Bridge to Haven (23 page)

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage . . .

RICHARD LOVELACE

1955

Jack Wooding’s son drove into the construction site, windows down, radio blaring the Doris Day hit “If I Give My Heart to You.” Abra flashed into Joshua’s mind, bringing a stab of pain with her.

She’d been gone over a year and no word from her. Peter had contacted the police after the first week. Chief of Police Jim Helgerson went out to Shadow Hills and talked with Cole Thurman, who said he didn’t know where his son was or who he’d taken with him when he left. Why not call his mother, Lilith Stark? He handed over the telephone number. Lilith Stark said she hadn’t seen her son in several months. He was an adult, responsible for his own life, but she doubted he would take any girl who wasn’t willing to go with him. Who knows? Maybe they got married.

Chief Helgerson told Peter there wasn’t anything more he could do. Runaways had a way of disappearing for as long as they wanted.
They could have been married in another state by now. He didn’t have the time or resources to keep looking. “If she wants to come home, she’ll come home.” The chief’s words were hardly cheering to anyone who loved Abra. Even Penny worried about her.

The last anyone heard about Abra came from Kent Fullerton. The high school football star came home from college at Christmas and called Penny. He’d seen her sister at a beach party in Santa Cruz. It had to have been just a few days after she’d left Haven. When Joshua heard, he went by the Fullertons’ to talk with Kent. “I asked her if she wanted to leave. Before I knew what hit me, I was on the floor with a broken nose. I think that guy would have killed me if a couple of my friends hadn’t pulled him off. I have this to remember him by.” He touched a scar on his cheekbone.

Joshua’s nightmares returned with a vengeance.

“Will you give me all your love? Will you swear that you’ll be true to me?”
Doris Day’s voice sang out, the truck idling as Jack’s son delivered some paperwork. Joshua clenched his teeth at the lyrics and wiped sweat off his brow. What kind of promises had Dylan made to Abra? Had he kept any of them? Did Abra still feel the same way about Dylan, or had the infatuation worn off by now? Were they still together, or had he dumped her someplace? He thought of war-torn Korea, starving girls left on their own, and how many GIs he had treated for venereal disease. He sent up another shotgun prayer for God to watch over and protect Abra.

Joshua fitted a freshly sawed board into place and pulled his hammer from his tool belt. He found pleasure in the scent of sawdust, the grain of the wood, the way each piece fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. The Doris Day song had ended, and now Rudy Eckhart, working a few yards from Joshua, was singing along with the Chordettes: “‘Sandman, I’m so alone; don’t have nobody to call my own. . . .’” Thankfully, street bulldozers started up, drowning him out with the racket of grading new sites for the next phase of Pleasant Hills.

Trucks rumbled in, loaded with concrete and ready to pour slab foundations. Joshua and his crew would be busy framing those houses in the weeks ahead, then putting in doors and windows and installing siding while subcontractors went to work on roofs, wiring, and plumbing. The insulation and trim came next, followed by the plaster guys and painters. The electricians and plumbers finished off their work before bathroom and kitchen counters were installed. More subcontractors arrived to lay carpet and flooring. Once the hookups to water and sewer were done, the bosses would get the punch list and check for any deficiencies or issues that needed to be addressed. Before that day came, Joshua would do his own walk-around inspection.

A piercing whistle stopped the hammering. “That’s it for the day, gents!” Jack waved the handful of checks his son had delivered from the home office.

Rudy gave a cheer. “Hey, guys! What do you say we go on over to the Wagon Wheel and soak up a couple of ice-cold beers? You coming with us this time, Freeman?”

“I’ve got a prior engagement.” Joshua slipped his hammer into his work belt as smoothly as a gunslinger holstering his Colt .45.

“News flash, everybody!” Rudy shouted to the others stowing tools and heading for Jack. “Joshua has got himself a date tonight!”

Joshua laughed. “A date with a roof early tomorrow morning.” The church had needed a new one for several years, but money was scarce. He had connections and enough money put aside to get the job done. Dad, Gil MacPherson, and Peter Matthews would be part of the work crew.

“Don’t you ever stop working, Freeman?” Rudy yelled.

“I’m off all day every Sunday.”

“And spend it in church. All that singing gives me a headache.”

One of the men called out, “Hearing you sing ‘Earth Angel’ gives me a headache!” Others laughed.

Rudy broke into “That’s All Right” and imitated Elvis’s infamous hip moves. Men booed and shouted protest. “What’s the problem, Eckhart? Got ants in your pants?”

Laughing, Joshua collected his check and walked with his buddies toward their parked vehicles. Everyone had plans for the weekend. Two were going out to the coast to fish. One had a hot date with a girl he’d met in a bar. Another said his wife had a long honey-do list, and if he didn’t get it done before his in-laws arrived, he’d be living in the doghouse. Two others liked Rudy’s idea of meeting up at the Wagon Wheel after showers and having a couple of cold beers and steaks to celebrate payday.

Joshua stopped off at the church on his way home. He wanted to make sure the roofing materials had been delivered. Irene Farley’s old Plymouth was parked in front. She’d been the church secretary for as long as Joshua could remember. Dad called her “the FLM”—first line of ministry—because her warm telephone voice brought more than one weary soul into church on Sunday, if only to meet the lady with the sweet voice. Mitzi’s roadster was parked in front, too, which meant Dad must have been doing visitation outside the town limits.

Bundled stacks of asphalt shingles, a box of nails, and rolls of black tar paper and copper flashing had been left on the lawn between the church and the fellowship hall. Two extension ladders leaned against the church. The hardest part of the job would be stripping the old shingles. The debris would be dropped and loaded into his pickup. Hodge Martin would make the runs to the dump.

The door to the church office stood open. Irene glanced up when Joshua walked in. “Well, howdy-do, Joshua!” She smiled when he leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. Dad’s office door was slightly ajar. He heard the low mumble of a woman’s voice. Dad never met with a woman unless Irene was in the front office, and even then, he never closed his door all the way.

Slouching into a chair, Joshua chatted with Irene while he waited
for Dad to finish with his counseling appointment. He was surprised when Susan Wells came out, her eyes red and puffy. Susan blushed when she saw Joshua. She said a quick, pained hello, thanked Irene, and headed for the outer office door. Dad followed. He put his hand on Susan’s shoulder before she could escape and spoke in a low voice. Susan stood still under his touch, but didn’t raise her head. She nodded once and left.

Irene looked at Dad. “Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s learning what it means to trust God.” Dad thanked Irene for staying late. Gathering her purse and some files, she said she’d see them both Sunday morning.

Joshua followed Dad back into his private office. “You look exhausted, Dad.”

“So do you.” Dad smiled. “Ian Brubaker sent the supplies over. Do we have everything we need?”

“Yes, but promise me you won’t go up on the roof again.” He’d almost slid off last time, barely managing to catch his heel in the gutter.

“I planned on handling the pulley.” He picked up his jacket. “What do you say to dinner at Bessie’s?”

Joshua cocked his head and studied his father’s face. Irene said he’d been in his office for over an hour. “You like Susan, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do.”

It was a decisive statement. Joshua started to ask if he meant that in a personal way, but his father interrupted his speculations. “Just leave it at that.”

Joshua stifled his curiosity. “I need a shower before we go out to dinner.” He wondered how Mom would feel about Dad’s interest in another woman.

Dad took his Cardinals baseball cap from the hook by the door. “I’ll walk down now and get us a booth.”

“I’ll be quick. Order whatever the special is.”

“No hurry, Son. I’ll wait until you get there.”

Joshua went home and stood under the stream of cool water, washing away the dirt and sweat of a hard day’s work. He kept thinking about Dad and Susan Wells. Dad was still a man in his prime. Had he finally met someone he might consider marrying? Joshua dressed in fresh Levi’s, a button-down short-sleeved shirt, and loafers and decided to pay closer attention to their relationship.

He pulled into a space around the corner from the café. The bell jangled, and Bessie called out a greeting as he walked in. “Two Freemans! My lucky day! You both eat like horses!”

Dad had his usual spot, closest to the swinging doors into the kitchen. Susan stood by the booth, talking with him, hands pushed into her apron pockets. She turned as Joshua approached. She no longer had puffy eyes, but she still seemed unsettled. “Hello, Joshua. What can I get you to drink?” It wasn’t the first time someone had been embarrassed to be found in the pastor’s office.

“Lemonade, lots of ice please.” He slid into the booth. “And I’ll order whatever special Oliver is cooking up for tonight.”

“Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Dinner comes with tomato bisque soup or a green salad.”

“Salad with vinegar and oil.”

Chuckling, Dad handed Susan his menu. “Make that two, Susan, if you will.”

“Coming right up, Pastor Zeke.” There was new warmth in Susan’s voice and an expression that hadn’t been there before. Joshua studied his father surreptitiously and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked relaxed, content. Every time the door opened and the bell jangled, Dad smiled a greeting. He knew everyone in town. Some called out a hello; others came over to talk for a few minutes. Joshua had grown up in the midst of interruptions.

Dad set his baseball cap aside. “I hear Gil is coming tomorrow morning to help out.”

Joshua counted Gil as one of his closest friends, despite the dis
parity between their ages. They’d both been through hell and struggled to make sense of the carnage they’d witnessed. They both knew what it meant to be haunted with regret simply because they’d survived when others hadn’t. Abra’s departure had added to Joshua’s postwar stress. Gil suffered, too, and had for years. Somehow, talking things through had helped them both lay down the burden of what they couldn’t do, and let go of the ghosts of those they couldn’t save.

Dad had been trying to fan a dying spark of faith in Gil. When he’d sent Joshua out to meet with him, something changed in the man. He was needed, desperately, by another who had suffered as he had. They gained strength from one another. Joshua saw faith flame in the older man. They both had someone closer than a brother standing with them, someone who died to save everyone, someone who knew what it was to grieve over those lost in the battle for men’s souls.

Being with Gil made Joshua remember things he’d been taught. “I forgot the rules,” he’d admitted to Gil during one of their early conversations.

“What rules?” Gil had asked.

“Rule number one: young men die. Rule number two: you can’t change rule number one. I heard it in training, but forgot it in battle.”

Joshua and Gil could talk freely about what they’d seen and experienced on the battlefield. They could share things they couldn’t speak of with anyone else. As time passed, they talked less about what they had lost, and more about what needed tearing down and rebuilding. Gil’s neighbor had a new barn. In a few days, the church would have a new roof.

Susan came through the swinging doors with their salads. Dad blessed the food. “And we pray for our beloved Abra, Lord. Let her remember who she is.”

Head bowed, Joshua added, “And to whom she belongs.”

“And to call home,” Susan said, still standing close enough to hear
every word. Joshua glanced up and she grimaced in apology. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t.” Dad smiled.

She went away and came right back to refill their glasses of lemonade.

Dad watched her walk away. He caught Joshua watching him. “God is working, Son.”

Joshua grinned. “Looks like it.”

“He is always working.” Dad tucked into his salad.

Joshua believed that. He just wished God would work a little faster on Abra.

Abra lay on her back, staring at the cottage ceiling. Dylan had already left, dressed in his immaculate white tennis clothes, for a day at the country club. He never took her. He never said who he would be with or when he would be back.