The Grace Painter (The Grace Series Book 1)

by Mark Romang

  Annie shook her head. “Jon toils in anonymity. I think it’s a shame more people can’t view his works.”

  “It’s indeed a mystery why God chooses to elevate some and not others. But that’s God’s prerogative, and it serves us no purpose to speculate on his fairness.”

  Annie couldn’t think of an intelligent reply, and nodded meekly like a child being put in their place. She followed Brooks down a short corridor and into his office. A plush leather chair and a gleaming cherry desk were hemmed in on three sides by large bookcases containing biblical study guides and commentaries.

  Brooks flopped down into his chair, while Annie eased into a chair across from him. The Baptist preacher dipped a fleshy hand into a crystal vase full of jelly beans. He popped several into his mouth, and then slid the vase across his desktop toward Annie.

  “No thanks. I’m borderline diabetic, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Brooks laughed as he chewed his candy. “I understand you’re stirring up the town, Annie. The whole community is abuzz that Jon Rafter is alive. Is this true?”

  Annie nodded. “I tracked him to Ohio before his trail dried up.”

  Cotton-colored eyebrows lifted on Brooks’ forehead. “I’m glad to hear Jon is still alive. He’s a valuable member in this church and town.”

  “I’ve gathered that from my investigation. And contrary to what Jon feels, the majority of Copeland residents think highly of him.”

  Brooks rubbed his flat nose. “Jon is admired by all. He could be mayor if he wanted to. Any guesses as to why he would fake his death?”

  Annie hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to a man of God. “I have some theories.”

  “Can you elaborate on them?”

  “To do that I would have to confess Jon’s past, and I promised someone I wouldn’t divulge Jon’s true identity.”

  Brooks looked legitimately hurt. “Of course, Annie. I wouldn’t want you to go back on your word. But keep in mind I’ve counseled hundreds of people in this very office over the years, and never once have I blabbed someone’s secrets. I consider everything mentioned in this room to be confidential.”

  Annie let out a deep breath. If she wanted Brooks to help her, she didn’t see how she couldn’t tell him Matthew London’s story. But she was determined to implement at least one caveat to cover her backside. “Very well. Grab a Bible from your bookcase and place your right hand on it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just do it, Malachi. It’s the only way I’m going to tell you anything.

  Instead of grabbing a Bible from the bookcase, Brooks opened a desk drawer and withdrew a small New Testament Bible. He placed his right hand on it.

  “Repeat after me,” Annie commanded. “I, Malachi Brooks, promise not to repeat anything I hear in this room today. I swear on this Bible that I will resign my position at First Baptist Church of Copeland, Louisiana should I confide to anyone Jon Rafter’s true identity.”

  Brooks’ face turned red. “This is absurd and totally unnecessary.”

  “I’ll walk out the door if you refuse,” Annie hissed.

  Brooks rolled his eyes but repeated the oath verbatim.

  “Thank-you, Malachi, for placating me.”

  Brooks nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win your trust, Annie.”

  “Very well. Jon’s birth name is Matthew London. And in his past life, before he moved to Louisiana, he was as a New York City cop. But not just any cop, mind you. He was a hostage negotiator highly skilled at diffusing volatile standoffs. And his record suggests he was among the finest policemen New York City ever had.

  “But then eight years ago on Christmas Eve, a friend and fellow policeman phoned and asked London to come over to his apartment. When London arrived at the apartment he discovered a grisly scene. Blood splashed the apartment, and his friend leaned on the end of a shotgun.”

  Brooks shuddered. “I can’t imagine.”

  “It gets worse. Much worse. London discovered his friend had already shot and killed his wife and daughter.”

  Brooks shook his head incredulously. “Domestic disputes rarely end well,” he said.

  Annie nodded. “I concur.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “Rafter spent several tense minutes trying to convince his friend not to commit suicide, but failed. He watched helplessly as his friend pulled the trigger. At least that’s what he thought he saw.

  In reality, he only witnessed an elaborate hoax. The Justice Department had plans to usher Rafter’s friend and family into the witness security program. Unfortunately, nobody gave London the heads-up, and the resulting post-traumatic stress sent him over the edge. He then changed his identity and headed due south, somehow ending up here in Copeland.”

  “I’m a little confused, Annie. Sometimes you call Jon Rafter by his birth name, and other times you call Matthew London by his alias. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know why. I know him better as Jon Rafter. Yet sometimes I slip up. From now on, I’ll try to refer to him as Jon. I think this is best for everyone involved. I don’t want any of the townspeople to hear me calling Jon by any other name. If the media should somehow get wind of this story they’ll have a heyday, and then the family of Rafter’s friend might be exposed.”

  Brooks tipped back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s highly out of character for Jon to run from trouble. Since I’ve known him he’s always been a virtuous man. I can hardly believe he has such a cowardly streak in him.”

  “And I’m finding it hard to believe a pastor wouldn’t display more sympathy for a friend.”

  “I don’t deny Jon got a raw deal, Annie. The government shouldn’t have lied to him like that. But his current troubles could have been avoided if he hadn’t fled New York so hastily.”

  “But then who would’ve saved Gabby and me? We would have died out there in that awful swamp if it hadn’t been for Rafter,” Annie argued, vividly recalling her harrowing ordeal at the fishing shack, and how Rafter arrived at the penultimate moment to save them.

  “Even when we’re out of step with God’s perfect will, as Jon is, God can still use us if he so chooses,” Brooks replied gently. “But you still haven’t told me your theory on why Jon faked his death for the second time.”

  Annie uncrossed her legs and sat straighter in her chair. “I think he grew weary of passing himself off as Jon Rafter. And so when he discovered everyone thought he was dead, he saw an opportunity to start fresh.”

  “Running from problems never accomplishes anything. Fleeing fear only makes it grow stronger,” Brooks said.

  Annie looked down, briefly losing her ability to look the aging pastor in the eyes.

  “Once you start running, it’s very hard to stop. Trust me, Malachi, I know. When you’re living a lie it takes over everything. It’s all you understand. And the lie becomes truth.”

  “We all have temptations we succumb to at some point in our lives,” Brooks said as he looked longingly at his vase of jellybeans. “And sometimes it’s a lifelong battle,” he added as he patted his ample stomach.

  Annie bit her lip to keep from grinning. “I need your advice, Malachi. It’s why I came here.”

  “I’ll do my best to help, Annie. But I can’t guarantee I’ll give you the answer you’re searching for.”

  Annie sighed. “I’m not sure what to say to Jon when I find him. Other than brainwashing him, how can I change his way of thinking and convince him to stop running from his past?”

  Brooks picked up the New Testament he’d sworn an oath on earlier. “God’s business is my line of work, Annie. So I would first probe for information that would help me gauge Jon’s spiritual condition. I’ve found that people who have a vibrant relationship with the Lord and make praying and reading the Bible a daily habit are much less prone to making poor choices with their life.

  “That being said, there is no magic formula to get a person to change their destructive l
ifestyle. They have to be ready and willing to take the first step toward confronting the underlying issue that’s shaping their behavior. But there are three things that you can do that might help, Annie. But you must do them in the proper order.”

  Annie leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

  “First, you pray for Jon,” Brooks said after a slight pause.

  “And what are the second and third things?” Annie impatiently asked.

  “You love Jon unconditionally and tell him the truth, but in a loving manner and with an attitude of gentleness, meekness, and kindness.”

  Annie felt herself deflate. She was sure she could do the second and third components Brooks suggested, but the praying part frightened her. Talking to God didn’t come easy to her, and whenever she did pray she felt guilty. She couldn’t believe her selfish and rambling petitions made it all the way to God’s throne.

  “Enough about Jon,” Brooks announced bluntly. “Being a pastor, I would be remiss if I neglected to inquire about your own spiritual condition, Annie. Have you ever confessed your sins to God? And do you believe that Jesus is the son of God, and that he died on the cross as a ransom for your soul?”

  Annie squirmed in her seat. She suddenly felt warm. Brooks had caught her completely off guard with his pointed question. Why are you so surprised? This is his job. It’s what he does for a living.

  Before she answered Brooks she took a deep breath. Her nerves made her want to jump up and run. “To tell you the truth, Malachi, I have been giving Christianity a great deal of thought lately. But I’m having a hard time accepting its logic. Mortal men wrote the Bible. How do I know for sure these authors got it right and didn’t embellish things?”

  Brooks nodded and opened the New Testament he’d been holding. “That’s a fair question I hear often, Annie. And I always answer the same way.” Brooks flipped through the Bible. He found the scripture he wanted, and then looked at Annie intently. “In the sixteenth verse of chapter three in Second Timothy, the Apostle Paul writes that ‘All scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, and training in righteousness.’“

  Brooks then flipped forward a few pages and placed a stubby finger on another scripture. “Simon Peter, one of the original twelve disciples that ministered alongside Jesus, writes in the twentieth and twenty-first verses of chapter one in Second Peter that ‘Above all, you must understand that no prophecy of scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation. For prophecy never had its origin in the will of men, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.’“

  Malachi Brooks held up the slim Bible. His silvery-blue eyes blazed with conviction behind his glasses. “The Bible is truly God’s written word, Annie. You can believe every word in it.”

  “I’m in no position to debate you on the scriptures, Malachi. My knowledge of the Bible is just about zero. It’s just that it all seems so unfair.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, an evil person, like a serial killer for instance, can get a free pass to Heaven if they simply pray that Jesus will forgive their sins?”

  Brooks nodded. “That’s right.”

  “But then a law-abiding, kindhearted person never confesses their sins and goes to hell when they die, even though their sins are very minor in comparison,” Annie said.

  “Right again.”

  Annie shook her head. “That’s absurd.”

  “There are no measurable dimensions to God’s mercy, Annie. He deeply loves every person he creates, and doesn’t want anyone to live apart from him.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that anyone can be saved, but that salvation can only come from Jesus?”

  Brooks nodded. “Jesus said it himself in the Gospel of John. ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

  Annie shook her head. “I still have my doubts about all this. I guess I’m going to need more time to mull it over before I commit to anything.”

  “Don’t delay, Annie. Our lives are but vapors. We can never know how much time we have left,” Brooks warned.

  Annie stood up and grabbed her purse. She needed fresh air. All this spiritual talk made her head swim. “Thank-you for your time, Pastor. And the Bible lesson. I’ll consider everything you’ve said.”

  “If you think of any additional questions, feel free to come by,” Brooks offered.

  “I’ll do that,” Annie said over her shoulder as she hurriedly left the pastor’s office.

  Outside the quaint church, she had just started up the cobblestone sidewalk toward the town square when she heard Malachi Brooks calling her name. She turned and saw Brooks huffing and puffing his way toward her. The chubby minister ran up to her and stopped. He clutched his side and panted heavily. “I just remembered something important after you left, Annie.”

  Oh, great, he’s going to thump me over the head with more Bible verses. “What is it?” Annie managed to say sweetly.

  “A few years back, when Jon painted the murals inside the church, he told me something you might find helpful. Jon and I were engaged in idle conversation about Italian Renaissance painters. Actually, he did all the talking. I just listened politely.”

  “What did he say?” Annie urged him.

  Brooks’ eyes twinkled. “Jon remarked that one day before he died he wanted to travel to Rome and study the masterpieces in person.”

  Annie thumped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? I can just picture him standing in the Sistine Chapel, looking up at the frescoed ceiling.”

  Brooks retrieved a business card from a pocket in his slacks. He scrawled something down on it with a pen, and then handed it to her. Annie looked at it. She saw a woman’s name and phone number.

  “That’s my sister’s phone number,” Brooks explained. “She lives in New Orleans when she’s not traveling. Her late husband left her quite a bit of money when he passed away. About all Claire does now is vacation in exotic places. She’s been all over the world; Italy several times. Rome is one of her favorite destinations. You should give her a ring. I’m sure she’d be happy to give you some tips on how to navigate Rome.”

  Annie leaned over and kissed Malachi Brooks on the cheek. “You’ve been fabulous help, Malachi. Thank-you.”

  Brooks’ ruddy face lit up. “I’ll buzz Claire and let her know you’ll be calling. Hopefully, she’s still in the states.”

  “I’ll definitely call her before I purchase my airline tickets.”

  Brooks nodded. “I can see you’re excited, Annie. Please be careful. And keep me updated.”

  “I will. I promise I will.”

  Chapter 53

  Rome, Italy

  Just a stone’s throw from the Coliseum, Annie sat at a corner table in the Hostaria Isidoro restaurant. She picked at her penne pasta, pushing the pasta around in its crème sauce in aimless circles. The food tasted delicious, but she couldn’t focus her wandering mind long enough to eat. Her thoughts spawned out in many directions. But mostly she tried to visualize what ancient Rome had been like.

  She found it hard to believe that the ruin heaps littering the Forum was once architectural marvels and the epicenter for the Roman Empire. In the Forum’s heyday, lawyers tried legal cases in the halls of marble basilicas, and vainglorious emperors erected elaborate temples and arches to celebrate themselves. And over at the Coliseum, not far from where she sat and ate lunch, hungry lions once tore Christians to pieces, and gladiators fought to the death in front of fifty-thousand cheering spectators.

  Rome’s history fascinated her, and Annie couldn’t drink in the sights and sounds fast enough. Lucky for her she had her very own tour guide as a companion. Claire Quigley--the sister of Malachi Brooks--was a Godsend.

  After Annie called and told Claire her story and intentions of visiting Rome, the generous woman insisted on coming with her. And in a very short time Claire become a surrogate mother to her. Warmhearted and attentive, Claire beamed a shining
light onto a dark and cynical world. Annie felt as though she could safely tell the middle-aged woman anything. And basically she had, chattering nonstop about a childhood she used to keep chained up in a secret spot. Claire listened to her confessions without complaint. She never interrupted, and occasionally offered practical advice.

  Today marked their fourth full day in Rome, and they had already taken in an impressive array of jaw-dropping sights, all with a focal point on Renaissance art. Recalling all the museums and galleries they attended and artwork they viewed exhausted her mind.

  On their first day they had gotten up bright and early and left their comfortable room at the Smeraldo Hotel in Campo de Fiori and caught a bus to Vatican City, where they spent almost the entire day at St. Peter’s Basilica, loitering for hours in the Raphael Rooms and the Sistine Chapel, scanning the milling crowds for Rafter. But trying to spot him among all the tourists and art lovers was difficult at best. To Annie’s knowledge, he never showed.

  On day two, they headed for the lovely Piazza di Spagna, the most famous square in Rome. Wanting to get a feel for the city’s pulse, they ditched the buses and climbed the azalea-flanked Spanish Steps to the twin bell-towered Trinita dei Monti church, where works by Michelangelo and his favorite student, Volterra, were displayed. But inside the church they were hemmed in by sightseers en masse and could barely move.

  Eschewing the crowds, they left the bustling church by midmorning and escaped into the adjacent Villa Borghese gardens, where they caught their breath in a less crowded setting. The peaceful path through the gardens eventually led them up Pincio Hill to the sixteenth-century Villa Medici, which housed the French Academy for artists. The academy happened to be hosting an exhibit by its talented students, and Claire had speculated that Rafter might have ideas of attending the exhibit. Unfortunately, she guessed wrong.

  Undaunted but hungry, they grabbed a pizza slice at a pizzeria and continued their amazing journey alongside the ancient city wall. They strolled through the tranquil Pincio Gardens high above the city on their way to Santa Maria del Popolo, a Renaissance church containing three chapels: the Chigi, Cerasi, and Della Rovere. They visited each chapel, but spent almost two hours at the Cerasi Chapel, lingering around the Conversion of St. Paul and the Crucifixion of St. Peter--famous paintings by the hotheaded Caravaggio. But like the first day in their search, Rafter never showed and they were finally booted out the church by a pair of churlish security guards.