“That’s not the only thing he cares about. The fact that someone shot the video could lead to more questions about his activities. For obvious reasons, he’s a private person.”
“Which makes me nervous to think he may start snooping around my house soon. How long will he stay locked up?”
“The assault case could be around for a while, and he’s facing extradition to Rhode Island on an old murder charge.”
“Murder?”
Sean told her what he knew about the death of the Rhode Island police officer. “Quinton has already hired an attorney in Providence. I talked to the lawyer the other day, and the chief witness against Quinton has dropped out of sight. Without him, the Rhode Island attorney claims the State doesn’t have a case.”
The waiter brought the soup. Alexia tasted it.
“This is good,” she said. “Different from mine, but tasty.”
“You make crab soup?”
“Yes, but it’s never the same. I throw a variety of things into the pot. Whatever is fresh gets included.”
“Do you catch your own crabs?”
Alexia nodded. “I have two traps that I’ll set out in the marsh near my house. The hard part is sorting out the keepers from the babies. When you lift them out of the trap they’re all grabbing each other.”
“I’ve had clients like that. Instead of cooperating, a group with common interests turn on one another.”
“Why are you a plaintiff ’s lawyer who dabbles in criminal law?” Alexia asked. “It doesn’t fit with your background.”
Sean smiled. “You think I should be writing wills for rich people who knew my grandparents?”
“Yeah, that would fit.”
“Why do you handle divorces? Doesn’t it make you feel slimy? You could be shuffling corporate documents for more money and less hassle.”
“Most of my clients are women who need a champion.”
“And mine don’t?” Sean speared a cherry tomato and put it in his mouth. “I never wanted to specialize in criminal defense. To make it work financially, I’d have to represent the people who hired Quinton.”
The waiter brought their entrees. Alexia tasted the fish.
“If your fish is better than this, it would be worth another trip to Charleston,” she said.
Sean smiled. “That could be arranged.”
They ate in silence for a few moments.
“How is your personal-injury practice going?” Alexia asked.
Sean put down his fork. “Civil trials are more fun than criminal cases, and the pay is a lot better.”
“Any big cases?”
“Yes. I hit a couple of home runs last year. A former university professor died following some neglect in a nursing home. The defense lawyer argued that my client was going to die anyway, and the jury didn’t buy it. The other claim was a wrongful death case against a trucking company. They sent a driver out on the road knowing that the brakes on his truck needed to be serviced. The truck ran away from him on a hill and killed my client and a young woman with a husband and two children.”
Alexia had never been able to consider taking a personal-injury case at Leggitt & Freeman. Her former firm, oriented exclusively toward business clients, tolerated her divorce practice but wouldn’t allow her to expand into other areas.
“Occasionally, a former client calls me about a personal-injury matter,” she said. “Would you be interested in a referral?”
“If it’s a good case. Or we could work together on a claim.”
Alexia nodded thoughtfully. “Do you come here often?” she asked.
“Not really. I have several favorite spots, and I like to check out new places that open.” Sean took a sip of the Chablis he’d ordered. “But you struck me as a Cypress type of person.”
Alexia felt warm and comfortable. Six months previously, she would have flashed her brightest smile to reward Sean for the compliment. Tonight, she gave a slight nod. Sean Pruitt was affable and charming, but Ted Morgan had introduced her to a new realm of romance that made other relationships seem like black-and-white TV. They finished the meal with coffee.
“Thanks for a very nice meal,” she said.
Sean stared at her for a few seconds.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I suggest we adjourn to my office for a few minutes and discuss the motion.”
Alexia was quiet as the sports car rumbled through the peaceful streets. Traffic in the downtown area wasn’t heavy this time of year, even on the weekend. Sean opened the door of his garage by remote control, pulled the car into its place, and turned off the engine. They crossed the courtyard. A security light caused the fountain to cast a long shadow that reached the brick and iron wall surrounding the enclosure. The muted sounds from the street didn’t reach the area, and Alexia’s shoes made a slight clicking sound as she walked across the slate pavers.
“Do you get lonely in your house on the marsh?” Sean asked as they climbed the steps to the rear entrance. “Even the best dog and cat can’t be enough company.”
Alexia stood beside him as he unlocked the door. “I’m around people all day and need space to be alone. The house is my refuge, but I have no desire to be a hermit.”
Sean chuckled. “No plans to enter a convent?”
“No, my faith has been drawing me out into the world, not calling me into a cloister.”
Alexia followed him into the house. He flicked on the lights and led the way back to his office. They sat in chairs around the small coffee table. The Tiffany lamp cast a colorful glow on the wall above them.
“Tell me about that,” Sean said as he flicked on the second of the two lamps.
“About what?”
“Your faith.”
Alexia could have talked for hours about music, but discussions about Jesus had been for Ted’s ears only. She stalled.
“Why do you want to know?”
Sean sat down in the chair next to her. “Because I can tell that it’s important to you, and I’m interested in finding out why. I’m not antagonistic, I promise, just curious. You’re dating a music minister who is an accomplished pianist, and my guess is that he’s encouraging this aspect of your life.”
“Did I tell you about Ted, or is this information from Gwen?”
“You mentioned a boyfriend, but Gwen provided the details, including the fact that he was the pianist who filled in at the benefit concert.”
“How did you get so much information from her?”
“It wasn’t hard. You’re one of her favorite topics of conversation, and of course, as your attorney, I assured her everything she told me would remain confidential.”
Alexia smiled. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Beginning with her first encounters with Ted, his music, and the stained-glass windows of the Sandy Flats Church, she continued to her backyard epiphany, when the reality of God’s love and the influence of her grandmother’s prayers overwhelmed her. She didn’t take any shortcuts. The poignant power of the moment returned in the telling, and she had to retrieve a tissue from her purse. She paused until she regained her composure.
“I’ve discovered there is a spiritual reality I never dreamed existed. Part of it is inside the church, but for me, most of it has showed up in other places.”
“Is that what you meant by going out into the world?”
“Yes, and, as my grandmother told me, let my light shine.”
“Give an example.”
Alexia thought a moment. “Part of it relates to Baxter Richardson, Rena’s husband.”
Sean gave her a puzzled look, and Alexia tried to explain what Ted, Sarah, and she were doing around the paralyzed man’s bed. The more she talked, the less confidence she had that she was making sense. Sean confirmed her feelings.
“I don’t get it,” he said when she finished. “Music can have a soothing effect. That’s one reason I enjoy it myself. But using it to restor
e function to a damaged spinal cord is a fantasy.”
“If you could be there and hear it, you’d understand,” she said. “I’m not much more than an observer myself, but I know the presence of God is in the room.”
“You don’t sing?”
Alexia gave a wry smile. “That would send Baxter back into a coma. Ted asked me to pray, so I sit in a chair and ask God to touch Baxter in the same way Jesus touched the people he healed.”
“Then the proof will be in the results.”
Alexia looked at her watch. “It’s late, and we haven’t talked about the hearing on the motion to quash the subpoena.”
Sean reached over to his desk and retrieved a manila folder. “It won’t take long. Here is my research and the questions I will ask you.”
Thirty minutes later, Alexia closed the folder. “So it’s primarily a legal argument, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I don’t anticipate much in the way of cross-examination. The more questions the solicitor asks, the clearer it will be that you’ve been Rena’s attorney in multiple matters long before the incident with Deputy Dixon.”
“When do you think the hearing will be held?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll call you or Gwen as soon as I know.”
Sean walked Alexia to the front door and down the steps to her car. “Tonight has been even more interesting than I anticipated,” he said.
Alexia reached her car and faced him. The playful look that had been in his eyes at the restaurant was gone.
“I had a nice time,” she said. “Thanks for listening.”
Sean took her hand and kissed it. At the moment, it seemed the most natural, proper thing in the world. The lawyer still had a toe firmly planted in the nineteenth century.
“Good night,” he said. “You’ve answered your grandmother’s prayer tonight.”
“How?”
Sean released her hand. “You’ve let your light shine on me.”
31
It is not every question that deserves an answer.
PUBLIUS
Ted woke up early on Friday morning. Diffused light peeked around the edges of the shades in his bedroom. His usual routine involved a hearty breakfast as one of the first activities of the day. Ted’s mother always fixed a big breakfast for his family, and he’d never abandoned the childhood routine. Thinking about what to prepare, he realized he wasn’t hungry. He didn’t feel sick, just uninterested in food.
He sat on the edge of his bed and offered a quick prayer for insight. No sooner was the request released from his lips than he realized the obvious implication—God didn’t want him to eat and had taken away his appetite in order to help him obey.
Going into the living room, he reclined in his reading chair and opened his Bible. He read a few chapters, but nothing leaped off the page as a spiritual reason to fast. He mentally scrolled down the activities planned for the day. Nothing arrested his attention until he came to Baxter Richardson. The paralyzed young man had exhibited slight improvement after several sessions of musical intercession, and the music minister couldn’t deny the sense of God’s presence in the room while he played and Sarah Locklear sang. Even so, Ted wasn’t satisfied. Something deep within him continued to chafe at the lack of dramatic improvement in Baxter’s condition.
He flipped open his Bible again and read about a healing in the ministry of Jesus. Prayer and fasting had been required to heal a deaf-mute boy. Ted read the passage several times, entering into the scene in his mind’s eye and praying for the same power to manifest on behalf of Baxter.
Throughout the day, Ted’s thoughts returned with anticipation to the time planned that evening at the cottage. He’d hoped to play the piano for an hour in preparation for the evening, but fixing a plumbing problem took much longer than he’d hoped, and he barely had time to shower before going to the cottage.
Sarah opened the door and looked behind him.
“Where’s Alexia?” she asked.
“She had a meeting with a lawyer in Charleston and couldn’t make it. It’s just us tonight.”
Keyboard under his arm, Ted entered the small living room. Baxter lay on his back with his eyes closed. Ted plugged in the keyboard and placed it on a chair.
“Something is going to happen tonight,” Sarah said. “I’ve felt it all day.”
“Me too,” Ted responded. He started to mention his fasting, but Jesus’ recommendation to keep the practice secret stopped him. After a brief pause, he asked, “What has God put on your heart?”
She picked up her Bible from a tray near Baxter’s bed and opened it to a slip of yellow paper that served as a bookmark.
“I’ve been thinking about two passages since our last session. The first is the story of Jesus healing a crippled man at the pool of Bethesda.”
She read the verses while Ted listened. Sarah’s vibrant voice made the words come alive—as if they were striving to leave the realm of print and step into the three-dimensional world.
“That’s good,” Ted acknowledged when she finished. “We have a stained-glass window at the church depicting the scene, and the miracle fits what we want to see happen for Baxter. What is the other passage?”
Sarah found another thin slip of paper. “This one is less clear,” she said, “but it has been rolling around in my mind for days.”
She began to read the story of the deaf-mute boy. Ted was stunned. When she finished, she touched the edge of the sheet covering Baxter and looked at Ted. Her dark eyes were filled with compassion.
“This is a difficult case,” she said. “It would be easier to believe God could touch someone with less severe problems than Baxter’s, but he’s the one placed in our path. I believe we have to be persistent if we want to see a breakthrough.”
Ted started to mention his early-morning study but stopped. Perhaps Sarah was being called to believe without human confirmation.
“I agree,” he replied simply. “Let’s get started.”
Ted began with the account of the miracle at the pool of Bethesda. As he played, the notes came easily to his fingers, and with little effort he began to paint a musical picture of the scene at the pool—squalid conditions that would have been a breeding ground for despair, the sick and lame longing to enter the waters and be healed, each one desperately wanting to crawl through a window of hope so narrow that the most seriously ill had no chance to enter the waters when stirred by an angel.
Suddenly, upon the scene came a man who did not need Bethesda’s waters in order to heal—the waters of life within him flowed freely with healing power. Jesus engaged the lame man in casual conversation, and with a simple statement shattered thirty-eight years of demoralizing routine. Standing at the foot of Baxter’s bed, Sarah began to sing.
“Take up your mat and walk,” she called out in a voice that was more command than lyric.
Ted increased the intensity of the music. Sarah stayed for many minutes on the same theme, slave to no clock. When she finally fell silent and Ted lifted his fingers from the keyboard, over two hours had passed. Yet Baxter was unaffected. They both stared at his motionless form.
“What next?” Ted asked.
Sarah’s eyes took on a look of determination. “Do it again.”
Ted didn’t argue. Not eating was fasting; worshipping on behalf of another, a form of prayer. If they were right, Baxter needed both. He began again. The sound resembled what he’d already played, but he sensed the music expanding, going deeper or higher; he wasn’t sure which. Soon Sarah joined in. Her rich alto voice filled the room. When they reached the place where Jesus revealed his authority, the atmosphere in the room seemed to pop with expectation. Ted closed his eyes for several minutes, while Sarah again issued the command to rise and walk. Suddenly, Sarah stopped singing. Ted opened his eyes. The nurse was at the end of the bed staring down at the sheet covering Baxter’s feet.
“He moved his right foot,” she said in a quiet voice. “Watch.”
Ted stood up to get a better look
. Nothing happened. He glanced at Baxter’s face. The young man’s eyes were closed; his breathing regular.
“Baxter,” Sarah said in a steady voice. “Move your right foot.”
Ted stared at the end of the bed. Nothing happened.
“Could it have been an involuntary—”
Sarah interrupted him.
“Baxter! Move your right foot!”
Unmistakably, the form beneath the sheet shifted. Ted looked at Baxter’s face. His eyes were open.
“Do it again,” Ted blurted out.
The foot moved.
“What about your left foot?” Sarah asked in a more normal tone of voice. “Can you move it?”
Baxter’s foot did not respond. Sarah came to the side of the bed closer to Baxter’s head.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asked.
“Yes,” Baxter croaked. “Thirsty.”
Sarah took a cup of water from the tray table and held up his head for a sip. Baxter shut his eyes for a moment and then reopened them. Sarah pulled the top sheet away from his upper chest and torso. His thin arms lay pale against the bed.
“Move your right hand,” Sarah said.
Baxter twitched his index and middle fingers. Ted was amazed.
“How is this possible?” he asked.
Sarah smiled. “I think this is what we asked God to do.”
Baxter turned his eyes toward Ted. “Who?”
“I’m Ted Morgan, a music minister.”
“And I’m Sarah, one of your nurses. Can you move your left hand?”
Baxter glanced down in the direction of his left hand. Nothing happened.
“What?” he asked with obvious puzzlement in his eyes. “Why?”
Sarah looked across the bed at Ted, and then in simple words, she explained to Baxter that he’d been in an accident, which left him in a coma and paralyzed. Partway through the explanation, he closed his eyes. Sarah gently touched his cheek.
“Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
The sandy-haired young man didn’t respond.
“How much of that do you think he understood?” Ted asked.
“It often takes many repetitions. The head injury complicates things. He will have occasional lucid moments. When that happens we try to pour in the right information to help him understand. It’s like pointing out handholds to someone climbing a rock face. The hope is that he’ll eventually be able to reach the top.”
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