Mitch tightened the knot on his tie. The action seemed symbolic of tightening a noose around his own throat. He had never thought he’d be going to another church service. Sending his daughter to Sunday School with the VandenBerg family was one thing, but attending a service with her was quite another. But for his little girl, he’d do almost anything, and she wanted to go to the Big Church with him on Sunday, so he’d agreed to go.
Angie sat on his bed, dressed in a new outfit his mother had helped her pick out. Her hair was neatly combed, though he noticed the curls were somewhat uneven. She opened and closed her little purse to make sure she had everything she needed. He wasn’t sure what a six-year-old would need for a church service, but he knew her two grandmas would have instructed her.
“Are you almost ready, Daddy?” she asked. “Jennie says it starts at nine o’clock.”
“I’m almost ready, sweetheart, and we’re not going to be late. The church is only ten minutes away.”
“Sunday School is after church. There’s four other girls from my class at school. And there’s no boys, so it’s more fun.”
Mitch held in his laughter. Her views on boys would change soon enough. For now, her distaste for boys was good.
“Miss Sophie is going to work on our Christmas Pageant songs with us during the first part of Sunday School. She’s so pretty. I think she’s the prettiest lady in the whole world.”
“Mmm.” He wasn’t inclined to disagree.
“Daddy?”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Your tie looks funny.”
He looked in the mirror. He’d triple-knotted, and the resulting knot was twice as large as it needed to be. He sighed and unwound the fabric so he could start over.
~~~~
The little church looked like it belonged on a postcard. Set on the western edge of Zutphen, it held bragging rights as the highest point in town, thanks to its gleaming white steeple. The building was actually much bigger than it looked at first sight, due to modern additions off to the side and the back of the church, but they didn’t detract from the storybook impression it made to passersby.
As Mitch pulled into the parking lot, his heart beat faster and his throat tightened. The last time he’d been inside a church had been for Sarah’s funeral service. Aside from his feelings of grief and loss, there had been the disapproving stares from his mother-in-law. Though he’d had nothing to do with his wife’s death, Melinda had blamed him. If he’d been a good provider, she’d said, Sarah wouldn’t have felt the need to pursue a career. Never mind the fact that Sarah had never depended on him for anything. She made her own decisions, and a career was what she’d wanted. And she’d had it, until that drunk motorist had run her down while she’d been filming a segment for the evening news.
“Daddy?”
Mitch blinked and realized he’d parked the car and turned off the ignition but sat staring at the big wooden doors. Angie regarded him from the back seat with a worried frown. “Are you okay? If you’re sick we can go home. I’ll learn the songs next Wednesday.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine, sweetie. Let’s go.”
Entering the sanctuary reawakened the butterflies in his stomach. He took deep, calming breaths and told himself he could do this. Holding his daughter’s hand, he followed the usher to a pew in the middle and let Angie sit first. Angie beamed to find herself sitting by a classmate, and Mitch bent to whisper a reminder to behave and keep her voice down. “Pretend you’re at Nana Billingsworth’s house at dinnertime,” he murmured. Angie rewarded him with an understanding nod.
The organist finished playing the prelude, and a relatively young pastor, identifying himself as the Pastor Joe, the Youth Director, welcomed everyone and asked the congregation to rise for the opening hymn.
As he rose, Mitch noted a flash of bright pink on the other side of the aisle. He glanced over and his gaze connected with a familiar pair of green eyes. Sophie nodded then faced the front to join in the singing. She sat next to a tall, dark-haired man, and a boy about Angie’s age sat on the other side of the man. Was that her brother-in-law, or was he someone special in Sophie’s life?
Though the outside of the church presented a traditional front, the inside spoke of fresh, contemporary design and modern conveniences. Well-worn Bibles and hymnals sat in the pockets on the back of the pews, but the words to the songs they sang were projected on a large retracting screen in front. The organist who had played the prelude stepped away from the organ to an electric keyboard, where she joined a trio of singers and a percussionist. The songs they led were a mixture of contemporary and traditional, and the entire congregation, young and old, sang with a gusto he hadn’t experienced since he had photographed a documentary of a televangelist.
So far, so good. No one had confronted him about anything he’d done. Nobody had blamed him for any world catastrophes. He hadn’t been questioned about his suitability for appearing there. He could do this. For Angie.
The song service ended, and an older gentleman identifying himself as Pastor Sikkema rose to give his sermon. It seemed the man spoke to him, because the lesson was about finding lost sheep and returning them to the fold. Angie snuggled into his left side, and he relished the warmth of his baby girl as he listened to the scripture he’d heard so many times before, yet it was like hearing them for the first time. He knew he’d go to any lengths to keep her safe. Maybe that’s what the pastor was talking about. Maybe that’s what Uncle Eric intended when he’d offered the house to him. By giving Mitch a place to settle down, he’d protected him from going bonkers in the big city.
Afterward, the congregation rose to sing the closing hymn.
Angie brought him through a hallway to the choir room. “This is where we have our practice, Daddy.”
“Okay. Is this where I pick you up? What time should I be here?”
“Yes, this would be a good place to come. We should be finished by noon. And you’re welcome to stay, if you like.” A statuesque blonde with bright blue eyes and an equally bright smile came up to him, holding out her hand. “I’m Patrice Feenstra, Angie’s Sunday School teacher. You must be her dad, the photographer.”
Mitch took the proffered hand. “Mitch Carson. I’ll pass for now, if it’s okay. I need to set up my equipment for a couple of appointments tomorrow. But I’ll be right here no later than noon.”
He turned to find his way to the exit when he spied her again. This time she was talking to another tall blond guy. There certainly was no shortage of men fitting that description in the predominantly Dutch community. He wondered who the guy was. They seemed to know each other pretty well. The man reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card, which Sophie took with a smile. Mitch felt his stomach clench. Why was he giving her his phone number? Would she call him?
He shook his head. It was no business of his whether she called him or not. He really needed to get his head examined.
~~~~
Sophie took Nolan DeSmit’s business card and put it in her purse before going into the choir room. She’d always liked Nolan. He’d been a few years ahead of her in high school, and he’d been a star athlete as well as a homecoming court member. But he’d always been kind, and if he was willing to let her call him, she probably would.
Right at the moment she needed to focus her attention on the thirty squirming children in front of her. Sunday morning rehearsals were better for getting things done because the Sunday School teachers were there to help, so the kids weren’t as antsy. Too bad all the kids couldn’t be as sweet as the little girls in the front row. Angie Carson sat among of them, her gap-toothed grin bringing a familiar longing to Sophie’s heart.
Angie’s father had come with her to church. Would Mitch come regularly? It had been a real challenge to avoid looking across the aisle at him. As Grandma Gardner used to say, “He cleans up well.” Mitch was probably the kind of man who looked good no matter what he was wearing. No wonder Patrice was attracted. The flirty blonde had sashayed right up to him and introduced her gorgeous self, the little hussy.
She couldn’t blame Patrice, not really. Mitch looked at ease in dress clothes. He’d probably had to attend some fancy events in Chicago. Maybe someday soon she’d be attending functions like that in Hollywood.
She could see the event in her mind’s eye. The spotlight would shine on her as she mounted the stairs…
At the top, a young girl handed her a statuette, and the announcer — Martin Something-or-other — shook her hand. She took her place at the podium and looked out over her adoring fans. Thousands of people — celebrities, most of them, sat facing her, waiting for her immortal words. Cameras overhead pointed at her, and the lights on them told her that millions of people watched her from their television sets. Her gown was a shimmering sheath of jade satin, draped elegantly and skimming her perfectly manicured toes. Her silver sandals sported heels so high she felt tall and confident. She clutched the gleaming statuette to her breast and crooned, “I’d like to thank the Academy—”
“Miss Sophie, we’re ready. What song would you like to start with?”
Mabel Groendyke sat at the piano, ready to begin the rehearsal portion. Sophie blinked. Instead of the famous statuette, she held her notebook. Her plain wool skirt and sweater replaced the flowing gown, and sensible flats covered her feet. She was back in Zutphen, Michigan, and she had a pageant to produce. There would be no award ceremonies for quite a while. Sighing, she opened her notebook. “Let’s start at the beginning. I’ve got an idea for some dance moves to add to the opening song…”
~~~~
So the photographer is going to church. Is he trying to clean up his image, or is he trying to impress the pretty lady?
Roger Duncan set his camera down on the passenger seat and watched Mitch get into his car. He started his own car but waited to put it in gear until he could follow at a distance. The girl hadn’t come out yet. Maybe she was one of those Sunday School types who stayed in the church all day like his grandma had. If he’d known his target was headed for church, he would have put on his suit so he could have gone inside. But in his sweatshirt and jeans, he would have stood out, so he’d stayed in the corner of the parking lot and kept an eye on the door.
This guy’s clean-cut, church-going lifestyle could make the job take a lot longer than he’d expected. His client had made it sound like her son-in-law was a real low-life and a terrible father. All she needed was some evidence, like pictures of him carousing around, or proof he didn’t take care of his daughter. But so far the guy hadn’t slipped up, not once.
Maybe it was time to drum up a distraction or two.