by Jim Kraus
Jake snapped his fingers. It sounded loud in the still church. He looked out and saw Glenda Davis, near the back, tears in her eyes.
“Just like that. Amazing. Here I was struggling and working and striving to regain my faith—and this young man just lays down his arms, stops battling, and accepts. And there it was.”
He walked to the other side if the platform.
“This is what I discovered. This is what I learned. God never left me. He was always there. I wandered off. God didn’t. And he sent me a cat. He sent this church a cat. Petey. How many people are here today because Petey is here?”
A number of people—a large number of people—raised their hands.
“God cares about you. Enough to send a cat—because He knew that is what would work. That is what would draw you inside a church. He brought you all here.”
Jake sat down on the steps of the raised platform.
“But I’ve lied to you. I have been a fraud. I have said I was a man of God . . . but until a few days ago, I was lying. I’m sorry. So, so sorry. You need someone better. You deserve someone better. You do. This church deserves the truth.”
Jake clasped his hands together, loosely, and sat still for a moment, not speaking.
What happened next surprised Jake. Really, really surprised him.
The massive elder, Rudolph Keilback, stood up in the pew. He made his way to the center aisle, people parting to let him pass, like Moses and the Red Sea. He turned to face Jake and marched up the center aisle. Jake looked up at his face. Rudolph wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He might have been crying.
“Listen. I don’t want to be up here. I don’t do well in front. You all know that. But . . . Pastor Jake . . . you can’t leave us. I . . . said I believed when I was a little kid. But you want to know the secret I kept for the past forty years? I never did believe. I don’t think I did. I went to church. I went to church for years. I’m an elder. But I never knew . . .”
He held the pulpit with both meaty hands and gripped it so hard Jake was sure he’d hear wood splintering.
“Not until Pastor Jake showed up did I know what it was to believe. And not until today did I ever think anyone else had that problem or that secret. If you think you have to leave, Pastor Jake, then so do I.”
Quiet filled the sanctuary like a tidal wave.
After at least a full two minutes of silence, with Elder Keilback at the pulpit and Pastor Jake sitting on the platform, another man rose. He was in the middle of the row, seven rows back.
“I never believed either. Until right now. I’ve been pretending. Thank you, Pastor Jake, for making it okay for me to . . . cry with you. And to find faith with you.”
A woman stood up on the other side of the aisle.
“I’ve been head deaconess longer than a lot of you have been alive. Today I believe. Today I have faith. Today it all became real. Today my real life with God starts.”
Jimbo stood up. His wife, at his side, was in tears.
“I know I could be a better husband. I could listen more. I don’t know what I would do without . . . Betty here. I would be lost—totally and utterly lost.”
Jimbo had begun to tear up as well.
“Family. That’s what matters. This family.”
Tassy stood up. She was holding on to Eleanor’s hand. Jake could see that their grips were tight, white-knuckle tight, perhaps.
“You here are all my family. This church is my family. And I have a secret I need to share with you all. I’m going to have a baby. And before today, I was planning on running away because I felt like you would all be disappointed with me. I almost had an abortion. I came within minutes of it. Petey saved me. It’s a long story. God led me here—to this church and to Pastor Jake and to Petey. He has protected me. And now you’re my family. And I promise I will do my best to make the faith you have in me worth it. I promise.”
Eleanor stood up and put her arm around the young girl’s shoulder. Vern stood up as well, his eyes and face wet, and embraced them both.
And people began to cry and to pray and to hug and to embrace.
Jake saw a few people standing in the back. One of them was Speedy . . . Sidney Davis. His mother was crying harder now.
And that’s when the church organist, Verna Ebbert, walked up to the platform, switched on the organ with an audible pop, and began to play a warbly, off-tempo rendition of “Just as I Am.”
Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me,
and that thou bidst me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, and waiting not
to rid my soul of one dark blot,
to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
sight, riches, healing of the mind,
yea, all I need in thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, thou wilt receive,
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
Just as I am, thy love unknown
hath broken every barrier down;
now, to be thine, yea, thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.
To Jake, it was the most beautiful song he had ever heard, better than a celestial choir of a thousand angels.
Much, much better.
Sunday service ran long that day.
There was a lot of singing. There was a lot of sharing, a lot of asking for forgiveness. There was more hugging in the church this Sunday than there had been in the last decade. Perhaps two decades.
At a few minutes past 2:00, a few people decided they were really hungry, or they had children who were really, really hungry, so the crowd started to slowly disassemble. By 3:00, the sanctuary was empty, save for Pastor Jake and Petey.
Jake could not help smiling. It was not a smug smile, or a self-satisfied smile, but a smile warmed by gratitude and amazement.
“God showed up, didn’t he, Petey?”
Petey meowed contentedly.
“I know you thought you had it all figured out . . . but I sure didn’t. I never expected any of this to happen. Never in a million years.”
Jake was sitting on the platform steps, and Petey lay down next to him and rolled on his side. Jake petted his stomach and Petey rolled his head back and forth, purring loudly, content, happy.
“There is probably one more person I need to deal with today.”
Petey looked up.
“Emma. Dr. Grainger.”
Petey meowed in agreement.
“I should go now. She might think she destroyed my career. But in reality, she started it.”
Jake stood and pulled out his truck keys.
“Want to come?”
Petey stayed exactly where he was.
“Okay. I’ll leave the office door open. Okay?”
The cat chirped a reply.
A few minutes later, Jake stood outside Dr. Grainger’s door—the side door, her private entrance. He was not frightened or anxious or nervous or intimidated. All that had apparently disappeared with a number of Jake’s other fears and phobias.
He saw the curtain move in an upstairs window. She had to have seen his truck in the drive. A moment later, he heard footsteps—slow, methodical, as if each step down was a harder step to take.
She turned the inside latch and opened the door, only a quarter of the way. Jake was pretty sure he saw fear in her face.
“Emma, I want to apologize to you again. I should have been honest with you from the very beginning. I wasn’t. I led a lot of people to believe I was something much more good and noble tha
n I really was. But all that has changed.”
Emma’s face did not show a smile or a frown or any emotion at all. She had become a cipher, neutral.
“I spent all of Friday and Saturday trying to figure out how to spin what happened, how to make people believe that what happened didn’t happen the way it happened. But then, this morning, I realized I could no longer pretend. I stood up and confessed everything to the church. And no one condemned me. They forgave me.”
Now Emma looked surprised.
“Others stood up alongside me and confessed to have the same doubts. People began to cry and hug one another and forgive one another for past transgressions. It was the most amazing church service I have ever been part of. And you know . . . when I was praying with Speedy—rather, Sidney—Davis, praying for his faith . . . that’s when my faith welled up inside of me. I had spent so much time working, trying to find it and to cultivate it . . . and all I had to do was accept it. You taught me a valuable lesson, Emma. And I want to thank you for that.”
Emma remained surprised. Her eyes were wider than they had been.
“You’re . . . you’re welcome, I guess,” she said.
“Thanks for helping me finally see the truth. Thank you so much.”
Jake left her standing in her doorway and walked back to his truck, feeling lighter and clearer and more solid than he had ever felt in his entire life.
16
Three weeks later, Jake had a meeting with Wilbur Brookings, the head of the elder board. The meeting was a small one—just Jake and Wilbur—with coffee and donuts at Kaytee’s. Several donuts, actually. Kaytee’s made very good donuts.
Wilbur wanted the meeting to stay confidential, at least temporarily.
“You said it yourself, Pastor. A secret is compromised the second another person hears it. So I’m trusting you to hold this one under your hat for a while. Since you’re an honest man and all.”
Jake promised that he would, and then braced himself for what might be coming.
“We need to start a building committee,” Wilbur said in a whisper. “The church is packed and it’s summer, and no one comes in the summer. We’re putting chairs in the aisles and that’s not enough—or comfortable. So my question is, how do you go about starting a building committee? We’ve never done this before. I’ve never done this before.”
Jake was taken aback, for a little bit. He was expecting something darker, more personal. Building onto the church was neither of those. Jake had never started a building campaign either but had a shelf of books in his office that described the process and the parameters and the pitfalls.
“I’ll look at them and get you the two best ones. That will be our start. And I promise not a word will escape my lips until you say so.”
Wilbur sighed deeply, and it was a happy sigh, if sighs can have happy connotations.
“I blame that stupid cat, you know. And you, too, Pastor Jake. We could have stayed small and happy if it weren’t for you two.”
He paused for effect, then smiled.
“I’m kidding. But you knew that, right?”
Jake sat at Kaytee’s by himself after Wilbur left.
He was simply happy to sit there with his coffee and one more small chocolate donut . . . until Emma Grainger walked in. She saw him and hesitated, then seemed to shrug to herself, and walked to his table.
He was pretty sure that the waitresses knew what had gone on between them. No—he was not just pretty sure. He was positive. News that delicious does not remain untasted, especially in a town this small.
“We should probably talk, Jake.”
Jake bore no anger or grudge. He liked Emma. He liked her a lot. And he was willing to let her walk away from a relationship with him if that was her choice. And it certainly appeared to be her choice.
“Sure,” Jake replied. “Anytime.”
Emma pulled a chair out and sat down.
“How about now?”
“Now is fine,” Jake said. Now did surprise him a little. He thought she might give him some time to prepare. Or give herself time to build up courage or whatever she needed. But no, it would be now.
“First off, I need to tell you that I didn’t mention your . . . ‘situation’ with Barbara Ann to anyone in town. I wanted to. I really wanted to hurt you badly. But I didn’t say anything.”
Jake wanted to take her hand and squeeze it in a reassuring way but did not.
“I know,” he replied. “Some of our more . . . attentive church members, the ones that are more plugged in, if you know what I mean, asked me later why I’d said anything at all. And I told them I figured they had all heard about Barbara Ann and what happened. But no one had heard a word before I brought it up that Sunday. I see now I easily could have kept that secret a secret. But I am so grateful I didn’t. And I’m glad you didn’t say anything to anyone. That’s a lot to feel responsible for.”
“I wanted to tell everyone, Jake. I did. More than you can imagine.”
Jake nodded to the waitress who came by with a coffeepot.
He waited until she poured the coffee and left.
“Emma, you don’t owe me any explanation. And I may be out of line for asking. But . . . I’ll ask anyway. Why? Why did you want to see me hurt?”
Emma looked pale and drawn, as if she had not slept well the past few weeks.
“You talked about honesty. I suspect I need be honest about this as well. Hiding it all these years hasn’t done me much good.”
Jake waited. Tassy had suggested a possible reason for Emma’s anger, but Jake wasn’t sure. For the last few weeks, Tassy said Dr. Grainger had been strictly professional in the office. Not cold or hostile or angry, just a chilly sort of professionalism. Tassy did not mind, but she did feel bad for Dr. Grainger. It appeared to her that Dr. Grainger was not enjoying anything.
“It started just before I headed off to vet school. The summer before.”
Emma looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.
“Do you want some tea, Emma? or coffee? or toast?” Jake asked.
She looked up, offered him a weak smile.
“No. Maybe water. I’ll drink yours if I need it. You’ve had your shots, right?”
They both smiled.
“I have my papers,” Jake said. “Me and Petey both.”
He waited.
“I got pregnant,” Emma said. “He said he would take care of me. He made it sound like everything would work out. I loved him. I loved him a lot. We were perfect for each other. He would be a doctor and I would be a vet. Perfect.”
She looked out the window and watched a TrueValue hardware truck make its way, carefully, down the narrow street.
Jake had learned that being attentive and silent was often all that was required of a good listener.
“Then he said one of us would have to give up their dream. If I ‘went through with this.’ He said we had to be adult about it. He said we needed to ‘handle it.’ He said nothing would change afterward. He promised me nothing would change—after we handled it.”
She took in several deep breaths, trying not to choke up, trying not to cry.
“He promised.”
She looked down, away from Jake’s eyes.
“We handled it. It was hard, but he was with me. It would be okay. He promised. And then he left. He never talked to me again. He’s married now, to another doctor. They live in Dallas. I handled it for him. So we could both keep our dreams. No one would get hurt.”
Jake waited. Emma did not cry. But she did not look up, either.
“I murdered my first child,” Emma said. “My only child. I live with that every day, Jake. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my baby, a baby I had killed. It’s hard. It is very, very hard. Some days I just do not know what to do with the truth.”
She looked away for a long time and Jake let the silence be.
“And when Tassy found out she was pregnant—all that anger came back. Here was a young girl who was
in the same situation I was in. I was cheated, Jake. I was cheated out of a child. And abandoned. I’ll never have children now. That’s what the doctors have told me. And I didn’t want anyone else to have what I can’t have anymore, either. That’s why I tried to get Tassy to an abortion clinic.”
Now she started to cry.
“I am so sorry, Jake. I am so sorry for what I almost did to her. I feel like the worst person in the world. She comes to the office in the morning, and I see her all radiant and growing and happy—and I don’t know how I will get through the day without being reminded every second of what I almost forced her to do.”
She grabbed a thickness of napkins from the chrome dispenser on the table. She wiped her eyes and her cheeks.
“How do I do this, Jake? How do I move on from here? How do I move on from murder?”
This time, Jake followed his instinct and took one of her hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see the waitress in the far corner, by the coffee service, put her hand up to her mouth as he did that.
There are no secrets, especially in a small town.
“Emma. We can start over. Your life can start anew right now.”
Emma sniffed.
“What I tried to do was horrible. To her. To you.”
“You want it to be forgiven? I forgive you. Tassy loves you like she would love an older sister. She would forgive, even though she knows there is nothing to forgive. You acted out of pain. And what is bigger than her or me is the fact that God loves you, Emma. And he will never leave you. There is nothing we can do that will strip God’s love for us. Nothing, Emma. That is true. And that is faith. He will never leave you.”
She looked up, tears streaking down her face.
To Jake, she looked beautiful.
“Can you show me what I need to see? What I need to feel? Can you show me this faith you have?”
“I can try,” he said. “I can try.”
Tassy handed the keys to the RV to Jake.
“I’ll miss living here. I’ll miss having you to talk to. I’ll miss Petey.”
