The Rebel and His Bride

by Bonnie Pega

  He was the coach, as well as the pitcher. He played hard, he played to win, but he played fair. He made sure everyone who turned up for the game had a chance to play, even when they were down by two runs and it was Lem Petrie’s turn to bat. Gran said that Lem Petrie couldn’t hit a baseball if it hung in midair and waited for him, but Gregory put him in and cheered louder than anyone. And when Lem struck out as usual, Gregory clapped him on the back and good-naturedly grumbled about the umpire’s lousy eyesight.

  Annabelle realized she would have liked Gregory, had she just met him that day. Part of her wished she had just met him. Still, she found a little—the barest amount—of her emotional armor eroding.

  More emotional armor eroded over the next two weeks. Annabelle felt comfortable in White Creek. She liked taking evening strolls with Gran and having neighbors wave and say “Howdy.” Even the people she didn’t know always seemed to have a kind word and a friendly smile.

  In Raleigh, even though her apartment building only held six apartments, she hadn’t known any of her neighbors. Not even well enough to speak if they saw each other in the laundry room. She found herself wondering if it would be the same in Norfolk as it had been in Raleigh. Suddenly the idea of living in Norfolk wasn’t nearly as appealing.

  Norfolk became even less appealing when she thought about leaving Gran. Despite her eccentricities and the streak of mischief a mile wide—or maybe because of them—Annabelle genuinely enjoyed being around her. And she reminded herself that, though Gran might deny it, she wasn’t getting any younger.

  She toyed with the idea of staying in White Creek and commuting to Norfolk. That would be nice, she thought wistfully, but she wasn’t sure about being around Gregory. Though, she had to admit she’d been able to relax around him recently. On the rare occasions when she was able to forget he was an ex-lover, she even found herself liking him more and more. She liked the easy manner he had with the kids. At the baseball games every Wednesday, she liked his sense of friendly competition and sportsmanship.

  It actually got to the point that she was able to sit in the same room with him after Sunday dinner and not feel the urge to flee, or at least it wasn’t so overwhelming that she couldn’t ignore it. It became a habit for him to show up after play rehearsal—ostensibly to lock up after her—but he usually brought her a cold can of soda and they’d sit on the church porch for a few minutes and chat. Annabelle was careful to stick to talking about the kids and the play.

  He seemed friendly and comfortable. Almost. There were still odd moments when she found him watching her with that expression in his eyes that drove her crazy. She sensed that he wanted something from her, but couldn’t figure out what it was. Her physical awareness of him was still there, too, but she tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very successful.

  After the next-to-the-last rehearsal, Gregory showed up, as usual, right at nine o’clock. He was wearing jeans and an old college sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. She stared at the sweatshirt, her stomach tight. God, she remembered that shirt. She’d given it to him at Christmas. Their first and only Christmas together.

  As soon as the last child had left, she turned to Gregory and said, “You kept it.”

  He glanced down at the sweatshirt. “You had one like it. Marty accused us of trying to look like the Bobbsey twins when we showed up for the frat’s Christmas party both wearing identical sweatshirts and blue jeans.”

  “And even the same color tennis shoes.”

  “Yeah. I’d forgotten that.”

  “I’m just surprised you still have it after all this time.”

  “I kept everything you ever gave me.”

  Annabelle fell silent. It was gone, she thought. That comfortable feeling. Chased away with that one sentence and a nine-year-old sweatshirt. The itchy feeling beneath her skin was back, along with the questions in Gregory’s eyes. Or maybe the questions had never really gone away and she had been fooling herself into thinking they had.

  Time to go home. “I, uh, can’t stay to chat tonight. I have things to do.”

  He nodded and handed her the soda he’d brought. “You may as well take this with you. I have to tinker with that air conditioner again, anyway.”

  Gregory stood in the doorway and watched Annabelle as she got into her car and drove away. Sighing heavily, he went back inside the church, hoping to coax a few more gasps of cold air from the cranky air conditioner.

  After a few minutes he sank down on the nearest pew and leaned his forehead on his hands. Over the past couple of weeks he had begun to think he might get through Annabelle’s prickly exterior. Tonight, though, the prickles seemed to be back. In full force.

  Not that it mattered. She was under his skin, as thoroughly as if they’d never been apart. He wished he could say he was happy about it, but the truth was he wasn’t sure how he felt. All he knew was that his life had been great until Annabelle came back. Well, okay, maybe not great, he admitted, but certainly fulfilling. And if he hadn’t been exactly happy, then at least he’d been satisfied. Until now.

  Now she made him realize that no matter how much he loved being a minister and loved the honest, earthy people of White Creek, that didn’t make up for the lack in his own life. It didn’t make up for the empty house that greeted him at the end of each long day.

  When he sat in his cozy little den working on his sermon, it was to the echoes of emptiness all around him. There was no sweet female voice humming in the background—not that Annabelle’s voice had ever been sweet, it was too full of sparkle and sass—no high-pitched giggles of children in the distance. There wasn’t even the snuffle and sigh of a dog sleeping in the middle of the floor, just the occasional scratchings of Sebastian and Danni’s strange cat when he came to visit.

  When he pitched for the church baseball team, lots of people cheered him on, but no one special, never anyone special. When he lost a member of his flock, the death always cut him like a knife. He spoke words of comfort to everyone else, but there was no one to comfort him. And when he went to bed and tossed and turned half the night, he could only think it was because he was sleeping alone in a bed meant for two.

  He wondered what it would be like to have someone there for him—someone who cared that he’d had an exhausting day, who cared when he hit a home run or had to conduct the funeral for someone who had not only been a member of his congregation, but a valued friend as well.

  He lifted his head and stared up at the small chandeliers that had graced the ceiling of the century-old church for fifty years or more. Had he only now realized how empty his personal life was, or had he known it all along and simply tried to convince himself that his work was enough?

  With a swipe of his hand through his hair, he slowly got to his feet. He could hardly bear the thought of going home to the little house he’d just admitted was unutterably empty. He glanced at his watch. It was only nine-thirty. Maybe he’d just go upstairs to his church office and sit. And sit. And stare out the window at the dark night that seemed to match his mood.

  “You’ve got dirt in your hair.”

  Gregory spun around. “Annabelle?”

  She waved a hand at his head. “You’ve got streaks of dirt in your hair.”

  He looked down at his hands, noting the black grease stains on them. Fishing a handkerchief out of his back pocket, he began wiping at the smears. “I thought you’d gone.”

  “I left my purse here.”

  “Oh.” Great, he thought. Grab her attention with your sparkling wit, why don’t you?

  “I sort of figured you’d be gone by now, but thought I’d check and see. Don’t you ever go home?”

  When there’s a reason, he thought. “Uh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure the air conditioner was cooling properly.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think you might want to close the windows first, Rev?”

  “Oh, right. I was just getting to that.”

  A speculative look on her face, Annabelle watched Gr
egory as he strode from window to window, pulling them closed and fastening the latches. For a moment, when she’d first walked in, she’d noticed the strangest expression on his face—lonely, maybe, or sad—and she couldn’t help but wonder what had put that gray bleak look there.

  Gregory came back over to her and handed her the purse she’d left at the front of the church. “Here. I, uh, good night, then.”

  For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Annabelle was suddenly in no hurry to leave, even though she hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough half an hour ago. Maybe it was because she was bored and there was nothing good on television. Or maybe it was because her grandmother had gone to Lute’s house to watch rented videos and eat popcorn. And maybe it had something to do with the lingering shadows in Gregory’s eyes. She set her purse on the nearest pew and strolled up the center aisle. Gregory followed her.

  She stepped up behind the pulpit. “So this is what it’s like up here.” She glanced down at the small shelves just beneath the podium and pulled out a comic book. “Your secret’s out,” she said, waving it in the air. “I didn’t know you read Galaxy Avenger.”

  “A lot of things you don’t know about me now, Annabelle,” he said lightly. “Including my choice of reading material. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Charlie Osgood, the choir director, confiscated that from one of the boys in the junior choir a couple of weeks ago. I guess he forgot to give it back.”

  She leaned back against the railing that ran the length of the choir loft. “Likely story. So what is your choice of reading material now? It used to be environmental journals.”

  “Still is. Though I manage to get in a few sports magazines once in a while and I find time to read the occasional novel.”

  “What, no Preacher’s Weekly?”

  “Actually, it’s Minister’s Quarterly.”

  “Do you still read Tony Hillerman and Tom Clancy?”

  He nodded. “And Clive Barker, Dean Koontz.”

  Annabelle made a tsking sound. “A minister reading horror. Whatever would the board of deacons say?”

  Gregory grinned. “Well, they usually ask me to please read faster. They tend to borrow my books. So how about you, Annabelle? You still read science fiction and romance?”

  “I do. Though I manage to work in a little Dean Koontz myself, on occasion.”

  Gregory raised his eyebrows. “You reading horror? You couldn’t even watch late-night horror movies without hiding your eyes.”

  “Like I said before, that was long, long ago.”

  “In a galaxy far, far away. I know. You always did have a thing for Star Wars.”

  “Maybe it was Harrison Ford I had a thing for. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Personally, I always thought it was Darth Vader. Tall, dark, and electronic.”

  Annabelle’s expression softened with memories. “I remember when you dressed up like Darth Vader for that Kappa Delta frat party.”

  “And you dressed like Princess Leia and spent the afternoon trying to pin your hair in those big twists over each ear, until Marty suggested you try oversized earmuffs instead.”

  “And remember when the policeman stopped us because your taillight was out? When he walked up to the car window, he didn’t even bat an eye.”

  Gregory chuckled. “All he said was ‘The Empire can’t expect to take over the galaxy if it can’t keep one measly little car in working order.’ ”

  They both smiled at the shared memory, then Gregory said, “I’m glad you came back tonight. I’ve been wanting to thank you for taking the time to work on the play with the kids. It would have been too much for Clara Walling and Elsie Wilson to handle, particularly with Buddy getting married soon. Elsie is so distracted with the wedding, and that leaves most of the burden on poor Clara. Besides, I think it’s good for the kids to work with a young adult for a change.”

  “Has that been a problem here? Getting young adults to stay in White Creek, instead of moving to a big city?”

  “When I first took over the church here, there seemed to be a mass exodus of anyone between the ages of eighteen and forty, but things are getting better. We’ve got Danni and Sebastian, Buddy Wilson has decided to stay on and help his father with the Food Mart, Magda’s daughter, Caterina, has opened up a children’s clothing shop, Lem Petrie’s youngest son and his wife have just moved back, and there are others too.”

  “I’d guess that a lot of people, once they get married and begin thinking about raising a family, move back to small towns, where drug and gang problems are just about nonexistent, and if your kid tries to sneak a cigarette, everyone in town knows.”

  Gregory studied her. “Have you thought about living in White Creek while you’re teaching in Norfolk? It’s only forty minutes driving time.”

  “An hour if the traffic’s bad.”

  “At least the only traffic you’d ever have to worry about is in Norfolk. The last time we had a traffic jam around here was when Joel Harrison’s tractor stalled in front of the hardware store and the few cars caught behind him simply drove up on the sidewalk to get around.”

  Annabelle smiled slightly. “I’ve thought about staying here. I mean, I know Danni’s going to appreciate all the help she can get once she has the twins, particularly since she intends to keep up her part of the veterinary practice. And Gran’s not getting any younger, though you’d never know it by her ridiculous shenanigans on Lute’s motorcycle.”

  “Maybe that’s the best reason for staying. Your grandmother needs a stable influence in her life. God only knows what she’ll get into next. Maybe a tattoo to go with her leather jacket.”

  “Nothing would surprise me where she’s concerned.” Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Whatever happened to sweet little old silver-haired grandmas who baked cookies and sang in the church choir? Danni and I have got to be the only two people in the world to have a biker granny.” She sounded irritated, but the twinkle in her eyes said she was more proud than ashamed of her unconventional relative.

  Gregory smiled at her unconditional love for her sometimes aggravating, sometimes mischievous, always well-meaning grandmother. “I guess most everybody has one relative or another who’s strange. I was the strange one in my family.”

  “What do you mean?” Annabelle asked.

  “I was the only one not aiming for some high-powered career that would rake in the big bucks. One sister is a bank president, the other a corporate attorney. My brother’s a doctor. And, of course, Dad and Mom are co-owners of their own software company. They expected me to follow in everyone else’s footsteps. They didn’t understand years ago when I decided to become a marine biologist. They understood even less when I dropped that and went into the ministry instead.”

  Annabelle wandered over to the first pew and sat in the corner, stretching her legs out and slipping off her shoes. “So why did you? I mean, you’d always been dead set on getting a job with Greenpeace. I remember when you talked to that guy who worked onboard their ship, The Rainbow Warrior, and you’d pretty well decided that’s what you wanted to do. Awfully big step from saving whales to saving souls.”

  Gregory sat next to her. Though he was a respectable distance away, Annabelle found herself feeling crowded by his nearness. The sudden desire for flight again swept over her, but she wanted to hear what he had to say more than she wanted to leave.

  “I don’t know if I can explain it any better to you than I did to my parents, Annabelle. One morning I woke up and it suddenly occurred to me that all the problems plaguing the environment, all the animal abuse, all the new weapons being developed, were just symptoms of a much bigger problem.”

  “Which is …?”

  “We’ve lost hope, we’ve lost compassion.” He shook his head. “We’ve lost faith.”

  “And so you felt the call to try to restore some of that lost faith.”

  “Very strongly. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes narrowed in thought, then she said slowly, “You know, I think I d
o. That’s one of the reasons teaching means so much to me. Because most kids haven’t lost their way yet and maybe all they need is someone to help them find a joy for learning. That’s a joy they’ll never lose.”

  Gregory nodded in understanding, and for a moment she felt in tune with him. Just like she used to. Simpatico, their friends had called them.

  “So our goals aren’t so terribly different, are they?” he said. “I’m out to save souls, you’re looking to save minds.”

  “All we need is your brother the doctor to save their bodies and we’ll have all the bases covered.” Annabelle laughed.

  Gregory joined in and, somehow, in the warmth of shared laughter, their hands touched, their fingers tangled. Annabelle’s laughter died as abruptly as if someone had pulled a plug, and she couldn’t keep her gaze from lighting on their joined hands.

  Gregory turned her hand over and ran his thumb across the slight pink patch that was all that remained of her burn. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the palm. His breath warm against her skin, he murmured, “The burn seems better,” then looked startled, as if the husky sound of his voice had surprised him.

  “It is.” Annabelle tried to retrieve her hand, but he curled his fingers around hers. It surprised her how natural it was to nestle her hand in his. How many times had they walked across campus hand in hand? How many evenings had they spent holding hands across a table in the library? And how many nights had he clasped her hands over her head, their fingers entwined, as he made passionate love to her?

  Gregory released her hand, but only to slide his hand up her arm to her elbow, cupping it for a moment, before continuing his journey to her shoulder. Despite the temperature, which remained in the eighties, gooseflesh appeared on her arms. His fingers curled into her shoulder, then slid around to the back of her neck. He toyed with the tiny curls escaping from her ponytail, winding them around his fingers.

  Without thinking, Annabelle ran her tongue over her lips, and saw Gregory fasten his gaze there. He was going to kiss her, she thought with certainty. She couldn’t let him kiss her. It would dredge up too many old feelings, feelings that should stay buried. But a delicious lethargy overtook her and she couldn’t seem to drum up the energy to move away from him.