For the Love of God (3 page)

And during the tourist season, people came by the thousands to see The Great Passion Play, an outdoor drama of Christ’s last days, and to view
the seven-story statue of Christ of the Ozarks. There were other religious attractions, too, including the Bible Museum, the Christ Only Art Gallery, and the New Holy Land with its life-size recreations of scenes from the Bible.

As much as Abbie loved her hometown and its picturesque buildings and Ozark Mountain setting, living in a town that had essentially changed little since the turn of the century had its disadvantages. Abbie became as irritated as the next motorist on city streets that were not designed to handle a lot of modern vehicle traffic. And there weren’t any traffic lights, which meant relying on the courtesy of another driver in the case of making turns onto main thoroughfares or off of them.

In the summer, when the visitors came by the hundreds, she griped along with everyone else at the traffic tie-ups, but she still loved it. Maybe it was because she was like the town—a little out-of-date and out-of-step with the times—proud and old-fashioned.

All her girl friends were married, and most of them had children. She had given up a promising career and come back to—what? To fantasize about a stranger who stopped to help?

Climbing roses spilled over the fan-shaped trellises that marked the driveway of her parents’ home with its gingerbread trim. The old carriage-house-turned-garage sat at the side, literally built into the hill. Her father’s car was already inside the garage. Since there was only room for one and the weather couldn’t hurt
Mabel’s appearance, Abbie always parked outside.

This time she stopped near the back door of the two-and-a-half story white house. Her cupboards were already filled with jars of goods from Grandmother Klein. She knew the elderly woman wouldn’t mind if her granddaughter gave some of the food and home-canned goods to the woman’s daughter and son-in-law. It certainly made more sense to divide it now than carry it all up a flight of stairs to her apartment, then back down to the house.

Without bothering to knock at the back door, Abbie walked into the kitchen with an armload of jars. The rush of air-conditioned coolness hit her, and she paused to savor the relief from the outside heat.

A tall, auburn-haired woman turned away from the stove where the evening meal was cooking to look at Abbie. There was a definite resemblance between mother and daughter with minor differences. Alice Scott was pencil-thin, with eyes that were more green than hazel. “You and Mother must have had quite a visit today,” she remarked. “She isn’t ill or anything?”

“No.” Abbie walked to the breakfast table and carefully set the jars down. “I busted a radiator hose on the way home. I’ve been over at Kermit’s for the last two hours getting it repaired.”

“I don’t see what keeps that car together at all,” her mother replied with a wry shake of her head.

The unmistakable sound of her father running
down the steps and whistling a tuneless song echoed into the kitchen. In a few things, her father was very predictable. One of them was his routine after a day at the office. He immediately changed into a pair of khaki pants and either a cotton plaid shirt in the summer or a bedraggled maroon pullover sweater in the winter upon coming home from the office.

True to his pattern, he entered the kitchen in the plaid shirt and khaki pants. He sniffed at the food cooking on the stove. “Smells good, honey.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and walked to the refrigerator for a beer. “When do we eat?” Then he saw Abbie standing by the table. “I thought we pushed that one out of the nest. Here she is back at mealtime with her mouth open.”

“There’s plenty,” her mother assured her as she turned the sizzling pork chops in the skillet. “Why don’t you have supper with us?”

“Not tonight, Mom. Thanks just the same.” Abbie refused because it would be too easy to fall into the habit of eating her meals at home. She had become used to living on her own and liked the measure of independence the small apartment above the garage gave her.

“You’re too stubborn,” her father accused, but he grudgingly admired her streak of independence, too.

“I get it from you,” she retorted.

“You can have Sunday dinner with us tomorrow.” It wasn’t an invitation from her mother; it was a statement. “It will be nice for all three of us to attend church together again.”

Her father cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Abe said something about going fishing tomorrow. I meant to mention that to you the other day.”

“Drew Fitzgerald Scott, you are going to church.” Her mother shook a fork at him. “It’s the last time Reverend Augustus will be conducting the services. He’s retiring.”

“Hallelujah!” Her father raised a hand in the air in mock rejoicing.

“Drew.” Her mother’s voice held a warning note.

“I never did like the man,” he reminded her. “I’m not going to be sorry to see him retire. If I go to church with you tomorrow, you can be sure I’ll be sitting in that pew rejoicing.”

“Not ‘if,’” Alice Scott corrected. “You
are
going. And you’re going to attend the farewell tea our ladies’ club is giving him and Mrs. Augustus tomorrow afternoon.”

His glance slid to Abbie, an impish light dancing in his brown eyes. “Are you going?”

“Yes, she’s going.” Her mother answered for her.

Abbie lifted her shoulders in a shrug that said the decision had been taken out of her hands. “You heard her, Dad.” A smile widened her mouth. “I’m going.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice either,” he replied affably, then took a deep, sighing breath. “I just hope we don’t get another ‘hell and damnation’ minister. I like to go to church and be inspired, not threatened.” He leaned a hip
against the butcher-block table in the middle of the sunny yellow kitchen. “What about it, Mother? What’s the word on our new minister?”

Her mother switched off the burner under the skillet and paused. “I don’t remember anyone discussing him in specifics, except that he’s supposed to be highly qualified.” She seemed surprised that her information was so scanty. “But we’ll meet him and his family tomorrow. Reverend Augustus will be introducing them to the congregation, and I’m sure they’ll attend the tea. You’ll be able to draw your own conclusions.”

With that subject apparently closed, Abbie had the chance to ask the question that had been buzzing around in her mind since this afternoon. “Mom, what made you choose the name Abra for me? Does it have any special meaning?”

“That’s a strange question to ask after all these years,” her mother declared with a faint laugh. “One of my girl friends had an aunt by that name and I liked it. Why?”

“I just found out Abra was the name of Solomon’s favorite wife in the Bible. I guess I wondered if you had known that.” Abbie shrugged.

“How interesting.” Her mother looked pleasantly surprised. “Who told you this?”

“A tourist who stopped to help me when Mabel broke down—” Abbie didn’t have a chance to complete the sentence in its entirety.

“What’s this about Mabel breaking down?” her father interrupted.

And Abbie explained again about the busted radiator hose and her delay getting it fixed at the garage. By the time she had finished answering—or trying to answer—all his mechanical questions, her mother was dishing up their evening meal. Abbie refused a second invitation to join them and left the house to carry the bounty from her grandmother up to her apartment.

The incessant pounding roused Abbie from her sleep. She rolled over with a groan and buried her head under the pillow, but she couldn’t drown it out. Whoever was doing all that hammering should be put in jail for making so much noise on a Sunday morning, she thought.

Sunday morning. There wasn’t anyone hammering, she realized. Someone was knocking on her door. Abbie threw aside the pillow and tossed back the covers to sit up in the single bed. The grogginess of sleep blurred her eyes as she grabbed for the robe draped over the foot of the bed.

“I’m coming!” she called while she hurriedly tried to pull on her robe, but she wasn’t too coordinated.

Her alarm clock sat on the oak dresser, far enough from the bed so she would be forced to get up to turn it off. Abbie peered at it. The hour hand pointed to one. Sunshine was streaming through the bedroom window. It surely didn’t
mean it was one o’clock in the afternoon! With a groan she realized the clock had stopped. She must have forgotten to wind it last night.

It was obviously late, but Abbie had no idea what time it was. She hurried through the main room of her loft apartment, which included a living room, dining room, and kitchen, to the staircase door. As she opened it she lifted the weighty mass of auburn-gold hair away from her face.

Her father stood outside, dressed in a suit and tie. His gaze wandered over her while a smile deepened the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think that’s exactly the proper attire for church,” he observed.

“My clock stopped.” Abbie didn’t mention that she had forgotten to wind it. “What time is it?” Her voice still contained the husky thickness of sleep.

“There’s about ten minutes before the church service starts. Is that any help?” he asked with an amused slant to his mouth.

“I can’t get ready in five minutes,” Abbie groaned. “You and Mother will just have to go without me.”

A rueful expression added lines to his face. “She isn’t going to be too happy about that,” he warned Abbie but not without understanding. “Too bad
I
didn’t think of it.” A boyish grin showed.

“Mom is your alarm clock,” she reminded him. “She would have gotten you up in plenty of time.”

A horn honked an impatient summons from the driveway. Her father glanced in the direction of the sound. “Your mother hates to be late. What shall I tell her?” he asked. “Will you be coming later on?”

“The service will be half over by the time I could make it there.” Abbie shook her head to indicate she wouldn’t be attending church that morning. “You’ll have to convey my apologies to Reverend Augustus and assure him that I’ll be at the afternoon tea.”

“I think I’ll let your mother have that pleasure.” He began moving away from the door to the white-painted staircase. “See you after church.”

With no reason for haste, Abbie took her time in the shower while coffee perked in the kitchen. The warm spray awakened her senses and eliminated the last traces of sleep and she stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed and invigorated. With a towel wrapped around her wet hair, she donned the yellow cotton robe again and ventured into the kitchen area of the apartment.

A counter bar separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. Although there was a small wooden table and chairs, Abbie usually ate most of her meals at the counter, using the table only when she had friends over for a meal.

It was too close to dinnertime for breakfast, so Abbie settled for a glass of orange juice and a cup of freshly perked coffee, sitting on a tall, rattan-backed stool at the counter-bar. By the time she had drunk a second cup, the towel had
absorbed most of the moisture from her hair. It took only a few minutes to finish drying it with the blow dryer. Its natural-bodied thickness assumed a casually loose and free style that curled softly about her neck. Choosing a dress to wear that would be both suitable for the minister’s farewell party and comfortable in the July heat was relatively easy, because she had so few choices. Abbie picked out a sundress designed with classic simplicity, a white material with small, navy-blue polka dots. Its neckline was modest, while the close-fitting bodice flattered the thrusting curves of her breasts. A wide leather belt in navy-blue accented her slender waist, with the skirt flaring out to near fullness. Abbie had a pair of navy-blue sandals with stacked, wooden heels to complete the outfit. She had a three-banded bracelet and matching hooped earrings to wear with it for the finishing touch, but Reverend Augustus frowned on jewelry. After debating silently with herself for several minutes, Abbie wore them anyway.

The only clock with the right time was in the kitchen. It warned her that it was nearly time for church to be let out. She crossed the driveway to the house. Unlike Abbie, her parents had never acquired the habit of locking their doors. In this small community, there had never been any reason to worry about it.

Her mother was a terribly organized person. All the preparations for Sunday dinner were completed, from the meat and vegetables baking in the oven to the relish tray and salad sitting
in the refrigerator. Abbie went ahead and put the latter on the table, already covered with their best linen tablecloth, china and silverware. There was even a bouquet of freshly cut flowers adorning the center.

When she heard her parents’ car turn into the driveway, Abbie tied an apron around her waist and took the roaster from the oven. She was forking the tender roast onto the meat platter when her parents walked in the back door. Abbie sent a smile in their direction.

“How was the service?” she asked brightly, already warned by the disapproving glint in her mother’s eye that she was still upset with her for missing church.

“Reverend Augustus gave an excellent farewell sermon. You should have been there, Abbie,” her mother stated. Her tone held more disappointment than anger.

“She means it was brief,” her father inserted in a teasing fashion. “For once he didn’t rant and rave until he was drowned out by growling stomachs.”

Her mother took another apron from the drawer and tied it around her middle to help Abbie dish up the food. “His sermon was quite poignant.”

“Maudlin,” her father declared with a wink at Abbie.

“He did wander a bit,” her mother admitted. “But I thought it was just all the more touching.”

Abbie turned to her father, going off the subject for an instant. “Are you going to carve the roast?” At his nod, she laid the carving knife and fork across the meat platter. “What is the new minister like?”

“Old Augustus got so choked up with sentimentality he forgot to introduce him.” Her father laughed. “I guess he was sitting in one of the front pews but the church was so crowded I never got a look at him. I had the impression that the reverend didn’t totally approve of his replacement though.”