Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(5)

“I won’t use it,” he said defiantly. “You can leave it, but I won’t use it.”

“Sure,” Noah said. “So, what’s that you got on TV?”

“Andy Griffith,” he answered.

“All right! I love that show. You ever see that one when Barney had the motorcycle with the sidecar?” Noah moved into the room and took the chair beside the old man’s bed, draping the rosary across his arthritic hands.

“I seen it. You see the one where he locks himself in the cell?”

“Didn’t he do that every few weeks?” Noah asked with a smirk. “How about when Aunt Bea accidentally got drunk? You see that one?”

“Otis, the town drunk, now there’s a character,” the old fella said.

It took a while, but he learned this man was Salvatore Salentino, Sal for short. They went over their favorite episodes for a while, then Sal needed assistance to the bathroom, then he wanted to talk about his old truck, which he missed like crazy since being put in a nursing home. Next, he spoke about his grown daughter who’d moved out of the mountains and rarely came back. Then he got onto how much he hated computers. Finally, he asked Noah if he’d be back this way anytime soon because he was returning to the nursing home in a couple of days. “I could stop by there if you’d like me to, Sal,” Noah said.

“Can if you want,” the old fella said. “But don’t get the idea you’re going to turn me into some goddamn Presbyterian!”

Noah smiled and said, “Good grief, no. I just haven’t had anyone to watch Andy with in a long time.”

There wasn’t much to salvage in the old church. The pews had been removed, the appliances in the church kitchen ripped out, the pulpit, altar and baptistery gone, not an accessory in sight—all sold off when the church had closed its doors. There was, however, that incredible stained-glass 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.”