June (11 page)

She sank down in one of the wooden chairs, her legs still wobbly from the earlier experience.

As Parker paced the wood floor, hands behind his back, his features remained stoic. She remembered his smile ear her in the day and wished he'd engage in the act a little more often. It softened the tight lines around his mouth.

He paused, facing her. "You are sorely trying my patience."

She slid to the edge of the chair. "I don't mean to. For the life of me, I don't know why I anger you. I'm only trying to help."

"Help?" He snorted. "You're determined to hold these services on Sunday?"

There was no need to bear false witness. His friendship with Eli gave him the right to know her intentions. "Yes, sir, I truly am."

She saw there was disapproval on the tip of his tongue. He seemed to war with frustration, then continued pacing.

"You're a stubborn woman, Miss Kallahan."

She didn't know what to say about that. She was stubborn. Especially when she was forced to defend a cause she strongly believed in, and she believed strongly in Sunday services for camp women and children, whether he did or not.

"Yes, sir. I've been told that before."

He paced to the window, where he stood staring out, hands still behind his back. He was silent for so long that she was certain he'd forgotten her.

Finally he said in a carefully modulated voice, "If you're so all-fired set on doing this, I won't stop you. A man should be allowed to worship on Sunday. But ..."

His "but" resonated through the room.

"Only if Simon accompanies you to the services."

"Every one of them?"

"Every one in surrounding camps."

Her pulse leaped. The punishment could be worse. From what she'd seen of Simon, the gentle giant would be more than adequate protection and a delight to be around. After today's experience, it was easy to accept Parker's pronouncement.

"Logging camps are no place for single women." Parker turned from the window, meeting her gaze. "Men tend to forget they're in a lady's presence. I warn you, I can't be responsible for the men's language."

"Perhaps after a few services, they'll be more conscious of their shortcomings."

His face remained stony. "I assure you they won't. The first sign of trouble will be the last of your services." His gaze nailed hers. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Quite clear," she conceded. "I won't be any trouble-I hope to be an inspiration."

He laughed as if she'd said something funny.

She laughed back. She'd show him she could be an inspiration if she wanted.

They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time until June gave in first. Heaving a defeated sigh, she broke eye contact. "Now that we have that out of our systems, I need to thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to my rescue earlier. I realize I acted foolishly, and I won't be doing that again. And thank you for allowing me to hold services. I thank you, and others will thank you once the services commence."

"I'm not interested in thank-yous, Miss Kallahan. I'm only interested in keeping the peace. I don't have time to be rescuing you from any more situations like we just walked out of "

"I understand, and I promise that you don't have to worry about me. I'll not go anywhere without Simon."

She leaned forward to hear his mumbled words but could only catch the clipped phrases: "flighty women" and "Simon having to spend his Sundays looking after her" and "what was Eli thinking?" Well, anyway, she was happy he was going to cooperate.

"I promise you won't regret it."

He started out of the office, then turned back to face her. Bracing his large hand on the doorframe, he dropped his bombshell. "By the way, while you're in camp, you are not-and I repeat, not,-to take up a donation for the Inman Crusade. Not one cent, Miss Kallahan."

She opened her mouth to protest, and his censuring look stopped her.

"Not one cent, Miss Kallahan. Do I make myself clear? Nothing for the tabernacle."

Nothing? How could he be so cold? He was within his rights to forbid her to solicit money, but the tabernacle was for the Lord. Couldn't he see that?

Resigned, she nodded. It was his camp, and after all, money wasn't the issue. The issue was bringing the gospel to others, and he was allowing that. She wouldn't ask for more. Like Aunt Thalia said: "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

"All right. No offering. You have my word."

Nodding, he walked out, leaving her to savor her smallbut-nonetheless-sweet victory.

She had a hunch that wouldn't happen often with Parker Sentell.

Chapter Six

THE crusade tent was filled to capacity. Benches strained beneath the weight of the faithful who returned night after night. June waited for Reverend Inman to mount the platform and take his seat on the right before she slipped onto one end of a wooden bench toward the back.

Someone toward the front stood up and began the first verse of "Praise Him! Praise Him!" in a clear baritone, which was soon joined by the congregation. The richness of the worshipers' efforts more than made up for the scarcity of musical talent.

By the end of the first chorus, most of the people were on their feet, lifting their voices toward heaven.

Mixed emotions flooded June. Even though she had never attended a meeting with Eli, she felt his presence strongly. She missed him, though she'd known him so briefly. She couldn't help feeling that the work would suffer.

Eli had loved his work, and she'd caught a glimpse of how much he seemed to have loved people. She hoped to fill an infinitesimal part of the gap left by his untimely passing.

She opened her eyes as the voices blended sweetly into "I Must Tell Jesus," a hymn that spoke directly to the heart.

Creases etched in careworn faces lifted toward heaven as each, in his or her own way, told Jesus a particular trial or burden. What a blessing it was to come together and know that no concern was ever too small for Jesus to care about. June found herself questioning why a godly man like Eli was allowed to die-She caught herself. Surely Eli would not want her to question. God was in control.

She drew a resigned breath and slowly released it. It would dishonor Eli if she, even for a moment, doubted that his life, as well as his death, could, and would, be used by God for the good he intended.

She joined with the chorus, "I must tell Jesus! I must tell Jesus!"

As the words faded, the crowd fell silent. When the last rustle, the last foot scrape, had settled, only then did Reverend Inman approach the front of the narrow stage. June thought he looked tired tonight, drawn, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

His eyes scanned the crowd. Then he spoke. "I quote from Hosea 8:7. `For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind: it hath no stalk: the bud shall yield no meal: if so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up."'

Rubbing his hand across his face, he continued softly, "It is we, the believers, the ones chosen by God to do his work, who must work for his kingdom. We must build the vessel in which to rescue those who are lost in sin."

June listened to the message, fully understanding why Eli had nearly idolized this dynamic man of God. His words, his reflections, his crisp, clear commands gleaned from the Word brought goose bumps to her arms. He brought heaven down to earth during the ensuing hour and a half.

"And I say unto you: The Lord's work will be done! Will you be there?" Reverend Inman's voice rose to a fever pitch. "Will you be the one to build the vessel? Will you be there to throw out the lifeline?" The crowd swelled to their feet, their voices lifted in praise.

"Will you close your eyes against the light? Will you harden your heart against the work? Or will you help build the tabernacle?" Reverend Inman's voice swept the crowd, bringing men and women to their feet. They continued singing in unison while making their way to the altar. Collection baskets were passed around. People dug deep, tossing coins, some dollars, into the baskets. The Spirit of the Lord was moving, and his people responded with open hearts.

June recalled Eli's glowing praise of Reverend Inman, how he was a visionary, able to see and do great things. He propelled God's people to action. Workers extolled his goodness, his purity of heart. He was a man devoted to God, a man who worked unceasingly to bring hope to the lost and weary.

June dropped a coin into the passing basket, wishing she could contribute a king's ransom. She'd heard of people who accused Christians of placing too much emphasis on money. Papa once explained that giving was necessary to a Christian's spiritual wellness. God did not need a person's money, but giving for the kingdom was a way his child could become more Christlike and less selfcentered. Papa contended that a person's attitude toward giving reflected where his or her heart truly was.