Castles in the Sand (36 page)

She wouldn’t pursue a divorce. She could not imagine Drake doing so either. But of course she never could have imagined him telling her not to come home…even if he didn’t mean it.

Where did that leave her? It was up to Drake. If he refused to love and accept her and Kenzie as they were, was Susan prepared to sacrifice money, home, prestige? Was she ready to find a job and support herself?

A feeling surged through her like an electric shock. An image of a bird-of-paradise flower sprang to mind. She recognized it as the one from the backyard, the one growing right through concrete. Music filled her ears. It was her voice singing late at night on the beach. She knew it echoed from another special Thursday night. Her personal “Resurrection Thursday” to be exact.

“All right, Lord. I get it.” She smiled. “My life is in Your hands and Yours alone. Goodnight.”

With that she rolled over, her back to Pugsy. His doggie breath proved to be really just a bit much.

Once again the Martha Mavens—except for Natalie—descended upon the beach house midafternoon. Their plans for Good Friday were far less involved than the previous night’s communion service. Mildred had said, “What else can we do, dearies, but weep at the foot of His cross?”

Still, there was much to do.

Susan adored the camaraderie and tried not to worry about Kenzie and Natalie. She had left voice mails for both. She knew Kenzie was working. Natalie probably had an afternoon soccer practice to coach.

“All right,” Mildred announced from her stance in front of the fireplace. “I think we’re finished.”

Leona hugged her twin.

With a heavy sigh, Emmylou sank onto the couch.

Gwyn said, “It’s perfect.”

Tess nodded. “Yes, it is.”

If she didn’t know better, Susan could have sworn Tess Harmon had never taken charge of a single thing in her life. Her cooperation and deference to the elderly twins was a sight to behold indeed.

Mildred said, “Susan? What do you think?”

She gazed around the room. Much of the floor space of both living room and kitchen areas was covered with folding chairs provided by Julian. Unlike last night, they and the other furniture were arranged facing the fireplace. Votive candles—more than she could count—sat on the mantel and every other flat space, including book shelves, kitchen and coffee tables, and countertop.

Aside from water bottles and plastic cups, no refreshments waited in the kitchen. Several boxes of tissues were placed in various spots, beneath chairs and alongside couches. Almost as many Bibles lay about the room.

The focus was the fireplace. There, propped on the hearth and resting back against the mantel, was a thick rough-hewn wooden cross about five feet tall. Zeke and a friend had delivered it, gently carrying it through the front door. With an almost reverent air, they’d positioned it.

Susan looked at Mildred. “Only one thing is missing. Well, besides Kenzie and Natalie.”

The old woman smiled and nodded as if she expected what Susan was going to say.

Naturally she would expect it. Susan’s suggestion was what the Prayer Warrior herself would say.

Susan smiled back at her. “Prayer is missing.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s time, dearies. Shall we sit and invite the Lord to visit?”

Susan thought back to the time the Martha Mavens first showed up at the beach house and Mildred said almost those same exact words. How she had cringed at the thought of prayer! How she had pretended her life was hunky-dory! How awful she could not say aloud the words that Kenzie was pregnant!

“Lord, preserve us from ourselves,” Susan murmured.

Gwyn said, “What?”

Mildred chuckled as she waddled to the couch and lowered herself beside Emmylou. “Oh, she’s just getting started. She can’t even wait for us all to sit down. Susan, will you lead us?”

She stared. “In prayer?”

The white head bobbed, the big eyes behind thick lenses sparkled.

And Susan remembered the bird-of-paradise. Abundant life could indeed blossom in the face of what looked like insurmountable obstacles.

As the sun inched its way toward the horizon, Gwyn and Tess lit the myriad of votive candles about the room. Emmylou dimmed lamps, but turned off most of them. The result was an inviting atmosphere of contemplation. Gwyn even ignored Pugsy. In turn the dog remained calm and chose to boldly nap atop the bed. Susan moved his food and water into the bedroom and shut the door.

People trickled into the beach house a few at a time, their greetings subdued. No hours had been set to begin and end worship. Mildred wanted the entire evening left wide open to the Spirit’s leading. The only plan was to read aloud the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion.

To Susan’s surprise, Julian and Zeke returned. With them came four men whose grubby appearances suggested they were homeless. She knew Zeke spent most of his time ministering to the homeless; Julian helped him now and then. When the strangers nodded to her politely, her concern vanished. They weren’t like some she had noticed on the boardwalk, so obviously mentally ill and almost violent in their voice and behavior.

A steady stream of Holy Cross Fellowship members began to flow through the front door.

Robbie Bainbridge touched her elbow. Married to Emmylou, he was every inch a Marine from the crew cut to the ramrod posture. “Miss Susan.” He hadn’t lost his Southern manners, either. “You go sit down. I’ll stand outside and man the door.”

“I don’t mind—”

“To tell you the truth, I can’t concentrate real good. Those Braxton whatevers have been going strong for a while. And they’re pretty regular too. Like the real thing. Emmylou’s thinking she’d prefer Easter and not Good Friday night for a birth, but I don’t think that’s our call. I’d just as soon be standing up and ready for anything.”

Susan smiled. “Like whisking her off to the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you again for saving a parking spot in your carport for us. Knowing my truck is close by gives me my only peace of mind at the moment.”

“You’re welcome, Robbie.”

She made her way to the far side of the room, heading toward a vacant folding chair near the hallway. At least forty people already sat, some on the floor like last night. Not many more would fit comfortably inside the room. Maybe some would see it like a come-and-go open house and leave to make way for others.

Oh, Lord, I really did not want this boycott to succeed. Please take more people to Drake’s service than to here. Please let him feel only Your prompting that he be more real than he has been
.

Then the expressions caught her attention. Many faces registered awe. She saw peace. She saw tears. Every eye not closed gazed at the cross. The sound of a woman’s hushed voice broke the silence. “‘From the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, eli, lama sabachthani?” that is, My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’”

And Susan understood that none of it was about a boycott after all.

Susan didn’t know how long she sat there, listening to the familiar words read by different people, Scriptures from the disciples’ accounts of the crucifixion and from Old Testament prophecies. All enhanced her imagination of Jesus suffering for her, of His taking all of her sins and the sins done against her into Himself.

On the cross.

She caught herself humming and stopped.

Then she heard the silence. No one was reading. No one was moving.

The pitch sounded in her ear, so clear she wondered if it were audible to others. She opened her mouth and the notes took shape and the words seemed to sing themselves.

“‘On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame; and I love that old cross, where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain. So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross, till my trophies at last I lay down; I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown.’”

She didn’t stop until she sang the next three verses.

As she let the last note fade away, another voice rose in song. Soft, distinct, masculine.

“‘Jesus, keep me near the cross, there a precious fountain, free to all, a healing stream, flows from Calvary’s mountain…’”

Susan’s breath caught.

Drake!

She opened her eyes and twisted around, scanning the room.

Even when he was seated, his head and shoulders towered above everyone. He sat on a folding metal chair near the door, eyes shut tight, the song tumbling sweetly from him.

Susan’s muscles tensed, ready to spring and send her flying across the room. To dance for joy before the cross or to throw her arms around her husband? Both. Yes. For certain, both.

Drake should be at the church! Preaching! Praying! Explaining the reason for the cross!

But there he sat, singing in the beach house.

She stared. At last oxygen refilled her lungs.

He reached the end of the third verse. The familiar chorus and tune nearly burst within her, clamoring for release. Lifting her voice in harmony with his, she felt the years vanish. The two of them were young again, singing duets. They were starting at the beginning. Starting over.

“‘In the cross, in the cross, be my glory ever; till my raptured soul shall find rest beyond the river.’”

At the release of Susan’s first chantlike note, Natalie sank slowly to the floor, her backside brushing down along the refrigerator. The beauty of her sister-in-law’s voice, too long silenced, resonated somewhere deep within her, awaking a sense of holiness.

She went to her knees.

And then Drake’s song kept her there.

As the rhythmical weaving of their two voices rose, she almost pressed her face into the linoleum.

A short while ago, she and Rex had entered the beach house. They used the side door located at the rear of the kitchen and didn’t go much beyond the kitchen corner. The entire open space was nearly wall-to-wall people.

Good Friday services always undid her. The ache she began to feel on Palm Sunday magnified itself to an unbearable level. The anticipated fears of Sunday exploded into reality. He died, and He died in a most horrific, excruciating way.

Mixed in with her usual reaction to the season was all the emotional drama of the past few weeks. She thought she might have to find a beach house of her own and take a sabbatical from life. Maybe in Hawaii. Six months away sounded like a good idea. Thanks to Susan,
speechless
and
frazzled
were becoming close friends, two states of being Natalie never would have chosen.

In the silent stillness that followed their songs, she recalled the previous night’s events in the church office.

Drake had cried in his brother’s arms until Natalie thought her heart would break in two for him.

“Rex.” At long last Drake used the tissues she had placed beside him and looked out through red swollen eyes, blowing his nose. “I need to confess my sin.”

Rex rubbed his shoulder. “Hey, bud, God’s listening. I don’t have to.”

“No, I need to say it out loud. Natalie, sit down. Please. James says to ‘confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another to be cured; the heartfelt prayer of someone upright works very powerfully.’”