“Sun’ll be up in a couple of hours.” Cyrus ambled toward the door. “We best get moving.”
Velma shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on? Do I smell coffee…Oh, Cyrus, I didn’t see you standing there.”
“So the smell of coffee woke you up, did it?” Paul shook his head and grinned. Coffee would wake her, but not weather, not voices, not poo in the yard. He looked at her sleepy face. “We have a problem.”
22
Sunday, June 30
Fifty-two people and numerous flies crammed into the living and dining rooms of Paul and Velma Kritchner’s home.
Mrs. Kritchner swatted the back of the couch and wiped the sticky mess with a tissue. “Oh, my,” she mumbled before moving on.
Ruth raised a folded magazine and glanced at the fly on Chet’s casted leg. “Go ahead,” Chet said as he leaned against the wall. “Give it a smack.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” She didn’t want to hurt anyone at the Kritchner’s even though she ached to vent the rage that boiled in her gut. With all her being, she hated Joe. An involuntary shiver gripped her. She needed to forget, at least for the next hour, Joe’s horrid desire to raise their daughter unless she married him. Seriously?
Chet raised an eyebrow. “You going to get this fly or admire him?”
Ruth swung the magazine. “Just finishing fly number six.”
“Ha, I still have you beat.” Jo Sparks’ braces glinted between her wide smile.
Ruth attacked the wall behind Chet’s head. Two dead flies remained, glued to the beige paint, and her anger grew. Joe’s words replayed in her head. Marry me, and I will toss out the baby’s papers…marry me…marry me.
Paul Kritchner’s voice boomed across the room. “Hey, we got two new folks here. Some of you know them: Cyrus and Mary Phillips, our next-door neighbors.”
Welcoming voices swelled and bodies shifted, making way for two more in the modest house.
“Brought y’all a gift,” Cyrus said, handing a fistful of fly swatters to Paul. “Thought you could use ’em.”
“Cyrus spent the early morning helping me get that blue tarp over the pile of manure out there, donated by some unknown individual.”
“I figured it was farm byproduct,” said Clara Blackstone, sitting on one of the white kitchen chairs called to duty in the living room. “The smell and all.”
“It was a lot worse at three in the morning,” Paul said.
Ruth stumbled around the room, magazine in hand. It gave her something to do, occupied her body if not her mind. Any sensible person in her position would have skipped church this morning. Ruth had tried to talk her way out of it when Betsy showed up. But Betsy had refused to let her stay home, and with Chip’s huge eyes staring at her, she had grabbed her purse and locked the door even though her mind remained trapped in Joe’s prison of words. “Marry me and I will throw the adoption papers away.” If she refused, he would do his best to tear their child away from the only family she knew. Lizzi’s scared face swam in front of her.
The Kritchners’ front door opened, and her heart lurched. Sooner or later the person entering would be Nate. He wouldn’t miss church. She would have to face his disappointment and anger.
“Hey there, Miss Sarah. Come on in and find yourself a seat,” Mr. Kritchner said.
Ruth sighed. Cute Sarah with her blond hair hanging down her back and neatly creased white slacks and teal silk blouse—Nate was a fool not to grab her up. Sarah would be the classic southern wife, just what Nate needed as he tried to launch his own business. Sarah probably had connections that would help, too.
Betsy looked at Ruth and patted the couch beside her. “Come on, girlfriend. We can make room for one more.”
Five ladies shifted and Ruth sank into the worn green cushion. Six women now squeezed into a space comfortable for four, a reminder of last week.
“It seems every Sunday the crowd grows,” Betsy said to Ruth. “Chet mentioned that we may have to form another group soon. Not many of our houses will hold this many people.”
The sun streamed into the room, adding heat to the already over-warm space.
Ruth glanced at the picture window behind her. “I wish Mrs. Kritchner would let us close the drapes.” With the window against her back, at least she wasn’t looking into the glare, but she felt exposed.
A woman wearing a trendy pair of slacks and a pink sleeveless top sat on the other side of Ruth. “I tried to talk her into closing them when I got here,” the woman said. “But she wants to be able to see people as they come to the door.”
“Let people ring the bell.” Ruth wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.
Busy discussing the front window, Ruth almost missed the door opening.
Nate sauntered into the room, bringing with him half a dozen more flies.
Betsy touched Ruth’s arm, giving her a reassuring smile.
Nate ignored her and barely glanced at Sarah as he worked his way through the packed room. He smiled as folks greeted him, but his grin seemed stiff. His usual easy-loping gait had the stilted walk of a tin soldier as he shuffled past people sitting on the floor to secure a spot on the far wall next to Chet.
Ruth stopped breathing as his gaze almost reached her…just a little more to the left. She stared hard, hoping he would feel her looking and turn her way. She wanted to give him a smile, to let him know she understood his feeling of betrayal, even though her heart was broken beyond repair. But he never turned.
Chip grabbed onto Nate’s leg, and Nate hoisted the boy into his arms.
A man Ruth didn’t know entered, then a family with six kids: five sons and the youngest a daughter.
Chip slid from Nate’s arms.
“Whoa there,” Betsy said, grabbing the boy as he passed the couch. She settled him on her lap.
“Come on, children,” Velma called from across the room. “Let’s find a better place to hang out.” She walked toward a hall that led to the kitchen. It seemed the hostess at each house provided the lesson for the young ones.
Chip scrambled from Betsy’s lap and ran toward Mrs. Kritchner.
“He’s quite a boy,” Ruth whispered to Betsy. Ruth couldn’t imagine anyone tearing Chip from his family. Her daughter would be about the same age. No matter the cost, she had to stop Joe.
The service remained the same: singing praise songs to God, prayer, and then the lesson. The minister of the day, Nate’s pastor, positioned himself close to the front door.
Ruth hadn’t seen him since she’d wandered into the church after the vandalism. His hair had turned grayer, and his slacks puckered beneath his belt. Ruth ventured another glance at Nate, sitting stiff against the wall, his attention fixed on the minister.
“I’m Pastor Greg Clark from the First Street Church.” He winked at Nate, who returned an anemic smile.
Betsy shared her Bible as Pastor Clark read from Matthew, but Ruth’s mind wandered. She shifted on the uncomfortable cushion, wishing church would end. This was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. Church attendance for her was over.
A man sitting on the floor stood and leaned against the wall. He must have had enough of the hardwood. The spot he created filled with one of the standing men. Just like soft serve ice cream. Lick up, drip down. One of those horrible black giggles formed in the back of her throat, and she bit her lip to stop it.
The window behind the couch exploded. Something hard slammed against the side of Ruth’s head.
Shards of glass sprayed into the room. Tires squealed. Footsteps ran to the door.
Women screamed.
Ruth put her hand over her ears, only to feel stickiness in her hair. It was happening all over again. Betsy’s face appeared in front of hers. She seemed to be yelling, but Ruth couldn’t hear her. The room spun and she grabbed for Betsy’s arm.
“Get her on the floor!” someone shouted.
Ruth closed her eyes against the burning light.
~*~
She
woke to a still room. Beige walls stood rigid, and the floor no longer rolled like the deck of a boat. A paramedic held an oxygen mask to her face.
Betsy loomed over her, Chet at Betsy’s side. “How are you feeling,” Betsy murmured.
“What happened?”
“Brick through the window,” Chet said.
Ruth almost missed Betsy’s glaring look and the shrug of Chet’s shoulders. “That’s all?” Ruth asked. It seemed anti-climactic after last week.
Betsy stroked her arm. “It’s all right, Ruth. Don’t worry about it.”
Ruth struggled to sit only to be pushed back to the floor by the paramedic. “Let’s not rush things,” he said. “You have a nasty bump on your head, and a gash that’s gonna need stitches.”
“Stitches?” Ruth’s eyes widened.
“We’ll take you to Memorial General and‒”
“I’m not going anywhere!” She closed her eyes, cold sweat covering her skin.
“Ruth, honey—”
“No, Betsy. I want to go home.”
“We really need to take her to the emergency room,” the paramedic said. “The doc will want some X-rays. Besides, she shouldn’t be alone with that head injury.”
“How long will she need someone with her?” Betsy asked.
“At least eight hours.”
Betsy glanced at Chet, who nodded. “I’ll stay with her,” Betsy said.
“She really should go to the hospital…”
“I’ll sign a paper that says I refuse.” Ruth longed for her bed. The queasiness in her stomach was an inch from the point of no return. Betsy was kind, but Ruth could convince her to leave once she was settled at home.
~*~
Betsy helped Ruth into her pajamas.
“Let me check your head before you lie down.”
“It’s fine, Betsy. Really.”
Betsy laughed. “You sound like Chet. Just turn around and let me take a look.”
Ruth turned her head, exposing the wound to Betsy’s critical eye. “Well, the paramedics didn’t clean it up as well as I would have, but I don’t want to make the cut bleed again.”
Betsy’s face softened as she pulled the covers up to Ruth’s chin. “How are you doing, really?”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop it, Ruth. I know better. You just got bashed in the head with a brick. We all expected the room to explode like last time, but it didn’t.” She paused. “Besides, I saw the look on your face when Nate walked into the room. You like him, don’t you?”
“Of course I like him. Who wouldn’t?” She turned away from Betsy’s knowing eyes. What would Betsy think if she knew about the possible marriage on Wednesday? Would it be that bad married to Joe? She had loved him once. But that was before she knew what real love was like.
“What will you do about Nate?”
“Me? What will I do? Nothing. Nate made it clear that anything that might have happened between us is over. Besides, I have too many other things on my mind to worry about Mr. Perfect.”
“Like what?”
She closed her eyes and focused on regular breathing.
“I’m not going away, Ruth, so you can stop pretending.”
Ruth opened one eye. Seeing Betsy’s grin, she opened the other. “You were just here yesterday taking care of me. This is getting to be a habit.”
“I’m your friend. God sent you into my life for a reason, and I refuse to let you struggle alone with whatever’s on your mind. So out with it.”
“You sound like Mr. Charlie. God sent me…blah blah blah. Isn’t it possible I just showed up in Logan because I ran out of gas?” Ruth was tired of being told she was part of some huge God plan. She sighed. “I don’t understand all this God talk.”
Betsy sat quietly.
“I don’t understand how you can think God has a plan for me. I can see it maybe for you and Nate, but I’ve never gone to church in my life.”
“Not true. You’ve gone every Sunday for the past month.”
“You know what I mean.”
“So let me see if I have this right.” Betsy held up one finger. “You’re upset because Nate over-reacted to the news that you had a life before him.” She lifted the second finger. “And you think the church should be taxed, which goes against the crowd you’re hanging with. And you’re estranged from God.” She wiggled three fingers in the air. “Is that it?”
“I guess.” There was so much more, but how could she begin to explain?
“Ruth, have you ever prayed?”
“You mean to God?”
Betsy chuckled. “Yes, to God, the Big Man, the Creator of the Universe and everything in it.”
Ruth had expected Betsy to give her a lecture of some kind, a list of reasons why she should change her mind about the tax, chase after Nate, and start believing that God directed her meaningless life. She never expected Betsy to ask her about prayer.
“Well, have you?” Betsy asked.
“I…on Sundays I close my eyes. You guys always pray.”
“I’ll take that as a no. Give me your hands.”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “What are you planning to do?”
“We’re going to talk to God.”
Betsy had a conduit to God that she didn’t have. Elijah and the burning rocks flashed into her mind. What if Betsy upset God and He sent flames to consume her house? God had every right to be angry with her.
“You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s wrong?” Betsy lay an arm protectively over Ruth’s shoulders. “Forget the hands. We don’t need them, but you need God.” Betsy began to pray.
Ruth watched her friend’s face as it tensed and then softened. She called God her Father. One of the ministers had called God Father. Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes as she thought of her father and how much she missed him. More than anything, she needed him now. Her heart began to squeeze. Something was happening, but that something frightened her.
Betsy kept on talking, pleading at times. “God, Ruth needs You, but she thinks You’re far away. Please help her know You are always near for her. Let her know You care, and You have all her problems already worked out in Your master plan. Help her to trust You.”
Mr. Charlie had said that she was part of a master plan, that’s why she ended up in Logan. Did God have her life mapped out? Longing took root inside her. The feeling grew until her need outweighed her fear. “God, please help me!” The words tumbled out. Tears streamed down her face. “Father, I need You.”
A fist pounded against the door.
“Ruth, let’s get going. I made reservations for two o’clock.”
Ruth’s mouth flew open. How could she have forgotten Joe?
Betsy continued to pray, her eyes tightly closed, her lips moving, her words coming in whispers.
Ruth’s heart raced as she wiped the tears from her face.
“Ruth, open the door!” Her hope in God faded. Who was she kidding? She was Ruth Cleveland, unimportant loner, not Ruth, Princess of the King. She slid off the bed.
Betsy continued to pray even as Ruth’s future stood a rotting door away.
~*~
Pain shot through the side of her head as the vibrations of her footsteps jarred her brain. Ruth opened the door. Joe would never leave otherwise.
“Why aren’t you ready? I told you I’d pick you up.” He pushed past her into the house, leaving her standing at the open door. “Get dressed.” Impatience flamed his words.
“I don’t feel well, I—”
“You just need some food. You look a wreck.”
Betsy walked into the room. “She was hit in the head with a brick this morning and may have a concussion.”
Joe glanced at Betsy, and then back to Ruth. “What’s she doing here?”
“Hello to you too, Joe,” Betsy took another step forward. “Ruth’s in no shape to go anywhere. In fact, she shouldn’t even be out of bed.” If words could snarl, then Betsy’s would have roared over her curled lip.
“She needs to
—”
Betsy focused on Ruth, her expression stern. “Ruth, get back in bed.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I said—”
“And I said no.” Betsy’s arms stiffened at her sides. “The paramedics told me to keep her quiet for the rest of the day, and I plan to do just that. I suggest you leave.”
Crows clustered on the stoop of the open door.
Ruth’s head hurt. She couldn’t think. Pressing her palms into her eyes, she knew she was overlooking something important. Joe and Betsy, arguing. Birds at her door. The sound of her heart…no, it was the flap of bird wings! The crows were inside of her! “Get out!” She scratched at her chest. “Get them out!”
The door banged.
“Come on, honey. Let’s get back into bed.”
“The birds!” Ruth shrieked.
“They’re outside in the yard. You’re safe. God has your back.”
Joe’s mouth thinned. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Ruth, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He strode to the door and turned. “Don’t forget. We’re getting married on Wednesday, so get this nonsense out of the way by then.” He left the house much like a whirlwind in the desert.
So, she was getting married on Wednesday. Ruth didn’t remember agreeing, and yet it was the right decision, her punishment for disobeying God’s law. The God that didn’t know she existed still threw thunderbolts when she stepped out of line. Her daughter didn’t ask to be created. Just as Ruth had protected her baby’s right to be born, Ruth had to protect her child’s future. If it meant marrying Joe to keep him from stripping their daughter from the only home she knew, then Ruth would do it.
She was getting married on Wednesday. Without Betsy’s support, Ruth would have collapsed to the floor.
23
Monday, July 1
Ruth fingered the gash on the side of her head. Pain had dulled over the course of the day. As the work day ended, she raced up the sidewalk toward the county courthouse. Joe’s announcement of their upcoming marriage bounced back and forth in her aching head, as though unsure where, in the fabric of her brain, the information fit. There had to be another way to protect her child. Mr. Charlie would know.
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