Solomon's Grave

“Oh, she is, she is.” Another wave of pride from the man. Quinn focused his will on what he would say next.

“You will not resume attendance at that church, however.” Spoken as a statement, though Peter raised his eyebrows as if having done nothing but ask a casual question.

Art looked confused a moment, and Peter felt his command sink slowly into the sand of the man’s brain. “No, no I’m not.” His brows furrowed, confused by his own admission. Something cleared in his face, and he added, “Sunday’s his debut service, though. Bev’s all but threatened me if I try to get out of going.” He smiled and shrugged.

Quinn returned the smile. “Arthur, that’s wonderful,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Of course you have to attend. Besides, you don’t have to go to any others after that. That is not something you wish to do, ever again.” This last sentence was spoken without inflection, a narrow spear thrust forcefully into Dinneck’s mind.

The clarity in Art’s face washed away. “No, that’s right. I don’t.”

Peter again forced a casual tone, one with no trace of the Voice. He laid a hand on Art’s shoulder and gave it a pat.

“Please pass along my best wishes to him. Nathan is his name?”

Art nodded.

“After all,” Peter continued, “he’s your first born. That makes him special.”

A slight worried look, then Art shrugged and said, “I guess you’re right.”

Quinn left his hand on Art’s shoulder a moment longer. “Go on back to the group and have a beer. Relax; have some fun.”

The paleness which had been creeping into Art’s face during the conversation washed away, and he excused himself. Peter watched after him, knowing the man would only remember snippets of their conversation, and then only that which was spoken in a normal tone. Still, it had been close. A parent’s love was a dangerous bit of baggage. The homecoming of Art Dinneck’s son was significant. Best keep a close eye on this man’s family, and their little church.

Chapter Five

The coffee was instant. Hayden apologized for the inconvenience, as he was a tea drinker and never had the need for a coffee maker in the rectory. “And no matter who you are, don’t think I’ll drag up one of those missile silos they use downstairs after services just for one cup.”

They sat in the pastor’s small but comfortable living room, adorned with photos of Ralph and Jean Hayden, highlights of the couple’s life together. The Haydens had no children. Nathan never knew if this was by choice. Seeing the many tributes to his wife around the room, Nathan felt a pang of sorrow that the man had no other family now except for the people of the church. It appeared to be more than enough for him.

Over the course of the day they’d briefly gone through the books in the office, his new pastoral schedule and a quick background on current patients who needed visitations at hospitals and nursing homes. Hayden wanted as much minutiae covered before news of Nathan’s arrival spread. They’d have less private time after today.

After a supper of meatloaf, broccoli, and potatoes heated in the microwave—precooked meals were supplied each week by two elderly parishioners—they’d settled upstairs. Hayden’s eyes drooped. It was nearing nine-thirty. He was obviously an early sleeper. He sipped his tea and said, “I’ve been blessed these years to have such a caring congregation, especially since Jean passed on. Having a new pastor after so long with the same shepherd isn’t an easy thing for people to adjust to. Shakes up the parish. Seeing as how you’re someone a lot of people know, the transition might be a little easier. Just try to forget that some in your flock have seen you wearing diapers.”

Nathan smiled and sipped his coffee, hoping no one pictured him that way when he gave his sermon.

“I have to say,” Hayden continued, “I was always proud of your decision. Today’s kids get so caught up in the world, even when their faith is strong. Choosing to serve God as you have seems rare.”

Nathan agreed. All his life, his own calling had never been questioned, neither by his parents nor himself. He’d always felt a burning to give his life to the church. Maybe he hadn’t always known in what capacity that would come—who did, when they were young? By high school, he knew his direction. His classmates made college plans, having only vague images of what they’d do with their lives. Whenever Nathan was asked what he planned after graduation, his reply never changed. I’m going to earn a Masters of Divinity and become ordained, run my own church someday, somewhere.

Most would laugh and say, No, seriously. Except for his best friend Josh Everson who would nod, expecting no other answer. Even Elizabeth, aside from an occasional but loving jab, never tried to convince him otherwise. In those years she had enough influence in his world that questioning his decision could have changed his path forever. The fact that, in the end, he took this path without her, was a hurt only slightly lessened over the past few years.

The old man was staring with his usual intensity. Nathan raised his eyebrows inquisitively as he sipped the last of his coffee.

Hayden’s gaze softened. “It’s good to see you again, Nate. It’s a rare thing to have a pastor emerge from one’s own parish. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to retire from God’s service.” He looked down then, not saying what Nathan assumed he was thinking. Retiring with the woman he’d loved beside him would have been one alternative. For the first time, Nathan saw vulnerability on the old man’s face.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “Do we ever truly retire from His service, Reverend?”

Hayden chuckled. “No. No, I suppose not. Even so, over the next couple of weeks, I trust you’ll pay attention.” Back to business, his voice stronger. “I’ve reserved a cell in the Christ The King monastery a few towns away, in Leicester, a sort of devotional vacation for lack of a better term.” He smirked. “Basically getting myself out of your hair for a while to let you get established. I think after whatever introduction I can offer you or the parish these next two weeks, I’ll just be in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way,” Nathan said. “Please, stay as long—”

Again the hand cut off his words. “I already have. Time for me to step aside before I start drooling all over the pulpit. You’ll have enough to keep you busy without worrying about me every day. Besides, this old place isn’t big enough for both of us. When we go over the books in more detail, I’ll show you the separate account the elders set up for me. It covers rent of a room on Grazen Street for when I get back from the monastery, plus a stipend for food, et cetera. And the fine ladies who fed you tonight have already insisted on continuing to cook their wonderful meals for me.”

Nathan laughed at the man’s smug grin. “So,” he said, “you’re taking the cooking staff with you.”

Another dismissive wave of his hand, and Hayden used the ensuing lapse in conversation to excuse himself to bed. He directed Nathan to the couch in the living room where a pull-out bed was hidden beneath the cushions. It would be his bedroom for the next two weeks.

Nathan returned downstairs alone. He quietly wandered among the rooms, eventually finding himself at the entrance to the church-proper. This section of the house—taking up two-thirds of the overall building—was the reason for Hayden’s abbreviated living quarters. Here, the church hall rose the full two stories, looking too big to fit into the house when viewed from outside, an illusion caused by the tall stained glass windows in the front and outside walls. A spacious, calm setting. Standing with the hallway leading into the kitchen behind him, Nathan reached out and touched the edge of the sanctuary railing on his right, but did not step all the way into the church. Everything smelled and looked as he remembered from his childhood. The small altar resting against the back wall, the similarly understated podium nearer the pews. With only the light from the hall behind him, he could not make out any details of the stained glass. Come morning, the room would glow with an inspiring brilliance.

Tonight, empty rows of dark benches. His view of services would be from this perspective from now on. During the selection process for the new pastor, he was required twice to preach from this pulpit. He’d been a guest on those occasions, an amusing spectacle to those who saw him only as little Nate Dinneck, all grown up. Things felt different now. He was pastor.

Nathan stayed in the doorway for a while longer, mind blank, taking the room in, feeling it, then finally turned and walked back through the kitchen and climbed the narrow staircase to the living room. The mattress had already been pulled from the couch, a sheet and heavier blanket folded neatly atop it. He made the bed, knelt beside it and prayed. For strength, and attentiveness over the next two weeks as the man who built this church turned over his life’s work to someone else.

Nathan also prayed that, whatever the reasons God had for bringing him home, he would be able to serve