And the Shofar Blew by Francine Rivers
Stephen relaxed back in his lawn chair. “I think I see what you mean.” He grew thoughtful.
“So, you’ve done some conceptual drawings.” Had Paul asked for them?
“Quite a few. For kicks. Better to spend an evening doing that than pouring scotch.”
“Still a struggle?”
“Always will be. It’s the thorn in my side.”
“We all have besetting sins, Stephen. They’re the trouble that brings us to our knees and keeps us depending on the Lord for strength.”
Stephen gave him a wry look. “I haven’t yet gotten to the point in my faith where I can call alcoholism a blessing.”
“You will.”
“What I’d like to know is your besetting sin.”
Samuel laughed with him. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always the cool, calm, and collected man you see before you now.”
The screen door creaked and Abby stuck her head out. “Hollis is here.”
“We’re on our way in.” Samuel stood and picked up his empty glass. “Why don’t you bring your conceptual drawings over, Stephen? I’d like to see what you think a church should look like.”
“I think I got ahead of myself.”
Samuel smiled. “Depends on who was nudging you.”
What Samuel feared most was Centerville Christian Church ending up the victim on the field of battle over Paul Hudson’s soul.
“It’s your mother’s birthday, Paul.” Eunice couldn’t believe he was going to allow it to pass without even calling Lois.
“You sent her a gift, didn’t you?” He took his coat from the hall closet.
“Yes, but she’ll want to hear from you.”
“Okay! I’ll call and wish her a happy birthday.”
She had to bite her tongue or she would say something she’d regret. Paul loved his mother. She knew he did, just as she knew he loved her. He just allowed other responsibilities to get in the way. He gave his time to a dozen people who called every week wanting his counseling. He gave his time to his deacons and his elders. Except for Samuel Mason. Then Paul was “busy” or “out on visitation” or some other excuse he insisted she pass on to a man she had grown to love and admire like her own father. “You’re spending too much time with the Masons,” Paul had said just the other night. He had grown to despise Samuel. He didn’t say so. He might not even realize it, but she heard it in his tone every time Samuel’s name came up. And she knew the cause of Paul’s animosity. Samuel Mason never caved in to “popular opinion.”
“Happy birthday, Mom!” Paul said into the phone.
Eunice was shaking. She went into the kitchen and started the water. Maybe a cup of tea would calm her down. Lord, Lord, kill the root of bitterness growing in me. I don’t want to feel this way about my husband. My sun doesn’t rise and fall because of him. You are my God, my help in times of trouble. And God, oh, God, I’m in trouble! She could hear the steady drone of Paul’s voice as he talked to his mother. Talked, not listened. His voice came closer. “Tell Dad hello. Tell him everything is going well up here. I may have some really great news soon. Here’s Eunice.” He handed her the telephone and headed for the living room.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, dear. Did you have to dial for him?”
“No. Of course not.” A small lie to spare her mother-in-law’s feelings. She heard the front door open and close as Paul went to meet the mayor at the country club.
“How’s the interior decorating going?”
She and Paul had recently moved to a new home, vacating the parsonage just in time for the new associate pastor to move in. “Slower than Paul would like, but it’s moving along.” She talked about the painting, wallpapering, and making drapes for the living room and master bedroom. “And the landscaping is almost done.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell Paul, but his father is retiring.”
“Really?”
“The board of directors is throwing a big bash for him in six weeks. Put it on your calendar.” She gave Eunice the date.
“He’s really going to do it?”
“He wouldn’t dare change his mind.”
“Are you relieved?” A long silence followed her question. Sometimes silence said more than words.
“I’ll miss all the friends I’ve made in this church.”
“Just because Dad is retiring doesn’t mean you have to leave the church.”
“Of course it does, sweetheart. The new pastor would have a very hard time leading this flock if David Hudson was still sitting in one of the rows, don’t you think?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I think it would be best to move out of the area. But I promise not to move within a hundred miles of Centerville.”
“I would love to have you as a neighbor.”
“And risk your husband’s church to his father? If we lived close enough to commute to CCC, David would have his hands in Paul’s ministry within weeks, and how would Paul feel about that?”
Like a little boy who couldn’t do anything right. Again. “Maybe you’d like Oregon. Or Washington. How about Maine?”
Lois laughed with her. “Actually, I was thinking a desert island would be nice.” There was a catch in her voice. “No more board meetings. No more elders’ retreats or discipline intensives or private tutoring sessions in the deeper meanings of the Bible. If David wants to travel, he’ll have to take the old ball and chain with him. No more private counseling sessions . . . ”
Eunice knew something was wrong, but she didn’t want to pry. “Mom?”
“I swore I wasn’t going to do this.” Lois blew her nose quietly. “I’m all right, Euny. Really I am. I’m just so angry I’m ready to explode. And I can’t even tell you who I’m most angry with. God in His sovereignty who sees everything and waits so patiently? David for being what he is? Members of the church leadership who chose to overlook David’s weaknesses because he was bringing in the people who were filling the offering plates? Or friends who knew what was going on and didn’t have the courage to tell me?”
Knew what? Eunice was afraid to ask. She was afraid she already knew.
“I’ve always tried to believe the best about people, especially my husband. Euny, I have to talk to someone, and I’d rather it was you than anyone else. But you have to promise to keep it all to yourself.”
Lois unloaded her burdens, and Eunice was weighed down by them, filled with righteous wrath and sorrow. “Oh, Mom. I’m sorry. What does Dad say?”
“That it’s all a misunderstanding. That there are tares among the wheat that are trying to strangle his ministry. That this is all about jealousy and ambition. That he’s being persecuted just like Jesus Christ. He fought back at first. Like a wolf in a trap. Maybe that’s why the board members started banding together. Whatever the case, the last meeting settled the matter. I’ve never seen David so angry, but he wrote the letter of resignation. And now, the congregation is going to hold a big party to say thank you and wish us well. They have no idea what’s happened. And that’s the last I’m going to say on the matter because I’m too close to the whole thing to be objective. How’s Timmy? Tell me what my grandson is up to these days.”
Eunice took her cue and spent the next fifteen minutes talking about Timmy’s activities. He loved soccer and riding his bike, but he was having difficulty “staying on task” in school.
“Paul was the same way. Now, what about you? Is everything all right with you?”
“I’m busier than I like to be, and Paul is working harder than he should, but other than that, everything is just fine.”
“Uh-huh. I can hear how fine it is.”
“I’ve been learning hard lessons since we came to Centerville. A pastor’s life is not his own. How have you managed all these years?”
“The Lord is my first husband, Eunice. My faithful companion.” She laughed softly. “The hardest part is learning that you can’t pray on Monday and expect God to answer by Tuesday morning.”
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“Set a timer for five minutes. Ping! Problem solved. Of course, it would be down the chute and into the fire instead of grace and mercy, wouldn’t it?” She reminded Eunice of the date of the retirement celebration. “If Paul gives you any hassle, tell him his father needs him. Don’t tell Paul anything of what I’ve shared with you. I want David to be the one to explain all this, if he has the courage.”
Paul went through the mail Reka Wilson had put on his desk. A letter from an attorney caught his attention. He sliced it open and read that Centerville Christian Church was the sole beneficiary of a Bjorn Svenson. His pulse jumped. He turned to his computer and typed in the name. Nothing came up. He tapped speed-dial number five. “Eunice, do you remember someone named Bjorn Svenson?”
“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“I just received a letter from his attorney informing me the church is Svenson’s primary beneficiary.” He wondered how much money was involved. Let it be a lot, God! Let it be enough for me to move ahead with my plans. We need a bigger facility. If it isn’t enough for that, let there be enough to buy land.
“Samuel might know.”
He wasn’t about to call Samuel. “Did the office furniture arrive yet?”
“All the pieces made it without a scratch.”
“I want my desk and the credenza by the front windows.”
“Everything is exactly where you said you wanted it, Paul. Don’t forget we’re supposed to meet with Timmy’s teacher this afternoon.”
He had forgotten, but how important could it be? “I haven’t got time today, Eunice.”
“It’s important that you be there this time, Paul.”
“You can handle it.”
“We should be together on this, and his teacher asked to speak to both of us. He’s been in two fights in the last month.”
“So ground him again. For more than a few days this time.”
“Paul—”
“Look, Eunice. You know I love him, but I have a full day scheduled. Everyone wants a piece of me.”
“It’s only twenty minutes, Paul. And this is your son.”
The heat came up beneath his skin, his muscles tensing. “I don’t remember my father ever attending one of my parent-teacher conferences. My mother was the one who went.”
“And you told me once you never felt as though you mattered to your father.”
Why did she have to bring up something he said in a weak moment and throw it in his face?
“The appointment is at three-thirty.”
“All right. I’ll do my best to be there.” He hung up. He looked at his calendar, glanced at his watch, and picked up the telephone. He wanted to find out more about the Svenson bequest. This might just be the answer to his prayers.
Paul didn’t even think about the parent-teacher conference until he was on his way home from Rockville. Eunice would be disappointed, but as soon as he told her the news, she’d understand.
He turned onto the cul-de-sac of new houses, pulled into the driveway of the largest one in the back curve, and pushed the remote on his visor. He felt a warm glow of pride as he looked at their new home. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large family room, and formal dining room adjacent to a living room with a fireplace. The door rolled up smoothly and he drove his new Saturn into the two-car garage, parking next to his old Toyota.
Unlocking the side door, he came into the kitchen and smelled pot roast and apples baking. The nook table was set for two. Eunice stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. He put his hands on her hips and kissed the curve of her neck. She didn’t move. “I’m sorry I missed the parent-teacher conference.” She continued peeling potatoes. “You’ll understand as soon as I tell you why.”
“I’m sure you have a good reason. You always do.” She cut up the potato over a pot on the counter, turned on the tap water until the chunks of potato were covered, and shut the water off. She stepped away from him and set the pot on a burner.
“I didn’t intentionally forget about the appointment. I told you about the letter I received from the attorney.”
She turned. “What attorney?”
“The one who sent me a letter about Bjorn Svenson, the man who made the church his sole beneficiary.” A look came into her eyes that he couldn’t decipher. He opened the refrigerator and took out a can of soda. “Svenson was a merchant in Rockville. He ran a clothing store there for forty years.” He popped the top and took a long swig. “When his wife died, he tried to sell. There was a recession, so the place just sat on the market for a couple of years with no offers. The Realtor advised him to take it off the market, which he did. When Svenson’s health declined, he moved into a residential-care facility north of Sacramento and left the attorney to handle the details of his estate. The property taxes have been paid on time each year, but the store sat vacant. I went out to look at it with a Realtor this afternoon.”
He grinned. Maybe she’d be more enthusiastic when he told her the great news. “Take a guess what the property is worth on today’s market, Eunice.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Five hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Can you believe it?” He laughed. The last of the soda bubbled over his tongue. He put the empty can on the counter. “This is what I’ve been praying for: a clear sign that I’m to move ahead with the building project.”
“It could mean other things, Paul.”
“No, this is a sign from God, Euny, a clear sign that we should move ahead on the new facility. This windfall is the money I need to start. I’ve called a board meeting on Friday night. The Realtor said she could have the report on comparable values ready by then.”
“You’re assuming everyone will see it the same way you do.”
“Everyone will. Even Samuel will agree this is provident.” He cupped her face. “So, are you going to forgive me for missing the parent-teacher conference and set a place for me at the dinner table?”
“Your place is set. Timmy’s spending the night with the Masons. We need to talk.”
Warning bells went off, but he didn’t want anything to spoil the rush he’d felt since he’d talked with the attorney and Realtor. He didn’t want anything to dampen his joy. “You know, this is the first time in ages that we’ve been alone together.”
“Paul . . . ”
He kissed her again, the way he had when they were first married. “I love you. I know I haven’t said it often enough, or shown you . . . ”
It took only a moment for her resistance to melt.
They could talk about Tim’s problems in the morning.
CHAPTER 9
SOMETHING WAS wrong. Paul could see it in the way his father shoved his hand into his pocket and jingled his keys as they waited for the retirement banquet to begin. Paul’s mother sat on the leather sofa between Eunice and Timmy, looking lovely but older than the last time he’d seen her, seven months ago. Was her health the reason his father had decided to retire?
“Sit down, David.” She smoothed the skirt of her peach silk suit.
“I don’t feel like sitting down.”
“You’re not facing a firing squad.”
He gave her a venomous look and went back to his high-backed leather armchair near the built-in mahogany bookshelves. The office had been re-decorated again. Everything was first-class. “If you’re going to attract corporate types to your church, you have to look the part,” he’d told Paul earlier in the evening. “You can’t usher an executive into some tacky little hole-in-the-wall and convince him Jesus is the way to a good life.” The cherry wood paneling, custom drapes, brass lamps, and plush forest green carpeting probably cost more than Paul’s annual salary, and that didn’t even count the new desk and credenza.
His father drummed his fingers on the red leather chair.
Someone had better say something to ease the tension in the room. “I doubt I’ll live long enough to have an offi
His father stood and paced again. “You will if you work hard enough.”
“Paul works very hard,” Eunice said.
“Did I say he didn’t?”
Paul gave Eunice a warning frown. She knew better than to be argumentative. The last thing he needed was his father making some crack about a husband who needed his wife to defend him. “A church of five hundred can’t be compared to one of six thousand, Eunice.”
“Jesus began with twelve.” His mom patted Eunice’s hand. “Some people forget that work is just work if it isn’t guided by the Holy Spirit.”
His father turned his back on them and stared out the window.
“Who’s taking over your pulpit, Dad?”
“Joseph Wheeler.”
“He’s been an associate pastor for five years,” his mother said. “He’s a man after God’s own heart.”
Paul couldn’t remember him. “I’ve never heard him preach. Is he any good?”
His father snorted. “The elders think he is.”
His mother smiled. “He’s an excellent teacher with a solid foundation in the Bible. People can trust him.”
His father moved away from the windows and glanced at his Rolex. “What’s taking them so long?”
“Try to relax, Dad. You’re making all of us nervous.”
“This evening wasn’t my idea.” He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from an inside pocket of his Armani suit coat and dabbed at the perspiration beading on his forehead. “I don’t like having things planned for me.” Refolding the handkerchief, he tucked it back into his pocket.
“At least it isn’t a surprise party,” Paul said, trying for a little levity.
“I’d like to surprise them.” His father’s eyes were dark.