Babies? Meat? Had his mind drifted so long he’d lost complete track of the conversation? Bemused, Stephen caught Samuel looking at him. He had the feeling the Masons were trying to tell him something and he didn’t have the ears to hear it.
The crowd thinned. Stephen stayed to help stow the folding chairs beneath the stage. Paul stripped off his suit jacket and helped. Eunice had returned to the parsonage to put Timmy to bed. “It went well, don’t you think?” Paul said.
“Better than well, I’d say.” Stephen leaned his weight against the trolley of chairs and rolled it into the storage space. “Packed house.”
“I told Eunice she’ll have to plan on two nights this Easter. Word will spread about the quality of the cantatas. We won’t be able to get everyone in with only one night. I had one lady come up and tell me that the performance was as good as anything she’s seen in San Francisco.”
“Maybe you ought to sell tickets.”
Paul laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” He straightened after locking the storage-compartment door. “The congregation is out-growing the building.”
“I was saying the same thing to Samuel Mason.”
Paul’s expression clouded. “Some people see growth as a threat. Any kind of change scares them.” He called out thanks to two other deacons who had finished stowing chairs. “Just leave everything else. Some of the deaconesses are coming back in the morning to sweep up and finish cleaning the kitchen.” Paul fell into step with Stephen as he headed for the door. “The problem is parking.”
“You could say that.” And parking would remain a problem. The church had been built when Centerville was just forming and most parishioners were within walking distance. Things were different now. Most church members were from outside Centerville itself. Some came from twenty miles north.
“I was thinking.” Paul paused on the steps between the sanctuary and fellowship hall and shrugged on his coat. “The elders increased my salary last year. It would be a stretch, but I think I could afford to buy a home in one of the new suburbs. If I moved my family out of the parsonage, we could demolish it and turn that part of the property into a parking lot.”
“Nice idea, but it’d cost more than you might think, and it would only be a short-term fix. Not to mention the trouble you’d create with your neighbors over turning that sweet little place into a slab of asphalt.” Stephen shook his head. “Nope. Bad idea all the way around, Pastor. Better and more cost-effective if you looked for property and started from scratch. Build with the idea of expanding as the congregation grows.”
Paul tipped up his collar. “Sounds right up your alley.”
Stephen wasn’t so naïve he couldn’t see where Paul’s thinking was heading. “I’ve never designed a church.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it on occasion since becoming a deacon of CCC.
“There was probably a time when you’d never designed an office building or a house either.” Paul went down the steps and started across the courtyard lawn.
“You couldn’t afford me!”
Paul laughed and waved without looking back as he headed for the parsonage where Eunice would be waiting for him.
Hunching into his leather jacket, Stephen made for his truck.
Snug and warm in faded yellow-and-blue-flowered flannel pajamas, pink chenille robe, and fuzzy slippers, Eunice curled her legs on the couch and sipped a cup of hot herbal tea. Her headache had gone away as soon as the cantata was over and the crowd was dispersing. Handel’s Messiah played softly on the stereo. Closing her eyes, Eunice listened and thanked the Lord she would have a month’s respite before she would have to start making plans for the Easter cantata.
The telephone rang. She started. She was still too tense. Please, God, don’t let it be another emergency to call Paul away from home before he’s even walked in the door.
“It’s Mom, Euny. How did the cantata go? Better than you expected?”
Eunice relaxed at the sound of her mother-in-law’s voice. They had talked often over the past months, and Lois Hudson had given sound advice and wise counsel. “Everyone enjoyed the evening.”
“Did any feathers fly?”
Eunice laughed. “No. The angels all behaved themselves.”
“That’s good. You sound tired.”
“Exhausted.”
“Is my son home?”
“Not yet. He probably got waylaid on the way home.”
“The plight of all pastors. How would you like visitors? David is actually going to take a few days off in January, and I suggested we come up and see how our son is faring in the pulpit. We’d stay in a hotel, of course. Is there one close to you? I can’t wait to hug my grandson again.”
“A bed-and-breakfast opened last month. It’s just down the street. But I’m not sure how much they charge.”
“Whatever they charge will be fine.” She gave several possible dates. “Check your calendar and see which days fit your schedule the best and go ahead and make the reservations. Then let me know.”
They talked for another half hour about Timmy’s progress in school, the Sunday school program Paul wanted her to organize and facilitate, and Paul’s many commitments. Eunice sensed more than weariness in Lois’s voice. Something was wrong. When she asked, her mother-in-law became evasive. Lois said both she and David just needed to get away from all the pressures and stresses of work. “Warn that son of mine that he’d better block out some time for his mother,” Lois said. “And, honey, I love you. Keep the faith.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Eunice’s throat closed as she hung up the telephone. Lois Hudson had always been there for her, especially during the dark days after Euny’s mother and father had passed on to be with the Lord. Whenever she needed advice on how to handle various difficult situations that arose, she knew she could count on Lois for sound and sensitive counsel. Lois had faced all manner of difficulties in her years as a pastor’s wife. The only thing Eunice never talked about with her mother-in-law was Paul. As far as Lois knew, everything was perfect in the younger Hudson household, and Eunice never wanted her to think otherwise.
The door clicked open. Euny watched Paul shrug off his suit coat. “The deaconesses are going to finish cleaning the kitchen tomorrow,” he said without looking at her, “but the floor needs a good scrubbing and waxing.” He hung his coat in the small closet. She knew he meant he wanted her to do it, or call someone who would get it done.
“The program went well, don’t you think?” She had received many compliments from others, but so far, Paul had said nothing about the outcome.
“Sure. It was fine.” He loosened his tie. “What about the kitchen floor? You’ll need to get it done tomorrow so it’s ready by Sunday.”
She looked away, throat tight. “I could use a day of rest, Paul.”
“I could use a day of rest, too.” He headed toward the kitchen. “You know, Stephen and I were talking, and he thinks it would make more sense to build another building than try to make this one work for a bigger congregation.” She closed her eyes.
She could hear the refrigerator door open. “I’m hungry,” Paul called almost petulantly. “Isn’t there anything to eat in this house?”
There hadn’t been much time for cooking over the past week with all the last-minute preparations for the cantata. “The rest of the meat loaf is in a Tupperware container on the top shelf. Other than that, there’s lunch meat, cheese, some peaches.”
“When are you going to go shopping?”
“I was going to go tomorrow.” She would have to go early so she would have time to scrub and then wax the church floor. It was a good thing supermarkets opened at the crack of dawn. “Will you be around tomorrow to watch Timmy?”
“No. I’m going to meet Gerald at the club.”
Which meant she would have to ask Abby to baby-sit or have Timmy play alone in the fellowship hall while she was working in the church kitchen.
“I haven’t had a toasted cheese sandwich in a while
.”
A less-than-subtle hint. She was too tired to get up from her chair, let alone stand at the stove and cook for him. Did he even care about the months of work that had gone into the cantata? Did he understand the energy expended to put on tonight’s performance? Or the stress of being peacemaker between LaVonne Lockford and half the choir? Sometimes it seemed a job well done meant adding another job and another until a person was crushed beneath the weight of responsibility.
“Eunice?”
“You know, I didn’t even get one cup of punch this evening, or a single Christmas cookie.” She hated sounding like she was feeling sorry for herself.
“I don’t remember getting any either.”
“Oh, yes, you did, Paul. When you served the mayor and his wife, you served yourself as well. While we were all talking together. Remember?” He hadn’t even thought to offer her something to drink, and she hadn’t wanted to embarrass him by excusing herself to go and get a cup for herself. And now, judging by his look, she would’ve been better off saying nothing at all.
“Okay, since you’re so tired, what can I fix you to eat—assuming you didn’t already fix yourself something before I got home?”
She rose slowly, walked past him into the kitchen, poured her cold tea down the drain, and put the cup into the sink. “I’ll do your dishes in the morning, if you decide you can manage to toast yourself a cheese sandwich.” She headed for the hallway.
“We need to talk, Eunice.”
She looked back at him. “I’ve tried, Paul. For weeks, for months, I’ve tried. Tonight I’m too tired.” She felt like a rabbit in the sights of a rifle loaded for bear. But even a dumb rabbit knew how to escape obliteration. “Mom called.”
“Mom?”
“She and your father are coming up to spend a few days with us in January. She asked that you block off some time on your schedule for your mother.”
The great David Hudson in the flesh. She had tried to love Paul’s father as she had loved her own, but the two men were very different in method and theology, not that Paul could understand that. He was still striving to attain his father’s approval and praise. She could see Paul was already making plans.
“That’s great! I’ll spread the word. It might even get Otis Harrison back into church for a service. Didn’t you tell me once that his wife—what’s her name? . . . ”
“Mabel.”
“Mabel likes to listen to my father’s television service. Maybe the rest of the older members will come for a special service.”
Eunice felt a twinge of alarm. “Are you planning to let your father preach?”
“No. He wouldn’t anyway unless we gave him an invitation ahead of time, and even then . . . ” He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
What was the going rate these days?
Centerville Christian could ill afford a big honorarium, and Eunice doubted David Hudson would do anything gratis, even for his own son. She hated how cynical she was about Paul’s father. What was it about David Hudson that made her dislike him so? His neglect of Paul as a boy wasn’t enough to cause her to dislike him forever. It was something else, something more, something hidden and elemental about him that made her tense, watchful, uncomfortable.
“But we should have a fellowship hour so that people can meet him.” Paul started taking leftovers out of the refrigerator. “My father would like that. You’ll need to call all the deaconesses tomorrow and set up a meeting so you can make arrangements. We’ll need refreshments, decorations. Maybe you could plan a church-wide potluck dinner with them as our honored guests.”
More work, and he was missing the point. “Paul, don’t turn this visit into an event. Your parents are coming for a visit with us. They’re not coming to Centerville to make a public appearance. Wouldn’t it be nice if you and your father could kick back and talk about anything and everything? No interruptions. Just the two of you.” How many times had he told her that he’d never had time alone with his father? Something had always come up to interfere. And they had always been the ones to drive south for a few weekdays so that Timmy could get to know his grandparents.
“My father isn’t the sort of man who wants to sit on a porch and talk all day.”
She knew the little jab of disdain was aimed at her father, who had spent hours sitting on the porch. It was one of the many things she’d loved about him. He’d always had time for people, especially his daughter. “We can always hope, Paul.” She turned away before he saw the tears. “Good night.”
Paul was changing and it filled her with sorrow. He had been so on fire for the Lord. He had respected her father, despite the short time they had known one another. Or had he just been pretending? Who wouldn’t respect and love her father? He had always made time for her and his flock. He had made time for Paul, too—hours, in fact—on that front porch her husband now mentioned with such contempt. Never in all her life had her father made her feel unworthy of his love, unworthy of his time and attention.
She had always thought Paul was a man like her father, a man after God’s own heart. But was he? Sometimes she wondered.
“Eunice, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I hope not.” He just spoke without thinking, and said he was sorry later. Which part should she believe?
Did he know he was neglecting Timmy the same way he had been neglected by his own father? She tried to tell him gently, but he was unwilling to listen. She loved him as much as she always had. She loved him more than anyone else in the church did, more than all of them put together if it came to that. Did it ever occur to Paul how much she cared, how many times she sacrificed to please him, how she compromised her own views to accommodate his? She was just like him in some ways. She worked constantly to gain his approval and attention.
“I’m just hungry and tired, Euny. I’m not myself.”
Excuses. Issue forgotten. Don’t bring it up again. He had more important things to think about, like making his own toasted cheese sandwich and a honey-do list for her so that everything would be perfect by the time his father arrived. If David Hudson didn’t cancel at the last minute. Like the last time and the time before that. Something better always came up. A television talk show. A speaking engagement on a cruise boat. She knew she shouldn’t have expectations of any human being, not even her husband. No one was perfect. Everyone was a sinner.
She closed the bedroom door quietly and knelt beside her bed. I’m drowning, God. I’ve never felt so alone. Who can I turn to but You, Lord? Where else does a pastor’s wife go for help when her marriage is failing and her life is out of control? Who can I trust with my anguish, Lord? Who but You?
Grasping her pillow, she pressed it tightly to her mouth so that her sobs would not be heard.
The last time she saw her father alive, they had sat on the porch talking. “Center your life on Jesus.” As he had done. “Don’t put your hopes in people, sweetheart. If you do, you’ll only add to their burdens and bring grief upon yourself. Love God, and He will enable you to love others, even when they disappoint you.”
Her father had known her better than anyone but the Lord. Had her father known Paul as well? Had he seen what the future would hold for her?
“Give your heart to Jesus, Euny, and you can rest assured that He will keep every promise to you, and bring you through whatever happens.”
It was a lesson her father oft repeated. Maybe he had seen the trouble coming.
I don’t think Paul even loves me anymore, God . . . if he ever really did. And I’m not speaking from self-pity, Father. I just want to know. I want to understand. What was it Paul saw in me that made him believe I would make him a good wife? Because I can sing and play the piano a little?
You love Me.
Yes, I love You. Oh, Lord, I do love You, but does life have to be so full of pain and loneliness? You are sovereign, so I have to believe I am the wife You chose for Paul. But help me understand him! Every day that passes, we have less to say to one another, les
s in common. The harder I try, the less time and interest he seems to have for me or our son. I want to cleave to my husband, Father, but he sways with every wind that blows, and Timmy and I are tossed with the storm and left to fend for ourselves.
Cling to Me, beloved.
I’m trying, Jesus.
She rose from her knees and curled up in bed, blankets over her head. Maybe she was more like Paul than she realized. Maybe she was caught up in her impoverished but idyllic childhood with a father who had been steady on course every day he lived. Serve the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. She thanked God she had grown up in the shadow of her father’s faith.
Unfortunately, Paul had grown up in the shadow of his father’s ambition.
Samuel went into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of milk. He set it in the microwave and pushed two minutes. How could he be so physically exhausted and mentally awake? He’d tried meditating on the Twenty-third Psalm for the past hour and still couldn’t slow down his whirring thoughts. They were like the currents below a waterfall, sucking him down into discouragement, frustration, and anger.
“Can’t sleep?” Abby said in a drowsy voice. She stood in the doorway.
“Nope.”
“Who’s on your mind tonight?”
“Eunice.”
She drew her blue chenille robe more tightly around her. She opened the refrigerator and took the milk container out, lifted a mug down from the shelf, and poured. “So it’s come to this, Samuel. Two old coots sipping hot milk in the kitchen at three o’clock in the morning.”
Ping! Samuel took his mug from the microwave and put hers in, pressed the buttons. “Take mine.”
“You’re a sweetie. Why don’t we live dangerously and add chocolate?”
“Why not? We’re getting too old to play it safe.”
She opened the pantry. “On a note like that, we’ll shoot the works and add some of those marshmallows we keep on hand for Timmy.”
Samuel sat with her at the nook table, mug of hot chocolate between his hands. The warmth eased the pain in his arthritic fingers, but didn’t touch the ache in his heart. “She’s struggling.”