The Forever Stone (35 page)

Nathan pushed through the swinging doors, carrying a folded rectangle of paper, his eyes laughing.

She asked about his meeting with Kent, and the gray eyes chilled.

“He resented my interfering, as he put it, but he agreed to stop the forgery and give her a larger percentage.”

He covered her hand with his. “I knew you were praying.”

“You didn’t punch him?”

“Not yet. Look at this.”

He spread a topographic map over the washing machine. “Here’s Hampton Road, where we drove last night, and the grassy area with the ruins of Hampton Furnace. We missed them, but Logan said there’s hardly anything there. See this? It’s the Batsto River. The map doesn’t show the bridge, but here’s the other one we walked to, the Skit Branch.”

She bent over the map, tracing their route with a finger-tip. “So the ruins from that cranberry warehouse are in here somewhere.”

“Still okay for Saturday?”

She smiled. “Sounds fine.”

“And Friday evening, I’d like to take you to a concert. Local style.”

“Vocal local yokels?”

“Not quite. Mostly instrumental. Do you like guitar?”

“Love it.”

They agreed that he’d pick her up at six o’clock, and he said, “I dropped in to see the new baby. They named him Jared, and he’s doing well.”

“Does he still look like his dad, with all that black hair?”

“Very much so.”

He bent close, as if he would put an arm around her, but Timothy rattled through the doors with his wagon, heading for the shelves. She asked whether she could borrow the wallpaper books and said goodbye to them both.

Over lunch, she and Aunt Lin discussed decorating ideas, and her aunt wrote out a list of projects for Remi and Jude, since she’d be working in her office all afternoon.

Remi arrived before Jude, and Madeleine showed him the Blue Room. He seemed ill at ease, and even when they stood by the fire place, he gave it only a cursory glance.

He snatched the baseball cap from his head and tossed it onto a chair.

“Mollie?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his sneakers. “I’ve got to tell you about something.”

He lowered his gaze to the floor. “Your car.”

What about her car? “It’s doing fine, thank you,” she said. “I might even get it painted at the Marrick Miracle Shop.”

He shook his head. “The other night. When it didn’t start.” He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “My fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m such an idiot.”

“You didn’t—?”

“No, but I might as well have.”

“What?”

He stared at his feet. “I was changing the sparkplugs on Kent’s Bronco, and he hung around, watching me. Asked a bunch of questions. Like did I know any tricks to keep a car from starting.”

His words came out in a rush. “I thought I was being so smart. I showed him how—just take out the rotor.”

She gripped the back of a chair, feeling betrayed. “You didn’t wonder why he was asking?”

“I had no idea, Mollie. But he’s always talking about you. I should have known.” He shot her a worried glance. “I hate myself.”

“It made trouble,” she said slowly, “but the Lord kept me safe.”

His eyes glittered. “That man is not what he seems to be.”

“You found that out too?”

He turned his head. “Someone’s at the door.”

The knocking became a drum-beat. Jude.

She let him in, and Jude followed her back to the Blue Room, saying, “Whose truck is that outside?”

“Mine,” Remi said, “except for the dents.” 

“Way cool. With all-terrain tires.”

“They’ve come in handy. So you’re working this job too?”

“I sure am,” Jude said. “What are we doing, Mollie?”

It took Jude and Remi the rest of the afternoon to cover the furniture and move the plates, glass, and china figurines from the fireplace shelves to the floor. She would catalogue each item, and tomorrow they’d start dismantling the elaborate structure around the fireplace.

Near evening, Aunt Lin came out to the kitchen for a snack and looked at what they’d done, nodding with approval. She retreated to her office, saying she would probably work late.

Since tonight was SING, Madeleine ate a quick supper, showered, and changed. Now she could relax and enjoy some good fellowship.

Nathan arrived late. Even though he sat at the keyboard as usual, he played with his eyes half-closed, and afterwards, while she was talking with the teens, he stood off by himself, looking through songbooks.  

Finally everyone left. The chairs had been folded away and the table set back into place. Nathan didn’t seem to be feeling sociable, so she might as well leave.

Timothy yawned. “Kind of tired tonight.” He yawned again. “If you don’t mind, I’ll let the two of you finish up. I’m off to bed.” The
thum-thud
of his sneakers faded into the darkened store.

Nathan put down a songbook and turned to her. “Mollie.” He let out a groaning breath. “I have some bad news.”

She leaned back against the sideboard, alarmed by his gaunt face.

“Evelyn Bozarth—she died this afternoon.”

Something inside her broke. She had to cross her arms over her chest to keep the pieces together.

Not Evelyn. Not the woman who loved her Christ so dearly, who’d been doing so well, the woman who could have been a friend.

He lifted a hand, let it drop. “Another stroke. Massive. She died while she was taking a nap.”

“But I thought she was getting better!” Madeleine said. “I was going to go back and talk to her. And . . . and we had a secret.”

He moved slowly to the table without answering, sank into a chair, and knotted his hands.

She sat beside him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked despairing, more so than you’d expect for a doctor.

“Evelyn’s blood pressure was fine the last time I checked.” He bent his head. “And it was fine when they took it this morning. The reports all indicated progress.”

His voice flattened. “I missed something. She seemed more tired than usual. I should have picked up on it.”

“What could you have done? Even if she were in the hospital?”

“Changed her medication. Hired more nurses. Something.”

Madeleine thought about his kindness to the woman, and a memory flared: the smile on Evelyn’s face as they left.

“She knew, Nathan. She and I spoke together and . . . and I think she was saying good-bye.”

He dropped his head into his hands, and after a long silence, he whispered, “I should have been there for her.”

She studied him. Was this something beyond Evelyn’s death, something deeper?

“Nathan,” she said softly, “is this about Evelyn or about Susan?”

A shudder rippled through him. “I should have talked to the pilot. I should have seen how the plane was loaded. Careless. I should have been thinking about her and Susie, instead of that old woman.”

“You’re punishing yourself.”

“I deserve it. I should have . . . I tried to pull them out of the plane, but it was burning . . . and I was burning, and they wouldn’t let me go back, but I should have done something.”

Her chest constricted with dread. Lord, help me! He’s so wrong.

“Does God hold this against you?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” After a minute he said, “I guess not.”

“Even if you had sinned, what would God do about it?”

No answer.

She put out her hand, rested it on the table between them. “Evelyn reminded me:
He was wounded for our transgressions
.”

His hand moved toward hers, then slowly drew back, clenching into a fist.

“Whatever happened,” she said, “can’t you forgive yourself? Isn’t Christ’s blood enough?”

“It’s risky to fly at forty below.” His voice turned cold. “She insisted. I shouldn’t have given in. What kind of leadership is that?”

“Nathan, let it go.” His pain was spreading into her, icy as her own fears.

She waited, but he didn’t move or speak.

She wanted to shake him or hold him in her arms or call Timothy to come and talk sense into his friend.

But none of those would help. She stood to her feet, looking at the bowed head. She reached down to touch his hair and stopped. Not now. This was between him and his God.

Would he destroy himself?

She lifted her chin. Not while she still had the breath to pray.

Take care of him for me.
Evelyn was with her dear Christ now. Could Evelyn beg mercy for the man she had so admired?

She turned to leave, and song-words marched into the room.

Before the throne of God above

I have a strong and perfect plea . . .

The song continued as she drove through the darkened streets and into the darker forest.

A great high Priest whose Name is Love,

Who ever lives and pleads for me.

Christ’s pleading would be better than anything Evelyn could say on Nathan’s behalf. Better than all her own dried-up tears.

She dropped her purse onto her bed, and picked up a blanket and her Bible. Where was a place to pray, a place set apart? The library. That little brown couch.

From the library windows, she could see only blackness.

When Satan tempts me to despair

And tells me of the guilt within . . .

Tonight the Evil One would be seeking someone to devour. Nathan had such potential for ministry. Was he going to be smothered by his self-imposed guilt? More reason to pray.

She turned on the lamp and huddled in its circle of light. She had prayed all the way home, and she would pray again, but first, Ephesians.

She began again at chapter one, lingered over the verses about God’s grace and His will, and paused at
the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us
.

“That’s what we need tonight, Lord. Your power.”

She read farther, through chapter two with its reminder of God’s rich mercy. In chapter three, she came upon Paul’s prayer for his dear ones:
to be strengthened with power through his Spirit..

“I want this, Lord. For Nathan, and for me.”

She fell to her knees beside the couch. “O Lord my Rock. Deliver him from his guilt. Deliver me too, from my fears, for the sake of your great forever-love.”

She prayed until the cold air creeping past the windows made her pull the blanket close, she prayed until her voice grew hoarse, and then she prayed some more.

She awoke to find a warm, soft body curled beside her. “Mac, did you come to rescue me?” She got to her feet, stiff and cramped. Outside, light glowed at the horizon.

The great unchangeable I AM,

The King of glory and of grace.

“Thank you, my God, for your grace this night. For what You did. For what You are going to do.”

She slept late, and so did Aunt Lin, but while they ate breakfast, her aunt eyed her with concern. “Another bad night?”

“Not the usual,” Madeleine said. “I was—I’m burdened for Nathan. If you think of it, could you pray for him?”

Her aunt looked pensive. “Sometimes I wish I were back on praying terms with God.” She got up to pour herself another cup of coffee and sat down again.

After a minute, she said, “These Schnecken are wonderful. I hate to eat the last one.”

Madeleine gazed at the crumbs on her plate. She hadn’t done anything with her course for days. Too much excitement. Was that the real reason?

She carried her dishes to the sink. She wasn’t going to give up on it. She’d get back to her paper on leavening, right way. And she really should make some plans for the future.

By the time the kitchen was cleaned up, Aunt Lin had switched into her full-forward mode, which gave Madeleine the feeling of being caught up in a brisk wind.

“I’m leaving again tomorrow,” her aunt said, “but first I’d like to check out our Lemon Room upstairs.”

They looked through the yellow bedroom, discovered an armoire full of old-fashioned hats, and talked. Aunt Lin asked about her course and suggested that she might consider going to a school in New York for more training.

Madeleine smoothed a black satin bonnet, thinking about it. She’d heard there were good schools in New York. School might lead toward the new life she’d wanted. She should be invigorated.

But even while she considered the possibilities, her resolution began to shrink, and she felt as if she were staring at the ruins of an underdone cake.

“I guess I’m not sure of anything right now,” she said.

“I know what you mean. My life with the magazine is absorbing.” Aunt Lin said, “but at the end of the day, if I can think at all, I wonder where I’m going.”