Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(4)

Noah soon discovered that Virgin River’s Communication Central was located right next door to the church—at Jack’s Bar. Jack was a very nice guy who seemed to know everyone and everything. He quizzed Noah briefly about his denomination, education, what plans he had for the church, and that was all it took for the entire town to be informed. Noah had expected some rude jokes and at the very least some good-natured ribbing about being the pastor who bought an old church on eBay, and he hadn’t been disappointed. But it also seemed the people in town were relieved to learn he was an ordained minister, since he looked pretty much like an out-of-work lumberjack; all the thin white scars on his hands and forearms from work on the boats and docks undoubtedly set him up as a man who did hard, physical labor.

Noah explained that the building officially belonged to the church but that it would be governed by a group of church elders once they were functional and had a congregation. Ownership would hopefully, in time, pass to the congregants, as they amassed and grew and gathered the funds to support it. His plans? “How about a low-key, friendly place for people to gather, support each other, worship together?” Noah had answered. “No revivals or animal sacrifices till we’re all better acquainted.” And then he had grinned.

Not only did Jack give him good press, which Noah appreciated, but in short order Jack began to feel like a friend. Noah checked in daily at Jack’s, usually having at least a cup of coffee, and through Jack he met many of the locals. And Jack’s phone was the hotline to the veterinarian. “Nate called in, Noah,” Jack reported. “That dog of yours is still hanging in there. Doing better.”

“She worth more than my truck yet?” Noah asked.

Jack laughed. “I saw that old truck, Noah. I suspect she was worth more than that when you scraped her off the road.”

“Funny,” Noah said. “That truck gets me where I’m going. Most of the time.”

Jack’s partner and cook, known as Preacher, invited Noah to jump on their satellite wireless-Internet connection so Noah could use his laptop for e-mails and research on the Net, but cautioned him against buying anything else Hope McCrea might be selling.

When he wasn’t cleaning out the church or getting himself settled in town, every other day Noah visited Lucy at Jensen’s Stables and Vet Clinic. Since the weather was warm, Nate was keeping her in an empty stall and Noah would spend an hour or so just sitting on the ground beside her, talking to her, petting her. By the time she’d been there a week it was apparent she was going to pull through. After ten days she was walking around, if slowly. “Don’t show me the bill,” Noah said to Nate Jensen during one of his visits. “I don’t want to cry in front of you.”

There was no parsonage for Noah to call home, but he was comfortable in the RV and he had the truck for getting around the mountains. He did a little door-knocking, letting the folks know he was new to town and planned to get that church going. He had hoped some volunteers would materialize to help with the cleanup, but he refrained from asking and so far no one had offered. People seemed extremely friendly, but Noah thought they might be holding off a little to see what kind of minister he stacked up to be. There was a good chance he wasn’t what they were looking for at all, but only time would tell.

He’d collected enough cakes and cookies for a bake sale. The women in town had been dropping by, bearing sweets and welcoming him to the neighborhood. Even though Noah had a scary-powerful sweet tooth, he was getting a little tired of feasting on desserts. He even gave a passing thought to holding a bake sale.

Another thing Noah did was visit the nearest hospital—Valley Hospital. He called on the sick and bereaved. Preaching might be his job, but bringing comfort was his calling.

Since there was no hospital chaplain, they relied on the local clergy to visit, so Noah just asked a hospital volunteer to point him toward anyone who might need a friendly visit. She looked him up and down doubtfully; he was dressed as usual in his jeans, boots and flannel shirt…He wore the T-shirt without holes. If he hadn’t had a Bible in his hand, he had the impression the volunteer would have seriously questioned him. Clearly, the pastors hereabouts must spruce up a bit before visiting the patients.

His first client was an elderly man, a real sourpuss, who eyed the Bible and said, “I ain’t in the mood.”

Noah laughed. “Since I can’t fit the Bible in my pocket, why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do. Talk, tell jokes, watch some TV?”

“Where you from, boy?” the old man asked.

“I’m from Ohio originally, most recently from—”

“No! I mean, what religion you from!”

“Oh. Presbyterian.”

“I ain’t been in a church in fifty years or more.”

“You don’t say,” Noah replied.

“But when I was, it sure as hell wasn’t Presbyterian!”

“I see.”

“I was born Catholic!”

“No kidding?” Noah said. “Well, let’s see.” He dug around in the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a rosary. He dangled it. “You have any use for this?”

“What the Sam Hill is a Presbyterian fella doing with one of those? You using those now?”

“No, we’re still sticking to the basics, but I’m a pretty all-purpose preacher. You want it?”