Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  Dalton twisted around and watched church members streaming in. He returned smiles as he jingled his keys in his pocket. People hurried past, forging toward the front seats. Some waved as they passed. Many more hurried by, not meeting his eyes.

  Winifred Snyder ambled toward him, dressed in a floral print dress, poking at the linoleum with her cane. He glanced down at his dusty sneakers and polo shirt. He should have changed. At least worn a tie with a white shirt.

  He pasted on a smile and prepared himself. Being chewed out by one of the congregation’s matriarchs in front of everyone wouldn’t be fun.

  She leaned close. Her grey eyes searched his.

  “Pastor Dalton … my son insists I move in with him. What should I do?”

  “I … uh…” Dalton stammered, surprised. “Things might get bad, Winnie. You’re staying at his place?”

  “Since the power went off. I’ve been prayin’ something fierce and I’m sure the Lord will bring back the lights.” Tears filled her eyes, her cold hand squeezed his. “Mitzie and I will be fine. I don’t want to leave my home, Pastor. Can you talk some sense into Gene?” Mitzie, the woman’s scraggly terrier, was hardly a watch dog. It made sense her son wanted his mother under his roof.

  “He’s looking out for you, Winnie,” Dalton said.

  “Please talk to him, Pastor.”

  “I will but … uh … Winnie, there’s something you should know.”

  “‘Though you fall, you shall not be utterly cast down,’” she interrupted. “‘For the Lord upholds you with His righteous right hand.’”

  His eyes welled. “Thank you, Winnie.” He hugged her. “That means a lot to me. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She headed toward Gene who held a seat. Gene wouldn’t take kindly to his interference. Not after hocking the poor woman’s heirloom. But he’d made a promise and would keep it.

  Maybe if he assured Gene he’d check on his mother a few times a week, he’d agree to let her stay in her home.

  He held back a chuckle. Not likely. Gene would suspect he’d stop by to pilfer more heirlooms. He’d probably have to promise not to stop by.

  ***

  Samantha sat near a back wall, three rows from a make-shift stage in the sunlit annex. Gordy and Bethany snuggled close, holding hands next to her. Lost in each other’s eyes, the teenagers provided a tinge of sweetness to the dismal atmosphere. Why the concern and the need for rules? This was Gordy, for heaven’s sake. Her smart, geeky son, more interested in his telescope than girls. There was nothing to worry about. Was there?

  Thankful for her obscurity, she leaned against the chair’s metal back. It offered some anonymity from incoming congregants who would ask questions about the meeting and why her husband hadn’t taken the stage.

  Her mother had gone home to be with Grace. Her daughter didn’t need to hear any of this. Adults wrangling about whether or not to keep her father as a pastor would be hard enough. But to add to that the discussions about a powerless reality might be frightening to a child.

  Saturday’s memorial service for Charity Connor loomed. Thinking about it nudged her melancholy into full-blown sadness.

  Matt and Carla seemed to be holding it together. At least for now. They sat a few rows ahead of Samantha. Matt kept his arm around Carla’s shoulders, protective and caring.

  The reality of their daughter’s death would hit again like a tidal wave. Seeing their sorrow would be hard. Especially for Grace. Samantha questioned her decision again. Should she allow her daughter to attend? Grace would be upset if she didn’t let her go. She wanted to say goodbye to her best friend. But exposing her to the kind of raw grief sure to be displayed … Maybe … maybe she should talk about this with Dalton.

  She sighed. How had that happened? In the space of a day, she’d gone from never wanting to see him again to discussing parenting decisions.

  Thinking of Dalton … she saw him lingering near the kitchen. He gazed over the congregation, seeming to be looking for someone. Her? She signaled him with her hand and their eyes met.

  He mouthed again, “I’m sorry.”

  Today his words landed differently in her heart.

  She mouthed back, “It’s okay,” then smiled.

  This evening the rest of his future would be determined by a room full of angry parishioners. Yet between him and her, his apology had finally take root someplace deep in her soul. Instead of judgment, she wanted grace. Instead of punishment, she craved mercy. The anger that had suffocated her spirit had quelled. Though her heart was bruised, it wanted to love again.

  A strong scent drifted by. Samantha turned around. Deidra and Drake Storm took seats behind her. Deidra’s eyes fired hate bullets. Then, as if to convey a message only for her, Deidra scooted close to Drake and leaned her head on his shoulder. Which seemed to say, I have my husband, where’s yours?

  Samantha faced forward. Nice try, Deidra. Why Deidra came to the meeting in the first place escaped her. The playwright’s renowned quote, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” popped into her brain.

  Oh. Of course. Deidra came to punish both Dalton, who had rejected her advances, and Samantha who had called her out on it. She sat up straight and firmed her shoulders. Deidra Storm would no longer occupy space in her head.

  Church members found folding chairs as the time for beginning the meeting approached. Like a courtroom jury, twelve empty seats for the council members and their spouses formed two rows on an elevated platform that faced the congregation. Laney and Martin ascended, with the other church leadership trailing behind. Absent was the chair Dalton would normally take.

  Laney Fernández tapped an empty glass with a teaspoon to get everyone’s attention while Martin took the podium. Loud chatters tapered to whispers and stragglers quickly found seats.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone,” Martin said. “Would you join me in prayer?”

  The group obediently bowed their heads. A few clasped hands with their neighbors.

  “Lord … there are many challenges that lay ahead,” Martin began. “We need Your help, Father…” He prayed for several minutes, then said, “Amen.”

  He picked up a sheaf of notes and read. Rita Clemmons scribbled minutes on a yellow legal pad.

  “It’s been three days since the solar flare,” he said. “Fortunately there’s a science wiz among us who might be able to shed some light—pardon my pun—on what happened. Gordy, would you join us on the platform and explain?”

  After Gordy made his way to the front, he described an electric magnetic pulse and what that would mean for planet Earth. “I researched this all summer,” he continued. “Last Monday my grandmother witnessed the explosion from the sun.”

  Samantha swelled with pride hearing Gordy qualify his theories with what he’d read on an Australian government website that night.

  “Unlike us, the Australians were warned.”

  Several churchgoers raised hands.

  “Yes?” Martin pointed to Amanda.

  “How long will this last?”

  “No one really knows,” Gordy said. “Congress was warned about it years ago but took no action. Our transformers were never hardened.”

  “Hardened?” asked Charlotte Sims who sat in the front row.

  “Protected,” Gordy continued. “The government fixed their own stuff like military hardware and satellites, but never got around to shielding the transformers in every American city.”

  “So there’s no way to get them up and running?” Martin asked.

  “I doubt it. They’re old. They need to be rebuilt. That will take months, if not years.”

  “Years? Are you kidding me?” Brad Sanders yelled from his seat with the council members behind Gordy. Samantha furrowed her brow in surprise. She thought the council members knew how dire the situation was.

  Seated next to Brad, Harold Roark raised his hand. “We all here, who sit on this platform, including you, Brad …” he said, “we
re alerted by Martin on Tuesday morning. Laney emailed everyone on the church’s mailing list instructions on how to prepare. If you recall, at the time we thought he was crazy. Had we heeded his warning, we’d all be in a better place. Those precious hours were needed to gather supplies and store water.”

  “We were dealing with other stuff,” Brad bit out. He frowned at Dalton who waited in the back like a lamb to be slaughtered. Samantha shot up a quick prayer. Help my husband, Lord.

  “Even with Gordon’s expertise, people would wonder if this could happen, so I don’t blame anyone for not listening,” Martin said.

  Thank you, Father, for this humble man who leads our council, Samantha prayed.

  When Gordy returned to his seat, Samantha hugged him while she whispered in his ear, “You did great, son.” He smiled at her, then turned to Bethany, who reached for his hand.

  “We must help each other,” Martin continued. “Especially those among us who are shut-ins or elderly. You might have noticed several tables in the back marked with signs. We will have sign ups after dinner.

  “That is our visitation table.” He gestured at the first table closest to the front. “It’s the most important task we have before us. We need volunteers to check on parishioners. Jeremy Andrews is heading up this team.

  “We’ve listed some of our elderly and others who are missing. If you notice someone absent, please go to the back and add their name. These homes will be visited this evening even if it takes us all night.”

  “The next station is labeled, ‘Help’ and will be manned by Gordon Baxter,” Martin said. “Head over there for practical information about sanitation and water preservation.”

  “My wife, Laney, will be at the ‘Wellness Table’. If you have any medical knowledge or medicinal expertise, we need your help.” Martin seemed to survey the crowd. “Is James Collins here? Dr. Jim, where are you?”

  “Over here, Martin.” The doctor signaled with his hand.

  “Dr. Jim and I have already discussed this. He and Laney will co-lead this team.”

  Martin explained about another table labeled ‘Transportation’ where people could sign up to transport folks with working cars. People with extra bikes were asked to stop by.

  “We also need a group of people to help with Charity Connor’s … uh … service. Samantha will oversee that,” Martin stammered. Samantha glanced again at the Connors, huddled together like a pair of penguins cradling their precious baby. Except Matt and Carla’s baby was beyond their warmth, beyond their help, beyond their care. Samantha’s heart broke all over again, seeing their helplessness in their hunched shoulders.

  Martin paused, staring at Dalton who still hung back near the bulletin board.

  Samantha’s stomach lurched and she darted a glance at the nearest exit. If only she could leave.

  Gordy gently squeezed her hand, his action producing fresh tears in her eyes. Thank God for this young man who had shown bounds of maturity these past few days. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  ***

  Dalton twisted his wedding band, his breath hitching as a new wave of apprehension assaulted him. Martin’s stare cut right through him. He drew a breath, held it, and braced himself for Martin’s next topic. Not since a doctor pronounced a death sentence over his mother had he felt so helpless. The plan was for him to remain silent while Martin revealed his numerous sins. Then a vote would be taken to have him removed.

  Dalton readied himself, looking down at his sneakers. All eyes would shift to him once the truth became evident. If only he could run and escape the disappointment in their faces.

  A week ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about slipping out the door and leaving Sammy to mop up his mess.

  But healing began in his jail cell. If he had to return there, it was because God could use him on the inside. His days of running were over.

  Lord Jesus, help me.

  Martin finally spoke. “Our pastor … is in a very hard trial right now …”

  Had Martin called him their pastor? Dalton glanced up. Martin’s glistening eyes connected with his.

  “I know we didn’t discuss this, brother. But I think it would be better if everyone heard this from you. Would that be okay?”

  Dalton stilled. He knew what a deer felt, frozen in the path of a car. Lord, I’m not prepared, help me! Anxiety surged through him. There was no oxy to lean on or give confidence. All the words in his head lacked any power, any persuasiveness.

  He walked toward the invisible altar through a room where no one let out a sound. Even the kids seemed to be still. Tears collected in his eyes.

  When he joined Martin, he whispered, “Are you sure about this?”

  “I prayed all morning, Dalton. I’m sure.”

  Martin took his seat as Dalton stood in front of the wooden lectern, gripping its sides. At least it shielded some of his shame. A room full of puzzled faces held questions in their eyes. He looked at Sammy, who smiled and nodded. Seeing her ignited his courage.

  “There’s no easy way to say this. The truth is, I’m a drug addict.”

  Hushed murmurs could be heard. Eyebrows arched. No one spoke.

  “I used the offering you so generously gave to the Yavapai Mission on Sunday to buy drugs.” Dalton paused, as if he were back in the pulpit, gauging the crowd’s temperature.

  Audible buzzing, louder now.

  “If that wasn’t enough, what I tell you next will shock you. This injury … ” Dalton pointed, then gingerly touched the bandage beneath his left eye. “ … was self-induced.”

  A loud chatter filled the auditorium. He pushed through, describing his crimes. “I sank my own car in Copper Lake.” People shook their heads, some covered their mouths while Helen Crawford clutched her pearls. “I intended to convince law enforcement I’d been carjacked. I hoped my insurance company would replace my car.”

  Dalton glanced at the council members who sat behind him. Brad scowled, but the others’ faces offered sympathy.

  “Remember that skiing accident I had last year?” he asked. “My doctor gave me pain meds. I began to abuse them. I became addicted. I wronged many people …”

  His tears freely fell, tracking the top of the podium he clutched with his hand.

  “I’ve hurt you …” Dalton heaved in a deep breath and wiped his eyes. “I’ve stolen your hard-earned money and more importantly, I’ve squandered your trust.

  “My actions brought devastation to my family …” He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Sammy. His eyes held hers despite his blurry vision.

  “Sammy … I love you so much … Please forgive me for the hell I put you through.”

  All day he’d imagined this moment to be held in a private setting with just the two of them. But like their wedding day, he now made a public vow. “Before all these witnesses I promise to love you the way God wants me to. That is … if you’ll have me after what I have done.” She nodded with a slight smile.

  Did that mean she would? His heart leaped with hope.

  “As far as the funds I embezzled, I’ll do my best to make full restitution. If that means doing hard labor for congregants and at the church facility, I will. Gladly.”

  “What about our money?” A voice shouted from the hall. “You stole four thousand dollars from Drake and me for that phony furnace repair!” Deidra Storm stood, venom in her eyes.

  Dalton’s hand shook. His speech stalled. Deidra had come? How was Sammy? His eyes met hers and she nodded again.

  “Sit down, Deidra,” Martin said. “Now’s not the time for this. We’ll decide later how everyone will be recompensed. You and Drake will be added to that list, so please take a seat.”

  Eyes still glowering, she sat down.

  Dalton found his voice. “It’s not necessary to take a vote. I am stepping down as your pastor immediately.”

  “Hold on, brother.” Martin joined him at the podium. “The decision won’t be made today. We n
eed to take some time to pray about this,” Martin said, scanning the room. “Do that, folks. Pray. Consult the Lord. Follow His leading. Anonymous ballots will be handed out by the ushers on Sunday. We’ll take a vote then.”

  Dalton let loose of the lectern. So … he was still their pastor?

  Weren’t they just delaying the inevitable?

  He cocked his head as a realization struck. He no longer felt the need to demand the things he thought he deserved. Like a second chance or the opportunity to make restitution. In fact, he didn’t even care about a second chance. God had his back. And maybe—just maybe—he had his Sammy back.

  Everything was a gift. Even the three days of reprieve he’d just been given.

  ***

  As dusk cast an orange glow through the annex’s windows, most of the folks had left the building, some carrying lanterns or flashlights. They’d split up into groups of two or three, with instructions to walk, bike or drive to the homes of parishioners who were absent. Dinner was over and a few ladies were still in the kitchen cleaning things up.

  Samantha gathered at a long table with fifteen people. The flame from a kerosene lamp flickered nearby. They’d been discussing Charity’s service on Saturday. She was encouraged by the caring faces congregated around her.

  Matt and Carla sat next to Dalton at the opposite end, their eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Saturday’s memorial service would break their hearts again. How will we get through this? their eyes seemed to ask.

  It felt odd leading the meeting, one normally Dalton would have commanded. Yet here she was in charge, with all eyes upon her.

  “The bereavement committee was so kind to make copies,” she said as she held up a stack of papers. “I only have eight so please share with your neighbor.” When she passed them out, couples scooted close, huddling over hand-written notes.

  “We’re still looking for someone to conduct the service.” She looked at the Connors. “Martin has offered if that is okay with you.” Samantha hoped for a nod from Matt but instead he shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “Carla and I want Dalton to do it.”