“Who is this, Claire?” asks the man in glasses.
I think she might have forgotten my name, so to save her embarrassment I say, “I’m Audrey Lake, newly arrived in Astoria.”
“She came in to the Portway last night. Audrey, this is my husband, Daniel.”
I put the rest of the cookie in my mouth to free up a hand to shake. Daniel takes it with a perfunctory squeeze and an ingratiating smile. “Daniel Chandler, at your service.”
Just a hint of used-car salesman. I kind of don’t like him.
“Welcome to Astoria, Ms. Lake,” puts in the opposing reverend. “My name is Seth Takahashi. I’m the minister at the Riverside Christian Church, and you’d be welcome in our congregation.”
“Stealing souls again, Reverend?” says Daniel.
He may mean it to be a joke, but the remark seems too biting to be simply social patter. Not that I’m especially good at this type of thing myself. Still, the man had been trashing their pastor.
Takahashi says, “I care about people — about everyone here. And about Miss Harkness herself. I simply want to talk, make sure she’s aware of the message she’s sending. It’s just too easy to get off on the wrong track and make a mistake.”
I’m no expert, but this sounds exceedingly pushy and overbearing. Claire seems to think so too, rolling her eyes and putting her hands on her hips.
“Mr. Takahashi, please. Enough. You had your chance a couple of weeks ago.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I give up.” There’s a bit of an awkward pause, and he says, “Is Jason Morganstern around?”
“Why do you want him?” Claire folds her arms, frowning.
“Just to say hello.”
Daniel takes this moment to horn in. “I haven’t seen him tonight, either. And I think you’ve about outstayed your welcome, Reverend.”
“I’m telling you, Victoria invited me to come and have an open discussion after the service.”
Claire says, “As you can see, she’s not here. We should be concerned about her whereabouts, not her theology. Where is she?”
The question is rhetorical, and nobody has an answer.
The coffee hour lasts about thirty minutes. The conversation drifts to other topics, none of which I can contribute to. I’m ready to leave but don’t know how to extricate myself from the group. At last, congregants begin to filter out, talking in low tones. Daniel, who turns out to be the bookkeeper for the Church of the Spirit, pecks Claire on the cheek and says he’ll be home in a couple of hours, and to keep the home fires burning.
The Reverend Takahashi accompanies me to my car. Not that I need the escort, but he’s easy on the eyes. His face is briefly troubled, a frown marring his movie star looks. Then he shakes his head as though to cast off unpleasant thoughts, and smiles down at me.
“I meant it when I welcomed you to town, Audrey. I’m sorry if this has been a less than auspicious beginning. Please come by Riverside Christian this Sunday. I promise the leadership will be there as scheduled.”
“Thanks, Mr. Takahashi, but I’m not actually the religious type.”
“I hope I didn’t put you off earlier. I didn’t mean to criticize the Church of the Spirit. Or, I guess I did —” he flashes his smile again, this time with a bit of charming self-deprecation — and continues. “But I shouldn’t have done it at such a time, when Victoria wasn’t there to answer for herself.” He looks back toward the building. “I’m actually amazed at what she’s been able to accomplish. This is my first time here, and I’m honestly surprised to see how much support she has. The programs available. It’s like a real church.”
“What is it that bothers you, Mr. Takahashi?” I'm curious about his reaction, and about the missing pastor herself. To tell the truth, I’m feeling more lucid than I have in days, back to my old inquisitive detective persona. Who needs meds? Especially since I haven’t had any more hallucinations.
“Please, call me Seth. Or Reverend Seth, if you want to be formal.”
“What bothers you about the church then, Reverend?” Using his first name feels too casual and intimate, and I have the copper’s habit of addressing people respectfully. It’s always better to start on that footing — it’s too hard to go back.
He runs a hand through his hair, a self-tousling maneuver that makes him look like a manga character. We’ve reached my car and he leans against it. His breath steams in the chill night air.
“There’s nothing wrong with it on the surface. I’m sure Victoria is sincere — in fact, I know she is. Her mission is to — and these are her words — ‘open the way to the Spirit for everyone’.”
“That sounds very democratic.”
“It is. And I don’t deny that the Holy Spirit is available to everyone. But she goes further, insisting that the Spirit uses a person’s creative impulse to communicate, and that the best way to access the word of God is to paint pictures, or do sculpture, or produce some kind of art that the Spirit can deliver a message through.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“It starts a dangerous precedent. It gives people tacit permission to become messengers of God themselves.”
“Aren’t you one? A ‘messenger of God’?” For some reason I feel defensive of Pastor Harkness, and want to needle the Reverend out of his self-complacency. Illogical, I know.
“Yes, but —” He presses his hands to the sides of his head in mock frustration, a gesture that makes him seem boyish and appealing. I’m guessing there are many young women, and even not so young, in his congregation.
“But?”
“There’s a lot of unstable individuals out there, and many are attracted to religion. It doesn’t take much to encourage a delusional person to believe that he’s the pipeline to God, and whatever prejudices and hatreds he feels are mandated by divine decree. Pastor Harkness is encouraging that kind of independent theology.” He shakes his head
