Grounds to Believe

by Shelley Bates

  “Julia and I were just talking about prayer meeting.”

  He hadn’t touched Julia since taking her arm on the street. Now, under the protection of the tablecloth, he touched her elbow with his own. Maybe it was because she looked soft and feminine and touchable in a booth overflowing with defensive testosterone. Maybe it was just because he wanted her to remember there were other fish in the gene pool. She didn’t need to settle for this one.

  Straightening slightly, she went very still, but she didn’t pull away.

  “So what I want to know is, does it do any good?” he asked, dropping his spoon in his empty bowl.

  “The prayers?” Julia asked.

  “Depends what you mean by good,” Derrick said, as annoyingly evasive as any attorney Ross had ever heard.

  “I guess a person could feel they contributed to world peace or something,” Ross allowed thoughtfully. “In a nonparticipatory way.”

  John frowned. “But everyone participates. That’s part of what makes it so powerful.”

  “But don’t you think that getting out there and doing something would add to the effect of your prayers?”

  Both men turned horrified eyes from him to Julia. He lifted an eyebrow. He could almost hear what they were thinking—poor Julia, consorting with the publicans and sinners.

  “World peace isn’t in our hands. It’s in God’s,” Derrick said.

  “It’s in everybody’s hands,” Ross shot back. “A Christian doesn’t hide behind God’s back. Do you want to abdicate your responsibility?” Both Derrick and John bristled, as if he were accusing them personally. “I’m using the figurative you, of course.”

  “I think God answers our prayers,” Julia put in, her tones soft and logical. “And I’m using the literal our.”

  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall prevent a food fight. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “How?”

  John seemed to be a sensible man. As the food arrived, he settled in for an active debate. Old Derrick was still red in the face and was probably going to have galloping indigestion the rest of the afternoon. Ross felt a secret satisfaction at the thought. If he did anything else on this case, he was going to broaden Julia’s horizons on the subject of the opposite sex.

  At a particularly hot point in the debate, Ross felt a flicker of movement under the table. Julia slipped her foot out of her low-heeled pump, and he forgot the rejoinder he’d been about to make. His breath caught as her stocking-clad foot slid over the instep of his boot and pressed gently in warning, heating him right through the leather and his sock.

  It worked, but probably not the way she’d intended. The pressure of her foot made him lose track of the conversation, and Derrick and John were off on a tangent about the governor’s latest antics. He didn’t care. He was having a conversation of his own.

  Above the table, he ate Chinese food and contributed innocuous mumbles to the topic. Risking a glance to the side, he saw he wasn’t the only one affected. Above the high neck of her blouse, color washed into Julia’s cheeks.

  Did she know what she was doing to him, right there in public? She asked him a question, something about whether he was enjoying his lunch, lifting those long gold lashes with utter innocence, her soft lips parted.

  “Uh,” he said. Mr. Intelligence.

  The hands of the clock over the cash register dragged past 1:05 and Derrick started. “Uh-oh, got to go. They hate it when I’m late. I’ll pick you up for prayer meeting, Julia.” He pointedly excluded Ross. Fine. Ross could care less. He was absorbed in watching Julia lick sauce off her thumb.

  “Bye-bye,” she said, waving with the other hand and ignoring her intended’s aggressive tone. “It’s been fun.”

  At least Ross had the patience to wait until the other men were safely out of the restaurant before turning back to her. His lashes veiled a gaze so intense that she nearly swayed toward him for a kiss before she remembered where she was.

  “Do you have any idea,” he rasped, “what you’re doing to me?”

  “No.” She’d only wanted to let him know in the most direct way she could that it was futile to take Derrick up on a challenge. He would spend the rest of the afternoon in argument if it meant winning his point. But the contact with Ross’s foot was so absorbing that she couldn’t help herself.

  His wonderful mouth was inches from hers. He slid an arm around her and dragged her closer.

  “Don’t, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “Not unless you’re ready for me to take a big jump over the line.”

  If there was anyone else in the restaurant, she couldn’t hear them. She was only aware of Ross and the way he was looking at her.

  She pulled back, fighting for sanity through the fog of her disloyalty. “I didn’t mean—I have to go back to work. I’m late already.”

  “Call in sick. Say you ate something that disagreed with you.” When she hesitated, he leaned close. She breathed in his scent, shivering as his breath beat softly against her ear as he spoke. “Spend this afternoon with me.”

  She was drowning, dying in the fire that enveloped her. Her skin hurt with the need to feel his arms around her.

  “No,” she gasped, drawing on her last reserve of strength. “I have to go.”

  He straightened and paid the bill. She followed him out of the restaurant in a daze of longing, imagining what might happen if she tossed aside everything for one afternoon and went with him.

  The summer air and the swish of traffic, the smell of exhaust mixed with evergreens and hanging flowers and coffee, brought her out of it. Reality. She was standing on Main Street two blocks down from the bookshop. Derrick was probably looking out the window of the lawyer’s office right now, counting on his wristwatch the minutes she and Ross had been alone. Her parents could drive by, or any of the Elect, and see her on the sidewalk with Ross. What did they look like? Were they leaning toward each other, barely restraining themselves from falling into an embrace?

  “Julia?” he asked. “Are you going to make that call and come with me? We could go somewhere down the road, have a nice dinner, and then have a moonlight ride back.”

  “I can’t,” she said, and shut her mouth on the hateful words. The story of her life. Can’t do this, can’t think that, can’t say so-and-so.

  “Why not?”

  “A thousand reasons.” She glanced towards the lawyer’s office. “The most immediate being that I have to work.”

  “You can take a day off once in a while, can’t you?”

  “I can’t just disappear. It would look bad. And I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going. That would be even worse. I’d get a Visit from Melchizedek. He’d probably have me Silenced for a year.”

  “Silenced? What is this, the Mafia?”

  She waved a hand in negation. “Not like that. Being Silenced means you can’t speak to anyone in Gathering or at any function, even a family dinner. Some people call it shunning. My parents would never get over it. Neither would Derrick. In fact, his position as Deacon would probably be jeopardized.”

  “Who says you have to tell anyone anything? How can you live like this, Julia? I’d go nuts if I thought my whole church was watching every move I made.”

  She shrugged, and crossed her arms, hugging herself to find a little comfort. “That’s just the way it is. If you don’t do anything wrong, then it shouldn’t be a problem when people watch you.” A silence fell while he looked at her as if she’d been speaking in code and he was trying to decipher it.

  “You know, we’d get a lot further if you hugged me like that.”

  Bless him for finding something to laugh about at a moment like this. She felt her spirits lighten and even managed a smile. “I have no intention of going any further with you.”

  “I know what you mean.” The smile still lurked in his eyes, but his tone was serious. Soft. “I don’t know what happens to me when I’m with you. Rationality goes out the window and I find myself wanting to kiss you against my better judgment.�
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  “That’s how I feel, too.” She had been living with this guilt and forbidden feelings so long she could identify with his completely. Understanding him was one thing. Doing what he asked was another.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” he asked, his voice brushing anticipation along her skin. Voice and eyes were all that held her motionless on the sidewalk, but she felt their power all the same.

  “You’re over the line,” she whispered.

  “Wanting to doesn’t put me over the line.”

  “It’s the appearance that does the harm, not the reality.”

  He drew back and the warmth leached out of him, replaced by the cold formality of two acquaintances meeting on the street. She realized she was on the verge of losing something very precious, something whose value she had only begun to learn.

  “Well, I guess there isn’t much I can do about that. You have my number if you change your mind.” He didn’t even smile as he turned and crossed the street.

  Words balled into an ache in her throat as she watched him stride away. She couldn’t let them out and call him back. She was going to be the future Deacon’s wife.

  At least she got as far as the bookshop before the tears rose up and choked her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julia had no idea that pain and loss could make a person physically ill. Getting through the week took a monumental effort, and she didn’t know whether Ross went to the Wednesday-night prayer meeting because she didn’t go. Finally, on Friday morning she laid her conscience flat with one blow and called in sick.

  “I think I’ve got some kind of flu bug,” she lied, wincing at how nasty the words tasted.

  “Don’t come and infect me with it, then,” Rebecca replied briskly. “I’ve been waiting for this. You’ve been looking peaked all week. Besides, with a voice like that you’ll scare the customers away.”

  She was hoarse from crying, spiritless with depression. She stayed in bed all morning, ignoring the phone, reliving every moment she’d spent with Ross, but that only made her cry, too.

  “Get out of bed and act like a woman,” she finally scolded herself. She pulled on the most ancient skirt she owned and staggered out to the kitchen.

  Only one message blinked on the answering machine.

  “Hello, Julia, this is Linda Bell. I’m so thrilled that biker is coming to Gatherings on his own. Do you think he would like to come for a light supper before the young people’s meeting tonight? There’ll be a spread later but my kids won’t last that long. Oh, and I mean you too, of course. Give me a ring back and let me know. Bye-bye.”

  Ross invited for supper at Linda Bell’s? She must be bursting a gasket at being out of the loop for the hottest gossip in town. Every word, glance or inadvertent touch they shared at supper would be public knowledge by lunchtime the next day. Julia’s relationship or lack thereof would be written up on the wall for everyone to pore over the way a Hasidic Jew pored over the Law, making interpretations of every jot and tittle.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped. Maybe it was Ross. Maybe she hadn’t messed things up completely, and she could still redeem herself.

  She tottered to the door and looked through the window. Owen Blanchard stood there, his back turned to her, his tie a little loose and his hands in his pockets.

  Owen? Hastily she tucked her shirt in, and tried to smooth her hair away from her face. She was supposed to be sick. A hot, swollen face was a symptom of just about any disease, wasn’t it?

  Her brother-in-law turned with a smile as she opened the door. “Hi, Julia. Feeling better? Rebecca said you had the flu.” She gestured for him to come in, and he followed her into the living room, taking the easy chair while she perched on the couch.

  “Can I get you a lemonade or something?”

  “No, thanks. I only stopped by for a minute, to see how you were. We missed you at prayer meeting.”

  It took all her willpower not to ask if Ross had been there. “I thought it might be a flu bug, but it must have been one of those twenty-four-hour things. I’m okay now. How is Ryan?”

  The smile faded from Owen’s face and the pale shadow of pain settled in its place. “His progress isn’t as rapid as we’d hoped,” he said slowly. “He threw up this morning. Lina’s hardly left his side. And now here you are with a flu…I wonder if he could have caught it somehow? Dear heaven, Julia, he’s in no shape to be battling flu. Not when he just got out of the hospital.”

  “Have you called Michael?”

  “Yes. Madeleine is almost at the point where she wants to ask him to put in the feeding tube again, just to get some nutrients into his body. But I just can’t face it.”

  Julia’s face crumpled with distress. “Is there anything I can do or bring? Can I stay with him so you two can at least get out to Mission?”

  He shook his head. “Lina would never go.”

  Julia had to agree. “No, of course not. I just thought—”

  “I know, and I appreciate the thought. You’re so unselfish with your time, Julia. That’s only one of the things I love about you.” He smiled affectionately.

  Julia smiled back, swatting down the uncomfortable realization that the only reason she was so unselfish with her time was because she had nothing else to do with it.

  Owen straightened and changed the subject. “Speaking of your time, I hear Linda has invited you and Ross Malcolm for supper.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked. “I just got the message myself.”

  “Oh? Didn’t you talk to her? I thought you’d been home sick.”

  What a tangled web we weave…“I turned the ringer off while I was sleeping, and the machine picked up.”

  “Oh, of course. Linda talked to Madeleine earlier, and when I heard about it I thought I’d wander down here and have a Visit.”

  A Visit. Uh-oh. To the Elect, a Visit didn’t just mean one person going to another person’s house. Oh no. A Visit meant someone perceived you had a need—for help, for correction, for encouragement. And a Visit from Owen, her Elder, meant someone thought she had a serious need. Could a person be Silenced for having wicked thoughts about an Outsider instead of the man she was practically promised to?

  “Well,” she said inanely. “That’s kind of you.”

  Owen went straight to the point. His voice dropped to that intimate, sonorous timbre that convinced people to give their lives to God. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Ross Malcolm. How serious do you think he is about joining us, Julia? Do you think he’s sincere?”

  “I—I believe so,” she stammered. She felt as though she was breaking Ross’s confidence, even though she knew it was Owen’s business to ask questions like this. “He seems to be serious about coming to Gathering, and he pays attention when Melchizedek speaks.”

  “Yes, he does,” Owen agreed. “You’re not proving to be a distraction in that sense.”

  Julia shrugged off the little jab. Self-esteem was just self-interest in most cases, wasn’t that what the Shepherd said? This was Owen, who loved her. He wouldn’t deliberately phrase something in a way that would hurt.

  “And his appearance has certainly changed. God must have given him a revelation. Does he plan to go to the young people’s meeting?” His calm blue gaze held hers.

  “I don’t know.” Julia bit back the urge to apologize.

  “How do you feel about him?” Owen asked, his voice dropping even lower. This was the tone the Shepherd used just before issuing the invitation to the Stranger to give his life to Jesus. It was filled with the hush of anticipation and the sense that the angels were hanging on every word.

  “I—I, well, he’s a friend.” The angels slumped in disappointment, shaking their glossy heads.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, do you have…feelings for him? Does it matter to you whether he comes or not?”

  Her hands were freezing. How come she was perspiring, then? She wished she could pull Rebecca’s crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and
hide from Owen’s loving scrutiny. “I enjoy his friendship,” she admitted finally. “He’s interesting to talk to. He’s kind. I like him.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  Her memory flashed on the way he had kissed her beside the lake. The angels covered their eyes, fluttered against the ceiling in agitation, and faded away through the plaster.

  “Why are you asking me this, Owen? Is there something wrong with me seeing Ross?”

  “No, not at all. I’m just very concerned that you might fall into the Devil’s trap and be deceived. He’s the kind of man who attracts women. It’s easy for our flesh to get carried away.”

  He made it sound so cheap and soulless. Perhaps that’s what he thought relationships with people outside the Elect consisted of. Just empty flesh getting carried away.

  “I haven’t been carried away,” she said firmly.

  “Has he tried to…take advantage of you?”

  If anyone but her brother-in-law had asked her that, she’d have shown him the door. She was tempted as it was. “No.”

  “But perhaps he’s attempted to—how shall I say this? Seduce your mind and heart away from God?”

  “Why would he?”

  “To take you Outside.”

  “He’s a friend, Owen. He’s seeking God himself. He doesn’t have any reason to do that.” Did aggravating her into thinking for herself constitute seducing her mind?

  “Claire tells me that you’ve been acting strangely lately. Separating yourself from your friends. Is that true?”

  “No, of course not. I just didn’t want to play baseball last weekend.”

  “She says you suggested something outlandish instead.”

  She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “Helping out at the food bank? That’s not outlandish. It seemed reasonable, considering that Jesus tells us to give to the poor and feed the hungry.”

  “He meant in a spiritual sense, Julia.”

  “I don’t think that was all he meant.”

  “Well, our thinking has no place in this. We need to seek after God’s thinking, as Melchizedek tells us.”