Child of Promise (20 page)

“Well, I did feel that way, that it was the Lord’s will that the Petersons reconcile.”

“No,” she said tautly, “you claimed it was God’s will they go home together tonight, or it’d slow the recovery of, if not damage, their marriage. And you were quite firm, even a bit patronizing about it all, too. You put me in the position of having to make a choice for you and God, or Mary Sue.”

“Frequently, things do come down to that.”

“But not, I reiterate, when it comes to personal safety.”

Frustration filled him. They weren’t getting anywhere; they were just talking in circles.

“Beth, I didn’t—”

“You undermined me as a doctor, Noah,” his wife said. “And I’m sorry, but I still feel you were wrong in what you did tonight. As sacred as wedding vows are to God, no harm to that tottering mockery of a marriage would’ve been done if Harlow and Mary Sue had spent some time apart while they endeavored to work through their problems. Each time they fight, Harlow hurts her worse. He may kill her. How can you be so sure that won’t happen the next time they fight?”

“No one can know the future. All I can do is go on what I feel. And I felt Harlow’s true repentance this evening.”

Beth gave a snort of disgust. “Well, repentance isn’t a whole lot of help without a plan for not sinning again, is it? Do you seriously think Harlow Peterson as yet has any inkling how to control his temper, much less know why he even gets that way? Do you, Noah?”

For the first time that evening, a twinge of uncertainty pierced him. Was Beth right? Had he been so caught up in the rightness of his outlook that he had failed to see the human needs and failings feeding into this tragedy waiting to happen?

Harlow hadn’t come to the rectory tonight because he had sinned against God and had repented of it. He had come solely because he repented of anything that kept him from his wife. Indeed, he had appeared almost on the verge of hysteria because he so desperately wanted Mary Sue with him. Harlow would’ve said anything to achieve that end. Anything.

Noah groaned and shook his head. “No, you’re right. As yet, Harlow’s repentance doesn’t go very deep. And though I truly believe he loves his wife, right now it’s a flawed, dangerous love.” He banged his head back against the headboard. “But what could I do, Beth? Mary Sue wanted to go home with her husband.”

“She’s as confused as Harlow is, if in a different way. Her love is just as flawed and dangerous, if not for Harlow, then most certainly for herself. But I think if we’d stood together, she would’ve decided against going home with Harlow tonight. But we didn’t, Noah. We didn’t.”

Guilt filled him. “I’m so sorry. I was a fool and in my foolishness, I failed not only you but also Mary Sue.” He turned and took her hand. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You don’t need to do anything, Noah, but just listen the few times I might protest or question one of your decisions. That’s all. I don’t want to interfere in your pastoral assessments. But sometimes I just don’t think things are as black and white as you may want them to be.”

“I know you might find this hard to believe, considering what transpired this evening, but I value that in you. Your counsel, your insights. For a young woman, you’ve got a very mature head on your shoulders.” He grinned and squeezed her hand. “I married you for a whole lot more than your stunning beauty, you know.”

Beth squeezed his hand in turn. “Well, that may be,” she said with a chuckle, “but I did marry you solely for your looks. Just so we get that matter cleared up once and for all.”

Noah laughed, relieved they had overcome their first marital spat so successfully. He silently lifted a quick, fervent prayer of gratitude. Thank You, Lord. Thank You.

“Do you think,” he asked, his thoughts turning back to the Petersons’ problems, “any good would be served trying to bring Mary Sue back here tonight? If you’re really that concerned about her safety . . .”

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I think it’d only make matters worse, leastwise tonight. They’re both so exhausted by now, they’ll probably just go to bed. Tomorrow, though, when they come for their visit, it might be worth some serious consideration. Having them physically separate for a while, I mean.”

“Okay.” Noah scooted down in bed and pulled up the covers. “You’ve just got me really worrying about Mary Sue now, that’s all. If she should come to any harm . . .”

“I know. I feel the same way.” Beth snuggled down beside him. “I think, though, that we’re safe for tonight.”

From out of a deep, dreamless sleep, an incessant pounding and the sound of voices permeated Noah’s unconscious. He muttered something, then turned over and covered his head with his pillow. Silence reigned once more, and he drifted back into somnolence.

Then a hand grasped his shoulder, roughly shaking him awake.

“Noah, wake up. There are people at the door, and one of them sounds like Jake Whitmore. Wake up!”

Downstairs, the telephone rang. With a moan, Noah dragged himself from his slumber. He felt exhausted, weighed down, and dull-witted. Flinging back the covers, he shoved himself upright, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“Who in the world needs me at this hour?” he asked thickly, glancing at the bedside clock.

Four fifteen. He had finally drifted off to sleep around midnight; he had barely managed four hours of sleep.

“I told you,” Beth said from across the room, where she was hurriedly flinging on her clothes. “I think Jake Whitmore’s outside. And the telephone’s still clanging away downstairs. Get dressed. I’ll let Jake in, then answer the phone.”

He stood and groggily groped around for his own clothes. “You’re surprisingly perky for this hour of the morning.”

“Comes from my internship days. We slept in the hospital. When the nurses came to fetch us, we learned to wake up and clear our minds in minutes. Life and death situations work wonders for that.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Now hurry up and finish dressing. And don’t you dare lay back down on that bed for even an instant.”

Obediently, Noah did as directed. By the time he headed down the stairs, Jake Whitmore and one of his deputies had been let in and were awaiting him in the entry. He heard Beth on the telephone in the kitchen. From the snatches of conversation, Noah could tell she was talking to Doc Childress about someone.

He walked up to the sheriff. “Sorry to be so long in getting down here. I got to bed late and was more tired than I realized.”

“Well, I’m just as sorry to have to get you out of bed,” Jake said, “but we’ve had a shooting. Harlow Peterson is dead.”

Any lingering drowsiness disappeared. Noah’s heart gave a great lurch.

“What? What did you say?”

“Harlow Peterson’s been killed. I thought you, being his pastor and all, would like to go to the house and do some praying over him.”

“H-how?” The words stuck in his painfully dry throat. “I just saw him about five hours ago. How did it happen?”

Jake Whitmore shrugged. “What brought on the killing has yet to be determined. All we know right now is it was with one of his guns. And, even stranger than that, it was his wife who did the shooting.”

19

Rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven.

Luke 10:20

By the time Beth and Noah reached the Petersons’ house, a small crowd had al–ready begun to gather. Funny how bad news always seems to travel faster than good, Beth observed grimly, following the sheriff as he pushed his way through the people. She soon found Harlow lying on the living room floor, his lifeless body covered with a blanket. Another one of Jake Whitmore’s deputies stood nearby.

Across the room on the sofa, Doc was applying a bandage to a battered and stunned Mary Sue. Beth headed immediately for them.

“Need help with anything?”

At the sound of Beth’s voice, Mary Sue looked up. “Beth. Oh, Beth, what have I done? What have I d-done?”

Her head dropped like a flower wilting on the vine, and she began to sob. Though her arms hung limply at her sides, her thin body trembled with the force of her weeping.

Beth exchanged glances with Doc. He finished tying off the bandage on Mary Sue’s arm, then rose.

“She still has a few cuts and bruises that need tending,” he said, “but I think right now she needs your comforting far more than your doctoring.”

With a nod, Beth took the place he had just vacated. She wrapped an arm about Mary Sue’s shoulder and pulled her close. Mary Sue came willingly to her, clutching Beth as if she feared she’d be taken from her.

“I-I couldn’t h-help it,” she said between hiccupping breaths. “It . . . it was all an act, Harlow’s remorse. He only m-meant to get me back home and teach me a lesson. He said he was going to b-beat some obedience into me . . . once and for all. And then . . . and then he began to do just that.” Mary Sue lifted her tear-stained face to look at Beth. “I thought he was going to kill me for sure this time. Then . . . then I remembered the gun Harlow kept in that drawer over there.” She pointed to the antique mahogany lowboy placed against the wall near the door.

“And then what did you do?” Beth asked softly.

Mary Sue sighed and wiped the tears away. “What else
could
I do? Somehow, I made it to the gun, pulled it out, and pointed it at Harlow. It didn’t stop him though, the gun’s threat, I mean. He just laughed and kept on coming.”

Over Mary Sue’s head, Beth’s gaze met Noah’s. He stood there beside Harlow’s body, watching them and listening. His face was drawn, the flesh stretched tautly across his bones. His eyes burned with anguish—and the brutal realization of the part he had played in this horrific tragedy.

Her heart went out to him. In the days and weeks to come, she knew there’d be more than Mary Sue who’d need her counsel and comfort. Mary Sue had killed to protect herself. Noah, however, had judged wrongly, and someone had lost his life because of it. It had been an honest mistake, but Beth sensed her husband would take on the full blame nonetheless. This wasn’t the time, however, to deal with that. For the present, Mary Sue’s needs must take precedent.

Beth turned back to her. “You had no choice,” she said, stroking the tangled hair from Mary Sue’s ravaged face. “Harlow might’ve killed you.”

“He said he was tired of me embarrassing him. He said if I ever tried to leave him again, he’d kill me.” She grabbed Beth and stared up at her. “But I didn’t think he intended to wait until next time. The look on his face . . .” She shuddered. “It wasn’t the face of my husband, but someone else. Someone so consumed by rage he seemed almost insane.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“I was, Beth. I wished, oh, how I wished I’d stayed at the rectory rather than gone home.” Once more, Mary Sue hugged her close. “You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

“You did the best you could. You loved Harlow, and he seemed so distraught. You were just trying to be a good wife.”

“A good wife?” Mary Sue gave a shrill laugh. “What kind of a wife kills her own husband? Answer me that, Beth.”

“More to the point,” Beth demanded with a sour edge to her voice, “what kind of a husband beats his wife over and over? Answer me that, Mary Sue.”

“He . . . he was sick, hurting. And he was so afraid of losing me.”

“That’s no excuse.” Beth opened her mouth to say more, then realized Noah was still standing there waiting to pray over Harlow, and Jake was waiting to take the body away.

Beth looked to the sheriff. “Do you need to question Mary Sue further just now? She hasn’t had any sleep, and she’s exhausted.”

Jake scratched his jaw. “No, I reckon not. This is kind of touchy, though. I have to hold her on charges of murder, leastwise until we can get a judge out here to consider her case.”

“Are you telling me you intend on jailing Mary Sue? Why, I’ve never heard of such an outrageous—”

Noah stepped over to Jake. “Considering the circumstances surrounding this unfortunate incident and the fact Mary Sue’s not likely to run, couldn’t an exception be made? We’d like to take her back with us to the rectory. She’s stayed with us there before.”

The sheriff appeared to consider Noah’s request, then shook his head. “I’d like to, Noah. Really, I would. But the law applies equally to women as to men. Until I get a judge even to rule on whether she can be released on bail, I need to lock her up.” He turned to Mary Sue. “I’m real sorry, ma’am. Hopefully it’ll only be for a few days at most. The chances are good, considering the circumstances, the judge will let you out on bail pending your trial. In the meanwhile, though . . .”

Mary Sue dragged in a deep, shaky breath, gave Beth one final squeeze, then pulled away. Squaring her shoulders, she met Jake’s sympathetic gaze.

“It’s all right, Sheriff. You’re only doing your job.” She smiled bitterly. “And, after all, Harlow was one of Grand View’s most prominent citizens. Some folk are sure to talk if you don’t follow the law in every way.” She stood and glanced at Beth. “Thank you for all your help and support. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

“I’ll continue to support you, Mary Sue.” Beth gazed up at her with a fierce resolve. “Just don’t forget. You’ve got some other very prominent citizens on your side.”

Mary Sue smiled through a glimmer of tears. “Yes,” she said, turning from Beth to Doc, “I know and thank God for that.”

By the time they returned to the rectory, the sun was rising. Beth watched it ascend over the eastern horizon, a warm, glowing orb in a soft lavender-blue sky. Even on such a morn, when death was fresh in the air and a woman’s life teetered on the brink of ruination, the sun rose, the world turned on its axis, and life went on as it always did, safe in the hands of God.

There was comfort in that. Even in the worst of times, God watched and cared and loved. And there was always forgiveness and mercy to be had—even for Harlow, even for Mary Sue.

Beth glanced at her husband as they walked along. She wanted to speak to him, to tell him of that mercy and forgiveness, and that it applied to him just as much as it applied to Harlow, Mary Sue, and all the rest of them. But the look on his face—a dark, congested expression that didn’t welcome conversation—gave Beth pause.

More than anything right now, she wished dearly for years of marriage with him. Years in which to get to know him, his moods, his fears, and what to say to help him in those dark times. In a time like today.

No words came, however. No inspiration from above, and, finally, they arrived home. After sending home Helen Yates, who had come to watch Emily, Beth hurried to the stove, took up the coffeepot, and soon had it full of water and fresh grounds. By the time she was ready to place the pot back on the cookstove, Noah had the fire going.

“Would you like some breakfast, or will a nice cup of coffee be enough this morning?” she asked as she put the pot back on the stove.

He shook his head. “Right now, my stomach couldn’t handle either. I’ll go get Emily up and dressed, then bring her downstairs before I head to the church. I’ve got a lot of work piling up there.”

“Noah, it’s barely 6:00 a.m.,” Beth said, her concern for him growing. “Emily never gets up before seven. If you don’t want any food or coffee, fine.” She walked to the table and sat. “I need some coffee badly, and I’d like to spend a few minutes with you.” She indicated the chair across from hers. “Just sit and unwind a bit, okay?”

He studied her for a long while, his gaze sad, considering. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Beth,” he said finally. “Really, I do. But I’m just not ready to talk about this. Right now my heart’s so ripped apart, I can barely think, much less sort anything out. I need some time . . . to be alone, to pray.”

“I understand, Noah.” Beth folded her hands on the table. “I just want you to know I’m here when you finally do want to talk. Because we do need to talk. This is too big a burden for you to carry alone.”

“It’s mine to bear if it’s my fault,” he muttered, “which it is.”

“Noah, that’s not true, and you—”

He held up a hand. “Not now, Beth. I’m sorry, but not now.”

Before she could even formulate a reply, he turned and stalked from the kitchen, across the entry, and out the front door.

By some special grace of God, Noah managed to get through Harlow Peterson’s funeral. He had thought Millie’s service had been difficult, but even in his grief at her passing, he had still felt connected to God. Now, though, Noah lived in total darkness. His prayers were dry as dust. His joy had shriveled. Surely the Lord had forsaken him.

But what else did he deserve? In his pride and arrogance, he had thought he knew the Lord’s will, when it had always been but his own. He had imagined himself above most men in his wisdom and ability to discern the proper course people’s lives should take even if, for a time before Beth had come back into his life, he had begun to doubt himself. And he had been so very, very wrong.

Was Harlow’s death the thing that caused him to see the truth for the first time? Noah greatly feared it was so. He knew too well of the lies people could tell themselves in the name of God. Lies that blinded the eyes as they wreaked havoc on the hopes and dreams of others. Lies that possessed not a bit of true, Christ-centered charity but only self-love and self-righteousness.

No wonder the Lord had finally forsaken him and his ministry. God had waited on him for years now, hoping His servant would learn to walk the one true path in humility and love. But instead he had persevered in his ignorance. He was worse than a weak, ineffectual pastor. He was a threat to all the good, trusting folk who called him Father.

Had he ever really even been called to the priesthood? Had he instead, in the depths of his pride, imagined the call? Perhaps it was best to admit his mistake now, before he did more damage. Before he was the cause of even greater tragedy. As the days passed, it became increasingly difficult for Noah to set foot in church or even to go to his office there. He felt like a hypocrite, unworthy and mired in despair.

Beth, being the perceptive woman that she was, was bound to notice and eventually speak her mind. And one evening after supper was finished and Emily had been put to bed for the night, Beth broached the topic they had both danced around for over a week.

“You’re eating your heart out,” she said, glancing up at him from the dishpan full of sudsy water and dirty plates and silverware. “I’ve held my tongue as long as I can, but I can’t stand by and watch you suffer any longer. You need to make peace with what happened to Harlow.”

“This goes much deeper than my part in Harlow’s death,” Noah said, well aware there was an edge to his voice. In an odd sort of way, he was almost relieved she had finally broached the subject. Yet in another, more perverse way, he was angry, too. It seemed almost as if putting the pain to words was to make light of it.

He accepted a soapy glass from her, rinsed it clean, then put it in the rack to dry. “I showed a profound lack of judgment in how I advised them. A lack of sensitivity, of love, and just plain common sense. My pride blinded me, Beth, and that’s a fatal flaw in a priest.”