The nine-year-old slumped in the chair in Avis’s office the next day, arms crossed defiantly across his rumpled T-shirt. She watched him for a few moments, not saying anything. Shaggy brown hair that needed a haircut—a wash wouldn’t hurt either. Pasty skin. Tall for his age, thick in the neck and shoulders. They’ll snatch this kid up for football in high school and not give two cents whether he’s got passing grades or whether he’s learned to get along with other people.
“Derrick. Tell me about your family.”
His pale eyes jerked up. This was obviously not what he expected when he’d been called into the principal’s office. The eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why you wanna know?”
“Just getting to know you. Who lives at your house?”
“Just . . . my mom and dad. He drives a truck so he ain’t around too much. An’ me and my brother.”
“Is your brother older or younger?”
“Older. What’s it to you?”
Avis decided to ignore the surly tone. “So what kind of things does your family like to do together?”
The boy shifted uncomfortably. The arms uncrossed, and he sat on his hands. “I dunno. Watch TV, I guess.” Avis said nothing. He shrugged. “My mom works late, so mostly it’s just me an’ my brother.”
“So your brother takes care of you?”
Derrick scowled. “S’posed to. But he an’ his friends are always pushin’ me around. So mostly I just stay outta their way.”
Avis’s spirit sagged. What she had on her hands was a neglected kid with absentee parents and a bully big brother.
“Tell me about your friends.”
Another shrug. “My dad don’t want me to play with the kids in my neighborhood. Says there’s too many gooks an’ spics an’ nig—uh, blacks.”
Avis pressed her lips together. I’ll bet. So much for calling in the parents. She forced herself to keep her voice friendly. “Do you like Sammy Blumenthal in your class?”
A sneer lifted one side of his mouth. “That beanie-boy? Why would I like him?”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause he’s a wuss. All ya gotta do is look at ’im an’ he goes cryin’ to the teacher.”
“But I understand you do more than just look at him.”
The boy hunched and stared at the floor.
Avis watched him sadly. No wonder Derrick picked on other kids. The proverbial pecking order.
Finally she got up from her chair, walked around her desk, and pulled up a second chair next to Derrick. He cringed slightly away from her. She didn’t touch him, just sat close. “Derrick, would you like to carry the flag into the auditorium and lead the Pledge of Allegiance when we have our final assembly in a couple weeks?”
Now he stared at her, mouth open. Then the eyes narrowed again. “You messin’ with me?”
“No. What do you think?”
Was that a smile at the corners of his mouth? “Well, yeah.
Sure. That’d be cool.”
“Just one thing. Sammy Blumenthal will be carrying the Illinois flag at the same time. I need to see that you two can get along if this is going to work. If I hear otherwise”—she shrugged—“I’ll need to get someone else.”
The boy’s pasty face seemed to brighten. “Okay. No problem.”
“Good.” She stood up. “I’ll walk you back to Mrs. Baxter’s class.” And tell Jodi to get Sammy Blumenthal into her office on the sly so she could ask him.
Estelle Bentley’s bosom heaved as she chuckled. “Avis Douglass, you sure do have an odd way of dealing with school bullies. Puttin’ the bully an’ the bull-ee on flag duty together. Now that takes the cake!”
Her husband, Harry, wagged his shaved head. “Wish we could do somethin’ like that with rival gang kids. Woo-eee.” He whistled through his teeth.
Jodi Baxter appeared in the archway of the living room carrying a tray with a coffeepot, a pitcher of iced tea, mugs, glasses, milk, and sugar. “Some like it hot, some like it cold,” she sing-songed.
“And nobody likes it in the pot, nine days old.” Denny Baxter took the tray from his wife and set it on the sturdy wooden coffee table. “When Jodi starts reciting Mother Goose, I know it’s time for a looong summer vacation. Harry, you want coffee?”
Harry and Estelle Bentley had shown up at the front door of the Baxters’ two-flat at the same time as Avis and Peter Wednesday evening and settled into the comfy living room. Seated in an overstuffed chair, Avis drank in the familiar room. Plants in the bay windows overlooking the street, no curtains. A well-used but still serviceable sofa with matching chair, a recliner, and a hassock provided seats for the six of them. At Yada Yada meetings, they had to import dining room chairs.
“Thanks for coming,” Jodi said, curling up with her iced tea on one end of the couch next to Harry and Estelle. “Pastor canceled Bible study tonight—obviously, I guess, since Pastor Clark had been teaching it—but I think some people are gathering at the church to pray anyway. But Pastor said to go ahead and meet tonight to plan the funeral. It’s all part of the same thing.”
“Well, prayin’ sounds to me like a good way to start.” Estelle didn’t wait on ceremony but launched into a heartfelt prayer of praise. “Jesus! Mmmm, Lord! Sometimes we don’t understand why things happen the way they do, don’t understand why things happen when they do. We don’t understand why You took one of our saints home just now. But one thing we do know. You are a good God! Your love is never failing. You have poured out Your love an’ grace an’ mercy in many ways on SouledOut Community Church, an’ we’re gonna trust You now to show us the way ahead. So we thank You, Jesus! We thank You!”
Avis joined in the praise, realizing she needed to get her own focus straight if she was going to hear from the Holy Spirit about this funeral service. Not focus on her laundry list of problems. Not on her daily sadness that Rochelle still hadn’t contacted her again. Not on the big decision facing her and Peter. Just focus on Jesus . . .
Denny Baxter, not one to pray aloud during a free-for-all praise time, finally cleared his throat and brought the prayer time to a close, asking God’s guidance in their discussion tonight and His blessing on the funeral service itself, “. . . that You would be glorified in everything we do and say. Amen.”
Jodi—true to form, thought Avis—had written down some areas to consider: music, obituary, sharing time, eulogy, repast. “You forgot resolutions from other churches,” Estelle put in.
Jodi tucked her long bob behind one ear. “How do we get those?”
“Humph. Just let other churches ’round the city an’ people who knew Pastor Clark know about his passin’ and invite them to send a resolution in his memory. It’ll happen. Then we assign someone to read ’em.”
“Uh, well, could you do that part, Estelle? Let people know, and then read them at the funeral?”
Avis smiled to herself. Jodi was quick on the uptake: make a suggestion, and you were likely to end up doing it.
“Why don’t we call it a memorial service instead of a funeral?” Denny asked.
“Make that a home-going celebration,” Estelle countered.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Like that.”
The phone rang. Denny went to answer. When he came back, he stood in the archway, hands in his jeans pockets, a perplexed look on his face.
“What?” the other five chorused together.
“That was Pastor Cobbs. He’s been going through Pastor Clark’s papers at the office, and he found his will—and he does have a brother in Washington State—plus some general instructions. He, uh, doesn’t want money spent on a fancy casket. Said to bury him in a pine box, give everything after paying his bills to set up a scholarship to help send SouledOut kids to college.”
Avis blinked back sudden tears. Sending kids to college—a lot better use of money than spending thousands on a fancy casket just going into the ground. Bless that man.
“A pine box you say?” Harry scratched the grizzled horseshoe beard that rimmed his jaw, which, combined with his shaved dome, always made Avis think the ex-cop’s hair was on upside down. “What’s that mean? Anybody know where to get a pine box?”
They all looked at each other. Finally Denny spoke. “Well, maybe Josh and I could build one or something. But we’ve only got two days. I’m going to have to take time off work. Could probably use you, Harry.”
Estelle crossed her arms. “Humph. Ain’t gonna let that saint of God lie in a plain wooden box. If you’re gonna make him a casket, I’ll sew somethin’ to line it with.”
Harry grinned. “That’s my girl.”
After tossing ideas around for another half an hour, the final assignments were made. Denny, Josh, and Harry would work on a casket. Estelle would make a lining, plus gather resolutions to be read during the service. Pastor Cobbs, of course, would give the eulogy. Peter, who’d been fairly quiet all evening, said he’d work on the obituary and get a printed program made. Jodi volunteered to gather a team of women to provide a repast after the service. “And a team of men to do the cleanup,” she said, winking.
Avis agreed to work with the praise team on songs and scriptures. “I’ll ask Terri Kepler if she’ll do sign language for some of the songs—Pastor Clark really loved her signing.” Reluctantly, she also agreed to be the worship leader and emcee the service.
“Well, I guess that’s it.” Jodi looked around the room. “Anybody want to close with—”
“We need to pray all right,” Estelle said. “But somethin’ in my spirit says Avis an’ Peter need some special prayer right now. You two want to say somethin’?”
Avis and Peter looked at each other. She was sure he was thinking the same thing. Should they say anything about Pastor Cobbs’s proposal? He’d said they should decide if they were willing before he brought it to the elders—and Denny was one of the elders. And yet, these were four of their closest friends. Who better to help them sort it all out?
She gave a slight nod. Peter spilled it. Everything. The restlessness he’d been feeling . . . the possibility of an exciting mission trip landing in their laps . . . right up to the meeting they’d had with Pastor Cobbs two days ago.
The other two couples listened soberly.
Peter sat on the edge of the recliner, tension rising in his voice. “It’s not just that we have a tough decision to make about the pastor’s request. Any wisdom you guys have, good, we want to hear it. But . . . to tell you the truth, I’m struggling with what the heck God is doing here. Feel like I’m getting jerked all over the place. I mean, why even send us that invitation from Nony and Mark if God’s just going to slam the door in our faces? It felt like it came straight from heaven, an answer to prayer for something good and useful to do with some of our remaining years. And at first it seemed as if God was opening all the doors—the offer of a buyout for the business, even the possibility that Bethune Elementary might end up on the school-closing list. On one hand, bad news—though even that seemed like God was freeing us up.”
Avis saw Jodi’s eyes widen at that, and she cringed. Not how she wanted Jodi to find out her job might be on the line.
“Then my buyer started waffling. Then Carl Hickman got hurt and left me without a plant manager. Then Pastor Clark died.” Peter sucked in his breath. “And now, like a sharp U-turn, Pastor Cobbs is saying don’t go, you’re needed here. Why? I don’t get it.”
No one spoke, except to make small murmurs of empathy. Then Harry scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Brother, can’t say I know what God’s doin’ here. Have to admit, I’ve asked that same question ’bout some of the stuff God took me through. Thought I was goin’ blind. None of it made any sense at the time. But in the end, I knew, yes, I knew, God was with me all the while.”
Estelle wagged her head. “Mm-hm. Ain’t that the truth.”
“As for Pastor Cobbs’s proposal,” Harry said, “I’m thinkin’ you an’ Avis would make a great interim team to support the pastor during this transition. Can’t think of anybody better. As for all that other stuff? All the yays, nays, and in-betweens. Doors open, doors slammin’. Might be God brought up the mission trip thing just to get you used to thinkin’ about change, about something new comin’ your way.” He turned to his wife. “What was it you was tellin’ me about a couple days ago, what God said to Queen Esther in the Bible? Why He put her through all that silly beauty queen stuff?”
Estelle nodded. “Mm-hm. ‘To prepare you for such a time as this.’ ”