Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “Oh, don’t be silly. If I’d had a little more warning, I’d have had the youth group clean this place up and even paint it, get the ladies to hang some curtains, make it nice for ya. But all in good time.”

  Paul opened the torn screen door that had a hanging spring. He thrust a key into a sticky lock, and when the bolt finally gave way, he pressed his shoulder against the door, then kicked at the bottom until it broke free. He flipped on a light, and Thomas knew Grace had to have seen—or at least heard—creatures scattering. The must and dust assaulted him, but he tried to imagine the place with a little work. Okay, a lot of work.

  Thomas found himself wondering about the pie. If Patricia knew he and Grace were staying with them, why bring it? But, of course, Grace was already exulting about their new home.

  “It’s just the right size, and it will soon be perfect.”

  Patricia laughed. “Aren’t you the most precious little thing?”

  The Pierces proved industrious, pitching in to unload the trailer in less than thirty minutes. Paul locked the place and handed Thomas the key. “Now let’s get that trailer dropped off; then you follow me to our place. Bet you’re starvin’.”

  The Darby Trailer

  “Guess your mama works weekends, hey?” Aunt Lois said as Uncle Carl pulled up to the trailer.

  “Every day except Monday,” Brady said, eager to get inside and raid her carton for a pack of cigarettes. It had been so long since he’d enjoyed a whole one.

  “You want me to come in and straighten the place a little?”

  “Nah, it’s all right. Petey and I can do it.”

  “I don’t want to clean house,” Peter said, but Brady gave him a look.

  “Let me,” Aunt Lois said.

  “No, really. We’re good.”

  “Take your brother to church tomorrow, hear?”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t want to!” Peter said.

  “We’re going, and that’s that,” Brady said, sliding out of the car.

  “Where do you go?” his aunt said.

  “That little Baptist church on the other side of the park.”

  “Good.”

  Brady tried to look as solemn as possible and thanked his aunt and uncle as Peter bounded into the trailer.

  “That boy needs you, Brady,” Carl said. “I worry about him.”

  “I got his back,” Brady said. “Believe me.”

  By the time Brady got inside, Peter had already changed and was playing a video game.

  “We don’t really have to clean up this place, do we?”

  “’Course not.”

  “And we aren’t going to church either, right?”

  Brady snorted. “Like that’ll happen.”

  Peter paused the game and looked up. “So you lied.”

  Brady pulled off the bolo tie and sat. “White lies. Telling people what they want to hear so you don’t hurt their feelings. That’s why you got to not say out loud everything you do and don’t want to do. Just say, ‘Yeah, sure.’ It’s not like they’re gonna check.”

  “What if they do?”

  “What? Ask us? We just tell ’em some Bible story we learned in Sunday school and say the sermon was boring. What’re they going to do, call the church to see if we were really there?”

  Peter shrugged and turned back to the game.

  “But you shouldn’t lie, Petey.”

  “Except to not hurt people’s feelings?”

  “Right.”

  Brady found his mother’s stash of smokes—two whole cartons, one still unopened. He hid it outside, under the trailer, and took a pack from the other. Tearing off the cellophane, ripping the tinfoil, tapping the pack against his palm, sliding one out, lighting up—all of it relaxed him.

  Petey came from the back. “Let me try one.”

  “No.”

  “Mom’ll never know.”

  “No, but I will. You got to promise me you’ll never smoke.”

  “Everybody smokes.”

  “Not everybody.”

  “Why do you?”

  “Got started and can’t stop. Costs money and kills you.”

  “Doesn’t cost you money.”

  “It will. Now promise me.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to a movie and you’re going with me.”

  “Yeah!” Peter said.

  “We’ve got to hitchhike.”

  Oldenburg

  “Do you think this is all theirs?” Grace said as Thomas followed the SUV through a gate and down a half-mile drive through acres and acres enclosed by seemingly endless white fences.

  The sign above the entryway had read, “Pierce Dairy.”

  “Likely. Pretty nice.”

  The sprawling house and adjacent garage looked like a hotel. Once inside, Patricia took the pie back from Grace and served them in the dining room. Paul launched into a history of the church, “if you can call it that anymore. Used to have almost 250 people. Less than 100 now, but I guess you know that. We’ve already spread the word you’ll be preaching tomorrow, so we might have a few more. The curious, you know.”

  “You want me to preach tomorrow already?”

  “Why not? Surely you’ve got a chestnut or two you’re fond of.”

  “He does,” Grace said, delicately dabbing her lips. “Thomas, you could preach ‘Down to Joppa,’ the Jonah message.”

  “If I can find my notes, I suppose I could,” Thomas said.

  Grace laughed. “If you can’t find them, you could preach it by heart. I could preach it by heart!”

  Had he really preached that same sermon that many times? Thomas supposed he had. “Who’s been handling the pulpit work?”

  “Paul has,” Patricia said, brightening. “And he’s good.”

  Paul smiled and looked down, obviously pleased. But he said, “Now, no I’m not, or we wouldn’t have lost so many people.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “But I’m not trained. Just a well-read retiree. Been a Sunday school teacher, superintendent, that kind of thing, for years. But the people are ready for a real preacher. If you’re up to it, Pastor Carey.”

  It sounded so good to be called that again. Things had been so bad in Foley for so long that the people had quit calling Thomas “Pastor.” They had gone to “Reverend” and then finally to just “Thomas.” Now he felt emotion welling as he recalled that Grace often referred to him as “Pastor” in front of others.

  “I’ll consider it an honor to address the flock tomorrow. And then I suppose I’d better start making the rounds of the other congregations and formulating some sort of a plan of attack.”

  “Well, they aren’t really congregations per se, Pastor. Barely hanging on as I understand it. You know what you ought to do? Start a little committee to oversee the rest, make them satellite churches or sister churches, something like that. Strength in numbers, you know? I’d be happy to head that up for you.”

  “And I’d be happy to serve on that committee too,” Patricia said.

  9 p.m. | The Darby Trailer

  Brady knew enough to hide his pilfered cigarette pack in the inside pocket of his jacket, which hung in his tiny closet. It didn’t help.

  As he sat there smoking, his mother said, “You better be buyin’ your own.”

  “I wish,” he said. “Beer store’s still carding, you know. I been making do with your leftover butts.”

  She rummaged in the cabinet above the sink. “I thought I had six packs left.”

  “You keep track now?”

  “With a thief like you in the house, ’course I do—hey! I had another whole carton! Brady!”

  “What? Don’t look at me! Like I’d steal a whole carton from you! That’d be a little obvious, wouldn’t it?”

  “It is obvious! Now where is it?”

  “I swear, Ma, I know nothing about it.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “Okay, I’m a liar. I stole ’em and sold ’em to Petey
and his friends.”

  “I’m sick of you being smart with me, Brady. I ought to—”

  “What’re you gonna do, smack me? I wish you would.”

  “Just tell me where my other carton is.”

  “I told you—”

  “Yeah, you even swore, like that’s gonna make me believe you. Now come on, those aren’t cheap.”

  “I didn’t take ’em, Ma. But I will tell you this: I forgot to lock up before we left this morning, so . . .”

  “So someone came in and stole my cigarettes and nothing else? And they didn’t take them all, just one carton? What do you take me for?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Oldenburg

  While Grace stayed with Patricia Pierce and settled into one of their guest rooms, Thomas rode with Paul to the Oldenburg Rural Chapel a couple of miles away.

  “I’m embarrassed by how it looks,” Paul said. “But with so few people, we just don’t have the funds to keep it up. Truth is, most of what is done I’ve had to pay for. The others haven’t been blessed like Patricia and me, but on the other hand, I can’t finance everything. Wouldn’t be right. And wouldn’t teach these people how to do for themselves.”

  A teenage boy was mowing the grass in front of a plain, redbrick building with a Norman Rockwell steeple. In the sanctuary, several women were dusting and vacuuming, and they looked embarrassed to have to greet the new pastor in their work clothes.

  Thomas was impressed by the sanctuary; he’d never seen anything like it. Old burgundy drapes and a wood-stained cross provided the only contrast to white pews, white walls, white doors, white trim, white ceiling, white platform furniture—including the pulpit—even white light fixtures.

  “It’s really quite beautiful,” Thomas said. “I can’t wait till Grace sees it. Clearly someone designed it this way on purpose.”

  Paul grimaced and nodded toward the pastor’s study, and Thomas followed him in. “You can camp out here any time you want, even if you’re planning messages for the other churches.”

  Thomas assumed he would preach the same sermon several times each week but didn’t feel obligated to explain that.

  Paul pointed to a side chair and then sat behind the desk himself. “You want the truth about that sanctuary? That was my doing.”

  “You’re an interior decorator too? Well, it sure is—”

  Paul held up a hand. “Fact is, redoing that space was the cause of our second-to-last split. There was so much bickering over colors and schemes that I just put my foot down, said I wasn’t going to give another dime if people couldn’t grow up. We picked the color of the drapes out of an offering plate, had a contest—won by the women’s missionary society—to see who got to pick the color of the cross, and made the rest of it white.”

  “You don’t say. Who would have guessed it would have turned out so—”

  “Well, I like it too, but it dredges up bad memories. We lost more’n a hundred people that time. Tell you the truth, most of them said it wasn’t how the sanctuary turned out that bothered them. It was how much power they thought I had.”

  Thomas nodded. “That is often an issue with people.”

  “Lost the pastor, too, though I was in favor of that. The new guy wasn’t much better and didn’t last long, and we’ve been without ever since. You’re going to be a breath of fresh air.”

  “I’ll trust the Lord to help me do my best.”

  “You do that, and I’ll be behind you a thousand percent. I’m going to suggest that each of the five churches contribute exactly one-fifth of your support. Executive Director Johnson says the denomination will throw in a little for expenses. Um, you look dubious, Reverend.”

  “Oh, I generally prefer to stay out of such things, Paul. But I’ve never been ‘shared’ like this before, so I’m in new territory. I just wonder if the smaller bodies will feel it’s fair.”

  “Well, you tell me, Pastor Tom. Do you plan to give us more time, more of your week, more of your work?”

  Thomas hadn’t been called Tom for thirty years. “No, actually Grace and I feel it would be best if I really tried to give each body the equivalent of a full day a week, then have one study day, and one off day.”

  Paul stood and moved to the window, his back to Thomas. “You know, that actually sounds like a fine plan. ’Course, you know what it does, though, don’t you? It supports my idea that everybody pays equally.”

  Thomas wasn’t so sure, but it was certainly too early to start rocking the boat.

  Paul turned to face him. “Now, what did you think of Patricia’s idea of an oversight committee consisting of us two couples?”

  Patricia’s idea? And just the two couples?

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Frankly, Paul, I’d wait on that. Let me meet the leaders from each body and—”

  “Fair enough. Put it on the back burner for now. But at least let me take you to each church and introduce you.”

  “I guess that would be okay, as long as they know I come under the auspices of the denomination and that they aren’t, you know, under the authority of this church.”

  Paul headed for the door, and Thomas rose. Paul threw an arm around him and pulled him close. “That’s some good thinking, Tom. We’re going to work well together, you and me.”

  That evening the two couples enjoyed dinner; then Paul insisted they watch baseball on television. Neither Thomas nor Grace—certainly not Grace—followed baseball, and Thomas was antsy to get a little time alone before Sunday morning.

  When the hour grew late, he finally begged off, though it was clear this befuddled the Pierces. “You know the game is tied and will likely go into extra innings.”

  “Yes, I’ll be eager to hear in the morning how it ended.”

  6

  Monday | Backstage, Little Theater | Forest View High School

  Brady had seen Clancy Nabertowitz only from a distance. He was thick and seemed robust for a short man, sporting a full shock of curly hair and a loud bow tie.

  “Auditions begin in twenty minutes, young man. I can give you exactly half of that.”

  They sat in dim light on either side of a folding table amid the ropes and pulleys. Brady explained that Coach Roberts had suggested he look into drama.

  “Well, he ought to know,” Mr. Nabertowitz chirped. “Have you ever seen anyone so animated on the sidelines? I’d love to see what he could do onstage. But regardless, why you? Wait, don’t tell me. Omigosh, I hope you can act. We’ll find out soon, won’t we?”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “Of course we will. Unless you’re just wasting my time. You’re here to audition, right?”

  “I didn’t even know today was—”

  “Well, you’re here. Listen, you have to know I don’t get—don’t take this wrong—‘your kind’ here often. Ever, actually. Is it a look, just for today? You trying out for the role of Conrad Birdie, or—?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t know. But I’d rather try drama than football, so . . .”

  “Experience?”

  “You mean in drama?”

  “What else? You’re, what, a senior?”

  “Junior.”

  “You look so old, and you have that ethnic thing happening, almost Italian. Are you Italian?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Dark skin. Fast beard growth, am I right?”

  Brady nodded.

  Nabertowitz seemed to study him. His delivery slowed. “You know what I’d do with you? I’d lose the ’burns, and you could play much older. You could be the dad. I mean, you look like Birdie, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got the guy for that. Unless you have experience. What did you say about experience?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “But you love drama. Live theater.”

  “Well, I love movies, and I mean love ’em.”

  Nabertowitz looked crestfallen. “So, like, what, Terminator 2, Naked Gun?”

  “Nah. I’m goin’ down the li
st of the best hundred ever and trying to see them all. My favorites? Of all time? The Verdict and, um, Deer Hunter.”

  The drama teacher nodded and smiled with his mouth closed, then slapped both palms on the table and roared. “I get it! This is priceless! It’s a gag, right? Someone put you up to this! Who was it?”

  Brady shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “C’mon! You come in here looking all retro—and, pardon me, but like a burnout—yet your two favorite movies just happen to be mine, too, and you expect me to believe . . . ?”

  “You pulling my chain?” Brady said.

  “No! You’re pulling mine! I love it! Okay, quiz time. Tell me your favorite picture this year.”

  “I’d have to think about it.”

  “Of course you would. Until you remember what someone told you mine was. Come on, there’s lots to choose from. Crystal and Martin have comedies out. Costner as a really bad Robin Hood. The Jodie Foster–Anthony Hopkins vehicle that’ll probably win it all.”

  “Fried Green Tomatoes actually.”

  Nabertowitz leaped from his chair. “I love it! You’re good! Now who?”

  “Who?”

  “Who set me up? This is priceless.”

  “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you or anybody who knows you, and I feel like you’re laughing at me.”

  “What’re you, serious?” Nabertowitz said, sitting back down.

  “Dog-dyin’ serious.”

  “I like that line. Now, are you swearing on a stack of Bibles no one told you that the three pictures you just mentioned include two of my all-time favorites and my favorite from this year?”

  “How many times do I have to say it?”

  The teacher finally fell silent and just stared. “All right,” he said at last, “pop quiz. Tell me what you liked best about each of those pictures.”

  Brady leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Can’t pick just one thing about Deer Hunter. The acting was dead-on. The torture scenes were like you were right there. Everybody was good. Streep was fantastic. But, okay, favorite? Christopher Walken when he was, you know, shell-shocked.”