The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  “Just not right now?” James interrupted gently. “You’ve had this discussion with him before.”

  Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We had this discussion constantly. That is why we broke up. We hung out last week. He was nice at first, but now he is starting to scare me.”

  Scared her? That was the first he’d heard of Rick scaring her. James’ natural protective instincts kicked in.

  “How so?”

  Amy began to wring her hands. “He wants to get back together. He thinks I’m unreasonable and unnatural. He’s started to harass me with e-mails, texts, and phone calls every waking hour of the day and I’m not sure what I should do about it.”

  James understood how she felt, and he could see it in her face. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes as she tried to hold them back. Many people today were less inclined to follow the word of God regarding abstinence until marriage. He understood what kind of emotional turmoil it could cause, especially if you lost the person you loved because of it. A strong devotion to God had been what helped him with such temptations in his own life.

  “He called me this morning, just before I left for work,” Amy continued. “He said he didn’t know what he was going to do. He scares me when he’s angry—accusing me of being selfish and messing up his life. But he sounded so depressed and lonely. That really got to me. He doesn’t have anyone else, Reverend.”

  “Set your heart on God and His ways first and everything will work out the way it’s supposed to by God’s will. I know it’s hard, especially if you can’t see the bigger picture of what He has in store for you. But somewhere along the line you’ll realize why you had to go through these difficulties and make these sacrifices.”

  Amy lowered her eyes. “Have you ever been in a situation like this?”

  Fair enough question. Why did he feel shy about answering it?

  “Well, my experiences consist of a few dates while I was in college. There was one particular girl that I was pretty serious about.”

  Amy looked at him with interest. “What happened?”

  James coughed. Why did it feel uncomfortable to talk to Amy about past relationships? She was just another parishioner. He pushed himself to keep talking. “We had several classes together for a few semesters. We would study together in the library. We went on a lot of walks, saw a few movies, and had a few dinners together . . .”

  Those were times when he felt he could conquer the world.

  “What was her name?”

  “Her name was Susannah.”

  A small tug pulled at his heart. It didn’t hurt anymore, but he still felt it whenever her name was mentioned.

  “Was she pretty?”

  “She was very pretty.”

  “Did you ever . . . ?”

  Amy’s question pulled him back. He tried to remember that he was Amy’s pastor and her guide. “Are you asking if I was tempted?”

  Amy stood up quickly. Her cheeks flushed bright red. Her eyes turned away from his, and her body followed. “Oh, I need to go.” The words tumbled from her lips much too fast. “It’s really none of my business. I’m so sorry!”

  James stood and called after her, “Wait! Please. It’s fine. You came to me asking for guidance. I will tell you yes, I was tempted. Temptation is out there, Amy. We all have to face it. All we can do is ask God to help us find our way.”

  She stopped and looked at him, her shoulders still turned away and her feet pointing to the door. “So you asked God to help you?”

  “Yes. And I asked Susannah to marry me.”

  Amy turned back to him.

  “And she said no,” he answered the question in Amy’s eyes, “She wasn’t ready. I respected her for that, just as Rick should respect you when you say you aren’t ready. Amy, you should stick with your beliefs. Don’t let Rick or any man tempt you into changing your heart.”

  “I’m trying not to,” she said. “But I’m worried about him.”

  James fought the urge to lift his hands to her arms.

  “I tell you what,” he said. “You head on back to work. I’ll stop in and speak to Rick today—make sure he’s okay. I’ll let him know you’re not comfortable with what he’s asking for and ask him to ease up, okay?”

  The relief on Amy’s face was evident. She leaned forward and took his hand. “Thank you, James. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

  He couldn’t help noticing how she had used his first name, instead of his title.

  Chapter Four

  ALLEN’S AUTOMOTIVE WAS ONE of three auto repair shops in the little town of Harmony, but the only one open on Sundays. Fred Allen, the owner, did not work on Sundays but left the shop in the capable hands of Rick Mason.

  It was Rick’s feet that were visible from under a late model Ford when James walked into the repair bay.

  “Be with you in a minute,” a voice called out from under the car.

  “Take your time.”

  James looked around at the stacks of tires and neat shelves full of car parts that were a complete mystery to him. The sharp scent of motor oil filled the air, but the garage was kept meticulously clean at the insistence of its owner.

  Rick rolled himself out from under the car on a low mechanic’s sled. He was a large, muscular man with longish brown hair. His face was smeared with oil, making his light blue eyes stand out brightly. “Oh, hey. You’re the priest from Amy’s church, right?” he asked, wiping some of the grease from his hands with a dirty towel. “I’d shake hands, but . . .” He held his stained hands up apologetically.

  “That’s alright. And yes, I’m from Amy’s church but I’m a pastor, not a priest.”

  “Okay. So what do I call you?”

  “Well, you can call me James.”

  “Something wrong with your Jetta, James?” Rick said, moving toward the car.

  The 1996 VW Jetta James had parked in the driveway had suffered its share of dings and dents, and the yellow paint had oxidized to something that resembled dried egg yolks highlighted with rust, but it ran great.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m wondering if you do handiwork as well as car repair.”

  “Not really,” Rick said. “Cars and motorcycles . . . anything that moves is my deal. There are several plumbers and carpenters around town. Why would you come to me?”

  “Well, I had a talk with Amy today and she seems to think you could use some extra work.”

  Rick slammed his fist on a metal table, causing several tools to clatter loudly to the floor. “Why that little . . .” He turned away and paced around the shop. “She’s got no business telling people about my money problems!”

  “She’s worried about you, Rick. She cares about you but—”

  “But nothing! My problems are my problems!”

  James continued speaking calmly. “But you are making them Amy’s problems. And pressuring her to get back together isn’t helping. She came to me for guidance.”

  Rick crossed his arms. “Ain’t nobody else’s business. What goes on between her and me is nobody’s business.”

  “Amy isn’t going to move in with you, Rick. She’s not ready to commit to any kind of relationship with you.”

  “That’s not how she acted last night,” Rick grinned wickedly.

  “And you trying to make her feel guilty is making her uncomfortable.” James finished.

  “She sure wasn’t acting uncomfortable last night,” Rick smirked. “Wasn’t acting nothing like a choir girl either.”

  James tried not to react to that vile statement, but Rick noticed something in his expression.

  “Oh,” Rick said, his grin widening. “Am I making you uncomfortable now, James? Do you want me to tell you more details about how innocent little Amy behaves when we’re alone and why I think you’re full of—”

  “Rick,” James interrupted, “I’m just asking you to please be considerate towards Amy’s feelings and beliefs. She is afraid to talk to you about them herself.”

&n
bsp; Rick’s grin disappeared, and he bent to pick the fallen tools up from the floor. “She’s got no reason to be afraid of me,” he said in a much calmer voice. “I wouldn’t hurt her. I’m just in a tough spot right now, you know?”

  “I understand,” James said. “But maybe it’s time that you give her some space. You’re being too possessive and pushy, and she feels like she can’t breathe.”

  Rick looked at him, shook his head and said, “Nah. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen, times have changed. Everyone doesn’t follow the instructions on how to live from an old book anymore.”

  “A lot of us follow that old Book,” James said. “Amy is one of us. We find comfort, wisdom and a clear path in that old Book. If you care about her, you will respect that.”

  “She’s not really afraid of me, is she?” Rick asked sincerely.

  “Apparently you have been increasingly . . . persistent with constantly contacting her about moving in. She tells me you don’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “Well, I don’t . . . but I will.”

  “Thank you,” said James as he stepped forward to shake Rick’s hand.

  Rick backed up, showing off his dirty hands again.

  “I don’t mind,” James said.

  Rick smiled and they shook on it.

  “Maybe you’ll come to services some day,” James offered. “Learn a little about the old Book yourself.”

  “Maybe for our wedding, Padre.”

  “Maybe,” James said, showing a smile that he no longer felt.

  Chapter Five

  ON GRAND AVENUE, A handful of miles away from James’ church, stood a gray one-story brick building. It was set in place between Petrini’s Butcher Shop and TechGuy’s Computer Repair. The doors were modern with metal frames and stained glass windows. And over the doors was a sign that read, Grace Community Church.

  James wasn’t sure when he moved to the tiny town of Harmony if there would be enough people to fill two churches each weekend. As it turned out, between the population of Harmony and the five surrounding townships, there were more than enough for both. In fact, some days there was a need for a third house of worship in the town, as his little New Hope Church was filled with standing room only.

  It was the same way here at Grace Community Church, for Reverend Branson Miller. Branson had headed this church for just over twenty years since he returned from his service as a chaplain in the Gulf War. He had been a close friend of James’ father who was an Air Force pilot, shot down and presumed dead all these years. As a promise to his friend, Branson remained in touch with the family, visiting and providing spiritual guidance for James and his sister Julia. James credited Branson with inspiring him to become a pastor. When Branson told him of an opening at a church in his town shortly after James graduated, it seemed like a perfect opportunity.

  It was almost three o’clock now, but Branson would certainly still be at the church tidying up after the weekly potluck Sunday lunch. It was just one of the ways Branson and his wife Cecilia gave back to the people who supported his ministry.

  Inside the church most of the lights were off, and James was worried he might have missed Branson. Then he heard someone whistling toward the back of the building where the kitchen was. There was no mistaking the off-key warbling.

  “Branson, you have a minute?” James called out.

  The whistling stopped mid-note, and a large, dark-skinned man stepped out into the carpeted hallway. The fifty-four-year-old pastor was big in every way. His broad shoulders and firm middle were amply supported by pillar legs and feet that were planted firmly on the ground. At six-foot-four-inches, Branson took his place in the world without excuses. He was wise and at peace with himself, the disposition of a minister his parishioners could look up to. At the same time, he displayed the caring affection of a friend to whom each and every one of them could turn for help and advice. His benign smile and cordial shake of the hand, with which he met everyone, inspired confidence and urged people to open up and place their trust in him, with confidence that it would never be broken.

  “Well, bless my soul,” Branson greeted his friend. “James, my son! What a surprise, what a surprise! Cecilia was wondering if you’d stop by today, but she’s out now with some of her friends. What a lunch we had. June Foster brought pot roast, and the Ladies Guild made a Jell-O mold. You know the kind I mean, with the grapes and cherries? ‘Course you do. Mmm, mmm. Good eats. Cecilia made some of that spaghetti of hers with the spicy sauce. We saved you a plate . . .”

  Branson stopped talking about food as he noticed the look on James’ face. “What’s wrong, son?”

  James put on his best smile. “Nothing at all. I just thought I’d stop by.”

  The big man nodded slowly. “Now you know you can’t lie to me or the Lord. Something is bothering you. Come on in the kitchen and I’ll get us some lemonade.”

  James and Branson walked to one of the long folding tables set up in the dining area. The kitchen was on the other side of a low wall. Branson’s congregation had worked hard to clean the place up after their meal. The pots all hung from their own hooks. The dishes were put away. The floor had been swept, and a small pile of dirt stood in the corner with a broom leaning over it, guarding it, until it could be swept into a dustpan and thrown out. All said, the place was clean and tidy with everything in its place. No small feat, considering that probably close to seventy people had just shared a meal there.

  Branson put two tall glasses of pale yellow lemonade on the table as he sat down across from James. His large hands covered James’ own. With eyes closed, he spoke a simple prayer. “Lord, Father, please lift whatever burden is on my friend’s shoulders today. Let us be able to help each other and continue to be Your instruments. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

  “Amen,” James responded.

  They both sipped their lemonade before Branson eyed James and leaned back in his folding chair. “So what’s got you so down today?”

  James cleared his throat. The lemonade was fantastic. Sweet and tart at the same time. He took another drink and then motioned helplessly with one hand. “I guess I’m feeling the weight of some of my parishioners’ problems.”

  “Oh!”

  “I feel like there is more I could be doing.”

  “You aren’t supposed to take them on son. You know that.”

  “But I—”

  “But nothing. Your job is to show them that God will take on their problems,” Branson said as he opened a worn leather-bound Bible on the table and read from Psalm 55:22. “‘Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.’”

  James smiled at his mentor. He knew the Bible like most people knew the lyrics to their favorite song. It was nice to have him this close that he could stop in at any time to talk.

  “I know that, but I’m a fixer.”

  Branson waved his hands. “Son, learn to rejoice in your problems. God will use them to your benefit.” He turned to Romans 5:3-4. “‘Because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.’”

  James rubbed his chin. “But my flock expects me to have answers. And I want to give them those answers.”

  “You already have the answer, son.”

  The answer was God, but James still wanted to take part and solve the world’s ills. Would that be his downfall? “You know me well enough to understand that’s the most difficult part of my job. I want to help. I want action. It’s in my blood.”

  Since becoming the man of the family, James had always been the one to solve the problems.

  “I understand,” Branson nodded. “Your father was the same way, always wanting to rush in and save the world. But that is up to God. You just need to trust.”

  “I know this. I do—”

  “But not when you feel there has been a call to action?” Branson finished.

  “Right.”

  Branson leaned forward and put a la
rge hand on James’ arm. “There is only one solution son. God. He will solve anyone’s problems. A person just has to ask.”

  James sighed. He’d been called to be a minister, but sometimes it was like God was playing a joke on him—or teaching him a lesson. He was never sure which. Branson was right. He had to step back and let God be the answer. Let God be the problem solver. “There is something else . . .”

  “Something serious?”

  “I think so. One of my parishioners is having issues with her ex-boyfriend. She came to talk to me today after my service.”

  “Uh, huh,”

  “This isn’t the first time she’s come to me about him. She’s a sweet girl. I hate to see her upset this way.”

  “Uh, huh,” Branson said again, seeing right through James. “And . . .”

  “And I don’t know if I am being entirely objective with advising her of the Lord’s path for purely her own sake . . . or mine.”

  “Does it make a difference?” Branson asked, taking another sip of lemonade.

  James was surprised. “Well, of course it does!”

  “Why?” asked Branson. “You are telling her to follow God’s Word, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I think I may be doing it for selfish reasons.”

  “That’s nonsense. It’s your job as a pastor and your duty as a man of God. There can be no selfish motives in that. You spread the word of God, son. You show them the way. It’s up to them to follow it or not. Now that’s all the reverend-to-reverend advice I’m going to give you on that. What I’m going to say next is man-to-man. Getting hung up on a girl who is having difficulties with another man will only put both of you in a tight spot.”

  “I went to talk to the ex-boyfriend today,” James said.

  Branson looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

  “She asked me to . . .”

  Branson kept his eyebrow up.

  “I told her I would.”

  “And how did that work out?”