He got up from his chair and went down on his knees. He hadn’t prayed like this since his first years serving the Lord at Mountain High.
Oh, Lord my God, Jesus, Savior and Redeemer, be kind to me according to Your mercy and grace. Cancel out my sins. Jesus, let the blood You shed for me wash me clean again.
What one believes about God determines what one does. Who had said that to him? Eunice? Samuel? His mother? Oh, Lord, I’ve sinned against You.
He lay flat, face to the floor. I’ve done what is evil in Your sight, all the while convincing myself I was serving You. Lord, have mercy on me! Let me hear Your Word in joy again. Wipe away my sins. Give me a new heart and mind, a new spirit and steadfast faith. Oh, God, don’t cast me out into the darkness, but restore my soul. He sobbed. Let me be like a child again. Let me be Your child.
It was over an hour before he rose to his feet, weary, depressed. He used to feel God’s presence when he prayed. Now, he felt alone and lost. He wanted to talk with his mother about it, but she wanted nothing to do with him until he made things right with Eunice.
He didn’t want to think about Eunice. He didn’t want to think about the pain he’d caused her or what she must be feeling right now. But he was remembering Scripture. It was filling his mind, bringing him up short, taking him back, pointing the way.
He needed to make amends with Eunice before he could even hope God would turn an ear to his prayers. A good wife is a gift from God. And what had he done with his gift? He’d already asked God’s forgiveness and knew the Lord kept His Word, kept His promises. But he needed to find his wife and beg for her forgiveness now, too.
Where would she go? Did she have money to eat or rent a room? He winced as he remembered how he’d taken away her suitcase and keys, thinking that would be enough to keep her in the house, silent and waiting like a little mouse for the cat to come home. She’d fled. Could he blame her? What had she learned to expect from him but rationalization and justification for his behavior? Worse, he had made her the scapegoat.
Did she have any money other than what had been in her purse? How was she going to get by?
She would’ve had to use a credit card!
Paul took out his wallet and looked through his cards. He only carried two and used them strictly for business, luncheons at the club, new suits, and books. Eunice carried a different card. Which one? He wasn’t sure. She paid their monthly bills, except for the ones he hadn’t wanted her to see. He went into the master bedroom and opened her desk drawer. In front were bills, neatly organized by due date. He took out two and picked up the telephone.
It took him almost an hour to find out the most recent transactions on both credit cards. An airline ticket to Philadelphia. A rental car, gasoline, and a motel. Thank You, blessed Jesus. Oh, Father, protect her!
He took her suitcase out of the trunk of his car. Returning to the bed-room, he dumped everything out on the bed. He looked at the hangers and pictures, the small jewelry box, every item representing someone who’d loved her, someone she’d been able to trust. Heart in his throat, he hung up her clothes, put the picture back on the wall, and tucked the jewelry box back into her drawer. Then he packed—for both of them.
On his way to the Sacramento airport, he used his cell phone to call one of the newer associates. He’d been in conflict with John Deerman since he hired him. Paul understood why now. John had clung to the gospel. He taught Scripture. His classes had been small, too small in Paul’s opinion. So he had tried to use John elsewhere, but John had held his ground. One of the things on Paul’s personal agenda had been to have Deerman dismissed. Now he saw him as a man like Joseph Wheeler, the man who had taken over his father’s pulpit.
Paul told John he wouldn’t be in church on Sunday. He needed to make a trip. He didn’t give his reasons. “Pray for me, would you, John? Pray hard.”
“What’s happened to you, Paul?”
“I’m on the Damascus road. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Paul. Praise the Lord!”
CHAPTER 20
EUNICE SLEPT deeply, so deeply that when she awakened in the morning she couldn’t remember her dreams. She’d driven to Somerset to buy a few things: a brush, toothbrush and toothpaste, a night-gown, two cheap polyester dresses, and a washable cardigan sweater. Enough to tide her over until she knew what she was going to do.
She ate breakfast at a local diner, ordering an egg and a piece of toast, a small glass of juice, and a cup of coffee, but she couldn’t finish. As her mind wandered to Paul and Sheila, her throat closed up. She took out the small Bible she always carried in her purse and opened it to Psalms. Her emotions were too raw to take much comfort. She prayed as she sipped coffee. But her prayer seemed to turn into a long-winded, one-sided conversation, and she was doing all the talking.
Another woman would have understood what Rob Atherton had been trying to say to her. Another woman might have grabbed Sheila Atherton by the hair and poked her eyes out. Another woman might have stayed and fought to keep her man. Another woman might have known what was going on before the church secretary had to call her and tip her off. But she’d just been a coward. She hadn’t wanted to look too closely at what was happening, because if she did, she would have to make a stand and risk losing her husband. And now, as it turned out, she had lost him anyway.
She paid for her breakfast and went out for a long walk, ending up at the cemetery again. She looked for the groundskeeper. The hut at the back looked deserted. The door had a rusted padlock on it. She looked back over the grounds and didn’t see any fresh graves. In fact, there was no evidence that she could see that anything had been done in years. The grass was high, weeds growing everywhere other than under the trees, where they wouldn’t have received enough sunlight to propagate.
“Hello!”
The birds stopped singing. She waited, but the man didn’t answer. She wandered through the cemetery. She recognized many of the names on the headstones. Returning to her parents’ grave, she sat for a while, chin on her raised knees. As peaceful as it was here, she knew she wouldn’t come back for another visit. Her parents weren’t here. They were with the Lord now, all the pain of this world gone. Only their shells remained here. What comfort she had been given by her visit hadn’t come from their resting place, but from the things they had taught her in life. And from the listening ear of a stranger who told her simply to pray, do what’s right, and rest in the Lord.
If she could find the courage.
She stood and looked around again. “Thank you!” The birds stopped singing at the sound of her voice. She closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Turning away, she walked back to the motel.
She drove along country roads in her rental car. She stopped at the Country Store in Shanksville and bought a soda and fixings for a sandwich. She stopped at the memorial marking the spot where Flight 93 had crashed on September 11, 2001. It seemed strange to see a beautiful field of green grass marking a place of such carnage and tragedy. How many more lives would have been lost had those brave souls not fought and overcome the terrorists who wanted to turn their airplane into a flying bomb aimed at the White House? By the grace of God, the crash had occurred short of the Shanksville-Stonycreek School with five hundred students and teachers inside.
Eunice remembered how visitors had poured into VNLC, seeking answers during the first weeks after 9/11. On some level, they knew they needed God. They needed protection. What they really needed was truth and hope. Instead, Paul had fed them morsels without nourishment. White bread and soda pop instead of the Bread of Life and the Living Water. Some had stayed for the entertainment. Others had gone away, still starving.
Was the word sin even in the dictionary anymore? Did people understand that the God they cried out to for help was holy and uncompromising? “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” Jesus said. “No one comes to the Father except through Me.” What used to be called self-indulgence was now called self-fulfillment. What was once
called moral irresponsibility was now considered freedom to find oneself. What was once considered disgusting and obscene was now tolerated—and even taught in schools as “alternate lifestyles.” Temporary fixes. Feel-good religion. Discipline was considered repression; depravity, creative self-expression; murder, a matter of choice; and adultery, sex between consenting adults. What was wrong was called right, and what was right was called wrong!
Oh, Lord, I’ve been fighting against worldly thinking for years, and what good has it done me? Even Paul, who should’ve known better, has fallen for the lie.
Depressed, Eunice drove back the long way to Coal Ridge and found another white rental car parked at the motel. The door to the room next to hers was open. With all the other empty rooms, why had the proprietor seen fit to put another guest right next to her? She got out of her car.
A man appeared in the open doorway. Her heart jumped. It was a few seconds before she could speak. “What are you doing here, Paul?”
“I came to talk with you.”
Talk? Or ask for a divorce? She fought the flash flood of emotions threatening to drown her again. Her throat was so tight she felt she was strangling. “Why?”
“Because I love you. Because I’ve sinned against God and I want to make things right.”
She searched his face. She was desperate to believe him, but she knew he could sound so convincing, so passionately concerned when it suited his purposes. “I came all this way to get away from you.” And what she had witnessed.
“Do you want me to leave?” He looked crushed, grieving. Was it all an act?
“You do what you have to do.” She went into her room, closed the door, and put the chain on. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she wept.
She cried for more than an hour, took a long hot shower, dressed again, and peered out the window. His car was still there. Well, it was a long trip. He would need a good night’s sleep before he headed back to California. Her head was pounding. She stretched out on the bed and tried not to think about the fact that her estranged husband was in the next room. What was he doing? Why should it matter to her? She started at a soft tap on the door. Shaking, she waited. Another soft tap. She rolled over, presenting her back to the door. She heard the door to the room next to hers open and close again. Would he try calling her?
The telephone didn’t ring. She didn’t hear any sound coming from next door. The tension kept building inside her. Tomorrow was Sunday. She flung herself from the bed, marched to the door, and threw it open. She stepped next door and knocked, loudly. Paul answered immediately, his expression beyond anything she could decipher. She didn’t try. “Tomorrow is Sunday. You’re supposed to be preaching.”
“You’re more important.”
“Oh, don’t expect me to believe that, Paul. Not now. Not after so many years.”
“I don’t expect you to believe me. I’ve been behaving like a fool for years.” His shoulders didn’t seem as straight, but his eyes were clear and he was looking straight into hers. “Don’t worry about the church, Euny. I called John Deerman. He’ll stand in for me wherever necessary. I came about us.”
Euny. How long since he’d said her name in that tone? “John? You can’t stand John.” She didn’t want to think about the rest. She didn’t give in to her impulse to say, “What us? There is no us.” God would say otherwise.
Paul shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought John was the best man for the job.”
Part of her wanted to stay and scream at him. Another part wanted to get in the car and drive away. Neither prospect was good. Neither would accomplish anything. She had run as far as she dared go and was right back where she started. “I’m not ready to talk to you, Paul.”
“I’ll wait.”
“It might be a long, long time.”
“I’ll wait. Whatever it takes, Euny, however long it takes, I’ll be here.”
Shaken, she went back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed again. Resting her elbows on her knees, she covered her face. Oh, God, help me. Should I believe him? How can I believe him? I don’t want to believe him. I don’t want to be hurt over and over again. I don’t want to be set up and used. You know who he is, Lord. You know how he’s been. You know what I saw. I’ll stay married to him if I have to, but please don’t ask me to live with him. Oh, God, please.
She didn’t talk to Paul again that day. She fixed herself a sandwich for dinner and turned on the television in an attempt to keep her mind off him. White noise didn’t help.
She slept fitfully, and went to church the next morning. The old pastor gave a good sermon. He didn’t deviate once from the pure message of the gospel. The choir was small and sang off-key, but it was a joyful noise that made tears spring into Eunice’s eyes. There was no question in her mind as to whether the Lord was present in this house. She had felt His presence with every word said, every song sung. When the service was over and she got up to leave, she was greeted by half a dozen people.
She spotted Paul in the back row. He wasn’t looking at her. His head was bowed low. As she passed by him, she saw his hands clasped between his knees. She flashed back to years ago when she was still in college. She’d walked into the chapel and seen Paul sitting just that way.
The ache in her heart warned her of more hurt to come. . . .
Had he followed her to church, too? Or had he come all by himself? She didn’t stop to ask.
Several people approached her outside the church, greeting her and asking if she was visiting or moving to the area. She said she wasn’t sure yet. She talked with them while keeping an eye on the door of the church. Everyone but Paul had come out. The pastor went back in. As the gathering dispersed, Eunice walked back to the motel, thinking it would be a nice day for a drive in the country. Restless, she sat in her motel room, the curtain ajar just enough that she could see out.
It was more than an hour before Paul returned. And he didn’t head for his room. He came to hers and tapped on her door. She felt that tap inside her heart. Tap, tap. Was she willing to let him in again? Was she willing to take the risk? Thy will, Lord, not mine, be done. Smoothing her skirt, she went to the door and opened it. Her heart did a small flip and landed in a pool of sorrow. How could she still love this man after all the years of abuse crowned by a final blow of betrayal?
“There’s a nice little café just down the street. May I take you to lunch?”
She was more nervous now than she had been the first time he asked her out. But she was hungry. “All right.” There was no reason to sound pleased with the idea. “I’ll get my purse.” And her armor.
They walked side by side. A bell rang as they entered the front door. The waitress cleaning the counter said they could pick whatever table was open. The café was almost full. Paul let her lead the way to a booth toward the back. They sat facing one another. He looked at her until she picked up the menu and hid behind it. Her heart was pounding like a locomotive racing down the tracks. Toward what? More disaster? More heartache? If she let go, the tears would come and never stop.
How can I trust him, Lord?
The silence stretched. The waitress came for their order. “Eggs over easy, toast, orange juice, and coffee, please.”
Paul ordered chicken-fried steak, eggs, grits, and coffee. He gave Eunice a faint smile. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Was she supposed to feel sorry for him? How long since she had eaten a full meal? Chances were she wouldn’t be able to take a bite of this one, but at least he was paying. Oh, God, make him pay. Oh, Lord, forgive me. I don’t mean that. She rubbed her forehead, wishing she could rub out the confusion of images flashing. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe she should excuse herself, cancel her order, and go back to the motel and cry herself out. Could she? How long would it take?
“I know you’re uncomfortable with me, Euny. I can tell you’re thinking about leaving, but I hope you’ll stay.”
His voice was so soft, so tender. He sounded broken, but
hopeful. She looked at him through her tears and saw his eyes were awash with them, too. Speechless, she pressed her lips together, her throat aching.
“Mom and I had a talk.” He smiled wryly. “Or I should say, Mom talked and I listened. Halfheartedly. Then, on the drive home, something happened that woke me up.” He told her about a jackrabbit and a near-death experience, and their wedding picture smashed on the floor of the car.
Anger rushed up inside her, hot and heavy. Oh, sure. Tell me another good story, Paul. Now he’d have her believe he was just like the apostle Paul on the road to Damascus! The scales fell from his eyes. Hallelujah! He’d been blind and now he saw the truth! Glory be! And everything was going to be right with the world.
Did he really think she was so naïve? Maybe once. Not anymore. Thanks to him.
She felt smashed to pieces, the fragments of her life scattered at his feet.
“How nice for you,” she said blandly, not looking at him, not wanting to get sucked into the vortex of his charm. His story was a little too clichéd for her to swallow hook, line, and sinker.
Her husband had always been too good at taking stories and turning them this way and that in order to pull at people’s heartstrings. She wasn’t going to be Paul’s puppet any longer. She wasn’t going to dance to his music.
Paul hung his head.
And she felt ashamed. She wished she hadn’t said anything because her words showed more of a change in her than in him. Better to have kept silent and let him hang himself. She winced inwardly. She didn’t like the thoughts coming unbidden into her mind.
The waitress poured their coffee. Eunice put her hands around the warm cup and tried to capture her rebellious thoughts and focus them on Jesus. What would Jesus have her do? Oh, God, I know. She didn’t even need to ask that question! It was the other one that reared its ugly head. Did she want to forgive Paul? And the avalanche of other questions flowing over her. Could Paul be trusted? What guarantees did she have that her husband wasn’t the same selfish, ambitious manipulator he’d been for so many years? And even if Paul was sincere now, did that mean he wouldn’t fall right back into the old ways the moment she softened toward him and he felt safe to be himself again? If she walked away right now, no one would blame her. One foot in front of the other. Out the door. And don’t look back.