ISABEL DID NOT HAVE TO WAIT LONG TO FIND OUT. ON TUESDAY MORNING, she arrived at the church a few minutes past nine and found several messages on the answering machine.
“This is a call for Reverend Lawrence. It’s Lillian Warwick, one of the trustees. I’ve just heard that the church has been vandalized. Please call me immediately.”
A long beep sounded, then the next call played back. “This is Grace Hegman, Reverend Lawrence. I’ve heard some disturbing news this morning that somebody broke into the church last night. I’m not even sure if it’s true. Please call me back when you have a chance. I’ll be in my shop until six. Thanks so much.”
“Good morning, Reverend Lawrence. This is Warren Oakes. I’ve heard there was a disturbance at the church last night. I’d like to discuss it with you. If you’d call me back at my office, I’d appreciate it.”
Isabel let out a long breath and sat down heavily in the desk chair. She knew that news traveled fast in a small town, but this had to be a record breaker. She decided to answer the calls in order and took out the church directory, searching for Lillian Warwick’s number. She also opened her coffee mug and took a few fortifying sips while she punched in the number.
She had so far only spoken to Lillian Warwick two or three times, and very briefly. Lillian had not been very warm or welcoming. Isabel was guessing it had nothing to do with loyalty to Reverend Ben. The aloof attitude seemed to be Lillian’s basic personality, and Isabel braced herself for a conversation that would likely be difficult.
The phone at the Warwick house was answered on the second ring. “Good morning, this is Reverend Lawrence. I’m returning a call from Lillian Warwick.”
“This is Lillian Warwick. Thank you for getting back to me so promptly. I’ve been quite distressed ever since I heard about last night’s episode. I had to take an extra pill for my blood pressure this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Isabel said sincerely. “Are you all right? Do you need to visit a doctor?”
“I’m married to a doctor. He believes there’s no danger. At the present time.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad to hear that.”
“Tell me, Reverend, what exactly happened? How did these barbarians crash the gate? And what sort of damage did they do? I heard that the vase from the founders was broken.”
It was a bit worse than that, Isabel nearly said aloud.
She cringed, knowing that she had to be as honest as she could. Then again, she did have to consider the woman’s medical situation. She decided she could be a bit vague on the details. Not lie, of course, but she did need to consider Lillian’s blood pressure. “I was in my office late after the deaconate meeting and heard sounds in the sanctuary. I found three boys there—”
“Boys? How old were they?” Lillian interrupted.
“Teenagers. High school age,” Isabel said.
“Delinquents, you mean. Hooligans! I heard they were on skateboards. Could that possibly be true?”
“Yes, they were. I managed to stop one of the boys, but the other two got away. Luckily, Tucker saw the lights on and came in to help me.”
“That was very lucky indeed,” Lillian said. “You could have been hurt.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I wasn’t in any danger,” Isabel assured her.
Lillian made a sound that seemed to be a wordless disagreement. “And the vase from the church founders was smashed to bits?”
“Well, not bits,” Isabel clarified. “We might be able to repair it.”
“Oh, you might glue such a thing together. But it’s lost all its value,” Lillian insisted.
“If you mean as an antique, I suppose that’s true. But it’s still valuable to the church for its historic significance, isn’t it?”
Lillian ignored her rebuttal. “What else was damaged? This will cost the congregation a small fortune. I hope the boy’s parents will foot that bill.”
“I believe Mr. Ferguson is willing to cover the cost of the damage. It’s mainly the floor.”
“The floor? What on earth did they do to the floor?”
Isabel paused. She had to tell her. There was no way around it. Lillian Warwick was sure to hear it anyway.
“Well, as you already know, they were riding skateboards in the sanctuary.”
“Skateboards in the sanctuary,” Lillian repeated. “These children have no respect for anything, not one single shred of respect.”
Isabel tried to calm her down. “Tucker said that Carl could refinish the damaged spots.”
Lillian let out another long, tortured sigh. “I would be in favor of professional repair. However, this is a matter for the trustees to decide. It’s a shame that people these days don’t know how to raise children. Parents take no responsibility. They don’t know how to be firm, how to say no. They spoil their children, rotten to the core, and then the rest of us are left to suffer the consequences. That boy’s parents should be ashamed. They should write the church a formal letter of apology.”
Isabel considered telling Lillian that the boy’s mother had recently died and he was dealing with grief, anger, and the many stages of loss. Along with a heavy dose of adolescent angst. Perhaps she was being unfair, but Isabel guessed that explaining all that wouldn’t change Lillian’s opinion.
Lillian paused, and Isabel wondered if the conversation might be over. Were all of her phone calls this morning going to be this difficult? She certainly hoped not.
Dear Lord, please give me patience with these reactions. I know that Lillian is just trying to express her shock and distress and her sense of violation, because she loves this church. Please help me to deal with her empathetically, she silently prayed.
“So I suppose Tucker brought the boy down to the police station. That must have scared some sense into him. Though they probably didn’t keep him overnight, his being a minor and all that—”
“Actually,” Isabel cut in, “we decided not to handle it that way. I thought it would be best if the young man came back to the church after school, a few times a week, and helped repair the damages.”
There was a long, tense silence.
“You mean to say no legal action was taken against this boy at all? Tucker didn’t want to take him to the police station?”
“Tucker would have. But I didn’t think that was the best way to handle it. Don’t you think he will learn a valuable lesson by fixing what he’s damaged?”
“He might,” Lillian granted. “But that doesn’t mean he should be absolved of facing legal consequences, as well. I’m surprised that you didn’t consult one of us—one of the trustees or the church council—before you let this little hoodlum off the hook completely.”
“Frankly, I didn’t think of it,” Isabel said honestly. “It was very late, and I did what I thought best.”
She was also not accustomed to reviewing her decisions with boards and councils. She was used to thinking and acting on her feet and trusting her own judgment. Without the need for a rubber stamp from anyone.
She would have explained why she thought it was the best way to handle the situation, but Lillian didn’t pause to hear more.
“Yes, well, you did as you thought best, I suppose. But you are new to the church, and this is clearly a matter for the trustees to decide. We will have to meet as soon as possible. Then you can explain your rationale to all of us at the same time, Reverend. I’ll be interested to hear what the others say.”
“I will, too,” Isabel said honestly.
Lillian soon said good-bye and ended the call. Isabel was sure that she was speed-dialing the other church trustees without taking a breath.
Isabel checked the time, wondering how long it would take before she was ordered to appear before them. Would they all be so severe and judgmental? She doubted it. But she did realize now that not everyone would agree that she had taken the right course in letting Max Ferguson bypass the legal system.
She glanced at the other two names and numbers that she had jotted down on t
he message pad. Grace Hegman and Warren Oakes. She decided to call them right away and get the chore over with. Those conversations couldn’t be any worse than the one she’d just had with Lillian.
Isabel reached Grace just before ten. Fortunately, the conversation was much easier than the one she had endured with Lillian. Grace was concerned about the damage, but she listened carefully to Isabel, not nearly so eager to assert her opinion before hearing the facts.
Isabel didn’t speak to Warren Oakes until the afternoon. He had been out of his office at a court hearing. He was reasonable, too, though concerned about the law. As an attorney, that was only natural, Isabel thought.
A time had been set for the trustee meeting, he told her finally. “As our minister, you are already part of the board. However, in this situation we definitely need you there to explain the events.”
And defend my unilateral decision, Isabel silently finished for him.
“We’ve also asked Tucker Tulley to stop by,” he added. “He’s not a trustee, but we think he can help sort this out.”
Isabel was relieved to hear that. Tucker was clearly respected by the congregation, and she felt sure he had seen the wisdom in her decision and would support her.
“I’d be happy to meet with you,” she said politely. “Just tell me when and where.”
“Seven o’clock tonight at the church. Does that work with your schedule?”
“Absolutely. See you then.”
Isabel hung up the phone, feeling a heavy weight in her stomach. It was just nerves, she knew. She had never imagined that this situation would evolve in this way. It suddenly felt as if she were in the line of fire alongside Max Ferguson.
The thought suddenly sprang to mind: Would she be asked to leave this post? This congregation, kind as most of them were, might decide she was not a good fit and ask her to go. She could easily imagine Lillian Warwick arguing for a new minister.
Isabel took a deep breath and centered herself. She still believed she had done the right thing. That was all she could tell them. Stay or go, it was finally God’s decision. Not her own. Not Grace Hegman’s or Warren Oakes’s . . . or even Lillian Warwick’s. Isabel knew that she could only speak from her heart tonight and pray that the trustees of this church would be guided to consider the situation in a fair and spiritual manner.
FOR THE REST OF THE DAY, ISABEL TURNED HER ATTENTION TO THE other tasks of running the church, though many other church members called or e-mailed, inquiring about the vandalism. She filled them in, as succinctly and politely as she could, explaining that the trustees were meeting to discuss the matter that night. That seemed to satisfy most people.
The meeting hung over her like a heavy cloud. It was late afternoon, almost five and already growing dark outside, when the phone console lit up with one more call.
She glanced at the caller ID, bracing herself. The sight of Reverend Ben’s name and number made her sigh with relief.
“Hello, Isabel. Sorry to have taken so long to get in touch today. I heard about the vandalism at the church this morning, but I had to start my physical therapy,” he explained. “So I wasn’t able to call until now. How is it going? Have you been bombarded with calls all day?”
“Bombarded is just the word for it. I’m practically ducking under my desk,” she managed to joke.
“I can just imagine it. I’ve had a few days like that at the church myself. More than a few in my long tenure . . . Though not in the first week I arrived there,” he added sympathetically.
Isabel had to smile at that observation. It was her first genuine smile of the day.
“I don’t know that it would have been any easier if I had been here twenty years like you, Ben,” she said. “The damage to the sanctuary is upsetting enough. But it seems that the real problem now is how I handled it,” she admitted. “Some people think I should have dealt with the boy more severely—sent him off with Tucker to the police station to be fined, or face whatever legal charges there were to be leveled at him.”
“Tucker was the one who called me. He told me about that part, too.”
Ben had obviously heard this story, or some of it, already, but was patiently listening to her version.
“I just didn’t think it would serve any good purpose, Ben. This boy has recently lost his mother and he’s hurting. His father said he’s not normally so callous and disrespectful. I was upset to see the damage the boys did, too. Very upset. But I wanted to deal with him in a compassionate and hopefully instructive way, not strike back in a punitive, angry way. Does that make any sense to you?”
“It makes all the sense in the world, Isabel. I would have done the same myself . . . or at least aspired to that attitude. It’s not easy to take the spiritual high road in such an emotionally charged situation. Those boys violated something that we all hold dear and revere so deeply. But the congregation must see this as a test, and an opportunity to exercise all the values we preach and teach: compassion, understanding, patience, forbearance. Turning the other cheek,” he quoted. “Most of all, love. I think that you tried to do that. Though you didn’t consult the trustees or council, you did consult a higher authority—the lessons of the Scripture that have been ingrained in your heart and mind.”
Isabel didn’t know what to say at first. Ben’s eloquent explanation of her actions overwhelmed her. She had liked him from the first, but now could truly see why his congregation respected and admired him so much. He was a truly wise and thoughtful man.
“Thank you, Ben,” Isabel said sincerely. “I have to say, after talking on the phone all day to the church members, who have been very upset, I was starting to doubt I’d done the right thing.”
“Yes, it can be lonely at the top. I know just how you feel,” he quipped. “You will second-guess yourself at times, but I am with you on this, Isabel, one hundred and ten percent. I will talk to the trustees myself, if you’d like. It’s possible that, in my absence, they’re also a bit . . . insecure. That could be part of it, too.”
“Yes, of course. They don’t know me yet or trust my judgment. That’s only natural,” she agreed.
“If it’s any comfort, I’m sure that I, too, would have taken some heat on this from a few church members . . . who will remain nameless,” he added with a small laugh. “There are always a few to keep us on our toes.”
Isabel was sure she knew who he meant and smiled again.
“It is a comfort,” she replied. “I’m used to flying solo, more or less. Not leading an entire flock. That’s part of it, too,” she admitted. “But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for calling, Ben, and giving me this reality—spirituality—check. Though I’m tempted to have you plead my case, I don’t want to bother you. Still, it’s good to know you’re there for backup.”
Ben laughed. “Yes, you have a spare in the trunk, so to speak. Bald, partially deflated, and just been in the shop for a retreading. But I’m here for you,” he joked with her.
Isabel laughed at his self-deprecating description.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Isabel. They’re all reasonable people. Just tell them what you’ve told me.”
“I will,” she said, realizing it wasn’t so much what she had told him but what he’d told her that was worth remembering. “How did your physical therapy go?” she asked.
“Oh, it was an experience. I was more tired than I expected,” he admitted. “The first time is the hardest, that’s what the therapist told me. No pain, no gain, and all that. This healing business is as much about healthier habits as it is about learning more patience. Progress on both fronts is going to take time.”
“I hope the next time is easier for you, and I hope to see you again soon, too.”
“Same here, dear. I’ll say a prayer for you. Let me know how it goes.”
Isabel thanked Ben again for his counsel and said good-bye. She leaned back in her chair, feeling much better. Her spirits were lifted and her mind clear again. She felt reconnected with her rationale for tre
ating Max Ferguson the way she had. A decision that had come from the right place, she’d thought at the time. And now did so again, thanks to Reverend Ben.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BEN HEARD THE PIECE—BEETHOVEN’S PIANO CONCERTO no. 5, he thought—end in a flourish and was not surprised when Carolyn appeared in the bedroom doorway a few moments later. She’d been downstairs practicing while he took a nap. His round of physical therapy and then the phone call with Reverend Isabel had worn him out.
Carolyn seemed full of energy today. She had gone for her morning power walk, cleaned the house, and done the laundry. She had also given lessons that afternoon, started dinner, and then practiced the piano . . . all while he was resting.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, sitting on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if I was playing too loudly. I should practice later, after dinner.”
“I love hearing you. Beethoven is one of my favorites; a wonderful way to wake up.”
That was true, not just a pleasing compliment. Waking up to her playing, Ben realized how he had taken Carolyn’s music for granted so much of the time. Now he appreciated every note.
“I did sleep, for nearly two hours,” he said, looking at the clock. “I really didn’t do very much in that rehab place this morning—just walked around a tiny indoor track. I don’t know why I should feel so tired. I thought the doctor said I was going to feel a lot more energetic now.”
“Don’t you feel any better at all?” she asked with concern.
Ben caught himself. He shouldn’t have worried Carolyn. He was just venting. “I do, honestly. I’m not short of breath anymore or light-headed—”
“Oh, Ben, did you really have all those symptoms and never say anything about it? That’s what scares me most,” she confessed.
“I know. I was an idiot. I was so lucky that . . . Well, we’ve covered that ground. Let’s not go back there again. I’m resolved now to do better,” he promised her. “I’ve learned my lesson. As for feeling tired now, it’s a different kind of tired. It will just take time, and I’m impatient,” he admitted.
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