by Carol Cox
“You did what you had to do,” he reminded her. “And surely it was better for Brenna to have you along rather than for Skip to show up at her door alone.”
“Maybe,” Kate conceded. “But it certainly can’t help her to see that kind of altercation between her mother and the pastor’s wife.” She told him what she overheard Lisa saying to Brenna.
Sadness shone in Paul’s eyes. “I wonder what happened to destroy her trust in Christians.”
“I don’t know,” Kate said, “but the bitterness I saw in her eyes tells me she’s been deeply wounded somehow.”
They walked along the fence line of a grassy pasture. A pair of horses whinnied and came over to them. One pushed his head over the top strand of fence wire and looked at Kate hopefully.
She stopped long enough to rub the bay’s velvety nose, and the horse nuzzled against her hand.
“Sorry,” she told him. “I don’t have anything for you today. Maybe next time I’ll remember to tuck a carrot in my pocket.”
The other horse was more standoffish, hanging back and watching with a wary expression.
Like Lisa’s. The thought brought Kate back to the topic at hand.
She linked her fingers in Paul’s again, and they walked on in silence for a few minutes before she said, “So, how do I fix what I did? Any ideas?”
“Not yet.” He sighed. “We’ll just have to try to befriend her and show her God’s love.”
Kate gave a short laugh. “I have a feeling that Lisa didn’t take my actions today as very friendly.”
“Maybe it’s not for us to break down that barrier. Maybe we just need to ask God to raise up the right person to connect with Lisa and form a friendship that can get her past whatever’s eating away at her.”
Kate looked at Paul. “That doesn’t mean we stop trying, though.”
“Of course not. But we need to make sure we let God do it in his own way and his own time.”
When they reached the far end of the pasture, they turned and began retracing their steps. Kate was glad she had prepared the filling for the chicken-pecan croissant sandwiches before they set off on their walk. After they got home, supper would take only a few minutes to put together so Paul could eat before he left for the men’s prayer meeting.
“I know you’ll have to eat and run,” Kate said. “Could we pray about this as soon as you get home tonight?”
Paul smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “There’s nothing to stop us from praying while we walk. Why don’t we do it right now?”
So they did. As they prayed, Kate’s heart swelled with gratitude. No matter what the problem, she could always count on Paul’s love and support—and godly example.
I am so blessed, she told herself as she squeezed Paul’s hand.
Chapter Ten
Paul surveyed the bookshelf in his church office. He’d just had that book of quotations out the other day; where had he put it? He ran his finger along the titles on the top shelf, then the second, past commentaries and volumes on counseling.
Ah, there it was! He smiled and slid the thick book from its place. He had found the perfect quotation to use in the following day’s sermon, but he’d neglected to write it down.
He hefted the volume in his hand, flipped it open to the required quote, then began copying it onto a notepad.
“Pastor, are you in here?”
Paul drew up, startled by the unexpected voice. He ducked his head for a quick look out the window and saw Daniel Newcomb’s gray Blazer parked next to his Chevy pickup.
Paul stepped into the outer office and held his hand out to the younger man. “Daniel, good to see you! How have you been? Have you found that new job yet?”
Daniel shoved his hands into his front pockets. “No, not yet. I’ve been lookin’, though. Actually, that’s why I stopped by. You said you might want me to come back and take a whack at that kudzu.”
“Sure, that would be great.” Paul took in the man’s appearance with a quick glance. Daniel’s jeans didn’t look any less tattered than they had during his previous visit. In fact, Paul wasn’t sure they weren’t the same pair. His T-shirt was a faded red this time, and light-blond stubble showed on his cheeks and chin. Paul wondered whether he’d eaten a square meal since their earlier conversation.
“I’m glad you caught me,” he said, walking back to his desk to retrieve the key to the shed. “We’ll find the tools you need and get you started.” He headed toward the outer door, expecting Daniel to follow, but the younger man didn’t move.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Paul turned back and leaned against Millie’s desk, careful not to disturb the stack of papers in one corner. The finicky secretary would have his hide if she saw anything out of order when she came to work on Monday. Sometimes he wondered if she realized who was the employer and who was the employee.
He looked at Daniel. “What would you like to know?”
“The other day you said you thought I seemed like a hard worker.”
Daniel dropped his gaze and shifted from one foot to the other, then looked back up at Paul. “Did you mean that? Do you really think I can get my act together and turn my life around?”
“Yes, I meant it. You strike me as a young man with plenty of potential, but you have to make the right choices and stick by them.”
Daniel’s forehead crinkled. “What kind of choices are you talking about?”
Paul pursed his lips, then waved toward his office. “Why don’t we talk in here?”
He motioned for the young man to take a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs, then he pulled another chair over so he and Daniel could sit face-to-face without the desk creating a barrier between them.
Daniel parked himself on the edge of the chair. “You looked like you were gettin’ ready to leave. I don’t want to take up your whole Saturday morning.”
“That’s not a problem. My wife is at a meeting. I’m going to finish up my sermon for tomorrow, but that’s all I have planned until she gets home.”
Paul rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. “So, let’s talk about choices. Every morning when you wake up, you have to recognize that you have the choice to go to work, do the job to the best of your ability, and make your employer happy with the way you do it.”
“But that’s what I try to do,” Daniel protested. “Every time I go in thinkin’ I’m gonna do the best job I can, but somehow it never works out that way.”
“Why do your employers get upset with you?”
Daniel scrunched up his face in thought. “I don’t know. I try my best, but my best isn’t good enough. I do what I think they told me to do, and then they tell me I did it wrong. It’s like nobody takes the time to show me how to do it the way they want.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not smart enough for these jobs. Most of the time, I just feel stupid. Maybe my wife’s parents were right all along.”
Paul saw a faint sheen of moisture in the other man’s eyes and knew the conversation had just struck a nerve. He probed a little further, treading carefully. “You don’t get along with your in-laws?”
Daniel blew out a puff of air. “I don’t see them often enough to get along or not, and that’s just fine with me. They told my wife she was makin’ a big mistake marrying me, and I’d never amount to anything.”
He slumped in the chair and hung his head. “Maybe they were right.”
Paul leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Daniel, how do you think God sees you? Do you really think he brought you into this world just to be a failure?”
Daniel shook his head, then nodded, then shrugged. He looked up, and Paul winced at the anguish he saw in the young man’s eyes.
“That’s all they think I am. They told Crystal she married down.”
Paul stared at him. “Down?”
“Beneath herself,” Daniel explained. “Said I wasn’t good enough for her, and someday she�
�d regret pickin’ a loser like me. That’s one reason why I haven’t told her yet that I’ve lost another job.”
Paul sat bolt upright. “She doesn’t know?”
Daniel shook his head, looking utterly miserable. “She knows I’ve been out of sorts lately. Moody, she calls it. But she doesn’t know why. Not yet, anyway. I guess I can’t put off tellin’ her forever.”
“No, you can’t.” Paul ran his fingers through his hair. “How long do you think you can keep something like this from her? I can’t imagine how you’ve managed it this long.”
A haunted expression flittered across Daniel’s face. “I’ve been keepin’ to my usual schedule. She thinks I’ve been going to work like always, but I’ve been knockin’ on doors and fillin’ out applications instead. Sometimes doing little odd jobs to bring in a few dollars, like I did for you the other day. As long as I leave and get home at the regular times, she hasn’t clued in to what’s really going on.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll come into town sometime and see you out pounding the pavement when she thinks you’re at work?”
Daniel gave him a shamefaced grin. “That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about. We’ve only got the one SUV, so Crystal doesn’t come into town on her own. She wouldn’t have many people to visit here even if she did. She spends all her time takin’ care of the kids. They keep her hoppin’ from morning till night.”
His face softened. “She really is something special. I don’t know why she ever took up with a guy like me.”
“I doubt she sees it that way. How long have you been married?”
“Eight years. It took us a while before we had kids. She worked as a checker at Kroger in Memphis until our little boy was born almost four years ago. Then our baby girl came along a couple of years after that, and Crystal’s stayed home takin’ care of them ever since.”
He grinned proudly. “She says she likes bein’ a stay-at-home mom. She’d like to have a whole mess of kids. Sometimes she teases me about havin’ half a dozen or so.”
His grin faded, and he snorted. “I can barely put food on the table for the two we have now. Pretty soon, what little cash I’ve got is going to be used up and gone if things don’t change.”
Moisture filmed his eyes again. “Crystal’s stuck with me all these years and never said a word about me goin’ from job to job. But I’m afraid this may turn out to be the last straw that’ll open her eyes and let her see that her parents were right.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I don’t want to think what would happen if I went home someday and found out she’d packed up and taken the kids back to her mom and dad. It’d just kill me.”
Paul spoke gently but with conviction. “Daniel, God loves you. He doesn’t want you to feel this way about yourself, and he doesn’t want your family to be broken apart either. What we’ve got to do is find out what God does have for you. And you can’t keep on deceiving your wife. You’re going to have to let her know what’s going on. Why don’t we pray now and ask God to show you the job he created you for?”
Daniel sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “You think there really is a job like that?”
“Only God knows. The best thing you can do is to trust him, because he’s the one who made you, and he knows what’s inside you. What I see when I look at you is an honest, hard-working man who needs to discover what his true purpose is.”
Daniel straightened his shoulders, and a light of hope shone in his eyes. “Pastor, if praying works, I’m game.”
“WHY, MRS. HANLON. What a surprise.” Wilbur Dodson blinked when Kate entered the meeting room on the library’s second floor.
Kate let the glass door close behind her and slid into the nearest seat. Velma and Lucy Mae each gave her a curious glance, then looked away.
Wilbur cleared his throat, making a sound like dry leaves rustling in an autumn wind. “I applaud your willingness to be here, even though our meetings are more geared toward club officials rather than...ancillary staff.”
Kate chose not to take the bait. She smiled politely at Wilbur and wiggled her fingers at Lucy Mae.
Wilbur cleared his throat again. Lucy Mae snapped to attention and looked back down at the sheet in front of her.
“Arlo Sanders?”
“Here,” called a beefy, red-faced man.
Lucy Mae marked the sheet.
“Renee Lambert?”
Wilbur turned to Lucy Mae. “I think we must take it as a given that Renee is too preoccupied to join us today.”
Lucy Mae nodded. “Then I’ll just mark it down as”—she ran her finger down the sheet—“seven members present.”
“And one guest.” Wilbur looked at Kate and sighed.
Kate maintained her smile, ignoring the implied reproof in Wilbur’s tone.
The club president stared at her a moment longer, then rapped his knuckles on the table and continued the meeting.
Kate settled back in her chair and watched the proceedings. She had a twofold purpose in attending the meeting that week. One was to learn more about the organization and preparations for the dog show and her part in it.
The other more pressing reason was to take advantage of this opportunity to observe the club members and see if any of them stood out as a likely suspect in Kisses’ disappearance.
Without Bud Barkley to hijack the agenda, Wilbur was able to keep the meeting running along at a steady clip. He seemed much more relaxed and sure of himself than he’d been the week before.
Various members gave reports on motel reservations for the show judges, the delivery of portable restrooms to the show site, and the name of the vet who would be on standby for the duration of the show.
While they talked, Kate watched each one and listened carefully, on the alert for any flicker of expression or slip of the tongue that might be an indicator of guilt. But try as she might, she couldn’t discern anything out of the ordinary.
Following the reports came a prolonged discussion of the most advantageous placement of the bleachers at the event. Then the agenda shifted to the show awards, and Velma volunteered to pick them up from the engraver in Pine Ridge when they were ready.
Wilbur looked at his watch and announced, “Well, I think that about—”
Lucy Mae cleared her throat and said in a low voice, “Check your agenda.”
Wilbur looked down at the sheet in front of him. “Oh yes. Last week the membership promised to discuss the possibility of allowing random-bred dogs to participate in our show.
“I’m sure I know what the consensus of this group will be, but so we have it documented in the minutes that we lived up to our promise, I will now open the floor for discussion. Does anybody wish to speak?” He nodded toward the ruddy-faced man at the back of the room. “Go ahead, Arlo. You have the floor.”
“Since Renee isn’t here, I’d like to remind everyone of what she said last week. This show is for pedigreed animals. These mutts—okay, random-bred dogs—are anything but that. I think lettin’ them show against our animals is a crazy idea.”
“Duly noted,” Wilbur said with an approving nod.
“I have to agree,” Velma put in. “The whole notion of mixing purebred and mongrel dogs in the show ring is utterly ridiculous. We’d be the laughingstock of every dog club in the state. Maybe the nation, if word got around.”
Kate cleared her throat and raised her hand.
Wilbur shot an irritated look in her direction. “Yes, Mrs. Hanlon?”
Kate rose to her feet and spoke clearly so everyone in the room could hear her. “I’d like to offer a different point of view. I think the idea of including all types of dogs has merit, whether they’re purebred or random bred.”
Wilbur glared at her, and Lucy Mae tapped her pencil on the tablet in front of her.
A veteran of countless church business meetings, Kate recognized a cold reception to an idea when she saw it. But all the years of participating in those meetings had taught her a thing or two about the art
of persuasion.
She bestowed a smile upon each person present. “As members of this club, I’m sure a part of your mission is to educate the public about these wonderful animals and to build goodwill.”
She heard a murmur of assent off to her left and took encouragement from that. “I’m sure you also want to foster an appreciation for dogs and to encourage people to become better dog owners.”
Velma began to nod. “That’s right. Of course we do.”
Kate smiled her appreciation. “What better way to build goodwill than to include the owners of unpedigreed dogs in some of your activities rather than keeping them at arm’s length as mere observers?”
Lucy Mae stopped her tapping and fixed her eyes on Kate, giving every indication of sincere interest.
Wilbur Dodson assessed the mood of the room with a glance. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m not suggesting for one moment that you allow animals of random breeding to take part in your regular conformation classes”—she threw in a term she had picked up from her dog magazine—“but what about opening up a contest for a separate category of dog? Or you could have several classes if the interest warranted that.”
Wilbur leaned forward and peered at Kate intently. “But how would we judge these new classes? We don’t have any breeding standards for mongrels.”
“Let’s think creatively.” Kate injected all the enthusiasm she could into her tone. “You could have a prize for the best-groomed dog, and one for the dog who does the best tricks. And what about a costume contest?”
She heard a quiet snicker behind her, but she kept on talking. She had built up too much momentum to quit now.
“Something that wouldn’t take away from the prestige of your own competition but would also allow the general public a chance to feel pride in their own dogs, even if they are unpedigreed.”
To her surprise, a smattering of applause sounded around the room when she sat down.
Wilbur Dodson closed his eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat. Looking around the room, he asked, “Is there any further discussion?”
“Why not go along with her idea?” Arlo Sanders grinned. “That makes a lot of sense. I move that we adopt Mrs. Hanlon’s recommendation and that we do it for the good of the club. The public-relations value alone will be worth it.”
