A Sounding Brass

by Shelley Bates

  “Just your friend?”

  But they had arrived at the hall, and in the flurry of shaking hands with people and finding a seat, Claire chose not to answer. She was almost afraid to say anything aloud, and yet they had to discuss it. Ray was due to go back to Seattle in the morning and knowing him, he’d want something settled between them.

  Yet what could she say? She loved him, but her sister had loved Andrew, and look how that had turned out. There were no guarantees in relationships.

  There are no guarantees in religion, either.

  Well, she’d argue that one. Maybe not religion as the Elect saw it—she’d proven that herself. But what about faith?

  Both she and Ray had done something they’d never done before—stepped out into the dark with only the power of prayer, and God had stayed faithful to His promise that he’d be with them. Could she make that a starting point? Could she and Ray both make a new start, like a pair of babies just learning how to walk? After a lifetime of thinking she was a Christian and being so concerned about every jot and tittle of the Elect law, it was a simple fact that she knew next to nothing about grace or faith or the things that really mattered. She knew a lot about the Bible, but it had all been filtered through the Shepherds’ teachings to support the Elect way of life. Who knew what the Scriptures actually said? She’d be looking at them with new eyes, the same as Ray.

  She’d look at people differently, too, without that sense of superiority ingrained in a person who had been told they were part of a peculiar people, chosen of God and singled out from the people of the world to bear His name. The fact was, she was just as clumsy and in need of help from God as anyone on the street. There was nothing special about her. Her parents were the special ones, to have put up with her for this long.

  She needed to buff the layers of complacency off herself and discover what was really there underneath. The experience of helping to capture Luke Fisher had shown her there was good, solid steel somewhere under there. She just had to find a way to bring it out and get used to the person she could become if she gave herself a chance.

  Maybe Ray wouldn’t love that person as much as he loved the one he saw now. But she had to find out. She had to try. With God’s help and by earnestly seeking His will for her life, maybe she could do it. She’d start by standing on her own two feet and moving to Seattle to be close to Ray. No more waiting for men to tell her what to do. The important thing was to find out what God wanted her to do.

  Owen Blanchard mounted the platform with his hymnbook in one hand. His step was slower than she remembered it, and she realized suddenly that Owen, on whom many of the teenagers had had a crush when he’d first married Madeleine, was a middle-aged man. She imagined that the last few days had probably been pretty hard on him, too.

  He announced the hymn, and when they had sung it and Mark McNeill had given a prayer, Owen returned to the microphone.

  “Folks,” he said in a voice that reflected his exhaustion and disappointment, “you’ve probably heard what has happened, but in case you haven’t, let me tell you. Luke Fisher, whom we had welcomed among our number a few weeks ago, has been arrested for fraud and embezzlement, among other things. He has been stealing the money that this community has been sending to KGHM for the worship center.” A collective gasp went up. “I want to apologize publicly for vouching for him and putting him in a position to defraud so many of you. If it hadn’t been for the skill and vigilance of our own Claire Montoya and Investigator Ray Harper of the Organized Crime Task Force, Mark and I would have lost our homes and our folks would have had such a mountain of debt and legal issues to deal with that it makes me sick to think about it. Claire especially has gone through the fire on this one. Luke blamed all of his crimes on her, and she was arrested instead of him. I want to declare here and now that she is innocent of all charges, and in fact, she used her knowledge to trace him and help bring him down.”

  The audience murmured and craned their necks to see where Claire was sitting. She resisted the temptation to slouch and disappear, and instead straightened her spine against the metal back of her chair. Steel, she reminded herself.

  “Folks,” Owen went on, “it’s clear to me that the way we’re organized and led is flawed, and has been from the beginning. It has made it all too easy for someone to come in and fool us with a golden statue, as it were, so that we’re blinded to its feet of clay. Any flock needs leadership, it’s true, but it also needs accountability, openness, and corrected vision. To speak to that, I’d like to invite Toby Henzig, assistant pastor at Hamilton Falls Community Church, up to the front.”

  People buzzed and whispered as Toby made his way out of his row and up to the microphone.

  “Lord, be with him,” Claire whispered, and next to her, Ray murmured, “Second that.” Whether they knew it or not, this was a turning point for the Elect. Either they’d go forward in faith, or they’d go back to the old ways and pull the blanket of tradition and habit over their heads, warding off the cold of the unknown in the only way they knew.

  “Thanks, Owen.” Toby took a breath and spoke into the microphone. “Folks, I know you’re hurting and maybe even angry at what’s been happening lately. It’s a lot of public scrutiny, and maybe some of you haven’t been treated very well by people who associate you with Phinehas and now Luke. But folks, I’m here to tell you that not everyone is like that. There are those who have been praying for you all, those who have been asking that God will send you comfort throughout all this. One of the ways He can do that is for you to let the folks at Hamilton Falls Community help you. We’d like to invite you to our evening service tonight at eight o’clock.

  “Now, I know you’ve been told that churches other than the Elect are worldly and deceived. But you’ve been told that the Shepherds are the anointed of God, too, and that turned out to be . . . well, an overstatement. We’re all on this planet together. Christ died for all of us. We’re brothers and sisters in the body of believers, and folks, I’d like to see this false separation between us dissolved.

  “Humans are funny, aren’t they?” Toby went on with a smile as people looked at one another uncertainly. “They want to feel special, like they have a lock on eternity that no one else has. But you know what? Only Christ has that. This is all about each one of us as individuals and Jesus. That’s it. It’s not about this church or that church or who’s right and who’s deceived. It’s about Jesus and what He did for us so that we could approach God clean and sinless.

  “I want that for all of us, no matter what we call ourselves. Please come and join us. It’s only a few steps down the street. We’re looking forward to meeting you and calling you our friends, too.”

  Toby stepped down, shook Owen’s hand, and walked down the aisle and out the door. People moved restlessly in their chairs. They looked at Owen. They looked at the door, standing open where Toby had left it.

  Derrick Wilkinson stood up. “I don’t know about anyone else,” he announced defiantly, “but I think he’s right.”

  “I do, too.” Rebecca’s voice rang out in the uncomfortable silence. She got to her feet, small and slender and indomitable. “Derrick, will you escort an old lady down the street, please?”

  They made their way out of their respective rows, and Derrick offered her his arm. Owen watched them go, then picked up his Bible from his chair. “Ryan, Hannah,” he said to his children, “come on. We’re going, too.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Elizabeth McNeill, Julia Malcolm’s mother, folded her arms and stayed planted in her chair, which groaned in protest.

  “I’ll tell you about it when I get home, then,” her husband, their former Elder, said as he stood to leave.

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, and she gathered up her coat and handbag. “Mark, Owen, wait for me.” She rushed to catch him, her son-in-law, and her grandchildren before they reached the parking lot and left without her.

  Claire glanced at Ray as some of the people—including her parents—filed out,
and some—including Alma Woods—stayed in their seats, immobilized by the clash between tradition and discovery, between the known and the unknown. “Well?” she said.

  “This is new to me.” His gaze held hers.

  “I know. To me, too.”

  “I’m probably not going to be very good at it.”

  “It’s not a contest. And there’s plenty of help.”

  “Can we do it together?”

  She wasn’t sure if he was referring to learning to believe or learning to love. In the end, maybe it was the same thing.

  “I’d like to try,” she said, and stood up. She held out her hand, and he stood and took it, looking down into her eyes.

  “He said it was only a couple of steps.”

  “Didn’t you know?” She grinned at him, her lower lip trembling just the tiniest bit. “All the best journeys start that way.”

  His hand remained sure around hers as they walked outside, where the biggest harvest moon Claire had ever seen had begun to rise, lighting the way before them.

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1.Have you ever heard the expression toxic church? What do you think it means? Were the Elect a toxic church? Have you yourself ever been involved with a toxic church? If so, what was your experience?

  2.First Corinthians 13 tells us that without charity, no matter how eloquent a person may be, he or she becomes like a sounding brass or a crashing cymbal. Did Luke Fisher convince the Elect that he was a “real” evangelist possessing the love of God? Or does he? If so, how did he do it? Were the people simply starstruck?

  3.When he introduced Luke to the congregation, Owen Blanchard urged them to “try the spirits and see if they are of God.” With their history, were the Elect able to do this? How might you yourself do so?

  4.Claire Montoya struggled with self-image issues. In a toxic church, many women find that decisions are made for them under the guise of a “womanly example.” Do you think such practices are valid? What are the advantages and disadvantages of such an example?

  5.The toxic church can impose restrictions on its members in any aspect of their lives. Would you allow such restrictions in your own church? Do you think it was reasonable for Claire to stay in Hamilton Falls at the Shepherd’s request when she wanted to move away? If you had had her background, what would you have done?

  6.At what point did Claire realize she had let the Elect leadership make all of her decisions for her? Do you consider the needs of your church before making your own life decisions?

  7.Claire’s relationship with her parents was strained because their views on living up to the church’s expectations differed from hers. Is this reasonable or realistic? Do your own views on behavior and dress differ from those of your parents’ generation?

  8.One of the themes of A Sounding Brass is that “faith comes by hearing.” Investigator Ray Harper was an auditory learner, as opposed to a visual learner. In what way do you learn the best? Was Ray’s experience realistic?

  9.Have you ever heard the voice of God audibly? If so, what was it like? Do you think God speaks to people in this day and age?

  COMING IN MAY 2007

  IF YOU ENJOY THE NOVELS OF SHELLEY BATES, LOOK FOR. . .

  Over My Head

  by Shelley Bates

  Even in November, when the trees were bare and skeletal and the ground wet, the jogging trail by the river was still Lamorna Hale’s favorite place to run. Not that she was wild about jogging, mind you. But something had to be done about her flabby stomach and wobbly thighs, because she was simply not going up to a size sixteen on her next trip to the mall, and that was that.

  There are barriers in every woman’s life beyond which she will not go, and a size sixteen was one of them.

  Besides, jogging got her out of the house. Going to Curves would do the same, but she’d still be in a gym with people she knew from church and Anna and Tim’s schools. What Lamorna liked best about running by the river was simply that she was alone.

  When you had a ten-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter, who could blame you for taking extreme measures by resorting to jogging in order to get a little peace and quiet?

  So what if her sweats were a shrunken pair of Robert’s and her shoes were from the local discount store? No one was out here at seven on a winter morning. The executive types had already come and gone, taking the commuter train from the station in Glendale into Pittsburgh and leaving the trails to the winter birds, squirrels, and slightly chunky moms.

  Lamorna’s legs were beginning to ache, though, at the end of her mile. She wasn’t much of a goal setter, but if she had to set one, it would be getting back to the bridge without keeling over and dying of oxygen deprivation. She was about to the halfway point where she turned around—where the Susquanny River widened a little and a sandbar had built up. Often the herons would gather there to pick over what the river had tossed up, or to spear minnows on their way past in the shallows. In the summer, the kids had loved to play here. Someone had tied a rope swing into a tree, and they’d drop off it into the deep pools closer to the bank. But now the swing was as frozen and lifeless as the tree that supported it, waiting for the sun and the return of the children.

  There must have been some high water recently. A log had washed up on the sandbar, and crows were walking around it like car salesmen sizing up a new deal. There were clothes draped over it, too. Good grief. Surely someone hadn’t been swimming? It had to be forty-five degrees out here.

  Lamorna jogged a little closer, taking one of the offshoot trails closer to the bank. Maybe it wasn’t a log, after all. Maybe someone had tossed a bag of old clothes off the bridge instead of taking them to the Salvation Army like normal people did. But weren’t there branches sticking out? And was that an animal trapped under it? With brown fur?

  The river trail, though beautiful and scenic, didn’t change much. That was why Lamorna liked it. She didn’t have to watch out for hazards because she knew where they all were, and she could pay attention to seasonal changes in the scenery without worrying about falling flat on her face.

  So, anything different meant a little investigation was in order. Maybe there would be identifying marks among the clothes to tell her who the litterbug was. And then she’d march right down to the Glendale police station and wake up one of the—

  Good heavens.

  Lamorna slid down the bank and landed upright by sheer luck. She squinted against the sparkle of the sun on the water and focused on the pile on the sandbar.

  Not fur. Hair. Dark brown, short-cropped hair, drying and rimed with sand.

  A green jacket. Jeans.

  Bare feet. Slender, pale feet, so cold they were gray.

  The bundle on the sand was a girl.

  Had been. Had been a girl.

  Because even Lamorna could tell she was dead.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Shelley Bates has been writing novels since the age of thirteen. After writing five Harlequin romances, her first CBA novel—the RITA Award winning Grounds to Believe—debuted from Steeple Hill in 2004. The critically acclaimed Pocketful of Pearls followed from Warner Faith in 2005. Shelley has a B.A. in creative writing from the University of California at Santa Cruz and an M.A. in writing popular fiction from Seton Hill University in Pennsylvania. She is currently a freelance editor in the high-tech industry in Silicon Valley.