Mitzi Pike died and bequeathed her entire estate to CCC. One hundred eighty-seven thousand, five hundred forty-two dollars, and fifty-three cents! Paul had been blown away by the bounty. And rumor had it that Fergus’s estate was far larger than hers.
Oh, the Lord was good. Look how Jesus was blessing the church. The floodgates of heaven were opening and the money was raining down.
People swarmed across the open space, picnic baskets in hand. They sat around the marker where the pulpit would one day stand. LaVonne Lockford and three of her friends sang opening songs. Paul kept the service short. The sun was going to be beating down well before noon, and he didn’t want people to become uncomfortable.
Stephen Decker presented him with a brand-new shovel with three colored ribbons tied around the handle—white, for the purity of Christ; green, for the living Word; and purple, for the royal priesthood of all people of faith. Paul had chosen Rob Atherton to pitch the first shovelful of dirt, but Sheila said her husband insisted she do it. Since Robert Atherton had donated thirty-five thousand dollars to the building fund, Paul thought it fair that his request be honored.
Stephen had protested. “If you’re going to have a woman do it, it should be Eunice.”
Had Eunice been asked, she would have refused.
The ground was rough, and Sheila, wearing white spaghetti-strap sandals, tread carefully to the front. She looked like a movie star in her snug-fitting, white leather pants and powder blue, scoop-necked top. “Thank you, Pastor Paul.” She smiled up at him as she took the shovel. The dirt had been loosened for her, so it was easy for her to scoop a shovelful and dump it aside.
“Hallelujah!” Paul said, a rush of adrenaline surging through him. “Thank You, Jesus!”
Hundreds of people joined in, shouting and raising their hands. “Praise the Lord!” Someone started singing “Firm Foundation.”
Sheila looked at him, eyes bright. “It’s all because of you, Pastor Paul.”
Paul was filled with pride over his congregation. Look at them! They’re on fire for the Lord. No wonder God is blessing us.
Samuel wanted to call for an ambulance, but Abby said no. “You’re in pain, Abby. Don’t tell me you aren’t.” He could see it in her face and couldn’t bear it.
Her mouth curved sadly. “I want to die in my own home, Samuel. I love you. You know that. But this is no way to live.” Her lips were blue, her skin ashen. “Let me go.” He fumbled for a nitroglycerin pill, but she shook her head and tapped her fingers against the fresh linen sheet the visiting nurse had put on that morning. He turned up the oxygen that fed into the small plastic mask over her mouth and nose.
“Today was the ground-breaking ceremony,” she said, each word a struggle.
“Don’t talk, Abby.” Tears came. He held her hands between his, trying to warm them. “I love you.”
“A gentleman always opens the door for a lady.”
He was in no mood for her humor. His chest ached as he listened to her breathing. The door was being opened, but not by him. He had done everything he could to keep it closed for a year now, and he watched helplessly while she slipped away from him. He wanted to plead with her not to be so eager, to hang on to this life a little longer. For his sake. He knew it was the cruelest kind of selfishness to press her. And futile. God wanted Abigail to come home.
“Today was the ground-breaking ceremony.” It was a whisper this time.
Had she heard the blaring horns an hour ago? Or was she talking about something else? Her lips moved. Samuel leaned down to hear. “Poor Paul.” He felt her fingers move, a soft fluttering, a last hesitation. “Keep praying for him. Keep praying . . .”
Her breathing slowed. He could see the pain ebbing, the peace spreading across her face. Her eyes flickered briefly, as though Someone had struck a match and lit a candle within. She caught her breath and then gave a long, slow sigh. As her body relaxed, her head turned toward him, her lips faintly curved. Like a child sleeping. Samuel’s own heart stopped for a moment. He wished it would stop forever and he could go with her.
Cupping his wife’s face with trembling hands, Samuel leaned down and kissed her eyes closed. Then he kissed her lips. He stood and tucked the covers around her, brushed his fingers over her white hair, and went out of the room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him as though she were merely sleeping. He went into his den. Leaning heavily on the desk, he lowered himself to his knees.
“Lord, in all things thanksgiving . . . Lord . . . Lord . . . ”
Samuel sobbed.
Shrinking inwardly, Eunice spread the picnic blanket while Paul spoke to Timothy. She tried to smile and go through the motions of being happy about this auspicious day, but she wanted to weep.
“I don’t care if you want to play or not,” Paul snarled, his back to others gathered while he upbraided his son. “You’ll go and pretend to like it, unless you want to spend next week in your room.” Several people called greetings. Paul turned, smiled, waved.
Tim sneered. “You’re all hypocrites.”
Paul’s body went rigid. “What did you say to me?”
Tim’s jaw jutted. “You’re all hypocrites, and you’re the worst one of all!” He stalked off.
Paul turned toward Eunice. Her stomach clenched. Here it comes again.
“Hey! Pastor Paul! We need you over here!”
Smiling, Paul raised his hand. “Be there in a minute, Marvin.” He leaned down, his eyes cold. “You’d better get a handle on your son, Eunice.”
She took three bundles of silverware from the picnic basket. “He’s our son, Paul, not a suitcase.”
“Your attitude is worse than his. Try to remember you’re my wife. This is the most important day of my life, and you and Tim are doing your best to spoil it for everyone. Maybe you ought to pray about that.” He stood and walked away.
Fighting tears, Eunice finished putting out the sodas, napkins. Pray, he said. That’s all she did—pray. Tim was too close to the truth. That was the problem. Paul bent with every wind that blew, but was a stone wall where the two of them were concerned. Paul would spend the day smiling, laughing, mingling. She looked for Tim and spotted him with Ralph and Laurel Henson. No matter how upset he got, Tim always ended up doing what Paul asked. Did Paul even realize?
“You have a nice spot here, Eunice,” LaVonne Lockford said, smiling. “Mind if we join you?”
Jessie Boham waved toward the far end of the property. “Our guys are all over there playing softball.”
Paul was heading that way now.
“They’ll probably have strokes in this heat,” Shirl Wenke said.
They spread their blankets around Eunice.
“You know, Eunice, it should’ve been you breaking ground instead of Sheila Atherton.” Jessie plunked her basket on her blanket. “That woman is something else.”
Shirl snorted. “Leave it to her to wear white pants to a picnic.”
“And a sweater when the weather forecast says it’s going to be in the eighties!” LaVonne rolled her eyes. “Guess what she wanted everyone to notice.”
Eunice cleared her throat, but they didn’t take the hint.
“She was just showing off her new body enhancements,” Jessie said.
They all laughed. Eunice blushed and tried to change the subject, but the verbal lynching went on.
“I thought Marvin’s eyes would pop right out of his head.”
One of the women new to the church joined them and the conversation. “My husband used to work for Rob Atherton when he was married to his first wife.”
“His first wife!” LaVonne’s eyes brightened. “How many has he had?”
“Well, only two.”
Eunice leaned forward. “Ladies . . .” She caught LaVonne’s gaze and frowned.
“Sheila was Rob’s secretary,” the visitor said.
LaVonne looked at her. “What happened to his first wife?”
“She took his children and moved to Florida.”
 
; “Children! That home wrecker.”
“Ladies, please!”
Jessie Boham looked at Eunice in surprise. “Did you want to say something, Eunice?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks were burning with shame over their conversation. “Sheila Atherton is our sister in Christ.”
Jessie gave a coarse laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
LaVonne’s eyes narrowed. “No. She isn’t. And she’s right. We shouldn’t be talking about Sheila Atherton. She’s not worth our time. There are lots of things far more interesting.” They talked about the weather, the low test scores at Centerville High School, the influx of migrant workers. Everything they said was stilted.
Eunice couldn’t stand it. “I’m going to see if I can help the ladies at the potluck tables. Would anyone like to join me?”
“Maybe later, Eunice.”
She wasn’t out of hearing range before they picked another target.
“Well, who does she think she is? She didn’t have to embarrass me like that!”
“It’s not as though we were saying anything untrue about Sheila Atherton.”
“Just because she’s the pastor’s wife . . .”
“Thank God Paul isn’t like her. He always makes people feel good about themselves instead of making them feel small.”
Eunice pretended not to hear, but their malice hurt.
The women at the potluck tables didn’t need any help. Everything was running like a well-oiled machine. She offered help with the youth, but Paul had hired two Energizer Bunnies to help him. She felt in the way. Worse, she felt like an alien among these people.
“You look lost, little girl.”
Her heart did a fillip as she turned and looked up at Stephen Decker. “I was looking for Tim.”
“He’s probably off having fun with his friends.” He handed her a can of soda. “You look like you just lost your best friend.”
Eunice didn’t have to look behind her to know that LaVonne, Jessie, and Shirl were probably staring at them. What would they make of Stephen giving her a soda? Anything they wanted to make of it! She looked around uneasily.
Stephen lifted his can of soda and took a swig. “If you’re looking for Paul, he’s over there talking with the Athertons.”
“Oh.” Paul was probably schmoozing, as Lois put it, hoping for another donation down the road. Lord, I don’t like the train of my thoughts. I’m becoming cynical. “They’ve been very generous to the church.”
“Oh, no doubt about that. And equally generous to the Central Valley Committee on Cultural Diversity.”
She felt like the air had been punched out of her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rob was their honored guest last month. Didn’t you hear?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You’ve got to give big bucks to have a luncheon thrown in your honor.” He raised his brows and took another long swig of soda. “It made the paper.”
She didn’t read the paper every day, but Paul did.
“Rob must need tax deductions.” Stephen crushed the can and tossed it into one of the garbage bins the youth group had set up for collecting aluminum cans. “Every penny counts,” Paul always said.
“What do you think of all this?” Stephen’s nod included everything.
“It’s a wonderful day for a picnic.”
He laughed. “Well, tell me what you really think.”
That I’m sick to my stomach? That I have this awful feeling Paul knew about the Athertons and didn’t care? Oh, God, help us. “I hope the Lord brings it all together.”
“So far, it seems He has.”
Eunice looked away. What could she say to that? God had despised the offerings of the Israelites when they had shared themselves and practiced the ways of the people around them. They had worshiped under every spreading tree and high place just as the pagans did, then had the audacity to bring offerings to the Lord in His temple and expect to be blessed for it. God wanted the wholehearted love of His people. He warned them through the prophets, and when they wouldn’t listen, He disciplined them. He’d destroyed them in wars, sent them into exile, scattered them across the face of the earth. “Be holy, because I am holy,” God said. No compromise!
She looked around at the gathering. What kind of message would it send to these poor people if they knew the couple at the top of Paul’s charts was also helping fund an organization promoting sinful lifestyles and pagan religions? Surely Paul didn’t know. “If only I’d known.” She could have said something. She could have warned him. He could have spoken to Rob and Sheila and taught them God’s ways more clearly. Come out and be holy! Honor God and leave no room for the flesh! Rob and Sheila might have the wrong idea about what it meant to be a follower of Christ. How many others were in a similar state of confusion?
“I’m sorry I told you, Eunice. You’re taking it harder than Paul did.”
She glanced up. “Paul knew?”
“After the fact. Rob invited him to the luncheon.”
Eunice felt sick. Had he gone?
“He didn’t go, Eunice. He had an out and took it. The luncheon was on a Wednesday, and Paul and I have a standing appointment for lunch on Wednesdays. We spent most of that lunch talking about that donation. Paul said the Lord works in mysterious ways, and there’s no condemnation in Christ.” He shrugged. “He’s the pastor. He knows a lot more than I do.”
“Just because Paul is the pastor doesn’t mean you haven’t the right to voice your opinion.”
“I did voice my opinion, but he said he was afraid turning down Atherton’s donation might be like closing the door of heaven in his face.”
Eunice wanted to go home, hide in her closet, and weep.
“We’ve missed you at Bible study, Eunice.”
“I’ve missed coming.” She didn’t dare tell him that Paul had asked her not to go . . . or that she had agreed for reasons she couldn’t share with either man.
The ground-breaking celebration lasted all afternoon. Eunice hadn’t spoken with Paul since he’d walked away from her early in the day. She had only caught glimpses of him as he socialized.
The gathering began to disperse before sunset. Tim asked if he could spend the night with Frank Heber. The Hebers were solid Christians who had moved from Missouri to Centerville and who also attended the Ma-sons’ Bible study. Eunice saw no harm in Tim spending the night. They attended church every Sunday. She walked with him to the Hebers’ car, talked with them briefly, and said she’d stop by later with his church clothes.
Tim bent to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I don’t want to be home tonight and have to listen to Dad gloat.” Before she could say anything, he was in the car and they were on their way.
She went back to collect their things. As she picked up the blanket and shook it, Paul came over. “Where’s Tim?”
“He’s spending the night with the Hebers.”
“I wish you’d asked me first. They’re a little too legalistic for my liking.”
“Do you want me to go over and pick him up?”
“No. Forget it. It’s been a fantastic day, hasn’t it? Ralph and Laurel have all the equipment loaded. So anytime you’re ready, we can go. I’ll meet you at the car. I want to thank the Athertons again.”
“Paul, did you know—”
He turned his back. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She watched him walk away. As she put the blanket on top of the plates, silverware, and cloth napkins already in the picnic basket, she watched Paul approach the Athertons. He talked with Rob over the top of their new Jaguar as he opened the door for Sheila.
Depressed, Eunice picked up the basket and headed for Ralph and Laurel. Oh, Father, all this show! And for what? It’s not right! How do I get through to Paul that we’re compromising? He won’t listen. Am I wrong? Have I misread Your Word? Is Paul right and everything that’s happening is affirmation of Your blessing? But You laid waste to Israel in the midst of prosperity.
“Great day, huh?”
Sunburned and smiling, Ralph opened the car door for her.
“I’m exhausted!” Laurel slid down and rested her head against the back of the seat. “Did you know we had over five hundred children here today? Vacation Bible School is going to be a zoo! I don’t know how I’m going to handle it. We need more staff. The sooner, the better.”
Paul arrived in time to hear Laurel’s comment. “You and Ralph did an outstanding job today. But you’re right. We do need more staff. And we’re going to have what we need.”
The royal we.
Ralph and Laurel talked all the way back to Centerville. Ralph dropped them off at the church. Paul and Eunice drove home in separate cars. Paul always had to be at church ahead of everyone else. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Paul and Timothy had been in the same car together.
Eunice arrived home first and saw a blinking 7 on the answering machine. Paul expected her to screen messages for him. She emptied the basket onto the kitchen counter, put the plates, silverware, and plastic cups into the dishwasher, tossed the blanket into the wash basket in the laundry room, and tucked the picnic basket into the hall cabinet before she took a pad of paper and pen and pushed the answering-machine button.
The first three calls were from parishioners who needed counseling appointments. She jotted down their names and numbers and deleted the messages. The fourth phone call was from Jack Hardacre, Tim’s principal. Unfortunately, she didn’t need to write down his name and number; she knew it from memory. What had Tim done this time? She made a note on her personal calendar to call the principal first thing Monday morning. Just a click on the fifth call. And the sixth.