Endless Chain

This was at the core of every one of his sermons. He was less interested in proclaiming ironclad answers to life’s questions and narrowly interpreting scripture. Those who needed a longer list of dos and don’ts, or weekly promises that their way was the only way, had moved on to other churches. For every family he lost, he gained several more.

On the Sunday after the fiesta, he was donning a colorful liturgical stole woven in Guatemala to brighten his somber black robe. His early service had been well attended for one so late in the summer, and a peek into the sanctuary a few minutes ago had confirmed that this one would have respectable attendance, too.

He was wiggling the stole into place and matching the edges when Andy, the choir director, stomped in. He was a young man, flamboyant and outspoken, who, despite impressive credentials, had not been able to find a position in a church near his Strasburg home until Sam hired him.

“They’re murdering the Spanish on the processional! I’ve never heard anything like it.” He flopped down on Sam’s sofa, mock outrage distorting his face. He was a lanky six feet, with a collar-length Prince Valiant haircut colored a stunning orange, and large teeth with a pronounced overbite that made for a spectacular smile. “You’re sure you want us to process to that...that song again?”

Sam was used to Andy’s tirades. “‘Des Colores’ is the official song of the United Farm Workers. Did I tell you that?”

“About a million times. You’d better hope there aren’t any union members at this next service, or they’ll come after you with shovels and hoes. Oh, I got some more rhythm instruments after the last service. Somebody donated them. We’ll march with maracas this time.”

“Good, that will drown out the bad Spanish. God works in mysterious ways.”

“I just can’t believe you keep this job!” Andy got to his feet. “Off to see who shows up to sing. You know, I could have gotten a gig in D.C. They wanted me at the Cathedral.”

“We’d miss you, Andy.”

Andy grinned.

Out in the hallway, Sam was greeted by the dance director in leotards and a tunic adorned with a wide swath of brightly colored fabric. Liturgical dancers were an innovation he had encouraged, and as they headed for the sanctuary, he agreed to smooth out a transition between his sermon and the dancers’ entrance to a recording of “Amazing Grace” played on marimbas. The theme of the day was clear. The celebration of La Casa Amarilla was still in progress.

At the wide double doors leading into the sanctuary, he stood at his place in front of the choir. The sanctuary was nearly full.

As always, he said a short prayer as the organist concluded the prelude. Then he lifted his head and waited for the opening bars of the processional. He felt his traditional mixture of elation that he’d been blessed to stand in front of these good people and fear that he wasn’t worthy.

He realized, as the processional began, that today he didn’t feel sadness that he was not walking down a longer and wider center aisle to the music of the one-hundred-voice chancel choir of Savior’s Church.

* * *

Adoncia Garcia’s home was crowded with toys and furniture her mother-in-law had given her. The mother-in-law, and Adoncia’s two children, Maria, age three, and Fernando, eighteen months, were the only good things to come from her marriage to Fernando Garcia the first, who now rested permanently under a headstone on which his mother was still making payments.

Fernando had been a bad choice for both Adoncia and the woman in whose bed he’d been shot by a jealous boyfriend. Adoncia, who had been courted by half a dozen faithful, hardworking men in her home city of Guanajuato, had been blinded by Fernando’s smile and promises of a better life in the United States. Both the smile and the promises had been lies. Now she was in Virginia, and her family was in central Mexico. For better or worse, her children were U.S. citizens and her home was here.

“Maria, you put away your toys now, so we can get ready to go.” Adoncia demonstrated by dropping Maria’s favorite teddy bear in one of three bright plastic tubs along one wall. “You do it like this.”

Maria complied. She had her father’s smile and her mother’s energy. Elisa was certain the little girl would go far.

“Today is an English day,” Adoncia told Elisa, who had the day off and was letting it unfold slowly for a change. “Today we speak to the children in English only. Tomorrow, Spanish.”

“Does Diego agree to this system?” Diego was Adoncia’s boyfriend, a good-natured, intelligent man who was determined to get ahead in the world. He was the polar opposite of Fernando the former.

“Diego will do anything I say.” Adoncia made a face. “Almost anything. But he will speak English today, or I will not speak to him.”

Elisa dusted the few vacant surfaces as Adoncia moved into the connecting kitchen to do dishes from their late breakfast. She and the children had an outing planned with Diego, something she had looked forward to for days. Adoncia worked five difficult shifts each week at the chicken plant south of Woodstock in Edinburg, while the children stayed with their grandmother. The overly attentive Mrs. Garcia spoiled her grandchildren as badly as she had spoiled her son, but Adoncia made sure they obeyed the rules at home.

Fernando toddled over and raised his arms to be lifted up. Elisa settled the little boy on one hip and finished dusting with the other hand.

“The good thing about a small house is that it takes no time to clean.” Adoncia pulled the plug in the sink and let the dishwater drain out. “I should be grateful for poverty, huh?”

“After Diego moves in, you can save enough to buy a little house of your own. As hard as you both work, it shouldn’t take too long.”

“That’s what he says, only he says big house. He wants a big house for all the children.”

Wisely, Elisa said nothing.

“Many children.” Adoncia began to rinse and dry the dishes she’d washed. “A hundred children.”

“Probably only ninety-five.”

Adoncia laughed. Whenever she did, the responsibilities that weighed so heavily on her twenty-four-year-old shoulders seemed to disappear. Elisa thought her friend was beautiful. She was too plump by this country’s anorexic standards, but she had black hair that curved around her face in shining layers, and warm brown skin she enhanced with bright cosmetics and clothing. It was no surprise to Elisa that Diego Moreno had fallen in love with Adoncia the first time he’d set eyes on her.

“He would keep me pregnant until I’m an old woman, if he had his way. I tell him ‘one baby will show the world what a big man you are, Diego,’ but he doesn’t see it that way.”

“You think he’s trying to prove his manhood?”

“You know a man who isn’t?”

Elisa thought about Sam Kinkade, who twice last Wednesday had been forced to prove his. She doubted he had wanted or relished either experience.

“No,” Adoncia continued, “Diego is determined to show everyone he is a big man. In every way,” she added slyly.

Elisa laughed. “And you’ll be a big woman if you have all those children.”

“Bigger.” Adoncia pulled the elastic band of her pants away from her waist to illustrate. “Much, much bigger.”

Elisa genuinely liked Diego, who often complained of missing his extended family in Mexico, just as Adoncia missed hers. “I don’t really think he wants a large family to prove anything. I think he wants a family to love.”

“The effect is the same. Me, pregnant. Over and over. And he wants it to happen soon.”

This was new information for Elisa. Adoncia had enough stress in her life, and although she was an exemplary mother most of the time, her temper was already too short by the end of the day. “Soon?”

“Marry him, have his baby the next year. No compromise.”

“But you have your hands full, Donchita,” Elisa said, using her pet name for her friend. “He doesn’t see that? Working, taking care of two small children?”

“He says once we’re married I can quit my job, that he makes enough money to keep us happy. But I know better. We will struggle. We need a year, two, maybe even three, to make things right, to save for a house, to get Nando out of diapers. Then maybe we could have a baby of our own, even two. But no more.”

Elisa was sorry to hear that her friends were locked in disagreement about something so fundamental. “Is birth control the problem, do you think? Because there are ways that the church approves of. Not perfect ways, but better than nothing.”

“One of the problems, yes.”

“I hope you and Diego can agree about this.”

“So do I. He wants to marry just as soon as—” Adoncia stopped. “As soon as we’re able,” she finished after a moment.

Elisa realized what her friend hadn’t said. Until Elisa moved out of the mobile home, there was no room for Diego here. Right now Adoncia shared the master bedroom with her children, while Elisa slept in the tiny second bedroom.

“I’m going to look harder for another place to stay,” Elisa promised.

“You are a good friend, and I am in no hurry.”

The debate was interrupted by a crash, then a wail, from the corner by the toy baskets. Elisa spun around to see Maria surrounded by shards of the ceramic lamp that had once resided on an end table.

“Don’t move, Maria,” Elisa commanded, reaching her in three strides. She scooped the little girl against her vacant hip and away from the broken lamp.

“I’m...I’m bleebing!” Maria looked down at her hand.

Elisa whisked her to one of two old armchairs crowded in the corner. Adoncia had reached them, but instead of taking Maria, she lifted Fernando into her arms so that Maria had Elisa all to herself.

“Let me see now.” Elisa gently pried the little girl’s fingers away from her wounded palm. “Oh, it’s not so bad. Just a little scratch.”

“It hurts!”

“Well, yes, that’s good. If it didn’t hurt you might not know you had scratched yourself.”

Adoncia had turned her back on them, supposedly to jiggle the whimpering Fernando, but in actuality Elisa knew her friend got queasy at any sign of injury. Once they had seen a dying robin by the roadside, and Adoncia had nearly passed out.

“Let me get the first-aid kit,” Elisa told Maria. “Then you can help me clean the cut and put on the Band-Aid.”

“I’ll get it,” Adoncia said. She returned from the bedroom she shared with her children and presented it to Elisa, turning her eyes to her daughter’s face. “Ah, Maria, you are very brave. A good brave girl.”

Maria stopped sniffling.

“How did you break the lamp?” Adoncia asked.

“Don’t...know.”

“I bet she got her foot tangled in the cord,” Elisa said. “It would have been easy to do.”

Adoncia addressed her daughter. “I will make you an ice cream cone. Would you like that?”

“Choc-late,” Maria said.

“And one for Nando, too.” Adoncia headed back to the kitchen.

Elisa had the kit open now. She lifted Maria in her arms and carried her to the bathroom to wash her hand with cool running water. Then, back in the living room, she let the little girl guide her as she put antibiotic ointment on the shallow cut and covered it with a glow-in-the-dark SpongeBob Squarepants Band-Aid.

She finished just as Adoncia returned with an ice cream cone in each hand and the broom tucked under her arm. “I will just clean up the mess now.”

Someone knocked on the front door before Adoncia could begin. Elisa got to her feet and swung Fernando into the chair beside his sister. Then she went to answer the door, expecting to find Diego.

Sam Kinkade was standing on the porch. He wore dark pants and a gray T-shirt bearing three monkeys and the words: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for enough good people to do nothing.”

“Amnesty International,” he said, as she silently read the words. “Once I join enough organizations and buy enough T-shirts, I won’t have to give sermons.”

For a moment she didn’t know what to say, but his warm smile—all too rare when last she’d seen him—made him more approachable. “I like it.” She stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. “Please come in.”

“I don’t want to bother you. I just thought—”

“No, please come in and meet my roommate and her children.”

As he stepped inside, she saw the trailer through his eyes. It seemed more cramped, dilapidated, even more crowded with furniture Adoncia thought she could not afford to throw away. The last occupants had knocked a hole in the paneling, which Adoncia had covered with festive strips of adhesive-backed paper. The curtains had been intended for different sized windows and pinned to fit, since Adoncia had no sewing machine.

Elisa made the introductions and explanations, and Sam gravely examined Maria’s hand, despite the fact that it was now sticky with melting ice cream.

“You were obviously a very brave girl,” he said.

She thrust out her cone, to give him a friendly lick.

Adoncia blocked the thrust. “Father Kinkade will not want a bite,” she told Maria.

“Just call me Sam,” he said.

Another knock sounded, and this time Adoncia went to answer it. Diego stepped inside, sweeping Adoncia close for a kiss. He was medium height, with a wide-shouldered square body and muscular arms. His round face was brightened by a shy smile, and his short black hair stood out from his head like burrs on a chestnut.

He released Adoncia and grabbed Fernando, who had run straight for him. He lifted the little boy off his feet, tossing him in the air to the sound of frantic giggles. Rapid-fire Spanish ensued.

“I should go,” Sam said. He looked uncomfortable. Elisa wondered what made him feel most out of place. The obvious poverty here? The crowded room? The people who were now chattering eagerly in a language he did not understand?

“I’ll introduce you to Diego first.” She waited for a break and made the introduction. The two men shook hands; then Sam said goodbye to everyone and started for the door.

Elisa went with him, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her. Outside, where it was a little quieter, she let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“You must have come for a reason,” she said. “Your Sundays are busy. You must have finished with church only a short time ago.”

“I wanted to talk to you, but I should have called first. I was just heading back from the nursing home and thought I might find you here.”

“Nursing home?”

“I went after church to check your references. I’ve been too busy to do it before.”

“We can talk right here if you’d like.” Happy shrieks from inside drowned out the last word.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked.

“No, but we ate a late breakfast.”

“Do you have time to get some coffee, then?”

“Plenty of time.”

“I can wait if you need to do anything first.”

“I’ll just tell Adoncia. I won’t be a moment.”

“They seem very happy together. Already a family.”

Elisa thought he sounded wistful, and that surprised her. She thought of the struggles Adoncia and Diego faced, and Sam’s words surprised her even more.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

He nodded and started toward a mud-splattered SUV parked just in front.

* * *

Elisa had expected coffee at Arby’s or McDonald’s on West Reservoir Road, where nearly all Woodstock’s fast food restaurants congregated. Instead, they started back toward the church in Toms Brook.

“I can’t think of any place where we won’t be constantly interrupted except my house.” He glanced at her. “Do you mind? The choir is practicing for a concert, and there are at least three rental groups using the building, or I’d take you to my office.”

“You live near the church?” She thought he’d told her as much.

“Just far enough away that people have to think twice before dropping by for keys or casual conversation. The minister they built the house for made sure of that.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. He pulled up in front of a neat brick house with gray shutters and a matching wooden fence enclosing a shallow front yard. A felt banner in brilliant jewel tones hung from the front door.

“Peace,” she read out loud.

“The junior high school group made it for me last Christmas, and I can’t bear to take it down.”

The front porch was a mass of blooms in different sized and colored pots. “You like to garden.”

“Plants don’t talk back to me.” He got out and came around to open her door, but she had already let herself out.

Sam unlatched the gate and waited for her to precede him. “I’ll warn you about my dogs.”

She stopped, and he nearly ran into her. “You have dogs?”

He skirted her so he was in front. “A problem?”

“It’s just...” Her heart was pounding too hard. She took a deep breath. “No, it’s just...”

“You don’t like them.”

“No. I—” She shrugged. “I’m a little...I was attacked in...in my hometown. I had a full course of rabies shots.” She made a face. “I’m a little dog shy.”

“I would imagine you are.” Sympathy was clear in both his face and words. “I can promise these dogs won’t attack. They’re not exactly well mannered, but they would only love you to death.”

“Well, good.” She stood a little straighter. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can put them in the dog run, if you’ll just wait here.”

“No. I’d like to meet them.”

He searched her face, then nodded. “Let me go first, so I can calm them a bit.”

She did, waiting until he had unlocked the door and disappeared inside for a minute before she opened the door to join him.

She was met with a blaze of color. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she certainly hadn’t expected this. The foyer was an extension of a dining area in the middle of the house, with walls painted a warm gold. The living room on her left—a nook more than a room—was a deep sage green. Beyond the dining area was a family room painted a stormy blue. Every wall was covered with photographs, posters and paintings. The mantel on the brick fireplace was crowded with keepsakes.

Sam was kneeling on the floor just in front of a small dining-room table, his arms around two huge dogs. If the breed had a name, the name was mutt. Both dogs had patchy fur, misshapen ears, long pointed snouts. A dog about one-tenth their size was leaping up and down, trying to lick Sam’s face.

“I’ve got the big guys, but you’re on your own with the little one. That’s Abednego, Bed, for short.”

Bed spied her at that moment and ran to greet her. Heart still pounding, Elisa stooped to pet the dog. Bed was white, with large black spots, a stump of a tail and a grin. Elisa fondled her ears, and the dog wagged her entire body in response. “Abednego?”

“From the Old Testament. The Book of Daniel. Shadrach—that’s this one. Meshach—this one—and Abednego.”

“My Bible skills are rusty.”

“They were three Jews who refused to worship the golden idols of King Nebuchadnezzar, so the king had them thrown into a fiery furnace. Later, when he looked into the flames he saw four shapes there. Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego and a mysterious figure. Some say it was their guardian angel, and some say God himself. When the three men emerged, not a hair on their heads had been singed.”

“Long important names for dogs. Even large dogs.”

He turned his face from a long, licking tongue. “Shad and Shack are brothers. They barely escaped alive from a burning house and were badly singed, unlike their biblical predecessors. I took them when the owners said they couldn’t care for them or pay the vet bills, and planned to have them put down. Bed was abused by local boys who had nothing better to do last summer. I barely rescued her in time.”

“Lucky dogs, then.” She looked up from petting Bed. “Do you rescue everything?”

“It’s gotten me in trouble.”

She wondered what kind of trouble. She got to her feet, and so did he. One by one he let the dogs go, and they came to her to be petted, too. She ruffled their ears, not even needing to stoop.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay.” And she was. The dogs were no longer strangers.

“I’ll just get coffee going.”

She’d had two cups already that morning. She shouldn’t have more, but she ignored her own silent advice. “Do you need help?”

“You can keep me company if you’d like.”

She followed him into the kitchen, where a gentle breeze rattled the plantation shutters on double windows. The walls were a rich terra-cotta color, but the items on the walls were most interesting. “Lunch boxes?”

He turned from retrieving the coffeemaker from a cabinet. Clearly his addiction to caffeine was not as pronounced as hers. “What lunch boxes?” he asked with a smile.

The one wall in the room that didn’t hold cabinets had been covered with shelves. She estimated fifty lunch boxes were on display. “There are more lunch boxes here than in a school cafeteria.”

“I have even more.”

“More?”

He opened a new can of coffee. She recognized the familiar figures of Juan Valdez and his faithful mule. Even if Sam wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, at least he bought Colombian.

“I probably have a hundred lunch boxes.” He glanced at her, possibly to see if she was laughing yet.

“It’s a slice of popular culture.” She walked closer to examine some of the collection. “The Flintstones. Scooby Doo. Superman.” She leaned closer to the familiar caped figure. “That one is older than the others.”

“One of my favorites.”

“They make your kitchen come alive.”

“Thank you. I was waiting for you to ask me why I have them.”

She cocked her head. “I can only assume you eat lunch often.”

He fished through several drawers before he came up with a measuring spoon and began to scoop grounds into the filter.

“My mother and father worked hard for everything they had. There were three children, me, and my brother and sister, Mark and Rachel. We had everything we needed, but if we wanted something our parents saw as a luxury, we never got it. Lunch boxes were a luxury.”

He was telling the story without a trace of self-pity. She realized she was smiling.

He went on. “One day, when we were all grown up, Mark, Rachel and I were sitting in a restaurant trying to top each other with terrible stories of our childhood.” He went to the sink to fill the pot with water. “There were no terrible stories, but there were two empty bottles of good Merlot on the table, which made the exercise worthy. I told them my worst memory was the year I had to take my lunch to school wrapped in newspaper, because Mom decided newspaper was cheaper than buying lunch bags.”

“And this reminded you to go out and buy a hundred lunch boxes?”

“No, but for Christmas Mark and Rachel each bought me one. In one fell swoop I got Pac-Man and The Empire Strikes Back.” He glanced at her and smiled a little. “You have no idea how badly I wanted Pac-Man when I was in first grade.”

He poured the water into the coffeemaker and replaced the pot before he turned it on. “The joke spread. Pretty soon everybody was giving me lunch boxes. I still get them. I’d be buried in them, except that I use them as prizes in Sunday school.”

She was entranced. “Prizes?”

“Every year we have a lunch contest on the last Sunday in June. All the children bring the strangest lunch they can think of. But it has to be something they’ll eat. Six winners get their choice of lunch boxes, at least the ones I have on display. Pac-Man’s off limits.”

Elisa laughed. “This is a church school?”

He lounged against the counter as the coffee began to brew. “Actually, I tell them the lunch box story, pretty much the way I told it to you. Then I tell them how much sweeter it is for me to have these lunch boxes now, that waiting for them made them that much more special. The kids get the message. Sometimes you can’t have everything you want the minute you want it, so you have to wait. And when you do?” He shrugged. “It means more.”