Читать книгу A Time of Hope - Terri Reed - Страница 8

“The commitment is for six months.”

Jacob Durand gripped the arms of the green leather chair. Dread slithered through him and settled in the pit of his stomach. “Six months! You want me to go to Washington State for six months?”

Leland Campbell steepled his graceful hands on the expansive oak desk. His lined face took on a settled expression and his dark eyes assessed Jacob. “Yes, I do.”

As a boy, Jacob had squirmed beneath that intense stare, but now he sat straighter and met it head-on. “I thought we had this all worked out. I’d come on board here as a junior associate pastor.”

“I’ve been praying about that. You know I would love to have you on staff at Shepherd’s Way. But I need you to do this for me first.”

Leland sat back, and the black leather captain’s chair silently moved with him. “I received a call from my brother Ben a few days ago. Actually, on the day of your graduation from seminary. It seems the pastor of their community church has gone home to be with the Lord. They are in need of an interim pastor until a permanent replacement can be secured. I want you to go.”

Jacob recognized the expression on his grandfather’s face. Pastor Leland Campbell had made up his mind, and nothing would make him budge.

All of Jacob’s plans skittered away. Disappointment oozed through his veins. Through four years of college, two years of grad school and three years of seminary, he’d looked forward to finally working and learning from his grandfather. He glommed on to the first excuse that came to mind. “I’m not ready to pastor a church on my own.”

“Nonsense. And I doubt you’ll be there for the whole six months. I’m sure a permanent replacement will be found sooner than that.”

Mentally scrambling, Jacob asked, “What will the associate pastors of that church think, having someone so young and inexperienced assigned to lead their church?”

“You will gain experience, Jacob. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

Jacob stared at the full bookcases behind his grandfather. His heart raced as he examined the thought of leading a small community church. Terrifying, thrilling. A perfect opportunity to prove to his grandfather, to his father—and to himself—that he was ready to be up front.

This just might be a good thing. It would certainly accelerate his plans. Readjust and forge ahead. His plans lined up again. “All right. I’ll go.”

The pleasure in his grandfather’s expression made Jacob determined to do a good job. Leland Campbell had been Jacob’s hero since he was a child. Jacob wanted to be just like his grandfather, much to his father’s criticism.

It wasn’t so much that William Durand had disapproved of the church or his father-in-law. He’d wanted his only son to follow in his footsteps, to take over the successful business he’d started before Jacob was born.

That wasn’t Jacob’s dream, and the opposing goals between father and son created tension in the relationship.

Jacob rose to leave, his mind whirling with all the details that he’d need to take care of before heading north.

His grandfather came around the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, Jacob. Don’t put God in a box. He can do more than you can imagine.”

Three days later, Jacob stared at the cedar-sided box of a structure that housed Hope Community Church in the small Pacific Northwest town of Hope, Washington. Majestic cedars provided shade for the lush green lawn and meticulous flower beds.

A far cry from the state-of-the-art world of Shepherd’s Way located in the heart of the marina district in San Francisco.

With a sigh of resignation and a reminder to himself that his time in Hope was a means to an end, Jacob climbed from his SUV and headed up the walkway. He took a moment to absorb the outdoors. Fresh April air filled his lungs, revitalizing in its crispness. The only sound he heard was a distant bird. A calm peacefulness filled his soul.

He opened the wood door of the church. Stale air hit him as he stepped inside. The dark, small vestibule had one lone table that supported a single unlit candle in a pewter holder. The inner sanctuary was equally dark. Heavy damask curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn closed.

Jacob gamely drew back one curtain to allow sunlight to brighten the room. Surprisingly, no dust rose to tickle his nose. At least the place was clean.

Wooden pews, enough for a hundred people, give or take a few, filled the narrow building. The platform at the front was raised a few feet up with wooden stairs on one side. A podium and an organ with a matching bench was the only furniture on stage.

Jacob sighed again. “Well, this should be interesting.”

The squeak of a hinge reverberated through the quiet sanctuary. A short, heavyset older woman bustled out from a room to the right of the platform. She stopped, blinking owlishly at him from behind her thick tortoiseshell glasses.

Her lined face broke into a wide smile. “You must be Pastor Durand! You look just like Ben. At least, how he looked as a young man.”

She hurried over and touched his arm. “I say, it will be nice to have some new blood here in Hope. Don’t get me wrong, old Pastor Anders was a good man. Just rough around the edges and well, old. Like me.”

She laughed, a trilling sound that echoed in the church. She gave his arm a pat. “Here now, I’m doing all the talking and I’ve yet to let you get in a word. My husband Ed tells me all the time I talk too much. If I do, then it’s just a gift the good Lord has seen fit to give me.” She took a breath.

Amused, Jacob interjected. “I am Pastor Durand.” He liked that sound of that, but quickly amended, “I’m only here temporarily. And you are?”

She beamed. “Grace Stephens. I’m the church secretary.”

A dry laugh escaped as he compared Grace to his grandfather’s secretary, Carol. There would be no stiff and formal greetings from Grace. “That’s wonderful. Can you show me my office?”

Little creases appeared between her gray eyebrows. “Your office isn’t here in the church. It’s next door in the cottage.”

“Cottage?”

“Where you’ll be staying and where you’ll have your office. Pastor Anders didn’t like traipsing over here every day, so he moved his office into the front bedroom of the cottage. It’s set up real nice.”

Jacob vaguely remembered seeing a small house set off to one side of the church property. He pointed in the direction from which she’d emerged. “Then what’s back there?”

“Why, my office. If you want to call it that. And Sunday School rooms and the restroom. Would you like a tour?”

Not yet ready to orient himself with this new, unplanned life, he shook his head. “Later. For now I’ll just head over to the cottage. When would it be a convenient time to meet with you and go over the services and other information I need before Sunday?”

Her brows rose nearly to her hairline. “You want to meet with me?”

“Well, you are the secretary.”

She grinned. “I’m the church secretary. I keep attendance, handle the finances, make sure that we have greeters and ushers for services. I attend all the baptisms, birthing and weddings to record everything for prosperity. I distributed the sermon notes that Pastor Anders gave me on Sunday morning. I take all the calls for the church and direct the calls to where they need to go. I—”

Jacob held up a hand, cutting her off. “What about the associate pastors? And helping to organize the sermons?”

“Oh.” She waved a hand. “You want to talk with Mara.” She tapped her index finger against her lips. “Let me think. Hmm. I don’t know when she’ll be back in. She’s already been here this week. I could look up her number. I’m sure I have it. If not, I could tell you where she lives. It’s not far, just a few blocks.”

“Why don’t you look up her number and get back to me?”

She brightened. “I’ll do that. And I’ll arrange for a church council potluck at my house on Saturday evening.” She clapped her hands. “What a wonderful excuse to have my house cleaned.”

She beamed at him. “Your uncle Ben is on the council along with my Ed and Dr. Hanlin. And there’s Luke Bryer—he’s a teacher over at the high school—and Martin Lessing—he owns the drugstore downtown. And I know I’m forgetting someone….”

“That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll work it out,” he said. “I’m going to head over to the cottage right now.”

“Good, good. I’ll start making arrangements.”

Jacob watched her disappear back from where she came. He shook his head in bemusement. Yep, this sure wasn’t anything like his grandfather’s church.

He went back to his car and grabbed his cases then headed the short distance to the cottage. The small country-style house was quaint in a storybook kind of way.

Yellow with white trim. Empty flower boxes sat beneath the windowsills. Sheer curtains covered the double-hung windows.

He pulled out the key he’d received in the mail, but realized the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped across the threshold into the entryway.

The smell of cleaning products burned his nostrils. A rhythmic noise came from down the hall. He set his stuff by the antique sideboard. An old fedora with a red feather sticking out of the band sat on the scarred top as if waiting for its owner to swing by and pick it up on the way out the door.

The living room of the cottage was homey with mission-style furniture. The light taupe-colored walls were covered with photographs. Several were reprints of old photos, probably from Pastor Anders’s past. There were three beautiful Ansel Adams landscapes dominating the living room wall above the worn leather sofa.

The strangeness of stepping into someone else’s life squeezed the air from Jacob’s lungs. Thankfully, he’d only be filling this role on a temporary basis, then he could start his own life on staff at Shepherd’s Way.

As Jacob followed the sound toward the open doorway of the bathroom, he glimpsed the bedroom to his right and the kitchen to his left. The brief glance gave the impression of a clean and tidy house.

He stopped abruptly in the doorway of the small green-and-white-tiled bathroom. A petite woman, wearing worn, baggy jeans and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, bent over the rim of the claw-foot tub. Her whole body moved with the force of her arms as she scrubbed the inside of the tub. Short brown hair curled around her head in disarray.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Hello.”

The woman screamed, the sound echoing painfully in his ears. She jumped into the tub and whirled around to face him, her legs braced apart and her cleanser-covered scrub brush pointed at him like a rapier.

Her wide, gold-colored eyes glared at him with a mixture of anger and panic.

She wasn’t a classical beauty, but it was kind of cute the way she held her weapon out as if ready to do battle.

“Who are you!” she demanded.

Even with the added height of the tub, she barely reached his shoulders. The oversize work shirt and shapeless jeans emphasized her small stature. She reminded Jacob of a hobbit from Tolkien’s tales.

Jacob coughed into his fist to hide a smile. It was a minute before he could speak. “I’m Pastor Durand. And who are you?”

Her weapon wavered a bit. “You…you can’t be our new pastor.”

He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why not?”

“You’re…” She emphasized her words with a sharp jab of her brush in the air, spraying the walls with cleanser-loaded water. “You’re too…too…young.”

“I didn’t realize there was an age requirement. I’m twenty-six, by the way.”

That wild hair curled into her face and she pushed it back with an impatient swipe of her forearm, leaving a smudge of green cleanser on her face. “I don’t believe you.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t believe I’m twenty-six? Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

She made an exasperated noise. “I don’t believe you’re our new pastor. The new pastor isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t take me as long to get here as I had anticipated.”

“And…and he’s going to be older, more experienced.”

Her words scraped along an already touchy nerve.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I hope it will be years before I need a walker.”

She scowled harder at him. “Where else have you pastored?”

There was a knock on the front door, then a deep, booming voice called out, “Hello? Jacob, are you here?”

Saved by the cavalry. “Back here, Uncle Ben.”

Ben Campbell came down the hall. His tall frame ate up the narrow space. Younger than Leland, Ben was nearly as tall and more rugged looking. Living in the Pacific Northwest, with all the opportunities to be outdoors hiking, hunting and camping probably did that to a person. Things Jacob realized he’d have the chance to do before he returned to the city.

Ben pulled Jacob into a bear hug. “Hi there, nephew. I saw your rig out front.” For a moment the air was squeezed from Jacob’s lungs, then Ben let go and stepped back. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Ben. How’s Aunt Abby?”

“Good, good. She’s anxious to see you. You made good time.”

Jacob nodded and glanced at the wild woman standing in his bathtub. “I did. I guess I should have warned…someone I’d be here tonight.”

Following Jacob’s gaze, Ben’s dark eyebrows rose slightly. “Mara, honey. What are you doing in the bathtub?”

She waved her brush at Jacob. “You know him? He’s your nephew? Our new pastor?”

“Yes. Great nephew, actually. And yes.” Ben’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Mara Zimmer, meet Hope Community Church’s new pastor, Jacob Durand.”

Grace had mentioned something about a Mara. There couldn’t be two people with such an unusual name. Jacob’s mouth quirked as he watched her digest and finally—though he figured grudgingly—accepted his great-uncle’s words.

With much dignity, she climbed out of the tub, set down her brush, wiped her hand on her jeans and then walked directly to him with her chin held high. She stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Durand. Welcome to Hope.”

“I’m here only temporarily, until a permanent pastor can be found,” he stated, wanting to make sure everyone realized he would not be staying for long.

Good manners dictated that he accept her offered hand, regardless of the fact that gooey cleanser still clung to her skin.

Their palms met, his fingers curling around her slender hand. He was afraid to squeeze for fear he’d break those fragile bones. Though her skin was rough with cleanser and hard work, her small hand fit neatly within his with surprising strength.

A strange spark traveled up his arm.

Must be an allergic reaction to the cleanser, because she certainly wasn’t his type.

He pulled his hand back and subtly wiped his palm on his denim-covered thigh. “It looks like you’re pretty much done in here, and the rest of the house looks great. Thank you, Mrs. Zimmer, I appreciate the effort.”

She tucked in her chin. “It’s Miss. And you don’t owe me a thank-you. This is my job.”

“Job?” So she wasn’t just a caring soul wanting to welcome the pastor.

“Yes, job.”

She spun on her heel and picked up a black organizer from the sink counter that he hadn’t noticed before. She flipped open the book and held it in front of her. “My schedule is as follows. I clean the church building on Mondays, which is your day off.”

That was news. “Is it?”

She glanced up. “Yes, it is.” She returned her attention to the book. “I—”

“What if I don’t want Mondays off?”

A little crease appeared between her unshaped eyebrows. “Pastor Anders always took Mondays off.”

“I’m not Pastor Anders, now am I?”

He heard his uncle make a noise, but Jacob was too interested in Miss Zimmer’s reaction. He liked the way her pert little nose flared slightly as if she smelled something distasteful.

“You can take any day of the week off. I don’t care. I clean the church on Mondays.”

“Why not Thursdays?”

Her finely sculptured jaw tightened. “I clean the church on Mondays, the cottage on Thursdays. This is the way it is done. My schedule is very tight and I need to stay on track. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t come barging in and try to change things.”

He took offense to that. “Barging in?”

It wasn’t as if he’d jumped with joy at this detour in his plans. “I don’t need you to clean the cottage while I’m here. I’m perfectly capable of picking up after myself.”

Those amber eyes sparked with indignation and a bit of desperation. “You don’t want me to clean the cottage? But I’ve always cleaned the cottage.”

Uncle Ben laid a hand on Jacob’s arm. “Go with the flow, Jacob. Let her do the job the church pays her to do.”

“Fine.” He relented, not liking the fleeting look of defeat in those magnificent eyes before she lifted her chin and haughtiness entered. “The cottage on Thursdays.”

She gave a sharp nod. “Ben, let Abby know I’ll be there tomorrow as always and if she wants the refrigerator defrosted this week to leave me a note.”

She began gathering up her supplies. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but I’ve a schedule to keep and the mayor’s wife is hosting a quilting bee tonight.”

Jacob and Ben stepped out of the way as she swept past them and out of the cottage, taking the buzz of energy with her.

Bone-deep exhaustion flooded through Jacob. His muscles were stiff and needed to be exercised. He’d take a long run later.

There was a slight throbbing behind his eyes. He’d driven most of the night and day with only a few stops. He hadn’t wanted to waste time. He just wanted the next few months to go by as quickly as possible.

Ben clapped him on the back as they moved into the living room. “Wow. I’ve only seen Pastor Anders take on that fireball and come out unscathed. Everyone else in town pretty much leaves Mara be. Sad story that girl has.”

Ben’s dark eyes narrowed. “You look beat. Abby will want you to come for dinner.” He checked his watch. “We’ll eat around six. That’ll give you a few hours to unwind and relax.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ben.”

After his uncle gave him directions to their house, he left, and Jacob headed straight for the phone to call his grandfather. Carol told him in her crisp, distant way that Leland was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. Jacob held on to his irritation at being put off and asked to have his grandfather return his call as soon as possible.

As he hung up, it slammed into him just what Grace Stephens had said about Mara. He’d have to ask Miss Zimmer for the information he needed about Sunday services. With a groan he sank onto the couch.

So that meant he was going to have to deal closely with the wild woman who’d brandished her scrub brush so deftly. And for some reason, he actually looked forward to sparring with her.

Which didn’t make any sense, but nothing in the past few days had gone as he’d planned, so why should this be any different?