Queen Bee Goes Home Again (40 page)

Connor's left eyebrow lifted in premature confidence.

“And you,” I scolded, “you leave me sitting on the fence for all these weeks. Is that really because you're waiting for God, or because of your own fear about legitimizing our relationship, and what that would mean for both of us?”

There. I'd finally asked him.

Connor scowled, his posture defensive. “I can't believe you asked me that question.”

Just like a politician. Don't answer the question. Attack the asker, instead.

I felt as if someone had poked a hole in me and my confidence was draining away. “Connor, please go away and leave me alone. I can't deal with your indecision anymore.”

That much was true, indeed.

When he didn't respond, I continued. “I'm going to try to make a life without either you or Phil. Just me and God and my family. We managed before I met you, and we'll manage again.”

Not that I believed it, but I hoped it.

Connor's face hardened.

Men. I mean, really.

Granny Beth's voice scolded gently from the depths of my heart,
The best man in the world is still just a man.
Especially
preachers
.

“I appreciate your coming to my rescue,” I told Connor, “but I had the situation under control. God showed me what to do, and it worked.”

He tensed. “God doesn't want anybody to hurt anybody, yet because we have free will, horrible things happen to good people all the time. Phil's still out there. Still determined to have you.” The muscles in his jaw flexed. “He could knock that door in with one swift kick, bolt and all. You aren't safe alone.”

“I'm not alone,” I told him, then quoted, “‘If God is with us, who can be against us?'”

Connor came closer, but didn't intrude into my space or touch me. “I believe that with all my heart,” he said, “but when I heard you scream and saw the car parked on the side street, everything went out of my head but protecting you.”

Even though I was handling everything already, by God's direction. “You took his attention away from me. I'm grateful for that. But he was already on his way out.”

Connor peered into my eyes. “And…?”

“And now I'll miss you more than ever.” It took all my self-control not to return to his arms, but this time I managed to stay strong. “Until you're ready to put a ring on my finger, leave me alone. I'll be living my life without you.”

Oh, help! I'd just given him the ultimatum, like his ex. Was I subconsciously playing into the scenario?

As for Connor, I might as well have shot him in the heart. Shock and anger replaced his calm demeanor. “If that's what you really want…”

No it wasn't.

“It is,” I lied. What I really wanted was for Connor to fight for me. To marry me, no matter what. I was finally ready to do that for him. But Phil had blasted an abyss between us that Connor refused to cross.

He quaked, then turned away. “Please come to Easter service. It's all I ask.”

It was little enough. I wasn't ready to burn
all
the bridges. “All right. I'll be there at nine.” Looking my very best.

He left without looking back, just unlocked the door, strode out, then slammed it behind him, leaving a gaping emptiness where he had been.

Drat! Drat, drat, drat!

My own company and independence had always been enough till Connor happened. Now even my cozy little refuge seemed bereft without him.

Weary and aching to my soul, I leaned my forehead against the door, beyond tears.

God, I don't know how much more of this I can take. Please tell me what You want before I do something stupid.

I felt His presence, but the still, small voice had once again fallen silent.

I locked the chain, then turned the dead bolt, frustrated beyond description.

All I had left was my favorite desperation prayer.
Thank You, God, for my life just as it is.

If only I could mean it; yet I prayed it anyway, despite my heavy heart.

As Granny Beth had said, at least it made the devil mad.

I faced my apartment with a sigh. Life goes on, and I had homework.

Scanning the textbooks and notes spread all over my bed, I shook my head. How in the world was I supposed to finish my assignments now?

 

Sixty-three

Easter eve, I set my clock for five forty-five
A.M.
then woke, groggy, to the first hint of light when it went off.

Connor. I'll see him today.

And First Baptist will see me, in my best Easter finery. Determined to jog them all—Connor included—off their duffs, I sat up and put my feet to the cold floor.

As usual, April had been unpredictable after a very warm March, and the lows lingered in the high thirties.

I stepped into my fuzzy slippers and pulled on my robe, then went to my kitchenette to turn on the coffee maker before I answered nature's call.

By the time I'd taken care of that, washed up, then brushed my teeth and combed my hair, the aroma of caffeine arrived from the kitchen, drawing me like an invisible hand.

I poured myself a clear glass mugful, added three Splendas, then cupped its warmth as I opened the door to the first pale light of dawn. If I hurried, I could make it on time to the service at the chapel on the lake.

First Baptist was for everybody else, but the sunrise service was just for me, in jeans and no makeup except for lipstick. (I had to wear lipstick, lest anybody think
I'd
just risen from the dead.)

A light went on in Miss Mamie's kitchen, and I saw her beginning to make her usual Easter luncheon feast, as she had every year since Daddy had come back from the war. My stomach growled in anticipation of homemade biscuits and cinnamon rolls, sliced melons, Georgia Belle peaches, cheese-egg soufflé, strawberry flan, tons of crisp bacon, sliced ham, sawmill
and
redeye gravy, and grits that melted in your mouth. But that wouldn't be ready till one, after church.

So I dressed warmly in jeans, winter boots, and a heavy white cotton sweater under my purple windbreaker, then poured myself a second mugful of coffee for the trip and set out for the lake, doing my best to absorb the peace of this special morning.

I was only the fifth person to arrive at the simple pavilion on the little hill overlooking the marina, but the view from there was gorgeous: the marina, then the lake, dotted with islands, then the black, lacy silhouettes of trees against the now-crimson horizon.

As the minutes passed, thirty more people came in from the marina on foot, and a few more in cars, but there was no sign of a minister. So we all watched the sun rise together with a quiet sense of reverence.

I thanked God for pouring as much of Himself into a human body as it could hold, then walking among us as the Christ, and I praised the beauty and intricacy of His creation.

Particularly in space. When I got to heaven, where there is no time, I planned to ask God if I could take an eon or so to cruise the universe and witness all the wonders of His hand, then come back and serve Him forever. I'm convinced He'll let me.

Fifteen minutes late, the young minister arrived, his plastic nametag identifying him as Bob, associate pastor at a splinter denomination's huge church in Oakwood.

His flustered apologies seemed loud and raucous after the cooperative silence, so I prayed for him to relax and focus.

Then I sat on a bench to hear his Easter message, but Connor had spoiled me. I expected something wonderful and hopeful and inspiring, but got only recited Bible readings about the Resurrection. No application, bless his heart. Clearly, this young man of God was nervous standing before us.

I prayed again for God's peace on him, then did my best to take something from hearing the familiar words of Christ's Resurrection in the King James version. But I couldn't help thinking about Connor and what he would say at First Baptist.

Then I brought myself up short. Holy cow. I was being just as judgmental about that poor young minister as the old biddies in Connor's church were about me.

Judge not that ye be not judged, in spades.

I hadn't made it to seven before I'd messed up.
Sorry, God. I don't want to think like that. Help me mind my own little red wagon and keep my eyes on You.

He, more than anyone, knew I couldn't do it on my own.

I sensed an affectionate shake of the Godhead.

After the brief service dismissed, I shook the young minister's hand and thanked him for volunteering, then headed home for breakfast.

Mama must have seen me coming, because she'd laid out two plates on the kitchen table, with soft-scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, buttery grits with just the right texture (not dry, not runny), and two fresh biscuits with a side of homemade blackberry jam. And coffee with semisweet chocolate morsels added to the grounds. I could smell the faint hint of chocolaty sweetness rising from the pot.

“Wow, Mama. That looks perfect, as usual.”

She plopped down beside me with a satisfied sigh. “Tommy's asked three people to lunch, so I decided to make fresh dinner rolls. They're rising now.”

Yum. An appropriate choice, considering the day.

Sitting there, I decided it might do Connor some good to stew a bit. “Will you help hook me into that cutwork dress when I change for the eleven o'clock service?” I asked Miss Mamie. “You won't have to leave the kitchen. I'll come over here.”

“I thought you were going to the nine-thirty,” she responded.

“I changed my mind,” I told her with my best duchess face. “Let him wonder where I am for a change.”

Mama got it immediately. “Great idea. Won't hurt to have him see what that feels like.” She dabbed her mouth with her damask napkin. “I think that white dress will be perfect. I told you when you bought it, you look gorgeous in it. Just like an angel.”

Back in 1980 when I'd seen
Somewhere in Time
with my ALTA tennis group in Buckhead, I'd looked for the closest thing I could find to Jane Seymour's white dress in the movie, right down to the white stockings, hat, and shoes, because Phil and I had been invited to a high tea and croquet party given by one of his wealthy clients.

When I'd modeled the outfit for Phil ahead of time, he'd frowned and said I looked ridiculous, then ordered me to take it off and find something more conventional. “The nail that sticks up always gets hit,” he'd chided (one of his favorite Japanese sayings). So I'd worn a pale pink silk suit and white silk camisole, instead.

But I'd kept the
Somewhere in Time
dress and hat for all these years, knowing that the day would come when I'd have the perfect occasion to wear it, and this was the day.

I indulged as much as I dared in breakfast, then rolled from my seat to go put on my face and my fancy white dress and hat for the eleven o'clock service at First Baptist.

I even rummaged up my skin-colored body shaper and French bra for underneath.

This time when I walked into that church, I wanted to attract attention. I wanted to look like an angel for Connor, no matter what the congregation thought. Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.

 

Sixty-four

My arrival at First Baptist stirred a flutter of whispers behind hands and overt stares as the nine-thirty congregation came down the front stairs on their way to the parking lot.

Before, I'd have been mortified, but not today. Today was my turn to start over and rise from the ashes of my past, and the more who knew it, the better.

I smiled and nodded to everyone.

A little girl broke loose from her mother and ran to touch my skirt. “Are you real?” she asked with the candor of her age. “Because Mama says people aren't angels, but you sure look like one.”

I crouched to her level and gave her a hug. “Mama's right. I'm not an angel, but I sure do like this dress.”

“Is a dress a getup, because that's what Mama called it,” she told me as her red-faced mother caught up with us.

I rose and extended my hand. “Hi. I'm Linwood Scott. You sure have a darling daughter, here. She remembers every word you say.”

The woman colored even deeper as she shook my hand. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—”

Forgive and be free
.

I smiled. “It's okay.”

At the top of the stairs, I kept smiling and nodded to the slightly frozen greeter, then accepted the service bulletin. After only a brief arrow prayer, I braved the sanctuary, where more whispers and stares greeted me. Wherever I made eye contact, I smiled and nodded, remembering that Christ's people were still just people, with all the same flaws and weaknesses I shared.

Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.

I still needed plenty of forgiveness, so how could I refuse to forgive them?

Something huge and humble broke loose inside me, and I began to see them as Connor did when he looked at his congregation. And suddenly, I wasn't afraid to be a minister's wife anymore.

Assuming I'd ever get the chance, which was a big assumption.

As I had on New Year's Eve, I went down to the first row, left, and took the first seat from the aisle, staking my claim.

The low hum of conversation behind me swelled, then cut short as the organist signaled the start of the service when Connor and the minister of music mounted the front platform.

The minister of music greeted everyone, then asked us to stand as Connor took his place beside the altar, facing the congregation. And me.

I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. He peered at me as if I were a dream of Glory.

Yes, yes, yes. Even though I was an old woman, my dress and hat had done their job. Along with my underpinnings. Halleluiah!

We all started singing “Christ Our Lord Is Risen Today” (one of my favorites), but Connor remained transfixed. Then the choir sang a beautiful Easter special about being renewed.