Between the Altars
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: Mucho thanks to Mamalabo for the activity ideas and JoBlaz for more virtual chocolate, which thankfully got me over the hump with this one. (It decided to be squirrely when I got to re-writes—of course trying edit while live tweeting during the Drama marathon didn't help, lol.)
Side note, book stuff and freelance work are starting to fill up my inbox again, hence my DLO homework time must be paused for a bit. I promise, I won't leave you hanging for long, though. I hope to get chapter six up sometime early next week.
As always, I own none of the characters. They all belong to Martha Williamson and the amazing actors who bring them to life. I simply savor the opportunity to play in her sandbox for a little while. Y'all enjoy!
Chapter Five
Shane soaked her last bite of prime rib in au jus, savoring the incredible Christmas dinner Oliver seemed to have simply thrown together. "You really are a fabulous cook, Oliver. You should do it more often."
Oliver's cheeks pinked at her praise as he took a sip of his red wine. "Is that a hint about the division of our future marital duties?"
She grinned and lifted her wine glass in a toast. "Well, let's just say, I'll definitely share the kitchen with you."
He chuckled and started to clear the plates. Shane shook her head and placed a staying hand on his arm. "Uh uh. You cooked, I'll clean."
Brows lifting, he gave an agreeable nod, but said, "At least let me dry."
Shane's lips twitched. "Fine."
They worked in companionable silence, splashing water and squeaky towels the only sounds between them. Shane gazed out the window as the warmth of the day eased through her. Light snowflakes spun in the air, melting within moments of meeting any surface. Her eyes drifted to Oliver's knickknacks in the window sill. The Guiana Chestnut plant, the footed silver candy dish, and. . .a gray ceramic cat sponge holder?
A memory flashed through her. She'd been standing on a step stool in front of the kitchen sink after dinner. She was going to wash dishes, and Alex would dry. They had a ceramic cat sponge holder. Why, she couldn't remember—Mom hated cats. When she pulled the sponge out, the holder fell in the sink and broke into pieces.
She burst into tears then looked at Alex, who simply picked up the pieces and threw them in the trash. Only Mom came in asking about the crashing noise—so it must have been after Daddy left. Alex looked at Shane then said, "No biggie, Mom. Just the plates banging together."
The next day Alex brought home another sponge holder, another cat, but a different color. Mom never said a word about it. She may not have even noticed the difference. But Shane knew. Like their family, it was never the same.
Shane bit her lip as the memory disappeared. She glanced to Oliver, but he seemed deep in his own thoughts. Needing a distraction, she cleared her throat and said, "I called Mom and told her about our engagement this morning."
Oliver's hand stilled as he registered her words. His gaze shifted to her, and a curious light flickered in his eyes. "And how did she take the news?"
"She was overjoyed." Shane grimaced, then backtracked. "Well, for her, she was overjoyed. She did have some bad news. . .about Alex." Heart clenching, she fell silent as the conversation replayed in her mind.
She had a set-back that violated her probation. So, now she's serving out her original jail sentence. A full year.
Oliver's brow furrowed as he studied her. Worry lit his eyes, but he waited, allowing her time to find the words she needed. Hands damp from the pot she was scrubbing, Shane leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment, then stuck the pot under the running water. She watched the soap bubbles slip away and wished the same could happen with her news. Licking her lips, she sighed. "She's in jail."
Oliver's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. He turned off the water, took the pot from her hands and gave it a quick swipe with the dish towel, then set both aside. Compassion soaked his gaze. Shane looked away, unable to speak the words she needed to say without breaking down under his patient love.
He knew part of the story, and he really did need to know all of it. But where did she start? She grimaced and opted for somewhere close to the beginning. "She was six years older and larger than life, like something from another world, to me. I was the book worm who loved learning and figuring out things. She was popular and outgoing—everyone loved her. There were times I couldn't believe I was her little sister."
She fiddled with her pendant, swinging it along the thin gold chain. "Then Daddy left, and when she went to college, she got into sports betting. She dropped out when she was sophomore, I think, and disappeared for a while—broke Mom's heart . . .and mine."
Shane swallowed hard trying to force away the old pain. Smashing her lips together, she reached for good memories. "Then, she met Billy. They got married and seemed so happy. She got a great job. Everything looked like she was back on track."
She took in a quick breath as the good memories disappeared under cruel reality. "But she was still gambling. She ended up draining their bank account to pay off a debt to some really bad people. Billy walked out. She lost her job.
"None of that stopped her, though. She started holding bets to barter against her own losses, and it spiraled from there."
Shane grabbed Oliver's towel and wiped her cheeks, savoring the cool feel of damp cloth against her skin. Her lips lifted in a fragile smile. "But that night on the phone, she sounded so good. More like the big sister I remembered.
"She'd said she was in rehab—in an inpatient facility—but she'd be out after Thanksgiving. Said she'd really changed. That she was ready to do right by all of us. To fix what she broke. I had so much hope, Oliver. I thought I might finally get my sister back."
She tossed the towel on the counter with a huff and shook her head. "But then I never called. I did text her every so often. About little things. But, I never dug deeper. I mean, we were so busy here, Rita and Norman chose their wedding date, and the whole wedding dress thing happened." Her lips wrinkled in a watery smile. "And then you proposed." She laid her hand on his cheek as her heart softened with a deep, unshakable love.
Oliver slipped his thumb beneath her fingers and drew her hand to his lips. She closed her eyes, spilling another well of tears down her cheeks.
She smoothed them away with her fingers, then shrugged. "Maybe if I had called—or gone home for Christmas like I said—she wouldn't be in this mess."
Oliver tugged her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. "You are not responsible for how she lives her life, Shane. Whether good or bad, the choices she makes are hers and hers alone."
They stood wrapped around each other, giving and absorbing solace, for the longest time. But guilt still ate at her. If I'd been there, maybe I could have stopped her. She reached out to me, and I didn't follow through. Now, she's stuck living with her choices. Pushing the recriminations back down, she gave Oliver a long squeeze, then said, "Can we read the journal?"
Oliver nodded. "I'll put the dishes away if you'll get it from the bookcase."
Shane released him, then padded into the living room. The thin, brown leather journal was tucked between a well-worn Bible and a book titled, Word Origins. Those were bracketed by various Shakespeare plays. Oliver O'Toole in one shelf. She shook her head and grinned as she tugged out the journal.
He met her at the couch and they settled into what had become their customary spots. He on the end, elbow propped on the rolled arm, and Shane in the middle, tucked into his side. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and opened the journal. "This may not be pleasant given where we left off. Are you certain?"
Shane nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. "I need something. . .someone. . .else to think about right now."
"All right then." He flipped to the page they had ended with and Shane studied the verse.
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18
She was broken hearted over Alex. Was God near her too? Shane closed her eyes, and the softest word whispered through her. Yes.
Blinking, she sat up nearly banging into Oliver's chin. She caught his questioning gaze as her mouth worked, trying to find an explanation. Finally, she landed on something that would make sense. "I. . .ah. . .let me run to the bathroom first."
He nodded, but concern still flickered in his eyes. Shane bolted from the couch and headed to the powder room. Once there, she clung to the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. "That was weird, right?" she said as she peered at herself.
But even as she asked the question, her curiosity pricked. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, she rifled through her limited knowledge of God and the Bible. Isn't there something somewhere about a still, small voice? Unable to land on anything definite, she shook her head and set about to do what she'd told him she needed to do, then returned to the living room.
Her lips flickered into what she hoped was an easy smile and she settled back into her spot. Oliver said nothing, seemingly accepting her actions at face value, and thumbed over to the page and began to read.
In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them;
in his love and in his pity he redeemed them;
he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old. – Isaiah 63:9
Shane sighed as her thoughts returned to the woman's miscarriage. "I can't imagine their loss."
Oliver sniffed then blew out a long breath. Regret laced his words. "And its impact appears profound."
Dear God in Heaven, we are wounded souls. Embrace us, carry us, in Your mercy. Heal his heart and renew his hope. Restore in me Your joy. Redeem us with Your everlasting love.
Shane's mind flipped through what she knew of Oliver's family, grasping for any strand of hope she could find. "But you said Joe's divorce was the first one ever in the O'Toole family, right? So, if this writer is an O'Toole wife, then they must have worked through it somehow."
"If she was an O'Toole." He shook his head. "But we have no way of confirming that right now." He lifted his brows in silent question, and she nodded. Without a word, he flipped the page as she held her breath.
The left page was filled with a stem of red roses, one in bud and the other about to open. Her lips widened into a grin. "That looks beautiful. . .and maybe promising." She glanced up and caught the flash of pain. . .or was it regret. . .in Oliver's eyes. She opened her mouth to ask, but he began reading.
Return us to our first love, Oh God in Heaven. Recall our hearts to our delight in each other and You. Only You can restore our marriage, and I await Your healing.
This woman prayed to God to save the marriage, and she trusted He would. Shane looked up at Oliver again and wondered about that momentary flash in his eyes. Had he prayed for God to restore his marriage to Holly?
He must have. But his prayer went unanswered. Thankfully. Well, at least thankfully to Shane. Surely, he felt the same, though. Didn't he? "Oliver?"
His lips twitched as his gaze met hers. Warmth and love filled its blue depths. "Some of the Almighty's most perfect gifts are unanswered prayers."
Relief and love flooded through her, drowning her worry. Closing her eyes, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek then nestled her head on his chest. "Read on, Macduff." His quick chuckle jostled her head and, smiling, she rubbed her cheek against the smooth fabric of his broadcloth shirt, settling back in for the next entry.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:7
You are faithful, Oh God in Heaven. Faithful in love. Faithful in restoration. Faithful in answering the prayers of Your children.
Shane sighed. "Sounds like her prayer was answered. Their marriage endured losing the baby. She may be an O'Toole yet."
Oliver hummed then closed the journal and set it on the end table. He leaned his chin against her head and stroked her shoulder with his thumb.
Yes, it is a good stopping point. Leave them happy. Or, at least mended.
Shane closed her eyes as her thoughts drifted. So, the woman had prayed, and God had answered. Shane was incredibly grateful God hadn't answered Oliver's prayer, but why had He answered her prayer to restore her marriage and yet not Oliver's? Was it because God hadn't put Oliver with Holly, but He did put this woman and her husband together?
Brow furrowing, Shane allowed that thought full rein. Could God really have planned all along for me to be with Oliver, and then made it happen despite Oliver's choices?
If so, the machinations were mindboggling. She had to be transferred from D.C. to Denver. Then her department assignment had to be mixed up. Then they both had to be at the same coffee kiosk at the same time, standing right next to each other. And that was just the start.
Shane bit her lip and reached for her pendant. Why would a higher power go to such lengths? Was it because He really did care? Because He had a plan and purpose just for her? To prosper her and not to harm her, to give her a hope and a future? Was that quiet Yes God actually speaking to her?
A hesitant sigh slipped between her lips. Maybe it was time to find out.
But how? As lovely as it was, Oliver's church intimidated her. She'd already tried it once, after Eleanor's funeral. She'd stayed behind to think about Oliver's speech, Eleanor's death, and what she should do about either, but the cold temperature, the soaring ceilings, even the ornate stained glass didn't offer the solace she sought. After their recent experience Christmas Eve, she knew neither she nor it had changed.
The Berkeley Park church floated up from her memory. She had felt comfortable there. With its small, quaint interior, so reminiscent of the church she attended as a child, it seemed to offer not only solace but also peace. So, maybe she could find answers there.
"Oliver?" She slipped her fingers over his tie, then rested her hand on his chest.
"Hmm."
"Would you mind very much if we went somewhere else Sunday?" He tensed under her hand, and Shane winced. "I mean, I still want to go to church with you, but could we go to the one in Berkeley Park instead?"
Oliver's muscles unclenched, and she could almost feel his smile. She was grateful her question had pleased him, but she bit her lip. Please don't ask me why. Not yet. I don't want you to be disappointed if I'm wrong.
"Well, it would be good to meet the new minister and perhaps learn availability." He nodded and gave her a brief squeeze. "I will call the church office tomorrow and find out the service times for New Year's Day."
Shane's lips parted on a soft, relieved sigh. Okay, God. I'm giving You a chance.
The week after Christmas in the DLO always felt like a staycation to Shane. The whole building seemed to take in a collective breath and relax as the Christmas rush ended. She used the time to catch up on her dead letter search programs while Rita and Norman researched and submitted various information requests. Oliver spent the week embroiled in end-of-the-year reports and staff meetings.
But Wednesday's inter-branch department head meeting offered interesting news. "I'm back everyone," Oliver said as he pushed through the double doors. He set his briefcase in his chair and began removing his coat.
Shane looked up from her steampunk desk and smiled her welcome, but her brow furrowed as she absorbed his abstracted tone and unfocused gaze. "Oliver. What's wrong?"
He paused, coat still in hand, and turned toward her. Lips slightly parted, he tilted his head, then scanned the room. "It appears we may be relocating. Again."
Shane's eyes widened. Rita tugged Norman into the room from the lab. "Relocating?" she asked with a worried glance from Norman to Shane.
Shane shrugged.
"Ah, yes. Apparently, this Christmas season more people utilized online shipping, and the old DLO space was woefully inadequate to the task in both space and location. There was a discussion of moving online shipping to the terminal annex where bulk mail is processed, relocating bulk mail here, and returning us to the original DLO."
Norman shook his head and as his fingers fidgeted. "Wow. Talk about musical chairs."
But Rita beamed. "Oh, that would be so great! Like going home. I mean, not that I don't love what we've done here, but wouldn't it just be so nice to be back where everything all started?" She and Norman happily chatted about the possibility of moving as Shane rose from her desk and walked toward Oliver.
Her lips lifted, admiring Rita's easy ability to find the good in any piece of news. But, Oliver's contemplation continued to concern her. "When would this happen?" she said in a low, comforting tone.
His mouth dropped open as he continued to study their office. "Not until sometime after the first of the year, but definitely before the Valentine's Day rush."
Shane placed a soothing hand on his arm, drawing his gaze to hers. "This could be a good thing. I know you hate change and moving is its own nightmare, but we all do miss the old DLO. I think Rita's right."
Oliver lips flickered in a soft, grateful smile as he placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb soothing the fabric of her dress. "You're right. Thank you, Shane." He paused and glanced over to Rita and Norman. Seeing they were still engrossed in their own conversation, he said, "I was thinking we might go to the Ephlat Lounge for drinks after work Friday night then have dinner at home."
She smoothed his tie with a pleased smile. "Sounds wonderful."
He glanced again at Rita and Norman, then lowered his voice. "Then Saturday evening, in lieu of our customary date night, I thought we might have everyone over to our house for a New Year's Eve dinner. If that suits you?"
Her man was kindness personified. Shane's heart filled with warm love at his thoughtful offer. But, she couldn't help the impish glee that flickered through her. Her adoring smile turned mischievous as she winked at him. "I'll bring the confetti and the noise makers."
Oliver paled then rolled his eyes as he realized she was teasing. Lifting his brows and rising on his toes, he said, "Rita, Norman, if you are not previously engaged, we would like to invite you and Bil to our house for a New Year's Eve dinner."
Rita glanced to Norman who nodded. "Great! What can we bring?"
Friday night, Oliver opened their front door and gestured Shane inside. "Mr. Beale was exceptionally good this evening."
Shane flashed a grin over her shoulder at him, perfectly happy to gush about jazz music for the remainder of the evening. "Yes, and I loved when Big Joe jumped in to jam on Walk a Mile in my Blues. Those two really should record together sometime."
Oliver helped her off with her coat, and, without a second thought, she meandered into the kitchen with their take-out Thai. She pulled plates and silverware from the cabinet, once again savoring the warmth and promise of their future life. Even if they didn't change one piece of the décor, she would still be perfectly comfortable in her new home.
"What do you want to drink?" When he didn't respond, she turned back and found him simply staring at her, contented awe radiating from his eyes.
Shane held out her hand and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms and lowering his head to hers. Their lips met in a kiss unlike any other they'd ever shared. Peaceful. Easy.
It felt like home. Like forever.
Tears clouded her eyes. No, she couldn't wait to spend forever with him. When they parted, she tucked her nose alongside his and whispered over his lips, "I love you. So much."
Leftovers stored in the refrigerator, Oliver poured two glasses of red wine and met Shane on the couch. "There seem to only be a few pages remaining in the journal. Would you like to finish them tonight? Or we could read something else. I still haven't read Charles Dickens."
"Well, considering Christmas is now past. . ." Grinning, Shane wrinkled her nose, enjoying her word play.
Oliver rolled his eyes and shook his head. "That was a terrible joke."
She chuckled then said, "Yes, let's finish the journal tonight. That way we can focus on the dinner party tomorrow night." And I'll have all my questions ready for Sunday.
Turning the pages, he found a white and green inked drawing of another plant. Shane studied the tiny, bell-shaped flowers. "Lily of the Valley. It means the return of happiness."
"And in the Bible, it is a symbol of the second coming."
Shane's brows lifted. Had God restored more than their marriage? Her eyes flicked to the next page and her mouth dropped open. "Oliver," she breathed then looked up as her lips parted in a wide, delighted smile.
Dear God in Heaven, You alone are to be praised. Your hand restored not only our love, but our family as well. From youth to age, bless this child growing within me with Your wisdom, Your love, and Your peace.
"Keep going, Oliver." Eagerness laced her voice and thrummed along her pulse. If God had restored that much, surely, He would have come through the whole way.
Oliver's lips lifted in an indulgent smile as he flipped the page. But there was no drawing this time, and the verse was less than encouraging—at least for the possible reasons it was chosen. Shane bit her lip. Could God be that fickle?
He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. –Isaiah 40:29
Grant me strength, oh God in Heaven. You have promised to never leave or forsake Your children. Be with me now as this child grows, and I weaken.
"She must have had a hard pregnancy. Wonder what happened?" Shane traced the words on the page as compassion welled in her heart. Life must have been much harder during this woman's time, and pregnancy complications would not have helped.
Oliver squeezed her shoulder, then ran a comforting hand down her arm. "This might not end well, Shane."
She nodded. "I know. But at this point, not knowing will be worse."
"All right then." Oliver turned the page. Unlike all of the previous entries, there was nothing on the left-hand page. And the prayer on the right side was barely legible. He brought the book closer and slowly enunciated the words.
The days grow shorter, but I am weak and feeble, oh God in Heaven. Be to me as Hur and Aaron were to Moses, and deliver this child safely. I give it to You. Guard it, keep it, even if I cannot.
Shane swallowed hard then, hand trembling, she turned the page for Oliver.
It was blank.
She sat up and flipped the remaining pages. They were all blank. She turned searching eyes to him.
Empathy radiated from him as he watched her. "We still don't know who she was. But, if she was an O'Toole, then at least the baby lived."
Shane nodded as took the journal from him and leaned back into his shoulder. Her fingers traced the grooves and embossing in the leather, pausing as they reached the replica of Jesus. Did You answer her final prayer?
"Perhaps now is the time to ask Dad?"
She glanced up and found his soft gaze studying her. Lips trembling, she flashed a weak smile. "Yes."
