by Ann B. Ross
It wasn’t. It was Pastor Ledbetter, smiling confidently and not at all abashed over the outcome of our last meeting. Standing beside him was a short, thin man in a blue-and-white seersucker suit, the kind Wesley Lloyd wouldn’t’ve been caught dead in. The man had a few strands of reddish hair combed carefully across the bald area where his hair had receded to a remarkable extent. He smiled without showing any teeth, stretching the thin mustache into a straight, dark line between his mouth and his nose. Milky blue eyes stared at me through gold-rimmed glasses, and it took me a minute to remember my manners.
“Why, good morning,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the nondescript little man who had such a mesmerizing stare, and focusing on Pastor Ledbetter. He was looking too friendly for me to expect another lecture on a woman’s responsibilities. That took a serious mind and a long face, but if he brought up Wesley Lloyd’s estate again, I decided I’d transfer my membership. Maybe to the Episcopal church, where grown men get down on their knees. Which a lot of men, including the Presbyterian kind, ought to try. “I wasn’t expecting you, Pastor, but do come in.”
“Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said, smiling broadly as he ushered in the stranger and followed him. “Sorry not to call first, but I wanted our newest member to meet you, so we just stepped across the street to introduce you. Dr. Fowler, this is Miss Julia Springer, who is one of our most active members. I don’t know what First Church would do without her.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Springer,” the man said, shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Fred Fowler.”
I don’t trust people who have to make sure you know their titles, do you? And I’ve noticed that people with honorary titles are the worst offenders, so my guard went up another foot or so.
I got them seated and asked if they cared for anything to eat or drink. No, they both said, this was just an introductory meeting, which struck me as strange since Pastor Ledbetter had never made such a to-do over a new member before. At least to me, he hadn’t. They sat side by side on my sofa, the little man smiling what seemed to me a secret smile, like he knew something that gave him pleasure, and Pastor Ledbetter giving me his broad, outgoing one.
“How’ve you been feeling, Miss Julia?” Pastor Ledbetter asked. “A little run-down lately?”
“No,” I said cautiously, wondering at his concern. “Can’t say that I have. I’ve been too busy to worry about how I’m feeling. How about you, Pastor, you feeling all right?”
“Oh,” he said, laughing and glancing sideways at Dr. Fred Fowler, who sat with his eyes glued on me. I hadn’t seen the man blink yet. “Nothing wrong with me an afternoon of golf wouldn’t cure.”
“Well, an afternoon of golf would cripple me,” I said. Both seemed to think that was an exceptionally amusing thing to say. “Do you have a family, Dr. Fowler? I’d like to meet them and welcome them to town.”
“No, I’m sorry to say. The Lord hasn’t led me in that direction, but maybe I’ll meet someone here.”
“Maybe so, but I’m afraid there’s not much to choose from in Abbotsville,” I said, thinking of the dearth of available women in their fifties. “Are you planning to practice in Abbotsville, or have you come here to retire?”
“Oh, I don’t have any plans to retire. I like my work,” he said, crossing one leg over the other like he was perfectly at ease. I wasn’t, because those eyes of his had a strange, penetrating look to them. If he thought he was going to get me up on another table in those metal contraptions again, he had another think coming. He studied me for a minute and said, “What would you think if I opened my practice in Abbotsville?”
“I wouldn’t think much one way or the other,” I said. “I’m not the one to ask. The Chamber of Commerce, maybe, or some of the other doctors could help you. But you’re not a young man, if you don’t mind my pointing it out. Aren’t you starting out a little late in life?”
His smile stretched out broader, still with no teeth showing. I wondered if he’d needed braces as a child and hadn’t gotten them. Dr. Fowler and Pastor Ledbetter glanced at each other, and Pastor Ledbetter raised his eyebrows.
“No,” Dr. Fowler said, “I’ve been in practice for a number of years over in Chattanooga, but I’m feeling the need for a change. Have you ever felt that way, Mrs. Springer?”
I twisted my mouth, glancing from one to the other of them, wondering at the strangeness of the conversation. I tried to make allowances, though, because even some educated people have poor social skills. “No, I can’t say I have. My feeling is that if you move around too much, people think you’re flighty. It’s especially bad where doctors are concerned, as I expect you know. People always wonder about a doctor who picks up and moves somewhere else; they wonder if something’s wrong with him. I hope I haven’t offended you, but the way people are couldn’t be news to you.”
“No, indeed,” he said, putting his hands together and resting his fingers against his chin. “Mrs. Springer, I can see that you’re a discerning judge of people, and I’d like to speak with you again, if I may. Could you spare some time to, well, just sit and talk every now and then?”
“I’m not sure. I’m pretty busy these days, but I’d like to help you if I can.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage it,” Pastor Ledbetter said, rising to his feet. Dr. Fowler followed, holding his hand out to me as my preacher kept trying to get a committment. “You could meet over at the church,” he said, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You can show Dr. Fowler around and tell him about the church and the town and yourself, as well.” Pastor Ledbetter turned to the doctor. “She knows all the local history.”
“It would be a pleasure,” Dr. Fowler said. “Can we say ten o’clock this Friday?”
“I’m not sure I can do it then,” I said, feeling uneasy over their combined efforts. “In fact, I’m sure I can’t this Friday. Maybe sometime next week, or maybe Pastor Ledbetter can find somebody else to talk with you.”
“I’d really rather it be you, Mrs. Springer,” Dr. Fowler said, holding my hand and giving it a little squeeze. He wasn’t that young, but he was too young to be flirting with me. I’d heard of men who preyed on wealthy widows regardless of age differences. I drew my hand away and stepped back.
“It’s got to be you or nobody, Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said in his heartiest manner.
I smiled and walked them to the door. “Maybe you should prepare yourself for nobody,” I said. They both thought that was a clever thing to say, and they left smiling and shaking their heads.
I watched them walk across the street, Pastor Ledbetter leaning over the shorter man, talking nonstop and gesturing with his hands. I crossed my arms and shook my head. This beat all I’d ever seen. I couldn’t wait to tell Lillian that my preacher was now playing Cupid. I leaned against the door and laughed to myself. I might even tell Sam, too.
I turned back into the living room, still smiling. I don’t care how old you get, the least hint of a man’s interest is enough to lift up your heart. I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth even when it’s from a man so unlikely as to slightly turn your stomach. Wonder what makes a woman so dependent on a man’s good graces? There was little about Dr. Fowler that appealed to me, except that I seemed to appeal to him. And that was enough to brighten my outlook considerably. I’m just as foolish as the next woman, I guess.
I sat down in the chair by the front window and looked across the street at the church. It stood there, benign and holy, with its spire reaching toward heaven. A place of sanctuary and worship, yet there’d been so many upsets and hurt feelings and cliques and intrigues and downright battles in it, you wouldn’t believe. And something was going on over there now. If I could only figure out what.
Leaning my elbow on the arm of the chair, I studied the problem. Pastor Ledbetter, unlike our previous preachers, had never been one to be guided or instructed or counseled by anybody. Except by Wesley Lloyd, who was no longer around to make his will known. So, what Pastor Ledbetter wante
d, he got. And now, I realized with a start, what he wanted was a money-eating monument to family values, whatever they were, that he called an “activities center.” An activities center built with the assets of Wesley Lloyd Springer, that widely known paragon of traditional family values.
I jumped from the chair so fast I got a catch in my back. That’s what was on the preacher’s mind. That’s why he was over here making me feel I was in the inner circle. Drawing me in, that’s what he was doing.
But how did Dr. Fred Fowler, newcomer and special friend of the pastor, fit in?
I walked the floor, rubbing out the crick in my lower back, trying to figure how Pastor Ledbetter’s mind worked. Not an easy job, unless you understood that he never gave up on anything. He had the patience of Job, because I’d seen him work his will in spite of opposition from the session. But only since Wesley Lloyd had passed, of course. So it stood to reason that he still had building on his mind.
Maybe Dr. Fowler had money to burn. Doctors make it hand over fist, don’t you know. Maybe Pastor Ledbetter was thinking that, with contributions from Dr. Fowler and, if he couldn’t break Wesley Lloyd’s will, from me, he could break ground any day.
That was it, I was sure of it. Get Dr. Fowler and me together, make us feel chosen to donate to the church, and he’d get what he wanted. The man would stop at nothing to do the Lord’s work as he saw it. It made no difference if somebody else saw the Lord’s work in a different light. Pastor Ledbetter had a hot line to heaven and nobody could tell him it might be a party line.
Well, he was just going to have to dial in again, because I wasn’t about to be manipulated by the likes of him. The thing to do was to find out if Dr. Fowler was in on the plan or if he was being played for a fool like I was. Some way or another I needed to get close to the good doctor and see if his interest was in me as a woman or in me as the means to a pile of bricks with a commemorative plaque on it.
And they’d given me the perfect way to go about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LILLIAN,” I CALLED toward the kitchen, “I’m going over to the church.”
“What for?” she yelled back, but I was already out the door.
I hurried across the street and the parking lot, hoping to catch Dr. Fowler before he left. If I could get him off in the bowels of the church by himself, I ought to be able to find out whether his interest was in me or my pocketbook.
When I swung open the door to the fellowship hall, I saw the two of them, still talking, at the far end near Pastor Ledbetter’s office suite. Their eyes lit up when they saw me.
“Miss Julia,” the pastor called, coming toward me with his hand out. “I hoped you’d change your mind. I was just telling Dr. Fowler how much we need your input and he’s so anxious to get to know you better.”
“Well,” I said, “I find I have a little time this morning, so, Dr. Fowler,” I said, turning to him, “if you still want a tour of the church, we can do it now.”
“Indeed I do,” Dr. Fowler said. “I’d be delighted to have a lovely lady show me around. Here, take my arm and let us proceed.”
Now that’s a gentleman for you. I put my hand in the crook of his seersucker-clad arm, smiling at him and wishing I could smile up at him, instead of across and maybe a little down. But beggars and widows can’t be choosers, and I confess to a little glow at the thought of any kind of interested party, even if the party was on the short side.
“Splendid,” Pastor Ledbetter said, showing his teeth in a wide smile. “I couldn’t ask for a better arrangement. Now y’all take your time. Nothing’s going on in the church right now, no meetings or anything, so just wander around as long as you want. I’ll do some work on my sermon, then come track you down about twelve and we’ll see about lunch.”
“That’s fine,” Dr. Fowler said, staring at me as he spoke. “Miss Julia and I are going to explore this magnificent building. Aren’t we, Miss Julia?” And he patted my hand as it still rested on his arm.
“Yes, and I’ll begin by pointing out that we’re now in the fellowship hall, where we have prayer meeting on Wednesday nights with covered-dish suppers. A Boy Scout troop used to meet here, until a former pastor put a stop to it on the grounds that they weren’t Christian enough.” I waved my free hand around the large basement room, linoleum-floored and stacked with folding tables and chairs along the walls.
Dr. Fowler and I climbed the stairs to the sanctuary on the main floor, with him holding doors for me and watching each step I took. Those strange eyes didn’t miss a trick.
As we stood at the back of the empty sanctuary, I was struck again by how spacious and elegant it was. White walls with cream-painted moldings, deep red carpeting down the center aisle that attracted any number of brides because of its processional value, red velvet pew cushions donated by a group with bony backsides, eight large Williamsburg brass chandeliers, double pulpits, choir loft with rows of organ pipes on either side. A beautiful and worthy place to worship the Lord, and considering what it cost to build and furnish, it ought’ve been.
We strolled up the aisle, arm in arm, and I pointed out the pew where I always sat. I showed the doctor one of the hymn books with Wesley Lloyd’s name on a sticker inside the front cover.
“You must miss him very much,” Dr. Fowler said tenderly.
“Not especially,” I said, feeling I should be truthful in the Lord’s sanctuary, and assuming that Dr. Fowler had been apprised of some of Wesley Lloyd’s inclinations.
“Well, the heart closes over pain and begins to heal itself,” Dr. Fowler said, “and I expect that’s happening to you.” He seemed so sympathetic to my plight that I gave him credit for being a better physician than his looks suggested.
We walked behind the choir loft, glancing, as we passed, into the practice rooms where dark red choir robes hung in rows. Then we strolled down the hall and into the new Sunday school building. By that time, Dr. Fowler had taken my hand from his arm to hold with his own. He had our hands clasped up close to his side. I pretended I didn’t notice the change, chattering on about how this building had been attached to the original one, and how many Sunday school rooms it had, and how many members used it, and so on and so on. You know how I get when I’m nervous.
“Miss Julia,” he said, slowing his steps and leaning slightly toward me. “Julia, you just seem so much at home here. I can tell that you are in your element, right here in this sacred place.”
My heart, or something, fluttered. What a nice compliment, since I’d always considered myself a deeply spiritual person. And this doctor was the only one who’d recognized it. He was exceptionally perceptive, and I predicted he’d do well in his new practice. But this wasn’t getting the information I needed, so I stopped that train of thought.
“I want to show you the chapel,” I said, moving with him down the hall. “It’s a very small sanctuary that was donated by the Belcher family, and it got away with Wesley Lloyd something awful because he didn’t think of it first. See, here it is.” I opened a door with my free hand, and we looked into the beautiful room, shimmering now with the morning sun streaming through the stained-glass windows.
“Lovely,” he breathed.
I nodded in agreement, then realized he was staring at me. I declare, I’d not had so much attention directed my way since Wesley Lloyd’s funeral. I felt an unfamiliar tremble work its way down deep inside of me, and I had to work to pull myself together.
Still and all, it’d been such a long time since I’d been in proximity to a man that I believed I’d be forgiven for enjoying a tingle or two. Who would know? Wesley Lloyd hadn’t been interred all that long but, let’s face it, his mind hadn’t been entirely centered on home life for some little while.
“The church provides for a lot of the needs of its members,” I said, subduing a tremble in my voice. “But Pastor Ledbetter seems to think we need a new building for family activities.”
“Family activities are very important,” Dr. Fowler said, his voice lo
wered to match the holiness of the place, his eyes searching mine, “especially in this day and age. Now, dear lady, what else do you have to show me? I’m entirely in your sweet hands.”
I swear, which I hardly ever do, my knees started to buckle. My mind was telling me that Dr. Fowler wasn’t all that attractive—short, skinny as a rail, red hair, pale skin, and wispy hair, what there was of it, had never been to my taste—but my senses were being powerfully moved and not by the thought of building plans. And here was a man looking deep into my eyes, breathing in little gasps and saying the sweetest things. He could be appealing, in the right light, to any neglected woman.
“Why don’t we walk over here,” I said with a little quiver, as he covered my hand with both of his. “I want to show you the bridal parlor. We have a lot of weddings in the chapel, small weddings, you know, and especially second weddings.” I believe I actually tittered as we walked into the parlor. “I mean, people who are marrying for the second time. Widows, and the like.”
“Lovely,” he said again, and glanced at me.
It was a lovely room, done all in shades of green—carpet, walls, draperies, upholstered chairs and love seat. Very soothing and inviting. Wesley Lloyd had contributed toward the furnishings, especially the gilt-framed portraits of former pastors and leading lights of the church, which included his father and grandfather.
“I can see,” Dr. Fowler said, rubbing his hand over mine, “how this room would mean a lot to someone just beginning a new marriage. Second marriages can be very fulfulling.”
I took a deep breath and breathed out through my mouth. “It’s a little warm in here,” I said, fanning the bodice of my dress as discreetly as I could. “They don’t keep this building very cool during the week.”
I indicated the portraits on the wall, which was all I could manage at the time, and we walked slowly around the room. Dr. Fowler read the brass plate on each one, all the while keeping me close to his side.
