The Widow's Choice (22 page)

“I don’t think we agree about this, Oscar.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I think when someone has a fall like this, that’s the time for the church to show compassion.”

“But it would be a bad example! Can’t you see that, Alona?”

“I don’t think so. Most of us have fallen short of what we ought to be.”

“This is a bit different from gossip or some minor failing.”

Alona knew it would be impossible to change her husband’s mind, so she slowly got up. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Oscar.”

“She’s too tenderhearted,” he muttered. “You have to be firm about things like this.”

****

“I love this squirrel.” The next afternoon Mrs. Arnette was
looking at the painting Tim had done from his sketch. “You caught the mischievous look all squirrels seem to have. You managed to make his eyes gleam—like he’s up to no good! I really like it.”

“I had problems getting the proportion of the head to the body right at first, but I think it’s pretty good now.”

“That’s always so difficult. No matter how good you get, getting the proportions right is one of the hardest things. If you look carefully, every painting has some flaw in it. And sometimes the flaws don’t matter.”

“Really? I thought they did.”

“There was an Italian painter called Andrea Del Sarto. He was called the perfect painter, but many critics have said he wasn’t a great painter because his paintings didn’t really have any life in them. Lots of poets have written about this kind of thing . . . that the finest art sometimes has glaring faults.”

“My mom reads Charles Dickens novels. She says he’s got enough faults to sink ten novelists, but that doesn’t matter because of the good things he does.”

“That’s exactly the way it is with painting. Now, what are you going to do with this gift you have?”

Tim stared up at her dumbfounded. “Do with it? What do you mean, Mrs. Arnette?”

“God gives all of us gifts. We either use them or we don’t. My motto has always been ‘Use it or lose it.’ ”

“Well, I can’t do much with it because my stepfather doesn’t like it.”

“How old are you, Tim?”

“I’m thirteen.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to develop your gift. You’re not even in high school yet. If you are serious about painting—and I think you are—I’ll help you all I can.”

His eyes were shining. “Gee, Mrs. Arnette, that would be neat!”

At that moment Helen stuck her head in the door and said,
“Come on! You two have been talking about painting for an hour. I want to show you my new horse, Tim.”

“You two run along,” Mrs. Arnette said. “Don’t fall off the horse, though, Tim.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Arnette.” He hesitated for a moment but then looked her straight in the eye. “Nobody but Jason has ever encouraged me. Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome. It’s fun to help a young fellow like you. Go on, now. The next time you come by, I’ll show you a few things I had to learn the hard way.”

Helen grabbed Tim’s arm and dragged him outside. “You never come here to see me. You just come to see my mom.”

“That’s not true . . . but you don’t know how lucky you are to have a mom like that. She really understands how much I like painting and drawing.”

“Oh, Mom’s great, but I’m no artist. I’m more interested in horses. I plan to ride in a rodeo someday.”

Tim could hardly believe his eyes when he discovered that besides the small barn on their property, they also had a fenced-in ring. Helen’s passion was horses, and her father had bought her a fine chestnut filly. Tim watched as she saddled the animal and rode her around the ring.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Tim?” Helen asked as she got off the horse.

“She sure is. About the prettiest horse I ever saw.” He reached up to stroke her velvet nose. “I bet you’ll be in a rodeo someday, Helen, or maybe riding in one of the horse races you see in the movies.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna be too big for that! I already am, I think.”

“Too big? What do you mean?”

“Those jockeys have to be tiny. I think the rodeo is where I’ll be.”

Helen told him all about her filly as she unsaddled the horse and turned her loose. “You can carry the saddle to the stable.”

“Okay.” Tim picked up the saddle and carried it inside the
stable. It was dark inside except for the light coming in the open doors at each end. “Where should I put it?”

“Right there on that rail.”

Tim put it on the rail and then turned around and bumped into Helen, who had moved closer. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Tim, you’re a funny boy.” Helen smiled.

“What do you mean funny?”

“You never try to kiss me or hold my hand or anything.”

He suddenly felt tremendously uncomfortable. She was the most popular girl in school, and he had absolutely no experience at romance. “I guess . . . I don’t know how.”

She laughed and reached out and ruffled his hair. “You need to read a good romantic novel. I’ll give you one. I’ve got dozens in my room.”

“I don’t want to read any old romance novels!”

“Yes you do.” She took his arm and pulled him outside, saying, “I’ll find you a good one.”

****

The First Baptist Church was buzzing over the matter of Leland Short’s infidelity. The gossip mills ran at full speed, and of course, it wasn’t the Baptists alone. Other churches were watching closely to see what they could do. So far there had been no action, but everyone knew that Pastor Sandifer was against making the offender leave the church. Many agreed with him, but there was also a large group, led by Oscar, that strongly felt the opposite way.

A special meeting was called, open only to members of the First Baptist Church.

Alona had stopped talking to Oscar about the matter, for they were at opposite ends of the spectrum. She went to the meeting, though, and took a seat midway toward the front. The deacons were all seated together up on the front bench, and the church was packed. Some members who hadn’t been to church in months or even years were there as well.

Alona’s eyes were fixed on Leland Short and his wife, Mary
Beth. They were seated alone in the front pew on the right side of the church. She could see that Mary Beth was holding her husband’s hand and that her face was pale and her lips were unsteady.

That poor woman—and that poor man! This is wrong.
The thought raced through her mind as the pastor rose and went to the pulpit. “I’m calling this meeting to order with great reluctance. I think I have made my point to the deacons that I’m against this proceeding, but I’ll serve as moderator.”

Alona could see that Brother Byron was having a very hard time. His face was stern as he read the charges that had been made. When he finished, he said, “Leland has asked to say a word to the church. There will be no objections, I’m sure. Leland, you may say what you’d like.”

Leland Short owned the dry-cleaning establishment in town and had been a faithful church member for many years. His wife stood by him as he stood in front of the congregation. He had to struggle for composure. “I have committed a great wrong. . . . I’ve confessed it to my wife, and now I confess it to the church. I have no excuse. I have failed the Lord. I’ve failed my church and I’ve failed my family, but my wife has forgiven me, and so has the Lord. Now I am asking the church to forgive me. Thank you.” He collapsed into his seat and put his face in his hands. His wife put her arm around his shoulders and held him tightly.

Pastor Sandifer cleared his throat. “I would entertain a motion, and I think you know what I would like that motion to be.”

Oscar stood up immediately. “We would all like to be compassionate, but I feel that we’re setting a precedent here. If we allow this unspeakable sin to go without any action, what would be the result? It would encourage other wrongdoers to do the same. I move that the name of Leland Short be removed from the roles of the First Baptist Church.”

The motion got a second from Allen Grimes.

“The motion is made and is seconded and now is open for discussion,” the pastor said heavily.

There was much discussion, with several people speaking in favor of excluding Leland from the church. Others were dead set against it. Alona hesitated to speak out because of Oscar’s strong views, but she finally could no longer remain silent. “Brother Byron, I would like to speak for Brother Leland and for his wife and family.”

Oscar swiveled around, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. His face grew flushed, and he set his lips in a stubborn line, but Alona was past caring.

“The Bible seems to be very clear about one thing,” she said. “That forgiveness is a part of being a Christian. I can’t help but think of the woman taken in adultery, and Jesus said, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ I am not without sin.” She paused and took the time to catch several of the members by the eye. “Maybe some of you feel that you are, but as for me, I can’t belong to a church that doesn’t have a forgiving spirit.”

Alona walked to the front pew and embraced Mary Beth, who was crying. She released her and said, “Brother Leland, I know the Lord has forgiven you, and I can’t do any less.”

Alona was shocked when people from all over the church suddenly came out of their pews. She stepped back as the Shorts were enveloped by a crowd of men and women all trying to put their arms around them. She moved back and looked up at Byron, who was smiling at her with tears in his eyes.

A man spoke up from the crowd. “Take the vote, Preacher.”

Immediately Byron Sandifer said, “Those in favor of removing Leland Short’s name, raise your hand.”

Alona looked straight at Oscar, who raised his hand, but she saw that he had little support. No more than half a dozen hands were up, most of them raised very tentatively and then lowered.

“Those in favor of letting Leland stay, let it be known by saying amen.”

A rousing cry of
amen
s filled the sanctuary. “The Lord’s will has been done tonight,” the pastor declared. “Tonight I think we have seen God’s mercy in action.”

“You are not loyal to me!” Oscar shouted. He had barely waited to get alone with Alona before he had started in on her, his face red. “A woman should stand beside her husband!”

“I couldn’t stand with you on this because I thought you were wrong, Oscar. The church thought so too. Didn’t you see the joy in people’s faces?”

“Then they’re foolish! They have no responsibility!”

“They have mercy, though. It was the right thing to do.”

Oscar glared at her, and Alona saw the side of him she had heard about from others.

“You’re not a proper wife! Do you think I don’t know about you and Jason?”

“Me and Jason! What about me and Jason?” she asked sharply.

“You think I don’t know how you get together when you’re alone here?”

“I see Mrs. Darrow has been telling stories.”

“Yes, she has, and I won’t have it anymore! You understand me?”

Alona stood very still. “Oscar, I’m your wife. I have done nothing improper. If you are wise, you won’t make an issue of this.”

Oscar stared at her. He was accustomed to having his own way, but something in Alona’s stance and the steadiness of her pose warned him. He stiffened and said, “I’m disappointed in you!” and stormed out of the room.

Alona felt weak—so weak she had to sit down. She was trembling but filled with indignation. “How can he say such a thing? How could he?”

****

Alona saw to it that she and Jason were never alone in the drawing room again after that. She did see him at choir practice, and one night as they were leaving at the same time, he said, “I can’t help but tell you how I admire you for standing up for Leland and his wife. It was heroic.”

“Oh, it was hardly that!” she protested.

“I didn’t have the courage to say anything, but you did.”

She felt a surge of pity. “Jason, why don’t you leave this town? Go somewhere and start fresh. You’re wasted here.”

“Where would I go, Alona? I left once and made a wreck of my life.”

“You crashed a plane, but that’s all. You could do anything you please. You’ve got greatness in you.”

He laughed harshly. “You’re the only one who sees it. Don’t worry about me, Alona.” When he left to hang out with a friend, she worried about the trouble that she saw lying ahead for this man for whom she felt such compassion.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Season of Turmoil

“You can put your shirt on, Oscar.”

Dr. Roberts stood back and watched as Oscar donned his shirt again. He was a cautious medical man, not quick to give opinions, and Oscar had been his patient for many years. As Oscar buttoned his shirt, the doctor said, “I expect you’d like me to give you some good word, but I can’t do it.”

Oscar knew Dr. Roberts was a blunt, straightforward individual like Oscar himself. He buttoned the last button, tucked his shirt in, and pulled up his suspenders. He picked up his tie from the chair and began to knot it. “It’s the same old trouble, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, only worse.”

“You said that the last time I was here.”

“It
was
worse the last time you were here, Oscar. You wouldn’t listen to me then, but you’ve got to listen to me now.”

“All right, I’m listening. What’s your verdict?”

“You’re going to die if you don’t take some precautions.”

The man’s harsh words struck Oscar hard. “That’s pretty blunt, Doctor.”

“I never had much of a bedside manner. You know that. But I’m telling you, Oscar, you’ve ignored this problem for years now, and I’ve seen too many people like you who thought they were immortal. I’m telling you the truth. Your heart is like a time bomb. You know what a time bomb is?”

“Certainly I know what a time bomb is! You think I’m a fool?”

“I
do
think you’re a fool,” he said calmly. “Because only a fool would run the risk you’ve been taking for the past five years or longer. Sit down. We’ve got to talk.”

Slowly Oscar lowered himself into a chair. He fumbled for his pocket watch, which hung suspended by a thick gold chain, and frowned at it. “I’ve got to be back at the foundry, so get on with what you have to say.”