“It’s pretty hard to beat that answer, Pastor,” said Harold, who was sitting on the other side of Charlotte. “I think she summed it up pretty well.” Everyone else nodded and Pastor Gordon affirmed them. “You bet. It was a good answer. Let’s go to the next question.”
The study went smoothly after that. Charlotte was pleased with herself that she didn’t say anything silly or inappropriate. She even looked directly at Pastor Gordon as long as he didn’t look at her. If his eyes caught hers, they both looked away quickly. He made her heart flutter when she studied him without his knowledge, but if he caught her gaze, she felt her heart do a cartwheel. She felt confident that her inner response would get better with practice.
Pastor Gordon, on the other hand, felt even more frustrated. Each time he saw her profile, he caught himself studying her. He purposely ignored her unless she made a comment, and then he went on to other things immediately. He didn’t like her being in his Bible study. He didn’t like it a bit.
Friday evening arrived determinedly, and Charlotte prepared to go to the Donahues’. She decided to walk, since they were just around the bend. For the first time, she dressed up a little more, feeling secure enough to get rid of her matronly look. She put on a peasant blouse and a nicely fitted pair of jeans. With her hair curled and a new bracelet on her wrist, she even dared to put on some perfume. Feeling satisfied with a last look in the mirror, she stepped outside into the beautiful evening. She was pleased with how her salad had turned out, too, so she carried it in front of her with confidence.
Because the weather was so balmy, the neighborhood was out in full force. Mrs. Bartholomew waved from her front porch, with Custer alert on her lap. She secretly wondered where Charlotte was going all dolled up, but felt it against her principles to ask. So instead she watched her walk down the street, then tiptoed through Charlotte’s backyard to catch a glimpse of where she was going. Charlotte turned back to look at one point, but Mrs. Bartholomew thought she was well hidden behind the big oak. She finally lost interest when Charlotte turned into the Donahues’ driveway. There was nothing important happening after all. She’d just turned around when she noticed the car across the street. It was the pastor’s car from the Community Church. She had a good eye for color, and his car was an unusual shade of green. She’d noticed it before and was sure of it now. Things were interesting after all. She wished she could be Custer for a while and sneak into a window well to watch.
If she had been in a window well, she would have seen plenty. Charlotte arrived at about the same time as Janice. They chatted for a minute, then rang the doorbell. When Mrs. Donahue opened it, she welcomed them with open arms. Charlotte smiled broadly—until she walked in and saw Pastor Gordon sitting there. He had his head bowed and resolutely refused to look up. Charlotte felt her face go bright red and wished she’d worn her tans and blues, anything other than a peasant blouse and perfume. To make matters worse, Mrs. Donahue made a big deal of Charlotte’s arrival. No one noticed Mr. Donahue’s eyes roll in exasperation. “Look, Gordon, have you met Charlotte?” She smiled and held Charlotte’s arm as if she were the queen of England, displayed for all to see.
Pastor Gordon looked up and gave a brief smile. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“Oh, I’m glad. She’s going to be one of your parishioners, you know.”
Gordon nodded and turned back to talk to Mr. Donahue. Charlotte felt horribly on display, so she changed the subject to what she should do with her salad. Mrs. Donahue looked disappointed but led her into the kitchen.
Gordon continued to converse with Mr. Donahue on the latest rise in wheat prices, but inside he was going crazy. How could the Donahues do this to him? What was going on? Was this some kind of test from God? If so, by gum, he’d pass it.
In the kitchen, Charlotte asked, “What can I do to help, Mrs. Donahue?”
“Oh, nothing, dear. Go on in with Janice and Gordon. They’re better company than me.”
“That’s all right. I’d rather stay in here and help.”
Mrs. Donahue sighed, but handed Charlotte a knife to begin cutting the French bread. “So are you adjusting well to small town life?”
“I think so. I’m not quite used to how well everyone knows everyone else. That’s taking some getting used to.”
“I suppose it does. That’s the way it’s always been so I never think anything of it.” She leaned over to watch Charlotte’s progress. “Here’s some butter and garlic salt. When you get the loaf cut, just butter and salt it.”
“Okay. The lasagna smells wonderful. Italian food is my favorite.”
“Good! I’ll go fill the water glasses.” She disappeared with a pitcher in her hand. Just then the doorbell rang and Charlotte heard new voices. It gave her relief to know that more were coming. At that moment, Mort came flying through the kitchen. When he saw her, he stopped cold. “Oh, hi! Mom said you were coming. Romance writers can cook too?” He grinned and rushed on to greet his friend. By this time, he knew perfectly well that he was being ridiculous. Charlotte liked him, though. She could take that kind of teasing.
Soon Mrs. Donahue came back and dragged Charlotte out of the kitchen. “I want you to meet the Coltons. This is John, Cindy, and their son, Trevor.” Looking at them she said, “And this is Charlotte, our beautiful new neighbor.” She looked directly at Gordon when she said this, but only her husband noticed. “Have a seat, all of you. I’ll be done in just a minute.”
Mrs. Donahue not only produced a fantastic meal, but had decorated the table with several living plants and stamped place cards with each of their names. Charlotte was horrified to realize she was seated next to Gordon, but relieved that he ignored the names and sat down with a space between them, quickly switching Janice’s name tag with his own. Mrs. Donahue looked confused when she came into the room and saw the seating arrangement, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at that point.
Dinner proceeded quite nicely, with lots of pleasant conversation, laughter, and teasing. Charlotte kept quiet most of the time and observed. Pastor Gordon turned out to be a great storyteller, keeping them entertained with one tale after another. Janice also kept the conversation lively, giving the boys something silly to talk about every few minutes.
When they’d eaten enough to take care of a herd of elephants, they pushed back from the table and wandered into the living room for coffee. The boys drifted off to their own affairs and the adults continued in polite conversation. Finally Mrs. Donahue announced that they were going to play a game. “This is a little different than most parlor games, but it’s a great way to get to know each other.” She said this as she passed out pieces of paper and pencils to each guest. “Write on your paper the word ‘people,’ then list five of the people who are dearest to you in the world.” She gave them a few minutes, then added, “Now write the word ‘beliefs,’ and list the five beliefs that you feel you can’t live without.” Pausing a bit while her guests tapped their pencils and looked off into the distance, she concluded, “Now write ‘activities’ and list your five favorites.” After a minute more, Mrs. Donahue asked, “Everyone done?”
After several nods, she said, “Cross off three of the people on that list. Leave only two.”
“Wait a minute,” said Cindy. “Why just two? How am I to pick?”
“That’s up to you, just do it.” After several grumbles, each person complied. “Anyone want to share which two they left and why?”
Janice piped up first. “I crossed off my neighbor and my cousin. I couldn’t decide between my mom, dad, and sister, though. I left three because I couldn’t choose.”
Mrs. Donahue shook her finger at her. “That’s cheating. Did anyone do it right?”
“I have two because I crossed off my brother and two sisters and left my parents. It seemed the easy way to do it but I have no idea why.” Pastor Gordon shrugged his shoulders.
“Hmm. Well, at least you followed the rules. Anyone else?”
Cindy refused to answer, bu
t John said he’d crossed off his parents and sister and left his wife and son.
“What about you, Charlotte?”
Charlotte looked embarrassed. “I just have one left: my mom.”
“Why only one?”
Charlotte shifted in her seat, wishing she didn’t have to answer. “I had a lot of acquaintances on the list but only one who is really dear to me, my mom, so rather than choose between the others, I just chose her.”
Mrs. Donahue looked sad for a moment, but kept the party spirit going. “Let’s move to activities.” The next two things didn’t seem as hard to do as choosing between people, and lots of laughs occurred during the discussion of activities. Charlotte easily pared all three categories down to one: her mom, her writing, and Jesus Christ. Other than that, the rest were all peripheral. Everyone seemed a little jealous of her ability to do this, but the whole exercise made Charlotte blue.
When the evening ended, everyone said goodbye laughing and in good spirits, but as soon as she was out of the door Charlotte felt the weight of the evening, wishing she had more of value in her life to vie for first place. Pastor Gordon saw her walking home in the dark and felt the same sadness for her. He wanted very much to offer to walk her home, but squelched the thought as soon as it entered his mind. Instead he got in his car and drove a block away, watching to make sure she got back to her house safely.
CHAPTER eight
Gordon McCrae woke up crabby as could be on Saturday. He felt annoyed enough to kick a dog. Fortunately there were none around, so the canine world was safe.
He’d tossed and turned all night, fighting images of Charlotte invading his dreams. In one, she held a bouquet of flowers that turned into a shining knife. That’s exactly the way he felt about her. She seemed everything attractive but could only be deadly to him. He felt the dream somehow prophetic, although he’d never had any confidence in his dreams until now.
His sermon tomorrow was on 1 Peter 3, concerning wives and their husbands. He really resented having to preach on this text, even having to think about it, but that was the next thing in 1 Peter, so it was pretty hard to avoid. And, of course, he knew there were plenty of married people in his congregation who needed to hear what Peter had to say, so he sat down to work on the verses.
When he got to the part in verse three about how beauty should not come from the outside but from the inside, he felt like he was preaching it to Charlotte alone. She needed to see that all this romance stuff was ungodly, and that she should concentrate on her character instead. Suddenly this verse became the central theme of the sermon and he pounded away at it. He practiced it over and over until his voice thundered throughout the parsonage. He could hardly wait until tomorrow.
Charlotte woke up happy. She was going to paint her bedroom today. She already saw how the blue paint would transform the room, making her feel like she was looking at the open sky. After eating a bite of breakfast, she covered the furniture with plastic and taped around the windows and floor boards. Soon she was painting to the sound of music flowing through her little house. She danced and thought and sang at the top of her lungs. Something about doing a mindless activity like painting released all her creative juices.
Through the music, she heard a pounding on her door. When she answered it, there stood Janice in old jeans and a bedraggled T-shirt. “Hi. You told me you were going to paint today, so I’m here to help.”
“Bless you, child. Come on in. The paint is fresh.”
“Ooh, I love the color. Where should I start?”
“How about that side? We’ll meet in the middle.”
The two of them now sang, danced, and conversed together, giggling like two school girls. With both of them working, they finished at about one o’clock, all except for a little trim work, so they sat down in Charlotte’s kitchen and ate a tuna sandwich. “That was a lot of fun last night,” Janice said as she nibbled.
“Yes, it was.”
Taking a bite of sandwich she added, “I’ve always had a crush on Pastor Gordon. Isn’t he dreamy?”
Charlotte frowned. “I don’t know if dreamy is the right word. He’s more like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, always dignified and trying to do the right thing.”
Janice nodded, “That’s what I mean, dreamy.” She smiled mischievously, like an elf about to pull a chair out from under you. “To me, that’s what dreamy is. You can have all those goofy guys who do anything for a laugh. I want a man with courage and dignity.”
Charlotte nodded without enthusiasm, but Janice didn’t seem to notice. “Did you see how he switched the name tags last night?”
“Yes, I did notice that . . .”
“I’m afraid to hope, but I wondered if he wanted me on his right side instead of his left.”
“I don’t know. Has he shown any interest in you?”
Janice sighed, looking like she’d lost her best nickel. “No, not a bit. But then again, he never shows interest in any one. I think the man’s made of steel.” She looked up at Charlotte with a gleam in her eye. “I thought maybe you would crack his shell, but if you are, he’s not showing any signs of it.”
Charlotte laughed a little too hysterically, “Get that idea out of your head right now. He has absolutely no interest in me. I might as well be invisible.”
Janice suddenly perked up. “Do you want him to notice?”
“No!” Charlotte almost shouted. “Not at all. I want a warm man who is understanding. I don’t think that’s Pastor Gordon.”
Janice laughed and seemed convinced, which set them both to parroting his mannerisms and speech. Charlotte felt a bit guilty about it but enjoyed it all the same.
Sunday morning dawned and Charlotte got ready for church without any qualms. She’d slept on the sofa last night since her room smelled strongly of paint, but she enjoyed walking into the bedroom and seeing all that fresh blue color. She got ready in record time and decided to head to church early. Sometimes she liked to be in there praying before all the hustle and bustle started. That way she could also avoid all the conversation that swirled around her ahead of time.
Walking into church, she saw only a few people seated. Most in attendance were involved in some aspect of the service and milled around taking care of details. Charlotte made her way to the same spot she’d chosen last week and opened her Bible to read. After a chapter or two, she began to read some hymns, causing her heart to sing long before the music began up front. Finally she noticed that the church was filling up and sweet melodies began drifting out to the congregation.
After a lot of singing, some announcements, and time of prayer, Pastor Gordon got up to speak. He had a strong voice and commanded everyone’s attention. “The passage we are looking at today is in 1 Peter, chapter three. Turn with me, if you will.” Pages shuffled as everyone found the verses he would speak on. “God gives clear instruction here concerning husbands and wives.” From there he expounded on the text, sharing how wives were to win their husbands over by their behavior.
Charlotte nodded in agreement, enjoying the truth to be found in this passage. When Pastor Gordon reached verse three, his voice rose the way a storm rises over the ocean. “Clearly our society has not taken this verse to heart: ‘Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.’
“Think of the millions of dollars that women spend on themselves to look attractive for men. Both sexes are at fault here; the women who put so much emphasis on their looks and the men who encourage it.” At this point Pastor Gordon looked directly at Charlotte. “And there are those who actually make their living by encouraging these things. Instead we, as Christians, should set an example by putting the emphasis on our inner spirits. We need to wake up!” He said this with such force that the light fixtures overhead shook.
Although he looked at Charlo
tte to strike conviction in her heart, he was disconcerted by the fact that she was smiling and nodding her head the entire time. And, in fact, Charlotte did agree with every word. Not for one moment did it occur to her that he was talking about her occupation. He didn’t know that her books demonstrated inner beauty over outer, that her passion in writing romance was that women would recognize this very thing.
Somehow, the fact that she smiled made Pastor Gordon all the more vehement in the way he delivered his sermon. Being new, she thought that this was a typical way for him to preach. If she’d looked around, however, she would have noticed the wide eyes of the rest of the congregation. As it turned out, people would talk about this sermon for weeks.
When church was over, Charlotte decided the direct approach was best. She couldn’t continue to duck and hide from the pastor if she was going to come each Sunday. Besides, she really liked his sermon and wanted to tell him so. Marching up to him, she thrust out her hand, gripping his firmly. “That was very powerful, Pastor. A much needed message for all of us.” Her grip was firm, but his was rather limp, an oddity for him. He didn’t smile when she did and felt certain that she was mocking him, that her whole reason for coming to his church was to mock him. He’d never met a woman like her who could haunt his thoughts.
So Charlotte left the church in high spirits, leaving Gordon’s spirit in shambles.
As she walked toward her house, she saw the insurance salesman standing next to his Corvette, looking impatient. Her first impulse was to turn around and go the other way, but she really wanted to go home. She took a deep breath and marched confidently up to him. “Selling insurance on Sunday? Don’t you ever rest?”
He looked startled to hear her voice; he hadn’t noticed her walking up. “Oh, no. I’m not selling anything today. This is purely a social call.”
Charlotte walked around him, heading resolutely for her door. “You just sit around waiting in women’s driveways?”
Crispens Point - Book 1 of the Blackberry County Chronicles Page 4