Stunned almost beyond comprehension, Gabrielle suddenly felt faint, and she wobbled toward a nearby bench.
When Trevor joined her, she held him in her arms.
Boca Raton, Five Years Later
GABRIELLE POWERS SAT in her usual place at church, listening as one of the acolytes finished reading the Lord’s Prayer, and then the Bible passage that would provide the basis for today’s sermon. Born in Fort Lauderdale, she had been raised in the Episcopalian faith by her two loving parents. Her father, Everett, was a retired schoolteacher; her mother, Justine, had been a registered nurse.
Gabrielle watched Reverend Jacobson approach the pulpit and adjust the microphone to his liking. A large man with a thick shock of white hair, he was a recent throat cancer survivor. Although he still tired easily, his appearance remained as commanding as his voice had once been.
“As you know, I always start my sermons with a humorous anecdote that helps to illustrate the message for the day,” he began, his voice rough, not wanting to cooperate.
“And so I’ll tell you about a retiring minister,” Jacobson continued. “It seems that a mother decided to take her young son to church for the first time. Hoping to induce reverence in the lad, she chose seats in the front row. Because she hadn’t attended church for some time, she didn’t know that they had come on an eventful day. This was to be the minister’s farewell sermon. He had therefore resolved to make it full of hellfire and brimstone, ensuring that it would never be forgotten.” Pausing for a moment, the reverend allowed a dramatic silence to hang in the air.
“As the minister ranted, the boy became startled and his mother soon regretted seating them so near the pulpit,” Jacobson added. “After the service, the reverend saw that the young lad had wandered down one of the church hallways. His hands clasped respectfully before him, the boy was looking at the many portraits hanging on the wall. As the reverend approached, the boy pointed to the portraits then stared up at him with God-fearing eyes.
“‘Who are those people?’ the boy asked.
“The reverend smiled. ‘They’re all members of this church who died in the service,’ he answered.
“‘Oh…,’ the boy replied timidly. ‘Was that the nine o’clock service, or the eleven o’clock one?’”
The congregation enjoyed the joke, and their laughter lasted for some time. As she waited for her fellow worshippers to quiet, Gabrielle took a moment to admire the church that she so loved.
St. Andrew’s Episcopal was a beautiful place, its majesty impressive without being ostentatious. Like most churches, the sanctuary was its greatest attribute. A white marble altar stood on top of an octagonal podium near the far wall, its surrounding floor laden with red velvet pillows on which parishioners could kneel and take Holy Communion. The massive rear wall was crafted entirely of stained glass portraying a rather modern interpretation of the crucifixion that fostered lively debate. More stained-glass panels lay in the sidewalls at regular intervals, allowing the Florida sunlight streaming through them to grant a majestic feel to the room.
Twenty minutes later, the reverend finished his sermon. On leaving the pulpit and walking toward the altar, he prepared himself for the next part of the service.
Jacobson raised his hands. “Anyone wanting to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, or other special day, please come forward and take the blessings,” he said.
Gabrielle watched as about one dozen souls left their seats and approached the altar. She then looked to the last pew on the opposite side of the sanctuary, just as she had done on so many Sundays over the past five years.
Will this be the day? she wondered. Will he stay, or will he leave like he has always done before?
A man stood from the last row. He was tall and lean, his dark hair showing a hint of gray at the temples. As if on cue, he handed some cash to one of the ushers then departed the church.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the service was finished. After attending the coffee hour that always followed, the dutiful reverend was even more tired. Then he sighed as he remembered what his oncologist had said. You will tire easily for some time yet, but with the good Lord’s help, you’ll eventually regain your strength.
The walk to his private office took him through open gardens at the rear of the church, and then along a familiar stone path that ended at his office door.
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