by Annie Jones
“That hardly screams accident or abandonment in my book,” Nic grumbled.
“You don't understand. After our chat up on the roof, I got to feeling all cozy and nostalgic and had this compulsion to try to reach Park again. So I called his work.”
“Which you'd done before,” Nic supplied.
“Only to be told he was out and they didn't know where to or when he'd get back. Today was different.”
“Oh?” Sam adjusted his weight to keep his knees, still in full crouch, from starting to ache.
“Today the receptionist transferred me to his boss, who seemed quite surprised that I didn't know that Parker had requested some time off in addition to time he was supposed to have off to come down here for the holidays.” She swept her fingers over the motionless waves of her hair, then fixed her eye on Sam and dropped the last detail like a bomb. “Beginning two days ago.”
“Okay, that's a little odd, I'll grant it,” Sam conceded before brightening up a bit and adding, “But if he was able to call in for time off, at least you can be thankful the tuna didn't do him in.”
“If that's your best brand of counsel, Reverend, I suggest you shop around for something new and improved.”
Nic's dark eyes sparked with amusement at his fumbled attempt to console her sister. “But Sam does make a point. He's obviously fine and just wanted some R & R.”
Collier perked up. “Christmas is almost here. He's probably taken some time off to get some Christmas shopping done.”
“Parker Sipes?” Petie snorted. “There hasn't been a gift box come into or gone out of our house since the day we were married that he even knew the contents of, not for y'all, not for his family, not even for the kids.”
“Are you really sure you mind all that much if he has left you?” Collier laughed just enough so that everyone knew she was trying to make light of things to pacify, not bedevil, her sister. “The way you talk anymore it doesn't seem like it'd be much of a difference.”
Petie sighed and cast her gaze downward.
“Oh, get real now, Petie. You cannot go reading something untoward into every unexplained action.” Nic pushed her unruly hair back behind both ears. “We all know Park. He's just not the type to sneak off and leave you.”
“You think you know Park. I thought I knew him but...”
“A man who gives his wife the password to his e-mail account is hardly the type who has anything to hide.” Sam patted her arm.
“He didn't give me his password,” Petie whispered.
“What?” Sam cocked his head. “I didn't quite get that.”
“I said he didn't give me his password, okay?” She pushed up from the chair and started toward the kitchen. Halfway there she stopped and spoke without looking back. “I broke into his account.”
“You read his personal e-mail?” Nic half shouted the exact thought that had gone tearing through Sam's mind.
“No, I didn't read his e-mail. I just checked when he last signed on and glanced over the list of saved mail. All of it was filled with addresses from work on subjects like 'database backup memo,' that kind of thing. Oh, and scads from his administrative assistant tided 'Meeting Reminder.' Even if I intended to snoop, there was nothing there that seemed even remotely intriguing.”
Sam tried not to believe she sounded a tad disappointed at that.
“Oh, and I poked around to see what kind of places he had bookmarked on the Internet. No surprises there: sports sights, travel info, boring stuff.”
“My sister, the spy,” Nic muttered.
“Actually I showed her how to do it. It wasn't hard, really, since they share an account with two different addresses. We just had to keep trying until we figured out his password.” Collier had the good taste not to sound boastful.
“That hardly qualifies as a challenge.” Nic laughed. “Let me guess—his number from his glory days in football?”
“The year he captained the team when they almost took allstate?” Sam ventured, feeling only a tiny bit guilty at playing along.
“Yes and yes, with his college fraternity nickname in between.” Petie held up both hands. “I don't know whether I feel worse that I did this, or that in doing it I confirmed my greatest fears.”
Nic was off the couch and beside her sister in a flash. She put her arm around Petie's slumped shoulders. “It doesn't confirm anything. Not a thing.”
“Oh yes, it does.” She turned enough to face her sister in profile. “It confirms to me what I've suspected for far too long now. After all these years, I can no longer deny where my husband's priorities lie—with himself and himself alone.”
In a heartbeat, Collier joined the others. They stood silhouetted against the yellow light from the kitchen, framed in the large, arching doorway.
Sam wished he knew what to say or do to help. Or maybe he just wished he knew a way to become a part of it all. He had never known this kind of family kinship and caring. He didn't pretend to understand the kind of love that moved from quarrels to conversation to commiseration as fast as the need arose. But he wanted to know it. All his life he had wanted that kind of bond with someone, to build that kind of family for himself. He had come the closest with Nic and her family but had messed that up horribly.
Now more than ever the blind selfishness and fear that had guided his choices that long-ago New Year's haunted him. If not for that, he might be a part of this family now. And he might be of more help. “Petie, if there is anything I can do—”
A sniffle answered him. The girls moved apart.
“No.” Her voice was thick and hoarse. “No, but thank you, Sam. Just talking has made me feel better, and let's face it...none of this really means anything.”
“It could all be very innocent,” Sam assured her.
“I sure do hope so.” She smiled at him.
“Everything is going to look a whole lot better in the light of day.” It was a lame promise at best, Sam knew. Yet, looking at these sisters, he couldn't help but believe it. They had each other; they had family and home, faith and hope. No matter what came their way they could handle it, couldn't they?
Thirteen
This just looks awful!” Nic kept her voice low and her head down as she practically went slinking along behind Aunt Bert into the third pew from the front. She hated to leave the first two pews empty but told herself that maybe having her whole family front and center would throw Sam off. Besides, only the goody-goodies and women with new hats they wanted to make sure everybody saw sat in the front pew.
“Where is everybody?” Petie slid in behind Nic.
Collier, then Nan, Willa, and Fran rounded out the row. Willa had insisted on sitting with her doting great-aunts. Nic knew that move had as much to do with the fact that they would feed her pink peppermints from their huge pocketbooks all service long as it did that Nic would expect Willa to sit still and behave. She leaned out to send a warning glance at her already fidgeting child. Willa grinned back at her, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing nuts for winter and a stomach-medicine pink on her teeth. Nic smiled at the sweet child then sighed and made a quick survey of the rest of what could hardly be called a crowd.
Across the aisle, a family from the cottages sat. Nic did not know their names. She would not have known they lived in the old cottages if Aunt Bert had not specifically told them when they walked in to “sit on the side opposite that family from the cottages.” She had not said it with any prejudice against the people dressed in not quite their Sunday best clothes that Nic could discern. They seemed nice, to look at them. The woman pressed a bundled baby to her shoulder while the man flipped through the hymnal, jiggling one leg up and down.
A row behind them sat the Stern family. An aptly named household of serious-faced people who had spent many years as missionaries before settling in Persuasion where Mr. and Mrs. Stern pretty much ran the high school by teaching and taking on every extracurricular activity they could manage. Despite their sometimes off-putting expressions, they were some of the nices
t, most generous, most faithful people Nic had ever known. It did her heart good to know they supported Sam and his effort to rebuild the church that had once been the center of the community.
Behind Nic and her family, Mrs. King and her daughter scooted to the center of their pew. The pair who ran the town's lone beauty parlor sat down demurely, their posture perfect and their hairdos right out of the latest issue of Modern Hair and Beauty—the only reading material besides the Bible and current religious tracts they kept in their small salon.
Two generations of the Freeman family took up both back rows. A couple of older folks that Nic did not know rounded out the sparse congregation.
“Surely there are more people than this attending church?” Petie nodded to the people across the aisle.
“Maybe they are late getting out of Sunday school.” Collier craned her neck looking around.
“Not this late.” Nic flicked her younger sister's arm to remind her not to gawk.
“They haven't had regular services here in a long, long time. Could be they found church homes in Cordy or Fayton or Gilbertville.” Petie settled in as if she'd hit the reason on the head and any further speculation was unwarranted.
“Don't kid yourself. We saw all the cars parked down at Dewi's.” Nic glanced over the bulletin. “That lot's fuller this Sunday morning than it was that New Year's they brought in the live dance band.”
“The Twelve Tunes,” Petie murmured.
“What?”
“The name of that band. It was the Twelve Tunes. I remember because Park and I walked over there that evening after Scott and Jessica drifted off to sleep.”
“Were they good? The band, not Scott and Jessica,” Collier asked.
“Let's just say their name over-exaggerated their repertoire.” Petie rolled her eyes then her expression softened. “But Park and I sure had a wonderful time.”
“See, you do feel better toward him this morning, don't you?” Collier wriggled in her seat, all smug and satisfied.
“What was I thinking? There has to be a logical explanation for his behavior.” Petie ran her hand over the church bulletin thoughtfully then grinned at her sisters and added, “Park isn't the kind to do anything crazy or rash. We're talking about a man whose idea of going hog-wild is wearing jockey shorts with a pattern on them when it's not even Saturday night!”
Nic and Collier giggled at the apt description.
“Shh.” Aunt Bert put her finger in front of her lips so as not to smear her coral lipstick. “You girls behave yourself during church. You are not too big to get a pew pinch.”
A pew pinch was the Dorsey family's favorite form of church discipline. The adults, who always placed themselves on either side of a child, scooted in closer, then closer until said child could scarcely move a muscle. Nic looked at Aunt Bert with her ample attitude on one side and Petie with her pent-up emotions over Nic's bad behavior last night on the other and decided not to risk it. “As soon as the service starts, I'll behave and so will everyone else. We want to set a good example, and I can't wait to see Sam in action.”
“In action?” Petie clucked her tongue. “Honey, he's preaching a sermon in the All Souls church, not blowing away bad guys in some blockbuster movie.”
The long, low creak of the back door swinging open made every head in the place turn. Aunt Lula waddled in on her grandson's arm with her daughter following dutifully behind.
Nic gave a wave to her cousin, who pretended not to see as that small segment of the family walked right on past to the very first pew.
“What's that about?” Nic whispered to Aunt Bert. “Gone all front pew on us, have they? And Aunt Lula not even with a new hat to show off for it.”
“It's your cousin's doing.” Fran practically hissed.
Nan hurried to finish the story in a hushed and haughty voice, “She drives over from Cordy to take Lula to services once a month. I reckon she marches them right to the front of the church so everybody sees she's done her duty.”
Nic stifled a grin. “Now who needs a pew pinch?”
Bert snorted. “I love my sister and my sister's children, but sometimes...”
“I hear you on that,” Nic muttered.
“You tell it, Aunt Bert,” Petie added.
“Uh-huh,” Collier lent her agreement.
“You know she'll convince Lula to go off to her place for the holidays rather than bring her brood over to be with the rest of the family.” Bert's large, soft body rose then slumped a little as she heaved a hard sigh. “'Course I'm not one to talk, what with my young ones trading off spending either Thanksgiving or Christmas at home every other year.”
“They have to take their in-laws into account.” Petie reached over Nic to pat Bert's age-spotted hand resting on the skirt of her navy blue polyester dress. “With Park's parents living here until they passed and Collier and Nic not married, we don't have that problem.”
Nic stiffened. Though she never came out and said it, it remained pretty clear that Petie enjoyed her personal brand of superiority in lording her married status over her sisters. But with them in church and her marriage potentially crumbling, Nic decided now was not the time to pick a fight about it.
“When's this going to start? We've been sitting here for more than ten minutes.” Collier leaned past Petie to ask Nic.
Both sisters gazed at her expectantly.
“How would I know?” Nic adjusted her shoulders and tugged at the neckline of her dark green velvet dress. She'd intended to wear this dress to Christmas Eve services. But this morning as she started getting ready, it just seemed the right thing to do to put on her very best for when she heard Sam preach for the first time.
The altar looked beautiful, decked in fresh greenery and the colors of the season. The old brass candlesticks gleamed as if newly polished. The wood of the organ, benches, altar, and pulpit glowed with a new coat of wax, obviously the result of hours of elbow grease and patience. It both did Nic's heart good to see it like this and weighed down her spirit to think how few others in town were reaping the benefits of Sam's loving work.
She inched closer to Aunt Bert to ask in the woman's ear, “Where is everybody? What's the holdup?”
Bert spoke softly but not in a whisper, so anyone else in the church listening intently could have heard her explanation. “I think Big Hyde went down to Dewi's to see if anyone could be persuaded to give the church a chance.”
“What's with all those cars there on Sunday morning anyway?” Collier asked.
Bert shrugged.”Well, you know, used to be we'd have a traveling preacher in once a month and got so a bunch of the menfolks drove their wives and families in, dropped 'em off at the church, then went to Dewi's to drink coffee and chew the fat.”
“Okay, I can see that. But there aren't any wives and families dropped off here today. The men just drive into town to meet there out of habit?” Nic asked.
“More out of spite than habit,” Fran chimed in. Followed quickly by Nan, “When Sam showed up, it made a lot of people pretty unhappy.”
“Because of his reputation as a kid?” Collier glanced around, as if maybe she shouldn’t be bringing that up in the church.
“Yes, and because of where he came from and how his father acted. Because he reminds some of them, like Lee Radwell, where they came from.” Bert shook her head. “I think most of them go there because they aren't ready to accept Sam, not because they won't ever accept him. It's a small town with small-town ways. Sometimes a person has to prove his sincerity to win folks over, and that can take time.”
Nic could only nod to that. If she said what she really thought, how she had experienced that same attitude when got turned up pregnant and unmarried and how nearly nine years later many people still didn’t seem ready to accept her she might have earned herself a pew pinch for sure.
“None of the lot of the troublemakers wanted to serve on the committee to bring a permanent preacher in, of course,” Fran leaned forward and shared a bit too loudly.<
br />
And Nan backed her up in matching huffiness and volume. “But they sure told those of us who did serve what we did wrong when we selected Sam Moss.”
Bert gave them all a stern look and finished the story, “So they decided to deliver a message. That's what they called it, 'delivering a message' to us and Sam by starting up their own Sunday morning Bible study.”
“Poor Sam.” Nic looked up at the still empty pulpit.
“Sam'll be just fine in this, young lady. The real issue is the way this divides this church and community. It’s wrong, so wrong.”
She had rarely seen her Aunt Bert's eyes pool with tears, but when she had, it had always been over an injustice done to someone she cared about. Nic slid her arm around her aunt's round shoulders. She had nothing to add beyond Bert's assertion that those meeting at Dewi's were wrong, so she just sat there, hugging her aunt lightly.
The organ music swelled to conclude some old hymn that Nic no longer remembered the name of, and almost instantly the organist, Shirleetha Shively, launched into another song. They could not wait much longer before even this small, faithful group got restless, Nic thought, glancing around another time. Even looking the other direction, she could still hear Willa thumping her shoe against the back of the empty pew in front of them. She started to turn to tell her child to sit still when the crinkle of cellophane made her whip her head around.
“Tell Aunt Fran and Aunt Nan not to give her the whole bag of those mints,” she whispered to Petie.
Her sister looked like she didn't know what Nic wanted and, in fact, like she scarcely recognized Nic's face.
From the back of the church the creak of the door swinging open again registered in Nic's mind, but she stuck to her goal of preventing the disaster she saw coming in the mix of kid and candy. “Stop daydreaming about New Year's, Park, and the Twelve Tunes and tell them not to give Willa a whole bag of candy.”
From the corner of her eye Nic saw Big Hyde enter the church, stand at the back of the center aisle, and shake his head. Bad as she felt about what that meant, she also understood it cut her time short for taking care of the situation at hand.
