The Runaway Pastor's Wife (27 page)

She
tried to estimate the distance between their noses. Four? Maybe five inches?
Definitely too close. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Chet,” she said
casually, shoving him out of her way and forcing the cart between them. “I
think you’d better go.” She turned her back to deposit two more bags into the
van.

“Oh,
come now, Annie. You don’t mind me calling you Annie, do you? A pretty lady
like you probably has lots of men around town calling you all sorts of things.”

Another
chill raced up her back. She turned to face him, forcing an indifferent
expression on her countenance. “Do you have something to say, Chet, or are you
just trying to harass me?”

“Well
now! Aren’t you just the sassy little wench?” His suggestive chuckle arced
between them as he drew even closer. “Spirited—ooooooh, I like that in a woman.
Oh, I bet you and our fine pastor have some pretty naughty times together
behind closed doors, don’t you? Why, I’d wager a feisty little thing like you
knows just how to—”

She
slapped him across the face. Stunned,
Harrison
reeled
backward, his hand protectively guarding his cheek.

Annie
teetered dangerously close to the edge of control. “You pathetic excuse for a
human being! You may have fooled everyone else, but you don’t fool me. You
parade around like some pious, holier-than-thou saint, but you’re nothing but a
fraud, Chet Harrison. You’re a despicable hypocrite—I know it, you know it,
David knows it—and God sure as hell knows it!”

His
face crimsoned, his eyes narrowed. His hand curled into a fist as he lowered it
from his face, his entire body shaking. She’d never seen him so angry. Her
heart raced as she grabbed the rest of her groceries. Suddenly,
Harrison
grabbed the cart and hurled it as hard has he could, sailing it across the
parking lot. It crashed into a shiny red sports car setting off the security
alarm in a piercing shriek.

“Have a
nice day, Mrs. McGregor,” he hissed, casually walking away as if he hadn’t a
care in the world.

Too
angry to cry, Annie’s chest heaved as she fought to slow her breath. She walked
toward her cart as it slowly rolled backwards. Fortunately, no visible damage
was done to the convertible. Her hands trembled as she searched for a scrap of
paper in her purse and wrote down her name and number to leave for the owner in
case he wished to contact her. The alarm wailed on as she headed back to her
car towing the cart behind her.

David
never heard about the incident. When he had returned home that evening, it was
after
midnight
. The two-year-old child of a
young couple at church had tragically drowned in the family pool that
afternoon. The teenage baby-sitter, having a fight on her cell with her
boyfriend, did not realize the child had wandered outside. David had remained
at the hospital with the devastated parents until they made the decision to
pull the life-support plug on their brain-dead child.

He
arrived home emotionally and physically drained. Any lingering anger Annie may
have harbored toward Chet Harrison was immediately buried deep inside. That
bitterness would have to be resolved some other time. It seemed so trivial at a
time like this. She felt only the purest heartache for these grieving parents.

Still,
as selfish or childish as it may seem, she couldn’t release the fact that
David, as always, was available to minister to everyone else in need, but had
no time or emotional strength left for the needs of his own family—trivial or
otherwise. He had no clue of the pain in his own home.

It had happened only days ago. Annie had tried
to pray about it, hoping to find some forgiveness in her heart with God’s help.
Instead, the smoldering anger from that encounter had burned incessantly, along
with the sting of unintentional neglect from David. In the days following, she
couldn’t bring herself to tell him. As always, he was too overwhelmed with
everything else that was going on. It was as if the heartaches and illnesses
and tragedies within the church family and within her own heart were
snowballing faster and faster.

But Annie had sensed for quite some time that
there was more to it than that. Up until the last few months, she had never
given serious thought to the possibility of spiritual warfare. The whole
subject had always been rather obscure to her. A little frightened by it, she
avoided any study on the concept. Yet, deep inside, she knew there were factors
involved beyond the superficial. Too many attacks from too many different angles
to be mere coincidence.

Yet, every time Annie’s thoughts drifted into
that spiritual arena, she felt uneasy, like she was tiptoeing into dangerous
waters. She resisted the urge to think about it further. Not now. Not like
this.

God, Your silence is filling me with fear. I
don’t understand it. I want so much to work through all of these things with You.
But everything is wrong. At home, here—everything! I need You to answer me!

CHAPTER 17

Weber Creek
,
Colorado

After trailing along behind the stranger’s truck,
Michael made his exit on the side road, waving to the kind man who had helped
him. The heater in his car was turned on high, but Michael couldn’t stop
shivering. His clothes were soaked. He was freezing. He refused to take any
more medication after his near-accident, though the pain was excruciating.
Mostly, he feared the weakness sweeping over his body. He could hardly keep his
eyes open.

Michael had been to Christine’s cabin once
before a few years ago. In the area while on a ski trip with several of his
former Astros teammates, he had slipped away in a rental car to make a surprise
visit. After getting directions in town, he made his way to her cabin only to
find it locked up tight and no sign of Christine. He left a note wedged in the
door but never heard from her.

Now, as if driving in a slow-motion dream, he
remembered the way up to her mountain. He drove up the twisting snow-packed
road grateful for the powerful strength of his four-wheel drive. His breath
came in shallow, anxious pants, quickly steaming up the windshield. Normally
pristine about his automobiles, Michael made messy, careless swipes on the
glass leaving broad, wet smears that only blurred his vision worse.

Unspoken prayers drifted through his mind in
fragments.
Oh God, please help me.

He came to another fork in the road and
instinctively knew which way to turn. Heavy eyelids impaired his vision, but he
sensed the cabin was near. Michael slowed to a stop, the windshield wipers
beating a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of his engine. He backed up the
car to aim his headlights at the entrance of a driveway. A large stone mailbox
boasted shiny brass numerals but no name. Then he spotted a slate sign hanging
from a log post. It flew wildly in the blustering wind making it impossible for
Michael to read. Then, in the briefest of moments, the wind died just long
enough for the sign to right itself.

Eagle’s Nest

Private Property

Overcome with emotion, tears rolled down
Michael’s cheeks. His breathing puffed faster now as he willed himself to go
on. The Escalade crunched carefully over the long, snow-packed drive that
climbed gently higher. At last he made a final turn, the cabin appearing like a
mirage before him. A sob caught in his throat as he stopped the car and turned
off the ignition. And yes, there were lights glowing through the windows and a
trail of smoke rising from the great stone chimney.

She’s home! Christine will help me now. I’m
safe!

Every movement made his head swim. His left hand
shook wildly as he reached for the door handle of his car. It took every ounce
of his strength and determination to turn his body toward the door. He shoved
the door open with his left foot, ducking down against the gust of snow that
blew in.

“Christine . . .” His shout was
little more than a whisper.

He curled his body around his bleeding right
side and took careful, agonizing steps around the car.

Please God, just a few more
steps . . . help me!

He peered up just enough to see the cabin sway
from side to side.
The house is dancing. Why is Christine’s house dancing? I
don’t hear any music . . .

And with that strange, whimsical thought
puzzling his fevered mind, he collapsed in a heap of snow.

What was that?

Annie jolted out of a dead sleep, her eyes
darting around the room. A moment later, a pair of lights traveled across the
room followed by the sound of a car’s engine.
Who would it be at this time
of night? Doc?

She noticed the fireplace, a low flame skirting
along a smaller pile of logs. Annie checked her wristwatch.
Eleven
forty-five
.
Doc Wilkins wouldn’t come back to check on me this late
at night.

The sound of an idling engine, much closer now,
interrupted her thoughts. She started to stand up then remembered her foot.
Straining to reach for the crutches beside the sofa, she fumbled them awkwardly
in her attempt to stand up. Once she got her balance, she slowly hobbled toward
the window.

She held back the curtain enough to peek
outside. The wind swirled the heavy snowfall in a wild dance in front of the
cabin. Parked a few yards out in the driveway was a large dark automobile, its
headlights still beaming. She cupped her hand against the window pane. The
onslaught of snow made it all but impossible to detect any movement.

A shiver fingered Annie’s back. Torn between a
sense of danger and an unsettling curiosity, she debated what to do. What if
someone was in trouble and had stopped by for help? Then again, what if it were
a prowler or some other kind of criminal? Here she was—all alone out in the
middle of nowhere.

She limped on her crutches to the front door,
stealing another look through the curtains. She reached for the light switch
and turned on the porch light. Still nothing. No movement outside. Only an
idling car.

Wait—the driver’s car door stood wide open. The
hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Annie ducked out of sight, clinging to
the rustic log wall beside the door frame. Her heart rate accelerated to match
her fear.
What should I do!

God, please don’t be silent any longer. I’m all
alone and I’m scared!

Before she uttered the last words of her hushed
prayer, she sensed the warm familiar presence surrounding her again. Her
heartbeat slowed. She felt strangely calm, knowing without question God was
with her.

Something drew her outside. Someone out there
needed help. She knew it, felt it in her soul. She unlocked the deadbolt and
the regular lock before opening the large wooden door. The brisk snap of cold
air caught her breath, but she continued, slowly pushing open the screen door
with the end of her crutch, and feeling somehow propelled to move out into the
darkness.

The chill of the wind blew right through her as
she made small, careful steps with her crutches. Nearing the edge of the porch
at the top of the steps, she stopped cold.

Someone was lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs.

Annie dropped her crutches and reached for the
banister. Clumsily hopping down the steps as quickly as she dared, she finally
reached the body crumpled in a mound of snow. The car lights offered little
help, shining off into the dark wintry woods like two misguided eyes. Annie
dropped down to sit on the last step. She reached out her hand then pulled it
back, uncertain. Gathering her courage, she stretched it out once more to see
if this body was still alive.

He was sprawled face down in the snow. Annie
tapped his back. “Hello?” There was a slight movement, a shifting, then a hand
attempting to respond. She reached for the hand, trying to gently grasp the
wrist. The pulse was barely detectable but it was there. Even in the darkness
she could tell it was a large hand, ice cold and lifeless.