imagination work overtime.”
But my imagination was already flying free. And as it turned out, it was no competition for the events that transpired next.
Ed didn’t come home until dinnertime. I wasn’t worried, since I knew he had meetings after church and two people in the hospital to visit. By the time he dragged himself back to the parsonage, he was barely conscious. He flopped down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands.
I positioned myself behind him and massaged his neck. “Totaled?”
“Gar Johnson had another heart attack. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.” Gar was in his nineties, had lived a productive life, and had children and grandchildren to rally around him.
I dug my fingers into muscles as elaborately knotted as one of my mother’s macrame wall hangings. “Are you going back to the hospital?”
“No, he’s in a coma. The family asked me to stop by again in the morning.”
“How about iced tea and a snack? Dinner won’t be ready for another hour.”
He covered my hand, but he didn’t look up. “Tell me again why I accepted the call to this church?”
“You wanted a small, peaceful congregation that would let you pursue your academic research. This one has been around long enough to have a sizeable endowment, and therefore they can afford to pay you a living—just barely—wage.”
“And you went along with it?”
I flopped down beside him and made him look at me. “This isn’t about Gar, is it? You knew he was dying. He’s been ready.”
“The board called a special meeting tonight to discuss terminating my contract.”
“You’re kidding!” I couldn’t believe the board had acted so quickly. After all, these were the same people who had taken weeks to decide whether to have the sanctuary carpet steam cleaned after the living manger scene went astray on Christmas Eve.
“Tonight.” He made a stab at a grin, but it failed. “When I’m absolutely at my best.”
“The board can’t terminate you, can they?”
“No; Tom says he’s trying to avoid a congregational meeting. He wants the people with complaints to air them now, to see if we can come to some sort of resolution before things get any worse.”
“People? Or Gelsey Falowell?”
“People led by Gelsey. A few major players she’s corralled to support her. She’s using Jennifer Marina as her excuse. She claims I had something to do with her murder.”
“They think you would kill the woman, hide her body, then sneak out of the house in the morning and drop it on your own front porch where your daughters could find it?”
“Logic has no place in this.”
I sat back. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell them what I can, which isn’t much more than I told them in the service. Then I’m going to hope they see reason.”
As I had for the last thirty-six hours, I wondered just what Jennifer had told my husband that he had to protect with such vigor.
Ed labored to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower and maybe a nap before dinner. Will you be all right without me?”
“I’m coming to the meeting.”
“You know that’s not a good idea.”
“But I want to know what they say!”
“I can tell you. But you shouldn’t be there. You’ll get angry, and you won’t stay quiet. If you come to my defense, that will only make things worse.”
I hate it when Ed is right. I fumed as I finished uninspired dinner preparations. This month we’re vegetarians. From experience, I know we’ll lapse. Bacon is the culprit, of course. In dreams I smell it sizzling in my kitchen.
The phone rang just as I finished chopping a pile of mushrooms, and I grabbed it before it could bother Ed. He was exhausted, and I wasn’t letting anyone through to him, not even the search committee for a major metropolitan church.
Well, maybe just that one call. . . .
The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t familiar. The man sounded older, with the raspy throat of a
But my imagination was already flying free. And as it turned out, it was no competition for the events that transpired next.
Ed didn’t come home until dinnertime. I wasn’t worried, since I knew he had meetings after church and two people in the hospital to visit. By the time he dragged himself back to the parsonage, he was barely conscious. He flopped down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands.
I positioned myself behind him and massaged his neck. “Totaled?”
“Gar Johnson had another heart attack. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.” Gar was in his nineties, had lived a productive life, and had children and grandchildren to rally around him.
I dug my fingers into muscles as elaborately knotted as one of my mother’s macrame wall hangings. “Are you going back to the hospital?”
“No, he’s in a coma. The family asked me to stop by again in the morning.”
“How about iced tea and a snack? Dinner won’t be ready for another hour.”
He covered my hand, but he didn’t look up. “Tell me again why I accepted the call to this church?”
“You wanted a small, peaceful congregation that would let you pursue your academic research. This one has been around long enough to have a sizeable endowment, and therefore they can afford to pay you a living—just barely—wage.”
“And you went along with it?”
I flopped down beside him and made him look at me. “This isn’t about Gar, is it? You knew he was dying. He’s been ready.”
“The board called a special meeting tonight to discuss terminating my contract.”
“You’re kidding!” I couldn’t believe the board had acted so quickly. After all, these were the same people who had taken weeks to decide whether to have the sanctuary carpet steam cleaned after the living manger scene went astray on Christmas Eve.
“Tonight.” He made a stab at a grin, but it failed. “When I’m absolutely at my best.”
“The board can’t terminate you, can they?”
“No; Tom says he’s trying to avoid a congregational meeting. He wants the people with complaints to air them now, to see if we can come to some sort of resolution before things get any worse.”
“People? Or Gelsey Falowell?”
“People led by Gelsey. A few major players she’s corralled to support her. She’s using Jennifer Marina as her excuse. She claims I had something to do with her murder.”
“They think you would kill the woman, hide her body, then sneak out of the house in the morning and drop it on your own front porch where your daughters could find it?”
“Logic has no place in this.”
I sat back. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell them what I can, which isn’t much more than I told them in the service. Then I’m going to hope they see reason.”
As I had for the last thirty-six hours, I wondered just what Jennifer had told my husband that he had to protect with such vigor.
Ed labored to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower and maybe a nap before dinner. Will you be all right without me?”
“I’m coming to the meeting.”
“You know that’s not a good idea.”
“But I want to know what they say!”
“I can tell you. But you shouldn’t be there. You’ll get angry, and you won’t stay quiet. If you come to my defense, that will only make things worse.”
I hate it when Ed is right. I fumed as I finished uninspired dinner preparations. This month we’re vegetarians. From experience, I know we’ll lapse. Bacon is the culprit, of course. In dreams I smell it sizzling in my kitchen.
The phone rang just as I finished chopping a pile of mushrooms, and I grabbed it before it could bother Ed. He was exhausted, and I wasn’t letting anyone through to him, not even the search committee for a major metropolitan church.
Well, maybe just that one call. . . .
The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t familiar. The man sounded older, with the raspy throat of a
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