Refining Fire (3 page)

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Abrianna declared, appointing each of her confederates to their appropriate seat around the table. “I know the others are busy discussing the funeral dinner and such, but this is also of utmost importance.”

Militine had no idea what her friend was up to, but feeling sleepy after a large Sunday dinner, listening to Abrianna lecture might well lend itself to dozing. On the other hand, with Abrianna, a person could count herself lucky if the lecture didn't involve a dead body or a socially unacceptable exploit. Only time would tell if good fortune had smiled on them.

Wade and Thane sat opposite the two ladies and looked at Militine as if she might have answers. She shook her head and turned to Abrianna, hoping the vivacious woman would shed light on the subject quickly.

“I know I've kept you all in the dark about my new venture,” she began. “I wanted to make absolutely certain I had the proper funding in place before coming to you for help.”

“Great,” Wade said, nudging Thane, “she's got a new venture, and she needs our help.”

Thane nodded. “And she has funding.”

“Oh, don't sound so forlorn.” Abrianna squared her shoulders. “It's not like this will be surprising to any of you. You know my passion for helping the poor?”

“I know your passion for stripping years off our lives as you sneak around at night when you think no one knows. Good grief, Abrianna, is this going to be more of that?”

Militine smiled at Wade's question but ducked her head so that no one would see her reaction. She felt just as he did. Abrianna was never one for obeying the rules of society, but it
would have helped everyone's peace of mind if she would have at least given those rules a brief nod.

“No, and that is why I believe you will fully support me in this endeavor. As you know, I have long felt God's calling on my life to assist the poor and needy. I believe God made it clear in the Bible that this is the responsibility of all mankind—not just the few who are seeking His calling on their lives. Though I do realize not everyone wants to hear God's calling lest they have to do something about it.” She paused and appeared thoughtful.

“I suppose there are those who don't want to know for fear they will not be up to the task. Honestly, I don't mean to sound harsh and judgmental. I do sympathize with those who are fearful, but—”

“Abrianna,” Wade interrupted, “could you just get back to the subject at hand? What is your new venture, and what does it have to do with us?”

“Well, Wade Ackerman, if you'll just give me time, I'll get to that.” Abrianna folded her hands and rested them atop the table. “God has provided a means for me to be truly helpful. I've been working with Lenore and Kolbein.” She paused and looked to Thane. “You remember them, don't you? Lenore has been my dearest friend for many years, and Kolbein Booth is the man she married last September. He's a lawyer.”

“I remember.” Thane exchanged a glance with Wade. “Honestly, Abrianna, it's not like I live in a cave somewhere. Just because I'm not always hanging around here doesn't mean I don't know about things. Besides, I helped with the move here and know that the Booths live just down the street. I've encountered you and Mrs. Booth on many occasions.”

“Good. I'm glad you recall them. Sometimes it's been my experience that men are less observant about such things. I don't understand if it's because they have a great deal on their minds or they simply don't care.” She looked at Militine. “Remember,
I was mentioning the other day how Kolbein has trouble remembering the names of the young ladies here at the school and how that really surprised me? After all, he is a lawyer and you would think such a duty would require a good memory. Of course, Aunt Selma says it's probably because he came to us by way of Chicago. She's absolutely certain that town is full of degenerates and ninnies, although Kolbein truly seems to be neither.”

“Abrianna, please!” Wade's exasperated tone made it clear he'd reached the limit of his patience.

“I apologize.” She offered Wade a sympathetic smile. “I am given to the details, you know. Anyway, as you all may know, Lenore and Kolbein both come from money. And both have tender hearts when it comes to helping those in need. I have managed to convince Lenore that, with proper funding, I could extend considerable help to the poor of Seattle.”

“In what way?” Wade's expression showed great concern.

Militine held her breath. With Abrianna a person could never be certain as to what would come next, but no doubt it wouldn't be a simple matter.

“Lenore is giving me a substantial sum of money so I can rent a little building down near the wharf. It is quite close to where you work on the boats, Thane.” She hurried on, not waiting for any comment or protest, as was Abrianna's fashion. Militine had come to expect this as much as the others and didn't try to stop her.

“I have already spoken to the owner. He will allow us to paint it and fix it up in order that I might run a food house for the poor. Given its location, the old sailors will find it quite convenient, and it won't be that far removed from the more destitute parts of town. Those folks might also find it easy to locate. All that is required is some cleaning and mending.

“That's where you three come in. I will need help preparing
the place, and then, of course, I know my aunts would feel better if I could have one or both of you men present when I'm actually there feeding the poor.”

“Is that what they said?” Wade fixed her with a stern look. “Or is that what you're hoping will be the case?”

Abrianna had the decency to squirm a bit in her chair. Militine had seen the young woman manipulate situations and cajole people to accomplish most anything she desired, but she didn't seem to be able to push Wade around.

“I feel confident,” the redhead began, “that your presence will assure them of my safety. They truly trust you, Wade. You, too, Thane, and I figure you both have to eat lunch just like the rest. I plan to serve only the noon meal, you see. And—”

“Abrianna.” Wade's tone was one of an insistent father with a child.

Militine smiled at Abrianna's reaction. She crossed her arms against her chest and sat back in the chair. “All right. I haven't told them yet. I wanted to make sure I had your support first. If I don't have your help, then I'll need to find someone else, and given the fact that Pastor Klingle has just died and his funeral will be the focus of our attention for this week, I wanted to secure your assistance before things got out of hand.”

For a moment silence fell on the room, something most unusual when Abrianna was present. Militine could see that Abrianna was fighting the urge to say more. Instead, she toyed with a loose curl and kept her eyes lowered.

“A food house,” Wade finally said.

“On the docks,” Thane added.

Militine laughed aloud. “So much for keeping it socially acceptable. Nevertheless, I'm happy to help. Anything that gets me out of here and away from the grueling work of setting a proper table and hosting tea parties is fine by me.”

“I suppose she'll do it with or without our help.” There was
resignation in Wade's voice. “I'm guessing too that you'll do it with or without your aunts' approval.”

Abrianna surged forward. “Oh, but I'm sure they will approve if you are at my side. Aunt Miriam has always supported helping the poor. She is the first one to say it is our duty. I think that is why she doesn't chide me for taking extra food from the larder for the destitute. Wade, you know that you have always been my aunts' most trusted confidant. If you were to show your support and stand at my side when I share the news, I believe they would quickly rally to the cause.”

Thane nudged Wade. “You do know she's not going to drop this. We might as well give in and consent. Otherwise she and Miss Scott here will just sneak out in the dead of night to fix the place up, and then instead of a noon meal, she'll be feeding folks at midnight.”

Wade gave a heavy sigh, and Militine almost felt sorry for him. Once again Abrianna had created chaos where they might otherwise have had a dull and peaceful life.

“Very well. We'll help you fix the place up and come for noon meals. However—” Wade paused and pointed his finger for emphasis—“you are to do nothing without speaking to me about it first. Promise me.”

Abrianna jumped up from her chair and hurried around the table to hug Wade. “Of course I promise. I'll speak to you about everything.”

Militine could see the doubt in his eyes. They both knew Abrianna well enough to know that this was just the beginning of what might well turn out to be a most arduous and complicated endeavor.

T
he day of Pastor Klingle's funeral dawned cloudy and then cleared as the day progressed. Militine supposed Abrianna would say it was God's way of honoring the old man. By the time the service started at the church, the weather was actually quite nice. Of course the warming temperatures had caused the frozen ground to turn to muck and slush, but no one seemed to mind.

Militine sat sandwiched between Abrianna and a young lady named Tabitha Cooper. The latter was a slim blond-haired woman with a rather plain face. She hailed from New York and talked with a funny accent that Militine found amusing. The best thing about Tabitha, however, was that she was shy and said very little.

Brother Mitchell, the head elder of their church, addressed the crowd. “Today we are celebrating the life of our dear Pastor Klingle—a man of uncommon generosity and wisdom.” The elder lowered his head, coughed, and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“God rest his soul,” Miss Poisie declared loud enough for all to hear.

Murmured amens filled the sanctuary.

Another cough from the elder, his emotion sincere. “We thought it only appropriate that we ask one of Pastor Klingle's good friends to speak on this occasion, therefore I will now turn the service over to the Reverend Swanson.” He took his seat as the older man approached the pulpit.

The man smiled down on the flock. “Let us pray. Father in heaven, we thank you for the life of our good friend Jefferson Klingle. We thank you for his work on earth and the many souls he touched. May we celebrate his life in the reflection of your glory. May we bring you honor and praise as we consider the joy and encouragement this man gave to his congregation and to many strangers on the street. We join now, although with heavy hearts at the loss we suffer, in joy of our brother's journey home, where he will forever worship you with the saints. Amen.”

Militine raised her head as Reverend Swanson began sharing a comical story of when he and Pastor Klingle first met. How strange it seemed that such happiness should be shared on such a dismal occasion.

“Jefferson was not much for the cold damp of our climate. He preferred the sunny Georgia coastal land of his youth. But God called him to Seattle, and Jefferson boldly answered the call. So picture if you would the first day of May with a light drizzle falling on our fair city. But for Seattle it was otherwise a beautiful spring day. I was walking down the street heading to a meeting when Jefferson came bursting out of his hotel. He was wearing a heavy raincoat, a winter coat, and a suit coat, and I believe he might also have had on a sweater. I thought I had been attacked by some wild animal. The collision was such that it knocked us both to the ground, whereupon Jefferson promptly landed in a huge puddle of water.” Many in the congregation snickered.

“I righted myself and extended my hand to Jefferson to help him up. He looked up at me with the most forlorn expression
and, before accepting my help, asked, ‘Is there nothing warm and dry to be had in this town?' We became instant friends in that moment. I shall always remember him fondly, often huddled by the fire on days I thought quite hot.” The man paused and held open his arms. “I think it would be most fitting if others would share their stories. Just stand up and tell us what Pastor Klingle meant to you or what he might have helped you through.”

Without delay several men rose to their feet. “I'll tell you what,” one began, “Pastor Klingle helped me forgive my brother after he did me wrong. My brother didn't even care that he'd robbed me blind. He took everything I had coming to me from our pa and never once asked forgiveness. There was a powerful anger in me, and it was tearin' apart my insides. I was sick both from the rage and from the bottle I used to ease my misery. Pastor Klingle came to tend me when I was in the worst of it. He prayed with me and spoke to me from the Bible. He even told me of times when anger had got the best of him. He told me he had learned a hard lesson about forgiveness and that a man needs to forgive more for his own sake than for the sake of the other feller.

“I thought a long time on that. After I sobered up, I took Pastor up on his offer to come to church. That Sunday he just happened to preach on Jacob and Esau and told how Jacob stole Esau's birthright and all the trouble it caused. Made me realize my brother and me were just like that.” He gave a sheepish smile as he glanced around the sanctuary. “I tell you, I had to sit tight until I heard how that all turned out.”

Abrianna giggled, as did most everyone else. The man was so intense in his telling that Militine, too, longed to know how the story resolved.

“Well, in the end old Jacob had a lot of troubles. My brother, too. Jacob even knew that at one point Esau was plannin' to
kill him. God knows I wanted to get revenge on my brother. Anyhow, Pastor Klingle told how God used even the deceptions and evil dealings of one brother to turn things around where it benefited them both. I can't say that's how it happened for me and mine, but I remember Pastor told of the liberty that came for both brothers in forgiveness and how they could lay the past to rest. I wanted that as much as I thought I wanted another drink. So I got down on my knees and prayed that day. It made all the difference, and Pastor Klingle was the one who brought me to where I could see that my own hatred was what kept me all bound up.”

Ahead of her in the next pew, Militine saw Abrianna's three aunts nod and wipe away tears. Another man told of his love for Pastor Klingle and how the man had once given him his last dollar to help him buy bread and meat for his family. Still another mentioned the way the pastor lent a helping hand with cutting firewood when the parishioner had broken his arm.

“He wasn't all that good at chopping,” the man said with a twinkle in his eyes, “but he was so entertaining, I all but forgot the pain.”

Other stories spilled from parishioners, and by the time the funeral concluded, the congregants wore beaming smiles and continued sharing laughs, accounts of the past, and their love of this great man. A sadness washed over Militine. She hadn't bothered to know Pastor Klingle as anything more than the boring old man who tormented her every Sunday with his boring old teachings from a boring old book. It would seem there was far more to the man than she'd realized. This puzzled and troubled her greatly. What had she missed?

A dinner was offered after the service, and Militine did her best to be open and friendly with others in the congregation. However, she soon tired of trying to be someone she wasn't and was grateful that the dinner passed quickly. Finally, with most
everyone occupied with dessert and conversation, Militine took the opportunity to slip away. No destination called to her, but by the time she reached the church graveyard, she knew her real desire was to be absent from so many people.

Taking a seat on a small stone bench, she drew in a deep breath. The sunlight seemed muted but strong enough to offer a slight warming to her face. For several minutes she simply relished the silence, but then her mind began to wander.

Her expectations for the day had been nothing like what actually happened. She'd imagined episodes of sorrowful mourning and had steeled herself for such. But these people seemed quite joyous through their tears. Reverend Swanson had even said they were there to
celebrate
the life of Pastor Klingle. It seemed absurd that a funeral should be a celebration. A party to honor the dead?

“I saw you slip away. I hope you don't mind if I join you.” Thane's strong voice settled over her like a warm blanket.

She looked up and gave him a smile. “Not at all. I hope that my escape wasn't noted by anyone else. I'd hate for everyone to come seek me out.”

Thane shrugged and sat down on a stone bench opposite her. With nothing but the small rock path between them and sentinels of marble and granite around them, the flesh and bone couple seemed oddly out of place. Militine, however, found comfort in the isolation and solitude of the moment.

“I needed to think.” He hadn't asked for an explanation, but for some reason she felt she needed to offer one. “I'm not used to so many people in one place.”

“I kind of figured that. You never seem real comfortable at the school's gatherings.”

“Well, that's for an entirely different reason.” She met his compassionate gaze. Perhaps he already understood. “I don't really feel accepted. I've always been . . . well . . . rather clumsy
and ignorant. I never know what to talk about, and when I do speak, it always seems to come out wrong.”

“I think you talk quite eloquently.”

She laughed. “Only because of the elocution lessons. Goodness, but I do weary of proper etiquette and speech.”

“So why bother then?”

Folding her hands together, Militine hoped Thane might accept her simple explanation. “I had nowhere else to go. I have no family, and marriage seemed impossible given my inability to do much of anything.”

“I don't have any family, either. They're all dead.” Thane picked a piece of lint from his coat. “I suppose I ought to sound more grieved over it, but it's been a long time.”

“Were you . . . were you close?” The words came hard.

“No.” He offered nothing more, and knowing the need for privacy Militine didn't pry.

“Sometimes,” she said after a great pause, “I feel I have more in common with the dead than the living.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “Me too. I suppose when there's been a lot of death and dying in your past, it's that way. I never quite got past it. Never have talked to anyone about it except Wade, and sometimes I wish I'd kept it from him, as well. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

“Exactly. I don't want that, either.” She shivered, but not from the cold. “I just want to forget.”

“Yes.”

She didn't know what else to say. It seemed strange that she should find a kindred spirit here in the graveyard on the day of a good man's funeral. How odd that they would find themselves together, each sharing such an obviously painful past. “Do you think God really cares about each of us?”

Thane cocked his head to one side and then stroked his beard. “I know He's supposed to. Wade talks about God like that. I
can't say that I've ever known that for myself. Seems if He cared so much, a whole lot of bad things wouldn't happen.”

“My mother taught me that God loves everyone. I tried to hold on to that all my life. I figured if God was real and loved everybody, no one should have to worry about things like hell and heaven.” She could see nothing but acceptance in his gaze. “Abrianna talks about hell and losing my soul. I can't say for certain that I understand or believe—especially that God loves everybody.”

“What changed your mind?”

Militine paused but hoped he might understand. “The evil in this world.”

“There's a lot of it.”

It wasn't the reply she'd expected. It seemed funny that this normally passive young man should speak with authority on such a dark topic. She found herself looking deeper into his eyes. The pain that stared back at her was almost startling. “Yes.” The word came out in a whisper.

The day after the funeral Abrianna once again took charge of getting her mission accomplished. If only her friends could be as passionate about these things as she was. No matter. She would carry on as planned. They just needed the right push. “I know you'll see the potential,” she told Wade and Thane. “It's perfect for what I want to do. Come on, boys, pick up your feet or this will take all day.”

Wade offered a weak protest. “Grief, Abrianna, it's not like the building is going anywhere.”

Nevertheless he did increase his speed. “I realize it's not going anywhere, but Mr. Layton might. He promised he'd be there at ten o'clock, and it's nearly that now. Although why he picked ten and not noon, I cannot say. I suggested we meet there at
the dinner hour so I wouldn't have to drag you two away from work. I do apologize for that.”