Solomon's Grave (11 page)

If he was ever asked when his calling to the ministry first occurred, Nathan could think of no stronger moments than those afternoons in Mrs. Conan’s living room, eating cookies.

He felt moved to explain this to her, but she suddenly looked past him toward the door, smiled wider and said, “Looks like
you
have a caller, Nate.”

Nathan turned, already knowing who was there.

Elizabeth O’Brien looked exactly as he remembered. There was a more determined set to her face, one that came with the level of maturity they both had reached over the past five years. The face still had the round, cherub-like quality which never failed to pull him to her. She wore jeans and sneakers, a blue pullover sweater and a pinned name tag that read “Elizabeth O.” She was tall, not quite his own height, but taller than the average woman, with the slightly-rounded figure of someone always fighting off extra pounds, winning some but never all of the battles. Her blonde hair was as thick and unruly as ever.

The smile on her face filled his heart with an unexpected happiness.

“Hi,” she said, and stuck her hands in her jeans’ pocket. All she would have to do, Nathan thought, would be to lean her shoulder casually against the door frame and she’d look—to use an expression Josh Everson was overly fond of using—
way too cool
.

“Hi,” he said, knowing it was the lamest response he could have given. Mrs. Conan’s thin hand nudged his arm. He looked back. She nodded in the direction of the door and said with a sly grin, “Bye, Nate.”

Chapter Eighteen

The coffee in the employee break room was surprisingly good. Nathan took another sip as Elizabeth returned from the vending machine with a can of ginger ale. She sat next to him at the small table, not in the seat opposite as he’d expected.

His head was spinning. He wished it would stop.

Nathan wondered if maybe his feelings for this woman were still as strong as ever. The thought brought a jolt of pain, not a physical hurt but a wrenching ache of the heart which revealed itself as a nervous rumble in his belly. He couldn’t
love
her. He was a minister and she was a self-proclaimed atheist. No, he never truly believed that last part, not with five years to replay that infamous conversation in his mind. She simply did not
want
to believe.

Don’t press
, an inner voice said. It was sage advice, and the thought sobered him.

She said, “I thought Reverend Hayden wasn’t leaving until next week.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. I think he’s making me try out my sea legs. How did you know when he was leaving?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Mrs. Conan keeps up on all the gossip. She shares it with me whether I want to hear it or not.”

It occurred to him that Mrs. Conan must have known about his episode Sunday. Since the first thing out of Elizabeth’s mouth wasn’t
How are you feeling?
his old neighbor probably hadn’t mentioned it.
God bless that woman
.

He asked, “Are you a nurse now?”

She nodded and looked down at her soda can. “I finally went back to school and finished up. Couldn’t let you have more degrees than me.”

Reflexively, Nathan said, “Yeah, but I’m ordained as well. Technically that means I’m one up on you diploma-wise.”

She laughed and said, “They give a diploma for that?”

“Well, they give us,” he made a box-like gesture with his two hands, “a thingy. You know, whatever they’re called.”

“Certificate?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said.

A short black woman, hair pulled tightly back into a bun, poked her head and shoulders into the break room. “Lizzie, Mr. Gansky needs some... oh, hello,” she said, seeing Nathan.

Elizabeth, whose comfortable smile never wavered, swept her arm with a small flourish. “Serena, meet Nate. Oh, sorry, I mean Reverend Nathan.”

“Ooh, so this is the—”

“I’ll be right there,” Elizabeth interrupted, her composure at last broken. Her neck flushed red. “Sorry, Nate. Got to see what Mr. G. wants.”

They stood at the same time. “That’s OK.” He hesitated, and hoped Serena, as nice as she seemed to be, was no longer there. “Seeing you again was, um, really great.”

Elizabeth began to speak, caught herself, then sighed. She stepped forward, hesitantly; then the two embraced in a gentle, quiet hug.

So much time had passed since he’d held her like this. The sensation of her in his arms felt strange. No, he realized, not strange. It felt
new
. They were two different people, now.

In that moment, he was certain of one thing. He did still have feelings for her. Strong feelings. If he had his doubts before, now they were no more.

Another dilemma to deal with in the little town of Hillcrest.

They reluctantly parted from the embrace, and Elizabeth was again flustered.

She put her open soda into the refrigerator and dumped his half-finished cup of coffee in the sink. “Maybe we can get together some place where we can talk more than just a few minutes,” she said.

“I’d like that.” His heart was racing. He needed air. This wasn’t a good idea.

She walked beside him into the hall. He began to reach for her hand, but caught himself. That would be too intimate. When they reached the front doors, she looked sideways at him. He caught the gaze, and as usual, something unspoken passed between them. They both began to laugh at the same time.

“Look at us,” she said.

He reached over and this time did take her hand. “Look at us.”

“What about Saturday?”

“Sure,” he said, then released her hand to reach for something in his sport coat. “Wait. Have to check. The pastor’s had a pretty full plate between us, but it’s been lightening up lately.” From the coat’s right inside pocket, he pulled out a Palm Pilot, tapping with the stylus across the screen’s calendar.

“Hey, lookie here. The church is in the twenty-first century.”

When he got to Saturday, he looked up and smiled. “Got me a
gen-u-ine
cell phone, too.” He tapped the left coat pocket with the edge of the PDA. “Mom and Dad figure these sorts of Christmas gifts get more use than new socks.” He quickly scanned the calendar entry. “Yep, as long as it’s after 6:30, Saturday’s cool.”

“Don’t you have to drop that word now that you’re a priest?”

“Minister,” he corrected for the second time that week, and tucked the small organizer back into his pocket.

“Same thing.” She reached out and lightly touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Then she turned around and hurried down the hallway.

He wished he could see her face, assumed it was blushing as much as his own.

Chapter Nineteen

The next few days progressed without incident. Nathan and Hayden continued their dissection of the church’s paperwork, and various other miscellany. Now and then someone paid a visit and Nathan offered his pre-established explanation about Sunday’s fellowship dinner dramatics. This had become so repetitive that he soon answered their concerns with a confident smile. More importantly, he was picking up the regular order of things, to his mentor’s obvious satisfaction. Hayden joined him for Wednesday’s visit to the three hospitals in Worcester, but let Nathan do most of the talking. Bible study that evening, led by Pastor Hayden one final time, was crowded and boisterous. Hayden was a man of many passions, but his strongest was discussing the Bible with young people who usually—and that evening was no exception—comprised more than half the attendees. By Thursday morning, the pastor looked more relaxed and admitted feeling better about leaving the flock in Nathan’s hands.

“As long as you promise not to fall down too often,” he said as they drove to the main cemetery.

Nathan grimaced. “If I
do
fall down, I promise to at least stay conscious.”

Hayden nodded. “Fair enough.”

They were in the fifth car of a modest funeral procession convoying from the church. The deceased was a ninety-one year old man named Karl Gipson. The man had passed away in his sleep at the nursing home Tuesday night, less than twelve hours after Nathan visited his bedside. Nathan remembered Gipson as quiet, perpetually tired and mumbling. It surprised him to think of how close he’d been to death. Even in his exhausted state, the man had laid a withered hand on Nathan’s Bible to pray silently along with him. Nathan felt a momentary wave of euphoria at the memory. Sadness and exaltation—the contradictions of a Christian’s life.

Gipson’s family followed the hearse at the front of the procession. In his rear view mirror, Nathan counted five other cars behind his. Not a large group of mourners, but then he’d had a small family, many of whom were either dead themselves or living in the southwestern part of the country. Elizabeth was in the last car, representing the Rosenberg Senior Care Center. In their only, and brief, conversation at the church before setting out for the burial, Elizabeth mentioned that Mrs. Conan wanted to attend. But she explained that the woman could barely stand. “Besides,” she added quietly, “and I hope this doesn’t sound bizarre or anything, but this is the last place I’d want her to see considering, well, how advanced her own condition is.”

When she paused, Nathan had put a hand on her shoulder, told her that was probably a wise move. He’d removed the hand quickly. Too familiar, too soon.

The green sprawl of the newer Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery came into view after rounding a turn. He assumed Tarretti would be waiting at the gravesite, standing off at a respectful distance. When the funeral plans were made Wednesday morning, Hayden remarked that Tarretti never failed to have everything ready for the procession’s arrival. As far as he knew, the man rarely left the grounds, and remarked that he probably “had nothing better to do, anyway.” Hayden said this with his characteristic grin, an expression Nathan was only now able to detect in the otherwise stony face.

As the hearse entered the grounds, Nathan said, “Pastor, my dad’s in some new group in town. I don’t think I’ve heard the name yet. Not the K of C. Something more recent. Spends a lot of time there.”

Hayden made a noise of acknowledgement and nodded his head. He said nothing.

Nathan turned the car into the wide stone gates and pressed, “Do you know the group I’m talking about?”

“I believe so. A small lot from what your mother has told me. Call themselves the Hillcrest Men’s Club.”

“My mom thinks he’s been going there too much, might be drinking...”

Hayden didn’t comment right away, but as Nathan pulled to the curb behind the last family car and parked, the old man said, “I really don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to your father about it, but he gets very defensive. Lately, all I’ve been able to do is keep tabs on him via your mother.” He opened the passenger door and paused. “You don’t mind if I lead the graveside ceremony this morning? I’ve known Karl for a long time.”

“Not at all.” Nathan decided to drop the subject of his father for now. He’d forgotten Hayden’s feelings again. Gipson was a friend. Besides, it didn’t sound like he knew much more about the club than Nathan did.

Though the sky was overcast, the weather remained calm and dry at the graveside. The chill of autumn floated teasingly in the air. Nathan kept two paces behind the pastor and tried to blend into the background. Hayden read apt passages from the Bible before the mourners took turns stepping onto the artificial grass laid over the grave and laying down the flowers offered by the funeral director. As they did so, Vincent Tarretti slowly moved closer, trying his best to be discreet. His graying blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and tucked inside a flannel shirt. While Hayden spoke softly with the family,  Nathan moved from the group and shook Vincent’s hand.

“Reverend, good morning. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Nathan said, and hoped that was enough. “Pastor Hayden has a lot of praise for your work here.”

Vincent smiled and nodded. “We’ve done a lot of these over the years. He’s a good man. Ready to take command?”

Nathan shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” A thought occurred to him, and after checking that Hayden wasn’t giving him signs that he was needed, added, “Listen, Vincent—do you prefer Vincent?”

“That’s my name.”

“You’ve been around for a while. Ever heard about a new men’s club in town?”

A surprised expression crossed the caretaker’s face. A moment later he masked it with a look of indifference. “I’ve heard of them.”

“What have you heard?”

Vincent stuck out his lower lip and slowly shook his head. “Not much. Why?”

“Nothing serious. Just my dad’s been spending a lot of time there lately and my Mom’s worried.” When Vincent said nothing, simply continued his faux-disinterested stare, Nathan tried another approach. “Any idea what they’re all about? If there’s a religious background? I suspect it’s mostly just a bunch of guys hanging around, something like that.”

Now, the other man looked at the minister directly, and for a moment Nathan thought he was angry. When he spoke, his voice was subdued, cautious. “I learned long ago that some things look one way to the public and another in private.”

“Meaning?”

Vincent nodded to the dispersing crowd. “I think your boss wants you.”

Hayden was looking in their direction, and when he realized he had Nathan’s attention gave a short wave, fingers wiggling in a
come hither
gesture.

“Can I—” Nathan said as he turned back, but Vincent was walking toward the gravesite, casually putting on a thick pair of work gloves. He was either in a hurry to lower the casket, or running from the conversation. Nathan moved into step behind Hayden as the minister walked with Gipson’s middle-aged daughter toward the line of cars. He tried to get his bearings, keep his mind on the somber event, but he kept wondering what Tarretti’s answer meant. Probably nothing.

*     *     *

Vincent hovered near the gravesite, but not so close as to look impatient. He would make no move to lower the casket until the lead cars in the procession had rounded the far curve out of sight.