Free Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

that she still sounded weary. “You doing okay?” he said.
    “I’m fine, hon. Just wanted you to know I would be praying during your meeting.”
    “And have you talked with Rav?”
    “I can’t yet, Thomas. There’s nothing I could say that she doesn’t already know. We’ll have to talk with her together, let her know we still love her, love her unconditionally. We do, don’t we?”
    “Of course.”
    At five minutes before two, Paul Pierce burst in without knocking. “Well, look who’s working!” he said, smiling and reaching across the desk to shake hands. “Tom, Tom, the preacher man!”
    “Good afternoon, Paul.”
    “Come take a walk with me, Tom. Stuffy in here.”
    “Well, there are matters we need to discuss.”
    “I know that. That’s why I’m here! C’mon.”
    Thomas followed him out and they strolled the property. “I thought we should talk about the supervision of the other church bodies,” Thomas said.
    “All in good time. I’ve got a couple of sheets I want to show you about how I plan to supervise ’em, and I’ve got a plan for a—what do you call it?—installation service for you.”
    “For me?”
    “And for Grace. Get all the churches to come here, since we’ve got a big enough building to hold ’em, and we’ll do up a nice deal—music, tributes, eats. What do you think?”
    “Oh, well, Paul, I’m not sure that’s necessary. This work is not about—”
    “Now just let us do it, Tom. Give honor where honor is due and all that. Patricia and I will handle everything. You and your bride just show up, okay?”
    “I’ll talk to Grace about—”
    “Just be a man, Tom, and tell her when it is. She’ll love it, believe me. We’ll do it next Sunday night.”
    “I suppose that would be fine, and I appreciate it, Paul, but—”
    “And you don’t have to even prepare a message. I mean, say a few words, sure, but don’t go to any trouble. In fact, if I can be frank with you, Tom, we need to talk a little about your preaching.”
    Thomas wished he’d brought a jacket. The fall breeze was as irrepressible as Paul. “My preaching?”
    “If you can call it that.” Paul laughed a little too loudly. “I’m joshin’ ya, Tom, but seriously. I know I’ve only heard you the two times, and both times it was the same sermon. But I specifically instructed you to shorten it some for the folks at Colfax, and if I’m not mistaken, it was almost word for word what you did here.”
    Instructed? “Oh, not word for word, but—”
    “But you said yourself it was an old chestnut you’ve delivered lots of times. I got to tell you, Tom, it has a little age on it. You refer to lots of commentary writers, when people want to hear your own thoughts.”
    “Well, that’s how most preachers form their thoughts, Paul. We read, we study, we compare passages, we compare and contrast commentators and decide which we agree with, then share that with—”
    “I’m just sayin’, okay? Work at being original and tighten up your delivery. We don’t want people’s eyes glazing over, now do we?”
    “I know I’m no great orator, Paul. . . .”
    “Now there’s an understatement! Ha! I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it, Tom. It’ll work out as you settle in and get to know us.”
    Thomas stopped and rubbed his eyes. “Paul, we really need to talk about the oversight of the other congregations.”
    “I know we do. Come on in and I’ll show you my plans.”
    Forest View High School
    Just before rehearsal that afternoon, Alex North finally locked eyes with Brady. “Don’t worry,” Alex said, “I’ll be ready when you crash and burn.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Just that besides playing the lead, I’m understudying for you. Mr. N. says you’re flunking out of the play, so I’ll be ready. Who knows? I may have to play both parts.”
    Flunking out? Nabertowitz actually told him that?
    “What’re you, nuts? Most of your scenes are with Birdie, you