“And a wife,” Archer said quickly.
John gave him a teasing smile. “Yes, and a wife to keep happy—”
“I hear you there, preacher,” Bud Caesar said from the end of the table. “That’s an impossible task.”
“Watch your mouth, Bud,” his wife snapped from her spot in front of the dishwasher. “I can make sure you eat leftovers for a month.”
Everyone chuckled and Archer was gratified to see the men push back from the table. At last they adjourned upstairs into the classroom where John Netz taught Sunday school.
“We’d better get to business,” John said. “I hear there’s another storm coming our way.”
“That one last week sure was a doozy, wasn’t it?” Bud remarked.
“Yes,” Archer said. “So I’ll hurry. I’m here because I need help.”
The chatter ended. Archer felt the attention of every man in the room.
“What do you mean, preacher?” Bud asked at last.
“I’m in over my head with church activities,” Archer said. “I’ve tried to make it a point to attend most committee meetings as my father always did, and most Sunday school class meetings, direct the youth, direct the Sunday School, conduct funerals and weddings, plus keep up with my duties in my volunteer capacity in the hospital chaplain program... The list is getting longer by the day.”
“Well, except for the hospital stuff, your father kept up with most of those things pretty good,” Bud said.
“We have a larger congregation now than we did when Dad retired,” Archer said. “I’ve been studying some statistics about church growth and with more than eight hundred members on the rolls, and an average Sunday attendance of well over five hundred, I’m surprised we’re not already losing members.”
“Don’t know that it’d hurt if a few of ‘em went elsewheres,” Dwight muttered.
“Then what is our church here for?” Archer asked. “Many of our new members are also new Christians, with a hunger for the truth and for individual nurturing support. I’m already stretched to the limit. I no longer find it possible to take a day off during the week because I’m on call for the church 24/7. I can’t continue the pace.”
“Can’t Jessica step in and help you some?” Bud asked.
Archer gave him a pointed look. “My wife couldn’t possibly do more than she’s doing right now.” He quoted statistics of other churches their size in the area.
“You’re saying we need to hire more staff?” Dwight’s face tightened with that same resistance it always had when the subject of money came up. “We’re already looking for a youth minister.”
“How’s that search coming?” Archer asked.
“Personnel committee’s still collecting applications.”
“And yet our youth membership has swelled to twice the number we had this time last year,” Archer said. “We need help. We’ve added nearly two hundred new members.”
“Only because Riverside Church split and half of them came here,” Bud said.
“Doesn’t matter why they came,” John said. “They came and you heard Archer. He needs help.”
“I receive calls not only from members in distress,” Archer said, “but from those who have visited our church and are seeking prayer support or spiritual counsel.”
“Got to serve your members first,” Bud said.
“Seems I remember, pastor,” Dwight said, “that your father might’ve tended to slack on his duties from time to—”
“My father never slacked on his duties but he did make his family a high priority in his life.” Archer bit his tongue to stop it from moving.
“Do you have to sit in on all the committee meetings?” John asked.
“No, it’s just a tradition Dad began a few years ago.”
“Then start with that,” John said. “Folks are going to have to understand you can’t hold their hands every time they have a meeting here at the church.”
“I still need more help.”
“But you do have a wife to help now,” Dwight said.
“No,” Archer said. “I didn’t marry Jessica so we could add her to the church staff. My job description doesn’t offer two for the price of one. She has her own ministry and it isn’t here at the church.”
“You and Jessica would have more time together if she came to church with you more often,” Dwight said.
Archer felt his whole body tense. If he went with his emotions right now, he and Jessica would have plenty of time together because he would tender his resignation.
“Seems to me,” John said, his calm bass voice flowing over Archer’s ruffled emotions like soothing oil, “that the preacher isn’t the only one in the church who’s supposed to be a servant. Aren’t we supposed to serve one another?”
Archer relaxed a little. Okay. Not bad. “A youth minister. That will take a great load off.”
“It’s gonna be awhile,” Dwight said. “You know how long these things take.”
Archer bit his lip. Lord, you might paralyze my mouth for the next few minutes. “I would appreciate some help now.” It was a simple request.
“Seems I read somewhere in the Old Testament lately about how a man who’d taken a bride was released from armed services for a year so’s he could stay home and keep his wife happy,” John Netz said. “It’s a sure bet Archer and Jessica haven’t had the time they’d like to spend together. Maybe they’d like to take another vacation before long. What d’you think about that, preacher?”
“You’re talking Old Testament,” Dwight said, only half kidding. “This here’s a New Testament church.”
“We’re a Bible-believing church,” John said.
“Since you’ve mentioned it,” Archer said, “the early New Testament churches met in homes, not three-story church buildings like this one. They couldn’t fit five hundred people into one of those houses for Sunday school and those small groups helped one another. They didn’t depend on one man to take care of them. It just wasn’t possible. Perhaps we could bring up this problem at our next church business meeting.”
“No need to take this before the church,” Dwight said. “We’re already looking for a youth director and we’ve always been able to work these things out before, preacher. You just give one of us a call if you find yourself getting behind and we’ll see what we can do.” He held his watch up and shook his head. “Would you look at the time. Guess we should get on with the rest of the meeting before we’re hit with another storm.”
Archer waited for others to protest at the casual dismissal of his request. They didn’t. He remembered Dad’s words about picking his fights and he realized this would be one of them. But not tonight.
As they began a discussion about plans for a golf tournament next month, he excused himself from the table and went downstairs and through the kitchen, where the women cleaned up. He didn’t slam any doors and he didn’t kick any chairs. He’d basically just been given a pat on the head like he was a good little pastor’s son. They still didn’t take him seriously.
“Every second, every step,
Let me keep my eyes on you.
No returning, no regrets,
Let me keep my eyes on you.”
Heather knew how to involve the crowd and Jessica stood back and listened to her sister take the first verse.
“Peter saw you on the water
And he stepped into the sea.
Though he faltered with distraction,
He had much more faith than me.”
Jessica joined her on the chorus again. She knew this was one of Heather’s favorite songs with its lively style, energetic movements, nice bass drums. The crowd sang along, complete with clapping and stomping and shouting, strobe lights flashing.
Ever since they had sung “Daddy’s Story Time,” the enthusiasm of the audience had increased—always a confidence builder. At the end of this final song the crowd once again erupted into enthusiastic applause, and she and Heather applauded with them. The audience stood.
<
br /> Jessica waved kisses at the crowd and then as the applause gradually died down, she thanked them for coming, took her sister’s arm in an embrace, and walked with her from the stage.
Once out of the limelight, Heather grabbed her in a tight hug and continued to hold her, as if she couldn’t let go. “Oh, Jess, this was what I was born for!”
Jessica nodded. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Heather released her and stepped back, moving out of the way of the stagehands as they shuffled past with props. “It was like a powerful connection.”
“Exactly.” Jessica turned and led the way along a side hallway that led to the theater lobby. There they would stand and greet the audience, shake hands, pose for pictures, talk.
“Jessica,” Heather said softly, “Hammerstain called me this afternoon.”
“Garth? What did he want?”
“He asked me if I’d be interested in having my own show on the Country Lady.” Garth Hammerstain, the owner of this theater, also managed a paddleboat cruise on Table Rock Lake. Country Lady that rivaled the quality entertainment Jessica had seen on the Branson Belle.
Jessica turned to her in delight. “Your own show! Heather, that’s what you’ve always wanted!”
Heather didn’t smile. “It would mean leaving you.”
“It would be an evening show?”
“The same time as this one. I couldn’t do them both.”
“Oh. I never thought about that. What did you tell him?”
“I asked for some time to consider it.” Heather turned and continued walking down the hallway.
Jessica fell into step beside her, watching the play of light through the blond waves of hair that haloed over Heather’s shoulders, studying the thoughtful frown that deepened the interesting features of her sister’s face.
“Heather, it would be a great opportunity for you. I know we love working together but as you said, this is something you’ve dreamed of doing ever since you saw your first Branson show.”
Heather hesitated and looked away. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it but I don’t think you’d approve of some of those outfits they’d want me to wear.”
“Outfits?”
They stopped at the door that opened into the lobby, where many of the audience would be waiting for them to make an appearance.
Heather grabbed the door lever. “One of the things Garth mentioned was that I had an... um... let’s see... His words were, ‘Heather, you’ve got a beautiful name, a beautiful voice, a beautiful body. I want to see to it that every aspect of your personality is expressed.’ “
Jessica watched as Heather opened the door and smiled broadly, greeting the people who stood waiting for them. “Want to talk about it over a late dinner?”
“Yeah, I would.”
Good. The sister act wasn’t splitting just yet.
Chapter Twelve
Archer had just stepped outside when the clouds let loose another onslaught to the already waterlogged earth. He covered his head with his jacket and rushed to the car. As he folded himself into the seat the lightning flared and thunder echoed around him—not loud but enough to get his attention. He closed the door against the raindrops that fell in ever-increasing girth and velocity against the windshield.
He half expected to see the others step through the basement doors at any moment—no one seemed comfortable there after the tornado hit last Friday.
He dialed home on his cell phone but Jessica wasn’t there yet. He even considered calling Dad in Arizona for a little moral support but he remembered his parents were on a mission trip to rural Mexico at the moment. Though Archer didn’t make a habit of running to his parents for advice about every little thing, he respected their wisdom.
He turned the ignition and noted the time on the dash clock. Jessica should be out of the theater by now if the crowd didn’t linger after the show, if the storm chased them away as it had last week.
He pressed the speed dial for her cell phone. If she was anywhere near home he would meet her there. If not, he would make his usual detour toward the hospital.
If the deacons started to complain when he began to actually take his Fridays off then maybe that would be an answer to some questions that had been floating around in his head for the past few weeks. Maybe those complaints and the set of rules by which he knew he was being judged as pastor of this church were not of God at all. If he became convinced of that he would pray about about leaving the church, perhaps even searching for a much smaller congregation...or whatever God led him to.
He didn’t know if these compulsions to leave were rebellion or promptings from the Holy Spirit. However, as he’d told Jessica during their argument Wednesday morning, he could not ignore the needs at the hospital when he was on call there. The hours he spent praying and encouraging those most needy of people—the hurting and the sick—were the most precious hours of his ministry.
Jessica’s phone was apparently still turned off and he received the typical instructions to leave a message. He left a short message and turned toward the hospital, driving with caution.
He knew his imagination was working overtime but he couldn’t quite shake the fear that this storm posed a particularly dark threat to Dogwood Springs. The men of the church had all pitched in and repaired the damage from the tornado in record time and all seemed well. Still, this was a season for storms.
***
“All these years, all this time, I’ve dreamed of having a show of my own, of seeing my name alone on the marquee and... now I’m not sure, Jessie.” The exquisite lines of Heather’s mouth pursed in a thoughtful frown. Her face held lines of worry.
“What is it that makes you unsure?” Jessica sat across the table from her sister at the Barbeque Pit, down the road from the theater. Jessica wasn’t hungry but Heather wanted to talk.
“Maybe fear about what I’d be getting myself into,” Heather said. “And I love singing with you,” she added softly.
They had ordered stew and while they waited for their food to arrive they sat and watched the rainfall past the huge window that overlooked Lake Taneycomo.
Jessica didn’t know how long she would be able to keep her opinions to herself, especially since Heather could read her so well.
“I don’t know the industry the way you do, Jessie,” Heather said. “I didn’t haunt the theaters when I was a teenager the way you did. I was more interested in my friends and school sports and boys.”
“In other words, you were a normal teenager.” Jessica, on the other hand, had made music her life early on.
“But don’t you see?” Heather touched Jessica’s arm. “I didn’t earn my own show. You did. You’re the one who can play the piano, the guitar, and the fiddle.”
“You play guitar.”
“You’re the one who writes the words to almost all the songs you sing.”
“And you’re the one who can hear a new tune in your head and sing it for me so we can get the music for those songs,” Jessica reminded her. She wanted to beg her sister not to break up the team.
Jessica had loved music—and Branson—for as long as she could remember. Her first after-school job had been at a concession stand at the Roy Clark Theater.
When Jessica graduated from SMSU and moved to Branson to pursue a full-time career in the music industry, Heather moved in with her, leaving their father behind on the farm, a lonely recluse after a stormy marriage and finally, the death of their mother.
He had never been a demonstrative father and hadn’t known how to be a loving husband—he’d been too busy keeping up the farm while working a factory job. But there was one good thing the girls always remembered about their father—sometimes after supper in the evening, if their dad didn’t have to go back outside to check on the pigs and cattle, he would sit in his chair at the head of the kitchen table and tell them a story. Sometimes it was about his own father’s experiences during the Depression when he hopped a freight train to California looking for work, sometimes
it was his own dreams for the future, but always, after a story, he tucked them into bed and kissed them goodnight. It almost seemed as if getting in touch with his dreams also allowed him to get in touch with his tender side.
Years later, Jessica wrote a song about the shy country farmer whose life of near poverty didn’t hold a candle to the dreams he dared to dream, and how he shared those with his daughters the way a typical father would share his hugs and words of love. His dream? Just to support his family on their farm. To bring his children up with good memories.
Their dad still lived alone on their old farm outside Kimberling City. He still kept his small herd of cattle, a few pigs, and his old hound dogs for company. He barely left the farm these days, still didn’t have much money, and refused help whenever Jessica tried to give it. He was proud of his daughters but Jessica knew he worried about them.
“I love you, sis, you know that?” Heather grabbed Jessica’s hand across the table and squeezed it. “You’ve always been there for me no matter what.”
“Love you back.”
“But if I were to leave the show, I’d feel as if I were deserting you after all you’ve done for me—loving me, supporting me, standing beside me through everything.”
“It sounds to me as if you’ve decided to take Garth up on his offer.”
Heather held her gaze for a moment, then frowned and looked out the window. “I want to, Jessie. I know you wouldn’t approve. I just don’t know. Standing on that stage and looking out at the audience, it’s almost like... like I get a brief glimpse into heaven every time I do it.”
The server brought their stew to the table. Jessica pulled her cell phone from her purse and had just punched the number for home when a blast of wind and rain attacked the window.
Archer didn’t answer. She left a message and then punched his cell phone number. Nothing.
She shrugged and placed the phone back in her purse. She didn’t really expect him to be home, not yet, anyway. He was either still in the meeting with the deacons or he was at the hospital. He would get her message and he would see her later tonight.
Another blast of rain made her flinch.
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