Make Haste Slowly

by Amy K Rognlie

  What was the name of the article? Something about hunted or haunted—there it was: “Haunted in Houston.” I shook my head. How did people come up with this stuff?

  Dear Dot,

  I’ve always heard that “the end justifies the means,” but now I’m not so sure. I did something to help someone else, but it didn’t help very much and now people are suffering because of what I did—including me. I can’t stop thinking about it, and it’s driving me crazy. I think I need to tell someone what I did, even if I get in trouble for it. Please help me.

  Haunted in Houston

  Wow. This letter seemed a little heavier than the ones Aunt Dot usually answered. I scrolled down to her response.

  Dear Haunted,

  Whoever said that the end justifies the means was wrong. If you have done something that harmed someone else, even with good intentions, you must make it right or you will never have any peace. If you have been untruthful, you must tell the truth.

  As noted theologian Albert Schweitzer once said, “Truth has no special time of its own. Its hour is now—always.”

  If you can go directly to those you hurt, that would be best. I would also advise you to seek the counsel of a pastor or some other trusted advisor and possibly a lawyer if the “trouble” you referred to is of the legal sort.

  I knew Aunt Dot probably had restrictions about using scripture in her column, but she had managed to still squeeze in biblical principles. Good for her. My smile faded as I leaned back on the couch. Why would she want me to read this column in particular? I was trying to seek the truth deliberately—in a festina lente kind of way. Was she urging me to hurry? Telling me that now was the time for the truth to be revealed?

  Annie joined me on the couch, resting her chin on my lap.

  “You’re such a sweet girl,” I murmured. “I bet Todd misses you.”

  I laid the computer aside and picked up my knitting. I needed to stop thinking about everything for a little while. I always kept a couple of different knitting projects going on—simple, no-thinking-required projects like the baby blanket for days like today, and for the days when I had the energy to focus, an intricate lace shawl pattern that left me cross-eyed after an hour or so.

  I turned on praise music and started in on the baby blanket. I had begun knitting it a few weeks ago because it looked like a fun pattern and the pastel rainbow colors made me happy. But now I thought of Nicole’s little one. Who else would knit a blanket for her? She had no grandmother. No mommy. No—

  I blinked back hot tears and concentrated on the feel of the delicate yarn in my hands. I had the simple pattern memorized, and it was satisfying to see the lacy design take shape in my hands. Exactly like Aunt Dot’s illustration of God’s hand upon our lives. I smiled at the thought of God with a crochet hook in His hand, my thoughts drifting back to Jason. I was still amazed at how God had finally broken through to my brother. Our family had prayed many times for God to do what it would take in Jason’s life to bring him to Himself. I hated that it took being in prison for Jason to finally surrender to God, but Jason himself told me that it was worth it.

  “I need to talk to you, Jace,” I whispered. Before he had gotten mixed up with Brandon, Jason and I had been close. And somehow, even through everything, we’d managed to hold on to our relationship.

  My phone dinged. I snatched it up, hoping it was Houston, but it was only Mona.

  “Are you OK?????” she texted.

  I texted back: “Hi, yes. But I don’t know if Houston is. Have you heard from him?”

  She called me.

  “How are you holding up, girlfriend?”

  I sighed. “I still can’t believe all of this.”

  “Well, I can. Once you start doin’ the Lord’s work, the devil is gonna try to make you quit.”

  I made a face. I didn’t doubt that was true, but I wasn’t convinced that was what was going on with today’s situation. “Have you talked to Houston? I tried to call him a couple of times earlier.”

  “Nope. And I’m supposed to leave in the morning with Rob. We’re going on a three-day trip to Louisiana and back.”

  Poor Houston. It sure seemed like bad timing for his secretary to leave for three days.

  “Do you have someone covering for you at the church while you’re gone this week?”

  “Yep. Jenna had extra time, and said she’d do it. She might even want to do it full time if I decide I like the trucking life and quit. I still can’t understand what happened with Brandon this morning. And why did he throw a rock at your shop window?”

  “I don’t know, Mona. The whole thing is so sad.”

  My phone beeped, and I saw the number from the prison. “Jason is trying to call. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

  I waited for the security message to play, then heard Jason’s voice.

  “Hey, Sis!”

  “Jason, I’m so glad you called.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I… Did you know that Brandon had come back here to Short Creek?”

  Silence. “Brandon Winters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, I knew that.”

  I couldn’t tell from his voice what he was thinking.

  “I guess this is none of my business, really, but did you have any contact with him after…after the trial and everything?”

  He was quiet for so long that I thought our call had dropped.

  “Jace?”

  “Sorry. It’s so weird that you’re asking me this now.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve hated him for so long. I blamed everything on him, you know? Even the stuff that I knew in my heart wasn’t his fault.”

  I could imagine.

  “But once the Lord started working on me, I realized I couldn’t be a follower of Christ and continue to hate Brandon. I…I wrote him a letter, Callie.”

  Oh, no.

  “I wanted to tell him that I forgave him. And that God would forgive him, too. I told him how God had changed my life so much in the last few weeks and that now I had peace.”

  Dear God. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

  “When did you send the letter?”

  “Like a week ago, probably. Why?”

  “Jason…” I cleared my throat. “Brandon was killed this morning. He was hit by a truck and died instantly.”

  I heard his swift intake of breath.

  “Do you think he got my letter in time?” His voice broke.

  “This call will end in one minute.”

  I wanted to scream. Why did we have to be restricted at a time like this? It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. If only Jason hadn’t ever gotten in trouble in the first place—I took a deep breath, then blew it out.

  “God is merciful, Jason,” I whispered. “That’s all I know.”

  “I’m proof of that,” he said. “Remember Dad always quoting Psalm 103, Callie? ‘He knows our frame; he remembers we are dust.’ And then Mom would say—”

  The call ended.

  And then Mom would say verses 17 and 18, “But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.”

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I’m feeling pretty dusty today, Lord. I need your strength. Please, Father, I’m asking again that you bring breakthrough in all of these situations. Brandon’s situation. Nicole and the baby. Sherm. Earl. Vic. The private investigator. Houston.

  “Shine the spotlight of the Holy Spirit on those things that are hidden, and bring the truth to light. Lord, Your Word says that it is the truth that sets us free. Show me the truth, Lord God. Make my thoughts conducive to Your agenda. Lead Todd and me in the paths of righteousness for Your name’s sake. Your will be done, and Your Kingdom come in all aspects of my life.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I tried to call Houston again. He still didn’t answer, so I called the churc
h. No answer there, either. I was getting a little worried. If he didn’t answer soon, I would have to run over there and see if he was okay. Yesterday had been a traumatic day for both of us, and I know I was still feeling the effects of it.

  Why had Brandon been there talking to him, anyway? Especially that early in the morning? Had they agreed to meet? Or had Brandon unexpectedly shown up at the church and barged into Houston’s office? Or maybe Brandon had broken into the church and Houston had surprised him and they fought?

  That didn’t seem very far-fetched, except that I was having trouble picturing the gentlemanly Houston taking a swing at someone, even Brandon. In fact, I couldn’t imagine Houston ever hurting anyone, which is why it seemed so strange to see a gun lying under the papers on his desk yesterday.

  I gulped.

  Why hadn’t I remembered that until now?

  I thought back. I had rushed into Houston’s office in a daze, barely registering the chaos in his always-neat office. The lamp was overturned, papers were strewn across the floor and scattered on his desk. The black handle of a gun stuck out from under the stack nearest the edge of the desk.

  “It’s not unreasonable that he would have a gun,” I said out loud. Purl lifted her head to stare at me. “This is Texas, after all.”

  I knew Rob carried one in the cab of his truck all the time. And I even knew several women who had their concealed-carry permit. But still. Houston kept a gun in his office? At the church?

  Todd knocked on the door, setting off a flurry of joyful barking, yipping and tail wagging.

  “Wow. That was quite a welcome.” He brushed dog hair off his t-shirt. “Are you happy to see me too?”

  “I am.” I grinned at him. “If I had a tail, I would wag it.”

  He pulled me into a light embrace, then kissed my cheek lightly. “Did you rest?”

  I nodded, relaxing against his chest for a moment. “But I thought of something else. Two somethings, actually.”

  He pulled away to look in my eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “I…” My brain felt suddenly foggy. Here I was, standing in my own living room, but it had been Aunt Dot’s living room first. I remembered the hot summer night many years ago that Jason and Brandon and Uncle Garth—I sucked in my breath. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

  “What is it, Callie?”

  “I know why Brandon was in my attic.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Well, I figured out yesterday that he’s the one who threw the rock at my head. I think he thought I was on to him.”

  “You lost me, Callie.” He tugged me toward the kitchen. “Let’s go sit.”

  I settled at the table with my tea mug, the corny-looking Texas mug from The Gift. “When I went into Houston’s office yesterday morning after the accident, I was all upset and tried to tell him what had happened. I started babbling about the rock Brandon threw through my shop window, but then I suddenly realized that he had to have been the one to throw the rock at my head, too, because there was the same smell in Houston’s office that I smelled that day I got clobbered with the rock.”

  “A smell?”

  “Yes. I can’t describe it. Almost like vinegar.”

  Todd squinted at me. “Okay. We can talk about that again later. Why do you think he was the one in your attic?”

  “That’s what I remembered when we were standing out there in the living room. Did you ever know my Uncle Garth?”

  Todd shook his head. “I saw him around town when I was growing up, but never knew him.”

  “He was a big jokester. He loved to tell stories, and he was good at it.” I smiled. “Aunt Dot would scold him for exaggerating the details, but he would wink at her and say, ‘Sugar, I’m just speakin’ evangelastically.’”

  Todd laughed.

  “Anyway, he had Jason and Brandon going one night, telling them his stories of his days in the Navy and how he and Owen—”

  “Owen Thompson?”

  “Uh huh…how he and Owen found pirate’s treasure and brought it home with them to Short Creek. Uncle Garth convinced the boys that he had hidden it all over the place around town.”

  “And they believed him?”

  “Well, they were still pretty young. He even told them he had made a map and that it was hidden in the house somewhere so after he died, Aunt Dot could find the money and have enough to live on for the rest of her life.”

  “You don’t think—”

  I nodded. “I think Brandon must have still believed that. I’m sure Jason didn’t, especially once he grew a little older, because he knew his Uncle Garth pretty well, but—”

  “So that’s why he freaked out when he saw the Pilgrim’s Progress book in your shop window. He thought you had realized that he had stolen it from Aunt Dot’s attic and were on to him.”

  “But in reality, I had no idea at the time that it came from my—Aunt Dot’s attic. But that would also explain why all of the things were wrapped in newspaper from the day of my husband’s car accident. Auntie told me herself that she remembers that on the day that Kevin died, she had been in the attic sorting through things and wrapping them.”

  Todd gave a low whistle. “That’s crazy. So Brandon had probably been stealing a box from your attic here and there, hoping you wouldn’t notice. And if he didn’t find what he was looking for, he simply got rid of it.”

  “Yes. He probably dug through the box with the books and other stuff in it, didn’t find what he was looking for and left it by the dumpster at Willowbough. Then Karen found it and gave it to me. ”

  “Wow.”

  We stared at each other.

  “It’s almost too strange to be true,” Todd finally said. “But it makes sense in a weird kind of way.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “And I talked to Jason a little while before you got here. You’ll never believe this, either. He said that he mailed Brandon a letter last week. Telling him he forgave him and that God would forgive him, too.”

  Todd raised his eyebrows. “I wonder if Brandon got it before—”

  “I hope so.”

  We looked at each other.

  I cupped my hands around my mug. “Aunt Dot told me that she shared the gospel with him when he was a kid.”

  “Really. She remembers him being at her house?”

  I nodded. “He was over here and there with Jason. I had forgotten about that until today. But Todd, there’s something that’s been bothering me about this whole thing. It’s the trials.”

  “What trials?”

  “Jason’s and Brandon’s. The whole deal is kind of a blur, because it was such an emotional time. Jason’s trial was first, and I was so devastated that he was sentenced to prison that I can’t remember much about Brandon’s trial.”

  “Did you go to it?”

  I nodded. “My parents bailed—I mean, moved, shortly after Jason’s but before Brandon’s. Almost like they didn’t even want to know.”

  “I’m sorry, Callie.”

  That was a conversation for another day.

  “Anyway, I’m going to see if I can find the information online. We may never know how many strings Earl pulled to get Brandon off the hook, but I feel like I need to revisit it.”

  Todd nodded. “It might shed light on the whole mess. Oh, and by the way, we got the toxicology report back on Brandon. He didn’t have any illegal drugs in his system the day he died.”

  “What?” I had been sure that he was high. “Why else would he be acting like a madman?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes people just snap.”

  “Like he committed suicide?” This was getting crazier by the minute.

  “We might never know that.” Todd sighed wearily. “There’s a lot of ugliness in this world.”

  “That’s for sure. Don’t you want to be done with all of this and go to Heaven some days?”

  “Every day, sweetheart. Not only some days.” He pulled me into his arms and rested his chin on the top of my head.
/>   We stood in silence, drawing strength from each other’s closeness.

  “He gives strength to the weary—”

  “….and increases the power of the weak.” Todd finished the verse for me. “That pretty much sums us up, doesn’t it?”

  “For sure. But I know God is going to give us answers. I keep praying…” I pulled away to look up at him. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that I read the ‘Just Ask’ article from the person in Houston. I didn’t get how it’s connected to anything.”

  “Did you ‘Just ask Dot’?”

  I laughed. “Mmm-hmm. She said she hadn’t put it in my purse, but she was glad I enjoyed reading it.”

  Todd made a face.

  “Who else would have put it in there? And why?”

  I hadn’t been able to answer that question, but maybe I could answer another one. I stayed up far too late that night, poring over the records of both Jason and Brandon’s court cases. The cases had wrapped up shortly before Kev and I had gotten married, and I was surprised at the path my thoughts took now as I relived those days.

  I found myself seeing Kevin through a different lens than when I first moved here a year ago. My heart had healed enough, I think, to view him with more compassion than I had in a very long time. I hadn’t realized how much bitterness I had been holding in my heart toward him. He hadn’t lived up to my expectations, and all my efforts to change him had only resulted in resentment between us. I sighed. How much better our life together might have been had I given him over to the Lord and taken my hands off.

  In fact, Aunt Dot had given me that advice right at the get-go. I remember a particular family gathering—our first Thanksgiving, if I was correct. Aunt Dot must have sensed the tension between Kev and me. She wrapped her arm around my waist—tight—and whispered in my ear. “Remember, Callie. You are not Kevin’s mother. Nor are you the Holy Spirit.”

  I smiled through my tears. How like Aunt Dot. And how sad of a young, immature me not to heed her advice. “You were right, Auntie. But I didn’t get it. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.”