Nothing Sacred

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Without his life purpose, his existence had no value.

  Without Martha Moore, life had no love.

  “Remember…” He was coming to the end. “You don’t have to forgive the act, you forgive the person who committed the act. We’re all one, brothers and sisters,” he said, addressing his congregation in a way he’d never addressed them before. “We’re all of one human blood, and we all share one universal love. That entitles every single person, no matter what he or she has done, to forgiveness.”

  As he’d long since forgiven his mother. And, in more recent years, the father who’d so brutally sired him.

  The sermon ended. The service ended. And people seemed to be hanging around an unusually long time. Try as he might, David just was not up to smiling and small talk. As soon as he could, he slid away from the people, from the church building, back to the home he’d soon be leaving, to sit alone in the office there—the room where he’d been when his life had fallen apart.

  He was done.

  “YOU KNOW, PASTOR, you’re condemned to living here for the rest of your life.”

  Even the voices in his head were beginning to sound like Martha Moore. “Oh, really,” he said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm or open his eyes.

  “Yeah, Shelter Valley’s ruined you. You go anywhere else and leave your door unlocked like that and you’ll be robbed blind. Probably murdered. And then where would you be?”

  He froze, opening his eyes, focusing on the carpet in front of him. “Heaven.”

  “Oh, well, you’ve got me there, I guess.” Her voice was coming closer, so close, in fact, that he could see the high heels she’d worn to church right there beside him. Those delectable knees in their panty hose were there, too, by the chair adjacent to his. “But I don’t think they need you yet. At least, not as much as we need you here.”

  As broken as he felt inside, David couldn’t stop the quick, sad smile he sent in her direction. “My sermon got to you, huh?” he asked. She didn’t know it yet, but Martha Moore was a chosen woman. One who had much to do here on earth. Many people to help. Much love to spread.

  “No.” The intensity in that single word cut through the haze of his pain. David raised his eyes far enough to meet her gaze. “You did.”

  She was crying. His strong, valiant, determined love was crying.

  “I lied to you,” he said.

  “In a way, yes.”

  “I’m an immoral man preaching the word of God.”

  “Are you?” The tears continued to trickle down her cheeks even as she smiled. “My daughter has another theory about that,” she said. “Ellen says you reacted to circumstances, made a mistake, and then the man you really are stepped forward and saved you. You’ve moved on.”

  It was what he’d been telling himself all of those years. But he’d been lying to himself. Hadn’t he?

  Only you can answer that.

  I know.

  Yes. You know the answer.

  “My father was a rapist.”

  “The man who got your mother pregnant might have been.” Martha’s voice was even, filled with warmth, calming him in a way he wasn’t sure human words had ever done before. “But this morning you spoke of your Father, and it sure didn’t sound like you were discussing a rapist.”

  His Father.

  He had a Father. Who wasn’t a rapist.

  Yes.

  “You know,” Martha said, running the tip of her stockinged toe against the back of his leg. At some point she’d slid out of her shoes. “You talked this morning about forgiving all those people who’d done things against us. Did you believe that message or was that just preacher talk?”

  “Of course I believed it.” He held her gaze. “And before you do any more psychoanalyzing, I’ve already forgiven my mother. And my father as well.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her lips tilted in an expression filled with understanding. And something warm and wonderful that he couldn’t define. “But when are you going to forgive yourself?”

  Stunned, David stared at her.

  “It seems to me you’ve forgiven your biological father for being a rapist, but you’ve never forgiven yourself for being a rapist’s son.”

  She’s right.

  Oh, God, dear Father in heaven, she’s right.

  Yes.

  This is what I came here to learn.

  Yes.

  This is how I am to be freed from my past.

  Yes.

  Martha was still looking at him. Her eyes had dried, but shone with an emotion he’d never seen there before.

  “I still can’t stay here,” he said. “Shelley knows. Whitney or someone else who puts it all together could come here at any time. I can’t stay without telling them the truth.”

  “Yes, well…”

  David wasn’t listening to any more optimistic possibilities.

  “I have to tell them,” he told Martha, his voice as stern as the look he gave her. “They deserve to know. And then I have to go.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Come on, Martha! You and I have been through a lot together. I helped your family and you feel grateful. Grateful enough to overlook the fact that I so grossly misrepresented myself by not telling the truth about my past. That doesn’t mean everyone else will feel the same way. A pastor has to be above reproach to do his job well. And this community, especially after Edwards, needs and deserves a pastor who can be that for them.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. Anything. He couldn’t keep secrets from her anymore.

  “How did you get from being part of a prostitution ring, albeit unknowingly, to applying for the seminary?”

  David gave a small smile, thinking of the man who was sitting in a jail cell in Phoenix. “Years ago, Shane’s little brother, Jimmy, was the brains behind all the Shane business empires while big brother was the charmer.”

  “The politician,” Martha added.

  “Yes, well, big brother made a couple of critical mistakes, blowing the cover Jimmy had worked so hard to set up. He’d talked up a couple of undercover cops while drunk at a party one night. He didn’t give them enough to move on, but he’d brought them smelling around. Jimmy stopped by my office one night on his way out of the country. He was the one who set me up with Whitney, so I figured I was safe, I guess. He told me the medical supply business had been sold and then he told me why. He said they were shutting down the prostitution ring, which—until that point—I’d had no idea I was even involved with. He told me then that I was different. That I wasn’t like him. That I had a higher purpose in life and I should get as far away from this whole sordid existence as I could. He mentioned a preacher he’d known as a kid on the street—said I reminded him of the guy.”

  She nodded encouragingly.

  “It took me a while to recover from losing the job—and from knowing I’d narrowly escaped going to jail—and then I joined the seminary.”

  Martha got to her feet. He was glad, at least, that she understood, although he wouldn’t have minded having her put up a little bit of a fight.

  But, it was better this way. Easier.

  “One more question,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Did you go to the seminary to avoid investigation?”

  “I went because I’d been thinking about it since I was a kid. The preacher in my mother’s church was the closest thing in my life to any kind of father figure. His view of me gave me hope that I might have what it takes. When Jimmy talked to me that last night, it all just clicked. And as soon as I was ordained, I asked for the inner city church he’d mentioned…”

  “The one where you met Jeb?”

  He nodded.

  Martha touched his arm. “Come outside.”

  “What?”

  “I have something to show you.”

  He frowned. “We’re in the middle of a fairly serious conversation here.”

  “I know.” She nodded, held out her hand. “And we’ll get ba
ck to it.”

  Still he sat there. She wasn’t usually so insensitive. His life was unraveling. A walk outside wasn’t on the top of his list. To look at what? He couldn’t even imagine.

  “Come on, Marks.” Her voice took on a cajoling note he didn’t appreciate. “The truth has waited twenty-three years. I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

  She was right, of course. He probably did need to distance himself from his own circumstances. It was what he’d taught her and Ellen when life had seemed overwhelming to them.

  We teach what we most need to know.

  Hands in his pockets, David followed Martha to the sliding glass door off his kitchen. Doors that led to the large yard between the church and his home.

  As soon as she opened the doors, his heart started to pound. There were hundreds of people out in the yard. He saw them, heard them.

  “With Ellen’s permission, I had a little talk with everyone after church.” Although they were still in the house, Martha had had to raise her voice so he could hear her. “I’m sorry if you’re angry that I didn’t also get your permission, but Ellen and I made an executive decision. You didn’t need to live through the story another time. We told it for you.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about.

  Stepping outside, David wasn’t sure what to expect. Did the whole town want to be involved in firing him?

  The applause that thundered as he approached was nothing to the blinding smiles that greeted him. One by one, town members he’d helped, people he’d visited, even people who hadn’t had time for his visits, all came forward to shake his hand, some to hug him, all of them to tell him he was welcome in their town. They’d never had a preacher like him, he heard over and over again. They’d never had a preacher whose spirit walked with him everywhere he went, whose lessons were more by example than anything else.

  “Your sermon on forgiveness this morning…” Becca Parsons said as she approached him with little Bethany hanging on to her skirt, ten-month old Kaelin in her arms, and husband, Will, standing right behind her.

  “Yes?” He waited.

  “We all need you to take it to heart and forgive us for waiting so long to throw you your welcome party.” She reached up to run her free hand down his cheek. “Welcome home, Pastor.”

  “Welcome home,” Will reiterated, giving David’s hand a vigorous shake.

  Shelley Moore stepped up, head raised as she met his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay.” He understood why she’d ratted on him. He’d backed her into a corner.

  “No, it’s not.” This was a different young woman he was speaking to. “I was blaming everyone, you mostly, for the fact that my father didn’t love me anymore,” she said. “I’ve screwed up, Pastor.” She looked over her shoulder at the people behind her, her eyes revealing a desperation that pulled at him.

  “We’ll talk later,” he told her. “As soon as possible.”

  She nodded, soberly. “I told Drake I couldn’t see him anymore; and I apologized to Monica.” She swallowed. “I’m going to need some help.”

  “And I’m going to help you.”

  His reward was a beautiful though tentative smile that David would cherish forever.

  An hour later, still visiting with people, eating from a paper plate filled with food that had suddenly appeared, David glanced up to find Martha standing in front of him.

  “We need to talk, Pastor,” she said, her face expressionless.

  “Of course.” He dropped his plate in a nearby trash bag. “Now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What’s on your mind?” They were walking away from the crowd, but still within sight of those milling around, enjoying the impromptu party. The happy screams of children chasing each other could be heard in the distance.

  “Just that we feel, those of us who’ve been in Shelter Valley all our lives, that our preacher really shouldn’t live alone.”

  “Oh?” They wanted him to share his house? He’d love to. Anything to fill the emptiness in that huge place.

  “Yes, we think—considering that we need food provided on many unplanned occasions and a shoulder to cry on now and then—that there should be a woman in his life.”

  “Oh?” She’d slid her hand in his. The last time David remembered sweating like this, he’d been fifteen years old.

  “And before anyone else has a chance to butt in, I’d like to apply for the job.”

  “You want to cook and have a wet shoulder?”

  “Okay.”

  He had no idea how to do this. The only other time he’d tried had ended in…

  “Would you like more than that?” David almost laughed out loud when the words came on their own.

  “Yes.”

  Still holding her hand, David lowered himself to one knee, uncaring of the grass stains he was getting on his light gray slacks. Mostly because he wasn’t sure his legs were going to hold him much longer.

  Thank you, God.

  You’re welcome.

  He took a deep breath. “Martha Moore, would you marry me?”

  Her response was lost in the cheers that went up from a crowd behind them, people who had apparently just noticed him on his knee.

  “Was that a yes?” he asked, studying her for any sign of hesitation.

  Martha yanked on his hand until he was standing in front of her, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

  “That was a yes,” she said against his lips, and then taught him how a man kisses the woman with whom he’s fallen hopelessly in love.

  “MY MOTHER WAS FIFTEEN when my father raped her.” It was late that night, and Martha and David were alone at the rectory, sitting on the couch in the living room he’d never used. They’d just finished making plans to attend his mother’s funeral the next week. “After her breakdown, when I was placed in foster care, my caseworker explained it to me. My mother had been walking home alone from a movie after having a fight with the girlfriends she’d gone with. He came up in a car, grabbed her off the curb, took her to some woods, and then, when he was through, left her there bleeding and bruised.”

  Martha wanted to die for the young girl who’d been so traumatized. “What did she do?”

  “Cleaned herself up as much as she could, snuck home and into the house before anyone could see her, took a shower, pretended it never happened. She was too ashamed to tell her parents.”

  “She didn’t receive any medical care? Any counseling?” Thinking of Ellen, Martha shuddered. Without counseling, her daughter might have lived her entire life in the nightmarish world created by her attack.

  “Even when she found herself pregnant, she didn’t tell the truth. She just accepted all the ridicule she got for not even knowing the name of her baby’s father. Allowed herself to be branded a whore by a strict father who washed his hands of her.”

  Martha’s heart ached for the young girl. How had she ever managed? “It’s no wonder she had such problems later,” she said.

  David nodded. “I understood that years ago, thanks to intensive counseling. I just wish I could’ve brought her some peace as well as all the agony….”

  “From what you tell me, where she is now, I’ll bet you’re bringing her all kinds of peace.”

  He didn’t say anything, but Martha felt the muscles in his arm relax against her.

  “As horrible as it all was, I’m thankful for one thing that came out of it,” she said softly.

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  With a long kiss, Martha felt David’s promise of a lifetime of discoveries. A lifetime of things to be thankful for. Starting as soon as he could arrange for a marriage license, he’d told her earlier. He wouldn’t be able to wait more than a day or two to make love to her.

  To truly make love for the first time in his life.

  Martha couldn’t wait for that, either.

  “You know, this town of yours, of ours, is a pretty remark
able thing,” David said many minutes later.

  She agreed with him, but still wanted to hear what he was thinking. “How so?”

  “People who’d be ordinary people on their own come together to create a world that shows them something they could never see otherwise. A higher purpose.”

  To Martha, Shelter Valley was just home. A pretty special place, but just home. “What purpose?”

  “It shows us a dream that’s real and solid and lasting. It’s evidence of everything I talk about. It’s proof that one thing will always win out.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Love.” He kissed her, a passionate, openmouthed kiss.

  “You do know that everything that’s happened has been for a purpose, don’t you?” Martha asked when she could finally think again. Her eyes were having a hard time focusing, but she needed to make sure that David’s heart was filled with peace.

  “Would that be something I taught you, madam?” he asked, grinning at her.

  “It would.”

  “And now you’re going to tell me what that purpose is?”

  “I am.”

  He kissed her. “And what would that be?”

  She wanted him to kiss her again. To stop all this talking. But there was something more important. Something he had to know.

  “To bring you home.”

  She thought he’d kiss her then. He didn’t. David’s eyes glistened with tears that didn’t fall. But those tears touched Martha’s heart, her spirit, with the promise of their future together.

  This man was hers. He was going to make mistakes. He was going to forgive her mistakes.

  But he was never, ever going to leave her.

  Together, they’d found home.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6261-8

  NOTHING SACRED

  Copyright © 2004 by Tara Lee Reames.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.