Chapter Four

The following morning, it was still dark when Kate’s eyes flew open. She lay there for a moment, her muscles aching from rearranging furniture and unpacking boxes the day before. Paul was snoring softly beside her. By nature, Kate was a morning person, early to rise to enjoy the first moments of the new day all to herself. She laughingly told others she rose early so she could talk to God before he got busy with everyone else.

But this morning was different. Though she and Paul had worked all day Saturday to try to bring some semblance of order to the little parsonage, she still had a million things to do to get ready for the morning service. There was no time for prayer, or even a cup of coffee. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her robe, and padded down the hallway.

But as soon as she flipped on the fluorescent lights in the living room, she groaned and changed her mind. She might have a million things to do, but with her spirits threatening to sag with worry over how she could possibly get everything ready, she decided it was more important than ever to start her day with spiritual sustenance. She reached for her Bible, flipped off the tube lighting, and settled into her favorite rocking chair. It was the only comfortable seat with a table lamp beside it.

Fifteen minutes later, her heart felt pounds lighter. She hurriedly changed into her jeans and an old shirt, and humming one of Paul’s favorite old hymns, “When We All Get to Heaven,” she again flipped on the overhead lighting, tried not to cringe, and went to work.

By 6:03 she had cleared the spinet piano of Paul’s reference books—seven boxes of heavy tomes on theology and philosophy, and at least four different Bible translations—and stacked them in nearby bookcases for Paul to rearrange later.

By 6:47 she had scooted some of the heavier boxes from the center of the room to the sides to make space for seating the congregation. And by 7:32 she had found several stacks of metal folding chairs in the garage, delivered by two men from the First Baptist Church the day before. Ten minutes later, Paul, pajamas and robe still on and hair mussed, padded into the garage with two mugs of coffee.

He handed one to her and, with his opposite hand, pulled a couple of folding chairs together. They sat down in the middle of the room, stacks of boxes rising like a cardboard high-rise city around them.

Kate read the concern in her husband’s eyes. “We’ve got a difficult morning ahead of us.”

Paul took a sip of coffee, then placing the mug on the floor beside him, leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers dangling. “The congregation is still in shock. Once that wears off, the sorrow will come. And maybe anger, especially toward the person who set the fire. Getting through all that is enough of an ordeal. Then there’s the cleanup and rebuilding...” He reached for his cup.

“I want to encourage them,” he continued after taking a sip of coffee, “give them hope for their future, for our future together.” He was watching her intently. “But we’re outsiders. I worry they won’t want our help because of that. In the middle of the night, I was awake praying for Faith Briar, knowing that today may be the most difficult of Sundays to get through. People will have questions, not just about the fire, but possibly about their faith.”

She nodded, putting aside all thought of the dirty windows in the living room, the rust stains in the guest-bath toilet, the cluttered kitchen counter, the cookies she planned to bake for after the service...or the fact that it all needed to be done by a quarter to ten. Instead, she smiled and reached for Paul’s hand.

“First of all,” she said, “you were called to Copper Mill—by this congregation, and by God. No matter what has happened, they’ll look to you for leadership. They know you’ve been involved in building plans before. They’ll listen to you. I could see it in their eyes from the moment we arrived.

“Second of all, I suspect it’s not just the folks at Faith Briar who need encouragement. I think their shepherd needs a bit of encouragement too.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m not usually a worrier, but this thing...”

“You’ve never faced anything like this before. Your concern seems only natural to me. And I think that’s what you’re dealing with—concern, not worry. And as you’ve had to remind me a thousand times, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He took a sip from his mug. “I came out here to bolster your spirits, and here you are, lifting mine.” He paused, studying her carefully, laugh lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “Aha! You must have caught the ear of our Friend this morning before everyone else did.”

She laughed. He knew her whimsical humor well. “Yes, I had his full attention earlier than usual.” She squeezed Paul’s hand. “I once came across a little saying: ‘I do not know the master plan, but it’s comforting to know the Master has planned it, and I’m included.’”

Paul smiled and reached for her empty mug as he stood. “And we can’t hope for anything more encouraging or comforting than that. All of us are included in the master plan yet to unfold.”

“Amen,” she said as Paul headed back into the house for refills.

A half hour later they had hauled the folding chairs into the house and lined them in rows facing away from the windows—still smudged and milky after an achy-arm scrubbing the day before. When Paul stepped into his small study to put the final touches on his sermon, Kate continued whirling from room to room, straightening, tidying, and minding the baking cookies.

At 9:14 she fell into the rocker to catch her breath before freshening up and dressing for the service.

She almost groaned as she again took in the odd room. She had added a few personal touches—candles and a basket of silk flowers on the piano, a potted ficus tree in the corner, a fire crackling in the fireplace, a table with extra Bibles and hymnals, boxes of tissues scattered about for the tears she was certain would flow on this difficult Sunday morning—but even with all she’d done, the room still looked barren, stark, and anything but holy.

Worst of all, gaping at her from across the room, stood those mineral-stained sliding-glass doors that had resisted every window-cleaning product—from vinegar to straight ammonia—she had tried.

She sat forward, squinting. As the thin autumn sun hit the glass doors, a pattern appeared.

She blinked and squinted again. If she used her imagination, the milky calcium deposits looked like a flock of sheep—little black faces with bells around their necks.

A flock of sheep etched on her window? She read once that someone claimed to have seen an image of Mother Teresa’s face in a cinnamon roll, but here Kate was with sheep baaing at her window.

Humor and grace. That was what she needed so clearly this day. She smiled. Thank you, Lord.

THE DOORBELL RANG at 9:37.

Standing in the entryway, Paul adjusted his tie and Kate smoothed her hair. They exchanged quick smiles of encouragement and headed for the door to greet the first of their parishioners.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped over the threshold and shook hands with them both. “Sam Gorman,” he said in a booming voice. Kate liked him immediately. There was something endearing about his ready smile and the awkward way he carried himself. It was as if his body was a ship sailing on too small a sea. Even his tanned face; his thick, brown, windblown hair; and the permanent squint of his ocean-blue eyes reminded Kate of a sea captain from some bygone era.

He glanced down at the hymnal tucked under one arm and gave her a sheepish grin. “Believe it or not, I’m the church organist, though temporarily without an instrument. I don’t suppose you might have a spare?”

Kate laughed. “I’ve got a small piano—a spinet. But it’s terribly out of tune, especially after the move. I tried playing it yesterday, and the sound was awful.”

“Lead me to it,” he said, looking as if an out-of-tune piano was the least of his worries. She noticed his hands were too bulky and wide for a musician’s, which made her wonder what his playing might be like.

She showed Sam the living room, and without hesitation, he pushed back the piano bench, set his music on the built-in stand, and rested his fingers on the keys for a moment without moving. Kate thought he might be praying.

Not wanting to disturb him, she tiptoed from the room. Before she had reached the entryway, Sam began to play.

She halted midstep, then turned back to the living room. The big man was almost curled over the keyboard, his hands dancing its length then back again. He played without self-consciousness, and the music that rose from her old, dilapidated piano was like no sound the little instrument had ever made before.

By now, others had arrived and were taking their seats. Many they had met at the fire: Livvy and Danny Jenner and their two teenage sons, Justin and James; Joe Tucker, the backwoodsman who had been the first to greet them; LuAnne Matthews, a waitress at the local diner who had delighted them by dropping by a piping hot lasagna the night before; and Betty Anderson, who introduced herself as the proprietor of Betty’s Beauty Parlor.

Quietly, they found their seats, listening gravely as Sam played “On Holy Ground.” Still more parishioners poured in, silently, sometimes in couples, sometimes in families, sometimes alone. Even the smallest children seemed subdued.

Kate didn’t know how long she stood there, transfixed. She only knew it was a moment she would never forget. The homely room with its fluorescent lighting and shag carpet, its blotchy sliding-glass doors, disappeared.

In its place was a sanctuary. The words she’d read that morning came back to her: “One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD.”

She blinked back a sting of tears. She was beholding the Lord’s beauty this moment, in the faces of his people, who had gathered to worship him, in the music that filled the room.

Paul came to stand beside her as Sam continued playing. We are standing on holy ground...flooded her mind, her soul. She looked up at her husband and knew he felt it too. “This truly is holy ground,” she whispered. “I’m surprised we didn’t notice it earlier.”

Promptly at 10:00, Danny Jenner, chairman of the Faith Briar church board, smiled and went up to stand in front of the little congregation. He was a tall, slender man with dark, curly hair. His best feature was his smile, which transformed his face from rather ordinary to handsome. He was obviously used to speaking in public and was quite eloquent in his introduction of Paul and Kate, mentioning the great blessings God had in store for them all, no matter the circumstances that shadowed their arrival.

Paul went up to stand beside him, shook his hand, and thanked everyone for coming. As Danny sat down with his wife, Livvy and their teenage sons, Paul asked that the congregation continue in the spirit of worship, holding all questions and comments about the tragic fire until after the service. Kate slipped into the back row as he announced the Scripture reading.

She had just settled back in her chair, preparing her heart for worship, when the front door opened with a bang and the sound of high heels clicking on the slate-floored entry carried toward her. Before Kate could jump up to welcome the latecomer, the telltale waft of Estée Lauder Youth-Dew descended on her, followed by the jostling creak of a folding chair, and a heavy sigh. Kate looked up as Renee Lambert plopped down in a chair next to her.

Kisses, on jeweled leash, hopped onto her lap. “Dear?” Renee said to Kate in a loud whisper, “Would you mind moving down? I don’t believe we have enough room.”

Kate took the seat to her left. The teacup-sized Chihuahua fixed a soulful gaze on her before scampering onto the seat she had just vacated.

She told herself not to be annoyed and tried to return her attention to Paul. But the little dog seemed transfixed with her, ears at full alert, his tail thumping on the chair, his tiny body shaking. She’d heard somewhere that very small dogs often do that, even when they aren’t cold. But if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was purposely looking pitiful so he could sit on her lap. And she guessed that if Renee noticed, there would be no stopping her until Kisses got what Kisses wanted.

She turned slightly away from the dog and crossed her legs.

Paul was speaking of their shared sorrow but also of coming joy. “Weeping may endure for a night,” he said, “but the promise God gives us is that joy—his joy—will return in the morning.

“Again and again throughout Scripture, we have his promise that no matter what, he will be with us,” he said. “In Isaiah 43, the promise is one that seems written especially for us today: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are mine.

“‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire you shall not be burned....Fear not, for I am with you.’”

Paul drew his sermon to a close, and Sam began playing “It Is Well with My Soul.” He nodded to the congregation to join him, this time singing along. When he reached the chorus, his booming baritone almost shook the windows.

Kate closed her eyes, letting the words soak into her soul. When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll...

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and her eyes flew open.

“I need to talk to you...” Renee said in a loud whisper, “with you being the minister’s wife and all. It’s about that arsonist...and something I think I remember about him...” She raised a thin-penciled brow as if Kate knew what she was talking about. When Kate didn’t respond, Renee leaned even closer. “It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but I know it will be instrumental to the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“You know, the man they’ve arrested?”

Kate nodded. The one Renee mentioned the day before.

“Guilty as dirt, if you ask me. And I intend to see that justice is done. He’s familiar. I know I’ve seen him before, but I just don’t remember where...I mean, before he drifted into town. Really, we all know he was one step from being homeless, staying in some dirty boarding house across the tracks, if you know what I mean...”

Kate held up a hand to stop what was turning into a tirade of gossip.

The hymn had concluded, and Paul was now inviting the congregation to stay for a time of fellowship with cookies, tea, and coffee. He closed in prayer, then Sam played “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” Though it was meant as a postlude, one by one, people joined in, singing softly as they made their way to the table where Kate had earlier set out refreshments.

As the final notes faded, Renee sidled closer, cupping her hand to Kate’s ear. “As I was about to say earlier...” Her whisper was so loud, people near them craned to look.

Kate flashed Renee a smile and tried to sidle by her. “I’m sorry. I really must run—I need to see to the coffee and tea.”

The older woman apparently didn’t notice the rebuff, because she nodded happily as she stepped back to let Kate pass. “Of course, of course! We’ll talk later.” She scratched Kisses on the head with the tips of her acrylic French-manicured nails. “But don’t forget.”

TWO HOURS LATER, the meeting was over, and everyone was gone but Livvy and Danny Jenner, whose boys were hauling the folding chairs back to the garage.

Grateful, Kate sank into her rocker as Livvy sat down in an overstuffed chair beside her. Paul and Danny were in the garage, stacking the chairs as the boys brought them.

“Your kids are great.”

Livvy laughed. “Don’t tell them that.” Livvy’s hair was short and auburn, the sides tucked behind her ears, which fit her petite frame. She wore reading glasses perched on top of her head. They had only chatted twice now, but already her open bearing and lively manner had drawn Kate to her.

“I’m serious,” Kate said. “They started working without being asked. Not many kids will do that without someone giving the order.” She smiled at the memories of her own kids. “Or offering some other incentive.”

Livvy quirked a brow. “Such as bribery?”

Kate laughed. “My own weapon of choice when it came to getting my kids to do something they didn’t want to do—and after I’d tried everything else.”

“Tell me about your kids.”

“We’ve got three, two daughters and a son. Andrew, our oldest, lives in Philadelphia, works as a lawyer. He’s married and has two kids—the cutest grandchildren you’d ever want to see.

“Rebecca’s the baby of the family,” Kate continued. “She’s in New York City, hoping for her big break on the Broadway stage. Right now she’s an understudy.

“And our older daughter, Melissa, lives in Atlanta. She’s married and has recently presented us with our third grandchild, a little girl named Mia Elizabeth.”

“They sound like great kids.”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed, she reached for a nearby tissue box. “The older two have been out of the nest for some time, but Rebecca’s wingspreading is still pretty new.”

Livvy seemed to see right through to Kate’s soul. “Something tells me all this—the move, the new church, new home, the empty nest—is harder on you than you’re letting on.”

Kate blew her nose and shrugged it off with a laugh. “Sometimes it does seem a bit overwhelming.”

“You’ve got a friend, Kate. It’s me. I’ve just appointed myself, and it’s official. If you ever need to talk, I’m your woman. If you ever need anything...”—she glanced around the room at the stacks of boxes—“and you do! Beginning this week, I’m coming over to help you unpack.”

Kate started to raise her hand in protest, but Livvy shook her head. “As your new friend, I’m telling you that you have no choice in the matter.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And if you decide to redecorate, I’ve got a stack of interior decorating magazines three feet high.” She laughed. “Of course, with two teenagers of the male variety—our home is decorated in sweat socks and football jerseys. Ahh, but someday...” Her gaze lingered on the sliders for an instant. She frowned, then turned back to Kate. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a herd of sheep on your windows?”

Kate threw back her head and laughed. That cinched it. This was a woman with an artistic eye. “You couldn’t have offered anything better. When can we start?”

The men had finished with the chairs, and Danny called to Livvy that they were ready to leave.

Kate walked Livvy to the front door, but Livvy hesitated before stepping outside. “I couldn’t help overhearing Renee tell you that she recognized the arsonist from someplace.” She paused. “The odd thing about it is that when I saw him during the fire, I had the strangest feeling I knew him from somewhere too.”

“Is he from around here?”

Livvy shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

“I saw him just for an instant, but I was struck by how utterly sad he looked. It was as if so much sorrow had filled his heart, he couldn’t bear to go on.”

Danny came up the walk to stand beside his wife. “Are you talking about the arsonist?”

The women nodded.

“I recognized him—maybe from newspaper clippings or photos, something like that. It’s likely he’s been caught doing something like this before.”

“Newspaper clippings...” Livvy mused, narrowing her eyes. “That gives me an idea. I’ll check the archives tomorrow.”

Kate frowned. “Archives?”

Livvy smiled. “Oh, I don’t think I told you. I’m the town librarian. Anything and everything you want to know, come to me and I’ll find it out for you.”