Christopher turned off his computer. “Mrs. Baker, why did your renter move out? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Oh no, I don’t mind. He got a job in St. Louis. It’s hard to make any money around here, you know.”
“Yes, it sure is.”
“Anyway, I would like for you and your family to move in if you think it’s okay.”
He was careful with his next words. “Do you mind telling me what the rent is?”
“Oh no, Brother Chris, I don’t want you to pay me anything for it. This is my way of helping my minister – and my church.”
Christopher tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. “No, I could never let you do that—”
“Yes you could! And you will. Like I said, this is my way of helping our church.”
“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it, then I’ll have to take a look.” He followed her out of the office. He had learned a long time ago that it was not his place to steal blessings from those who gave to God by giving to him. That came with the territory of being a pastor. He locked the church and got into her car. He had never noticed how nice it was. He really hadn’t noticed that much about her at all. He had visited her home a couple of times, but he didn’t remember it being particularly fancy.
As they traveled through town, they saw some beggars on a street corner holding cups and signs. They knocked on the window when Coreen stopped at the light. “Poor buggers,” she said, not making eye contact with them.
Christopher’s spirit began to rise when she drove into a nice, brick subdivision only a few miles from the church. She pulled up and parked in the driveway of one of the prettiest houses on its street, then smiled at her passenger. “This is it.”
Wow! How wonderful this would be! “This is the house?”
“Yes, do you like it?”
“Well, yes, it’s beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine living here for free.”
“Oh, it won’t be free, you’ll have to pay the light and water bill and all of that.”
Christopher laughed. “Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
Coreen unlocked the front door and the two walked inside. It was a nicer home than he had moved out of in November. The appliances looked new and so did the paint and carpet. It had vaulted ceilings and a wood-burning fireplace. He walked into the living area, then the kitchen and three bedrooms. The master bedroom was a suite with a walk-in closet and a separate shower and bathtub. It even had a home office adjacent to the living room. The back yard was fenced and covered with grass, although it was winter dormant.
“Mrs. Baker, if you are sure it’s okay, we would love to move here.”
“Then here’s the key.” She handed it to him. “And I want you to know this makes me very happy.”
It makes her happy! It had been so long since he had come home with good news, he forgot what it felt like. Rachel’s going to love this news. She wasn’t going to believe it, but she was going to love it.
Chapter Six
Dillon McGee stood on his back porch late in February. It was nearing bedtime and pitch black except for the porch light that illuminated patchy snow a few feet in front of him. Steam rose from his coffee cup and soothed his face. His wife, Jenny, had cooked pork chops for supper and he had helped her clear the table a couple of hours earlier. His daughter, Amy, a kindergartner, came outside and stood beside him.
“Aren't you cold, daddy?” she said.
He could see her breath in the porch light. “Yeah, a little. Aren't you supposed to be in bed by now little lady?”
“I'm going. I'm going.”
“I'll come tuck you in a little bit, okay?” He watched her go back into the house and took a sip from the cup. He and Jenny had thought they would never have children. They had tried for three years and nearly given up when she became pregnant with Amy. They prayed and held their breath through the first and second trimesters. Then, they knew it was really going to happen. They probably pampered Amy more than they should have, but few would blame them after the difficulty they had baring her.
Jenny had had a tough childhood and had nearly been killed in a car accident when she was sixteen. But she had overcome. She was Dillon's first love and his high school sweetheart. She had a scar above her left eye from the wreck, but Dillon felt it gave her character and reminded him that he nearly lost her and to treat her as such.
They had been separated the first year he was in the Marines; she went to college and they found themselves broken up for the first time since their junior year in high school. At Christmas, he asked her to marry him and she happily agreed. That spring, they married and she joined him on the base in San Diego. It was a difficult year for her, waiting alone for him at the base. She had been ecstatic when he was stationed at Pearl Harbor and they moved to paradise. The best part was that he was home most nights. When he was honorably discharged, they both wanted to move home to Springfield. He made decent money working for her step-dad in his body shop, but it closed down and Jenny's mom divorced him and moved to Cincinnati. Dillon hired on at Morgan Retail, mostly for the benefits, and they began to try to have a family of their own. They attended her home church the first couple of years after they moved home, but when they were trying to get pregnant, a lady said the problem was Jenny's lack of faith. That had upset her so much, she quit going. That was fine with Dillon, he wasn't very fond of those soft church folks anyway.
He admitted he was over-protective of Amy, not even wanting her to spend the night with friends, and he hated when Jenny drove more than a few miles, afraid of her having another wreck. They were sneaking by with Jenny not working, but he wasn't sure how long it would last with prices rising. He tried not to think about her looking for a job.
It startled him when he suddenly felt a vibration against his right hip. Then he heard his cell phone buzzing. He fetched it out of his pocket and flipped it open, trying not to spill his coffee. “Hello.”
“McGee.” It was Walter Gray. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Oh, no sir. I was just standing outside.”
“Outside! It's thirty degrees out there. What are you doing outside?”
“I just came out a minute.” There was a couple of seconds of uncomfortable silence as he waited for Walter to tell him the purpose of the call.
“Dillon, I have a job for you to do. Can you help me out tonight?”
Dillon did not want to hear this. He was ready to settle in under his warm covers. “Uh, sure. How can I help you?”
“You know Matt Douglas, right?”
Matt was the only guy Dillon could think of who actually scared him. He was a mountain of a man, quiet, and menacing. Dillon wasn't sure what he did for the company, but he worked in security for corporate. He looked at you with eyes devoid of emotion. Dillon felt he would literally kill you if you crossed him. “Yes, I know him.”
“I need you to go pick him up for me.”
You've got to be kidding. “Pick him up?”
“He's going to call you in a few minutes and tell you where he is. He's somewhere down in the mountains toward Branson.”
Matt's voice was deep and unfriendly on the phone when he called. He gave Dillon his exact GPS coordinates and hung up. Dillon inputted them into his phone and began the sixteen-mile trek into the darkness. Dillon wondered what this was all about as he drove away from the comfort of the street lights. Had Matt broken down? Why was he out there in the middle of the night? Where was he supposed to take him when he got him?
He drove to the point where Matt had directed him, a couple of miles off of the main road. Matt was standing beside a blue pickup, smoking a cigarette. Dillon recognized the truck, it belonged to Joseph Wilson, one of the assistant managers at the store. Joseph was friendly, handsome and well-liked at the store. In fact a little too well-liked – it was widely known that he was having an affair with one of the checkers. Dillon tried to stay out of the employees’ personal lives, but that was impossible, working with so many of th
em all day every day. Joseph was married with two children. The check-out girl was married too.
Dillon pulled off of the road, onto the shoulder next to an overlook. He could see house lights in the distance that showed him they were high above the valley floor below. The wind chilled his face as he stepped out of his car. They were far from any houses, out in pitch darkness. Matt continued to stand by Joseph's truck, but Joseph was nowhere to be seen.
“I need you to help me with this,” Matt said.
“With what? What's going on?”
“I need you to help me push this truck over the side.”
“What?”
“Just hurry up.”
Dillon walked up to the truck and looked in it. Joseph Wilson was strapped into the driver's seat, but he was slumped over, lifeless. Dillon's heart began to race. He wanted to turn and run to his car, but he knew better. He kept his cool and turned to Matt. “What happened to Joseph?”
“He had a little accident a few minutes ago. Neck got broken.” Matt snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off of Dillon.
Dillon fought the urge to show any fear. He stared back. Matt reached into the truck bed and picked up a can of gasoline. He poured the liquid into the cab, all over Joseph and the seats, then threw the empty can into the bed. He took out another cigarette and lit it, took a drag off of it, then flicked it into the cab. The cab exploded into an orange, blazing furnace, hissing and popping. Dillon backed up as the sudden heat bathed his face.
“Hurry up,” Matt said as he walked to the back of the truck and positioned himself to push it over.
“I don't want any part of this,” Dillon said, not moving forward.
“Too late for that. You are a part of this. Now help me push this truck before somebody sees us.”
Dillon continued to stand his ground, watching the cab of Joseph's truck burn. The thought of Joseph being in there, alive or dead, made his stomach hurt. He wondered if he was about to faint and fall over the side. Suddenly the truck moved slowly forward. Matt was putting his weight into it. It paused for just a moment at the edge of the cliff and then plunged over the side. Dillon watched it grow smaller as it fell to the valley floor, erupting into a fireball when it hit the bottom.
Matt brushed hard into Dillon as he walked past him and got into the front passenger seat of Dillon's car. “I didn't need you anyway,” he said as he walked by.
Dillon turned and stared at him.
“I need you to take me to Mr. Wilson's house,” Matt said, lighting another cigarette. “That's where my truck is.”
Dillon was repulsed by the thought of Matt riding in the car with him, but he knew if he took him to his truck, he could bring this to a close. “I don't know where he lives.”
“Just get in and let's get out of here. I'll show you.”
That sounded like a good idea to Dillon. He walked over and got into the car. He started it and backed into the road, then headed north toward Springfield. Dillon cracked his window a couple of inches, despite the cold, so he could escape the smoke. The men didn't speak to each other until they got into town and Matt told him where to go. Dillon kept looking in his mirror as he drove back, expecting to see flashing lights coming to get him. But there was no other traffic.
Matt's truck was parked, it turned out, a couple of blocks from Joseph's house. Dillon tried to piece together what had happened, but he didn't dare ask. The less conversation with that guy, the better. Matt had apparently parked near Joseph's house, ambushed him, and driven him out into the country. One thing Dillon did know was that he had just become an accessory to a murder.
It was after three in the morning when he pulled back into his garage. The grass in the yards of his neighborhood was covered in frost and his fingers were cold as he unlocked the door to his house. He crept in as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake up Jenny or frighten Amy. The window blinds made stripes of light on the floor as he stole through the house. He was wide awake. He sat in his chair for a moment, trying to get the image of the burning cab to stop replaying in his mind. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he found some Mexican beer in the back of the refrigerator and sipped it. After a while, he stepped into the shower and stood under the stream of warm water for several minutes, steaming up the bathroom. He tried to wash his hands, but they just didn't want to be clean.
A little after five, he got under the covers and slid as close to Jenny as he dared, not wanting to wake her. She snuggled next to him in her sleep. After several more minutes, he dozed. In his dreams, he watched Joseph burn in the cab of his blue truck. But in the dream Joseph was alive and screaming.
Chapter Seven
“God is good. God is good!” Christopher stood in the living room on their new home. “Do you realize this, Rachel? God is good.”
She rolled her eyes because he had been saying the same thing all morning. “Yes, I know. God is good.”
“I mean, come on, who would have thought we would get to move into a place like this – for free! Good old Mrs. Baker, letting us live here. Do you realize how much money we'll save? We can save up and buy our own place outright if we want.”
“I wouldn't get too carried away with all of that. What're we going to do if something happens to Coreen? Her children are going to give us the steel toe back to Texas.”
“Uh huh, don't be negative. Mrs. Baker's as healthy as a horse. She'll be around a long time. Don't be like that. If we have to move out of here, God will provide something else. It's that simple.”
She grinned. “I know, I'm just playing with you.”
“Not today.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her tightly up next to him. “You can't rattle me today.”
She reached up and kissed him. “You're so silly.”
Christopher unpacked the last of the boxes that were labeled for the kitchen. He filled the cabinets with glasses and plates. One of his favorite drinking glasses had been broken in the move and he shook his head as he threw the pieces away. Oh well, had to lose one, he thought. He walked through the home, looking in on the boys' bedrooms, and going into his home office. He looked at his books on the shelves and his desktop computer on the counter top. He was going to like this.
The next Saturday was warm for that time of year, so he gathered the boys as soon as he could get them out of bed and rode with them to a nearby bike trail in the mid-morning sun. The trail ribboned over hills and through a forest. Some early flowers were blooming beside the trail. At the top of a hill, the three stopped to rest at a picnic area with a beautiful view. Christopher had a good bead of sweat running down his back. He breathed heavily and sat on a cement picnic table. The boys came and sat on either side of him. “Look at this,” he said, pointing at the scenic panorama in front of them. “Are you telling me some people believe all of this is just an accident?”
“What do you mean, Dad?” Stephen said.
“Some people don't give God any credit at all in creation. They believe this is all just happened by chance.”
“I don't believe that,” Jason said.
“Oh, of course not.” Christopher leaned into him with his arm. “You know this had to be created.”
“Well I believe that too,” Stephen said.
Christopher laughed. “Of course you do, Son. You know that everything has to have a cause. Someone had to create the universe and every living thing.”
“Here we go,” Jason said. “We know, Dad. Everything was designed.”
“Well, I know I say that a lot, but I just can't believe some people don't see it.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Let me ask you guys a question. What if you were walking through a store and saw a beautiful painting of people riding horses on a summer day, would you think, 'Oh look, paint must have accidentally spilled on this canvas to make this beautiful painting?'”
Stephen chuckled. “No.”
Christopher grinned. “Okay, well what if we rode up on some logs on this trail that spelled out the word 'help'. How
would you think they got there?”
“I would think someone put the logs there,” Jason said, “because they were in some kind of trouble.”
“What about you, Stephen?” Christopher glanced at him. “What would you think?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Well, what if we saw the logs and I said to you guys, 'Hey look, the wind must have moved these logs like this.' What would you think about that?”
Jason shook his head. “No way. I don't think so.”
Christopher nodded. “You'd think I was as dumb as a box of rocks, wouldn't you?”
“No Dad,” Jason said, “as a bag of hammers.” He laughed out loud.
Stephen jumped off the table, laughing at his brother and father.
“But that's just what people think.” Christopher said. “They see birds and butterflies and trees and flowers and believe that they are all just accidents of nature. And it's really more like riding in the woods and coming up on the complete works of Shakespeare written out with logs and believing the wind did it. Nature is so complex, there's no way any of it is an accident.”
Stephen cocked his head. “Who's Shakespeare?”
“He's a guy that wrote lots and lots of stories and poems. It doesn't matter. What I'm saying is that life had to start somewhere.” He looked over at Jason. “Have you guys studied DNA in school yet?”
“A little bit. We talked about genes in science.”
“Well, the DNA code is the code that tells all living cells what to do. What to become, what function to perform, what to look like, everything. It is an extremely complicated code.”
Stephen cocked his head. “You mean like computer code?”
“Exactly,” Christopher said. “Some very smart guys write the lines of code to make computer programs work.”
Stephen nodded. “That's right.”
“Well the DNA code is just like computer code,” Christopher said. “It boggles my mind that anyone would believe the code is just an accident. That's just impossible.” Christopher looked at both of them to make sure they were following him. “We have lines and lines of code in every cell in our bodies – enough to write a dictionary. Somebody had to write all of that code, just like somebody would have to spell 'help' with the logs.” Christopher stood up. He knew he had used up his teaching moment. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”
The Dead Peasants File Page 5