, and the question hurt. What about those two old men? Talk about pride! Hollis was insubordinate. In church council meetings, he and Otis spent half their time in idle chatter about the past rather than getting the business of the church done. Was he supposed to give in every time one of them had a fit about some tradition? Pride had hardened them so that they wouldn’t listen.

Paul wanted them to stand aside and allow him to move this church forward unfettered. He wanted them to stop hindering his plans and work alongside him. He wanted Centerville Christian Church to be a beacon in the town. As pastor, he should have their respect.

Eunice came into the living room. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed him. “I love you, Paul.” She went into Timmy’s room and told their son it was time to pick up his toys and have a bath. Timmy loved baths. It wasn’t long before he was jabbering away in the bathroom, the water running. Eunice laughed and talked with him.

Paul put his hand on his Bible.

You know what I’m trying to do here, Jesus. This church was dry as dust
when I came. It was like a valley of dead bones. That’s why Samuel called the
dean. The elders knew they were in trouble. That’s why You called me here. To change things. So why do they fight me at every turn? Why do they quibble and
fuss like old ladies over every change I make?

Timmy came out with his wet hair slicked back and his favorite book tucked under his arm. Paul was in no mood to read
The Little Engine That
Could
for the five millionth time. “Not today, Timmy.” Timmy came closer and held the book out. “I said no.” Eunice stood in the hall doorway. “Could you give me a little help here? He’s got a library of books in his room and he wants this one.
Again.”

“It’s his favorite.” She smiled and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Your mom told me you loved
Peter Rabbit
. She told me she must have read it to you a thousand times.”

He remembered and relented. “Okay, Timmy.” He set his son on his lap and opened the book. The sooner he read the story, the sooner his son would go to bed. Paul wanted to get back to thinking about more important matters than toy engines and good little boys and girls on the other side of the mountain. “ ‘I think I can, I think I can . . . ’ ” Timmy tried to hold the page open, but Paul brushed his hand away and turned to the next page. “ ‘I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could . . . ’ ” He closed the book and tossed it onto the coffee table. “All done. Time for your nap.” Paul kissed his son as he lifted him down off his lap.

“Come on, Timmy.” Eunice held out her hand.

The boy’s shoulders drooped. Eunice took Timmy’s hand and they disappeared into the hallway. He heard her speaking softly. “Daddy has a lot on his mind. No, he’s not mad at you.” And then she began reading in the other room, slowly, dramatically, rhythmically so that he could almost hear the
chug-chug
of the little toy train.

So what do I do, Lord?

“What is the real issue here, Paul?”

Pride,
he thought.
Theirs and mine.
He felt ashamed that he had let his anger get hold of him, but it was understandable. He had been struggling for patience with Hollis and Otis for months. Was it any wonder he lost it when Hollis made an issue of the old Bible missing from the pulpit? He hadn’t listened to what was behind Hollis’s complaint. Maybe he had been a little short with Samuel. Hollis would undoubtedly go to Otis and complain, and then he’d have two elders mad at him. Three if Samuel held a grudge. No, that wasn’t like Samuel. His head throbbed.

Timmy’s bedroom door closed softly and Eunice appeared in the hall. “I’m going to take a bubble bath.”

“I’m sorry I was impatient with Timmy.” He gave her a bleak smile. “Maybe you could hide that book for a while and he’d let me read something else to him for a change.”

He knew he’d hurt her earlier. She’d always stood beside him and listened to his problems, advising where she could. He knew he’d said all the wrong things to Hollis. And now, no matter how much it galled him, he was going to have to try to make peace with Hollis. “I’ll call Samuel. If it’ll soothe ruffled feathers to put that shabby old King James Bible under glass in the narthex, I’ll do it.”

She glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s still early, Paul. You shouldn’t wait.” She put her hand on the door frame. “I’m going to take my bath. I’ll be praying for you, Paul. It’ll all work out if you trust the Lord.”

“Trust the Lord.”

He waited until he heard the bathwater running before he lifted the telephone. He hesitated for a moment, and then punched in Samuel Mason’s number.

Samuel put the phone back on the receiver.

“So?” Abby looked at him over her glasses, her brows raised. She’d stopped rocking her chair when the telephone rang and was still sitting pensively, the pillowcase she had been embroidering resting on her lap, while she waited for him to tell her what the conversation was all about.

“How’s the pillowcase coming along?” Every year, she made a new set of embroidered pillowcases for their daughter and son-in-law as well as new ones for their two grandchildren.

“Just fine. Now, what was ‘a good idea’?”

“Paul wanted to know what I thought about putting the church’s King James Bible into a special glass case in the narthex.”

She smiled broadly. “Well, good for her.” She lifted the embroidery hoop.

“Good for who?”

“Eunice, of course.”

“You think it was her idea?”

“Well, you don’t think Paul came up with an idea like that all on his own, do you? It smacks of humility and making amends.”

“Abby . . . ”

“Oh, don’t Abby me. That boy is like a racehorse with the bit in his teeth.”

He chuckled. “What do you know about racehorses?”

“Is Paul going to talk with Hollis?”

“He didn’t say, but I doubt an apology would get anywhere with Hollis right now, anyway.”

“Oh, you can talk Hollis down off his high horse, and then start building a bridge.”

He’d do his best. Samuel picked up his book and pretended to read. Instead, he started praying again, praying that if he did manage to build a bridge, Paul Hudson would have sense enough to walk across it.

Stephen was sitting at the counter in Charlie’s Diner, sipping coffee and bantering with Sally, when Paul Hudson came in, hair wet with perspiration, sweatshirt tied around his waist and T-shirt sticking to his chest. He slid onto a stool next to Stephen, greeted him, and ordered an orange juice.

“How many miles this morning, Pastor Paul?” Sally called.

“Five, at least,” Paul said, puffing.

Stephen’s mouth tipped in a half smile. “Something bothering you?”

Paul gave him a sideways glance and grinned. “Human relations.”

“Ah.” Stephen lifted his mug. “Life’s obstacle course.”

“I barreled into a hurdle and fell flat on my face last Sunday.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his face and neck.

“The gentleman who looked ready to hang you up by your thumbs.”

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“I’m always watchful in new surroundings.” The world had plenty of minefields.

“Was Sunday your first time in church?”

“Nope. But it’s been a while.”

“Bad experience?”

“Life-changing experience. Good one. I just wasn’t sure I’d find anything close to what I had.”

“And?”

If Hudson had been older, Stephen would have figured he was angling for a compliment. Maybe he was just too young to know his power. “I’ll be back.”

“Good.” Thanking Sally, Paul picked up the glass of orange juice and downed half of it. “You’re an architect, aren’t you?”

“He’s building that big place up on the hill,” Sally said.

“Then you’d know some craftsmen.”

Uh-oh.
“A few.” He’d been told by a few cynical second-timers at the Salvation Army facility that a church always wanted parishioners to work and give money. “What sort of craftsman did you have in mind?”

“Someone who could build a display cabinet for our narthex.”

Stephen thought of Tree House: big, bulky, looked dumb as a post, but was one of the most skilled wood craftsmen around. Tree House built furniture as a hobby. He liked using old tools and methods. “Maybe. I’ll see what I can find out for you. How much are you willing to pay and how soon do you need the job done?”

“I’d need an estimate, and the sooner we can get it finished the better.”

“The man I have in mind does beautiful work, but it’s a sideline, not his occupation. If he’s interested, I’ll have him stop by the church and you can tell him what you’re looking for.”

“Great! Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Won’t be cheap. Might be a whole lot easier and faster to go to a furniture store and see what you can find.”

“Maybe, but I think this particular piece should be something special.”

Pastor Paul must have scraped his nose when he fell over the “hurdle.” Having crashed and burned a few times himself, Stephen knew what it felt like. “When you work with people, Pastor, you run into trouble. Just comes with the territory.”

“You can say that again.” Paul finished his orange juice. “And call me Paul.” He set his empty glass on the counter. “Seems to me you and I have a lot in common, Stephen. We’re both builders, and we both have to deal with inspectors who come in looking for something wrong with our work.” He took out his wallet and removed enough money to pay for the juice and leave a generous tip.

“Pays to make friends with inspectors who can impede progress.” Stephen turned on his stool and cocked his head. “Is the cabinet a bribe, or a way of making amends?” He saw the color seep into the younger man’s face and wondered if it was anger or embarrassment. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t his business what went on inside Centerville Christian Church. Unless he decided he wanted to become part of it.

“Both.” Paul grimaced. “But I’ve been told crow is edible.”

“True, but never the bird of choice.”

“Maybe the taste of it will keep me from making the same mistake again.” He gave a casual salute. “Hope I see you Sunday morning.” He thanked Sally and went out the door.

Stephen paid for his breakfast and headed for the work site. He talked to Tree House about the cabinet for the church, but got no for an answer. Tree House was building a china hutch for his mother. “If I start another project before finishing her piece, she’ll have my head in a basket.”

The more Stephen thought about it, the more he wanted to tackle the project himself. He’d done the finish work on the bookshelves in the den of his Granite Bay house and built the mantel that had been the centerpiece in the living room. Back when he was a kid, he’d made a few pieces of furniture in an elective wood-shop class. A drop-leaf desk that won an award at the county fair. His teacher had told him he had a talent for woodworking, but Stephen had known it was no way to get rich. He’d made a profit of less than a hundred dollars when he calculated the time it had taken him to build the thing. That had been a deciding factor in his decision to be an architect with a contractor’s license. The bigger the project, the more money to be made.

The Atherton house would put him in the black again, and the project had already opened up possibilities for more work in the area. But he still had too much time on his hands. Too much time alone. Too much time to think and regret past actions, which only increased the temptation to drink and forget.

He’d never built anything for a church. Why not do the project? It’d keep him busy in the evenings.

Rob Atherton came by late in the afternoon. Before he was out of his car, a Cadillac came up the driveway. Stephen groaned inwardly. Sheila parked next to her husband. They talked briefly. Even at a distance, Stephen could tell Rob was in a foul mood. Probably a rough day at the office. Stephen hoped Sheila would take the hint and not come up with another cocka-mamie idea that would drive everybody up a wall.

He greeted them cordially and walked them through the house again, explaining how the pace would pick up over the next few weeks as wiring, cables, and plumbing were completed, insulation put in, and Sheetrock put up. Next came the taping and texturing, or paneling, depending on the room. The kitchen and bathroom cabinets were being built and would be brought out for installation by the end of the month. Sheila had already decided on colors, tiles, carpeting, paneling, and fixtures. Everything top of the line, the way Sheila wanted. They had no sooner entered the kitchen than Sheila announced she wanted a Sub-Zero refrigerator and steel instead of black for the convection oven. Stephen exhaled slowly to release steam.

Rob spewed out several four-letter words. Stephen couldn’t have voiced his own frustrations any more eloquently. “That’s it, Sheila! Enough already! Leave everything as it is now, Decker. No more changes. I want this house to be finished while I’m still this side of sixty.”

“But, Rob, I was just telling you what I read. We should upgrade the appliances.”

“I said
no.
It’s a waste of
his
time and
my
money. What do you care about refrigerators and ovens, anyway? You don’t even cook!”

Her eyes went hot. “Well, I would if I had a decent kitchen.”

“Decent? Julia Child would be happy to cook in here.” His face was red and tight. “Molly never had anything better than what ordinary people have, and she always managed to have a nice dinner on the table at six sharp.”

“Then maybe you should’ve stayed married to her.”

“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind a hundred times in the past three years.”

Sheila’s mouth fell open. Her blue eyes filled with tears. “You’re always blaming me!” Turning abruptly, she left the house. Atherton muttered another expletive under his breath. He took a step after her and then stopped, swore again, and headed for the back of the house. Stephen heard a car door slam, an engine roar, and gravel crunch violently.

Stephen found Rob standing in the barren living room that would eventually look out over a French garden with gazebo and pool, if Sheila’s plans proceeded on schedule.

Rob looked up at the beams and around at the alcoves ready to house bookshelves. “Sheila’s idea of cooking is to call a restaurant that delivers.” He let out his breath, his shoulders drooping. “Nothing like an old fool who thinks he’s become cock of the walk, is there?” When he turned, Stephen saw the weariness in his expression, the worn-down look of a man living with a multitude of regrets. “Ever wish you could go back and do things over, Decker?”

“All the time.”

“Molly was my first wife.” He looked around again. “What’s your opinion?”

Stephen wasn’t certain what Rob Atherton was asking, but he wasn’t going to enter a confessional with an embittered executive who was paying close to seven hundred thousand dollars to house his trophy wife. “Always build with the idea of resale. Men look at garages. Women look at kitchens.” Even if they never used them.

Atherton gave a bleak laugh. “There you have it, Decker. Sheila knows where the money’s to be made.” His eyes were cool and appraising. “I’d like to promise to keep her out of your hair, but I don’t think that’s possible.”

Stephen sensed the message beneath those words. Atherton was no fool. He’d married an adulteress and knew she couldn’t be trusted. Too bad Rob couldn’t take Sheila off on a two-month vacation to the Bahamas or Hawaii or Timbuktu. By the time they returned, the house would be finished, the landscaping in, and Stephen could hand Rob Atherton or his little tart the key and walk away with the last check due on completion.

He was dreaming.

“I’m already beginning to wish I’d bought land closer to Sacramento,” Rob said. “What do you do around here?”

“I attend a Wednesday night Bible study.”

“Bible study? You’re kidding.” Atherton laughed.

“No, I’m not kidding.”

“Somehow I didn’t think you were that sort.”

“What sort would that be?”

Atherton hesitated, assessed. “You really get something out of it?”

He wasn’t mocking anymore, and Stephen knew why. For all his money and power, his life was in shambles. “You know where I was before you hired me.”

“In rehab.” Rob jingled his keys. “Look, I’m not trying to pry. I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

“If religion really does improve your life.”

“Religion makes life more difficult. God makes life bearable.”

“And there’s a difference?”

“Life and death difference, but if you want to understand, you ought to check out Centerville Christian.”

“Right now, I’d try just about anything.”

Stephen smiled cynically. “Well, take a little advice from someone who’s been down a few highways. Stay away from booze. Try the church.”