Refiner's Fire

By George Furnival

Lucian Collingsaworth and his wife, Hester own a priceless piece of property on the Atlantic coast of Florida. He has open-heart surgery and almost dies. Their daughter comes home to take care of them. A local real-estate broker conspires with an unethical developer, and they attempt to take advantage of the illness to persuade the old couple to sell out. A Klu Klux Klan raid almost frightens them into selling. The son of the co-owner of the agency meets and falls in love with the daughter. He attempts to uncover what is going on and to save the property, which helps the old couple discover their true selves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 1, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462832323

George Furnival

Mr. Furnival was born and reared in Munhall, PA. He majored in English Literature at Mount Union College and earned advanced degrees from Drew University and the Pacific School of Religion. He has had two professional careers, first as a parish minister and then as a substance abuse counselor and administrator. He currently resides with his wife and two cats in Tenants Harbor, Maine and in Fernandina Beach, Florida. This wide variety of life experiences has given him a keen insight into people with all their vagaries, and he uses this in the development of his characters and stories.

Book preview

Chapter 1

February 1989

Even in sleep Hester was strikingly beautiful, the most beautiful woman Lucian had ever seen. She lay back in her chair, one arm fallen to the side over the arm of the chair, her fingertips brushing the floor, the other hand gracefully over her flawless forehead, palm outward. This was all that he could see with one eye from his bed. The eyelid fluttered shut, and then both eyes opened but did not focus. What a weird dream, or was it a dream? Had he died?

He was looking down on an operating theater. He could barely make out his own features on the draped body on the table. The action was frenetic. There was blood, his blood. The surgeon, his voice muffled by the mask over his mouth, cried out, He’s going!

A nurse shouted, Blood pressure falling. No pulse! Come on Lucian!

Another masked figure said calmly, "I’m going

to massage." Lucian felt strangely detached from the scene. He was watching from a great distance, which was increasing rapidly as he pulled away from the events taking place, the figures in the operating room getting smaller and smaller. He felt no urgency at all, just a strange kind of curiosity. But then the scene began to fade altogether. Everything was going black, and he began to feel fear, a fear such as he had never before experienced, in that it had no visceral component. There was no knot in the pit of his stomach, no shortness of breath, sweaty palms or trembling of the extremities. Somehow this made it all the more terrifying. He had no body, or more correctly it was back there with the nurses and doctors frantically working over it. He was falling, tumbling over and over through a tunnel in darkness, the total darkness of death.

Gradually the terror subsided. At the edge of the darkness appeared a ray of light, and he began to experience incidents of his life. They were like snapshots, but he experienced them rather than saw them. There was his father, tall and stern in the pulpit, clutching his Bible as did Moses the tablets of stone, his other hand extended to heaven, proclaiming the word of God. Then he was wrestling with Thomas, his brother, very competitive. Thomas was down and Lucian was twisting his arm to make him cry uncle. There he was laughing and giggling with Muriel, his sister, as they surreptitiously read some lines from Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, blushing because it was about sex. Hot was the day. She hotter that did look. Snicker, snicker. He was peeking through Muriel’s window, filled with shameful lust as she disrobed revealing her budding breasts. He felt the terror of falling out of an airplane and the pain of a leg bone snapping as he struck the ground. He saw his mother with a smile breathing her last breath, and there was Hester, more of Hester, still more of Hester, laughter and tears, the little ones climbing upon his lap. On and on went these sensations, giving him plenty of time to experience each one, but yet over with in a flash.

And then he began to experience a peace the likes of which he had never before felt. Like the terror before, it had no physical component, which made it all the more blissful. At last the light was shining brightly, and he was rushing gladly toward it, but a figure looking like Sigmund Freud appeared before him, holding out his hand barring the way.

His next sensation was a one-eyed view of Hester flopped like Raggedy Ann on a chair, her hair, usually swirled up in a bun, hanging loose over her shoulders as when they were young, and she was blonde.

Something had happened, something terrible, painful and frightening. The last thing he remembered was her eyes growing wide with alarm, those honey colored eyes which always promised so much. They had been walking out the front door of their beloved cottage on the way to a friend’s house to play bridge. He had remarked on how lovely she looked, dressed in a white frock cinched by a white patent leather belt and swirling generously around her still shapely legs. She had smiled coquettishly and squeezed his arm, Thank you, kind sir. You don’t look so bad yourself. After all these years, forty-five to be exact, these exchanges still aroused him.

What could be wrong with her now? he thought as he noted the widening of her eyes. How many times had he angrily thought that? Sometimes he came close to saying the words, but he never did. It was not his nature to be critical. Even thinking such a thing would cause enormous guilt, and he would remind himself how fortunate he was to have persuaded her years ago to share her life with a poor medical school dropout.

It was significant, he thought, that whatever this experience was, it was bracketed somehow by visions of Hester. He tried to open his eyes again, but they were heavy with sleep.

It was May 14, 1946, Columbus, Ohio. Jim Hitchcock, his roommate, tall, skinny with a crop of unruly brown hair and a large Adam’s apple, was badgering him again. Look, Lucy . . .

Don’t call me Lucy.

O.K, look, Lush.

I don’t know which is worse. Lucian is not a name which lends itself to a nickname.

What did your family call you?

Lucian. My father would have had a fit if anybody called me anything else. Is that why you busted in here and interrupted my studying for an anatomy test, which if I don’t pass will cause me to flunk out of medical school, which in turn will cause me to call in all of the debts you have incurred over the last two years?

"Wow, ten dollars. I don’t know if I can handle

it."

It’s not ten dollars. It’s ten dollars and sixty nine cents.

I guess it’s worth it. I have here in my hand two theater tickets for tonight. He brandished the tickets with a flourish.

Couldn’t get a date?

I’m hurt, cut to the quick. There’s nobody I’d rather spend and enjoyable evening at the theater with than my beloved roommate. I’ll even treat you to dinner.

What’s Marsha doing?

Studying for a test.

Lucian threw a wad of paper at Jim who danced away chuckling. What in hell do you think I am doing?

I know, I know, but the test isn’t until Monday. You will ace it. I’ll study with you all day Sunday.

No, you will ace it. I will flunk it. Lucian stood up and closed the book with a resounding bang. I really don’t want to be a doctor anyway. Medicine doesn’t really interest me.

But you have to be an M.D. in order to be a psychiatrist.

Which side of this argument are you on? Do you or do you not want me to go to the theater with you?

I didn’t know it was going to lead to a whole life change for you, for Christ’s sake.

No it really doesn’t have anything to do with going to the theater. I’m just not sure I want to be a shrink. I’ve been reading a lot of Freud lately, and I’m beginning to dislike him very much. Lucian put on what he thought sounded like a Viennese accent, I think he has a sexual problem.

I think you have a sexual problem. You haven’t had a date since Carolyn . . . ah, ah.

Since Carolyn dumped me? Forget Carolyn.

You can’t seem to.

But I will. Now what theater are we going to?

Well, ah . . . it’s not exactly at a theater. It’s at a Presbyterian Church.

At a church? Lucian thumped down in his chair and began opening his book and rearranging his papers. You want me to give up a night’s study to see an amateur production in a church basement? You’ve got to be kidding. Remember, my father’s a minister. I’ve seen enough church pageants and plays to last me a lifetime.

Wait! Jim reached over and closed the book. This is not an amateur production. It is a touring company out of New York. It’s supposed to be very good.

Says who?

My cousin. Lucian opened his mouth to speak but Jim continued, Wait, hear me out. My cousin, Hester, my father’s brother’s daughter, is an actress. She’s not known yet, but this is a good opportunity for her. My mother sent me two tickets, and I have to go, and Marsha turned me down. We had a little row about it. I’d consider it a great favor if you went with me. O.K.?

Lucian laughed. You are a no-good, low-down, manipulative boob, but how can I turn you down? Besides if you don’t help me, there’s no way I could pass this test. He rose and started to get ready. With my luck, cousin Hester will turn out to look just like you. This time Jim threw a pair of socks at Lucian.

The dream/memory faded to the theater and Hester’s first appearance on the stage. It was sheer magic. She was dressed in a fluffy white outfit, and her gorgeous blonde hair was topped by a tiara that sparkled in the spotlight. Lucian was lost, hopelessly smitten. He would never rest, no matter what it took to win the heart of Hester Hitchcock. The memory faded into incoherent dreams as he slept.

When next he opened his eyes, he saw Jim in hospital greens turning away from him. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He closed his eyes, and he heard Jim say, He’s beginning to come around. If there is any change let me know. Lucian’s mind was whirling. He must be dreaming. Jim had been dead for several years. It was a dream with a younger Jim in it, but he didn’t think he was asleep.

Some foreign sounds awakened him. This time he opened his eyes and they focused. He was in a hospital bed. There were tubes stuck in him and monitors of some kind linked to him. Hester wasn’t there. He didn’t close his eyes this time. The room came into focus.

He could see the empty chair where Hester had been sleeping. There was a white metal chest of drawers next to it, and an almost closed door next to the chest. A privacy curtain hid the rest of the room from his view. A white-clad figure stuck her capped head around the curtain and smiled. Well, Mr. Collingsworth, I see you are awake. How do you feel?

Lucian tried to speak, but he only succeeded in making guttural sounds. The nurse quickly came to him with a glass of water, a flexible straw stuck in it. She held the back of his head with one hand and the straw to his lips with the other. He made a supreme effort and managed to get some water down his parched throat. It felt very good, and he took another long sip, which caused him to choke a little. Thank you. He said weakly. Where am I?

You are in Halifax Regional Medical Center.

What happened?

What do you remember?

Almost nothing. One minute I was on my way out the front door of my house with my wife. I noticed my wife seemed to be alarmed about something, and the next thing I knew I woke up here a few minutes ago to see Hester asleep in that chair over there.

That must have been last night. Mrs. Collingsworth hasn’t been in yet this morning. You’ve had a coronary. That’s all I can tell you. Dr. Hitchcock was just in a minute ago. I promised I’d call him when you woke up. She turned to leave.

But Dr. Hitchcock is. . . .

The nurse turned back and said, Yes?

What? Oh nothing. I’m just a little confused. What’s your name, Nurse?

Elaine, Elaine Del Gado. She was a heavy-set dark—complected woman of about forty. She had a pleasant face and a comforting manner. I’ll get the Doctor. She left the room as Lucian closed his eyes. His head was reeling. Heart attack—the dread words. He remembered his father’s attack just before he turned sixty-five and was supposed to retire. He had collapsed during a church service and never recovered, lingering for a couple of weeks before he died.

Is it my time? Lucian asked himself. He was not ready. He was so tired, and his chest hurt. Maybe I’m having another attack. He could almost hear his heart beating. Did it just skip a beat? Was it about to stop for good? He wished his mind would clear up, but maybe he didn’t want it to clear. Maybe he didn’t want to know what was happening. Is Jim Hitchcock still alive? If he were alive he would not still be practicing medicine. Where is Hester? How is she taking all of this?

He heard a throat being cleared, and he opened his eyes to see a vaguely familiar man looking at him. He was tall and thin with a large Adam’s apple and looked a lot like. . . . Jim? No, it wasn’t Jim. It was. . . . Rudy, Jim’s youngest son. Of course, he is a surgeon, but what is he doing here. He lives in New Jersey.

Hello, Rudy, I didn’t expect to see you here. Tell me, were you just in here a little while ago wearing your surgical greens?

Hello Lucian. He was not wearing greens now, but a sport coat and an open collar. That must have been last night. I’m here, because Hester called Mother, and she insisted I come. You know how persuasive she can be. Lucian certainly did know. It was Marsha Procter who had persuaded him to leave medical school and go to Princeton to be near Hester. So here I am, Rudy continued.

So I had surgery?

Yes, you had bypass surgery.

Did you do the operation?

Of course not. Your surgeon, Dr. Campbell, is a very capable man. I was present in the operating room, however.

Ah . . . well, He cleared his throat. How . . . how am I doing, Rudy?

I think I had better let Dr. Campbell tell you that, but I can say that he did a great job. Very skilled.

Tell me, Rudy, is Dr. Campbell a short chunky man with very blonde bushy eyebrows?

Why, yes, Hester said you had never met him, but you must have though.

Yes, I must have somewhere. I’ve only been here at Halifax a couple of times and never as a patient before.

I know that you were transferred here by ambulance from Columbia Beach General.

I’m grateful to you for coming all the way down here for me. Have you seen Hester?

Of course. I’m staying at the house. She should be along any time. I gave her something last night to help her sleep.

How is she taking all this? Lucian asked anxiously.

Rudy hesitated for some time before answering, Fine. She’s still a trouper and as beautiful as ever.

The moment’s hesitation and the lack of conviction in Rudy’s voice told Lucian volumes. What he said was probably true up to a point. Lucian knew his Hester better than that. Without saying a word, she had undoubtedly made Rudy offer her sleeping pills. She would have been close to collapse. At least she would have appeared to have been close to collapse but being very brave about it. He would be surprised if she showed up at the hospital this morning or even this afternoon. Rudy should have waited for her and driven her the fifty miles up the coast, but he had no way of knowing about her phobia about driving. He should call someone to see that she had a ride. He smiled ruefully to himself, realizing he couldn’t even get up out of bed to go to the bathroom, let alone make a phone call.

Lucian? Rudy said.

Oh, Rudy, I’m sorry. I guess my mind just wandered off.

No problem. You just get some sleep. I’m sure Dr. Campbell will be in to see you later in the morning.

At the Collingsworth home, Hester, dressed in a lovely white silk peignoir, lay propped up in her bed, her face the color of the lingerie. She didn’t know if she had the strength to get up again. She had heard Rudy leave early in the morning. It must have been about eight. She had succeeded in getting up and

going into the little kitchen to make coffee. It seemed like such an effort, and she felt a little woozy, so she made a cup of instant in the microwave and took it back to bed with her.

It was very annoying that she couldn’t hear her heart beat. She tried taking her pulse, but she had never mastered that. She was sure that it was irregular. The bright young doctor that she had last visited had failed to find anything wrong with it. She wished Jim were still alive. He was the only doctor she had ever really trusted. This was not the best time for Lucian to have a heart attack, she thought. Of course there is no good time for something like that.

She had been frightened out of her wits, when he collapsed on the way out the front door to go to the Offenbachs. He just sat down on the porch, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was out. She had surprised herself by leaping into action. Leaving him on the porch, she called 911, and the ambulance arrived within minutes, taking them both to the hospital. The doctor on duty said that it could have been a stroke, but he didn’t think so. Lucian had merely fainted; however, while in the emergency room he had a major heart attack. Dr. Simpson explained later that the original fainting spell probably saved his life, because it placed him in the hospital at the time of the attack, and anti-clotting medications could be administered immediately.

A couple of hours later, they told her that he would need open heart surgery, and he would be taken by ambulance to Halifax Medical Center, where the surgery would be done. Fortunately there was room in the ambulance for her. From the medical center she called Marsha, her cousin by marriage and one of her few remaining relatives. She also called their son Mark, an actor in New York, to notify the other children, Felicia in Atlanta and Janet in Washington. Although the youngest, Mark was probably the most level headed of the three. Then she called Karl and Emily Offenbach, their close friends to let them know what had happened. Hester was pleased with herself that she was not falling apart. She kept telling herself that Lucian needed her to be strong.

The people at the hospital couldn’t have been nicer. They let her stay with Lucian until she kept falling asleep in a chair, and then they found her a place where she could lie down and rest for the night. The next day she was surprised and relieved to find Rudy, Marsha’s son, approaching her in Lucian’s room. He had flown down from New Jersey. She cried at the kindness. Marsha knew her so well. She knew that having Rudy present would be like having Jim with her. Lucian was semi-conscious but seemingly unaware of what was happening. A short time before the operation, Karl and Emily arrived to be with her. It was then that she remembered that she had forgotten to call Pastor Carlson.

Charles Carlson was far more than her Pastor. He was her counselor, actually her lifeline. He had come to serve the Columbia Beach Presbyterian Church at about the time that she and Lucian had moved back there from Ohio in 1984 on Lucian’s retirement from Milhaus College. He and Lucian had quickly become friends, largely because of their shared interest in the psychology of religion and the fact that they both had non-PhD. doctorates. They delighted in teasing each other about their pseudo doctorates, Lucian’s a Doctor of Counseling Psychology and Charles’ a

Doctor of Ministry. Charles also had certification in Clinical Pastor Education.

It was Lucian who had recommended to her that she should see Pastor Charles for her anxiety attacks. She had been subjected to the attacks for most of her life, and she had seen any number of psychiatrists and psychologists in an attempt to deal with them. Some of them helped for the short term, and some of them made her worse. The medications that the doctors prescribed usually made her sick to her stomach or so drowsy that she couldn’t function. By the time they had moved to Florida, she had given up on getting help. The attacks usually did not last more than a few days. The worst part was that they sometimes, not often fortunately, led to horrible migraines which were followed by deep depressions. She hoped that returning home to Columbia Beach, where she had been so happy as a child, would help, and indeed it did for a while. But when the attacks returned it was worse than ever. At first she had resisted seeing Pastor Charles, but desperation broke down the barriers. She wished he were with her now.

Karl assured her that he had called Pastor Chuck, who was out of town but would be returning the next day. During the long wait, Hester had tried to read, but the words kept blurring on the page. Her eyesight was gradually going; besides, she couldn’t concentrate on what she was reading. Emily tried to engage her in conversation about the latest conflict in the Woman’s Club. There was always some conflict in the club, and usually Hester was in the thick of it; however, at this time it didn’t seem important at all. Karl, a small balding man of seventy, was a bundle of energy. He and Emily were constantly on the go. He had a dozen hobbies including golf, gardening, woodworking and writing. After the first hour, he began to pace. This somehow increased Hester’s anxiety. She was relieved when he went out for a walk.

Several times she tried to pray, but somehow she couldn’t formulate her anxious thoughts into words. Pastor Charles—she refused to call him Chuck like everyone else did—had taught her some simple anxiety—reducing exercises, which he combined with prayer, and meditation. This worked for a while, but after the second hour she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin. Emily suggested a walk, and she agreed. It helped to get outside and walk around. Although in the middle of a city, the hospital had some lovely grounds. There was a little park, with a sign that said garden of prayer. They entered a heavily shaded area with stone benches in little niches for solitude. It was carefully void of any denominational symbols. Emily excused herself to look for a bathroom, and Hester sat on one of the benches. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the birds. A potpourri of pleasant flower scents was wafted along by a gentle breeze. As Pastor Charles had taught her, she tried to clear her mind by concentrating on her breathing and feeding herself positive thoughts. A smile played over her lips as she remembered that night so long ago in Columbus, when Jim had introduced her and Lucian.

She learned later that it was a set-up hatched by her mother and Jim’s mother, her Aunt Gertrude. She had met Lucian and decided he would make a perfect mate for her favorite niece, who was wasting her life trying to make it as an actress. By this time Hester was beginning to agree with the family’s opinion. A touring company performing in churches was not exactly the royal road to fame and fortune that she had envisioned.

Of course, she had heard of Lucian from Jim, and she had wondered about the war hero, who had escaped from a German prison camp after being shot down over France. She was surprised by his appearance, when Jim pushed him forward backstage, which was really a Sunday school room in this large church. She was expecting someone like her father, the World War I flying ace, who was ruggedly handsome with a craggy face and a rakish grin. Lucian was of average height, quite thin and a little stooped. He walked with a slight limp, a result of his leg being broken as he landed after bailing out of the disabled plane. He had a poet’s face, a long upper lip under a straight thin nose, sensitive lips and piercing blue eyes. He had long wavy chestnut hair that fell low over a prominent brow. He would have made a perfect Hamlet, serious, uncertain and shy.

It was obvious that he was struck by her beauty to the point of being tongue-tied. He said very little until they were almost through dinner. She was accustomed to this reaction that she got from men, and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she enjoyed it. The little success she had on the stage was largely because of this effect she had on men. She had many suitors, but she had no serious relationships, because she was not what she appeared to be. Her appearance bespoke a sexuality that was not there. Underneath she was conventional, rigidly moral and religious. At the age of 28 she was still a virgin.

She and Jim had monopolized the conversation with childhood memories, when Jim suddenly realized that he was not carrying out the instructions from his mother, and he began to include Lucian in the conversation. When he did speak, Hester was pleased to note that he was quite articulate. There was an intensity to everything he said that was appealing, and his choice of words was quite poetic. It was obvious that he was a person with strong convictions. Jim had referred to him as Mr. Integrity, and he was right. He was reluctant to talk about his war experiences, and when he did mention them, he was self-effacing. He certainly didn’t see himself as a heroic figure, unlike her father who was still playing the dashing pilot.

Hester realized that her memories were getting into dangerous areas. It was just six months later that her dashing, handsome father had crashed his plane into a mountainside in Virginia. There was a lot of speculation at the time that he might have done it deliberately. The weather was clear, no mechanical problems were found, and he was an expert pilot. An autopsy showed no evidence of a heart attack or anything else that could have explained the crash. Hester knew that he was an unhappy man, who had never been able to live up to his image. He had squandered his family’s fortune in one ill-conceived scheme after the other. Had his father-in-law not set aside some of his daughter’s inheritance in trust, he would have probably squandered her money as well. The only sound investment he made was the property in Florida, to which they had retreated when everything else was gone.

Hester brushed aside these memories and returned to the hospital to wait. After the surgery, Rudy and Dr. Campbell were non-committal about the prognosis. His condition was listed as critical. She was convinced that they were not telling her everything. He was in surgery for a lot longer than they had told her he would be, and when Dr. Campbell came out he looked exhausted. All he would say was that it was touch and go in there for a while and that Lucian was a very sick man. He said that they would know nothing until the next day, and he and Rudy persuaded her to let Karl and Emily take her home. He had promised that she would be notified the instant there was any change.

Hester was trying not to think the inevitable thoughts that insisted on coming to her head as she lay on her bed. What if Lucian should die? What would she do? How could she go on? It was not that they had avoided talking about death. They were intelligent people, who had reached a time in life when one or the other of them was going to die. It was part of life, as sure as the passage of the seasons. She could hear Lucian’s voice, precise, impassioned and at the same time unemotional, discussing death. He had taught courses in death and dying to students who, in their supposed immortality, never gave it a second thought. He was the ultimate intellectual. He loved ideas like some people loved food and drink.

Sometimes she wanted to shake him. He cared passionately about causes and injustice, even more than she did, and he was not averse to showing those feelings, but what did he feel inside about life, about her and the children? Wasn’t he afraid of dying, as she was afraid of losing him. Oh Lucian, I’m scared. Why aren’t you here to hold my hand?

Chapter 2

The wipers slopped noisily over the windshield of Sam’s car, creating momentarily two fan-shaped openings in the layer of soot-stained sleet that covered the windshield and the streets of New York on this grim winter day. Mark Collingsworth leaned forward to peer out the opening, muttering warnings about obstacles in their path. Sam ignored the warnings and pressed forward while tightly gripping the steering wheel. What a rotten day. Don’t you just love New York?

Watch out for that truck, Mark urged. I should have taken a cab.

Will you relax? I will deliver you to the airport on time and in one piece. He glanced over at the familiar features of his long-time companion. Mark’s patrician face was even more intense than usual. The long upper lip under a narrow straight nose and prominent brow always gave him the look of a passionate believer, a passion that was only beginning to emerge in their personal relationship.

Professionally his best roles were usually the