Solomon's Grave

follow that belief all his life. Now and then, she had considered giving herself over to the God he served, become “born again” to coin an over-used and, she guessed, often misunderstood phrase. Do it for Nate, give him some hope that she wasn’t going to burn up in the netherworld when she died. In a way, she’d considered acting as a wife might, supporting her husband in his passionate ventures.

Of course, she knew it would be the most hypocritical thing she could do. Nate had freely given himself to the Christian life. Because he believed. Her faith would be a sham, a charade. If Nate’s God wanted her to believe in him, then he would know her nature required something more tangible than words in a book or preachers crying on an altar, begging her to come forth and receive a mysterious holy spirit. Those might be extreme examples, but they were part of the nature of Nate’s world. Concrete evidence wasn’t necessary for him, outside of his own consideration for how God works. He was someone who believed—who needed to believe—in things in a certain a way. She was certain if God ever tried doing anything tangible like speak to him through a burning bush, Nate would have a nervous breakdown on the spot. She smirked at that image.

A burning bush, however, or a quick parting of the Wachusett Reservoir, was exactly what Elizabeth needed. She didn’t think she deserved it, nor was she asking for anything of the sort. All she wanted, right now, was Nathan Dinneck by her side. She knew this, all of it, was a mistake. Sly comments across the table tonight, pledging her love without saying anything specific. The overwhelming pull she felt for this man, after all these years, was too strong to resist. Strong enough that she’d broken up with Josh over it. Stupid reason to do so, considering Nate had been out of her life at that point, presumably forever. Now, she was glad it happened.

Maybe they’d been meant to be together, she and Nate. Or, maybe this evening together was nothing more than the work of fate. Not the three-hags-toiling-over-a-cauldron kind of fate, but simple good fortune. Of course, Nate would call it an act of God.

The phone call didn’t sound like it was going well. Nate was pale, looked like he was going to start crying. Not sure if she was stepping over some invisible line—he was doing church business, after all—she nonetheless reached over and took his hand. He did not look at her, but squeezed her hand in return and did not let go. A lone tear dropped from his eye. This definitely wasn’t good. She decided to pay more attention to the conversation.

“Thank you,” Nate whispered into the phone. “I’ll come over tonight. I’m sorry, what? OK, then. I—” He paused, closed his eyes tightly, sending more tears down his face. “I’m sorry. That’s fine. I’ll come by first thing in the morning.”

With a shaking hand he thumbed the cell phone off. Teardrops fell onto the number pad before he closed the cover. He let go of her hand and fumbled to return the phone back to his coat, apparently thought better of it and flipped it open again.

“Nate, what happened? What’s going on?”

“I have to call someone. I’m not sure. I mean, oh God....” He turned until both elbows were on the table then put down the phone and covered his face. His shoulders shook as he cried. He made no sound. Elizabeth shifted her chair sideways and put an arm awkwardly around his shoulder. She wanted to shake him, ask what had happened, but didn’t. He’d tell her. He’d certainly tell her before making any other calls. She lifted the discarded phone from the table and moved it out of his reach.

He was a minister now, the man in charge. He needed to get his emotions out with her first until his head was clear.

She thought all this reflexively, realizing with only a touch of irony that she was already falling into the role of Pastor’s Wife.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Nathan felt empty. When he thought he might be able to pull his hands from his face and talk rationally to Elizabeth, he pictured Reverend Hayden’s face. The quiet, almost sorrowful look when the minister had gotten into the car and been driven off three days ago. Then the wave of sorrow was too strong, too painful. He cried again. He never was one to do this loudly, even as a child. He simply shook behind his hands. The dampness of his tears fell down his face and dripped into his open collar.

He lowered his hands and sighed, long and heavy. Elizabeth’s arm, draped across his back, was more comforting in this moment than he could ever explain to her. He didn’t have to, since she squeezed him harder.

Reverend Hayden was dead.

How could such a horrible thing happen? Why did it happen?

“Nate?”

He wiped his face with a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He kept one handy, used for various despondent parishioners with whom he might speak. He took another deep breath, then said, “Reverend Hayden was found this evening. He’d dead.”

“What? Nate, what...” She didn’t finish, only stared wide-eyed, waiting for further explanation.

And the explanation was simply too terrible to accept.

“The police are saying, um, well, that he was murdered. Someone shot him and left him at the edge of the property.” Saying these words caused his body to seize up, assaulted by a renewed attack of shock.

The silence stretched between them. Once he’d spoken the words out loud, they didn’t seem real. Ralph Hayden couldn’t have been murdered. He was in a monastery, for heaven’s sake. Nathan looked at the table top, feeling Elizabeth’s arm on him, and tried to understand. His legs began to bounce up and down as if by their own accord. He had to do something.

“I need to call someone,” he said finally.

“Who?”

He looked around the restaurant, hoping to see just the right person. At the table nearest him a family ate their meal in frenzied enjoyment, except for a little girl with a pair of braids who’d noticed his tears and stared with curious detachment.

The Hillcrest police had already been notified, according to Brother Armand. He would have to call everyone on the Board, the elders, Mrs. Lewis or Mrs. Zawalich. They would be devastated. God, he thought, this will be too much for them.

He sniffed, sat up straighter, stared at the table. There would be funeral arrangements, he knew. Vincent Tarretti. He could call the caretaker first. From their last conversation, Nathan knew Tarretti did not know many parishioners. He could speak with him, though, tell him the news so that if, in the telling, Nathan became lost again in emotion, those kind old women wouldn’t be burdened with it.

And it was something to do. It was action.

Of course, that was what he’d thought last time. Why did he always think of Tarretti? He’d have to call him at some point, anyway. This fact only brought more grief.

He reached across the table but couldn’t get to the phone. Elizabeth slid it closer to him. He flipped it open and looked up the number in its electronic phone list.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Tarretti, the groundskeeper. He organizes, well....” He didn’t finish the sentence, and didn’t think he needed to. As he scrolled to the number, he gave her a quick summary of his reasons anyway. He spoke half-heartedly, wondering how much of his mumbling she’d understood.

When Vincent answered on the second ring, Nathan told him the news. He was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice.

Tarretti was silent for a few seconds. Nathan heard him take in a long breath; then, as he had done during their prior conversation, the man whispered a curse as he let it out. Tarretti added, almost to himself, “God, what is going on? Please tell me.”

“I don’t understand,” Nathan said, more to remind him that he was still there. The man’s words struck a chord with him. He’d prayed the same prayer recently himself. Some unseen connection came to light, one which seemed inexplicably to stretch between him and Tarretti. Until this moment, the other oddities of his return to town had been temporarily forgotten. Now they came flooding back, try as he might to push them away. There was no connection. How could he be dwelling again on his own problems?

“I’m sorry, Reverend,” Tarretti said. “Obviously we’ll need to talk about this right away. I—” He hesitated.