“What?” Mike asked. “Was it a bad dream?”
Sam shook his head. “Nope, but the goodness of it makes me cry. I’ve loved the people of Barlow County for a long time. It didn’t matter what church they went to or whether they went to church at all. My job was to deliver Papa’s message and pray it might open someone’s heart to the Master. That’s what I did with your friend Buzz. In my dream, you and I were standing on a mountain top.”
Sam bent over and pulled up a blade of green grass. “What do you think I did?”
Mike was silent a moment. “You offered to pray for me.”
“Yep.”
Speaking more rapidly, Mike continued, “But I hesitated because I was afraid God might make me do something I didn’t want to do. Then I realized the essence of obeying the Lord’s call was doing His will, not mine. I knelt down, and you blessed me, just like they did in the Old Testament.”
“That sounds right to me, only you use fancier words. What kind of blessing do you want?”
Mike stood so he faced the old man. “To carry on your work. We’ll always be different, but we can both carry Jesus’s love for the people of Barlow County in our hearts.”
“Yep. And that’s the part that makes me cry. There’s no way a human heart can contain the Master’s love. It always spills out.”
Mike knelt in the grass at Sam’s feet. The old man put his hands on Mike’s head and prayed. The words weren’t eloquent, the request simple. But Mike knew in his heart it was a prayer heard in heaven that would be answered on earth. When Sam finished, Mike stood and the two men embraced.
“Anything else?” Mike asked.
“Nothing, except the rest of our lives.”
As they walked down the trail, Mike felt lighter and heavier at the same time. He asked Sam about it.
“His burden is easy, and His yoke is light. You feel the burden but also know the Master’s strength.”
They reached the parking lot.
“Do you have anything else to say to Buzz?” Mike asked.
“Nope, but when he opens his motorcycle shop, I hope Muriel will let me get one of those things. I hear they’re real cheap on gas.”
Thirty-seven
WITHIN THREE MONTHS, MULTIPLE INDICTMENTS BY STATE AND federal authorities were handed down against Niles, Hatcher, and their associates. Newspapers across the nation picked up Braxton Hodges’s articles about the investigation. The criminal case against Mike and Sam disappeared. Hodges inserted a brief announcement about dismissal of the charges on the bottom of the front page of the Shelton paper, but Mike declined an interview for a feature article about his role in breaking open the scandal. To Mike’s relief, neither Maxwell Forrest nor Bobby Lambert were indicted.
News of Mike’s vindication prompted a flurry of phone calls from people in the community and members of the Little Creek congregation who congratulated him at the news. Apparently, no one really believed he was guilty in the first place. Mike referred questions about whether he might return to the church to the elders. When Delores called and tried to download a massive amount of church gossip, Mike politely stopped her. Nathan Goode asked if he could continue to meet with Mike on a weekly basis, and they set a time on Mondays in the choir room at the high school. Mike didn’t hear a word from Milton Chesterfield, Barbara Harcourt, Libby Gorman, or any other remaining members of the session.
One Tuesday morning, Mike called Greg Freeman and Bobby Lambert and invited them to meet him for lunch at the Ashe Café. Mike and Greg arrived early and sipped sweet tea until Bobby, his tie askew, came through the door.
“Sorry I’m late,” Bobby said. “It’s been hectic. Jack Hatcher fired Mr. Forrest yesterday afternoon and hired some big guns from Atlanta. The board of directors of the bank are bringing in outside counsel in an effort to distance themselves from anyone in Shelton. All our bank files have to be boxed up for delivery to the new attorneys.”
“How is Mr. Forrest doing?” Mike asked.
“He’s aged five years in five weeks. It wouldn’t surprise me if he retired by the end of the year and spent most of his time at his house on the beach.”
Their waitress arrived, and the three men ordered their food.
“Did Mr. Forrest call you?” Bobby asked Mike after the waitress left.
“No.”
“I told him he owed you an apology. He gave a grunt that I interpreted as agreement, but I could be wrong.”
“I’m glad the authorities didn’t try to drag you into the investigation,” Mike replied.
Bobby gave Mike a grateful look. “I can’t give details, but until you started your investigation, I didn’t have a clue the Cohulla Creek development was anything except a business deal the parties wanted to keep confidential. You were way ahead of me on the underlying facts.”
Mike sipped his tea. “I’ve been doing more investigation on a different piece of property. Did you know Bob Allen is going to sell his building near traffic light five?”
Greg shook his head. Bobby’s face registered surprise.
“How did you hear about it?” Bobby asked. “I thought that was totally under wraps.”
“A source.”
“It’s a nice piece of real estate,” Greg said. “Do you know how much he wants for it?”
Mike squeezed a second lemon wedge into his tea.
“I had an interesting dream two nights ago,” he said. “Do you want to hear it?”
The other two men nodded.
Mike stirred his tea. “In the dream, I was driving past the courthouse. When I came to the corner where Mr. Allen’s building sits, I looked to the left and saw our three names written over the main entrance.” Mike stopped and gave a sheepish grin. “Uh, that’s it.”
“We’d started a law firm?” Greg asked.
“I assume so. The sign said ‘Attorneys at Law.’”
Greg turned to Bobby. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure what to think,” Bobby answered, glancing warily at Mike.
“It sounds like an interesting idea to me,” Greg continued excitedly, “but Bobby is the one with the big-time practice. He would have the most to lose.”
“True,” Mike said, looking at Bobby. “If you strike out on your own, you’ll miss the chance to take over Forrest, Lambert, and Arnold.”
“That may not be an option,” Bobby replied. “Mr. Forrest would want a lot of money for a buyout, and I’m not sure Arnold is going to hang around.” Greg turned to Mike. “But what about you? Aren’t you going to find another job as pastor of a church?”
“I’ve found it,” Mike answered.
“Where?” Bobby asked.
Mike swept his right hand across the table. “From one end of the county to the other. I may serve a congregation for a while, but as a lawyer, I can reach a lot of people who might never set foot in a church.”
“Is Peg on board with this?” Bobby asked.
“Yes, we talked about it yesterday. After she and I talked, I made notes about organization of the firm that included a start-up budget.” Mike took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “If the three of us join together, I’ll help Greg develop as the primary litigator, and I could ease the demands of your business practice.”
“You always worked efficiently,” Bobby said, inspecting the numbers on the sheet of paper. “It’s an intriguing idea. I’d like to think it over and discuss it with Elizabeth. She’s fed up with what’s happened at the office and would be happy if I left tomorrow.”
“I’m tired of practicing alone,” Greg said.
The waitress brought their food.
“In the dream, whose name appeared first?” Bobby asked after Mike prayed a blessing for the meal.
Mike laughed. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yeah, even though it sounds petty bringing it up after you’ve prayed.”
“It was Lambert, Andrews, and Freeman. I don’t want to create an image of primary responsibility for the firm, especially since I�
��ll also be doing ministry work.”
“That suits me,” Greg said. “Since I’m still new to the law, it would feel strange with my name ahead of yours.”
“And $300,000 is a fair price for that property,” Mike said between bites. “It will probably require another $150,000 to equip it as a law office, but once that’s done, it will be an appreciating asset.”
“How did you know the price?” Bobby asked, putting down his fork. “I didn’t even dictate a memo to the file about my discussion with Mr. Allen.”
“It was in the dream.”
Bobby shook his head. “From now on, I’m going to have to watch my thoughts around you.”
Mike grinned. “Absolutely. My supervision of your soul will go to the next level.”
IT WAS THE FIRST WEEK OF DECEMBER, AND SNOW BEGAN FALLING when Mike and Peg pulled into the driveway of their house. Peg rested her hand on her protruding abdomen. Sunday morning services at the Craig Valley Gospel Tabernacle didn’t end until early afternoon. Mike had preached for more than an hour.
“I’m going to miss it,” he said. “It’s been a great four months, but I’m glad they found a permanent pastor.”
“If you hadn’t quit talking, I was worried I might have our baby in one of the pews.”
“You know, it’s difficult to stop when people keep yelling for you to keep preaching.”
Peg winced. “Mike, let Judge out of the house for a minute while I get my suitcase. I think it’s time to go to the hospital.”
MIKE ROLLED A CLEAR PLASTIC BASSINETTE WITH A BLUE RIBBON taped to the top and “Andrews—Boy” written on a card into the hallway where Sam and Muriel waited. Muriel’s smile lit up every crevice in her face. Mike proudly picked up the baby.
“He’s beautiful,” Muriel said, stroking the infant’s cheek. “How’s Peg?”
“Resting, but she wants to see you. I’ll take the baby to the nursery.”
Muriel slipped past the men into the hospital room. Sam stayed with Mike.
“What do you think we named him?” Mike asked the old man.
“Isaac.”
“You’re half right. His full name is Samuel Isaac Andrews.”
Sam leaned over and gently kissed the top of Samuel Isaac’s head. “Yep. That will work. I wrote something about him in my notebook last night. I’ll show you later.”
Reading Group Guide
1. What do you think about Sam’s dreams? Do you believe that they were messages from God? Have you ever had such a dream?
2. What does God the Father mean to you? What is the significance of the name “Papa”?
3. In chapter 8 Sam says, “The right word in the wrong time is as bad as the wrong word in the right time.” Do you agree?
4. Peg mentions that church members rarely reach out to help them. What needs might a pastor and his family have? Are there ways that you could minister to your church leaders and their families?
5. What contributed to the distance in Peg and Mike’s marriage? What steps did each of them take that allowed them to reconnect?
6. Sam and Muriel take their roles as mentors to Mike and Peg very seriously. How do they care for them? Do you have a special person in your life who is a mentor to you?
7. How do you feel about the way Mike’s church leaders handled their disagreements? Have you had an experience of conflict or distrust in the church? Compare and contrast how Mike’s leaders conducted their meetings with Sam’s church leaders.
8. Did Peg do the right thing when she told Mike about her past struggle with wanting to leave him?
9.Mike says, “The memory of a wrong isn’t stronger than the grace to forgive and go on.” Do you believe that is true?
10.Mike and Sam went to the hospital to talk to Dressler about Sam’s case, but instead they ministered to him and his dying wife. Can you recall a time that you thought you were headed to do one thing, but God had different plans?
11. Have you ever written anyone a particularly special letter? Ever written a stranger? How would you respond if you received a letter like Sam’s?
12. Which one of the dreams described had the most impact on you?
13. Which character did you identify with the most? Why?
14. The story deals with deeds done in darkness. Have you ever done something you knew was wrong and then God shed His light on it so you could repent and restore fellowship with Him?
15. What was the significance of the mountain top throughout the story? How did the author use the mountain top to develop the characters and their relationships with each other?
16. Did you relate to Mike’s encounter with God during his night in jail? Do you agree with his conclusions about the role of suffering in a person’s life?
17. In the end, Mike decides to return to practicing law. What do you think of that decision?
DEEPER WATER
To those who live to make the world a better place:
“Ye are the salt of the earth.”
—Matthew 5:13
Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Acknowledgments
Reading Group Guide
About the Author
Prologue
MOSES JONES POLED HIS ALUMINUM JOHNBOAT THROUGH THE marshy waters where the Little Ogeechee River mingled with Green Island Sound. The snub-nosed boat rode on top of the water, a slight swirl marking its wake. A set of oars lay in the bow, but Moses preferred a long wooden pole. Quieter than oars, the smooth rod served double duty as a makeshift depth finder.
The old black man slipped the twenty-five-foot-long pole noiselessly into the water until it found the muddy bottom. He glided beneath the outstretched branches of a live oak tree draped in Spanish moss. Around the bend lay one of the best fishing holes on the brackish river. It was night, but the moon shone brightly, and his kerosene lantern sat unlit on the seat.
Moses lifted the pole from the water and balanced it across the front of the boat. He lifted his cap and scratched the top of his gray-fringed head. And listened. The only sounds were familiar night noises: the bullfrogs calling to each other across the channel, the plop of a fish breaking the surface of the water, the cries of crickets in the dark.
Sucking air through his few remaining teeth, Moses let out a long, low moan to let the faces in the water know he was entering their domain. The faces moved from place to place along the inlets and tributaries the old man frequented, from the Tybee River to Wassaw Island. With the water as their grave, they weren’t bound to one location. Their cemetery had no tombstones, no iron fences, no floweredged borders. They could be anywhere.
Moses feared and respected the dead. One day, he knew, he would join them. Whether his face would be young or old, he didn’t know.
He rounded the bend and measured the depth of the water. The pole didn’t touch bottom. He quietly lowered the concrete block he used as an anchor and let the boat find its place. The slow current took him to the center of the hole. He could bait his hooks by moonlight without having to light the lantern and attract the curiosity of a thousand insects. He lowered his trotlines into the water. A five-gallon plastic bucket set in the bottom of the boat would serve as a makeshift live well. He waited.
Within an hour, he caught five fish that included three keepers. He put the three fish in the bucket. It would be a good night. He felt happy. The hole was teeming with life. He pulled up his lines and rebaited the hooks. The fish b
umping against the side of the bucket joined the sounds of the night. When he leaned over to place the lines in the water, she floated up to the surface.
It was the little girl.
Moses squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to scream, but his lips were clenched. He longed to cry, but his emotions were paralyzed. Memories that couldn’t separate fact from fiction raced through his mind. What had he done that she would haunt him so?
He made himself breathe slowly. In and out, in and out. His heart pounded in his ears. Someday, the faces would grow strong arms and pull him into the water to join them. It would be justice. He continued to make himself breathe in rhythm. A bead of sweat escaped his cap and ran down his forehead. There was a jerk on the line he still held in his hand. Every muscle in his body tensed. Maybe tonight was the night of death.
He opened his eyes. All that remained was the dark water.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and pulled in the fish. It was the nicest one yet, fat and lively. His breathing returned to normal. His heart stopped racing.
“Thank you, missy,” he said softly.
He wasn’t sure if the little girl sent the fish or could hear his voice, but it didn’t hurt to be grateful, even to a ghost.
1
“TAMMY LYNN!” MAMA CALLED OUT. “YOU’D THINK A FANCY law firm in Savannah would know how to spell your name.”
I left the pantry beneath the staircase and came into the kitchen. With lots of windows, the large kitchen protruded from our wood-frame house like Mama’s abdomen a week before the twins were born.
“And is there a new law against calling an unmarried woman Miss?” Mama added as she opened a quart jar of yellow squash she’d put up the previous summer.
I deposited two yellow onions on the scratched countertop and picked up the envelope. It was addressed to Ms. Tami L. Taylor, 463 Beaver Ruin Road, Powell Station, Georgia. I’d thought long and hard about changing the spelling of my name to Tami on my résumé. First impressions are important, and I didn’t want the hiring partner at a prestigious law firm to think I was a second-rate country singer who went to law school after she bombed out in Nashville.
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