Stand by Me (28 page)

“Thanks for coming,” Jodi said, curling up with her iced tea on one end of the couch next to Harry and Estelle. “Pastor canceled Bible study tonight—obviously, I guess, since Pastor Clark had been teaching it—but I think some people are gathering at the church to pray anyway. But Pastor said to go ahead and meet tonight to plan the funeral. It's all part of the same thing.”

“Well, prayin' sounds to me like a good way to start.” Estelle didn't wait on ceremony but launched into a heartfelt prayer of praise. “Jesus!
Mmmm
, Lord! Sometimes we don't understand why things happen the way they do, don't understand why things happen
when
they do. We don't understand why You took one of our saints home just now. But one thing we do know. You are a
good God
! Your love is never failing. You have poured out Your love an' grace an' mercy in many ways on SouledOut Community Church, an' we're gonna trust You now to show us the way ahead. So we
thank
You, Jesus! We thank You!”

Avis joined in the praise, realizing she needed to get her own focus straight if she was going to hear from the Holy Spirit about this funeral service. Not focus on her laundry list of problems. Not on her daily sadness that Rochelle still hadn't contacted her again. Not on the big decision facing her and Peter. Just focus on Jesus . . .

Denny Baxter, not one to pray aloud during a free-for-all praise time, finally cleared his throat and brought the prayer time to a close, asking God's guidance in their discussion tonight and His blessing on the funeral service itself, “. . . that You would be glorified in everything we do and say. Amen.”

Jodi—true to form, thought Avis—had written down some areas to consider: music, obituary, sharing time, eulogy, repast. “You forgot resolutions from other churches,” Estelle put in.

Jodi tucked her long bob behind one ear. “How do we get those?”

“
Humph
. Just let other churches 'round the city an' people who knew Pastor Clark know about his passin' and invite them to send a resolution in his memory. It'll happen. Then we assign someone to read 'em.”

“Uh, well, could you do that part, Estelle? Let people know, and then read them at the funeral?”

Avis smiled to herself. Jodi was quick on the uptake: make a suggestion, and you were likely to end up doing it.

“Why don't we call it a memorial service instead of a funeral?” Denny asked.

“Make that a home-going celebration,” Estelle countered.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Like that.”

The phone rang. Denny went to answer. When he came back, he stood in the archway, hands in his jeans pockets, a perplexed look on his face.

“What?” the other five chorused together.

“That was Pastor Cobbs. He's been going through Pastor Clark's papers at the office, and he found his will—and he does have a brother in Washington State—plus some general instructions. He, uh, doesn't want money spent on a fancy casket. Said to bury him in a pine box, give everything after paying his bills to set up a scholarship to help send SouledOut kids to college.”

Avis blinked back sudden tears. Sending kids to college—a lot better use of money than spending thousands on a fancy casket just going into the ground.
Bless that man
.

“A pine box you say?” Harry scratched the grizzled horseshoe beard that rimmed his jaw, which, combined with his shaved dome, always made Avis think the ex-cop's hair was on upside down. “What's that mean? Anybody know where to get a pine box?”

They all looked at each other. Finally Denny spoke. “Well, maybe Josh and I could build one or something. But we've only got two days. I'm going to have to take time off work. Could probably use you, Harry.”

Estelle crossed her arms. “
Humph
. Ain't gonna let that saint of God lie in a plain wooden box. If you're gonna make him a casket, I'll sew somethin' to line it with.”

Harry grinned. “That's my girl.”

After tossing ideas around for another half an hour, the final assignments were made. Denny, Josh, and Harry would work on a casket. Estelle would make a lining, plus gather resolutions to be read during the service. Pastor Cobbs, of course, would give the eulogy. Peter, who'd been fairly quiet all evening, said he'd work on the obituary and get a printed program made. Jodi volunteered to gather a team of women to provide a repast after the service. “And a team of men to do the cleanup,” she said, winking.

Avis agreed to work with the praise team on songs and scriptures. “I'll ask Terri Kepler if she'll do sign language for some of the songs—Pastor Clark really loved her signing.” Reluctantly, she also agreed to be the worship leader and emcee the service.

“Well, I guess that's it.” Jodi looked around the room. “Anybody want to close with—”

“We need to pray all right,” Estelle said. “But somethin' in my spirit says Avis an' Peter need some special prayer right now. You two want to say somethin'?”

Avis and Peter looked at each other. She was sure he was thinking the same thing. Should they say anything about Pastor Cobbs's proposal? He'd said they should decide if they were willing before he brought it to the elders—and Denny was one of the elders. And yet, these were four of their closest friends. Who better to help them sort it all out?

She gave a slight nod. Peter spilled it. Everything. The restlessness he'd been feeling . . . the possibility of an exciting mission trip landing in their laps . . . right up to the meeting they'd had with Pastor Cobbs two days ago.

The other two couples listened soberly.

Peter sat on the edge of the recliner, tension rising in his voice. “It's not just that we have a tough decision to make about the pastor's request. Any wisdom you guys have, good, we want to hear it. But . . . to tell you the truth, I'm struggling with what the heck God is doing here. Feel like I'm getting jerked all over the place. I mean, why even send us that invitation from Nony and Mark if God's just going to slam the door in our faces? It felt like it came straight from heaven, an answer to prayer for something good and useful to do with some of our remaining years. And at first it seemed as if God was opening all the doors—the offer of a buyout for the business, even the possibility that Bethune Elementary might end up on the school-closing list. On one hand, bad news—though even that seemed like God was freeing us up.”

Avis saw Jodi's eyes widen at that, and she cringed. Not how she wanted Jodi to find out
her
job might be on the line.

“Then my buyer started waffling. Then Carl Hickman got hurt and left me without a plant manager. Then Pastor Clark died.” Peter sucked in his breath. “And now, like a sharp U-turn, Pastor Cobbs is saying don't go, you're needed here. Why? I don't get it.”

No one spoke, except to make small murmurs of empathy. Then Harry scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Brother, can't say I know what God's doin' here. Have to admit, I've asked that same question 'bout some of the stuff God took me through. Thought I was goin' blind. None of it made any sense at the time. But in the end, I knew, yes, I
knew
, God was with me all the while.”

Estelle wagged her head. “
Mm-hm
. Ain't that the truth.”

“As for Pastor Cobbs's proposal,” Harry said, “I'm thinkin' you an' Avis would make a great interim team to support the pastor during this transition. Can't think of anybody better. As for all that other stuff? All the yays, nays, and in-betweens. Doors open, doors slammin'. Might be God brought up the mission trip thing just to get you used to thinkin' about change, about something new comin' your way.” He turned to his wife. “What was it you was tellin' me about a couple days ago, what God said to Queen Esther in the Bible? Why He put her through all that silly beauty queen stuff?”

Estelle nodded. “
Mm-hm
. ‘To prepare you for such a time as this.' ”

Chapter 26

I
'm back! Bearing gifts!” Kat set the box from the Dumpster on the kitchen table in the apartment. “Did you save any supper for me?”

Nick appeared in the kitchen doorway in his stocking feet. “Yep. There's a bowl of pasta salad in the fridge and some cornbread in that pan over there. What's that stuff you got?”

She grinned and tossed him a head of cauliflower. “Oh, just some pickin's from the Dumpsters behind that grocery store on Sheridan Road.” Should she tell him about meeting the Douglasses' daughter, Dumpster-diving just like she'd been? After all, she'd only promised not to tell her mother. But she hesitated. The more people who knew, the more likely Mrs. Douglass might hear about it. And she'd promised . . .

Nick eyed her stash of Dumpster food. “
Three
heads of cauliflower? Looks like they need to be eaten ASAP. Not sure I want to eat it that many days in a row.”

Kat shrugged. “I'll give some of it away then.” After all, this was peanuts. She'd been tempted to do a little more diving after giving some of her stash to the other girl—but that bit about taking food from people who really needed it had made her feel awkward. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. Sure, people who really needed food should get first dibs. But what if it just went to waste?

She pulled the pasta salad out of the refrigerator. “Looks yummy. Thanks.” She filled a plate with cold salad as Nick disappeared, warmed up a couple squares of cornbread in the microwave, and studied the rescued Dumpster food on the table as she ate.

Maybe the Douglasses could use some. As soon as she'd polished off the pasta salad and cornbread, she snagged a plastic grocery bag from under the sink and put in a head of cauliflower, a couple tomatoes, and a fat green pepper, choosing the vegetables with the least amount of bruises and brown tips. Running up the carpeted stairs in the front hallway to the third floor, she knocked on the Douglasses' door. And waited.

No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer.

They must not be home. Oh well. She hung the plastic bag on the doorknob and scurried back down the stairs.

But running into the Douglasses' daughter digging food out of a Dumpster bothered Kat the rest of the week. Why was
she
Dumpster-diving? Was she one of the people who “needed” that food? But why? She didn't look like a homeless person. And Mrs. Douglass hadn't said anything to indicate her daughter was in dire straits.

But . . . maybe she didn't know.

After all, the girl had made her promise not to tell her mother. And seemed real panicked that she might find out.

That was it. Mrs. Douglass
didn't
know.

But
why
didn't she know? Good grief, her daughter and grandson lived right here in the same city. It made no sense!

By the time Friday night rolled around, Kat still had no answers. Her friends were all kinds of giddy. Two weeks of mini-term down, only one to go! As they rode home on the El, they talked about going out to a movie or something to celebrate. But they barely made it back to the apartment before a thunderstorm rolled in, and by the time they finished supper—Livie's tuna-and-rice casserole and frozen peas—the streets were awash in a heavy spring rain. So much for going out to celebrate.

But Kat wasn't thinking about mini-term or celebrating. As she loaded the dirty supper dishes into the dishwasher, another question had risen to the top of the pile: What about the little boy in the photo? Where was he? Surely—“Earth to Kat . . . come in, Kat.” Brygitta was tapping her on the shoulder. “Mind telling me why you just put the leftover tuna casserole in the dishwasher?” She retrieved the plastic storage container from the dishwasher and waved it in Kat's face.

“Sorry. Wasn't thinking.” Kat took the container and stuck it in the refrigerator.

Brygitta leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “Obviously. Want to know Dr. Walczak's diagnosis? You've been studying too hard. Mini-term has scrambled your brain. No studying tonight. Since we can't go out, let's party in. The Candys have a whole library of DVDs. I propose we pick a romantic movie, pop some popcorn, make root beer floats—I found some vanilla ice cream in the freezer that needs to be used up—and veg out. Theoretically speaking. Veggies not allowed.”