While Paul and Josh had been having their confrontation, and Evalyn had been crying, Carolyn Curry had been angrily slamming around her house. There were no tears, but there had been the night before, and the feelings had not yet abated. Carolyn had questioned Herb's reaction to Josh's sermons. She had called Herb overzealous, and he had upbraided her for fuzzy thinking. She had cried, and he had chided her for being too emotional. She had tried to talk about her loneliness and frustration, and her feelings of hope after talking to Evalyn. He had gone to bed. They hadn't spoken at breakfast, and now she was alone in the house.
"He's wrong," she had said aloud, as she straightened the bedspread. "I don't know what is right, and I may be a fuzzy thinker, but he is wrong!"
***
At about the same time, at Garden Books where Bill Deacon worked, there had been some heavy thinking. Bill had been awake most of the night, mulling over in his mind Josh's Sunday night sermon. He wasn't upset, exactly, but he was certainly disquieted.
"Disquieted." Bill said it aloud to the empty store. "Yes, that's the word, all right. There's something pretty heavy-duty going on here. I wonder what." He carried a stack of books to the storeroom, in the meantime trying to focus his mind on just what it was that was so troubling. The church services were different than he was used to, no question about that, but there was some specific thing that was getting to him. "I need someone to talk to," he said, aloud.
"Well, okay."
Bill snapped out of his reverie to behold, not the empty bookstore that he had wandered out of thirty seconds before, but the prettiest stranger he had ever seen. He stared. She smiled.
"I'm sorry. I knew you weren't talking to me, but I couldn't resist." She looked past him toward the storeroom. "You are alone, aren't you?"
He tried to smile back, but suspected he was just getting red. "Uh... yes. I'm sorry. I guess I was talking to myself."
She was still smiling, and now he could see that it wasn't just because she thought he was nuts. It was a friendly smile, like she really would like him to talk to her.
"That's okay," she said. "I do it all the time. I don't think it's a sign of insanity, or anything." She stopped, and was obviously looking a little more closely at him. "Hey, I know you. Or, at least, I've seen you, before."
Bill let his glance move from her smile to her eyes to her hair to her trim figure. She was right. They weren't complete strangers.
"I've seen you, too." He finally managed a good smile - a little puzzled at the edges, but a good one, nevertheless. "But I don't know where. I really haven't been that many places lately. Home, but you weren't there, I know that. Here... "
"Nope, I've never been here before in my life."
"Church... "
"Yes! That's it. I saw you Sunday night. You were at Pastor Felton's service, sitting just across from me. We left at the same time."
Now, he remembered. "Sure, you were sitting with another pretty lady." She caught, and smiled at, the "another," but he hadn't consciously realized what he'd said. "I remember now, because both of you really seemed to be turned on to what he was saying."
"That was Mrs. Felton with me, the pastor's wife. And yes, we were 'turned on.' I've never been so excited in my life."
He watched her as she spoke, and he could believe that she was living her words. He had known that she was very pretty the minute he saw her. He watched her turn to gorgeous, as she talked.
"You may not believe this, but when I said that I needed to talk to someone, it was church I was thinking about." She raised her eyebrows. He stopped. "That sounds like a line, doesn't it?" She smiled, but didn't say anything. "Well, really - honest and truly..." Her smile grew broader. "Cross my heart... " She laughed, and he grinned back, sheepishly. "I'm making it worse and worse, I know, but it really is true. I just started going to Reverend Felton's church, and it's exciting and different, but... " His voice trailed off. She waited expectantly, not smiling anymore. "Well, I'm really interested, but I don't know what to think about it all. It's... " He ran out of words.
"That's okay," she said, solemnly. "I believe you, and I'd love to talk to you." She looked at him, and he looked at her. "About church," she added, a little lamely.
"About church," he repeated. "Okay."
They stood looking at one another, both with the same slight smile. "When?" she finally asked.
He woke up. "When? I don't know. Soon. Tonight?"
The smile as he had first seen it was back. "Okay. Call me later." She gave him a phone number, and started for the door.
"Just one thing," he called after her.
She turned with the door part way open.
"Who do I ask for?"
"Oh, it's just me and my answering machine." She turned again to leave.
"Does your answering machine have a name?"
She turned back, a puzzled look gradually replaced by an enlightened one. "Oh, sorry about that. Debbie. Debbie Fiedler."
"No problem, Debbie."
"And you?"
"Me?"
"Well, you or your answering machine."
He raised his eyebrows, at a loss for a moment. Then he laughed. "Oh, me! I'm Bill Deacon."
"Nice to know you, Bill. See you later."
"Nice to know you, Debbie." But she was gone.
* * *
While this was going on, Beverly and Harry Allen were lingering over a late cup of coffee. Harry stretched and yawned, exaggeratedly.
"There are some advantages to being out of work. No time clock. No responsibilities. No boss to give orders... "
"No money. No food. No clothes."
"Bev, must you always be a realist? Anyway, it's not true; we have everything we need."
"Only less of it."
He looked to see if she was kidding. She was.
"Less, but still plenty. Admit it."
She put down her cup and moved closer to him on the couch. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. She smiled.
"Yes, we have plenty. It doesn't always show up at the most opportune times, but we know we'll always have all we need. More than we need, most of the time. Still, I'm glad we're good savers and good budgeters. It's an awkward way to live." She pulled away from him, raised her arms above her head in mock supplication, and spoke to the ceiling. "God, Your overall care is terrific, but You could use some kind of manager to help You make the timing a little more dependable!"
Harry pulled her down to him. "Hush, do you want lightning to strike? Here, let me protect you."
After a few minutes of "protection," they separated.
"Talk about timing!" she said, as she straightened her hair and smoothed her clothes.
"Bev, I've been thinking... "
"I dare say!"
He laughed. "Well, yes. That, too. Another advantage to not having a steady job. But, actually, what I started to say was that I've been thinking about the Feltons."
"I have, too, They're changing. They seem to be really hungry for more of the Holy Spirit."
He nodded. "I expect to see some exciting things, anytime now. Take last night: even though it was basic Bible truth, and delivered about as calmly as it could be delivered, I shut my eyes and could feel the fire moving through the church."
She curled back close to him again. "We've been waiting a long time, Harry. How many times have we almost left because we couldn't see any life in the church, and how many times have we changed our minds and stayed a little longer?"
"Quite a few, all right." He paused. "We really need to be praying for them. We've got to get more people praying with us, too. You told Mrs. Felton we'd get 'reinforcements,' but honestly, I don't know too many, and about none in the church, right now."
"I know. I wish Tom and Sara were still here, and the Sherwoods, too."
"Well, they're not dead. They're just in another church. We ought to get together with them, and fill them in on what's happening. They might even come back; you never know."
They pondered that and other thoughts, before Harry spoke again.
"You know, I thought they might call us, again."
"Tom and Sara?"
"No, the Feltons. They obviously aren't sure where they're going, and we seemed to hit it off pretty well that first night."
"Well, why don't we call them? I'm sure they could use the support. Anyway, he said that he wanted to hear from anyone who had 'taken the pledge.’ We certainly qualify."
He thought about that. "Sure, why not? Let's try to see them this week."
"Okay, I'll call tomorrow." She bounced up from the couch. "And now to the salt mines. Just because you're not getting paid for it, doesn't mean there isn't plenty to do.”
"Slave driver.”
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