Entertaining Angels (7 page)

“Oh, yeah?”

“My second cousin is going to turn fifty on her next birthday, and she looks like she could be my sister.”

“You don’t say.” Jesse made his way toward the swing set. “That’s unbelievable.”

Actually, it ought to be, since it was a flat-out lie. Mary Ellen had lived a pretty rough life. And all those cigarettes she’d smoked and the booze she’d drank hadn’t helped. With that mousy gray hair and all those wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, most people thought she was way older than she really was.

The dishonesty tweaked Renee’s conscience, but she continued her story. “I know, but it’s cool, huh?”

She hated liars, mostly because she hated it when people lied to her. But she couldn’t risk having anyone learn the truth. What if someone found out she was a pregnant minor living in a tree?

Of course, Jesse the hippie guy didn’t appear to be a run-of-the-mill do-gooder, so maybe she didn’t need to worry about it.

But for safe measure, she added, “We’ve got good genes in our family.”

Jesse, who now stood only feet away from her, lifted his sack. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yes,” she said, stretching the truth. “I had oatmeal.”

Hey, everyone knew granola bars were made out of oats.

Jesse opened the brown sack he had, reached inside, and pulled out an apple. He handed it to her. “Here, then. Have a snack.”

Cool. She slowed the swing to a stop, then took the fruit from him, looked it over, and rubbed it on her shirt, like she was trying to shine it. “Thanks. I love apples.”

Actually, she wasn’t all that big on them. And if given the choice, she preferred the tart, green ones. But her stomach was beginning to gnaw on itself, and she figured the baby could use the vitamins and nourishment.

She tried to be ladylike when she took the first bite, but it was so juicy, and she was so hungry, that she was afraid she would end up wolfing it down.

A couple of bites into it, she tried to get the focus off her. “Have you had any luck finding a job?”

“I’m not worried about it. Work has a way of finding me. How about you?”

“Not yet. I’m going to stop by the soup kitchen, then I’ll start job hunting. Hopefully, I’ll get one soon.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.

Her mouth was full of apple, so she nodded. And when she’d finished chewing, she said, “I’m renting a room. It’s upstairs and has a great view.”

“It’s always a relief to know where you’re going to sleep each night.”

She nodded. He had that right.

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.

“Close to eleven, I think.”

Good. She figured he was waiting for the doors to open, too. “Are you going to the soup kitchen?”

“Not right away.” He placed a hand over his eyes, shading them from the sun, then glanced off in the distance. “I’ve got something to do first. I’ll probably drop in before they close at two.”

She wanted to ask what he was going to do, but she figured it wasn’t any of her business. It’s not like she and Jesse were friends.

A wistful shadow crept over her.

She missed Megan and Danica, the friends she’d made in San Diego. Friends she’d had to give up when Mary Ellen had kicked her out.

For a minute, she wanted to blame Mary Ellen for screwing up her life. But that wasn’t true.

She’d done that all by herself.

At eleven o’clock, Craig sat inside the cozy, book-lined library of the Parkside Community Church. He’d just met with the board of elders and the senior pastor, George Rawlings, a short, stocky man in his late fifties.

The group had seemed pleasant enough, although a bit on the stuffy side. And, overall, the meeting had gone as well as could be expected.

Just moments ago, one of the elders announced he had a luncheon date, and the board had quickly dispersed, each one going his own way.

The only two left were the pastors.

“You came highly recommended,” George said. “And the fact that you’re related to Wesley Houston is a real plus. You’ve got some big shoes to fill.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

Before assuming leadership of Desert Fellowship, a large and growing congregation in the Phoenix area, Craig’s granddad had written a book about his experiences as a missionary, which had become required reading in seminaries all over the country.

“You’ll probably find that Parkside Community Church is much smaller and less dynamic than you’re used to,” George said, “but we’re growing and reaching out to the community. We have a lot to be proud of.”

“I’m sure you do.” Craig offered the man a smile. He was determined to make the best of his new position in Fairbrook, even though he’d been hoping to get a bigger, more prestigious assignment, one that would have provided him a better opportunity to make a difference in people’s lives. At least, that seemed like a good way to validate his ministry.

“You’ll be heading our youth group,” George said, “as well as our home visitation to shut-ins. And, of course, whenever I’m out of town or unavailable, you’ll give the sermons and cover for me.”

Unfortunately, being a bench warmer had never held much appeal. But win or lose, Craig had always been a good sport. So he put on his best hey-it’s-just-a-game smile, nodded at George, and tried to conjure the proper enthusiasm for the job.

“Why don’t you let me give you a tour of our church buildings,” George said.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

The senior pastor led Craig out of the library and past the official church office, where they’d met earlier. Then he pointed out his private study, with its own wall-to-wall bookshelves and polished oak desk.

It was small, Craig noted, but impressive.

Two doors down, George stopped at a room that was smaller yet. “And this will be your office. We’ve ordered a desk, but
it hasn’t arrived yet. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do until then.”

“No problem.”

The house, which had been promised as part of Craig’s salary package, wasn’t ready for him to use either, which made him wonder if Parkside Community needed an associate minister as badly as the bishop seemed to think they did.

Again he couldn’t help but think there’d been some kind of mistake, maybe even on his own part, because in spite of telling his family that he’d been called to the ministry, he hadn’t heard a peep.

Their next stop was the sanctuary, with its stained glass windows, padded wooden pews, and the hand-carved altar. “That’s the original pulpit,” George said.

“How long ago was the church built?”

“Actually, it used to be located in Encinitas. At the turn of the last century, it was divided into pieces and brought to Fairbrook by horse and wagon.”

“No kidding?” Craig studied both the structure and the interior of the sanctuary a little closer, trying to get a feel for the history.

“Come with me,” George said. “I’ll show you the fellowship hall.”

Craig followed him to a large room, where about fifteen to twenty women had gathered to sew.

“They’re stitching quilts together,” George said from the doorway. “When they’re finished, we’ll raffle them off at the community bazaar in July. The proceeds will help fund the soup kitchen.”

After introducing Craig to the ladies, each of whom smiled warmly, George motioned for him to head out the door first. Then he followed him outside.

“We also offer the fellowship hall for community events,” George said. “In fact, the Boy Scouts will be meeting here this afternoon. And there’s an A.A. meeting tonight.”

Craig was glad to know that the church reached out to others who weren’t members of the congregation.

“Come on,” George said, “let me show you the grounds.”

Once outside, Craig scanned the property, noting the numerous trees that provided shade and a retreat-like setting.

George pointed across the street. “That’s Mulberry Park. Each December we host a community event called Christmas Under the Stars. It’s always a huge hit. We provide hot cocoa, tea, coffee, and homemade cookies and other goodies. We sing carols, and there’s a reading of the Christmas story. Next year, we plan to add a live nativity scene.”

“How many people attend?” Craig asked.

“Hundreds. And we seem to get more and more each year.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is. And during vacation Bible school in the summer, we take the kids over to the playground and have outdoor activities on the lawn. There’s also a men’s softball league, which reminds me. Are you interested in playing?”

“We’ll see.” Craig offered a smile, but the fact was, he’d rather play another kind of game—fast ball, hard hitting, competitive. College level or beyond …

“Last but not least,” George said, “I’ll take you to the soup kitchen, which is another thing you’ll be in charge of. I’d like to introduce you to the Randolphs.”

Craig followed George to a modular building that had been placed at the edge of the parking lot.

“The kitchen has an advisory board,” George said, “which includes Dawn and Joe Randolph, the couple who are in charge of the day-to-day operations. Dawn and Joe are a real blessing. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”

George opened the door, then waited for Craig to step into the room, where rectangular tables stretched end to end. Only a few of the chairs were occupied.

“We serve meals between eleven and two,” George said, “so people will be coming and going until then.”

A tall man in his late forties, who’d just walked out of the back room, grinned when he spotted George, and strode toward them. He wore a navy blue T-shirt with white block letters that said Fairbrook Fire Department.

“Joe,” George said. “Let me introduce you to Craig Houston. He’s the new associate minister and will be working with you and Dawn.”

When the big man reached out, Craig shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Joe.”

“Likewise. My wife and I are looking forward to working with you. I hope you’ll be an active part of the soup kitchen.”

“I’m sure I will be,” Craig said.

“Joe is a paramedic with the fire department,” George added, “and whenever he’s off duty, he helps out. But Dawn is here every day.”

“Speaking of Dawn,” Joe said, “she’s been eager to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Before you do,” George said, “how are things going?”

Joe crossed his arms and scanned the room. “It’s business as usual. The big rush usually comes around one.”

“Did that electrical short ever get fixed?” George asked.

“Yes, but now we’ve got another problem.” Joe placed a hand on the senior pastor’s shoulder. “I heard a rumor that there’s a group of homeowners planning to attend the city council meeting next Tuesday night. They’d like our soup kitchen moved.”

“Where to?”

“It doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as it’s outside city limits.”

“What good will that do? Most of the people we’re trying to feed don’t have transportation or the means to drive back and forth across town each day.”

“Apparently, there’s a group that’s complaining about the bad element we draw to the church. And since we’re so close to the park, a place where families with small children often gather, they’re worried about safety issues.”

George shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes we even feed entire families. The parents, whether single or married, are often between jobs or on temporary disability. They can bring their kids here for a warm, nutritious meal. And afterward, they’re able to take them to the playground for a while, which is what Dawn usually suggests. That way, for a couple of hours, they get a chance to enjoy themselves and forget their troubles.”

“I tried to explain that to Ralph Gleason when he complained about the bad element,” Joe said. “But some people can get awfully hardheaded when they think they’re right.”

George’s gaze locked on Craig’s. “I suppose you’d better plan to be at that meeting and represent the church. Hopefully, Joe and Dawn can go with you. But if not, they can fill you in on some of the politics we’ll have to face.”

Craig nodded, realizing his job just got a bit more important.

To be honest, he didn’t mind overseeing the soup kitchen. Whenever his parents had taken him to visit his grandfather in India, he’d seen how poor some of those people had been, how helpful the church had been in providing for more than their spiritual needs.

He’d only been six on his first visit, so it had been awkward for him at first, trying to connect with kids who had been raised in a different culture. But he’d learned that they had a lot in common at playtime.

Not that this was the same thing, but it did give him an opportunity to practice some of what he’d learned in his missiology classes.

“How’s Dawn holding up?” George asked Joe.

“She’s doing okay. Losing her mother unexpectedly was tough, but she’s got a lot of faith.”

“I know,” George said. “It seems as though she’s had more than her share of disappointments over the years.”

As the two men chatted, Craig found himself surveying the
room, noting the various people who’d gathered to eat. Two elderly women sat nearest him. He wondered if they were homeless, or if they were just living on a limited budget.

Either way, he could see that the church-sponsored meals could certainly help senior citizens stretch their social security checks.

He made a mental note to keep that in mind when he addressed the city council.

A couple of men, one of whom wore a Veterans of Foreign Wars cap, sat a few tables away. He’d gotten rather animated as he talked to the men next to him.

One young woman sat alone. She was bent over her plate, her long, stringy hair falling forward and hiding much of her face. Her elbows were on the table, and her arms were circled around her plate, as though she was trying to protect her meal, as though someone might snatch it away before she was finished eating.

He watched for a while, as she practically shoveled in her food.

Meatloaf and baked potatoes, he noted. Green beans. A scoop of … peach cobbler? It all looked pretty tasty, and he figured they had Dawn Randolph to thank for that.

“We’ll need to make another run to Costco,” Joe told George. “We’re running out of paper plates again.”