Reflection (33 page)

“Of course.”

“Well, please don't let this scare you, but I've been trying lately to imagine a life with you. And that means a life without Katy or my church, and probably even more limits on my already limited time with Jace.”

The thought didn't scare her so much as relieve her. She didn't want to be alone in that fantasy any longer.

“I know the problems are nearly insurmountable,” he continued, “even if I set aside the whole church-and-Katy issue. You and I live two thousand miles apart, to begin with. But I have to look at the possibility. Examine it. I can't live with myself unless I do.”

“I'm glad you are,” she said. “I think about it, too.”

“What do you want, Rachel?” he asked. “I mean, with regard to me. I need to know. Please be very honest.”

She drew in a long breath. “It wouldn't be fair for me to tell you,” she said.

“For right now, forget about what's fair.”

“I want you,” she said. “I want to be with you. Take pictures with you and cook with you and go on long bike rides through the countryside with you. And I want to travel with you. See Norway together.” She was speaking quietly, slowly. “I can be myself with you,” she said. “I love our shared history. I love that you know me well enough to finish my sentences for me. I love the bond we have. I love that incredible feeling that your happiness matters to me as much as my own.”

He smiled as she spoke. “'The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David,'” he quoted, “'and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.'”

“Yes,” she said, pleased. “That's it. And what I wish is that you and I could be together for the rest of our lives. But as long as I'm wishing, I have to add that I wish it wouldn't cost you anything.” She knew it would cost him too much.

“Well.” Michael stretched his long legs out in front of him. “What I want is not so different. I want you, of course—I guess that goes without saying at this point. And I want us to be able to do all those things together that you want us to do. But I also want not to hurt my wife, or my son, or my congregation, or my ability to be a minister.”

Rachel said nothing. Yes, she would cost him far too much.

“I've thought of going to the elders with this,” he said. “Or at least to Lewis Klock.”

“Why to the elders?”

“Because I'm accountable to them, and I need their support. They're all good people, all on solid spiritual ground, and my own spiritual ground is quaking a bit these days. I'm closest to Lewis, of course, and he's a very fair person. A reasonable person. I've turned to him for other things since I've been a minister. Lesser things. And I know I need help with this.” He touched her cheek. “I'm struggling, Rache.”

“I know you are,” she said softly.

“But if I talk to Lewis, I know what he'll say—not to see you at all. And I can't do it. And once he and I talk, he'll be watching me.” He shook his head with a sigh. “People in my congregation have come to me over the years with similar problems, and I have to admit now that I never understood what they were going through. I wanted to tell them to grow up, to recognize what was important in their lives. I never realized it wasn't that simple.”

“No, it's not,” she said with a smile. “I know I'm not an evil person, yet I'm longing to do evil things with you.”

He laughed. “Thanks for refusing to come into my bedroom tonight.”

“You're welcome.”

“We would have been okay, though. I don't want us to have a physical relationship if it's going to be temporary. I don't want to cross that line until I feel firm in my decision about us.” The laugh again. “Though it's easy to say that when I'm sitting here feeling rational. But look at what happened in the woods the other night. I was lost. I wanted to toss you down on the leaves and devour you right there.”

“I would have loved it.”

He hesitated. “You could do this, couldn't you?” he asked quizzically. “Make love without the promise of something long-term between us?”

“Yes, I could,” she admitted. “But I love that you can't.” She shifted on the seat until she was facing him. “I want what's best for you, Michael,” she said seriously. “And I realize that might not be me.”

He shook his head. “Even if you disappeared tomorrow, your presence has raised too many questions for me to go back to my old life unchanged.” He ran his hand over her knee, and the brief touch left her wanting more. “I've had to admit to myself how hollow my marriage is,” he said. “I can see now that there's a gap in my life. I've filled it with religion and work to avoid having to really look at it.”

She pulled her legs onto the loveseat and leaned over to hug him. “No matter what happens,” she said, “I'll always be there for you. I'll always be your friend.”

“I hope so,” he said.

They were quiet as they sat nestled together, watching the moon make its way across the city sky.

It's in his hands
, Rachel thought. The decision was Michael's, and she had to be prepared for it to go either way. She was not sure she was worthy of all he'd have to give up, but for the first time since her return to Reflection, she felt the seductive pull of hope.

THERE WAS TENSION IN
the church. Lily felt it the moment she stepped through the door. The people milling around in the foyer seemed more subdued than usual, and there weren't many smiles. She and Ian slipped through the crowd and found their favorite seats close to the center of the sanctuary.

“He'll talk about the rumors, don't you think?” she whispered to Ian. “Michael always addresses things head-on.”

“I wouldn't bank on it this time around,” Ian said.

She'd wondered if Michael had talked about the rumors in his support group. She'd known better than to ask Ian. Ian was a slave to confidentiality, a quality for which she admired him, although she'd never mastered it herself. From what he'd just said, though, she doubted that Michael had shared much about what was going on with him and Rachel.

Those rumors were starting to scare her, and she knew she wasn't alone. That's what she was feeling in the church this morning. Fear and doubt and anger hung in the air. It was not the first time she'd felt that mix of emotions in the congregation.

Whenever it was common knowledge that a church member had strayed or was grappling with his or her faith or expressing doubts, everyone felt it. It threatened them all. This church was a community. That was what she loved best about it, but it also made one person's problem everyone's problem.

She fidgeted and yawned her way through the singing and announcements. Ian squeezed her knee, whispered in her ear. “Gotta get to bed earlier, babe,” he said.

She'd been up late training Mule and Wiley for Thursday night's ASPCA charity show, and those dogs were nowhere near ready. But that was not the reason she was tired. Even after she'd gone to bed, she couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts rolling around in her head, and each time she'd close her eyes and nearly drift off, she'd picture Mr. Holt. Or Jenny. Or she'd see a blur of blood and torn camouflage clothing. She could see the drawings hanging in the school hallway, drawings other children had made of those who had died. She remembered the thousands of flowers people had brought to the school, laying them out on the front lawn in solemn observance of what had happened. She could even recall the planting of the weeping cherries and the memorial services and the funerals. She remembered those events as if she'd attended them, even though she had not. Her mother hadn't allowed it. Lily had not even attended the service for her sister.

She'd finally gotten out of bed the night before and sat on the living room floor, staring out the window, surrounded by the dogs. The memories were overpowering these days, and they took her more in the direction of guilt than sorrow. Sometimes it hurt to know too much, to know things others didn't. The responsibility was too great.

She wished she could talk to Ian about it. He was aware of her agitation but not of its source. She'd told him what she knew about Katy. He thought that was where her conflict was coming from, and she allowed him to hold on to that illusion.

Michael stood to begin his sermon, and Lily felt her body tense against the hard pew. He began talking about the value of friendship, and she couldn't believe her ears. A sermon on friendship? Now? He was copping out on them.

She was so disappointed in him that she ached. There was more anger around her now. It felt like a thousand fragile panes of glass ready to splinter and break apart. Michael knew what they were all thinking. He had to. Yet he was ignoring their concerns.

We need your reassurance, Michael
, she thought.
We don't need to know you're a saint. Just let us know you're aware of the problem. You're working on it
.

Her mind wandered and she looked around her. Everyone else's eyes were riveted on the minister. She spotted Kirby Cash, Arlena's husband, sitting a few pews away from her. She'd heard Arlena was out of the hospital finally. That was good. The last thing Rachel needed was Arlena's blood on her hands.

Ian suddenly nudged her back to attention.

“…grew up here,” Michael was saying. “And when I was a child, I was quite friendless and very isolated. For whatever reason, I was not seen by my peers as having many redeeming qualities and was, in fact, ignored or berated by many of them. I was, as most unhappy people come to be, preoccupied with myself and my own trials and tribulations. But then two other children befriended me. They treated me with respect and kindness; they valued my opinions and my company. When I was no more than seven, they helped shape me into the adult I am today. Those children were Luke Pierce and Rachel Huber.”

He paused only briefly, but it was long enough to hear the uneasy stirring of the congregation.

“Each time I reach out to one of you in comfort or compassion,” Michael continued, “I am doing what those two children taught me to do. Each time I reach outside myself to help another person, I give thanks to Rachel and Luke. They taught me how to care about my fellow human beings.”

He slipped into Scripture then, so easily that his listeners barely noticed the shift, and drew his sermon to a close.

Lily sat quietly when the service was over. People looked at one another as they rose from the pews, their faces hard to read. The tenor of emotion in the church had changed, but its new form didn't yet have clarity. It didn't matter. All Lily cared about was that, in his own way, Michael had addressed the real issues after all.

URSULA TORWIG SAT ACROSS
her desk from the young female reporter the Lancaster paper had sent over. Roslyn somebody, her name was. She'd called an hour earlier, telling Ursula she wanted to talk with her about the Hostetter project.

Twist my arm
, Ursula had thought with a grin. She couldn't get the woman over to her office fast enough.

As soon as Roslyn stepped through her door, Ursula knew the type of person she was dealing with—one of those young, ambitious, blood-hungry reporters. Roslyn had probably been weaned on tabloid television shows and no doubt rued the fact that she was working for a small-town newspaper. She would want something juicy to get the notice of her superiors. Ursula would give her the best she had.

Rosyln pulled a notepad out of her briefcase. “It seems that there's a good deal of controversy over the Hostetter project,” she began. She was an unattractive young woman. Her nose looked as if it had been broken and badly set; her eyes were too small for her face.

“Oh, that's been overplayed,” Ursula said with a smile. “And it seems to be fading away. Michael Stoltz—he's the preacher of the Mennonite church in town—tried to rally opposition against the Hostetter project, but his leadership's been weakened considerably in recent weeks, and that sort of movement is really only as strong as its leader.” Her cousin's charisma and credibility were marvelously strained these days.

“You mean, since Rachel Huber's return to the area.”

Good. Roslyn had said it for her. “Well, let's just say that his concentration and good judgment seem to be a little off lately. I understand that he spent this past weekend in Washington, D.C., with her, so”—she shrugged—”who can say?”

Roslyn s hungry little eyes lit up. “You're sure of that? They were in Washington together?”

“I thought everyone knew about it,” Ursula said innocently, although she knew that very few people had been privy to that information.

The reporter scribbled a few words on her pad.

“Well, let me show you the plans for the Hostetter development,” Ursula said, reaching into her desk. “I want to reassure you and your readers that we've studied the impact of this development from every angle. If anyone still has concerns about it, we can address them at the hearing on September sixth.”

She spread the drawings flat on her desk, turning them so Rosyln could get a good look. “Please let people know they can stop by my office anytime to review the plans and the various impact studies,” she said. “Anytime at all. I'm sure anyone who examines the situation will reach the same conclusion I have—that this is exactly the sort of controlled growth Reflection needs. Our economy needs it, and our community needs it. And it will be a very attractive addition, completely in sync with the flavor of the town.”

Roslyn lifted her eyes from the plans. “What about the Amish and other plain sects who are concerned about increased traffic, and—”

Ursula cut her off with a Wave of her hand. “If this were agricultural land under consideration, land that the Amish could farm, I would never allow it to be developed in this way. We must protect our farmland at all costs. That's why the Hostetters' development of their property is such a priceless gift. Here's a piece of land, already smack in the middle of town, completely separate from farmland, just crying out to be carefully, tastefully developed and incorporated into the town itself. And the Hostetters are willing to do that. What an opportunity we have!”