A Narrower Mind

A Narrower Mind

Book 3 of the Hila Grant Series

By Rob Summers

Copyright 2004 by Rob Summers

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE, Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by the Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

No actual persons are represented in this book.

Table of Contents

Part 1 Into a Million Pieces

Chapter 1 The Problem of Impressions

Chapter 2 The Little Tippler

Chapter 3 Flexibility

Chapter 4 The Morning Star

Chapter 5 Inerrancy

Chapter 6 Tears Are Allowed

Chapter 7 The Obsessed

Chapter 8 Hidden Wheels

Chapter 9 A Balanced Mind

Part 2 The Debater of This Age

Chapter 10 Reading Leaves

Chapter 11 Indirect Results

Chapter 12 The Memorial Service

Chapter 13 Blending

Chapter 14 The Cell Group Campout

Chapter 15 Unbottling

Chapter 16 A Misunderstanding

Chapter 17 Devastated

Chapter 18 Wednesday Dinner

Chapter 19 The Buried Altar

Chapter 20 The Five Hundred Bibles

Chapter 21 The Cherbourg Panel

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Part 1 Into a Million Pieces

Chapter 1 The Problem of Impressions

The cuts were bad, but the filth more than the blood made Hila Grant want to leave Jen to someone else. There was no one else. The men, after carrying Jen in and locating a first aid kit that now lay on the toilet tank, had seemed to take it for granted that Hila was in charge until the ambulance would come. So they were away somewhere outside the closed door of the tiny restroom.

There was much to do. Jen’s face and bare arms were thoroughly scratched. She needed warmth, cleansing, bits of glass pulled from her skin, and bandaging. Hila started with warmth, gripping Jen by an upper arm to keep her from swaying off her place on the closed toilet lid, while turning on the sink’s hot water with the other hand. Jen was trembling from cold or drunkenness or both. When Hila could feel the water warming, she guided the girl to turn, lean on the edge of the sink, and put her bleeding, filthy hands into the flow. Jen made a small sound and exerted herself to stay in this position. This gave Hila the chance to turn away and snatch paper towels from a rusty metal dispenser. She dipped one in the water and began to gingerly wipe the crud from Jen’s forehead, while supporting her with an arm around her waist. Fortunately, Jen was a small woman. All the time, Hila listened for the first sound of the siren that would mean her release from this nightmare. She glanced down and grimaced. She would have to throw away her long gray coat. No dry cleaner could salvage it.

Beyond the door, in a bar filled with loud young people, Hila’s brother Bill was leaning in a corner with a finger in one ear and a borrowed cell phone at the other.

Yeah, at Bosun’s on Seventh Street. No, we’ve got her inside now, but come around to the back door, OK? It’s the closest to her. We’ve been looking for her for two hours, and we found her in the alley here. She could have froze to death. It’s below freezing. Huh? She’s my girlfriend. Tell ’em to hurry, she’s blood all over. A pause. Because she was rolling in broken glass. She got drunk. OK, OK… I don’t know.

He looked to Jeff Fontaine, Hila’s boyfriend, who was standing close by. Go check on them, OK? They want to know if she’s conscious.

What about the ambulance? Jeff asked.

On the way.

Jeff nodded and walked down a narrow hallway to the closed restroom door. He cleared his throat.

Hila, how’s it going?

Wonderful, she answered from behind the door. Couldn’t be better. Find somebody in this bar who has tweezers. For pulling out glass bits. And get somebody to stand outside the door and make siren sounds, you know, to encourage me.

Jeff answered with a reedy imitation of a siren.

That was pathetic.

Sorry. Is she conscious? The 911 people want to know.

Hila looked at Jen’s open green eyes in her scratched face.

More or less.

I don’t think you should pull glass out of her, anyway. Let the paramedics do that.

Yes, let them. I don’t hear that siren.

Jeff tried again.

Yeah, that’s better. I believe it now.

I’m going back to tell Bill. He’s on the phone.

So he was gone again. Soon her work on Jen’s face and arms showed her that none of the cuts was bleeding alarmingly. With several Band-Aids in place, she felt the girl had had enough of sitting up, so she helped her to the floor and sat beside her with her arm around her and their backs against the wall. Jen was still cold. Someone should have found her coat by now or brought a blanket, but—surely that ambulance would come soon?

How are you, Jen? she said, her first words to her.

Umm, the girl replied wearily.

That’s what I thought.

Jen said something she could not understand and then, Mom.

I don’t think anyone’s called her yet.

Through the rippled, opaque glass of the little window came the sound of a real siren in the March night.

Thank you, God, Hila exhaled, only then realizing that, during their time in this room, she had forgotten to pray.

Al Fontaine sat down in the Grants’ living room, that is, the good living room, the one almost never used, and looked around at its sterile perfection. The magazines on the coffee table were the same ones that had lain there six months ago when he had last visited—Smithsonians. Not the sort of thing that Anna Ellen and Len would subscribe to, but Anna Ellen had no doubt gotten them from somewhere second hand and had put them out to impress. The curio cabinet full of crystal, fancy plates, and Chinese teacups had the same purpose. Or, with the Grants, you might say they weren’t so much here to impress as to provide a defense against any bad impression. Al never wanted to let people down, so he was duly impressed and said so, about the cabinet anyway. Then he thought to ask about their son, the mental case.

How’s Bill doing?

Instead of the usual ‘fine, fine,’ Len and Anna Ellen looked at each other in slight confusion.

Oh, he’s fine, Len said presently. He’s not here tonight.

He got Hila and Jeff to take him out, Anna Ellen said, her lined face struggling to find a smile. I took the call. Mrs. Renfro was beside herself, but Len said he wouldn’t go.

This mystified Al, but he was used to being mystified by Anna Ellen. As he sometimes told his wife Sheila, the things Anna Ellen said were neither wild enough to get her put away nor coherent enough to be understood. Anna Ellen just got by.

I don’t know a Mrs. Renfro, he said with a smile.

Uh, it’s Bill’s girlfriend’s mother, Len said.

A girlfriend? I didn’t know Bill had a girlfriend.

Except as it affected church politics, Al disliked small talk. He could care less whether the Grant family atheist had a girlfriend. But because Al knew that his natural manner was cool and brusque, he was constantly working at discovering some small interest in such things.

Len and Anna Ellen were clearly uncomfortable. A moment’s reflection clarified this for Al. He should have been more tactful. What sort of girlfriend could someone like Bill attract? The boy was prodigiously intelligent but had spent his twenties, which were nearing an end, in his bedroom, parked in front of a computer screen. He was medicated for agoraphobia or some such thing and had recently achieved disability status. What woman of any worth would go near him? This girlfriend was probably a mental case herself, if not a drug addict.

Well, maybe we’d better get on to the matter at hand, he said, rescuing them from one difficulty in order to introduce another.

She’s been missing, Anna Ellen said forlornly. Her mother is so worried.

I’m sorry to hear it.Al glanced down at his very correct Sunday jacket and leisure slacks. Len—Anna Ellen—I think you know why I’m here. He let that sit a moment. They knew. Hila and Jeff not only had a date Friday night but they’re together again this evening.

He let that sit too. This wasn’t easy, but their long faces told him he would not encounter any opposition. Len and Anna Ellen were hardly confronting types, anyway. They were no doubt wishing there was an option to this conversation, but Hila herself had left them none. The previous September their daughter, who had been the River Grove Church secretary at the time, had sent copies of the minutes of an elders’ meeting to every church member. Those minutes, then two years old, she had taken without permission from confidential church records. She had done this secretly and anonymously, in order to blacken the name of Ollie Fulborne, who at the time of the mailings had been seeking to be reinstated as an elder. The girl had apparently hated the old man. She had even included in each unauthorized envelope a copied page from his diary, thinking it proved he was a heretic. Tough, caustic Ollie had indeed been accused of heresy at one time, and even of sexual harassment of some of the church’s young teen girls, but nothing had ever been proved against him.

Hila had dredged it all up again just in time to try to prevent his election. Her failure had been spectacular, for a huge majority had reinstated Ollie in November. Just before the vote, Hila had confessed to the congregation about the mailings. Then she not only had left her job as church secretary but had stopped attending River Grove as well. Her reputation among the members could hardly be worse.

All this had been hard on her parents. Their church standing meant a great deal to them, and it had been damaged irreparably. Reputation, reputation! Al knew the value of his own, and so knew the value of what they had lost. He wouldn’t wish for a daughter like that. Or a daughter-in-law.

Yes, well, that’s true, Len was saying. We told Hila, he looked to Anna Ellen for non-existent comfort, we told her that her seeing Jeff was all right with us. We know he’s a really good young guy. We feel good about her seeing him.

Al smiled and nodded his acceptance of the compliment but kept on track.

Sheila and I, he said, advised Jeff not to do this. I have nothing against Hila, but you know as well as I do that there are some heavy considerations.

They were still glumly nodding with him.

Jeff is not ready to accept our advice, he went on. He’s always gone his own way. (Pigheaded was the word he wanted to use.) And I guess he’s not the first young man to have his head turned by Hila.

There was no denying that she was beautiful. At twenty-nine, Hila had a face suitable for magazine covers and long, naturally blonde hair. Al had come to think of her as being nearly as loopy as her mother and brother; but if not for that, my, didn’t she look the part of the wife for Jeff? It was no use, though. She was a stirrer, a discontent, a troubler of Israel. ‘Troubler of Israel’ was from the Bible somewhere, he thought; probably describing one of the false prophets.

She had so many boyfriends in Indianapolis, Anna Ellen was saying, that we thought sure she’d marry one of them.

Al silently wished Hila had stayed in Indianapolis, whether married or unmarried, rather than losing her secretarial job there and returning to Viola less than a year ago.

So what do you think should be done, Al? Len asked respectfully. Al was an elder, Len just a deacon, so respect was natural.

Let’s review the situation thoroughly. They knew no one could be so thorough as he. First, Hila is not going to consider coming back to River Grove, is that right?

Yes, unfortunately (from her parents’ point of view) she would never return.

And maybe it’s for the best, Al said, meaning, as they knew, that the gossip, the opposition, the sheer hatred she would encounter if she tried would be unbearable for her, and that she would be a pain to everyone else as well. But I want you to know that Jeff is back at River Grove to stay. That means they can’t go to church together. Their relationship can’t last if they go to separate churches.

While not strictly true, this was close enough. It was more than a minor difficulty.

And then there’s the problem of impressions, he said. What will people make of it? (He meant River Grove people.) Look, Jeff’s my son and I think the world of him, but even I’m willing to admit he’s not Hila’s kind of guy. Am I right?

Jeff wasn’t Hila’s kind of guy, but the Grants did not want to say so. They did not want to say that Hila’s kind was a handsome, college educated professional with an impressive income, and not a somewhat short manager of a copy shop, a college dropout with prominent ears.

Al let their agreement be assumed. People around the church are going to wonder why this interest in Jeff, and at least some of them— he let that ‘some’ hang long enough to multiply in their imagination —are going to say she really does want back in the church and that this is her method to smooth the way.

There, it was said. Ugly, but they had to consider it. Dating an elder’s son, better yet marrying him, certainly would disarm some objections to her return.

Now I don’t believe that for a moment, he added. Maybe it’s something people wouldn’t even think of; but we’ve got to look at the possibilities. The impression may not be good.

And you and Sheila, Len said to him, that wouldn’t look too good for you either.

Al nodded quickly and moved on. You two have been through enough heartache. You don’t need gossip going around. Now I just want to say something more, and only because it has to be said. He lowered his voice. Ollie—if this keeps on— He paused. That was all that really needed to be said. The Grants could have finished his sentence for him. They may have tried to put it out of their minds, but Hila’s dating an elder’s son was sure to come to Ollie Fulborne’s displeased attention, and double-quick. Eldest of elders, the old man had the power to break the pastor and send him packing, let alone a mere deacon like Len. And Ollie hated Hila.

—well, if it keeps on, he’ll probably want to have a word with you.

This was no exaggeration. Micro-manager that he was, within a few weeks Ollie might be sitting with the Grants in that same living-room-where-nobody-lives. Perhaps he would bring other elders with him. Len and Anna Ellen, Al felt sure, would rather check in at Greenlawn Cemetery than be on the receiving end of Ollie’s intrusive questions and hawk-like stare.

Better if we’re able to tell him that it was over almost before it started, Al said. As I said, Sheila and I have already talked to Jeff about breaking it off. You do the same with Hila. Tell her that there’s no reason to think it would have lasted very long anyway, and that dropping it is really best for everyone concerned. She needs to take your well-being into consideration, not to mention her own.

Anna Ellen was nodding, ready to absorb instructions. Len looked stiff.

What if it doesn’t work? Len said. They’re not kids; they can just go their own way.

You still could have an effect if you give Jeff less than a warm reception, Al said. There’s no reason you have to make him feel welcome if Hila wants to bring him over here. And believe me, Sheila and I won’t mind at all if you give our kid a cold dose of reality. You have our permission, sure.

He felt considerable doubt that the mouse-like Grants would carry out this advice, but it couldn’t hurt to give them the chance.

But the main thing is to use your influence with Hila just to end this speedily. The church has been in a time of healing for several months now. Tell her that she could be reopening old wounds. Appeal to her as a Christian to spare you, and others, considerable pain.

They would try, he could tell that. As to how well they would succeed with headstrong Hila, well…. But he was a man who never left undone anything that could be tried. He had made the pitch. Who knew? It might work. Sheila would be pleased that he had tried. Ollie—he almost shuddered at the thought of explaining Jeff’s apostasy to Ollie—well, he could at least tell Ollie that he had recruited Len and Anna Ellen, that he had done everything possible. Not good enough, but at least it gave him something to say. Sheila thought that his position as elder, after thirteen years, was fairly solid. Al was not so sure. He wished he had a little ammunition against Ollie, just in case, but he had nothing.

Al made a suggestion that they pray together before he would leave, and he led in prayer for Hila, for Jeff, and for the River Grove Community Church.

Conversation now changed to lighter topics: the local college basketball team’s invitation to the NCAA tournament and the uneasy outlook for the stock market. As he had planned, Al waited until he was almost out the door before asking the Grants not to mention this visit to Hila or Jeff. They understood. Not a word.

The next day Hila and Jeff met for a lunch at the Nation’s Center Café, which was about halfway between the downtown offices where they worked, Hila as a temporary secretary with the Derrick Printing Company, and Jeff as manager of the Mirror Image Copy Shop. Both were yawning, having stayed late at the emergency room until Jen had been released, still only half sober, to her mother.

Jeff was in his usual work attire of slacks, collared shirt with no tie, and athletic shoes. With his long hair, he looked like a latter-day hippie who had made an unsuccessful attempt to face the adult world. In his fair face were very dark eyes which now, as usual, looked faintly worried, as if he had left his car in front of an unpaid parking meter. She had begun to think that this appearance of anxiousness was a false impression, for his voice was always remarkably calm.

They discussed Jen’s prospects without much optimism. Jeff would have liked to see her checked in at the Morningstar Mission, where he was a once-a-week lay preacher; but Jen, like Bill, was an atheist, so that seemed ruled out. Nevertheless, they decided to visit her together that evening and make an attempt to persuade her.

Let’s see if we can get her away from her mother’s and over to the Coffee Cave, Hila suggested. She likes the place, and besides, if she walks out on us, well hey, we’ll be in a coffee shop, which I like.

This was an attempt to steer toward a specific dating atmosphere with Jeff: relaxed and quiet, yet public enough to invite social interaction.

We can give it a try, Jeff said, but maybe she doesn’t want to appear in public looking like she does.

Right, I hadn’t thought of that.

Anyway, that reminds me that we haven’t talked yet about how we’re going to spend our times together. I have some ideas.

So he was ready to steer things. That was probably good. Though a year younger than Hila, Jeff sometimes seemed to her to be several years more mature. Certainly he had the ability to patiently assemble information while withholding judgment; she had already seen that. Only then did he make decisions. Hila tended to rush both to conclusions and to action.

We can only improve from now on, she said, with reference to their two evenings together so far. Friday we were half the time driving around with the Vortgerns’ kid, and last night it was search all over town for Jen and then take her to the hospital. Maybe we can have a normal date soon.

I don’t want normal if it’s just getting together for dinner or a movie, he said. Actually, I don’t think we should do this the regular way at all. It’s better to be in real situations like we have been. Look at how much I’ve been able to learn about you in the last few days.

More than she had wanted him to. But then, he had already known that she had a way of making trouble in church. He had not been attending River Grove when she had lied and deceived her way into disgrace there, but his parents had no doubt told him everything. Then on the day of their first date—just three days ago—she had stolen a portable communion altar from Dawn Vortgern, the de facto leader of the house church she had been attending. She had repented of it and had returned it the next morning, but that did not erase the deed. And it was no use pleading that Dawn had used the altar for cult-like purposes. Theft is theft. Jeff knew all about this incident too.

But for all that, and against the warnings of his parents, he had told her Saturday that he wanted to continue seeing her. No mystery in that. Though neither of them mentioned it, she was sure that her looks had carried the day. She was used to controlling relationships on this basis and had long since stopped feeling guilty about it. Attracted to Jeff’s solid, Christian character, she was fortunately able to keep his attention despite her own less-than-solidity. That was not bad, it was good. It meant that he could learn all about her and still never give up on her; it meant that he—her thoughts raced to the conclusion—would marry her.

For over the weekend she had abruptly decided that he was the one for her. She knew few people who seemed to have a deep trust in God, and Jeff was one of them. No frills, no defenses. Add to it that he was smart, and dryly witty on occasion, and that she liked the way he looked. He never took a superior attitude. He gave everyone, even their waitress today, the same patient attention. Yes, she wanted to be around him permanently. Of course, she might be wrong about him, but if she was ever to get married, she must take a risk. She wanted it over and done with. Soon.

So what sort of irregular dating do you have in mind? she asked.

Low key. And involved with other people. For instance, if you were to start coming to my Bible study cell group on Wednesday nights. Before you say anything, this isn’t a River Grove group I’m talking about. I know you’re through with River Grove. But when I left the Lamp Church, I kept on attending one of their cell groups with some friends of mine. We would just see each other there, not before or afterward, except maybe driving to and from.

This didn’t sound much like dating, but she nodded. Sure, I’d like to meet your friends.

Their orders arrived, and they spent the next minute situating plates and sampling their egg salad sandwiches. Then they agreed that he would pick her up Wednesday and take her to the cell group, which met in a house outside of town.

There’s another thing that would be cool, he said, although it’s not something we could do together.

She saw a wild logic in this. If a ‘date’ at a Bible study group was good, then total separation could only be better. Sure. She kept her face impassive.

What’s that?

The Lamp Church has support groups for adult children of dysfunctional families. I go to one. You could get into one of the women’s groups.

She was aware of such groups’ existence but had never considered herself a candidate for membership. Her family was normal, more or less. Or at least if her family wasn’t, she herself was. Close enough anyway. Oh, whatever.

I don’t need that, she said with a smile.

Uh—actually you do, he said. You need it a lot. He shifted uneasily and his eyes looked like he was thinking about that parking meter. You’ve got a lot of depression and anger you need to deal with.

She did not want to reply, so there was an extended lull while they just ate. How did he know? Was it as obvious as that? Or had he been listening to amateur psychoanalysis provided by his parents, or perhaps by her former friend Jane Burson, also a River Grove member? But not even Jane knew that Hila, in November, had been so brimful of depression and anger that she had wanted to kill herself. Well, that was over. She had gotten better, and the last thing she needed was a touchy-feely, support group expecting her to bare her emotions to all.

A practical thought intervened. Going to such a group did not necessarily mean opening up to them. Jeff would not be there to observe, and she had confidence in her ability to stonewall them while participating in a general, a distanced, sort of way. But then why do it at all? Simply because she wanted to please Jeff.

Do you really think so? she said. Believe me, I’m under control. I probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. But I could visit and see, I suppose. When he looked at her questioningly, she added, It’s not my sort of thing, but I don’t want to pre-judge it. I’ll give it a try on your say-so.

That’s cool, that’s good. He still looked surprised. You can always change your mind, but I hope you don’t. His voice changed tone to indicate a slight change of subject. Look, I know this is a little weird, but let’s just keep it at that for now: the cell group, and the children of dysfunctional families group, and—well, if you ever want to come out to the Morningstar Mission with me on a Friday night, then that too.

What would I do there?

"Nothing much. Just