Nothing Sacred
Author
Tara Taylor Quinn
Reads
16.0K
Chapters
20
Harlequinđ° Historical
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
âLOVE IS A REMARKABLE thingâŚ.â The manâs voice droned on and Martha Moore pulled out her notepad and pen.
Eggs.
Milk.
Cerealâfor Tim.
Granolaâfor her and the girls.
Lunch meat.
Chips. Tim had finished up the last of them the night before while watching reruns of Upstairs, Downstairs on Masterpiece Theater.
It was a show she and his father had watched when it originally aired. Theyâd had sex for the first time after a particularly moving episode.
Damn Todd Moore.
âWhen youâre loving others, you donât have to worry about what anyone else is thinking or doing.â
Glancing up from her list, Martha almost snorted at the new preacher.
âBecause what you give will be reflected back.â
Yeah, right. Get a life. She gazed skywardâpast the good-looking man standing to the left of the pulpitârather than in front of it like his predecessor. No flashing lights or threatening noises came from above at her lack of reverence.
Just checking.
âWhat are you doing?â Shelley, her sixteen-year-old daughter, whispered irritably. Shelley had recently developed an attitude that Martha found challenging, to put it mildly. âSomeone might see you.â
Biting back the words she wanted to say, reminding her daughter with a look that she was a fully grown adult with the right to stare up at the ceiling if she wanted to, Martha returned to her list.
Bread. She always forgot the bread. Probably because ever since her psychology-professor husband had left her for a twenty-something-year-old student sheâd been a bit obsessive about her forty-one-year-old thighs.
âWhen you look at everything and everyone in your life through eyes of love rather than fear, you disassociate yourself from the possibility of pain, and live, instead, with the constant assurance of peace.â
Bottled water. Martha glanced again. Was this guy for real? Walking around up there in slacks and a dress shirt with a tie that was probably real Italian silk and had more colors than the checkered and striped dinnerware sheâd drooled over in the Crate and Barrel catalogue that had come earlier in the week. Thereâd never been a preacher in Shelter Valley Community Church, or in the other churches in town, who didnât wear the long flowing robe and sash associated with the calling, and who didnât hide behind a pulpit when he preached.
Constant peace? Who was he kidding? Constant aches and pains, more like it.
But then, from what sheâd heard, the man was thirty-eight years old and had never been married. He had no family. What did he know about loving?
Hamburger.
Dryer sheets.
Boneless chicken breasts.
Toilet paper.
âThe soft kind,â Tim leaned over to whisper. He was on her other side, next to his oldest sister, Ellen. Rebecca, Marthaâs fifteen-year-old daughter, was on the other side of Shelley.
âPay attention!â
With exaggerated force, Martha pointed to the preacher. After all, her kids were the only reason she was even there.
Once, shortly after Todd had left and before sheâd landed her job as production assistant at Montford Universityâs television station, sheâd let tight finances convince her to buy bargain toilet paper. That had been the first time her son had expressed the anger that had been building since his fatherâs defection.
âYou arenât paying attention,â Tim whispered, more loudly than Martha would have liked. Raising this boy was certainly different from raising the three girls whoâd come before him.
âShe doesnât have to, stupid, sheâs the boss.â Shelley leaned across Martha to hiss at her brother. Much to Marthaâs distress, Shelleyâs youngest sibling was most often the target of the girlâs disdain.
âNuh-uh,â Tim said in a low voice. âGod is.â
With a roll of her eyes, accompanied by a dramatic flounce for all the congregation to see, Shelley settled back against the pew.
Martha looked straight ahead, pretending that all was well in Mooreville. And saw that the members of the entire congregation werenât the only witnesses to their little interchange.
David Cole Marks, the new preacher at Shelter Valley Community Church, had seen the whole thing.
She held his gaze until she realized she was behaving as belligerently as Shelley in one of her more âcharmingâ moments. Then Martha returned her attention to the paper in her lap.
Or attempted to.
The preacherâs eyes seemed to bore into her mind, interrupting her ability to focus on the list in front of her. Thereâd been nothing disciplinary in those eyes, nothing condescending. No rebuke.
Only kind understanding. And a question. As though he wanted to help.
Yeah, right. Sheâd seen that same compassionate regard from this manâs predecessorâand knew firsthand that what a person showed on the surface was no indication of what might lie beneath.
Forget the grocery list. Next time sheâd bring a book.
Â
âITâS ALWAYS A BIT of a challenge coming into a new church,â Pastor David Marks said aloud as he drove his hunter-green, two-door Ford Explorer away from his house behind Shelter Valley Community Church. With four bedrooms, the place was far too large.
Heâd stopped home only long enough for a frozen burrito after church. Heâd had a couple of invitations to dinner, but hadnât wanted to pass up the opportunityâuntil now, nonexistentâto visit with Martha Moore and her family. Her meeting his gaze during services this morning had been a first. âTrust and confidence has to be earned,â he continued.
But this time is harder.
David nodded, right at home with the small voice inside him. He used to question his sanity over that voice, making himself crazy with a need to discern its source. His own mind? Intuition? An angel? There was no way to ever prove it one way or another, so heâd finally settled on an angel. Heâd granted himself his own personal guardian angel.
âYes,â he answered, âthis time is harder.â
Why?
âBecause this time Iâm paying for the sins of another man.â
He felt the truth of those words like a punch to the solar plexus. Heâd known, of course, but never consciously acknowledged it. Never gave words to the thought.
Yes.
He turned. And turned again, slowing when he drew close to his destination. âSomething with which I am intimately familiar.â
Yes.
Peace settled just beneath his ribs as the next thought occurred to him. âAnd that makes me the right man for this job.â
Yes.
With this acknowledgment, the uphill struggle of the past six monthsâvisiting home after home, seeking out people in their own surroundings, trying to break through the defensive walls that prevented him from doing his job as effectively as possibleâceased being such a drain on his emotional energy. âThank you, Angel.â And you can kick me for taking six months to ask, he added as a silent afterthought.
Youâre welcome. He was sure the angel was laughing.
David was laughing at himself, too, as he pulled into the driveway of his most standoffishâand yet, he suspected, one of his neediestâparishioners that Sunday afternoon in January.
Heâd been trying to pin Martha Moore down to a visit since heâd arrived in Shelter Valley the previous summer. Today, heâd finally been given a very reluctant invitationâand only because heâd finally wised up and gone through her son, Tim. That was one young man who seemed open to new experiences, willing to give a new relationship a chance.
David was looking forward to getting to know Tim better.
He glanced at the well-worn, leather-bound Bible beside him, decided to leave it there, and climbed out of his car. Later. Heâd get to the good book later.
Â
DAVID WISHED HEâD BROUGHT the book. Not because he wouldâve opened it. Or even considered reading from it. Certainly the atmosphere, even with the smell of chocolate chip cookies in the air, was not conducive to a sharing of his favorite passages.
No, facing the pleasant and completely empty smile of Martha Moore across the coffee table in her living room, David wished he had the book for purely selfish reasons. He wanted something to do with his hands.
No.
Okay, he wanted to hide behind the safety and security it represented.
Yes.
Yes. Well, angel, thanks a lot for that one. He listened while Martha told him how much sheâd enjoyed his sermon that morning. He was almost positive she hadnât heard a word of it. Sheâd been writingâand David would bet she hadnât been taking notes on anything heâd had to say.
âSo tell me, Pastor Marks, why did you join the ministry?â
âMom!â Ellen Moore, Marthaâs blond and beautiful eldest daughter, reprimanded with some firmness from the armchair facing her mother.
âMomâs just a little prejudiced,â fifteen-year-old Rebecca explained wisely. Her leggy and very skinny body was sprawled next to her mother on the couchâacross from the love seat where David sat.
âYeah, she was the one who walked in on Edwards and a woman.â Tim piped up from the floor. With his arms over his head, his T-shirt was raised, giving Davidâand everyone else in the roomâa look at the top three-quarters of the dark blue boxers he wore under the too-large khaki pants, which rested dangerously low. âSly told me her bra was undone and everything.â
Sylvester Young was one of Shelter Valleyâs most rambunctious but harmless thirteen-year-olds. From what David had seen, he was in the constant company of Tim Moore.
âShut up, twerp.â Shelley reached forward from her seat on the couch to nudge her brother with her toe.
âStop it,â Tim said, slapping at her foot. âSly heard his mother talking to Pastor Edwardsâs wife and thatâs what she said.â
âWhat she said isnât the point,â Martha insisted, at the same time leaning over Rebecca to place a warning hand on Shelleyâs knee. âIt simply isnât your business to repeat something like that.â
Knocking her motherâs hand off her knee, Shelley turned her back on Tim. And looked right into Davidâs eyes.
The belligerenceâand was that fear?âhe saw there sent a jolt to his heart. Heâd thought his job was merely to be friendly, offer a helping hand to a woman single-handedly doing the job of two people. He hadnât realized there were problems other than a family stretched too thin. His work was going to require more of him than heâd expected.
Yes.
âI donât mind your motherâs question, Ellen,â David said, including the entire Moore clan in his smile. âI became a minister so I could spend my life immersed in big-picture endeavors.â
âI donât get it,â Rebecca said, one of her long, jean-clad legs swinging back and forth.
âThings that affect lifetimes instead of just minutes.â
His words were directed at Rebecca, but he spoke to her mother. He had a feeling big-picture issues were something Martha Moore would understandâif she let herself think about them.
âWhy?â Martha was looking at him.
He held that gaze. âSo I can make lives better, bring people hope and help them find a touch of the elusive joy most of us crave.â
No.
David wasnât sure whoâd delivered the message, his private angel or his own disgusted ego. Or maybe it had been her.
She turned to the window, but not before David saw the small glimmer of disappointment in Martha Mooreâs remarkable brown eyes. This woman might want him to think she was hardened beyond hope.
But she wasnât. Not quite yet.
Still, he couldnât tell her the whole truthâwhich was what sheâd seemed to need.
A father to many because he would never, ever father children of his own, a mentor and caregiver to all as he would never provide for a wife and family, David Cole Marks had a secret to keep.
Elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands between them. âYou ever come up against things in life that just donât make sense?â he asked.
âI do.â Tim piped up again from the floor, the electronic game heâd been engrossed in now ignored. âAlgebra. Itâs stupid. Why waste time with as and bs and stuff when youâre just gonna have to stick numbers in there, anyway?â
âYou are so lame,â Shelley whispered, with a surreptitious glance at her mother.
âOf course I have.â Martha answered as though her children hadnât spoken. âMost of the things that happen donât make sense.â
âExactly.â David nodded, his eyes on her bent head as he willed her to look up at him. To engage in what might be an actual conversation. âSo instead of making myself crazy trying to find sense in senseless things, I decided to devote my energies to the pursuit of universal truths. I really believe thatâs the only source of lasting peace and happiness.â
If he was ever going to be able to influence this very jaded woman, heâd have to speak with an honest and open heart. His sincerity, his conviction, would convey the power of his message.
Her head rose, her eyes slowly meeting his. He could read intelligence in their striking brown depthsâand, after that initial second, the skepticism with which she considered his words.
âYouâre paid to say stuff like that.â
And that was why David hated being a minister. People automatically assumed that his message was the stereotypical religious platitudes. But there was nothing stereotypical about what he had to teach.
About what he believed.
âI donât know, Mom,â Ellen said, wrinkling her forehead under the cropped and sprayed blond bangs. âSure doesnât sound like the kind of thing Pastor Edwards would say.â
A compliment, indeed. David smiled at the slim teenager.
Tim, once again engrossed in his handheld electronic game, was making noises to emulate the crashes and high-speed chases he was attempting to control.
âPastor Marks.â Martha frowned at her son but said nothing to him. âPlease tell my daughter that you get paid to say these things.â
Okay, he had his work cut out there. âI get paid to preach,â he said. âI donât get paid to believe.â
Even Shelley was listening to the exchange.
Martha sat back, arms crossed over her chest, and such a clear I-told-you-so expression on her face that he couldnât bite back his next words, in spite of his better judgment.
âAnd I do believe.â
âPoint to the pastor,â Shelley said under her breath.
Martha sat forward. âSo what about before you joined the ministry?â she asked.
Heâd left that part of his life behind. Forgiven himself. Forgotten.
âI graduated from high school,â he said, repeating the story by rote. âI went to college, got an undergraduate degree in social work, took a job with a private corporation, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. A friend of mine jokingly suggested one night that if I was so filled with lofty ideas, I should have studied theology. His words struck a chord that wouldnât be silent.â
âCool,â Tim said. âSo you became a minister then?â
David grinned at the boy. âAfter three years of intense study, yes.â
Martha stood. âYes, well, itâs been niceââ
The phone on the end table beside Rebecca rang. The skinny young teen with the pitch-black hair in a ponytail handed the mobile receiver up to her mother.
With scarce intimate knowledge of this family, there was no way for David to guess who was on the other end of the line, receiving Marthaâs pleasantly delivered message that her children were busy and couldnât come to the phone. But if he were a betting man, heâd bet last weekâs entire paycheck that the caller was not in her favor, despite her friendly tone. Before the phone had rung, Martha had been concluding Davidâs visit.
The sudden whiteness of her cheeks only heightened his curiosity.
âOh,â she said, turning her back on the curious eyes of her children. Seconds later, she admitted, âYes, theyâre here, butââ
âItâs Dad,â Tim said quietly, head lowered as he glanced up at his three sisters.
âI knowââ Martha began again. She was obviously cut off a second time by the persistent caller.
Ellen nodded. Rebecca draped her leg over the end of the couch and swung it back and forth. Motionless, Shelley sat there with no expression whatsoever. All three girls were watching their mother.
âIâm notââ
None of the kids seemed particularly worriedâother than perhaps Ellen. As she looked at her mother, her eyes filled with a warm compassion. David was beginning to associate that quality with Marthaâs eldest. None of the children seemed particularly eager to connect with the voice at the other end of the line, either.
Most interesting to David was the complete change that had come over the woman whoâd topped the list months ago as his hardest sell in his new job. She was assertive, at least on the surface, but there was a vulnerability, a lack of self-confidence he didnât recognize at all.
Heâd felt drawnâno, guidedâto her from the beginning. Compelled by the sense that she needed help she would never ask for. Her current reaction strengthened the inner resolve that had kept him trying, in spite of no success, for months.
âFine. Youâre right.â David was surprised to hear the words. And even more startled when Martha turned and, without another word, passed the phone to Ellen.
âIt was good of you to come by.â She spoke to David immediately, loudly enough to camouflage at least part of her daughterâs telephone conversation.
He stood, taking the hand she offered. But he wasnât ready to be dismissed so easily.
Or to leave when there might be a crisis unfolding. âYouâve got your hands full here,â he said. âIâve got two very able onesâand some free time.â
Her expression distracted, Martha shook her head. Pulled back her hand. âIâve been managing this brood just fine for more than four years, Pastor Marks. But thanks.â
Behind her, Ellen, lips pinched, gave the phone to Shelley, whose dark spiked hair was a sharp contrast to her timidly offered hello.
âI donât mean to imply that you arenât doing a terrific job,â David said, returning his gaze to the woman trying to get rid of him. He refrained from reminding her that heâd asked them all to call him David. âJust that Iâm here and Iâve found that almost everyone can benefit from a lightening of the load sometimes. Iâm quite proficient at mowing grass, fixing cars or even seeing that thereâs dinner on the table if you ever have to be too many places at once. And I can help out on very short notice.â
Head turned slightly to the side, Martha was obviously attempting to hear both conversations at onceâthe one in which she was engaged and the one going on behind her. Shelleyâs voice had grown even softer than Ellenâs. Mostly she appeared to be listening without saying much at all.
âNot usual duties for a preacher,â Martha remarked, although rather than sounding impressed by his efforts she seemed annoyed.
Or maybe it was just her daughterâs conversation that was having that effect on her.
âIâm also fairly adept at just listening without offering advice, if thatâs whatâs needed.â
Behind her, Rebecca flopped over to the middle couch seat to take the phone from her sister. âHi, Daddy, how are you?â
The start Martha gave was almost indiscernible.
So it was her ex-husband, just as Tim had predicted.
âI have lots of friends,â Martha told him now. âBut if thereâs ever a time when I canât reach one of them when I need help, Iâll be sure to keep your offer in mind.â
She was wearing a smile that looked painfully forced.
Rebecca had grown silent behind her. The ponytail that was almost constantly bobbing was oddly still now.
âIâd love to see Tim play ball sometime,â David said, before the boyâs mother could order him out of her houseâwhich, he suspected, was coming next. He didnât want to leave while the family was so obviously upset. There must be something he could do. Some counsel he could offer. âI used to be a little leaguer myself.â
Pushing buttons on his video device and biting his lower lip, the boy didnât seem to hear.
âHalf the town comes to see the games,â Martha said. âThere are usually teams playing every night of the week during the season. Thereâs only one lighted field in town so you canât miss it, and the games always start at seven.â She barely took a breath. David had the impression that she was trying to prevent a momentâs silence during which heâd be able to hear Rebeccaâs conversation with her father.
Not that she was having much of one. Like her two older sisters, the girl had grown very quiet. But while Ellen and Shelley were staring at their laps, Rebecca kept glancing nervously at the back of her motherâs head.
âI havenât seen you at Bible study once since Iâve been here,â he said then, realizing the inanity of the comment as he spoke the words. He was really grasping.
And more determined than ever not to leave until he knew that this single-parent family was going to be okay.
âI quit going almost a year ago.â
About the time sheâd found her former pastor in the arms of a married parishioner?
David knew why Martha Moore was one of his hardest souls to reach. She and her boss, Keith Nielson, were the two whoâd walked into Pastor Edwardsâs office and seen his hands fondling the naked breasts of the mother of teenage sons. The wife of a prominent Shelter Valley businessman.
Martha and Keith had taken the pastor at face value when heâd said it would never happen again. When heâd told them heâd confess to his wife, begged them to let him salvage a marriage that he valued.
They were the two hardest hit when Edwards was discovered with the same woman a second timeâin an even more compromising situationâand forced out of a job heâd held for decades.
Edwards had lied to her. To the whole town.
And, in his own way, David Cole Marks was guilty of the same thing.