The Silver Star

by Gilbert, Morris

  Todd arrived on time, and the two went out to Miro’s, a popular restaurant. The dance floor was crowded with young couples, and an eight-piece band played constantly as they had their dinner—filet mignon, crisp, fresh white bread, and a salad with an unusually spicy dressing. The food was very good, and Todd was in an excited mood. His cheeks glowed from a fresh shave, and a faint odor of lotion lingered in the air as he leaned closer to Priscilla and whispered, “You look lovely tonight, Priscilla. I’ll have to be sure no one runs off with you.”

  “You just can’t turn it off, can you, Todd? Paying compliments to women.”

  “I suppose not, but I mean that one. You do look beautiful,” he said, once again impressed at the freshness of the woman who sat across from him. The slightly oval symmetry of Priscilla’s face gracefully accented her eyes, which matched the green of the dress that she wore. Her lips were well formed, long, with the lower lip slightly protruding, giving an alluring effect to those who noted it. She had small ears laid flat against her head, and her small jade earrings caught the light from the chandeliers overhead.

  Priscilla grew nervous as he studied her, not liking such attention, and said, “Todd, Porter gave me a script to read today.” She sat quietly, twirling the glass of water nervously as she described it and spoke of her apprehensions. “It’s just not the sort of thing for me.”

  “Well,” Todd said quickly, “of course, I hope you don’t do it. I want you to go with me to New York and star in Maxwell’s play. But, to be truthful about it, Maxwell’s play has some of those same elements that you’re afraid of.” He saw disappointment sweep across her face and then shook his head, saying firmly, “You’re not seeing this thing right, Priscilla. It’s the actor’s job to present the world as it is. You remember what Dr. Johnson said about Shakespeare’s plays? They held the mirror up to life. That’s all these plays are doing. They’re showing that there’s evil in the world.”

  “But there’s good in the world, too,” Priscilla argued. “At the same time a holdup is taking place in New York, right down the street a fireman’s risking his life to save some helpless people. Why dwell only on the ugly side of it?”

  “Because it’s there, and art needs to show it.”

  “I think I’m beginning to see what’s happening, Todd. Unfortunately people are more thrilled at seeing the bad things. That’s why some people rush over to view the bodies after a bad accident.” Her shoulders twitched with distaste, and her lips formed a grimace. “I don’t know why, but there’s something in us that is drawn to the ugly things of the world. To be truthful, I think it’s the devil.”

  “The devil? You don’t believe in that old myth, do you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Todd was somewhat surprised and stared at her with clinical interest. “I don’t believe the Bible is literal. I think it’s all just a myth to teach us something about ourselves.”

  “I don’t agree with you, Todd, which is precisely why you and I would never make it in any type of serious relationship. We’re too far apart in what we believe.”

  “You can go your way, and I can go mine in religious matters of opinion.”

  “I don’t think so, Todd. I can’t imagine not being able to share the most important part of my life with my husband!” Priscilla shook her head and wearily listened as he continued to argue. When they got back to her apartment, he put his arms around her, and she submitted to his kiss as usual. As she did so, she suddenly had a thought, It’s getting too easy for me. I wouldn’t have let him kiss me whenever he wanted to a few months ago, but now I think nothing of it. A fear took her, and she gently put her hand on his chest and drew back, saying, “Good night, Todd. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but she remembered her prayer from before. Deep inside she knew she had to make some important choices. If she wanted to walk in discretion, then she knew that her relationship with Todd had to stop.

  “All right. Tomorrow, Priscilla,” he said, then shrugged and left.

  When she closed the door of her apartment, she leaned against the doorframe and suddenly felt utterly exhausted. It was not a physical fatigue, since she had done nothing demanding on the set recently. The emotional strain of making the decision to return to the stage in New York, and the constant pressure from Todd, she had found, were as debilitating and tiring as spending all day cleaning house. She went to bed almost at once. Kneeling, as had become her custom for a few moments each night, she said, “Oh, God, you know my heart, and you know how I’m capable of ruining my life. Don’t let me take the wrong road. I don’t want to be like a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout. So, I ask, Lord Jesus, that you keep me free from anything that would displease you.”

  She got into bed, and somehow the prayer seemed to help. As she lay there thinking about what the future held for her, a sense of peace began to calm her thoughts, and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  ****

  Andrew Winslow stood in the entrance of the new church building he had practically built with his own hands—or so he felt. He walked out of the foyer and into the large sanctuary that sloped upward into a cathedral-like ceiling. Looking up he was disappointed he did not feel more excited at the impressive sight. He walked around studying the freshness and newness of the structure. He ran his hand along the smooth, polished walnut pews and felt the velvety softness of the plush royal blue cushions. Going up onto the rostrum, he looked back and visualized the choir, three hundred singers in glistening white robes, their voices soaring over the congregation. Stepping behind the pulpit, a masterpiece of carpentry, he ran his hands over the polished, bleached walnut, admiring the work. He looked out across the rows of empty pews and imagined every one of them filled to capacity, seven thousand people attentively waiting for him to bring them the Word of God.

  A heavy and oppressive silence seemed to hang over the enormous room. Sunlight slanted down from skylights that had been strategically placed in rows, eliminating the need to use electric lights for morning services. But today it was cloudy out; the feeble rays barely penetrated the frosted glass, and the dimness depressed him. His eyes wandered up to the six enormous crystal chandeliers suspended far above. Suddenly his conscience smote him. The price of just one of those chandeliers would pay for a missionary’s work in Africa for a year.

  He thought of Barney, his brother whom he loved so well, who was working hard on the African mission field, and for a moment Andrew smiled. His brother was not at all like him. Barney was a jewel, but in the rough. He had been a prizefighter in his youth and had experienced a terrible life on the Lower East Side of New York City as a drunk. Then he had been converted at a rescue mission. Barney had matured in his faith rapidly, and it had been he who had first surrendered to the call to go to Africa as a missionary. Andrew remembered with fondness how Barney had convinced others, including himself, to go and preach the gospel across the sea.

  As Andrew thought back over those challenging but fulfilling times, a dissatisfaction settled on him as he looked around at the ornate woodwork and the spectacular stained-glass windows that threw glittering reds and greens and yellows across the church as they portrayed the lives of the saints. He felt the thick pale beige carpeting under his feet and said aloud, “Barney would be lost in all of this.” He thought about how he himself had gone out to the villages of Africa, and suddenly it all came back to him—the stench, the dirt, the filth, the fear and poverty, and the blind obsession with the witch doctors who led the people into horrible practices. Am I happier now than I was then? In all honesty, he could not say that he was. He realized that even as Superintendent of Missions, he had lost touch with the men and women who were risking their lives every day for the Lord Jesus Christ on foreign fields. He had once been a part of that adventurous life, and though it was tiring and exhausting, he had felt a deep sense of purpose knowing he was serving God in a meaningful way.

  Abruptly he looked up, and the glitter of the chandeliers caught his
eye, and again he thought of their immense cost. He shook his head as a man tries to shake off an angry bee, but the nagging thoughts would not leave him. Quickly he left the rostrum and walked down the aisle, but he was not content nor pleased with himself.

  “What do you want, Winslow?” he demanded of himself angrily. “You’ve built a fine church here, doubled the attendance, quadrupled the offerings, and here’s this wonderful, beautiful building all to the glory of God.”

  But as he left the building, he had a gnawing fear that he had built on sand—that not all of this had been God’s plan for his life. It was a terrifying thought for him. He had not felt it for years, since the time when he was a young man groping to find God’s will. The realization that he had made a wrong turn, that he had invested these last years in something that was man’s pursuit and not of God, shook him with a cold fright that left him almost physically weak. Suddenly he felt a need to be with Dorothy and the children. A pang of guilt reminded him just how much he had neglected them lately. He ran quickly to the black Maxwell touring car and anxiously cranked it up, then leaped behind the wheel and headed for home.

  When he reached the house, he shut the engine off and went inside. The children ran to meet him. He picked up Phillip with his right arm and Amelia with his left and grinned at them. “How are you fellas today?”

  “I’m not a fellow, Daddy!” Amelia protested. “I’m a girl.”

  “That’s right, you are. Well, no one could mistake that.” He kissed her smooth cheek.

  “Daddy, can we go out to Uncle Cass’s orange grove and ride the horses again?”

  “Sure, sometime. Where’s your mother?” He lifted his eyes expectantly. Usually Dorothy was right behind the children.

  “She went out,” Amelia said. “Mrs. Kennedy’s keeping us today.”

  Her words deflated Andrew, and he carried the children into the kitchen. Mrs. Kennedy, who lived two doors down, was sitting at the table busily peeling potatoes. She was a matronly woman with a cheerful red face and greeted Andrew at once. “Well, pastor. You’re home early.”

  “Yes, I thought I’d take a little time off. Where did Mrs. Winslow go?”

  “She said she had some errands to do and would be back by five o’clock.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, fix a good supper tonight, Mrs. Kennedy. I’m hungry enough to eat a pair of shoes.”

  Amelia giggled. “That’s silly, Daddy! Could you really eat shoes?” She looked at him with inquisitive eyes. “No,” she announced, shaking her head. “You’re just teasing.”

  “That’s right. I am. Well, suppose the three of us go play a game until supper is ready.”

  “What kind of a game?” Amelia asked excitedly.

  “Any game you want.”

  “Horsey,” Phillip cried immediately. “Get me on your back.”

  Andrew grinned but uttered a sorrowful groan. “I should’ve chosen the game myself. Maybe checkers.”

  They all went into the large room that had been made into a playroom for the children, and at once Amelia pulled a small table over.

  “We’re going to have a tea party.”

  She began arranging her dolls in two of the chairs while Phillip protested. “No tea party. I want to play horsey!”

  “First the tea party, then the horsey,” Andrew announced. He looked at his children and thought how handsome and alert they were, then breathed a quick prayer of thankfulness to God for their health. He had seen children who did not have such a blessing, and he realized he had forgotten how terrible it could be to have a child who was sick. “Come on now. Let’s have this tea party,” he said and sat on the floor across from Amelia and next to Phillip.

  ****

  Dorothy was sitting beside Nolan Cole clenching her hands tightly together. He had called her earlier, begging to see her, and had said, “I’ll have to come to the house if you won’t meet me.” Terrified at his threat, she had agreed to meet him. She had called Mrs. Kennedy to watch the children and begin supper. As soon as the older woman had arrived, Dorothy had thrown on a raincoat and hat and walked out into the cool air. Nolan had been waiting a block away from the house. She looked around nervously and then got in the car. “Nolan, we’ve got to stop meeting,” she said, looking straight ahead. “It’s not right.”

  Nolan did not answer. He got out and started the car, then climbed back in and drove to a road along a deserted stretch of beach. Pulling the automobile up in the sand, he shut the engine off and reached for her, drawing her close. “I’ve missed you, Dorothy,” he whispered. He kissed her then, his arms holding her tightly.

  Dorothy resisted for only a moment. She had been a different woman since that night in his house when she had first surrendered to his desires. Since then the affair had driven her to the depths of despair. She knew full well the enormity of the heinous wrong she was committing against her husband and children—and against God. Time and again she had wept and prayed that God would forgive her—but in her loneliness she had not found the strength to break off the affair. Nolan had at first been so gentle, but now his lips seemed more demanding. Yet she could not resist him when he began to stroke her back as he was doing now. It always stirred her for some reason. He knew how to make her happy; he knew how to say the sweet things she had wanted to hear for so long.

  But this time was different. She pulled back abruptly and placed her hand on his chest. “Nolan,” she whispered, her voice almost frantic, “we can’t keep on like this! We’ve been terribly wrong! You know we have!”

  “I love you. Can that be wrong?”

  “I have a husband,” she said, looking down.

  “He’s not been a husband to you.”

  “I . . . I know, but he hasn’t been as wrong as I have. He’s been faithful to me, at least.” Bitterness choked her voice, and she turned her head away, tears rising in her eyes. “I never thought I could do a horrible thing like this. Since I was a little girl I’ve tried to follow the Lord, and now . . . now I’ve made my loneliness and disappointment an excuse to break God’s law. And . . . and it’s wrong!”

  She started to cry, and suddenly Nolan’s hands drew her around. He held her face between his broad, strong hands and kissed her lips gently, then whispered, “I want you to marry me. I love you. But you’re right. We can’t keep on like this. I know it’s wrong, but I’ve got to have you, Dorothy! I’ve never loved a woman before, not really, but I love you.”

  “Marry? What are you talking about?” she said, startled.

  “I’m talking about a divorce, of course.”

  Dorothy had been caught up in the affair through a series of tragic blunders. A great weakness in her had taken her unawares, but she had not tried to excuse herself. She had confessed in her heart that her adulterous behavior was an abomination to God, and her own conscience tormented her almost every waking hour. But not once in all this time had she thought of divorce. It was not a thing talked about among the people she knew. A divorced woman was little better in the sight of many than a prostitute.

  Nolan was watching as she struggled with what he had said. “We both sinned against God, but you deserve some happiness, and Andrew’s not going to give it to you. He never will. He’s caught up with his work and this building project. He’s a good man, but he never should have married. He should’ve been like Paul, who didn’t have a wife. As a matter of fact, he’s mentioned that several times in his sermons, hasn’t he?”

  Mutely Dorothy nodded, but her mind was spinning in a whirlwind of emotions. “Why, it would ruin your ministry,” she said. “And think of what it would do to the children. And Andrew, too. We can’t ruin their lives. Take me home,” she cried frantically.

  For a while Nolan argued with her, but finally seeing she was adamant, he got out and started the car. He got back in slowly, almost like an old man, discouragement and a look of emptiness lining his face. The affair had worn him down, too. He had been trapped by his own foolishness and self-conceit, and he well knew the price he
would have to pay if he ran away with a minister’s wife. The effect of his sin had already taken its toll on his ministry. He no longer displayed the same love and patience with the children in the youth program. In fact, one family had made a formal complaint to the church elders about his harshness with their son on an outing. And when Andrew had asked him to preach one Sunday, Nolan had declined, making some lame excuse.

  They were both silent until they got to within a few blocks of the parsonage. When Dorothy got out she said, “Please don’t call anymore, and don’t write notes. I can’t go on like this. It’s over, Nolan.”

  Nolan did not answer but stepped on the accelerator, and the car moved away down the street.

  Dorothy turned and walked home, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. The shame and guilt sliced like keen knives inside her, cutting her to pieces. When she reached the house and stepped inside, she did not see how she could bear to look her children in the face. She slowly removed her coat and hung it in the coat closet. Hearing voices coming from the playroom, she walked to the door. She was shocked to see Andrew on his hands and knees with Phillip on his back screaming in delight. “Get up, Daddy! Get up!”

  Andrew turned and looked up startled, then got to his feet, pulling Phillip off his back. “Hello, Dorothy. I came home early.”