Salvation Station

by Kathryn Schleich

  Buck was thoroughly annoyed with her but tried hard to stem his increasing irritation. “While considering the future is nice, we need to focus on the present. It’s important that all the calls get answered with courtesy and in a professional manner. We don’t pressure individuals into giving—”

  “Of course, we don’t want to pressure anyone,” Susannah interrupted Buck, emphasizing the word pressure. She honed her gaze on Seth. “But if they are willing to increase their donation, that’s wonderful. Remember, it’s all for the great cause of doing God’s work!”

  Cole frowned. “You’re each saying different things. Are we, or are we not, to pressure people for additional money?”

  Buck made his point quicker. “Accept their contribution, thank them for their generosity, and move to the next call. We want this to be meaningful, so they’ll give again.”

  Susannah’s nostrils flared, and Buck recognized that if her eyes had been daggers, they would have cut right into him. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with asking for a little bit more!” she snarled.

  Buck observed the tense expressions on Cole and Seth’s wide-eyed faces and tried to smooth things over. “When you’re comfortable in the job, you’ll get a sense of who you might be able to ask for larger donations. But for now, let’s concentrate on answering the phones well.” Buck sensed from Susannah’s narrowing eyes that she wasn’t happy. This conversation would get back to Ray, and Buck had to be strong.

  She looked over at Cole and Seth. “As soon as you are comfortable, however, getting donations above the amount pledged will be a priority.”

  Buck fought the urge to sigh or roll his eyes. You won’t quit, will you?

  As he expected, Buck heard from Ray that Susannah had voiced her irritation about his training methods.

  “Susannah’s concerned you’re not training Seth and Cole to be assertive enough. My lovely fiancée can be quite forceful in her opinions, but I want to hear your side.” They were alone in Ray’s office.

  Buck straightened up to his full height, knowing he would need to state his case decisively. “Let me finish this, Ray. I’ve worked on the phones since the beginning. With all due respect, Susannah has done it a few times, but it’s about more than getting donations. Building relationships is what makes for repeat donors.”

  Ray sided with him, but Buck was reminded of the disagreement every time he encountered Susannah’s stinging gaze in the ensuing weeks. Still, somebody had to start telling this woman no.

  Cole and Seth both proved to be exceptionally fast studies, and Buck grew confident in their work and trustworthiness. All he needed to worry about was Susannah.

  30

  MARCH 7, 2003 ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI EMMA’S HOME

  Ruth Perkins didn’t much care for birthdays, at least not her own. From her common-sense perspective, every passing year was simply a number, and reaching eighty in good health was no more significant than turning fifty. But Emma had other ideas.

  Emma insisted this was a milestone to be celebrated. Her original idea had involved the planning of a party that Ruth determined too closely resembled a wake and politely declined. In addition, Ruth’s birthday fell in early March, and you could never be sure winter storms wouldn’t blow in and make for risky travel. Ruth would have rather have gotten cards from her family and been done with it.

  But the forecast remained clear with no sign of a winter storm in any part of Missouri. Emma had honed her stubborn streak for her entire life and would not be denied giving her mother a party. After much argument, Ruth eventually relented, agreeing to a small family celebration. Appeased, Emma presented her mother with her favorite meal of beef stroganoff, which Ruth noted she hadn’t cooked for herself since Orville had died.

  The dinner dishes had been cleared, and the small group of Emma, Jack, the girls, Jack’s sister Andrea, her spouse, Bob, and their sons, Nick and Jake, all wore “Happy Birthday” polka-dot paper hats.

  Katrina snapped pictures. “Smile, Grandma!” she said as the flash popped, temporarily blinding Ruth while the group hit the final notes of “Happy Birthday.”

  Emma carried what looked to be an enormous chocolate cake—it had to be to accommodate all those candles—and Katrina commanded, “Make a wish, Grandma,” as Ruth sucked air into her lungs and blew it back out as hard as she could, extinguishing every candle. The family clapped and cheered at Grandma’s lung capacity.

  “Jack, go ahead and get Mom started opening her presents. Katrina and Elizabeth, you come into the kitchen and help me cut the cake.”

  His own party hat slightly askew, Jack asked his wife, “What’s the rush, Emma? Let’s eat some cake and ice cream; then Mom can open her presents. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

  “The girls have school tomorrow—”

  “Mom,” Katrina interrupted, clearly annoyed, “we’re in college. We don’t even live at home anymore.”

  As if she couldn’t stand Katrina getting in the final word, Emma said abruptly, “You’re not living at home right now.” Her feet stamped loudly into the kitchen.

  “Mom, quit treating us like little kids,” Elizabeth chided.

  This comment elicited a short and surly, “Forget I said anything.”

  “Let’s go help your mom,” Andrea said to the girls to ease the tension.

  “Dad?” Nick asked, avoiding looking at his grandma. “Can we go play some video games? This is kinda boring.”

  “Sure, but only until Grandma opens her presents. Is that all right, Jack?” Bob asked.

  “Fine,” Nick replied and gave Ruth a sheepish grin before he sprinted into the living room.

  “I’ll come, too,” Bob called after them.

  “That Emma, always so bossy. The girls are right. They’re young women now.” Ruth paused, and Jack smiled wistfully. She eyed the kitchen, making sure Emma was out of hearing range. “How’s the family counseling going? I can’t ask Emma.”

  “It’s going very well. We’re making progress and meeting every week with Dr. Moore, but Emma still has trouble hearing she’s too controlling from anybody, whether it’s you, me, or the girls. But especially from me.”

  “Well, it sounds as though you’re making some progress.”

  “Yeah, we have good sessions and bad. But this Dr. Moore that the Reverend Ray recommended has years of counseling experience. She gives us exercises to do as a family, and those are very helpful.”

  Their conversation ceased as Katrina appeared carrying a tray of coffee cups.

  “Here you go, Grandma. And Dad, we put cream in yours.”

  “Thanks, honey,” Jack said, smiling at his lovely daughter.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  They could hear the boys shouting over the video game as they sipped their coffee.

  Ruth replaced the cup in the saucer before she spoke. “The Reverend Ray asked me to let him know how you’re doing. I hope you won’t mind if I write him back. This is a very positive sign.”

  Jack didn’t reply, and Ruth realized his gaze was focused over her shoulder and into the kitchen.

  Then, she heard Emma’s angry voice rising steadily. She turned in her chair; Emma was wielding a cake knife in her clenched fist, her face flushed. “You mean to tell me that both of you are in on this, and you asked that shyster evangelist for a referral? Mother, how dare you do this behind my back—?”

  “Emma, that’s enough!” Jack retorted. “Dr. Moore’s insights are good for all of us.”

  “Enough? Excuse me, Jack, but you’re discussing our marital and family problems in front of God and everybody, and you expect me not to make a scene?”

  “We were only talking among family, Em. You’re making way too much out of this.”

  Ruth spoke up. “Jack’s right, dear. You’re making a scene.” She thought to herself that Emma’s temper was getting the best of her again.

  It was a mistake to side with her son-in-law because now Emma was shouting at everyone, waving the knife wildly and send
ing bits of cake and icing flying across the dining room. “That’s right. It’s always Emma’s fault. No one else is to blame. No one.” She gulped a breath of air, her fury rising. “I cannot believe you asked that goddamned preacher for advice. Advice and a referral! You lied to me, Jack. You said you found Dr. Moore!”

  Emma was cut off by an artificially cheerful Andrea, who breezed past her with plates of cake and ice cream.

  “Here we go—cake and ice cream for the birthday girl. And you, little brother.” She set plates before Ruth and Jack. “Who besides me needs a fork?”

  Katrina was on her heels with napkins and silverware, and Elizabeth came carrying more plates of cake and ice cream.

  Rigid in the open archway of the kitchen, Emma stood fuming. The rest of her family was returning to the dining room and ignoring her, which made her even more furious. “This family is unbelievable.” Tugging at the ties of her apron, Emma pulled it off and let it fall to the floor. “The hell with all of you!” she yelled, her shoes clacking across the wood of the kitchen floor. A door slammed, then the roar of a car engine and a garage door rising.

  “Good thing we parked on the street,” Bob said from the living room, watching Emma peel out of the driveway, the screeching tires leaving streaks of black rubber. “She’s pissed.”

  “That she is,” Jack responded.

  “She needs to calm down. Just because Emma doesn’t approve of who the referral came from is no reason to act like a child.” Ruth shook her head in dismay, silver curls of hair bouncing.

  “You know I can slip her some drugs—Xanax, Valium, Prozac—I’ve got them all,” Andrea said, smiling at her brother.

  Jack laughed weakly. “Thanks for the offer, but isn’t that a felony?”

  “Only if I sell them to you.”

  “Mom didn’t have to ruin Grandma’s birthday party,” Elizabeth said.

  Ruth looked at the distraught faces of her family. At least I talked Emma out of a big celebration. She told them a white lie in hopes of calming everyone. “She didn’t ruin my party, dear. I’m still having a lovely time.”

  “And that’s what we want,” Jack said. “As soon as we finish eating, Grandma has presents to open.”

  31

  MONDAY, MARCH 17, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY BUILDING

  Increased phone calls, revenue, viewers, and a larger audience told Buck that word of Ray’s “healing powers” had spread swiftly. People with chronic illnesses, severe pain, and other health issues began attending the show on a regular basis.

  Buck also noted that, once again, Susannah saw these healings as an occasion for making money. Susannah was already using these “miraculous events” to cast Ray as a redeemer.

  “Don’t you see?” she cooed. “These people have put their faith in you, Ray, that they have found a place for healing. We’ll want to start promoting your gift.” The four of them surrounded the small conference table.

  Ray’s voice arched up a notch, showing his unhappiness at Susannah’s word choice. “This whole healing thing makes me a bit uneasy. It’s one thing to help our members face things they have the power to change, like drug addiction or a divided family, but it’s another thing to give them false hope around an illness they have no control over.”

  She stroked his arm softly. “Forgive me if it sounded flip. Think of yourself as the instrument through which God works. I think of the Prayer of St. Francis when he says, ‘Make me an instrument of your peace.’ I believe God is telling you to be an instrument of healing.”

  After a long day in IT, Buck’s tired body ached, and his voice oozed with sarcasm. “What, we’re Catholic now?”

  Susannah’s anger flashed in her eyes. “Why are you always so rude about nearly every suggestion I make?” she asked, voice cutting. “Plenty of my ideas have worked out quite nicely. But I would appreciate it if you weren’t so condescending.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the group; Susannah and Buck were at odds again.

  Looking at the men’s weary faces, Susannah reddened. “I’m human, too. But it’s maddening to get shot down all the time.”

  Buck shifted uneasily in his chair. They played nice on an artificial level, but neither one cared for the other. He tried another approach. “I apologize for being rude; it’s been a tough day. But I’m trying to be realistic. Ray’s right, Susannah. We’re taking risks the way it is, but promising miraculous healing is something we absolutely cannot provide.”

  “Yeah, what you’re suggestin’ is a whole new ballgame,” Jeff said, shifting in his seat. “Buck and I told y’all we’re both gone if this made us uncomfortable, and right now, I’m feelin’ pretty damn uncomfortable.”

  As quickly as her anger had appeared, it was replaced with a bright smile. “But we didn’t ask people looking for healing to search us out. They’re here, seeking help and comfort. What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s giving them false hope. What happens when someone who thinks they were ‘cured’ by Ray dies? What then, Susannah?” Buck’s voice grew louder as he felt the anger simmering inside him. “Don’t you think their families will call us out for the frauds we are?”

  “We are not frauds.” Offended, Susannah’s eyes grew steely. “My goodness, Buck, what do you take me for? We don’t have to promise them anything, just pray with them and be in the moment, as they ask for God’s help. This is what I mean, Buck. You’re always doubting me—”

  Buck threw his hands up. “Because I don’t see how it can work. People are coming to us, but we can’t heal anybody or make them well! Eavesdropping on their problems to benefit them is one thing, but beyond that, there is nothing we can do for a lot of them—”

  “Stop! Please stop arguing, both of you.” Ray’s strong and forceful voice filled the room.

  Caught off guard, Buck and Susannah stopped talking and looked at Ray’s reddening face.

  “I think we’re starting to cross the line here.” Ray grimaced. “Buck has a good point. What are we going to do when we fail someone? Aren’t we setting ourselves up for legal action or worse?”

  Susannah’s demeanor changed as though a switch had flipped. She reached out a hand, softly patting Ray on his forearm. “Ray, sweetheart, we’re not going to guarantee that they’ll recover. I’d be a fool to think we could do that. Focus on Jesus as healer and you as the instrument. What’s the harm in trying that approach once?” Her voice was seductively soft; and from his vantage point, Buck could see Ray already starting to waver.

  Ray put his hand over hers. “If we focus on the fact that Christ was a healer and cast out demons, I can see that. But I will not get up before this congregation and demand some poor disabled soul get up out of a wheelchair and walk. I’d feel like a carnival huckster.”

  “It’s compassion that I’m referring to.” She smiled. “We always connect our message to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who was compassionate toward the outcasts and the sick.”

  “Are you gentlemen all right with that?” Ray asked, his gaze settling on Buck and Jeff’s silent faces.

  Buck fidgeted. “I’m not wild about the idea, but I’ll give it one time. There are numerous Bible readings showing Jesus as a healer; if you fit the message into a sermon, I can live with it—one time.”

  “Jeff?”

  His muscular arms folded across a solid chest. “Yeah, I guess I’m in.”

  Ray’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed. “While that approach has had success, it needs to be subtle. I can’t guarantee anything,” he said, squeezing Susannah’s hand. “We seek out individuals with ailments who have a genuine chance at getting better. But as with Jim Jameson, they should be an active part of the process, willing to make lifestyle changes.”

  “Right.” Susannah beamed. “We’re taking one small step at a time.”

  SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 23, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY SET

  Buck hadn’t expected things to move along this quickly. Pretending to h
eal a parishioner, even if backed up with suggestions for how to improve their lives, still made him uncomfortable. There were risks, and he wanted a longer interval to iron out the details. Instead, during rehearsals, Ray informed him that he’d written a sermon focusing on genuine healing.

  The money is coming in a steady stream, and regulars are starting to make larger donations, Buck reminded himself. Ruth Perkins donated $10,000 after Ray inquired again on the progress of solving her family difficulties, promising to pray for them. One thing’s for sure, the individualized touch of Ray answering those requests is paying off.

  Buck brought himself back to the task at hand, skimming through the congregation for potential healing candidates. One of the concessions Susannah had made was Ray would not pick out an audience member on every single broadcast, giving the timing of healings more mystery and a sense of divine intervention. And, Buck mused dryly, it kept viewers watching. The conversation of an elderly woman with a cane being assisted down the aisle by a younger man, who appeared to be her son, caught his attention as their voices crackled through his headphones.

  “Oh, this knee is killing me. I can still barely walk. I thought you said a knee replacement would fix everything, Paul.”

  “Mom, you need to keep doing your exercises. You had surgery less than three months ago.”

  “When you’re old, Paul Schaffer, you’ll see what pain really is!” the woman replied crossly.

  The agitated middle-aged man with thinning hair guided his mother to the front row.

  Ray stood at the pulpit, perspiring. Watching him, Buck knew this was highly unusual, but he also realized Ray’s next words would put a lot at stake, perhaps even The Road to Calvary’s future.

  “The Bible says that Jesus Christ is a healer—casting out demons, healing the sick, bringing Lazarus back from the dead. Jesus performed these healing miracles, just as he can perform them here today.”