Thursday morning he stopped by the post office to say hello on his way back from Mrs. Perry’s millinery shop, where Mrs. Kirby had sent him to retrieve a stack of mending. He confided, “I told Mrs. Kirby I’d work the churn for her if she wanted to run the errand, but she wouldn’t let me. I think she wanted me to go to Mrs. Perry’s so she wouldn’t be caught chatting for half an hour. Mrs. Perry likes to talk.” Then he shrugged. “She’s probably lonely. I don’t mind listening.” In their correspondence he replied to her question about what he viewed as important traits of a minister with “listening is imperative.” It pleased her to see him put those words into action.
The stagecoach arrived Friday afternoon as usual, and Grace busied herself filling the cubbies with the week’s mail. She hummed while she worked, her heart light, and midtask she realized someone with a deep, off-pitch voice was humming with her. She turned to find Rufus on the opposite side of the counter, grinning sheepishly. She couldn’t stifle a laugh. He’d declared in one of his letters that he had a voice like a rusty wagon wheel and could only make joyful noises. She refuted his claim by calling him overly modest. But after hearing his dismal attempt to follow a tune, she was glad Uncle Philemon had volunteered to continue leading the hymn singing at church. Rufus, despite his pleasant appearance, would surely chase people away with his “joyful noises.”
Saturday, to repay Uncle Philemon for readying her garden plot, Mrs. Kirby invited both Grace and her uncle to join her for dessert. She, Uncle Philemon, Mrs. Kirby, and Rufus spent a pleasant hour on the front porch, eating dried-apple pie and sipping rich coffee, taking in the scented air, and visiting. Truthfully, Mrs. Kirby and Uncle Philemon did most of the talking. Grace and Rufus listened and occasionally laughed or nodded in response to something the older people said. They were too busy sneaking glances at each other across the oval wicker table to participate in conversation.
Having Rufus’s brown-eyed gaze meet hers while a slight smile curved his lips was sweeter than anything she’d known. They didn’t need to talk. Being in his presence was enough. “You’ll know,” Mrs. Kirby had said, and the longer Grace sat with Rufus’s tender gaze pinned on her, the more certain she became. The girlish infatuation that began with written correspondence was blooming into something deeper, more real, more solid. And she sensed Rufus felt the same way.
“Have you chosen your Scripture passage for tomorrow’s sermon, Reverend Dille?”
Rufus turned his head so quickly Grace heard his neck pop. He grimaced, and she hoped the regretful expression meant he, too, was frustrated by the interruption of their silent communication.
He set the empty pie plate on the little table and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yes, sir. I’m gonna read some of chapter nine from Acts. The first part, about how the Lord came upon Saul on the road to Damascus an’ Saul became a new person.”
“A fascinating transformation.” Uncle Philemon took a sip from his cup, then held the fragile porcelain between his palms. “I’ve always imagined how uncertain the people who knew about his past must have been when he charged into the synagogues, proclaiming Christ as the Son of God. Did they believe him, or did they see his words as a ruse to blind them as effectively as the Light on the road had blinded Saul so he could capture them and have them put to death?”
Rufus nodded slowly. Dusk had fallen, and shadows crept across the porch and deepened the lines formed by his thoughtful frown. “I reckon it was pretty hard for them to believe he’d really changed.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was.” Uncle Philemon began gently rocking. “In my years of ministry, I’ve found it’s much easier for the person who’s been transformed to cast off his past than it is for those who know him to see him as changed and new.”
“How come?”
Sometimes a simple question like “how come?” was confrontational—a demand to know. Other times it sounded accusatory, as if the asker needed to confirm the other person’s motives. But Rufus’s tone, his expression, his hands linked in a prayerful position led her to believe he sought understanding. Her heart rolled over at his sincerity, and she found herself sending up a silent plea that Uncle Philemon would have an answer that would satisfy Rufus’s seeking.
“I can’t speak for everyone, but I believe for many it’s a way of protecting themselves. If you’ve ever burned your finger on a hot stove plate, you’re likely going to be reluctant to reach for a stove plate again. The remembered pain makes you cautious. Apply that lesson to hurtful treatment from an individual. It’s hard to trust the person not to hurt us again.”
Rufus shifted a bit, resting his chin on his interlaced hands and keeping his gaze pinned to Uncle Philemon’s face.
“But as you discovered in your Bible reading, over time the disciples recognized that Saul was no longer the man who had persecuted believers but was, in fact, now a follower of the one true God. They believed in his change so thoroughly they acted to protect him from Jewish leaders who plotted to kill him.”
Rufus nodded, his movement brisk and eager. “They sure did. Put him over a wall where he’d be safe.”
Uncle Philemon smiled. “Yes. Likewise today, the transformed person’s behavior can serve to convince others that he has truly changed. Those who knew him before might never forget the person he was, but they also accept the new person he has become. I believe there is a scripture referencing that as well, in Second Corinthians, correct?”
Rufus made a face and sat up. “You’re likely correct. You know the Bible a lot better than I do. But I’m getting better. It’s been good to spend lots of time readin’ this week. I’ve never had such long spells of time where I didn’t have to do anything except read.”
Grace sent him a startled look. “Didn’t you spend hours studying while you were in seminary?”
His cheeks blotched pink. He scratched his cheek. “Well, sure, but there was other stuff to do, too. Workin’. Doin’…assignments. Here at Mrs. Kirby’s, I can spend the whole day readin’ in my nice, quiet room if I want to. So that’s pretty much what I’ve been doin’.” He turned to Uncle Philemon. “I like readin’ the Scripture passages and then readin’ the things you wrote alongside. I oughtta do a lot better tomorrow than I did last week.”
Uncle Philemon nodded. “The more you read His Word, the more you’ll grow in Him.”
Mrs. Kirby cleared her throat and sent a tart look around the circle. “Of course, the folks from church will look forward to their preacher visiting them, getting acquainted with them, and learning about their needs.”
Rufus angled a grin at Grace that made her feel as if they were in cahoots together. A wonderful feeling. “What she’s tellin’ me is I can’t stay holed up in my room all the time. She’s pestered me somethin’ fierce about getting out and bein’ around folks.”
Mrs. Kirby tsk-tsked. “I’ve hardly pestered you, Rufus. I’ve encouraged you.”
“Well, then, you’ve encouraged me somethin’ fierce.”
They all laughed, and Grace shook her head, both touched and amused by the easy camaraderie Rufus and the boardinghouse owner shared. Clearly they were already very fond of each other.
Uncle Philemon tipped his cup and drained it, then set it on the table. “I’d be glad to accompany you, Reverend Dille, when you begin making visits, if you’d be more comfortable.”
Rufus nodded. “Yes, sir, I’d appreciate that. I suppose I’m one of those fellas who learns better by watchin’. Learned a whole lot about takin’ care of horses an’ rigs from a…fellow I once knew. If I wasn’t set on bein’ a preacher, I think I’d make a real fine liveryman.”
Mrs. Kirby tapped her lips. “Odd you’d mention a livery. It’s the one business Fairland lacks.” She laughed lightly. “Of course, its absence assures us you won’t abandon the pulpit to pursue a different vocation.”
Rufus grinned at the woman and then turned to Uncle Philemon, a serious expression chasing away the amused grin. “I’d be obliged if you’d show me ho
w best to approach folks.”
Uncle Philemon pushed to his feet, the porch boards creaking with his movement. “Well, then, Monday afternoon you and I will make a few visits together. I’m sure by midweek you’ll be ready to go out on your own.” He turned to Mrs. Kirby. “Thank you, Bess, for inviting Grace and me to join you this evening.”
“You’re welcome, Philemon.”
What had happened to the more formal titles of “Mrs. Kirby” and “Reverend Cristler”? Grace shot a hopeful look at Rufus. Would it now be acceptable for them to use their first names, too? She longed to speak his given name aloud, but she didn’t dare unless he set the precedent.
Her uncle took Mrs. Kirby’s hand and held it loosely between his palms. “The pie, the conversation, the comfortable chairs on this beautiful porch all came together to create a very relaxing time.”
Mrs. Kirby laughed softly. “A slice of pie is small recompense for all the work you did in my garden this week.”
“Hmm, perhaps I’ll ask for the leftovers.”
They chuckled together.
Grace rose on shaky limbs, her gaze still fixed on Rufus. Would he follow Uncle Philemon’s example and reach for her hand? Her heart pattered in eagerness, making her breathless. “We should go home, Uncle Philemon, so Ru—, Reverend Dille can turn in and be well rested for tomorrow’s service.”
Her uncle lifted Mrs. Kirby’s hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Good night, Bess.” The woman’s face flooded with pink, but her smile glowed even brighter than her cheeks. He turned to Grace and offered his elbow. “Ready?”
She stood silently, waiting for Rufus to kiss her knuckles with the same ease her uncle had modeled. He’d said he learned by observing, but he stood so still and stiff it seemed his boots were nailed to the porch floor. She sighed. She’d receive no sweet kiss tonight.
She took her uncle’s arm, battling tears. “Yes, sir.”
“All right then, let’s go.”
Bess
Bess trailed several yards behind the boarders as they walked to church Sunday morning. Such a short distance from her house to the chapel—over one block, up one block, and kitty-corner across the street. Even in the wintertime she walked, but how she enjoyed this mild spring morning, the air heavily scented with new grass and moist earth. Usually she led the group, eagerness to worship with fellow believers giving her feet wings. Familiar eagerness filled her breast today, but for a different reason, and she deliberately slowed her pace to savor the new and pleasurable feeling.
In only a few minutes, she would see Philemon again.
Just as it had yesterday evening when he’d placed his lips lightly against the back of her hand, her pulse sped into an erratic dance. A giggle threatened, and her lips twitched with the effort to hold the sound inside. She hadn’t felt this giddy and lighthearted since her days with Sam. Was it possible to be sixty-two years old and smitten?
She aimed a smile at the clear blue sky. “You’re up there slapping your knee and elbowing angels, aren’t you, Sam?”
She’d never forget his last words to her. “Don’t live out the rest of your life alone, Bessie-girl. Promise me you won’t.”
Of course she’d promised. She could never deny any of her Sam’s requests. And she’d kept the promise, too. Oh, the first months after his passing she’d been so heavy in mourning the thought of opening her heart to somebody else made her sick to her stomach. But then Sammy-Cat had come along and then the boarders. They’d filled her life nicely, and she hadn’t wanted for anything more. Until this past week when Philemon Cristler spent every afternoon working in her garden.
She turned the corner and made her way along the edge of the street, aware of wagons passing and folks waving their hellos. She responded automatically while her thoughts continued inward. Philemon Cristler was a good man. Different from Sam in lots of ways. Taller, more slender, with a softer mustache—the giggle escaped—and a more genteel way of speaking. But both men possessed servant hearts, and that’s what mattered to Bess.
The church bell began to ring. She’d miss the service altogether if she didn’t hurry. She trailed the last of the arrivals into the sanctuary and slipped into her familiar pew as Philemon—my, how easily she’d begun to think of him as Philemon—stepped to the front and invited the congregation to join him in singing “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus.”
Their voices rang with fervor, sending ripples of pleasure through Bess’s extremities. Such a glorious hymn filled with promises of Jesus’s strength and deliverance. This life on earth might be fraught with trials and sorrows, but she needn’t wallow in despair. Her Savior already held the victory.
Reverend Dille stood tall at the back edge of the dais, hands clasped in front of him and head bobbing slightly to the steady chords resounding from Mrs. Perry’s exuberant application of the organ keys. His lips formed a stern line, and thin furrows marred his forehead. After all his studying during the week, he ought to have his entire sermon memorized, but the poor boy had been so nervous at breakfast he’d barely touched his stack of hotcakes. She and dear, grandmotherly Mrs. Flynn had prayed with him before sending him out the door. Apparently he hadn’t found as much comfort in the prayers as she’d hoped.
She leaned into the aisle slightly to send him an encouraging smile as the hymn ended and the congregation settled into the pews. Philemon laid the songbook aside and invited everyone to bow their heads. While he lifted the needs of the congregation to the Lord in prayer, Bess prayed, too—for Reverend Dille to lean into the strength Jesus offered and bring glory to God through the presentation of his words.
Philemon’s deep voice intoned, “Amen,” and people all across the sanctuary echoed the declaration of affirmation. He slipped into the front pew with Grace and aimed his face forward. Reverend Dille moved to the pulpit, opened Philemon’s Bible, and announced, “Acts nine, starting with the first verse.” Then he began to read.
Bess opened her Bible, too, but instead of following along, she found her mind drifting. Saul of Tarsus’s life completely changed from persecutor of Christians to proclaimer of Christ when he encountered Jesus. Her life completely changed from being a missionary on an Indian reservation to being a wife and homemaker when she met Sam. With Sam’s untimely death, she changed again and became a business owner and caretaker. Each of these transitions were orchestrated by the God she served—she didn’t doubt this for even a moment.
From the dais Reverend Dille read with reverence Ananias’s words, “ ‘Behold, I am here, Lord.’ ”
A strange restlessness gripped her. Was the Lord calling her into another time of change?
Theo
Theo wished his hands would stop shaking. At least his voice came out strong and sure. All his practice reading the scriptures out loud had helped. He neared verse twenty, the last one he planned to read, and his stomach pinched. As soon as he finished, he’d have to say words that weren’t written in the Bible. It was a lot easier to read than to speak. So he read slowly, emphasizing each word.
“ ‘And…straightway…he preached Christ in the synagogues,…that he…is…the Son…of God.’ ”
The entire congregation seemed to release a held breath.
Theo swallowed. He looked up. Dozens of faces were aimed at him. Faces wearing so many different expressions. Mostly of expectation. He swallowed again. Gripping the edge of the podium, he forced his dry throat to release the words he’d planned to say. He talked about Saul, his evilness, the fear he spread. Then he talked about the Light and the question from heaven.
He lifted one hand in entreaty, the way he’d practiced in front of the mirror in his room. “The Lord asked Saul, ‘Why persecutest thou me?’ That question seems a little strange. Saul’d been puttin’ believers to death, so why didn’t the Lord ask how come he was persecutin’ all those folks? Reckon it’s because the Lord and His believers are all tied up as one. Whatever we do to each other, we’re
also doin’ to Jesus Himself. So we hafta stop and think before we say or do unkind things to our neighbors. If we wouldn’t say it or do it to Jesus, then we shouldn’t say it or do it. At all.”
He stopped. The people in the pews exchanged looks. A few of them fidgeted while he stood there with his mouth closed. He risked a quick look at the clock on the wall. A groan strained for release. He’d been talking for only ten minutes? The preachers back in Bird’s Nest talked for a whole hour. Sometimes more.
When he’d gone over the points in his head, it’d seemed to take a long time. Lots longer than it had to say it out loud. He must have forgotten something. A trickle of sweat slipped down his temple and plopped onto the back of his hand as he jerked his gaze to Reverend Cristler’s Bible.
A few words written in the margin caught his eye. He blurted them out. “Saul was the Lord’s chosen vessel.” He lifted his face, wonder blossoming through him. “Saul—this bad man—was still the Lord’s chosen vessel. Lots of people probably figured he’d never be anything except bad. But God knew different. So He called Saul. An’ Saul changed. That oughtta give all of us hope. Nobody’s too bad to be changed. Nobody’s so bad he can’t be used by God.”
A few people, including Reverend Cristler, nodded. Theo glanced again at the clock. Thirteen minutes. It was too early to quit, but his legs felt rubbery. If he stayed behind the pulpit much longer he’d collapse.
He searched out Deacon Judd. “Deacon, wouldja pass the offering plate while Mrs. Perry plays us a song on the organ?”
Theo stayed in place until the sour-faced man and smiling woman came forward and took their positions. Then he moved to the tall chair in the corner and sank onto the sturdy seat. He released a sigh of relief. He’d made it through another sermon.
Having a Bible had helped some, but not as much as he’d expected. His mouth still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He’d still stammered some. He’d hardly talked long enough to put anybody to sleep. He wasn’t preaching like a real preacher. Not yet. But if God could turn Saul of Tarsus into a person who proclaimed God’s Word, then maybe there was hope for him, too.
Grace and the Preacher Page 18