Pastor Eva:
I know you will forgive me for intruding on your leave of absence. I’m a fellow Annapolitan and I had the PLEASURE of attending one of your services back in April last year and was I was ‘MOVED’ by your prophetic witness!!!! I knew the LORD was calling me to join St Catherines. I once doubted the wisdom of LADIES in orders, but GOD has shown me that I was wrong. Also, you all are easier on the EYE than old Rector BOB (*wink*). Anyway, I was moved in my SOUL about your troubles and was CALLED TO let you hear from a parishoner that you are LOVED and MISSED. God doesn’t want you to be in EXILE forever.
HE hates waste.
Yours in Christ,
Jeremy Dunstan
1 Cross + 3 Nails = 4given
I gazed across the table at Eva who was munching calmly on a French fry she’d taken from a platter the waitress must have snuck on to the table while I was busy reading Jeremy Dunstan’s email. ‘Who the heck is Jeremy Dunstan?’
‘As he says, a parishioner. Not that he can spell the word.’
I handed the printout back. ‘His email is a bit creepy – what’s with all those capital letters, for heaven’s sake? – but it doesn’t strike me as anything to worry about.’
Eva grimaced. ‘It didn’t to me, either, not at first. So I actually responded to the guy, in a pastoral manner, of course.’
She handed me a second printout. ‘I was seduced by his turnabout on the place of women in the priesthood, I suppose.’ She scowled. ‘Over the next month, we exchanged a half-dozen emails, and then this popped into my mailbox.’
Eva:
I just want to thank you for your thoughts on the Gospel of JOHN. I always read ‘no one comes to the Father except by me’ to mean that you have to be a CHRISTIAN to get to heaven. I’ve never heard your reading – that Jesus just meant he was the gatekeeper and we don’t really know what the requirements are. Are you SURE that’s the GODLY way of reading that? I think the devil sometimes works to make us think it’s all easy.
Anyway, more important is I feel that the LORD is working in our correspondence. I know the SPIRIT is moving us together. I can tell you now that when I saw you preach last year, it wasn’t only your godly teaching that moved me but also, your a BEAUTIFUL woman and God can’t mean for you to be alone forever. You and I have become good friends but do you think GOD is calling us to MORE? I think of you alone in the WILDERNESS being purified like so many of our great saints, but all those saints had to come back eventually!!!! Write back and let me know your thoughts SOONEST
God Bless,
Jeremy
1 Cross + 3 Nails = 4given
I could feel Saint Eva’s eyes boring into me as I read. When I finished, she said, ‘Your mouth is hanging open.’
‘You’re surprised?’ I laid the printout down on the table. ‘Jiminy Christmas, Eva, what did you do? Write him back, as he said, soonest?’
‘Not soonest. I worked on my response for two whole days. Basically, I told him I was flattered by his email, but he shouldn’t misinterpret our relationship as anything more than pastor to parishioner, based on our common commitment to God.’ She sighed. ‘And then I got this.’
She handed me a third printout.
Darling Eva
I was VERY disappointed to hear your response to my last email and I’m not the ONLY one. God is calling us to be together and you KNOW that. Are you bringing your concerns to HIM or are you relying on WORLDLY friends and thoughts?? I have PRAYED extensively and GOD told me that your unworthy husband was only a CROSS for you to bear on your path to something much BETTER. I was DESTROYED when He took my darling RHONDA last year, BUT I know when the LORD closes a door, he opens a WINDOW. His mercy is GREAT!!! We are nothing – we can’t oppose HIS will for us. I just asked him to send me a word about us. I opened the Bible with my eyes closed and pointed to a section and this is what HE sent: Psalm 19:9: ‘The LORD’s judgments are true and righteous, every one, more to be desired than gold, pure gold in plenty, sweeter than honey dripping from the comb. It is through them your servant is warned; in obeying them is great reward.’ I am ready JOYFULLY to do HIS will and take you into my heart and my arms where you BELONG!!!
Love,
Jeremy
1 Cross + 3 Nails = 4given
‘Oh. My. Gawd. That sounds an awful lot like a proposal of marriage.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘I concocted an email that looked like an auto-reply. “Rev Haberman is away from her computer and cannot respond to your email at the present time. If this is an emergency, please contact . . .” and then I put in the phone number of the Diocesan Center in Baltimore, closed my eyes, and hit Send.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing. I’m not proud of it, but after talking with the bishop, I decided to ignore Mr Jeremy Dunstan. Mistake, as it turns out.’
‘Why is that?’
‘When Jeremy didn’t hear back from me by the end of the week, he called the parish office, and some idiot gave him my mailing address. The next thing I know, Jeremy shows up at the post office in Stanley, Idaho, wanting to know where he could find the owner of Box 293.’
‘Eva, no! Did they tell him?’
‘They?’ Eva sniggered. ‘“They” is Michelle, the postmaster. And, no, she didn’t, praise God, but Jeremy gave her a difficult time. Michelle had to call the police chief to remove Jeremy from the premises.’
‘Where did Jeremy go?’
‘I don’t know. I only heard about the incident when I drove into town for groceries a couple of days later. Jeremy had been staying at the Sawtooth Hotel, but by that time, he’d checked out.’
‘So I went back to the cabin,’ she continued, ‘but the whole isolation thing was starting to spook me. Like any moment Jeremy Dunstan was going to pop out of the trees holding an engagement ring in his hand.’ She paused. ‘Or, maybe a shotgun.’
It was hard for me to picture Eva being spooked by anything, and I told her so.
‘I locked myself in, Hannah, and every morning I’d find myself staring out the window, looking for fresh footprints in the snow.’
‘Jeremy, Jeremy . . . I’m trying to put a face on this guy.’ I’d been one of the faithful at St Cat’s since, well since Old Rector Bob, and I couldn’t think of anyone in the congregation named Jeremy.
‘He wasn’t one of our regulars, Hannah. When he first came, he’d sit in one of the back pews, over near the baptismal font.’
‘What’s he look like?’
‘Short, stocky, neckless. From a distance, it looks like Jeremy has an abundant head of hair, but up close, you realize it’s the world’s worst toupee. Like a small brown animal crawled up top of his head, and died.’
‘Man of my dreams!’ I chuckled.
Just then, the waitress arrived with our order. I looked at my plate, thinking I wasn’t very hungry, until the irresistible aroma of Old Bay seasoning wafted up, tweaked my nose, and got those digestive juices flowing. ‘Dig in,’ I said, ‘before it gets cold.’
‘And then, just to prove there is a God,’ Eva continued, waving a fork full of cheesy crab, ‘I got an email from a former parishioner who works at the Maryland Hall of Records.’
I swallowed. ‘And?’
‘Seems there was a church over on the eastern shore that burned down in the mid-1700s. Everyone thought the records perished in the fire, but incredibly, someone just found them in an old trunk down in Dorchester County.’ She popped the crab into her mouth, then rolled her eyes appreciatively. ‘Religious records are often the only source of birth and death information, so this collection is a gold mine for researchers and genealogists. Anyway –’ Eva dabbed at her mouth with a corner of her napkin – ‘this parishioner remembered that I had a BA in History, so for the two months left on my sabbatical, I’ve volunteered to help update the Guide to Maryland Religious Institutions Featuring the Collections of the Maryland State Archives. How’s that for a mouthful?’
‘
Footprints in the snow aside, are you going to miss Idaho?’ I asked.
‘Living alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere was just what I needed, at least at first. I talked with the bishop, prayed for guidance and direction, and left plenty of room for God to toss back an answer.’ She smiled. ‘I wasn’t expecting God to throw me a curve, of course.’
‘I’ve never been to Idaho. All I know is potatoes. What’s Stanley like?’
‘Stanley’s three blocks long and two blocks wide, with a population of just over one hundred. The main drag is called Ace of Diamonds Avenue. How about that?’ she laughed. ‘Summer was perfection. Fall was gorgeous, for the aspens turning golden, if nothing else. But, once November came around . . .’ Eva put her knife and fork down, forming an X on her plate. ‘Stanley’s at 6200 feet, and in the winter it gets down to thirty below. When I found myself at Williams Motor Sports bundled up to the eyebrows, shivering in my boots, and seriously considering renting a snow mobile, I decided Stanley, Idaho, was a bit too much winter wonderland, even for me. So, in spite of what happened with Roger, I came back. I’m not ready yet, but by the time my sabbatical is over, I fully intend to return to St Cat’s.’
‘But isn’t this Jeremy guy –’ I patted the printout with my hand – ‘I mean, doesn’t he live here?’
‘He does. That’s why I went to see Hutch. I can’t hide out in the mountains forever, so if Jeremy Dunstan finds out I’m back in Annapolis, decides to come mooning after me like a lovesick schoolboy, and can’t be made to see reason, I figure I’ll need a restraining order.’
‘Maybe it won’t come to that.’ I had a wicked thought. ‘Maybe Jeremy was so despondent that he walked out of the Sawtooth Hotel, wandered into the snow-covered hills, only to be set upon and devoured by wolves.’
Eva forced a smile. ‘Or, maybe he’s sitting in a car outside Regina’s and, even as we speak, watching us through binoculars.’
‘I prefer my scenario.’
Eva and I ate in silence for a while. After I had polished off the last of my crab melt, I said, ‘Hutch mentioned that you’re staying with the assistant pastor of St Anne’s.’
Eva nodded. ‘Temporarily, until I can move back into the parsonage.’
‘Eva, if you need a place, you can always stay with us. It’s just Paul and me now, rattling around in that big old house on Prince George Street.’
Eva reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Thanks, Hannah. I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘You can’t beat the rent,’ I added. ‘Free.’
‘Hannah, I love you, but, no.’
When Eva left Annapolis four months ago, it’d been in humiliation. ‘I’ve failed myself, my husband, and my church,’ she’d told me as I helped pack up her things, ‘But most painfully of all, I’ve failed my God.’
As I squeezed her hand back, I thought, sometimes, even with God’s help, it takes a long time to heal.
Seven
Unlike Eva, I’d never had a stalker. But Sister Ruth was starting to qualify. Before dance lessons entered our lives, we’d gotten together maybe once a week. Since getting bitten by the ballroom bug, however, Ruth stopped by almost every day, begging me to sign up for extra lessons; I hadn’t seen so much of her since my chemotherapy days when she moved in for a month, whipping up tempting dishes, urging me to eat, when all I wanted was to curl up in a ball and die. When I wasn’t quietly barfing, that is.
So I felt bad about saying no.
One sunny afternoon, she showed up on my doorstep with a DVD: J & K’s Ballroom Basics ($50, tax included). ‘Hutch is tied up in court,’ she explained, as she slotted the DVD into the player. Apparently our forty-two inch plasma screen was better suited to the task than the sixty-inch behemoth in the home entertainment center in the house Hutch shared with my sister on Southgate Avenue, but far be it from me to say so. Ruth looked so determined, that I didn’t even complain when she bent down and rolled up my oriental rug.
I drew the line at actually dancing with my sister. ‘I will not dance lead,’ I told her firmly. ‘I have a hard enough time learning my own part.’
Ruth frowned, then scurried off to the kitchen, returning with a mop in one hand and a broom in the other. ‘Lay the handle across your shoulders,’ she instructed, handing me the broom, ‘and drape your arms over it.’ She did the same with the mop, and we practiced side-by-side for a while like demented scarecrows. ‘It strengthens your core,’ Ruth explained, although it seemed more like a medieval form of torture to me, an exercise (like balancing a stack of books on one’s head) designed to force wicked children to stand up straight. Dancing a rumba with a broomstick across my shoulders – one, two, three, four and one, two, three, four and spot turn left and right – well, I felt insane. I had a couple of curious neighbors, and I hoped none of them happened to choose that moment to glance in through the window, proving the point.
‘Core or no core, I feel like a damn fool,’ I complained.
‘Persistent practice of postural principles promises perfection,’ Ruth chanted.
‘Who says?
‘Hutch says.’
Easy for him to say.
I turned toward Ruth so she could see me when I stuck out my tongue. In the process, the end of the broomstick swept a high school photograph of Emily off a bookshelf and on to the floor, smashing the glass and scattering shards every which way over my hardwood floor.
‘About those extra lessons,’ I said, as I set the picture back on the shelf, lowered the broomstick, and applied its business end to the shards of glass. ‘Maybe we can manage one. How much?’
Ruth paused mid-spot turn right and said, ‘One hundred dollars.’
‘That’s $1.66 a minute,’ I said, calculating quickly. ‘But cheaper than repairing the damage to my house.’
‘Oh, thank you, Hannah!’
Damn Ruth. Once again, she’d gotten her way.
I’d learned how to waltz, foxtrot and tango before I first clapped eyes on Jay. He’d been out of town on business, according to Chance, the dishy dance instructor, who also passed on the information that Jay was looking into opening up J & K franchises nationwide. ‘He wants to play with the big boys,’ Chance told us when Paul, Ruth and I showed up for our supplementary lesson. ‘You know, Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire.’
‘Aren’t they dead?’ wondered Paul aloud.
Chance nodded, grinning. ‘Ages ago, but their franchises live on. Ballroom is mega big right now. Jay hired a bunch of consultants who tell him to strike while the iron is hot, so he’s figuring on tap dancing all over those old fogies, pumping some new blood and new ideas into the industry.’
Riding high on that stream of clichés, Chance excused himself to cue up the music. Once it began, Ruth tangoed off with Chance, and Paul and I were practicing our progressive side step – quick, quick, slow – when a man slipped through the sliding glass doors leading from the office on to the dance floor – Jay. I recognized him from the photo on the cover of the DVD. As he headed in our direction I stumbled, and tromped all over Paul’s toes.
I don’t know what I expected the man to look like. Taller than Kay, certainly – he was at least 6' 2'' to her 5' 8'' – and supernaturally slender, of course.
But, Jay was all that, and more. Where Kay had the fair, pink skin of a porcelain doll, Jay looked like he’d just spent a month investigating franchise opportunities on a beach in Cozumel. The man was beautiful, evenly bronzed, his dark hair slicked back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. The quintessential Latin lover, from the dark brows, arching quizzically over eyes of liquid chocolate, all the way down to the tips of his black, highly polished dancing shoes.
Until he opened his mouth. ‘Ahm pleased to meet chew,’ he drawled after we introduced ourselves.
Hispanic heritage, I decided, but raised in one of the border states. Texas, maybe, although I couldn’t imagine how he’d ended up with an Italian name like Giannotti.
I extended my hand, and Jay shook
it firmly. His full lips parted in a smile, revealing straight, impossibly white teeth. After a moment, he turned that smile full-throttle on my sister. ‘And you must be Ruth. Kay’s been telling me about you.’ As Jay squeezed Ruth’s hand, he glanced around the studio. ‘I don’t suppose your fiancé is here? There’s something I’d like to discuss with the two of you.’
Ruth reclaimed her hand. ‘Oh? Can you tell me?’
‘It concerns both of you. Is he coming tonight, then?’
‘Now you are arousing my curiosity,’ Ruth purred. She stared at Jay, a sly smile on her lips, as she took in (who could help it?) his open-neck poet’s shirt and slim, belt-less black pants.
Arousing. Exactly the right word, sister.
Jay turned to us. ‘Are you enjoying the lessons, then?’
‘Very much,’ I cooed.
‘More than I thought I would,’ Paul added. I hoped he was being truthful.
Jay smiled, nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned back to Ruth. ‘So, you never answered me, señorita. Will we be seeing the bridegroom tonight?’
‘He was in court today, but if he’s not held up by a client, I expect he’ll show up for the regular session at seven.’
‘Ah. That’s good, then.’ From his 6' 4" (two inches of it heels) Jay beamed down on her. ‘Kay tells me you’re a quick study. Would you honor me with a dance before class starts?’
Ruth blushed attractively. She’d been doing an inordinate amount of that lately. She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Me? My gosh, I couldn’t!’
Jay seized Ruth’s hand, tucked it under his arm and led her on to the dance floor. ‘Nonsense! Chance, cue up a waltz, will you, please?’
Paul and I watched, open-mouthed, as my sister was whisked off in the arms of the handsomest man in the state of Maryland, twirling and swirling around the floor to the tune of ‘Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen’.
Holy cow. If Hutch walked in right now, what would he make of the euphoric grin on Ruth’s face? And then I remembered Kay, pouncing on Hutch like a mother lion and carrying him off, a helpless cub, to her den.
Dead Man Dancing Page 5
