« I — I — don’t know what to say, » she stammered, « I’ll think about it, and pray about it, and decide what to do. »
I doubted she’d slept more than a few hours since Wednesday night
« Thanks, Mrs. Kershaw. Maybe I can ask you about it on Sunday morning. I’d sure feel better knowing there was nothing to it. »
She said it was clear that if she hadn’t left, he was going to — to have sex with her
Sunday morning couldn’t arrive soon enough for me. Either Sarah would follow her personality pattern and avoid the confrontation, or she would confront him and he would berate her for asking. Either way, he would do nothing to assuage the seed of mistrust that I’d planted. I searched my mental recesses to remember the character from Shakespeare’s « Othello » who had employed a similar strategy. Ah, yes — Iago, a man after my own evil heart.
Before Sunday School that morning, I saw Sarah in the hallway. She looked even more gaunt and tired than the previous Sunday morning. I felt a twinge of guilt.
« Oh, » I replied dubiously. « Then I suppose I should talk to him about it. If it’s true, I think the deacon board will need to know. »
She tensed immediately. The fear on her face was almost palpable. The deacon board had the power to sway the church to oust the pastor. « Oh, no, Tom — there’s no need to do that. I’m sure it was just — just a misunderstanding. »