She had not rented the upstairs area to Renny on a whim. The apartment was prime residential space in an area convenient to uptown, but it remained vacant for several months after the previous tenant, a young woman who worked for an international Christian ministry based in Charlotte, moved to Houston. Six people inquired about living in the house, and although Mrs. Stokes needed the extra income a renter provided, she patiently waited until the right person came along.
Within a few minutes of their first meeting, she sensed that Renny wasn’t a Christian, but the unmistakable inward nudge of the Spirit said Yes. That settled it for her, and she offered him the apartment. The night before he moved in, she walked through the vacant rooms, pausing to pray in each one, gently touching the walls and windows, asking the Father to impart a blessing to Renny during his stay. That was four months ago.
Their relationship had developed gradually. Renny was an ambitious young man on the way up in the legal world, but true to the ingrained influence of his Southern upbringing, he frequently took time to greet her and stop for a few moments of polite conversation. Of course, he benefited from an occasional home-cooked meal and the older woman’s willingness to take care of Brandy when he was out of town. Mrs. Stokes didn’t push. Early in their relationship she received the word, “Go easy with this one. I’m doing this on my timetable.” And as far as she was concerned, the young lawyer’s spiritual destination was sealed.
However, she had been uneasy following Renny’s trips to the coast. Something was not right. There had been an anxiety in his eyes after the trip to Charleston regarding his father’s estate. She went to the Lord for directions. Nothing. Then, after his second trip, Renny asked her if Jo could come for a visit. She agreed, but wondered if Jo was the cause of Renny’s tension.
She went back to the Lord again. “Does it have anything to do with the girl?”
“No.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Fast.”
For three days she ate nothing and drank only water. The evening of the third day, she concluded that Renny was under spiritual attack—a state of affairs for which Renny had no frame of reference or understanding. He was as vulnerable as a child playing at the entrance to a rattlesnake’s den. Mrs. Stokes prayed, “I want to stand in the gap for him.”
The answer surprised her. “Yes. And there are others, too.”
She knew that spiritual conflict, like earthly warfare, often involved several participants, some battles more than others. She’d learned the danger of solitary action on the foreign mission field and appreciated the power of people praying in the unity of spirit. Now, she asked the Lord to direct not only herself but the unknown co-laborers he had called to come to Renny’s aid.
When Renny had described Mama A, Mrs. Stokes smiled in satisfaction and anticipation. Surely Mama A was part of Renny’s troop of intercessors. The time might come when they would need to talk. “If one can put a thousand to flight, two can put ten thousand to flight.” Perhaps the two women could pray together for their young charge.
She hoped Renny’s time to encounter the Lord for himself was at hand. He needed the divine connection for himself and the battle he was facing. “Hasten the day, Lord,” she asked. “Bring him to the time of his visitation.”
Jo awoke at dawn and thought for a second about rolling over to continue her slumber. Then she remembered the prayer closet, and sleep dropped off her list of options. Bible in hand, she quietly opened the door. There was not yet enough sunlight to read, so she sat in the chair and silently thanked her Father for the day before. Eyes closed, she leaned her head back and relaxed as a stillness flowed over her, a stillness that could be felt. Unlike the previous day, she did not experience intense emotion, only peace. But what a peace it was. As she lingered, the sense of well-being became more pervasive. “Shalom,” she said. Shalom, the Hebrew word for peace, a word that encompassed more than quietness or the absence of conflict. Shalom, a state of being in the center of Jehovah’s blessing and favor. Her Bible remained unopened in her lap as uncounted minutes passed until she heard a knock on the door of the bedroom.
Opening her eyes, the room was flooded with light and, just as she’d imagined, the prismlike edges of the Star of David, scattered red, yellow, orange, blue, and purple across the room.
“Come in, Mrs. Stokes. I’m in here.”
Mrs. Stokes’s white-haired head and bright eyes appeared around the doorframe. “Good morning. How do you like my sanctuary this morning?”
“I doubt there are many cathedrals more beautiful,” Jo replied, turning sideways in the chair.
“His mercies are new every morning.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Do you want to come out for some coffee?”
“Sounds good. I’ll just come in my nightgown and robe. Renny has to go the office this morning.”
“I heard him leave hours ago. I’d say he wants to get his work done and come back as soon as possible.”
Mrs. Stokes had a cup of coffee and a plate of tiny pastries iced with frosting and topped with chopped pecans waiting in the kitchen. “Will this be enough?” she asked as Jo sat down in the chair that had the best view of the backyard.
“Perfect,” she replied, putting a couple of pastries on a small plate. “I’m not a big breakfast eater. Oh, I almost forgot something.” Jo went back to the bedroom. “Here.” She handed Mrs. Stokes a small decorative jar of raspberry jam topped with a little silk bow. “A Michigan specialty. It’s homemade on a farm up north, near Lake Michigan.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Stokes said. “I have some homemade bread that will be perfect for this jam.”
Jo nibbled a pastry and enjoyed the scene in the backyard. The more she looked, the more beautiful and serene it was. The inexpressible peace she’d felt earlier in the prayer closet flowed over the whole property.
Mrs. Stokes placed a piece of warm, buttered toast in front of her. “If you go to the mountains today, you’ll have a big supper at the lodge and, knowing Renny, a barbecue sandwich on the way up.”
“He promised me some barbecue. He was shocked that I considered it ethnic food.”
Mrs. Stokes chuckled. “Renny is a Southern boy when it comes to his stomach.”
A hummingbird swooped down and hovered at one of the feeding stations. Its bill siphoned the sweet juice in three sips before it zipped back up in the air. Jo took a less frantic sip of coffee as Mrs. Stokes joined her at the table.
“May I ask you something, Mrs. Stokes?”
“Yes.”
“I am really attracted to Renny.”
“And he to you, from what I’ve seen.”
“There’s something special about the times we’ve had together. When I’m with Renny, I sense the Lord’s involvement and favor.”
“But you’re concerned about the possibility of being unequally yoked, as the Scriptures describe it.”
“Right. I don’t want my heart drawn further into what I feel is happening between us and then wake up in a situation that does not have Jesus at the core of the relationship. I’ve heard too many tales of women who married in the hope their husbands-to-be would come to the Lord, only to experience years of frustration and shallowness. Or worse.”
“That’s true. It’s wise to avoid that type of situation.”
“So what do you think I should do? How do I guard my heart and yet respond to what I believe the Lord is doing in bringing us together?”
“He hasn’t kissed you yet, has he?”
Surprised, Jo said, “No, he hasn’t even tried.”
“I didn’t think so. In the midst of all that’s happening, I believe there is a divine protection surrounding you. Oh, you could violate this safeguard if you choose to do so. But you have stayed in the shelter of the Most High up to this point.”
“Yes. That’s probably true.”
“Stay in that place while the Lord works on Renny’s heart.”
“But what if it takes a long
time?” Jo said with a sigh.
Mrs. Stokes smiled. “I’d guess sooner rather than later. People have been praying for Renny a long time. You heard about his mother and Mama A. He is an egg that is about to hatch, and I think I can see a little beak poking through the shell.”
The phone rang, and Mrs. Stokes got up to answer it.
“Hello… . That sounds good… . Bye.”
“Renny?” Jo asked.
“The little chick himself. He is finished at the office and walking out the door to come home. He should be here in fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“Is it too early to call the couple in the mountains?”
“Oh no. I’ll do it right now.”
“I’d better get ready.” Jo hopped up from the table and started toward the hallway, then stopped and quickly walked over to Mrs. Stokes and gave her a hug. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Very welcome.”
Jo was in the bedroom when Renny knocked on the kitchen door. Mrs. Stokes let him in.
“Good morning,” he said. “Where’s Sleeping Beauty?”
“She’s getting ready. I called Helen Manor, and you are welcome to come up for the day and stay for supper. Do you want some coffee and a pastry?”
Renny popped a couple of pastries into his mouth. “I don’t want to ruin my appetite. I promised Jo some barbecue and thought we might stop at a place I know about in Newton for lunch.”
“Here are directions to the Manors’ place. It’s near Starkeville,” Daisy said, laying a sheet on the table.
Renny studied the paper.
“Is it a little cooler today?” Mrs. Stokes asked.
“Yes, and since it’s not going to be scorching hot, I thought we might ride with the top down.” Jo walked in as Renny finished his sentence.
“Take down the top? That would be fun.”
“According to these directions, most of the roads are two-laners through rural areas.”
“Do you have a scarf I can wear on my head?” Jo asked Mrs. Stokes.
“No, I don’t think I do.”
“I’ve got a brand-new Duke cap,” Renny offered. “A friend named Morris gave it to me, knowing I would never wear it.”
“OK.”
“The cap is upstairs. I’ll get it.”
Renny put on a well-worn UNC cap and turned the car around in the driveway. Jo adjusted the size of the Duke cap and tucked most of her dark hair under it.
“This way no one from either Chapel Hill or Duke will throw a rotten tomato at us,” he said. “They’ll just wonder what the nice-looking girl from Duke is doing with the scruffy guy from UNC.”
As they wound through the tree-lined streets with the top down, they enjoyed the full effect of the ever-changing jigsaw puzzle created by the contrasting sun and shade.
“We’ll go through Uptown so you can see the skyscraper that houses my cubicle.”
“You’ve got more than a cubicle, don’t you?”
“Just barely. You’ve not seen me in my work environment. I’m a lot like Dilbert.”
“Collection of curved ties and all?”
“You bet.”
Turning on Trade Street, Renny slowed before the four huge statues to Industry, Commerce, Transportation, and the Future that flanked the roadway like sculptured meteors dropped from the sky.
“There it is. I’m on the twenty-second floor. Now you can visualize my habitat from Monday to whenever.”
“I suppose you don’t have a window, do you?” Jo leaned her head back in the seat so she could look straight up as they passed the sleek black structure.
Renny laughed. “That’s at least twelve years in the future.”
They left the city, traveling northwest through a succession of small North Carolina towns. It wouldn’t be accurate to describe them as pearls on a string. They were mill towns—lined up like a row of hubcaps nailed to the side of an old toolshed, shiny in spots but with quite a few dents and scrapes picked up along time’s highway. There would be a few nice houses surrounding the main square, but most of the inhabitants lived at a subsistence level and were more interested in a new pickup truck than developing a picturesque community. It was close to noon when they entered Newton.
“You know who lives in Newton, don’t you?” Renny asked as they reached the city limits and the wind noise in the open car died down.
“I’m a little rusty on my Newton, North Carolina, trivia,” Jo said, taking off her cap and shaking out her hair.
“I guess you don’t follow the races much in Michigan, do you?”
“Horse races?”
“No, stock cars, NASCAR.”
“Is that supposed to be a hint?”
Renny slowed to a stop at one of the two traffic lights in the sleepy town. “I’ll put you out of your misery, or suspense, whichever the case may be. Newton is the home of Dale Earnhardt.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Don’t say that too loud. Remember the top is down.” Renny eyed a man in blue jeans and a T-shirt who was crossing the street in front of them. “Do you see that guy’s shirt?”
“The one with a black car on it.”
“That’s it. The one that says ‘The Intimidator,’ Earnhardt’s nickname.”
“Why do they call him that?” Jo asked.
“He has a reputation for knocking other drivers off the track at 200 miles per hour, if that’s what it takes to win.”
Jo thought a moment. “Anne Shirley of Green Gables is one of my inspirations. Are you trying to tell me Mr. Intimidator is one of yours?”
Renny laughed. “Not really. I’m just trying to educate you on points of local interest. Here’s the restaurant.” He pulled into the freshly paved parking lot. “New asphalt. Business must be good.”
Renny and Jo sat at a table for two in front of a window with a view of the parking lot. They ordered Carolina-style pork sandwiches with slaw on the sandwich and pickles and chips on the side. The waitress brought two big clear-plastic glasses of iced tea. Renny munched in satisfaction until only a few potato chips were left on his plate.
“Do you think it’s time we talked business?” he asked.
“What business?”
“About the List?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, we first discovered our common denominator at the barbecue restaurant in Moncks Corner.”
“True. What do we need to discuss?”
“Well, I’m in and you’re not,” Renny began.
“So have we lost our common denominator?” Jo asked testily.
“No, no. Now, we know each other in our own way. But even though you’re not a part of the List, you are the only person I can talk to. And I respect your opinion.”
“OK. What have you been thinking?”
“I’m still frustrated in my efforts to gain direct access to my family’s money. Gus Eicholtz told me the approximate amount of money that has accumulated.”
“I don’t want to know that,” Jo interjected.
“All right, but there is going to be a sizable distribution to the members in the next few months. I can’t give you a figure, but it would be enough that I could quit my job at the law firm and, with conservative investments, never work again.”
Renny waited.
Jo completed his thought. “Then you could do what you want to do— write.”
“That was my plan. I don’t want to wait twelve years for an office with a window. What do you think?” Renny popped the last potato chip into his mouth.
A part of Jo wanted to grab him by the collar and yell, “Renny, can’t you see the List is a trap luring you into the same kind of paranoid greed that made your father a mean, stingy man!” But her mouth couldn’t form the words, and her heart couldn’t release the passion necessary to validate the warning. Instead, she said as calmly as she could, “What I think was made clear in Georgetown. No matter how much money is involved, I’m not interested. I really can’t see how I could feel any differently
about your involvement than I did for mine.”
Renny shrugged and looked out the window. “I guess I knew that was what you would say, but that’s not a step I’m ready to take. At the least I want to get the next distribution in my hands.”
Jo sighed. “You have some time. Keep an open mind.”
“I will. Anyway, it all seems less important when I’m around you.”
“I’m glad,” Jo said seriously. “I’m very, very glad.”
From Newton it took forty minutes to drive to the Manors’ bed-and-breakfast. Jo wanted to help Renny sort through his questions, and she was frustrated by the invisible gag that at times kept her from expressing what she knew to be true. Then she remembered something she heard a guest speaker say at her church: “The right word in the wrong time is just as useless as the wrong word in the right time.” Closing her eyes as the wind rushed by, she prayed, “Don’t let me make either mistake.”
Renny slowed the car as they passed a fruit stand advertising locally grown apples for sale. “We’re getting close. The road we’re looking for is past an apple warehouse.” As they came around a bend in the road, the red Phillips Apple Barn came into view on the left. “That’s it. I remember the name.” A hundred yards beyond the apple barn, Renny turned onto a narrow side road and began climbing upward. “It’s somewhere toward the top of the ridge.”
They passed several houses, some brick, some wood. Renny pointed out three long, low chicken houses nestled against the hillside. “Let’s hope we’re not downwind from a chicken house,” Renny said. “There’s nothing like the fragrance of ten thousand chickens on a hot day.”
As they climbed higher, small apple orchards began springing up on both sides of the road. An ancient stand of apple trees whose limbs looked like gnarled arthritic hands thrusting up from the earth appeared on a steep hill to the right. Rounding a corner, they came out on top of the ridge and saw a sign on the right that read, “Zion Hill Lodge.” A huge mailbox with “George Manor” painted on it sat beside a single-lane driveway.
“This is it,” Renny said.
Turning, they passed through a continuation of the ancient orchard. A small apple-shaped sign warned, “Beware of Falling Apples.”
The List Page 20