Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (37 page)

What was she doing here? I’d thought she was at my house, playing up to Sam. She had no reason to be wandering through empty rooms on a Monday night, especially because Dr. Fowler’s enrichment session wasn’t due to start for another hour. I wondered if the pastor knew, but if he did, wouldn’t he have mentioned it when we discussed her in his office?

Strange, I thought, as I pressed against the wall, waiting for her and whoever she was with to walk across the Fellowship Hall. I wanted to see who’d brought her in and find out, if I could, why. Well, I might as well be honest and admit that I was pretty sure I knew who she was with. I could just picture how she’d gone to visit Sam and been put off her stride at finding so many people in the house. My eyes narrowed as I thought of how she must’ve talked him into walking her across the street and into the church, where they’d be alone.

I didn’t like it; I didn’t like it one little bit, but what could be done about it I didn’t know. So I waited and waited, but nobody came, and I began to wonder if I’d had an auditory hallucination. But no, I heard that laugh again, almost like an echo emanating from the bowels of the building.

Then, across the way, the pastor stepped out of his office, closed and locked the door and proceeded across the width of the Fellowship Hall, heading toward the corridor and the men’s Sunday-school room, where Dr. Fowler’s meeting was to be held.

As he passed the alcove where I was hiding, I leaned out and hissed, “Pastor!”

“Whup!”
He jumped a mile and dropped a book. Then he emitted what sounded like a strangled expletive. “What? Who is it? Come outta there.” Then, as I eased out, he visibly relaxed and just as visibly tightened with anger, something that usually happens when you’ve been scared half to death. “Miss Julia! What’re you doing here?” he demanded. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, but keep your voice down. Did you know that Francie Pitts is back there in the Sunday-school rooms?”

He frowned and looked toward the corridor. “What’s she doing?”

“I have no idea, but she’s laughing and talking with somebody. Maybe whoever it is is showing her through the building.” I couldn’t bring myself to say that I thought it was Sam—in fact, I was hoping against hope that it wasn’t. But the whole thing reminded me that I had done some completely innocent showing around some years back when the pastor himself had asked me to escort Dr. Fred Fowler through the church. And with a shudder, I recalled what had happened as a result of that tour. “Maybe it’s Dr. Fowler.”

Although if that was the case, I had to concede that Francie was a mighty fast worker. She’d only heard of Dr. Fowler’s interest that very day, and already she’d pounced.

Pastor Ledbetter frowned even more, a worried look crossing his face. “I don’t think so. Dr. Fowler was still at the inn where he’s staying when I spoke with him on the phone. That was right before you came in. He didn’t mention coming over this early. Besides, I would’ve heard him come in.” He gestured toward the back door where I had entered. Because all the other doors were kept locked after hours, the back door provided the only access to the pastor’s office, the Fellowship Hall, the upstairs sanctuary, as well as the Sunday-school rooms in the new addition.

“The only other entrance,” the pastor went on, explaining what I already knew, “is the side door next to the men’s classroom, where we’ll be meeting, and it stays locked except when there’s a service of some kind. I was on my way to unlock it and turn on some lights.”

My concern about Sam eased off. If the door was locked, he couldn’t have gotten in. “Then who could it be? Who could’ve gotten in without your hearing them or through a locked door?”

A flash of apprehension swept quickly across his face, and his eyes widened. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Emma Sue said a
demon
?”

“Yes, she did, but surely not here, Pastor. A demon wouldn’t dare enter this place. So put on the armor of God and buck up. We’re not dealing with the supernatural. We’re dealing with someone who knows how to get into the building and bring that woman with him.”

“You’re right. Of course you are.” He withdrew a large handkerchief and mopped his face. “It’s somebody who has a key to the side door. Dr. Fowler, for one, and a few of the elders and those who have authority to look after the building. It’s someone who knows Mrs. Delacorte and wants to show her what First Presbyterian has to offer. Let’s just go see who it is.”

Having recovered his own authority, he started off down the corridor. But not before hurrying me along for company. I complied with a heavy heart, for I knew only two people who met the criteria he’d just listed: Dr. Fowler, as he’d said, and Sam, who, as I knew, often checked the church during the week. I was sickened at the thought of encountering either one off somewhere in a dark corner with Francie Pitts.

As we walked down the corridor, Pastor Ledbetter hit every light switch we passed, leaving no dark corners anywhere. We reached the end of the corridor and turned left into a short connecting hall that led to the side door. The pastor tried it, found it unlocked and grunted with chagrin that somebody had entered the church without his knowledge.

Then he leaned through the door of the men’s Sunday-school classroom, the first room from the side door, and switched on the light to be sure it was empty. The room was the largest in the building, which was the reason it had been designated for Dr. Fowler’s sessions, despite the fact that, so far, he’d not come close to filling it.

“Nobody’s here yet,” Pastor Ledbetter said, which I had also noted. “But we’d better look around. I’m beginning to think that the door was inadvertently left unlocked, so anybody could’ve come in—vandals or tramps or somebody like that.”

“I’m sure it was Francie I heard. She has a distinctive laugh.”

“An empty building can distort sounds, Miss Julia,” he said in a patronizing tone. “I can’t imagine that Mrs. Delacorte would be so presumptuous as to come in without letting me know. It’s probably somebody looking for a handout or a place to sleep.”

“In that case,” I said, dutifully following him as he strode toward the dark end of the cross corridor. “Shouldn’t we call the sheriff?”

“Not at all. I’ll just find whoever it is and offer a few dollars for a meal. This sort of thing happens all the time.” He’d obviously overcome his earlier apprehension and was now determined to sort things out on his own.

That lasted just long enough for us to approach the elevator, the one that old Mr. Stenson had insisted we put in for all the members who used walkers, in spite of the fact that it ran the building fund over budget. Just as we got to the elevator, we became aware of a rumbling sound, heard a ding and saw the light above the door come on.

Pastor Ledbetter looked at me, and I looked at him. We waited as the door jerked, then began to slide open. My heart almost stopped, for neither of us had pressed the call button. Pastor Ledbetter took a step back, almost colliding with me, as we waited, neither of us moving, until the door was fully open. Then we waited some more.
Nobody was in it.
I gasped, and Pastor Ledbetter took a sharp breath.

“Who sent it down?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat. “Did you punch the button?”

“I didn’t go near it. It was somebody else.”

“I’m going to see,” he said and started to enter the elevator.

“Wait, Pastor,” I said, putting out my hand. “Let’s take the stairs. The way that thing’s acting, I don’t want to ride in it.”

“Good idea. We should check the stairwells anyway.”

So up the stairs we went, Pastor Ledbetter snapping on lights so that the building was being lit up like a Christmas tree. But the more light the better, as far as I was concerned. My joints were having enough trouble climbing those stairs without stumbling around in the dark.

We came out on the second floor, walked the halls, stuck our heads in empty classrooms and walked on into the main building, which housed the sanctuary and the choir room. We found nobody anywhere, nor any sign that anybody had been there.

So we retraced our steps to search the rooms along the cross hall, both of us puffing by this time. Finding no one, even though we looked in every classroom, closet and supply room, we headed for the more public areas of the building. Perched on a small incline, the front part of the Sunday-school building was at street level, and that was the part that had been specifically designed as a chapel for small funerals and weddings. It, too, had an exterior door, a narrow portico and a walkway leading out to the sidewalk. And right next to the chapel was that infamous, though elegantly decorated, room where bridal parties gathered to await the ceremony.

I realized as I tried to keep up with Pastor Ledbetter that it was the first time I’d been near the place since that humiliating episode a few years back. In fact, I’d deliberately avoided it, not wanting to be reminded of what had happened. I’d had no reason to be there, and plenty not to be.

And all this while, I was becoming more and more agitated for fear we’d find Sam in a compromising position with Francie Pitts. The woman would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, and it was plain that she wanted Sam in spite of my efforts through LuAnne to aim her toward Fred Fowler. It was entirely possible that Sam had not one impure thought in his head, intent only on Francie’s spiritual welfare, but she could turn on him the way Dr. Fowler had turned on me, overwhelming him with that secret knowledge of hers. Trotting along behind Pastor Ledbetter, I could’ve cried at the thought.

“Unless we’ve walked right past him,” Pastor Ledbetter said, looking to the right and the left, “he’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Pastor, it’s not a him. It’s a her, but a him might be with her.”

“Well, now, Miss Julia, let’s not jump to conclusions. I can’t imagine you can identify someone by a laugh, especially in a building of this size.” He veered off to jerk open the door to a storage room, seemingly having regained his confidence. But he hadn’t regained it totally, for he still wanted company. “Let’s be sure nobody’s hiding in here.”

I followed him, whispering, “I think the chapel is the place to look. Somebody could be hiding among the pews or behind the pulpit.”

“Not yet,” he said decisively. “We’ll go there last. I want to make a lot of noise so we’ll herd whoever it is into the chapel and, hopefully, on outside. That way, we’ll avoid a scene in the church.”

I nodded agreement, as I surveyed the five-branched candlestands and other stored objects used for weddings. But I was wondering how easily a demon could be herded. If Emma Sue was right, we were dealing with fire, and for that reason I made sure to let Pastor Ledbetter take the lead.

So intent was he to search the supply and storage rooms that I just stood in the doorways and watched, which allowed me to keep an eye on the hall as well. I had a fear of someone or something sneaking up behind me.

Then I heard something: a scuffle of sorts and a muted laugh. And, Lord help us, a moan.

“Pastor!” I whispered, clutching at his sleeve.

He whirled away from his inspection of a collection of mops and brooms. “What!” he said in a fierce whisper.

“I heard something. Listen!”

He stood stock still, a look of concentration on his face as he listened intently. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Just wait, because I did.”

Then we both heard it: a garbled voice and a thump against a wall.

“The bridal parlor!” Pastor Ledbetter said, and off he took, muttering to himself. “I’m not going to have this. I simply am not. There’re valuable things in there, and I’m not going to have them stolen. My patience is at an end.”

Oh, Lord, I thought, as I scurried to keep up with him. Please let it be a tramp or a thief. Or let it be just Francie in the throes of a hallucination. Or, because by this time I was seeing the end of my marriage, let it even be a demon; I didn’t care. Just don’t let it be Sam.

Although, and I almost stumbled as the thought came to me, if it was Sam, I wouldn’t have to worry about confessing my own little set-to in the bridal parlor. He’d be begging for my forgiveness, instead of the other way around.

Then shame washed over me at having thought of such a thing, and I went back to praying that it wasn’t Sam. Please let him be home reading or watching television or getting ready to come to Dr. Fowler’s meeting—anywhere but in that room.

Just as Pastor Ledbetter reached for the doorknob, the door sprang back and Dr. Fred Fowler rushed out. A breath of relief rushed out of me, and I felt like singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Who would’ve thought I’d be so happy to see him? Even so, I stepped back out of his line of sight, not at all eager to renew our acquaintance.

I needn’t have bothered, for he had a more urgent problem on his hands, and he looked it. His hair, rusty and gray, was tousled, his eyes wide and staring out of crooked glasses, and the knot in his tie was halfway down his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned, too.