Bobby pulled the knot in his tie closer to his neck. “Unless it isn’t called for trial, or you request a continuance, or Miller is convicted and you file an appeal.”
“Of course, those are possibilities. Trial work is always unpredictable.”
Barbara Harcourt spoke, her voice strained and imperious. “I wasn’t here when the session discussed this matter, but in my opinion, it is totally improper for our minister to represent a criminal. There are plenty of lawyers around, and this man should have hired one of them.”
“I understand,” Mike answered, keeping his voice calm. “But this is a unique—”
“There’s only one thing to consider,” Milton interrupted, pointing his finger at Mike. “We’ve gone over this matter in detail on two occasions, and we want a commitment from you to withdraw immediately from the case. We didn’t get a chance to talk to Libby before the meeting, but the rest of us are unanimous in our decision.”
“And I voted against it in the first place,” Libby said.
“Was that the reason for your joint supper before this meeting?” Mike asked, his voice hardening. “Don’t you think it would have been appropriate to allow me to offer my perspective before ambushing me at this meeting?”
Milton cleared his throat.
“We’re aware of your position. It would have been pointless to rehash it.”
Mike turned to Bobby. “Are you part of this?”
“I made my position clear two weeks ago,” Bobby answered. “None of us enjoy putting this kind of pressure on you, but it’s the only way to make you wake up and realize that what you’re doing is inconsistent with your calling as the senior minister of this church.”
“Really? Doesn’t the Bible say that God is interested in justice? What do the prophets say about acquitting the guilty and convicting the innocent?”
“We’re not here to debate,” Milton responded. “We need your answer.”
Mike waited until everyone in the room looked at him then slowly scanned the room. Only Rick and another elder didn’t hold his gaze.
“And if I decide to honor my commitment to Sam Miller,” Mike said slowly, “what then?”
“Get out of the case or leave the church. Is that clear enough?” Milton shot back.
Mike hesitated. Political prudence would dictate a request for time to consider his options, but he didn’t feel either political or prudent. He wanted to call the elders’ bluff. The church had grown and become much stronger since his arrival. Many of the new members were linked to him as leader. Any harsh action taken against him would split the congregation. He turned to Bobby.
“I need to know your position,” he said.
Bobby looked at Milton and nodded his head. The exchange between the two men pierced Mike’s heart. He’d hoped Bobby was a reluctant, not willing, participant in the assault against him.
Milton took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “We’ve made arrangements for an interim pastor to fill the pulpit.”
“You’ve already lined up someone to replace me?”
“On a temporary basis. He’s a retired minister from Shelby. You would be given a sabbatical.”
“Sounds more like a permanent suspension than a sabbatical.”
Bobby spoke. “That’s not what we would tell the congregation. In fact, our hope is that we could present this action in a positive light. Peg is experiencing a high-risk pregnancy and needs your help at home. We would announce the sabbatical as a gesture from the session to accommodate your family situation. Then, if things work out, you could return to the pulpit without any stigma of disciplinary action.”
Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The sabbatical would be with full pay and benefits for three months,” Rick added. “One month for each year of service.”
“Thanks, that’s generous,” Mike replied with thinly veiled sarcasm.
Milton Chesterfield’s eyes flashed. “You better believe it is! And if you want to lose it, keep talking! Just because you used to be a hotshot lawyer in Shelton doesn’t mean you can come out here and run over those of us who have been in this church longer than you’ve been alive!”
“If I recall, you were on the committee that interviewed me and voted unanimously for me to come,” Mike responded coldly.
“Stop it!” Bobby held up his hands. “This isn’t easy for any of us, and we don’t need to end up in an argument. I move we ask for a written response from Mike by the end of the week. If he withdraws from the Miller case, this discussion will have served its purpose. If not, we have a plan to move the church forward and allow Mike to do what he wants to do.”
“Second,” Barbara responded quickly.
“All in favor,” Milton said.
Mike watched seven hands rise into the air, and with a sinking feeling in his heart, knew his days as pastor of the Little Creek Church had come to an end.
NORMALLY, MIKE STAYED AFTER A MEETING UNTIL EVERYONE departed the premises. Tonight, he couldn’t wait to get away. Abandoning all pretense of civility, he left the conference room and walked directly to his car. He heard Bobby call his name, but he didn’t turn around. Bobby had been right about one thing—any additional words would only fuel a fight.
During the drive home, Mike’s mind raced in a hundred directions. He’d never been threatened with firing in his life. The thought of posting his résumé on the seminary Web site in an effort to locate another pastorate made him feel slightly nauseous. Returning to law practice in Shelton in the face of open animosity from his former firm was not an option. He pulled into his driveway. Ever loyal, Judge greeted him at the kitchen door.
“Peg!” Mike called out. “Where are you?”
“Lifting weights in the bedroom!” she responded. “Please bring me a glass of ice water.”
Mike took longer than necessary to fix the glass of water. He stopped to let Judge go out to the backyard.
“You sure are a slow waiter!” Peg yelled. “In my dream you were always at my elbow!”
Mike took the glass of water into the bedroom. Peg was leaning against a couple of pillows with a sketch pad in her lap.
“What are you drawing?”
“A concept. I’d like to paint some watercolors for the baby’s room.”
“Maybe you can do a few extras to sell.”
Peg laughed. “Don’t be silly. I’m not interested in going commercial.”
“In a few months we could use the money.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s serious.”
Peg’s face fell. Mike sat on the edge of the bed.
“The elders told me to get out of Sam’s case or leave the church.”
“What? That’s crazy!”
Mike told her what had happened at the meeting. When he reached the part about the sabbatical and the reason for it, she began to cry. He handed her a box of tissue.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
Peg blew her nose. “No, it just hurts so badly. I’m more mad than sad. To use my pregnancy as an excuse to the congregation is so dishonest and unfair.”
“Yeah, it’s cowardly.”
His voice growing more despondent as the adrenaline released during the meeting drained from his system, Mike finished his account of the night’s events.
“I’ve prided myself on staying ahead of the curve on the political activity taking place at the church, but this caught me off guard. Bobby should have tipped me off to a mutiny of this magnitude, but he may have been the one who came up with the sabbatical idea in the first place.”
“Elizabeth Lambert hasn’t returned my calls for almost two weeks.”
Mike grunted. “She didn’t have the courage to face you, knowing what was in the works.”
Peg shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Such a mean attitude. If they knew more about Sam—”
“It wouldn’t make any difference. He’s already a convicted felon in the minds of some members of the sessio
n. And Milton was just looking for an excuse to vent his animosity toward me. To him, Sam is irrelevant.”
“Who agrees with Milton?”
Mike shrugged. “I’m not sure how many people believe the church would be better off going backward than forward. I’ve worked hard for three years to communicate a vision for the future—tonight it came crashing down in a few minutes. The support I thought I had among the leadership of the church was an illusion.”
“That may not be true.”
“I have to assume the worst. Part of my failure has been in believing what people said to my face and trusting it as their true opinion.”
“Mike, that’s awful. It makes the church sound like a charade.”
“It’s made up of imperfect people.”
“Who are supposed to be getting better.”
Mike smiled slightly. “Like you are. I’d like to think you’re the result of my ministry, but Sam Miller has had more to do with what God is doing in your life than I have.”
“That’s not true. You’ve been so steady and faithful. Even when I was angry with you or wanted to ignore you, it wasn’t possible. And you’ve helped a lot of people.”
Mike kissed her forehead. “That’s sweet, but can’t you let me wallow in self-pity and doubt for a few minutes?”
“We’ll schedule your pity party later. When are you going to tell Sam about this?”
“I’m not sure I should. He’s facing enough pressure without taking on my problems. I don’t like being coerced into doing—”
“What you don’t want to do,” Peg said, finishing his sentence. “That’s your pride and ego talking.”
“So? It’s still about doing the right thing.”
“And when you’re upset isn’t the best time to make an important decision. You’ve told me that plenty of times when I was in an emotional upheaval. Sam needs to be brought into the loop. He’ll find out anyway if he and Muriel visit the church.”
“It’ll be all over town,” Mike added gloomily. “There’s no way the spin Bobby wants to put on this is going to stand up to the scrutiny of the rumor mill. One of the elders will crack, and the real reason will leak out. The fight within the church will begin, and the whole community can enjoy the latest gossip about the big blowup at Little Creek Church.”
“Don’t make your final decision until you talk to Sam. I’ve supported you on this from the beginning, but you should talk to him and give it some time.
You don’t have to respond until the end of the week. When you figure out the right decision, you’ll make it.”
“Are you worried about what will happen to us?”
Peg pointed to Mike’s letter that lay open on the nightstand. It seemed a week since he’d penned it, and he’d forgotten all about it.
“Of course, but a woman can trust her future to a man who would write a letter like that.”
Twenty-one
MIKE SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT TOSSING AND TURNING IN BED. Shortly before dawn, he gave up on sleep and went downstairs to the kitchen. He tried to pray and read the Bible, but couldn’t concentrate. He looked at the clock. It was early, but he suspected Sam Miller didn’t linger in bed. He picked up the phone.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked when Sam answered the phone.
“Nope. I’ve been listening to you all night.”
“What?”
“In my dreams.”
“I hope I made sense. Can you meet me for breakfast?”
“Sure. Muriel will enjoy sleeping in.”
“How about Traci’s in thirty minutes?”
“Yep.”
Mike put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. When he arrived at the restaurant, the sun had turned the sky a dull gray. In a few minutes, it would rise above the clouds to dispel the remaining darkness. The restaurant did a brisk morning business from customers anxious to get a two-cups-of-coffee start on the day. Sam’s truck was parked at the side of the building. Mike entered and saw Sam sitting alone in a booth. Judy brought over coffee. Sam hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and Mike rubbed his own bristly chin.
“Judy, do you know Sam Miller?” Mike asked after the waitress greeted him.
Judy smiled. “Yeah, Sam and Muriel have been there a few times when I needed them.”
Judy took their order.
Mike glanced around the restaurant. He wished he didn’t have any worries greater than whether to order his eggs scrambled or over easy.
“Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?” he asked.
Sam didn’t hesitate. “The fire started.”
“Yes. I got out of an elders’ meeting last night without being fired on the spot, but I didn’t hear the sound of any sirens coming to the rescue.”
Mike told Sam about the meeting. In the middle, Judy brought the food.
Mike managed a few bites between sentences. Sam’s remained untouched.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked. “There’s nothing worse than cold grits.”
Mike saw a deep sadness in the older man’s eyes that made them look more gray than blue.
“How can I eat when I hear about Papa’s children devouring one of their own? Go ahead.”
Mike continued his story.
“It was rough,” he concluded. “I didn’t want to burden you with this, but Peg insisted I talk it over with you.”
“She was right. And it helps me understand a dream I had last night.”
“About the church?”
“Nope. You and I were in the courtroom. Judge Coberg was there along with the young woman district attorney, Miss Hall. Four people who have been my longtime enemies were in the jury box.”
“Who? I want to make sure I strike them if they turn up in the jury pool.”
Sam shook his head. “You don’t need to know. Not yet. One is dead and another moved away a long time ago. The other two are still in the area. Anyway, when I saw the jurors, I knew I didn’t have a chance in court. I went into the hallway. Muriel was there, and when I told her about the four people in the jury box, she got scared. I hugged her, and we went back into the courtroom. The judge banged his gavel, and we left.”
“What happened next?”
“That’s it.”
“Did you go to jail?”
“No.”
Mike poked his eggs with his fork. His breakfast had also grown cold.
“Do you think you accepted the plea bargain?”
“Is that how it would work?”
“Maybe. Although, the judge would want to talk to you, so you could explain that you were taking the DA’s offer because you didn’t want to go to jail, not because you committed the crime.”
“If I did that, what would happen at your church?”
“The reason given for suspending me would go away, but I’d still have to deal with the opposition of one or more of the elders.” Mike leaned forward and spoke with all the earnestness he could muster. “But I want to make one thing clear—you’re not going to plead guilty to a crime so I can keep my position at the church.”
“That’s what I have to decide, isn’t it?”
MIKE LEFT THE RESTAURANT, NOT SURE WHETHER TO GO HOME or to the church. Driving through town, he concluded hiding out at home would be an act of retreat. Even if his days at the church were numbered, he was determined to hold his head up high until the end. He called Peg on his cell phone and told her about his breakfast with Sam.
“At this point, I don’t believe I could trust his decision to take the plea bargain,” Mike said.
“But he’s the client. He can decide for himself.”
“That’s how the conversation ended. When I first met him, I questioned Sam’s competency. If he pleads guilty just to help me, I’ll know he’s crazy.”
“It’s not right for an innocent man to plead guilty, but Muriel may not want to risk him going to jail. Are you on your way home?”
“No, I’m going to the church.”
“Why?”
�
�To take your advice and carry on as normally as possible.”
Mike felt a surge of confidence as he turned into the church parking lot. It reminded him of the calm before the start of a big jury trial. The challenge was at hand; the preparation complete; ignoring the battle ahead not an option; he was going to war. In those moments, he’d experienced the euphoria reserved for happy warriors. He marched through the front door of the administration building.
“Good morning, Delores,” he said cheerily. “I’ve been up early and ready for the day.”
“I hope it gets better,” she responded. “How was the session meeting?”
Mike quickly studied the church secretary’s face. Delores couldn’t conceal knowledge of information as inflammatory as the previous night’s action by the elders. Her countenance was clear. Libby Gorman had kept her mouth shut—at least for the first twelve hours.
“Brisk and businesslike,” Mike answered. “Any calls?”
“Uh, yes, I put a note on your desk from a man named York. He said he was a former FBI agent.”
“Good. Hold my calls for a few minutes.”
Mike phoned the number for Darius York. A man with a Midwestern accent answered the phone.
“York, here.”
Mike introduced himself and the reason for the contact.
“How many documents do you have?” York asked.
“Two checks and an interrogation statement that can serve as a sample of my client’s handwriting.”
“Do you have the documents in front of you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he sign the statement?”
“Yes.”
“Are the checks originals?”
“No, everything is a copy.”
“Does the signature on the two checks look the same to you?”
Mike studied the checks for a moment. “Yes.”
“How similar?”
Mike looked more carefully. The shape of every letter, the location of the dot on the i in Miller, the curve in the S in Sam all matched exactly.
“Identical.”
“Can you make the original checks available for analysis?”
“Maybe. The case has been fast-tracked, and I’m not sure who has custody of the original checks. They weren’t in the DA’s file, so I assume they’re at the bank.”
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