The Wife. BEVERLY BARTON

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       Chapter Five

      Father Brian hung up the telephone and immediately wondered if he had made a mistake by agreeing too quickly to his caller’s request. But how could he have refused such a pitiful plea for help? Not only was it his duty to help others, but he felt a deep kinship with the oppressed, children and teens in particular, because of what he had been through as a young boy. Having been subjected to drug-addicted parents who, stoned out of their minds most of the time, had beaten him on a regular basis, he knew how truly helpless the young could feel and how hopeless their lives could be. He had run away at thirteen and lived on the streets, where he had come into contact with the vilest human beings imaginable. But a kind and caring priest in Louisville had saved his life, both literally and figuratively.

      Father James had not only taught the goodness of our Lord and Savior to Brian but had shown him that goodness in action on a daily basis. Thanks to the gentle old priest, Brian had come to realize that ministering to others, especially the young, was his true calling.

      “Please, you have to help me,” the frightened, almost hysterical caller had said. “I can’t come to you. You have to meet me. It’s the only way. If you don’t, I’ll kill myself. I swear I will.”

      His better judgment warned him against meeting his caller at a public park in Dunmore this evening, but his heart insisted that he must do whatever was necessary to save a life. The wisest course of action would be to tell Father Francis, but he knew that the parish priest would advise him against going, perhaps even forbid him to go. It wasn’t that Father Francis wasn’t a good and caring man. He was. But he was a priest who followed the rules, who adhered to the letter of the law, so to speak.

      During his brief conversation with the caller, he had done his best to persuade the woman—or was she actually a teenaged girl or boy?—to come here to the church. But no matter how sincerely he had promised protection and anonymity, she had refused. The voice over the phone had been oddly hoarse, as if the person was trying to disguise it, but he believed the caller had been female. If a male, then his voice was alto in tone.

      “No one must ever know,” she had said. “If he ever found out…” She had burst into tears.

      “Everything will be all right. I promise that I will meet you this evening at eleven. And I will do what I can to help you.”

      Father Brian had no idea who the mysterious he the caller had referred to was, but it had been apparent that she was terrified of this person. Her father? A male relative? A boyfriend? Whoever he was, he frightened her and had tormented her to the point that she was seriously contemplating suicide.

      He, too, had once known that abject feeling of utter hopelessness. The night Father James had found him huddled in a corner of the church in Louisville, his body bloody and bruised and his spirit broken, he had been thinking about killing himself. He had been fifteen years old.

      Father Brian dropped to his knees on the floor of his sitting room, folded his hands together and prayed. A prayer of heartfelt thanks for Father James, gone now these past ten years. And he prayed for the life of the person who had called, pleading with him for help. He needed God’s guidance. No matter what was going on in her life, no matter how horrible her situation, he must find a way to help her without betraying her trust. But he knew that if she was being beaten or molested, he would have to find a way to convince her to allow him to contact the authorities.

      Erin McKinley reapplied her lip gloss and blush before leaving the restroom located across from Reverend Harper’s office in the basement of the First Baptist Church. It was already after six, half an hour past time for her eight-hour day to end, but as she did every day, she would knock on John Earl’s door and say good-bye before heading home. Each day she hoped that he would notice her, would see her as a woman and not just a fixture in his office. She had been his secretary for four years and had fallen in love with him almost immediately. She simply couldn’t help herself. Who wouldn’t love John Earl? Not only was he incredibly handsome, with thick, curly brown hair streaked with thin silver strands, stormy gray eyes and a tall, athletic body, but he was a truly good man. He lived his religion every day of his life. He was kind, considerate, patient and gentle. And Erin worshipped the ground he walked on. Yes, she knew it was a sin to lust after a married man, to dream of taking him to her bed and allowing him to ravish her. But she could no more stop herself from loving John Earl than she could stop the sun from rising in the east tomorrow morning.

      She squared her shoulders, thrust her breasts forward, marched through the reception area and knocked before opening the door to John Earl’s office. She gasped softly when she saw that the reverend was not alone. He held his wife in his arms.

      Ruth Ann Harper tilted her head and smiled at Erin. “Please, come in. I just came by to pick up John Earl. He and I have a date for a movie and dinner out this evening.”

      He kissed his wife’s cheek with great affection.

      Erin stiffened, but managed to force a friendly smile. She didn’t actually hate Ruth Ann. The woman was nice enough, and she did seem to truly love John Earl. But not as much as I love him.

      Erin envied Ruth Ann, and in darker moments, when hopelessness and despair took over, she even thought about killing her. Not that she ever would, of course. But how could she ever compete with a woman such as Mrs. Harper, who seemed so perfect, always smiling and friendly, always perfectly groomed with nary a dark hair out of place? A fine wife, a good mother, a real lady. Tall, slender and elegant in that Jackie Kennedy/Grace Kelly kind of way, as if she had been born knowing all the correct things to say and do.

      Not for the first time, Erin wondered what the oh-so-perfect Ruth Ann was like in bed. Was she as perfect at fucking as she seemed to be at everything else? Or was she, as Erin suspected, a frigid ice queen? After all, the woman had to have some faults, didn’t she? And if her shortcomings were inadequacies in the bedroom, that meant that Erin had a shot at giving John Earl something his wife could not. Other than being a damn good secretary, Erin was a damn good lay.

      “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Harper,” Erin said. “I just wanted to say good-bye to Reverend Harper.” She looked directly at him, doing her best to hide the longing in her eyes.

      “Good-bye, Erin. See you tomorrow,” John Earl replied, but he never took his eyes off his wife. Having dismissed his secretary, he said to Ruth Ann, “Do the girls have plans СКАЧАТЬ