And the Shofar Blew (45 page)

Paul held his head. He couldn’t shut out the ring of truth, nor the flood of memories. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I need to sleep on it. I need to think things over.”

“You can do all that somewhere else.” His mother stood. “I love you, Paul, but it’s time for you to go.”

He raised his head and stared at her. “You’re kicking me out? Mom, I hardly slept last night. I drove five hours to get here. It’s not my fault Eunice isn’t here. I’m too tired to—”

“I, I, I!”
She looked at him in disgust. “You got yourself into this mess, and it’s going to take more than whining and excuses and self-pity to get you out of it.”

“I understand. It’s just that—”

“You haven’t even considered what you’ve put Eunice through, have you? Not really.”

“Of course I have.”

“God help you. You’re a liar just like your father. I made things easy for him. And now look at the trouble it’s brought upon all of us.” She went to the door and opened it. “I’m not going to offer a safe haven to the one who sent Eunice out into the night.”

“I don’t know where she is, Mom. I haven’t a clue.”

“Then you’d better find out.” Her voice broke. “That poor girl. What you’ve done to her. What I helped you do.” She drew herself up and spoke firmly. “You’re not welcome in my house until you make things right with your wife.” Tears spilled over her cheeks as she made a cutting gesture toward the open doorway.

Paul picked up his jacket and went out the door. When he turned and looked into his mother’s eyes, his heart plunged. She’d always been there for him, always his ally. No one loved a son like his own mother. She looked at him as though he were a stranger she didn’t want to know.

“Wait just a minute.” She disappeared for only a moment. “Take this.” She thrust his wedding picture into his hand. “It might make you think about what you stand to lose.” She closed the door and turned the dead bolt.

The first flight to Philadelphia was full. There was no choice but to wait. Eunice took a seat by the windows, looking out over the runways. She was so tired, she thought about stretching out on the floor and tucking her purse under her head. But it wasn’t to be done. What would people think? A Starbucks was just down the concourse. Maybe a caramel latte would give her a boost, and maybe the courage she’d need for her first airplane flight.

It didn’t.

She tried not to think about anything, especially Paul’s possible reaction when he arrived in Reseda and found her gone. She could guess. What would he say to the congregation about her absence? Assuming anyone bothered to ask.
Family emergency? A cousin died? Thank you for your condolences
. Of course, there were no cousins.

Bitter thoughts ran through her head. She prayed God would stop them. She prayed for help to get through the racking pain, prayed to know what to do, prayed the Lord would just swoop down like an eagle and rescue her.

Her cell phone rang. She took it out of her purse, pressed a button, and looked at the caller’s number. Paul. She tossed the cell phone back into her purse.

Four hours crawled by before she boarded the plane with nothing but her purse.

“Would you like a pillow and blanket?”

“Please.” She smiled her thanks at the attendant. Scrunching up the pillow, she tucked it into the curve of her shoulder and leaned against the window.

She awakened once as an in-flight meal was being served. As soon as she finished the lasagna, she went back to sleep, and didn’t awaken until the flight attendant tapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll have to put your seat into the full upright position. Is your seat belt fastened?” She nodded, dozing again as the plane landed.

Everyone was out of their seats and pulling luggage out of overhead compartments and from under seats. People stood in the aisle, loaded down and eager to depart the aircraft. Eunice watched their faces as they passed. As the line of passengers trickled, she stood, looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and stepped out into the aisle. She was the last one to leave the airplane.

“Thank you,” she said as she passed the pilot and senior flight attendant, “for the smooth flight.” A pity she had slept through the experience and missed looking out the window at the tapestry of America below. She’d been too tired to keep her eyes open. She had been lulled to sleep by the hum of the engine.

She found the line of rental-car agencies and went from one to the next. But the prices were higher than she had imagined. She didn’t want to buy the car, just rent it. Finally, she gave in and handed over her credit card for a small compact that was doable and came with unlimited mileage. An agency bus picked her up and dropped her off next to the car. She sat in the driver’s seat for a long while, looking through the owner’s manual to learn how to turn on the headlights and windshield wipers, and how to release the brake. It was the first time she’d driven a new car, and she didn’t want to put a dent into it before she drove off the lot.

It was late. Most travelers were probably checking into hotels, but she had slept all the way across the country and knew that renting a room would be a waste of money. She found her way onto the main highway.

She missed Tim. Her throat closed up thinking about him. Perhaps she should have called and told him she was in Southern California. But if she had done that, he would have come over, and he would have known immediately something was wrong.

Jesus, in Your mercy, let it be Paul who tells him. Or Lois. I can’t do it. Don’t
let me be the one to see the disappointment come into Tim’s eyes, the realization
that everything he said was true. “This church is full of hypocrites, and Dad’s
the biggest one of all.”
Her son had seen more clearly than she had.

Headlights flashed by, one pair after another, passing her in the night.

Had Paul ever really loved her? She’d wondered why he even looked twice at her in college. A little backwoods girl. Unsophisticated.

What now, Lord? Didn’t You say infidelity is reason for divorce?

She unclenched her hands on the wheel and changed positions. A friend had told her once that the horror of divorce was never over. Especially when children were involved. But Tim wasn’t a child anymore. He was a young man, ready to embark upon whatever adventures the Lord had in store for him.

Give my son a faithful, loving wife, God—a girl who will cherish him and
fight for their marriage. Someone he will love and hold dear all the days of his
life. Let him be a man who keeps his promises.

Paul spent a restless night in a Hilton off Interstate 5 near Santa Clarita. It hadn’t occurred to him when he headed south that he would need a change of clothing, his razor, and toothbrush. He’d purchased the necessities last night before he checked in. He’d watched a movie to stop thinking about what his mother had said.

It didn’t help.

He had to get back to the church. He had to see if anything had been said, any questions raised. He needed to write a sermon for Sunday. No matter what disaster had befallen his life, he still had to stand up in that pulpit and give some kind of message to the people filling the pews. He sat up and fought the nausea of exhaustion and emotional upheaval.

Maybe a shower would help clear his head.

He turned the water all the way up and stood in the hard, hot stream. It didn’t make him feel any better. Nor did he feel clean. He couldn’t shut out the memory of Sheila’s contempt or Eunice’s eyes so full of pain.

The photograph his mother had given him was still in the car. He hadn’t wanted to bring it into the hotel room with him, to wake up to it this morning.

He nicked himself shaving. Cursing, he finished more carefully, then threw the toiletries into the wastebasket, dressed, and went down to the lobby restaurant to have a continental breakfast. They wouldn’t be serving until six. He wasn’t willing to wait. He checked out. He could always stop on the other side of the Grapevine and have breakfast.

Samuel listened. He heard birds, the soft hum of bees in the honeysuckle, the trickle of the water fountain in the center of the courtyard, the metallic glide of a window opening, and the muted sound of a television game show.

In the midst of such peaceful surroundings, he imagined the sound of the shofar. The Lord was calling, and the sound resonated in his heart. It carried. Stephen had heard it, too. God no longer needed men to blast the ram’s horn to hear His Word. He was writing on men’s hearts through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. But few listened. Few leaned in and sought out God’s will for their lives.

Once, on Mount Sinai, the Lord Himself had blasted the shofar as He was giving the law to Moses. It must have been a sound so intense and beckoning it made the human heart tremble.

Oh, God, how I long for You to sound the shofar again! Let deaf men hear
You so that they will never doubt again that there is a God in heaven. You are
Creator, Father, almighty God, and Son. Oh, Lord, I know You speak to us
through the Holy Spirit now, but You blew the shofar once. Please blow it again
so that Paul—and indeed, all men—will turn back from destruction. How long must I listen to the hollow words of a man who claims he speaks for You and
yet lives in the shadow of judgment and death? I hear Your quiet voice, but his
ears are shut. Blast him out of his complacency before it’s too late, Lord. Shake
him up. I see the evidence of You in every dawn and sunset . . . and his eyes are
closed.

The sun was rising at her back as Eunice approached the bridge half a mile outside of her hometown. She used to sit on this bridge when she was a girl and drop pebbles into the water. Coal Ridge seemed deserted except for two old men sitting in rocking chairs outside the general store. They watched her drive past. She turned up Colton Avenue and slowed almost to a stop as she drove by the home in which she had been raised. It was boarded up, weeds overgrown in the yard, an old For Sale sign posted on the white picket fence. She parked in front.

The gate was broken. She remembered how many people had come through it each week to visit her father and mother. The front steps were rotting. She picked her way cautiously. She looked through the window. The house was vacant, dust on the floors, cobwebs in the windows.

Someone had said you could never go home again. She hadn’t understood until this moment. This broken-down shell wasn’t her home. The people who had made it a place of warmth and love and safety were gone.

Eunice wished she hadn’t come. Leaning her forehead against the glass, she closed her eyes, feeling a sense of loss so deep she felt she was drowning in it. Turning away, she went down the steps and closed the gate behind her. She walked along Colton Avenue, looking at the houses where friends had once lived. Tullys, O’Malleys, Fritzpatricks, Danvers. Where were they now? Where had they all gone when the mines closed?

The street came to a dead end. She walked back on the other side and got into her rental car. She sat for a long time, her mind numb with disappointment and confusion. Where now? She turned the key, made a U-turn, and headed up to the main street. Turning right, she headed for the south end of town and then turned left and drove up the hill.