Rachel said nothing. Yes, she would cost him far too much.
"I've thought of going to the elders with this," he said. "Or at least to Lewis Klock."
"Why to the elders?"
"Because I'm accountable to them, and I need their support. They're all good people, all on solid spiritual ground, and my own spiritual ground is quaking a bit these days. I'm closest to Lewis, of course, and he's a very fair person. A reasonable person. I've turned to him for other things since I've been a minister. Lesser things. And I know I need help with this." He touched her cheek. "I'm struggling, Rache."
"I know you are," she said softly.
"But if I talk to Lewis, I know what he'll say—not to see you at all. And I can't do it. And once he and I talk, he'll be watching me." He shook his head with a sigh. "People in my congregation have come to me over the years with similar problems, and I have to admit now that I never understood what they were going through. I wanted to tell them to grow up, to recognize what was important in their lives. I never realized it wasn't that simple."
"No, it's not," she said with a smile. "I know I'm not an evil person, yet I'm longing to do evil things with you."
He laughed. "Thanks for refusing to come into my bedroom tonight."
"You're welcome."
"We would have been okay, though. I don't want us to have a physical relationship if it's going to be temporary. I don't want to cross that line until I feel firm in my decision about us." The laugh again. "Though it's easy to say that when I'm sitting here feeling rational. But look at what happened in the woods the other night. I was lost. I wanted to toss you down on the leaves and devour you right there."
"I would have loved it."
He hesitated. "You could do this, couldn't you?" he asked quizzically. "Make love without the promise of something long-term between us?"
"Yes, I could," she admitted. "But I love that you can't." She shifted on the seat until she was facing him. "I want what's best for you, Michael," she said seriously. "And I realize that might not be me."
He shook his head. "Even if you disappeared tomorrow, your presence has raised too many questions for me to go back to my old life unchanged." He ran his hand over her knee, and the brief touch left her wanting more. "I've had to admit to myself how hollow my marriage is," he said. "I can see now that there's a gap in my life. I've filled it with religion and work to avoid having to really look at it."
She pulled her legs onto the loveseat and leaned over to hug him. "No matter what happens," she said, "I'll always be there for you. I'll always be your friend."
"I hope so," he said.
They were quiet as they sat nestled together, watching the moon make its way across the city sky.
It's in his hands, Rachel thought. The decision was Michael's, and she had to be prepared for it to go either way. She was not sure she was worthy of all he'd have to give up, but for the first time since her return to Reflection, she felt the seductive pull of hope.
–26–
There was tension in the church. Lily felt it the moment she stepped through the door. The people milling around in the foyer seemed more subdued than usual, and there weren't many smiles. She and Ian slipped through the crowd and found their favorite seats close to the center of the sanctuary.
"He'll talk about the rumors, don't you think?" she whispered to Ian. "Michael always addresses things head-on."
"I wouldn't bank on it this time around," Ian said.
She'd wondered if Michael had talked about the rumors in his support group. She'd known better than to ask Ian. Ian was a slave to confidentiality, a quality for which she admired him, although she'd never mastered it herself. From what he'd just said, though, she doubted that Michael had shared much about what was going on with him and Rachel.
Those rumors were starting to scare her, and she knew she wasn't alone. That's what she was feeling in the church this morning. Fear and doubt and anger hung in the air. It was not the first time she'd felt that mix of emotions in the congregation.
Whenever it was common knowledge that a church member had strayed or was grappling with his or her faith or expressing doubts, everyone felt it. It threatened them all. This church was a community. That was what she loved best about it, but it also made one person's problem everyone's problem.
She fidgeted and yawned her way through the singing and announcements. Ian squeezed her knee, whispered in her ear. "Gotta get to bed earlier, babe," he said.
She'd been up late training Mule and Wiley for Thursday night's ASPCA charity show, and those dogs were nowhere near ready. But that was not the reason she was tired. Even after she'd gone to bed, she couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts rolling around in her head, and each time she'd close her eyes and nearly drift off, she'd picture Mr. Holt. Or Jenny. Or she'd see a blur of blood and torn camouflage clothing. She could see the drawings hanging in the school hallway, drawings other children had made of those who had died. She remembered the thousands of flowers people had brought to the school, laying them out on the front lawn in solemn observance of what had happened. She could even recall the planting of the weeping cherries and the memorial services and the funerals. She remembered those events as if she'd attended them, even though she had not. Her mother hadn't allowed it. Lily had not even attended the service for her sister.
She'd finally gotten out of bed the night before and sat on the living room floor, staring out the window, surrounded by the dogs. The memories were overpowering these days, and they took her more in the direction of guilt than sorrow. Sometimes it hurt to know too much, to know things others didn't. The responsibility was too great.
She wished she could talk to Ian about it. He was aware of her agitation but not of its source. She'd told him what she knew about Katy. He thought that was where her conflict was coming from, and she allowed him to hold on to that illusion.
Michael stood to begin his sermon, and Lily felt her body tense against the hard pew. He began talking about the value of friendship, and she couldn’t believe her ears. A sermon on friendship? Now? He was copping out on them.
She was so disappointed in him that she ached. There was more anger around her now. It felt like a thousand fragile panes of glass ready to splinter and break apart. Michael knew what they were all thinking. He had to. Yet he was ignoring their concerns.
We need your reassurance, Michael, she thought. We don't need to know you're a saint. Just let us know you're aware of the problem. You're working on it.
Her mind wandered and she looked around her. Everyone else's eyes were riveted on the minister. She spotted Kirby Cash, Arlena's husband, sitting a few pews away from her. She'd heard Arlena was out of the hospital finally. That was good. The last thing Rachel needed was Arlena's blood on her hands.
Ian suddenly nudged her back to attention.
"…grew up here," Michael was saying. "And when I was a child, I was quite friendless and very isolated. For whatever reason, I was not seen by my peers as having many redeeming qualities and was, in fact, ignored or berated by many of them. I was, as most unhappy people come to be, preoccupied with myself and my own trials and tribulations. But then two other children befriended me. They treated me with respect and kindness; they valued my opinions and my company. When I was no more than seven, they helped shape me into the adult I am today. Those children were Luke Pierce and Rachel Huber."
He paused only briefly, but it was long enough to hear the uneasy stirring of the congregation.
"Each time I reach out to one of you in comfort or compassion," Michael continued, "I am doing what those two children taught me to do. Each time I reach outside myself to help another person, I give thanks to Rachel and Luke. They taught me how to care about my fellow human beings."
He slipped into Scripture then, so easily that his listeners barely noticed the shift, and drew his sermon to a close.
Lily sat quietly when the service was over. People looked at one another as they rose from the pews, their face
s hard to read. The tenor of emotion in the church had changed, but its new form didn’t yet have clarity. It didn't matter. All Lily cared about was that, in his own way, Michael had addressed the real issues after all.
–27–
Ursula Torwig sat across her desk from the young female reporter the Lancaster paper had sent over. Roslyn somebody, her name was. She'd called an hour earlier, telling Ursula she wanted to talk with her about the Hostetter project.
Twist my arm, Ursula had thought with a grin. She couldn’t get the woman over to her office fast enough.
As soon as Roslyn stepped through her door, Ursula knew the type of person she was dealing with—one of those young, ambitious, blood-hungry reporters. Roslyn had probably been weaned on tabloid television shows and no doubt rued the fact that she was working for a small-town newspaper. She would want something juicy to get the notice of her superiors. Ursula would give her the best she had.
Rosyln pulled a notepad out of her briefcase. "It seems that there's a good deal of controversy over the Hostetter project," she began. She was an unattractive young woman. Her nose looked as if it had been broken and badly set; her eyes were too small for her face.
"Oh, that's been overplayed," Ursula said with a smile. "And it seems to be fading away. Michael Stoltz—he's the preacher of the Mennonite church in town—tried to rally opposition against the Hostetter project, but his leadership's been weakened considerably in recent weeks, and that sort of movement is really only as strong as its leader." Her cousin's charisma and credibility were marvelously strained these days.
"You mean, since Rachel Huber's return to the area."
Good. Roslyn had said it for her. "Well, let's just say that his concentration and good judgment seem to be a little off lately. I understand that he spent this past weekend in Washington, D.C., with her, so"—she shrugged—"who can say?"
Roslyn s hungry little eyes lit up. "You're sure of that? They were in Washington together?"
"I thought everyone knew about it," Ursula said innocently, although she knew that very few people had been privy to that information.
The reporter scribbled a few words on her pad.
"Well, let me show you the plans for the Hostetter development," Ursula said, reaching into her desk. "I want to reassure you and your readers that we've studied the impact of this development from every angle. If anyone still has concerns about it, we can address them at the hearing on September sixth."
She spread the drawings flat on her desk, turning them so Rosyln could get a good look. "Please let people know they can stop by my office anytime to review the plans and the various impact studies," she said. "Anytime at all. I'm sure anyone who examines the situation will reach the same conclusion I have—that this is exactly the sort of controlled growth Reflection needs. Our economy needs it, and our community needs it. And it will be a very attractive addition, completely in sync with the flavor of the town."
Roslyn lifted her eyes from the plans. "What about the Amish and other plain sects who are concerned about increased traffic, and—"
Ursula cut her off with a Wave of her hand. "If this were agricultural land under consideration, land that the Amish could farm, I would never allow it to be developed in this way. We must protect our farmland at all costs. That's why the Hostetters' development of their property is such a priceless gift. Here's a piece of land, already smack in the middle of town, completely separate from farmland, just crying out to be carefully, tastefully developed and incorporated into the town itself. And the Hostetters are willing to do that. What an opportunity we have!"
She had effectively shut Roslyn up. The reporter quietly jotted down a few more notes before slipping her pad into her briefcase again and standing up. Ursula stood as well, and as she walked Roslyn to the door, she glanced through her window to see the new building as clearly as if it already existed. She could even pick out her office window.
–28–
"Dad?" Jason stood in the doorway of the study. "Can I talk to you when you get off the phone?"
Michael was sitting at his desk, on hold with National Public Radio. Drew was going to California on business the following day, and all the calls to the media about the hearing had suddenly fallen on Michael's shoulders. It had taken him more than an hour to get through to NPR, but he saw the clouded look in Jason's eyes and the way the boy shifted from one foot to the other, and he hung up the phone.
"Have a seat, Jace," he said.
Jason dropped onto the sofa but said nothing.
"What's up?" Michael prompted.
Jason looked at him from the corner of his eye, his head facing the window. The morning sun etched white rectangles of light on his glasses. "The kids at camp are saying things about you," he said.
So, the gossip had even reached the computer camp. "Are they?" he asked. "And what are they saying?"
"They said that old teacher who let the kids die is your girlfriend."
The look on Jason's face was one of guileless confusion, and Michael was suddenly furious at himself for not somehow protecting his son from the rumors. He should never have kept so much of his renewed friendship with Rachel a secret from Jason. How could he explain it to him now without looking as though he'd been hiding something?
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm aware that people are talking about me," he began. "I'm sorry the rumors have reached your ears. But they are rumors, Jace, that's all. The teacher, Rachel Huber, was one of my closest friends when I was your age. You know my old house on Water Street?"
Jason nodded.
"Well, Rachel's family lived there, too. So we were very, very good friends." He knew his son couldn’t easily relate to that concept. Even in his youth group Jason spent most of his time with the adult leaders. "She's here for the summer, and I've gone on a bike ride with her and…" He'd seen the paper that morning. He didn't know how Ursula had found out about the trip to Washington, but he supposed that piece of information had better come from him rather than from the kids at camp. "I went with her and her grandmother to a concert in Washington on Friday night. Her grandmo—"
"You're cheating on Mom." Jason's cheeks were red and he shrank back on the sofa, as if he had said too much and expected Michael to strike him—something Michael had never done. No doubt Jason was repeating words he'd heard from the kids at camp.
Michael shook his head. "No, I'm not, Jace. Mom even knew Rachel when we were kids," he added, as though that would somehow make everything all right. "We all grew up together."
"Everyone says you're a sinner."
Michael sighed. "We've talked about this before," he said. "About how it doesn't matter what other people think, right? What matters is—"
The doorbell rang, and he glanced toward the hall in frustration. He leaned forward again and rested his hand on Jason's knee.
"I don't care what other people think," he said. "What matters to me is what you think."
Jason got to his feet. The rectangles of light in the boy's glasses disappeared, giving Michael a clear view of the anger in his eyes.
"I think you shouldn't go on bike rides and have a good time with some lady when Mom's away, no matter if you used to be friends or not," Jason said. He walked into the hall, turning in the direction of his room.
"Jace, wait." Michael stood to follow him, but the doorbell rang again, and he turned in the direction of the living room instead. He didn't know what else he could say to Jason anyway. He feared the boy believed the words of his peers over those of his father.
Walking toward the door, he could see the black car parked out on the street and he groaned. Lewis Klock. He'd been serious about possibly talking with Lewis about his dilemma, but he had the feeling the choice was about to be taken out of his hands.
"Morning, Michael," Lewis said when he opened the door.
"Good morning, Lewis. Come in."
He led the elder into the study.
"Is Jason at home?" Lewis asked as he sat down on the sof
a.
"Yes, in his room."
"Then perhaps we'd better close the door."
Michael shut the study door with a mounting sense of dread—and resignation. Maybe he'd been weakened by his discussion with Jason, or maybe he was finally ready to ask for help, but for whatever reason, he knew he was going to be completely honest with his old mentor.
"You went to Washington, D.C., this weekend with Rachel Huber?" Lewis asked when Michael had taken his seat at the desk again.
Michael nodded. "Yes. But it wasn't as Ursula implied."
Lewis listened quietly as he described the trip to D.C. The older man seemed to have nothing to say once Michael had finished talking, but Michael knew Lewis was simply waiting to hear more, encouraging it with his silence.
"I love her, Lewis," he said finally. "It's not her fault in any way. She's done nothing intentionally to make that happen, but her being here has raised many, many doubts in me, both about my marriage and my faith."
He told Lewis about the pull of the past he shared with Rachel, and about the lure of a future sure to be filled with joy and love. Although he tried, he couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of his voice, and he was struck by the selfishness in his words. He waited for the elder to chastise him, but he should have known better. That was not Lewis's style. Lewis listened to him with patience and a seeming lack of judgment. Then he quietly began telling the story of David and
Bathsheba, unnecessarily, since that particular Scripture had been creeping uncomfortably into Michael's mind for a couple of weeks now.
"David lusted after Bathsheba," Lewis said, "and he slept with her despite her married status, sorely displeasing the Lord."
Michael listened to the story with gritted teeth. His mind was on Jason as he waited out the inevitable conclusion of the tale.