Light From Heaven (70 page)

Read Light From Heaven Online

Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: Light From Heaven

7.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

“Amen.

“Robert Cleveland Prichard, will you come forward?”

Robert moved along the crowded aisle, trembling; his knees were water and his veins ice.

He stood by the pulpit and opened his mouth, but instead of words, tears came. For two days, that had been his worst fear. He turned away for a moment, then faced the people again.

“I’d like t’ confess t’ you ... ,” he said.

The very air in the nave was stilled. Robert raised his right hand.

“... b’fore God... that I didn’t do it.”

Father Tim looked out to Miss Martha and Miss Mary, both of whom had forgotten to close their mouths. He saw Lace, riveted by what was taking place; and there was Agnes, pale as a moonflower ...

“I cain’t go into th’ details of all th’ stuff about m’ granpaw, ’cause they’s little young ‘uns in here. But Friday e’enin’ I done a thing with Father Tim that I guess I’ve wanted t’ do, but didn’t know how t’ do. I give it all over t’ Jesus Christ, like I should’ve done when m’ buddy talked t’ me about ’im in prison.

“All I can say is, it’s good. It’s good.” Robert nodded, as if to himself. “I thank y’.”

He gazed peaceably into the eyes of those seated in the nave.

Agnes Merton stood, and together with Dooley Kavanagh, presented the century-old basin to Father Tim, who poured creek water into it from a tin pitcher.

There was the sound of a log shifting in the firebox; something like a deep, collective sigh stirred among the pews.

My faith looks up to thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Savior divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away;
O let me from this day
Be wholly thine.

May thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire;
As thou has died for me,
O may my love to thee
Pure, warm and changeless be
A living fire ...

At the time of announcements, and with no suggestion of what was to come, Father Tim introduced Lloyd Goodnight and Clarence Merton.

The two men took their places by the pulpit.

Lloyd cleared his throat, blushed, and adjusted his shirt collar. He’d completely forgotten to check his fly, but it was too late, now.

“What it’ll be is two stalls, one f‘r ladies, one f’r men, four b’ six each, with wash basins an all .”

He pulled a note from his pocket, studied it a moment, and once again addressed the congregation.

“Me an’ Clarence will be y’r builders. We’ll run a pipeline to th’ spring, like th’ ol’ schoolhouse done. We’ll have a tin roof an’ a concrete slab, an’ real good ventilation.

“We thank you.”

The congregation stood as one, and applauded.

Rooter had pretty much felt his hair drying out by the end of the first hymn. He didn’t know which way it might be shooting up since Granny chopped it off with a razor. But he couldn’t think about that, he’d just gotten the signal from Father Tim and he had a job to do.

He stood as close to the vicar as he could, for protection—though he wasn’t sure from what—and made the sign he’d learned this week from Clarence.

“Watch Rooter,” said the vicar. Rooter made the sign, which involved three separate movements, three times. He was careful to do it slowly.

“Now it’s our turn.” Some got it right off the bat, others struggled.

“What are we saying here, Rooter?”

“God ... loves ... us!”
shouted Rooter.

He hadn’t meant to shout. His face felt hot as a poker.

“Amen!” said someone in the back row.

“I’m asking you to give that sign to someone today,” said Father Tim. “And do it like you mean it, because He means it. Indeed, I would ask you to allow yourself... to really believe, from a deep place in your soul, that ...”

His eyes searched the faces as he and Rooter signed.

“... God ... loves ... us.

“A men. ”

“Amen!”

He nodded to Sparkle and the choir. Clarence took up the cross.

Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.

Before our Father’s throne
We pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
Our comforts and our cares.

We share each other’s woes,
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear ...

The rain began at dusk.

It quickly gathered force, and soon came down in sheets, filling dry creek beds and scattering cattle to the shelter of trees and run-in sheds.

In the downpour, anyone driving past Green Valley Baptist probably wouldn’t have noticed the bold black letters of the sign by the road.

LOVE IS AN ACT OF ENDLESS FORGIVENESS

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Let the Stable Still Astonish

They were piled in bed on the evening of the first Sunday in Advent, listening to Mozart and eating popcorn.

Violet was curled on the seat of the rocking chair; Barnabas was snoring on the rug by the bureau; a frigid wind howled around the farmhouse.

He noted that she’d been staring into space for some time, which could mean one, or even both, of two things. She was avidly relishing the Jupiter Symphony, or she was drumming up another book. He earnestly hoped the latter wasn’t even a remote possibility, but he’d learned that once she began staring into space ...

“A live Nativity scene,” she said.

“For Holy Trinity?”

“For all of us. Right here at Meadowgate. In the kitchen. After the five o’clock mass on Christmas Eve.”

“Tell me more.

“I’m starting to plan ahead, you see.”

“Always a good thing.”

“Dooley and Lace could be Mary and Joseph.”

“Terrific.”

“You could be a shepherd.”

“I was a shepherd for your book
Mouse in the Manger.
I posed with that ridiculous tablecloth on my head, or whatever it was. Do I have to be a shepherd again?”

“But, Timothy, that’s what you are—a shepherd!”

“Typecasting,” he said.

He needed to do a little planning, himself.

He thumbed to the back of his quote book and started making notes.

First, he needed to drive to Mitford and pick up the Nativity scene he’d labored over for several months and presented to Cynthia last Christmas. He relished the thought of seeing it again, and the angel she’d made whole from smithereens.

Better get his order in at The Local, while he was at it. Chocolate truffles for the nurses at Hope House, as ever, and the crowd at the Children’s Hospital in Wesley. And remind Avis to special order fresh oysters for his wife’s dynamite oyster pie.

Something chocolate with nuts for Louella, and a rerun of last year’s lipstick from the drugstore ...

Gifts for the twins, already purchased and wrapped. Checkmark.

Sammy. Checkmark. He was personally enchanted by their gift for Sammy. It was a brilliant notion, if he did say so, himself.

Dooley. Waiting for the raincoat to arrive, and the silver key chain. Sweater back-ordered. He despised back orders.

He had no idea whether his flock would be able to gather for the Christmas Eve Mass at Holy Trinity. If it snowed, as some predicted it would, passage to the church could be limited and risky.
Give us Your grace to gather
,
Lord
...

The Grace to Gather
, he scribbled. Sermon title.

And what would he give his helpmeet of eight years, his soul mate, his much better half?

Not a clue.

Last year, he had poured his very heart and soul, not to mention spleen, into restoring the twenty-odd derelict Nativity figures.

How could he top that?