Emilie Richards – The Color Of Light (страница 16)
Actually, there was a third, and she tested her conclusion. “Your parents let you stop going to school?”
“Nobody can make you go if you don’t want to.”
Especially parents who were exhausted, depressed, and otherwise occupied trying to keep their family together.
Analiese gathered her strength for the battle. “Okay, let’s start with the facts. You’re a smart girl. And as a smart girl you know that sometimes the world doesn’t work the way you wish it would.”
“You said it, not me.”
“So that being true, we also know that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to because the consequences of
Shiloh obviously knew where this was going. “Not this time.”
“So these are the consequences,” Analiese said. “Just so you’ll know. One, your parents will get into serious trouble with the authorities again. And as a side note to that, I think they’re already worried about the family being split up, and this will only heighten their fears. For good reason.”
She overrode Shiloh’s attempt to interrupt. “And two, the church will not let you stay in the apartment if you don’t go to school. Our leadership won’t court trouble with the authorities.”
“I can pretend to go.”
“No, you can’t.”
Shiloh fell silent.
Analiese let her message sink in before she spoke. “We have good schools in this county, and there are other kids—you’d be surprised how many—who don’t have a permanent address. You won’t be alone, I promise. Asheville’s filled with different kinds of people, and I think you’ll be surprised how comfortably you’ll fit in if you give school a chance.”
“I’ll never fit in anywhere.”
“I know that’s how you feel, but I can guarantee you’re not the only girl your age who feels that way.”
“It’s not just me. They always put Dougie in with the dumb kids because he can’t sit still, and that’s not good for him. He’s not dumb, and he’s not mean, like some boys are.”
“We can talk to the people in charge and tell them everything you’ve been through. They’ll listen.” Analiese hoped it was true.
“Why bother? We won’t be here very long. Daddy isn’t going to find a job.”
“You have a place to live, and we’re going to try to find you a more permanent one. Your mom’s seen a doctor. With those problems out of the way your father can look for work without distractions, and he might find something right away. But you need to go to school so he’ll have even
“I hate this.”
Analiese reached over and squeezed her hand. She thought she had won this battle, but probably not the war. Still, the conversation had begun.
FOUR HOURS OF sleep was not enough. Not nearly. But after settling the Fowlers into their temporary home, making calls to parishioners asking for bedding and kitchen supplies, and finally settling down to wrestle with an entirely new sermon, four hours had been all Analiese could manage.
The fact that her computer’s spam filter had logged an automatic response informing her that Isaiah’s email address was no longer valid hadn’t made it easier to sleep, either.
Despite her exhaustion the first and smaller service, which was always more intimate and informal, had gone well enough. A local bluegrass band had provided the music for hymns, and communion in the pews had featured homemade bread supplied by congregation hobby bakers. No one had approached her afterward and asked if she had lost her mind, but no one had really had the opportunity. She had shaken hands at the door, which was never a good place for confrontation, and escaped immediately to her study after the last person filed through. She wasn’t afraid to discuss her decision with her congregation. She just wanted to pick the time and place.
Now sipping a cup of tea as she waited to robe for the second service she stood at her study window. She loved this space with its blue-gray paneling and courtyard view. The courtyard was surrounded by three walls, and the fountain in the center was flanked by concrete benches, where she often sat to write sermons on her laptop.
In some ways the courtyard was a secret garden and rarely used. Today was an exception. Dougie was fishing in the fountain, pants rolled up to his knees and lily pads swishing against his calves as he waded the perimeter with an old stick that flaunted a length of string and most likely an open safety pin. Never mind that there were no fish in the fountain. Dougie, like a modern-day Huck Finn, was determined to live off the land.
The sight might dismay the church building and grounds committee, but she found herself laughing, her first genuine laughter of the day. “Okay, Isaiah,” she said to the empty room. “I get it. You always said God comes to us in disguise. So now She’s a nine-year-old boy with a fishing pole?”
Someone knocked, and she tore herself away from the window, straightened her shoulders, as her laughter evaporated. She crossed the room to what she was sure would be trouble. Instead, when she opened the door she found Ethan, in a sports coat and no tie, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him.
“I can leave,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“How did you know I might not be?”
He just smiled, and she smiled back, warmed by the concern she saw. Having been married to Charlotte, who had been in the thick of every important decision made at the Church of the Covenant, Ethan was no stranger to their politics.
“Yes, I talked about the Fowlers. Thank you for understanding,” she said.
“Do you need anything?”
Anything other than a congregation that realized sometimes being a Christian meant more than giving money and saying the right prayers?
“I might need you to remove a certain young man from the fountain,” she said instead. She nodded toward the window.
He peered around her, then his smile widened. “Seems like a shame, but maybe today’s not the best day for your congregation to see that.”
“Dougie’s one of those kids who could get in trouble in a padded cell.”
“I imagine his parents find it hard to keep up with him, particularly when they have so many other things on their minds. You’ve got people who might be able to help.”
“After this morning we’ll see how much help they want to be.”
“Actually I was thinking about the goddesses. There are lots of different talents among us.”
She heard the “us” for what it was. “It doesn’t insult your masculinity to call yourself a goddess?”
“My masculinity is perfectly secure.”
She touched his arm in affirmation. “Agreed. And now will you take your masculine self outside and remove our little friend from the fountain?”
“I’ll be at the service. Break a leg.” He kissed her cheek and left.
She finished her last swallow of tea and tidied up in the adjoining restroom, where she donned her robe again. By the time she got back neither Ethan nor Dougie was in sight outside. For this service she chose a heavily appliqued stole that Elsbeth, her needleworker sister, had made for her. A collage of colorful figures with hands lifted in prayer was artistically intertwined with flames reaching heavenward and culminating with a magnificent white dove. The stole was her favorite and, as she smoothed it over her robe and matched the edges, she said a prayer. Then she went to meet her congregation at the door of the sanctuary.
Most people knew better than to engage in long conversations as they entered, and she shook hands and greeted those who streamed in for as long as she could. She was about to go to the front when Garrett came through the doorway and motioned her to one side.
“You’re going to tell them about the Fowlers?”
She was gratified he used the family’s name and didn’t simply call them “those homeless people.”
“I plan to, yes. I did in the first service.”
“That’s good, because, you know, the word is getting out.”
“It was never meant to be a secret.”
“Well, no.” He frowned, then he seemed to recover. “And it shouldn’t be. But you know how people talk. They need facts.”
“Which I’ll give them. With a story thrown in.”
He seemed to want to say more but didn’t. She nodded and took advantage of that silent moment to leave.
This more formal service began with a processional of the entire chancel choir from the back of the church into the choir loft, accompanied by the full power of their recently restored pipe organ. Afterward she offered an invocation, more prayers were said, hymns were sung, announcements were made, the offering was taken, and finally the time came for her to speak.
The Church of the Covenant pulpit was itself worthy of a sermon. The imposing granite exterior of the Gothic Revival church was matched inside by elegant timber beams, slippery tile floors, and treasured stained glass windows from the famed Lamb Studios of Greenwich Village. The elaborately carved pulpit had been a gift from an early benefactor, with eight steps so that the pastor could gaze down at
Like many churches, the Church of the Covenant also had a lectern, a simple but elegant stand with only a few steps, which, until Analiese had arrived, had been used exclusively by lay readers delivering scripture. One of her first innovations had been to abandon the formal pulpit and deliver most of her sermons from the lectern, which was only as high as it needed to be for the congregation to see her.