Still, the long soak in a bubble-filled tub, listening to seventies hits she usually got too much criticism over, and reading a book she’d been meaning to get through for months, had not been enough to rid her of the headache. Or the dread.
David Cole Marks mistakenly assumed it was his job to insinuate himself into the lives of the pathetic divorced woman and her four equally pathetic and father-deprived children. Anyone in his or her right mind knew that all Marks’s meant-to-be stuff and seeing signs was crap. Just because she’d received one of life’s hardest blows the only time she’d begrudgingly allowed him into her home, just because he’d witnessed her closer to falling apart than coping famously, did not mean they had any need of him. All it meant was one instance of bad timing.
She ought to know. Her life was filled with them.
Like now.
Dropping the note she’d been holding, the one she’d found taped to her office door as she’d come in moments before, Martha couldn’t imagine a worse time for Katie to throw up and her mother, Bonnie, to be in Washington, D.C., introducing her highly successful concept of child-adult day care for possible national funding. Because of that; Katie’s father, Keith, Martha’s boss and partner in the production of MUTV’s Sunday morning spiritual hour project, had left her in the lurch.
With her oversize black leather tote bag still hung over her shoulder, she slumped down in her seat, staring at Keith’s hurried scrawl on the sticky note.
Wasn’t it just like a man to dump her when she needed him most?
Damn him.
Not that Keith had any idea how much she was dreading this morning’s meeting.
Still, he was a man. And he was dumping her.
Or sort of dumping her. Letting her down. Leaving her to deal with life’s challenges all alone… Okay, she was being a bit self-indulgent here and feeling sorry for herself, but—
“Would a doughnut help?”
Cindy, the short, stocky and perennially cheerful student who was handling the daily computer entries to keep MUTV’s live bulletin board up to date, poked her head into Martha’s tiny office.
“Probably, but I didn’t bring any today. It took me half an hour to get Tim out of bed and another twenty to bully him into opening his eyes and getting dressed.”
“Keith brought some when he stopped by to say he wouldn’t be in.”
“What kind?” Martha didn’t eat doughnuts. She bought them several times a month for everyone else to enjoy, but she hadn’t actually consumed one herself since she’d managed to lose her husband to a woman who didn’t have hips widened by four pregnancies in quick succession.
“Krispy Kreme.”
The freshly made, trademarked confections were delivered from Phoenix to the Valley Diner seven days a week.
“What kind of guy brings doughnuts to work when he isn’t even going to be here to eat them?” she mumbled. Since she’d come to work for Keith Nielson, who was not only her boss, but her friend, he’d been making it difficult for her to maintain her staunch hatred of the male species.
“One who’s feeling guilty?” Cindy suggested, grinning. Martha hadn’t realized she’d mumbled out loud.
“I’ll pass on the doughnut,” she said, thinking of her meeting ahead. “But a cup of coffee would sure be welcome.”
“Got it.” Cindy grinned again and was off.
Of course, bigger hips might discourage preachers, which was a good thing—but the navy slacks and jacket she’d donned that morning looked better when they weren’t bulging at the seams.
Okay, she could do this. She was not going to allow herself to be that weak, to pick up the phone and cancel the meeting. It wasn’t a big deal. And it wouldn’t be a replay of that day almost a year ago when she and Keith had walked into Pastor Edwards’s office for this very same meeting and found him and the beautiful Mrs. Emily Baker making out like randy teenagers. And if she did find David Marks emulating his predecessor, feeling up one of his parishioners, all the better. Then he’d have to leave town.
And no one but Martha and her kids would know that Todd was going to be a father again.
Without her.
No one would know that her four babies hadn’t been enough.
“YOU’RE NUTS, you know that?” Martha laughed. And then stopped, startled, when she heard herself. She hardly ever laughed anymore. Unless she was with Keith, who tried to make her see the lighter side of things.
But not here, not with David Marks, in the chapel at Shelter Valley Community Church. That hallowed room was made for feeling intimidated, reverent, slightly guilty. For listening to sermons. Writing grocery lists. And, as it turned out, for taping a church program.
“I know you’re trying really hard to think so,” the minister challenged with an easy grin. They’d been there an hour, planned almost the entire segment of the show, and he still hadn’t mentioned that afternoon eight days ago when Todd had called with his hideous announcement.
The Moore household had been subdued ever since. But Marks didn’t have even a hint of pity in his eyes when he looked at Martha. Instead there was a genuine warmth, as though he was enjoying their conversation. There was something else, too. Peace, maybe? A kind of empathy unlike any Martha had ever known.
“No one makes contracts to suffer awful things and die,” she said, certain about this at least. “No way is anyone going to believe that we all chose our fates before we were born.”
This was only one of four similar arguments they’d had over the past hour. And while she might’ve had to concede victory on the last three, Martha knew this one she was going to win. Sliding her notebook back into the black satchel, she hooked the strap over her shoulder.
They’d had a good interview. The show would probably be the most interesting they’d had during almost a year of airing the Sunday morning spiritual hour. Open to all kinds of religious groups, the show had featured a variety of segments, but none that were so down to earth and accessible. She was ready to go back to school and pass on her notes to the camera operator, who’d be doing the actual filming at her direction.
“I never said our fates are decided,” he said, leaning back with his feet up and resting on the pew, “only that throughout our lives, our souls choose the circumstances that best allow us to progress. The most important characteristic human beings have is free will.”
With a picture in her mind of some gauzy white clouds inhabited by little blobs arbitrarily choosing to get diseases or have fatal car accidents or be left alone by husbands who preferred sweet young things over years of loyalty and loving, she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees as she glanced sideways at him. Martha opened her mouth to speak. And then changed her mind, several times, about what to say.
“YOU’RE TOO ODD FOR words.”
It probably hadn’t been the best choice. Certainly not the most professional remark she could’ve made. It was the best she could do.
Hands folded across the waist of his light-blue, buttoned shirt, David said, “You think it’s odd to have found a way to live a happy and peaceful life?”
“You’re telling me you’re happy?”
“Yes.” His eyes didn’t waver. Martha had a split-second’s wish that they were rolling the camera right now. She wanted this on tape.
“So you like living alone?”
“I’m not alone.”
“Oh, yeah, you have your angels flying around all the time.”
She felt a tiny bit bad for the sarcasm in her voice, but sometimes this guy was just too hard to take. Martha knew all about faith and hope. She’d had plenty, once upon a time. And then she’d found out the meaning of “things unseen.”
“I do have spiritual companionship.” He nodded, his eyes still alight with that warmth.
“But what about family?” she asked. Despite everything she’d suffered in the past few years, she’d do it all again for the chance to have her brood. They were what made her life worth living, not angels and faith and long-forgott
en decisions.
“My parishioners are my family,” he told her. “I consider myself one of the luckiest guys around. Where most men have only one family, I get a hundred of them.”
“Sounds like a hell of a lot of work,” Martha muttered. And then, as usual, stole a red-faced glance upward, apologizing for her irreverence.
“It’s a lot of home-cooked meals,” he countered.
His calm assurance and good-natured response irritated her. And what irritated her even more was that she wasn’t proud of her original reaction. Was she so shallow that she begrudged someone inner peace simply because she hadn’t found it herself?
Or was it more than that? An intolerance for anything but complete honesty? An inability to accept pretty words that covered up the darker side of life?
Or was her irritation self-directed because she used to be naive enough to believe in those pretty words?
“So you can honestly tell me you’ve never longed for a wife of your own?” she asked him. “Never held a baby and wanted one with your own blood running through its veins?”
The question was far too personal. But her need to challenge him was too compelling to stop.
He didn’t move, didn’t drop his legs from their casual position. But his answer was longer in coming. And his knuckles, on hands that had been loosely clasped, were white.
“Never.”
Liar.
“So you like being alone in that house out back every night? You like waking up to the silence every morning?”
What in the hell was the matter with her?
“I didn’t say that.”
The words were so soft they carried their own peculiar kind of power. It resonated through her.
“But you don’t want a wife or family,” she said with equal softness.
He sat forward, elbows on his knees, staring downward. “No, I don’t.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To serve the people in my care. To teach them how to find the peace and happiness they all crave.” He paused, turned to look at her. “To be allowed to live my life in the way I choose—alone—without having to justify that decision to those who can’t understand.”
He was hiding something.
“Then I guess you should’ve chosen a different profession,” Martha replied. “You can’t set yourself up as the authority on morality and moral decisions and just expect the people around you to accept the validity of your pronouncements. Especially not here.”
Not anymore. There’d been a day when the members of Shelter Valley Community Church had been filled with trust. But no more.
“In the first place, I’ve never set myself up as an authority on anything,” David said, sitting up to face her. “However, I do realize that I’m in a position to be an example to those around me, and I will not do anything to jeopardize that. Period. You have my word on it.”
He wasn’t talking about his parishioners anymore. He was talking straight to her.
Unfortunately, his message was one she simply couldn’t believe.
CHAPTER THREE
THE PRODUCTION of Pastor David Marks’s portion of the MUTV Sunday morning spiritual hour took only three meetings—the initial consultation and then two other sessions over the next couple of weeks. One to film, and one to preview and approve the edited version. Disappointed when taping was wrapped up so proficiently, David waited around MUTV the second Monday in February, after the final viewing while Martha gave wrap-up instructions to her predominantly student crew.
He’d really been hoping for an excuse to spend a little more time with her. With luck, they might’ve been able to become friends. He might even have been able to offer her some guidance, or at least reassurance. Whatever instincts prompted him in his work prompted him strongly where she was concerned. The woman was asking too much of herself. Expecting too much.
And helping people was how he filled his calendar.
“You’re very good at what you do,” he said as the last of the students left and she led him to her small office off to one side of the surprisingly modern studio.
She shrugged, her shoulders slim and feminine in the white oxford blouse she had tucked into a pair of black cotton slacks. “I’ve got great kids working for me,” she replied easily. “Enthusiastic, smart, eager to learn. They love what they do.”
“So do you.”
She turned, met his gaze for a brief second longer than the last time he’d been able to catch her attention. “Yeah, I do.” Then she added, “You do, too, don’t you?”
“More than I’d ever imagined.”
It was the truth. His job had given him a life. One that was solid and meaningful.
“Well…” she dropped a clipboard on the desk, then faced him, her arms crossed. “It’s been good working with you, Pastor.”
“David.”
She looked down, her short, flyaway hair tempting him to forget that the part of him that might think running his fingers through a woman’s hair was long since dead and buried.
“I prefer Pastor,” she finally said quietly.
“Ellen’s come to see me a couple of times.” He hadn’t been planning to tell her.
“She has?” He wasn’t sure which was more dominant in the expression she turned on him, her surprise or her concern.
He nodded. “She just needed someone to talk to.”
“She’s always talked to me!”
“She didn’t want to hurt you.”
The light of understanding entered her eyes at about the same moment her features settled into despondency. “She’s upset about Todd. The new baby.”
“And you. She doesn’t understand why a woman as loving and giving and wonderful as you should be hurt so much.”
“I got over Todd Moore years ago.” Her eyes might have moistened slightly, but it was the trembling of her chin that told David how much she was holding back.
“Did you?” He didn’t think so.
“Yes. Of course. Kind of hard for a woman to pine for a man who’d leave her with four children to raise while he ran off to be a kid himself.”
“So why are you squeezing the heck out of your arms? What emotion are you hiding?” he asked, glancing pointedly toward hands that had been lying slack only seconds before.
“You’re very observant.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
With a small grin, she peered back at him.
Given time, he hoped to reach this woman.
Maybe even help bring some peace to her life.
“It’s just good to hear that my kid thinks so highly of me,” she said. “I worry how unfair all of this has been to Ellen. She’s taken on a lot with the younger kids, especially since she got her driver’s license.”
“Life isn’t fair.” It was one of the first lessons he’d had to learn.
Martha frowned. “That’s an odd thing for a preacher to say.”
“Why?” he asked, serious and intent. “It’s the truth.” She turned her head, not looking at him. He was losing her. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “you already know I’m odd. You told me so. A couple of weeks ago. In my own chapel. It’s one of those moments that stand out.”
She smiled and he breathed a little easier. “Give it up, Preacher,” she said lightly. “You aren’t going to send me on a guilt trip over that one.”
She had him all wrong. Sending her on a guilt trip was the last thing on his agenda.
But it probably wasn’t a bad idea to keep her guessing. At least he had her attention.
Now he just had to find a reason for them to spend more time together.
ELLEN WASN’T HAVING the best day. Thursday night, less than a week after the most perfect Valentine’s Day she’d ever imagined, she’d gone and fought with Aaron over something stupid. He’d agreed to partner with Karen Anderson for his biology project, and Ellen had been furious—even though she knew that Karen had won first prize in a state college science competition the year befor
e and was the perfect partner for a young man who hoped to graduate summa cum laude. Never mind that she—Ellen, his girlfriend—had equally high marks. However, she was majoring in English, not sciences.
Clocking out in the back room at Wal-Mart, she grabbed her sweater and purse from her locker, said goodbye to the mentally challenged man who did nighttime janitorial work, and hurried out to her car, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The customers had been unusually cantankerous that evening and she didn’t feel like talking.
Aaron had accused her of not trusting him. And she didn’t blame him. She’d overreacted.
And she did trust him. It was just men in general that she had trouble believing in. She hadn’t told him about her father’s last phone call—the new baby on the way. Nor about the nights following that call when she’d heard her mother crying in her room after she thought they were all asleep. Ellen hadn’t known what to do, what she could possibly say that could ease her mother’s pain. In the end, she’d cried, too.
Sometimes life sucked.
Her car wouldn’t start. Ellen turned the key a third time, pumping the gas pedal, but nothing happened. And she knew why. She’d just used the last of her gas to flood the tank. The gauge had been on Empty when she’d driven to work, but she’d been running late—because of fighting with Aaron—and had decided to fuel up on the way home.
She should’ve done it after she left college that afternoon, before picking up her sisters and brother from school. There was a station right around the corner from the university.
Head on the steering wheel, she promised herself she wouldn’t cry. She’d never run out of gas before. Wasn’t sure what she should do.
Except not call her mother. There was no way she was going to add more problems to her mom’s already overflowing plate. The gas station was too far to walk. And she couldn’t call Aaron. Not after she’d stomped off the way she had.
This was her problem. She’d gotten herself into it. She’d get herself out of it.
Filled with resolve, feeling better, stronger, more in control, she climbed out of the car and headed for the highway off-ramp just beyond the Wal-Mart parking lot. She’d noticed a girl hitchhiking out there once before, and she’d been picked up almost immediately by a car coming off the highway and heading toward town. Not that it surprised her. That was how things were in Shelter Valley, where there was always someone nice willing to help out.
Nothing Sacred Page 3
