The Breaking Point (13 page)

On certain special Sundays, Pastor Paul would even ask
Gabe to give a sermon again. Special Sundays like today, his last Sunday home. Bright and early tomorrow morning he was packing everything up and heading north to college. And nearly everyone out in those pews knew about it, because they’d had a hand in it. They’d been behind him all the way, encouraging him, donating money to help him go first to college and then to seminary.

He was going to be a preacher. Just like they all said he should.

A firm hand on his shoulder drew Gabe’s attention, and he turned to face Jake. The youth leader’s smile was warm, but there was an odd look in Jake’s eyes. Like he had something on his mind but wasn’t sure how to say it.

Gabe nodded at his friend. “Jake.”

The man let go of Gabe’s shoulder but held his gaze. Gabe wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Happiness for him, maybe. Even a little pride in who he had become. But he didn’t find anything like that in Jake’s brown eyes.

Instead, what Gabe saw was an odd uncertainty. He shifted, feeling suddenly uneasy. “What is it, Jake?”

He shook his head and looked away. “Nothin’, Gabe. Not really.” His gaze came back to Gabe’s, and after a moment he sighed. “I just …” He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “Is this what you want?”

Gabe drew back, frowning. “Is what what I want.”

Jake nodded toward the pulpit, the congregation. “This.” His tone and expression were somber. “Preaching. Going to seminary. Taking a church.”

He had the feeling that Jake was really concerned. About him. That he wanted to somehow see inside Gabe’s heart and mind, to read for himself what was there.

But no one was allowed to do that. Not even Jake.

Gabe let a relaxed, confident expression ease across his face and put his hand on Jake’s arm. “Hey, of course it is. I mean, why would I do all this if it wasn’t?”

Jake frowned this time. “That’s what I keep asking myself …”

Gabe gave him a playful punch. “Come on, Jake. Loosen up. I mean, you know me—”

Jake’s quick stare halted whatever Gabe had been about to say. “Do I? Do I really, Gabe? Or do I just know who you pretend to be?”

The low words sent panic racing through his veins, but the same inner guidance that had led him through his first panic-stricken sermon came to save him now.
Focus. Breathe. Keep your voice steady, reassuring.
Inhaling in the relief of the familiar, he kept his tone light and even.

“Sure you do. You’ve been a good friend to me.” He nodded toward the pulpit. “You even got me started with all this, remember?”

Jake nodded. “I remember, and that’s what’s bothering me.” He took a step toward Gabe and his firm hand closed on Gabe’s shoulder. He made Gabe meet his gaze head-on. “Are you doing this—are you becoming a minister—because it’s what God wants for you, or because it’s what you want? You know, because you’re good at it. Because people respond the way they do. And that makes you feel good.” Jake’s concern was almost palpable. “I need to know, buddy, are you sure God has called you to be a minister?”

The fear that stabbed through Gabe was swift and fierce. Jake knew him so well … too well. But he didn’t let himself miss a beat. He knew how the game was played. Knew what Jake needed to hear. To see.

Knew he needed to give the performance of his life.

He straightened, not letting his gaze or the confidence in his tone waver. “Yes, Jake, I’m sure. I’m following God’s call.” He was careful to say it with just the right tone and inflection, to avoid sounding too glib. And he kept his expression open, sincere, warm—all the right ingredients to give Jake the assurance he was looking for, to put his fears to rest.

It seemed to work, because Jake’s hand fell from Gabe’s shoulder, and his eyes spoke relief. “Okay, then. I just wanted to be sure. I mean, being a minister is hard enough, buddy, without going into it for some reason other than a call straight from God.”

“I hear that,” Gabe said, keeping his smile relaxed and loose. “Believe me, I’m no dummy If God hadn’t called me, no way I’d be doing this.” He clapped Jake on the arm. “I’m not
that crazy.”

It wasn’t until his friend finally left that Gabe brought his hands out from behind his back and looked down at them. His fingers were clenched so tightly that they were white. Pain shot through them as he forced them to relax.

His jaw tensed. Good thing his act had been enough to put Jake off, to keep him from seeing just how shaken Gabe really was. Because if he’d pressed any harder, Gabe might well have let those fists do exactly what they’d been wanting to do.

Nail Jake right in the center of his self-righteous face.

He turned, flexing his hands at his sides. Who did Jake think he was to ask such things, especially at a time like this, when Gabe needed to concentrate on his message? The last thing he needed was to let the anxiety deep within him run loose … anxiety that only grew stronger when he faced the truth.

Not only did he not have real answers to Jake’s questions, he wasn’t even sure he understood what the questions meant. Had God called him? How in the world was Gabe supposed to know that? Everyone in the church had been saying for a year now that Gabe was a natural at speaking, that he’d be a wonderful preacher. Even Pastor Paul said so. Well, didn’t God speak through His people?

“You bet He does.” Gabe muttered the words into the hallway, letting the truth of them ring deep inside. He moved to stare out at the congregation again, noting the smiles and
nods as they greeted each other. He heard several whispers, comments that they could hardly wait to hear what Gabe had to say. He saw the anticipation on their faces, and he nodded.

“God’s people have spoken. And they’ve told me as clearly as God Himself that I’m supposed to be a minister.” He tugged at his suit jacket. No jeans for Gabe—he learned long ago that you had to look the part if you were going to play it convincingly.

The strains of the opening hymn broke forth, and Gabe closed his eyes, listening for a moment.

Am
I a soldier of the cross?

The words echoed deep within him.
You’d better believe I am. And I’ve got my marching orders.

That settled, he paused, let the image of confidence and ease settle over him, then pulled the door open and went to greet Pastor Paul—and his future.

D
ECEMBER
19, 2003

3
P.M.

CLINK. CLINK. CLINK …

Oren tried not to flinch, but it was driving him nuts.

Clink. Clink.

He peered over the top of his book, watching as Grace sat there, staring into space, stirring her tea. Again.
Clink. Clink.

She wasn’t drinking the stuff. So why on earth did she need to stir it?

Clink. Clink.

“Gracie.”

Clink. Clink.

“Grace.”

Clinkclinkclink—

“Gracie!”

She jumped, dropping her spoon and dumping her tea all over the table. “Oh, Oren. Look what you made me do.”

Heaving a sigh, he rose and went to the kitchen for a towel. Grace was right on his heels.

“Maybe we should call the police.”

He cast her a sideways look. “I don’t think spilling tea is a crime, Grace.”

She frowned. “No, no! Not about the tea. About the Romans.”

He went back into the dining room, Grace keeping pace with him. As he wiped up the tea, she started pulling paper napkins from the dispenser in the middle of the table and wiped at the spill as well.

“Well?”

He stared at her. “Well what?”

Pull. Wipe. “The police, Oren! Should we call them?” Pull. Wipe.

“And tell them what, dear? We don’t know what’s happening. They’re not even due back yet.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Just kept pulling and wiping. “Or maybe the coast guard would be better. No, they only deal with people lost at sea.” Pull. Wipe. “Who deals with people lost in the mountains? Oh, what’s that group called? The people who go out and search for lost people and rescue them?”

She had a wad the size of Cleveland that she was pushing around the table now. Oren restrained a grin. “Search and Rescue?”

“Oh, I know. Search and Rescue!” She gave Oren a triumphant smile. “Let’s call them.”

Their hands collided for the third time, and Oren gave up his cleaning efforts. He straightened. “This table isn’t big enough for the two of us, Grace.”

She stared, then looked down at the soggy mass of napkins. “Oh, dear …”

Oren took her hand and led her into the living room, where they sat on the couch. He sandwiched her soft hand between his. “Dear, I know you’re worried. So am I. But at this point, calling the police or Search and Rescue wouldn’t help. Those folks can’t do anything until we know for sure the Romans are in trouble.”

“Well, I’d say getting a call from God is a pretty good sign.”

“For us, yes. For the police …?”

She bit her lip. “Yes, I see your point.” When she met his gaze, he saw the depth of her worry in her eyes. “But we have to do
something.”

Oren nodded. “Tell you what. How about if we call the only One who knows what’s really going on?”

Grace hesitated, then her soft, sweet smile lifted her lips. How Oren loved that smile. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His answering grin was wide. “Because God knows I need to be the smart one once in a while.”

“Oh, you!” She batted at his arm, then gripped both his hands with hers. “Shall we?”

Oren nodded. “Absolutely.”

Together, they bowed their heads and lifted their hearts to heaven.

D
ECEMBER
19, 2003

3
P.M.

“
WHOSE IDIOT IDEA
WAS
THIS?”

Renee leaned against the truck, sheltering her face against the vehicle. No sooner had she slipped from the protective shelter of the vehicle than the storm slammed into her. How was she ever going to make her way in this wind?

She pressed her face against the cold metal of the door. There had to be another way. Something else she could—

Her eyes widened. Of course! She stepped back, staring at the truck—and suddenly realized she had a Plan B.

The road. It should be behind them. It was hard to tell for certain. She didn’t know if they’d spun as they fell, or if they slid when they reached bottom. With the thick storm around them, she couldn’t see more than a few feet away.

Still—a tiny sliver of hope seeped in—it just might work. Keeping one hand on the vehicle, she moved toward the back bumper. True, she couldn’t see above her through the driving snow, but that didn’t matter. If the road was behind the truck, as she thought it was, the ground would climb.

It only took a few steps away from the truck to realize the ground did exactly that. Climbed. Which meant the road was up there!

Renee peered upward, trying to spot the top of the incline, but it was hidden from her in the storm. Even so, excitement surged through her, giving her new energy. It couldn’t be that far away Not as far as the river. If she could reach the road, she’d have a chance. Snowplows
had
to be running; she could flag one down.