Reinventing Leona (32 page)
“Son.” Leona grabbed his neck. She drank in the smell of him. The family she feared she’d lost had been restored to her.
Thank you, God.
She pulled back and looked into the watery eyes that resembled her husband’s. Her boy was whole, well, and wonderful. “Wouldn’t your daddy get a kick out of seeing my worries proved all for naught yet again.”
David chuckled and kissed her cheek. “So many worries, so little time.”
Leona straightened with a start. “And Parker? Where’s Parker?”
“Right here, Mrs. Harper.” Parker’s forehead sported a few Steri-Strips plastered along a jagged, dark line. But other than the railroad track crease in his brow, he looked no worse for wear. He ran a finger over his wound. “Just a little bump on the head. Your girl took good care of me.”
“His hard head is what saved him.” Maddie beamed.
David loosened the grip Leona had upon his arm. “Momma, I brought some folks with me that you need to meet.”
Leona brushed the tears from her face, smoothed her hair, and straightened her blouse. “Absolutely.” She could hear laughter coming from the living room where she’d raised her family. Howard and Maxine liked the Postiers.
Don’t ask me to do this, too, Lord.
With David on one side and Maddie on the other, Leona stepped into the room.
There, seated on her plaid couch, were the Postiers, hands clasped in their laps. Surrounded by the backbone of the congregation, they eagerly answered questions about their perilous journey to Mt. Hope. A wry smile curved Leona’s lips. The greenhorns had no idea one bald, backstabbing weasel rested his hands upon their shoulders while the other served them hot coffee. But stay in ministry long enough and they would learn . . . all too quickly. And hopefully, like her, someday they would discover that pastors survive no matter what kind of vermin attacks the henhouse.
Mr. Postier noticed Leona’s entrance and stood respectfully. “Mrs. Harper, Ted Postier.”
“Reverend.” Leona shook his outstretched hand, warmed by his firm and sure grip. “A pleasure.”
She turned her attention to the pastor’s beautiful blonde wife. The woman’s young, unlined face made the perfect backdrop for those incredible sparkling blue eyes. Leona studied their glitter and realized she had seen this expectant look before.
The same conviction had illumined the soul of the man she loved every time he took the pulpit, as if today would be the day the whole world claimed Christ.
Leona backpedaled, trying to escape the heart-piercing gaze.
“The Lord your God is with you, Leona Harper. He is mighty to save.”
“J.D.? Is that you?” Leona scanned the room, searching for the source of her husband’s voice. Did the kids have an old home video in the VCR?
“He delights in you, Leona.”
“Don’t you tease me, J.D. Harper. You know I’m nothing but a cheap Popsicle. Besides, I’m not speaking to you at the moment.” Leona crossed her arms, unwilling to continue the argument, desperate for the contact to never end.
“He quiets you with his love.”
Immediately a sweet-smelling peace poured over her, as if someone had broken open a hot oil treatment. She closed her eyes and allowed the soothing warmth to course down her body, kneading the panic from her knotted soul. She inhaled deeply, her first deep breath in weeks. When she opened her eyes, there stood before her a man in dazzling white. She took a moment to admire the way the iridescent light captured the silver strands traipsing across his well-trained waves.
“You remind me of a pastor I knew.”
He smiled and offered her his hand, and she took it. He led her from the living room, out the front door, down the porch steps, along the sidewalk, past Roxie’s, and around the corner. And there, high on a grassy green hill, sat a beautiful house. On the shady wraparound porch a crowd had gathered. They had welcoming grins, and what appeared to be pitchers and pitchers of ice-cold lemonade. Leona followed her guide up the steps and through the throng. They stopped before an ivory door and he motioned for her to come forward, indicating she should read the etched inscription gracing the front of the golden mailbox. How could she have lived in Mt. Hope all these years and not noticed this lovely home? Leona was dying to know who lived there. She stepped forward and began to read.
“The home of Leona Harper . . . a woman of worth.”
A huge lump lodged in her throat, but she managed to turn toward her guide and choke out, “For me? All of this for me?”
He smiled and nodded, then finished the verse. “The Lord rejoices over you with singing, Leona Harper.”
And in a blink of an eye, her knight in shining armor was gone.
Once again, Leona stood in the middle of the living room the Lord had loaned her for eighteen years. Through the front door glass she could see the glimmer of snowflakes swirling under the porch light. She glanced at the Harper replacements seated on the threadbare couch, their feet planted firmly on the worn carpet, and she thought,
Maxine Davis, you can have this place. The Lord’s got something better for me. How I’m going, I don’t know. When I’m going? It’s anybody’s guess. What I’m going to do until I go? Lord only knows. But whether or not I’m going is my choice, and it is nonnegotiable
.
Leona turned, looked into those hopeful blue eyes, and clasped the young woman’s hand in hers. “Mrs. Postier, welcome home.”
Sunday morning dawned bright and sparkly, the stormy darkness washed white in a peaceful drift of snow. Leona bustled through the living room, humming “Joy to the World,” her heart lighter than it had been since the Sunday before Thanksgiving. “Etta May, would you mind cranking up that stereo a bit?”
“How long has he been in that shower?” Nola Gay wrenched the lever on J.D.’s recliner. Her thick ankles shot out in front of her.
“I don’t know—a while, I guess.”
“Do you think this Postier fellow knows what time church starts?” Etta May held the jar of her latest pickle offering up to the light for careful examination.
“I went over everything last night,” Leona said. “They’re probably just taking a little extra care with their appearance. Meeting a new congregation can be a tad intimidating.”
“Our brother had an old coon dog that bayed off-key like that.” Nola Gay reached for her coffee mug.
Etta May set the pickles on the coffee table, then pushed herself up from the couch. “Sister, you keep it down. We don’t want the new pastor to feel anything but completely welcome.” She turned the knob on the CD player and smiled. “Perhaps he’s making music to the Lord . . . in his heart.”
“Perhaps Leona ought to start that dishwasher.” Nola sipped her coffee.
“I’m not going to do that, so just get that out of your devious little head.”
Leona’s mother wheeled into the living room. “I’ll start it myself, if he doesn’t shut up.”
“Well, look who’s up and about.” A wry grin crossed Nola Gay’s dentures. “If you’re feeling so perky, Bertie, how about you serve us some of those cinnamon rolls I’ve been smelling?”
Leona kissed her mother’s cheek. “Wait here, Mother. I’ll see if they’re done.” She turned to the Storys. “In the meantime, I’m counting on you two to hold the fort.”
Nola Gay waved Leona on. “Don’t we always?”
Leona raced to the kitchen and opened the oven door, enjoying the delicious blast of smells as if her senses had been awakened from a deep sleep. She and the kids were dressed, but she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Postier family all morning. Maybe Bridget awoke naturally gorgeous, free of the laborious effort Leona’s presentable appearance required. Leona dismissed that catty thought from her mind and concentrated on setting out the cups and saucers and arranging the company napkins. Suddenly, screams erupted from the direction of the living room.
Leona dropped the napkins. “What has Mother done now?” She tore down the hall and burst into the living room. “What in the world happened?” She gasped for breath.
“Pastor Postier walked by.” Etta May’s dentures clacked faster than her words, the woman clearly shaken.
“So? He has to get to his bedroom.”
“He was naked, Leona.” Her mother shook her head.
“Except for your best monogrammed towel wrapped around his very tanned middle.” Nola Gay turned her mug bottoms-up and polished off the contents, dribbles escaping onto her blouse.
David and Maddie bounded down the stairs.
“What’s going on?” David flew to his mother’s side.
Maddie joined him on the other. “What was that ruckus?”
Nola Gay dabbed at the spots on her blouse. “That new guy paraded past in his birthday suit.”
“What?” David bristled.
“He was wearing a towel, David.” Leona took Nola’s empty mug. “Pastor Postier probably was not expecting company so early this morning. I think the rolls should be done by now. Why don’t we all have a bite to eat. Give our guests a little privacy?”
Voices and a loud clamoring upstairs stayed Leona’s intended progress toward the kitchen.
“David, would you mind checking on our guests?”
“Sure.” David started up the stairs, stopped midflight by bundled-up Postiers on their way down. Each toted a heavy piece of luggage. “Morning. Let me help you folks.” David reached for the wife’s overnight bag, but she held up her hand.
“I think we’ve got it.” Bridget shifted the strap to her shoulder, the pleased-to-be-here warmth missing from her voice.
“There’s really no hurry to pack up before church.” Leona came to the foot of the stairs. “I’m sure the elders will have a committee who’ll want to visit with you this afternoon.”
Bridget pointed an acrylic nail at the sisters. “Are
they
here
every
Sunday morning?”
“You better bet we are.” Nola Gay shifted the footrest lever and brought herself to an upright position.
“Like clockwork,” Etta May added.
“Then I’m afraid we won’t be.” Ted pushed past David. “I’m not interested in displaying my private wares for the congregants.”
“Just as well, they weren’t that impressive,” Mother chirped.
“Well, I never.” Bridget stormed down the stairs. “Backwoods bumpkins, all of you.”
“Yes, we are.” Leona’s mother wheeled up alongside her. “And proud of it.”
Leona hugged her mother as the Postiers stalked past. “Wait. You can’t leave before church.”
“Watch us.” Bridget snatched the hands of her children.
“Maddie, can’t you give them a sedative or something?” Nola Gay crossed her arms over her sagging chest.
Maddie shook her head.
David jumped into the fray. “But you don’t have transportation.”
Ted staggered under the weight of several suitcases. “We’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t bother.” Leona’s mother wheeled herself in front of the door. “I insist you let my chauffeur return you to the shallow hole from which you have slithered.”
“You tell ’em, Bertie.” Nola Gay beamed.
“Melvin. Fetch the limo.”
“Mother, you remembered his name.” Leona fought the urge to jump up and down.
“I’m not a total waste of effort.”
“I never thought you were.” Leona blew her mother a kiss.
Within minutes Melvin had the car warmed, the Postiers loaded, and the parsonage back to normal.
“Good riddance.” Leona’s mother shut the front door. “Now, who’s going to preach?” She looked directly at David. “Seems to me there is only one plausible choice.”
“Don’t look at me.” David backed toward the hall.
“Young man, you wait right there. Don’t think I don’t know why you’ve put off taking your place at the firm.” Leona’s mother flashed a look that dared David to defy her.
“Grandmother—”
She held up a stiff hand. “I’m looking at a man who will never be a lawyer.”
“You’re right.” A peace came over David’s face. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and shot up the stairs. In a moment he returned carrying his father’s black Sunday shoes. “Figured this would be the best way to start.” He sat in his father’s chair, removed his own boots, and slipped on the shiny black Florsheims. “Feels good.”
Tears sprung from Leona’s eyes. “A perfect fit.”
Lynne Gentry knew marrying a preacher might change her plans. She didn’t know how ministry would change her life. This author of numerous short stories and dramatic works travels the country as a professional acting coach and inspirational speaker. Lynne lives in Dallas with her husband, Lonnie, and counts spending time with her two grown children and their families her greatest joy.
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