Every Hill and Mountain

by Deborah Heal

  “What’s he driving?” John asked.

  “A white Prius—or Pious, as I secretly thought of it,” Kate said. “And slow down, John. Ryan may be a bigot and a thief, but he’s a straight-arrow when it comes to obeying the speed limit.”

  “He turned again,” Merri said. “Left. I mean north.”

  “He left the freeway,” Kate said.

  “Dang it,” John said. “I lost him.”

  He took the next exit and backtracked until eventually they were behind Ryan again on Wells Street heading north. It was a commercial district, but certainly not the Loop. They passed restaurants, a bookstore, and numerous other small businesses.

  “He’s turning, John,” Merri said. “There on Illinois Street. Wait, he stopped.”

  “Good.” John pulled over, parked, and then smiled. “We did it. High-five, navigator.”

  Merri complied and then looked thoughtful. “Isn’t this the same street that the—”

  “Hurry, everybody. I don’t want to lose him after all this.” John got out of the car and went to feed the parking meter.

  When they got to the corner and turned onto Illinois Street, Kate hurried ahead. “There’s Ryan’s car.”

  He wasn’t in it. Abby scanned the block. There were lots of buildings crammed together, and there was no way of telling which one he had gone into.

  “There. I’ll bet you ten dollars.” John pointed and then started toward the corner.

  “That’s got to be it,” Kate said. When the light turned, she charged into the street, John right behind her.

  “Wait, you guys,” Abby said, hurrying to keep up. “Don’t let him see you or he’ll bolt. With the laptop.”

  “I’ll be subtle. For example, I won’t rush up and punch him,” John said.

  The three-story brick building was old with architectural details of an earlier time, but it had been renovated for an upscale business image. The door was of contemporary bronzed glass. Above it, a brass sign said Farwell Technology Group, Established 1871.

  “It doesn’t look like the sort of place for shady deals,” Abby said.

  “What kind of technology did they have in 1871 anyway?” Merri asked.

  John looked in the glass door. “I see a reception room. I see a woman at a desk. But I do not see Ryno. How are we going to play this?”

  “How about you pretend you’re detectives looking for a crook?” Merri said. “Then tell them you need to search the building, room by room. I saw that on TV.”

  “Great idea, Merri Christmas,” John said. “Except they frown on civilians impersonating officers of the court.”

  “I’ve got an idea. And it does not involve lying,” Abby said. “What time is it?”

  “John looked at his watch. “Exactly one o’clock.”

  “Perfect,” she said, opening the door. “Follow my lead.”

  Chapter 27

  Abby put an expression on her face that she hoped looked like one a bold entrepreneur might wear and marched as confidently as she knew how straight to the reception desk.

  The receptionist looked up and smiled in a friendly manner that belied the Chicago reputation for being rude. “May I help you?”

  Abby smiled back in relief. “Actually, we’re here to help you. Our…colleague…Ryan Turner is here for a one o’clock appointment with Mr.…”

  “Mr. Farwell.”

  “Yes. With Mr. Farwell. But unfortunately, Mr. Turner forgot an essential document that he’ll need for his presentation. We’d like to drop it by if we may.”

  The receptionist looked puzzled.

  Kate dug into her purse and pulled out an important-looking letter and waved it about. The receptionist was too far away to see that the return address said Ambassador College, but no doubt the gold-embossed logo looked impressive from where she sat. Kate didn’t mention that the letter was from Elizabeth Withers, Dean of Students, reminding her to sign up for her senior service project.

  “Oh, well, then,” the receptionist said, “Mr. Farwell’s office is on the third floor, on the right as you come out of the elevator. I’ll call and let him know you’re coming.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’d like to surprise Ryan.” Kate smiled warmly. “He’s probably realized his mistake about now.”

  “He’ll be so happy to see us,” John said.

  The receptionist smiled conspiratorially. “All right. You go on up then,” she said kindly.

  John knocked on Mr. Farwell’s door and a deep voice told them to come in. John’s laptop sat on the desk in front of a white-haired man who looked up from it to stare at them. Unlike his receptionist, he didn’t smile. But Ryan, who sat on a chair in front of the desk, smiled widely—although a little desperately—and bolted out of his chair to meet them. He didn’t seem to notice his fiancée, but went straight to John and took his arm.

  “Roberts, I’m glad you’re here. Tell Mr. Farwell that it’s all right. Tell him the laptop belongs to you.”

  Kate poked Ryan in the stomach and he finally turned his eyes to her. She glared at him so hard he should have incinerated on the spot. But he only turned imploring eyes back to John.

  “I’ve just been explaining to Mr. Turner that my great, great grandfather built his business on a foundation of integrity.” Mr. Farwell’s lips turned up a bit in what was probably supposed to be a smile. “And why shouldn’t he? This building itself was constructed on the foundation of a church.”

  “What happened to it?” Merri asked. “The church?”

  “It burned down during the Chicago Fire. But that’s beside the point. I won’t tolerate dishonesty.”

  Ryan looked frantically from John to Abby as if to say, go along with me and I’ll make this up to you.

  “Which is why I’m a little concerned that this program Mr. Turner’s been telling me about—which doesn’t seem to be working at the moment, by the way—is on a laptop that obviously doesn’t belong to Mr. Turner.”

  “Obviously,” John said, glancing at Ryan. “Seeing as how my name is written in magic marker on the bottom. And the log-in avatar is a photo of me.” He held out his phone. “And I’ve got this app to trace it if it ever got stolen. Which it did.”

  Mr. Farwell stood and walked out from behind his desk. He handed the laptop to John and then turned to face Ryan, arms crossed on his chest. “Mr. Turner, I’ll let these people decide what they want to do about you. But as for me, I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.” He went to the door and held it open for them as they filed out of his office.

  “Don’t worry, John,” Ryan said as they walked down the hall. “I have a backup plan.” He stopped and took out his phone. “I know someone else interested in buying the program.”

  Kate’s eyes went huge, and she couldn’t seem to come up with what she wanted to say. Merri stood shaking her head.

  John lunged toward Ryan, but Abby latched onto his arm and hung onto him like a crazed monkey. It was all well and good to fantasize about beating Ryan to a pulp, but she didn’t actually want John to commit a felony.

  Ryan backed up a step. “All right. You’re angry. I get that. I’m sorry, already. But just because you hate me…well, don’t let that cause you to miss out on a lot of money.”

  “Turner. Get this. You are never, ever, going to cash in on Beautiful Houses.”

  When Abby was sure John had his anger under control, she released her stranglehold and took his hand into hers. Just in case.

  Ryan turned at last to Kate. “Kathryn, please. Talk some sense into them.”

  “I’ll talk all right. You say you’re sorry, Ryan? Well, I’m sorry too. Sorry that I let you make me into someone I’m not. I’m sorry I let you tell me how to dress and how to drive my car. And F.Y.I.? My name is Kate, not Kathryn. I’ve always hated that name, haven’t I, Abby?”

  “Yes. You have.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Ryan smiled kindly. “Okay. Kate, it is. From now on.” He looked at John and his smile turned into to th
e man-to-man type that Abby had seen her brothers wear when they thought she was being a pesky little sister. “She must be having her time of the month,” he said.

  Kate and Abby sputtered in unison. John only shook his head sadly. “Ryno, Ryno, you shouldn’t have said that.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stood back as if he knew he could leave the task of beating up Ryan to Abby and Kate.

  “You, you, you…” Kate was nearly incoherent.

  “Jackass?” Merri supplied.

  “Right. Thanks,” Kate said. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I’m sorry I let you give me this ostentatious rock.” She pulled the diamond ring off her finger and shoved it at Ryan’s chest.

  He took the ring and blinked at her. “You’re breaking up with me because I called you Kathryn?”

  “And I’m sorry I gave you so many stars on your chart, because you’re a sorry excuse for a man. And I’m really sorry that I was too blind to see it.” She sobbed and Abby drew her into a hug.

  “I said I’d call you Kate,” Ryan said in bewilderment.

  John looked a little confused himself. He was probably wondering about the star chart. He gulped as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or growl. Then he turned to Ryan and his face went dangerously hard again. “It’s not that, you moron.”

  John took three steps until he was in Ryan’s face. Abby mentally prepared herself in case she’d need to push Kate to the side and launch herself at John again.

  “Kate’s breaking up with you because you’re a raging racist. ‘Kinky-haired throwbacks’ my—”

  “I’d go if I were you, Ryno,” Merri said. “Because I happen to know that John really, really wants to punch you.”

  Ryan glared at them and then turned and stalked off to the elevator.

  Kate took a step down the hall after him. “And most of all,” she called, “I’m sorry that I gave you my…my…” She darted a look at Merri. “My tamper-proof seal. Now I won’t have it for the man I marry.”

  Ryan punched the button and the elevator door opened. Holding it from closing, he said, “Once you’re over being emotional, Kathryn, and you can think rationally, you’ll see that I’m right.” Then the door closed and he was gone.

  Kate let out a huff and then sniffed. John handed her his handkerchief, and she scrubbed at her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Abby asked. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I’m fine,” Kate said. “Or at least, I will be. Good riddance and all that. Now,” she said exhaling loudly, “let’s go find Ned Greenfield. What do we do first?”

  “Well, first we find Moody’s church,” Abby said. “What was the address?”

  “I don’t remember,” John said. “The paper’s in the car.”

  “Duh,” Merri said. “Illinois Street Church was on Illinois Street. Obviously.”

  John grinned at her. “Obviously.”

  “Please,” Kate said, groaning. “I don’t want to hear that word again for a very long time.”

  “Anyway, that website last night said it was on the corner of Illinois and Wells,” Merri said. “And we happen to be standing on the corner of Illinois and Wells.”

  Abby gasped. “In a building that was built over a church.”

  Merri tugged on Abby’s arm. “Now do you believe me about this program? It led us here.”

  “God did, Merri,” Kate said. “I know that now.”

  They found a janitor’s closet across from the elevator and closed themselves inside. None of them was surprised that the first person they saw was Ned Greenfield.

  Illinois Street was empty and dark except for the faint light coming from the White Swan’s front window. Ned looked up at the shabby old building. It didn’t look much like a church, at least not like Liberty Baptist, although that memory had faded so much it seemed like something he’d dreamed long ago. But the wooden sign creaking in the wind overhead had a faded white swan on it, just as Miz Charlotte had told him.

  He opened the door a bit and peeked inside. A little fire burned in a cast iron stove in the corner. The room was mostly empty and dimly lit by a few cheap tallow candles that sat on overturned barrels. By one barrel, a man—a white man—held a little Negro boy on his lap. The man was reading from a big book that had a black leather cover, just like Miz Charlotte’s Bible.

  Ned shivered and longed to go in and stand by the fire. But if he went in, the man would surely stop reading, and he found that he wanted to hear the story more than he wanted to be warm. The man read:

  A certain man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.’ And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

  And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat. And no man gave unto him.

  And when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. Make me as one of thy hired servants.’

  And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.’

  But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry, for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to be merry.

  A noise behind him startled Ned and he drew back from the door. A little ragamuffin even filthier than he was rushed past him and flung the door open. “Mr. Moody, I’m wearing my new shoes.”

  “Come in, Absalom, and bring our visitor in where it’s warm.”

  The little boy grabbed Ned by the hand. “Come on then. We’re to have a story.”

  Ned stood inside the door. Other children came in, and within minutes the room was loud with their boisterous shouts and laughter.

  “Come on, friend, don’t be shy,” Mr. Moody said. “Come warm yourself by the fire. After the Bible story we’ll have food.”

  Silently, Ned went to the stove in the corner and stood watching the antics of the children. They were of all sizes and colors, all clothed in rags. All wearing new shoes. He looked down at his own bare and bloody feet.

  “It’s time for Sunday School,” Mr. Moody called out. “So sit your selves down and listen, you little hoodlums.”

  Kate grabbed Abby’s arm and she came back to the present. “He made it, Abby.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t believe how far he traveled,” John said. “It must have taken forever on foot.”

  Abby sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Barefoot.”

  “In winter,” Merri added.

  “Hurry, John. I can’t wait to find out once and for all,” Kate said.

  John set it to fast-forward. “Okay, let’s go.” He clicked on the settings again and then frowned. “It’s doing it again. For some reason it keeps flipping to the same date—November 11, 1869.”

  “Maybe there’s something there we’re supposed to see,” Merri said.

  “Then let’s see it,” Kate said.

  Ned took the key from his pocket and opened the front door of Illinois Street Church. He took off his hat as he went through the door, then his overcoat, and hung them on a peg in the cloakroom. It was a cool but bright morning and the sanctuary felt fine. There would be no need for
him to build a fire in the stove. He picked up some leaves and twigs that had blown in from outside and then made sure there were hymnbooks in every pew. He liked to get to church early to check on such things so that everything would be nice when his ragamuffins got there.

  He heard the front door open and smiled. It was Theodore. He liked to get there early too. Wearing a big smile, new shoes, and little else, he came running down the aisle toward him. Ned smiled fondly. Mr. Moody liked to take the children to his store to be fitted for new shoes, but he sometimes forgot they needed clothes too. Maybe he could find the boy a shirt from the donation box.

  “Mornin,’ Mr. Greenfield. Can I sit by you?”

  “You surely can, Theodore. And you can be the first to see my new book.”

  Ned sat down on the front row pew and took the book from his coat pocket to show him. Theodore crowded up next to his knees, managing to step on his shoes in his eagerness to see the book.

  “See, Theodore, each page is a different color.”

  “But where are the words, Mr. Greenfield? How you goin’ read it?”

  Ned smiled. “It tells a story without words. The first page is black.”

  “Like us, huh, Mr. Greenfield?”

  “No, no, Theodore. He realized he was frowning and let his face relax. “It’s black like sin. Like everyone’s sin, black folk or white folk. The Bible says we are all sinners, everyone. The next page is red to remind us that Jesus died on the cross for our sins. Shed his blood for us. This page is white, like snow. Pure and clean, like when Jesus washes our sins away. Theodore—you remember this now—there ain’t any sin too big for Jesus to forgive. And look at this page.”

  Theodore ran a grubby finger over the shiny gold foil of the last page and then looked up at Ned in wonder. “It’s bootiful.”

  Ned squeezed the boy’s thin shoulders. “That’s to remind us of Heaven, son. All God’s children that’s had their sins forgiven will be there someday.” Ned sent up a quick prayer that all his own children would be there.

  A noise came from the front and they turned to look. The other children were starting to arrive. “Come on in to God’s house,” Ned called. “Don’t be shy. Jesus said, ‘suffer the little ones to come.’”