Bridge to Haven (33 page)

If there wasn’t a party going on somewhere worthwhile, Franklin took her to a club where stars hung out, big stars who might like her and mention her name in the right ear. He got her in the door the same way Dylan had. Men approached, but Franklin was always close, watchful, protective. She drank Coke; he drank Scotch neat. If anyone asked for her telephone number, he gave them his card. “You’re not here for romance. You’re here to work.”

Sometimes Franklin reminded her of Lilith and Dylan Stark. He knew how to work a room.

Murray kneaded her shoulders. He hadn’t said much, but then how would she know if he had? She hadn’t been paying attention as he had first rinsed, then conditioned her hair. Now she
felt his concentrated stare, but she avoided looking at him in the mirror.

“You look depressed.” Murray studied her face. “What’s bothering you?”

She gave a shrug and a practiced smile. “I wish I knew.”

He checked the roots of her hair. “Thinking about your past life?”

Franklin had come up with her story and had kept it uncomfortably close to the truth, because “reporters will always dig into your past when you’re famous.” He made her into Cinderella: A child with no parents, passed from one family to another, she grew up, talent and potential beauty unnoticed, in a small northern California farming community. A friend offered her a ride to Southern California. Franklin spotted her in a crowd. Shades of truth. He laughed and said a story like hers would bring a thousand girls to Hollywood, hoping to be the one in a million noticed by an agent or director who knew how to make a star. They’d believe it didn’t matter if they’d never been off a farm or out of North Dakota. They could be discovered in a diner or a bus station or walking along a sidewalk.

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.”