by Darrell Case
Chapter 12
Adam slept fitfully, tossing and turning all night. Finally, he got out of bed at five o'clock. After a time of prayer and Bible study, he went downstairs. James was on his hands and knees polishing the floor.
"Reverend Wakefield sir!" he said. "I'm so very sorry. I didn't expect you to be up for some time. I'll get your breakfast right away sir." Jumping up, he slipped on the wet floor and fell to his knees, catching himself with the palms of his hands.
Hurrying down the stairs, Adam helped him up. James was almost in tears from pain and humiliation.
"Whoa, slow down friend. What's the rush?" Adam asked as he helped the valet to a chair.
"Reverend Peabody always wanted his breakfast the moment he awoke," James explained, rubbing his shin.
Unwilling to criticize a fellow minister, Adam simply said. "Well, you're working for me now and I want you to take your time."
"Thank you sir," James said, relief evident in his voice.
Adam feasted on a breakfast of ham, eggs, toast, rolls, coffee, and something delicious which he could not identify.
When Adam saw the church, he was amazed. Six magnificent snow-white columns rose thirty feet to the domed ceiling, figures of angels intricately etched in them. The marble floor shone like a mirror, reflecting the many colors in the stained-glass windows encased in the walls.
At the front, a hand-carved organ stood majestically, its pipes extending to the top of the church. Halfway up the back was a balcony large enough to hold the entire population of Apple Valley. Almost at eye level with the balcony stood the pulpit. Behind the pulpit was a thirty-member choir loft. Finding the stairs at the side, Adam climbed to the platform.
"Must be twelve feet high!" he said. Leaning over the front, he looked down at the floor "If I ever fall off from here, I'll break my neck."
"Ain't nobody ever got excited enough to fall from this here pull - pit before."
The gravelly voice came from below. "'cepting Mr. Moody."
Adam leaned further over the edge of the platform. A wrinkled snow-haired black man was peering up at him. His tattered pants sported many patches, his white shirt was smudged, and the sleeves had small tears and rips. He stuffed a blue handkerchief into his back pocket. The elderly man's expression changed to one of fear as Adam descended the stairs.
"I didn't mean to speak outta turn," he said in a pleading voice.
"I'm glad you told me," Adam said with a broad grin, offering his hand. "I'm the new preacher, Adam Wakefield."
"Elijah Colburn," the old man said, gently taking Adam's hand as if the gesture was new to him. "I's the janitor here."
"It's beautiful," Adam remarked with a sweep of his arm. "How many others do you have helping you?"
Elijah stared at him for a second. "I's the onlyest one. Been doin' it fo' fifty years. Mr. O'Malley's pa, he done bought me and Lilly Mae to keep the church," he explained, his eyes suddenly brimming with unbidden tears. "Just 'fore the war he took my Lilly Mae and sold her down south."
Adam was appalled. What kind of man was this O'Malley? He recovered quickly..
"James is your son?" Adam asked, trying to imagine the horror of the family being separated.
"His name's Isaiah, but Mr. O'Malley say that not proper name for a valet." Elijah's voice trailed off, tinged with anger. "He was only three when they tore him outta his momma's arms - - both of 'em squealing."
One of the huge doors opened, startling both men.
"Elijah! If you want to keep your position, you'd best clean the sidewalk and steps before the others arrive," Shane O'Malley called out as he took long strides up the aisle. His snow-covered shoes left a wet trail on the floor.
Elijah jumped as if hit by a lightning bolt. "Yes suh!" he murmured. Turning to Adam, his eyes implored him not to mention their conversation. Adam nodded slightly to the frightened man.
O'Malley lowered his huge frame onto the front pew. "He's sure slowing down," he smirked, watching Elijah walk down the long aisle with a slight limp. His handlebar mustache twitched under a slight chuckle.
"How long have he and James been members of the church?"
O'Malley's laughter echoed over the sanctuary. "They're servants, Reverend Wakefield, not a part of the congregation."
"I'll have to speak to them. Possibly they will join us this Sunday."
O'Malley's jaw hardened. When he spoke, his voice was cold and sinister. "Reverend we will not have any Negroes attending this church as long as there is breath in my body!"
The Deacon's meetings in Apple Valley were a joy for Adam. Humbled under the responsibility of leading the church, the men cried out to the Lord in prayer. Afterward, they made each decision by mutual consent. The harmony among the brethren was a thing of beauty. Adam longed for those times now.
It started bad and quickly got worse. In addition to Shane O'Malley, the board consisted of his son, Conway, Robert Michaels, Jr. and Sr., and Frederick Cooper, president of the largest bank in Chicago. The younger O'Malley was taking great pleasure in his father's discomfort. A broad grin spread over his freckled face. His flaming red hair gave him the appearance of a good-natured imp. His robust frame shook with laughter.
An avid nature lover, he had met Adam while on a trek through the Ozarks. They hit it off instantly and became fast friends. Robert Jr., a thin, sickly man of thirty, formal in dress, was not in the mood for foolishness. Cooper was unable to attend.
"Really Conway! The finances of this church are no joking matter." Robert said with an air of importance.
"Oh lighten up, old chap," Conway said, slapping Robert on the back. The action produced a fit of coughing. "Market Street has money to burn."
Confined to a wheel chair, the elder Michaels was more vocal than his son.
"That's what's wrong with you O'Malley's. Always free with everybody else's money," he said, waving his fist in the air. "If you are convinced we need new pews, then you purchase them,"
"You can afford to give them as a gift." Robert Jr. said.
"At least we don't pinch a penny till it screams," Shane O'Malley said.
Adam entered the fray, holding his hands up, palms out. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!"
"I'll not be taken advantage of just because I'm in this contraption," Sr. said pounding his fist on the arm of his wheel chair.
"Nobody is trying to exploit you, you old skinflint," Shane said.
Bedlam returned with all four speaking at once. Putting his two index fingers in his mouth, Adam gave a shrill, loud whistle. The shouting stopped as all eyes turned to him. Robert Sr. clasped his hands over his ears.
"Oh my goodness!" Jr. said, smacking his lips like a fish out of water. Shane O'Malley frowned and the lines around his face grew deeper. Conway was delighted, his grin broadened.
"See father? I told you he could blast the birds' right out of the trees."
"Now on to other business," Adam said, not missing a beat.
"What other business, O'Malley? What've you got up your sleeve?" Robert Sr. shouted.
"This idea is mine, not Bro. . er, Mr. O'Malley's," Adam informed them as he dropped into the plush leather chair behind his desk. "For several years I have followed the success of Dwight L. Moody."
O'Malley's face became a deep shade of red. Michaels snorted as Robert Jr.'s mouth dropped open. Only Conway looked on with inter
est.
"Mr. Moody's efforts to reach the poor of this city are legendary." Taking a deep breath, Adam continued, "I propose we at Market Street do the same."
"Crazy Moody!" Michaels said.
"Bring ruffians in from the street?" Jr. said, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"How would we go about it?" Conway asked.
"Perhaps we could rent a building in the poor section of town, large enough for the ladies to teach Bible lessons. Also they could give instructions on cooking and proper nutrition to the women," Adam said, gaining momentum. "The men would help the fathers."
"And pray tell what would we help them do?" Jr. asked, lifting his chin, his voice rich in sarcasm.
"Why, all sorts of things," Adam replied, his eyes bright. "How to be better husbands and fathers; for the ones, who are looking for work, teach them skills, to handle their finances better."
Adam's voice softened. "But the main purpose of our mission would be to bring them to Christ."
O'Malley's words were cold. "My wife will not be working with any street urchins."
"Now father, you don't know what mother will say." Conway said.
Jr. stared at Adam as if he had grown another head.
"I'll not stand for it!" Robert Sr. said, pushing himself up, attempting to stand. Instantly, his son was at his side.
"Please father, calm down. Remember what the doctor said," Robert Jr. pleaded.
"I don't care what that quack said. No country bumpkin is going to ruin my church! Working with riff raff, ha! I'll not do it, I tell you, I'll not do it," he shouted with fervor. The veins in his neck throbbed and his face turned a light shade of purple.
His son took him by the arm and gently pushed him down. Conway went to the
other side.
"Get away from me, O'Malley."
Wrenching his arm free from his son, the old man swung his balled up fist at Conway, missing horribly. The momentum of the undelivered blow sent Robert Sr. tipping over sideways, landing the older gent on the floor. Jr. tried to catch him but could not. Rolling across the Persian carpet, he struck his head on Adam's desk. A dull thud echoed through the room. Michaels lay still with a purple bump rising on his forehead.
Robert knelt beside his father, his face ashen.
Stunned by the drama unfolding before him, Adam stood frozen in place. Jarring himself to action, he rounded the desk as Conway and Shane also came to Michaels' aid.
"Let us help you," Conway said, reaching out a hand.
"You've done quite enough," Robert said, slapping at Conway's hands. Turning to the door, he raised his voice. "Jarvis! Get in here now."
A black man in the dress of a carriage man burst into the study.
"What's wrong with Mister Michaels?" He asked, easily picking up the elderly man and placing him in the wheel chair.
"Take him back to the house and then go for Dr. Pear," Robert Jr. said.
Without a backward glance, the three of them hurried out.
Shane cleared his throat. "We should get going too," he said, more to himself than the others. Conway followed his father out. Before leaving, he assured Adam of his continued support
Soon Adam was alone with his thoughts. He eased himself back into his chair, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, he began to pray. An hour later, there was a soft knock at the door. As Adam opened it, James came in carrying a tray of covered dishes and silver pitcher of steaming coffee.
Adam cleared a space on his desk, replacing the commentaries in the bookcase.
After saying grace, Adam picked at the meal.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" James asked, backing in the direction of the door.
"Yes James, please have a seat."
James lowered himself slowly into a well-tooled guest chair.
"How long have you lived here?" Adam asked.
"I was born in the basement of this church," he replied, pointing downward with his index finger. "I grew up helping my father," James said with pride.
"Has the church had any deacons other than the Michaels and O'Malley's?"
"No sir, not that I recall."
"James, what is your opinion of Market Street Church?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, sir," he said, shifting his feet, obviously uncomfortable at the question.
"Come on," Adam said. "You've lived here all your life. The only person who knows this congregation better is your father."
James's heart was pounding so hard, he thought sure Adam would hear it. Adam had met with the deacons this very morning. Were they looking for an excuse to fire him and his father?
"They are a wonderful group of people," James said, his eyes downcast.
He was not used to lying and it showed.
"James!" Adam said, "We both know that's not true."
James decided to trust this preacher.
"They're a terrible set of fools!" he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "They sold my mother to buy a new pulpit. They are working my father to death. Worst of all, they're going to hell and don't even know it!"
"Thank you James," Adam said.
RIVER OF FIRE