“Yes! It would have been better had you flown to Vegas and made it official.”
Carys narrowed a look at her friend. “He’s a minister, Lynn. Flying to Las Vegas for a quickie ceremony at a drive-through wedding chapel isn’t his, or my, idea of the way to start a life together.”
“Aha!” Lynn said. “So you have been considering his proposal. By the way, there’s nothing wrong with Vegas weddings. I got married in Las Vegas and we’ve been together for twenty-some years now.”
Carys sighed.
Lynn reached for her hand. “Talk to me, sisterfriend. What’s wrong?”
Carys met Lynn’s gaze, read the true concern there despite the teasing. “I’m afraid,” she said quietly. “All my life I’ve been somebody else’s thing. The pretty accessory on the arm. I want to be my own person.”
Lynn nodded. “I can understand that. But you are your own person. You always have been,” Lynn said, sounding like a sage. “Apparently, I don’t know what your definition of success is. By everyone else’s measure, you’ve exceeded expectations in phenomenal ways.”
Carys rolled her eyes.
“It’s true,” Lynn said. “For the last twenty-five years, since graduation, you have been one of the most independent and progressive women I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. You set the benchmark so high, the rest of us wonder where you get the energy.”
Carys stared at the pearls, ran a finger along the smooth ridges of the strand. “I’ve just lived my life one day at a time.”
“And you’re like the army, doing more by nine than most people do all day. Do you have any idea how many lives you’ve touched doing philanthropic and civic work? That’s why I nominated you for the chapter service award. You’re a behind-the-scenes player, one who makes things happen.”
Carys shook her head, denying both the words and the praise. She closed the box with the pearls and placed it back in her bag. “That was all just a part of being a doctor’s wife and a stay-at-home mom.”
“Oh, really?” Lynn then ticked off the names of several mutual acquaintances, women in the same financial and education bracket, who all had professional spouses. “Not a one of them lifts a finger to do anything except order dessert at lunch. So I don’t want to hear anything about how unfulfilled you think you are. What is it you want to do, anyway?”
Carys sighed heavily. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. My entire life has been spent defined as somebody’s daughter. His wife. Their mother. When do I just get to be me?”
Lynn met her friend’s gaze. “Maybe when you stop picking up and parading around in the labels other people put on you.”
Thornton and Carys stayed in touch via phone calls and e-mail. Though he asked her many times to come to his church to visit, just once did he broach the topic of the proposal; and that one time was in a context he was sure she easily dismissed as casual conversation.
He didn’t realize just how much he’d been thinking about her until he’d been caught woolgathering for the third or fourth time in the middle of a meeting with the music and praise team leaders.
“You all right, Reverend?”
Thornton nodded at the music director, then put a hand at the back of his neck and stretched a bit. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’d like to see some of the old music incorporated back into the service.”
The musician nodded, making a note on his digital assistant. “How far back do you want me to go? Our first CD?”
Smiling, Thornton shook his head. “Further than that.” He got up and went to the bookshelves lining one wall of his office. From a shelf at eye level he pulled a red volume stamped in faded gold Peaceful Rest Church. “These old songs.”
The choir director took the hymn book and grinned at the praise team leader. “It’s been a long time.”
Thornton nodded. “Too long. Can you and Mac put together an arrangement of ‘Just As I Am’?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the choir director said.
“But make sure the traditional way the song is sung is included in the arrangement,” Thornton requested. “I’ve heard that done before. Caleb, the head of the music department at the college where I began school, Summerset Junior College—the one near my home church in Texas, did that for a couple of hymns. The arrangements were terrific.”
“Will do, Pastor. When do you want it prepared? We have several rehearsals scheduled this week, but I’ll only see the mass choir once.”
“As soon as it’s ready.”
The two looked at each other and grinned. “In other words,” Mac said, “make this a priority.”
Thornton chuckled. “You know me too well.”
As the two left, Thornton considered the work still awaiting him. After being away for two weeks, it had really piled up. Just about every spare moment on his calendar had been filled with a meeting or appointment, and a seemingly never-ending stream of visitors showed up at his office door.
Though New Providence was large, he tried to remain accessible to church members by holding open office hours one full day each week and for a half day on Thursdays. A team of associate ministers generally handled other visitors. It was starting to look like he might need to take another vacation just to get away so he could get some work done.
His speaker phone buzzed. Thornton sighed. “Yes, Trina?”
“Pastor, Melva Kimberly would like to speak with you. She said there’s an issue with the keynote speaker for the women’s retreat.”
Thornton sighed again. He doubted if Melva was having any sort of difficulty. Her problem was she was upset because he continued to rebuff her advances.
“Send her in,” he told his secretary. “But you come, too. And stay. I need to give you some material.”
A moment later, Melva Kimberly strutted into his office at the church. She tried to shut the door, but Trina was right behind her. Melva was a woman who routinely earned second and third glances. Today Melva had poured herself into a neon-blue suit with a miniskirt and high, high heels that played her long legs to the best advantage.
Thornton found himself comparing her to Carys, who dressed in understated but elegant clothing, which always complemented her features and her figure.
At one time, Thornton had considered dating Melva. She was strong, independent and a longtime member of the church. Lydia’s aversion to her, not to mention his own—though he could never figure out why—always stopped him. Lydia called her “grasping.” Thornton was careful to always have someone in the room when Melva wanted to see him.
The secretary took a seat, crossed her legs and held a notepad at the ready.
Melva cast a exasperated glance in Trina’s direction, but the assistant just smiled.
“I’d like a few words with the pastor.”
“Trina’s here to take notes,” he said. Thornton indicated a chair for Melva. “You said you wanted to speak with me about the women’s retreat. How are things going?”
Visibly annoyed, Melva positioned herself so she stood just in front of Trina. Behind her back, the assistant made a moue. Thornton bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. There was no love lost between these two women. And it was just as well.
Thornton knew that the last thing Melva Kimberly had on her mind today was the women’s retreat. He’d ducked three of her calls in the time since he’d returned from vacation. Maybe it was time to change his personal cell phone number. Again.
“Well, yes,” she said, answering his question.
She tried a bit of chitchat, but when it became clear that Thornton would not entertain any personal conversation, Melva sighed then mentioned a few details about the upcoming retreat. The meeting didn’t last long.
Trina shut the door behind the woman. “I don’t know why or how you put up with that.”
“Trina…”
The assistant put her notepad on his desk. “You do know what she’s been running around telling people?”
“If this is gossip, Trina, you
know I don’t have patience with it.”
“It’s not gossip,” she said. “It’s intelligence. There’s a difference.”
Thornton had to smile at that. He sat back in his chair, nodded at the assistant who’d worked closely with him for the last seven years. “All right. What’s your intelligence?”
She peered at him for a moment. “You’re not dating her, are you?”
“Wouldn’t you know if I was?”
For a moment, Trina looked uncertain. Then she let out a loud guffaw. “That’s for sure. Anyway, that woman had the nerve to tell three members of the pastor’s aid society that when she’s the first lady of New Providence, some things would change.”
“She assumes a lot,” Thornton muttered.
“I’ll say. And…”
He groaned. “There’s more?”
“Mac and his wife saw her at a bridal shop trying on veils.”
Thornton brightened. “Maybe she’s found a boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Trina got up and went over to a large golden pothos and picked at a few yellow leaves on the plant.
He wasn’t quite sure when the Melva issue had gotten out of hand. He looked up one day and she had somehow ingratiated herself into his inner circle of deacons, advisers and church leaders who conducted the day-to-day operation of New Providence. The annual women’s retreat was a huge affair, more than a thousand women attended each year. Granted, Melva had worked her way up the ranks starting as a retreat volunteer, but somehow she’d gotten the impression that he had a personal interest in her.
“Trina?”
She dropped the leaves in the trash and faced him.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“I’d like an honest reply.”
“Have I ever given you anything except honesty?”
“No,” he said. “You’ve always been a straight shooter.”
“So,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
Thornton paced the area between his desk and a credenza. “Have I in some way led her on, or any other single women in the church?”
For a moment, Trina just looked at him. Then she heaved a heavy sigh. “The truth of it, Pastor?” When he nodded, Trina said, “Yes, you have.”
Thornton closed his eyes. “How? When?”
Trina got up, walked to his dressing area and returned with a small mirror. She handed it to him.
“What’s this for?”
“Look in it,” she directed.
Thornton stared at his reflection. “All right. Now what?”
“What do you see?”
Looking at his own image, Thornton replied. “Middle-aged, black man. Circles under his eyes from not enough sleep. Needs a haircut. Gray hair.”
“Wrong,” Trina said. She took the mirror from him and placed it on the desk.
Thornton looked genuinely confused. “That’s not what I look like?”
“Nope.”
He sat down in his chair, clasped his hands together. “All right. Tell me what I’m supposed to be seeing.”
“Single. Educated. Attractive. Very attractive. The gray enhances the look,” she added touching her temples. “Wealthy. Powerful. In other words, bait.”
“Bait?”
“Do you have any idea what it takes to deflect the women who prance in here trying to get a half an hour with you? It’s unbelievable. And to make matters worse,” Trina added, “you’re a nice man. Genuine. Honest.”
“If I didn’t know you were happily married,” he said dryly, “I’d wonder if you’d joined Melva’s camp.”
“Your fan club is legion, Pastor. Hold on a sec. I have something to show you that I’ll bet you’ve never seen before.”
Trina disappeared into her own office for a moment. When she returned, she held a box and a glossy magazine in her hand.
“Remember when you were featured in Ebony as one of the fifty top preachers in the country?”
Thornton nodded, then pointed toward the magazine cover on his wall.
“Well, here’s another magazine’s take on it,” she said handing him the other publication. “You also ranked in the top percentile in this.”
“What is it?”
Trina opened the publication to the centerpiece spread: “Could You Be His First Lady?”
Horrified, Thornton stared at a photo of himself. “What is this?”
“It’s an article telling women how to snare a preacher husband. Five of the nation’s most eligible ministers are featured. You, Pastor, are number one on the list.”
Thornton dropped the magazine. “You’re joking? Who would buy something like this or read it? When did this come out?”
“No, I’m not joking,” Trina said, answering the first question. “You’d be surprised who reads it. That was just published. It hit newsstands last week. And here’s what’s come in so far.”
She then dumped the contents of the box onto the top of his desk. Keys, letters, photographs and two small teddy bears toppled out.
Thornton eyed the pile. “What is all that?”
“Fan mail,” Trina told him. “From women who want to be Mrs. Reverend Doctor Thornton Charles Holloway.”
Chapter Eight
Thornton had plenty of experience in stepping lightly through the myriad minefields associated with being a single father and pastor. This one beat them all though.
He stared in disgust at the magazine, not so much irritated by what it said but the time it would take one of the staff members to devote to dealing with the flood of mail it would generate. If the responses Trina had were an early indication, it might go on for a while. He didn’t even have to instruct her on what to do with the items. Trina was already handling the situation, making sure each person was sent one of New Providence’s prayer ministry brochures and that the other items were donated or disposed of.
One thing Thornton had learned through the years was that he couldn’t control what people said about him—in particular his personal life. He didn’t have to like it, but he couldn’t control it.
Despite what some people said or thought, he didn’t think it was odd that he’d remained single all this time. Thornton knew and trusted God’s plan for all aspects of his life—from Lydia’s upbringing, to his own social agenda.
Spending the week with Carys yielded confirmation on something he’d known for many years. Though he’d loved his wife dearly and grieved after she’d died, the reason he had never remarried was simple: he’d never stopped loving Carys Chappelle.
He’d told her the truth about coming close to getting married a time or two. He’d thought about it, but in each case, the Lord placed a barrier in the way, something that prevented the relationship from developing or moving toward a long-term commitment. With Carys, though, every day was a new window of blessings opening to him.
During the week with her, he’d discovered that his feelings were genuine, not manufactured by loneliness or nostalgia. He’d suspected that her appeal might be tied up in the wistful longing and memory of his youth, that time and distance and perspective might counter the crush he’d had on her.
But this was no mere crush.
After a boat ride, two movies, three evenings watching the sun set beyond and a week of meals filled with laughter and good conversation, Thornton realized that the love in his heart was expanding, not receding.
So he’d given her the key, the very one that she’d given to him all those years ago on the waterfront. He remembered her words as if it were yesterday.
Hold on to this for me, T.C. I might ask for it back later, but right now you’re my anchor in a rough sea.
Thornton chewed on that for a moment. An anchor in a rough sea.
His mind already running, Thornton opened his laptop computer and started writing the sermon he’d deliver during the Sunday services.
Midway through the call to worship for the eleven o’clock service, Thornton saw her. His mouth dropped open for a moment, then
broke into a broad smile. Nodding, he acknowledged her presence. Carys beamed at him and Thornton knew that no matter what happened between them, he’d always cherish their friendship.
Carys was dressed in a soft lavender suit and wore a wide-brimmed hat that matched her outfit. She was sitting near the front, across the aisle from his mother and daughter.
“I’m pleased to see a special friend in the sanctuary this morning,” he said later when he got up for pastoral observations. “She didn’t stand during the greeting of visitors but I’d like for her to do so now.” He smiled at Carys who rose as he introduced her. “We go back,” Thornton said, “so far that I won’t tell you how many years.”
People in the congregation chuckled as heads strained to see the woman he’d singled out. Lydia was looking at Carys, but from the corner of his eyes Thornton saw his mother was focused on him. A gentle smile curved her lips as she nodded.
Carys was wearing a single strand of pearls. But Thornton’s heart plummeted when he realized the key wasn’t on the strand. She probably has lots of pearls, he told himself as he tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Carys has a voice you won’t believe,” he said. “Would you sing with me?”
When she stepped out into the aisle, Thornton came down and escorted her. Then with New Providence’s two-hundred-voice choir backing them, Carys and Thornton sang “Just As I Am,” Carys easily following Thornton’s lead on the new arrangement of the hymn.
When they finished, praises went up throughout the congregation.
Thornton kissed her on the cheek and led her back to her seat. “Carys Shaw,” he said to the congregation.
Carys waved, then turned to him as applause sounded from the upper level to the far corners of the large sanctuary. “Thornton, this belongs to you,” she said in his ear as she pressed something into his hand.
Thornton looked down. Resting in his palm was the key. The one to her heart.
His eyes raked over her, searching for meaning. “Carys?”
How Sweet the Sound Page 24
