Fallen Gods

Twenty-Four

As it happened, Alice Bierhoff was in church, on the other side of the central aisle, but not too far away for Sarah to catch her eye and throw her a look that was meant to say, Spread gossip about me, lady, and you "II wish you d never been born. But Alice, a short dumpy woman… She probably can't remember the last time she had any excitement in her life, thought Sarah as she looked at her… was either tougher than she looked, or had forgotten to put in her contacts, for she replied with a small wave and a sweet, knowing smile.

Sarah let it go at that, for she had enough on her hands with Seonaid and a restless, fidgety James Andrew. Jazz had not been best pleased when his mother had told him that the trip to the lake had been postponed, and he spent much of the service determinedly punching the thigh of his adopted brother, Mark, who had been given the task of trying to keep him under control.

Once or twice, as they rose for hymns, Sarah glanced around her, looking for a familiar face, but there was no sign of him… and he was way too big to be concealing himself among the congregation.

Finally they reached the business end of the hour, Ian Walker's sermon.

It took Sarah a while to take a grip of what he was saying, but finally she understood; his message was that while society had evolved in ways that only God could have imagined during the two thousand years of Christianity, the ten commandments still stood at the centre of the faith, and still encapsulated the values by which Christians should live their lives.

Sarah sat poker-faced when Babs caught her eye; she wondered whether the preacher's wife had suggested the theme, or even if she had let him in on Alice Bierhoff's chance discovery, and if this was his discreet way of registering disapproval.

If it was, she found it more than a little rich; she remembered, among other things, smoking a little grass with Ian in her freshman college year. While there might not have been a commandment that referred to that specifically, she was pretty sure that it was covered somewhere.

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him of the occasion as he bade his congregation farewell outside the church, but she decided to keep it in reserve. By that time Jazz was virtually uncontrollable, Mark was complaining that his leg was numb and even the obedient infant Seonaid was becoming restless. '

"Are you going to behave?" she hissed at her younger son, as Babs Walker came towards them.

"Want to go to the lake," James Andrew muttered.

"I have told you; Auntie Babs has invited us all for lunch."

"Want to go to the lake."

"Maybe later, then; maybe we'll go for a little while. Will that make you happy?"

The child's expression softened, but only a little. He whispered something that she could not hear. Gratefully she handed Seonaid over to Babs, as she arrived beside her and crouched down beside him. "What did you say?" she asked him, quietly. Still his whispered reply was inaudible. "What?" she asked again.

"I want Dad," Jazz muttered, plaintively, on the edge of tears. "I want my dad."

Sarah felt her heart melt inside her. "So did I, son," she said, ruffling his hair as she stood. "So did I. But he's had to go away."

"Hi, guys," said Babs, brightly, holding Seonaid up in the sunshine.

"My, but you're a little beauty." The blonde-haired child gurgled and smiled at the attention. "You ready for lunch?" she asked Sarah. "My boys are looking forward to playing soccer in the yard with your boys."

"Sure, but Mark might opt out of the soccer; the only kind he plays is on a computer screen. As for James Andrew, Matthew might be able to handle him, since he's seven, but Daniel might find him a little rough."

"Rough? At soccer?"

"They play a slightly different game in Scotland; and James Andrew's learned from his father. Speaking of whom…"

"It's all right," Babs broke in, forestalling her. "Like I promised, there will be no extra lunch guest. I did call Ron, though. On reflection I thought I'd better tell him about Alice… before he heard from someone else, you understand."

Sarah understood very clearly. "What did he say?"

"My dear, he used language quite inappropriate for the wife of a Lutheran clergyman to repeat, and certainly not in front of the children. Let's just say that his view of Alice is in line with your own. Now come on; let's be going. Ian will be a little while, but the rest of us can head on back to the house now."

Lunch at the Walkers proved to be a pleasant experience, even if the soccer game did come to an abrupt end with Jazz, still dour and fractious, punching Matthew, the older of his hosts' sons. "I'm sorry, Babs," said Sarah, as her friend wiped the tears from his face and the blood from his nose. "This one," she threw James Andrew a thunderous look, 'who will, incidentally, be lucky to get within a hundred miles of the lake after that, has been impossible lately."

"He's missing his dad," Mark explained, coming to his brother's defence in a way that touched Sarah, even through her anger.

"Be that as it may," she said, trying to stay severe, 'he has to learn."

"He kicked me," Jazz muttered.

Once the peace treaty between the boys had been signed, they settled down to a chicken lunch, American style, although Sarah kept tight rein on the size of her children's portions.

"I enjoyed your sermon, Ian," Sarah ventured, finally, once the four oldest children had been released to watch television.

The preacher smiled. "I give them traditional values every so often," he said. "Babs suggested it was time for another round."

"Indeed? What will it be next week? Keeping God with us on the campus? Finding Him through a haze of marijuana smoke like we used to do?"

Babs's jaw dropped. "Why Ian!" she exclaimed. "You never did, did you?"

"It's all right," Sarah laughed. "He didn't inhale either."

Her friend read the sign correctly and kept the conversation on safe ground, from then on, until Sarah announced that it was time to go.

"Mum," Jazz called from the back seat as they pulled out of the Walkers' driveway.

She knew what was coming. "Okay," she answered. "Since you said you were sorry, we'll go to the lake. We'll need to go back to the house first, though. We're all still in our church clothes, and Seonaid needs changing."

They were almost home when she saw him, driving towards her in his Camaro. She had teased him about it, asking if he had a Burt Reynolds fixation, but he had pointed out that he had trouble fitting into a Porsche. He did not slow down, nor did he seem to notice her, until the cars had almost reached each other. Then a broad easy smile crossed his face; as they passed he took his left hand from the wheel and waved. She thought that she caught a flash of something white on his thumb.

"That was the man who picked you up yesterday, wasn't it?" said Mark.

"The man who was going to fly you to the cabin."

"That's right. He's Mr. Neidholm; an old college friend and a very famous footballer "Rangers," Jazz announced.

"No," said Mark, severely. "American. He's too big to be one of our foot ballers."

Sarah smiled and wondered whether Ron would take that as a compliment.

Then she wondered why he had been there, and, if he had called to see her, why he had driven away.

One more turn and they had reached the Grace mansion. She slid the Jaguar into the long driveway, and, on impulse, stopped at her mailbox.

She stepped out of the car and swung it open. There was a white envelope inside. She took it out, slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, and got back into the car.

"Okay, boys," she exclaimed as she cancelled the alarm and let them into the house. "Lakeside clothes, please. Shorts, shirts and sandals. I'll take care of us girls and see you down here in ten minutes."

She carried Seonaid upstairs into her own bedroom and laid her on the bed, then took the envelope from her pocket and ripped it open. It contained a single white A4 sheet, a printed letter.

She whispered the words as she read it.

My darling Sarah

I'm not going to be a fool again. You mean more to me than all the Superbowl rings in the world, and all the nonsense that goes with them.

This is my pledge. If you will have me, I will finish with the game, in every aspect, here and now. I will practice law, as you practice your pathology, until it's time for us to sail off into the sunset together.

I love you. Will you marry me?

She looked at the signature. "Ron." It was scrawled, roughly, in a colour unlike any ink she had ever seen. She knew what it was, all right; she'd have known even without seeing the white flash of surgical tape on his left thumb.

"Oh damn," she whispered, feeling her knees go weak as a sudden wave of panic surged through her. "Sarah, it's choosing time."