They passed through a quiet, middle-class neighborhood. The house directly across was a split-level, the lower windows at ground level. The crows shimmered and rippled as they stood in the yard. First one bird turned, then like a wave, the other black heads cocked in their direction. The crows launched their glistening bodies into the air.
Ruth grabbed for Nate’s arm. “The crows—”
Like a tsunami, the large birds swarmed the truck, blocking out most of the light. Wings beat on the hard surface as they surrounded the vehicle.
In a single motion, Ruth released the button on her seatbelt and shoved her body next to Nate. Warm arms wrapped around her.
Thick talons flew past the glass.
Nate’s breathing sounded over the thump of wings, his chest rising and falling under her ear.
In a whoosh and flutter, the crows were gone, forming a dark crack in the blue sky as they winged away.
Ruth sat motionless in Nate’s arms.
The first burst of laughter came from Nate, soon joined by Ruth. Tears ran down their faces.
“Why are we laughing?” Nate asked between jerky breaths.
“I’m not sure, but I feel a whole lot better.”
“I’ll feel better when surrounded by church friends.” Nate scanned the sky.
Ruth scooted across the gearshift to her seat on the other side of the truck. She gave the split level one last look. Not a crow remained. The incident had escalated so quickly. But what had just happened?
As they turned the corner, Nate squinted out the front windshield. “What’s going on down there?” he murmured. About a dozen people stood in the middle of the street. “They’re in front of the Millers’ place.”
Nate found a spot a couple of houses from their destination, parked, and helped Ruth from the truck. His tension increased as he led her down the sidewalk.
One of the men separated from the crowd and approached them. “Pay your tax, you deadbeat!” His nostrils flared. “What makes you better than the rest of us?”
“Ignore him,” Nate whispered in Ruth’s ear. His arm tightened around her waist.
The crowd shifted toward them: all men, one still in his teens, while another looked to be a hunched-over, white-headed grandpa. A couple of the men held baseball bats. Some carried cardboard grocery boxes.
Ruth gasped as she realized what was about to happen.
An over-ripe tomato hit her in the chest, the stench of rot making her gag. Another tomato spattered on her shoulder. She raised her arm to shield her face, only to have an egg smash against her hand, yolk dripping off her skin like ooze from a weeping sore.
Nate pulled her against his chest as they raced toward the Millers’.
The front door opened and hands dragged them inside.
The pop and smack of tomatoes and eggs continued, hitting the siding of the house.
“Here’s a couple of towels. Wipe up a bit, and I’ll show you to the bathrooms.” The stocky man stood red-faced.
“What’s gotten into those people?” Nate wiped egg from his ear. Shell dropped onto the ceramic tiled floor.
Ruth tried to blot the tomato that covered her best shirt, now most likely ruined. She never thought being pelted with garbage was part of attending church.
A middle-aged woman dressed in white linen slacks and an aqua-colored silk shirt with abalone buttons, unstained, smiled at Ruth. The charms on her bracelet bounced together pleasantly as she extended her hand. “I’m Jean Miller.” She glanced toward the double doors, now tightly closed “I’d say welcome, but given the circumstances—”
“Jean, they’re still welcome. They’ve come to worship, and no mob of angry good-for-nothings will keep us from it.” Mr. Miller, dressed in a gray suit and blue tie, pulled back a corner of the curtain and peered at the street.
“Come on, honey,” Mrs. Miller said to Ruth. “I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up. Don’t worry too much about your appearance though; everyone looks a little splattered right now.”
Alone in the bathroom, Ruth stood with arms limp at her sides. Should she laugh or be afraid? As water ran into the porcelain sink, she gripped the washcloth Mrs. Miller had given her. Her fingers sank into the thick fibers. Such a shame to dirty it. Ruth leaned toward the mirror and picked at a bit of green under her chin. Pepper or cucumber? Had she just been pelted with salad? A grin slipped across her face. Poor Nate. This would probably ruin his day, and all the other people who insisted on having church in spite of the obstacles.
Ruth cleaned up as best she could and headed toward the voices in the back of the house. About twenty people sat in the large family room. Besides Nate, Ruth recognized only one other couple from the picnic.
Shuffling sounded from the front of the house followed by a strong male voice. “Man, what a welcoming committee!”
Nate turned to Ruth and grinned. “Chet’s here.”
Eventually, a cleaned-up Chet appeared, a guitar case dangling from his hand, the cast on his left leg bearing rosy blotches.
Chip, with his hair standing in wet wisps, ran around the corner and leaped into Nate’s lap. “Guess what happened to me Uncle Nate.”
“Umm…you forgot to eat breakfast, so all the neighbors got together and tossed food at you.”
“They threw tomatoes at me!” The boy pinched his face into a tight pucker. “Ew. Tomatoes.”
“I know buddy. Pretty bad, huh?”
Betsy strolled into the room, her forehead puckered in concern. When she saw Ruth, she smiled and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Come on, children,” Mrs. Miller said. “I have a special church service planned just for you in the next room.”
Betsy moved across the room to an empty chair, darting around half a dozen children who chased after Mrs. Miller.
A young woman who looked like she might be Mrs. Miller’s daughter collected the last two stragglers and herded them toward the doorway.
The adults settled into what seemed to be a sense of familiar comfort. Faces lost the tension lines from moments earlier. Ruth’s heart began to pound. For a while, she had forgotten why she was here. Time to meet God! A heavyset man Ruth remembered from the picnic as being one of the other pastors leaned forward in his chair.
Nate squeezed her hand and smiled.
The man began to speak. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Zane Roberts, pastor of Calvary Baptist Church. The police promised the protesters will be removed before we leave.”
“Removed to jail I hope. The nerve of them—” A middle-aged woman’s face reddened. The man beside her patted her arm. “No need to stress, Mary Jane.”
Mary Jane turned toward him and scowled.
“Can we file charges, like assault or something?” a younger woman asked. An especially large smear stained her yellow blouse. Drops of tomato speckled her white slacks.
Pastor Roberts ran a hand across his cheek. The weariness in his sigh caused Ruth to wonder about the stress of leadership since the closing of the church buildings. Although no big deal to her, it seemed gargantuan to the people sitting on the Miller’s furniture and spilling onto the floor.
“We could, but let’s put this morning’s excitement behind us for now.” The pastor sniffed a stain on the sleeve of his white shirt and shared a tight grin. “Kind of hard to do, but Satan wins only if we let him.”
Chet picked up his guitar and the group sang for about a half hour. The voices blended in a harmony that swirled around Ruth like a summer breeze. They sang of love and appreciation for Jesus. When two of the ladies raised their hands, Ruth glanced nervously at Nate, who stood beside her, his eyes closed. Others looked toward the ceiling. Most faces held expressions of rapt wonder.
Ruth gulped back the lump that threatened to choke her. The expectancy of something about to happen heightened. More music. More swaying. God was coming. He was coming!
Just when her breath was reduced to tight threads and she thought she must either bolt f
rom the room or pass out, Mr. Roberts opened his Bible. As they settled back into their chairs, some onto the floor, Mr. Roberts began to talk. He spoke of running the race.
Ruth understood his intent. If the people were committed to Jesus at the church building, they needed to remain committed to Him without it. Her breathing slowed. She understood this! She continued to steal surreal glances around the room. She had expected God to show up before this.
They prayed for the third time. And for the third time Ruth closed her eyes and held her breath in anticipation. She wasn’t sure what to expect from prayer in a church that wasn’t a church, but nothing happened. Shouldn’t electricity be going through the room, or a soft wind, or a Voice?
They prayed, but for what good? Ruth understood the concept of commitment, but prayer? It seemed to serve no purpose. Maybe prayer had different results in a real church. That would explain why the people were so upset over losing their buildings.
When they opened the front door to leave, two police cruisers sat across the street. None of the menacing crowd remained, but the result of their work lay in rotted heaps around the house. Globs of red snaked down the siding; vegetables dangled from shrubbery and eggs lay smashed in the yard, their yellow yokes like smears of sunlight gone wrong. Crows lorded over the garbage as hordes of flies feasted.
With his lips pressed tightly together, Nate led Ruth to the truck. “Sorry, Ruth. This usually doesn’t happen. I can’t imagine what got into those people.”
“They’re angry that the tax isn’t being paid. People expected the roads to get paved and salaries to go up. Nothing has happened.”
“We can’t give what we don’t have.”
As Ruth waited for Nate to unlock the truck door, she smashed a tomato with the toe of her shoe. She looked down in surprise. The tomato was hard under her foot. Sliding the rotting flesh, she exposed a small rock, big enough to cut the skin or leave a nasty bruise. Glancing around, Ruth noticed a number of rocks scattered within the remains of the tomatoes. No rocks had hit her. Even though they appeared stained and were definitely smelly, none of the church goers had been hurt. Even the children had been pelted. Little Mary Carpenter looked to be only a year old, and red ooze clung to her blond curls. A well-thrown rock could have blinded her or any of the little ones. With all the rock-laced tomatoes dotting the ground, why had no one been was hurt? More than coincidence?
Had God been outside protecting them? Did He do things like that?
She gave a shiver and looked around. This whole God-thing made her nervous.
16
Monday, June 17
Monday, the beginning of a week, and Ruth needed to ask Mr. Charlie about God. She watched the clock, willing the time to pass. Her new work space since being promoted to primarily research, was the first room after Mr. Dunlap’s office. Having an office usually provided a sense of fulfillment, but today, she wanted to leave.
Had her date with Joe only been three days ago? The memory no longer ranked first place in her thoughts. Sure, the night had been a disaster; she expected nothing more. And Saturday started out lonely but ended with an amazing fishing trip with Nate. And then church on Sunday. Church was what she needed to talk to Mr. Charlie about. He would know the answers.
The minute hand slid to the hour. Ruth closed down her computer, rolled the chair under the desk, and grabbed her blue vinyl purse with the apple inside.
She made it as far as the front office door. “Ruth, if you have a minute before you leave...” Mr. Dunlap had never asked her to stay before. In fact, she seldom saw him. New requests in her work box verified his presence.
“Um, I, well…” She looked from the door to her boss’s face.
“This’ll just take a second. There’s a new form you need to have ready first thing tomorrow. I have court and won’t be here if you have questions. The client is coming at ten to pick it up. Fred Murphy, remember him?”
She did remember Mr. Murphy. Mr. Dunlap had called her to his office to serve as a witness to the man’s signature. Mr. Dunlap had placed a blank sheet of stationery over the written part of the document, which had been pure white with a navy blue gilded edge. It had struck her as odd to witness something written on such fancy paper. The man himself, Mr. Murphy, held nothing more than a wisp of memory in her mind, but the fleeting impression was of someone mousy and quiet.
Sighing, Ruth followed her boss into his office. The room was the same size as hers only in Attorney Dunlap’s office red, gold, and brown Oriental rugs covered his polished wood floor, and a mahogany desk almost filled the small room. Matching bookshelves full of thick tomes flanked the inside wall.
Attorney Dunlap pulled a multi-paged form from one of the drab green folders in which he stored works in progress. He instructed her on how to fill out each blank line.
Ruth nodded and murmured, trying to focus, but her mind kept wandering to the stairs of the courthouse.
Her boss finally closed the folder, smiled, and wished Ruth a good night.
She sprinted down the hall like a school girl leaving the principal’s office. As though walking into a steam-bath, the humidity engulfed her as soon as she stepped outside. The brick historic house next to the office still held a family, rather than a business. Potted geraniums lined the stairs leading to a front porch. Red blooms thrived in the hothouse environment. A fat crow sat so still beside the plant it could have been a decorative ornament. She slowed for twenty paces and enjoyed the shade from the overhanging branches of live oaks.
Traffic grew heavier as cars from the side streets dumped into Logan’s main thoroughfare.
Mr. Charlie sat at his usual spot on the courthouse steps.
An unexpected tightness squeezed her chest. What would she do if she ever lost him? As she walked, Ruth watched the older man bend his head in one direction then shift it to another. She chuckled, the fear seeming silly.
“I thought you weren’t coming today,” Mr. Charlie said as Ruth settled beside him.
“Why would you think that?” She fished in her purse for the sliced apple, eager for the moisture to fill her dry mouth. “You should bring some water to drink on hot days like this,” she added, noticing Mr. Charlie’s cracked lips. She placed half the apple in his outstretched hand and then slipped a slice into her own mouth. Oh, the bliss of juice!
“How was the date with Mr. Ackerman?”
Of course, he would remember. Joe had made a fool of himself last Friday in front of Mr. Charlie. She swallowed her apple. “He drove all the way to Myrtle Beach to some fancy restaurant.” She chewed another apple slice. Juice slipped from the corner of her mouth and she swiped it with her fingers. “It was just like him to want to make an impression. I wasn’t dressed to go there, and of course, I felt out of place, like some poor relative being treated to the big-life.”
“You’re still angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Oh?” Mr. Charlie’s eyebrows rose, deepening the dark lines forever carved into his forehead.
“It’s just that…I kept a secret from him; from everyone, really. Somehow, he found out. I don’t know how, and it bothers me.”
Mr. Charlie faced the street, his jaw making clicking sounds as he chewed. “Knowledge is power.”
“Joe wields power like a pro. I don’t know what he’ll do with the information, but I made him mad, and according to Nate, Joe will want revenge.”
“Will this information send you to jail?”
Ruth snickered. “It’s not like that. It’s personal.”
He bit down on the last slice of apple. “Have you seen Joe since the date?”
“No, thank goodness. But I was gone most of Saturday and part of Sunday, and this is only Monday.”
A smile skimmed his face. “Full weekend. Busy social life?”
Her face reddened. “Nate took me fishing on Saturday, and he talked me into going to church with him on Sunday, even though I’m not sure the God Nate believes in exists.”
&nb
sp; “Men seem to be talking you into a lot of things lately, my friend.”
“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Charlie.” Ruth stared mindlessly at the evening traffic, at the vandalized church, and at the crows. Everywhere crows, like a plague that had settled over Logan.
Mr. Charlie swallowed and cleared his throat. “You want to avoid Mr. Joseph, and yet you get into a car with him. You don’t have a relationship with God, but you go to church.”
Ruth blinked. How easily Mr. Charlie summed up her life: shallow. “It’s like, if I don’t put something inside myself, then life does it for me.” She turned toward him, a reflex more than anything else, and stared at his expressionless eyes. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Time is short. You need to decide what you believe in and stop being what others expect. You do this with me, too. I enjoy your company more than I can tell you, but I know the Ruth you show me is only part of who you are. The rest of Ruth is still locked away—maybe in that purse you carry.” He chuckled.
His words cut. She had expected sympathy. “Mr. Charlie—”
“Do you believe in God?”
“I think so.” She did, didn’t she? She fingered the chain around her neck, the symbol that represented the one time she had made a promise to God. “Not the same as Nate, but I believe there is a Creator.”
“Then you must believe in the devil as well.”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
He shifted so that he faced her, his emotionless eyes contrasting with a face that held urgency. He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. Usually his grip was just tight enough to show he cared, but today his fingers pressed painfully. “This is important. There is heaven where the spiritual beings live. And there is earth where we mortals reside.”
“Mr. Charlie…” She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.
“You have to hear this. I need you to understand.” He eased his grip and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. His voice quieted even as her heart raced. “Between heaven and earth there is a thinly veiled battle for the souls of man.”
Light of Logan Page 12
