Beyond the Farthest Star (2 page)

“You’re Missus Cleveland?” Adam remarked to an elderly woman leaning on the arm of her daughter. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Maurene stood staunchly by Adam’s side, murmuring cheerful greetings and also shaking every hand as the congregation exited the building.

“Brothers.” Adam had used the momentary diversion to frame the perfect response and now replied to the deacons as if there had been no gap in the discussion: “Let’s just say I’m qualified to serve where the Lord calls me.”

Senator and Missus Cutter emerged next from the church. In place of the earlier streaks of tears, Candy now wore smears of makeup from futile attempts to wipe her eyes. She walked straight toward Adam and shook his hand warmly. “Thank you,” she said in a voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you.”

The deacons offered bashful grins of approval.

Senator Cutter looped around the emotional scene and headed off toward the parking lot without speaking. From his jacket pocket Adam produced a tissue that he pressed into Candy’s grip. Ducking her head, she smiled shyly, then remained planted on the porch, as if waiting for something.

“And brothers,” Adam resumed, “right now it seems as if the Lord is calling me to Leonard.”

Candy gave a slight gasp of joy and clapped her hands together.

“Well,” Deacon Brown said, scratching behind one ear as if unsure how to deal with an unexpected affirmative answer, “the church does have a parsonage, a small house. It’s not much, but if you really feel …”

Adam didn’t delay. With swift firmness that betrayed a practiced reaction, he seized the moment. Stretching out his hand, he shook first Brown’s, then Deacon Respess’s, and finally Deacon Morley’s, each in turn.

Only two things marred Adam’s complete success.

One was the way Senator Cutter impatiently returned for his wife, grasping her firmly by the elbow and pulling her away from the church. Adam noticed but did not understand the tension. He also saw Senator Cutter exchange a meaningful look with Deacon Morley, who in secular life was a bank vice president.

“What was that all about?” Adam wondered. “Guess the senator wasn’t prepared for Candy to feel the power of the Spirit like she did. The senator doesn’t seem to relish surprises, and his wife certainly sprung one on him today.”

The only other thing to rankle Adam’s pleasure in his triumph was the sight of Anne, arm warmers pulled down to her wrists, leaning against the rental car, smoking. As if the open disrespect wasn’t bad enough, he could tell the instant Mrs. Cleveland and her daughter spotted Anne. Both women’s heads snapped upright, then bent together in a shared confidence. They sped up their pace as they walked past but continued studying Anne with evident disapproval.

Adam was relieved when Anne sauntered away toward the church graveyard and out of view of the parking lot.

Anne was aware of the curious eyes of the departing congregation on her as she traipsed through the parking lot. She studied the big black Hummer parked nearby. The license-plate holder left no doubt about who owned the vehicle: US SENATE.

Anne was not impressed. She studied the Cutters as they made their way from the front steps of the church. Candy was still wiping her eyes, and she wore some sort of smarmy expression. Clearly Adam’s message had had an effect.

Anne smirked. The senator was way too old for Candy. Anne figured Candy must have met him on a blind date through an escort service in Washington, DC. And now Mrs. Senator had heard Adam Wells, former Miracle Preacher Boy, preach. She had seen the light and found Jesus in Leonard, Texas. It was easy to see that Senator Cutter was not at all happy about his wife’s sudden transformation.

Passing by a car, Anne took another long drag on her cigarette. She heard someone murmur, “Typical PK.”

Anne tossed her hair and looked away. She smiled slightly and
thought, What they don’t know … a preacher’s kid for sure, but not typical.

She felt the glare of Senator Cutter as he passed and his wife’s gentle pity. Anne closed her eyes and took another puff. When she opened them again, the nightmare was still playing: she was still in Sticksville, USA, and stuck there until the next explosion blew them to another, even more dismal, place. Worse, she had no control over it.

The churchyard was a mixture of clutter and neatness. Wild roses had turned the enclosing fence into their trellis. Untended, they offered few blooms—mostly coppery-wire stems, black thorns, and straggling handfuls of drooping leaves. The oblong of faded yellow turf was shaded by the bowed forms of willow trees.

But the grave markers looked recently scrubbed. In contrast to the sorrow they represented, their shining faces reflected the pale, gray light. Some were markers laid flat in the soil. Others were upright monuments topped with granite balls and spires.

A carved marble lamb nestled atop a stone that read OUR LITTLE LAMB ASLEEP IN THE ARMS OF JESUS.

A pair of headstones leaned against each other, as if for mutual support. Anne studied the inscriptions. The engraving recorded the life and death of a husband and wife—LOVING MOTHER, DEVOTED FATHER—who had died within six months of each other a hundred years earlier. “Charles and Arabella Murphy,” she read aloud. “Wonder if they liked each other this much when they were alive?”

She heard footsteps behind her and turned.

Maurene, always the peacemaker, approached Anne. “They want your father to start before Christmas,” she said. “Right away, in fact. Two weeks from now.” There was a note of apology in her mother’s voice, but Anne felt no sympathy. They’d been through far too much for that.

Anne’s heart sank. Only two more weeks in Bakersfield. “Oh. So much for promises. He said at least after Christmas before I’d have to move again.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know you wanted to spend the holidays with your friends.”

A car horn honked, and Anne looked up. Adam glared through the windshield of the rental car.

Maurene extended her hand. “You better … give me the cigarettes.”

Anne pulled them out of her purse and gave them to her mother. “You out?”

Maurene blanched at her daughter’s flippant words. Anne stormed off and climbed into the car. To her, the barren, desolate flatlands surrounding the church were more threatening than her father’s glare in the rearview mirror.

Adam did not speak as the car slid by Senator Cutter standing by his Hummer. Anne noticed that her father managed a terse smile.

The senator did not respond in kind but stared angrily after them as they pulled out of the parking lot.

N
O ONE CAME TO SAY GOOD-BYE
to Adam and Maurene as they added the last boxes to the small moving van. Now, as the van rumbled out of the driveway, Adam climbed into the driver’s seat of their car. Maurene smiled sadly at Anne and the one friend who had come to bid her daughter farewell. Settling into the front passenger side, Maurene fastened the seat belt as Adam started the engine. She hated that Anne had to say good-bye … again.

But life didn’t always turn out like you expected it to. She, of all people, ought to know that.

Maurene sighed and prayed for Adam to be patient with the delay.

Anne stood awkwardly facing her friend. Just one misfit, like her. Still, that friendship had been hard won for Anne. The popular crowd—the cheerleader types who emulated disgraced Disney actresses and carried pom-poms with their books—hated Anne Wells. When she walked by, they whispered behind their hands and laughed too loudly at their secrets.

There was only one girl Anne trusted. Only one person Anne really regretted leaving: Margie Hayes.

Black clad and witchy looking, with black lipstick and nail
polish, Margie inhaled a shaky breath. “What am I going to do now? Huh?” She sniffed. “Who will sit with me at lunch?”

Anne knew she needed to be the brave one. Margie was fragile. Good reason to be: Dad in prison for dealing drugs, mom a crazy, abusive drunk. Yeah. What would Margie do when Anne was in Leonard, Texas?

“Cell phones. Texts. You know. Not like I’m leaving in a UFO or something.”

“You said after Christmas.”

“Well, you know …”

Margie shook her head.

No. She didn’t know, Anne realized. Didn’t know what it was like to move from place to place. To always be the new girl.

Tears splashed from Margie’s eyes. Mascara ran down her cheeks. “You said after Christmas.”

Anne felt more sorry for her friend than she did for herself. Well, almost. “I’m starting over … again. Don’t feel so sorry for yourself. I’m the one who has to face the Britney Spearses and the Barbies of the world alone … in Texas.”

Nothing to do. Nothing to say.

Anne got into the backseat of the car and plugged in her tunes. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in heavy metal. She did not look back at Margie sobbing on the curb.

As Bakersfield slipped away and the car climbed the mountain pass to the high, barren Mojave desert, Anne stared, teary eyed, out the window.

Above the throbbing in her earphones she still heard her mother’s voice. Maurene spoke as though Anne was not in the car. “Adam, maybe Anne would like to stop and see the Grand Canyon.”

“Great idea.” Adam’s tone was flat and uninterested.

Mom was trying too hard. Pretending that nothing was wrong. They were just a happy family on a road trip headed to Sticksville.

Grand Canyon? A great place to jump off the edge of the world,
Anne thought.

It was hard for Anne to believe she could regret leaving Bakers-field. Nine months ago it had been the end of the world when they arrived at Adam’s new church. Another new school. Anne, the new kid in town opposed by all the kids who had grown up with one another. An established social pecking order. No one knowing or caring who she was or what she had hoped to be before … before … before all hell had broken loose in her life.

That had been in Sacramento. The megachurch where Adam thought his ship had come in. But Anne had become convinced the ship had sailed without her. Adam blamed her for what happened, blamed her that he was asked to leave.

Where was the last place Anne had been happy? The town before Sacramento. Great Falls, Montana. Home. The school where she was loved. Where she had an identity. Everyone called her “Annie-girl.”

“Annie Wells. She sings! Wow! You should hear her sing.”

Anne had sung with a small gospel band, and people had said she ought to be on
American Idol.
She had a boyfriend, Sam, a year older than her. Class president. Class clown. Intelligent and handsome. He made her laugh.

Before … before … before … Adam came home and told her he had a great opportunity. A megachurch in Sacramento. A place where he felt he could fulfill the Lord’s great plan for his life.

Sam had tearfully promised he would love her forever. They could talk and text and e-mail. It would be so cool. California had beaches. Sun. He would come to visit, maybe go to college there. Nothing could ever break them up.

And so Annie had left Montana … left everything behind but hope.

In Sacramento, Anne Wells was the new girl. Just plain Anne.
No more Annie-girl. She hated her folks. Hated Adam’s mega-church. Hated school. Hated the new kids.

Sam texted, “Sing for them. They’ll love you, Annie-girl!”

When she tried out for a solo in Girls Chorus, she became “That show-off, Anne Wells.”

She ate lunch alone. Sat in the back of the class. The other girls whispered about her. The boys ignored her. When her grades slipped, teachers called her surly and unresponsive.

And just when Anne thought she couldn’t be more lonely or outcast, word came from home that Sam had found another girlfriend. “So sorry, Annie-girl. Long-distance relationships never really work.”

Anne had lost everything that mattered to her. When she came home from that hell-of-a-school, she’d hoped for some comfort from her mom. Instead she found her mom crying quietly in the bedroom. It seemed some of the church women had been gossiping about the new preacher’s kid. It got back to Pastor Adam, and Adam had evidently blamed Maurene for Anne’s unfriendly behavior and not helping her adjust to their new life.

But Adam had his megachurch, didn’t he? So sad it didn’t last long … in the end, Anne had messed that up for him too.

Now here they were
again.
Happy little family. Starting over
again.
New school
again.
Leonard, Texas?

Adam reminded Maurene that kids in Texas were good, wholesome kids. None of this dark Goth stuff that she’d fallen into with Margie while in Bakersfield. Anne could remember who she had been and straighten out her messed-up life.

New friends? What Adam meant was Anne would meet kids who didn’t know the truth of just how messed up Anne’s life had become. She would have another chance to recreate herself
again.

Then Adam said to Maurene, as if Anne couldn’t hear him,
“Maybe she’ll sing again … like she used to. When we were so proud of her.”

At the Arizona border Adam glanced in the rearview mirror. “What do you think, Anne?” he asked loudly. “Want to stop and see the Grand Canyon?”

“Sure,” she answered dully. “Whatever.”

But she was really thinking, Long enough for me to throw myself over the edge. That would solve everyone’s problems.

First Church of Leonard, Texas, was the only church in town. There were other congregations in the surrounding county, but sixteen-year-old Stephen Miller attended here with his grandparents, Momsy and Potsy Dobson. This was where his mama and daddy had grown up, and where they had been married. When his mama died, nearly ten years ago, her service at First Church had been packed out.

“Mama’s funeral was probably the last time the pews have been filled,” Stephen thought as he sat beside Momsy and Potsy with other folks in town who had come to hear the new guy preach.

Stephen towered over Momsy and was now almost as tall as Potsy’s lean, six-feet-one-inch frame. Stephen’s dad had been good-looking like his son but more square built and compact. Everyone said curly brown-haired, blue-eyed Stephen took after his mama’s side. He recalled little about his parents. His dad had split shortly after his mom’s death. Living with Momsy and Potsy was a good life, full of love and kindness. He liked everything just the way it was.

Stephen had his own horse, an eleven-year-old mare named Midnight that his mama had started to break before she died. Potsy had finished her out until she was one of the best roping horses in the county. Stephen sometimes let his girlfriend, Susan Dillard, ride her. But Susan had confessed she was scared of the
mare. Her girlfriend Amy had confided to him that Susan didn’t like horses much. She was only acting enthusiastic because she liked Stephen. That fact made him wonder about Susan. He never had a doubt about Midnight.

When Stephen had told Potsy about it, Potsy said that Susan was gonna end up being a cheerleader for the Cowboys, but that no self-respecting cowboy would want to get hitched to somebody so empty-headed.

Stephen figured his grandfather was an authority on such things as picking the right girl, since he’d been married to Momsy for forty-two years. They broke ranch horses together for most of that time. When Stephen lost his parents, they took him in, raised him right, and brought him along into the business.

Part of raising him right had been church on Sunday. They had been over in Oklahoma when Pastor Wells had tried out, but Momsy looked him up on the Internet and said she remembered hearing him on the radio when he was a kid. “He was quite a good preacher as a child. They said he was gonna be America’s next Billy Graham. What’n heaven’s name is he doin’ here in Leonard?”

Potsy had said great revivals always start in the country and then find their way into the big cities. “So why not start something right here in our own town?”

Today, for the first time in eleven months, a brand-new pastor filled the empty pulpit. Stephen was surprised at some of the faces in the congregation. Candy Cutter, the buxom, city-bred wife of Senator Cutter, sat alone and spellbound as Pastor Wells taught from the book of Romans. The senator was not in attendance. Momsy observed that the senator most likely would not approve that his wife had gotten herself saved, since he was about the most crooked, godless politician she had ever known. “And so was his daddy and his granddaddy too.”

The preaching was good enough, Stephen noted, but there was not a whole lot of joy in the face of Pastor Wells.

When the congregation sang “How Great Thou Art” for the closing hymn, Stephen glanced over the songbook toward the pastor’s daughter, Anne Wells. Pretty. Very pretty, Stephen thought. Oval face. Somber, dark-brown eyes. Straight black hair. Dressed all in black.

Potsy nudged him. “Think she’s attractive, son?”

Momsy nodded agreement but sung on. “I see the stars … I hear the rolling thunder; Thy power throughout the universe displayed …”

The service ended. As the congregation lingered to greet the new pastor and his wife, Anne dashed out and was gone by the time Stephen made it to the foyer.

Momsy spotted Anne walking toward the parsonage as they pulled from the parking lot. “Nice-lookin’ gal. Looks like she might have a little Cherokee in her. Dressed like she’s in mournin’, and I’ll bet she is grieved too. New town. New school, middle of the year.”

“Kyle said he heard she was weird,” Stephen mused aloud.

“Kyle
says?” Momsy harrumphed.

Potsy agreed. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black. That boy wouldn’t know normal if it came up and bit him in the—”

“Tom!” Momsy rebuked her husband. “Mind your tongue. Kyle Tucker’s got a load to bear, what with that alcoholic father of his.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’, Loretta,” Potsy said, then instructed Stephen, “You can meet Anne at school. If kids are already talkin’ about her, go easy, Stephen. She’s bound to be spooked by all this. You know these preachers’ kids. Moved from place to place, some of ‘em.”

Momsy clucked her tongue. “Poor little filly. Bet she’s scared to death.”

Stephen followed Anne Wells with his eyes as she ran up the steps to her house and slammed the door behind her. She certainly was pretty. “Maybe tomorrow.”