Grounds To Believe

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The flock of old ladies spilled out the front door, chattering. Derrick was right behind them, craning his neck, looking for her. Behind him she caught a glimpse of Owen’s red-gold hair. What would they say if they caught her speaking to him? The evening air felt chilled and clammy on her cheeks.

You’re thinking of yourself again. She stopped, gripping her Bible, as the thought came to her, almost as if a voice had spoken in her head. She was. She was reacting in exactly the same way she had before—with human instinct instead of godly compassion. Well, the still small voice had spoken. Cost what it may, she had to listen.

Ross rose from his lazy position on the seat of the bike, and crossed the parking lot with the loose-hipped, rocking swagger that boots gave a cowboy. She leaned weakly on the rear fender of her car. He ought to know better than to walk like that. He ought to know that she couldn’t speak to an Outsider at Mission, in front of everybody. No matter what the Spirit told her, she was never going to live this down. Never.

The old ladies had caught sight of them now. Alma Woods’s eyes were so big that a rim of white showed around her muddy irises. Her mouth opened to give the alarm as she grabbed Rebecca Quinn’s elbow.

Ross closed the last few steps between them. “Hey. What’s the matter?” His leather jacket creaked.

“Nothing,” she replied, her mouth dry. Blue jeans never looked like that on Derrick. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

Alma had the attention of three of the others, now. Even Rebecca looked horrified as she tried to steer the fizzing little group away from Julia and over to their cars. Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted in a stark question: Are you all right? The whole crowd was looking their way now, people gawking over their shoulders as they hesitated beside their cars.

“I just came over to say hello,” he said, leaning a hand on the roof of her car and cocking one hip as though he were prepared to stand there and discuss it for the rest of the night. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, of course not, it’s just that—”

“Julia, is there a problem?” Melchizedek called from the doorway.

Ross braced a hip on the side of her car and crossed his arms. Beyond him, Melchizedek made his way over to her, followed by Derrick and Owen. Expressions of serious concern fought with disbelief. No one had ever made such a scene at Mission. Owen’s gaze searched hers, telegraphing the same message as Rebecca: Are you all right?

“No,” she answered Melchizedek reluctantly. To the outside observer, Ross Malcolm hadn’t done anything wrong—just walked across a public parking lot to speak to her. To an insider, it was the most scandalous thing to happen in Hamilton Falls since Rita Ulstad had deserted her husband for the man renting their downstairs bedroom seven years before. How on earth was she to think about his pain and his soul when he could cause so much agitation with so little effort?

Melchizedek lifted his chin and regarded Ross Malcolm, caution mingling with his sense of duty. He extended a hand. “Melchizedek,” he said, infusing the name with the authority of the law and the prophets.

Owen moved forward to ally himself with the Shepherd, and shook Ross’s hand as well. The contrast between their conservatively cut suits and Ross’s denim and leather was so extreme that Julia felt the hysterical urge to giggle. She bit her lip and let Melchizedek take control of the situation.

“Are you a…friend of Julia’s?” Melchizedek asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes conveyed his doubt.

Ross leaned on Julia’s car, his big body separating Julia from her protectors, his casual stance somehow conveying possessiveness. “We’ve met.”

Melchizedek and Owen glanced at each other, and Julia could practically see the uncertainty telegraphed between them. Where did they meet? How does he know her? What does he want?

Mark McNeill joined them, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at Owen, who shook his head. Behind her father, Julia could see Elizabeth surrounded by her best friends, watching them with sympathetic horror. She could just imagine what her mother was thinking.

“You came too late,” Melchizedek went on. “If you’d come a little earlier, you could have joined us inside.”

“I was here,” Ross replied easily. “But I made a bad guess on the time. I heard you singing and figured the service was over.”

Melchizedek seized on his last words. “Next time, don’t wait out in the parking lot. Come in. We start at seven.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” Ross said. “I’ll take you up on it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Good night, Julia,” he said in a soft voice, as if they were intimate in some way, and sauntered off across the parking lot.

The Devil tempted her to stare. And she lost.

The Elect scattered for their cars. Not for worlds would they embarrass Mark and Elizabeth with a flurry of questions, thus betraying their own lurid interest in the scene. The details would be common knowledge by tomorrow. They could wait.

Elizabeth advanced toward the little knot of men standing around her daughter.

“Julia, why don’t you and Melchizedek come to the house for coffee and cake?” she asked in a cordial tone that only the most foolish person would fail to recognize as an order. Ten yards away, Ross fired up the motorcycle and its throaty roar drowned out her next sentence. Every head in the parking lot turned as he rode the gleaming machine out the driveway, paused to check for traffic, and accelerated loudly up the street.

“What did you say, Elizabeth?” Melchizedek asked, staring after him.

“I said, I think we could all use a little calming down.”

Chapter Six

Julia had never been in a courtroom in her life—she’d never even received a traffic ticket—but sitting in the defendant’s chair must be something like this. She had tried to escape attention by helping her mother pass her treasured bone china teacups filled with decaffeinated coffee to their guests, but Owen and Melchizedek had isolated her in a corner of the living room so neatly and politely she didn’t realize they’d done it until it was too late. Julia sat in the upholstered corner chair, Owen on the sofa next to her and Melchizedek on a dining-room chair he’d pulled up on her other side.

“This Ross Malcolm looks like an interesting man,” Melchizedek said in a friendly, noncommittal tone, selecting a slice of cake from the china tray Elizabeth offered at his shoulder.

“Yes,” Julia said, sipping hot coffee, hiding behind the teacup. Her mother never served coffee to the Shepherd of her soul in an everyday mug. The Shepherd deserved every family’s best in return for the sacrifice of his life for their souls.

“Do you know anything about him?”

“No.”

“He said you’d met,” Melchizedek persisted, his face intent. “Where was that?”

“At the bookshop.”

Melchizedek and Owen exchanged a glance. She’d made a mistake. Both Shepherd and Elder were used to the Elect telling them everything—usually far more than any human being had a right to know about another. The Shepherd was marriage counselor, psychiatrist and social worker all in one, his only training the guidance of the Spirit of God. At any other time Julia would talk to Melchizedek with loving respect, as if he were an uncle. He expected her to have nothing to hide. Anything held back from the scrutiny of the representative of God must by definition be something wrong.

She cleared her throat and put her teacup down with a tiny clink. “He came in last Friday to buy a book and talked awhile with Rebecca about poetry. I saw him once after work, too. He wanted to have a cup of coffee.”

“Did he?” Melchizedek said, his eyes on her above the rim of his cup. The delicate piece of porcelain looked ridiculous in his big hands, hands that held their salvation. “With you?” Melchizedek exchanged another glance with Owen. “But he came to Mission. Has it struck you that it’s what you have in your life that might attract him, not you yourself?”

Only a self-centered person would think the question insulting. She really had to learn to conquer this fault. It seemed to be cropping up all the time lately. She needed to focus less on herself and more on others, as the Spirit had told her. “Claire seemed to think so,” she ventured.

Melchizedek looked past her with a faraway expression. “I wonder.”

Owen spoke up. “Do you think you might see him again?”

Julia floundered for an answer. She was sure of it—for some reason she couldn’t explain, Ross Malcolm wanted to spend time with her. She could see where Melchizedek’s questions were leading, though. She felt like a kayaker in a swift river, backpaddling frantically to avoid committing herself to the waterfall up ahead. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered finally. Melchizedek was frowning at her long hesitation. “He just turns up.”

“Do you feel comfortable with him? Safe?”

Julia choked down a mouthful of tepid coffee. Safe? Who could feel safe around someone who wore jeans to make women look at him instead of to work, like any sensible man? “I…don’t think he would assault me, if that’s what you mean,” she replied cautiously. “But I don’t know anything about him.” She paused, remembering. “Well, he did say he’d lost his wife recently.”

Melchizedek looked pleased. “I knew it! He is seeking spiritual comfort. Julia, if you see him again, and he asks you for coffee or something, would you go? Think what it would mean to him to hear about the Lord’s work.”

Anyone else would say yes without hesitation. There must be something wrong with her. “I…I don’t….”

“This is serious, Julia,” Owen put in. He put his cup and saucer down and leaned toward her. “If he misses his chance of salvation, it could be on your head for all eternity.”

“It looks like you have a heavy responsibility in this,” Melchizedek agreed. “God has chosen you for this work out of all the Elect in Hamilton Falls. It’s a tremendous privilege. Are you able for it?”

The coffee had dried out the inside of her mouth. Though the room was warm, a chill crept into her hands and feet. “I don’t know,” she whispered. A piece of apple-sauce spice cake sat on the side of her saucer. The thought of taking a bite, of feeling it stick to the roof of her mouth, made her ill.

“I feel it in my heart,” Melchizedek said. “Think of the service you can render to the poor man. And to the Elect. A man who drives a motorcycle as expensive as that one may feel moved to make sacrifices for God’s work in gratitude for comfort in his loss. Remember, Saint Paul commended the liberality of the Corinthians because it meant furthering his efforts in the mission field.”

Julia nodded wordlessly. Satisfied, Melchizedek and Owen finished up their coffee and cake, and turned their chairs to include the rest of the room in general conversation. As soon as she decently could, Julia slipped out of the living room and took refuge in her old bedroom down the hall.

Her mother had cleaned out any evidence of the teenager who had left it, and turned the room into a second guest room. Julia sank into the easy chair next to the window and covered her eyes with one hand. She’d only have a few minutes of blessed solitude to regroup and regain her composure before someone came to find her.

Every one of the Elect wanted to be used by the Spirit to bring someone to Melchizedek. They were brought up to it practically from birth. But her salvation depended upon bringing this particular man to the fold. What would happen to her if she failed? Would he ride away on his motorcycle, leaving her doomed to hell for eternity? Would God ever forgive her? Would Melchizedek? He lived with this kind of responsibility every day, but he had been called and equipped by God for it.

She was still contemplating the terrifying prospect when Madeleine pushed the door open. It scraped on the carpet just as it had for years, providing an early warning system. Julia looked up, resting her head on the back of the chair.

“Here you are.” Madeleine pushed the door shut and sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing, hiding behind closed doors?”

“Just, um, meditating,” Julia said. It was an answer that could cover a multitude of other reasons. Should she confide in Madeleine? No. Her sister had never failed at anything. She would just tell her that God’s grace was sufficient for her, and secretly pity Julia for her lack of faith.

“You should be praying,” Madeleine said firmly. “I really wonder about you sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Your Shepherd and Elder have more important things to do than talk to you about your choice of company.”

Julia stared at her. “It wasn’t like that at all. Ross wanted to come to the service. When he saw he was late, he just waited in the parking lot to talk to me.”

Madeleine tucked in her chin and looked at Julia over a pair of imaginary eyeglasses, as if trying to see in her younger sister a reason for a worldly man to do such a thing. Easy for Madeleine. Men had been trying to get her to talk to them from the age of twelve.

“He wanted to come to the service? Dressed like that? Hmph.” She paused, but when Julia said nothing, her curiosity got the better of her. “What did Melchizedek say, then, if he wasn’t giving you a talking-to? It was too quiet for any of us to hear.”

Julia bit back a caustic remark about her sister’s own lack of faith. She was going to need her—the Elder’s wife—to go to bat for her reputation, the way things were heading. “If Ross is searching for God, Melchizedek thinks I could be useful.”

“Really.” Taken aback, Madeleine allowed her spine to relax. This was obviously not the conversation she had expected.

Julia’s mouth twisted. Had the whole family thought she’d been getting a lecture on her bad taste in men? If they only knew. She stood up. “Well, I should be going. I have to work tomorrow.”

“You poor thing. If you’d said yes to Derrick last year, you’d be married by now and wouldn’t have to worry about things like this.” Her sister hugged her, and Julia made an effort to hug her back.

When she got out of the car at home she stood for a moment in the driveway, breathing in the scent of damp soil and Rebecca’s Peace roses. She must have been out here with the hose in the cool of the evening. Rebecca lived on the main floor of the tall Victorian at 1204 Gates Place, and rented the top suite to single Elect girls, of whom Julia was the latest in a long line.

She felt restless and uneasy. All she wanted was to get away from people, from speculation, from impossible spiritual burdens laid upon her by people who were supposed to love her. Besides, if Rebecca heard her going up the stairs, she might want to talk about the biker too. She just couldn’t face a third interrogation.

She still had on the running shoes she used for driving, a habit she’d developed to save wear on her pumps. Locking her purse and Bible case in the car, she slipped her keys in the pocket of her dress and walked briskly down the street.

The lakeshore was nearly deserted. A few late strollers moved slowly past the darkened refreshment stand next to the public washrooms. Julia took a shortcut through the trees and came out on the beach, a narrow strip of silver washed by moonlight and the ripples of the lake.

Alone at last.

The air revived her, the silence soothed her ruffled spirits. Out here she could think. Or at the very least, feel.

Let’s face the ugly truth, she thought. You’re just not up to this. But somehow she had to be. Resisting the will of the Shepherd was the same thing as resisting the will of God, and that was unthinkable. That would send her to hell for sure. They wanted her to be a sort of spiritual funnel, making it easier for Ross to enter the Kingdom of God. But after that, what? Go on her way rejoicing? Marry Derrick and sit in the same Gathering with Ross Malcolm every week, trying to ignore the prickly feeling she got every time she laid eyes on him? She tried to define what it was about him that put her on edge. His masculinity, for one thing. Oh, yes. Confident, unfettered, don’t-care-what-you-think maleness. With her limited experience in that department, Ross Malcolm scared her to death. And yet something about the unhappy look in his eyes in the parking lot behind the bookstore had caught at her heart even as she’d pushed him away and run. The buried pain of loss called out for comfort. Could she be the one that could give it to him? Could she approach and tame the wolf without losing her own salvation?

That was even more frightening. The future Mrs. Derrick Wilkinson, who would be the Deacon’s wife some day with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto, had no business thinking such things. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to be responsible for a man missing the way to heaven. What was she going to do?

She looked up and saw she’d arrived at the worn granite steps that led up the cliff face, where the Hamilton River leaped over timeworn ledges of stone on its way into the lake. There was a small park at the top. She’d go up to the overlook and then head home.

Deep in thought, she kept her head down until she rounded the semicircular rock wall that formed the overlook. She didn’t see the big motorcycle parked in the shadows until it was too late.

Ross had seen the woman approaching since she’d emerged from the trees, and had wondered why anyone would go beachcombing in a dress. She gesticulated toward the sand, as if she were having an argument with someone in her head. It wasn’t until she was climbing the steps that he’d seen her face clearly, and recognized the hair that was always trying to escape its confinement.

A ripple of dismay ran through him at the thought of sharing his solitude with a cult-conditioned woman, of getting close to her in any way. But it was his job to get close to her. Kids were dying, and he had less than three weeks to find out why.

Controlling his face, he spoke in what he hoped was a light, bantering tone. “‘Once, and but once found in thy company, all thy supposed escapes are laid on me.’” A sound halfway between a gasp and a moan issued out of the shadows close to the shrubbery, where he’d parked the bike. “Except I’m the one who escaped,” he added conversationally. “Didn’t look like you made it.”