The Gathering Place Page 16

  “Charlie, calm down,” Lucy said, clearly embarrassed. But instead Charlie stood up.

  “Just a moment, Charlie. Lucy—” Ben tried to restore order to the scene, but it was no use.

  “I’m out of here,” Charlie grumbled, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “I told you this wouldn’t work.”

  Lucy got to her feet, too. “Charlie, what are you doing? You can’t just get up and go like that!” she called, as the door slammed shut behind her husband.

  “Just let him go, Lucy. It’s all right,” Ben said quietly.

  She stared at the door for a moment, then sat down again, looking stunned. “I knew this wasn’t going to work, but I guess I just had to try,” she said.

  “There are some serious problems here, Lucy. But at least you and Charlie made a start tonight. Nothing can be solved in one meeting. You know that,” Ben said, reaching for something positive in the encounter.

  “You don’t understand, Reverend. I just don’t think I can stand it anymore. You saw how he acted, the things he said. He doesn’t even want to try to fix things between us. He won’t even admit that there’s anything wrong.”

  “Yes, I know, Lucy. I know what you mean,” Ben consoled her. “But Charlie took a big step just by coming here tonight. He may not openly admit he needs to change, but he’s thinking about it.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that. More likely, he just came here tonight, because I forced him to. I doubt I’ll ever get him back in here, and I know he won’t treat me any differently,” Lucy said sadly. “And if that’s the case, I just can’t . . . can’t stay married to him,” she finished, as she started crying again.

  “That’s a very strong statement to make, Lucy,” Ben said quietly. He patted her shoulder and gave her a moment to compose herself.

  “I know it’s strong. . . . But it’s true. I guess I’ve felt this way for a while, but I’ve always been afraid to say it,” she admitted.

  Ben felt alarmed. He knew what she said was true. He had sensed as much over the months. He only hoped it wasn’t too late to help them.

  “It’s been a difficult night for both of you. You’re upset. It’s hard to see anything clearly right now,” Ben told her. “Promise me that you’ll just get a good night’s rest and try to put these troubles aside for a while?”

  Lucy glanced up at him, her eyes dry again. “I honestly don’t know that I can do that,” she said. “But I’ll try, Reverend . . . and thank you for seeing us tonight,” she added, as she rose and picked up her coat and purse.

  “No thanks necessary,” he replied, as he watched her go.

  Alone in his office Ben sat at his desk, wondering if he had done them any good at all. He felt his doubts about his own abilities swell up, like a wave rising out of the ocean.

  One reason he had become a minister was because he believed he had a God-given talent for bringing comfort and for helping people sort out their problems. The problems between Lucy and Charlie Bates ran deep, no doubt. No one was going to untangle those threads in one or even two counseling sessions. Yet, somehow, he felt he had failed them. They had parted even angrier and at a greater emotional distance than when they came in. Wasn’t he partly to blame for that? He just didn’t know anymore.

  He sat back in his chair. A framed photo of his family on his windowsill caught his eye. It was an old one, taken on a camping trip in Maine. Rachel and Mark were just teenagers. Ben picked it up and held it in his hand. That had been a good vacation, he recalled, a trip that had brought the family closer, despite all of Mark’s problems in school at that time. Things had begun to smooth out a bit. He and Carolyn had felt hopeful that the bad times were behind them.

  But nothing had ever been really resolved. Maybe real resolution was too much to ask for. His mother used to say that life is never perfect; there are only happy moments, beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

  Now his failure to heal the wounds in his own family seemed to cast a shadow over everything—over the Bateses’ marriage and even his eagerness to see his new grandchild. Rachel and Carolyn both felt Mark’s absence keenly, and Ben sensed they somehow blamed him for it.

  He sighed and began to clear off his desk, preparing to go home for the night. He reached for his Bible but instead of closing it, he flipped through the pages, pausing at a familiar passage in the book of Ecclesiastes. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. . . .”

  He had always tried to follow those words in his work as a minister—to go the limit for his congregation. And he always believed he did the same for his family. He thought he had done everything possible to show Mark that they wanted him to come home. But Carolyn didn’t seem to agree. Maybe she was right.

  Ben knew he had felt himself pull back, put a limit on how far he was willing to reach out to his son. And that was wrong, a stingy, miserly way to love. He was the parent. He had to make the extra effort, even if that meant flying out to Montana.

  The important thing, Ben told himself, was that he didn’t lose hope that this would somehow work out—that the good Lord would, in his own way, bring them together. There might be some solution to their problem they hadn’t tried yet.

  He sat up straight as an idea occurred to him. It might not work, but it was worth talking to Carolyn about.

  As Ben left his office, he heard voices coming from the all-purpose room at the back of the church. He walked up to the doorway and peered inside. The Christmas Fair volunteers, he realized. He had forgotten they were meeting tonight.

  Nobody noticed him standing there. Sophie Potter sat in the middle of one group, showing the others how to make something with pinecones and candles—holiday centerpieces, perhaps.

  Carolyn looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, then glanced at the other table and saw not only Digger Hegman, but Grace as well. Their group was using scraps of wood to make decorative plaques and birdhouses. Digger was carefully painting the roof on his, while Grace helped Fran Tulley with a glue gun.

  “Hello, everyone. How’s it going?” Ben asked.

  They all looked up and greeted him—all except Grace who met his eyes for a second, then looked down again, as if she had not wanted him to see her there.

  Seeing her working on the Christmas Fair was hardly the same as seeing her seated in a pew on Sunday morning. But she was getting closer, Ben thought. He wondered if she had told Digger the truth about his health.

  “Want to join us, Reverend? We could use a few more men in the ranks,” Digger joked, glancing around at the ladies.

  “I’m better with setting up the tables—and sampling the bake sale,” Ben replied, with a smile. “I was just on my way out, actually. Do you need a lift, honey?” he asked his wife.

  Carolyn glanced at her watch. She took part in these efforts enthusiastically, as if there was nothing more she wanted to do on a Wednesday night than sit in the drafty all-purpose room and make pinecone centerpieces. He knew that there had to be times when she wished she wasn’t the minister’s wife.

  “I think I will leave with you, Ben. I have an early day tomorrow,” Carolyn said. She rose gracefully and took her coat from a pile on the next table. They didn’t speak at all until they got outside.

  “Where’s your car, dear?” Ben asked his wife.

  “I walked over. Needed the exercise,” she said, tugging on her gloves. She was walking a lot lately, he thought. It was her way of coping with stress sometimes.

  The night was cold and clear. He looked out over the snow-covered green—the tall, brightly lit tree at the far end—and out on the water, at the harbor lights.

  “Why don’t we walk a little?” he suggested. “I could use the air.”

  “All right.” She glanced at him with a questioning look but fell into step alongside him.

  They walked down a path that crossed the green to the harbor side. Carolyn walked with her hands in her pockets, but Ben twined his arm through hers anyway. “I’ve been thinking about our
argument,” he said. “We never really talked about it.”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything more to say,” she replied quietly.

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve given this some thought. You wanted to think of something more we could do to persuade Mark to come home. I think he has to make up his own mind to do it,” he admitted. “But I did have an idea. What if we book him a flight and send him the tickets? I don’t see how we could make our desire to have him here for Christmas any clearer than that. Then if he still doesn’t come, maybe we should think of going out there after the baby is born.”

  Carolyn stopped walking and turned to face him. “I thought of sending him tickets, too . . . but I didn’t want to bring it up. I thought you’d argue with me about it,” she said.

  Her admission made him sad. He suddenly thought of Charlie and Lucy Bates, how the failure to compromise—or even communicate honestly—had so eroded their relationship. He never wanted that to happen between him and Carolyn.

  “Then would you like to send him the tickets?” Ben asked.

  “Is that what you really want to do, Ben? Or are you just trying to appease me?”

  Giving into her because he was afraid of her depression, he translated. Not treating her as an equal.

  “It’s a stretch for me, Carolyn. I won’t deny that. But I believe it’s what we have to do, as parents. I think we’ll both feel better knowing we’ve gone the absolute limit to reach out to him. So, yes, I’m willing to try it.”

  “What made you change your mind? The other night you seemed to feel so differently,” she persisted.

  “Honestly? I do miss him. More than you realize. Maybe I’ve reached the point where I’m willing to say, I just want to see him on any terms, too.”

  Carolyn was silent for a moment. “Well, you know how I feel then. Thank you, Ben.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together,” he replied. “We can call the airlines tonight when we get home and call Mark right away.”

  “Yes, we had better call right away,” she agreed, her face lit with a happiness that made him even warier. Once again they were about to supply Mark with yet another means of disappointing them. But he had to risk it, Ben realized. It was important to Carolyn that they at least try.

  They had reached the Christmas tree, and Carolyn stopped to look at it. “This big old pine tree is just standing here, all year round. But I don’t think anybody really notices it until they turn the lights on.”

  “Just like God,” Ben said, gazing up at it. “He’s standing there twenty-four hours a day, every day, patient and stalwart and evergreen. But some people only seem to notice him at Christmas time.”

  “Oh, Ben.” Carolyn smiled and patted his arm. “No wonder you’re a minister.”

  He glanced at her. “You think it was that inevitable?”

  “Oh, yes. Don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “I suppose. Sometimes I do wonder, though,” he admitted quietly. He took her arm again. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yes, let’s go home.” She nodded and seemed to walk closer to him, he thought.

  AS SOON AS SARA GOT HOME ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, SHE REALIZED THAT she hadn’t gotten back to Luke. He had called her a few times since he returned from Boston. They just kept missing each other. She checked the kitchen clock. It was late, nearly eleven, but better to have him annoyed at her because she woke him up than to hurt his feelings by not calling at all, she decided.

  At first, she heard the machine and started to leave a message. Then Luke’s sleepy voice came on the line. “Sara?”

  “Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “No, I just dozed off on the couch, trying to read one of these textbooks. Did you just get in?”

  Sara paused. The question felt a little like he was checking up on her. But she tried not to be defensive.

  “I had to work late. One of us usually has to stay with Wyatt to help get the paper out. It was my turn tonight.”

  “Why does he need help? I thought he was running the place now,” Luke said.

  “It’s not his fault. Things just come up, and the layout gets changed at the last minute. It’s hard to explain.” Sara didn’t know why the comment rubbed her the wrong way; it just did.

  Luke was quiet for a moment, then he said, “So, how’s it going this week with your boss? Any better?”

  “It’s been all right. I’ve gotten more assignments,” she said. “How was your visit to Boston?”

  “Oh, that was fine. It seems like so long ago now,” he added.

  The weekend did seem distant. The last time she had seen Luke, even more so.

  “So, when can I see you? How about this weekend? Are you free on Saturday night?”

  “Sure,” she said, then hesitated. “Uh, no, I’m sorry. That won’t work out.” She paused, not knowing if she should explain the reason to him. “Someone I work with invited me to a party. Jane Harmon. I think I mentioned her.”

  “Yeah, I think so. Okay.” Luke didn’t say anything more. His tone made Sara feel self-conscious.

  Did he expect her to ask him to come along? But they weren’t a real couple, yet. At least, she didn’t think so. She could go to a party without him. . . . Couldn’t she?

  He was quiet on the other end of the phone. Not a good sign. She wondered if she should confront him about it: Well, how serious are we? Are you bothered by me going to a party without you? Then she pulled back from that idea. She was tired and suddenly afraid she would end up arguing with him. Even Emily seemed to hint that Luke had serious feelings for her—expectations about their future. Maybe I do know the answers to these questions, Sara thought. And I also know we see things differently.

  “How about Friday night?” she suggested. “I’m free on Friday.”

  “Uh, no. Friday’s no good for me. I have to go into Boston on Friday for a meeting. I won’t be back until late.” His tone was even, but beneath it, she sensed impatience building. “I guess that leaves Sunday, but I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “I could see you Sunday night,” Sara assured him. “That would be fine.”

  “Good. Whew, that wasn’t too hard,” he joked. “Let’s not try to decide what we’re going to do or where we’re going to go right now, okay? I’m sort of worn out from negotiating.”

  Sara laughed but still felt uneasy. “It is late. I guess I’d better get to bed.”

  “Me, too,” Luke agreed. “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

  “Yes, Sunday. Talk to you soon,” Sara promised. “Good night, Luke.” Luke said good night, and Sara hung up the phone.

  She opened the refrigerator, took out a quart of milk, and poured herself a glass. She hadn’t eaten much dinner, but she didn’t feel hungry anymore. She downed the milk, put the glass in the sink, and headed for her bedroom, her mind turning over her conversation with Luke.

  She hadn’t deliberately meant to be difficult, but she did feel suddenly closed in on tonight. Emily’s words had made Sara think. Maybe Luke had a different idea about their relationship than she did. She did care for him. But lately he seemed to have certain expectations about their relationship and their future that she couldn’t meet.

  Right now she needed to focus on her job. She didn’t even know how long she would be living here. She didn’t want to hurt Luke’s feelings, but she wasn’t really looking for a steady or serious relationship right now. That was the last thing on her mind.

  I’m just tired, she told herself. When I see Luke it will all be fine between us again. Then she slipped under the covers and pulled the quilt up over her shoulders, feeling too tired to worry about anything.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SARA SLIPPED INTO THE VILLAGE HALL MEETING ROOM AND took a seat in the back of the room. She was a few minutes late and hoped she hadn’t missed anything important.

  The town council sat up front at a long table, with the mayor in the middle. Emily looked straight at Sara, smiled slightly
for a moment, then put on her reading glasses and looked down at her notes.

  “While I agree with Harriet DeSoto that we need to fight for the grant that is rightfully ours, I don’t think we have to file a lawsuit against the county. Not until we’ve exhausted our other options. The repercussions could be serious.”

  A good point, Sara thought, jotting down notes.

  “Meanwhile, Commissioner Callahan is free to hand out that money to whomever he likes,” Frank Hellinger, one of the village trustees, argued. “By the time we figure out what to do, there might not be anything left. If we file a suit, at least that might put the brakes on him.”

  Emily turned to Warren Oakes, an attorney who did legal work for the village. “If we filed a suit against the county, would that put the funds out of play?”

  “It would,” Warren agreed. “But if we lose, we’ll be liable for the county’s legal fees, and the commissioner will probably be even less likely to pass along anything from the grant. Riling the county that way is like waking a bear from hibernation.”

  Sara looked around the room. The meeting of the town council hadn’t attracted much of an audience. Villagers were vitally interested in good emergency services—especially when some problem popped up. But most residents had better things to do on a Friday night than listen to the town council figure out how to actually pay for those services.

  Sara had been sent at the last minute, when Jane called in from Southport and said she wouldn’t be able to cover it. In a way, Sara was grateful that she hadn’t had much time to think about it—to think about covering Emily, that is.

  “Could we get the federal agency to send a letter to the county?” Emily asked Warren. “Maybe if they show that they side with us, Commissioner Callahan will give in.”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I could call on Monday and try to persuade somebody,” Warren said.

  A good idea, Sara thought, as she noted Emily’s suggestion.

  “The question is, how did we get into this fix in the first place? Can you explain that to me, Mayor?” Art Hecht asked in an irate tone. “Didn’t you or someone in your office read this document thoroughly?”