Through the Fire Read online

  Through

  the Fire

  Mystery

  and the Minister’s Wife

  Through the Fire

  A State of Grace

  Beauty Shop Tales

  A Test of Faith

  The Best Is Yet to Be

  Angels Undercover

  Into the Wilderness

  Where There’s a Will

  Dog Days

  The Missing Ingredient

  Open Arms

  A Token of Truth

  Who’s That Girl?

  For the Least of These

  A Matter of Trust

  Funny Money

  To Have and to Hold

  How the Heart Runs

  A Thousand Generations

  Home to Briar Mountain

  Flight of the Sparrows

  A Firm Foundation

  Off the Record

  A Distant Memory

  Tea and Sympathy

  The Master’s Hand

  Strangers in Their Midst

  Mystery and the Minister’s Wife is a trademark of Guideposts.

  Copyright © 2007 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to the Rights & Permissions Department, Guideposts, 110 William Street, New York, New York 10038.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.

  Scripture on page 13 is taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

  Scripture on page 144 is taken from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

  The author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920.

  Guideposts.org

  (800) 932-2145

  Guideposts Books & Inspirational Media Division

  Cover design by Dugan Design Group

  Cover illustration by Rose Lowry, www.illustrations.com

  Interior design by Cris Kossow

  Typeset by Nancy Tardi

  To all my friends at Trinity Oaks in Salisbury, North Carolina—you are an inspiration!

  Chapter One

  Kate Hanlon smoothed her skirt, straightened the buttons on her periwinkle cardigan, and adjusted the silver drop-pendant at her neck. With a sigh, she flipped down the visor mirror and fussed with her strawberry-blonde collar-length hair in an attempt to tame the frizz brought on by the mist outside the car. Then she sighed again.

  Her husband, Paul, who was driving Kate’s Honda Accord, grinned. “I can tell how close to Copper Mill we’re getting by how often you do that.”

  “The sighing or the primping?”

  He laughed. “Both.”

  “As my mother used to say, you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.”

  On either side of the narrow road, thick stands of hickories, hemlocks, ashes, and maples were just beginning to turn vibrant oranges, reds, and browns. Since dawn, when they first turned off the main highway into the hill country, a light fog had wrapped itself around the trees, causing the leaves to drip and the scent of damp, loamy soil to drift into the car.

  They had been on the road for three days, taking turns at the wheel since leaving San Antonio. The moving van left before they did, and if everything worked according to plan, it would be awaiting them at the new parsonage. Paul’s car would arrive a week or so later.

  They had hired a couple of college students from Riverbend Community, their former church, to drive Paul’s beloved old Lexus Sports Coupe to Tennessee. The boys planned to arrive soon after Paul and Kate did, though Kate worried they might have too much fun on their drive east to make it a hurried trip.

  “There’s the sign,” Paul announced, breaking into her thoughts. He leaned forward, squinting. “Copper Mill, eleven miles. We’re almost there, Kate.”

  He slowed the Accord and turned right onto a single-lane road. Within minutes they were traversing a series of switchbacks as they neared the summit.

  The fog turned into gossamer strands as they climbed, then separated into random, thin patches as the sunlight finally broke through. Paul braked as they came to a series of steep curves along the top of the ridge.

  They reached a clearing, and Kate sat forward for a better look. The view was breathtaking. Below the summit, ribbons of mist laced in and out among the hollows and ridges. Meandering streams caught the light of the morning sun, turning them into silver threads that almost appeared to be stitched along patches of forest. In the distance, rolling hills folded one behind the other like pale lavender-blue petals until they disappeared into the horizon.

  “Oh, Paul! It’s beautiful.”

  But it was the wide valley framed by the hills that caught her attention. Near its northern end was a small town with tree-lined streets and neat rows of houses laid out as if by a giant hand.

  “That must be Copper Mill.” She studied an area that appeared to be near the creek just outside town, then leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “And it must be fireplace weather.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I see a small wisp of smoke.”

  The idea of curling up in front of a fireplace in the early autumn chill pleased her. But the image was fleeting. Her thoughts turned again to her concerns about their move, especially to their new church, Faith Briar, and the families who awaited their arrival.

  She must have sighed again, because Paul asked, “Are you nervous, Katie?”

  She laughed lightly. “Aren’t you?”

  He glanced at her and grinned. His expression reminded her of their children on the night before Christmas when they were young. She laughed again. “I guess I’ll be the one to do the worrying for us both.”

  They had taken a huge leap of faith when they decided to leave their former church and make the trek from Texas to Tennessee to take on the pastorate of Faith Briar, a small church in a small village nestled in the mountains.

  Kate settled back, pulled her feet comfortably onto the seat, and turned toward her husband.

  Paul had built the congregation in San Antonio from fewer than one hundred to a membership of more than five thousand, with three Sunday services and a weekly televised program. In their first five years at Riverbend, they had moved from a storefront church to an imposing building that could seat twenty-five hundred in each service. And now Paul was taking over a church that was smaller than most Sunday-school classes in their former church. How could it possibly be enough of a challenge for this dynamic leader? Kate had also given up her job as an executive assistant—without a career of her own, would she find enough to keep her from getting bored?

  Kate’s thoughts were interrupted when Paul maneuvered the car to the shoulder to let a black-and-white SUV pass. She noticed the sheriff’s symbol on the side of the vehicle as it sped past them. The driver was a very young-looking redheaded man in a khaki shirt. The emergency lights on top of the SUV weren’t flashing, but the vehicle seemed to be in a hurry and soon disappeared around the next curve.

  “I can’t wait to see what’s ahead.” Paul steered the Honda back onto the road. “It’s almost as if we’re startin
g over again—like when we were a couple of kids fresh out of seminary.” He grinned.

  “The closer we get to Copper Mill, the more I realize how scary this is. It’s one thing to be committed to following God’s leading; it’s quite another to take those first wobbly steps into the unknown with confidence and enthusiasm.”

  “It’s only natural...”

  Laughing, she finished his sentence as long-married couples often did. “...after all this anticipation and preparation.”

  He braked at a hairpin curve as they started the steep decline into the valley, and she tried to picture their new home. Maybe it was a Cape Cod. Or a Victorian. Paul, who didn’t pay attention to such things as house exteriors, couldn’t tell her. Though it had been just a formality, Paul had flown to Chattanooga, rented a car, and driven to Copper Mill six months earlier. The church board had met with him and extended a warm invitation. He had toured the church, the town, and the parsonage, though he admitted it was dark by the time they reached the last stop on his tour.

  He’d told her the house was small. Very small. And a bit dog-eared. “It just needs your decorating touches,” he’d said. “And maybe a fresh coat of paint.”

  Small was okay with Kate. Small could be cottage-cute and lovely.

  They came to a clearing in the trees, and Kate noticed that they were closer now, and the details of the town were clearer.

  She leaned forward for a better look, her attention riveted to an area just outside town. “Paul!” Her heart did a staccato beat.

  He gave her a worried glance. “What is it?”

  “That smoke we saw a while back?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not from a fireplace. The plume is huge. It looks like a building’s on fire!”

  Paul picked up speed, looking for a turnout to pull over. Kate tried to catch a glimpse of the fire in the clearings between the stands of hemlocks and maples. Finally, a longer stretch of open sky gave her enough time to stare at the billowing cloud of smoke.

  “There’s so much smoke, I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

  “Could it be a factory or something? Maybe it’s steam from a processing plant?”

  “No, it’s too dark. Too big. It’s a fire, Paul. And now I see an orange glow in the smoke.”

  Her heart dropped as the sounds of sirens came up suddenly behind them. Paul immediately braked and maneuvered the Accord onto a narrow shoulder.

  Sirens blasting and lights flashing, two fire trucks sped by, followed by a large EMS van. The wail of sirens faded into the distance as the vehicles made their way down the switchbacks toward Copper Mill.

  “They must be from Pine Ridge,” Paul said. “I know Copper Mill has a volunteer fire department, but when they need help, they call on Pine Ridge.”

  Kate nodded, recognizing the name of the larger town they had passed on their way to Copper Mill.

  Through the trees, Kate could see thick black smoke rising from somewhere just outside town. Sick at heart, she turned away as Paul steered the Honda back onto the road, tires spinning gravel and dirt. He picked up speed and raced down the mountain, rounding the corners, tires squealing. Within minutes he closed the gap between the Accord and the emergency vehicles and followed them toward Copper Mill.

  Kate held on to the seat, knowing her husband’s pastoral heart: he would let nothing get in the way of reaching those in need of help.

  The fire trucks slowed and turned onto Mountain Laurel Road, which ran parallel to a creek. Up ahead, flames leaped into the sky above the orange-red smoke.

  Before the trucks had even come to a stop at the burning building, the firefighters had already jumped to the ground. One immediately directed traffic away from the fire and waved Paul and Kate down Smoky Mountain Road.

  As Paul inched the car into the smoke and ashes, Kate coughed, her throat stinging and her eyes watering. The stench of wet smoldering embers and acrid smoke drifted toward them.

  “I hope no one’s hurt,” Paul said, his voice low. He drove down a couple of side streets and reconnected with Mountain Laurel Road. Turning right, he headed back toward the densest smoke. The burning building was just outside downtown Copper Mill on a lush tree-lined street.

  “There, up ahead! I see people...Look, Paul! It’s right in front of us.”

  He hurriedly parked, and they jumped out of the car, grabbing their jackets before slamming the doors. They ran up the sidewalk to where dozens of people stood, young and old, alone and in groups, horror and disbelief showing on their faces.

  Paul suddenly stopped, looked at Kate, and then to the burning building. “Oh, Kate.”

  Kate squinted through the smoke. Flames had almost swallowed the building, but above the uppermost tongues of the roaring fire rose a steeple. Delicate. Fragile. Vulnerable. About to be engulfed in the inferno.

  Her eyes watered, but this time it wasn’t from the smoke.

  The official letter from the church board asking Paul to consider a call to pastor Faith Briar had been written on church stationery. A photograph of the beautiful old church had graced the upper left-hand corner. The steeple was distinctive, its historic bell proudly described below the picture in a paragraph relating the church’s history.

  Kate’s knees went limp, and she grabbed Paul’s arm to steady herself.

  “No, it can’t be,” she whispered. “It can’t be our church!”

  Chapter Two

  It’s Faith Briar,” Paul said. His tone was filled with a sadness Kate knew reached deep into his heart. She followed his gaze to the top of the steeple as it became completely engulfed in flames.

  A loud crack was followed by a dull clanging thud as both steeple and bell toppled.

  Around Paul and Kate rose cries, deep and sorrowful, almost as if a death had just occurred.

  Kate took Paul’s hand and squeezed it. After meeting her gaze briefly, he took a deep breath, then turned to the people standing around them.

  “Please, I need your attention for a moment,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony of spraying water and the shouts of the firefighters. “Are any of you part of the Faith Briar congregation?”

  Slowly, people turned toward them. At first they frowned, then a slow dawning of recognition showed on a few faces.

  An older man with a thin, wiry build moved slowly toward Paul and Kate. “You’re our new pastor,” he said, leaning on a walking stick. He was bald except for a fringe of white hair above his ears. “I met you when you flew out to look us over.”

  Paul reached out to shake his hand. “Yes, I remember. It’s good to see you again.” He turned to Kate. “And this is my wife, Kate.”

  “Name’s Joe Tucker,” he said. “Welcome to Copper Mill.” He cleared his throat, his eyes watering, and turned to look at the still-flaming building. Others had gathered round now, and everyone seemed to be talking at once.

  Joe held up his walking stick to get their attention. “If you didn’t get to meet him before, let me introduce the man God knew we would need at this very hour.” He gestured to Paul, then turned back to the clusters of parishioners standing nearby. “This is our new shepherd,” he said, blinking rapidly, “though it seems his flock is in great need of a—” He choked up and couldn’t finish.

  Paul stepped up and patted Joe on the back. “Folks, no matter how dark this day seems, God is with us.”

  “But we’ve lost everything! I mean, look at it. There’s nothing left.” A petite middle-aged woman shook her head slowly. A man standing next to her circled his arm around her shoulders. Two teenage boys—one looking big enough to play pro football—stood nearby, staring at the scene across the street, seeming too stunned to speak.

  A man who appeared to be in his early thirties was standing a few feet away from Kate. He stared at the fire in disbelief, tears visible behind thick eyeglasses that magnified his eyes. He was trembling. “What will we do?” he said, then his voice dropped to a whisper. “This church...not this
beautiful little church.”

  “I can tell you what we’ll do,” another woman said. Even though she appeared to be in her early seventies, she was wearing heels and a faux leopard-skin coat. She cuddled a tiny bug-eyed Chihuahua in her arms, keeping her chin high and her shoulders back, as if taking personal charge of the tragedy’s aftermath. She glanced at Paul and Kate briefly, almost as if they didn’t matter, then turned back to the gathering crowd. “As a member of the church board, I say we march right over to the fire captain and ask how this could have happened.”

  “This is not the ti—” Paul began.

  She shushed him and kept talking, raising her voice even louder. “We need to find out why this happened and place the blame where the blame belongs. We need to examine the evidence, find out who saw the fire break out, and if they noticed anyone suspicious around.”

  This time Paul spoke more forcefully. “There’s no need for that right now. The fire department will look into it, I’m sure. And local authorities—the sheriff and his staff—will launch their own investigation.”

  The woman dismissed Paul’s words with a flutter of her French-manicured fingernails and, high heels clicking, started toward the fire chief near one of the trucks. “Yoo-hoo,” she called out as she sidestepped puddles and stretched-out hoses. “Yoo-hoo...”

  “You’ll have to forgive her,” Joe Tucker said. “She sometimes acts as if Faith Briar belongs to no one but her. She has a good heart, but...” he began, then obviously thought better of what he was about to say. “Her name’s Renee Lambert.” He smiled as if he might actually be fond of the woman. “And her mutt’s name is Kisses. She never goes anywhere without him.”

  The petite woman who had spoken earlier smiled at Kate and Paul. “This wasn’t the welcome we’d planned.” She looked across the street at the clouds of smoke. “We were going to have a luncheon for you in the fellowship hall tomorrow.”