by Janet Spaeth
At the end of the song, they sat and the minister shared the day’s gospel lesson with them. It was the very beginning of Luke. “Forasmuch as many have taken in hand to set forth in order a declaration of those things which are most surely believed among us, even as they delivered them unto us, which from the beginning were eyewitnesses, and ministers of the word; it seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent Theophilus, that thou mightest know the certainty of those things, wherein thou hast been instructed.”
It was, the minister pointed out, a passage about history and faith. It was the faith of their fathers, just as the hymn had extolled, that brought them to this point of being gathered together this Sunday. Luke had his own forefathers of the church to build upon, and he had drawn upon that in his own faith journey—and what a journey it was.
Who, Reverend Carlisle asked, was Theophilus? Was he simply someone to whom Luke was writing?
The name, he explained, meant either lover of God or loved by God. Was there a difference?
The part of his name, Theo-, meant God. In addressing the letter to someone named Theophilus, Luke was passing his own religious heritage.
The people he was about to share with Theophilus were those who been there from the beginning, who were, as Luke said, eyewitnesses.
Reverend Carlisle leaned forward. “And dwell, if you would, for a few minutes on the last of this passage: ‘That thou mightest know the certainty of those things.’ Think of it. The certainty. Luke was solidly convinced of the truth of faith, and that is what we all need, knowing with certainty that God is true, that faith is true, that His love for us is true.”
Hayden saw Livvy lean forward as if trying to absorb the message. Sunlight, dyed by the stained-glass windows, tinted her hair and face with blues and greens and purples.
“And when we know that this is true, that is faith. Loving God and being loved by God is an inheritance that is beyond anything we might get here on earth,” the minister continued. He beamed at those gathered in front of him. “Sure beats Aunt Ethel’s silverware or Uncle Ole’s letter from the president, doesn’t it? Not to say that those aren’t important, but …”
He let the thought trail off as the congregation took in the meaning.
Hayden let the idea of faith and love as an inheritance settle into his mind, and through the rest of the service, he considered it. He’d always been proud of his great-grandfather for being one of the founders of Trinity, but now there was more to it. Now he was also grateful.
Too soon the congregation was standing again, and the church service was over. He turned to Livvy as the recessional began and the congregation began to chat with each other in low voices as they filed out of the small church.
“So what did you think?” he asked. He was surprised at how important her answer was to him.
“It was wonderful,” she said, her face glowing. “I felt like a dry sponge in water, soaking it up.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?”
Gramps leaned around him and added, “I’d never thought about that part of Luke before. Grub, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go home and study this a bit more.”
Hayden looked at his grandfather in surprise. Usually they went to Clara’s after church for an omelet and coffee. Gramps looked tired and drawn, as if the service had worn him out. Hayden’s heart dropped. This was not good.
Livvy took the gnarled fingers of the old man in her own as they walked out of the church. “I think we all could use some time for reflection. I can walk back to my place.”
Hayden wanted to object, but he could see a slight tremble in the old man’s shoulders. It was a time of change, and it had clearly taken its toll on him.
“If you don’t mind,” he said.
“Not at all. I need to get home to make sure that Leonard hasn’t gone off in search of Jeannie. After all, she’s in Africa, and that’s quite a walk, even for him.”
He smiled despite his worry. Her words lightened his heart a bit, and he was appreciative to her for that.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He watched her walk away, and he turned his attention to Gramps, who nodded slowly. “She’s a good one, Grub. Don’t let her get away.”
“She’s just going to Jeannie’s guesthouse, Gramps. She’s not going far.”
The twinkle came back to his grandfather’s eyes as he said, “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. She’s the one for you.”
“I don’t—I barely know—we just met,” Hayden stammered.
“Remember what Reverend Carlisle said. Certainty. It extends outside the church walls, Grub. Have a little faith. No, have a lot of faith. Have a lot of faith.”
Hayden hugged the old man’s shoulders lightly. “I do, Gramps. I do.”
Chapter 5
Livvy walked to her little house, mulling over the worrisome tremors she’d felt in Gramps’s hands. He’d looked especially frail when Hayden had picked her up, but she had chalked that up to the suit he wore. Maybe it had fit him once, when he was more muscular, but now it hung on him. Still it was sweet, she thought, the way his shirt was pressed and his tie neatly knotted. Church obviously meant a lot to him.
But when they’d left the service, his face had been pale, and his movements feeble. She had to trust Hayden’s judgment. He’d take him to the small hospital if he felt Gramps’s condition warranted it.
She wanted to pray for him. More than anything, she wanted him to be healthy and whole and not sick at all.
The thing was, she couldn’t pray like the ministers did. She had never been able to figure out what the difference was between thee and thou. But Reverend Carlisle hadn’t used those words. He had simply talked to God.
She could do that. Her attempts were halting. Make him better, God. You know what he needs. Please get it to him. Make whatever is wrong, right.
It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t magnificent, it wasn’t long. But it stated what she wanted.
Leonard barked happily when he saw her coming down the block, and she had to restrain him from knocking her over out of sheer glee when she opened the fence and came into the yard.
“I was gone an hour, you goofball,” she said as she unhooked the tether from his collar so he could run freely in the yard. “A whole hour. During which you managed to knock over your water dish, spill your doggy doodles on the grass, lay across your mommy’s prize rosebush, and dig a hole right next to the birdbath. You’re a busy boy.”
She repaired the damage as well as she could, and let him come in with her to the guesthouse. He flopped beside her as she stretched out on the futon. It wasn’t that she was tired, she just needed some time to rest and reflect.
“This isn’t made for both of us,” she said to Leonard. “One of us is going to have to concede defeat and get up.”
The dog simply sighed and settled even more deeply into the cushions.
“Well, there is something to be said for peaceful coexistence.” She pushed him as far to the edge as possible, and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling fan.
She’d actually gone to church. It wasn’t as if she ever had anything against going to church. It was just that her family hadn’t made it a priority. They usually went when she was a child, but there wasn’t much of a reason behind it. They went because they were expected to.
She rolled off the futon and retrieved her laptop. As she opened it, Leonard flung himself across the rest of the cushions. She wasn’t getting back on without some pushing of doggy flesh.
Jeannie had thoughtfully continued the wireless account, and Livvy was soon able to connect with her mother.
“So,” Mrs. Moore began, “how’s life in North Dakota?”
Livvy laughed and told her the story of the plumbing, lightening it up so it sounded comedic—although, in retrospect, it was really kind of funny. Then she said, “Mom, guess what. I went to church today.”
> “Good! Did you like it?”
“I did. It made me feel peaceful, and yet there was a lot to think about, too. I’m going to go back.”
“That’s wonderful, honey! Did I tell you that your dad and I found a church here, too? We went initially just to see what a Swedish church service was like.”
“Was it different?”
Mrs. Moore laughed. “Well, it’s in Swedish. It’s interesting, attending services when you aren’t a native speaker. Your father and I have to listen to each single word.”
“I thought you two were completely fluent.”
“Not totally. We’re competent but there are some gaps, especially in the Old Testament language. So we take both Bibles, Swedish and English. You don’t suppose that’s cheating, do you?”
Livvy chuckled. “Somehow bringing two Bibles to church couldn’t be construed as cheating, I’d say.”
“That’s true! I hadn’t thought of that. Actually,” her mother said with some surprise in her voice, “I’m learning more about God by hearing the words in a language not my own. I hate to say this, since I’m a teacher, but it’s amazing what you can learn if you listen to every single word.”
So her parents had come back to the church. Her mother continued to talk of her social activities, and ones at the church were mixed with those from the school, or those with her friends.
Livvy thought of the Women’s League garage sale she’d seen in the bulletin. Certainly in those boxes stored across the property at Sunshine were some things that she could donate—with Hayden and Gramps’s permission—and that might be fun, getting involved with the women of Trinity. It would be a great way to meet people and make some friends.
After all, Sunshine was fifteen miles out of Obsidian. It wasn’t like she would have a next-door neighbor to drop in and have a cup of coffee with. Even Hayden and Gramps would be gone.
Leonard sighed in his sleep, and when she ended the conversation with her mother, she returned to the futon.
She threw her arm across Leonard. He moved and pressed against her even more tightly.
There was something very calming about lying on the futon, squished between an oversized dog and the back cushions. She should get up, make some lunch, run the towels through the washing machine, and pay some bills, but all that could wait.
This was Sunday, and her soul was at rest, and soon, so was she.
Hayden folded the dish towel and hung it on the rack by the sink. Lunch had been a thrown-together meal, lunch meat and cheese on bread, with pudding for desert. Afterward, Gramps had retired to his recliner, where he promptly fell asleep.
His grandfather was snoring softly and evenly, but Hayden was still concerned. Reluctant to leave Gramps alone, he tiptoed back into the living room and sat on the old green sofa. In the light that filtered through the windows, he saw how threadbare it was.
It had been there for as long as he could remember. What was the lifespan of a sofa anyway? This one had been a bed when he’d been a small boy.
It was odd, he thought, how he’d never noticed how loudly and how relentlessly the old anniversary clock on the mantel ticked. The sound seemed to fill the living room.
He wiped away a thin layer of dust on the table beside him. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to keep the place clean, not with the wind that seemed to find every crack and gap in the house. It was amazing that the Badlands hadn’t been reduced to nubs with the seemingly constant wind.
He crossed his legs and crossed his arms and uncrossed his legs and uncrossed his arms. How did people do this sitting-quietly thing? In church it was easy enough, but here, with nothing to look at but the Norman Rockwell painting by the fireplace and the little stuffed Teddy Roosevelt bear propped against the lamp on the end table, it was impossible.
He was forced to think. First about Gramps—how could he ever go on without him at his side? His grandfather had been woven into his life from his birth. For as long as he could remember, Gramps had been there for him. It had been Gramps who’d taught him about baiting a hook—that it wasn’t a simple matter of sticking a worm on the barb and dropping the line into the water.
He smiled at the memory of floating on the little lake in the boat—the same boat that he and Gramps had taken Livvy out in, except it had been newer and its paint fresher. That afternoon had been filled with root beer and peanuts. Gramps insisted the turtles liked peanuts, although Hayden never saw a turtle eat a peanut. Instead, he and Gramps swigged root beer and tossed the peanuts in the air, trying to catch them in their mouths and usually failing.
Gramps had shown him the fine art of choosing a lure based upon what he wanted to catch. “Minnows, worms, or leeches for crappies, sunnies, or perch. Watch the water temperature. Warm water, you can use a lure.”
He’d opened the tackle box and showed Hayden the contents. The lures were as fascinating as a treasure chest. Silvery jointed metal fish were laid neatly next to feathery hand-tied creations. Delicate flies were adjacent to brightly tasseled jigs. Lifelike frogs and ribbony strings—he had never seen anything as intriguing as this tackle box.
“This one’s neat,” Hayden had said, lifting up a bright orange jig, the tassels dancing in the sunlight. “I like it.”
“It’s pretty but it’s not worth much here. You want the lure to be as close to the color of the natural bait as possible. Is there anything orange here that a fish might eat?”
Hayden recalled how sad he’d felt that the brilliant lure was basically worthless, and apparently his grandfather had noticed, because he’d squeezed the boy’s shoulder and said, “You’ll have a lot of shiny orange lures in your life, Grub. Just remember that a shiny orange lure may not be what you want or what you need.”
It hadn’t made sense then, but over the years, he’d come across many shiny orange lures, and Gramps’s wisdom had come through.
He looked over at him, asleep in the chair.
Livvy wasn’t a bright orange shiny lure.
His mind danced around the vision of Livvy in church, and Gramps’s words came back to him. The one. Was Gramps right again? Was Livvy the one for him, the one with whom he could spend a lifetime?
How would he know?
He’d always heard Gramps tell how when he first met Gran, she thought he was boring and dull, definitely not a bright orange jig. If anyone had told him they’d end up married and loving each other with each breath, right up until she drew her last, he’d have said they were nuts.
But so it had happened, and a great love had been born and endured.
Was it Hayden’s time for an equally great love?
He had no idea. It was too early to know any of this.
The clock ticked, and his grandfather snored, and he realized that they were creating a rhythm together. His toes tapped silently, the left foot marking time with the clock and the right foot keeping pace with Gramps.
Was it possible? Was the clock ticking louder?
He couldn’t stand it. He stood and crept back into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of root beer, wincing as it hissed when he opened it.
The Bismarck Tribune was on the front seat of the car. He could read that.
The loose board on the kitchen floor creaked when he stepped on it, and he paused, but Gramps snored on. He went outside, catching the screen door before it could slam, and reached into the truck through the open window to retrieve the newspaper.
He repeated his silent path back to the living room, and sat down once again on the green sofa. Martha Washington, who had somehow managed to sneak inside, leaped up next to him and began to purr so loudly Hayden thought for sure that Gramps would awaken, but he slept on.
The paper had never sounded as crinkly. He spread the open paper on the coffee table and tried to turn the page, slowly, carefully, and he thought he had almost made it when his grandfather sat up and said, “Why are you being so sneaky quiet?”
“As soon as I scrape myself off the ceil
ing, I’ll answer you. You nearly scared the wits out of me.”
“Sorry,” his grandfather said. “But why are you tiptoeing around like a thief?”
“I didn’t want to wake you up. Gramps, are you feeling all right?”
Martha Washington sprang from the sofa to Gramps’s lap, and the old man smoothed the cat’s fur. “I’m fine. I was feeling a bit rocky this morning, but I think it was just because I didn’t sleep that well last night.”
Hayden crossed the room quickly and leaned over his grandfather, solicitously feeling his forehead for a fever. “You didn’t sleep well?” he fretted. “You usually sleep like an absolute rock.”
“An absolute rock, huh?” Gramps asked, his lips twitching in amusement. “Compared to a non-absolute rock? An inabsolute rock? What?”
Hayden knew the teasing was an attempt to divert him from pursuing the subject further. His grandfather did look better after his nap. He also knew better than to pursue the issue at the moment. When Gramps didn’t want to talk about something, he shut down the topic.
Instead, Hayden would have to watch Gramps closely to see if he could pick up any clues about what had happened. Maybe it was nothing, but he didn’t want to take the chance of dismissing something major.
He matched his grandfather’s light tone. “Plymouth Rock. A moon rock. Rock of Ages. I don’t know. But I should tell you I debated throwing that clock into the lake. That thing ticks so loudly it almost blew out my eardrums.”
Gramps laughed. The sound was like music to Hayden’s ears. It meant he was truly feeling stronger and better. “Once you’re aware of it, it does seem to get extremely loud. Your grandmother put it out on the porch one time when she was trying to read. She could still hear it, so she put it out in the middle of the road by the mailbox. She said it made such a racket, she couldn’t take it anymore. Lucky the thing didn’t get run over.”
Hayden wasn’t convinced that lucky was the appropriate word for such an obnoxious creation, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“Church was good today, wasn’t it?” Gramps asked. “That Reverend Carlisle sure can dig out a deep meaning from the gospel. I dare say he’s so good he could have one of those big congregations in Chicago or Minneapolis.”
