“How bad?”
“Next week I start a three-month sabbatical from Little Creek that may prove permanent.”
Hodges whistled. “What did you do?”
“Other than agreeing to help Sam Miller, I’m not sure.”
Hodges picked up the knife from the table and held it out like a teacher lecturing with a pointer. “I know the routine. A dynamic young minister comes to a church that then starts to grow. People get excited, and the minister believes the church is moving toward the new millennium. Behind the scenes, the old power brokers get upset and run him off.”
“How do you know so much about church politics? I didn’t think you went to church.”
“I don’t.”
The waitress returned with their sweet tea.
“My father was a preacher,” the reporter said after she left. “Growing up, I attended two elementary schools, one middle school, and two high schools, the last one for my senior year only—all courtesy of church politics. Can you imagine what it would be like to move to a new town for your senior year of high school?”
“No.”
“But flexibility and the ability to interact with new people have helped me in the newspaper business.”
“Why don’t you write the religion articles? The woman who does—” Mike stopped.
“Isn’t much of a writer?” Hodges replied with a shrug. “Agreed. But I can’t do it and maintain journalistic objectivity. I’m still mad about some of the garbage my family had to wade through when I was growing up. Venting my personal feelings on the religion page wouldn’t help us sell papers or attract advertisers.”
“Where is your father now?”
“If what he preached was true, he’s in heaven.”
“Do you believe in his truth?”
Hodges looked at Mike and laughed.
“I believe a lot of things, but I’m not sure how many of them are true.”
Mike looked up as Bobby, Forrest, and the two men with them walked to the cash register. Hodges turned in his seat.
“There go your friends.”
“Do you know the other two men?” Mike asked.
“No, but that doesn’t mean they’re not locals.”
Mike relaxed as the group left the restaurant.
“I’m beginning to feel like a conspiracy theorist,” he said.
Hodges leaned forward. “The masses love a good conspiracy. I’d get a kick out of writing a series of articles about some of the conspiracies that have popped up in our nation’s history. It would be interesting reading, and even though I made it clear the stories weren’t true, plenty of folks would believe they were real.”
“Is that how you view Christian faith?”
Hodges shook his head. “Very slick, Preacher. You turned our conversation to religion smoother than a politician about to make a promise.”
Mike grinned. “It’s a fair question.”
“Which I’m afraid to answer.”
“Afraid?”
“Because the answer could change my life here and in the hereafter if it exists.”
The waitress brought their food. Without asking Hodges’s permission, Mike bowed his head to pray.
“God, help Braxton fear You enough to believe in Your love. Bless this food. Amen.”
He looked up. Hodges had a quizzical expression on his face.
“What did that mean?” the reporter asked.
“I’m not sure, but it covered a lot of theological ground in a few words.”
Hodges took a bite of steaming mashed potatoes and gravy. “What prompted you to make the leap of faith?”
Mike returned a fried chicken drumstick to his plate. “Which one? The most recent jump into the unknown was the decision to help Sam Miller.”
“The first one. For my father, that was the only one that mattered.”
“It happened during my junior year in high school. I attended a weekend retreat with a buddy who went to a different church. There was an evangelistic speaker, and when he gave the invitation on Saturday night, I left my seat and walked to the front. A counselor prayed with me.”
Hodges swallowed a bite of chicken. “I did that at least a dozen times from age five to fifteen, but it never worked for me. After my first trip to the altar, my father insisted every subsequent visit was simply a rededication of my life to God. I kept trying, but after a while, my rededicator wore out, and I gave up.” Hodges leaned forward. “Did things really change in your life after you prayed at the retreat?”
Mike looked directly into Hodges’s eyes and spoke with all the earnestness he could muster. “I haven’t had a sinful thought since.”
Hodges burst out laughing and didn’t stop. While Mike watched, the reporter’s humor caught a second wind, and he sat back in his seat, continuing to guffaw until he wiped tears from his eyes.
“I didn’t know I was that funny,” Mike said when the reporter calmed down.
“You’re not,” Hodges replied. “It was so unexpected. I thought you were going to move to the next step of your evangelistic outline. When you didn’t, it caught me totally off guard.”
“You don’t need an outline. Given your childhood, I’m sure you know the message of the gospel.”
“Yeah, when I was a kid, I had to memorize questions to ask people and the correct answers to suggest in case they didn’t get the point. I never did very well with it.”
“Those approaches can work, but just because it didn’t connect with you doesn’t mean you’re a hopeless reprobate.”
“My first wife might disagree.”
“And she may be right except for the hopeless part. People change because God’s grace is a fact, not a concept.”
Hodges ate several more bites of food before he spoke. “I might come hear you preach on Sunday, especially if you promise to make me laugh.”
“You’re welcome to visit, but I won’t be there. My sabbatical begins at sundown Friday.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t let the way the church has treated your father or me stop you from having an open mind. The longer I believe, the more convinced I am about the truth that God wants to be involved in our lives.”
“I’ve never been able to make that connection.”
Mike thought for a moment. “What did Sam Miller write in the letter he sent you?”
Hodges put down a forkful of green beans without eating it.
“He claimed my attitude toward my father had warped my view of God and that I’d violated the verse about honoring parents.”
“The fifth commandment.”
“Yeah, it made me mad at first until I realized he was right.”
“Did he know your father?”
“No. I grew up in Tennessee. Miller is a total stranger to our family. He could have researched my history, but I doubt it.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that. Sam relies on what he sees in a dream or his impression of the moment. Did he offer a solution for your problem?”
“He said if I spent more time with my son, I would better understand God’s love for me.”
“Did you do it?”
“No. I didn’t want to hassle with my ex-wife. She always throws up objections to regular visitation, and my work schedule makes it hard to stick to specific times.”
“How old is your son now?”
“Sixteen. He and his mother live in Hickory. A few years ago, she married a furniture company executive who makes five times what I do.”
“It might not be too late to test out Sam’s theory.”
The door of the restaurant opened, and Butch Niles entered. Hodges raised his hand in greeting, and the legislator headed toward their table.
“What are you going to say to him?” Mike asked.
“Just watch. Niles cultivates a good rapport with the local press.”
Mike and Hodges stood up as Niles approached to shake their hands.
“Mike has been trying to convert me,” Hodges said as h
e released Niles’s hand. “He almost had me convinced, but one thing stopped me.”
“What?”
“That verse in the Bible about not trusting lawyers.”
Niles shook his head. “Dr. Garrison at our church says that meant some kind of religious lawyer.”
“That’s true,” Hodges replied. “But Mike is one of those, too. Want to join us?”
Niles looked around the room. “No thanks, I’m meeting someone. Bank business.”
The door opened and Troy Linden, carrying a navy blue leather briefcase, entered.
“Got to go,” Niles said.
“Call me if you hear any tidbits from Raleigh,” Hodges replied.
“Sure thing.”
When Niles left, Mike turned to Hodges. “That’s Troy Linden.”
“I know. I recognize him from his mug shot from New Jersey. If I ever write a story, it will be fun showing a photo with a number beneath the picture on the front page.”
“I wonder which one of them will pay for lunch.”
“Troy is the one with the deep pockets. He’ll make sure Butch Niles has all the mashed potatoes and gravy he can cram in his mouth.”
Twenty-four
DELORES CONFRONTED MIKE AS SOON AS HE APPROACHED HER desk. “I thought you were going to wait!” she snapped. “You should have taken the advice you gave me.”
“You read the e-mail to the elders?”
“Yes, and it sounded like someone else wrote it.” Delores held up her hand. “And don’t tell me to pray about it. I have to do something.”
Mike leaned against the front of her desk. “You’re a key person. If you don’t react, others will follow your lead.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“As soon as the word gets out that I’m going on sabbatical, callers with questions are going to start phoning. That will be your chance to set the tone for the whole church. If you vent your frustration, it will spread like wildfire. If you don’t act upset, it may help things work out down the road.”
“That’s hard to do when I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Delores eyed him suspiciously. “Have you already decided not to come back after this so-called sabbatical is over?”
Mike answered carefully. “No door is closed in my mind.”
“Are you going to fight for your job?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. God is going to take care of this battle without my help.”
“Please.” Delores snorted. “Leave Him out of it. You’d almost convinced me.”
“I’m not ordering you to keep your mouth shut. That wouldn’t work anyway. Just think it over. Do you have a copy of my e-mail to the elders?”
Delores picked up a sheet of paper from her desk. “Yes.”
“Except for the part about Sam Miller, you can use it to answer people’s questions.”
Delores didn’t respond.
Mike went into his office but left the door cracked open. He waited until he saw the light on his phone blink as a call came into the church then stepped quietly to the door and listened.
“Good morning, Little Creek,” Delores answered crisply.
After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Who told you that, Emma? Mike hasn’t been fired. He’s taking a sabbatical to be with Peg during her pregnancy. The session voted Tuesday night, and Mike accepted their offer. Here’s what he said about it—” Mike returned to his desk. He didn’t have confidence of total victory with Delores. Working with her was a war of many battles.
In a few minutes, she paged him.
“Braxton Hodges from the paper is on the phone.”
Mike picked up the receiver. “What did I do to deserve so much attention from the press? Are you secretly working on a feature article about me?”
“That’s on my list as soon as I finish a series about Confederate soldiers buried in Barlow County. Listen, do you remember the briefcase Linden brought to the restaurant?”
“No.”
“My journalistic eye noticed it. It was different, kind of a dark blue color.”
“Okay.”
“Linden didn’t leave with it. He gave it to Niles.”
“I thought you weren’t going to stay at the restaurant.”
“I didn’t, but I saw Niles walking on the sidewalk toward the bank when I went out a few minutes ago. He was carrying the briefcase, and Linden wasn’t with him.”
“And you think the briefcase was stuffed with money?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you follow Niles into the bank and watch the teller count it?”
“Preachers aren’t supposed to be sarcastic,” Hodges replied. “Do you want to hear me out?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“While Niles is walking happily down the street, someone comes up and stops him for a few moments of private conversation. I pull into a parking space and watch. Niles is nervous, looking around, glancing over his shoulder, and putting both hands on the briefcase while the man is talking to him. Even from across the street, I could see that Niles was upset. Finally, he says something I can’t hear and storms off toward the bank.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“Sam Miller.”
“Oh no!”
Mike quickly tried to remember whether Sam had mentioned anything to him about Butch Niles. He couldn’t remember anything.
“I’ll check with Sam when I give him an update on the case.”
“And get back to me, so I can include the exchange between them in the article I’m writing.”
“Forget it. Keep researching the broken-down tombstones of Confederate soldiers.”
Mike called the Miller house, but no one answered. Upon arriving home, he knew why. The familiar red pickup truck was parked in his driveway. Mike went inside. The kitchen was empty, and he didn’t hear any sounds in the house. He went into the great room and found Sam sleeping in his recliner. Mike cleared his throat. Sam didn’t stir. He stepped back into the kitchen.
“Peg!” he called out. “I’m home!”
“I’m in the art room!” Peg responded.
Mike returned to the great room; however, his client was still fast asleep. Mike quickly stepped over to the chair, concerned the older man might be unconscious, not merely asleep.
“Sam,” he said in a normal tone of voice.
No response. He looked closer and couldn’t see any sign that Sam was breathing.
“Sam!” he said louder as he shook the older man’s shoulder.
Sam stirred to life. He blinked his eyes and looked up at Mike.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked.
Sam rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “This is an awesome chair. I bet you have some incredible visions while you’re sitting in it.”
“Not really. I use it to watch TV.”
Sam leaned forward and patted the leather arms of the chair. “Well, I think it’s a rocket ship to Glory. I went up so fast I could have used a seat belt. Do you want to know what I saw?”
“Not now. What did you say to Butch Niles today?”
“How do you know about that?”
“A friend saw you talking to him but didn’t hear the conversation.”
“Wasn’t much of a conversation. Last night, I figured out he was the box of finishing nails in my dream and told him to stop doing wrong at Cohulla Creek.”
“Why did you say anything to him? It’s just going to antagonize the people who want to see you sent to prison.”
“Do you know why they were finishing nails?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yep, but I’m also trying to help you understand. Finishing nails mean that Representative Niles is the one who’s going to finish the deal. There is a double meaning with the nails. It sounds like his name, and he’s also going to nail down the deal.”
“Okay, but why talk to Niles in the first place? He’s not going to change his mind.”
Sam cocked his head to the side. “Are you listenin
g to yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe the Master can change people for the better?”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“What do they have to do?”
“Repent and believe.”
“How will a person know to repent if no one tells them about their sin?”
“Are you cross-examining me?”
“Only to help you understand Papa’s ways better.”
“Mike!” Peg called. “Are you coming?”
“Yes!” he responded.
“Go on,” Sam said with a wave of his hand. “I’d like to catch another quick nap before supper.”
By the time Mike left the room, Sam’s eyes were closed. Peg and Muriel were in the art room.
“Sue Cavanaugh stopped by for a few minutes to check on me,” Peg said. “The interim minister at the church is a retired medical missionary named Vaughn Mixon. He’ll be there tomorrow.”
“A courtesy call from one of the elders would have been nice,” Mike replied.
“She found out about it from Libby Gorman. There won’t be a general announcement until Sunday morning.”
“How are you feeling?” Mike asked.
“Less bored now that Muriel is here.”
Returning to the great room, they found Sam asleep in the recliner.
“Should I wake him up?” Mike asked. “He claims the chair is the seat of heavenly revelation, but I need to give him an update on the case.”
“Can it wait?” Muriel responded. “When this happens, it’s better not to chain him to earth.”
“How long will he sleep?” Peg asked.
Muriel looked at her watch. “I’ll rouse him in an hour or so and take him home for supper. After that, he’ll probably be up for a while writing in his notebook and reading the Bible.”
It was an odd evening. Mike, Peg, and Muriel carried on a conversation in a normal tone of voice, and Sam slept through it all. After an hour passed, Muriel rose from her seat, went over to Sam, shook his shoulder, and spoke loudly in his ear. He blinked and opened his eyes.
“You’re not very good company tonight,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
As he came fully awake, Sam turned to Mike. “If you ever decide to sell this chair, let me know.”
“Is the chair that special?”
Sam smiled. “Don’t fight me. Let me build your faith.”
Mountain Top Page 27