“Have you and Luke talked at all? Did he call you?”
Sara nodded. “He called yesterday. I wasn’t home. I haven’t called him back yet. I just didn’t feel ready to talk.” She glanced at the baby, raising her voice to talk over Jane’s sharp, fitful cries. “I guess I might see him tonight. I tutor at the center, so I might run into him, but I’m not going out of my way . . .” Sara suddenly looked up at Emily, as if wondering if her mother heard her at all.
“I’m listening,” Emily insisted. “Go on.”
“It’s all right. We don’t have to talk about this right now. Why don’t you just take care of the baby?”
Emily didn’t answer for a moment, feeling torn in two. The baby squalled and she had no choice but to focus on her. “I’m going to take her into the bedroom. Maybe she needs to be changed or something. Wait right here. Finish your lunch,” she said.
Emily took Jane into the bedroom and changed her diaper. She should have realized that was the problem. After she did, the baby still fussed a bit but more or less stopped crying. Emily carried her back to the kitchen where Sara had finished her lunch and now read the newspaper.
Sara looked up and offered a thin smile. “Is she feeling better now?”
“Just a dirty diaper . . . duh. I’ll catch on sooner or later. There really aren’t that many choices.”
Sara laughed. “It’s pretty simple at that stage.”
“Just let me finish giving her this bottle and then she’ll go down for a nap. We’ll be able to talk. She’s just tired. That’s why she’s so cranky. She’s really not like this normally. She has a beautiful temperament. Even the nurses at the hospital thought so. One of them said—” Emily cut herself off as she realized she was going on about the baby.
Sara nodded encouragingly, but there was something else in her expression, something at odds with her mild smile. “I’m sorry, Emily. I can’t stay. I have to get back to work.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Call me if you need anything else, okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Dan can stop for me.”
Sara leaned over and kissed her good-bye and then lightly kissed Jane on the forehead. “I’ll come by and visit again soon,” she promised.
“I’m sorry we got sidetracked. I’ll call you tonight and we can catch up some more.”
Sara nodded. “Sure. Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
Sara waved good-bye and moments later Emily heard her go out the front door. She sighed and sat back in her chair, watching the baby finish her bottle.
“I’ll call her later, when you go to bed, young lady,” Emily told the baby. She looked up and noticed the pink gift box on the table. She hadn’t even opened Sara’s gift to the baby. She hoped Sara’s feelings weren’t hurt by that slight, too.
Emily felt sad. She’d disappointed Sara, failed to be there at a moment when her daughter needed her. But she didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t anticipated this.
She would make it up to Sara somehow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REVEREND WALTER BOYD JONES WAS A RETIRED MINISTER of the same denomination as Ben. He lived in the small town of Princeton, just northwest of Cape Light. It was an easy drive up to Princeton on Monday afternoon, when Ben usually took a few hours to visit members of the congregation who were in nursing homes or the hospital. Today he took the time to visit Reverend Jones, to minister to himself a bit.
The older minister had been a great support years ago when Ben was just starting out in Cape Light with his first congregation and Reverend Walter was leading a large, thriving congregation in Princeton. Time passes so quickly, Ben thought as he drove down the reverend’s street and picked out the small saltbox-style colonial that dated back to the late 1700s.
The Reverend Walter’s wife had died a few years ago and he now lived alone. He had been pleased to hear from Ben and eager to meet. Ben realized that he had neglected his old friend lately; he really should be more attentive to him, not just calling when he needed advice or help. That wasn’t being a very good friend. Though it was very much the way many people related to God, he reflected, calling only when they had a problem.
Reverend Walter greeted him at the door and led Ben into the small living room, which was lined with bookshelves and filled with old, comfortable-looking furniture. A small dog was curled on one armchair, an old tabby cat on another. A fire glowed in the hearth beneath a mantle covered with framed photos.
Reverend Walter was a short, stocky man, bald on top with a fringe of white fuzzy hair. He wore an old grey cardigan, leather slippers, and black pants that appeared to be left over from his clergy days, though Ben didn’t think that could be possible.
Walter took Ben’s coat and brought him some coffee. He settled back in a wing-backed armchair while Ben made himself comfortable on the couch.
“Thank you for seeing me, Walter. I hardly know where to start.”
“It’s hard to talk about these things. Ministers are expected to be superhuman. It’s hard to admit we have problems and setbacks and flaws just like everyone else. We can forgive and accept all types of human frailties except our own.”
“True enough. I also feel so . . . disloyal to my congregation, admitting how I really feel lately.”
“Which is?”
Ben looked up at him. “Unmotivated. Uninspired. Distant, as if it’s all happening on a stage far away, and I’m just going through the motions. The same old events, the same old sermons, more or less. I have nothing new to say to them, nothing new to offer. And they have nothing new to offer me, which is perhaps not only irrelevant to our work but also unfair.”
Walter listened to him thoughtfully, then said, “Let’s not worry about being fair or unfair right now, Ben. Just tell me what’s in your heart and in your soul. I’m not here to judge. I want to help.”
Ben knew that was true. “Maybe I’ve gotten too comfortable, Walter, too complacent. I’ve thought and prayed a lot about this lately. Maybe God has set this as a challenge for me. And if that’s the case, I don’t think I’m meeting it very well.”
“Is this a crisis of faith, Ben? Questions are only natural, you know. They’re actually essential. There is no real faith without questions.”
“It’s not my faith in God that’s been shaken, Walter. It’s my faith in myself, to carry out His work, to energize my congregation with His word and His spirit with my own example.”
“I see.”
“Everywhere I turn lately, I feel frustrated, blocked. I’m starting to wonder if God is trying to send me a message. Maybe my time in Cape Light is drawing to a close. Maybe I am being called to move on, to serve someplace new, in some new capacity.”
He watched Walter’s expression carefully. His friend frowned, considering the idea. “I suppose that’s possible. But we need to be very careful about how we interpret messages from above.”
Ben heard the echo of his own advice to Emily Warwick. “Indeed. I’m only saying it’s a possibility. Do you remember that young missionary who was at my church last year?”
Walter nodded. “Yes, I do. He’s gone back to mission work, you say?”
“Yes, I got a letter from him about two weeks ago. He’s out in Wyoming on a reservation. He took his new wife and their baby along, too. Nothing holds James back. He’s always got a goal for the greater good.
“That letter from him seemed almost like a sign to me, a sign that I should at least start asking myself, what are my larger goals?” Ben stared at his friend, knowing full well that he was posing questions Walter couldn’t answer. “I mean, aside from delivering a spiritual message each week in my sermon and serving the congregation when there’s sickness or a death or other hardships.”
“Aren’t those all important and meaningful ways of serving them, Ben?”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to say that they weren’t. But after so many years, I wonder what it all adds up to. Is this place changed in any way, improved
in any way, after I’ve passed through?”
Walter rose and stirred the fire with a metal poker. Sparks danced and orange-yellow flames shot up from the heart of the fire and licked the white-hot logs.
“What about Joe Tulley, your church steward? He was a lost man, Ben, a homeless man with no hope. You saved his life.
“I didn’t save his life, Walter. I just helped him get back on his feet.”
“You reunited him with his brother; you gave him a job. You believed in him when everyone else was accusing him of being a thief. Even when he ran away to Portland, you were the only one he trusted enough to contact.”
Ben nodded. “I’ll chase after the wandering sheep whenever possible, but that’s part of the job description, too, Walter. And a man like Joe is really the exception. Most of the congregants I counsel have more ordinary problems.”
“Not enough challenges for you, is that what you’re saying?”
“I suppose. Mostly I’ve been wondering: Am I even really helping them anymore? Am I giving my best to the congregation, or would they be better served by a new pastor—someone who can see them with a fresh perspective, wake them up on Sunday morning with a new voice?”
“Do they need waking up, Ben?”
“Yes, I think so,” Ben said honestly. “So, in a way, that seems my failure or shortcoming. They’re a generally kind, good-hearted group. People are willing to help each other out when there’s a need, most of the time. But I feel so ineffectual lately. I’ve been trying to interest them in doing some outreach in a poor neighborhood in our village, Wood’s Hollow—”
“Yes, I know the place.” Walter nodded.
“A few families from the area have come to church lately. I thought it would be good for our congregation to get more involved there, lend some support. I tried to start with something simple, a coat drive.” Ben shook his head. “I can’t even get one congregant committed. They’re all too busy now, baking cookies and making birdhouses for the Christmas Fair.”
He swallowed hard—swallowing back his anger, he realized.
Walter glanced at him. “What did you do? Did you read them the riot act, like Moses scolding the Israelites?”
Ben laughed. “Hardly. Don’t get me wrong. They’re all good people,” he added quickly. “There’s genuine fellowship and goodwill. But are they really spiritually committed? Is there any real difference between the church gatherings and the gatherings at the boat club down the street from us?”
Walter laughed at the comparison. “I know what you mean. I often wondered the same thing. But we can’t lose sight of the big picture, Ben, our higher role. You make it sound as if we’re recreation directors on a cruise ship.”
“Sometimes that’s how I feel.”
“Well, that’s honest.” Walter stared into the fire. “Did you ever read Dante’s Inferno?” he asked. Ben nodded. Of course he had; it was required reading for divinity students. “Maybe you’re just reaching the dark wood of middle age, Ben. It can be a frightening place.”
“Yes, it is, and that might be part of the problem.”
“Maybe these issues have existed in your church for a while, but you’re just now noticing them. You’ve come to a certain point in your career as a minister when it’s normal to ask, ‘Is that all there is? What’s next? Is there more?’ ”
Ben pondered that. He did feel as if he had reached a spiritual crossroads. “I think you’re right. But what is next? Do I pick up and plow on, or is it time for something different?”
“I’m not saying I agree with your message-from-above theory, but maybe a change of scene would do you good. A sabbatical—you must be long eligible for one. Consider your options. You could get involved in a mission opportunity that will really renew you spiritually and give you something to take back to your congregation when the time comes. Sounds to me as if you need renewal, Ben. You need to have your spirit recharged. Some hard work, digging wells, building a school—some hands-on service you can step back from and take pride in. That might be just the cure.”
Ben shook his head. “I thought of that, a temporary assignment someplace. I even tried to bring it up with Carolyn, but she doesn’t want to budge. She thinks we should take a vacation to Florida.” It was hard to keep the dry, sarcastic tone from his voice.
“Have you really talked to her about it? Maybe she doesn’t understand what it means to you, what you’re going through.”
“Maybe not. We talked more the other night, when I thought of coming to see you. I think she’s starting to see that I need more than a vacation. But how can I expect her to understand what’s going on with me when I don’t know myself?”
“You’re working on it. You’re not just brushing it under the rug. That’s important. Talk more with Carolyn,” Walter urged him. “Ask God to grant her greater understanding. And continue your own prayers. Maybe some insight will come to you. I’ll be praying for you, too.”
“Thank you, Walter. And thanks for seeing me today, for hearing me out.”
“No need for thanks. I hope it’s helped.”
“It has,” Ben said. “It’s helped me a lot.”
Though he still didn’t see a clear solution, he felt the relief that comes from unburdening oneself of honest feelings. And he trusted Walter’s advice. As his friend had reminded him, he needed to have more faith, to show greater trust in God.
Maybe he was in the dark wood of middle age and had to take some drastic steps to find his way to the other side. With the Lord’s help, he would find his way.
“ROXANNE’S KNEES SHOOK UNDER HER DESK. MRS. NEWTON WAS GOINGto call on her next. She just knew it. She stared down at her math workbook, wishing she was in . . . vi . . .”
Sara’s student, Shania Watson, looked up from her paperback as she stumbled over the word. Sara suddenly snapped to attention.
“Try to sound it out, Shania. You can do it.”
Her expression doubtful, Shania looked back at the book. “In . . . vi . . . zi . . . ball? Invisible!” she said.
“Very good.” Sara nodded. “Keep going.”
Looking proud and pleased, Shania continued. Sara tried hard to focus, but her eyes kept moving to the big clock on the wall of the New Horizons study center. Only five minutes to go, and then she could run to her car and go home, hopefully avoiding an encounter with Luke.
She still didn’t feel ready to see Luke or talk about what had happened on Saturday night. That is, talk to him reasonably, without losing control.
But she couldn’t disappoint Shania. That was part of the program, showing these kids that adults could be consistent and counted on, building trust.
Sara had always trusted Luke, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe her disappearing act at the French restaurant had pushed him right into Christina’s arms.
“. . . . Roxanne had to sit with Zachary Oster, who was always tapping away on a big cal . . . kool . . .”
“I know it’s a tough one,” Sara said quickly. “Let’s break it down by syllables.”
With a few prompts from Sara, Shania finally said, “Cal-cu-la-tor.”
“Good job. That was a hard word. Why don’t you read to the end of that page and then we’ll be done.”
“Okay.” Shania took a breath and started again.
As she listened to Shania reading, Sara heard the sound of singing coming from some other part of the building. She felt a little melancholy, recognizing the tune of “Deck the Halls.” She always went out caroling with Luke and the students. This year, he hadn’t even called to let her know they were practicing. She wondered if he was part of the group, merrily singing along, not giving her a thought at all.
“. . . . Roxanne walked toward the bus. Something gooey made her sneakers stick to the ground, but she didn’t care. It had been a terrible day and could not wait to get home.”
Boy, can I ever relate to that, Sara thought. She smiled at Shania. “Sounds good. Why don’t we stop there for tonight? You worked very hard. I’m
proud of you.”
Shania glowed but seemed partly embarrassed by Sara’s praise. “Are you coming back next week?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sara promised.
She walked Shania to her dorm and then turned down a path to the parking lot. She was just about to congratulate herself on escaping without meeting up with Luke when she saw his SUV pull into the lot. He got out, carrying bags of groceries.
Nice. He knows I’m here tonight so he runs out and goes grocery shopping. What does that tell you?
She stood by her car, her arms crossed over her chest, and waited for him to walk up to her.
“So you had your tutoring tonight. How did it go?”
“Fine.”
“I had to go into town this afternoon. I’m glad I didn’t miss you.” When Sara didn’t say anything, he added, “I think we should talk.”
“About Christina, you mean?”
“About everything. Want to come back to my cottage?”
Sara considered the offer for a moment. “No, I have to get home. I have work to do.”
“Okay. We’ll talk right here then.”
Sara shrugged. “Do you want to get back together with Christina? Because if you do, that’s fine. I just want to know.”
Luke pulled back as if slapped across the face. “Wow. You get to the point, don’t you?”
“Just answer, yes or no.”
“No. I don’t want to date Christina. I’m dating you. We have a relationship, remember?”
“You seem like the one who forgot,” Sara prodded him.
“I love you. I want us to get married. How much clearer do you want me to make it?”
“It’s not very clear to me at all lately. You weren’t with me Saturday night. You were with Christina!”
“You were the one who ran out and left us alone together,” Luke reminded her. “Maybe you expected me to run after you, like always. But I just didn’t feel like it.”
The Christmas Angel Page 15
