Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(54)
It didn’t matter now anyway. The sun slanted down from the west, no longer imbuing the window with colored light, taking even that small pleasure from her.
The church was mostly silent, but she knew she wasn’t alone. A small room sat off to the right of the pulpit. A squeaking sound from within betrayed the pastor’s presence.
He kept a room at home for prayer, study, and—as Jilo could well testify—the occasional disciplinary discussion with the young women who lived beneath his roof. The office he kept here was where he wore his public face, tending to his flock and advising them in their times of trouble. Yes, as with all men, there were two sides to Pastor Jones—the public and the private. As much as Jilo resented him at times, she held it to his credit that the side he showed to the public was, if anything, less perfect than the one he showed at home. He saved his best for those closest to him. That grudging respect was tempered by the annoyance she felt toward this man. So why, out of all the places on God’s green earth—she paused a moment to ponder her odd choice of words—when she felt her lowest and most confused, had she been drawn to the one place he was certain to be?
The squeak sounded again, and Jilo could make out the rumble of a chair’s coasters gliding across a wooden floor. She raised her eyes to look at him the moment he came to the doorway. If his face had shown the slightest surprise at her presence, if he had asked what she was doing there, why she’d come, she would have jumped up and bounded down the aisle. But he said nothing, and his expression struck her as one of quiet relief, the lines on his face smoothing at the sight of her. He came down the steps, and after standing off to the side for a moment, circled around and took a seat on the pew behind her.
“I see you girls as my children, you know. We both do, Sally and I.” He rarely referred to his wife by her Christian name, preferring to speak of her as Mrs. Jones, like she was an extension of himself rather than a person in her own right. “I shudder to think of where I’d be without my Sally,” he said, almost as if reading her mind. “I could no more do without her than without . . . well, let’s just say that without her, I doubt that I would be.” A moment of silence passed between them, but it was nothing like the angry awkwardness of the times they’d spent sitting across from each other with locked horns.
“When she found me,” he continued, “I was a broken man. I know what it means to be as low as a man can get and still draw breath. The White King,” Jilo’s ears pricked up at the name, as she used to hear folk whisper about the “kings” from time to time back in Savannah. She had no idea how such an odd bit of superstition could have gotten its start. “He nearly had me. But Mrs. Jones, she found me, and she patched the pieces of this raggedy man back together.”
He fell silent, and for a moment, Jilo felt as tempted as Lot’s wife to cast a backward glance. “I know you think I am behind the times,” he finally said. “A creature of another era. I understand. In your shoes, at your age, well, undoubtedly I would have seen myself in the same light. It’s right that the young move us forward. It’s necessary. But sometimes that desire to buck the past can be dangerous and reckless. If I seem to hold on to my ideals too tightly, know that it is because I have walked up many a slippery hill. However you see me, remember this when you are appraising my character; I’m not a strong man, but I do care for you. I would like to think that in time, you’ll come to see that. I hate that we so often find ourselves facing off like adversaries.”
Jilo didn’t look back, but she nodded in agreement. This time she wasn’t tempted to turn. Speaking face-to-face might break the fragile spell that seemed to hold them in this place of peace, of understanding. “Why didn’t you?” she said, then, realizing that her thought had been elliptical, added, “Have children. Of your own, I mean.”
His reply came slowly, causing Jilo to fear she’d overstepped, but then he sighed. “We tried to have children, Sally and I, but it wasn’t His will.” The pew behind her moaned as he shifted his weight. “I know she blames herself, but I think . . .” He paused. “Well, you’d think I was crazy if I told you what I think.” The pew moaned again, this time with greater vehemence. Jilo realized he was standing, and she spun around. Without quite meaning to, she clasped his hand. For a fearful moment their eyes met, but she felt at peace with him, and judging from the way he relaxed back onto the pew, he seemed to feel the same way.
“What do you care what a silly girl like me thinks anyway?”
He smiled and shook his head. “You might be surprised by how much I care.” He leaned a bit forward. “And you’re not a silly girl. You’re an intelligent young woman. A headstrong young woman . . .” he started, but held up his hands and laughed when she pursed her lips and looked down her nose at him. “You are very much like the daughter I imagine I might have had, if I had been so blessed.” She returned his smile.
What would her father have thought of this man as her guardian? Nana Wills had certainly approved, so she figured Jesse Wills would’ve, too. Her thoughts turned dark. What would her father have thought of Lionel? She knew what Nana would think. She’d kill him if she found out what they’d done.
The pastor leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the pew. “I always knew I wanted to preach the word of God. Ever since I was a little boy.” He bit his lip and squinted at her. “You see, I knew I had been called . . . chosen, if you will. Many in this world are filled with doubt, but not I, ’cause I know there is something out there. The grace of God has allowed me to see with my own eyes what others perceive through faith.” The corners of his mouth twitched up into a nervous smile. “I’ve seen His angels,” he said, “I’ve been taken up by angels. And well, they changed me. I think they did things to prevent me from becoming a father. To ensure I could concentrate on spreading the word.”