Grounds To Believe

Chapter Five

“He asked you out?” Claire breathed in fascinated horror. “A real biker?”

Julia bent at the waist and began to brush her hair. “As real as they get.” The image of Ross Malcolm riding that machine past the bookshop was etched on her mind as permanently as the rhyme on Linda Bell’s fridge magnet. “How many bikers can there be in Hamilton Falls?”

“Not very many. This is a four-wheel-drive town if ever I saw one. So what did you do?”

“Do?” Julia straightened and flipped her hair down her back. Claire, standing at the mirror, tucked a few wayward strands into her own neatly braided bun. “I said no, of course. What do you think?”

“Well, of course you said no,” Claire said, lifting her chin to adjust the bow of her black silk blouse. “What I meant was, did he give you any trouble?”

“No. Just tried to talk me out of it. Good grief, Claire, there must be a thousand worldly girls in this town. Why couldn’t he pick on one of them instead of bothering me?” She took up a combat position in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to surprise her unruly red curls into a roll like Madeleine’s. She never stopped hoping that a few obedient hair genes might have been distributed to her as well. A modest, godly hair style—or the lack thereof—was the biggest cross she had to bear.

Claire met Julia’s eyes in the mirror. “Maybe he’s searching. Maybe he sees something in you that he wouldn’t find in a worldly girl.”

“Oh, my,” Julia murmured weakly. The roll sprang out from under her fingers and unwound itself down her back. He’d said he’d lost his wife. His eyes had confirmed it. Had she really been so self-centered that she’d mistaken a cry for help for interest in herself? She closed her eyes in shame.

“I’ve had total strangers walk up to me in the street and ask what I stood for,” Claire went on, pretending not to notice. “Don’t you think you should give him a chance?”

Nobody ever asked her things like that, but when she did get the chance, she’d blown it. “You think I should have gone out with him. What would the Shepherd say?” She gave up on the roll and began the same old boring French braid.

“Julia, for goodness’ sake, it was only coffee. It wasn’t like he asked you to something that would jeopardize your soul, like a movie or a dance.”

“But still…Elder’s Sister-in-law Spotted in Café with Biker. Try explaining that one to dear Alma Woods. She’d think I was condemned for sure. Not that she doesn’t think that now.”

“I know. I wore heels last Sunday and you should have heard her. But really, you wouldn’t need to explain a thing if it meant he came to Mission.”

This conversation was getting completely out of hand. “Speaking of which,” Julia said, snapping a covered elastic around the tail end of the braid with a sound of finality, “we’d better get going. Mission starts in twenty minutes.”

On Sunday evenings, Melchizedek presided at the hall, spreading the word of God to Stranger and Elect alike. As they walked in, Julia spotted Owen and Madeleine already in the front row.

“Madeleine is such an example,” Claire whispered to her. “Her service to God always comes first, doesn’t it?” The first Sunday after Ryan had been admitted to hospital, Julia had been prepared to take her sister’s place at the old upright piano for the hymns, thinking that Madeleine would be unable to do it. She’d even gone so far as to sit in the front row, closest to the instrument. But Madeleine, putting her own emotion aside for the sake of service to her Lord, had walked to the front and played as flawlessly as ever, even on “Suffer the Little Children.” And Julia’s gesture of help to her grieving sister had gone unnoticed. Which was just as well, Julia reminded herself. The sacrifices God valued most were performed in secret, anyway.

She and Claire seated themselves three-quarters of the way back with the young people. Julia barely had time to put her purse under her seat when Derrick sidled into the row from the other side and took the empty seat beside her. As Melchizedek announced the first hymn, she quietly put her hymnbook on the floor next to her purse and allowed Derrick to hold his for her.

No wonder everyone thought they were going to announce their engagement any day. Couples who were going together might sit side by side in Mission, but only the ones who were “serious” actually shared a hymnbook. If she wasn’t serious about him, she should never have allowed him to do it the first time. If she was, she should stop being so difficult and tell him so.

Unbidden, the image of Ross Malcolm rose up before her, all silver and shadow and pain. She couldn’t imagine a greater contrast to the man beside her. Derrick, his clean, gentle hands holding the hymnbook, was a true sheep, obedient and innocent. Ross? He was like a wolf, slipping from light into darkness and back again, stalking her for who knew what reason.

Or maybe she did know the reason. Julia bowed her head, convicted in her heart of her own guilt. She hadn’t opened her heart to the promptings of the Spirit when Ross Malcolm spoke to her. She had ignored his pain and thought only of herself.

Well, she was listening now. When you heard God’s voice through the medium of His Shepherd, you didn’t question it. You obeyed.

When the service was over, Melchizedek walked solemnly to the back door to greet everyone as they left. As they filed toward the door, Owen and Madeleine joined them. “Four Strangers tonight,” Madeleine said with a gentle smile. “Melchizedek’s influence is increasing.”

Julia nodded and squeezed her sister’s hand. Four? She scanned the crowd. You could pick a Stranger out right away. Beside a man who must be her husband, the lady from Jim Bell’s office was wearing slacks, for goodness’ sake, and even a necklace. Several of the Elect women were trying hard not to stare. She glanced at the couple from Alma’s apartment building, now shaking hands with Melchizedek. The man’s hair was too long and his wife’s too short, and their faces had a closed, uncomfortable look that the faces of the Elect lacked. However, the Spirit worked miracles. With God’s help they would see their need to conform to the image of Christ, and begin dressing to fit in.

Julia struggled against an upswell of guilt and inadequacy. She had never brought anyone to Mission in her life. Madeleine brought lots of them. Even Derrick and Claire had brought friends from school. It was an unspoken measure of your worthiness when you brought people, so what did that say about her?

Maybe she could disappear gracefully, she thought as she emerged onto the sidewalk outside. Not that anyone would notice, with all the new lambs to—

The streetlights glinted off chrome and Julia stopped as though she had run into a plate-glass window. The man behind her ran into her back and let out a surprised breath. “Sorry, Julia,” he murmured, stepping around her. She was too dismayed to answer.

Ross Malcolm was sitting on his motorcycle at the far end of the parking lot. Cold streaks of light gleamed on the straight lines of the machine’s exhaust pipes, curved into infinity on the front wheel and the headlights. No one could possibly miss him.

Oh, no. Please tell me he’s not waiting for me. Please don’t let him see me.

The parking lot was brightly lit. Julia wished she could melt back into the safety of the hall, but the stream of departing people edged her farther out into his line of sight. “The biker at the Mission” would be fodder for the gossip lines for days. It would rate a paragraph at least in people’s letters to their friends. Madeleine brought visitors to God. But what did Julia do? Caused a scandal with a biker.

She dodged between two cars, her head down, clutching her Bible case as she had clutched the paperbacks in the bookstore.

“Julia,” he called.

The flock of old ladies spilled out the front door, chattering. Derrick was right behind them, craning his neck, looking for her. Behind him she caught a glimpse of Owen’s red-gold hair. What would they say if they caught her speaking to him? The evening air felt chilled and clammy on her cheeks.

You’re thinking of yourself again. She stopped, gripping her Bible, as the thought came to her, almost as if a voice had spoken in her head. She was. She was reacting in exactly the same way she had before—with human instinct instead of godly compassion. Well, the still small voice had spoken. Cost what it may, she had to listen.

Ross rose from his lazy position on the seat of the bike, and crossed the parking lot with the loose-hipped, rocking swagger that boots gave a cowboy. She leaned weakly on the rear fender of her car. He ought to know better than to walk like that. He ought to know that she couldn’t speak to an Outsider at Mission, in front of everybody. No matter what the Spirit told her, she was never going to live this down. Never.

The old ladies had caught sight of them now. Alma Woods’s eyes were so big that a rim of white showed around her muddy irises. Her mouth opened to give the alarm as she grabbed Rebecca Quinn’s elbow.

Ross closed the last few steps between them. “Hey. What’s the matter?” His leather jacket creaked.

“Nothing,” she replied, her mouth dry. Blue jeans never looked like that on Derrick. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

Alma had the attention of three of the others, now. Even Rebecca looked horrified as she tried to steer the fizzing little group away from Julia and over to their cars. Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted in a stark question: Are you all right? The whole crowd was looking their way now, people gawking over their shoulders as they hesitated beside their cars.

“I just came over to say hello,” he said, leaning a hand on the roof of her car and cocking one hip as though he were prepared to stand there and discuss it for the rest of the night. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, of course not, it’s just that—”

“Julia, is there a problem?” Melchizedek called from the doorway.

Ross braced a hip on the side of her car and crossed his arms. Beyond him, Melchizedek made his way over to her, followed by Derrick and Owen. Expressions of serious concern fought with disbelief. No one had ever made such a scene at Mission. Owen’s gaze searched hers, telegraphing the same message as Rebecca: Are you all right?

“No,” she answered Melchizedek reluctantly. To the outside observer, Ross Malcolm hadn’t done anything wrong—just walked across a public parking lot to speak to her. To an insider, it was the most scandalous thing to happen in Hamilton Falls since Rita Ulstad had deserted her husband for the man renting their downstairs bedroom seven years before. How on earth was she to think about his pain and his soul when he could cause so much agitation with so little effort?

Melchizedek lifted his chin and regarded Ross Malcolm, caution mingling with his sense of duty. He extended a hand. “Melchizedek,” he said, infusing the name with the authority of the law and the prophets.

Owen moved forward to ally himself with the Shepherd, and shook Ross’s hand as well. The contrast between their conservatively cut suits and Ross’s denim and leather was so extreme that Julia felt the hysterical urge to giggle. She bit her lip and let Melchizedek take control of the situation.

“Are you a…friend of Julia’s?” Melchizedek asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes conveyed his doubt.

Ross leaned on Julia’s car, his big body separating Julia from her protectors, his casual stance somehow conveying possessiveness. “We’ve met.”

Melchizedek and Owen glanced at each other, and Julia could practically see the uncertainty telegraphed between them. Where did they meet? How does he know her? What does he want?

Mark McNeill joined them, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at Owen, who shook his head. Behind her father, Julia could see Elizabeth surrounded by her best friends, watching them with sympathetic horror. She could just imagine what her mother was thinking.

“You came too late,” Melchizedek went on. “If you’d come a little earlier, you could have joined us inside.”

“I was here,” Ross replied easily. “But I made a bad guess on the time. I heard you singing and figured the service was over.”

Melchizedek seized on his last words. “Next time, don’t wait out in the parking lot. Come in. We start at seven.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” Ross said. “I’ll take you up on it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Good night, Julia,” he said in a soft voice, as if they were intimate in some way, and sauntered off across the parking lot.

The Devil tempted her to stare. And she lost.

The Elect scattered for their cars. Not for worlds would they embarrass Mark and Elizabeth with a flurry of questions, thus betraying their own lurid interest in the scene. The details would be common knowledge by tomorrow. They could wait.

Elizabeth advanced toward the little knot of men standing around her daughter.

“Julia, why don’t you and Melchizedek come to the house for coffee and cake?” she asked in a cordial tone that only the most foolish person would fail to recognize as an order. Ten yards away, Ross fired up the motorcycle and its throaty roar drowned out her next sentence. Every head in the parking lot turned as he rode the gleaming machine out the driveway, paused to check for traffic, and accelerated loudly up the street.

“What did you say, Elizabeth?” Melchizedek asked, staring after him.

“I said, I think we could all use a little calming down.”

Chapter Six

Julia had never been in a courtroom in her life—she’d never even received a traffic ticket—but sitting in the defendant’s chair must be something like this. She had tried to escape attention by helping her mother pass her treasured bone china teacups filled with decaffeinated coffee to their guests, but Owen and Melchizedek had isolated her in a corner of the living room so neatly and politely she didn’t realize they’d done it until it was too late. Julia sat in the upholstered corner chair, Owen on the sofa next to her and Melchizedek on a dining-room chair he’d pulled up on her other side.

“This Ross Malcolm looks like an interesting man,” Melchizedek said in a friendly, noncommittal tone, selecting a slice of cake from the china tray Elizabeth offered at his shoulder.

“Yes,” Julia said, sipping hot coffee, hiding behind the teacup. Her mother never served coffee to the Shepherd of her soul in an everyday mug. The Shepherd deserved every family’s best in return for the sacrifice of his life for their souls.

“Do you know anything about him?”

“No.”

“He said you’d met,” Melchizedek persisted, his face intent. “Where was that?”

“At the bookshop.”

Melchizedek and Owen exchanged a glance. She’d made a mistake. Both Shepherd and Elder were used to the Elect telling them everything—usually far more than any human being had a right to know about another. The Shepherd was marriage counselor, psychiatrist and social worker all in one, his only training the guidance of the Spirit of God. At any other time Julia would talk to Melchizedek with loving respect, as if he were an uncle. He expected her to have nothing to hide. Anything held back from the scrutiny of the representative of God must by definition be something wrong.

She cleared her throat and put her teacup down with a tiny clink. “He came in last Friday to buy a book and talked awhile with Rebecca about poetry. I saw him once after work, too. He wanted to have a cup of coffee.”

“Did he?” Melchizedek said, his eyes on her above the rim of his cup. The delicate piece of porcelain looked ridiculous in his big hands, hands that held their salvation. “With you?” Melchizedek exchanged another glance with Owen. “But he came to Mission. Has it struck you that it’s what you have in your life that might attract him, not you yourself?”

Only a self-centered person would think the question insulting. She really had to learn to conquer this fault. It seemed to be cropping up all the time lately. She needed to focus less on herself and more on others, as the Spirit had told her. “Claire seemed to think so,” she ventured.

Melchizedek looked past her with a faraway expression. “I wonder.”

Owen spoke up. “Do you think you might see him again?”

Julia floundered for an answer. She was sure of it—for some reason she couldn’t explain, Ross Malcolm wanted to spend time with her. She could see where Melchizedek’s questions were leading, though. She felt like a kayaker in a swift river, backpaddling frantically to avoid committing herself to the waterfall up ahead. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered finally. Melchizedek was frowning at her long hesitation. “He just turns up.”

“Do you feel comfortable with him? Safe?”

Julia choked down a mouthful of tepid coffee. Safe? Who could feel safe around someone who wore jeans to make women look at him instead of to work, like any sensible man? “I…don’t think he would assault me, if that’s what you mean,” she replied cautiously. “But I don’t know anything about him.” She paused, remembering. “Well, he did say he’d lost his wife recently.”

Melchizedek looked pleased. “I knew it! He is seeking spiritual comfort. Julia, if you see him again, and he asks you for coffee or something, would you go? Think what it would mean to him to hear about the Lord’s work.”

Anyone else would say yes without hesitation. There must be something wrong with her. “I…I don’t….”

“This is serious, Julia,” Owen put in. He put his cup and saucer down and leaned toward her. “If he misses his chance of salvation, it could be on your head for all eternity.”

“It looks like you have a heavy responsibility in this,” Melchizedek agreed. “God has chosen you for this work out of all the Elect in Hamilton Falls. It’s a tremendous privilege. Are you able for it?”

The coffee had dried out the inside of her mouth. Though the room was warm, a chill crept into her hands and feet. “I don’t know,” she whispered. A piece of apple-sauce spice cake sat on the side of her saucer. The thought of taking a bite, of feeling it stick to the roof of her mouth, made her ill.

“I feel it in my heart,” Melchizedek said. “Think of the service you can render to the poor man. And to the Elect. A man who drives a motorcycle as expensive as that one may feel moved to make sacrifices for God’s work in gratitude for comfort in his loss. Remember, Saint Paul commended the liberality of the Corinthians because it meant furthering his efforts in the mission field.”

Julia nodded wordlessly. Satisfied, Melchizedek and Owen finished up their coffee and cake, and turned their chairs to include the rest of the room in general conversation. As soon as she decently could, Julia slipped out of the living room and took refuge in her old bedroom down the hall.

Her mother had cleaned out any evidence of the teenager who had left it, and turned the room into a second guest room. Julia sank into the easy chair next to the window and covered her eyes with one hand. She’d only have a few minutes of blessed solitude to regroup and regain her composure before someone came to find her.