Murray dropped his hands to her shoulders again. “Lena, you can talk to me. Despite what Franklin may have told you, I can keep secrets.”
“‘To whom thy secret thou dost tell, to him thy freedom thou dost sell.’”
“Ben Franklin, right? Did Moss make you memorize that?”
“I have an appointment to get my nails done.”
“Okay.” He lifted his hands. “Have it your way.” He whipped off the silky covering that protected her clothing. “Only you’d better find a way to unwind or you’re gonna break.”
Abra stood, smoothing the designer dress that fit her like a second skin. “Maybe I should run an extra five miles.”
“I think you’ve run too far already.” He wadded the cloth and tossed it into a basket in the corner. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
CHAPTER 10
God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.
C. S. LEWIS
1957
Zeke sat in the church office, Bible open as he went over notes for the Sunday sermon. Typewriter keys clacked in the outer office, telling him Irene Farley was preparing the weekly bulletin. She’d need a title for his sermon. It was a game they played every week. She wanted more than the Scripture references, and sometimes he had to draw the line. “Born to Raze Hell” hadn’t been his idea of an appropriate title for a Christmas sermon, though he had to agree there was truth in it.
The typewriter fell silent. Irene peered in through the doorway. “Ready yet?”
“John, chapter 11.”
“Ah. Lazarus, isn’t it? How about ‘Rude Awakening’?”
“Rude?” Zeke raised his brows.
“Well, just think about it. Would you want to be called back from paradise to serve more time on earth? I wouldn’t. I would’ve been arguing. ‘Oh, Lord, please let me stay here.’ Jesus calls, and out of the tomb Lazarus comes.” She frowned. Zeke could almost see the wheels in her brain going round and round. “He was wrapped up like a mummy. He would have had to hop out.” Her lips twitched. “Can you see it? It’d be hard not to laugh if you weren’t screaming in holy terror. I mean, really. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?”
“You never cease to amaze me. No to ‘Rude Awakening.’”
“How about ‘Mummy Love’?” She snickered.
He laughed. “I should’ve fired you years ago.”
“‘Jesus Called, Lazarus Answered’?”
“Getting warmer.”
“I’ll think of something and run it by you before it goes to print.”
“You’d better.”
He’d spent weeks on the Gospel of John and barely scratched the surface of what God had to teach his growing flock. Susan Wells had asked more questions than he could answer when he stopped in to buy dinner at Bessie’s. She’d clearly been studying the Bible he had given her and was eager to learn. She attended services every week now and had joined the ladies helping out with refreshments afterward. She wasn’t sitting in the back row anymore, either. All it took was a little fake light-headedness on Mitzi’s part to get Susan out of that back pew. Mitzi said she didn’t want to leave, but would appreciate a supportive arm. Susan complied and ended up smack-dab in the middle of the sanctuary with the Martins. Once Mitzi had her there, she didn’t let go. Hodge and Carla welcomed Susan like a long-lost sister, probably figuring one more adult might be needed to help keep an eye on Mitzi. Susan had been sitting there ever since.
Zeke could see everyone from his vantage point at the raised pulpit—the daydreamers impatient for the service to end so they could go fishing, the whisperers with a new story to tell, the artists doodling on prayer request notepads, the seemingly intent who stared at him with glazed eyes while their minds wandered hither and yon, and plenty of hungry and thirsty ones feasting on the Word of God. God forgive him, he had his favorites: Mitzi; Peter and Priscilla; Dutch, frowning in concentration while Marjorie helped him find places in the Bible; Fern Daniels, the oldest saint in the congregation. She always sat in front, alert and smiling up at him the same way she had the first day he’d preached in Haven Community Church. On the way out the door, she always said something to let him know she appreciated the time and effort he’d put into his sermon.
“Hey, Dad.” Joshua tapped and entered the office. “You look serious.”
“Just thinking.”
“I’m taking a couple of the teenagers to the roller-skating rink tonight. Sally and Brady are coming along. We’ll probably go out afterward. Don’t expect me home until late.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” He leaned back after Joshua had left. Had Joshua’s love for Abra begun to fade with time and distance? It might be God’s mercy if it did. He still felt the pain of loss, but it wasn’t the sharp blade cut it had been when he left her with Peter and Priscilla. Now, it was a dull ache in his chest. He’d learned to trust God in every circumstance. God had a plan and it encompassed everything. He clung to that promise like ivy to a stone wall.
Irene stepped in and told him the bulletin was done. She was heading home. He thanked her and said he’d see her in the morning. He glanced at his wristwatch. He was hungry. Maybe he’d go by Bessie’s again, order another special. It was easier to talk with Susan there. What would she ask him this time? She made him think and search. He enjoyed the challenge. He just wished she’d make a decision.
Susan was teetering. He’d give a shove if it would make a difference, but too often hard pushing made people run and hide rather than receive the gift offered. In his mind, the choice was simple: do you want to be held in the talons of Satan or the scarred hands of Jesus?
What would Marianne think of Susan? Would she be able to bless his growing affection?
Someone tapped on his door, startling him from his reverie. “Priscilla.” He stood and came around his desk to give her a fatherly hug, then gestured for her to take one of the comfortable chairs. “How is Penny doing at Mills?”
“She’s doing well. I can’t believe she’s already a junior. She changed her major.” She gave a soft laugh. “Education.”
He smiled, pleased. “So she’ll be a teacher like Peter.”
“Despite all her protestations to the contrary. She wants a job here in Haven.”
“Last I heard, she wanted to stay in the Bay Area.”
“She and Robbie Austin are engaged.” Priscilla winced a smile. “Penny reminds me he is Robert now, all grown up.”
“They do have a way of doing that, haven’t they?” He had seen the young couple in church whenever Penny was home from college. He’d seen them dancing to the band music in the square on hot summer nights. They’d looked very much in love.
“He didn’t finish college, but he has a good job with an insurance company. He saved enough to buy one of those nice American bungalows Joshua helped build out on Vineyard Avenue.”
“Robert is a young man with plans.” All of the Austins were hard workers.
“Needless to say, Peter and I couldn’t be happier Penny will be settling in Haven.” Her eyes clouded, revealing a pain he understood. They were both thinking of Abra. Priscilla rushed on. “So many young people are moving away these days. Aren’t they? I’m beginning to understand how my parents felt when Peter and I moved to California. I only see them once a year now. We keep trying to convince them to sell and move out here close to us, but they love Colorado. If Robert and Penny do get married, we’ll be able to see them anytime we want. And when grandchildren come along . . .” She shook her head. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Priscilla didn’t usually talk this much unless something was on her mind. Zeke suspected it had to do with Abra.
Priscilla let out a deep sigh and opened her purse. “I wanted to show you something.” She pulled out a movie magazine. “I don’t usually read these things.” She blushed as she thumbed through the pages. “I was standing in line at the grocery store and picked it up
to pass the time.” She held the magazine out to him and pointed to a picture. “Is that Abra?” Her voice caught.
Zeke took the magazine. He recognized her immediately, even with her hair pitch-black and loose over her shoulders. A strapless, ankle-length navy-blue dress with white embroidered and beaded blossoms accentuated every curve. She was standing beside a tall, handsome young man in a tuxedo, his arm around her waist. His smile looked genuine; hers, sultry and enigmatic.
“Yes. It’s Abra.” He could hardly believe the difference in her. The slender redheaded teenager had turned into a shockingly exotic and provocative young woman. Was this what Dylan had done to her?
“She changed her name.” Priscilla blinked back tears. “She’s not Abra Matthews anymore. She’s Lena Scott now and going out with movie stars.” She dug through her purse. “I’m sorry, Zeke. I didn’t mean to start crying again.”
Zeke set the box of tissues close enough for her to reach.
Priscilla blew her nose. “Does she look happy to you?”
He studied Abra’s eyes. They both knew that smile. “She’s trying hard.”
Priscilla pulled out another tissue. “I still picture her as a little girl with a thick red ponytail. She and Penny were such kindred spirits. Those two little girls. I thought they’d be like peas in a pod forever.” Her voice choked with tears. “We loved her, Zeke. We wanted so much for her to love us back.” She blew her nose again. “Penny will be envious when she finds out Abra knows Elvis Presley.”
“Elvis Presley?” He hadn’t bothered to read the caption. The “Hound Dog” man? The one with gyrating hips who had thousands of girls screaming for him?
“He’s all the rage these days. That’s something, isn’t it? Our little Abra is among the stars.” Clutching the damp tissue, she pointed at the offensive movie magazine. “And she’s been in a movie apparently. ‘A notable walk-on,’ they call it—whatever that means.” She fisted the tissue in her lap. “I have to show it to Peter and Penny. Someone is bound to see that picture and know it’s her. I don’t want them caught off guard.”
Zeke thought of Joshua.
Tears ran down Priscilla’s cheeks. “I just wish I could tell her I’m sorry for whatever we did wrong.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“Peter and I would’ve jumped in the car and raced anywhere to bring her home.”
“She knew that.”
“I don’t think she did, Zeke. She took so little with her, and that horrible note she left you. It’s as though she wanted to stab us all in the heart.” She pulled half a dozen tissues from the box. “My heart still aches every time I think about her. It’s the same for Peter. And Penny . . . she just gets mad.” She raised watery, hopeful eyes. “Has Joshua ever heard anything?”
“He would’ve told us if he had, Priscilla.”
“I thought she would at least write to him. They were so close. She used to wait for his letters when he was in Korea. Peter and I always thought they’d end up married someday.” Priscilla clenched the damp tissues in her fist. “That boy Dylan! I knew he was trouble the minute I laid eyes on him. Why did she have to fall in love with someone like that? He sat right there at our dinner table, accepting our hospitality, and setting our girls against one another. All that charm and he was so handsome, like a—” she waved her hand at the magazine—“movie star. He knew exactly what he was doing. We should have done something more to protect her.”
“She was just shy of seventeen, Priscilla. She had a mind of her own.” Zeke’s mother had been married by that age.
Priscilla’s anger cooled. Her shoulders drooped. “He’s not anywhere in the picture. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” She held out her hand and Zeke returned the magazine. Priscilla stuffed it back in her purse like a dirty diaper needing to be dumped in an outdoor trash can. “At least we know she’s alive and well. Peter might not have those awful nightmares again.”
Peter had dreamed Dylan raped and murdered Abra. After hearing Kent Fullerton’s story, he’d had recurring nightmares of Dylan shoving Abra off a cliff into the ocean.
Priscilla rose. “You have to tell Joshua, I guess.”
Zeke rose, too. “I know.” He walked her through the outer office. Should he go downtown and buy a copy of the magazine? He felt bleak. The clerk would wonder why and comment. What could he say?
“Is there anything we can do, Zeke?” Priscilla’s tone was filled with hope and despair.
“We can pray.”
She looked impatient at that. “I have prayed. I’ve prayed until my knees ache.”
“Prayer brings us into the throne room of God, Priscilla. And it puts Abra there with us, whether she knows it or not. Don’t forget what you know to be true. Abra is never out of His reach. Never.”
She hugged him. “I think that’s what I needed to hear.” He held her firmly, like a father. She rested her head against his chest for a moment before she withdrew. “Thanks, Zeke.” She offered him a tremulous smile and left.
Zeke saw a note on top of the Sunday bulletins. I saw Priscilla coming in. I hope you don’t mind me picking a title. It’s the message we always need. He picked up a bulletin and opened it. Resurrection Faith.
Abra tried to relax while Murray lathered and washed her hair, but her neck ached with tension. She closed her eyes, hoping that would help. It didn’t. She only had one more appointment today, with a new manicurist, and then she’d be on her way home to Franklin. Maybe he’d give her something for the headache before they went out. Where were they going tonight? She couldn’t remember.
Tomorrow night they’d attend the premiere of Dawn of the Zombies. Would reviewers like it? Or hate it? Would they say awful things about her acting? Franklin had worked with her through the entire shoot, drilling her on her lines, telling her how to look, what to do. She always felt sick to her stomach before going on set. All those cameras, like eyes staring at her, and the director and crew. Franklin said to put them out of her mind. When she couldn’t, he said she’d get used to it. She didn’t. He asked how she managed to play piano in front of a church, and she told him she never had to worry about Mitzi standing up and yelling, “Cut!” and telling her to do it again, from the beginning.
Murray put a firm hand beneath her neck as he lifted her from the sink. “You look like you have a splitting headache.” He rested his hands on her shoulders as he looked at her in the mirror. “It’s a hard job, jump-starting a career. This is supposed to be a place where you can relax and let your hair down, so to speak. No one is watching you here, Lena.”
“You are.”
His smile was gentle. “Not with an eye to criticize. I don’t have any motives other than to make you look and feel better.” He began to work the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders. “Take a deep breath and let it go.”
Quick tears burned her eyes. Mitzi used to say the same thing. Abra lowered her head and closed her eyes. Anyone looking at her might think she was praying, but she hadn’t done that since the night she saw Pastor Zeke walk away from Peter and Priscilla’s front gate.
Eighteen months of hard work had produced one walk-on part, a portfolio of glamorous glossy pictures, and one starring role in a movie not yet released. Franklin claimed it would send her name into orbit. She didn’t see how. Everything hinged on the critics’ response to what would be shown tomorrow night, despite the talk in town—talk that Franklin had generated. Abra felt Franklin’s growing excitement like a train racing along the tracks. Where exactly was he taking her? Sometimes she’d see something in his face that made her nervous. She tried not to think about it, but worry had been niggling at her for the last few weeks.
Sometimes she just wanted to be alone. She wanted to find a place where she could hide from Franklin’s driving ambition, his determination, his push, push, pushing because she wouldn’t be young forever and they only had a small window of time to get her name up in lights. She wanted to be still. She wanted to be someplace quiet. Like up in the
hills when she’d hiked with Joshua.
Joshua.
She pulled her mind away from the past.
Sometimes she just wanted to be left alone in the apartment. She’d open the piano and play all day.
Murray’s hands were strong. She groaned, though he wasn’t hurting her. He spoke quietly as he continued the massage. “The world thinks it’s all glamour, but it’s hard work.”
“Harder for some than others.” She didn’t fit in. Even as an insider she felt outside.
“Feeling any better?”
Her head was still throbbing. “I think I’m just hungry.”
“We can fix that. What would you like to eat?”
She gave a bleak laugh. “A big, juicy hamburger!”
He grinned. “That’s easy enough. I can send someone across the street and—”
“Don’t. I can’t.” Franklin would have a fit. “I need to take off another two pounds.”
He frowned. “Every woman I’ve ever met has been on a diet, especially the ones who don’t need to be.”
“Tell that to Franklin. I look five pounds heavier when the cameras roll.”
“So what?” His hands stopped working her muscles and rested lightly on her shoulders. “Most men like women with a little meat on their bones.”
“The problem is, the camera doesn’t.”
“You looked just right to me the day you walked in here.”
She caught an unveiled look in his eyes before he let go and moved away. He sat on a stool near the wall. Abra turned the chair and faced him. She’d been around enough men over the last year and a half to know when a man felt stirred. Instead of flirting with her, Murray had backed off. He looked her over on occasion, but always averted his eyes quickly. He’d always treated her with respect, never making an effort to deepen their relationship in any way. She knew that was her fault. Franklin had told her how to act with Murray that first day, and she’d done exactly what he told her. Murray respected the line she had drawn and had kept the conversation light, general. Sometimes he didn’t speak at all, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to break character.