Wisdom Tree

by Mary Manners

  “Sure. But how can you make heads or tails of any of this?” Corey flipped the papers, which were stained with muddy-brown splotches.

  “I did battle with the coffeemaker last night.” Jake had done battle with more than the coffeepot. Memories had played havoc with him, and sleep had been a long time coming. He shouldn’t have toyed with Carin O’Malley. “But it all makes sense, at least to me, so don’t mix up the pages.”

  “Whatever.” A clatter down the hall drew Corey’s attention. “Dillon’s here. His mom’s probably arrived early to get the music ready for the service.”

  Julie Raulston was East Ridge Church’s music director, and a savant as far as anything musical was concerned. She’d taught Dillon to play the guitar and had begun to work with Corey, as well, since he showed some interest in learning.

  “Can Dillon and I go out back and toss a baseball until the service begins?”

  “Sure, just remember…no batting in the parking lot. You know what happened last time?”

  “How could I forget?”

  He’d smashed a beauty of a homerun right through the windshield of Mr. Humphrey’s brand-spanking-new extended-cab Ford Ranger.

  “You grounded me for a whole week.”

  “Because you disobeyed me, and you deserved to be grounded.” Jake jabbed a finger in Corey’s direction. “So stick to throwing and don’t be late for the service.”

  “We won’t be.” Corey’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “Dillon’s mom would lecture him for, like, three years. And I don’t even want to think about what you would do.”

  “A little fear is good.” Jake switched off the computer on his side-desk, remembering the favorite phrase his dad would share whenever Jake tested the boundaries as a boy. “Just consider the consequences.”

  “Whatever. Gotta go. Dillon’s waiting.”

  Corey spun in the doorway and bounded down the hall, dark hair flying as his tennis shoes slapped freshly-waxed tile.

  “Give me patience, Lord. Make me strong.” Jake lifted his eyes to the heavens and prayed.

  “Maybe this will help.” Patrick Raulston came through the doorway to hand Jake a foam cup filled with coffee. “Fresh from the kitchen. You look like you can use a strong jolt of java.”

  “Thanks.” Jake downed a sip, and the bitter brew warmed his tongue. “Ahh…hits the spot.”

  “Rough night?” Patrick slipped into a chair near the desk and scratched his short-cropped beard. He had an easy laugh, and his eyes, the color of bright copper pennies, rarely failed to smile. He and Julie made a good team; their interests were similar since Patrick worked at the church as a youth pastor. They’d met years ago, while on a summer-long mission trip to inner-city Philadelphia. Marriage and children had quickly followed.

  “Just a little sleepless.”

  “Corey OK?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know.” Jake scratched his chin, and felt the makings of a five o’clock shadow, though it was barely nine o’clock in the morning. He’d shaved, hadn’t he? He struggled to remember…the morning was a blur. “I think one of his teachers is stopping by today…Miss O’Malley?”

  “Carin O’Malley?” Patrick leaned forward in the chair and placed his coffee cup on the edge of Jake’s desk. “I’ve heard Hailey Jackson mention her. The two are good friends.”

  “Ahh, so there’s the link.”

  “Excuse me?” Patrick smoothed his beard again.

  “Just mumbling to myself. Forget it.” Jake downed another gulp of coffee. “Did you get a quote on the materials for the playground renovations?”

  Patrick pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his khakis. “I did, and the estimate came in significantly higher than we planned. So, we’ll either have to shelve the project or do the lion’s share of the work ourselves.”

  “Well, shelving it’s not an option.” Jake took the paper and scanned the figures Patrick had jotted. “We need to consider the safety of the kids. If we don’t give the playground area the facelift it desperately needs, someone’s bound to get hurt playing out there…eventually. And that’s unacceptable.”

  “I agree.” Patrick drained his cup, crushed the foam, and tossed it into the trash can beside Jake’s desk. “So, should we move forward with the plan?”

  “Let’s make an announcement today—a call for volunteers—and see who signs on. I’ll bet we get a decent turnout.”

  “Sounds like a step in the right direction. I’ll firm up the details with the trustees and ask Stuart to order the materials. They should arrive by next weekend.”

  “Good. Now, we’d better head to the sanctuary. I hear the halls coming to life.”

  “Hold up.” Patrick shifted in the chair and lowered his voice. “You know I never mince words and, well, I have to tell you that I sense a restlessness in you, Jake.”

  “I have been a bit out of sorts.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “This issue with Corey—and school—it’s keeping me up at night. I’m failing him, Patrick. He needs more than I can give. I don’t know what else to do to help him. I’d hoped with time things would improve, but it’s just not getting any better.”

  “That’s where God steps in.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be listening.”

  “Oh, but He is. No one’s more covered in prayer than you…and Corey. Be patient. Give God time to work in His way.”

  “I’m tired, Patrick.” Jake pressed a hand to his eyes, then rubbed the scruff of his chin as a wave of tension swept across his back.

  “I know.” Patrick’s brown eyes were round with concern. He patted Jake’s shoulder. “Just hang in there a little longer, OK? Everything will ease into place before too much longer.”

  “OK.” Jake nodded and swallowed hard. Patrick was an anchor, the most devout man he knew. Jake wondered where he’d be without Patrick’s friendship and counsel. He’d trust the man of God with his life.

  “You can lean on me and Julie. We’re here to help.”

  “And both of you are godsends, for sure.” Jake sighed and turned toward the doorway. “I hear Mrs. Doran laughing in the hallway.”

  The elderly woman had a distinctive laugh—deep and raspy from throat surgery she’d had a few years ago. Going on fifty-three years of marriage, she and Mr. Doran still treasured each other’s company. Jake longed for that kind of relationship, prayed for it, but God had yet to bless him with anything even remotely close. The Dorans started hazelnut coffee brewing in the church kitchen, and Mrs. Doran always poured Jake a steaming mug with extra cream. Then the couple set out platters of doughnuts and sweet rolls brought from the bakery they owned. The chocolate pastries covered in a sweet glaze with colorful sprinkles were Jake’s favorite. Mrs. Doran knew this, so she always saved two for him—one for now and one for later, she always said.

  “I wonder if she brought my favorite doughnuts today,” Jake mused.

  “Of course she did.” Patrick’s low laugh rumbled. “She hasn’t missed a Sunday since you’ve been here, has she?”

  “Not that I can recall.” Jake shook his head, glancing into the hall.

  Mr. Staley arrived next. Eighty-three and widowed for nearly two years, he no longer drove a car but lived in a house down the street and still walked with a spring in his step. Jake could set his watch by Mr. Staley’s arrival.

  Soon the high school and local college kids arrived. They congregated on wrought-iron benches beneath shady maple trees in the front churchyard to gobble doughnuts and share their adventures from the week.

  One by one, people sailed into the sanctuary to settle in their usual places. It had been awfully tough two years ago when Jake became head pastor of the church. A month shy of twenty-eight, he had been younger than many of the members of the congregation and some hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms. But he’d worked tirelessly to gain their respect. And now they accepted Corey, too, despite his rough edges and reckless bent toward mischief.

  “I’m Corey’s prayer warrior,” Mrs. Doran
had shared with Jake last week when she brought him a pastry. “I know his faith’s being tested, and he’s struggling, Pastor Jake. But don’t you worry about a thing…I’ve got him covered in prayer. The Lord’s working on him, just wait and see.”

  Her gracious words, the gentle but sure tone of her voice, had brought much-needed comfort. I’ve been so blessed, despite the mountains in my path. I have to remember that during times like these. God has a perfect plan…

  Jake did a quick inventory of the crowd to see who had arrived for the service—and who hadn’t.

  Miss Carin O’Malley definitely hadn’t…yet.

  Corey was seated in the third row along with Dillon and several other middle school kids. A hush fell over the crowd as Julie began to play a soft melody on the keyboard while Patrick settled in among a group of younger children. Jake meandered toward the front of the sanctuary, shaking a few hands and sharing pleasantries along the way.

  Arriving at his seat, Jake glanced over his sermon notes one last time then smoothed his shirt and jacket. As Julie finished the Call to Worship he rose, cleared his throat, and turned to face the congregation for opening prayer.

  And paused.

  Carin O’Malley slipped into a seat beside Corey, looking pretty in a soft peach sundress and sandals that might be called anything but sensible.

  She turned and their gaze met. Jake noted the confusion that registered for a fleeting moment in her emerald eyes before her cheeks reddened in astonishment. Her chin came up and her lips moved as she muttered under her breath. Penned in beside her, Corey fidgeted like a caged panther. If Jake lived to be ninety he’d never forget the shock on Corey’s face as he realized the infamous Slasher and his big brother were…hmm… acquainted.

  “Good morning. I’m glad to see a few new faces here.” Jake gazed directly into Carin’s indignant eyes. “Welcome to East Ridge Church. We’re glad to have you here with us today. Let us bow our heads and pray.”

  Jake lowered his gaze and drew a deep, cleansing breath. Prayer was no time for mischief, even in a situation such as this. He cleared his mind of all thought and focused on his Lord and Savior.

  “Dear Lord, thank You for this beautiful day and for bringing us together to worship You in all Your glory. May this service bring honor to You, and may You fill us with Your Holy Spirit as we praise and honor Your name. Let us live our lives for You, Lord, and may Your words light each step of our path. Guide us, Lord, and teach us Your ways. Amen.”

  ****

  This is unbelievable. Who ever heard of a pastor that mows the church lawn? He could have told me who he was, but he led me to think…

  Carin’s thoughts were interrupted by the crescendo of the keyboard. As she bowed her head and listened to the sincerity of Jake’s prayer, her indignation quickly grew into a grudging respect. He had a gentle calmness about him, and his faith was evident in both the words he shared and the tone of his voice. She breathed deeply and allowed herself to relax, letting the words flow over her. The nervousness that had nearly paralyzed her as she entered the church diminished. It had been so long since she’d worshiped like this, too long since her prayers had been anything but mechanical—if she said any prayers at all—that she felt like a sponge soaking up water.

  No lightning strikes from above—yet. Maybe it really is true…what the Bible says about the Living Water. With each word, Carin felt fissures weaken the concrete wall that bound her heart like an airtight vault.

  It was easy to see how she’d missed the fact Jake was a pastor. He didn’t look like any pastor she’d ever seen. He was dressed in neatly pressed khakis that seemed tailor-made for his long, lean legs and a navy jacket over a tan button-down shirt that covered a broad expanse of shoulders. No tie, no robe, no collar. Weren’t all pastors supposed to wear a robe or collar or something to set them apart from everyone else while they preached? And he wasn’t any older than she was. Weren’t all senior pastors just this side of old and gray?

  She remembered the way he’d looked while they spoke in the churchyard on Friday afternoon, handsome in a rugged sort of way, his dark hair speckled with grass that had caught in the tousled waves. He was nearly a foot taller than her petite five feet, three inches, and his tanned skin glistened from exertion where it wasn’t covered by a grass-splattered T-shirt and faded jeans.

  Beside her, Corey’s knee pumped like a piston. He threw her nervous sidelong glances as Jake wound his way through the sermon. Carin wondered if Corey heard a word his brother said. His lack of attention didn’t only apply to the classroom, she imagined.

  As they sang the closing hymn, Corey scooted away from her, clearly anticipating a quick escape. But Jake kept an eagle eye on him. When the music faded and people began to gravitate toward the exit, Jake motioned to Corey with a slight nod of his head and a stern look.

  “Oh, brother.” Corey grimaced and turned back to Carin. His blue eyes narrowed as he sighed in resignation. “Jake wants me to take you to his office. I guess I’m in hot water now.”

  “Scalding.” Carin gathered her purse and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Although I don’t think you’re the only one who has explaining to do.”

  That piqued his interest. “What do you mean?”

  “I can see where you get your mischievous bent.” She nodded toward Jake. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so to speak.”

  “That’s a figure of speech, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. Maybe you do listen in class—occasionally.”

  “Are you trying to ruin my life more than it already is?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “When you’re through talking to him, Jake’s gonna ground me forever.”

  “You should have thought of that before you hid my green pens on the shelf behind the dictionaries and turned in blank assignments with silly little drawings scrawled across the paper.” She crossed her arms. “And how about the plastic mouse in my desk drawer?”

  “How do you know I’m the one who did that?”

  “I have my ways and you, Corey Samuels, have way too much time on your hands.”

  “I’ve been framed.”

  “Tell it to your brother. Maybe he’ll believe you.”

  “Sure, he will.” Corey buried his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m doomed.”

  4

  Jake watched Corey and Carin slip from their seats. As Corey slinked by, grumbling, Jake struggled to remain focused on a story Mr. Doran was sharing.

  “Want a soda or some cookies?” Corey’s voice drifted as he and Carin wound their way into the hallway.

  “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s too late,” Carin replied. “Besides, flowers work better than soda.”

  Corey shrugged. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but I know where Jake hides a stash of soda. Might as well take the edge off your appetite. He’ll be a while. It’s never an easy getaway for him on Sunday mornings. You wouldn’t believe half the stuff people hang around to tell him.”

  Jake cringed. Corey’s mouth had no filter, and often his flippant comments left a mess for Jake to clean up. The last thing he wanted was for Carin to think he wasn’t serious about his pastoral duties. It was the farthest thing from the truth. And besides, what kind of message would that send?

  “Oh, I think I would.” Carin struggled to keep up with Corey. Her sandals clacked over the tile floor. “But a soda sounds good.”

  Corey disappeared into a small kitchen off the main hallway, reappearing moments later with a bag of chocolate-crème cookies and two cans of soda.

  Jake listened in stereo—one ear funneling Mr. Doran’s anecdote while the other zoned in on Corey. He was becoming an expert at multi-tasking when it came to detouring Corey from mischief.

  “The breakfast of champions.” Corey held up the goods like a prizefighter as he led Carin to Jake’s office. When they passed by, his voice carried. “I’ll share if you promise not to tattle to Jake. He doesn’t like
me eating junk food for breakfast.”

  The glib comment sent Jake over the edge. He nodded to Mr. Doran, and then politely interrupted the man when he paused for a breath. “Excuse me, but I have to go. Corey needs me.”

  Mr. Doran smiled his gap-toothed grin and shook Jake’s hand, unaffected by the sudden departure, yet Jake felt torn as he strode down the hall. How many times had he had to choose between doing his job and bailing Corey out of trouble? The struggle was wearing on him. He paused outside the door and gathered his patience as he peeked in and listened to the voices that drifted.

  “It’s not exactly breakfast, since it’s after eleven.” Carin popped the top off the soda can before drawing a sip. “But I really should tell your brother, after the way you’ve been behaving in English class.” She paced the room, frowning. “Or maybe we can negotiate, write up a behavioral contract. Oh, wait! Apparently I’ve forgotten my famous green slasher pen.”

  Her censuring look speared Corey. “This can’t be happening.” He groaned and hung his head. “Oh, God, help me.”

  Jake pushed the door wide and strode into the room. “I believe He’s the only one who can.”

  “Uh-oh.” Corey froze mid-stride. He fingered the tab on his soda, and then thrust the unopened can at Jake. “Want it?”

  “No, thanks.” Jake pushed the can back and crossed the room to greet Carin. “Hello again. I don’t believe we’ve properly met.” He grasped her hand, noting skin that was cool and smooth. Again, Jake noticed the scent of sandalwood…a fragrance that was quickly becoming familiar. “I’m Jake—Pastor Jake Samuels. And you are…”

  “She’s Miss O’Malley, my English teacher.” Corey slumped against the couch and set the can of soda on the side table. “Remember I told you about her?”