And the Shofar Blew (24 page)

“Yes.”

Neither moved.

“I’m sorry, Stephen.”

He wasn’t sure why she said it, but he didn’t want her worrying about him on top of everything else she had on her plate. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. “Thanks for introducing me to Florence Nightingale. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

She seemed to breathe again. “Her name is Karen.”

“Karen,” he said dutifully. He couldn’t care less.

“She’s very nice.”

“I’m sure she is.” Not that it would make any difference.

Samuel sat in a quiet room on one side of a long table. On the other side sat Dr. Shaeffer, a social worker, a counselor, and someone from the patient referral department of the hospital. He felt sick at heart.

The doctor was young and well educated. Samuel had seen the framed diplomas on his office wall. He also didn’t have time to waste and got to the point quickly. Abby’s condition was irreversible, her prognosis not good. He finished what he had to say in less than two minutes. Staccato facts. He asked Samuel if he had any questions, but his tone implied he’d already spelled it all out and didn’t have time to waste on amplification. Samuel said no. And down the line it went from the social worker to the counselor to patient referral. They all felt he and Abby would be better off if she were moved to a convalescent hospital.

The doctor excused himself. It was down to three against one. “I’m taking my wife home tomorrow morning.” He could see they had met with resistance before and were prepared to fight him.

“That’s noble, Mr. Mason, but unwise.”

“You can’t take care of your wife by yourself, Mr. Mason.”

“She’s had nursing care around the clock. No one can do that by himself.”

“I appreciate your concern, but my mind is made up.”

The social worker sighed heavily and clasped her hands on the table. “We know it’s difficult, Mr. Mason. But we need to make you aware of the facts. You are older than your wife. You had a minor heart attack four years ago. If you take care of your wife full-time, your own health is going to suffer.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“And what happens if you end up in the hospital, Mr. Mason? Your wife will still need constant care.”

They knew how to apply the screws.

“She would receive top-quality care in the Vine Hill Convalescent Hospital. If you don’t want to go that route, then we encourage you to arrange for help.”

“You need to conserve your energy for the long haul, Mr. Mason.”

“The doctor has already made it clear your wife is not going to get better.”

Samuel felt outnumbered.

“She’s going to need more care as time passes. And that care is going to increase your burden.”

It was that last word that strengthened his resolve. “Abby has never been a
burden.”

“Mr. Mason . . .”

Samuel stood. “If given a choice, I’m sure each of you would choose to die in your own bed.” His mouth jerked as he restrained his tears.

He didn’t dare go back to Abby’s room in his present state, so he headed for the hospital cafeteria and downed a cup of their foul-tasting coffee. He waited another half an hour after that, but still Abby took one look at him and knew.

“Oh, Samuel, don’t take it so hard.”

“They talked to you, didn’t they?”

“Of course they did. I have a heart condition. I haven’t lost my mind.”

He swore for the first time in years.

Abby snorted. “If that isn’t a sign of sheer exhaustion and frustration, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m not putting you in a convalescent hospital, and that’s final!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, but you are going to get help. If I have to wear diapers, I don’t want you being the one putting them on me.”

He laughed, then wept. She wept, too, her hand on his bowed head. “For heaven’s sake, Samuel, we knew one of us was going to go first. Let’s not make it a race to see who gets to go through the pearly gates first.”

He grasped her hand and held it against his cheek tightly. He couldn’t utter a word past the lump growing in his throat.

“You need a shave, Samuel.” He could tell she was starting to doze off again. “Promise me you won’t turn into a bristly old coot.”

He stood and leaned down, kissing her firmly on the mouth. “I promise.”

She smiled. “A shower, too.”

Samuel watched Abby fall asleep before he left.

Paul’s mouth tightened when the intercom buzzed. Couldn’t people leave him alone for one measly hour? Even Jesus could get away for a while. He jammed the button. “I told you to hold my calls, Reka.” He needed to read through the real-estate papers.

“Samuel Mason is on line one.”

“Oh.” His anger evaporated. Abigail Mason had been in the hospital over a week, and he hadn’t made it over yet. He should’ve called. “Did you send the flowers?”

“Yes.”

Thank goodness, Eunice had gone to the hospital every day. She had been telling him something about Abby’s condition last night, but he couldn’t remember what. “Did he mention how Abby’s doing?”

“He sounded as though he’d been crying, Paul. I was afraid to ask.”

Paul rubbed his forehead, ashamed he hadn’t gone to the hospital and talked with the two of them. But it seemed something had come up every day. “Okay,” he told Reka. He pushed line one. “Samuel, how’s Abby?”

“About as well as can be expected. I’m bringing her home tomorrow.”

Thank God. At least Abby was still alive. “I’ll have Reka call the deaconesses. They’ll prepare meals for you and Abby . . .”

“That’s not why I’m calling, Paul. I’m resigning as an elder.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I’m resigning as an elder.”

Stunned, Paul sat back in his chair. He had been trying to figure out a way to remove Samuel gracefully for the past two years, and now Abby’s heart attack had accomplished what he couldn’t. The Lord’s timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“I’m sorry, Samuel.” And he was sorry. He wished Samuel had rowed with him instead of going against the current. “I know we haven’t always agreed, but I know you’ve always had Centerville Christian’s best interests at heart. I want you to know I’ve appreciated all you’ve done for the church. Your service won’t be forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like me to put you on the list to receive tapes of the services?”

“Please.”

“We’ll miss you.”

“Nice of you to say that, Paul.”

Paul shifted in his chair. “When Abby’s settled, Eunice and I will come by for a visit.”

“You’re welcome anytime, Paul. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Samuel.”

Paul hung up and raised his hands in the air, giving thanks to God. He now had a green light to move ahead with his plans for the church.

CHAPTER 10

A
LL RIGHT! Let’s go!” Paul took his place in the backseat of the rented white convertible.

He slapped the newest associate pastor on the back. “Come on, Ralph. Let the town know we’re here!”

Ralph Henson blasted the horn as he started the procession of cars toward the center of town. He laughed. “Good thing the chief of police is a member of the congregation.”

Every driver in the caravan following was applying the horn until the noise was deafening. People on the sidewalk gawked. Others came running from stores to see what was happening. Paul stood and used a bullhorn to let them know Centerville’s old Christian Church was on the move, leading the way to a new life. Laurel Henson waved like the Rose Parade queen. “Wave, Tim! Come on! Get with the spirit!” Tim stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle.

Paul leaned down to where Eunice slunk in her seat. “What’s the matter with you?” She looked as though she wanted to hide in the bottom of the car. “Do something!Don’t just sit there!” She waved, but there was no hooting and hollering from her.

As soon as they were through town, Paul put on his seat belt. Ralph roared down Highway 99, streamers flying. Laurel shrieked and raised her hands. Glancing back, Paul saw the rest of the cars following and grinned. Relaxing, he enjoyed the wind in his face.

It was amazing how fast things had come together once the stumbling blocks were removed. Samuel Mason’s departure from the board of elders three years before had cleared the way. It had taken Paul less than two years to put his dream team together. Once the new elders gained the congregation’s approval to build, a green light came on. What little opposition had come up in the beginning had been quickly put to rest. His team orchestrated a public-relations campaign within the church body. All it took was a handful of people in leadership positions to bring the whole church into line. Marvin Lockford posted Stephen Decker’s conceptual drawings in the fellowship hall. Stephen hired a professional to build a model of the projected complex. The leaders began talking up the “twenty-year project.” Paul figured the plans would be completed long before that, especially with the increasing numbers CCC was drawing since he’d changed his preaching format to seeker-friendly services.

“If we build, they will come” was the rally cry for the church. Twelve hundred people were attending the ground-breaking ceremonies today!
Thank You, Jesus!

The old folks who had been such a headache were silent. Otis Harrison had died a few months after his wife, Mabel. Hollis Sawyer’s memorial service was last week, and the pathetic turnout showed how little he was missed. Only Samuel Mason was still around, but he had his hands full taking care of his ailing wife. He never came to church anymore, though he did request tapes of the sermons.

Ralph shouted, “There it is!” Laurel shrieked and raised her hands again as Paul spotted the billboard identifying the future site of the Valley New Life Center. Thank God Stephen Decker had gotten it up in time. The congregation had voted in the new name only a month ago. It was in keeping with the expansion.
Valley
was easily decided; the church would no longer be in Centerville. The fight had been over the word
Christian.
Many newer members said they never would have set foot inside the church if not for close friends who had brought them.
Christian
was associated with fundamentalism and intolerance. So the new name was chosen in keeping with the new direction of the church.

Eunice had been against the name change, but out of respect for Paul’s position she had not made her opinion public. However, nothing had stopped her from voicing her opinion at home. “We’re supposed to be a beacon to the world, Paul. How are we going to be any different from the world if . . . ?”

He had gotten sick of listening to her. “The only way to get the message across is to get the people in the door first. Once they’re in, we can start training them.”

“It’s deceptive, Paul. How is this any different than what cults do?”

Ralph drove to the middle of the forty-acre parcel and parked. Laurel leaped from the car and danced around like a Texas cheerleader. Why couldn’t Eunice be as enthusiastic? Couldn’t she see how God was working and bringing people into the fold? Was it a coincidence that the sale of the Svenson property in Rockville was just what the church had needed as a down payment on the first twenty-acre parcel? Three months later, the landowner had donated a second twenty-acre parcel as a tax deduction. Surely that indicated God’s approval. Maybe the fund-raising campaign did get off to a slow start, but as soon as Gerald Boham started posting donations in the fellowship hall, the money had poured in. People liked to see their names on the chart. They needed to feel important.

When giving had slowed down again, Paul got the idea of calling on older members of the congregation, especially those in the Vine Hill Convalescent Hospital, where several of the wealthier members were living out their final years. Mitzi Pike and Fergus Oslander had welcomed him with open arms and hearts. Neither had any family left. Every Thursday, he brought Mitzi doughnuts and played checkers with Fergus. He always went on the same day so that they would come to expect him. He never stayed more than an hour, and he never mentioned the building project. Instead, he talked with them about death being the gateway to heaven and an eternity with Jesus. He asked them how they would like to be remembered. Only when they began to talk about leaving something to the church did he bring in the miniature model of the proposed facility. They had been as excited as he.

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.