Prayer filled what few empty spaces he found in his schedule.
Prayer for the youth, their walk with Christ and their futures, prayer for the church and its influence on their community and, most of all, prayer for himself, that he would maintain the integrity that he had avowed himself to before his pastor and before God.
Bill, on the other hand, had been distinctly absent from Long Beach Community Church since Jack had last seen him in Karl's living room. Still, it was a small town, and most folk knew each other's business. It was no great secret that Bill could be found, most any night, warming a barstool down at Doc's Tavern in Long Beach, sharing his woes with whoever would listen.
Following that terrible night at the Ferguson's house, Jack hadn't dreamed of Kathy again, and though he knew that he wasn't completely free of his own misplaced desires, Jack found his thoughts drawn less and less to her.
This he took as an answer to the long hours spent on his knees, in heartfelt and often-tearful prayer, both in the sanctuary of the church and in his little cabin by the bay. Kathy, since her meeting with Karl and the Petersons in early January, had become an integral part of the church's work with the Missions board, and Sarah Mack's right hand in that ministry. Jack was relieved that she had found a place in the church where she could make a difference, though her presence among the teen girls was sorely missed.
By March, Jack and his kids, led once more by the theatrically gifted Trevor, were hard at work on an Easter performance. Pastor Karl, a big believer in putting one's money where one's mouth is, had included in his gushing praise of the Christmas performance, the announcement of a yearly youth drama budget of two hundred dollars. While not an overwhelming windfall, still, the youth were ecstatic, committing on the spot to match that amount in fund-raisers. Now, three months later, a script had been chosen and parts were cast.
“One nice thing,” Jack told Karl, over breakfast at the Caboose, “about leading a small youth group is that nobody gets left out. Quite the opposite,” he had laughed, “I have half the kids playing more than one part, and working as backstage crew as well!”
Besides the youth meeting and upcoming play, Jack still maintained the church building and kept up his weekly visits to those who hadn't been able to attend the Sunday service. It was a hectic, sometimes dizzying workload, but Jack found himself happier than he'd ever been.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack sat relaxing in a deep corner of the Sand Castle Bookstore's worn sofa, studying the script for his returning role of the narrator. He was surprised when Dottie came out of the backroom and told him, with an unabashed smirk, that he had a phone call on the office line.
Karl had come to refer to the little seaside bookshop as Jack's second office. In truth, a week did not often go by that he didn't find himself passing beneath the tinkling doorbell to peruse the shelves, or chew the fat with the shop’s outlandish owner.
In the intervening months since he had cashed in his Christmas gift from the Beckman's, Jack had become a recognized piece of furniture at the shop. Dottie usually had a hot cup of coffee on the table beside his favorite seat moments after he walked through the door.
Jack had never known his own grandmother, but he liked to imagine that she was something like Dottie Westcott. A sweet old woman, barely five feet tall in heels; she would give you her last dime with a smile, but she had a twinkle in her eye that suggested it might be best to remain in her good favor. She was a woman who brooked no foolishness, not to her age, nor her gender. Dottie was famous, or infamous, throughout the peninsula, for having once faced down the hulking Sheriff Bradley as he stood at her counter, and rapping his knuckles smartly with a ruler when the officer had interrupted her. Glen Bradley, known far and near for his fearlessness and temper, had stammered an apology on the spot.
Dottie had taken an immediate shine to Jack Leland, and they quickly became confidants as well as sparring partners. The old woman had no truck with his religious foolishness, meaning the church, and she would tell Jack Leland that he could mind to his own corn, when he asked if she believed in God.
The first time that Jack had challenged her views on organized religion, she had sniffed and refused to reply.
However, when he came to the store the following day he found the New Books table displayed every new age and evolution-related book that she could find on the shelves, with a hand lettered sign reading, 25% Off. Jack had laughed until tears poured from his eyes, and bought a biography of Charles Darwin from the top of the stack.
"Doesn't sound good, honey," She whispered as she passed the cordless handset to Jack and then hurried away. "Hello?" Jack said. There was a pause and Jack thought he could hear a woman crying in the background.
"Jack," Karl Ferguson's familiar voice came back over the line, "I need you to come over to the church."
Jack stood and began stuffing his notes into his book bag. "What's up?"
He heard a pause and, with the sound of a door closing, the crying ceased, and Karl continued. "Just a little crisis with one of the families, and I need you to hold down the fort."
"I'm on my way."
"Good," Karl sighed, "I'll see you in a couple of minutes."
Jack hollered thanks to Dottie as he set the phone down next to his coffee cup and, grabbing his bag and jacket, headed for the door. Ten minutes later, his bike rolled into the gravel parking lot behind the church and he was up the back steps and inside. Many times, over the following years, Jack would wonder what might have happened if he had come through the front doors of the church instead, how much heartache might have been avoided.
However, it was the weathered back door, its paint peeling at the corners, that Jack tore open after vaulting the steps two at a time. Unfortunately, Karl Ferguson had just sent Kathy Beckman to that same door, promising to catch up to her in the parking lot, where the Petersons were to meet them shortly. Karl then headed for the front foyer to meet Jack and get him into the office and away from the current storm that was brewing in the halls of Long Beach Community Church.
Jack lunged through the doorway and crashed into Kathy Beckman like a linebacker. Both went down in a jumble of arms, legs, and books.
"Katie!" Jack cried, leaping to his feet in dismay. "Oh man," he stammered, "I'm so sorry, are you okay?"
As Kathy rose shakily from the polished wood floor, Jack could see immediately that she was anything but okay. Much like the last time they had spoken, her eyes were red and swollen, and her cheeks damp with tears. This time, however, her right eye was a purple mass of bruised flesh, the upper and lower lids so swollen that Jack couldn't see the eye beneath. Kathy's knees buckled, forcing Jack to catch her around the waist before she could fall again, and, at that worst possible of moments, a furious Bill Beckman rounded the corner of the hallway, with Pastor Ferguson on his heels.
Bill skidded to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight of his wife, once again, in Jack's arms. With a roar, he started forward. This time, however, it wasn't embarrassment or shame that flooded Jack, as he lowered Kathy to the floor, it was rage.
Jack took two long strides and met Bill's charge with a thunderous pile driver, and the meaty thunkof his fist connecting with Bill's face reverberated down the hallway of the church. Bill's momentum carried him forward, and Jack's military training brought a knee up into the man's skinny midsection, driving the wind from his lungs and flipping him neatly over, crashing to the floor on his back.
Bill lay there, blood pouring down his face and he struggled to focus his eyes, his arms pin-wheeling drunkenly as he tried to rise.
"You hither?” Jack bellowed, curling up his fists and starting forward again, he could hear Karl shouting as he ran towards them, but his words were lost in the crimson tinged fury that surrounded Jack like a thick fog.
As Bill made it, shakily, to his knees, Jack drew back his fist again, and then Karl Ferguson's bulk hit him like a freight train, driving him up against the hallway wall.
Karl had some t
raining as well and, when Jack's ears stopped ringing from the concussion, his pastor had both of his hands trapped behind his back and the younger man's feet spread wide enough to keep him off balance.
Jack felt blood trickling down his chin from where his lip had split when he hit the wall, and Karl's voice, shouting into his ear, began to form actual words as the haze around him dissipated.
"Calm down!” Karl bellowed, “Calm down Jack, right now!"
Taking a deep breath, Jack slumped against the wall, wincing at Karl's grip on his wrists. “Okay," he said, "I'm okay Karl, you can let me go."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm okay." Jack repeated.
The weight pinning him to the wall lifted, as Karl stepped back.
The larger man kept his hands out in front of him, ready to grab Jack again if he tried to get at Bill, who had slipped back to the floor and lay groaning with both hands over his face.
In that first lucid moment after his rage had passed Jack realized that, as surreal as the moment seemed--
Wasn’t I sipping coffee and reading the book of Mark just ten minutes ago?
--what made it even stranger was the silence, a shocked and deafening stillness as Kathy leaned against the wall where Jack had left her, staring at the bleeding figure of her husband, but offering no support or sympathy. She looked at Bill with a strangely distant, slightly disgusted look. As quickly as it had come, the tension seemed to melt from the room, and Jack slumped back against the wall himself, panting and trembling. His right fist ached terribly as he flexed his fingers.
"Karl, I--" Jack started.
"Not now," Karl interrupted, wiping sweat from his gleaming forehead with one hand, as he waved off Jack's appeal with the other, "we'll talk about it later.” Just then, Martin and Bobbie Peterson opened the back door and froze in the entrance to the hallway.
"Good Lord!" Martin muttered, looking from Bill to Kathy to Karl. "Is everything okay?"
"Under control," Karl said, "but just barely. Let's get Kathy into your car and over to the hospital.”
"Shouldn't we take Bill in, too?" Bobbie asked, grimacing at his swelling, blood-smeared face.
Karl glanced coldly over at Bill Beckman, who had given up trying to rise and simply lay, face down, on the floor. "Bill has his truck, let’s get him into it and if he wants to get checked out, he can drive himself."
As the Petersons helped Bill and Kathy out of the hallway, and into the waiting cars, Karl caught Jack's elbow and pulled him into the office. Jack tried, again, to apologize for his actions, but Karl waved him off again.
"I'm not worried about that right now. If you hadn't given him that haymaker, I might have." Karl took a deep shuddering, breath.
"Right now," he said, "my biggest concern is Kathy, I've tried to talk her into pressing charges, but she won't. She won't even admit that he hit her. She just keeps saying that everything will be okay."
Jack snorted in disgust, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
"Sorry about that." Karl said, nodding toward his bloodied chin, “I might have gotten a little carried away there."
"No,” Jack said, “you did what you had to do," he shook his head ruefully, "I don't know what might have happened if I'd have gotten my hands on him again. I can't remember ever being that mad. Not in the war, not ever."
"We'll talk about that later.” Karl repeated, and then turned to go. "Why don't you just lock up and head home, Jack?"
"Will do."
Once Karl had stumped wearily from the office, and after waiting to hear both cars pull out of the parking lot, Jack locked the doors to the old church and started for home. The sky was dark and ominous, thick with iron-gray storm clouds, and his heart was heavy as he pedaled toward Nahcotta, a lump of cold lead beneath his ribs.
Whatever chance he might have had at making amends with Bill had probably ended right there in the hallway. Jack felt an empty, hollow place in his heart where his oldest friend, his best friend, used to be. He knew it would never be the same after today.
*
It was nearly dusk, and rain was just beginning to patter across the cedar shingles of his roof, when Jack was startled from his reading by the brisk rapping of knuckles against his door. Crossing the cabin in his stocking feet, he peeked through the window to see Karl, a sad, exhausted smile on his face, peeking back.
Opening the door, he found his boss standing on the wide deck with a steaming pizza box in his hand. The smell of onions and sausage issuing from beneath the lid made Jack's stomach growl, as he ushered his guest in and took his coat, setting the pizza on the small dining table.
"Thought you might be hungry," Karl said, in lieu of a hello, "and I didn't feel like eating alone. You have any oysters?" Jack smiled as he pulled a couple of sodas and a plastic baggie of smoked oysters from the refrigerator.
The oysters he dumped in a pan and set on the hot plate to warm before adding them to the pizza. While they waited, Jack set out plates and napkins.
"Thanks Lord," he said simply, bowing his head, when the meal was ready.
Karl helped himself to a thick slice of pizza, took a long sip of his root beer, and sighed.
"Well, they're keeping Kathy overnight," he said, "just to watch for a possible concussion…"
Jack felt the muscles in his neck tighten as blood rushed to his face; Karl noticed the set of his jaw and, reaching across the faded Formica, laid a steadying hand on his assistant’s arm.
"Breathe, Jack. She's going to be okay."
"This time," Jack said with a grimace.
"Yes," he agreed, "this time. She still wouldn't make a statement, even after the doctor called Paul Bradley in,” Karl chuckled humorlessly.
“Boy oh boy,” he said, “you thought youwere mad; you should have seen ol' Paul. If he could have gotten the truth from Kathy I think he would have tossed Bill into a cell about five minutes later, and I don't know that he would’ve opened a door first."
Jack smiled grimly, both at Karl's chuckle and at the thought of Bill Beckman's head bouncing off the bars a time or two. Careful there, he thought, that attitude isn't going to solve anything.
Karl must have been watching his face, or reading his mind.
"Prayer is what Bill Beckman needs," he murmured, "more than anything else, prayer.” Karl sighed, “I know it's hard to think of what's best for Bill right now, but we have to."
Jack nodded, nibbling at his dinner, his appetite gone.
"Don't get me wrong," Karl continued, "I'd be just as happy to pray for Bill's salvation knowing that he's cooling his heels in jail, but that's up to Kathy, not me."
"Is she going to be all right?"
"I think so," he said, "As all right as she can be in this …situation. Hopefully, one of them will come to their senses before she really gets hurt. If I had any proof, you can believe the good Sheriff would be knocking on Bill's door right about now. Ouch!"
Karl dropped the still molten pizza back on his plate and took a swallow of soda to cool his mouth. Jack took the opportunity to jump back into the conversation.
"So, is Bill going to be okay?"
"Oh, I’m sure he will be.” Karl replied, “You popped him a good one, that’s for sure, but he’s tough,” he grimaced, reaching for his dinner again, “and given his current attitude I'm sure you're not the first guy to slug him one recently. You learn that move in the war?"
"Yeah." Jack replied, remembering the long afternoons, sweltering in the Southeast Asian sun, practicing fighting forms on the blistering concrete runway at Can Tho. Karate, Tae Kwon Do, Kung Fu, torturous hours of exercise blanketing their minds from the horrors of the war around them.
"Never thought I'd need to do that again, that's for sure."
"Well," Karl chuckled, "I was pretty sure you didn't pick that up in Bible College."
Both men laughed at this, and then there was a moment of silence as Karl's smile faded again.
"You realize,” he said, “tha
t this means that you're going to have to be even more careful around her? This is a small town, and word about what happened today will get around, I guarantee it. People are going to be watching you even more closely now." Karl shook his head, frowning. "It's unfair, you and I both know it, but what's fair and what's likely are worlds apart."
"I can live with that," Jack said with a grimace, "one point they did make clear in college was that, as pastors, we could expect to be under the microscope most of the time."
Karl breathed a long sigh.
"Boy isn't that the truth.” he agreed, “but maybe it's for the best. There are a lot of temptations out there and sometimes it's easier to turn away when you know that somebody's probably watching,” Karl smiled, shaking his head, “the irony being, of course, that God is always watching."
They talked some more as sunlight faded from the bay. The pizza cooled and, piece-by-piece, disappeared. Karl asked how the Easter performance was going, and Jack gave him the rundown, doing his best Trevor Rigby impression as he explained the traditionsof the theatre. Karl roared with laughter. The two discussed the coming summer, plans for a second church camp-out, plans to paint the building, all the minutia of keeping the ministry rolling and bringing the souls of Long Beach to a saving knowledge of Christ.
Finally, Karl rose to his feet with a grunt, rubbing the small of his back and yawning hugely.
"About time for me to head home, Jack,” he said, “any later and I'll be too sleepy to drive."
"Well," Jack replied with a straight face, "you can't sleep on my couch. I've heard you snoring at the office and I want to get some rest!"
"How did I ever end up with a smarty-pants like you, anyway?” Karl groaned, rolling his eyes beseechingly towards heaven, as though done some great, unwarranted, injustice.
"Just lucky?" Jack smirked, holding the door open for him. "You know what the Book says, the prayers of a righteous man…"
Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One Page 20
