by J B Hawker
Having Naidenne join the household was all good from Rosamund’s perspective. The two were becoming close friends, more like real sisters than sisters-in-law.
Adjusting to sharing the upstairs bathroom was a bit tricky, at first, but mutually accommodating routines were quickly established. Having a downstairs powder room off the spare bedroom eased any traffic issues.
Lately, Len was urging Rosamund to consider moving out of the parsonage to live with him. He’d made it very clear he wanted to marry her.
The two had known each other for almost two years and had been spending much of their time together for many months. Rosamund was certain she loved him, yet she kept dragging her feet about becoming engaged.
She was not usually a superstitious woman. Superstition didn’t fit very comfortably with her faith. Still, she couldn’t shake the fear that saying yes to Len would doom him, somehow.
The only other man she’d ever loved was killed in action in Vietnam, mere weeks after they became formally engaged. His death devastated Rosamund. She was afraid to suffer another such a loss. Illogically, she couldn’t help feeling the engagement had put some sort of hex on the poor man.
Though recognizing her fear was irrational, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to become engaged, again. She loved Len too much to risk it.
The past few times they were together, Len subtly indicated he was growing impatient with her.
If she couldn’t get over her silly phobia, she risked losing him.
And now, on top of everything, Maureen Oldham was back. Drat and blast the wretched woman to heck, anyway.
Down the hall, Scott and Naidenne were also wondering about Len and Rosamund.
Naidenne sat on the bed drying her hair with a fluffy towel. Her voice was muffled by the thick terrycloth folds.
“I know Rose cares for Len. I’ve seen the way her eyes light up when she speaks his name.”
“Well, he’s not the one delaying things. He asked for my blessing more than six months ago,” Scott responded from his side of the bed, where he was propped up against pillows reviewing his Bible study notes.
“Do you think it’s because she’s afraid of the, um, physical side of marriage?” Naidenne asked.
Scott let out a guffaw, and then continued, chuckling.
“Is that side of things so scary, then?”
“Not to me! But, Rosamund has never had any experience and she’s been single for a long time.”
“Experienced, or not, I don’t think my sister is afraid of anything. No, if she’s keeping Len at arm’s length there must be another reason. Maybe she just likes things the way they are.”
“I doubt it. Not that I think she’s unhappy living here with us. It’s just that almost any woman wants a home of her own.”
Naidenne was gingerly pulling a wide-toothed comb through her tangles.
“Come over here and let me detangle that adorable strawberry-blond mop for you.”
Naidenne walked around to Scott’s side of the bed, knelt on the floor beside him and handed him the comb.
“You know, whatever Rosie is thinking or planning regarding Len is really her business. We just need to let her get on with it and support her whenever she needs it,” Scott said, as he tenderly detangled his wife’s damp hair.
“I know. It’s just that I can tell she’s been a bit down, lately. I wish I could help.”
“You do help. A lot. I think she was a little lonely before you came into our lives, my love. Having you here has been a blessing for her…and for me too, of course. There, all smooth.”
He ran his hands through his wife’s shiny hair.
“Thank you, darling,” Naidenne said.
Getting to her feet, she hung the damp towel on a drying rack behind the door, slipped out of her robe and into bed.
“Do you have much studying to do tonight, Scott?” she asked, sliding her hand along his thigh beneath the covers.
“Not anymore,” he replied, laying the book on the nightstand and turning out the lamp.
“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow…”
*
Rosamund stepped onto the front porch as the sun nosed over the mountains behind the parsonage. Turning to look down toward the ocean, she could see the fog was already retreating from the shoreline.
“It’s going to be another beautiful day. Thank you, Lord.”
Walking carefully in her bedroom slippers onto the still-damp grass, she picked up the morning paper and went back inside the house, scanning the headlines as she went.
Naidenne was fixing the coffee as Scott trotted down the stairs.
“Morning, Rosie,” he greeted his sister. “Anything interesting in that thing?”
He continued into the kitchen without waiting for a reply and kissed Naidenne.
“Good morning, Sunshine. How’s the light of my life?”
Naidenne smiled and stroked his jaw.
“How would you like your eggs this morning?”
“Just coffee today. I have an early breakfast meeting with the trustees. Something about necessary repairs on the church roof. Those guys love to have breakfast meetings. I think they conjure up issues just for an excuse to eat breakfast out. Some of their wives have gone overboard on the low-fat, high-fiber, no-flavor kick.”
“Roof repairs sound serious, though, and expensive.”
“We’ll see. I’ll call you from the office, later, and tell you how it went. What’s got your attention in that paper, Rosie?
“Have you heard anything about this during your chaplaincy duties, Scott?”
“About what?”
“It says here, there have been a series of burglaries in the county just south of us. Mostly empty vacation cabins and a few homes ransacked when the people were out,” Rosamund replied.
“One of the deputies mentioned a memo going around about being more alert for prowlers, but there haven’t been any break-ins here in town. I’m sure you don’t need to worry, Sis.”
“I certainly hope not. I just don’t know what this world is coming to,” she replied. “No one is safe, anywhere. One day everything is wonderful, and you are making plans for a bright future and then in a twinkling it can all disappear.”
Naidenne and Scott exchanged worried glances, while Rosamund poured a cup of coffee and took it out onto the front porch.
“Oh dear…” Naidenne began.
“We can talk about my sister later, hon. I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late. She’s probably just moody, anyway. Maybe it’s hormones,” Scott said, before kissing his wife and leaving.
Chapter Three
When Scott entered the coffee shop shortly after seven o’clock, the four trustees were already seated at a table with half-empty cups of coffee in front of them.
“About time you got here, Pastor, the day’s about gone,” red-faced Orville Locke greeted him.
He pulled a bandana from his unbuttoned and overstuffed overalls and mopped his shiny head, already beaded with perspiration.
Scott feared for Locke’s health. Orville always looked on the verge of a stroke and the half-eaten doughnut on the table next to his coffee wasn’t going to help.
“These youngsters like to lie in bed half the day,” Josiah Watkins added in his raspy voice.
Watkins was the oldest active member of the congregation. A small, dried-up twig of a man whose attitudes were firmly planted in the early twentieth century, he still managed to exert a major influence on the business of the church.
“Ah, cut him some slack, you two,” Bill Odem said.
“The man’s still practically a newlywed,” he went on, “I wouldn’t want to crawl out from under the covers, either, if my Effie looked like Mrs. Davidson,” he added while wiggling his eyebrows and drawing an hourglass shape with his hands.
Bill thought of himself as a funny man, patterning his repartee after 1960’s insult comic, Don Rickles, whom he, unfortunately, resembled.
Scott smiled thinly at the others
as he sat down.
Bill signaled the waitress and she approached with a coffee pot at the ready to pour refills.
“You gentlemen ready to order? …and I use the word ‘gentlemen’ ironically, just so’s you know,” she added. “Except you, of course, Pastor.”
“What’ll you have, Padre? Did you work up an appetite this morning?” Bill said with a broad wink, looking around to be certain no one missed his innuendo.
“I’d like a scrambled egg and whole wheat toast, Gladys,” Scott answered the waitress, ignoring Bill’s comment. He feared Odem was slipping into some sort of raunchy second adolescence.
“So, what’s on the agenda for this morning?” Scott asked Orville, the senior trustee, as the others gave Gladys their orders.
“Roof leaks,” Josiah interrupted.
“We noticed a big wet patch on the ceiling of the choir’s dressing room. Looks like the water’s running along the rafters from that flat section near the steeple,” Orville explained.
“Probably need a whole new roof,” Josiah predicted.
“So, with the budget crisis going on, we wondered what you could offer us to help out, Pastor,” Bill said.
“Have you gotten quotes on the necessary repairs? Just what are we looking at?” Scott asked.
“Well, no actual quotes, you might say, but my brother-on-law got a new roof put on his house a few years ago and it was a huge expense, thousands and thousands, and that was a simple house, none of these weird angles like we’ve got on the church,” Orville said.
“We gotta cut expenses somewhere, or we’ll never pay for it,” Bill insisted.
“We’re thinking, since your pretty wife works and you got two incomes, now, we could cut back on your salary to cover the roof expenses, just until it’s paid for, of course.”
“Hold on a minute. I’m not ready to even consider something like that, until we have firm figures from a few roofing contractors. All we know for certain is we have a leak. Until a professional takes a look at the roof, we can’t tell what sort of repairs are needed, let alone their cost,” Scott told the men.
Their breakfasts arrived as Scott spoke.
The trustees exchanged looks and began to concentrate on the food.
Scott couldn’t get a single bite past his rising anger. He took a sip of coffee, pushed his plate away and grabbed his check.
“I’ve got to make a run by the hospital before heading to the church office, so I’ll be going now. When you get some quotes on the roof, we can discuss it again.”
He made his way stiffly to the cashier, keeping a tight rein on his anger, until he was safely in his car.
“Damn and blast those men!” he cursed, slamming the steering wheel with his fist.
Taking a few deep breaths, he regained his composure and began to share his feelings with the Lord. As soon as he felt calm enough, Scott started the car and drove away.
It was people like his trustees who made too many good ministers decide to leave the pastorate, Scott thought. He had run up against these men, and others like them, throughout his ministry, yet somehow always managed to keep his perspective.
It was different now. He wanted to protect Naidenne from the more challenging aspects of ministry life for as long as possible.
She’d had some unfortunate experiences with churches and church leaders when she was growing up and only came back to God shortly before Scott met her. A tussle with the trustees over his salary could undermine her newly reborn faith in the church as an institution and, possibly, even her faith in God.
After driving by the hospital to avoid having lied to the trustees, he pulled into the church parking lot and parked in his reserved space with the hand painted “Reserved for Pasor” sign.
This was a fairly recent amenity, an anniversary gift from the church, in lieu of a raise. There was seldom a problem finding parking at the church, but he appreciated the gesture, even with the misspelling.
Once in his office, Scott answered his phone and email messages, looked through his sermon notes and tried to put the breakfast meeting out of his mind.
Shortly before nine, he remembered his promise to call his wife.
This was one of her workdays, so he called the property management office.
“Naidenne Grinager Properties, Naidenne speaking,” she answered.
“Don’t you mean, Naidenne Davidson?” Scott teased.
“Oh, hi darling! How did it go with the trustees?”
“Fine. They just wanted to get my input on some roof repairs. They are going to get some quotes to bring to the full board before we decide how to proceed.”
“A few weeks ago, after a particularly heavy rain, I noticed a leak in the choir robing room. I suppose that’s what they were talking about.”
“Yes. We don’t know if it will be a major repair or not, until professionals look at it. But the trustees are a pessimistic bunch, never happy unless they’ve got a crisis,” Scott said.
“It probably makes them feel important, now they are all retired. You know how men are,” Naidenne teased.
“Of course. But I am not retired, so I need to get back to all my very important work and I’ll let you get on with yours. I love you.”
“You too. See you at lunch?”
“It’s the Lunch Bunch today, so I won’t be home.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten! I didn’t make your sack lunch this morning,” Naidenne moaned.
“No worries. I’ll grab something from the Crab Shack. See you this evening, my love.”
After Naidenne put down the phone she finished some escrow papers she’d been working on.
She was coming into the office only part-time since marrying Scott and had given up the property management side of her business. She limited herself to real estate sales in order to have time to fulfill her duties as a pastor’s wife.
Naidenne wanted to help her husband in every possible way.
A single businesswoman well into her thirties, she’d supposed she would never marry before meeting Scott.
Growing up, from grade school on, Naidenne was always the tallest girl in every class and usually the tallest student, too, until the boys got their growth spurts in the last years of high school.
Being so tall was awkward for the shy girl and she hadn’t dated much.
Naidenne was grateful her mother always insisted on good posture, never letting Naidenne get away with slouching to try to seem smaller. It was one of the few blessings she’d received from her mother.
Until fairly recently Naidenne never even bothered to play up her best features, opting instead to be as inconspicuously appropriate as possible, by sticking to a bland uniform of dark suits and white shirts.
She’d spent years struggling to tame her riotous reddish curls, always pulling her hair back into a rather messy knot.
One day a friend suggested to Naidenne that, if she tried a more feminine style, she might have a better chance at an active social life. On a whim, she’d taken this advice to heart and soon caught the eye of the local pastor, who was now her husband.
In the months since, she’d learned how to make the most of her clear skin, willowy long-legged figure and luxurious hair.
Naidenne loved going out with her tall, handsome husband, knowing he was just as proud to be with her. She thanked God every day for bringing Scott into her life.
The little bell over the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of Shirley Griffith, partner in the local crafts boutique the two ran in a section of Naidenne’s office.
“Good morning! Isn’t it a beautiful day, Naidenne?”
“Hi, what’s up?”
“I’ve got a couple of boxes of crafts out in the car. Can you give me a hand?”
The two women went out to Shirley’s car and soon returned, each carrying a large cardboard box.
“What’s in this one, a chainsaw sculpture? And the chainsaw?” Naidenne asked. “It’s sure heavy.”
“Close, but no chainsaws. These
are a couple of metal sculptures Maizey Simmon’s late husband created. They’ve been sitting in her garage for years. I was finally able to talk her into trying to sell them on consignment. They are actually pretty good.”
“Hey, they really are,” Naidenne said when she had the pieces unwrapped. “How did you convince her to let them go?”
Admiring the intricate wire dolphin and a stylized cougar made from cut and welded metal scraps, Shirley responded, “I told her about the new dishwasher I just bought with my own craft sales income. She hadn’t realized there was a market for this sort of local artwork.”
“The increased tourist traffic has certainly helped our business. I noticed we’ve been getting more arts and crafts shoppers than people looking for real estate.”
“Do you miss the property management income? I know it got you through the housing slump.”
“It sure did. But, no, we are managing fine on Scott’s salary. My occasional real estate commissions go into the retirement fund, mostly.”
“Sometimes I wish our church was affiliated with a major denomination, so we could offer our pastor a decent retirement pension.”
“That’s a kind thought, Shirley. I’m sure we will be fine, though. God will provide, after all.”
“Oh, He gives us what we need, and what he knows is good for us, but that’s not always what we’d rather have. I don’t like to see a pastor left penniless in retirement, without even a home of his own or the money to buy one.”
Feeling a little uncomfortable talking about their finances with a member of her husband’s congregation, Naidenne changed the subject.
“Where do you think we should display this new art? What sort of price is Maizey asking?”
“That was really funny. When I asked her, she was torn between paying us to haul it away as junk and putting a sentimental price on it, way above what it might bring. Finally, I suggested a couple of numbers and she picked one she could live with.”
“I hope they sell quickly. Does she have more of her husband’s art?”
