Whoa. No money, no new blood, and now no pastor? All that and a killer storm bearing down on us all. Surely, these were dismal days in Road’s End.
Dewey found his voice first. “Pastor, I don’t know what to say. Are you ... uh ... okay? Anything we can do for you? Anything at all?”
The pastor smiled, his ruddy face nearly splitting in half from the effort. “No, Dewey, but thanks just the same. To be perfectly honest, this is the answer to a prayer. I’ve wondered lately if I’ve held you back in some ways, so being told I have to slow down is ... well, it’s just what the doctor ordered.” He chuckled at his little joke. “Please just wish us well and continue on with the fine work you’ve always done here at Christ Is Lord. The six of you are the backbone of this church, you know. The heart and soul. What would the congregation do without you to guide it in its financial decisions?”
Nobody answered. Since none of those financial decisions were worth a hoot and consisted largely of what not to pay or repair or replace in any given month, no one was especially proud of his or her role in keeping the church afloat. Seemed wrong, somehow, as though we were taking credit for doing absolutely nothing except talking about all the trouble we were in.
“Who’ll take your place?” Sadie said.
“Don’t know,” he said, “but the Lord will provide, and I’m sure you won’t mind taking turns giving the sermon for a while until you can find a permanent replacement.”
Sadie stood and faced the rest of us. She began to pace back and forth. “Okay, folks, what now? Leo, any ideas? Winnie, Dewey, Frank? Frank, we haven’t heard a peep out of you.”
I’d never known Frank to peep, and tonight was no exception. Besides, he was fast asleep, arms crossed over his chest, his head bobbing up and down with his snores. Sadie resumed her pacing. Step, step, step, whirl. “Hugh, what about you?”
“Sadie, I really don’t know what to say. I guess we do the best we can for the moment and as Pastor says, God will provide.”
More pacing. “Winnie, Dewey, any ideas?” Pace, pace, whirl. “We still haven’t heard from you, Frank. Frank, will you wake up!”
Frank roused just long enough to adjust his arms then nodded off again. Dewey looked flummoxed, but Winnie jumped up. “Please sit down, Sadie. You’re startin’ to make me dizzy. Now, seems to me we have quite a dilemma here, but after all, we are in the Lord’s house. We do have options. Prayer. That’s our best course of action. Let’s pray about this.”
Sadie looked at her for a moment, smiled, and sat down. “You’re right, Winnie. We need to pray. Pastor?”
Pastor Parry stood and faced his finance committee. “My sentiments exactly, ladies. Winnie, Sadie, Dewey ... Hugh, Leonard, Frank ... Frank, are you awake?” he said.
Dewey nudged him and Frank looked up and muttered, “Huh?”
“Let us bow our heads and pray,” Pastor Parry continued.
The room grew quiet.
Frank snored.
“Heavenly Father, we ask that You be with us tonight as we make these weighty decisions. We thank You for Your many blessings, Your everlasting patience, and Your eternal love. Please guide us as we look for ways to increase our membership, raise the funds to repair Your house, and continue to glorify Your precious name. Grant us wisdom, discernment, inspiration, and success as we undertake the challenges ahead of us. And Father, if it be Your will, please send whomever You choose to replace me in this pulpit—someone who will take the reins and guide our little congregation in the path You’ve chosen for each of us. In Your Precious Son’s Name, we pray. Amen.”
Six more “amens” followed. “We’ll talk again tomorrow during services when I make my announcement to the rest of the congregation.” Pastor Parry walked toward the front door. I wondered just who the rest of the congregation might include. Most of us were standing in the room. With Mel, there’d be eight. Might need crowd control.
With no new ideas for increased membership or ways to bring in additional funds, a pastor on his way out of town, and a storm on its way in, the meeting of the Christ Is Lord Church’s finance committee adjourned at 7:17 p.m.
Frank roused from his nap long enough to stand up and stagger down the aisle. We filed out the front door, down the worn wooden steps and past Roscoe, who was still flat on his back and now covered with a good four inches of snow. It didn’t seem to bother him much, just as the rain, hot Virginia sun, and relentless humidity hadn’t done much except wear him down a little. Spending two centuries standing upright (or in Roscoe’s case, flat on his back) in the Christ Is Lord cemetery was bound to wear down a headstone. Roscoe’s was no exception.
I watched Sadie look to the snow-filled sky and smile. She stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake. “Good night, folks. I’ve got some baking to do. Nothing whets a person’s appetite like a good old-fashioned blizzard.” She lit out like a bird dog chasing a pheasant, paying no mind to the slick street beneath her feet.
“Sadie, wait!” I lunged to take her arm, but she was gone. She yelled something back at me, but I didn’t catch it.
“Don’t bother, Hugh,” Pastor Parry said. “She’ll be fine. I doubt if her feet are even touching the ground.”
Sadie was already fading from sight behind a billowing veil of snow.
I pulled my collar up around my ears. “Looks like this storm is coming in earnest,” I said. “Boy, just listen to that wind. This might turn out to be a bad one after all.”
“Well, it’s not as if they haven’t warned us. That’s all I’ve heard around town for the past two days. If it blows over, there might be rioting in the streets.”
I grinned and nodded, then extended my hand to the pastor. “Good night, Pastor. You’d better head home before you freeze.”
He grabbed mine with both of his and squeezed. “Hugh, I’ve got something important to ask you.” The snow had begun to fall in earnest; it pelted us from all directions, whipped into a frenzy by the howling wind. The snowflakes were lighting on his head, gathering faster than his body heat could melt them. We stood in the middle of the road, hands clasped, shoulders hunched against the onslaught. I knew what was coming. Maybe some of those cold pinpricks traveling up and down my spine had nothing to do with the weather.
“Go ahead, Pastor.”
“You’re our man, Hugh. You know it. I know it. More importantly, He knows it.” He took his hand away from mine long enough to point upward then tucked it into his coat pocket. “What do you say? Are you willing? Willing to continue serving the Lord?”
I stood there, gathering my own layer of snow, feet spread to keep my balance in the gusty wind. I looked at him; snowflakes glistened on his bushy eyebrows, little flecks of white caught in the few hairs he had left on his head. His face was a combination of expectant joy and unabashed begging.
I said nothing, just smiled, shrugged, and nodded my head.
“Thank You, Lord!” He pumped my hand furiously and bowed his head as the brisk wind buffeted his few strands of hair and the snow splattered against his pink scalp. “Lord, I thank You for Your marvelous ways.” He looked up at me; his eyes were glistening. “Thank you, Hugh. You won’t regret this. I promise. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”
I watched him walk—on air, it seemed—toward his house through snow settling over the pavement like layers of silk. Pastor Parry seemed oblivious to its icy touch as he threw back his head, raised his arms heavenward, and whooped for joy. I couldn’t help but think that he might be covered in an inch of snow and frozen to his lungs, but Lord be praised, his problems were solved.
I had a feeling mine were just beginning.
Chapter Five
Melanie heard the door open, looked up from the dining room table where she was planning menus, and said, “Hey there. Thought maybe you got lost out there.”
Hugh stomped his feet and shivered, then opened the closet door and reached for a hanger. “Not quite. Got waylaid by Pastor Parry after the meeting.” He closed the door, walked to her side,
and put his cold hands on either side of her face. “Man, it’s nasty out there. Remind me again why we moved to the sunny south?”
She laughed. “Wow! You are frozen. Not quite what we bargained for, right? How about something hot to drink?”
He nodded.
She stood and started for the kitchen. “Anything happen at the meeting?”
Hugh followed her. “You mean did we come to any earth-shattering, financial, church-saving conclusions? No. Did our lives change forever?” He nodded emphatically. “Yes.”
Mel drew the back of her hand across her brow. “Whew, what a relief. Our lives haven’t changed once in the last … oh, ten days or so. I was ready for a change.”
“Smart aleck.”
The phone rang and Mel reached for it on the counter. “Well, hello there, Pastor. Yes, he’s right here, dripping all over my floor.” She handed it to Hugh and mouthed, “Pastor Parry.”
Mel walked to the stove to put the teakettle on. She could hear Hugh; sounded like he was leaving again. When he hung up, she said, “Heading out again so soon?”
Hugh held up a finger—“Be right back”—and returned with his coat on. “Pastor Parry asked if I’d mind running up to Rivermanse to check on Emma River. She’s getting up in years, and he doesn’t want her socked in by this weather. I’m glad he thought of her.” He zipped his coat and draped a scarf around his neck. “I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of it myself.”
Melanie envisioned the eighteenth century mansion that stood on the river bluff behind the Inn.
“Have we met her?”
Hugh shook his head. “Nope. And from what Sadie tells me, we’d remember if we did. ’Course, we’ve been busy. She could’ve been sitting in our living room this whole time, and we wouldn’t have noticed.”
Mel wound the scarf around his neck. “Hey, mister, where’s your winter coat?” Honestly! He was such a kid. “And that jacket’s not going to be warm enough.”
“I’ll be fine. Let me get up there and get her back down here before no one can get anywhere. It’s really coming down out there.”
“Drag her back if you have to. I just made the bed in the Jefferson Room. She’ll be comfortable there and we won’t have to worry about her freezing in that house all by herself, poor thing.”
“I will. And Mel, there’s something I need to tell you when I get back, okay?”
Melanie nodded. “That little life-changing thing?” Deep down, she already knew what he was going to say. Pastor Parry was old; Hugh wasn’t. It just made sense that with a new pastor in town, the old one would want to step down. She knew when Hugh walked in that he was back in the pulpit. Can’t fool me. “Okay, dear.” She gave him a hug and opened the kitchen door that led to the backyard. The porch steps were already covered with a mound of white. “Careful out there.”
Hugh grunted and disappeared into the maelstrom. Melanie shut the door behind him. Well, that hadn’t taken long. They’d barely unpacked and already Hugh was back to preaching.
She smiled.
It felt good to be a pastor’s wife again.
I stepped gingerly where I thought the first step might be under all that snow then jumped to the ground. A blast of wind smacked me full in the face, and I braced myself to plow through the thick swirls of snow coming from every direction. I squinted against the blasts of cold air and hunched down deeper into my bomber jacket. I took my hands out of my pockets long enough to adjust the scarf over my nose and face. Mel was right about this coat. And gloves. I’ve got to find my gloves.
My warm breath pooled against the woolen scarf my mom knitted for me a few years back. I’ll never tease her about her knitting again, assuming I live long enough to keep my promise. If I die tonight, Mom, I’m sorry I never appreciated your knitting. I hunched over, plunged into the west wind, and scuffled my way through the snow. Already it was a good six inches deep in some spots.
The Inn stood on the corner of Gloucester and Rivermanse Lane, so if I walked in the same direction for another few feet, I’d reach the road that led up the hill to Emma River’s house.
Except there was no road. A smooth covering of snow had settled over the gravel lane like a layer of white icing atop a cake. I hated to disturb its perfection by tromping through it, but there was no other way short of skirting the road altogether and scrambling through the trees and shrubs that separated our property from hers. And that wasn’t going to happen. “Forgive me, Lord, for ruining Your work of art.”
I turned right and headed north. Rivermanse wasn’t that far away, just an eighth of a mile, but up a steep hill. I didn’t want to think about clamoring up that winding, snow-covered slope in the dark, in a blizzard, no less, but I jammed my hands deeper into my pockets and plunged ahead.
Fifteen minutes later, out of breath and colder than a side of beef, I stood on the front porch of Rivermanse. I pounded on the door then stomped the snow from my shoes and brushed off my pants. I couldn’t feel my feet let alone my legs or my behind. For all practical purposes, they weren’t even there. I wondered how long a human being can walk on legs he can’t feel.
I looked behind me as I pounded on the door again. The storm was worsening, and the snowdrifts were nearly a foot deep in the long driveway that snaked its way up here. My tracks were nearly gone. Good thing I was a Boy Scout, I thought, or I’d never find my way back again. The wind whistled around my ears and down my neck, despite Mom’s scarf. What was I thinking, leaving the house without a hat—or gloves—in this kind of weather? I deserved the frostbite I imagined burrowing into my tender ears and frozen fingers. I took my hands out of my pockets long enough to bang on the door again. Where was that woman? I rubbed my freezing ears.
The two streetlights in town did little to cast any light into the shadowy recesses of the dark porch. None, in fact. Some light from the inside spilled out to the porch, though, and I could tell the house had seen far better days. It must have been a beauty when it was new. I rang the doorbell, but the wind was howling so loud I couldn’t tell if it rang or not. Perhaps it, too, had given way to the ravages of time.
A vicious gust sailed across the porch, swirled around my ankles, then climbed upward to my head. I pounded the wooden door as hard as I could to be heard over the storm. I was probably scaring the poor woman to death, but I had little choice. I put my ear against the door for any sound of life on the other side and then pounded again. Pound, listen. Pound, listen. Nothing.
I stepped back and looked both ways down the long porch that ran the length of the house. It’s an imposing two-story home; four square pillars line up across the front porch. Mel commented on it often, speculating on the beauty it holds inside. At this rate, we’d never know.
Overgrown shrubbery, laden with snow that threatened to mow it flat, spilled over from the front of the house onto the pine floorboards of the porch. Two floor-to-ceiling six-over-nine paned windows flanked the slightly arched front door, all topped with colonial wooden cornices. I couldn’t see them from my vantage point that night, but I’d noticed three of the same style windows on the second floor. Raised panel shutters, complete with cast iron shutter dogs, stood on either side of each window. With some loving care and a lot of hard work, this place could be a showpiece again.
I was just about to look for another entrance—perhaps a side door closer to her living quarters—when I heard the doorknob rattle. “Okay,” I said to nobody in particular, “don’t scare her. She might be leery of strangers, especially at this time of night. Poor little old lady.” I cleared my throat, eager to introduce myself—the knight in snow-covered armor.
The door whipped open and a thin woman with a broom in her hand looked me right in the eye and shrieked, “No!”
Slam. The door shut in my face before I could open my mouth. Did I imagine that? So much for the poor little old lady. I knocked again.
“I said no!” she hollered. “I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling or promoting or giving away. Now go! Get out of h
ere!” Something smacked against the other side of the door. No doubt the broom.
I shouted to be heard over the wind. “Ma’am, it’s Hugh Foster. We’re neighbors. My wife and I live down at the Inn. I came to see if you’re all right. This is a nasty storm we’re having.” I tucked my hands under my arms and hopped from one foot to the other. “Are you all right in there?”
“I’m fine, and I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she said, still shrieking. Considering the howling wind, her advanced age, and the thick wooden doors that stood between us, I was impressed with her lung power.
“Ma’am, I can’t leave you here all alone without at least checking things out. How’s your heat? Are you warm enough? Do you have food? Have you lost power?” If she didn’t open that door pretty darned soon, I was going to lose my voice, let alone a couple of ears and some fingers.
The door whipped open. Pretty quick on the draw for an older lady.
“Of course I have food, young man. What do you take me for? And I’m perfectly fine. Now go away.”
She glared at me. Her white hair was pulled back in a bun, but wisps of it had come loose and flew around in the wind. She looked like that broomstick-riding witch—the one with the green nose and the pointed black hat— that flew across the harvest moon in those Halloween decorations we had in my third grade classroom. She shook her broom at me. I wasn’t sure if she planned to smack me with it or fly off into the storm.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get going. You’re letting snow into my foyer,” she said. She reached for the door, and I sensed I was going to see the front of it again pretty soon.
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 3
