Jim and Ruth Rose exchanged curious glances.
“But, why, Nancy?” Iris asked. “Why can’t you tell me now?”
Nancy’s voice grew louder, more agitated. Ruth Rose wanted the phone but Iris held her off. “Yes, I understand…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…yes…yes, of course…” And then there was a long pause before she said, as gently as she could, “But, Nancy, in a way it is my business…I mean, if Ruth Rose is going to stay here.” The voice at the other end of the line quieted again.
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” said Iris. “No, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
It was maddening for Jim and Ruth Rose listening in, but eventually Iris hung up. Unfortunately, she was in no hurry to explain what was going on. She fingered her necklace. It was a slightly battered locket Hub had given her with his picture in it. She never took it off.
Finally, she took a deep breath and turned to her expectant audience.
“Well, the good news is that she’s very glad you’re here. I think, from the tone of her voice, that she is not going to tell Father. In fact, she recommends that you do not, under any circumstances, cross his path.”
A grin played around the edges of Ruth Rose’s serious face. “You mean no showing up at church?”
Jim laughed, but Iris didn’t. The look in her eyes wiped the grin off Ruth Rose’s face.
“Now that Nancy knows you’re safe, she’s going to go and stay with her mother in Tweed. She says you know the address and phone number.” Ruth Rose nodded. Iris handed her a piece of chalk so she could write the number on the blackboard beside the phone.
“Somebody from the church is going to drive her down. She’s been under severe mental strain worrying about you… and other things — she didn’t explain — and she needs to get away.”
Iris paused, chewed on her lip in consternation, then put her hands together as if finished.
“There was more,” said Jim. “Stuff about something not being any of your business.”
Iris’s voice was calm, giving away nothing. “She’s going to get in touch with us again when she’s settled in.”
There was more, Jim knew it, but he also knew his mother wasn’t going to tell them.
“She’s probably too afraid to say anything until she gets away from him,” said Ruth Rose bitterly.
Iris sighed. “Please, girl,” she said. “Have some faith. If not in the Almighty, at least in your mother.”
Ruth Rose looked down again. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Then, suddenly, she looked up and a strange light broke through the clouds in her eyes. “She’s leaving him, isn’t she?”
Iris frowned. “Not at all,” she said. “Nothing of the kind.” Her voice was impatient. “She needs time out. That’s all. It happens. It’s a very demanding job being the wife of a pastor, especially one as committed as Father.”
“What’s going on, Mom?” asked Jim.
His mother scruffled his hair. “I really don’t know, son.” She stood up, her hands on her hips. Then she glanced at her watch. It was time to get ready for work.
Ruth Rose didn’t offer to help with the dishes, but she stayed in the kitchen, scooped up the kitten and sat by the fire while Jim worked. He was dying to tell her about what he had found, but he would wait until his mother left.
At eight forty-five, Iris Hawkins started down the stairs ready for work. She had just turned at the landing when she saw car headlights play across the staircase wall.
She hurried downstairs, arriving in the kitchen to find Jim and Ruth Rose staring out the front window as a van splashed to a stop. A van as black as the night, the scripture on its sides and on the plastic windfoil obliterated by mud.
14
Ruth Rose turned on Iris, seething with rage. “See!” she said. But Jim grabbed her before his mother could respond and started hustling her out of the kitchen. They were on the stairs when he stopped.
“Your shoes!” he said in a horrified whisper and raced back to the kitchen. His mother met him at the doorway with the newspaper-stuffed sneakers and Ruth Rose’s jacket. He grabbed them and took off again just as he heard heavy footfalls on the porch.
Ruth Rose met him at the bottom of the staircase. He tried to push her up the stairs but she held her ground.
“I want to hear,” she whispered.
His mother was already opening the door to greet the pastor. There was nothing for it. The stairs of the old farmhouse creaked terribly. It was better to stay put.
Edging along the wall where the floor boards were quiet, they were able to slide behind the old couch. Jim was pretty certain his mother wouldn’t invite Father into the parlour. She was on her way to work. Besides, the room was a mid-week disaster area.
Jim dared to peek around the edge of the couch. Framed by the doorway to the kitchen stood the pastor holding both his mother’s hands in his, inclining his head towards her almost as if he were about to kiss her.
“Iris,” he said, “What a ghastly night. Hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”
“Oh, Father,” she said, her voice shaky. “It’s always good to see you, but I was, actually, just heading out the door to work.”
He stepped farther into the room, looking around, unbuttoning his coat as if he had every intention of staying. Iris stepped back but did not move from his path.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“No, it’s just that my shift starts soon.”
Father Fisher rested his hand on his chest, grasping the green stone cross that hung there. He bowed his head.
“How thoughtless of me,” he said. “I do apologize. It’s just that we — Nancy and I — we’re so worried about Ruth Rose.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I’m just not myself.”
Jim turned to see Ruth Rose, her teeth bared like a cornered animal, but not about to go down without a fight. Her mother had caved in. He was here to get her.
But before Iris could spill the beans, Fisher said, “She’s missing.”
There was a pause while Iris digested the fact that Nancy could not have told him about the phone call.
“Still missing?” she said. “How awful for you.”
Father Fisher looked at her. “So you had heard?”
Iris nodded. “The poor kid.” And then she made a valiant attempt to change the subject. “I thought you had Bible studies tonight?”
Father Fisher seemed to perk up. “Ahhh,” he said. “I’m going to take the fact that you know when the study session is as an indication that you might be considering rejoining us.”
“The truth is, Father,” said Iris in a hurry-up voice. “I can’t really think about anything right now except getting to work on time.”
“Of course,” he said, backing up. “I know how important this job is to you. That’s why I’m really pushing the finance committee to consider assuming the farm’s mortgage.”
Iris’s voice faltered. “That’s so kind,” she managed to say. “Thank you.”
“There are some, as you can imagine, who have a problem with it. That’s why it’s taken so long, God help us. But I’ve put forward a good argument. We collect, as well you know, a substantial amount of offerings earmarked for the church’s mission overseas. And I have remonstrated — quite persuasively, I think — that charity truly begins at home. That while our own parishioners are in travail of one kind or another, we are simply not doing God’s work.”
Jim peeked again. Even from the back he could tell that his mother was wringing her hands.
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said, her voice humble.
“I’ve done what I can,” said Father Fisher. “It’s now up to the powers that be.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. Iris flinched.
“You said you were here because of Ruth Rose.”