Chapter Seventeen
It was nine o’clock in the morning. Sunday school ends at the same time pastor Denny wraps up his sermon, give or take a few minutes. I dismissed the kids. I was relieved that Trouble hadn’t caused any more grief since our altercation. He was one of the first to leave the room, in fact. My little Tinkerbelle, Brooke, was one of the last to leave. I held her back for a word in private. Once we were alone I said I was sorry that she had to go through that.
“It’s okay, Mr. Mendelssohn.”
“I’m so blessed to have such good students, especially you. You’re special, do you know that?”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Would you do me a big favor?”
“Sure.”
“Would you take a seat and wait for me? I’d like to have a word with your parents. To tell them what a great daughter they have.” That’s not why I wanted a word with them.
“Okay.”
She took the nearest seat, her short little legs trod air under the chair.
I weaved through the throng of adults and older kids in the main room, was called by a woman. I stopped and looked in the direction of her voice, saw Abbey smiling at me.
“Well hello there, Abbey!” I stood on my tiptoes, scanned the area for Mr. and Mrs. Stanwick, who are somewhat easy to spot being that he is well over six-feet-tall and both he and his wife have the same buttermilk blonde hair as their only child Brooke. Abbey deduced it was a bad time, said she could talk with me another time.
“Would you stick around for a while?” I asked. “I just need to talk to a kid’s parents for a couple minutes.”
“Sure. I’ll be in the vestibule.”
I continued my search and eventually found the couple. I confronted them and requested a word alone. They were disquieted by the request, worried that their darling Tinkerbelle had gotten into some trouble, which seemed as unfathomable as it actually was.
When we had some privacy (at the front of the church), I related to them that some bully kid gave Brooke a hard time, gave her a wedgie. A boy came to her defense. They should be proud of how well she handled the situation. Gingerly I asked them if they thought she was old enough to start attending regular mass with them. I said it would be in her best interest. I didn’t want Trouble to corrupt her. They said they’d think about it, that if I thought it was best for her, they’d take that into strong consideration. I then inquired into where they lived, if it was on this side of town. Yes, they lived only a few miles east of here. I said there was a new church being constructed now, also east of here (only more than a few miles), and maybe it wouldn’t be much farther a commute than it was to here. With a warm smile I said that I was hopeful to become that church’s pastor, and would absolutely love to have the three Stanwick’s as part of my congregation. Mr. Stanwick congratulated me on my soon-to-be position of pastor. I said I hadn’t been offered it yet, but if it was God’s will, I’d be getting the job. They said they’d consider it, especially since their child was being pestered by a bully. Brooke came first in every aspect of their lives, so they’d do what was best for her. I loved hearing it, and openly appreciated their deep devotion for Tinkerbelle’s best interest. I said that if I’m ever fortunate enough to have a wife and kids, that I’d feel like the luckiest man on earth to have a daughter half as wonderful as Brooke. They were flattered. Mrs. Stanwick insisted that I call her Juliann, and said she’d be happy to have me over for dinner sometime soon. Mr. Stanwick said to call him Sven, and hoped I’d take them up on the offer. Their child spoke often of me, so they wished to get to know me better.
“Juliann makes one heck of a standing rib-roast,” Sven boasted.
“It is pretty good,” Juliann said.
“I’d be happy to. Very kind of you to offer.”
We exchanged phone numbers, plugging them into our phones. Friday would be good for them if it suited me: it did. I said I’d be right back with their daughter and went to the smaller room adjoining the larger. Brooke wasn’t there.
Just then the exit-door opened. Golden morning sunlight enshrouded Tinkerbelle. She stepped inside, the door closed from the pneumatic arm.
“There you are,” I said to her.
“Here I am!” she said and ran to me, hugged me at the waist for no reason.
“How precious are you?”
“Very!” She giggled. “Just playing.”
“Well it’s true.” I let go of her. “Let’s get out of here. What do you say?”
She nodded, followed me.
We were almost to the door when she said, “Don’t lose hope on Paul.”
I stopped and gave her my attention. She turned demure, white cheeks now rosy. “Don’t lose hope on Paul? Why do you say that?” She shrugged. “You want me to tolerate him? He’s bad for our Sunday school.” She agreed with a nod. “Then why do you say that?”
“If…” She became reflective, and to this day I believe she was retrieving stored information from recent memory. “If someone could reach Paul… if someone could get through to Paul, it’s you.”
“Who told you to say that?” It was too mature a thing to say by an eight-year-old.
“Nobody,” was her reply. She was a great many wonderful things, my little Tinkerbelle, but a great liar she was not.
I looked to the back door where she had come, then her. Her cheeks glowed a deeper shade of red. She avoided my eyes.
It was an emotionally draining morning, I hadn’t the capacity to endure more. That night, as I’d roll around sleeplessly in bed, I’d regret that I didn’t ask Tinkerbelle if a girl with unbrushed brown hair and green eyes had come in from the back door to chit-chat with my little Tinkerbelle, to coach her what to say to me. Once I got that idea in my head, it wouldn’t leave. I was probably wrong about it, though. By the following Sunday I had decided not to harass her about it.
Brooke reunited with her folks, who waved goodbye at me as they crossed the vestibule to become ghosts of my imagination for the next six days. I could see Abbey in there, reading postings on the wall. She’d have to wait a little longer.
Pastor Keith Denny was putting his notes and bible in his black leather bag when I approached him. I told him about Trouble, about the scene he made. I stopped short of confessing to having slapped him and throttled him. He was concerned, understandably so.
“I was kind of hoping that I could become the pastor at the new Calvary,” I said.
He wasn’t smiling when he said, “Funny you should say that. I was actually going to talk to you about that. Originally a man you probably don’t know, Tom Dearst, was going to take that position, but has since turned it down for some reason or other. If you’re serious, I believe the church would be lucky to you have as their pastor.”
“That’s great, Keith!”
“Stick with what you’re doing, at least for now. It will probably be two months before the church opens its doors. Plenty of time to think it over. And plenty of time for you to reach Paul. To get through to him.”
“Interesting choice of words,” I said dryly, remembering Brooke. “Did you tell her to…” It would have been impossible for Keith to tell Tinkerbelle that. He was in the next room.
“Tell whom to say what?”
“Never mind. I’ll do my best, Keith. I’ll try.”
He shook my hand and returned to his task of organizing and putting things away. I quickly strode to the vestibule, catching Abbey in a great big yawn, which turned into a yawn-smile at my sight. We hugged.
“Did you just get here?” I asked. “Or did you stay for the sermon?”
“I listened to the sermon. Pastor Denny is great. Not nearly as boring as Gates was.”
“Totally. What brings you here?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m moving.”
“Again?” She had moved to the other side of town two years ago, was a member of some church out there.
“Yes, but for good reason. Grad school. I got accepted into Stanfor
d Law!”
“No way!” I hugged her again. “Wow, Stanford. How much is that going to cost you? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. It’s worth it, whatever it costs.”
“It will take a while to pay off my student loans, I’m sure.”
“Man, I’m going to miss you, Abbey. We don’t see each other much anymore as it is. It will become even less.”
“I know, sorry. So how’s it going? How have you been?”
“Fantastic. Oh! Guess who I saw a couple days ago?”
“Who?”
“Maggie!”
She frowned at me. “Do I know her?”
“You never met her. Remember?” I said hintingly. “Maggie…?”
“No.” She was trying to remember.
“The ghost,” I said with a smile.
“Oh her!” She made a silly face at me. “You stinker. I thought you were being serious.”
“I am! I saw her again! Abbey, she isn’t a ghost. She’s an angel. And I’m not kidding.”
“Let’s have lunch together, can we? Tell me about it over some food.”