The Wedding Caper (15 page)

“Maybe I
can talk him into staying awhile.” Warren tag-teamed my thoughts. “I want him
to know how much we all miss him.”

“Great
idea.”

My hubby
returned to his work in the yard and I turned my attentions, once again, to the
table. I put together one of the bouquets, for real. Just as I finished, the
telephone rang and I reached to pick it up with the bouquet still in hand.
“Hello?”

Sheila’s
cheery voice greeted me. “Annie, is that you?”

“It’s
me.” I clutched the bouquet to my chest, trying one last time to catch my
reflection in the window. “How in the world are you?”

We dove
into a lengthy conversation about weddings, homecoming dates, floral arranging
and my new knack for Spanish dancing. She chuckled her way through most of it,
even adding a bit of advice on how to put together the bouquets. Finally, our
chat took a bit of a turn.

“How are
things going with the investigation?” she asked.

“I paid a
little visit to
O’Henry
,” I said with a sigh.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,
but he wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. In fact, I feel a little foolish after
talking to him,” I confessed. “Most of my suspicions have turned out to be
false alarms.” I let out a sigh of resignation. “Maybe I’m not supposed to
solve anything. Maybe I’m just supposed to pray that the right person will be
brought to justice. You know how I am. I dive in with both feet before thinking
twice.”

“We all
do that,” Sheila said. But don’t feel too bad, Annie. After all, we can’t all
be heroes. Somebody has to sit on the sidelines and clap as they go by.” She
let out a giggle, and I couldn’t help but join her.

“Yeah, I
know,” I confessed. “And it’s not like I don’t have other things to occupy my
time. Seems like everyone needs me right now.” I paused for a moment before
adding, “Still, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that the Lord wants more from
me. It’s kind of like He wants me to stay tuned in to hear His thoughts on the
matter.
Like.
. . there’s something more to hear.”

Sheila
must’ve noted the seriousness in my voice, because her response reflected
genuine concern.

“Then
keep praying, Annie,” she encouraged. “You just never know what He might do.
And you know as well as I do, following Him is a great adventure. That much is
for sure.”

Subtitle:
Friendship with Sheila is a great adventure, too. One I wouldn’t trade for
anything in the world.

We
wrapped up our little chat and I returned to my role as mother of the brides.
For now, that suited me just fine.

Chapter Fifteen

It would be
wrong to accuse Sheila of being prideful where her singing voice was concerned,
but.
. .

Well, she
didn’t give me much choice.

Now, mind
you, Sheila had had a lovely voice as a younger woman. Note the word had. But
the last three or four times she’d sung a solo at church, I’d noticed folks
squirming in their seats, clearly uncomfortable. No one said a word. Ever.
Wouldn’t dare. But I had to wonder how long her illustrious singing career
would go on. Seemed to me, she had already passed her expiration date in this
area of ministry.

And of
course, to add insult to injury, she always came to me after each performance,
asking my opinion. “Did you like it? Do you think it ministered to the
congregation?

There
were only so many ways you could say, “Honey, God has truly gifted you in a
unique way,” before she became suspicious.

That’s
why, when I arrived at church on Sunday morning to discover Sheila would be
singing the special music, I got that familiar sinking feeling in my heart.

Maybe I
should volunteer to work in the nursery this morning. No, only a chicken would
use such devious means of escape. I needed to do the right thing, needed to
stay put in the sanctuary and offer my support and encouragement. With that in
mind, I braced myself for the inevitable.

The
service started off quite well. Our praise and worship leader, Bob
Lemuel
, came forward and led us in a mix of several
choruses and hymns. After that, we welcomed our visitors. I almost dropped my
teeth as I turned to discover
Janetta
Mullins and her
family seated in the pew directly behind mine. The strangest emotions overtook
me, particularly as my gaze traveled to Jake, who offered up a polite smile.
Were the police still following him? Were they tailing him, even now?

Forcing
those thoughts aside, I reached to give
Janetta
a
hug, and took note of the fact that she responded with a broad smile. I
returned to my seat, puzzled, yet intrigued.

Lord,
surely
You
’ve brought her here for some reason. Am I
supposed to get to know her better, try to figure out if she is somehow to
blame for the missing cash?

My heart
resonated with a loud NO! Either this wasn’t the place to worry about it, or I
shouldn’t focus on
Janetta
at all. I wasn’t quite
sure which.

The
announcements followed and then, finally, the moment arrived. Sheila stood and
approached the pulpit. Her deep purple cowl-necked sweater proved an
interesting match for the long, flowing black skirt, but what made the ensemble
even more conversational was the choice of jewelry. How the woman could stand
aright with so many bauble-laden chains hanging around her neck was a miracle
in itself. And the violet-colored flower clip in her red hair really set the
whole thing off.

The music
for “Softly and Tenderly” began, and she lit in
head-first
.
I sat still as a mouse, determined not to look around me. And I did pretty
well—until she attempted to hit a high note about midway into the piece.
She missed it by about a point-5 on the Richter scale, which, for some reason,
got Devin tickled. I heard the slightest bit of a snort to my left, followed by
the vibration of the pew as he lost it in silent laughter.

I jabbed
him with my left elbow, never looking his way. I didn’t dare. I did notice
Warren to my right. His eyes were closed. Is he praying, or in pain?

On and on
Sheila sang, “Come home, come ho-o-
ome
.
. .” The notes wrapped themselves around the room in a
tremulous vibrato. Pastor Miller’s cheeks flamed red as Sheila set out to hit
an impromptu high note at the end.
So close, and yet so far.
She held the note for a good thirty seconds, long enough to allow me to drive
fingernail prints into Devin’s right arm.

As she
ended the song, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A couple of ladies to my
right fanned themselves as the pastor stood and approached the pulpit.

“Thank
you so much, Sheila,” he exclaimed. “Surely even the angels themselves can’t
sing like that.”

Ya
think?

He opened
his Bible and began the sermon. In an interesting irony, he talked about the
prodigal son, the words of his message not far off from the lyrics Sheila had
just sung. I wondered if Jake, who sat behind me, “got” it. Several times, I
wanted to turn around, wanted to see if I could catch his expression, but
stopped myself.

Instead,
I focused on the part of the message that was meant for
me.
. . the part about the older brother who held his sibling in judgment. Yep. I
was more like the other brother, whether I wanted to admit it or not. Mental
note: From this point on, read between the lines of familiar Bible stories for
hidden messages.

The
service ended on a high note, albeit more in tune than Sheila’s song. One of
the teenage girls, Claudia, came forward in response to the pastor’s message,
and one family, new to town, came to the front to join the church. We
celebrated together then closed in prayer.

I
lingered awhile after the service to talk to friends. And I wanted the
opportunity to visit with
Janetta
—as soon as
the welcoming committee around her dissipated a bit.

She
looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Annie, it’s so good to see you.”

I gave
her a big hug. “Good to see you too. And Jake—” I flashed a smile. “My
apple pie partner. How are you?”

Our
family members gave us a few curious looks, but he forged ahead undeterred.

“I’m
great, Mrs. Peterson. It’s good to be back home.” His emphasis on the word home
let me know he’d understood the message.

After a little
more conversation, my girls headed off in search of their friends, and Devin
settled into a conversation with Jake about the upcoming homecoming game. Well,
if that doesn’t beat all.

Janetta
took me by the arm and whispered, “Can
we talk a minute?”

“Of
course.” I tried to push Mrs. Lapp’s words of warning out of my mind as we
eased our way through the crowd to a quieter spot. No point in worrying about
the missing $25,000 today, of all days.

Sheila
chose that very moment to show up at my side. She didn’t seem to notice that
Janetta
and I were engaged in conversation. Or, if she did,
it didn’t stop her from interrupting.

“Annie,”
she spoke breathlessly, “What did you think of my song? And be completely
honest. Did you think it ministered to the congregation?”

I’d just
opened my mouth to say something rehearsed and brilliant when
Janetta
caught me off guard. She took hold of Sheila hands,
tears erupting, and spoke with genuine passion. “I just want you to know,” she
said, “how much that song touched me.”

What?

She
continued on, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “My mother used
to sing “Softly and
Tenderly
” when I was a little
girl,” she said. “And I’ve always loved it. But I haven’t heard it since she
died. The words—” Here, she broke down and wept. I reached into my purse
for a tissue. “The words reminded me of the faith I used to have as a young
girl. The faith I need to return to.”

Nope. One
tissue wouldn’t cut it. This was going to be a multi-tissue cry if I ever saw
one.

Sheila
began to softly sing the chorus, “Come home, come ho-o-
ome
,
ye who are weary, come ho-o-
ome
.” As she did,
Janetta
erupted once again, this time using the second and
third tissues to mop up the moisture on her cheeks.

“Thank
you,” she whispered.

Sheila
wrapped
Janetta
in her arms. “I’m so glad,” she
whispered. “I always pray before I choose the song and ask the Lord to show me
what to sing.”

“Well, He
certainly did this time,”
Janetta
responded. “And I’m
so grateful. You’ll never know how much that meant to me. Made me want to come
home—to Him and to the church.”

Lord, I
am a worm—a terrible friend and a spiritual worm.

I gazed
up at my friend with new eyes. Admiring eyes. Sheila asked
Janetta
if they could pray together, and lo and behold if they didn’t stop and pray,
right then and there in the foyer of the church. The little flower clip in
Sheila’s hair bobbed up and down as her enthusiastic prayer went on. I watched
it all with my jaw hanging down, taking careful notes.

We stayed
on and chatted a few minutes before we all finally parted ways. I promised both
ladies we’d try to get together for lunch one day soon. And I promised the Lord
I would never again doubt His ability to minister—in any way He pleased.

Devin
made a rapid-fire decision to head over to a friend’s house for lunch, which
left Warren and me with some alone time as we made the journey home. Come home,
come ho-o-
ome
. For some reason, the words wouldn’t
leave me. The last few weeks had been so
busy,
it felt
nice to have my husband to myself again. And it would feel just as good to
spend an afternoon with the girls.

Warren
clicked the radio off and we sat in delirious silence for a moment before
either of us spoke.

“That was
a great service,” he said at last.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hearing
the story of the prodigal son again reminds me of how blessed I am,” he
continued.

This
certainly caught my attention. “Oh?”

Warren
nodded and I noticed tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ve got such a great
family.” He spoke softly, seriously. “And I’m so thankful to the Lord for all
of you. When I see the struggles that so many other fathers face, I’m so
grateful—grateful that our kids have stayed close to the Lord—”
here he stammered a bit “—and close to us.”

Yep.
Those were definitely tears in his eyes. I leaned over to rest my head on his
shoulder. “They have a great dad,” I whispered. “So why would they turn their
hearts in a different direction? They see a real picture of their heavenly
father every time they’re with you.”

Listen to
what you’re saying, Annie. This is a true man of God, incapable of the kinds of
things you’ve suspected. He has clean hands and a pure heart.

I could
see the quiver in Warren’s chin and noted his obvious silence, but didn’t hold
it against him. He couldn’t talk right now. I understood.

We
arrived home minutes later and I dove into action. I opened the
crock pot
to check on the pot roast.
Mmm
.
Looked and smelled yummy. With the click of a button, I turned on the oven to
warm some rolls.

Just about
that time, the girls and their guys arrived and the conversations began to
layer, one on top of another. I watched Warren’s face as Brandi and Candy
bounced wedding and honeymoon ideas off of him. Yep. Those were still tears in
his eyes. I wondered if the kids noticed.

We shared
a terrific meal together, laughing and joking our way throughout. Afterwards,
we turned our attentions to a couple of board games. Mental note: Future
sons-in-law seem to excel at movie trivia. From this point on, choose literary
games.

I served
up generous slices of the angel food cake with berry topping, and we opted to
watch a movie together. Brandi argued that we should watch a romance. Scott
felt strongly about an action flick. Candy opted for a musical and Garrett said
he’d rather watch football. Warren was already snoring in the easy chair by
this point, so his opinion didn’t factor in.

In the
end, we settled on “Father of the Bride”—a logical choice, all things
considered. Just as everyone got settled down in front of the television, the
doorbell rang. I excused myself to answer it.

I’d
honestly forgotten Richard Blevins had planned to come by until I laid eyes on
him. He reluctantly entered the house at my bidding. Took a bit of persuading
on my part, but I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away from me. I’d
looked for a chance to talk with him for weeks now.

I ushered
him beyond the crowd in the den, and on into the living room. We settled onto
the sofa and a groggy-eyed Warren joined us, offering coffee as an incentive to
stay awhile. To my surprise, Richard agreed.

Preliminary
chatting aside, I garnered the necessary courage to broach the most important
subject. “Tell us about Judy,” I urged.

His gaze
shifted to the floor at once, and I wondered if I’d crossed a line.

“We don’t
want to pry.” Warren spoke softly.

Richard
looked up at us with tears in his eyes. “No, it’s okay. Might do me some good
to talk.”

Neither
of us interrupted him.

“I know
what everyone must be thinking,” Richard continued. “It’s got to seem strange
that I
just.
. . disappeared.”