“Maybe I can talk him into staying awhile.” Warren tag-teamed my thoughts. “I want him to know how much we all miss him.”
“Great idea.”
My hubby returned to his work in the yard and I turned my attentions, once again, to the table. I put together one of the bouquets, for real. Just as I finished, the telephone rang and I reached to pick it up with the bouquet still in hand. “Hello?”
Sheila’s cheery voice greeted me. “Annie, is that you?”
“It’s me.” I clutched the bouquet to my chest, trying one last time to catch my reflection in the window. “How in the world are you?”
We dove into a lengthy conversation about weddings, homecoming dates, floral arranging and my new knack for Spanish dancing. She chuckled her way through most of it, even adding a bit of advice on how to put together the bouquets. Finally, our chat took a bit of a turn.
“How are things going with the investigation?” she asked.
“I paid a little visit to O’Henry,” I said with a sigh.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. In fact, I feel a little foolish after talking to him,” I confessed. “Most of my suspicions have turned out to be false alarms.” I let out a sigh of resignation. “Maybe I’m not supposed to solve anything. Maybe I’m just supposed to pray that the right person will be brought to justice. You know how I am. I dive in with both feet before thinking twice.”
“We all do that,” Sheila said. But don’t feel too bad, Annie. After all, we can’t all be heroes. Somebody has to sit on the sidelines and clap as they go by.” She let out a giggle, and I couldn’t help but join her.
“Yeah, I know,” I confessed. “And it’s not like I don’t have other things to occupy my time. Seems like everyone needs me right now.” I paused for a moment before adding, “Still, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that the Lord wants more from me. It’s kind of like He wants me to stay tuned in to hear His thoughts on the matter. Like. . . there’s something more to hear.”
Sheila must’ve noted the seriousness in my voice, because her response reflected genuine concern.
“Then keep praying, Annie,” she encouraged. “You just never know what He might do. And you know as well as I do, following Him is a great adventure. That much is for sure.”
Subtitle: Friendship with Sheila is a great adventure, too. One I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.
We wrapped up our little chat and I returned to my role as mother of the brides. For now, that suited me just fine.
Chapter Fifteen
It would be wrong to accuse Sheila of being prideful where her singing voice was concerned, but. . .
Well, she didn’t give me much choice.
Now, mind you, Sheila had had a lovely voice as a younger woman. Note the word had. But the last three or four times she’d sung a solo at church, I’d noticed folks squirming in their seats, clearly uncomfortable. No one said a word. Ever. Wouldn’t dare. But I had to wonder how long her illustrious singing career would go on. Seemed to me, she had already passed her expiration date in this area of ministry.
And of course, to add insult to injury, she always came to me after each performance, asking my opinion. “Did you like it? Do you think it ministered to the congregation?
There were only so many ways you could say, “Honey, God has truly gifted you in a unique way,” before she became suspicious.
That’s why, when I arrived at church on Sunday morning to discover Sheila would be singing the special music, I got that familiar sinking feeling in my heart.
Maybe I should volunteer to work in the nursery this morning. No, only a chicken would use such devious means of escape. I needed to do the right thing, needed to stay put in the sanctuary and offer my support and encouragement. With that in mind, I braced myself for the inevitable.
The service started off quite well. Our praise and worship leader, Bob Lemuel, came forward and led us in a mix of several choruses and hymns. After that, we welcomed our visitors. I almost dropped my teeth as I turned to discover Janetta Mullins and her family seated in the pew directly behind mine. The strangest emotions overtook me, particularly as my gaze traveled to Jake, who offered up a polite smile. Were the police still following him? Were they tailing him, even now?
Forcing those thoughts aside, I reached to give Janetta a hug, and took note of the fact that she responded with a broad smile. I returned to my seat, puzzled, yet intrigued.
Lord, surely You’ve brought her here for some reason. Am I supposed to get to know her better, try to figure out if she is somehow to blame for the missing cash?
My heart resonated with a loud NO! Either this wasn’t the place to worry about it, or I shouldn’t focus on Janetta at all. I wasn’t quite sure which.
The announcements followed and then, finally, the moment arrived. Sheila stood and approached the pulpit. Her deep purple cowl-necked sweater proved an interesting match for the long, flowing black skirt, but what made the ensemble even more conversational was the choice of jewelry. How the woman could stand aright with so many bauble-laden chains hanging around her neck was a miracle in itself. And the violet-colored flower clip in her red hair really set the whole thing off.
The music for “Softly and Tenderly” began, and she lit in head-first. I sat still as a mouse, determined not to look around me. And I did pretty well—until she attempted to hit a high note about midway into the piece. She missed it by about a point-5 on the Richter scale, which, for some reason, got Devin tickled. I heard the slightest bit of a snort to my left, followed by the vibration of the pew as he lost it in silent laughter.
I jabbed him with my left elbow, never looking his way. I didn’t dare. I did notice Warren to my right. His eyes were closed. Is he praying, or in pain?
On and on Sheila sang, “Come home, come ho-o-ome. . .” The notes wrapped themselves around the room in a tremulous vibrato. Pastor Miller’s cheeks flamed red as Sheila set out to hit an impromptu high note at the end. So close, and yet so far. She held the note for a good thirty seconds, long enough to allow me to drive fingernail prints into Devin’s right arm.
As she ended the song, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A couple of ladies to my right fanned themselves as the pastor stood and approached the pulpit.
“Thank you so much, Sheila,” he exclaimed. “Surely even the angels themselves can’t sing like that.”
Ya think?
He opened his Bible and began the sermon. In an interesting irony, he talked about the prodigal son, the words of his message not far off from the lyrics Sheila had just sung. I wondered if Jake, who sat behind me, “got” it. Several times, I wanted to turn around, wanted to see if I could catch his expression, but stopped myself.
Instead, I focused on the part of the message that was meant for me. . . the part about the older brother who held his sibling in judgment. Yep. I was more like the other brother, whether I wanted to admit it or not. Mental note: From this point on, read between the lines of familiar Bible stories for hidden messages.
The service ended on a high note, albeit more in tune than Sheila’s song. One of the teenage girls, Claudia, came forward in response to the pastor’s message, and one family, new to town, came to the front to join the church. We celebrated together then closed in prayer.
I lingered awhile after the service to talk to friends. And I wanted the opportunity to visit with Janetta—as soon as the welcoming committee around her dissipated a bit.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Annie, it’s so good to see you.”
I gave her a big hug. “Good to see you too. And Jake—” I flashed a smile. “My apple pie partner. How are you?”
Our family members gave us a few curious looks, but he forged ahead undeterred.
“I’m great, Mrs. Peterson. It’s good to be back home.” His emphasis on the word home let me know he’d understood the message.
After a little more conversation, my girls headed off in
search of their friends, and Devin settled into a conversation with Jake about the upcoming homecoming game. Well, if that doesn’t beat all.
Janetta took me by the arm and whispered, “Can we talk a minute?”
“Of course.” I tried to push Mrs. Lapp’s words of warning out of my mind as we eased our way through the crowd to a quieter spot. No point in worrying about the missing $25,000 today, of all days.
Sheila chose that very moment to show up at my side. She didn’t seem to notice that Janetta and I were engaged in conversation. Or, if she did, it didn’t stop her from interrupting.
“Annie,” she spoke breathlessly, “What did you think of my song? And be completely honest. Did you think it ministered to the congregation?”
I’d just opened my mouth to say something rehearsed and brilliant when Janetta caught me off guard. She took hold of Sheila hands, tears erupting, and spoke with genuine passion. “I just want you to know,” she said, “how much that song touched me.”
What?
She continued on, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “My mother used to sing “Softly and Tenderly” when I was a little girl,” she said. “And I’ve always loved it. But I haven’t heard it since she died. The words—” Here, she broke down and wept. I reached into my purse for a tissue. “The words reminded me of the faith I used to have as a young girl. The faith I need to return to.”
Nope. One tissue wouldn’t cut it. This was going to be a multi-tissue cry if I ever saw one.
Sheila began to softly sing the chorus, “Come home, come ho-o-ome, ye who are weary, come ho-o-ome.” As she did, Janetta erupted once again, this time using the second and third tissues to mop up the moisture on her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Sheila wrapped Janetta in her arms. “I’m so glad,” she whispered. “I always pray before I choose the song and ask the Lord to show me what to sing.”
“Well, He certainly did this time,” Janetta responded. “And I’m so grateful. You’ll never know how much that meant to me. Made me want to come home—to Him and to the church.”
Lord, I am a worm—a terrible friend and a spiritual worm.
I gazed up at my friend with new eyes. Admiring eyes. Sheila asked Janetta if they could pray together, and lo and behold if they didn’t stop and pray, right then and there in the foyer of the church. The little flower clip in Sheila’s hair bobbed up and down as her enthusiastic prayer went on. I watched it all with my jaw hanging down, taking careful notes.
We stayed on and chatted a few minutes before we all finally parted ways. I promised both ladies we’d try to get together for lunch one day soon. And I promised the Lord I would never again doubt His ability to minister—in any way He pleased.
Devin made a rapid-fire decision to head over to a friend’s house for lunch, which left Warren and me with some alone time as we made the journey home. Come home, come ho-o-ome. For some reason, the words wouldn’t leave me. The last few weeks had been so busy, it felt nice to have my husband to myself again. And it would feel just as good to spend an afternoon with the girls.
Warren clicked the radio off and we sat in delirious silence for a moment before either of us spoke.
“That was a great service,” he said at last.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Hearing the story of the prodigal son again reminds me of how blessed I am,” he continued.
This certainly caught my attention. “Oh?”
Warren nodded and I noticed tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ve got such a great family.” He spoke softly, seriously. “And I’m so thankful to the Lord for all of you. When I see the struggles that so many other fathers face, I’m so grateful—grateful that our kids have stayed close to the Lord—” here he stammered a bit “—and close to us.”
Yep. Those were definitely tears in his eyes. I leaned over to rest my head on his shoulder. “They have a great dad,” I whispered. “So why would they turn their hearts in a different direction? They see a real picture of their heavenly father every time they’re with you.”
Listen to what you’re saying, Annie. This is a true man of God, incapable of the kinds of things you’ve suspected. He has clean hands and a pure heart.
I could see the quiver in Warren’s chin and noted his obvious silence, but didn’t hold it against him. He couldn’t talk right now. I understood.
We arrived home minutes later and I dove into action. I opened the crock pot to check on the pot roast. Mmm. Looked and smelled yummy. With the click of a button, I turned on the oven to warm some rolls.
Just about that time, the girls and their guys arrived and the conversations began to layer, one on top of another. I watched Warren’s face as Brandi and Candy bounced wedding and honeymoon ideas off of him. Yep. Those were still tears in his eyes. I wondered if the kids noticed.
We shared a terrific meal together, laughing and joking our way throughout. Afterwards, we turned our attentions to a couple of board games. Mental note: Future sons-in-law seem to excel at movie trivia. From this point on, choose literary games.
I served up generous slices of the angel food cake with berry topping, and we opted to watch a movie together. Brandi argued that we should watch a romance. Scott felt strongly about an action flick. Candy opted for a musical and Garrett said he’d rather watch football. Warren was already snoring in the easy chair by this point, so his opinion didn’t factor in.
In the end, we settled on “Father of the Bride”—a logical choice, all things considered. Just as everyone got settled down in front of the television, the doorbell rang. I excused myself to answer it.
I’d honestly forgotten Richard Blevins had planned to come by until I laid eyes on him. He reluctantly entered the house at my bidding. Took a bit of persuading on my part, but I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away from me. I’d looked for a chance to talk with him for weeks now.
I ushered him beyond the crowd in the den, and on into the living room. We settled onto the sofa and a groggy-eyed Warren joined us, offering coffee as an incentive to stay awhile. To my surprise, Richard agreed.
Preliminary chatting aside, I garnered the necessary courage to broach the most important subject. “Tell us about Judy,” I urged.
His gaze shifted to the floor at once, and I wondered if I’d crossed a line.
“We don’t want to pry.” Warren spoke softly.
Richard looked up at us with tears in his eyes. “No, it’s okay. Might do me some good to talk.”
Neither of us interrupted him.
“I know what everyone must be thinking,” Richard continued. “It’s got to seem strange that I just. . . disappeared.”
Funny. When I’d placed him at the top of my suspect list, his disappearing act had seemed strange. But now that I understood his situation, I’d almost come to understand it.
I wanted to tell him so, but didn’t dare. The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow it.
“I spend so many hours at work already,” he explained. “And it’s such a drive back and forth to Philadelphia to see her at the hospital. I just want to have every possible minute with her.”
“That’s understandable, Richard,” Warren said. “And I don’t think you need to worry about what other people are thinking or saying. It’s irrelevant.”
I—” Here Richard’s voice broke, “I don’t know how much longer she has.” At this point, a lone tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t even try to wipe it away.
Again, I wanted to speak, but no words would come. But Richard seemed to have more on his mind, so it was probably for the best.
“Judy and I have been married nearly forty years,” he said. “None of the people at the church knew us when we were newlyweds. We didn’t move to Clarksborough until after our son died.”
I tried not to let my surprise show. In reality, I did not know Judy and Richard had lost a son.
“He was my namesake,” he explained. “Richard, Jr. The cutest thing you ever saw—b
orn about a year and a half after we married. Richey was a happy, healthy boy for the first few years, but when he turned four—” Richard’s voice broke again. “When he turned four, he was diagnosed with leukemia.”
My hand went straight to my heart. “Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry.”
He forged ahead, clearly on a mission. “See, I was a different man back then. Very driven. My job meant everything to me. I guess it was my way of hiding from the truth. Richey was in and out of the hospital and Judy stayed by his side every minute.”
Oh, you poor, poor man. You’ve already lost your son and now . . .
“I should’ve been there more.” The tremor in his voice intensified. “But I couldn’t face the pain of what was happening in that hospital room. I left it to Judy—wrong as that was. Her faith was so much stronger than mine back then. It still is.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Richard.” I reached out to squeeze his hand. “You are. Everyone sees that.”
He shook his head. “I know the Bible inside and out—studied it for years. But that doesn’t mean my faith is strong. In fact, I don’t know when I’ve ever felt weaker.” Here he buckled, and the tears started. He dropped his head into his hands and wept aloud.
My heart twisted into knots. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but decided against it. Oh, Lord, help him. Walk him through this.
Warren’s steady voice brought a sense of calm to the room. “Then let us be strong for you,” he said. “That’s what the body of Christ is for, to lift the arms of the ones who are struggling. We want to be here for you, Richard. Everyone does.”
Richard looked up at us with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know the first thing about how to let them. I just know that I have to be there for Judy. This time around, I’m going to do right by her. I have to.” His voice broke again. “I–I have to.”
He cried again, this time huge, silent tears. But I heard them as loudly as any wailing I’d ever witnessed in my life. They were the cries of a broken man, a man afraid of losing the one human he cherished above all.
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