check out Sally Roe the moment you told me what happened in the Post Office. From what I’ve heard, Sally Roe was a deeply disturbed individual. She was tormented with self-doubt and guilt, and she could never break through . . . She was a karmic mess! Amber had nothing to do with her killing herself. She would have done it anyway.”
Lucy shook her head and stared out the window. “But if you could have been there . . . if you could have seen that woman’s face when . . . when Amethyst just tore into her. And I couldn’t get her to stop. Amber just wouldn’t snap out of it.”
Claire patted Lucy’s hand. “Let it go. Sally Roe is gone, fulfilling her own path wherever it takes her. You have your own, and so does Amber. You need to be thinking about that.”
Lucy finally nodded. They were getting close to the Christian school, and she was feeling nervous. “I just hope this whole thing goes all right. I hope we know what we’re doing.”
Claire was firm. “I think it’s something we must do. Religious bigotry is everyone’s enemy. I think we would be denying our responsibility not to do anything.”
There wasn’t time to say any more. Claire was slowing the car downand signaling for a turn. There, on the left, stood the Good Shepherd Community Church, a simple brick building with gabled roof, traditional arched windows, and a bell tower. It was a landmark around Bacon’s Corner, the home of several different congregations over the years; some had died out, some had moved on and new groups had come in, but it remained through it all for almost a century, a steadfast monument to tenacious Christianity. This latest congregation seemed to be setting a new record for endurance; it had been there in the church for almost fifteen years, and the current pastor had hung on for at least eight.
Claire pulled into the parking lot between the church and the Good Shepherd Academy, a simple, shed-roofed portable sitting on posts and piers. There were four vehicles parked in the lot at the moment. Two must have belonged to the school staff; the station wagon belonged to John Ziegler and Paula the photographer, and the large white van was clearly marked, “KBZT Channel Seven News.”
“A television crew?” asked Lucy in surprise.
“Oh, right,” said Claire. “I didn’t tell you about that. The people from Channel Seven thought this would make a good news story.”
The two men from Channel Seven were already prepared for Claire and Lucy’s arrival, and bolted from the van as soon as their car pulled in. The cameraman set the camera on his shoulder and started watching the news with one eye. The other man, a young, athletic sort with suit and tie above the waist and jeans below, stepped up and greeted Claire as she got out of the car.
“Hey, right on time!” he said, shaking her hand.
“Hi, Chad. Good to see you again.”
“This is Roberto.”
“Hi.”
Roberto smiled back, looking at her through the camera.
Lucy got out of the car a little hesitantly.
Claire introduced her. “Chad and Roberto, this is Lucy Brandon, the mother.”
“Hi there. Chad Davis. This is Roberto Gutierrez.”
“Are they going to take my picture?”
“Do you mind?” asked Chad.
“It’ll be all right,” Claire assured her.
Lucy just shrugged.
John Ziegler and Paula were there, ready to go. Claire greeted them, and Lucy just smiled.
The door to the portable opened, and a man looked out. At the sight of this band of people gathered in the parking lot, his face went pale; he looked sick.
He was, of course, Tom Harris.
Claire raised her hand in greeting, said, “Oh, hello there,” and started walking toward the portable, the others following close behind.
No, Lord, no . . .
If I could just close this door and never come out , Tom thought. If I could just call down fire from Heaven to clear these people out of my life, to make them go away . . . Haven’t they done enough to me?
Tom had been on the telephone most
Lucy shook her head and stared out the window. “But if you could have been there . . . if you could have seen that woman’s face when . . . when Amethyst just tore into her. And I couldn’t get her to stop. Amber just wouldn’t snap out of it.”
Claire patted Lucy’s hand. “Let it go. Sally Roe is gone, fulfilling her own path wherever it takes her. You have your own, and so does Amber. You need to be thinking about that.”
Lucy finally nodded. They were getting close to the Christian school, and she was feeling nervous. “I just hope this whole thing goes all right. I hope we know what we’re doing.”
Claire was firm. “I think it’s something we must do. Religious bigotry is everyone’s enemy. I think we would be denying our responsibility not to do anything.”
There wasn’t time to say any more. Claire was slowing the car downand signaling for a turn. There, on the left, stood the Good Shepherd Community Church, a simple brick building with gabled roof, traditional arched windows, and a bell tower. It was a landmark around Bacon’s Corner, the home of several different congregations over the years; some had died out, some had moved on and new groups had come in, but it remained through it all for almost a century, a steadfast monument to tenacious Christianity. This latest congregation seemed to be setting a new record for endurance; it had been there in the church for almost fifteen years, and the current pastor had hung on for at least eight.
Claire pulled into the parking lot between the church and the Good Shepherd Academy, a simple, shed-roofed portable sitting on posts and piers. There were four vehicles parked in the lot at the moment. Two must have belonged to the school staff; the station wagon belonged to John Ziegler and Paula the photographer, and the large white van was clearly marked, “KBZT Channel Seven News.”
“A television crew?” asked Lucy in surprise.
“Oh, right,” said Claire. “I didn’t tell you about that. The people from Channel Seven thought this would make a good news story.”
The two men from Channel Seven were already prepared for Claire and Lucy’s arrival, and bolted from the van as soon as their car pulled in. The cameraman set the camera on his shoulder and started watching the news with one eye. The other man, a young, athletic sort with suit and tie above the waist and jeans below, stepped up and greeted Claire as she got out of the car.
“Hey, right on time!” he said, shaking her hand.
“Hi, Chad. Good to see you again.”
“This is Roberto.”
“Hi.”
Roberto smiled back, looking at her through the camera.
Lucy got out of the car a little hesitantly.
Claire introduced her. “Chad and Roberto, this is Lucy Brandon, the mother.”
“Hi there. Chad Davis. This is Roberto Gutierrez.”
“Are they going to take my picture?”
“Do you mind?” asked Chad.
“It’ll be all right,” Claire assured her.
Lucy just shrugged.
John Ziegler and Paula were there, ready to go. Claire greeted them, and Lucy just smiled.
The door to the portable opened, and a man looked out. At the sight of this band of people gathered in the parking lot, his face went pale; he looked sick.
He was, of course, Tom Harris.
Claire raised her hand in greeting, said, “Oh, hello there,” and started walking toward the portable, the others following close behind.
No, Lord, no . . .
If I could just close this door and never come out , Tom thought. If I could just call down fire from Heaven to clear these people out of my life, to make them go away . . . Haven’t they done enough to me?
Tom had been on the telephone most
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