“Why wouldn’t we be able to go? I don’t fly out until Tuesday. You don’t have any scheduling conflicts, do you? The builders have Sunday off.”
“It’s just that …”
“What?”
Genevieve watched her husband’s unchanging expression. It crossed her mind that he certainly was a good-looking man. Aside from his receding hairline and his fair skin, Steven’s clear eyes and his distinctive, straight nose had changed little since the day she had met him. He had an aura of confidence that made her let out a deep breath and tell him honestly, “I feel funny going to church.”
Steven waited for her to elaborate.
“I haven’t been in months. I don’t belong there. They have a new pastor. I don’t even know him. It will be awkward.”
Steven slowly sipped his tea and studied his wife. “You don’t have to go. I’ll take the girls. Anyone who asks about you will understand when I tell them you’re buried under with details on the café.”
Genevieve thought that statement certainly would be true, yet she felt unsettled down in her gut.
“Don’t worry about it.” Steven gently ran his thumb along her jaw. “You don’t have to go to church if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll go with the girls.”
Genevieve pressed her lips back in a smile. Steven bent over and gave her a soft kiss.
“I told Anna I’d pick her up from school and take her to Dairy Queen with a couple of her friends,” he said. “I better get going. Mallory should be home pretty soon.”
Genevieve nodded. Of course Mallory would be home soon. She knew the girls’ schedules; he didn’t need to tell her when her daughters got out of school.
Steven left with a wave over his shoulder. Genevieve turned and stared out the window at the improved landscape in the backyard. She knew she was looking at a labor of love that Steven had performed for her. He didn’t care for yard work. That’s why she had plunged in and done all the gardening in Pasadena. He also didn’t need to pick up Anna or drive her around with her friends. But he was.
What was it that Leah said several months ago at the café? Something about how I’m always looking for the negative, and that’s why I always find it.
She glanced down at the stack of invoices.
I’m never happy, am I? I have a faithful husband who could have left me at any time, but he hasn’t. He cares deeply for the girls and me; we have three, healthy, beautiful daughters, a wonderful home. I have a chance to rebuild my dream café and enough money to make it what I want it to be, and I’m still miserable. What’s wrong with me?
Genevieve didn’t linger in her thoughts long enough to allow an answer to seep into her spirit. She had work to do. Books to balance. Checks to write. She picked up her reading glasses and tried to make out the faded print on one of the invoice copies. In the back of her mind, she heard Steven’s voice. “You don’t have to go to church if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll go with the girls.”
Genevieve thought of all the years she had tried to get Steven to go to church with her in Pasadena. Never once did she say to him that he didn’t have to go with her if he felt uncomfortable. Instead, she had needled him, begged him, shamed him, and finally had given up. Now he was the one who wanted to go to church, and she was the resistant one.
Genevieve yanked off her glasses. She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and said aloud, “Okay, what’s going on here? My husband wants to go to church.”
By Sunday morning, Genevieve had talked herself into going with Steven and the girls. She told herself it didn’t matter what other people thought or how long it had been since she had gone. This was important to Brad, Alissa, and their new daughters.
As the four of them climbed into the car, the biggest knot Genevieve had ever experienced squeezed her left shoulder, giving her a painfully stiff neck. She pulled on her seatbelt and found she couldn’t turn her head to check on the girls in the backseat.
“Wait,” she said, as Steven was about to back out onto the driveway. “I need to run inside for one more thing.”
“I got the card and the presents for the girls,” Anna said.
“I know. I just need something.” Genevieve hurried into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, searching for the strongest pain reliever they had. She swallowed two tablets with a quick glass of water and took the bottle with her.
“All set?” Steven didn’t question what she had dropped from her clenched hand into her purse.
“Yes. Thanks for waiting.”
They drove to Glenbrooke Community Church with Mallory chattering about how cute the youngest of the two Romanian sisters was. Genevieve hadn’t seen the sisters during the five days they had been with Brad and Alissa, but she had heard from several people around town that they were pretty little girls.
“Beth has the biggest eyes,” Mallory said. “You’ve never seen eyelashes this long on anybody. Beth is the little one. Her sister is Ami. They named them like that so it would go with Brad and Alissa. B and A. Brad and Alissa. Beth and Ami.”
“No, they didn’t,” Anna said. “Their mother gave them American names because she hoped they would be adopted by an American, isn’t that right, Dad?”
“That’s what Brad said.”
“Why didn’t their mother want them?” Mallory asked.
Steven looked in the rearview mirror. “I’m sure she wanted them. Every mother wants her babies.”
“But not every mother can take care of her babies. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Anna asked. “I asked Alissa, and she said that Ami and Beth’s mom was only sixteen, and she wasn’t married.”
“That’s right,” Steven said.
“I heard their mom died,” Mallory said.
“She was in the hospital for a long time,” Anna said. “And then she died.”
“I feel so sorry for Beth and Ami,” Mallory said. “I mean, I’m happy that they’re being adopted by Brad and Alissa. I’m just sorry for them that their lives have been so hard and they’re so little. The good thing is that now they’re going to have a mom and a dad who really love them. I wish everybody could grow up with both a mom and a dad who love them.”
Steven reached over and covered Genevieve’s hand with his and gave it a squeeze. A very small corner of her stone-cold heart chipped off. Maybe a lot of things weren’t good in her marriage, but Genevieve knew it was good she and Steven were still together. He was a wonderful father, and she tried to be a good mother. At least their daughters had the advantage of growing up with two parents who loved them.
“You know what I read in a magazine?” Anna added, as their car pulled into the church parking lot. “I read that it’s not as important for a child to know that her parents love her as it’s important for a child to know that her parents love each other.”
Genevieve tried not to flinch. Anna, their smart, sensitive, intuitive daughter didn’t miss a thing. Her words seemed to seep into Genevieve’s tightening shoulder muscle and give it a pinch, sending a shooting pain up her neck and straight out her left eyebrow.
The last thing in the world Genevieve wanted to do right now was enter a sanctuary full of smiling faces and sit in a pew between her perceptive fourteen-year-old daughter and her unruffled husband.
What has happened to me? Four years ago this moment would have been everything I prayed for. Why has my life turned inside out? All my nerves are on the outside of my skin. And to think that a month ago I thought God was going to make me well. I’ve only gotten worse.
Chapter Nine
Glenbrooke Community Church’s doors were doubled up with greeters. Genevieve had an aversion to greeters. She didn’t like people welcoming her when she didn’t want to be there in the first place. Their openness diametrically opposed her closeness. Four people shook Genevieve’s hand before she and her brood made it into a middle pew on the left side.
She sat down and stared at the bulletin that had been handed to her so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone sitting near h
er. Everything felt different from when she had been here last. The bulletin’s format was different. The new cushions on the pews were different.
She cautiously peered up and felt a sense of relief that the front of the church was as she remembered. The church’s original stained glass window was nearly 120 years old. It had been designed and cut on the East Coast, brought overland on the Oregon Trail, and pieced together when it arrived in Glenbrooke. The image in the window was of Christ the Good Shepherd. He held a lost lamb in His arms and was gazing at it tenderly.
Genevieve felt a specific sort of hope seeing something beautiful that had been made from so many shards of broken glass. Her task, several weeks ago, of removing all the bits of glass from the flowerboxes in front of the café windows had taken her several hours, but all those pieces had been thrown away.
Someone told Genevieve when she had first attended the church and had commented on the window that two of the glass pieces that made up the lamb Jesus held in His arms had come from Georgia. They were two of only a dozen pieces of glass that survived a Civil War battle that severely damaged the church outside of Atlanta.
Setting her focus on the window, as the early summer light came streaming through, Genevieve felt a small measure of comfort despite her still racing heart. She guessed the painkillers hadn’t taken over yet because not only was her shoulder still tight but her head was also pounding.
She read the words on the front of bulletin for the third time:
“But you desire honesty from the heart, so you can teach me to be wise in my inmost being” (Psalm 51:6, NLT).
Mallory readjusted her position, scooting closer to Genevieve and whispering, “I don’t see Beth and Ami.”
Genevieve pressed a finger to her lips, and Mallory continued to look around the sanctuary.
The nervousness grew inside Genevieve until her stomach gurgled a loud protest to all the acid she was sending down. It was more acid than her stomach needed to work on the two painkillers, glass of grape juice, and slice of wheat toast she had fed it for breakfast.
The congregation was invited to stand and sing at the beginning of the service. Genevieve was surprised to find that the only accompaniment was a piano and the song came from a hymnbook. The last time she had been here, a white screen had come down in front, covering the stained glass window. Words to lively choruses that Genevieve didn’t know were projected on the screen as a group of instrumentalists, two young men and one rather expressive young woman, led the congregation in singing the songs.
It had impressed Genevieve as being a lively way to sing but a departure from what she had anticipated from an old, traditional church. She liked singing this morning with her head down and her gaze lost in the words in the hymnbook she held. The hymn was entitled, “Lord, Open Thou My Heart to Hear,” and Genevieve noticed in the upper right-hand corner that the song had been written in Wittenberg, Germany, in 1543. She felt comforted to have a small reminder of the Old World. She had never heard the song before, but she sang aloud as if she had.
Lord, open Thou my heart to hear
And through Thy Word to me draw near
Let me Thy Word e’er pure retain
Let me Thy child and heir remain.
The simplicity of that first verse brought Genevieve a spark of guilt. She knew her heart wasn’t open. It hadn’t been for a long time. She only read the second verse silently as the others sang it. Long ago her father had taught her never to say anything unless she meant it. He had drilled in her that that principle applied to songs, creeds, and vows as well. She couldn’t sing the second verse with the others because she knew the words didn’t line up with what she was experiencing in her life.
Thy Word doth deeply move the heart,
Thy Word doth perfect health impart
Thy Word my soul and joy doth bless
Thy Word brings peace and happiness.
The hymnbooks closed, and a prayer was given from the pulpit. Then the congregation was invited to sing a contemporary song before sitting down. The words were printed on the back of the bulletin. She was surprised to see that Mallory and Anna knew the song by heart and sang cheerfully.
The tune was lighthearted, and the words were about loving Jesus and walking closely with Him every day.
Genevieve glanced at Steven. He seemed to be taking it all in. Genevieve had a feeling he would like the combination of old hymns and new choruses, even though he didn’t sing along with either. Steven liked fairness and equality. He would notice that this church was trying to offer something for every age.
When the new pastor, Gordon Allistar, stepped behind the pulpit, all eyes were up front. His Australian accent seemed to draw the congregation into his message since hearing such an accent in Glenbrooke was a novelty. He wore a respectable looking suit and appeared well enough informed. Something was engagingly fresh about his preaching style. He just spoke. He spoke as if he were talking to one person instead of several hundred.
Mallory leaned against Genevieve during the message and twisted Genevieve’s gold bracelet around and around her wrist. Steven appeared attentive, and Anna kept glancing between both parents as if checking to see if they were listening to everything the pastor was saying. It occurred to Genevieve that anyone who looked at the Ahrens family would think they were the model Christian family. How could anyone suspect that this was Steven’s first visit to church and the last place Genevieve wanted to be?
At the end of the service, the pastor asked Alissa and Brad to come up front with their daughters, Beth and Ami. Genevieve smiled when she saw the proud look on Brad’s clean-shaven face and the joy on Alissa’s beautiful face. They each held one of their daughters. The girls were shyly holding on to their new parents and looking away from the crowd.
Pastor Allistar spoke directly to each of the little girls, making eye contact with them and gently patting their shoulders. “You are a precious gift,” he said, even though the girls didn’t understand English yet. “We are all so glad you’re here. As a church family, we promise to care for you and be here for you as you grow. It’s my prayer that as a church, we can demonstrate to you that God loves you and cares for you. He is the one who brought you here. He is the only one who will always be there for you no matter what.”
One of the girls, the one Alissa was holding, seemed to be carefully listening to the pastor. As soon as he said, “He is the only one who will always be there for you,” the little girl held out her arms to Pastor Allistar as if she wanted him to take her in his arms.
The congregation gave a quiet “ohh” in unison, as she went to him and nestled her head against his shoulder. Pastor Gordon gazed at the little one in his arms. He stood directly under the stained glass window. Streams of color-infused light poured over the shepherd of this small church as he held this little lamb in his arms. The harmony between the living moment and the art frozen in colored glass was stunning.
Genevieve glanced at Steven. His mouth had opened in a tiny O, turning his face into a charming exclamation point.
Everyone spoke of that glowing moment afterwards at the luncheon held in the church’s multipurpose room. They all saw the symbolic imagery. Steven said on the way home that the whole church experience had been different than what he had expected and much more enjoyable. Anna seemed pleased with his evaluation.
Genevieve remained quiet. She had been holding so much in for so long it wasn’t hard to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself.
Tuesday morning, Steven left for a fifteen-day stretch. That night, when Genevieve went to bed, she missed him. For so many years she had steeled herself against feeling any sense of loss when he left town that it made her mad to feel this loneliness all over again.
All night long she tossed and wrestled. The words from Sunday’s hymn kept running through her mind.
Thy Word doth deeply move the heart,
Thy Word doth perfect health impart.
She shot long questions heavenward, not quite willing to
label them as prayers, yet knowing this was the most she had conversed with God in a long time.
When none of her questions received any hint of an answer, she turned on the light and went downstairs, looking for her Bible. She found it, after a search, and sat in the living room at two in the morning, with no idea where she should start to read.
What part of God’s Word will move my heart? Which verses will bring me health?
All she could remember was that the women in the Bible study that had met at the Wildflower Café were reading in John. Genevieve turned to the book of John. She read three chapters and felt comforted. Her heart didn’t feel particularly moved, nor did she feel a surge of improved mental health. But then she realized she wasn’t reading in a way to study and ponder deeper meanings. She was just reading. Observing instead of absorbing.
Sometime around four in the morning, Genevieve felt chilled and realized that she had fallen asleep on the couch. She returned to bed and slept solidly for a few hours before getting up to take the girls to school.
That afternoon, Genevieve combed her hair, put on some lipstick, picked up her Bible, and marched out to her car. Gathering all her courage, she drove to Jessica’s mansion on the hill. She arrived precisely at two-thirty. Walking up to the front door with her Bible under her arm, she knocked.
No one answered.
Glancing around, Genevieve realized no extra cars were parked out front. Even the golden retrievers that usually greeted guests to the Buchanan home hadn’t made an appearance. The weekly Bible study must have found a different place to meet.
Genevieve hurried back to her car feeling her face flushing red. She should have called first.
Driving back into town, Genevieve decided to make a trip to the grocery store as a way of killing time before the girls got out of school. While meandering down the cereal aisle, Genevieve ran into Alissa. Ami and Beth were both sitting inside the grocery basket, wearing matching overalls and pink T-shirts.