down his pant leg, then slipped the paper free and unfolded it.
Brother Jase,
I hope you’ll enjoy this treat. They can either be celebration brownies (Woohoo! The night went great! Eat chocolate!) or commiseration brownies (So things didn’t go great. Eat chocolate; it helps). I hope, for your sake, they’re the former instead of the latter.
God bless your ministry with our youth.
—Lori Fowler
Funny how her perky personality came through in the note. It was nice of her to think of him. He should write her a thank-you note or, at the very least, tell her thanks when he saw her on Sunday. And—he chuckled—make sure she knew they were celebration brownies. But for now, he had other work to do. He plucked another brownie from the plate, stuck it between his teeth, and sealed the rest under the foil. Then he set the plate on the shelf behind him. These things were addictive, and he’d empty the plate if they stayed close. He ate the brownie while gently rocking in his chair and recalling details from the kids’ introductions.
The brownie gone, he rummaged in his drawer for a pad of paper and pen, laid the paper out in front of him, and bent over the page. “Cullen,” he muttered as he wrote, “doesn’t like hot dogs…”
Merlin
Leah had already gone to bed, most likely reading while she waited for him, and Merlin should go, too. Wednesdays were long days. Counseling sessions in the morning, preparation for Bible study in the afternoon, then leading prayer and intense study in the evening. Yes, bed sounded good. But he stayed in his recliner, a watchful eye aimed out the window for Jase’s return from the church.
In his younger years, Wednesdays energized him. The way Jase had seemed tonight, all twitchy and eager to get to his office and work some more. Lately, though, the busyness depleted Merlin. Were years of pastoring catching up with him? He was close to retirement age. But lots of preachers stayed in pulpits well into their seventies. Or even eighties. Why, his old mentor, Estel Hines, who was now enjoying his reward in heaven, had led weekly Bible studies when he was in his midnineties.
No, preachers just didn’t seem to retire. Unless they had to. Merlin idly rubbed his chest. Would he have to?
Jase’s comment about the prayers of the faithful availing much rolled in the back of Merlin’s mind, stinging him. He’d decided to keep this health issue to himself. Why worry Leah until he knew for sure what was going on inside his chest? Why concern the congregation? He was their leader, the shepherd of the flock. He should bolster them, not the other way around. But was he doing them a disservice by not opening up and allowing them to pray for him?
A thought crept through his mind. If God already has life pathways mapped, does prayer change the circumstance? He’d pondered it time and again, knew all the book answers, but in his heart, he hadn’t really settled it completely for himself. Some of his congregants would probably be shocked to know that even ministers didn’t know it all. And that was part of what kept him quiet about this potentially life-impacting situation. The other part was that if he talked about this health challenge, it would be more real. He wasn’t ready for it to be real.
A shadowy figure crossed the grassy expanse between his house and the church. Merlin leaned forward for a better look. The garage’s motion-detecting light came on, illuminating Jase heading for the staircase to his apartment. Merlin sighed out a breath and pushed the footrest down. Jase was home, safe and sound. All was well. With Jase, at least. Time for bed.
Wichita
Kenzie
Ruby opened the door for Kenzie at the fabric shop on Thursday morning, then put her hands on her hips. “Well? Any responses?”
Kenzie nodded. She slipped off her light jacket and wrapped it around her everyday fanny pack. “Quite a few. More than I expected so soon.”
“Any likely prospects?”
“I’m afraid not.” Kenzie crossed to the counter and put her pack and jacket bundle in her cubby. Only three days and already the new email address was starting to get junk mail, which meant more to sort through. But she wouldn’t complain if the post actually connected her with the ring’s owner.
Ruby followed her, tapping her chin with her finger. “Well, if you’re getting responses, there’s no sense in boosting the post. Eileen was willing to