Potter Springs Read Online Free PDF Page B

would not be in attendance this morning.
    Shortly after Mark’s confession in the corner office, his former boss made an emotional announcement from the pulpit of Pleasant
     Valley. James declared that Mark had chosen to follow the Lord’s calling elsewhere, and they’d sure miss him. The board and
     congregation threw Mark a farewell reception, complete with a slide show of his various works at the church.
    At the party, they’d handed him a guitar case. Not his. This one had no stickers or beat-up edges. The accompanying card read,
Please accept this small token of our thanks in appreciation for your years of service.
The envelope included pages of handwritten notes and signatures from church members.
    Mark opened the case and found a Martin guitar inside. The caramel wood gleamed, promising a sound deeper and richer than
     any he had ever played. He’d wanted a Martin for years, never believing he’d have the money to pay for one. Speechless, he
     tripped over his thanks.
    “We’re only sorry you won’t be playing it for us much longer,” one man said. “But we know-wherever he takes you-the Lord’ll
     use it to his glory.”
    Then James had a wedding conflict. It just so happened he’d be performing a ceremony on the other side of town, at the exact
     time of Mark and Amanda’s scheduled nuptials. A happy coincidence, and one that freed James from any whiff of a scandal.
    “Sorry, buddy,” James told him. “Been set for months, you know.” He lifted his palms, a busy servant of the Lord overwhelmed
     by the flock’s incessant needs. “Can’t make last minute changes. You need me to make a call, find someone else for you?”
    Can’t make last-minute changes. Except about your entire future. Buddy.
    “I’ll manage, thanks.” Mark heard the message loud and clear. He ended up asking his childhood pastor to perform the ceremony,
     much to the thrill of his mother. Marianne had voiced severe doubts about the Thompson family minister, and thankfully, Katy
     hadn’t argued. She let her future son-in-law handle the “religious concerns,” as long as she could plan everything else.
    He hadn’t laid eyes on Fred Wilburne, from Lubbock’s Calvary Baptist, in close to ten years. He chose not to inform Fred of
     the early pregnancy, not willing to risk the loss of another official this late in the game.
    He checked his watch.
    “It’s gonna be fine.” Fred clapped a hand, heavy as an iron bookend, on Mark’s shoulder. A long, dark robe covered the preacher’s
     robust frame. His jowls flushed in protest of the heat. “Just fine.”
    “I know,” Mark said. The only bright spot in this day, other than the scalding morning sun, would be the woman who’d walk
     down the aisle in a few minutes. He didn’t want to wait any longer. He needed to be near her, to let her smile ground him
     and give him hope, even while all around him, inside him, chaos threatened.
    “Let’s get started,” he said to Fred. “I’m ready.”
    “ ANYBODY NEKKID IN there?” Ben Thompson’s deep voice barreled through the old oak door.
    “Just a minute, Daddy.” Sweat tickled like devil fingers inside Amanda’s wedding dress. She pulled a fragile handkerchief
     from her bodice, patted her face and chest, then stuffed it back into obscurity.
    Standing in front of an oval mirror, she surveyed herself one last time. Something old. Check. The antique gown, handed down
     from Mother’s side. Something new. Pure silk heels, pinching her swollen feet in a death grip. Something borrowed. Her friend’s
     veil, a diaphanous fluff atop her head. Something blue. Her eyes, rimmed with red to match her nose.
    She thought she’d be over the crying by now, but seeing herself as a bride tipped the emotional scale.
Inner glow,
she reminded herself.
You’re a bride. You’re pregnant. One way or another, you should be radiant at this moment.
    Sighing, she viewed her reflection sideways in the beveled glass. She straightened her back