Grace in the Shadows

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Grace in the Shadows Page 2

by Karon Ruiz


  But what? Or worse, who?

  The view of the cavernous church refused to console her. Its mahogany vaulted ceiling felt like a protective shelter on most mornings. But today it, along with the creamy glows from natural lighting, failed to assuage. Shudders and hollow sounds from the creaking building magnified an inner ache.

  She stared longingly at the large stained glass window above the baptismal. Jesus carried a baby lamb over His shoulders.

  “Help me,” she prayed.

  She bit her lip and dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue from her pocket.

  Get it together, Samantha. God’s people are coming.

  She headed toward the ladies’ room, vintage planks groaning with each step. Inside, she stared at her face in a walled mirror behind a bank of sinks. She frowned at her reflection, then wiped away a smudge of mascara. She reapplied lipstick, stared for a minute at herself in the mirror, then left the bathroom. A musty scent drifted by as Samantha waited in the vestibule. A familiar odor from oiled wood and aging fabric failed to lift her mood.

  Is Dalton in trouble, Lord?

  Her hands trembled. She caught her breath.

  Is he cheating?

  ***

  Dalton grumbled at the Power Point. He tapped his fingers. The drug-induced rush and excitement of the past few minutes waned when he clicked through the slides.

  Whatever made him buy this? The word, “boring” should have been listed in the online description.

  The benefits of tithing and why it would change your life seemed uninspiring and definitely overdone. He needed something fresh to grab their attention. Persuading congregants to give a little extra had always been easy but today … today he couldn’t take any chances.

  He rocked in his chair, staring at the monitor until the images blurred and his breathing evened. When his chin touched his chest, he shook himself awake, then sipped ice water.

  Hearing a kick drum, anxiety saturated his body. The worship team arrived. He was running out of time. Thirty minutes had been shaved to fifteen.

  Bold lettering from a book on his shelf caught his eye. A Happy Life Is Possible. Written by a mega-pastor from Alabama. Dalton pulled it down and studied the glossy photo on the back cover. Joshua Johnson, trim-fitted in black Calvin Klein, leaned against a desk holding a pen like an unlit cigarette. His wide toothy grin reminded Dalton of the used car salesman who’d sold him his BMW three years ago. Dalton sniffed the crisp, clean pages. If only he could deliver motivating messages like this man.

  He skimmed the first chapter. Hmm. He tapped his lips. It could work. If he did this right, even the clock-watchers would sit up and take notice. A dynamic sermon meant more money in the collection plates. More money in the plates meant more available for borrowing. Enough for a couple of months of medication would be all that he would need for a new start in Phoenix. Then he could get off the pills and redirect his journey. The Associate Pastor position at New Generations Church might be the bottom rung, but at least he’d be climbing, earning a decent wage.

  The only thing he’d need for the new position would be his passion. The unrelenting fervor that had once driven him to preach had gotten buried, unreachable, deep within himself like his body, entombed by last winter’s avalanche. He’d dug himself out of death then, beating all the odds. Surely, he could reclaim his zeal. If not, why even be a pastor?

  What if my calling’s gone? A chill prickled his skin and he rubbed his arms. He glanced up at the ceiling tiles.

  Have You taken it, Lord?

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed the thought away. Once he got settled in Phoenix, things would be different.

  “Someday, I’ll be someone,” he whispered to the smooth white pages. He lingered, inhaling the smell of fresh ink, hoping to gain the book’s potent power of persuasion. He set the book next to his computer and staccato-struck keys, pin-pointing the major tips from the first paragraphs. He hit the print button as confidence swirled. He straightened his shoulders and smiled. This would work.

  He retrieved a small yellow notepad from his desk and flipped to the back where he kept a running total of the money he’d borrowed. He recorded today’s date and drew a black line. He’d fill in the amount once the offering was counted.

  A noise from the roof sounded and Dalton cringed. Was the swamp cooler finally giving up its ghost? He lifted his face and begged. “Hang in there, will ya?” At least until church is over.

  Spread out near a stack of theology books, a utility bill caught his eye, screaming a reminder with threatening red ink. Stamped at the top, the words FINAL NOTICE, niggled at his gut. If he didn’t pay it soon, there’d be a lot more problems than a non-working cooling unit to deal with. He shoved it aside and returned to the notebook. He wiped his brow and studied his chicken-scratch, tallying the money he borrowed. The power company’s approaching deadline dictated he loan himself the bare minimum this time. Parishioners shouldn’t have to suffer in the pews during a heat wave. Not if he could help it.

  If they’d come through with an extra large offering, his troubles would be over.

  ***

  Two mammoth front doors split open with a loud clunk. Hot air assaulted Samantha’s face. She put on the best pastor’s-wife-expression she could manage along with a welcoming smile. Helen and Emmet Crawford, looped at the elbows, stood in the entrance of Saint Luke’s Community Church.

  “Good morning.” Samantha offered a cheerful tone, looking at the old man.

  Carved furrows bracketed his mouth, his eyes arched, conveying concern. “We’d like to speak with the pastor. Where is he?”

  “He’s been delayed. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “It’s that boy your husband sent to help with yard work ... Tyler … uh … what’s his last name, Mother?”

  “Benson,” Helen said.

  “Some of my tools ain’t there,” the old man continued.

  Helen leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I told Emmet that we should talk to the pastor first. He wants to call the police.”

  “And I will if we can’t handle this here,” Mr. Crawford said.

  Samantha breathed deep. Amanda Benson held a volunteer position as the council’s treasurer. She’d be horrified if she found out her teenage son had been stealing. “You’re certain it was Tyler?” she asked.

  Emmet’s brow knitted and his mouth twisted downward. “Some things went missin’ a week ago. After he left yesterday, my weed eater wasn’t there.”

  Samantha nodded. “We can meet with Pastor Dalton after the service if you’re able to stay.” She’d have to put off her demands for answers for now. This took priority.

  The couple agreed and walked with purpose toward their favorite pew.

  Another thing to deal with. Since Dalton’s accident and therapy she carried so much of the load around here. He’d better help with this.

  Each time the doors opened, attendees hurried by, offering hasty hellos before rushing to the coolness of the nave. A few of the regulars stopped to shake her hand.

  Hunched with her cane, the Widow Snyder asked, “How are you dear?” Her smiling grey eyes matched her hair.

  “I’m fine, Winnie. I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Are you feeling better?”

  “That flu bug passed, thanks to your husband’s prayer.”

  “Pastor Dalton went to see you?” Samantha’s voice cracked as she gripped the woman’s hand.

  “He stopped by yesterday.” Winnie’s eyes twinkled. “He changed two light bulbs and loaded my water bottle for me. He’s a true shepherd.”

  Samantha’s brow furrowed as she watched Winnie walk toward a pew in the sanctuary. Dalton helped with household chores for old ladies, yet hid from her in his office? He visited shut-ins, yet took unexplained trips out of town, always vague about where he went? The man she’d loved for almost two decades cared for others, yet the stranger she lived with seemed s
neaky and aloof. What’s going on?

  The mystery must be solved. She couldn’t go around accusing Dalton of something nefarious. This might be a big misunderstanding on her part.

  Minutes ticked by as people passed, scurrying to their seats. Samantha turned to go inside when she heard a familiar voice.

  “Sammy, Daw … ling … how are you?”

  She pivoted to see Deidra Storm enter the vestibule, doors clanging shut behind her. Deidra opened her arms for a hug. A Louis Vuitton handbag dangled at her side.

  “Good morning, Deidra.” Samantha returned the embrace while pungent perfume drifted around her nose. “I’m good … and you?”

  “Mah ...velous … Daw ... ling.” Deidra’s thin smile stretched between plastic cheeks. A silky black shirt, its top two buttons undone, clung to her like fresh paint.

  “Drake and I must have you and Dalton over for dinner soon. Now promise me, hon. I won’t take no for an answer.” Before Samantha could speak, Deidra swiveled and forged toward the front, leopard-print pants hugging her hips.

  Close to nine o’clock, the trickle of congregants stopped. Samantha examined the cavernous sanctuary. Half empty today. The heat? Yes, it must be the heat. It had to be.

  She started toward her usual seat but the doors parted again. Filling the threshold with her buxom self, Laney Fernández puffed heavy breaths. Their eyes met, and a wide grin drew across Laney’s face, lighting the anteroom with infectious joy.

  “Goodness me. Thought I was late.” The older woman hunched over, gasping. “I ran all the way from the Sunday school room.” She reached for Samantha’s hand.

  “Martin’s holding a seat for you.” Samantha pointed to the other seniors near the platform.

  Laney glanced over, then back at her. “I’ll stay for worship, but they need an extra hand in the kid’s room.”

  “Really? Is Gordy there? I told him to wait with Grace until the teachers arrived.”

  “He left when Bev showed up. She’s alone today so I told her I’d come back. I don’t mind helping.”

  “Thank you, Laney. Grace loves your Bible stories.”

  “I adore those children. Their starry-eyed questions make me feel young again.” She tossed Samantha an affectionate wink. “Guess I should be getting to my seat.” She took a couple of steps then turned around, examining the empty vestibule. “You’re greeting by yourself again? Is Dalton’s leg bothering him?”

  “He’s fine.” Samantha regretted her sour tone and hurried to add, “He can be a perfectionist when it comes to his sermon prep.”

  “How about I help you next Sunday? That way that man of yours can take his time and not feel pressured to get out here. Híjole … he’s barely back on his feet.”

  Samantha swallowed hard, her eyes welled.

  “Oh, mija! Did I say something?”

  “No, I’m okay ...” Samantha wiped an escaping tear. “Just tense. That’s all.”

  Laney leaned near, traces of her breath brushed Samantha’s ear. “That’s an understatement, dear,” she said. “You’ve carried much of the work around here for months now. And with Dalton’s knee surgery, things must be piling up.”

  “You’re right, Laney.” It seemed easier to go with the older woman’s take on her situation. “And my teen volunteers are still at camp.”

  Laney swept a hand to her cheek. “That says it all. You need help, don’t you? I can come tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What about your job?”

  “Got laid off. Have lots of time on my hands.”

  “Lost your job?” Samantha asked. “I’m sorry to hear that. Will you and Martin be okay?” Samantha gripped Laney’s elbow.

  “We’ll survive. I’d planned to retire in the next couple of years anyway.”

  “You worked at the hospital for so long, how can they do that?”

  “Budget cuts.” Laney shrugged. “Have to admit at first my anger got the best of me. But then I realized this might be a good thing. These past few years long hours on my feet pushed me to a breaking point. Complained about it constantly. You can ask Marty.”

  “I can understand that, Laney. You work very hard.”

  Laney scanned the sanctuary then turned to Samantha. “God must have something else for me to do. Looks like He’s already leading me.” The smile that began at the corners of Laney’s mouth, brightened as her cheeks lifted into deep laugh lines, six decades of youth and poise shone through her smile.

  “I appreciate it. If you get here around nine, there’ll be plenty to do.” Laney had no idea what she’d just volunteered for. Samantha’s to-do list stretched from assembling crafts for the upcoming Vacation Bible School to cleaning out the leftover salad dressings and condiments in the dining hall’s refrigerator to painting the nursery walls. Laney’s assessment that everything had fallen on Samantha’s shoulders since Dalton’s accident was more accurate than she knew.

  “I’ll work all day if you let me to take you to lunch at Gabby’s,” Laney said.

  “Can’t let you do that. It’ll be my treat.” Samantha said. “Bless you, Laney.”

  Laney swayed side to side down the center aisle dancing to whatever song her soul heard while the a team of musicians woke up their instruments, filling the nave with off-key tones. Samantha watched and smiled. Maybe meeting Laney for lunch was a good idea. She sure could use a friend.

  Seeing Dalton’s empty chair on the platform deposited fresh angst in her chest. It had been weeks since she felt welcome in his life.

  She shuddered. “Lord, I need to know the truth,” she prayed again. “Even if he’s having an …” She didn’t want to voice it, but did. “… an affair.”

  How could a man who prayed for the sick and offered them assistance be a man who would betray his wife and family? It didn’t seem possible.

  She fumed. That’s what she got for bending over backwards, helping him during his recovery?

  She dabbed a final tear, drank in a long breath, then smoothed her dress. With her head held high, she formed a smile, then joined the sea of familiar faces for another Sunday morning charade.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dalton’s Con

  _________________________________________________________

  8:55 a.m.

  Thankfully, the roof’s two aging coolers continued to rumble, earning their keep. Sunlight streamed through Dalton’s window and baked cars in the gravel lot. He could hear people settling inside, waiting for the service to begin.

  He cracked open his office door and scanned the sanctuary. Most of the senior citizens were in their usual spots up front. They were big givers and today he desperately needed a large offering. He ran his eyes around the room, not seeing the one man he wanted to meet with today.

  The Widow Snyder noticed him and waved. Her eyes sparkled over a broad smile. He returned a wave and pulled into the shadows, then shut the door. She sure looked a lot better than she did yesterday. Had God answered his prayer? When he got to his desk, he rifled through some papers until he found it.

  The pawn ticket.

  Dalton located a red Sharpie then retrieved the notepad from the bottom of his drawer. He wrote in large letters at the top of the page,

  Redeem kettle

  Winifred Snyder would have given away anything if it meant helping the church with financial needs. Dalton grimaced, remembering her trusting smile as she rested on her sofa. Tinges of guilt penetrated his euphoric mood. Had needing his medicine so desperately brought him to this?

  Dalton walked to a small mirror hanging near a bookcase. His arms and legs tingled while flecks of white powder clung to his nose. He brushed them into his hand and licked his skin clean, then re-wiped his desk a second time.

  He tapped his phone and texted Matt Connor.

  MEET @ 1PM 2DAY SAME PLACE

  He stared at the screen, willing Matt to respond. But the phone remained silent, so he switched it to vibrate and slipped it in his
pocket, grabbed his sermon notes, and tucked the book under his arm. He exited the small office and collided with his favorite chair on the platform.

  Deep in the nave, the dawn’s chill lingered, encouraging congregants to fill up the front rows near the kneeler’s bench. Dalton pasted on a smile and nodded at familiar faces. His eyes connected with Deidra Storm and she winked.

  Sheesh. That’s all he needed. Drake must be out of town again.

  The musicians collected their instruments and lead guitarist, Josiah Appleton, walked over. “Hi, Pastor D.” His tanned face and sun-bleached hair mimicked a California surfer.

  Dalton shifted to cool. “How ya’ doing, Sy?”

  “Great. We’ve got some new music today. Hope you like it.” Dalton assured him he would, then scanned the congregation. Where were Matt and Carla? Why hadn’t Matt returned the text? Their usual pew sat empty. Dalton forced a smile at those who were seated. Parishioners nodded a greeting.

  Knots of people chatted in groups, oblivious to their children. Several youngsters hopped over pews and ran through the aisles. Why couldn’t these people control their kids? We have a Sunday school! His soaring confidence, plummeted like a misfired missile.

  The musicians began an upbeat version of Crown Him With Many Crowns. Congregants stopped talking and began singing. Sammy rushed down a side aisle toward her usual spot next to the deacons.

  Clustered together, Charlotte Sims, Martin and Laney Fernández, and other seniors bellowed the hymn with conviction. Emmet Crawford glared.

  What’s the matter with him?

  Dalton’s vibrating phone interrupted his thoughts. He fished it from his pocket and tapped the screen.

  CAN’T. C @ HOSPITAL

  Matt’s response stopped him. Dalton tried to find air, re-reading the text again. His heart ramped, knocking against his rib cage. He dug his fingers into the cold metal chair and frowned at the words, letting their reality sink in.

 

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