Reinventing Leona (8 page)

“Sure you don’t need to mop the place too?” Mother snapped, making sure Leona caught the peeved roll of her eyes.

Here it comes.
Leona knew her mother would have something ugly to say about the way things went today. But she didn’t care. She had been warmed and filled by the outpouring of love, and if her mother hadn’t bothered to drink in a drop, then she had no one but herself to blame when her withered-up soul crumbled and blew away.

“Maxine had a doctor’s appointment. Bette Bob had to pick up a sick grandchild from school. I couldn’t very well leave all that clean-up to the Storys.”

“Then why pay that relic you call a janitor?”

“Everybody pitches in.” Maddie had always been first in line when it came to Cotton’s defense.

“It’s what family does.” Leona jammed her key into the lock, cranking her wrist against the contrary resistance. “And like it or not, Mother, these folks at Mt. Hope are family.”

“
Family
doesn’t leave you to clean up after your own husband’s funeral lunch.”

Leona trained her eyes on her mother. “Worthingtons have left worse.”

Maddie took the stack of tins from her grandmother’s arms, placing her tub of beans on top. “I’m going to the car.”

A familiar ache throttled Leona’s heart as she watched her daughter put her head down against the wind and set off for the limo in the far corner of the deserted parking lot.

The Harpers had been the first ones to arrive at the church building and the last ones to leave for so many years that the sight of a lone car seemed natural. Leona couldn’t have identified the kind of car anyone drove, except for Howard and Maxine Davis. And she only knew their car because every Sunday, the Cadillac dealer parked his current demo model right in front of the glass foyer doors in the spot marked Visitor Parking Only.

It galled J.D. that the chairman of the elder board insisted that having the visitor spot filled with such an impressive ride would entice those of considerable means inside the church doors. On the sin of pride, the pastor was not one to turn the other cheek. So J.D. had taken to parking the Harpers’ rusted-out minivan in the very next slot, where he had Cotton erect a homemade sign that read Pastor Parking Only, even though they lived right across the parking lot and had no need to drive the van to church. And the shinier Howard’s car, the grimier J.D. allowed theirs to become.

Despite Leona’s urging, J.D. would not let the matter drop. The only thing her husband enjoyed more than a good laugh was a good fight. Which, considering the shady tactics of Satan, was surely why the Lord summoned this extraordinary man to the pulpit in the first place. J.D. had planned to have a successful career in trial law, but when God called him into ministry, her husband willingly abandoned his own agenda and never looked back.

Like Perry Mason marching into the courtroom, J.D. took his love of danger to the pulpit every Sunday morning. He thought nothing of staring down the entire congregation as if they were a hung jury deliberating the merit of the grace he peddled for his client.

Now, as the wind whipped the Pastor Parking Only sign, tears stung Leona’s eyes. Who would pick up the Lord’s standard and carry on the battle in J.D.’s absence?

“I’m going to the car before my hair is ruined.” Mother wheeled, leaving Leona alone in her struggles with the stubborn lock.

Maddie stuck her head out the door of the limo. “Momma, David’s not in the car.”

“I’ll find him.” Leona removed the keys and slipped them into her pocket. She jerked open the heavy foyer door. Making her way through the quiet building without flipping on a light, Leona savored the secluded respite from her mother’s needling.

If they had driven off, it would not have been the first time they left a child at the church. Once she and J.D. even sat down at Luby’s Cafeteria and said the prayer for their Sunday lunch before realizing David wasn’t with them.

Leona hurried past the secretary’s office. She could swing in and use the phone to call David’s cell, but the thought of a receiver caked with layers of Shirley’s bombastic beige foundation kept her moving. The silver-haired church artifact had seen many a preacher come and go at Mt. Hope and would most likely outlive the next one as well.

The groaning sounds of an overloaded and overworked dishwasher escaped the deserted church kitchen and traveled down the long, empty corridor. Leona stepped inside the darkened fellowship hall, where the smell of stout coffee still lingered, but David wasn’t there. She retraced her steps, stopping outside her husband’s office door. Still locked.
Thank you, Lord.
She wasn’t up to seeing shelves of books awaiting the return of their master.

Leona returned to the large lobby. She stood for a moment, thinking. Where could David be? The sanctuary baptistry heater rattled to a stop, and she knew. She cracked open the swinging doors to the place her son used to hide as a kid.
Bingo.
Late-afternoon light filtered through the baptistry stained glass and cast a glow upon David seated on the front pew of the auditorium, his head hanging between slumped shoulders.

Lord, help me know what to say.
Leona drew in a heavy breath and then eased up the aisle. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “David?”

Her son raised his head, liquid escaping the pools of his dark eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Even if I had—” the desolation in his beseeching look cut to her heart— “I would have missed you come suppertime.” Leona nudged her son.

David scooted over, making room for his momma the way he used to when he was younger and wanted her close until he fell asleep. Shoulder to shoulder, they sat in the cavernous silence, quietly shedding the tears they’d held back all day. Leona put an arm around David and gathered him to her, secretly begging God to give her the strength to comfort her son.

He snuffed and sat up straight, drying his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Cotton says my step is still behind the pulpit.”

Leona nodded, withdrawing her arm. “I think he’s right.”

“Would you look?”

She hadn’t been back up on that stage since Sunday. If she closed her eyes, she was certain the haunting image of J.D.’s lifeless body sprawled behind the podium would vividly come to mind. Leona looked into David’s anxious eyes. He needed his momma. She’d never let him down before, and she was not about to start now. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Sure.”

Summoning a strength she didn’t know she had, Leona rose. Slowly, she climbed the center steps, one at a time, until she reached the top of the stage. She ran a trembling hand over the cool grain of the massive oak pulpit, yearning for a trace of J.D.’s warmth. Two leaden steps moved her behind the hollow lectern. Hanging on to the worn lip, she squatted. Tucked into the far corner was the tiny wooden step stool David and his father built together one Sunday afternoon in the garage.

Leona scooped it up, the many coats of lacquer obscuring the feel of the grain. Blinking back tears, she pressed the stool to her chest and came down the center steps. “Here you go.”

“I haven’t seen this in years.” David ran a finger over the outline of his name carved in the shiny flat surface. “Remember my first sermon?”

Pride surged through Leona’s grief-constricted veins. “How could I forget? Your father said you had to have an attention-getting opener. So you two spent hours searching for the perfect joke to introduce the faith of Noah.”

A sly grin crossed David’s lips. “Do you know what state is mentioned in the Bible?”

“No, what state?” Leona played along, craving the light the precious memory brought to the darkness shrouding her soul.

“Arkansas.”

“Arkansas?”

“Because Noah looked out of the ark and saw.” Glimpses of the slick-faced twelve-year-old boy flickered across David’s lined face.

They laughed until tears ran down Leona’s cheeks. She put her arm around her son’s shoulders. When had they become so broad? If only she could pull him into her lap, kiss away the hurt, and cover his wounded heart with a Batman Band-Aid. If only she could make all of this better. But she couldn’t. She wondered if even God could mend her boy’s brokenness.

Leona dabbed her eyes, ordering that last wicked thought from her mind. Of course God could fix this. Hadn’t he always been faithful in the past? But what if this time . . . Leona shook free of the unsettling despair rising within her. She returned her hand to her lap. “After choosing the Scriptures, you insisted on a practice run-through.”

“Good thing. That’s when we found out I couldn’t see over the pulpit.”

“So Daddy helped you make the stool.” The baptistry heater kicked on in the silent moment of Leona’s sweet remembrance of that long-ago day. “You made him sneak it into place before the service started so no one would suspect. When it came time for you to give the sermon, you marched up there and stepped up like you owned that pulpit.”

“And everyone laughed.”

David must have inherited his father’s ability to poke fun at his shortcomings, a gift Leona had been denied. She marveled at the way the endearing quality drew people to her men like moths to light.
J.D. would be so proud.

“I guess we failed to take into account that people might notice a ten-inch growth spurt right before their eyes.” Leona chuckled. “But, from that day forward, not a single young man has given his first sermon in this pulpit without standing on David’s stool.”

“Every boy wants to be like his father when he’s twelve.” David’s eyes locked with Leona’s. He took her hand. “But I’m not twelve years old anymore, Momma. I’m going to finish my term at Oxford then come home—”

“Oh, David, I’m so—”

“To practice law.” David’s interruption halted Leona’s excitement. “I’m going to tell Grandmother that I want the firm.”

Leona felt as if she had just been yanked headfirst into the muddy pit of a nasty tug-of-war game. “Daddy never expected you to grow into his pulpit,” she sputtered.

“Momma, it broke his heart when I walked away from his offer. I’m the reason Dad had a heart attack.”

Leona’s mind raced back in time to the image of a six-year-old boy with a tea towel tied around his neck insisting that the cape transformed him into Tea-Towel Man, defender of the defenseless. That same hardened determination now radiated from David’s black eyes.

“You did not kill your father. Do you hear me?” She shook her son by his shoulders. “He wanted you to find your own way to serve the Lord, whether law, history, or preaching. Only you know the call God has placed upon your heart, David. Only you can determine how to answer.”

The sanctuary heaters had long since cycled down. Cold creeping toward the vaulted ceiling brushed the nape of Leona’s neck, sending a shiver racing down her spine. What was it about David that compelled her to preach at him? Had she not learned anything from his extended absence? Why couldn’t she just leave it at he was a good man and a fine son? Why did she have to back the truck and dump a load of guilt?

Guilt was Satan’s secret weapon. She should know; the evil one kept the loaded cannon pointed at her head at all times. While nothing would make her happier than to see David use his talents in the pulpit, seeing him receive his eternal reward mattered more. The removal of this burden he carried would require some serious prayer.

She patted her son’s leg and pointed at the stool. “Why don’t you take that with you?”

“I think I’ll put it back where it belongs.” David took the center steps two at a time. He slid the little step into the dark recess of his father’s pulpit. Straightening, he paused, placing his hands on the sides of the podium.

Holding her breath, Leona slipped the Lord a quick plea for assistance. What would it hurt? Surely God could send a little help in her direction. Then if David experienced some sort of divine stirring while he stood in his father’s place, the blame would be on God’s shoulders, not hers. Upon reflection, shifting the guilt burden over to the Lord would save her the trouble of packing her bags for yet another conscience-stricken outing of her own.
Novel idea or Spirit’s leading?

David’s eyes slowly scanned the sanctuary, as if checking each empty pew for the face that belonged there. “Dad loved this place. . . . I’ll pray that the next guy can fill it up.”

The words
next guy
thudded heavy against the podium. Silently, Leona begged the Lord for a sign. Anything to give her hope that David would stop running from the call.

“Prayer is always a good thing.” She dared not say more for fear her voice would crack.

“Yes, it is.” David came down from the stage and offered his hand. “Let’s go home, Momma.”

Had a tiny sprout of green breached the man’s resistant hull? She prayed it was so. If the seed of hope took root in this good Harper soil, the harvest would blow the lid off this lethargic church. Leona searched her son’s eyes. Where desolation had been, peace now resided. She took David’s hand. “Good idea, Son.”

The Holy Spirit had touched David Harper . . . Leona was sure of it. She couldn’t wait to tell J.D.

Then it hit her. She’d have to.

Chapter Eight

Maddie stuffed a lumpy pillow into a clean case. With an added punch, she attempted to fluff the foam, then tossed it onto the open fold-away couch crowding her father’s small parsonage study. Because Momma was a firm believer in hospitality, Maddie had made beds for unexpected company her whole life. Like a woman intent on seeing her offspring rise to the top of the Christian graces, Momma honed Maddie’s domestic skills on furloughed missionaries, traveling evangelists, and all sorts of people down on their luck. As a kid, Maddie never knew who would be sitting at the Harper table come suppertime. The parsonage teemed with visitors, from university presidents to vagrants needing a decent meal. And Momma expected her daughter to help things run smoothly.

For the most part, Maddie had enjoyed the kaleidoscope of people. But tonight she wanted to hole up with what was left of her family and keep the needy world at bay.

“Tater, get off Melvin’s bed.” She nudged the dog from his claim in the center of the clean sheets. The disturbed squatter jumped down, then came and sat at her feet, his adoring brown eyes awaiting her next command.