Why did his words so cut to my heart? Probably because my uncle rarely asked me for anything, I told myself, and here I was, about to say no. “Well, I don’t know. I have to pack.”
He checked his watch. “You got two hours before the service. That’s plenty a time. Go with us, come back and have some lunch, and then we’ll see you off.”
I studied my cooling tea. “I just can’t, Uncle Frank. I’m really sorry. But I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Forget about seeing anyone else, Jessie. You’d be goin’ to see God. It don’t matter what other people think. But I’ll tell you anyway, they think nothin’ but the best a you. They’re amazed at your courage and that you ran all the way out there to try and stop what was happening.”
My head jerked up. “Is that why they think I ran out there?”
He nodded.
For the first time that morning, I stopped to consider the details: Thomas, the piece of cut screen, the glass lamp. Blair Riddum’s face. The face I saw the night of the fire. Thomas, his hands urgent on my shoulders—Jessie, forget what you saw and listen to me. My self-conscious worries vanished as understanding hit me in the chest, like a block of machinery jolting into place.
“Do the men still—” I stopped abruptly, choosing my words carefully. “Does everybody believe what Thomas told them? About how the fire started?”
Uncle Frank’s eyes held mine. “Yes.”
“Lee? Even Al Bledger? They still….” The question died away.
“I’ll tell you, Jessie.” He lowered his voice. “And you understand this conversation is just between you and me. There’ll never be another soul you can talk to about this except Thomas. That includes your aunt, who now believes that whatever you thought you saw at the fire was merely a mistake. Understand?”
“Okay.” My muscles would not relax.
Uncle Frank leaned his forearms on the table. “All I can say is, in the heat of that outrage, God intervened. The men stopped long enough to hear Thomas’s explanation, and they chose to believe it. Now, with a raise and new management promised, there’s no reason not to continue believing it.”
“That’s right.” My countenance brightened momentarily as I remembered. “I’m looking at the new manager.”
“You are.”
Just as quickly, the expression waned. Frowning, I thought again of Thomas, considered his cunning. “But he lied.”
Uncle Frank inclined his head.
“Well, what does that mean? God wanted him to lie? Doesn’t sound to me like God intervened at all. Thomas Bradley did.”
“No, Jessie. What Thomas chose to do, I’ll leave between him and God. But I do know this. God can use anything for his purpose, even a lie. And that’s what he did two nights ago. I knew without a doubt when Lee was at our door that I was to go with him and cover the gatherin’ a those men in prayer. By the time we got to Riddum’s, I cain’t tell ya how scared I was. Bein’ in the midst a that rage, I could feel the spirit of destruction all around me. But I kept prayin’ aloud in Jesus’ name. And I had a sense that I was not alone. That around town, others were prayin’ too.”
How awful for Uncle Frank. I could only imagine how frightening it must have been to pray in the middle of all that rage. I’d been scared enough, guarded by a policeman and watching from a safe distance. Yet my uncle had displayed such serenity, while I’d fallen apart. Inexplicably, then, the words of Pastor Frasier from years ago sprang into my head. When the fryin’ pan meets the flame, these things alone won’t sustain you….
I toyed with the handle of my cup. The tea was now too cold to drink. “Well, that’s … good. Very good. I’m glad everything worked out.”
Uncle Frank sensed my distancing from the conversation and leaned back in his chair, a sigh escaping him. “Are you going to come to church?” He was almost pleading. A pang shot through me, seeing his concern.
“I’ll think about it, okay? There’s still plenty of time. I’ll go pack my things now.”
“Okay.” With a sad little smile, he pushed back his chair. “Your aunt should be gettin’ up soon. She’ll want to box up some dishes and pans she’s decided to give you.” He slid his chair back under the table with utmost care and turned away. I watched the sag of his shoulders as he scuffed out of the kitchen on slippered feet.
By 10:40 I was ready to go. My bedding, some clothes, and toiletries were in my car. I’d phoned the apartment manager and told him to expect me by late afternoon. The man must have thought me crazy, with all my changes of plans.
All languor long gone, I was intent upon leaving quickly, as if my life depended on it. And in a way, it did. So much awaited me—the fruition of my plans. And that barest whisper of doubt that had lingered after my conversation with Uncle Frank was unsettling. Church was at 11:00; my aunt and uncle would be leaving in five minutes. I’d told them I wouldn’t be going with them. Uncle Frank had reacted quietly—”I’m just gonna keep on prayin’ that your wheels’ll lead ya there.” Aunt Eva had dissolved into tears. She was now in the kitchen, packing a few last items and sniffing. “Lord help me, what a summer,” she muttered. “People carryin’ on and people leavin’. Can’t even go to church.” She banged a skillet into the box none too carefully. Any moment she could burst into fresh sobs.
Given my aunt’s mood, I decided it would be better to let them drive away instead of me. At quarter till 11:00, I walked them out to the driveway, Aunt Eva theatrically clutching a tissue.
“Take care a yourself, now, you hear?” Uncle Frank hugged me hard. “Call us when you get in tonight. And, Jessie,” he pulled away, holding me by the shoulders, “I know you’re gonna be mighty busy with all your work and volunteerin’. But when ya get some time, pull out that Bible I gave you and read some more. We can discuss it at Thanksgivin’. Okay?”
My throat tightening, I nodded. All of a sudden, Thanksgiving seemed a very long time away. “I will. I promise.”
Aunt Eva clung to me, tissue at her nose. Then they climbed into the Buick and started the slow backing out of the driveway, my aunt waving fiercely. Just before they hit the street, Uncle Frank leaned out his window. “Church starts in fifteen minutes!”
That brought a tiny smile to my face. They’d never give up.
I watched them drive down the street, Aunt Eva turned in her seat, still waving. Not until their car disappeared from sight did I heave a sigh of relief. I’d had enough good-byes.
I returned to the bedroom to fetch my keys and purse. The house was so quiet. I stood in the room that had been mine for eight years, gazing around the blank walls, trying to picture what it would look like after my furniture was gone. I wondered what they’d do to fill it. It occurred to me that Aunt Eva would have to find at least a single bed for me to use when I visited. “See you in two days,” I whispered, running a finger across the headboard of my mother’s old bed. “In our new home.”
Home.
I was really doing it. I was really going back to Cincinnati today. Images of Hope Center spilled into my mind, and I felt a deep thrust of pain for my mother. I wondered if I’d somehow feel closer to her there—seeing Brenda Todd, the gymnasium in which the funeral was held, the kitchen in which I’d so often cooked at her side. Unexpected tears sprang to my eyes, and I sank down on the bed. Whew. My emotions were certainly close to the surface. I sat for a few moments with eyes closed, imagining for the thousandth time my apartment, painted and full. My desk and work, files across it, meeting with families, helping them through crises. Reading to children at the Center. A quiet excitement fell over my shoulders as the pictures paraded before me. The promise of Cincinnati pulled at me while Bradleyville and all its problems began to fade.
I rose from the bed, smiling to myself, keys in hand. It was time to go.
As I reached for my purse, the doorbell rang. My hand stopped, midair. Oh, good grief, I thought, now what?
“Jessie?” Lee’s voice filtered through the screen door. “I know you’re still there.”
I sucked in air. Slowly, I dropped my car keys on the bed. Steeling myself, I walked down the hall, rounded the corner, and saw him stepping inside the house, dressed for church in gray suit and tie, his coat off in the heat. I stopped and picked my heart up off the floor, lifting my hands in a question.
“Your aunt called.”
Of course she had.
He tried to smile. “You look so good.”
I glanced down my body. Jean shorts and a T-shirt. My eyes closed in remorse. “I’m sorry. I should have called you myself.”
He closed the distance between us, tipping my chin up with warm fingers. “Jessie, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
I couldn’t take many more of these conversations. “Yes, I do.”
“What do you want? Me on my knees? I promised myself I wouldn’t beg, but I know I’m runnin’ outta time. So here goes. Stay here, Jessie. You love this town; this town loves you. Your family’s here. Most of all, I’m here.”
“My apartment is in Cincinnati, and my job, and the Center.”
My voice caught. “It’s where I’m supposed to be; it’s my plan for my life, remember?”
“Yes, I do. But that’s the problem. It’s your plan.”
I shook my head, uncomprehending.
“Jessie, listen to me,” he pleaded. “Give me five minutes. So much has happened since Friday night; so much has changed.”
Absently, he brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “Saturday, I was holdin’ Connie’s little girl at the hospital, and Mama was there. And then everything really hit me. I coulda been in jail, never gettin’ to hold that baby. Here was life, innocent new life in my hands, the same hands that were ready to kill a man the night before. Somethin’ came over me, and I thought I was gonna crumble apart, right in that hospital room. Soon as we got to Mama’s room at Miss Elsa’s, I fell to my knees. Everything just flooded out of me, all the pain, the anger, all the fear a what I’d almost become. And what I could become again. Mama led me in a prayer, and I finally did what I’d been thinkin’ ‘bout for a long time. I turned my life over to Christ. Jessie, you can’t imagine the peace that gave me. I feel … different. I am different.”
Somehow, he was. There was a gentleness about him, a calm that I’d never sensed before. “That’s … good, Lee. I’m happy for you. Really, I am.” I swallowed. “But it doesn’t change anything for me. You have your life here, and maybe now it’ll be a little more peaceful. But my life is … somewhere else.”
“No, Jessie, it’s not. I don’t believe that because I know you’re sayin’ no to Christ. Instead, you’re barrelin’ down a road that some … dream put you on.”
My muscles tensed. “It was not just ‘some dream.’” Pushing his arms from me, I backed away. “And I’m really tired of people trying to tell me what to do. So just stop it. You and everyone else. The whole thing’s ridiculous! I’ve graduated from college. I’m going off to a job. It happens all the time, Lee. People grow up and move away. Why is this so hard for you to understand? Why are you so stubborn?”
He almost laughed. “Me, stubborn? You’re one of the most stubborn people I ever met! You think your Aunt Eva sets herself in one narrow mind, or my mama, or Al Bledger, or even Blair Riddum. Look at yourself! Oh, sure, you’re much quieter ‘bout it. But you’re like a bulldog, the way you won’t let go.” He spread his hands. “Has nothin’ that’s happened sunk into your head, Jessie? Cain’t you see the real you, after you lit into Al Bledger like you did?”
My cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was hardly ‘the real me,’ and you know it. As if you have room to point fingers. If you have nothing more intelligent than that to say, Lee Harding, I think it’s time you went on to church and let me be.”
He flinched as I flung the barbed words at him. I expected his brow to darken, his anger to rise, but neither happened. For a moment we faced off in silence, breathing deeply in the hot August air. Then his expression crumbled to sadness. He reached out a finger and grazed my cheek. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Jessie. I only wondered if maybe you saw things in yourself—old hurts and weaknesses—that you didn’t realize were there. Because I sure saw those things in myself.”
I couldn’t reply.
“Jessie, please. I love you. I want you to stay. And I just … want you to find what I’ve found.”
His tenderness broke through my anger. A lump began to form in my throat. “I love you too.”
“Then why do you have to go?”
“I told you why. I’ve been planning this for years; you know that. Planning to get back to my home.”
“This is your home.”
Tears filled my eyes. “No, it isn’t. It is not. Just because everybody wants it to be doesn’t make it so. Why does everybody think they know what’s best for me, what I should do with my life?”
“Forgive me,” Lee said, dripping hurt, “for thinking what’s best for you is to be with the person who loves you. Who wants to take care a you. Who’s willing, before God, to pledge you his life.”
The tears flowed then. He wrapped his arms around me, his chin on my head. I couldn’t speak. I was crying for him, crying to my guardian angel mother, begging for her to help me. Ten minutes ago I’d been happy to leave; now again I was in misery. Why did it have to be so hard? If I was doing the right thing, where was the strength from her to help me through it? Where was the strength from God? All of heaven must surely have turned its back on me. Yet, even in Lee’s arms, I told myself it could not be so, that my hurt over him would pass once again as soon as I was on the road, headed toward my new life. God was simply testing me, that was all. He wanted to make sure I’d follow through, no matter what. I imagined my mother on the sidelines, praying for me to understand this, her wings shimmering as she awaited my response.
“I have to go now,” I said softly, pulling away. “And you do too. Church will be starting.”
“Come with me. Then you can leave.”
Irritation twinged up my spine. Why on earth was this church service so all-fired important? Seemed to me it was just one final ruse to get me to stay, as if hearing one more sermon would change my life. A part of me almost wanted to go with Lee and then drive defiantly out of Bradleyville as planned, just to shows folks I knew my own mind.
“No, Lee, I can’t.” My voice was firm. “I have a six-hour drive ahead of me, and I need to get going.”
Deep disappointment closed his eyes. Finally, he nodded, accepting it, but with an iron weight on his shoulders. When he gathered the momentum to leave, it was with a parting shot over his shoulder. “I won’t give up on you. You’ll have to deal with me all over again at Thanksgiving.”
Plans or not, at that moment, I longed for it to be true.
chapter 49
How I came to be in the church service happened so simply that, even looking back on it, the sequence is hard to fathom. I remember driving down our street, turning right on Main, headed toward Route 622. The same dark, desperate route I’d run two nights ago. The streets again were empty. I glided through the first light and passed the post office on my right. Then I heard the singing through my open windows, even from two blocks away. Without thinking, I slowed to listen. “Amazing Grace.” It had been one of my favorite hymns since coming to Bradleyville. Something about the tune on that particular muggy August morning tugged at my heart. Before I even realized it, I’d turned left.
I rolled past the gymnasium, wondering what I was doing. The parking lot was full. Cars lined both sides of the street.
I found an empty spot one block down.
The hymn was over by the time I slipped through the open double doors. The gymnasium was standing-room-only, and I did my best to blend in with the knots of folks without seats near the back. I exchanged nods with Mr. Tull and the Clangerlees, feeling self-conscious. Pastor Frasier announced another hymn. “To God Be the Glory.” As the voices rose, an unearthly, joyous calm seemed
to drift down from the ceiling. My eyes roved the beams overhead as I tried to place its source. Such a different aura from the last time the town had gathered—was it just four nights ago?
I spotted Lee and Miss Wilma near the front, next to my aunt and uncle. They must have saved Lee’s seat for him. Briefly, I wondered if they’d saved one for me. Further down the row stood the Matthews, little Celia’s blond head bent over her baby brother’s. Thomas had a hand on her shoulder.
The hymn over, everyone sat with a squeaking of chairs and rustle of clothes. Faces tipped toward the stage expectantly as Pastor Frasier and Evan Burle, the Baptist minister, asked Martha Plott up the steps to speak. Curious whispers undulated through the crowd. No one seemed to have expected this invitation. Miss Martha’s grandniece helped the old woman up the steps, both hands firmly under her arm. Once on stage, Miss Martha accepted Evan Burle’s help to the podium. Pastor Frasier had to lower the mike all the way to reach the frail, white-haired woman. He and Pastor Burle then sat in chairs toward the back of the stage. Awkwardly, Miss Martha rested a thin veined hand on the wooden podium, a tissue clutched in her fingers.
“Ain’t used to speakin’ before such a grand assembly,” she began, reacting at the reverberation of her own voice. “But I got somethin’ real special to tell ya. First though, I’d like to pray for us all.”
Not in all my life had I heard a prayer like what Martha Plott prayed that day. In her aged, tremulous voice she prayed for the mercy of Jehovah—the ever-gracious God of the straying Old Testament Israelites. She prayed for the gentle wind of God, like the breeze that passed before the prophet Elijah, to fill that gymnasium. She asked in Jesus’ name that the forces of evil be held back and that the Holy Spirit would pour forth upon the congregation. She prayed that those who heard that small voice deep within them, calling them to the truth, would respond. And she prayed for the Great Physician’s touch on Jake Lewellyn, who could not be present.
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