Child of Promise (23 page)

“Why, Beth?” As best he could, Noah tried to keep the frustration from his voice. “I know it’ll be hard at first, you leaving here, leaving your family, leaving your practice. But there are people in New York City who stand to benefit just as much from you and your medical skills. And it’s not as if we can’t come home—every year or so, even—to Culdee Creek. The trains are faster and far more comfortable nowadays.”Beth looked up from her coffee cup. “Though all of those things are definitely concerns of mine, they’re not the biggest reason I’m against this plan of yours. You and Emily are my family now and come first. But I’m concerned about how despondent you’ve been since Harlow’s death and that you’re even considering giving up the priesthood. More than anything, I don’t want you making such a momentous decision in your current state of mind. I don’t want you so quickly to decide on another job.”

“A teaching position like this isn’t going to stay open indefinitely, Beth.”

“But might not others come available later, if you finally determine that’s where God’s really calling you?”

His hands clenched on the table. “And why are you so convinced God isn’t calling me to it now?
I
feel He is.”

“Why, Noah? Why do you feel the Lord’s calling you to leave Grand View? And why now?”

He frowned, struggling to contain his growing anger.

How dare she question him when it came to his relationship with the Lord? But then, hadn’t that been exactly what he had been doing for a while now?

“So you don’t see this offer as a call from God?” Noah asked tersely, “Is that it, Beth? I think I know a call from God when I hear one.”

“Oh, I’m not denying God’s calling you, Noah Starr.” Beth leaned forward. “I’m just wondering if you truly understand what He’s asking of you.”

Whatever in the world was she getting at now? Noah’s rapidly thinning patience finally frayed and snapped.

“Stop playing games with me, Beth. Just spit it out, will you? Spit it out, this grand revelation of yours about God’s will for me.”

She settled back in her chair. “Fine. I will. Be forewarned, though. You may not like what I’m going to say.”

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “And when has that ever stopped you?”

“You needn’t get cross, you know.” Beth’s mouth tightened, and she eyed him narrowly. “You wanted to know, and you said I had a say in this decision. And I’m only telling you this because I believe it with all my heart.”

Remorse filled him. “I’m sorry, Beth.” Noah reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ve just been under such a strain lately, trying to sort through all my feelings about the Petersons, plus thinking so much about this position. . . . Well, I guess it’s all starting to wear me down.”

She smiled in gentle understanding. “I realize that, Noah. But I also think you’re missing what the Lord is trying to teach you in all this. Things like self-forgiveness. Things like taking a closer look at the pride that drives you to imagine you must always be perfect, just because you aspire to imitate a perfect God.

“And then there are the fears. The fear of failing, of not knowing which way to turn because life has become difficult here. But you know what, Noah? It doesn’t necessarily mean the Lord wishes you to move on, just because the times have gotten bad. Just because you now doubt God’s plan for you here in Grand View, doesn’t mean it still isn’t His plan.”

“It’s not prideful,” he said through gritted teeth, “to aspire to spiritual perfection. It’s because I love God that I wish to imitate Him. It’s because I love Him that it hurts so much when I fail His children.”

“But it
is
prideful to berate and punish yourself when you fall short. Sooner or later, that pride can lead to an inability to forgive yourself. It can even lead to the greatest faith killer of all—despair.”

Despair.

Noah’s heart twisted in his breast. He
had
come very close to despair. He
had
contemplated turning from his Lord and Savior in his sense of utter failure and unworthiness. What a fool he had been to allow anything, most especially his pride, to separate him from the Lord.

“It’s very insidious, you know.” Noah looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them on the table. “Pride, I mean. It leads you where you never intended to go. And once it gets you there, it tries to destroy you. Destroy what you hold most dear.” He lifted his gaze. “I thought I’d mastered my pride. I’d thought I’d eliminated it from my life.

But, indeed, I realize now I even took pride in my humility.”His mouth quirked sadly. “Yet it was my pride in what I considered my ministerial skills that ultimately led to my problem with the Petersons. I thought I knew what was best for them and so didn’t truly listen to what they were really trying to tell me.”

Beth sighed. “You’re right. Pride is insidious. But that doesn’t make you a failure as a priest. It’s an honest human weakness we must all fight each and every day of our lives. And it’s no reason to give up and leave Grand View.”

“No, it’s not,” Noah admitted. “But it’s also no reason
not
to accept that teaching position, either.”

“True enough. Still, there’s a lot to be said for stability, and patience in that stability. How else can you give God the time He needs to temper your soul, to prune you so you bear more fruit, to teach you what you need most to learn? Did you ever think that perhaps that’s the reason it has all become so hard? Because the Lord’s allowing life to test you, hoping you’ll grow from it and come to abide even more closely with Him?”

Noah gazed at her, not certain if he should be angry at her presumption in trying to teach him truths she, in her spiritual immaturity, had no reason to know, or fall down on his knees in awe and gratitude for the Lord’s mercy in speaking to him through his wife. Frustration filled him. These days, it was getting so he didn’t know what to do anymore or what to believe.

“Don’t you think if I really imagined God was but tempering me,” he cried in anguish, “in spite of it all, in spite of anything else He might see fit to put in my way, I’d stay no matter how hard it was? But I don’t know that, Beth. All I see are my own mistakes, mistakes that are hurting others and causing all my problems. And the Lord seems so far away right now. I can’t hear or see Him anymore.”

“And what would it take to open your eyes and ears, Noah? What would you want God to do to help you?”

For a long moment, Noah didn’t know what to say. Was there anything the Lord could do for him while he groped about in such a state? Indeed, who was he even to expect anything?

Then the answer came, though his shame at such a thought almost kept him from uttering the words. “A sign,” Noah finally choked out. “I need some sign the Lord wants me to stay here. More than anything I’ve ever needed, I need it now.”

Understanding sparkled in Beth’s warm brown eyes. “Then let’s wait a time longer in patience,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Let’s wait and hold unswervingly to the hope we profess. God is faithful. He won’t forsake us. And as we do His will, we will surely receive His promises.”

Noah nodded his acquiescence. “Yes. Let’s wait a time longer.” He shoved back his chair and stood.

Beth looked up, a slender brow arching in inquiry. “Where are you going?”

“Where else? I’m going to the church. I need to do a heap more praying.”

“And listening, too,” she called after him as he turned to go.

A sense of peace like he had never felt before flooded him. He smiled.

“Oh, yes indeed. And a heap of listening, too.”

22

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.

Hebrews 10:23

The day before Mary Sue’s trial, Beth ar–ranged to meet her late that afternoon in Bledsoe’s Quality Baked Goods and Café. After taking care to find the most private table at the rear of the little dining area, she ordered a cup of tea and a blueberry scone, then sat back to await her friend’s arrival.

It was a balmy day for the end of June, barely two weeks since she and Noah had their talk in the kitchen. Two weeks waiting on a sign from God, and none had come. She knew Noah was becoming concerned. His prayers had failed to garner any answer so far, and he couldn’t keep his seminary waiting much longer.

Was no sign from the Lord a sign? If so, what did it mean? Sometimes—well, most times, Beth admitted on second thought—she wished God’s mysterious ways weren’t always so mysterious. Surely He understood the seriousness of this decision and the time constraints. Why couldn’t He work just a bit faster?

Mary Sue entered the café just then, effectively calling to a halt Beth’s frustrating thoughts. At sight of Beth, Mary Sue smiled and hurried over.

“Thank you ever so much for asking me out for tea and sweets.” Mary Sue laid her purse on the table and paused to remove her fine cotton gloves before sitting down. “I’ve been moping about the past few days, worrying myself sick over the trial. Your thoughtfulness was a real blessing.”

Beth smiled. “I didn’t want you thinking you’d been deserted by your friends. You’ve been in all our thoughts of late—Noah’s, Doc’s, Helen’s, and all the MacKays at Culdee Creek. In fact”—she paused to draw out a small, wrapped parcel—“this is from Hannah.”

As Beth offered the gift, she saw hesitation spring into the other woman’s eyes. She wasn’t surprised. Mary Sue had never cared much for Devlin’s beautiful wife.

“Please accept it, Mary Sue,” Beth urged. “Hannah made it and meant it for you with deepest sympathy and love.”

“Yes, I suppose she did.” Mary Sue took the package. “Whenever we’ve crossed paths over the years, Hannah’s never been anything but kind to me. I’ve been the one who has shunned and maligned her.” She sighed. “Despite her sordid beginnings, she has managed to make a greater success out of her life than I ever could. Maybe I’ve hated her most because of that.”

“It’s never too late to begin fresh.” Beth watched as Mary Sue unwrapped the parcel. “After tomorrow’s trial, you’ll be completely free to start anew and find the better, happier life you’ve always sought.”

“If I truly am free. If I don’t end up sentenced to the penitentiary for Harlow’s murder.”

Mary Sue pulled a padded book from the wrappings. It was covered in what Beth could only call a miniature quilt composed of tiny bits of blue, pink, and green calico and gingham, trimmed with lace and colored rickrack. Ever so carefully, Mary Sue thumbed through the pages.

“She picked topics, such as New Life, Love of God, Fortitude, Hope, and Forgiveness, then penned in special Bible verses pertaining to each topic,” Mary Sue explained. “The first page is on forgiveness. . . .”

Her voice softened as she began to read aloud. “Hatred stirreth up strifes; but love covereth all sins. . . . Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. . . . Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. . . .”

Mary Sue glanced up and met Beth’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with tears. Impulsively, Beth reached over and took her free hand.

“H-how could H-Hannah know what thoughts and fears have been running through my head these past weeks?” Mary Sue asked, her voice wobbling. “That I imagined I’d done the unpardonable and would never be absolved? That I didn’t know what to do next, or where to turn? But she . . . she who I always treated as some pariah . . . she kn-knew!”

“And why wouldn’t Hannah, of all women, know how it felt to be scorned and shunned?” Beth asked softly. “Don’t you think she, time and again, also found answers for her own life in the Book she came to love above all others?”

“I . . . I’ve all but stopped reading the Bible of late,” Mary Sue said. “Just as I stopped attending services because I couldn’t bear to see Noah at the altar and in the pulpit.”

Beth gave Mary Sue’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s been hard for you, I know. Noah told me of your meeting that day he finally gathered the courage to come and ask your forgiveness.”

“And d-did he tell you I refused to forgive him? That I didn’t tr-trust him anymore? Is that how you kn-knew?”

“No. He didn’t tell me that. That’s between you and him. I sense, though, that he continues to grieve over what has happened.” Beth smiled sadly. “And I noticed your absence from Sunday services. It wasn’t hard to guess what had transpired between you.”

“It hurt him, my refusal to forgive him,” Mary Sue said. “I could tell, and I must confess it made me glad. But now . . . now I think more and more on what he said that day. About me forgiving him for my sake, if not for his. About him having caused me enough pain and not wishing to cause further damage to my soul.”

“He meant that from the bottom of his heart, Mary Sue.”

“Perhaps he did. And I want to forgive him, Beth. I need to. How can I ever find peace with the Lord for what I did to Harlow if I can’t forgive in turn? But I can’t. Something . . . something’s still stopping me.”

“What, Mary Sue?” Beth leaned closer, almost as if closing the physical distance between them would dispel all barriers and she’d see into Mary Sue’s mind. “What’s still stopping you?”

“I don’t know.” Mary Sue shook her head. “I still feel like he has his limits. Like if it came down to it, he wouldn’t risk himself for my sake.” She smiled apologetically. “Forgive me for saying this, but I no longer see him as a man of God, willing to lay down his life for a friend.”

It was hard for Beth to hear such words spoken about her husband, especially knowing him for the man he truly was and what the Peterson tragedy had done to him. It was equally hard not to point out that true forgiveness meant putting the hurt and anger aside and pardoning because Christ asked it of her, not because she had found some saving grace in the other to justify the forgiveness. Or, Beth amended, leastwise no saving grace other than the fact the person was as much a child of God as was Mary Sue.

But Beth sensed Mary Sue wasn’t ready to hear or absorb a sermon on forgiveness today, and the rest was for Noah to say, if he ever wished to. “You must come to forgiveness in your own time,” she replied at last. “The Lord knows that and is patient. Noah understands that, too. Just know that he loves you and suffers still over what happened.”

Mary Sue gave a shaky laugh and held up Hannah’s book. “Did you know I’d been praying for some answers, for a light to guide my way? I’d prayed and prayed and received no reply. But you know something, Beth? I believe God has finally given me my answers in this little book. And He used Hannah as His messenger.”

A messenger . . . Would Noah’s sign from God also be carried by a messenger? And would Noah have the clarity of heart to recognize it when it came? Please, Lord, make it so!

“Yes, He may well have done just that.” Beth smiled and shook her head. “Funny, isn’t it, how we expect one thing of the Lord and risk missing the gift He eventually sends us in another way. Yet He never, ever gives us stones for bread, does He?”

“No, He doesn’t.” Mary Sue clasped the book to her breast, her eyes shining with a fierce joy. “What Father would?”

The trial commenced the next morning as any other would: The judge instructed the jury, the two lawyers made their opening statements, then called witnesses to the stand. The defense soon completed questioning Doc and Beth on the repeated injuries they had noted on Mary Sue’s person. Neighbors admitted that for the past several years they had periodically heard shouting and screaming coming from the Petersons’ house.

And then Noah took the stand.

The defense lawyer, Mr. Sweeney, asked him only two questions: Had the Petersons sought him out for pastoral counseling? and, Why hadn’t they continued to come for talks? Noah admitted that Harlow had stormed off after the first visit, claiming Mary Sue was the cause of all their marital problems.

Mr. Henderson, the prosecuting attorney, immediately took a different tack and kept Noah on the stand. “You said you were Mr. Peterson’s pastor, Reverend Starr?” he asked, hands clasped and fingers steepled beneath his chin, pacing back and forth before the witness stand. “And exactly what are your duties? As a pastor, I mean?”

Noah frowned in puzzlement. “Well, pretty much what you see most pastors do, Mr. Henderson. Oversee the church proper, conduct services, preach, visit the sick, pray over the dying, and bury the dead.”

“And you also offer counsel and consolation?”

“Yes, I think that was made clear in my earlier testimony for Mr. Sweeney.”

“How exactly do you see your role as a pastoral counselor? Could you describe the elements of the job?”

For a long moment, Noah gathered his thoughts. “Like the Lord Jesus, a pastor is a good shepherd. The congregation is his flock,” he began at last. “He’s a shepherd of souls and offers direction in the spiritual life. He’s also a physician of souls and offers God’s healing. And he should be”— Noah’s glance turned to Mary Sue, sitting only yards away— “a living example of how to live a holy life, as well as a teacher, a protector, a friend, and a guide.”

Mr. Henderson drew up before him. “An impressive list of duties, to be sure. And were you all that to the Petersons, Reverend Starr?”

“I tried to be,” Noah replied, never breaking gazes with Mary Sue. “I tried, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t—”

“Sometimes, no matter how hard one tries, people refuse to be helped, don’t they, Reverend Starr? And miracles are in short supply these days, leastwise in regards to making folk take a second look at themselves and the destruction they’re headed for.”

“Some would say miracles are a daily occurrence, if one only has a heart open and willing to see them.”

The lawyer nodded and began his pacing again. “Yes, some
would
say that, especially if they’re of a spiritual persuasion.” He paused to draw in a breath, and Noah was struck by the realization that Mr. Henderson was preparing to drive home his point.

“Now,” the prosecutor said, “that night Harlow was killed.” He looked up at Noah. “Didn’t you think it strange that, after having claimed she had received yet another beating, Mrs. Peterson seemed most eager to return home with her husband? Your wife, Dr. MacKay, testified earlier she had repeatedly warned, then begged, Mrs. Peterson on the night of June 11 not to go home with her husband. But she did anyway. Why do you think that was so?”

“I believe Mrs. Peterson decided to return home with her husband that night,” Noah replied, wondering where these questions were leading, “because she loved him in spite of his brutality, and because I, as her pastor, advised her to do so, and she trusted me.”

Henderson gave a disbelieving snort. “Well, perhaps. But then, perhaps not. I submit”—he wheeled about to face the assembled jurors—“that perhaps Mrs. Peterson had an altogether different plan in mind. Perhaps Mrs. Peterson had decided the time was right to do away with her husband and put into play a plan she’d been formulating for a long while. After months of infuriating and tormenting Mr. Peterson past the point of human tolerance, interspersed with self-inflicted injuries meant to appear as if he had beaten her, she knew it was time to kill him. Cold-bloodedly and with the greatest premeditation, Mrs. Peterson then set out to murder her husband.”

“Objection, your honor! Objection!” Mr. Sweeney cried. “That’s—”

“No! No!” Her face waxen, Mary Sue leaped to her feet. “I didn’t want Harlow dead. I loved him. But he kept on coming and coming, and I was so afraid and so tired of the pain! But I never planned to kill him. Never!”

Behind her, the courtroom erupted in an explosion of noise. People stood, milled about, and babbled excitedly to their neighbors. The judge tolerated the uproar for about ten seconds, then slammed his gavel down several times on his desk.

“Order! Order in the court! I’ll have order now, or I’ll have this courtroom emptied of all onlookers.”

Mr. Henderson, a calculated gleam in his eyes, waited calmly for the courtroom to settle. Then he glanced up at the judge. “Thank you, your honor.” Not missing a step, he turned back to Noah. “Reverend Starr. Did you ever, even for a moment, doubt Mrs. Peterson’s claims that Mr. Peterson was beating her? Did you?”

Noah hesitated. He
had
found Mary Sue’s claims hard to believe, especially in those early days after he had accepted there was something amiss in the Peterson household. In all the years he had known Mary Sue, especially when she was a young woman, her temper had been as infamous as her self-serving and frequently manipulative behavior. Harlow, on the other hand, had always been the soul of self-control and decorum—the quintessential bank president.