by Karon Ruiz
This can’t be true. Not today. Not when he needed to meet Matt. The girl’s condition couldn’t be that bad, could it? She’d been to the hospital many times before.
He jabbed the key pad, SORRY. NEED 2DAY. WILL PAY EXTRA
He adjusted his pious expression and hoisted his tenor, rejoining the congregation’s melody. Moments stretched to minutes. The earsplitting instruments coupled with the lifeless phone orchestrated a tune of turmoil in his stomach.
Seriously? Did they need to sing all the verses?
Come on, Matt! Answer the text.
The Oxy floundered, failing to quell his climbing aggravation. The initial rush had been amazing, but now … not so much. Stress had dampened his usual high.
During the third praise song, his phone shivered.
NO
Rage surged. He stabbed the phone screen without thinking.
WHEN CAN I SPEAK 2 CARLA?
The cell went still. Too long.
Dalton tapped: HELLO?
The cell pulsed. WILL B THERE
Like warm oil, relief coursed through him. Informing Carla Connor that her husband had returned to the drug business had been a long shot. A long shot that had worked. He grabbed the glass of cold water from under his chair and took a lengthy drink. Maybe it would dilute his growing sense of shame. It didn’t. He hadn’t counted on Charity returning to the hospital. Please, God, let her be okay.
The song ended and Dalton walked to the podium. “Good morning, everyone.” A chorus of nodding heads and polite smiles filled the sanctuary.
Armando Cristiano located a cordless mic and stood a few feet away, holding the church bulletin. He ran through the announcements while Dalton tried to control the tremor in his legs. He took in lengthy cleansing breaths. The meds always did this, but after months of taking them, he’d learned how to control their side effects.
Laney Fernández scooted out of her pew and down a side aisle. She’s leaving now? He hadn’t even started yet. Dalton resisted a scowl, watching her disappear into the vestibule.
Armando’s monotone rambled to a close, then he returned to his seat. Liz Cronklin, the council secretary, got up and said the opening prayer. The musicians played a soft wordless hymn and after she said “Amen,” they followed her off the platform, finding seats in the sanctuary.
Dalton leaned into the podium. His hands framed a stack of papers that covered Joshua Johnson’s book.
“This morning I’m beginning a new series. Many of us forget that fundamental to our faith is that God wants us to be happy. He reminds us of this in Ecclesiastes 7:14.”
Several seniors thumbed through their Bibles and his brow furrowed. Were they checking his biblical accuracy? Wouldn’t be the first time. They’d surely needle him about skipping the remainder of the passage where God appoints unhappy times as well. Thank goodness most of the congregation no longer brought their Bibles.
“No matter the circumstances, we can find true fulfillment and joy by connecting with something called ‘the Inner Secret.’ Let me explain what this is. There’s a God-planted tool inside your soul. Discovering it, using it … will transform your life.
“The concept is simple. Avoid negativity. When pessimistic thoughts come, cast them aside. How? Locate your Inner Secret and draw strength from it as if it were a bottomless well of positive power.” He paused and checked the congregation for visible responses.
Grandma Johnson fiddled with her hearing aid.
Marianne Wilkes shushed her squirming children.
Martin Fernández stared with raised eyebrows, conveying skepticism.
Were these people even listening?
Desperate for affirmation, he looked at Deidra.
She puckered and blew a kiss his way.
Dalton’s train of thought derailed, spiraling into an abyss of uncertainty. He stared at what he’d written and couldn’t find his place. His hands convulsed like a rabid animal, shaking against the wood, knocking the hardback off the pulpit. Sammy bounced from her seat and headed to the kneeler’s bench where she picked up the book and handed it back to him. When he mouthed her a thank you, she smiled and gifted a wink. She hadn’t seen Deidra’s gesture. Thank God.
As he gripped the edge of the podium, rivered veins popped to the surface of his hand. He steadied his breathing, focusing on the crowd, keeping his gaze away from Deidra Storm.
He expounded another twenty minutes. “Avoid negative thinking,” he said. “Push it from your mind.” Despite his own admonition, Deidra’s actions rattled him. He had much to learn about practicing what he preached.
“You make a mental exchange, substituting the unconstructive thought with a positive one,” he explained. “It’s that simple. Stop doubting. The epistle James tells us that questioning God will hinder what He wants to give us.”
A few people nodded but the scripture failed to erase the suspicious looks from the old folks who sat near the front. Talk about pessimism.
He held up the hard back. “This book, A Happy Life Is Possible, will help you. In fact, much of what I preached today came from it. You may purchase one after the service in the annex. They should arrive by Wednesday.”
A harmless lie. The online purchase he’d made minutes before the service began wouldn’t arrive at the church by Wednesday, let alone by next Sunday. McCormick’s distant location, miles from any large city, didn’t merit any favors from online retailers. And Dalton wasn’t about to fork out extra money for priority mail.
“Don’t worry,” he continued, “if we need more, I’ll place a rush order tomorrow.” People hated being left out. They’d be shoving old ladies aside to obtain books from the first batch.
“Keep your eyes on our website.” He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the sweat on his forehead. He jotted down four words on the back side of his notes.
Apology—UPS — late delivery
He’d post that on the website Wednesday morning, explaining why the books were late.
Dalton motioned to the clock above the piano. “I’ve gone a little over today. Let’s prepare our hearts for the offering.”
He stepped aside and sat in a chair while Armando’s wife, Ana, stood to lead the prayer. Once she finished, the ushers collected four silver platters from the top of a dusty organ while Dalton returned to the pulpit. This better be good. He had already kept them five minutes late and they hadn’t even sung the closing hymn. Many shifted in their seats as temperatures climbed outside. Within thirty minutes the old swamp coolers would reveal their ineffectiveness and congregants would be eager to return to their air-conditioned homes.
He must stick to the plan. He’d acted in this play before, perhaps using a different script, but the results were the same. Today’s plea would be no different.
“As we consider our offering today, remember what we discussed earlier. The ‘Inner Secret.’ What I’m about to share could change the course of your life.”
Heads leaned, wide-eyed with expectation.
Dalton lifted his brows, slightly opening his mouth, pausing his speech. He had to convince them what they were about to do would, indeed, change their lives forever.
“We made a commitment to the Yavapai Mission in Prescott this past January but unfortunately our benevolence fund is depleted.”
Bodies relaxed, telegraphing disinterest with the mention of giving a nickel more than their regular tithe. People crossed their arms while polite smiles straightened into flat lines.
Who could blame them? So many were already struggling. The collateral damage from the massive recession had affected many in a small town with little to offer the outside world.
Did he need to do this? He could find the money someplace else, couldn’t he?
He’d use his inheritance money if he still had it. Buying that new car and fancy suits had seemed important at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He surveyed the faces staring back at him. These
folks weren’t interested in helping a homeless shelter up north. His years in the pulpit told him one thing. These people wanted out of here. Fast.
He schooled his voice to a gentle plea. “Examine your hearts.” He let the final word crack a bit. If he couldn’t convince them, he’d never have a shot at the new job. “God may be speaking to you about increasing your donations. People at the mission will be put on the street if we’re not generous today.”
Now the hook. He raised his voice along with the book.
“Think of the positive energy you will bring into your life. Giving will produce a windfall of happiness. I guarantee it. Remember your Inner Secret.” He served a generous portion of guilt. “Can we put families on the street during a heat wave?”
Now for the final four words to seal the deal.
“Think about the children.”
The men pulled out their wallets and the women opened their purses as the plates were passed. Dalton smiled. Mission accomplished.
“Cash is preferable,” he added. “That way the shelter won’t have to process checks. I’m heading up there today to meet with the director. Your generosity will be the answer to his prayers.”
From her seat in the front pew, right on cue, Samantha smiled at Dalton with her supportive-wife-look.
Good thing she decided to drop Gordy off at the bus stop after church so she wouldn’t ask to go with him. Dalton returned a grin and Samantha’s smile grew.
That’s a switch. She’d been so touchy. Maybe his message persuaded her, too.
With the collection over, four ushers took the heaping plates to an area behind the baptistery. He licked his lips. It looked like a good haul.
***
Warm relief flooded Samantha’s heart. How could she have misjudged him? Her husband wanted to help the needy.
This was the Dalton she loved.
Convincing him to talk to the Crawford couple before rushing off to Prescott shouldn’t be a problem. He’d straighten things out with his typical charismatic way of bringing calm to anyone’s storm.
This was the Dalton she knew.
Though she bowed her head for the closing prayer, she didn’t hear a word of it. She’d join Dalton for his trip up north so they could talk. And after the mission meeting, they could go to Boondoggles for dinner. The iconic Prescott steakhouse, her favorite, showcased cowboy charm with its red-checked tablecloths and sawdust covered floors. Their happy place where they could reconnect. It had been too long.
She mentally organized her afternoon. She’d ask Elaine Ainsworth to watch her little girl for the afternoon. Grace would be going home with Elaine for her daughter Lucy’s birthday party right after church. Grace could stay until evening. That way Samantha and Dalton could linger in Prescott, enjoying a long over-due romantic dinner.
CHAPTER FOUR
Missed Grace
_________________________________________________________
10:27 a.m.
Dalton had one goal in mind. Get these people out of here so he could get on the road. He still needed to print the directions from his Google Earth app. Where he was headed wasn’t on any conventional map and time was a commodity he could not waste.
The keyboardist began the final hymn.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
He tried to sing but the words stuck in his throat like peanut butter. Hadn’t he specifically asked the Worship Team to leave this one off the rotation for a while? Apparently his insistence about not singing the old hymn had been ignored.
‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved …
His seventh birthday … A day of red splatters and crimson cheeks. His father had been the culprit of both. A tossed plate of marinara and the pounding of his flesh had fused in his brain. His mother scrubbed and scrubbed but the spaghetti sauce blemish had been impossible to remove. Amazing Grace always brought back the memory.
Waiving a mud-caked hammer, his father charged toward him while he quivered in a corner. His mother, tried to intervene, shouting, “Wallace, please. He didn’t mean to. You promised to take him fishing, remember? He was looking for worms …”
“Shut up!” Dad yelled as he slapped her.
She fell against the wall. “It’s his birthday … leave him alone!”
He struck her again. Harder. Dalton heard her jaw crack. She crumpled to the floor like a discarded rag doll.
Pulsing veins threaded his father’s neck as he got into Dalton’s face, breath reeking with whiskey. “This is an expensive hammer, boy!”
Dalton stared at it, eyes wide, lips trembling. Using its claw to dig holes near the horse stables hadn’t been a good idea. Even on what should have been a happy day.
“Why are you so stupid?” his father bellowed as he knotted a fist inches from Dalton’s face.
“No … please Dad … no!” Strikes one and two hit each side of his face.
His mother crawled and reached Dalton in time to take the third blow. That seemed to appease the old man’s wrath. Dalton cowered, rubbing his face, whimpering as he watched his father storm out the front door.
He gripped his mother’s hand as she led him to a rocker in his bedroom. Once Dad was gone, he spilled his emotions all over her shoulder. He sobbed for several minutes, sitting on her lap like a little kid. But he didn’t care. He needed her to hold him as if he was three again. When she rocked him, his heartbeat quieted, syncing to the gentle sway of the chair. Twilight streamed through his window, amplifying the growing welt on her face. The bruises encircling her wrists from last week’s beating looked like black bracelets. He felt the tips of her fingers draw tiny hearts on his cheeks as she repeated what she’d often told him. “You’re always in my heart, little man.” She wiped his tears, then lifted his chin and sang Amazing Grace as the dusk danced across his bedroom wall.
A sudden awareness of the congregation’s singing yanked him into to the present. Dalton breathed deeply, straightening his back, grateful for the hymn’s last familiar words.
When we’ve been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun …
He swallowed the lump in his throat, the hymn’s words overpowering his medicine’s ability to help him forget. Too many horrid memories were associated with it. He’d have to remove Amazing Grace from the worship team’s repertoire permanently.
The song ended with a crescendo and Dalton walked to his usual place at the end of the nave. Many filed past, shaking his hand, and a few even offered compliments and appreciation. The congregant line dwindled. Deidra Storm brought up the rear. His stomach lurched, watching her approach behind Mable Hatfield.
“Thank you, Pastor, for the wonderful sermon,” Mable said. “I can’t wait to get my book. I don’t have a computer. How can I know when to pick mine up?”
“No problem, Mable. Give the church office a call Wednesday morning. When they come in, we’ll put one aside for you.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful … bless you.” The elderly woman grinned, revealing a row of silver-capped teeth. She squeezed his hand and exited through the vestibule.
“Paaaaas…tor!” Deidra exclaimed, her loud voice echoing off the high ceiling. She moved close, offering bursting cleavage for his view. Dalton stepped back, nearly tripping over a stack of hymnals.
“Hello, Deidra ... uh … where’s Drake today?”
“Away on business,” she cooed, then winked. “I’m all by my lonesome if you want to come by.”
Dalton scanned the sanctuary for his wife. Samantha was nowhere in sight. “I’ve got a busy week. I’ll give you a call later,” he lied. That incident at her home a couple of weeks ago had been a big mistake.
“Okay, Pastor.” She wrapped him with spidery arms for what seemed like an eternity, then strutted through a side exit. He hurried down the aisle toward his office, his injured knee objecting at eac
h step.
He entered the tiny room with Carlos Miñoz and Rob Winters close behind. They placed the brimming collection plates on his desk.
“Thanks, guys.” An abundance of cash covered the regular tithing envelopes. People had been listening. Today of all days, paper currency was king.
“Your wife asked me to find you,” Carlos said. “Mr. and Mrs. Crawford want to talk to you.”
Dalton stifled a groan. He asked the men to keep the mission offering separate from the regular tithe and took a step toward the door, then swung around and grabbed his cane. Always good to have his sympathy stick with him when meeting complainers. And the Crawfords were known for grumbling about everything from how hot it was in the sanctuary to the modern worship songs.
When he emerged from his office, his eyes met Sammy’s. She sat near the older couple who were knotted together like two grey socks. Emmet Crawford’s face was written in disappointment.
What could be wrong now? The clock raced. At this rate he would be late for his appointment with Matt.
Dalton ambled through the aisle, leaning on the cane. When he reached Mr. Crawford, he shook the old man’s hand. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“It’s that boy you sent. He’s been stealin’ from us.”
“Are you sure?”
Mr. Crawford laid out Tyler Benson’s offenses.
“I suggested we have a meeting in the annex,” Sammy said. “I already called Amanda on her cell phone and discussed this with Mr. and Mrs. Crawford. Tomorrow evening at six will work for everyone. That way you and I won’t have to rush home from Prescott.”
Dalton’s throat tightened. Sammy couldn’t come with him. Not today!
“Perfect, then. Tomorrow it is,” he said.
He watched the couple shuffle through the front doors, then draped an arm around Sammy’s back.
“Aren’t you taking Gordy to the station?” he asked.
“He decided to hang out with Bethany so he’s taking a later bus. Barb offered to drop him off, so I could go with you.”