Forbidden Falls. Робин Карр
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window at the front of the church. It was an amazing, valuable work of art.
The first thing Noah had done when beginning the cleanup was borrow a ladder from Jack and tear the plywood off the outside of the church. The daylight revealed a far larger and more beautiful stained-glass window than he imagined a poor church could afford, and he was surprised it hadn’t been removed and sold or transported to another church. When he stared up at it, it gave him a feeling of purpose, of belonging. It was an image of Jesus, white robed, arms spread, palms out and accessible. On his shoulder was a dove. At his feet a lamb, a rabbit, a fawn. In the setting sun the light caught the eyes of Christ and created a beam of light that shone down into the church; a path of light in which he could see the dust motes dancing. He had no prie-dieu kneeler, but he would stand in front of that beautiful creation, hands deep in his pockets, staring up at the image and repeat the most beautiful prayer he knew. The prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi. Lord, make me an instrument of your peace….
By his third week in Virgin River, Lucy had been released into Noah’s care. Dr. Nathaniel Jensen gave him Lucy’s bill, and Noah folded it in half, stuffed it in the pocket of his Levi’s and refused to look at it until he had Lucy home. When he looked at the statement, he grabbed his heart. “Really, I should be able to drive you,” he said to the dog. Lucy licked his hand. “Remind me to keep my eyes on the road when I’m driving through the mountains,” he said.
Lucy was still a long way from being a frisky pup—she was on a special recovery diet, along with vitamins and antibiotics. She was a black-and-white border collie, maybe a bit of something else in the mix, and she had the most beautiful, large brown eyes that could look very pathetic and sad. Noah purchased a soft dog bed that he carried from the RV to the church office to accommodate her lingering aches and pains. Preacher agreed to fix a special chicken-and-rice meal for her twice a day, since Noah’s cooking facilities were a bit restricted in the RV. Lucy could manage the three steps up to the bar porch, where she took many of her meals, but she had a terrible struggle getting up the stairs to the church office. Noah usually ended up carrying her.
What with the community outreach, caring for Lucy and the slow progress on the church cleanup, Noah realized he was going to need some help. So, once the phone line was installed, he advertised for a pastor’s assistant. He fielded many more calls than he expected, but once he’d answered a few questions about hours, pay and benefits, most of the callers said “they’d get back to him.” The duties weren’t typical—there would be cleaning and painting, as well as setting up an office—and he guessed the callers found the work too hard. He made appointments for three women who hadn’t bothered to ask questions. With Lucy settled on her pallet beside the old desk that had been left behind, he prepared to interview the first round of candidates.
The first was Selma Hatchet, a portly woman of sixty who walked with a three-pronged cane. “You the pastor?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, rising. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Please, have a seat,” he said, indicating the chair that faced his desk. When they were both seated, they proceeded to visit a bit. The lady had raised a family and a couple of grandkids for her working daughter, done a great deal of volunteer work, and had been quite involved in the Grace Valley Presbyterian Church for the past twenty years.
“Mrs. Hatchet, this position will evolve into secretarial work, but right now it’s going to be a very physical job. I not only need help organizing an office and library, but scrubbing, painting, spackling and probably a lot of heavy lifting. It might not be what you’re looking for.”
She stiffened and lifted her chin. “I want to do the Lord’s work,” she said tightly. “I’ll willingly carry any load the Lord entrusts me with.”
Noah briefly wondered if Mrs. Hatchet thought he had workmen’s comp for when she threw out her back or took a tumble off a ladder. “Well, that’s admirable, but in this case the Lord’s work is going to be dirty, messy and the only praying will probably be for Bengay.”
He saw her to the door with a promise to be in touch.
The next applicant looked physically better suited to the hard work ahead and she was more than willing to pitch in, no matter how difficult or dirty the work. Rachael Nagel was in her midforties, a rancher’s wife who’d done her share of lifting and hauling, but she was a little scary. She had that pinched look of disapproval and began questioning him before he could get a word in edgewise. “You’re not going to be one of those liberal preachers, are you?”
Liberal was just about his middle name. Noah’s father was all about fire and brimstone, hell and damnation, and was probably the main reason Noah was not. “Um, I’ve been considered liberal by some, conservative by others.
Tell me, Mrs. Nagel, do you by chance play the piano or organ?”
“Never had time for anything frivolous with a ranch to run, but I raised seven children with a firm hand. I can make sure the doctrine of the church is followed to the letter.”
“What a wonderful gift,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You oughtn’t keep a dog like that in the church,” she pointed out. “You’re gonna end up with problems.”
“And where do you suggest I keep her?” he asked.
“Since you don’t have land, you could get an outdoor kennel. Or tie it to a tree.”
Noah knew right then Mrs. Nagel wouldn’t work out.
His third applicant was Ellie Baldwin. Noah was sitting behind his desk when she walked into his ramshackle office. He paused before managing to get to his feet to greet her. She looked young, early twenties at best. And tall—almost six feet—without her shoes and hair. Most of that six feet was legs, which were sticking a long way out of a short flouncy skirt, her feet slipped into high-heeled sandals. She had very big hair, a ton of coppery curls that were streaked with gold and that fell to her shoulders and down her back. Not only was her yellow sweater tight and revealing, but a little bit of her purple bra was showing at the low décolletage … on purpose. This was a look he’d been seeing for a while—this showing of the bra, a push-up bra no less. He couldn’t deny it was a lovely sight, but he didn’t usually see this immodest style in a church.
She had a crinkled-up piece of newspaper in her hand. “I’m looking for Reverend Kincaid,” she said.
“I’m Noah Kincaid. How do you do?”
“You’re—”
“The pastor. And you must be Miss Baldwin.”
Her eyelashes were thick with black liner and mascara, her cheeks rouged, her lips red and glossy, her nails long and painted blue with sparkles, and a glance down those long legs revealed the polish on her toes matched her fingertips. She smiled at him when she came into the room. Then she turned away abruptly to take the gum out of her mouth, though he couldn’t tell where it went. But the image of her smile was immediately tattooed on his mind—it was beautiful. Also hopeful. But what was she thinking, coming to a job interview in a small-town church dressed all honky-tonk? And he thought, Aw, Jesus. Why me?
He stuck out his hand, hoping a wad of gum wouldn’t be left in it. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks,” she said. “Have you filled the job yet?”
“I have a couple of promising applicants. But let’s talk about the job,” he said. He had a twinge of guilt—no way could he, a single minister of thirty-five, hire someone like this. People would never understand. Or worse, they’d assume they did understand. This interview was going to be a waste of time.
“Awww, is that your dog?” she asked, smiling down at Lucy.
“Meet Lucy,” he said. At the sound of her name, she lifted her head.
“Is she really old? She looks very tired.”
“She’s recovering from a bad accident. I found her by the side of the road and, presto, I became her new owner,” he said. “The job,”