The Runaway Pastor's Wife (13 page)

Caroline quickly tried to think how best to
divert Darlene without compounding her previous half-truth. One thing she knew:
Darlene must
not find out that Annie had left. At least not yet.

This would have to be 
creative.

Darlene jumped right in, “Oh Caroline, I’m fine!
Just fine! Randolph and I just got back from our trip to
Australia
. Annie
did tell you we were going, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she—”

“Well, we had the most WONDERFUL time! It’s such
an AMAZING country, Caroline. You just
HAVE to go one of these days. Oh!
I know! You could go on one of those Merry Widow cruises. Wouldn’t that be
terrific? And who knows, Caroline, maybe you’ll meet some handsome, debonair,
RICH
widower! You know, like on those
Love Boat
reruns. Wouldn’t
that be just
wonderful?”

Caroline sat on one of the kitchen stools. She
uttered another quick prayer for patience. Wisdom alone wouldn’t cut it.

“Darlene, I’d never thought of that. Who
knows—maybe I’ll look into it one of these days.”

“Say! Caroline, I’ll be going by our travel
agent’s office tomorrow. I’ll just check on that for you. See when the next
widow’s cruise goes to
Australia
!”

“Oh thank you, Darlene, but—”

“Oh, nonsense, Caroline. No need to thank me.
Glad to help in any way I can. Say, is Annie there? I haven’t had a chance to
chat with my baby girl since I got back. Thought I might stop by in a little
while if she’s going to be there and tell her all about our trip. We’ll have
everyone over sometime soon to see the videos we took, but for now I just MUST
see Annie. Oh, say, Caroline, you come on over too when we show the videos.
You’ll
get the bug for
Australia
if you do! Such a
BEAUTIFUL
country, and you’d just love their adorable accents! We recorded lots of them
saying things in that cute little accent. They all sound just like that
Crocodile Hunter on TV, God rest his soul. Oh, it was SO funny—I’d stop one of
them on the street, ask for directions and
Randolph
would
start taping our conversation, and—”

Does she ever breathe?

“—then I’d get to chatting with them. You know
me—I’ll talk to a chair if no one’s around!” Darlene burst into laughter.
Caroline arched her eyebrows as she rolled her eyes, the phone cradled on her
shoulder.

“Oh goodness me! I just keep
Randolph
in
stitches! Caroline? Are you still there, dear?”

“I’m here, Darlene,” Caroline answered, biting
off the sarcastic response bouncing around her head.

Darlene continued. “Oh dear, I’ve just been
carrying on so and you haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise, as Mama
used to say. But then you know me—yak, yak, yak! Hardly have time to breathe!”

Oh really?

“Caroline, honey, are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Darlene. Just a little
weary, that’s all.”

“Yes, I know, dear,” Darlene said, sliding into
her syrupy sympathetic tone. “You must be just devastated since Wade had that
awful heart attack and left you.”

“Well, now, Darlene, I’m really getting along
just fine. After all, it’s been almost a year since—”

Darlene sucked in a shrill burst of air. “NOT
REALLY! Has it really been a YEAR? You poor dear! Well, all I can say is, we’ve
just got to do something about that. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. I’m
going to finish unpacking today and then tomorrow I’m going to spend the whole
day with you! Why, we’ll just go shopping and go eat a fabulous lunch at The
Club, maybe even indulge ourselves and to go The Dessert Tray for some kind of
sinfully good dessert! Oh—unless you’re still dieting? Are you still watching
your weight, dear?”

Caroline slammed the receiver down. For a moment
she just stared at the phone, not believing the audacity of the woman behind that
voice.
Lord! I just can’t handle her today! Give me strength.

Ring.

“I’m so sorry, Darlene, we got cut off. Listen,
I’ve got to run anyway. Annie’s not here right now but I’ll leave a note that
you called. Bye!”

CHAPTER 8

Eagle’s Nest

Annie reached for the blue and white checked
dish towel hanging inside the cabinet door below her. She wiped her eyes, now
blurred with tears. She laughed out loud. With everything else on her mind, the
last thing she expected to bring tears to her eyes were onions.

She finished dabbing her eyes then scraped the
chopped onions off the cutting board and into the deep pot of sizzling ground
beef. For some reason, she had craved homemade chili since she first set foot
in this winter paradise. She couldn’t wait to smell the mixture of spices,
beef, and tomatoes.

Drying her hands on the towel, she ambled over
to the entertainment center to find some suitable music. Christine’s taste in
music knew no boundaries so the selection was limitless—Billy Joel, Madonna,
Pavarotti,
Garth
Brooks
,
Michael Jackson, Springsteen, Big Band, the London Symphony
Orchestra . . . it was all there and more.

And suddenly, Annie was transported back to
another day and time.
Oklahoma
State
University
—the
year, 1981. In the huge university arena which normally housed raucous
basketball games, she was surrounded by all her friends and thousands of
students from her campus. The driving beat and killer tunes of The Police
entertained them long into the autumn night.

Annie realized she was smiling. The memories of
that night rolled tenderly through her mind like the gentle tide on the beach
back home.

That night, they had laughed and sung and danced
in the aisles. The blaring guitars and pounding drums pressed them upward like
a thousand hands reaching up to lift the roof off the arena. She could see
Christine, decked out in an oversized sweatshirt and her favorite jeans, her
thick blonde hair a splash of curls in constant motion. Always the carefree
spirit, she was dancing up and down the aisle with any willing partner. At one
point a “gorgeous hunk of a man,” as Christine would later describe him,
grabbed
her hand and pulled her to the front of the auditorium near the stage. For a
few minutes Annie couldn’t see her through the throng of wild fans surrounding
them. Suddenly, there was Christine—on stage with her new-found friend, dancing
in perfect choreography to the driving beat of the music. That was
Christine—right at home in front of a massive sea of strangers and side by side
with Sting.

Only Christine.

Those years were jam-packed with good times and
great friends. Life was one big party with an occasional exam thrown in the
mix. No worries about tomorrow, no regrets about yesterday. Just happy in the
here and now.

Annie scanned through the enormous CD rack to
find Sting’s Greatest Hits and gently placed it into the system. As the smooth
melody of
Fields of Gold
filled the room, she made her way back to the
kitchen. She quickly tossed the remaining ingredients into the chili and turned
the heat down to let it simmer for an hour. After cleaning her mess, she made a
cup of tea then headed for a look out the window. The snow continued to blow,
but it appeared to be slowing at the moment. She would take a walk in a little
while if it got no worse. The frigid air would be refreshing. Besides, she was
dying to build a snowman, though even thinking of it made her feel a little
guilty.

She pressed her forehead against the cold pane
of glass and inwardly scolded herself.
Coming up here was a pretty selfish
thing to do. Think how much David and the kids would love it here. The kids
have never even seen snow except on TV.

And at that moment, a voice spoke quietly inside
her head.

Annie, it’s all right for you to build a
snowman. And it’s all right for you to be here, to have some time to yourself.
Quit beating yourself up and just relax. You needed Me—and this is how you felt
you must find Me. I am here for you.

With only the slightest shiver down her back,
she felt strangely calm. This was nice. Yes, this was good. Yet, something
stubborn was tugging at her heart. She had avoided the thoughts and feelings
dammed up inside her long enough.

It was time to face the volcano inside.

The scripture came to her mind at once.
Come
to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest . . . for I
am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
She
clung to the words as though lost at sea, clinging to a life raft. She had to
believe those words even though doubts assailed her. She
needed
to
believe those words.

Annie turned off the music and returned to her
spot on the sofa. The sense of dread about confronting this moment had
diminished. Now, taking God at His word, she allowed the door to her heart to
gently open.

I don’t even know where to begin, Lord. I’ve
tried so desperately to bury these thoughts for so long, and now when I need to
uncover them, I don’t seem to know where to start. God, You alone know the pain
that has burned inside me all these months. You alone know all the feelings I
have experienced. Show me, God. Open my eyes to examine all of it. Don’t let me
hold anything back anymore. God, I’m begging You to help me. Give me strength
to do this.

Once again, in the depths of her soul, the
familiar words of the Psalmist spoke to her heart.
I lift up my eyes unto
the hills—from whence does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker
of heaven and earth.

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her
head. This was not going to be easy. When did it first begin? She closed her
eyes, mentally watching a parade of faces and situations. It was like walking
down a long, dark corridor lined with doors on either side. Doors she had
barricaded. But she knew healing would only come as she unlocked each and every
one of them. Skimming through her journal on the plane, she had cracked open a
few of those doors. Now it was time to face the memories and individuals behind
every single one of them.

The apprehension crawled back into her heart.
Any one of these doors would stir up a myriad thoughts and feelings she had
kept safely entombed. Annie shook her head, as if she could toss aside the
months—no, years—of unacknowledged bitterness that had given root to these
painful thorns in her soul. She sprang up to stoke the fire, poking the logs
with unusual force, causing a fierce blaze to roar against the hearth. She
stood transfixed, staring into the flames, surprised by her racing heart rate.

She tossed the poker back into its place and
began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth. “Look at me! I’m like a wild
animal here.” She stopped in her tracks at the sound of her voice. “But who
cares? I’m all alone here. Who cares if I sound like a raving lunatic? I can
pace if I want to!”

It felt odd to talk out loud like this. Then
again, it felt good.
Real
good.

“Hey! I can shout out loud if I want to! I can
talk to myself, I can stomp all over the room, I can even scream if I have to!”
She nodded in satisfaction with her new-found freedom and continued her pacing.
“This is good. This is good.

“Okay, Lord, I’m ready. You asked for it. Well,
here it is.” Rubbing her hands together, she took several deep breaths,
bolstering her courage. “I am
sick to death
of being a pastor’s
wife.

“There. I said it!” She blew out a lungful of
air. “In fact, I might as well be totally honest. I absolutely
despise
being
a pastor’s wife. I love David—at least the David I
used
to know—but I
abhor the role I’ve been forced to accept just because I married him. I know, I
know. I didn’t object when He answered Your call into the ministry. We both
accepted that call. We were so sure it was what You wanted us to do. To devote
our lives to serving You by leading a church family. Ministering to their
needs. Using our talents and gifts to care for Your people.

“But I’m not so sure any more.

“Maybe we were just young and idealistic. Maybe
we were caught up in the emotional whirlwind of it all and somehow
misunderstood what You wanted us to do. Maybe You only meant for us to be
active members of a church. Use those same gifts but not necessarily as pastor
and wife. I don’t know, but all I
do
know is for the last year or so
I’ve grown to hate it. I
hate
it.”

Her words tumbled out in rapid succession to her
unseen Audience. “I hate it because everything that’s good and right about
church is constantly overshadowed by the negatives. For every sweet child or
dear widow who comes to give their heart to You, there are ten others who find
some kind of sick pleasure in tearing each other’s eyeball’s out. They’d rather
burn up the phone lines spreading all kinds of ridiculous lies about each
other. They call it ‘sharing prayer concerns.’ Oh God, how I’ve come to
hate
that stupid phrase. It’s nothing more than pure gossip and they all know it.