***
Blue and misery followed her as she lugged the heavy cross to Tipper's grave. She read the scripture again.
Jesus wept.
If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for her.
So she did.
The amplified version. She bawled.
For more than her dad. For more than Tipper. For more than fear of losing the farm.
For her severed relationship with God. For her severed relationship with others.
She bawled again when she returned to the house and discovered the dozen roses with an apologetic note from Will. He was doing better than her with opportunities in keeping short accounts.
Maybe she would bake him a cake sometime.
She mumbled a prayer. It clattered to the floor. Where had God gone?
***
After grabbing supper in town, Will returned to the house. His house, for the time being. He sagged into the rocker on the front porch, ran his hands over the slick worn arms. Flo Johnson hadn't called today. He took that as a good thing. Although he wasn't sure who Stacy Chapman was, a phone call to the insurance agency revealed she didn't work for them.
The viscous scent of four o'clocks oiled the air. Lightning bugs floated from the grass to snag a trip on the night's soft currents. They seemed undisturbed about their destination.
Was that all faith was, drifting whichever way the winds of fate carried you? No. Though sure of what it wasn't, what it was beyond the definition in Hebrews, the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen, proved elusive.
Gracie Lee raced through the yard, leaping and snapping at the blinking bugs, spitting them out and slobbering when she caught one. Then repeating it again.
Will hummed a sigh. It reminded him of his running after the bright things of the world, but having a buggy taste in his mouth when he caught them. And then doing it again, expecting the flavor to improve.
The notes of night insects, harmonizing with the disjointed chorus of tree frogs, faded in and out as the day's last scene ended behind dusk's curtain. Compared to the corduroy abrasiveness of a Columbus night, the Springs was velvet. No sirens, no sounds of TV or stereo trespassing through thin apartment walls. No overhearing the neighbors' arguments and making ups. Only an owl hoot on a nearby ridge, a coyote howl in the distance. The absence of human noise hung like a shroud.
This is how people begin talking to themselves, he said out loud, his words magnified in the stillness.
He opened his bible to Psalm 37:4 – Delight yourself in the Lord; And He will give you the desires of your heart. Tonight the verse spoke differently than ever before. He will give me the desires of my heart, but my desires, since I am in Him and thinking His thoughts after Him, will be His desires also. And if I give up the desires, the dreams He gives me, I'm giving up something that only God has a right to give up.
Two more weeks until he had to make a decision. Completing several farm visits without mishap gave him confidence he could handle the basic large animal calls he might face. For now, he would continue to pray about staying or leaving.
No headway had been made in his investigation into Uncle Bill's death, but he wasn't ready to give up. And the bone on his nightstand belonged to someone.
He bowed his head but stopped straightaway, struck with the need to simply listen to what God might say.
Sitting on the isolated porch where he had felt so alive as a youth, some of the peace that surpassed understanding began to spread over and into and through him.
What are the desires of your heart? And nothing preachy sounding.
Gracie Lee, ears up, halted her activity, looked into the darkness as if sensing an unknown presence.
The hair on the back of Will's neck snapped to attention. "Who is this?"
Not trying to be a wise guy, though I am, but whom were you talking to?
"God."
We're making progress. Whether it was an internal or external voice, it sounded friendly. I've been waiting for this conversation, but you don't come to roost very often. So tell me, what are the desires of your heart? Be honest. You can't fool me anyway. And remember, nothing churchy.
Was it only his imagination? Since it sounded better than his own thoughts, he continued. He needed to process. "I want my life to count. Is that too churchy?"
Borderline. Keep going.
"For years I knew I was meant to be here."
What happened?
"Guess I doubted you spoke to people anymore. Especially that young. About things that important."
How about Samuel? How about David? How about Jesus? They were young.
"I listened to my desires more than yours."
Indeed, has God said? Something like that? Oldest trick in the book. What else?
"You know."
Be good for you to hear it.
Will stared down at his shoes.
I'm not down there. So sit up straight. Look me in the eye. You're my son, in whom I'm well pleased. I am for you, not against you. So relax.
He took a deep breath and straightened in the swing. His gaze swung around the yard and beyond. "I'm afraid of coming here."
Because of what happened in Goolsby's that summer? When you believed a lie?
He could relate with Job when God began interrogating him. Now was the time for short answers and a hand over his mouth. "Yes, sir."
Did that get resolved today?
"Yes, sir."
"Clio changed. Can you?"
"Yes, sir."
Are you aware you're not perfect? And that's okay? And if you were perfect, you wouldn't need me?
"Yes, sir."
Remember in the cemetery, when you asked for a sign. A vision, a word, a picture? I heard that. I believe you meant it. Keep your eyes open this next week. Stay in touch.
The presence lifted. Gracie Lee ran out into the yard. The phone rang. He stepped inside to answer. Please don't let it be an emergency call. He needed time to reflect, to write what had happened down. "Hello."
The soft voice stunned him. "This is Liza Hall. Thanks for the flowers."
"You're-" he began, but she had already hung up.
There is one strange girl. The kind of person who would make it difficult to stay, even if he received a vision, a word, and a picture all in one day.
He thought he heard a chuckle.
I didn't say it would be easy. But it will be more than great.
Tomorrow, he would hang around town, see if the renowned investigative reporter from TIME surfaced. A trip to the Tennessee Tech library revealed she had written for them many years. Won numerous industry awards. Though not able to do a complete background check, her back story proved elusive. Enough holes existed to make him wonder at the vehemence she had regarding bringing Spivey to justice. What justice did she refer to?
Maybe what she told PJ was true, she was famous enough to need to wear a disguise on some assignments. But in Iris Springs?
Chapter 19
Sunday
Liza entered the small church as the praise and worship team began an upbeat song. She stood inside the door, savoring peace not felt for months. Knots of stress untwisted from around her heart. She hadn't attended a service since before her dad died. Eyes closed, she listened to the four-part harmony through two refrains before scanning the area for a seat.
Wood pews, stained glass windows and the modest pulpit settled her. She needed it. The next several weeks would shape her future. She was there in hope, entering His presence with thanksgiving and joy. Also there in desperation, seeking His help. Without Him, all would be lost. With Him, even if all was lost, it would still be okay. Despite her unfaithfulness, she knew He remained faithful.
The room was nearly full, so she quietly took the aisle seat of the vacant last row.
Eyes closed, she prayed she might reconnect with God. And His people.
Several minutes later, someone touched her elbow. She opened her eyes. Bicycle Pete, requesting to squeez
e by her. Freshly groomed. Cologned. New clothes. Accompanied by Will. She scooted out so they could enter, tugging her skirt down so it covered her knees. It didn't matter. Will had already seen them, but politely looked away. Did he agree with her, think they looked knobby? He gave a curt nod and went in first, leaving her closest to Pete, ten feet away. She was positive it wasn't the spirit stirring in her as she took peeks at Will from the corner of her eye.
At the end of worship, Pastor Bob urged the congregation to exchange greetings with at least six people around them. She counted those in her immediate vicinity, intending to avoid the two men to her right. Several folks in the row ahead turned, expressed their pleasure in seeing her. Several on the opposite side of the aisle did likewise and she felt she had complied. Assuming five was close enough.
Turning slightly, she watched Will. Being hemmed in the corner, only a couple in front of him and another man reaching across from two rows up had greeted him.
He glanced at her. What he would do? Though her pulse raced and her face felt flushed, she decided to do the polite thing. After all, it was church. The perfect place to be impulsive. She slid sideways several steps, bumping her knees on the hymnal holders, smiled, and extended a hand. "Pastor said to greet six. I'm stalled on five. Can you help a girl out?"
"Glad to help, Miss Liza." The words filtered through the tangle of Pete's beard. He grabbed her hand, pumped it vigorously. "Sorry to hear about your daddy."
"Thanks." When would he release her hand? She finally gave it a tug and he turned it loose.
"You need to meet my friend." Pete grabbed Will's arm. "Doc, meet Liza Hall. Most awesome biscuit cook in three counties."
Not 'meet the prettiest girl in three counties.' Not 'meet the sweetest.' No. Meet the Pillsbury Dough Girl. Biscuit Queen. Drawing on inner pluck, she reached a hand around Pete. "We've met. Good to see you in the Lord's house."
He lightly gripped her fingertips. A hint of a smile thawed his eyes. "Good to be seen." He seemed to be reflecting on something. Please, don't break the spell by saying something about biscuits. "About that cup of coffee we've both mentioned? Would the offer be open after church?"
Pastor Gentry asked everyone to be seated so the Lord's Supper could be served. They remained standing, fingers touching. Was it a divine warning, getting your fingers scorched when you touched someone in church preceding communion? PJ would say run, not walk, away. PJ could mind her own business. PJ was older than she and still not married. How credible did that make her?
She nodded. Spontaneity. She should plan it more often.
Her attention wandered during the sermon, occupied with the conflicting feelings she felt concerning Will. Repelled. Attracted. Double-minded, like Pastor Gentry was saying. Looking in the mirror, then not remembering what she had seen when she walked away.
What was she doing here? What did she expect to find? Her dad's words coursed through her mind. She needed to go home, look in the mirror. That's where your help comes from. Never count on there being two faces there.
Confused and discouraged and afraid, she slipped away when the benediction began.
If Will called, she would tell him she had developed a headache. But she wouldn't inform him he was the headache.
PJ was right. She needed to keep the No Trespassing sign on her heart.
***
Will walked out into the Sunday warmth. Warmth inferior to that experienced in the church that had provided spiritual sustenance to generations of his family. In a greater manner than the familiar geography gripped him, the undefinable fellowship of belonging in the eternal tapestry spoke to the depths of heart and mind. Joy unspeakable and full of glory.
He looked around for Liza's truck. Gone. Maybe he had misunderstood and she didn't want to have coffee.
Pete stood next to him. "Where'd she go?"
"Not sure." He struggled to keep his voice level, not reveal his disappointment.
"Are you going to call her? I'd be calling. I'd be setting a bloodhound on her trail. At least sending a telegram."
Will laughed at Pete's intensity. "No. I wasn't the one who left without saying anything. This is probably a good thing."
Pete grabbed Will's forearm. "Don't give up. She's a special one. Always taking stuff to some of the poor kids out in the sticks. Checks up on a few shut-ins."
Will frowned. That wasn't the same Liza he'd met. The one he knew would take sticks to poor kids. Was more inclined to shut out.
"Friday in Goolsby's, after you ran off, she asked Pastor Bob whether you'd be coming to church or not." Pete plucked at the fringe of his beard. "So you might be watching out. In a good way."
His eyelids pulled to a peak. Liza wasn't the friendliest girl he'd met. Now she had reneged on her word. Maybe God was testing him to see if he would get distracted. He didn't intend to fail. "Thanks for the advice."
"Speaking of advice, did you ever talk to Jug Marlin about Dr. Bill?"
"Briefly. He mentioned the PETTA folks. Then he said it was an accident. Just like the sheriff."
"Might be a good idea to talk to him again sometime. He knows more than that."
Though he might take Pete's advice about Jug, he would heed his own advice about Liza. He would be watching out. But not in a good way.
Chapter 20
Monday
A scowl plowed crooked furrows at the corners of harsh lips. Farming the thin piece of ground in the head of Haile Hollow had been hard on Bill Causey. Or he had taken it hard. Or both.
"He's worser. I'm thinking you shot him full of the wrong medicine. Otherwise, he'd be better by now. What you got to say about that?" Chin thrust forward, he waited for an answer.
Will swallowed hard while rubbing eyes gritty from lack of sleep. At ten last night, again at two in the morning, Causey had been antagonistic as Will tended his colicky Tennessee Walking Horse. A former champion in its class at the National Celebration at Shelbyville. Now, though the rising sun painted the clouds lining the hilltops a thousand tentative shades of violet and pink at five-thirty, Causey's angst threatened the delicate dawning of the day.
Will's confidence shriveled. Cases like this exemplified why he didn't want to be in the Springs. Though he remembered enough from his equine rotations to manage, it didn't instill confidence in a client to see the vet drive up with his head in a Merck's Veterinary Handbook. But Uncle Bill had instilled one important thing in him. Don't be a quitter. Finish what you start. Too bad this start mirrored falling from the top floor of a skyscraper.
Will rubbed his neck. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying he's not any better?"
A prominent Adam's apple pumped words upward to the spigot of twitching lips. "Just you come take a gander for yourself. I'm telling you, you gave him the wrong medicine."
The words filling his mouth tasted bitter, so Will swallowed them. Causey turned and headed to the barn along a slick path sunken below ground level from decades of use. The rich textures of a farm morning fragranced the cool air.
A squeaky gate hinge sassed them as they entered the dirt lot by the barn. Will was surprised to see Stu Glassing there. He had tended his cow with a prolapsed uterus the previous evening. He had struggled over an hour to correct it and the cow, besides the cosmetic improvement, didn't look the better for it. He had informed Glassing that the ovarian blood vessels were likely ruptured, which might lead to her death within hours. Glassing had rolled his eyes, saying he had never heard of such foolishness.
Glassing, folded his arms over his chest, glaring in disgust. "Just wanted you to know that cow you worked on kicked out an hour after you left."
He hated confrontation. But here it was, in the person of a dissatisfied client. "I mentioned she might not make it."
"I think that medicine you put in her spine did it." Glassing spat the words like they were a rotten peanut.
"You're welcome to think what you want. We could open her up to see if she bled out. But even if she didn't, the shock alone could have ki
lled her."
Glassing shook his head, angled his face towards Will. "Never lost one like that before. Dr. Bill got 'em all up and going. Always knew what he was doing."
Uncle Bill's ghost again. "I never broke my arm until I broke my arm. We can talk later. I need to see about this horse first."
Glassing grunted. "Looks like there'll be a horse trailer for sale here."
The sorrel stallion strained to lift its head, only to have it slam sickeningly against the ground. Abdominal pain smacked his hooves against his belly. White streaks of dried sweat painted his coppery coat a roan appearance.
Will knelt by the animal's head, lifted its upper lip and examined the oral membranes. Cold and clammy to the touch, they were a murky blue shade, indicating severe shock. His fingers slid along the jawline, located the artery crossing it, and checked the pulse rate. Fast, over one hundred forty beats per minute. A significant elevation from the initial examination.
Cold waves of discouragement swept away the hope he had clung to through the night. A White Leghorn rooster sauntered by, paused in mid-strut, one leg up as he cocked his head at the stallion, then crowed, telling him it was high time to get his lazy self up and around.
Brilliant colors continued to streak the clouds even as dark panes of anxiety scrolled through his mind. Had he made the correct diagnosis? Provided the appropriate treatment within the constraints of how much Causey was willing to spend? Did Glassing's cow bleed to death or had an hour of wrestling her uterus caused it? All added to his apprehension about remaining in the Springs to practice. Was it worth sacrificing his old dream to obtain the remainder of his inheritance? Was it worth sacrificing his inheritance to obtain his new dream?
Causey's face puckered in tight wrinkles. His whiny voice spiraled to a thin squawk. "See, I told you. He's worser."
X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1) Page 14