“I always liked Miss Stella,” Nellie said as she poured Luke a third cup of tea, her palsied hands shaking and sloshing a little over the rim. “That girl was as tough as nails, but I liked her. It was a shame she had to run off to get married. Stella and her mother corresponded for years behind old Jedidiah’s back. The man she married was a carpenter and a minister. Stella said he was like Johnny Appleseed, except instead of planting trees, he planted churches. Whenever a letter came from her, Mrs. Magruder told me to hide it from Jedidiah and put it straight into her hands.”
“And where were those letters from?” he asked, holding his breath and praying the housekeeper had a good memory.
She did. Luke straightened his spine, excitement beginning to surge as he pocketed the last-known location of Stella and Joseph Greenleaf.
He was on his way to Amarillo, Texas.
Thirty-Four
Marianne soon adjusted to life with Stella and Joseph, though it took a while to become accustomed to their relentless bickering. She awoke her first morning in Nevada to hear them arguing about who forgot to bring in the laundry the night before. They argued about how long the drought would last, who did more chores, and the right way to boil water. In time, Marianne realized they enjoyed jousting with each other. It wasn’t the sort of humor she appreciated, but that didn’t make it wrong. Stella and Joseph were both tough, demanding, and forthright people, but they were also honest. They set high standards and demanded Marianne meet them, working days at the silver mine and weekends at the church.
A week passed, then a month.
On Sunday mornings Joseph led a congregation of ninety people in worship. The church was a plain building of well-hewn planks, clear glass windows, and a simple altar. All of it had been built by Joseph’s own two hands. The bell tower was still under construction but would soon feature a set of stairs, a belfry, and a spire.
And then Stella and Joseph would move on to plant a new church somewhere else. That sort of itinerant life seemed exhausting to Marianne, but it suited Stella and Joseph. As soon as a church was established, they pulled up stakes and moved on.
Joseph’s style of leadership was plain and straightforward. He preached that problems, no matter how complex, could be boiled down to the fallen nature of man, and the best way to solve them was by turning to simple wisdom in the Gospels. How would Jesus handle betrayal, secrets, and avarice? The virtues of love, humility, charity, and forgiveness might not solve the problem, but they could serve as a balm in an imperfect world.
Maybe it was the distance from Washington, but Marianne’s complicated family histrionics no longer seemed quite so unique. Backstabbing, secrets, and lies dated all the way back to biblical times, and the same book provided plenty of guideposts for how she could have handled things better.
She still longed for a perfect family, but it didn’t hurt so much anymore. She was both fallen and forgiven. Her mission now was to learn how to navigate the world in a way that extended forgiveness to other fallen people in her life.
On her fourth Sunday, while helping set up the refreshment table for fellowship after church, Marianne had the oddest experience. Like always, she helped lug the table outside, cover it with a cloth, then placed a rock on each corner to secure the tablecloth from the relentless winds coming off the mountain. Parishioners brought fruit and cookies, simple food that would take the edge off hunger so everyone could relax and socialize following the service. There were no gourmet foods or amethyst saltcellars here, only humble fare where fellowship was more important than impressing others.
Marianne stepped back a few paces to watch an elderly couple approach the table and set a can of peaches alongside the stack of tin plates. A couple of children picked dandelions to fill a cup for table decoration. Marianne considered rushing for her camera to immortalize this perfect moment in the country churchyard.
Then she thought better of it. Sometimes it was better to live in the present. A breeze caressed her cheek, almost as though it approved of her decision. She leaned into it, accepting it, even as the tablecloth lifted and rippled in the wind, tossing over a plate of cookies. One of the women laughed and found a few more rocks to anchor the cloth.
A sense of well-being descended. This was how life was supposed to be. Not perfect, but lovely all the same. It was a peaceable kingdom, a community of believers, and they had welcomed her with open arms. Luke had once spoken of the comfort that sometimes came out of nowhere, and he credited it to the Holy Spirit of God reaching out to encourage the awakening inside. Was that what this was? The scales were falling from her eyes, and she was seeing the world as it really was, not as she wished it could be.
Perhaps she was finally growing up. Paradise on earth didn’t exist, but God still blessed them with the tools they needed to be happy, even in a sometimes imperfect, fallen world.
The sun hadn’t yet risen above the horizon, and Marianne was still bleary-eyed as she and Joseph walked alongside the wagon loaded with rough-sawn lumber. She helped Joseph with carpentry work every Saturday. He’d already taught her how to use a hand plane to smooth the boards to make risers on the bell tower stairs, and perhaps they could finish them today.
Joseph unharnessed the horse while Marianne unloaded the boards, stacking them outside the front of the church. It was probably still too dark inside the church to start work, but she’d get the supplies ready.
It was the blue hour. The sun hadn’t risen above the horizon yet, and the faint, shadowless light gave the desert an unearthly beauty. She’d always loved the blue hour, and her heart ached with the memory of when she and Luke took pictures during that magical in-between time at the navy shipyard. Her forty days with Joseph and Stella were drawing to a close, and she’d still heard nothing from Luke. If he didn’t contact her soon, she’d have to press on to San Francisco and hope he’d find her there.
She was carrying a box of tools into the church, heading down the center aisle toward the half-finished doorway that led to the church tower, when she stopped. A grubby man lay on one of the pews, his filthy boots hanging over the end. A battered hat covered his face, muffling a snore. Her gasp echoed in the still-dark church, but the vagrant didn’t stir.
She raced outside and straight to Uncle Joseph, who was still tending the horse. “There’s a hobo sleeping in the church!”
Joseph didn’t seem alarmed. “That’s why I never put a lock on the door of any church I build. A church should be open to wandering souls.”
Marianne’s heart still pounded from the unexpected fright. For a worldly man, Joseph could be terribly naïve. “He could have robbed you blind last night.”
Joseph gave her a condescending look as he finished tying the horse to the hitching post, then calmly headed inside. She followed at a cautious distance, clutching the toolbox to her chest. She had a hammer to defend herself, if need be.
“Good morning, son,” Joseph boomed in a hearty voice as he strode down the aisle without fear.
The vagrant roused, peeling up from the hard pew and rubbing the small of his back with a groan. His dark head turned, and he flashed them a devilish smile.
“Luke!”
She could hardly believe it. He looked like a tramp, with his disheveled hair and clothes. He could use a shave, but oh, that smile was the same, and an explosion of joy blossomed inside her.