Chapter 1

The two-bedroom cottage was quaint. Faded red bricks, with a chimney jutting from the roof, it was home and ensconced in the slight dip at several feet from the towering building that housed the Russel Baptist church, affording complete privacy.

There was a white picket fence surrounding the small yard and summer flowers were already in bloom.

It was approaching 9.00 p.m., but the sun was persistently and firmly outlined in the middle of a sky that had changed from the brilliant teal blue to a kind of darker hue tinged with gray and white puffy clouds.

The humidity was heavy, the air still, the surrounding trees scarcely moving their bright green leaves as if completely depleted of energy.

It had been that kind of day and even at this time of the night, the heat was still lingering. The weather report had predicted late afternoon showers that were going to last through the night.

She had been delayed at the church office due to a crisis with a member who had lost her only son to a tragic accident just two days ago. Cassandra had stayed back with Pastor James to help alleviate the woman's crushing grief.

The meeting had been interspersed with wailing from the woman's family and grieving moments from the pastor and herself. Chad had been attending the church since he was five years old and was the same age as herself.

Cassandra had felt the crushing sadness because she had been close with the young man. They had gone through Sunday school together and only recently; the entire congregation had celebrated his moving to California to start a brand-new job in a well-established law firm.

Blinking back the tears, she stopped to inhale the freshly budding coreopsis she had been babying for several months. All around the blaze of colors, ranging from red, orange, yellow to mellow green and delicate lavender and purple made for an incredible ambience.

This was her oasis. She had made the cottage her own and had been told by the board to do whatever she pleased. There were almost no restrictions, excepting that she could not have male visitors over. As if that would ever be an issue.

Plucking off a dead leaf, she gave the plant a last approving look before climbing the steps of the front porch. She had brought over leftovers from the social that had taken place earlier, so there was no need to prepare a meal. It was Friday night, which also meant she could sleep in late tomorrow and do some housework at her leisure.

Placing her tote on the table next to the porch swing, she slipped out of her sandals and sat on the swing, curling her feet beneath her. Pushing gently back and forth, she absorbed the heat, and the potent scent of the flowers surrounding her. She supposed she should go and heat up some of the food, but she was not hungry.

Today had been exhausting, both emotionally and physically. She had left the meeting with the grieving parent and gone into the bathroom to cry. Chad was gone. That promising young man with the ready smile and eagerness to embrace life was no more. She had stayed inside the bathroom, wiping tears, and questioning the Lord.

Pastor William had not uttered banalities. He had not used the usual cliches people confronting grief always used. Instead, he had been gentle and sympathetic and allowed the woman to talk and vent. He had prayed for comfort, which would not be forthcoming any time soon.

He could relate of course. He had lost a son two years ago to a debilitating disease and could honestly say that he understood what the sister was going through.

Pastor William was relatable, and Cassandra owed him everything. She had been the classically abused child. Her dad had died early, and her mother had become bitter and disillusioned.

She had married someone soon after, to a man she had met at the social function she attended. He had pretended to be sympathetic to her plight as a young widow and a single parent. With the acute instinct of a child, Cassandra had figured out that he was not all that he was portrayed to be.

She had tried to tell her mother, but Emma Daley had been too grateful for the help and a second chance as she thought of it as and had refused to believe that her new husband was not as perfect as he pretended to be.

Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and shook away the rest of the horrible memories. It had taken years of prayers and counseling, not only from her pastor, but qualified members of the congregation for her to start living again.

When both her mother and stepfather had died in a car crash when she was only ten, Pastor William had not hesitated to take her under his wing. With the help of his loving wife, they had taken her into their home.

She owed them everything.

The first drop of rain startled her out of her reverie and had her eyes flickering open. The sky had turned a metallic gray with the clouds covering what little blue that had been there when she came home. The porch was covered, but very soon, she knew the hard driving rain would soon have her running inside.

Pushing herself out of the swing, she collected shoes and bag and hurried inside, locking the door, and engaging the alarm. She had forgotten to put on the air this morning before she left, and the inside was stiflingly hot.

Touching the button on the panel, she waited until the cool air was permeating the small vestibule. Bypassing the living room, she dropped her keys in the dish on the entrance table and hung up her bag before depositing her sandals neatly in a corner of the room.

Padding across the dull shine of the board floor, she went into the kitchen and went straight to her window plants. She had planted mint, rosemary, scallion and thyme and the scent inside the cheerful yellow and white room was very pleasant and cozy.

Opening the window slightly, she put the potted plants on the sill, to absorb some of the raindrops, before slamming the window shut. Instead of the tea, she went straight to the wine cooler and plucked a bottle of Chianti from the rack. It had been a gift from a sister who was also her best friend for her birthday in July.

Working the cork out of the bottle, she went to get a glass and poured it halfway. She was not a drinker, because of her religion, but tonight seemed to call for some added assistance to get to sleep. She had her devotional hour coming up and she was a stickler when it comes to worshiping, especially privately.

She was not forced into her religion. She had been to college, studied art and business, and could have gone out into the corporate world. As a matter of fact, Pastor William had encouraged her to do just that.

"Taking care of you and lending our support is not contingent on you being obligated to stay Cassie." He had told her in his usual calm and matter-of-fact tone. "It's what we are here for. You are young and beautiful and somewhere out there, life is waiting for you."

"My life is right here!" She had been resolved on that. She loved the cottage and could stay as long as she wanted to.

She also loved being the secretary to the ministry, which included outreach centers, funding the various missionaries sent to spread the gospel, some of them going as far as Africa and countless third world countries.

They had soup kitchens, thrift stores, back to school programs, summer camps and various other activities. She was busy every day of her life.

Her job was not boring, on the contrary, it was filled with excitement and different issues every single day. She would begin her day with prayers and supplication as well as thanksgiving, because well - she had so much to give thanks for.

She was college educated and had a wonderful life. There might be a wedding in the distant future, she was not in any hurry. She had celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday almost a month ago and was enjoying her life.

She travelled, first with Pastor William and his wife and then when she was old enough, had gone to Europe with friends. She had seen her fair share of misery – church family dying and leaving a vacuum.

Her past still managed to rear its ugly head every now and then, but she believed in the power of prayer. She was still untouched and innocent in so many ways, but she was saving herself for her husband. She wanted children and knew without a shadow of doubt that she was going to be a great mom.

But she had something specific to pray about. Since a month ago, there was this nagging feeling as if something was missing from her life. She had been praying against the feeling of inadequacy and the void that had started to get bigger. There was also another matter – She had picked up on the tension between her pastor and his wife.

They had lost a child and that was a turning point in their lives, something that had changed them irrevocably.

They put on their best outside, but after living with them and considering her substitute parents, she knew them better than anyone else. Their only remaining child, Darla, had left home and the church as well as the faith and they hadn't heard from her in years. Taking a fortifying sip of her wine, she tried to ignore the other things bothering her.

Explosive things, something she had picked up on, discrepancies in the accounting, subtle glances exchanged by her pastor and a member of the women's ministry. She had been praying about it and seeking guidance, but nothing was forthcoming. It was as if God had taken himself out of the mix.

She knew better of course. He was always around. She believed in the Bible and his promise of never leaving nor forsaking was not just an empty gesture. He meant every word. It had to be her. Something at her church was about to break and her feeling of dread was getting even more pressing.

*****

"Janet seems completely inconsolable."

Pastor William Weeks, glanced over at her as she sat in front of the vanity mirror and rubbed cream into her unlined face. It was a nightly ritual that had become part of their lives and in the past, it had delighted him.

They had been married for thirty-five years now and had seen too much unhappiness in their lives for the marriage to stand firm. He still loved her and suspected that he would for as long as the good Lord gave him breath.

But losing two children, one to death and the other to the world had done them in. They barely spoke to each other. Private devotions had given way to long and uncomfortable silence.

They lived separate lives and no longer slept in the same bed. He had made the excuse that his sleep apnea was the cause of it, but they both knew that was not true.

He was a man of God and was going to remain that for as long as he lived. But he was tired and disillusioned. And had started to take comfort in another woman's arms.

He was committing adultery along with his other sins and he was not sleeping through the night. But he consoled himself and tried to justify his behavior by saying thar he was human.

And wasn't David in the Bible just as culpable? The man had lusted after another man's wife and taken her for himself. Yes, the consequence of that particular sin had caused devastation that had lasted for years and destroyed several lives, but he was a man, and he had tried praying, but it was not working.

"Yes." He responded briefly, turning away to take off his light sports jacket. After spending time with the bereaved parishioner, he had stepped out to visit a few sick and shut in parishioners.

He had said all the right things, even done some prayers, and left encouraging words, but it was a rite of passage, and he had been doing it for thirty years now, it had become ingrained. He could quote scriptures from memory.

"Losing a child is the most difficult thing a mother could ever face."

He paused in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt to stare at her. She had hardly aged over the years, except for a few strands of gray in the thick coffee brown hair that was swinging loosely in a bowl cut around her cheeks. Her grayish green eyes met his in the mirror, their expression chilly.

"I am not a mother, but I can surely relate."

"Can you, darling?" Her lips moved in a facsimile of a smile as she continued to rub the cream up and down her neck. "I carried Chad for nine months and went through a very difficult birth. Sixteen hours and at the end of it, I was able to hold my baby – my perfect little boy in my arms.

It was as if the grueling hours of pain had disappeared. I went through him teething, having ear infections, a broken leg while playing little league – a toothache and several heartbreaks." She sent him a defiant look. "While you were out tending to your ‘flock'."

"I am a minister…"

"Of course you are." She waved a dismissive hand. "And I am the loving and longsuffering wife. ‘Wives, be submissive to your own husbands as unto the Lord.

For the husband is the head of the wife, just as Christ is the head and Savior of the church, which is His body.' Ephesians 5: 22-23." She smiled slightly. "I have been doing that for thirty-five years and where has it taken me?"

"Except in bed." His jaw was rigid as he finished unbuttoning his white cotton shirt.

"I cannot bear to feel you against me. I have lost my son, and my daughter is gone. You are getting on with your life because you have Cassandra, the substitute daughter."

He went still as he stared at the woman; he had been married to for more than three decades. "And there it is. Cassandra has always been a bone of contention between us. For heaven's sake Ingrid, she needed us. She had a very rough life and as children of God we are supposed to reach out and lend a helping hand."

"You did more than that!" Her usually soft voice rose sharply, eyes flashing. "You embraced her, favored her over your own flesh and blood. Darla felt it and that is why she left."

The anger hit him then and for a few seconds, he had a difficult time reining it in.

Turning around, he faced her in disbelief. She had finished creaming her skin and neatly put the bottle away with the others. It was the first time he noticed how many accoutrements were on top of the vanity.

She had never been vain, or at least, not during the first years of their marriage. She had naturally beautiful skin tone and her eyes were large and candid. Not for the first time, he noticed that they had become jaded and world weary.

"You reared that child and told me repeatedly that you never minded taking her in."

"I never did." Her small hands were clenched tightly on top of the table, so much so that the blue veins were showing. "Then I lost my son and Darla…" Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her composure. "Now, I cannot bear to see her." She whispered.

"You have given her everything. An education and now a place to call home. She is involved in every aspect of the ministry and privy to all our private matters. When you look at her, you see a daughter…" Her expression turned snide as she gazed at him. "Or is something else?"

He caught his breath at her sick implication and for a second, he realized in horror that he wanted to strike her. Not even when he was a man of the world, had he ever raised his hand to a woman. He considered such an action to not only be repugnant, but criminal.

A woman was supposed to be treasured like a prized possession and loved the way the Lord intended. But now, all he felt for the woman he had joined his life to was bitter hatred. Turning away, he picked up his clothing and strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Marching into his study, he closed the door and secured it by engaging the lock. Not that she would come in search of him to apologize. Ingrid Weeks would think that her remarks were justified.

That she was just saying whatever it was that was on her mind. Walking over to his desk, he plopped down on the chair, his entire body deflating. He was tired and sick of the life he was living.

Marjorie… A tender smile curved his lips as he thought of her. She was a comfort to him. It was wrong and adultery was a sin against God and his wife, but he could not help it.

She was there and she offered unconditional love and hope. He had lost that particular feeling a long time ago. Pulling out the lap drawer, he rummaged among the things, a Bible – old and tattered from frequent use, a book of poems written by a favored clergyman, a stack of old Daily Bread and a photo of him and his son.

Taking it out, he set it on the desk and gazed at the picture of the laughing boy, his handsome face lifted towards the upwards as if looking at something or someone, only he could see. He looked like his mother, the same shade of hair and shade of eyes.

He passed trembling fingers over the glass covering as if he could reach flesh and blood, instead of his son frozen in time forever.

Tear trickled down his cheeks and before long he was shedding tears. The harsh sobs were the only sounds in the otherwise quiet room. Putting the frame away, he shut the drawer with a snap and lifted his hand to angrily wipe away the tears.

He had railed at God and reminded him that he was a messenger of the gospel, and he had sacrificed his life to go on about Kingdom business.

And he had been repaid by losing his only son. It was ironic or symbolic that the God he served had sacrificed his only son as well, but he was not God, and he did not understand what he was supposed to learn from all of this.

Losing Chad had impacted them irrevocably. His marriage had disintegrated, his daughter had left bitter and disillusioned, and he and Ingrid were living separate lives.

Swiping at the tears, he turned his attention to Cassandra. Cassie, as she was so affectionately referred to. She was light and hope. She had been through so much and yet had managed to remain sweet and untouched. It was not just her physical beauty (and his wife was wrong about what his feelings for her were!)

She was beautiful and her spirit, her zest for life and the gospel, the way she always has a smile on her face, the light in her beautiful dark brown eyes, reminded him of angels singing.

And she had a lovely voice and a beautiful personality to go with it. She was not pretending. People loved her. The single men in the congregation were hoping that one of them would be chosen to be her husband.

He had teased her about the flutter she was causing, and she had laughingly told him that she was far from being ready. "I am much too busy to consider settling down just yet."

And she was. Cassandra was involved in every aspect of the ministry. He had no idea what he had done before she started at the office.

She was efficient and quick. He was aware that she would be a treasure in the corporate world and had mentioned that, but she had waved it away and told him she was quite contented and there was much more to life than making piles of money. "Like peace of mind and I have it right here."

He believed her because a happier person he had yet to meet. She cared about everyone and was especially gentle when it came to the elderly and the very young. They loved her. His wife was right. He loved her like a daughter and possibly loved her more than his own flesh and blood and refused to feel guilty about that.