Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Somehow Brady had begun on pitch, and now that he was into it, he just let loose. Air-picking the gleaming blue Stratocaster, he could see the spotlight dancing off his suit, gold lamé from head to toe.

  During a piano interlude, Brady danced all over the stage to the squeals and cheers of the crowd, and the light followed him. No one was going to believe this hadn’t been choreographed and rehearsed. How could he ever thank the piano girl and the lighting guys?

  When he finished, Brady took a sweeping bow and ran from the stage, holding up his pants with his free hand.

  “Get back out here, Brady Darby!” Mr. Nabertowitz squealed. “Encore! Encore!”

  Brady stopped, panting.

  “Go back,” someone said. “Curtain call.”

  Hands from everywhere pushed him back out. He visored his eyes with his hand but couldn’t see Mr. N. in the darkness.

  “Kill the spot!” the teacher said, and the houselights came up. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Conrad Birdie!”

  More cheering and clapping, but it was not lost on Brady that Alex North rose and stormed out.

  Well, Alex was Nabertowitz’s problem. For now, Brady was Christmas-morning happy. He imagined himself on the cover of the program, but he also knew there would be a lot of hard work between now and opening night.

  By the time he got back to the music room, Nabertowitz was there. “You are something special, my young friend!” he said. “You can sing. I hope you have a little range in your dancing, but we can work on that.”

  “You gonna have trouble with North?”

  “Of course.” The teacher leaned close. “Between you and me, I’m worried more about Mom and Dad, but I can handle it. You just worry about learning your part.”

  Brady carefully reboxed the guitar, and this time he kept it with him when he returned to the bathroom. But his clothes were not hanging in the stall. Had he forgotten which one he’d changed in? As he moved from door to door, he noticed two sinks were full of water.

  One also held his shirt.

  The other his pants.

  10

  Thursday | Oldenburg Rural Chapel

  Paul Pierce was away for more meetings with his sons, so Thomas Carey felt productive all morning, talking by phone with contacts at each of the other four churches in his circuit, getting a little studying and sermon preparation done, and even somewhat organizing the modest office. At the back of his mind was Grace, who had again been slow to rise and exhibited a strange bruise on one wrist. She attributed it to the heavy work around the house but couldn’t remember a specific injury.

  The puzzle of Ravinia was always with him. What had he and Grace done wrong? How had they failed her? How would God bring her back? Thomas had always believed and taught that God wooed unbelievers but chastised His own when they strayed. He dreaded that for his daughter.

  And then there was also the coming confrontation with Paul.

  Thomas hated the word confrontation almost as much as he hated the activity itself. He imagined himself straightforward and firm when he knew he was right, but the truth was, Grace was better at these things. She was slow to anger and usually diplomatic, but she was not afraid to speak her mind when she felt it important. Thomas had good intentions, but he always seemed to think of a better way to have said something long after it might have been effective.

  There was no getting around it though. If he didn’t start standing up to Paul, his life would quickly become miserable. Such long-term grief would be much worse than the sharp pain of a brief encounter where he stood his ground. Thomas jotted a few notes on what he wanted to say and how to say it. Paul was expected at 2 p.m.

  Forest View High School

  Brady Darby felt like a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s court. He had never read the Mark Twain novel, assigned in English the year before, but the title had amused him, and the class discussion had given him an idea what it was about. Now he could really identify. In a matter of forty-eight brief hours, he had become the talk of the drama department.

  He still looked the same, smelled the same, dressed the same. But suddenly he was no longer invisible to the larger culture. Usually, except for the occasional peek or sneer, aside from the negative attention on the bus every morning, normal kids looked right through his type—if they looked at all. Of course they were afraid of him, and that suited Brady fine. He scowled and snapped and blustered enough to keep them at bay.

  But now it seemed a lot more kids knew his name. He was no longer able to trudge through the halls with his eyes cast down, because everywhere he went someone was sure to call out, “Hey, Brady! Go, dude! Birdie, man! Way to go!”

  Brady was fully aware of glances from girls who used to turn up their noses at him. This he didn’t get. Were they really interested or just curious? Had he had become a novelty, some sort of a mascot? Brady wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

  Most bizarre was that Agatha had stepped in front of him while boarding the bus that morning and forced her big body down the narrow aisle to where a young girl sat alone. “You,” Agatha said, pointing, “move back there. Brady and me are sittin’ here.” And the girl had moved.

  Brady found himself strangely grateful to have enough room to sit, though Agatha took most of the bench. But he also felt conspicuous. He had long since lost any interest in her—which had been private and solely carnal anyway. She leaned against him and whispered, “You gotta tell me if it’s true you wore the gold suit home on the activities bus.”

  “So what?”

  “Why didn’t you change?”

  “None ya.”

  “Say what?”

  “None ya business.”

  She turned and stared out the window. Finally she turned back. “Whatever became of us, Brady?”

  “There was never any us,” he said.

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Then I fooled you, Agatha.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Grow up.”

  Just after lunch Brady was summoned to Clancy Nabertowitz’s office and enjoyed the stares as he headed that way.

  “You seem really into this,” the teacher said.

  “I am. Still learning, but it’s fun.”

  “Where are your books, Brady?”

  “My books?”

  “Your textbooks.”

  “Oh, uh, in my locker.”

  “I saw you come in this morning empty-handed.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t have homework, so I left ’em here.”

  “You need to know, son, that your landing this role has become noisy. Everybody seems excited about it.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re already selling tickets six weeks before we open, and we’re going to be sold out. I’m talking with the principal about doubling our performances over two weekends.”

  “No kidding? Cool.”

  “Well, it won’t be cool if my Birdie disqualifies himself. You think I don’t know that you didn’t quit football? that your grades were as bad as your athletic ability? Don’t say anything; just listen. I’ve known you a few days, and I recognize unusual talent when I see it. But if you’re not careful, you’re going to screw up a wonderful opportunity. You have the potential to make something of yourself. Already I see you mouthing other characters’ lines, like you’re memorizing the entire musical.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Do you know how rare that is?”

  Brady shook his head. “Seems important to me. Makes everything easier.”

  “Well, of course it does, but not even many pros have the energy and the interest to do that—though they should. I see you really giving yourself to this, and I’m convinced this could be the best production we’ve ever had here.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow nothing. You had better swear to me you won’t become academically ineligible. I mean, Alex can play Birdie in a pinch, but I don’t know if anyone else can play Albert. You let me down, this goes from somethi
ng really special to one big mess.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah, I do. I’ll get after my grades.”

  “It won’t be easy with rehearsal every night. And you have a job?”

  “Just an hour every night.”

  “Just an hour. When will you study?”

  “Study hall.”

  “That never works.”

  “It’ll have to.”

  “Yes, it will. Now are you promising me?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Nabertowitz leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re not overwhelming me with confidence.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “I want to hear that you recognize what an incredible opportunity this is, that it means as much to you as it does to me. You think I do high school drama because I wouldn’t rather be on Broadway? Like most everyone, I had to finally admit my limitations. Now nothing thrills me more than to discover talent and get kids on their way to at least a fun avocation.”

  The teacher shook his head and leaned toward Brady, whispering, “I’ll deny I ever said this, but you’re better than my star pupil. Alex is going places, and he’ll have some fun. But he’s limited by his frame, his voice. His type is a dime a dozen. But a big Travolta type like you? The sky’s the limit, Brady. And don’t be tempted to think then that education isn’t important. You and I both know that if you drop out of school, you’ll never really pursue this. I don’t expect you to be a scholar, but please, please, for me but mostly for you, do what you have to to stay eligible.”

  Brady didn’t know what to say. He just nodded.

  “And I need a favor,” Mr. Nabertowitz said. “Alex’s parents are coming this afternoon to ‘talk,’ and I want them to meet you. I frankly think that if they can put a face to the name, it’ll be harder for them to demonize you, know what I mean?”

  “Not really, but I’ll meet them, sure.”

  “Be on your best behavior. Watch your temper. Maybe you could even say something nice about Alex.”

  “Like what? The kid’s an—”

  “Come, come. Surely you can tell he’s got talent. You don’t have to say anything about his personality or character. You want to be an actor? Muster something.”

  “Whatever. Doesn’t it kill him that Mommy and Daddy are coming to fight for him?”

  “Oh, it’s not being represented that way at all. They’re just coming to watch rehearsal. They want to talk to me after, of course, and only an imbecile would wonder why, but let’s play along.”

  “They can’t talk you into him replacing me, can they?”

  “Oh, heavens no! Don’t worry about that.”

  Oldenburg

  Thomas took a call from Grace and worried that she still sounded weary. “You doing okay?” he said.

  “I’m fine, hon. Just wanted you to know I would be praying during your meeting.”

  “And have you talked with Rav?”

  “I can’t yet, Thomas. There’s nothing I could say that she doesn’t already know. We’ll have to talk with her together, let her know we still love her, love her unconditionally. We do, don’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  At five minutes before two, Paul Pierce burst in without knocking. “Well, look who’s working!” he said, smiling and reaching across the desk to shake hands. “Tom, Tom, the preacher man!”

  “Good afternoon, Paul.”

  “Come take a walk with me, Tom. Stuffy in here.”

  “Well, there are matters we need to discuss.”

  “I know that. That’s why I’m here! C’mon.”

  Thomas followed him out and they strolled the property. “I thought we should talk about the supervision of the other church bodies,” Thomas said.

  “All in good time. I’ve got a couple of sheets I want to show you about how I plan to supervise ’em, and I’ve got a plan for a—what do you call it?—installation service for you.”

  “For me?”

  “And for Grace. Get all the churches to come here, since we’ve got a big enough building to hold ’em, and we’ll do up a nice deal—music, tributes, eats. What do you think?”

  “Oh, well, Paul, I’m not sure that’s necessary. This work is not about—”

  “Now just let us do it, Tom. Give honor where honor is due and all that. Patricia and I will handle everything. You and your bride just show up, okay?”

  “I’ll talk to Grace about—”

  “Just be a man, Tom, and tell her when it is. She’ll love it, believe me. We’ll do it next Sunday night.”

  “I suppose that would be fine, and I appreciate it, Paul, but—”

  “And you don’t have to even prepare a message. I mean, say a few words, sure, but don’t go to any trouble. In fact, if I can be frank with you, Tom, we need to talk a little about your preaching.”

  Thomas wished he’d brought a jacket. The fall breeze was as irrepressible as Paul. “My preaching?”

  “If you can call it that.” Paul laughed a little too loudly. “I’m joshin’ ya, Tom, but seriously. I know I’ve only heard you the two times, and both times it was the same sermon. But I specifically instructed you to shorten it some for the folks at Colfax, and if I’m not mistaken, it was almost word for word what you did here.”

  Instructed? “Oh, not word for word, but—”

  “But you said yourself it was an old chestnut you’ve delivered lots of times. I got to tell you, Tom, it has a little age on it. You refer to lots of commentary writers, when people want to hear your own thoughts.”

  “Well, that’s how most preachers form their thoughts, Paul. We read, we study, we compare passages, we compare and contrast commentators and decide which we agree with, then share that with—”

  “I’m just sayin’, okay? Work at being original and tighten up your delivery. We don’t want people’s eyes glazing over, now do we?”

  “I know I’m no great orator, Paul. . . .”

  “Now there’s an understatement! Ha! I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it, Tom. It’ll work out as you settle in and get to know us.”

  Thomas stopped and rubbed his eyes. “Paul, we really need to talk about the oversight of the other congregations.”

  “I know we do. Come on in and I’ll show you my plans.”

  Forest View High School

  Just before rehearsal that afternoon, Alex North finally locked eyes with Brady. “Don’t worry,” Alex said, “I’ll be ready when you crash and burn.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that besides playing the lead, I’m understudying for you. Mr. N. says you’re flunking out of the play, so I’ll be ready. Who knows? I may have to play both parts.”

  Flunking out? Nabertowitz actually told him that?

  “What’re you, nuts? Most of your scenes are with Birdie, you idiot.”

  “I’m just saying I could do both, and it’s unlikely you can do one.”

  “How about we go outside so I can kick—”

  “Gentlemen!” Mr. Nabertowitz said, breezing in. “I’m not even praying for chemistry, but you two are going to have to work together, so . . .”

  Brady approached the director and whispered, “You told him I was flunking out?”

  “I said no such thing, Brady. I merely told him you had some academic issues and that we had to be prepared for any eventuality. Now, I’ll talk to him about what he thinks he heard. You just concentrate on what you need to do. And by the way, his parents are in the front row.”

  11

  Oldenburg Rural Chapel

  Thomas had not expected his discussion with Paul Pierce to go smoothly, but this was absurd. The man was still sitting there, in the pastor’s office, arguing point by point why his plan to supervise the other churches made more sense than Thomas’s doing it himself.

  “I’ll explain myself one more time, Paul, if I must. I’ll be at each location every week. They don’t want to feel l
ike sister churches or daughter churches of this one, and frankly, I’m sensing you have personally alienated some of them.”

  “I have? Me? Tell me one person who’s said that, and I’ll tell you why.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Now, Paul, I’m going to have to ask that you defer to me as your pastor on this. I deeply appreciate all your help, and Grace and I cannot deny that you and Patricia have gone the extra mile in getting us settled in and making us feel welcome. . . .”

  “But you don’t need me anymore.”

  Oh, for the love . . .

  Thomas had run into this type before—perhaps not as stage-mom brash as Paul Pierce, but the kind that resorted to cheap tactics when not getting his way. Paul sat there looking and sounding like a big baby. He had summarized Thomas’s position by exaggerating it to the ridiculous. And he wasn’t finished.

  “If you’d rather Patricia and I just show up for services and sit in the back and don’t even attempt to come alongside and help, fine.”

  Thomas almost fell for the trick, nearly jumping in to reassure Paul that that wasn’t what he wished at all. But fortunately, perhaps because of Grace’s praying, he kept his senses.

  “Here’s what I want, Paul, if you really want to help. I want you to not take this personally—”

  “How can I not?”

  “—and I want you to be willing to agree to disagree but defer to me as your shepherd.”

  “I’ve been here for decades, Tom! I—”

  “And I want you to continue in your leadership role in this church, teaching me the ropes, handling the logistics . . .”

  Forest View High School

  The Norths were hard to miss. Besides looking too young to be the parents of a high school senior, they looked like they belonged on the cover of some fashion magazine. Alex’s dad actually had a cashmere sweater slung over his back, the sleeves tied in front.