Читать книгу Listen to Your Heart - Irene Brand - Страница 11

Micah would never have dreamed that Sunday morning would find him searching the closet to find something suitable to wear to church. Why had he accepted Laurel’s invitation to go with her today, when he hadn’t attended an organized worship service for years?

He hadn’t thought he’d need dress clothes for the summer, and most of his garments consisted of denim pants and shorts. His suits and ties were at his house in Kansas. He sorted through his garment bags and came up with a new polo shirt and a pair of trousers, both in need of pressing. Laurel had provided an ironing board and iron for her renters, and while he waited for the iron to heat, Micah shined his shoes.

He hoped his casual clothes would be acceptable at Laurel’s church. Not that he ever gave much thought to what people thought, but he didn’t want Laurel to be ashamed of his appearance. Confused by his preoccupation with Laurel and her affairs, he wandered restlessly around the apartment.

He couldn’t understand her obvious attachment to Oaklawn. He’d been on the move all of his adult life, and the only land he owned was a quarter-section of farmland in Kansas. He’d inherited the property from a maternal uncle a few years ago, and he used the farm to store the possessions he couldn’t haul around with him.

He rented the land to a farmer whose farm adjoined his, and the farmer’s wife cleaned and aired his four-room house monthly. The farm was valuable to him as a good source of income, but he visited the place infrequently. Obviously, Laurel wasn’t making much money from Oaklawn, so her attachment to the place must be sentimental.

As Micah paced, he wondered why he couldn’t put down roots like other people. Was he destined to be a wanderer to the end of his days? He didn’t want to settle down in Kansas, which was hot and dry in summer and cold and windy in the winter. Micah felt as strong and competent as he had when he was a teenager. He had several years before he needed to retire, so why was he thinking of settling down? Not willing to acknowledge the reason for his discontent, he decided to put these perplexing emotions out of his mind.

When he finished dressing and took a look in the full-length mirror on the closet door, Micah decided he looked acceptable. Laurel had said the church was small, and it was a hot morning, so he assumed none of the men would be wearing suits.

After he cleared the seats of the car and put all of his photographic equipment in the apartment, he tapped on Laurel’s back door. A lovely sight in her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, Laurel opened the door and greeted him. He thought she looked like a child playacting in her mother’s clothes. With her diminutive stature, delicate body, and a shy smile hovering on her lips, she seemed like a little girl dressed up for her first party. She wore an ankle-length black skirt and black sandals. The scoop-necked blouse was an ivory color that blended charmingly with her pearl-like complexion.

When Laurel’s lashes dropped, and a telltale flush appeared on her cheeks, Micah realized he’d been staring.

“Good morning, Laurel,” he said. “Am I too early?”

“Not at all,” she stammered, still flustered by Micah’s intent appraisal. “Debbie is a little late. We both overslept this morning.”

She motioned to the chairs on the porch. “Shall we sit and wait for her? We still have half an hour before services begin, and it’s only a ten-minute drive to Bethel Church.”

But before they could be seated, quick steps sounded in the hallway, and Debbie stepped out on the porch. She was a pretty young woman of above average height, but she had few characteristics of her petite mother. Debbie’s hair was straight instead of curly. Her eyes were brown instead of green. Apparently Debbie looked like her father’s side of the family. Since Debbie was dressed in casual slacks and a knit blouse, Micah decided that his attire was suitable for their church.

“Have I kept you waiting long?” she asked.

“Debbie,” Laurel said, “this is Micah Davidson.” And looking at her daughter with unmistakable pride, she added, “Micah, my daughter, Debbie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Davidson,” Debbie said with genuine warmth. “I’ve seen your work featured on TV several times. You’re a fantastic photographer.”

“Thanks. I enjoy my work.”

“Have you ever considered writing a book about your exploits?”

“I’m having one published in a few months,” he said, with a wide smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Micah noticed that Laurel was fidgeting from one foot to the other.

“Should we go now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Laurel said. “I don’t want to be late. You sit in the front seat, Debbie, you’re better at giving directions than I am.”

They passed Walden College on the way to worship, and Micah wondered why he was hesitant to tell Laurel he’d been invited to teach there.

The sedate brick buildings, dating to the early twentieth century, looked quiet and confining. After he’d been his own taskmaster for twenty-five years, could he endure working on a regular, day-by-day schedule arranged by someone else? Was he too set in his ways to ever change?

He turned his thoughts from the college to another unaccustomed experience when Debbie, who sat beside him on the front seat, directed him to the parking lot of Bethel Church. According to the sign over the door, the church had been built in 1910. When Micah followed Debbie and Laurel up the center aisle into the small sanctuary, he admired the Gothic-style architecture of the windows and the ceiling, as well as the ornately carved pews. They sat beside a stained-glass window placed in memory of the Cooper family.

The soft strains of the organ music were peaceful, but Micah momentarily longed for the soft stirring of the wind and the sounds of nature that he usually heard when he worshiped. Sitting between Debbie and Laurel, he felt confined like a bird with its wings clipped, as if his spirit could never soar again.

He probably would have bolted if he’d had free access to the door, but when an usher raised all the windows in the sanctuary, he could hear birds singing. A gentle breeze wafted the strong scent of honeysuckle into the church. He breathed deeply of the fresh air and relaxed.

Micah took a quick survey of the congregation, seeing only one man, other than the minister, who had on a suit and tie.

Laurel handed Micah a hymnal when the preacher announced the first song. It was a song he didn’t know, but he followed the words on the page as he listened to Debbie’s strong soprano blending with Laurel’s alto voice. Micah had been told by a high-school music teacher that he had a pleasant speaking voice, but when he sang, he croaked like a frog. Thereafter, he’d never joined in group singing, but when he was out on a job alone, he’d belt out the words of any song that took his fancy, with or without a tune. A croaking frog was acceptable in the great outdoors.

When the pastor asked for unspoken requests before the morning prayer, Laurel lifted her hand. The haunted expression Micah had seen in her eyes when they’d walked yesterday morning had returned. And during the prayer, he sensed her lips were moving in silent petition.

Micah had a Bible somewhere among his possessions, but he hadn’t carried it on his travels, and he hadn’t read it for a long time. His parents had instilled a belief in God in his heart, but even as a child he’d avoided group worship. Everything he photographed, especially the different species of animals and plants he’d seen in various parts of the world, had filled him with wonder and awe at the majesty of the God Who had created the world.

Bruce Jensen, the preacher, was an unpretentious, thin, middle-aged man, but he was sincere and his obvious knowledge held Micah’s attention. He listened eagerly as Pastor Jensen started his sermon.

According to the preacher, Jesus and His disciples had been traveling through Samaria when they’d encountered a woman with a bad reputation. She had attempted to conceal her lifestyle by comparing the Jewish method of worship with the way the Samaritans worshiped.

Intrigued by this subject that was of importance to him, Micah listened intently when Pastor Jensen read a few verses from the Bible, giving the reference as the fourth chapter of John.

“A time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is a spirit, and His worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.”

According to these words, his method of worship was as valid as the way Laurel worshiped. But doubt arose in Micah’s heart as the preacher explained the passage more fully. In summing up the conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan Woman, Pastor Jensen said that Jesus turned the subject from the place where one worships to the Person who is worshiped. He explained that God is the Lord of all, and that He can be worshiped anywhere. But the only acceptable worship involves the entire heart, mind and the truth of God as revealed in the Scripture.

To that point, the preacher’s message and Micah’s method of worship seemed compatible. But when Pastor Jensen continued, Micah conceded that he may have missed the essence of true worship.

“When people asked Jesus to show them the way to God, He had replied, ‘I and the Father are one. He who has seen me has seen the Father.’ At a later time, Jesus had said, ‘No man cometh to the Father except by me.’”

Pastor Jensen concluded his message by quoting another Scripture, “‘He who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent Him.’ Until people accept Jesus, the Son of God, into their hearts, there can be no worship.”

As the congregation rose for the benediction, Micah realized that if the preacher’s words were true, his methods of worship had not pleased God.

Micah had his hand wrung by most of the congregation at the end of the service, and he had many invitations to become a part of their fellowship while he was in the community. While Laurel and Debbie visited with their friends, he circled the building looking with interest at the architecture. If he accepted a position at Walden College, he might research historic churches of the South for an article or a TV feature. Bethel Church could be included.

“Where are we going for lunch?” he asked as he opened the car doors. Again, Laurel took the back seat, leaving the front for Debbie.

“You call it, Mom. Where do you want to go?”

“How about that nice Sunday buffet at the restaurant on the road to Knoxville? They have a good choice of food.”

“Give me directions, Debbie,” Micah said.

As he started the engine, she said, “Oh, wait. Here comes our cousin, Kevin. He must want to meet you.”

But the man approached the passenger side of the car. He opened the rear door and handed an envelope to Laurel.

“I was worried I’d miss you today. This letter came to my office last week. I’ve intended to drop by Oaklawn and give it to you, but I’ve been busy.”

Laurel took the envelope and glanced at the typed address. “Mrs. Jason Cooper, c/o Kevin Cooper, Attorney at Law.” She hadn’t had a letter addressed to Mrs. Jason Cooper for a long time. Her hands stiffened and her eyes blurred. Could this have anything to do with her mysterious phone call?

She was thankful for a moment to compose herself when Debbie said, “Cousin Kevin, did you meet our tenant? Kevin Cooper, Micah Davidson,” she said.

Kevin Cooper extended a hand across the front seat and gave Micah a hearty handshake. Kevin was the only man other than the minister who’d been wearing a suit. He was a tall, portly man with a mane of shoulder-length gray hair and a full gray beard. His appearance reminded Micah of an antebellum Southern planter.

“Going to stay long at Oaklawn?” Kevin said.

“Two or three months,” Micah answered.

“Everything going all right, Laurel?” Kevin asked affably.

“Yes, the wedding plans are moving along quite well,” she said with an effort.

“Glad to hear it,” her cousin-in-law said. “I’ll try to stop by this week. Glad to meet you, Mr. Davidson. It relieves my mind that you’ll be around Oaklawn this summer. When the apartments are empty, I worry about my cousins living in such an isolated place.”

Kevin closed the door and Micah drove out of the church parking lot.

“Cousin Kevin is a nice guy,” Debbie said. “He was my daddy’s second cousin, and he’s been very good to Mom and me after my grandparents died. If he’s worried about the two of us living alone at Oaklawn, I don’t know what he’ll think when Mom is there by herself.”

Laurel remained silent.

Following Debbie’s instructions, Micah left the narrow county road and accessed the highway. Micah had been prepared to dislike Debbie, because he’d gotten the impression that she imposed on her mother. Or at least he’d gathered that Laurel carried the whole burden of family decisions. After chatting with her about college life and her upcoming marriage, he decided she wasn’t a spoiled brat, but an intelligent, compassionate young lady.

Suddenly it occurred to Micah that Laurel hadn’t said a word since they’d left the churchyard, and he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her face was the color of ashes, and her hand crushed the letter Kevin Cooper had given her.

“Hey, Mom,” Debbie said, not looking at her mother, but indicating a turn that Micah should take. “Who was your letter from?”

Micah heard Laurel open and close her purse. As he made the sharp left-hand turn, he had a slight glimpse of Laurel’s hands. The letter wasn’t in sight.

“Oh, just a piece of junk mail.”

“Seems strange anyone would send your mail to Cousin Kevin’s office.”

Laurel didn’t answer.

“Probably one of your admirers sneaking a letter to you so I wouldn’t see it,” Debbie teased.

If she had been disturbed by the letter’s contents, Laurel had regained her composure by the time they reached the restaurant. But her gaiety seemed forced, and occasionally her eyes held a resentful, frightened look. Debbie didn’t seem to notice, so Micah wondered if he was imagining things. Maybe the letter had been junk mail, but he didn’t think so.

Debbie was interested in Micah’s work, and she plied him with questions while they ate a leisurely meal. It was easy for Laurel to remain silent and mull over this latest threat to her peace of mind. Although as Micah answered Debbie’s queries, Laurel sensed his speculative gaze toward her.

“What’s the most interesting place you’ve ever photographed?” Debbie asked.

“That’s a hard one,” Micah said. “I’ve been at this work a long time. I’ve had assignments all over the world.”

“Do you speak several languages?” Laurel asked in an effort to keep Debbie from knowing how near the breaking point she was.

“French and Spanish reasonably well. I’ve picked up a smattering of German, as well as a lot of Asian dialects—at least enough that I can find my way around in several countries.”

At the dessert bar, Micah chose a large portion of apple cobbler, topped with a dollop of soft ice cream. Debbie took carrot cake, but Laurel picked up one cookie, wondering if she could eat it. The food she’d already eaten seemed like a lead weight in her stomach, and she felt nauseous. She desperately needed to be alone. The waitress brought Laurel and Micah fresh cups of coffee, and Debbie had a refill of iced tea.

“But you can’t pick out a favorite place?” Debbie persisted, while they ate their desserts.

“Not on the spot like this. I’m always so busy looking forward to a new assignment that I rarely think about previous ones. I’ll have to go through my scrapbooks and slide files and see if I can choose a favorite. Then perhaps I can revisit the area, and make a comparison of my impressions during my original research and what they are on my second visit.”

“Seems like an excellent idea to me,” Debbie said. She must have suddenly realized how quiet her mother had been, because Debbie covered Laurel’s hand with hers. “Say, Mom, we’re leaving you out of the conversation. I always talk too much. It’s your turn to ask Micah some questions.”

Laurel had noticed that Debbie and Micah had reached a first-name relationship right away. Determined that Debbie wouldn’t notice her distress, Laurel forced a smile and said, “You’re doing enough talking for both of us. But if Micah can’t think of a favorite place he’s photographed, I’ll settle for one of the most exotic places he’s explored.”

“I have a large number of those to choose from,” he said. “Machu Picchu comes to mind. You’ve heard of it?”

The name was familiar, but Laurel couldn’t remember what or where it was.

“Some kind of an Inca site in Peru, right?” Debbie replied.

“Right. I went there about ten years ago. I rode a train from Cusco, Peru, to a little village at the foot of an Andean mountain where the historical site is located. I took a rickety bus along a narrow, curvy road to the top of the mountain. The driver handled that bus like he was driving a race car. After the ride up the mountain, I would have walked back down if it hadn’t been for all the heavy equipment I had with me.”

“Sorry to show my ignorance, but you two college graduates will have to refresh my memory on what Machu Picchu is,” Laurel said, wishing as she often had before that she’d gone to college instead of getting married at eighteen.

“It’s one of the most beautiful and perplexing sights I’ve ever seen,” Micah said. “The Inca people carved hundreds of stone structures from the granite mountaintop in the fifteenth century. It was a self-contained city invisible from the valley below. When it was rediscovered in 1911 by Hiram Bingham, a Yale archaeologist, the jungle had taken over the site. Although the village is in ruins, enough of the dwellings are left to get an accurate idea of how the Incas lived and worshiped. I camped on the mountain one night and spent hours worshiping God, but after today’s sermon, I’m not sure I worshiped Him in spirit and in truth.”

Glancing at her watch, Debbie said, “I hate to break up our pleasant meal, but I have to be at work in an hour.”