He was putting in more hours than ever before, trying to attend everything—committee meetings, youth events, ball games at the high school. He tried to be available for the members of his church every day of the week. If God had called him to Dogwood Springs Baptist, then God would show him how he would be used.
To the surprise of many of the older members, the church was growing. Sunday school classes were becoming overcrowded. During the last Wednesday night business meeting a heated discussion had erupted between the old-timers and the newcomers about whether or not they should begin holding two services on Sunday mornings. If they waited much longer, the decision would be taken out of their hands; the auditorium was often so packed they had to bring in extra chairs from the classrooms.
Sadly, some of the longtime members were even complaining about the growth. Wednesday night Bible study had become so popular they’d moved the meetings from the classroom downstairs to the main auditorium. Some worried about the extra money needed to heat the auditorium comfortably for another service.
Those worriers were the same people—thankfully, few in number—who complained because the personnel committee was presently searching for a part-time youth director to take some of the load from Archer’s shoulders. He had to carry it all until they found someone. But as the deacons kept saying, he was getting paid for the effort. Couldn’t let those devoted people down.
He was making his way through the darkness to bed when the telephone rang. He frowned and turned on the light, then glanced at the shadowed numbers of the clock on the fireplace mantel. Tonight had been so packed with action he couldn’t believe it was only eleven. It wasn’t until he caught sight of the calendar on the wall beside the phone that he remembered the significance of this day. Jessica should have arrived home from her tour.
His hopes flared. He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Yes, is this Reverend Archer Pierce?” It was a man.
Of course it wouldn’t be Jessica. He should have known. Still, the disappointment stung. It took Archer a few seconds to recover and place the voice. “Yes. Norville? Is Evan okay?”
“He was fine when I left the hospital.” Norville blew a sigh over the telephone. “His mother decided I was a bad influence on him and she’s taking him home with her. The poor kid decided to keep the peace and do what she says, even though this is my weekend to have him.” There was a pause. “I… I just wanted to apologize again for all that mess tonight.”
Archer sat down again. “You don’t have to apologize. I wish I could have been more help to you.”
“Maybe you can. I told Dr. Sheldon I would like counseling. That hasn’t changed. Evan’s mother would never take him.” The sharpness of his words shot through the receiver. “But she doesn’t control every single minute of his life. Not if I have anything to say about it. I have visitation rights every other weekend…”
The unhappy voice continued to float through the receiver in a wave. Archer leaned back and listened. The poor guy probably just needed to talk.
***
“…can’t see past the hood of your car… !”
“…shouldn’t have a license to drive more’n a tractor…”
Angry words thrust through the darkness until the velocity behind them pounded Lauren from her sleep. She opened her eyes, shook her head, and sat up. Her vision cleared. Light filtered through the crack between door and jamb from a brightly illuminated hallway outside. She was still in the ER.
And still on duty! With a gasp, she swung her legs over the side of the exam bed then paused to make sure the nausea didn’t hit again.
“None of your family’s ever been worth shootin’…”
“…cows and pigs are smarter than…”
For a moment Lauren listened with dismay to the growling of two angry old coots somewhere beyond the door but then Dr. Sheldon spoke with calm authority. They fell silent.
Lauren flipped on the light and turned the water on in the sink. After a quick splash at her face, she grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at her mouth. She’d need a mask to protect the grumpy patients from influenza germs—if this was, indeed, the flu. She grabbed a mask from the supply room next door and tied it over her face as she stepped along the hallway toward the zone of conflict.
Muriel Stark stood with her hands on her hips in a pose of formidable threat at the entrance to exam room two. Lauren suppressed a giggle. The last time she’d seen her coworker bare her teeth like that was when some drunks had stumbled into the ER one Saturday night, one with an obviously broken nose and a glare in his eyes that told everyone within striking distance that he wasn’t ready to shut up and go home. Muriel had called the police and told the drunk that if he caused any more trouble in her exam room he’d find his nose sewn to the wrong end of his body.
Muriel could be pretty convincing when she wanted to be—her bark was backed by an underbite and a substantial neck, which gave her a very slight bulldog appearance. But one look into the cozy warmth of her brown eyes had dispelled forever any doubts Lauren might have had about the woman’s professional calling.
Lauren caught up with the athletic nurse at the central station. “Muriel? What’s going on in there?”
The older woman turned and looked at Lauren’s mask. Her eyes narrowed and her fists returned once more to her hips. “What are you doing up? You’re sick. I can handle this.”
“I’m feeling better. What’s happening?”
Muriel rubbed her chin and shook her head. She pointed to exam room two, keeping her voice low. “Two neighboring farmers. From what I can make out, Old Brisco was following his neighbor, Scroggs”—she pointed to exam room three—“too closely from behind. Scroggs got blinded by the headlights in his rearview mirror and missed a sharp curve out in the hills east of town. Unfortunately, since Brisco was following too close, he joined Scroggs in his plunge off a hillside.”
“Hurt badly?”
“Maybe some broken ribs on Brisco, a possible broken arm on Scroggs and he’s got a lot of cuts and bruises. Obviously nothing got their vocal cords. They put two ambulances and two fire trucks out of commission for the hour it took to pull them out of the hollow.”
Lauren went to the sink and washed her hands. “Which one do you want me to take?”
Muriel gave her a warning glare but Lauren grabbed one of the charts. “I’m feeling better and I’m still on duty.” She glanced at the chart. “I’ll take Brisco.” Before Muriel could protest, Lauren strode into exam room two.
Lester, the tech, was busy picking glass out of Mr. Brisco’s thinning gray hair, which was not an easy chore because Brisco wouldn’t hold still. If he had broken ribs he didn’t realize it.
“Man’s a thief, to boot!” He grimaced and grabbed the right side of his chest. “He’s been a thief all his life. His daddy was a thief—”
Lauren stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Bris—”
A muttered expletive reached them from the next room, then, “You’re the only thief in this county!”
Brisco grabbed the rail on the left side of his bed and raised a gowned leg, as if preparing to climb. Before Lauren could reach for him, he grunted and fell back. Lester grasped him by the shoulders and Lauren rushed to his side.
“Mr. Brisco, you could do further—”
“If he’d fix his fences every once in a while, instead of forcing his neighbors to put out all the time and money to keep them fixed, his harebrained bulls wouldn’t keep knocking them down all the—”
“See?” came Scroggs’s crackly bass from the next room. “I knew it! I knew it was you! Them sixteen new calves in your back pasture are half mine.”
“Gentlemen.” Dr. Sheldon’s voice was deeper than Lauren had yet heard it. “The county courthouse can handle paternity suits. Our hospital is strictly for your physical problems. We need to attend to the injuries at hand and worry about old history when I know you’re out of danger.”
For the next few moments, while Dr. Sheldon directed treatm
ent and Lauren limited her activities to noninvasive procedures due to continued fuzzy-headedness from the anti-nausea med, the men remained silent. Lauren knew it was too good to last.
“On top of all that,” Brisco muttered a few moments later, while Lauren cleaned the cuts on his face, “his pigs stink up the whole countryside.”
There came a grunt from the other room. “My pigs don’t stink!”
Brisco gave Lauren a satisfied nod. “It’s his pigs, all right. All the neighbors are noticing it. Smells like the stockyards.”
“Smells like money, you mean,” came the retort. “Ever heard of that stuff? It’s green. I guess you ain’t got any, or you wouldn’t be stealing my fertilizer at night.”
Brisco’s weathered face reddened in anger and he jerked away from Lauren’s hand. “I’m not stealing your fertilizer, you foul-breathed, lazy bum.”
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Sheldon chided once more, “I don’t want to have to get tough with you but the police station isn’t far from here.”
“I heard you, I heard you.” Brisco rested his head against the pillow and allowed Lauren to complete her clean-up job.
It didn’t take long for her to realize she wasn’t feeling that great yet. After she completed her chore she went back to bed.
***
“…has a right to choose. He’s old enough to make his own decision about where he’s going to live.” Norville’s voice wasn’t filled with nearly as much anger now as it had been fifteen minutes ago. He was winding down.
“I’d be glad to speak with Evan if you feel it would help.” Archer suppressed a yawn.
Norville allowed a short, airless silence. “Yes. I think that would be good if he can convince his mother to ease up on her stranglehold.” There was another pause and then a sigh that sounded like relief. “I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time tonight, Archer. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to give it some more thought before I stir up any more trouble with that woman.”
“How about a tentative appointment time for you to bring Evan in to see me?”
“I’d better wait on that. After tonight she might call for a new hearing to reduce my visitation time.”
“If you have a chance to speak with Evan, why don’t you ask him if he wants to meet with me? Meanwhile, I’ll keep you in my prayers.” Archer said a gentle good-night and disconnected. It was times like this that he wondered if it wasn’t better to remain single and not risk the possible grief that came from a difficult marriage. But then he thought of his parents.
Good marriages were possible with the right foundation and proper nurturing. Dad had spent a lot of quality time with his family and had often included them in his ministry. Mom had been a stay-at-home mother who was the epitome of a pastor’s wife. In spite of their busy schedules they reserved time to spend together every week, without children, without church. Their marriage had always been a priority for them.
Archer jotted a note to call Norville next week to see how he was doing. He hadn’t realized, when he volunteered for the chaplain program, how much time he would be spending on follow-up care or how many more notes he would be accumulating.
He’d discovered years ago that if he wrote everything down in an organized notebook, life wouldn’t be quite so hectic and he wouldn’t be so likely to forget anything or anybody. Church members hated it when he forgot to visit. Unfortunately, he’d lost that organized notebook months ago and he’d regressed to an old sloppy habit of placing sticky notes wherever he happened to be standing or sitting at the time. Now he could never find the notes he needed—at least not when he needed them.
Periodically, he got his exercise running madly through the house grabbing up colored notes like a kid on an Easter egg hunt and then struggling to place them in proper order.
It was getting late, so Archer tore off the square of paper and stuck it on the coffee table then wrote a reminder to catch Lauren when she was feeling better and ask her if she would be interested in organizing a fishing trip specifically for Norville and Evan. They could also invite Grant and his twins. That should be an interesting combination.
Archer liked Grant. The man had a solid core of human decency and compassion. That compassionate nature extended past the patients to include staff. He’d been gentle, attentive, and reassuring with Lauren tonight when she was sick.
Archer’s gaze swept over the room and again he thought of Jessica. Why not call her? He had a good reason. She was scheduled to sing in a Fourth of July concert at the church; it wouldn’t hurt to touch base and make sure she hadn’t changed her mind.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number as he allowed his gaze to linger on the rich warmth of a floral border Jessica had painted over the threshold into the living room. He couldn’t forget her excitement and passion as she planned the colors she would use in each part of the house. She’d helped him choose special pieces of furniture, joyfully planning for the future.
And then one day it was over, attended by many tears and sweet words of apology. She blamed herself. She wasn’t ready to commit.
He had buried the ring in his top dresser drawer under some handkerchiefs his mother had given him for Christmas last year.
Voicemail picked up and he listened helplessly to the rich tones of Jessica’s recorded voice.
“Hi, Jessica, this is Archer. I guess you’re not home yet. I’ll call later.”
A click interrupted Archer’s message and then, “Hello? Archer? Don’t hang up, it’s me.” The soothing rhythm of Jessica’s greeting floated over him like a tonic.
“You made it.”
She hesitated briefly and then Archer thought he heard a soft intake of breath. “Hi.” There was a smile in her voice and he could picture her face perfectly.
He closed his eyes and savored the hesitant-hopeful greeting. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you might already be asleep.”
“I wasn’t. Not quite, anyway. We got in at about three this afternoon and I took a nap as soon as I walked in the door. How’s life in Dogwood Springs?”
He wanted to tell her how lonely this town was without her. “Growing. I thought I’d better call and check on your schedule.” His heart accused him of being a liar even as he said the words. He didn’t need to hear about any schedule. “Are you still planning to give us a concert at the Independence Day celebration?”
“Of course.” She gave a soft sigh. “Was that all you wanted?”
He hesitated. Was that disappointment he heard?
But she said nothing more. Jessica had always been more comfortable than Archer with the tension of a lull in a conversation. He’d found her ease with silence to be attractive—along with every other quality about her that made her uniquely Jessica Lane.
“I also wanted to know how you were doing,” he said at last.
She sighed again with a soft groan that told of her weariness. “It was a long trip.”
“Difficult tour?” He wanted to sound sympathetic. Instead that nasty little inner voice betrayed itself. Something in him hoped she’d been homesick and never wanted to go on tour again.
“As I said, it was long. Heather loved it.” Jessica’s younger sister, Heather, sang with her. “She didn’t want to come home. I guess I’m just not into touring the way I used to be. Living out of a suitcase was never my life’s dream.”
Yes! Archer cleared his throat. “More of a home girl than you thought?”
He sensed a change in her silence. Better not push it. “I guess I could be happy in Branson the rest of my life.”
How about Dogwood Springs? “Why travel out of town when you live in a music center?”
“Exactly.” She sighed again and he knew she was probably stretching out on the floor, flexing her legs, arching her back to unkink the muscles.
He closed his eyes and pictured the delicate curves of her face, the hazel eyes, the light brown hair that fell to her shoulders and never behaved.
He held his breath and his heart took a cou
ple of extra hard beats as he swallowed his pride. “Jessica, I’ve missed you.” He barely contained the words that wanted to follow—and I love you and I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind…
“I know.” There was a breathless, waiting quality to her voice. “I’ve missed you, too. Why don’t we keep in touch?”
He frowned. Keep in touch? What did she mean by that? “Um, okay, you mean, like, we’ll always be friends? That kind of thing?” He wasn’t sure he was up to that yet.
“How could we ever have dreamed of anything else without a firm friendship first?”
First? That might not be too bad. In fact, it could be a good idea. “You mean as in a close relationship where we spend time together and share our thoughts and dreams for a future?”
“Archer.” There was a warning in her voice. “When I say friendship I mean friendship. Buddies, you know? Friends who can be casual with each other, who can be themselves with each other, who don’t have to pass the scrutiny of five hundred church members.”
Archer felt a jolt of disappointment at the sharpness of her final words and it took him a moment to recover.
This time she was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Archer. That came out a little rough.”
He thought about Norville’s depression earlier and identified with it. No wonder the poor guy could barely function right now. A woman could really pack a wallop when she wanted to.
“Still working thirty-six hours a day for the church?” she asked.
Archer frowned. He was working for God. Big difference. “Do I hear sarcasm?”
“Hyperbole, pal. Unfortunately, it’s almost true. You try carrying on a relationship with someone who has dedicated himself to serving a church instead of a marriage.”
“Ouch.” Still, she hadn’t said she hated him. She hadn’t said she was tired of him.
“I’ve had a month to think about why I broke it off and that’s still pretty much what I came up with. I’ve missed you like crazy and I wish so badly that we could see each other right now. But I also wish we could have a normal relationship without a bunch of voyeurs eavesdropping on our dates and spreading rumors about us.”
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