And the Shofar Blew by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online

had to be a jack-of-all-trades. Though his father had laughed at the idea, Paul had enrolled in carpentry and plumbing classes. His skills would come in handy here.
    The high, octagon-shaped pulpit was the most impressive thing in the sanctuary. It was to the left of the altar area and high enough that his voice would carry even without a sound system. He was tempted to stand in it now and try it out. Samuel opened a door to the left and led him into a wide hallway. At the back were two single-stall bathrooms and a door that led into a room that had been added behind the church. The air was cold and still. “This was the nursery,” Mason told him. “It hasn’t been used in ten years.”
    When they came back out into the corridor outside the side door of the sanctuary, Samuel opened double doors. Paul’s spirits lifted as he walked into the fellowship hall. He could see the possibilities! “We used to hold cantatas every Christmas on that stage,” Samuel said. There were three classrooms along one side of the hall, and a large kitchen with a functioning stove and refrigerator.
    They exited through the kitchen and went down brick steps into a courtyard dominated by a towering evergreen. The lawn was patchy, but reseeding and some fertilizer would solve that. Six picnic tables with benches sat in no particular pattern. The handicap access ramp ran from the sidewalk along the west side of the church in through the back door to the corridor off the side of the sanctuary.
    “So, there you have it,” Samuel said, the afterglow of sunset behind his back. “There’s a lot to do.”
    Paul smiled broadly. “I’m eager to push up my sleeves and get busy.”

    Eunice dried dishes while Abigail washed. “How long have you been a member of the church, Mrs. Mason?”
    “Oh, call me Abby, dear.”
    Eunice liked Abigail Mason’s warmth, and thought she was the loveliest old lady she had ever seen, with her bright, sparkling blue eyes and her white hair pulled up into a Gibson-girl bun. She wore navy blue pants and a red tunic with a wide collar. Her only jewelry was a single strand of imitation pearls and clip earrings. Some people could wear polyester and still look elegant.
    “Samuel and I were young when we joined this church. Let’s see now . . .” She paused, leaving her hands in the warm, sudsy water. “Our son, Donny, was about Timmy’s age. Our daughter, Alice, was six. Forty years ago. Yes, I think it was forty years.”
    “Do your children still live in the area?”
    Abby retrieved some silverware from the sudsy water. “Donny was killed in Vietnam. He was a Marine, stationed outside of Da Nang.” She scrubbed the forks and put them in the rack. “And Alice moved away when she married.” She scooped up more silverware and scrubbed. “She and her husband, Jim, live in Louisville, Kentucky. We don’t see them as often as we’d like. They would love to fly out here for a visit, but, with three children, it’s far too expensive. They offered to buy us airline tickets last year, but we didn’t go.” She put the last of the silverware into the drain rack.
    “Why not?” Euny picked out the knives and began rubbing them dry.
    “Samuel likes to keep both feet on the ground.” She pulled the drain plug. “I’ve tried to talk him into taking a tranquilizer as soon as we get on the plane, but he won’t have it. Flying brings back memories he would rather forget. The last time we flew back east, he had nightmares for days afterward.” She dried her hands. “Samuel served in Europe during World War II. He was a belly gunner on a B-17.” She put the towel aside. “Why don’t I show you your new home?”
    Seeing Timmy was content playing with his cars and trucks in the living room, Eunice followed Abby through the house. Other than the kitchen with its nook, there was a living room with a fireplace and two bedrooms with a bathroom between.
    “I’m so sorry we didn’t get more done,” Abby said. “We