Fabienne G. Durdin
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
http://www.sonata.durdin.net
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra Fabienne G. Durdin
Fabienne G. Durdin Publisher http://www.sonata durdin.net
To Lynette Oates, who has prayed for, helped, and encouraged my family, and who has inspired me and been an example to me, ever since we first met her in 1988.
CONCERTO FOR FLUTE AND ORCHESTRA Copyright © 1994, 1999 by Fabienne Gabrielle Durdin
First published 1999 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, posting on another website, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data: Durdin, Fabienne G. Concerto for flute and orchestra. ISBN 0 9577741 1 7. I. Title. A823.3
Published by Fabienne G. Durdin <
[email protected]> http://www.sonata.durdin.net/concerto.pdf Cover and last page illustrations © 1999 by Fabienne G. Durdin
PART ONE In the same way as we each have a body which has many parts which do not all serve the same purpose, so all we who belong to Christ are parts of one Body. We are all dependent on each other. (Romans 12:4-5) The man who guides those who do what is right along a path leading to evil will end up in his own trap. (Proverbs 28:10)
CHAPTER 1 "When the Elders found out about it, they were furious! They told me that I had to leave; that I was no longer welcome; that I was not to have contact with any of the members from then on. They announced it publicly, in the Sunday service. They asked me to come to the front of the church and they had me stand there while they told the congregation what I'd done and then they told me to walk down the aisle and out the door and never to come back..." The speaker stopped and put his hands over his face. His meal was untouched, his tea had gone cold, but it didn't matter because he had lost what little appetite he'd had anyway. He had removed his glasses early on in his narrative and as he talked he had absent-mindedly polished them with his handkerchief several times. Now they lay forgotten, like his plate, on the table between him and Carl Slade. Carl could say nothing. He had never heard anything like what the man had recounted, and there did not seem to be any appropriate comment to be made. He toyed with his fork and gazed pensively at his companion. They were sitting in a booth at the back of a small roadhouse restaurant on the outskirts of Goldridge. Carl had ordered breakfast for both of them and then he had sat listening to the man's story. His own breakfast had also been ignored as he had grown increasingly bewildered.
!!! Just before sunrise that morning Carl had left the Goldridge River Caravan Haven, where he was staying, to go for a walk in the nearby park. The many months of convalescence after his "accident" four years previously had not done away with his love of the early morning, and he still enjoyed watching the sunrise and listening to the birds greeting the dawn. From the age of fifteen he had been in the habit of going for a run every morning 1
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
before breakfast. Now, four years after the bullet wound that had threatened to paralyze him, he still couldn't run, but at least he no longer needed a walking stick to steady himself. As he sauntered along the quiet road he wished his wife were with him. Since their marriage they had frequently gone on these walks together, although after the twins were born Emma did not accompany him as often as either of them would have liked. It was a pity their daughter Helen had got sick so that Emma and the twins had had to stay back at the flat in the capital, Apmirra, while he came to Goldridge by himself. He smiled to himself as he thought of the twins, and hoped that they were behaving themselves for Emma. Helen had been so quiet because of her illness, though. Normally, both Andrew and Helen—especially Helen— seemed to have endless vitality, and it could be wearying to try to keep up with them. At forty-five, and because of his injury, he was not as energetic as he used to be, but his children did their best to keep him fit by asking him to join them in their games, which he was seldom reluctant to do. The park appeared to be deserted—at least, Carl could see no-one else around when he arrived. It was quite an extensive, level area, with a deep but not very wide lake as its centrepiece, and was enclosed by wrought-iron railings interrupted every few metres by ornate sandstone posts. Lawns spread out between planted copses in whose shade comfortable benches were strategically placed. 'Smoothstone' footpaths wound their way from the main entrance, around the groves and the flowerbeds, to the lake and to the side gates. More benches were positioned at intervals alongside the footpaths, announcing to visitors that the designers of the gardens had intended them for restful contemplation. A small refreshments kiosk, still shuttered, stood like a sleeping sentinel near the towering double gates opening into the gardens from the carpark. Carl sat down on a bench not far from the lake and took out his pocket Bible, but he surveyed the view in front of him for a few moments before opening the book. The sun was just rising and a few clouds shone in a pale lemon-coloured sky. The surface of the lake was still except for a coma of ripples where a duck and her ducklings glided slowly past. Somewhere nearby a blackbird was serenading the new day, accompanied by a syncopation of sparrows in the bushes on the edge of the lake. Three tall gumtrees in an adjacent thicket threw great dark shadows towards him and his own shadow leapt over the back of the bench to the lawn behind him, as if it were trying to hide. He thought it a great pity that so few people seemed to enjoy the earliest hour of daylight. For him it had always been a calming influence and today, though he missed his family, he felt refreshed by just being outside in the cool morning air, starting the day surrounded by the dawn chorus and the tranquil beauty of the park in the first morning light. He sighed, bowed his head, and for the next ten minutes he prayed, then began to read in his Bible. That afternoon he was to preach in one of the local churches and he sought guidance as to what he should say, how he should speak to that particular group of people. He didn't usually preach in 2
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
churches—as an evangelist he felt more at ease speaking outside in the open air to folk who never went inside a church, and normally he would have been found proclaiming the Gospel in a place like Goldridge Park rather than in one of the town's many churches. However, this time he had received several invitations from pastors in Goldridge for him to come and encourage their congregations, and he had decided to accommodate them. He was thankful for the practice he had had in preaching to his brother-inlaw Jack Winston's flock in Apmirra. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a slight movement to his left, and as he glanced up from his Bible his attention was drawn to a silent figure standing some twenty metres away by the edge of the lake. It was a man about his own age but shorter, with light grey hair in need of a trim, and wearing a very wrinkled, dark brown suit. He was standing quite still, his hands in his pockets, gazing down at the lake through steel-framed glasses. Something about the man's bearing told Carl that all was not well. Lord, does he need help; should I go talk with him? he asked silently. He waited, looking down at his Bible but unable to read it, for his eyes kept being attracted back to the man by the lake. Finally he replaced the Bible in his pocket, stood up, and walked towards him. He tried to walk noisily so that the man would hear him coming and not be taken by surprise. "Good morning," he said cheerfully as he came up to him. The man started violently. He had been staring at the water the whole time and seemed to have been quite oblivious to Carl's footsteps approaching. He looked around at Carl, a hunted look on his too-pale face. "Uh... G-Good morning," he stammered, "I-I didn't know there was anybody else here..." "I was sitting over there, reading." With his chin, Carl indicated the bench he had just left, then looked back at the man. "Are you all right? Can I help you in any way?" he asked quietly. The man looked down at the water again. "I'm afraid I'm beyond help," he answered bitterly, "Even God can't help me now." Carl followed the man's gaze and realized what was going on. He remembered pebbles sinking, one after the other, in another lake, five years earlier. Why not end it all? the pebble-thrower had asked himself. "That won't help either, you know," he said gently. The man looked up at him, startled. "What do you mean?" he asked, his tone almost reproachful. "That is the surest way of putting yourself beyond God's help," Carl replied, "I know. I thought of suicide, once, too." The man was non-plussed by Carl's statement. "How... How did you guess?" he asked in a whisper, "How could you tell?" Carl shrugged. "I've been there," he said simply. They stood looking at the water in silence for a moment. Carl prayed for wisdom, for a leading, and turned to look again at this fellow who wanted to do away with himself. He obviously had not used a shaver for several days, and his troubled hazel eyes were glazed with fatigue. What could have brought him to this endpoint of despair? Perhaps it would be good to sit 3
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
down with him somewhere quiet and let him talk about it. "Have you had breakfast yet?" Carl asked him. "N-No, I haven't," the man answered, "Yet." "I'm going over to the cafe down the road back there to have some breakfast. Would you like to join me? I'd appreciate your company—I'm a long way from my family." The man looked around hastily, as if to check whether they were being watched, before he answered. "Uh... Well... All right," he said finally, "Yes. If you like." "Great," Carl said, "Let's go, then. Over this way." He walked slowly towards the main gate, the man following along hesitantly with shuffling steps. They crossed the carpark and set off down the road in the direction from which Carl had come that morning. It took them a good ten minutes to cover the distance to the cafe at that rate. At his normal pace, it would have taken Carl less than three minutes. Carl led the man to the booth furthest from the door, at the back of the restaurant. A young woman, dressed in a flowered housecoat, her blond hair still in curlers, came in from the back of the building in response to the door buzzer. "You fellows are early birds, aren't you?" she commented, adding, unnecessarily, "I s'pose you want some breakfast." She handed Carl a menu card and glanced at his companion, who avoided her eyes and looked as if he would gladly hide under the table. "Your friend looks like he hasn't slept for a week," she observed to Carl. "He's not feeling too well," Carl said brightly, smiling, "A cup of tea might help. Could you bring us a pot of tea while we decide what to have to eat, please?" "Sure thing," the woman said, nodding, and went out to the kitchen. "What would you like to eat?" Carl asked the man, "It's my shout." "Anything'll do," he replied, glancing up and shrugging, "I'll have whatever you have." He added, after a pause, "Thanks." "Well, I think I'll have scrambled eggs, sausages, and tomatoes, with toast," Carl said, "Will that do?" "Sounds okay." When the woman brought them the tea, Carl ordered the food, and she went out to prepare it. Carl poured some tea into their cups and passed one of them to the man. "Excuse me," he said, "I just realized I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Carl—Carl Slade." The man nodded vaguely. "Henry Smith," he said quietly, automatically adding, "Pleased to meet you." Suddenly he straightened up and stared at Carl as if horrified. "Are you that evangelist bloke? The one who goes round in a camper truck?" he asked apprehensively. "Why, yes," Carl answered, surprised that Smith knew who he was, and at his reaction, "Why?" "Aren't you supposed to be preaching in this town this week?"
4
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, how did you know?" Carl never advertised where or when he would be preaching. "Oh—word gets around..." Smith replied more quietly, shrugging again. Then he looked at Carl worriedly. "If they see you with me, you know, you haven't a hope here." He moved to leave the booth. "I think I'd better go—I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble." Carl was mystified by Smith's words and his behaviour. He grasped the man's wrist to stop him, and saw his face go white. "Wait a minute," he said, "Why would you cause me trouble? Why shouldn't I be seen with you? Have you committed a crime or something?" The man hesitated. The hunted look had come back, and he stared at Carl, who looked back at him kindly and expectantly. "It-It's a long story..." he muttered, sinking back onto his seat. Carl let go of his arm. "Tell me your story, then, Henry," he said gently, "I've got plenty of time."
5
CHAPTER 2 "Emma, please pray!" Carl's voice over the phone sounded strained, even frightened. "I can't tell you about it over the phone, Em, I haven't got time, but please, please pray. Pray as the Spirit leads." "Carl! Are you all right? Where are you?" Emma asked, "What's the matter?" Why would her husband be ringing at three o'clock in the morning, sounding so distressed? She knew he was supposed to be somewhere around Goldridge, some five hundred kilometres away. He had gone there at the beginning of the week in order to preach in some of the town's churches. Now it seemed that something had gone very wrong for Carl. "I can't tell you now, Em, I've got to go," he said, still tense. This just isn't like Carl, Emma thought, it's not like him to panic, and that's what he sounds like—panicky. "I'm going to try and come home," he added, "I'll tell you then. Please, Em, just pray!" And he hung up. Emma put her receiver down slowly. In their five years of marriage she had never heard Carl sound like this. Something must be terribly wrong. She felt somewhat panicky herself, and wondered what she should do. In the end she decided to phone Jack, her brother, even if it was the middle of the night. He'd know what to do. A very sleepy male voice answered the Winston phone after she had waited more than three minutes for some response to her call. "Jack! It's Emma," she said, not waiting for him to ask, "Carl's just rung and he sounded awfully upset!" "Emma?" Jack was suddenly awake. "What's the matter? It's three o'clock in the morning!" "I just told you—Carl rang! Something's wrong! He asked me to pray, but he wouldn't tell me what about. He said to pray as the Spirit leads!" "Carl? Where is he?" Jack asked, "Down Goldridge way, isn't he?" "Yes. But he said he'd try and come home. Jack, I'm worried! I've never heard him sound so upset, so-so-so frightened!" "Well, Em, there's only one thing to do, and Carl's already told you what it is: pray. Pray as the Spirit leads." "Oh, Jack, please can you pray too?" Emma's voice shook as she tried to hold back tears. Perhaps it was due to the time of night, but she found herself unable to keep calm. Carl's tone had unnerved her. Jack didn't answer right away. He seemed to be talking to Rose, his wife, in the background. Then he spoke to Emma again. "Em, Rose and I are coming over," he said, "We're going to pray with you. We'll be about ten minutes, okay? Make yourself a cuppa, and start praying." "All right, Jack, I'll do that. Thank you."
6
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
She heard him hang up, and put her receiver down. Trust Jack and Rose to suggest coming over. Even at three o'clock in the morning. She felt relieved at not having to face this alone. She thought about Carl. She couldn't imagine anything that would frighten him. He could always be depended on to keep calm in a crisis, because he trusted God absolutely. Yet he'd certainly sounded scared on the phone. What could have gone wrong? Jack was right. There was only one thing she could do—pray. Put this in God's hands. He knew what was wrong, and He could deal with it. Forgetting Jack's first suggestion, she slowly walked back to her bedroom. She knelt down at the foot of their bed, bowed her head on her hands, and talked to God about Carl, asking Him to help her pray for him. When Jack and Rose arrived she went with them into the lounge and the three of them prayed together for quite some time. By the time they stopped, dawn was approaching and the sky was growing lighter. Emma wondered where Carl might be. Was he already driving back? She prayed for a safe trip for him. Rose suggested that they have breakfast together before she and Jack went home, and she and Emma went to the kitchen to prepare it while Jack got a Bible and sat in the lounge to pray a while longer. The twins woke up and Andrew George, on learning that Uncle Jack was visiting, went to the lounge to see him. Jack saw his four-year-old nephew come in the door and beckoned to him. As he was praying he'd had an idea. "Hello, there, Andrew," he smiled, "How would you like to come and spend the day with Auntie Rose and Simeon and me today?" "Helen, too?" Andrew asked, his face brightening with anticipation. "Yes, of course, Helen, too," Jack replied, giving Andrew an affectionate hug. He hadn't asked Rose about it yet, but he didn't think she'd object. As he'd been praying he'd suddenly felt very strongly that they should take the twins for the day, and he took this as being from the Lord. Andrew skipped away to the kitchen, gleefully calling out to his mother. "Mummy, Mummy, can we go to Uncle Jack's house?" Emma looked at Rose in surprise. "Did you want to take them to your place?" she asked her sister-in-law. Rose also looked surprised, and she was, but she reasoned that if Jack had decided to take the twins over to their home for the day he had good reasons. "If you're happy for them to come, Emma," she replied, "Do you think Helen's well enough?" "Yes, I think she's all right. Actually, it would probably do her good to get out of the flat a bit." "Great!" Jack said, coming into the kitchen with Helen Mei Li in tow, "We'll have a good day together!" He picked up his niece and gave her a cuddle. "Sit down and have some breakfast, all of you," Emma said, indicating the table.
7
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
After Jack had given thanks and they had started eating, Rose looked across at her sister-in-law, who was toying with her food but not really eating anything. "Emma," she said, "Try not to worry. Trust God about Carl." "I am worried, Rose," Emma replied, "and I feel so helpless!" Rose reached across the table and took Emma's hand and squeezed it. She remembered the many nights during the years of the Protectorate when she'd been so anxious because Jack hadn't made it home before curfew and she thought he might have been arrested. She knew what it was like to be afraid for her husband. "Emma, you're not helpless, not as long as you trust God and put all this in His hands," she said gently, "Trust God. Remember His promise in Isaiah 26:3: 'You will keep in perfect peace him'—and that means her, too—'whose heart looks steadfastly to You.' God has never abandoned you, and He won't do so now, or ever." "Thanks, Rose," Emma said, trying to smile at her but not succeeding too well. "I'm glad it's Saturday," Jack said, "and I don't have to go to work. I have a few visits to make, but Simeon's home and he'll give Rose a hand with the twins." Emma wondered if she really wanted to be on her own just now. "Maybe I should come along with you..." she said, hesitatingly. Jack did not hesitate in his answer. "No, Em, I'm quite sure you're to stay here and wait," he said firmly, "Only the children are to come with us." Rose looked at her husband wonderingly. "You sound quite certain about that," she said. "Yes," Jack said simply. He started clearing his plate and the twins' dishes, and got up from the table. "In fact," he added, taking the things to the sink, "I'm quite sure we're to leave right now." Emma knew her brother well enough to realize he'd had a word from the Lord and was obeying. She got up and called the twins to come and get dressed. "Em, just get their clothes together in a bag and we'll get them dressed at home," Jack said, "and tonight we'll bring them back ready for bed." "All right," she replied, and went to do as he said. She returned after a few minutes with the twins' travel bag, which she placed on a chair. Rose was busy clearing the table. "Leave all that, Rose," she said, "I'll do it. It'll give me something to do, anyway." She turned to the twins and gave them each a hug. "Have a lovely day with Uncle Jack and Auntie Rose, won't you? And with Cousin Simeon." "Bye-bye, Mummy," the children replied in unison, pleasure written all over their faces at the thought of the day ahead. They squirmed free from her arms and each took one of Jack's hands. Rose gave Emma a last hug before picking up the twins' bag. "We'll bring the children back this evening after tea, Emma," she said, "Keep your hand in God's and trust Him." "I will, thanks, Rose and Jack," Emma replied softly, "See you all later." As she closed the door behind them she felt suddenly terribly alone, but she quickly reminded herself of Rose's advice, and prayed silently for God's 8
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
strength to face the waiting. She had no idea how long she might have to wait for news of Carl. She went back into the kitchen and set to the task of washing up the breakfast things. As she worked she reflected on Jack's certainty about taking the twins for the day as well as about when they should go. The years of persecution by the Protectioners had only strengthened Jack's faith and made God's voice clearer to him. Four years of relative freedom had not eroded his trust in God—he knew in Whom he could trust unwaveringly. At times his decisions were criticized by some of the other believers, but Jack stood firm, though when criticized he always made a point of carefully examining his decisions and motives and not acting on them until he felt absolutely certain he was following God's leading. Her thoughts turned back to Carl and she wondered again what had happened to make him so distraught. She knew how deeply he felt things, but she also knew that his trust in God was as unswerving as Jack's. What could possibly have frightened him so? When she finished washing up she decided to clean the flat—it would keep her busy and she could continue to pray while she did it. She made the beds, swept the kitchen, cleaned the bathroom, then dusted the furniture. She stopped for a few moments as she came upon Carl's flute case on the bookshelf. She opened it and gazed at the flute, thinking of all the hours of music they had offered to the Lord together, Carl playing his flute while she sang. It occurred to her that Carl would not want her to be moping now, but singing to the Lord. She closed the case again and dusted it absently, softly starting to sing a hymn. Her gaze strayed to a framed Redouté print on the wall, and as it reminded her of the strange way the Lord had brought them together, she sang with more enthusiasm. About mid-morning, she decided to cook something for lunch, more for the sake of the activity than anything else, for she didn't expect Carl to get back until late afternoon at the earliest, even if he'd left Goldridge as soon as he'd put the phone down and driven non-stop. It was so far to go! She cut up some vegetables into a potful of chicken broth and set them on the stove to stew slowly, then switched on the kettle to make a cup of tea. She felt restless and wondered if perhaps she ought to have kept the twins at home after all. But no, Jack had been so sure... Her thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected sound of the front door opening. Her heart skipped a beat and she hurried out of the kitchen, in time to see Carl walk into the flat, locking the door behind him. "Carl!" she cried out, and rushed over to embrace him. He hugged her too tightly and winded her, and she squirmed away from him and looked up at his face. It was grey and lined with fatigue, and his blue eyes were troubled. "How-how did you get back so quickly?" she asked him. "I caught the first plane out—they had one seat left," he answered in a monotone. He looked down at her and gripped her arms. "Emma... I'm home..." he said, quietly but urgently, "I need you, Em, please..." She was taken aback by his vehemence. "Now?" she asked, staring up at him incredulously. 9
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Now. Please." He searched her face, as if expecting her answer to appear there, and she suddenly remembered the stew on the stove. She needed to collect her wits, which seemed to have scattered all over the flat at his sudden arrival and unexpected request. "You go on to-to-to the b-bedroom," she stammered, "I'll just go and turn the stove off. I-I was cooking s-some lunch..." He didn't answer, but his eyes did, and she saw his gratefulness in them. He kissed her on the forehead then let go of her and walked off to their room. As she went into the kitchen, Emma's thoughts still danced around in confusion. Carl had never done this before. What had happened down there in Goldridge, to get him into such a state? She turned the stove off and unplugged the kettle, and decided to have a quick shower before going to Carl. She needed more calming down. Whatever it was that had upset her husband, her being upset would not help him. Please, God, she prayed silently, help me to help him. After a short shower she sprinkled on herself some of the scented talcum powder Carl had bought her—"I like the smell of it on you," he'd said—then realized she had no clean clothes to change into. She noticed his dressing gown hanging on the back of the door—he'd forgotten to take it with him!— and decided that would do. I probably won't have it on long, anyway, she said to herself. In the bedroom, Carl had sat down in the armchair and removed his shoes and socks. When Emma didn't come right away he wondered what she was doing. He jumped up and went to the bedroom door and opened it, intending to go to the kitchen to get her, but he heard the sound of the shower and guessed what she was up to. A warmth filled his heart and he knew he'd done the right thing in coming home. He closed the door and returned to the armchair to wait for his wife. A few minutes later she walked in, wearing his dressing gown. He smiled at the look of her—the garment was too big on her by far, and her eyes were as wide and wondering as they had been on their wedding night five years before. All the urgency and passion he'd been feeling until that moment drained away to be replaced by the love he had for the wife God had given him. He stood up and opened his arms for her. Emma stood by the door for a moment after it slid shut behind her. She saw Carl smile warmly, and the lines of anxiety and weariness left his face. As he stood up the urgent appeal in his eyes was replaced by the warm, gentle look she knew so well. She went to him and he enfolded her in his arms. "Emma," he whispered, burying his face in her hair, "My precious Emma." He held her for a few moments, then he sat down on the foot of their bed and pulled her down beside him. He put his arm around her but made no further move. Emma looked up at him, puzzled, and waited for him to speak. She felt quite disoriented by his unusual behaviour. "Where are the children?" he asked, suddenly aware that he hadn't seen or heard them since he'd arrived. 10
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"At Jack's," Emma answered, "Carl, what—" "It's okay, Em," he said, quietly, interrupting her and hugging her, "I've calmed down. There's no-one like you for calming me down." He kissed her forehead again and grinned. "Don't get me wrong, though, I still want to make love to you, but I don't feel that urgency about it that I did when I got home. When I heard that you were having a shower—I was going to fetch you when you didn't come straight away—well, I realized that you were wanting to be calm for my sake. Funny how you have these habits, Em. I s'pose I've got my funny habits too, but that's one of yours, having a shower when you're upset, and I felt so relieved and happy to be home with you when I heard the shower going... Then when you walked into the room wearing my dressing gown and with that bemused look on your face I fell in love with you all over again!" He paused, gazed absently at the wall for a moment, then added soberly, "I've been through a nightmare, Emma, this last week..." "What happened down there, Carl?" she asked, softly, "You sounded so scared on the phone." "I guess I was scared, Em. I had a glimpse of what hell must be like, and it terrified me!" Emma stared at her husband. Those were strong words, and he wasn't one for exaggerating. He didn't say any more for a while, but held her close. She put her arms around him and her face against his shoulder, and they sat there just enjoying being together. "You smell nice, Em," Carl commented presently, "Is that the powder I gave you?" "Yes, I put it on because you like it," she replied. He leaned away from her a bit and looked at her appraisingly. "That dressing gown's a bit too large on you, you know," he said, frowning. "I didn't have any clean clothes with me in the bathroom. I didn't think you'd mind my wearing it." "Oh, I don't mind at all, Em, but I must say it does nothing for you except cover you up..." "I guess I ought to get dressed." "Did you say the twins are at Jack and Rose's?" "Yes. When you rang this morning I was so upset, I rang them, and they came over and we prayed together and they went home after breakfast. Jack felt very sure they should take Helen and Andrew for the day. They'll bring them home after tea." "Thank God for your brother and his wonderful wife. What would we do without them?" He stood up, stretched, and pulled Emma up. "How about we make the most of not having any little interruptions about the place?" He grinned, and hugged her again. "Then, we could enjoy that lunch you were cooking..."
!!!
11
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Some time later they went into the kitchen. As she set the stew back on the stove to reheat it, Emma asked her husband if he would like a cup of tea with it. "That's a good idea," he replied, pausing in setting the table to plug in the kettle. She served out the food and they sat down to eat. Carl gave thanks. "Lord God, our Father," he prayed, "Thank You for bringing me home safely and quickly, for keeping me safe, for keeping Emma and the children safe. Thank You for Emma, Lord, thank You for blessing me so in her. And thank You for this meal that she's prepared by Your grace." He smiled at his wife. "And thank you, Em, for preparing it." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, and she smiled back. "I didn't think I'd be having lunch with you," she said, "I assumed you'd be driving back, so I didn't expect you to get home until tea-time, at the earliest." "Well, you managed to make enough for both of us, anyway!" he laughed. "And I'm so glad you flew home!" she said. Then she had a sudden thought. "Where's the truck, then? "I left it in the driveway of a friend's house down there. Henry said he'd keep an eye on it for me." "Henry? Who's Henry?" "He's the pastor of one of the churches down there. He's been through an awful time. It was him who took me to the airport this morning. He said I could leave the truck at his place, and I said I'd be back in a week or so." "You're going back?" Emma asked in surprise, "Oh—I guess you have to go get the truck." "We're going, Em, as soon as George gets here, if he decides to come along." "George? You mean George Newman?" "Yes. I sent him a Telemail from the airport this morning, as soon as I arrived. I expect we'll get an answer this afternoon." "Why've you asked George to come? What's he got to do with whatever's been going on down there?" "While I was on the plane, although I wasn't very calm, I did manage to do some thinking and praying about what I should do next..." Carl didn't need to say anymore. Emma knew that the answer to his prayer must have been to contact George. The older man, a retired professor of Middle Eastern history who lived in Kawanyama, the country north of the Federation, had been Carl and Emma's host when they had fled to Kawanyama from the Protectorate after Carl had become a Christian. George and his wife Mei Li had welcomed them to Bethany Lodge Farm. Their son Will had taken Carl on as assistant farm manager and arranged for him to take courses at the Warden agricultural college. It had been while they were at Bethany Farm that Carl had learned of the execution of his closest friend, Andrew Parker, for his part in their escape. It was also at Bethany Farm that he and Emma had married. George had been like a father to Carl, who had lost his own parents 12
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
in a car accident when he was only four. A wise man who loved God deeply, he had been Carl's mentor as Carl explored the depths of his new faith and the vastness of knowledge about the world that he had never heard of in the Protectorate. Almost a year after their wedding, Carl had made two trips to the Protectorate with a delegation from the Kawanyaman government for diplomatic meetings. On the second visit to his own country he had been arrested and sentenced to be executed by firing squad as a traitor. A nonviolent coup which had toppled the government of the Protectioners was instrumental in saving his life, but he had gone through many months of painful and slow recovery from near-paralysis. There had been two special events which had brightened those long months—the birth of the twins, and the beginning of his evangelistic travels around the new Southern Federation with his family. The surprising provision of the camper truck had made those travels possible. "What did you tell George?" Emma asked Carl. "That there's a terrible state of affairs in the Body down South and could he please pray about whether or not he should be involved." As if in answer to Carl's explanation their Telemailer beeped to indicate an incoming message. He went to the lounge, Emma following him, and switched on the screen. The message was from George, and indicated that he would be flying down from Warden, in Kawanyama, in three days' time. He would have left sooner but he needed to get a visa first. Mei Li would not be coming with him, as it was shearing time. "Oh, I'm sorry Mei Li can't come along," Emma exclaimed, "It would have been lovely to see her again!" Carl sent back an acknowledgment and a message that he would meet George at the airport. There was only one flight daily to Apmirra from Breston that stopped at Warden on the way. They went back to the kitchen to continue their meal. Emma made some tea and poured it into their cups. "I still have no idea what happened to you over there, you know," she pointed out to Carl. "Yes, I know," he replied, "It's going to take some time to tell you. Let's finish lunch first, then go and sit in the lounge and I'll tell you all about it." He stopped and thought a moment. "Actually, why don't we go down to the Park and walk around, or sit by the Lake, and talk there?" "That's a great idea. It'll be nice to go for a walk without having to keep an eye on the children all the time. We don't often do that." Carl didn't answer. He wasn't sure she would find it so nice once she'd heard his story. They finished eating and cleared up the dishes, then took the lift down to the ground floor. Hand in hand, they set off along the footpath towards the Park. Carl began his story as they walked along. "The morning after I arrived in Goldridge I went for a walk at dawn, as usual," he said, "There's a park which I'd noticed as I drove in the day before, near the caravan park where I'd booked. I thought I'd walk there and sit there for a couple of hours and 13
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
think about the message I should preach in the afternoon. I hadn't been there very long before I noticed this fellow standing by the water. There's a small lake in the middle of the park; it's not very big across but I gather it's very deep, something to do with collapsed mine shafts, I'm told. Anyway, the way the man was standing, I had the feeling he had some big problem bothering him. I prayed about whether I should go over and talk to him, and after a bit I did that. He was thinking of suicide, it turned out, but he seemed relieved about being interrupted. Since I was now involved, I prayed for wisdom as to the next step, and then I asked him if he'd join me for breakfast." They reached the Park and walked slowly towards the Lake. There were quite a few people in the Park as it was Saturday afternoon, but they didn't pay much attention to the them except when a child on a bicycle threatened to bowl them over. "We never got around to eating that breakfast..." Carl continued, "The woman who ran the cafe must have thought we were rather odd, letting it all go cold like that, and having to order another lot... Never mind. Henry— Henry Smith's his full name—had a story to tell which sent chills up my spine. If I hadn't once been a Protectioner I might not have realized the implications, but I had been, so I did. So will you, when you've heard it." They reached the shore of the Lake, and Carl stopped. "Would you like to sit down or would you rather keep walking?" he asked. "Why don't we keep going, and sit down when we get tired?" Emma suggested. "Fine." He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked, and began to tell her Henry Smith's story.
14
CHAPTER 3 The town of Goldridge, famous for its goldrush history and its Botanic Gardens—a not unrelated combination—boasted quite a few church groups, even though it wasn't such a very large municipality. Many of the congregations had their own buildings, some of them recovered after the fall of the Protectorate in 2036 and the rest built since that year. Almost every denomination and non-denomination in the country was already represented in some way in Goldridge by the time the people celebrated the second anniversary of Brent Denson's routing. Persecution during the Protectorate years had been as severe in Goldridge as anywhere else in the country, but the small house churches that had formed during those stormy times had weathered them and come through despite losing half their members to the Protectioners in one way or another. Several of the pastors and numerous members of their flocks had been "taken into care" during those harrowing years and had been shipped to the capital, then called Densonia, for "treatment" at the Police Counselling Institute. Many had never come back. Three years after the demise of the Protectorate, however, the believers in Goldridge seemed to have forgotten those ten terrible years. As denominations had sprung up, disharmony seemed to become the rule rather than the exception. The Baptizers did not talk to the Gatherers, who turned their backs on the Pentecosters, who in their turn spurned the Lutherites, and so on, almost right through to the smallest group. The division was worse, incredibly, than it had ever been before the rule of the Protectioners. Many of the churches were steeped in legalism yet nonetheless had little influence on the daily lives of their members. Henry Smith was the pastor of one of the smaller churches. His congregation had no particular denomination and simply called themselves "Christians". They had been among the few who had kept alive in their hearts the memory of how God had carried them through the years of Denson's dictatorship. They had watched in horror as the battle between the larger groups had gathered momentum and as more and more people left the churches. They had prayed intensely that their brothers and sisters would come to their senses and unity would be restored. Their pastor had tried to meet with some of the ministers who led the other groups, urging them to form a leaders' fellowship group so that they could be united in the Spirit despite the variety in their churches' approaches to the faith. Didn't they all serve the one Lord Jesus Christ, after all? The denominational pastors had not been interested in Pastor Henry's suggestions. Each one thought that all the others were wrong and leading their people on the road of deception, and they did not want to get "infected", as one minister put it. Henry had been appalled by what he saw in those men's eyes—he could only call it "hate"—when they talked about other pastors. He had been greatly disturbed. The suffering of the Protectorate
15
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
years and the sweet fellowship they'd all known during that time was still fresh in his memory—wasn't it in theirs? Henry had been determined that the "infection" he saw—the hatred and suspicion—would not spread to his little congregation. He had prayed daily for them, especially for the Elders who led the church with him and with whom he had enjoyed a special friendship. He had encouraged his people to be friends with those from other churches. He had made a point of meeting with the other pastors, each in turn, for lunch. The other men had soon tired of it, however, as Henry continued to urge them—"badger" them, they called it—to make peace among themselves. He would point out Scripture verses to support his appeal, but that had seemed to carry no weight with them. He had been increasingly bewildered and distraught by their attitudes. All this time he had continued leading and teaching his small flock of about a hundred members. The three Elders had encouraged him and helped him in the pastoring work, and the church had slowly begun to grow as new Christians, the fruit of their reaching out to the community, were added to their number. The people had resolved to be a light in their town by living as close to the New Testament model as they could. Henry Smith had once been married, but his wife had died during the Protection nightmare when she had been hit by a car and had been refused treatment at the local hospital because she was a Christian and therefore blacklisted as a Rebel. His grief had been intense but he had doubled in his determination to cling to and work with the Lord for as long as the Lord kept him on Earth. His congregation's love and their own faith in God had carried him through that difficult time, and through others. Then, in 2040, something strange and even more worrying than the division among the believers occurred. It began with the Lutherite minister suddenly leaving his wife. "Just like that," Henry, snapping his fingers, told Carl, "One fine morning his wife woke up and he was gone. He'd taken all his clothes, his diary, a few odds and ends from his desk, and he was gone. No note, nothing. She was hysterical! One day he'd been on top of the world because his congregation would be opening their new building in a week's time, she said, and the next morning he'd vanished without so much as a goodbye!" "Do you mean that she'd no warning that anything was wrong?" Carl asked incredulously. "Not a hint. In fact, from what she said, it was just the opposite. Their marriage was better than ever, his people were proud of his preaching, and the church had received some substantial gifts from wealthy members towards the new building. He seemed very happy. And then he just went. Disappeared. She had no news of him—nor did anyone else—until one day one of their folk came and served her divorce papers. He was a lawyer, her husband's lawyer, I suppose, I don't really know. Then he showed her a Sydney paper with a photo of her husband at some do, with another woman. She went completely to pieces. That was one thing, and one pretty much expects that, under the circumstances. But what happened next was not 16
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
expected. In a matter of weeks the Lutherite church in this town ceased to exist. Three of their people ended up coming over to my church, but they refused to comment on what had happened." "Did you ever find out?" Carl asked, astounded by what he'd just heard. "Eventually. But wait—that was only beginning. It got worse." Henry paused, swept a hand several times through his grey hair, and shut his eyes as if in pain. "The next church to disintegrate was that of the Baptizers. Now, there was a group that seemed determined to follow the Lord and fight the disharmony. Their problems seemed to have started when the pastor decided that he did want to try and make peace with the others. At least, to me it looks that way. The first thing that went wrong was that all three of his children were caught at school with illegal drugs in their bags. Don't ask me where they could possibly have got them from! The next thing was that he was discovered at a local motel with a woman who wasn't his wife. This had apparently been going on for some weeks before it was found out and splashed all over the local paper. Well his wife and his church fell apart too! Two people from that group came over to ours." "What happened to the other members of those churches?" Carl asked. "They either went to other churches," Henry replied, "or just stopped going to any church. Most of them just stopped going." "Well, what did the other pastors do about this?" Carl asked, "Did it have any effect on their attitudes?" "Unfortunately it had the wrong effect," Henry answered sadly, "They started strutting—that's the only word for it. They didn't say, 'There but for the grace of God go we'. No, they told their people that that's where following Lutherite or Baptizer teaching leads one!" "And it was their turn next?" Carl surmised. "Yes. The Gatherer fellow—a single bloke, not very long out of the new training course at their College—well, it turned out he was apparently having an affair with the wife of one of his members. Apparently." Henry looked up at Carl, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "What I couldn't understand, and I still can't understand, is why the pastors' actions caused the whole church to fall apart. I mean, one would expect that some members would leave in disgust, but that the rest would stay and just find another minister. But no—they all left. We inherited three Gatherers." He sighed deeply. "Did this happen to the Pentecoster groups too?" "There were four different Pentecoster groups, and yes, they went the same way..." Henry's voice had got lower and lower as he spoke, until he was almost whispering. Carl had a feeling that the story was getting close to home for his companion. "There were four other independent churches besides mine which had been striving for unity. The five of us—the pastors, I mean—had been meeting regularly to pray and encourage each other. They'd also got some of the members from the other churches. I mean, those people had started going to their churches." 17
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Am I right in guessing that this is an important detail—that all those people moved to your churches?" Carl asked. "You're right, yes." Henry smiled wryly. "Those people came to our churches and the cancer began to spread there, too..." His voice caught, and he paused, staring in surprise at his plate, as if he wondered how it had got there. He picked up his fork, seemed to think better of it, and put it down. He swept his fingers through his hair again, glanced up at Carl, looked around the room—they were still the only customers—then looked down at the table again. Carl watched all this thoughfully. There was something about Henry's way of sweeping his hands through his hair... Certainly the pastor was deeply distressed, but there was something else. As Henry had been telling him about the downfall of the churches in Goldridge, Carl had felt increasingly apprehensive—not least because each of the churches Henry had mentioned had invited him to preach that week. In fact he was supposed to preach at the Lutherite church that afternoon. At least, the letterhead on the invitation was that of the Lutherite church. What was the name at the end of the letter, now? Alfred Greenstone? Carl decided to ask Henry Smith if he knew the man—but only after the pastor had finished his story. If what Henry had been telling him was true, "cancer" was a mild term for the disease afflicting the Goldridge church. "So what happened, then, after these people started coming to your church?" he asked. "Well, nothing—at first," the pastor replied, looking up at Carl and grimacing, "That's what put me off my guard, you see. They just started coming to the Sunday meeting, they also joined the mid-week prayer and Bible Study groups, they just—well, they just sort of became part of the church." He tapped the table with one finger as he added, "They were a mess, but we didn't realize it until much later. And they spread that mess very subtly and very generously over the next few months, and none of us realized what was going on, would you believe?" "And what is it that was going on?" Carl asked, raising his eyebrows. "I suppose Jesus would have called it sowing tares among the wheat. That's what they were doing. Sowing half-truths, sowing discord. Only, the way they did it, and because we weren't on the alert, we were completely fooled into thinking it was wheat they were sowing..." He paused again, thought for a moment, and then added, "No—not all of us were fooled. But we didn't listen to those one or two who weren't. We called them wet blankets! Then suddenly it was too late..." "Too late?" "My church fell apart too..." "How did that come about?" Carl asked gently. "Their pastor went off the rails..." Henry whispered it, not looking at Carl. He fell silent again, the silence of deep hurt, and seemed to study his glasses. After a moment, he glanced up at Carl again, grimaced, and asked, "Do you really want to hear this?" 18
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, I do," Carl replied, "Tell me about it." "Well, all right. Why not? After those folk had been with us a few weeks," Henry continued, "I began to notice that some of our church members were missing meetings they'd come to regularly before, and when I asked them why, the reasons they gave seemed like pretty feeble excuses to me. Things like: the car won't start, the children were tired, they'd had a long day. The thing is, these were people who'd always put a great deal of effort into getting to meetings, normally. On top of that, they seemed to be avoiding other members of the church that they'd always spent a great deal of time with. This problem got worse, and then the whisperings among the Elders began. But the worst thing that happened was what I did, and at the time I didn't even think about the downward slide... Looking back, I can't believe how stupid, how foolish I was, but back then I thought, at first anyway, that I was doing the right thing..." He looked up again, his eyes deep with great sadness, and Carl wondered what terrible thing the man had done. He went on, in the same subdued voice. "One of the Elders has a teenage daughter who'd been having problems at school—she's a bit of a rebel, you know, like many teenagers. She's seventeen years old, and that's a difficult age sometimes. Anyway, he asked me to have a chat with her, and she was agreeable to that, so I took her out for lunch—I figured she'd feel more at ease that way than sitting in my office. It was supposed to be just a friendly, informal chat, just to ask her why she felt the way she did, what was bothering her about school, parents, and so on." He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "I'm not sure what happened. Looking back, I can only surmise that she had some Personality Pills with her and that she put some in my tea. I don't want to go into details, if you don't mind, it's too awful. It's enough to tell you that I finally came to myself in a strange bed with a strange woman next to me carrying on about how wonderful I was, and so on. I was horrified, and I jumped out of that bed and looked for my clothes—they were just there on the floor, fortunately—and I got dressed as fast as I could and ran out the door, and this-this woman just yelled the whole time that I mustn't go, please would I stay, and so on. I got the first taxi that came along to take me home. Only I had him drop me off at the shops down the street rather than at my house. I walked the rest of the way. I needed to get my bearings." "Your bearings? Didn't you know where you'd been?" Carl asked. "Oh, yes. I recognized the motel. It's on the other side of town, near the mine museum. I've no idea to this day how I got there. The restaurant I'd taken Mandy to is near the Civic Centre. I don't even remember leaving it. There's just a blank in my memory." "What did you do then when you got home?" "I just sat there, trying to figure it all out. I couldn't understand what had happened. The woman—I didn't even know who she was!" The pastor brushed his hand through his hair agitatedly several times again before adding, "But I couldn't stop thinking about her..." He toyed with his glasses for a few moments, not saying anything. 19
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"What I haven't told you yet," he continued presently, "is how we'd all slid backwards—yes, me too—in our Bible reading, our praying, our reaching out, our evangelising. It happened very subtly. At one of the Bible studies, after they'd been going there a few weeks, one of the newcomers suggested we study a particular book about the life of the church. Quite a good book, really—published in Kawanyama—quite Scriptural, referred constantly to the Bible, and so on. So we did that. The next book suggested was a bit different, but still good. There were a few things in it which disturbed me some, but I just shrugged them off and concentrated on the good stuff. The third book had far fewer references to Scripture, but it seemed okay. Can you see what was happening?" "I think so... You were all reading the Bible less and less." "That's right. We were filling our minds with more and more half-truths, and we didn't want to admit to it. We got to a point where we didn't even want to check out what the Scriptures said, you know. Two or three people objected to the books, and warned us about them, but we didn't listen. In fact, we didn't want to hear! Eventually we were spending most of our time studying psychology and philosophy, and very little time reading God's Word. One of the effects of all this side-tracking was that we all started getting these feelings of false guilt, and that led to suspicion of others, and victim complexes. Parents were worried that they hadn't been doing the right thing by their children or that they'd been abusing them. These are model parents I'm referring to! People whose family life would be considered exemplary! Children accused their parents of giving them a low self-image— that's a fashionable term again, you know—wives accused their husbands of taking them for granted, husbands accused their wives of being unfaithful, employers called their workers thieves, teachers said their students cheated, and so on and on and on. And there was I, their pastor, completely unable to help them or guide them, because I was just as bad as them, if not worse." He sighed and absent-mindedly stirred his tea, which had been stone-cold for over an hour. The young woman who had served them their food, now properly dressed, her hair-curlers gone, came over to them. "Wasn't the food any good?" she exclaimed, seeing their untouched meal, "You don't seem to have eaten anything!" Carl looked down at their plates in surprise, then grinned at her sheepishly. "We were rather engrossed, I'm afraid," he said apologetically, "I'm sure it was fine, we just forgot it was there..." He looked back at his plate. The eggs and sausages, shining with cold grease, now looked distinctly unappetizing. The cold tea looked just as bad. "Would you take it all away, please?" he asked her, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it. And please bring us a fresh pot of tea, won't you?" She looked at them oddly, nodded, and began clearing the dishes of food from their table. Henry had been silent during all this, following it all with a bewildered look on his face.
20
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl turned back to him and smiled. "So far what you've told me doesn't seem to me so terrible that it should drive you to thinking of suicide, Henry," he said gently, "It's pretty awful, I agree, but not irreversible." "I haven't told you the worst, yet," Henry replied slowly, not smiling at all, "I'm not sure I want to tell you—your opinion of me must be low enough as it is by now." "My opinion of you is that you are a man whose deepest desire is to 'love God with all your heart and all your mind and all your strength, and to love your neighbour as yourself,'" Carl said quietly, "and you've done something of which you are terribly ashamed and you think you've committed the unforgivable sin. Whatever you've done, Henry, believe me, it's not unforgivable. You love God. It's obvious to anyone who cares to talk with you. You are my brother in Christ." "I don't see how I can be forgiven—I've led my church astray, I've been involved in adultery and worse, I've considered killing myself. I'm beyond God's forgiveness, Carl. The Elders even told me so." Carl didn't answer right away, as he saw the waitress coming over with the tea he'd ordered. She put the teapot down and went to get them clean cups. "Thank you very much," Carl smiled as she put the cups in front of them. "Do drink it this time, won't you?" she said, looking concerned, "Do you want something else to eat?" Carl glanced at his companion. "Uh... Not right now, thanks," he replied, "Maybe later." "Okay," she said, and went back into the kitchen. "How do you have your tea?" Carl asked Henry as he poured the tea into their cups. "Tea? Oh. Uh... milk and two sugars, thanks," the pastor replied. Carl put the milk and sugar in his cup and slid it across to him. "Drink your tea," he said to Henry, who gave him a curious glance then obediently did as he said. Carl drank his own tea slowly as he thought about all that Henry Smith had just told him. How in the world had the believers here so quickly forgotten the horrors of the Protectorate? How had they let themselves be so thoroughly led astray? Only three short years since the fall of Brent Denson's rule! When they'd finished their tea, Carl took up Henry's question. "Henry, you're a pastor. Yet you can't see how God could possibly forgive you..." he said softly, "Have you really forgotten King David, Zaccheus, Matthew, Peter, the thief on the cross, the soldiers who killed Jesus, Saul of Tarsus? Come on, Henry, God is merciful—surely you know that only the sin against the Holy Spirit is unforgivable? And surely you know that whatever it is you've done, it's not the sin of denying and cursing God?" Henry didn't say anything. He just stared at Carl in disbelief. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. He looked down at the table, seemed surprised as he saw his glasses there, put them on, then
21
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
looked up at Carl again. There was a hint of hope in his eyes. "You really think so?" he whispered, "Do you really think He'll forgive me?" He probably has already, Carl thought to himself. To the pastor he said simply, "Yes." Suddenly the hunted look came back to Henry's eyes. "But you don't know what I've done, Carl!" he exclaimed, "You don't know what I've done!" Carl reached across the table and grasped his hands, and saw the look of terror in Henry's eyes as he did so. "Then tell me what you've done, Henry, and get it off your chest!" he said fiercely, "Then tell the Lord you're sorry, that you'll never do it again, and accept His forgiveness!"
22
CHAPTER 4 "What was it Henry did that he thought was so terrible?" Emma asked. She and Carl had sat down on one of the many benches scattered throughout the park. "Apparently he felt guilty about the woman at the motel," Carl said, "He felt that somehow he'd taken advantage of her. That just tells you the state of mind those people down there are in! If you ask me, it was the other way around—she took advantage of him, and that girl Amanda, the Elder's daughter, certainly had something to do with it, as you'll see. Both women were involved in something rather sinister, whether they were aware of it or not." Carl got up and paced back and forth as he spoke. He was becoming agitated again. "Henry went back to the motel," he continued, "to look for the woman and—would you believe!—apologize to her! He found her, all right, and this time she well and truly seduced him, and over the next few weeks led him into worse and worse. It was only a matter of time before someone from his church came across him there—he was by no means the only one in his congregation to be in such a mess—and they reported him to the Elders. They kicked him out there and then, in the middle of a Sunday service, and forbade him ever to come back. He spent the next few days wandering all over town in a daze, and over that time people from his congregation who encountered him actually spat at him. They spat at him, Em! In public! These are the same folk who surrounded him with love when his wife died, during the Protectorate! What kind of madness is that?" Carl stopped, his hands in his pockets, and gazed across the Lake at the Government Assembly Building. "It's as if Jack were to commit some sin," he said quietly, "and you and I, and Ted and Anne, and Rob and Liz, and all the others were to spit at him every time we saw him, while at the same time, none of us were talking to each other..." He turned back towards Emma. "Em, the church down there is so sick only a drastic operation will save it!" He flung himself down on the bench. "And then I saw him in the park there... That was a week after they'd thrown him out." The two of them sat in silence, thinking of Henry Smith and of God's grace in bringing Carl to his side just in time. "But Carl," Emma said shortly, "What is it that so frightened you?" "That was the end result of an accumulation of events, Em," he answered, "and I have to tell you all that happened first for you to understand why it frightened me so. It still scares me every time I think about it." He shuddered. Emma moved closer to her husband and took his hand. He looked at his wife fondly, and thanked God for her again, and for getting him safely back to her. "Tell me all that happened," she said.
23
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He shifted his position and placed his other hand over hers. "That first day in Goldridge," he said, "Last Monday, remember? I'd been invited to preach in one of the churches—supposedly the Lutherite church. Now this seemed rather odd to me by this point, considering what Henry had told me—and I was quite sure he was telling the truth. So I decided to do some probing. Once he'd calmed down somewhat I told him I would order some more breakfast and this time we would eat it. He nodded, so I asked the waitress to bring us some more food and more tea, which she did after a while. Henry didn't say anything while we waited, and I prayed silently. A few more customers had come in by then, but they tended to sit near the front of the cafe—the back was rather dark. Henry was facing the back of the shop, so he didn't see people coming and going. One or two glanced at us, but mostly they either ignored us or were unaware of us. No-one showed any sign of knowing who he was." "When the food came I gave thanks to the Lord and we started eating. I wanted to make sure Henry'd got some food in him before I asked him any questions which might cut his appetite again—you see, I had the feeling he hadn't eaten for a while. When we were almost through, I poured us another cup of tea and when we'd drunk some of that, I decided it would be all right to ask him my question." "What did you want to ask him?" "The letter inviting me to preach at the Lutherite church was signed by someone called Alfred Greenstone. I thought I'd ask him if he knew the man." "Did he?" "When I asked him, he stared at me as if I'd blasphemed in the middle of a prayer, or something equally shocking."
!!! The name obviously had unpleasant connotations for Henry. "Well, do you know him?" Carl asked again, gently. "Wh-Where do you know him from?" the pastor stammered. "Never met him," Carl replied, "His signature was on a letter I received." "He's one of them!" Henry blurted out, "One of the tare-sowers. What on earth did he write to you about?" "He invited me to preach in his church this afternoon," Carl told him, "The Lutherite church." "The Lutherite church?!" Henry exclaimed, "But there is no Lutherite church here, I told you what happened to it!" Carl took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. Henry read the letter and turned pale. "D-Do you know where he's asked you to ppreach, Carl?" "At his church, I understand from the letter." "N-No, Carl, not his church—my church." "Your church? But your church isn't a Lutherite church!"
24
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That's right, it isn't, but this is the address of my church. Twelve, Eucalyptus Street. However, that's not the main problem here." He pointed to the date under the letterhead. "Look at the date of the letter." "The 14th of— But that's two months ago! And you say that's your church, at that address?" "That's right, Carl," Henry nodded, "That's right." He gave the letter back and leant his head on his hands, his elbows resting either side of his plate. His eyes filled with tears as the implications of the letter sank in. "The whole thing was planned, the whole thing..." he moaned. He covered his face with his hands. "Oh, my God, why?" He looked up at Carl. "Why?" Carl was staring at the letter. This kind of thing... There was something familiar about it... No! Surely not! Surely not! "I don't know why, Henry," he said, "but we're going to find out! And we're going to do something about it, what's more." He put the letter back in his pocket. "Henry—the most important thing to do right now is pray. So, let's pray!" The two men bowed their heads and talked to God about this unbelievable situation, asking for wisdom in dealing with it. And Carl prayed for Henry, that he might be able to ask for and accept God's forgiveness for what he had done, and that he might have the strength to face the challenges ahead. When they had finished, Carl called the young woman over and asked her for the bill. When she brought it he paid her and thanked her. As she walked away he turned to Henry. "Is your home far from here?" he asked. "It's not walking distance," the pastor replied, "Why?" "I was wondering if we could go over to your place to talk about what we're going to do about this situation." "Well, my car's just over at the park—we can drive to my place." "Could we do that, then?" "But someone might see you with me—it wouldn't help you at all if they did." "Look, Henry, as far as that's concerned, we can ask the Lord to make seeing eyes blind when necessary. I'm not especially worried about what other people think about the company I keep. Only God's opinion matters to me there, and He got me to talk to you in the first place!" He smiled at the pastor. "By the way, how are you feeling?" "Much better," Henry replied, and gave him a strange look, "thanks to you..." "Thank the Lord," Carl said quietly, "He's looking after you." He slid out from the booth and stretched. "Let's go, Henry." His companion also got up and they made their way to the door. Carl waved to the young woman who had served them, and she smiled at them as they left the cafe. They started walking along the road towards the park, at a much quicker pace than on their walk to the roadhouse earlier that morning. As they walked along, Henry was telling Carl about the lake in the middle of the park and how it had been dug above an abandoned mine. When it had 25
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
been filled with water, the roof of the shaft beneath it had collapsed, so that the lake had ended up being much deeper than planned. "And if you hadn't come along when you did, I'd be at the bottom of it now..." he said pensively, "Thank God you did come along." As Henry was talking a car was approaching them along the road. It slowed down, moved over to the side of the road where they were walking, and as he went past, the driver leaned out and spat at Henry, hitting him full in the face. Then he sped off. Carl, stunned, watched the car driving off. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. He had believed Henry's story about the way the members of his church had treated him, but he hadn't expected to actually witness it. Henry was wiping his face with his handkerchief. When he was done he turned to Carl. "That was one of the Elders..." he said miserably. "One of the Elders? From your church?" Carl felt as if the world had suddenly started spinning backwards. "Yes, from my church." Henry shrugged and continued walking towards the park. Carl finally got his feet to move again, and followed him. Henry led the way to the carpark and to a small green sedan. Using the ID panel he unlocked it, and opened the passenger door for Carl. "Hop in," he said, "It's about ten minutes' drive to my place." Carl, still in a daze, got into the car and pulled the door shut, and they drove off.
!!! Henry Smith lived in a small house on the northern side of Goldridge. The neighbourhood was a quiet one, with tree-lined streets of similar small houses radiating from a central shopping centre. This part of the town had been built during the lean years of the Republic just preceding the Protectorate, and the style of the homes certainly reflected that fact. Henry's house was identical, apart from its colour, to all the others on Wattle Street. Built of cinder blocks, looking much like a block itself, it squatted behind a few metres of lawn which separated it from the footpath. On the northern end of it was a garage with a short driveway leading up to its rollaway door. A gravelled path went from the front door, past a small bottlebrush bush, to the footpath. The walls of the house were painted light blue, with doors and window frames contrasting in a dark navy. "I'm within walking distance of the shops down the street," Henry said as he parked his car in the driveway, "It comes in handy now and then." They got out and walked to the front door. Carl glanced around and up and down the street. Not another soul in sight. He found this strange, and somewhat uncomfortable. Even in Apmirra one saw people walking along the streets no matter what the time of day. "The church building is on Eucalyptus Street, as you saw on the letter. That's also within walking distance, on the next street over." Henry waved in
26
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
the general direction of his church as he opened the door to his house. "Come on in, just make yourself at home." "Thank you," Carl said, and followed him in. The small L-shaped front room was both living and dining room. To the left and straight ahead, a three-piece lounge suite upholstered in blue-grey chintz surrounded a low glass-and-steel coffee table. A print of the McCubbin tryptich surrounded by a narrow silver frame graced the wall behind the sofa and a rather old-fashioned standard lamp with a goldcoloured shade clashed with the rest of the room in the far corner. The window to the left of the door had no curtains, but a dark blue sliding blind was pulled a third of the way across it. Below the window was a small metal bookshelf sagging with the weight of rather more books than it had been designed to hold. To the right, an identical window looked onto the dining section of the room. A varnished pine sideboard cluttered with two candlesticks, some cups and saucers, an assortment of untidy papers and books, and three different versions of the Bible stood against the far wall and faced a small dining table with four chairs. Rembrandt's version of Jacob blessing Joseph's sons hung above the sideboard and looked quite out of place there. The table, also piled high with papers and books, apparently was used mostly as a desk. A large number of newspapers was stacked up on the floor under it. "I eat in the kitchen, usually," Henry said, noticing Carl looking at the table, "When I used to have guests over for a meal—that hasn't happened for a long time—I'd just move all that stuff to the sideboard." "I see," Carl said. It occurred to him that it might be just as well that Henry didn't have guests—the added weight could possibly be the sideboard's undoing... "Actually, I was wondering where your books came from." "They were all hidden away during the Protectorate. It was like Christmas when I was able to dig them out again!" "The Protectorate..." Carl muttered. He sat down on the sofa and stretched out his legs. "Henry, how is it that the believers here—in this town—seem to have forgotten what they went through during the Protectorate? So quickly?" Henry sat down in an armchair and leant his chin on his left hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair. "I don't know, Carl," he replied, "and what's more I'm just as bad as any of them. We were drunk with freedom, you might say, and maybe we got too engrossed in non-essentials. But I think the tare-sowing has something to do with it too. Over the last two years, maybe even longer, we've somehow managed to ignore the past, forget the future's coming, and just live for the present. It became too difficult to remember Denson's time. In fact some people have even started suggesting that it wasn't really as bad as all that... Besides, the Protectioners are gone, they say—the fall of the Protectorate was the end of the Protection, too."
27
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl sighed, and gazed at Henry without smiling. "The Protectioners aren't likely to have given up that easily, Henry," he said presently, "I'm beginning to think they are more active than people thought..." The pastor looked at him strangely. "What makes you say that?" "I'm rather familiar with the Protection's way of doing things," Carl replied. "How do you mean?" "I was a staunch supporter of the Protection for some twenty years, Henry. I was a government official in the Protectorate." Henry just continued to stare at him. He didn't say anything. "Do you remember the Police Counselling Institute in Densonia?" Carl asked quietly, "where Christians and other dissenters—the Rebels—were taken for so-called treatment, which was really torture and brainwashing?" "Yes. Some of our folk ended up there. Some of them came back, and some we never saw again." "Well, I was a Counsellor there, for five years, until I became a Christian. Before that I'd been a Welfare Officer, and one of my main tasks was taking the children of Christians from their families. One of my other jobs was keeping track of Enwuh activities—do you remember the Neighbour Watchers?" "Yes, I do, but I-I find it hard to believe you were one of them, Carl," Henry said, still looking oddly at him, "You don't seem like that kind of man." "You have to keep in mind that I wasn't a Christian, Henry. I grew up in a Protection-sponsored orphanage, and the Protection was all I knew. I was afraid of getting on the wrong side of the Party." "How did you become a Christian, then? The Protection was violently anti-Christian." "I began to have doubts about the Protection philosophy. There was also a woman in the Institute—one of the guards—who hated me, and who manipulated my assignments in such a way that I would ultimately fail in my work so badly I'd get kicked out of the Institute. She got the Chief to assign two die-hard Christians to me as counsellees, one after the other. I would have killed myself during that first assignment if it hadn't been for one of the Police Officers who was my closest friend and whose family looked after me as if I were one of them. I didn't know it at the time—I only found out after he was killed—but he was a Christian too. Anyhow, I was going to pieces and I was assigned a woman counsellee, which was not only extremely difficult for me, because I was pretty much scared of women in general, but it was actually also a demotion, so that only added to my despair. Emma was also a rock-steady believer that I hadn't a hope of converting. In the end I just had to find out more about her faith, and I went out to her brother's house one night. Emma's brother is Jack Winston—he's also a pastor." Henry nodded. "Oh, you've heard of him?" Carl asked. Again Henry nodded, but he kept silent. 28
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Well," Carl went on, "he's a steadfast man of God. He just read from the Bible and somehow I knew that was the answer I'd been looking for. That night I met Jesus Christ, Henry." Carl paused—the memory of that extraordinary experience was still very vivid. "My whole life was turned rightside-up. The next day, at Andrew's—my friend's—urging, and with the help of the Underground, we were on the run, escaping to Kawanyama. Emma and I, that is." Henry just kept staring at Carl wordlessly. "Hey!" Carl laughed, "You don't have to look so flabbergasted, mate!" "I'm sorry, it's very rude of me to stare at you like that," Henry muttered, shaking his head, "It's just so unbelievable—what you just told me. If I hadn't—" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I mean, so you've been a Christian only some four or five years, is that right?" "Five years, that's right," Carl replied. "You're married, aren't you?" "Yes, and we have four-year-old twins." "Is your wife a Christian, too?" "Oh, yes. Most definitely. I should have told you—Emma Winston is my wife. We got married about six weeks after we left the Protectorate. The twins were born a week before our first anniversary!" "Six weeks?" Henry said. He paused to think. "Wait a minute," he addded after a moment, "Emma Winston... Are you telling me you married your counsellee?" "Well, yes," Carl smiled, "I know it seems unbelievable, but we've never regretted it. We've been friends since the day Christ saved me, you see. Emma is a very special person and a wonderful wife and mother." Henry was astounded. He had to meet this family! "Did you bring your family with you?" he asked. "Normally we do all travel together, but this time Helen—that's our daughter—was quite sick the day before we were supposed to leave, and we decided I'd have to come down on my own. I'll only be away five days, and Emma's got her brother and his family living in Apmirra." "Well—I guess I am flabbergasted!" Henry said, "I've heard some strange stories, but yours is the strangest by a long way!" Carl looked at his watch. He smiled. "It's even stranger than what you've heard so far, but I'll tell you the rest some other time. Right now we need to decide what we're going to do about your situation. Besides that, I still have to preach this afternoon, and I need to spend some time praying and thinking about that. So far, I've only managed ten minutes! And I have a feeling that my message will be rather different from what I originally had in mind." "Well, if you can stand another cup of tea, I'll go make some," Henry offered, getting up and heading towards the door which led to the back of the house, "Why don't you work at the table? Just push things out of your way to make some space. There's paper and pens there, and some Bibles on the sideboard. Use whatever you need."
29
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Thank you," Carl said, glancing at the table and then back at Henry who had paused in the doorway. The pastor looked at him with a peculiar expression on his face for a moment, then he turned and left the room.
30
CHAPTER 5 Carl decided to walk to the church on Eucalyptus Street, following Henry's directions for getting there. "Might I suggest that you stay home," he said to Henry, "and keep your door locked." "It's probably a good idea," Henry said, "I'm not too popular at the moment..." "And please pray for me," Carl added, "I'm rather nervous about this meeting, after all you've told me." "Don't you worry, I'll be praying, all right. You're sure you don't want me to drive you over?" "I'm sure. As you said yourself, it wouldn't be wise for you to be seen with me, either for you or for me. Not considering what you've told me, and the fact that this is your church." "You're right, Carl," Henry said, "Okay, off you go, then. See you when you get back." It was quite a pleasant walk, down Wattle Street to the shopping centre and then up Eucalyptus Street towards the Church of the Good Shepherd. The sun was shining and a cool, gentle breeze was blowing. Carl didn't see anyone else out walking, and he still thought it odd. Children were playing in one or two of the front gardens he walked past. None of the houses had much land around them—the homes which had been built just before the Protectorate had a minimum of land. The area would have looked like a field with giant shoeboxes scattered all over it if it hadn't been for all the trees lining the streets. As he approached the church, Carl slowed down and prayed again silently about what he should say and do when he got there. He could see several cars in the carpark next to the building—including the one that had passed Henry and him that morning. The church itself was a very plain and unpretentious cream-coloured building—essentially a larger version of the shoebox houses around it—with three tall, narrow windows of frosted yellow glass looking out towards the street. A narrow lawn spread across the front between the building and the street, with some shade provided by a large liquidamber tree displaying spring foliage. Little groups of three or four people were standing around the lawn and the carpark, and he could see a few folk in the church entrance. They were all dressed to the nines, and Carl suddenly remembered that he was still wearing the casual sports shirt, slacks, and blazer he'd put on that morning to go to the park. He shrugged. He didn't really have anything more formal to wear, anyway. At least he had his Bible with him. He walked slowly up the path toward the church, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the groups of talkers had all turned to stare at him.
31
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Before going up the wide steps to the double glass doors, he read the board on the wall next to them: Church of the Good Shepherd—Nondenominational. Pastor Henry Smith. 12 Eucalyptus Street. A heavy-set man wearing a dark blue suit over a red shirt had come out of the church and approached Carl. Being somewhat shorter than Carl, he kept the advantage of height by staying two steps up from the footpath where Carl stood. "Anything I can do for you?" he asked Carl loudly in a business-like manner. "Uh—yes," Carl replied, turning to him, "I think I've made a mistake. I'm looking for a church, and I was directed here, but according to that sign this isn't the right place." "Aah, well, I'm sure I can help you there," the man said, continuing to use his self-confident tone, "I know where all the churches in town are. Now—which one in particular are you looking for?" "The Lutherite church," Carl replied. The man gave him a peculiar look and glanced back at the people inside, who were staring curiously at Carl, before answering. "Well, now, who told you there was a Lutherite church in this town?" he asked Carl ingratiatingly. Carl smiled. "Alfred Greenstone," he said. The man's mouth opened as if he were about to speak, stayed open a second or two, then snapped shut. He looked Carl up and down suspiciously. "And who might you be?" he asked, in a tone bordering on disdain. Carl still smiled, though on the inside he felt more like yelling. "Carl Slade," he replied, "I'm supposed to be speaking at the Lutherite church this afternoon." He looked at his watch. "I'm due there in five minutes—could you tell me where it is, please?" The man gasped, and looked Carl up and down again. "You are Carl Slade?" he asked in astonishment. "Anything I can do, Alf?" Another man had come out of the building and came down the steps to join them. He was tall and thin, with rounded shoulders and steely blue eyes. His trim blond moustache matched his carefully groomed, short, blond hair which contrasted sharply with his black suit and dark grey shirt. Carl thought of undertakers. Perhaps not so incongruously, he said to himself. He had a strange feeling of having seen this man somewhere before, but he couldn't think where. The first man, Alf—could this be Alfred Greenstone himself?—was of medium height, generously endowed with chins, and bald except for a wreath of short, grey hair. His small brown eyes never seemed to be still. He gestured towards Carl. "Apparently this is our speaker," he said. Carl bowed slightly to the two of them, and they bowed back automatically, which confirmed a suspicion that was growing in Carl's mind.
32
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The second man raised his eyebrows. "So, you are Mr. Carl Slade, the evangelist?" he said, looking at Carl in the manner of a scientist examining some strange new species of insect. He looked around. "Where is your family? Your vehicle?" "My family are home in Apmirra," Carl said, "I walked." "What! From Apmirra?" Alf blurted out. Carl laughed. "No, of course not! My truck's at the caravan park. But it was such a nice day I decided to walk here." The second man had recovered his composure and was suddenly all affability. "Well, Mr. Slade, welcome to our church!" he said, and smiled—a smile that was so warm it made Carl think of funerals again. He grasped Carl's arm to lead him into the building. "My name is Geoff Hillman, by the way, and this is Alf Greenstone." He indicated the first man, confirming Carl's guess. "Ah, so you're Mr. Greenstone," Carl exclaimed, extending his right hand to the man, "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Greenstone." Greenstone eyed Carl's hand with distaste—which did not surprise Carl— then suddenly recovered himself and shook it feebly. Hillman still held Carl's left arm, and the three of them started up the steps. Carl stopped suddenly before they reached the door. "Wait a minute!" he said, "I'm supposed to speak at the Lutherite church, not here!" He looked from one man to the other. "You've got me rather confused." Well, a little confused, anyway, Carl thought to himself. "Is this the right church or not?" He looked at Greenstone. "You just told me there isn't a Lutherite church here. Now you're taking me into this building. What's going on?" Hillman glanced at Greenstone as if to say, "Your turn." "Well, Mr. Slade," Greenstone said smoothly, "What I said was right." Carl noticed he said right, not true. "There is no Lutherite church here. No building, that is. For the time being we're meeting in this building, by permission of the Pastor." "I see," Carl muttered. I see more than you know, mate, he thought bitterly. "Well, let me introduce you to some of our folk," Hillman said loudly as they entered the church, and proceeded to lead Carl from one group of people to another, telling him their names and introducing him as the speaker. Then he looked at his watch and declared it was time to start. "We'll sing a couple of hymns, have some prayer, then the show will be yours," he said to Carl as he led him up the aisle towards the front of the church. He stopped halfway and looked Carl up and down as Greenstone had done. "You really ought to have worn a suit, you know," he said. "I'm sorry," Carl said, smiling, "I don't own a suit." Hillman was obviously taken aback, but he shrugged and showed Carl to a seat at the right side of the lectern. Someone had started the synthesizer playing, and the congregation was filing into the church as Carl sat down. From where he sat he could see both the unadorned auditorium and the platform at the front. It wasn't an especially large room, and he estimated that it could seat at most a hundred 33
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
and fifty people comfortably, two hundred if they were squeezed in. The seating consisted of plain metal-framed benches with backs, with padded vinyl-covered seats which dated from the turn of the century and looked their age. There were two parallel rows of them, with a wide aisle between the rows and narrow aisles between the rows and the side walls. The floor was parquet which had not seen any kind of polish for at least two decades, and from the railing along the floor on either side of the centre aisle, Carl deduced there had once been a carpet. There was a potted palm at each end of the platform, and along the back of the platform were four high-backed chairs with moth-eaten velvet covered seats. As they walked to their places most of the people glanced at Carl, and some of them even stared at him. He was startled to recognize the man who'd spat at Henry from his car that morning. One of the Elders. The man apparently did not recognize him as Smith's companion of the morning. Perhaps he hadn't noticed him at the time—perhaps he'd been too intent on the horrible action he'd carried out... As he watched the people coming in, Carl prayed for them. He didn't quite know how he should pray for them, but he asked God to give him the words. A man other than the two who'd met him was leading the meeting, although Greenstone and Hillman were seated on the platform as well. The third man told the people to stand up for the first hymn, and they started singing A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, a hymn Carl knew by heart. The second hymn was one he'd never heard, and as no-one had thought to give him a hymnbook he could only listen to it. He wasn't sure he would have wanted to join in, anyway, as he listened to its words. There was much in it about man's triumph but little about God's glory. The hymns were followed by a lengthy prayer mumbled by Alf Greenstone, and then the congregation sat down and looked expectantly at Carl. He stood up and bowed, and walked to the lectern. His stomach was tied up in knots and his knees felt as if they'd turned to jelly. But his mind was sharply clear, and he was angry. He looked around at the people, but he didn't smile the way he normally would when about to preach. He knew what the Lord had told him to talk about, and it was no smiling matter. "Let us bow our heads and ask the Lord to give me wisdom as I speak, and to give you all open hearts to receive his message," he began, and went on to pray. He couldn't see the looks on people's faces as his deep voice praised and thank God and asked for wisdom. His eyes were shut. If he'd been watching, he might have found it disconcerting—some people were made uncomfortable by his words, some were puzzled, some were outraged. Only one person looked to be in agreement with the speaker—a small, plumpish, elderly woman with bright eyes, seated at the back of the church. Carl's prayer warmed her heart, and she silently joined in with him. When he finished praying, Carl looked up and surveyed his audience again. He even turned and looked at the people on the platform near him. 34
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Oh, God, he prayed in his heart, I'm scared stiff, they seem so hostile. You've got to hold me up, Lord, if I'm to get through this! He took a deep breath and began to talk. "You're probably familiar with the book of Jeremiah, the prophet who kept warning the Jews that unless they repented they would be taken into captivity, and who as a result of his prophesying was persecuted and rejected. One of the messages Jeremiah brought to his countrymen is found in chapter twenty-three. There Jeremiah tells the false prophets and teachers of the people just what God has in store for them." He took out his pocket Bible and read out loud from it. "From verse twelve: '"Therefore they will slip and slide on their way; they will be thrown into the outer darkness and there they will fall. I will bring them to calamity in the season of their punishment," says the LORD.' Verse seventeen: '"They keep telling those who despise Me, 'Peace will come to you, says the LORD.' Then they say to those who follow their own willful hearts, 'You will not be harmed.'"' Verse nineteen: 'Behold, the LORD will cause a fierce gale to storm down; He will send a whirlwind to twist around on the heads of those who do evil.' You see, those false prophets had been leading God's people astray, encouraging them to worship false gods and telling them that it was okay and God wouldn't mind. They'd been letting them get away with all their wickedness!" "Isaiah, too, had quite a few things to say about those false prophets. Just read Isaiah, chapter nine, verses fifteen and sixteen: 'the elders and important men are the head, the false prophets are the tail. The men who direct the people lie to them, and those who listen to them are deceived.' Look at chapter thirty—where God makes it clear that it's not just the prophets that are at fault but also the people who listen to them and even urge them on: 'They tell the men who see visions not to see them any more, and they tell the prophets not to give them visions of righteousness. Instead they ask for illusions and fantasies.'" "In verse fifteen, however," Carl said, suddenly quietly, "God tells us, '"If you repent and trust in Me you will be saved; if you are calm and depend on me you will be strong. But you refused."' Turn to chapter forty-two, verses eighteen to twenty-four and read them carefully. They refer to what God thinks of those who turn to lies. In chapters fity-six and fifty-seven He describes them and their destiny. You have to keep in mind when you read those verses that God is talking about people who call themselves by His name, who lead others astray and use God's name to do it!" Carl looked around at his audience and raised his voice again. "These are the sort of people Jesus meant when He talked about wolves in sheep's clothing in Matthew seven," he said, "They are the false teachers Paul warned Timothy and Titus about: 'They tell you that they know God but everything they do is against Him.' They are mentioned by Peter in his second letter: 'They will be punished for the damage they have done.'" "And God makes it clear that those who willingly listen to these false teachers are also to blame. His people, who have been bought at infinite price—Jesus died for them!—cannot then turn aside to falsehoods and think 35
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
they will be safe. They cannot say, 'It's not my fault, he deceived me,' either, because God has given them, He's given us, His Word, His precious Word, so that we won't be deceived. So there's no excuse. 'Beware of wolves in sheep's clothing,' He tells us. How can you tell them apart? God tells you in His Word. Read Matthew, chapter seven. Read the first few verses of chapter four in John's first letter." It had become obvious to Carl that few, if any, people had been following the readings in the Bible. Once again he paused and looked around at them. "Have you got your Bible here with you?" he asked, "Have you been checking out all I've been saying? Paul commended the believers in Berea because they checked everything he preached to them against God's Word. They didn't want to be deceived." Carl paused again and glanced around the hall. He could tell by the looks on their faces that his listeners didn't like what he was saying, and had the distinct impression that if he reached out his hand he would be able to feel the hostility in the room as a solid barrier between him and the people sitting there. He felt a gloom threatening to engulf him. They didn't want to hear this kind of message. And yet, this was the only message he had for them, whether they wanted it or not. As he looked around he found his glance being drawn to the back of the room and landing on an elderly woman who was looking straight at him and—his heart jumped—smiling warmly. He could hardly believe it, but the effect on him was like that of the sun breaking through a thick layer of dark clouds. In the glorious shower of light that suddenly bathes the earth the clouds are quickly forgotten. Carl thanked the Lord silently for this encouragement, and continued his preaching. "With the return of books to this country following the end of the Protectorate," he said, his voice quiet again, "there has been a flood of books aimed at Christians. Some of these are reprints of classics written by people who loved God and loved His Word. Some of them are new books also written by God-fearing people. But too large a number of them is produced by people who have forsaken God's Word for the teachings of the world. They are full of lies disguised as truth. They are sentimental and they are false! What's more, they are addictive, because they are so empty they leave one's spirit crying out for food which no number of them can provide. They promise knowledge that God has not given us the right to have—if He had, He would have given us that knowledge in His Book." "Do you recall hearing about the serpent, the snake, who asked Eve, 'Did God really say...?' That same snake lurks in those books. If you start reading and you suddenly have a thought like, 'Wait a minute, that doesn't sound Scriptural!' the snake will immediately hiss at you, 'Did God really say?' in his most seductive hiss. You must be on your guard! When you hear that hissing sound, it's time to check out what God does say. And if what God says is not the same as what the book says, then don't waste any time—throw the book out, and soak up what God says!" "There is another subtle danger I must warn you about. Think back to the Hebrews in the wilderness, shortly after they'd left Egypt under Moses' 36
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
leadership. Do you remember? They'd hardly finished crossing the Red Sea in that incredible miracle of the parting of the waters, when they were already grumbling, and talking about 'the good old days' back in Egypt! Four years ago you were delivered from your Egypt. That is, four years ago the Protectorate ended. Have you already forgotten the ten years of persecution that God brought you through? I hope not. I hope that you never forget them, those years when you knew clearly what really matters, when you loved God more than your own life, when His Truth was a most precious thing, worth risking everything for. I hope those years are still with you, in their true form. Don't look back to Egypt, but remember how it is that you survived its horrors." "Don't forget, however, that Egypt has not entirely disappeared. It looked like the Protectioners had been soundly defeated, didn't it, on that spring morning in 2036? Well, I have news for you. No, they were not done away with. They're still around, and they hate Jesus Christ and His followers just as much as they ever did. Be on your guard. They are still after power, they still hate all that is of God, and they can be very, very subtle, twisting truth just enough to deceive those who are not alert. At every turn, be on your guard—keep close to God!" Carl stopped. It was an abrupt ending, but he had no more to say. He bowed his head and prayed silently, briefly. He could feel looks of hatred coming from certain people in the room, two of them behind him. He could feel a great sadness pouring out of others. But he could also feel that single ray of sunshine which warmed him more than any of the hostility could chill him. No-one moved or talked. Greenstone and Hillman and the man who had led the singing seemed to be glued to their chairs on the platform. His sermon was obviously not what they had expected. Carl straightened up, glanced back at them, then walked down the platform steps, down the aisle, and out of the building. He had no desire to stay around and he felt completely washed out. He reached the street and wondered what to do next. It would probably not be a good idea to go straight to Henry's home from the church, but the pastor would be eager to know how his talk had gone down. He looked left and right, then decided to walk to the shopping area and phone Henry from there. Back at the Good Shepherd, all the members of the congregation had stayed seated for a few moments after he left the church—all of them except for the elderly woman at the back. She got up and walked out into the portico, reaching the main doors just in time to see Carl walk off towards the shops. Behind her there was a sudden uproar as all the people started talking at once. She ignored it and walked down the steps to the carpark, made her way to her small white car, and drove it out onto the street, heading for the shopping centre. She drove along until she caught up with Carl, and stopped just a short distance ahead of him. She opened the passenger door
37
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
and when he came alongside she leaned over and called to him. "Mr. Slade! Mr. Slade!" Carl stopped and looked at the car, and recognized the driver as the "Sunshine Lady", as he'd named her in his mind. He went over to the car and crouched down by the door. "Yes," he said, smiling at her, "What's the matter?" "Can I give you a ride anywhere, Mr. Slade?" she asked him, "Where would you like to go? Do please get in." With a glance back towards the church, where no-one was out as yet, Carl got into her car and closed the door. "Thank you," he said warmly, "Could you take me somewhere where there's a phone, please? I need to ring a friend." "I'll take you to a shopping centre, Mr. Slade," the woman replied, "but not this one, it's too close." She drove on in silence for a few blocks before addressing her passenger again. "I really ought to have introduced myself, oughtn't I?" she laughed, "My name is Alice. Alice McIntire. I'm a widow—my husband died fifteen years ago, before the Protectorate. Thank you so much, Mr. Slade, for what you said this afternoon." "It wasn't what I'd originally planned to say, you know," Carl said, "It-It didn't seem to go down too well..." "Of course not, Mr. Slade! It hit below the belt!" Alice said, "It was just what was needed, though—something to wake people up to what's been going on! Poor Pastor Smith tried, but then when he got mixed up in that business with that woman he lost all his credibility..." "Are you a member of Pastor Smith's church?" "Yes—have been for twenty years, ever since we moved here with my husband's job. Only it wasn't Pastor Smith back then, he was still in college." "In college? Did he come late to the ministry, then?" Carl asked, surprised. "Yes, he was a chemist before that," she told him, "Not someone who sells medicines, though, not that kind of chemist, but an industrial chemist, you know, one who does research." Well, that explains the books on his table, Carl mused. He'd been surprised by some of the titles: Polymers, Electrochemistry, Biochemical Principles, and so on. Was Henry considering returning to his previous career? "Did Pastor Smith really give permission for the Lutherites to use the church building?" Carl asked. Mrs. McIntire gave him a curious glance, as if she wondered what he was really asking, then answered his unspoken question. "None of those people there this afternoon are Lutherites, Mr. Slade," she said soberly, "Most of them were Good Shepherd folk, and some of them I think you described quite well in your talk. You know—predators disguised." Carl was taken aback by her answer. This woman is discerning, he thought. Not only had she listened to his sermon, she had heard what he 38
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
had been saying. Alice McIntire might even be able to clear up some points for him. "Isn't Alf Greenstone a Lutherite?" he asked her. "Alf? No—whatever gave you that idea?" she replied, surprised, "He's what one might call a church-hopper, except that he has this ability to wangle his way into important positions wherever he goes. I have no idea how he conned Henry and our Elders. I wonder if we'll ever know." "He was the one who sent me the invitation—to come and preach, I mean—on Lutherite church letterhead," Carl said slowly, "That's why I thought he was Lutherite." "Now where would he have got hold of that?" Alice seemed to be talking to herself as she asked the question. "Unless he made it up himself, of course. Alf's a printer, you know." "But why the deception? It doesn't make sense! Especially considering his reaction when I first arrived at the church and asked him where the Lutherite church was!" "What did he say?" "He said, 'Who told you there's a Lutherite church in this town?'" Alice laughed, and Carl thought it a delightful sound—it reminded him of Emma's laugh. "You know," Alice said, still chuckling, "that's the trouble with liars— eventually they get so deceived themselves they end up putting their foot in their mouth!" She drove into the carpark of a small group of shops and parked the car. "Well, here we are," she said, "There's a public phone in the coffee shop over there. The owner of the shop is a good friend of mine. May I invite you to join me for a cup of coffee, Mr. Slade?" "Thank you very much, Mrs. McIntire, I'd love that." They walked into the little cafe to the tune of a chime which sounded as the door opened. A dozen or so small round tables covered with bright green tablecloths crowded the room, and they sat down at one near the counter. There were no other customers in the shop. Alice greeted her friend with a wave. He was an elderly man, not especially tall, wearing thick glasses and with a disorderly mop of gray hair and a bushy grey moustache. He wore a large checked apron over his clothes and was standing behind the counter, busy entering figures in a small computer. His hazel eyes twinkled as he grinned at Alice. "G'day, Alice, howarya?" he said. "Great, Joel," she answered, "Doing your monthly accounts, are you?" "Yeah—end of month's here before I'm ready for it, as usual," the man answered, and chuckled. "Who's your friend?" he added, smiling at Carl. "This is Carl Slade," she answered, "I don't know if you've heard of him—he's an evangelist." Joel gave Carl the same odd look Henry had given him, and nodded slowly. "Oh, yeah," he said, "Henry mentioned him the other day, said he was going to come preach here." He bowed slightly to Carl. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Slade. We can sure use some evangelizing around here! My word! God must shudder when He looks down on Goldridge!" 39
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He continued to gaze curiously at Carl a moment, as if he were trying to place him. Carl looked back at him quizzically. So Henry had mentioned him the other day. Joel must be another member of Henry's church. That reminded him—he wanted to ring Henry. "Could I use your phone, please, Mr....uh...Mr.—" he asked. "Smith. Joel Smith. But just call me Joel, won't you?" the older man answered, "Of course you can use it. It's a public phone. Over there, in the corner. Have you got a card?" "Yes, I do. Thank you," Carl replied, pulling his phonecard out of his pocket. Then he looked at Joel thoughtfully and asked, "Are you by any remote chance a relative of Pastor Smith's?" The man laughed heartily and Alice smiled. "Yes! I'm related to Henry!" Joel exclaimed, "He's my son!" He stopped smiling and looked oddly at Carl again. "What do you know about Henry?" he asked quietly. "The whole story," Carl replied, also quietly. Joel came out from behind his counter, pulled another chair over, and sat down with them at the table. His face was serious. Alice, puzzled, looked from one to the other. "Who told you?" he asked Carl curiously. "Henry himself did," Carl said, "This morning." Alice grabbed his arm. "You saw him? Today?" she exclaimed, "Where? He's been missing for four days!" Astonished, Carl looked at Alice and then at Joel, who nodded sadly. "We thought he'd left town," the old man muttered. "As far as I know, he's still in town," Carl said, "As a matter of fact, that's who I want to phone." He got up and started walking towards the phone. "Do you know where he is, then?" Joel called after him. "At home," Carl threw over his shoulder. "At home?" Joel and Alice exclaimed at the same time. "Well, that's where he was when I last saw him, anyway," Carl replied, inserting his card in the machine and pressing Henry's number code. The indicator light came on and he picked up the receiver. "Henry? This is Carl." He smiled and nodded to Alice and Joel, who looked relieved. "Yes, it's over." His eyebrows went up. "No, I don't think they liked it. Oh, one exception—a lovely lady named Alice McIntire." He chuckled at what Henry said, glanced at Alice, and winked. "Yes, I thought you might say something like that," he said, "and I agree. 'The Sunshine Lady' was my name for her." He paused again as Henry explained something at length, and his face darkened. "Where am I? At your father's coffee shop. Mrs. McIntire brought me here to use the phone." He glanced again at Alice and Joel and grimaced. "All right. We'll wait here. See you shortly." Carl put the receiver down, retrieved his card, and returned to the table. "Henry says you're an angel and I agree entirely, Mrs. McIntire," he said to Alice. "Hear! Hear!" Joel exclaimed, slapping the table top. Alice laughed, glanced at Joel, then suddenly looked down at the table bashfully. "Thank you," she whispered, "Bless Henry." 40
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"When I saw you sitting in the back of that church smiling at me," Carl said to her, "you've no idea what it did for me—it meant I was able to go on, you know. The atmosphere in that place had become decidedly volcanic." "Yes, it exploded—or should I say, erupted—about three minutes after you left," Alice said. Carl sighed. "Well, Henry's coming over," he went on, "He's got something unpleasant to show us. I said we'd wait for him here. Shall we have that coffee?" "Oh, dear, I'm sorry!" Alice said, looking shocked, and turning to Joel. "Here I invite Mr. Slade to have some coffee and then I forget all about it! Could we have some of your best brew, Joel?" "Sure thing, Alice. I'll join you—not many customers this time of day, as you can see." He swept his arm around to indicate the empty shop, then got up and strode off to make the coffee. Alice turned back to Carl. "Please, Mr. Slade, may I call you Carl?" she asked, smiling, "and please call me Alice." "Yes, of course, Alice," he replied, "You certainly may." "Well, Carl," she went on, "I think the Lord is finally answering our prayers for the church here. It looks to me like He's going to do some shaking up of people." "Why do you say that?" Carl asked. "It's been many, many, months since anyone gave a talk like yours around here. There hasn't been a heated reaction like what we had at Good Shepherd today for a long, long time. It seems the paralytic just might take up his mat and leap and dance soon."
41
CHAPTER 6 "Alice McIntire sounds like a very nice person," Emma said, smiling in amusement at the figure of speech Alice had used. "She is—you'll like her," Carl agreed, "She can be very funny. It's pretty obvious that she and Joel are more than just good friends, by the way. Joel's wife—Henry's mother—died during the Protectorate, too, just like Henry's wife. She was also refused treatment because she was a Christian." "Poor Henry. Both his wife and his mother... And now he's caught up in this mess." Emma sighed. "You said he had some news for you all. What was it?" "Well, he drove up about ten minutes later. Joel made him a cup of tea— Henry doesn't like coffee—and he sat down and told us what he'd found. You see, he'd spent most of the two hours since I'd left him praying for me and my preaching, and for his church, but then he decided that perhaps he should tidy up a bit before I came back. He expected me to come for tea, you see. There was a pile of old newspapers under the table and he went to move them to the kitchen. But apparently he tripped on the hall mat and dropped the lot, and as he was picking them up one of the headlines caught his attention. It was an article about Alfred Greenstone and a generous donation, in kind, that is, in printed materials, that he'd made for the mayoral campaign some twenty or so months ago. He brought the paper over to show us. There'd been an election for the position of Mayor—" Carl stopped suddenly and stared across the Lake as he recalled the shock and the shivers up his spine that he had felt as he had read the article. "Did it say who won the election, or was this a pre-election article?" Emma asked. "Post-election. Yes, it did say. In fact, it was a sort of 'Thanks for Helping Us Win' article. Henry noticed it because of Greenstone's name. The name of the new mayor didn't mean anything to him, strangely enough, beyond its being the name of the new mayor of Goldridge." "Did the name mean anything to you, then?" Emma asked. Carl's face was ashen as he replied. "Yes, it did, Em. His name is Ross Lancaster." Emma sat up and stared at him wide-eyed. "Not the fellow who was Chief of the Police Counselling Institute?" she exclaimed. "Yes," he replied soberly, "The very man." "But-But I thought he was in prison, with Denson and the other Protectioners!" "Well, he isn't. He's the mayor of Goldridge. And what's more, Em, he's aiming at being the next president of this country. He always was ambitious." She grabbed his arm. "I can see now that something awful really is going on down there," she said, "That man Greenstone, then, at the church—he must be friendly with Lancaster."
42
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That's right..." Carl said, "And so far I've only told you about my first day there, Em, and I haven't even finished telling you about that. It got worse." "Did you tell Henry you knew Ross Lancaster?" "No, not at that point. I felt I wanted to find out more about the situation before I told him. I didn't know whether it might make it more dangerous for him if he knew too much. I didn't know how closely they might be watching him. But that article confirmed my misgivings about Alf Greenstone, and about his friend Geoff Hillman. They're Protectioners, there's no doubt about it." "Oh, Carl, what a mess you've uncovered!" Emma said, "And the church down there is caught up in it!" She sat back on the bench and thought for some moments. "I guess," she said at last, "from what you said before, that Joel—and, I suppose, Alice, too—knew what Henry had done, didn't he—I mean, they?" "Yes. I assumed that's why he asked me how much I knew." "Was he awfully upset with his son?" "He was upset, but he wasn't angry at him, if that's what you mean. He was worried for Henry. Joel seems to know his son very well and they're obviously very close as father and son. He agreed with Henry that he'd been very foolish, but he was greatly relieved to find that Henry had finally accepted God's forgiveness. Joel told me that what Henry had done was so out of character that he wondered if it really was only Henry's foolish notion—feeling guilty about the first incident—that got him into that mess. By the way, Alice is very fond of Henry, too. In a motherly sort of way, that is. She's the sort of person who takes people under her wing, you know, like Mei Li does. But she's a lot more outgoing than Mei Li." "So you think that Joel also thinks that what happened to Henry was part of some foul plan?" "Yes, he does. And he added that he's quite sure that most of what happened in the other churches is part of it, too. Someone, or rather, some group of someones, is doing their best to destroy the Christian witness in that town." "The Protectioners." "Yes—or whatever they call themselves these days." Emma sat up on the edge of the bench and took hold of Carl's arm again. "Oh, Carl, that's awful!" she cried, "We've got to do something! We can't let it go on and just sit back watching!" Carl put his hand over hers. "Don't worry, Em," he said evenly, "I told you we're going back. I just want to wait for George to get here first so he can go down with us." She relaxed again, but then almost immediately stood up. "Shall we walk around again for a while?" she asked. "Yes, why not?" He stood up and stretched, then took his wife's hand, and they began walking slowly along the footpath. "All right, then," Emma said, "So that was your first day in Goldridge. What happened after that?"
43
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That wasn't the end of the first day yet. I didn't go to Henry's for tea, in the end. Joel made us a light tea in his coffee shop and we continued talking there, and when he'd closed his shop for the night he suggested we spend time praying together. Then they drove me to the caravan park, in Joel's car. Henry came along in his own car." "Three different cars in the one day—not bad, Carl!" Emma teased. He smiled at her. "Yes, we need a bit of light relief, don't we?" he said, and squeezed her hand. "As we were walking over to the camper," he went on, "the lady who manages the place saw me and called out that I had some messages, so I went over to the office to pick them up. I didn't open them until we were in the truck." "What were they about?" "All my other speaking engagements in Goldridge had been cancelled..."
!!! Henry was astounded. "What? All of them?" he asked. "All of them," Carl said quietly, staring at the letters spread out on the table. He turned to Joel. "I don't understand it, do you?" he asked. They were all sitting around the table on the bench seat which surrounded it on three sides, Carl on one end, Joel and Alice in the middle, and Henry at the other end. "Someone really didn't like your sermon this afternoon, Carl, and they've gone and warned the other churches," Joel said, "and the others don't want to hear the truth! At least, whoever makes the decision about guest speakers doesn't..." "May I have a look at those letters, Carl?" Alice asked, "I'd like to see who wrote them." He pushed the letters over to her. "Go ahead," he said. She put the letters together and read them one by one. Each had a different signature. Alice recognized all the names. She shook her head in disbelief. "Those are all friends, colleagues, whatever you want to call them, of Alf Greenstone's," she observed, "Did you notice that the text of the letters—apart from date, time, venue for your talk—is exactly the same?" "Is it?" Joel asked, "Let me see." He took the letters from Alice and looked through them. "My word! So it is. Well, well, well..." he muttered, and looked at Carl. "Do you know any of these people, Carl?" "No." "So, why did they ask you to come and preach?" "I'd assumed they'd got my name from a church or pastor somewhere else, and that they'd all agreed to invite me at the same time since it's a long way to come! Churches elsewhere have done that." "They certainly were in agreement, I'd say," Joel remarked, grimacing, "but I'm beginning to have a horrible feeling about it, my word I am!" Henry had been deep in thought, and he now looked across at Carl curiously. "Are you sure you don't know any of those fellows?" he asked.
44
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Positive. At least, not by name. I haven't seen any of them, that I know of. Why?" "After what you told me this morning—about the Protectioners, remember?—I was wondering if there could possibly be something else behind their invitation." "What do you mean?" Alice asked. "Just thinking about what happened to me—as I told you at teatime, it didn't happen by chance. It occurred to me just now that this might possibly be along the same lines. I-I'm not sure I'm being very clear. What I mean is: suppose Carl made enemies when he was a Protectorate official, and those enemies still want to destroy him, or are determined to destroy him because he's a Christian now—worse, from their point of view, he's an evangelist! Just suppose they wanted to get him out of their way, because—as you pointed out to me this morning, Carl—he knows too much about their methods, and they want to get back in power. You see, in most places people listen to Carl, and in many ways he's a prophet. If this town is the new Protection headquarters, they wouldn't want people listening to him! What's more, they might even want to discredit him. Getting all the churches here to cancel their invitations is one way of doing that, isn't it?" Carl gazed at Henry pensively. He does seem to be better informed about me than he lets on, doesn't he? he said to himself, I'll have to ask him about that sometime. "I don't know if that's their aim," he said aloud, "but the whole business is very disconcerting, and my aim now is to find out just what's going on here and to do something about it!" "Count me in on that!" Henry said. "And me!" Alice and Joel said in unison. Carl smiled at them all gratefully. If only Emma were with me, he thought, so she could know these wonderful people, too! "Let's spend some time praying about that now," Joel suggested, "We need to look to God for wisdom." He turned to Carl. "Excuse me, Carl, could you let me out, please? I'd like to kneel to pray." "Why don't we all kneel?" Carl replied, getting up to let Joel slide out from the corner of the bench seat. Alice and Henry agreed, and the four of them knelt on the floor of the camper, between the table and the stove, and held hands. "You're the Pastor, Henry," Alice said, "Please would you lead us in prayer?" Henry looked startled, then he glanced at Joel and Carl, who nodded to him, smiling. "All right," he said, and they all bowed their heads as he began to talk to God. They prayed for a long while, and when they finished they knelt a little longer, in silence. Then Carl got up and pulled out his pocket Bible. "There's a passage that's come to my mind that I'd like to read out," he said, flipping through the pages. He read out Isaiah, chapter thirty-five, to them, and to Henry, especially, it held a promise that lifted his heart and filled it with a joy and peace he hadn't known for a long time: "The desert land and the thirsty ground will be full of gladness; 45
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
the desolate places will be filled with joy and burst into flower. Like the crocus, they will suddenly blossom; they will rejoice mightily; they will resound with joy." They stood there for some time, letting the promise and the encouragement of those words soak into their spirits. Then Joel spoke quietly. "Why do we so often seek comfort and wisdom in the words of the world," he said, "when we know—we know, that's the point—that God has it all there for us in His Word, if only we'll take the time to seek, and read, and meditate on it?" None of them answered him. Carl noticed that tears were running down Henry's face. He put a hand on his shoulder, but didn't say anything. Slowly, and still in silence, they all got to their feet. "Well," Alice said cheerfully after a moment, "I think we all need to get some sleep if we're to have our wits about us tomorrow. How about it, you fellows?" "I think we all agree with you, Alice," Carl said, "It's certainly way past my bedtime, and it's been a rather full day." "Shall we meet for lunch at my shop tomorrow?" Joel asked. "Good idea—say, twelve thirty?" Alice replied. Henry and Carl agreed to that, and Joel and Alice said their goodnights and left. Carl asked Henry if he would like to stay for the night and they could then go over to his house in the morning to plan what they would do. "You have a choice of four beds, Henry, this truck sleeps six—but I'm already using the double berth, I'm afraid." "I admit I feel rather nervous about going to my house on my own at this point. I know now that I've got enemies in this town." Henry's tone was sober. "And so have you, Carl. I'll stay here." Henry went out to fetch his car from the visitors' carpark in order to park it next to the camper, and while he waited, Carl sat down and reviewed the day. What an incredible predicament the Goldridge church was in! He had an inkling, too, that so far he'd only been in the shallows—he shuddered at the thought of what he might find in the depths. He suddenly wished he'd brought his flute with him—he would have liked to go to the park in the morning to play it for a little while. Oh, well, he shrugged, I'll just have to sing. The idea of singing brought Emma to mind, and he prayed for her and the twins. What would she think of what was going on in this town? He got his sponge bag, towel, and pyjamas and sat down again. As soon as Henry got back he'd go to the shower block. Why was he taking so long? As if in answer to his unspoken question, Henry came in the door, looking very upset. "Have you got a bucket and a sponge, or a rag, or something like that?" he asked Carl. He was running his fingers through his hair again. "I've got a bucket, and I'm sure I can dig up a rag," Carl replied, opening the cupboard under the sink and crouching down to look in it, "What do you want them for?" "To wash my car," Henry answered. 46
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"At this time of night?" Carl asked incredulously, straightening up too quickly and losing his balance in the process so that he sat down abruptly on the floor. He stared at Henry for a moment, then realized something was wrong. "What's happened, Henry?" he asked as he got up again. "Someone must have recognized my car. The other cars there are okay. I have to get the windscreen clean, at least, or I can't move the car." Carl found the bucket and a rag, and threw in a brush. "I'm coming with you," he said to Henry, "There's a tap near the carpark, I noticed it this morning. We can fill up the bucket there." They went out and Carl locked the camper, and they made their way to the visitors' carpark. The little green car had been thoroughly smeared with horse manure. Once again Carl was stunned by the small-minded cruelty of what had been done, and—not for the first time—he marvelled at the humility of the man at whom it was aimed. Henry showed no sign of bitterness or even anger. "This is what I've done to my church," Henry said sadly as they reached his car, "This is where it's led..." Carl stared at the mess a few moments, then looked at Henry. "No, Henry," he murmured, "your church hasn't done this—but they have let someone else do it." He went to find the tap and fill the bucket. They managed to get rid of most of the manure by throwing water at the car, and used the brush to clean off the rest. "Phew! We'll certainly need to have a shower now!" Carl commented when they'd finished, "Come on, let's drive back to the truck." They got in the car and Henry drove it through the caravan park and stopped it next to the camper. He locked it and they went into the truck. "Would you like to borrow some pyjamas?" Carl asked, "I know they'll be a bit too big, but I do have some clean ones." "Thanks," Henry replied, "I don't mind if they're too big. I need to get into something clean." "Well, here you are, then," Carl said, handing him the pyjamas, "and here's a towel, too. I think a shower is in order, and a bit of laundering, don't you?" Once again they left the truck, this time going over to the shower block. By the time they had washed and changed, washed out their clothing and hung it to dry, and returned to the truck, it was well past midnight. Carl made up one of the single berths for Henry, and they were finally able to get to bed.
!!! "In the morning, Henry suggested we go over to his house right away and have some breakfast there," Carl told Emma as they strolled, "His clothes were still damp and he was rather keen to get into some dry ones! I offered to lend him some of mine, but he declined very politely." He grinned. "My clothes are a few sizes larger than his..."
47
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"So did you go right away, then?" "Yes—and we sang hymns all the way to his house! You would have enjoyed that!" "Well, let's do it again when we go there together, then." "I intend to take my flute along this time, Em. You and Henry and the children can sing, and I'll accompany you!" "Okay," she smiled, then turned serious again. "To go on with your story—what did you do after he got changed and you'd had some breakfast?" "We went through all his old newspapers to see what we might find out from them." Carl paused, remembering something. "By the way, Em, can you remind me to give Ron Velasquez a ring when we get back to the flat?" "I'll try. Why?" "There's something I need to ask him about. Something his Federal Police have been onto." "I'll try to remember to remind you! You try and remember too, okay?" "I will, because you will." Carl put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. Despite his photographic memory, Carl often needed to be reminded about things like that, and he knew he could rely on Emma to remind him. "We found rather interesting articles in those papers," he went on, "about Lancaster and company. Henry didn't remember noticing them particularly at the times when they were published, but when we put them all together as a set, they showed a very interesting story indeed, especially when put together with the stories about the downfall of the Goldridge churches. I had good reason to thank God that Henry Smith had two years' worth of newspapers piled up in his garage!" "Two years' worth! That's an awful lot of newspapers!" "It took us all morning to go through them, cutting out the relevant articles. Our hands were black from the ink—I think it's about time someone from Kawanyama came and taught this country a few things about producing newspapers!" "What did you find out?" "The thing that stood out most blatantly was the fact that Alf Greenstone was a spokesman for each and every one of those churches that fell apart, and he was in the forefront of those who loudly condemned those poor ministers. What I don't understand is why no-one else had noticed that. But then, as I said before, these things would not have been so obvious when the articles were read piecemeal, with several days or weeks between the publication of consecutive articles. And people probably wouldn't have been looking for a pattern, I shouldn't think. Also, Alf's printing company owns the Goldridge Courier, the daily newspaper, as Alice pointed out. The articles were very carefully written." "Now that's interesting," Emma said thoughtfully, "One of the first things the Protectioners did back at the turn of the century was to gain control of the papers, and other news media, slowly but surely..." "That occurred to me, too, especially when I found out that the local Video-CD company belongs to the mayor." 48
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"It belongs to Lancaster?" "That's right. But I only found that out later. When we'd finished going through the papers we stuck what we'd found into some large envelopes, washed our hands, and went off to Joel's coffee shop. It was after twelve by then. We took the articles with us, and laid them out on the table in Joel's back room, so he and Alice could see what we'd seen." "And did they?" "Oh, yes. And they pointed out a few other things as well, for example, the opening of a new Pleasure House earlier this year..." "A Pleasure House?! And the government let them do it?" "Apparently." Carl was getting tired again and he suggested they sit down again for a while. "There's still a lot to tell you," he said. There was a kiosk nearby and he went to buy them a drink. He came back to the bench where Emma had sat down, carrying two cups of orange juice. He sat down and handed one to Emma, and continued his narrative. "While we were having lunch, Alice told us what she'd been up to that morning. It was an encouraging note, to say the least." He took a drink from his cup, then went on. "She was at her home all morning, and she started getting all these phone calls from people from Henry's church who'd been at my talk the day before. She was terribly excited as she told us about them, and you should have seen Henry's face!" "Pleased, you mean?" Emma asked. "Hope returned, rather. These folk rang Alice to tell her that they needed to talk to her because 'that fellow's' talk had opened their eyes to something that's been going on in the church and that someone has to deal with. Alice, bless her practical joker's heart, made an appointment to meet each one of them at Joel's shop that afternoon." "Practical joker's heart? What do you mean?" "None of those people knew or realized that the others were going to be there. She made it sound like she was going to meet with each one alone. You see, she didn't let on to any of them that anyone else had called her— these were people who hadn't spoken to each other for months, and she intended to change that. It had to change if anything were to be done about the church's situation." "I'm really looking forwards to meeting this lady!" Emma said, "She sounds like quite a character!" "She is!" Carl said, "Anyway, she'd told them to come about two o'clock, so when it got near that time Henry and I retreated to the back room, Joel went behind his counter, and Alice also came and hid out the back. I think we all felt like schoolchildren springing a trap. It was rather nice to feel somewhat lighthearted after all that nastiness."
49
CHAPTER 7 Joel was having a hard time keeping a business-like attitude as the various members of Henry's flock who'd come to meet with Alice came into his coffee shop. They soon occupied all the tables, and were eyeing each other suspiciously. Joel counted them after ten minutes and decided enough of them had arrived that he could call Alice out by their pre-arranged signal. He took out a metal ice-cream cup and dropped it on the floor. It was all he could do to keep a straight face when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that most of the people in the cafe jumped at the sudden loud noise. Alice walked in briskly from the back room and went to stand at the front of the shop near the door. Carl and Henry stayed in the back room, praying. Joel turned the sign on his shop door to 'Closed', winked at Alice, and went to join them. The men and women gathered in the cafe were by now looking exceedingly puzzled. "Good afternoon, dear friends," Alice said, her gaze sweeping over the believers around the room, "I can see that you're all a bit surprised—I suppose that each one of you thought you were the only one who'd been shaken by yesterday's talk. Well, as you can see, you can rejoice, because there are many of you—of us—and that means we can do something to try and heal the wounds in our church, maybe even in the church in Goldridge." No-one made a sound, though some people shifted uneasily on their chairs, and all eyes were on Alice as she spoke. "The first thing we have to do, before we can even consider doing anything else," she continued, "is to admit what we've done to God, repent of it, and ask for His forgiveness. Unless we do this, we might as well just go home and forget about hope for our church. Can any of you tell us what it is we've all been guilty of?" She paused and looked around at her audience again. In the back room, Carl asked Joel in a whisper if by any chance Alice had once been a schoolteacher. Joel grinned and nodded. There was still not a sound from the folk in the shop. Most of them were staring at their feet or throwing surreptitious glances at the others. Finally, the silence was broken by a young man who stood up, cleared his throat, and spoke for them all. "Mrs. McIntire, thank you for coming straight to the point, as-as Mr. Slade did yesterday. We've been beating around the bush and going off at tangents for far too long. And I'm going to come straight to the point, too, now." He cleared his throat again and glanced at his neighbours, who were all staring at him expectantly. "We have sinned, all of us—though I'm not so sure about you, Mrs. McIntire—we've turned our backs on God, we've forgotten what Jesus did for us, we've quenched the Holy Spirit. We've ignored God's Word, we've stopped loving one another, and worst of all, we've walked all over our Pastor." The young man's voice was shaking by now, and Alice noticed that quite a few people in the room were weeping.
50
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That's Bob Martins," Henry whispered to Carl, "He's a lawyer." "Do you all remember our resolve two years ago to live by the New Testament church's model?" Martins continued, "Look at where we are now—what happened to that decision? We let in wolves in sheep's clothing; we ignored the warnings in Scripture. Why? Because we wanted our ears tickled, as it says in the Bible. We read books that did just that, that patted us on the back and made us feel smug. We listened to the false prophets who came to our church after destroying the others. They pretended to be victims, but they were liars and deceivers and we believed them. We didn't check out their fruit! And so we started being suspicious of each other, we started holding grudges, and we refused to listen to Pastor Henry. And when he started having problems he had no one to turn to for help because we were all standing pointing in judgment, in condemnation, at the dust mote in his eye. Yet one could have built a house with the beams that were in our eyes!" Martins' voice faltered and he sat down abruptly. By this time the whole room was a flood of tears, and in the back room, Joel and Carl had their arms around Henry who was weeping disconsolately and begging God to forgive him, to forgive them all, to allow them to make a fresh start. Alice got down on her knees, then several people around the room got off their chairs and knelt down, and within moments everyone in the room was kneeling and weeping and asking God's forgiveness. In the back room, Henry's tears had stopped, and his father was praying quietly for him, his arm around his shoulders. Carl got up and lifted a corner of the curtain on the door window and looked into the cafe. He dropped the curtain and turned to his friends. "Pastor Smith," he said firmly, causing Henry to start, "I think your flock need their Pastor. You'd better get out there." Henry stared at him, but he saw by the look on Carl's face that he was in earnest. He went to the door and looked through the window as Carl had done. Carl put a hand on his shoulder and nodded as Henry looked around at him again, then pressed his pocket Bible into Henry's hand, opened the door, gently pushed Henry through it into the shop, and closed the door behind him. The Pastor stood by the door and swallowed hard. He looked around the room at all the bowed heads and suddenly his heart was filled with such a longing to see these people reunited in a common love for God and for each other that he felt it as an actual physical pain. He made his way quietly to the front of the room, and Alice, looking up suddenly, saw him approaching and smiled at him. He smiled back cautiously, then stopped and turned to face the people in the room. Several of them had looked up and had seen him, then others in the room noticed him, and soon they all saw that their pastor was there with them. As if they had made a unanimous decision, the thirty-odd people in the room came up to him and all in turn greeted him warmly, hugging him and asking his forgiveness for their behaviour towards him. Henry, with
51
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
tears of joy in his eyes, hugged them all back, greeting them each by name, and asking for their forgiveness for what he had done. Joel and Carl had watched all this from the back room, peeping from behind the curtain on the door window. Now they hugged each other in glee and praised God for what they had just witnessed. This was only a beginning, however, and Henry knew it. A difficult road lay ahead for his church. He asked for silence and for everyone to sit down. He noticed that Alice, still smiling from ear to ear, had gone to sit in a back corner. When all the people had sat down, he began to talk to them about the way ahead. "My brothers and sisters, I've missed you all so much, I'm so glad to be back with you," he said, "We've done a lot of damage, all of us, and it will take much time and effort to repair it. With the Lord, and all of us together, we can do it. But it's going to take everything we can give—all the love we've been keeping back from each other. It means that we've got to forgive each other fully and work together. It means we're going to have to get to know God's Word again, and to spend much time in prayer, and to stop looking to the world for wisdom. We're going to have to be singleminded about this, and accountable to each other, and we're going to have to encourage each other all the time, because the enemy is always on the prowl. You know that even if we manage to get rid of him in one form, he'll come back in another form, and so on, all the time until Christ returns..." "I'd like to read you a few things from the Scriptures, to get us started back in the right direction." He opened the pocket Bible and found the fourth chapter of James' letter, and read it out, slowly and loudly. He read verses seven and eight twice. "'So you must submit to God. Stand firm against the devil and he will run away from you. Get close to God and He'll come close to you. Sinners, wash your hands! Two-timers, purify yourselves!'" He stopped at verse ten, "Humble yourselves in God's presence. He is the one who will raise you," and paused. No-one moved or spoke. Henry turned to Psalm 34 and read the whole poem out. "...Praise with me the glory of the LORD; together let us praise His name... Come to me, my children, that I might teach you to fear the LORD... Don't let your tongue speak evil; don't let your lips speak lies... The LORD redeems those who serve Him; not one who seeks His protection will be condemned." He closed the Bible, bowed his head, and began to pray. When he paused in his prayer it was taken up by someone else, and another person followed on from that, until everyone in the room had stood up and prayed, when Alice started singing a hymn based on Psalm 34 that had been composed by a fellow church-member during the Protectorate. In the back room, Carl, his heart full, turned to Joel. "I'm going out," he said, "I just need to go for a walk. Could you please tell Henry I'll come back here to meet him at five o'clock?" Joel was surprised. "My word, you're one of a kind, aren't you?" he replied, chuckling, "None of this doing what everyone expects, for you, eh, Carl? Of course I'll let him know. Go have a natter with the Lord, Carl. Streets around here are quiet. Be careful, though, won't you?" 52
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I will, Joel, thanks," Carl assured him, and pointed to a windowless door at the other end of the room. "Does that door lead out the back of the shopping centre?" "Yes, it does, out to the side street," Joel said, "Off you go then, I'll give Henry your message. See you later." "Yes, see you later. And thanks, Joel." "No worries, Carl." Carl went out and shut the door. He stood on the back step a moment to survey the surroundings. He decided to walk around the shopping area and then continue up one of the streets for a short distance, then turn around and come back. He was delighted and encouraged by what had happened in the coffee shop, but he was well aware that the believers were facing a very subtle and completely ruthless enemy. He felt the need to just walk around, and think, and pray by himself. He wished that Emma were with him, and he wondered how she was doing and whether Helen was over her illness yet. He ought to give them a ring and find out. He'd ask Henry if he could use his phone tonight. He prayed for his wife and children, and for wisdom for himself and his new friends in facing the challenges ahead. As he walked up one side of the street, deep in thought, he did not notice the man who was walking rapidly behind him, trying to catch up with him. The man had spotted him as he came out of Joel's shop, and had recognized him as the speaker from the day before. He was a businessman in his late fifties, a bit overweight and not very fit. He gave an overall impression of greyness—his thinning grey hair, his thick grey eyebrows arching over dark grey eyes, his grey business suit. Even his face was looking somewhat grey from unaccustomed exertion as, quite out of breath, he reached Carl. "Mr. Slade! Excuse me!" he called out in a hoarse whisper as he touched Carl on the arm. Carl, startled out of his thoughts, turned to see who had addressed him. He was astounded to recognize the Elder from Good Shepherd church who had so insulted Henry the previous day. What does this man want with me? he wondered. He waited for the man to recover his breath, then asked him what he wanted, trying not to show in his tone that he knew something unpleasant about him. "I wanted to have a chat with you about that sermon of yours yesterday," the man said, "Would you have some time to spare? We could go and get a drink or something." Carl didn't answer right away but looked off into the distance as he asked God for wisdom. The man assumed that he was thinking over his schedule before replying. "I won't take up much of your time—I've got to pick up my daughter from school in less than an hour," he assured Carl. "Where do you suggest we go for this chat, Mr.—uh—I'm sorry, I didn't get your name..." "Oh, my name's James. James Winters." 53
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Well, Mr. Winters, where did you want to go to talk? I've got a bit of time." "There's a pub just around the corner. Nice and quiet. Come and have a drink." Winters led the way to the pub, and took Carl to a table in a corner. "What would you like to drink, Mr. Slade? I'll just go and order," he said. "If that's all right with you, I'll just have a cup of tea, thank you," Carl replied. Winters gave him an odd look, shrugged, and went off to the bar to order the drinks. He came back a moment later and sat down across from Carl. "What did you want to chat about?" Carl asked him. "Ah, yes, that talk you gave yesterday, Mr. Slade," the man replied, genially, "By the way, why did you leave so quickly? Some of our folk would have liked to meet you." "I had another appointment, Mr. Winters." "Ah, you're a busy man, eh, Mr. Slade? I know what that's like. My business keeps me very busy, too, though it's rather different from yours." "Oh, what do you do, Mr. Winters?" Carl asked with interest. "I have several clothing stores in the area, three of them in this town. I have my hands full keeping track of them all!" "Yes... that would keep you out of mischief, now, wouldn't it?" Carl said thoughtfully. Winters gave him another odd look, and was about to say something, when the waitress arrived with his beer and Carl's tea. She set them down on the table, smiled at them, and left. Carl looked at the businessman expectantly. "Well, now, Mr. Slade," Winters began, in a more formal tone, "What was all that about the Protectioners still being around? You must know as well as I do that they were all arrested and thrown in gaol when the Protectorate fell!" "That was not the main point of my talk, Mr. Winters," Carl said quietly, looking straight at the man, his blue eyes grim, "It was only a warning that I felt I should give, right at the end." "Yes, yes, I know." Winters waved most of Carl's talk away with a sweep of his hand and insisted on discussing only this topic. "But surely it's an empty warning; surely you can see that it's a red herring!" He paused and frowned at Carl. "Unless you have information that the rest of us don't..." Carl answered levelly, "I have no more information than you do, Mr. Winters, but I did feel strongly that I should give the warning." "How strange." Winters stared at Carl and frowned again. "Do you consider yourself a prophet, Mr. Slade, a sort of Jeremiah?" "No, Mr. Winters, I don't." Carl still spoke in the same quiet tone of voice. "I ask God to guide me when I talk, and I say what He leads me to say. Perhaps at times I don't listen to Him carefully enough, that's always possible. However, I'm quite sure I was hearing right, yesterday." Winters looked at his watch. He seemed to be getting uncomfortable. He looked up at Carl again. "Well, let me assure you that there is no such 54
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
danger here, Mr. Slade," he said, "Perhaps where you come from—the capital, isn't it?—they're rearing their ugly heads again, but in our quiet country town they certainly are not. We wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing." Either what Winters was saying was a blatant lie or the man was completely blind. Either way, it made Carl so angry that he didn't dare say anything for fear of losing his temper. The man was thick with the Protectioners, whether he himself was aware of it or not, that much was clear to Carl. His blue eyes made no secret of his reaction to what Winters had said, and the businessman was taken aback by the way Carl was looking at him. He glanced around the room in momentary confusion. His glance fell on his glass of beer, and he took a long drink to calm himself down, while avoiding looking at Carl. James Winters never lost his composure for long, however, and now he attempted to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. "You haven't touched your tea, Mr. Slade," he pointed out, smiling ingratiatingly at Carl. "No, I haven't, you're right," Carl replied, glancing at his cup, "I'm afraid I think someone spat in it." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Winters start. "Oh, let me order another one for you," Winters said hastily, "What a disgusting thing to do!" He started to get up. "Or would you prefer something else? A beer, maybe? Or something stronger?" "Could I just have a glass of water, please? I'm afraid my stomach is feeling rather queasy." Carl was indeed feeling sick, but not from a physical cause. "I'm sure a glass of water can be arranged, Mr. Slade," the businessman replied, and walked over to the bar. Carl closed his eyes for a moment and prayed earnestly. He still couldn't understand how a man who had been chosen as an Elder in a church like Henry Smith's could have joined hands with the likes of Ross Lancaster and fallen so low as to spit in his Pastor's face—in fact, going out of his way to do it! How could he brazenly assert that the Protectioners were not in Goldridge? Was it really possible that Winters didn't know who he was dealing with? Perhaps. Carl watched him as he talked with the waitress. Overall, his impression of Winters was not really a negative one. He did not seem to be a man with bad intentions. He would have to ask Henry or Alice about him. "Yes, you don't look very well, Mr. Slade," Winters said with concern as he returned to their table. Carl opened his eyes and gazed down at the table an instant. Then he looked up at the businessman. "Are you a member of the local Lutherite church, Mr. Winters?" he asked him. The man looked surprised. Genuinely surprised. "No—I'm an Elder in the Church of the Good Shepherd, which is nondenominational," he replied, "What made you think I was a Lutherite? There isn't a Lutherite church here—it closed down a couple of years ago." So—he may be in with that lot, Carl thought, but they're not letting him in on their secrets. Typical Protectioners. His impression of the man 55
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
improved a bit. If anyone thinks he stands, let him beware lest he fall, he thought. Maybe it was a case of Winters not having been alert. "Oh," he said out loud, "I was under the impression that it was a Lutherite group meeting in that church because they didn't have their own building. I must have been given the wrong information." He shrugged, took a mouthful of water and swallowed it, and changed the subject. "So, you're an Elder there. Who's your pastor, Mr. Winters?" "We don't have a minister at the moment. The last one was kicked out in disgrace," the businessman answered, grimacing, "We haven't started looking for a replacement yet." "Oh, you're going to be looking for a pastor, are you? That's interesting, now. I've just met one who was without a job—surprising, really, for he struck me as being a man after God's heart, you know, like King David." "Did he tell you he was looking for another position?" Winters asked almost eagerly. Carl wondered at the man's reaction. It would seem that he missed having a pastor over him. "No, he didn't actually say that. Perhaps he's having a break." "Did he give you his name?" "Yes. Henry Smith." Winters was caught completely off-guard, and the mention of his pastor's name made all the colour drain out of his face and rendered him speechless. Carl watched his reaction with interest, but didn't comment. Winters was quite at a loss. He glanced at his glass. It was empty. "Uh... Excuse me," he muttered, "I'll just get myself another drink..." He got up from the table and walked slowly to the bar, his shoulders drooping. Carl watched him sadly, then drained his glass of water, got up from his seat, and walked out of the pub.
!!! "Where did you go?" Emma asked. "Not very far, actually," Carl replied, "There was a sort of garden next to the place, like a little park, with two or three benches under the trees. I went in there and sat down where I could just see the front of the pub but I didn't stand out because I was in the shade. After a couple of minutes Mr. Winters came out, looking flustered, glanced right and left, shrugged, and went back inside. After about fifteen minutes he came out again, hailed a taxi, and left. I got up, then, and walked back to Joel's coffee shop."
56
CHAPTER 8 That evening Carl finally did have tea at Henry's house. The two men took their leave of Alice and Joel and drove away in Henry's car, stopping on the way to his home to buy some take-away food from a local restaurant. "Do you mind eating in the kitchen?" Henry asked as they went into the house, "Though I could clear the table in here if you prefer." "The kitchen's fine," Carl replied, "You don't want to mess up your work. By the way, I did notice your chemistry tomes there on the table. Are you thinking of going back to research?" Henry put the parcels of food on the kitchen table as he answered. "I was toying with the idea..." he said, then looked at Carl curiously. "Did you remem— Uh, how do you know I was in research? Oh, Alice and Dad would've told you, of course!" "Yes, Alice told me you'd been an industrial chemist," Carl confirmed, "I'd been wondering yesterday about the titles of your books." Henry got out plates and cutlery while Carl opened up the parcels. They sat down to eat and Henry gave thanks to God. As they ate their meal he told Carl about what had happened in the coffee shop after he had left. "After Alice had started us off with that first hymn," he said, "well, we just went on for ages, singing to the Lord together as we hadn't done for months. Dad came in and joined us—I suppose that must have been just after you left, since you heard us start singing. After a long while we stopped singing, and people just started praying again, without anyone actually suggesting it, and when that stopped, everyone just started talking to each other and it was like a big family reunion. Dad said he'd make us all some afternoon tea, and several people went to give him a hand. All of those people, each one of them, came up to me at some point and assured me again that they'd forgiven me and asked me to please remain as their pastor." He looked happily at Carl. "I guess I can put my chemistry books away again." "It looks like it," Carl said, "Thanks be to God. It's wonderful news." He paused and sighed. "I'm sure you realize that there's a long way to go yet, though, don't you?" he said, "Greenstone and his bunch are still around, and they're hardly likely to give up without a fight. Believe me, they haven't finished with you yet!" "Yes, I'm aware of that," Henry replied softly, "On the other hand, we're wise to them now, thanks to you." "Not thanks to me, mate, thanks to God! Remember that it was Greenstone himself who made the first mistake that gave them away! And it was God's mercy that allowed it to happen that way and that allowed me to be involved." "True. Well, it is God's mercy that's brought you here, anyway. I haven't forgotten that you stopped me from jumping into that lake..."
57
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl didn't respond, and they ate without talking for a few minutes. Then Henry looked up at Carl as he served them some water. "Where did you go this afternoon when you left Dad's shop?" he asked. "Ostensibly for a walk. At least, that had been my intention. However, I ended up stepping into a pub for a drink. I was invited to by someone who wanted to talk about my 'sermon' as he called it." "Oh. Who was it?" "Someone you know—James Winters." Henry was astounded. "James?! What did he want?" he exclaimed. Carl told him about his conversation with the Elder, and as he spoke, Henry looked increasingly dismayed. When he finished, Henry sat in silence, staring at his plate. "He used to be one of our most steadfast people," he said at last, "James was the man people went to when they had problems and I wasn't available, or often, even when I was. But that was almost two years ago, now." He sighed, and with his finger he traced patterns on the table from a small puddle of water next to his glass. "I trusted him completely. I guess that's why I didn't give it a second thought when he suggested, along with Alf and Geoff—of whom we should have been wary— that we start studying those other books in the study groups. How could I have been so blind?" "You took your eyes off Jesus Christ, Henry," Carl said gently, "But now you're looking to Him again, so you'll see clearly. Just don't look away again!" Henry rested his chin on his hand and looked at him with interest. "How old were you when you turned to Christ, Carl?" he asked. "Forty. Why?" "How in the world did you cope with life without Him?" "I didn't. As I've mentioned to you, there came a point—two, in fact— when suicide looked like the only choice for me. I was a mess. Emma could tell you." "Emma?" "My wife." "Oh, yes. She'd been your counsellee, isn't that right?" "That's right. She saw me at my worst. Life without Jesus Christ is utter darkness. Only, that's all I knew, so I didn't even notice it was dark—not until I was counselling Chester Brown, and then Emma." Henry sat up straight. "Chester Brown," he said, "You counselled Chester Brown?" "Yes. It was horrible, but he didn't budge. His faith was rock-steady. He lives in Kawanyama now. He'd been an Elder in Emma's brother's church. Do you know him?" "Yes. He and Dad were good friends for many years when we lived up in the Capital District. We lost touch with him when Denson came to power." "He's a very special friend to us, now. Emma calls him 'Uncle Chester'— she's known him since she was a child. He gave me much good advice about being a husband—wisdom from his forty-plus years of happy marriage. His wife suffered the same fate as yours, you know, only it was cancer that she 58
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
had and that they refused to treat because she was a Christian. He nursed her right to the end. And two years after, he ended up in the Counselling Institute. The same man who helped Emma and me escape from the Protectorate also helped him." "So that's two of your former counsellees who are now your friends, Carl," Henry said, "That's rather remarkable, considering how Counsellors treated their counsellees." "That's also God's mercy, Henry," Carl said quietly, "You know, it was the day I asked Emma to marry me that I met Chester again and he forgave me for all I'd put him through. And by that evening he was already treating me like a son..." He sighed. "I'm still in awe when I think of how good God has been to me despite all those years when I hated Him." "That's the God who rules over all creation and whom we serve..." Henry said softly. After a moment's pause, he asked Carl, "Would you have an address or a Telemail code for Chester Brown? I'm sure Dad would love to get in touch with him again." "I've got both. Get me some paper and I'll write them down for you." Henry rummaged through a drawer and found a sheet of paper. He handed it to Carl, who wrote the information down, then gave the paper back to him. "Thanks," Henry said, "Chester Brown was also an Elder... But he remains firmly in the faith..." He looked at Carl. "Do you think there's any hope for James, Carl? Any hope of his turning back to the right path, I mean." "We can't afford to give up on anyone, Henry, but at the same time we've got to be careful that we don't become sentimental and confuse that with loving. Let's ask the Lord for wisdom in dealing with James." Together they prayed for James Winters and his family, and for wisdom for themselves in relating to the Elder. "Would you like a cup of tea or something like that before I take you back to your truck?" Henry asked. "Yes, please," Carl replied, "I'll help you wash up, too." "Oh, never mind that, I'll just put it all in the dishwasher," Henry said as he filled the kettle and switched it on, "What are you planning to do tomorrow?" "I thought I might drop in at the City Council Chambers for a look-see. A little survey of their public records might give us some useful information. By the way, you haven't mentioned the other Elders in your church. Did all three of the Elders go off the straight and narrow?" "Yes. Three of them—James, Matt Lee, and Tom Broker. I suppose they're still Elders. They kicked me out, after all. As far as I know, they're all in with Alf Greenstone, although I'm never sure these days where Matt stands." Henry made some tea and they drank it hurriedly, because Carl had seen the time and pointed out that an early bedtime might be a good idea. As soon as they had finished they left for the caravan park. Once again they sang hymns as they drove through the town. Henry indicated the City
59
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Council building as they drove past it. "Quite a landmark, that place," he said, "The Protectioners used it as their headquarters, too." At the caravan park, Carl found a note tucked in the door of his camper. He opened it and read it. "They tell me my booking has run out and I have to move the truck out to free up the space for the next occupant!" he exclaimed, "But I booked until the end of next week!" They hastened to the manager's office to find out what was going on. The woman there was very apologetic but she insisted that Carl had to leave, his booking had lapsed. Could he please pay his bill and move his camper truck out? Carl gave her the money and they went back to the truck. "Now what?" he muttered, "Is there another caravan park here, Henry?" "Yes, but it belongs to the same bloke—I have a feeling they'd be 'full up' if you went there." "Who's the owner?" "The mayor, Lancaster," Henry replied, "Seems to own everything, as I've told you before. I'm beginning to think he might be a Protectioner type, too." Little do you know, Carl thought to himself. "Tell you what," Henry said brightly, "Why don't you drive your truck over to my place and park it on my driveway? Then you can take your pick as to whether you sleep there or in the house. Anyway, we can hook your camper up to my power board." Carl accepted his offer, and within a few minutes they were driving back to Henry's house, where Carl drove the camper onto the driveway. He decided that he would continue to sleep in the camper, "just in case."
!!! At dawn the next morning Carl went for a walk along Wattle Street, ending up at the shopping centre. He mulled over the incidents of the day before, and wondered where Lancaster fitted into it all. Why were the Protectioners so intent on destroying the churches? He knew they were vehemently anti-Christian, but he wondered at this obviously well-planned and meticulous eroding—at least until Greenstone's faux pas—of the church in Goldridge. And he was puzzled at how easily just about all the believers had happily walked into the trap. He had a fleeting recollection of the church in Warden, and its dangerous comfort. But surely the church in Goldridge couldn't have become that laid-back in such a short time, so soon after the end of the Protectorate? Or could it...? It certainly appeared to have done so. He sat down on a bench in the courtyard between the shops. His heart was heavy as he thought of the division that had existed among the believers of different denominations so soon after the persecution which had united them had stopped. He compared the situation there to that in Apmirra. In the capital, where persecution had been most intense, the pastors of the various churches had categorically refused to return to denominationalism.
60
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
In fact, they had decided, with the agreement of their flocks, to continue meeting in small groups as house churches. They would all get together in larger meetings now and then, in one of the parks, and the pastors got together regularly for fellowship and mutual encouragement and accountability, but otherwise the house churches remained small and strong. From what Carl had seen in his travels, this pattern was repeated in several other towns throughout Pamanyungan. His thoughts turned to the Protectioners. They seemed not to have been daunted by their defeat a few years back. Lancaster, now—how had he been released from prison so soon? Was ex-President Denson free, too? And where had Lancaster got his wealth? He seemed to own half of Goldridge! Carl recalled the luxurious lifestyle, even during the Protectorate, of the man who had once been his boss. I suppose, he concluded to himself, that when you have no scruples you don't worry about where your money comes from... He looked around at the small shops around the courtyard. They were still shut, of course, all except for a small bakery which was open for breakfast. He decided to go in and get a cup of coffee and talk to anyone who might be there. The bakery smelled richly of freshly-brewed coffee and newly-baked bread, and the man behind the counter greeted him cheerily as he walked in. He was a tall, heavy-set man with thick, wavy, black hair and a matching moustache, who would have looked at home on a football field or lifting weights in a sports hall. His skin was so brown that it made the white of his shirt and apron appear to shine like a beacon amid the equally dark furnishings of the bakery around him. He was busy setting out loaves of bread on the shelves lining the wall behind the counter. There were four other customers in the shop, two men dressed in work clothes and a couple of dark-haired schoolchildren in their mid-teens, a boy and a girl. They occupied two of the four tables in the shop. "Good morning," Carl greeted the man behind the counter, "Could I have a cup of coffee and a bun, please?" "A cup of coffee and a bun? Yes, in a tick," the man smiled, waving towards the tables, "Have a seat. I'll bring it to your table." Carl went to sit at a small table near the back wall. The two workers got up, paid for their meal, and left. The teenagers were absorbed in some private joke as they toyed with the milk shakes on the table between them. The man who ran the shop brought over a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate holding two cinnamon rolls. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. "Not in the least," Carl replied with a smile, "I don't especially enjoy eating by myself." The man put the tray on the table and sat down. "It's nice to have company for breakfast once in a while," he said, "The kids don't always want their dad along." He laughed. "My name's Kevin. Food's on me, okay?" "Thank you. My name's Carl. I'm a visitor here." "Yeah, I guessed as much. You never see the locals wandering around the streets on foot, especially not at this time of day." 61
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Don't people here do much walking?" "Nah... No time for it. Too busy. Have to rush here, rush there, all day. I noticed you, yesterday. No, the day before. Yeah, Monday afternoon, it was. I live across from Good Shepherd. I'd gone home to pick up a few things and I noticed you because you came along walking and you were wearing this same jacket you've got on now. And then you walked up to the church where all those other folk were dressed like they were going to a do at Government House! I was surprised when they pulled you into the church, though!" "I was the speaker for their meeting," Carl said with a smile. "What? You mean they let you stand up and speak to them? Dressed like that? A non-conformist like you?" Carl was mildly surprised at being so aptly classified by a complete stranger. He grinned. "Why do you call me a non-conformist?" he asked. "Come on!" Kevin exclaimed, "It's obvious—stands out a mile! You go to that meeting dressed like you're going to the picnic races—and you're their guest speaker, yet! You walk everywhere. You wear a wedding band—nobody does, these days, except for old-fashioned sentimentalists like me. And you, obviously. You're happy to let me sit and have breakfast with you even though you don't know me from Adam..." Carl laughed. "Let me add to that list, Kevin. I play the flute; I like watching the sunrise; I enjoy reading poetry aloud with my wife; and I'm a Christian. Does that confirm your opinion of me?" "Even better than I thought!" Kevin picked up the plate of rolls and offered one to Carl. "Here. Have a cinnamon bun. My wife bakes a fresh lot every morning—the best in town, probably in the whole country!" Carl took one and broke it open to spread butter on it. He took a bite and nodded approvingly. "It's excellent," he said to Kevin, "Congratulations to your wife." "Thanks. Yeah, she's a good cook, and she enjoys doing it, what's more. She helps me in here at tea-time when there's a lot of customers. You must come and meet her sometime." Kevin paused to take a bite of his roll and a mouthful of coffee. He sat sideways on his chair and leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Well, now, Carl—have I got your name right?—what brings you to Goldridge?" he asked. "I told you. I was the speaker for that church meeting on Monday afternoon." "Oh, yeah." Kevin slapped his knee. He looked keenly at Carl. "So, you're a minister, are you? Did they ask you to replace poor Henry Smith?" "No. To both questions," Carl replied, "I suppose you could call me an evangelist—that's what most people call me, anyway." "An evangelist. What's that?" Kevin asked. "Someone who tells people about Jesus Christ and what He has done for us." "Ah! Same sort of thing Henry does, just with a different name." "Has Henry told you about Christ?" "Mmmm. Several times. Not my thing, Carl—no offense meant." 62
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"No offense taken, but I'll be praying for you." Kevin laughed happily. "No offense taken. I don't mind," he said. Carl smiled at him. He liked this man, and silently vowed to pray for him daily, that the Lord would get through to him. It was so often more difficult for "good" people to realize their need to be reconciled to God. He wondered what people like Kevin thought of what had happened to Henry. He decided to explore the subject since Kevin had introduced it. "Going back to Henry Smith," he said, "I wouldn't have thought, myself, that he needed replacing. Why are they wanting a new minister?" "Well, I guess, as you're a visitor, you wouldn't have heard of what happened with Henry," Kevin explained, "It was all over the front page of the local rag. He was involved in some scandal with some woman, and the Elders of the church kicked him out about a week ago. Poor bloke—he was pretty broken up, and you wouldn't believe what some of those people from his church did! They spat at him, in public! I saw them do it right here—in that courtyard! Makes me feel like spitting in disgust, just thinking of it! And they call themselves Christians!" Kevin grimaced—he didn't have a high opinion of the local believers. "Henry Smith is a good man," Carl, gazing unseeingly at the wall beyond Kevin, said quietly, "He loves Jesus Christ and he loves the people in his church." He shifted his look to Kevin. "Why do you think they set him up?" Kevin gazed curiously at Carl for a long while, sipping his coffee slowly. Finally he put his cup down. "What makes you think he was set up?" he asked cautiously. "He's not the sort of man who'd go chasing after loose women." "You're certainly right, there!" Kevin exclaimed, slapping his leg again, "You're certainly right! A very upright and decent man, was Henry. I admit I found it hard to believe when I saw the story in the paper—but apparently it's all true!" He looked at Carl and raised his eyebrows. "I'm not disputing the truth of it—Henry himself told me it's true—I'm just wondering why he was set up. Who wanted his downfall?" "Henry told you—you know him, then?" Carl nodded. "I'm staying with him," he said. Kevin didn't seem surprised to hear that. He nodded approvingly. "Who'd want his downfall, you ask," he said pensively, "Well, I suppose the same lot who caused the downfall of all the others. The other ministers, I mean." He stood up suddenly. "Excuse me, must get these two off to school or they'll be late." He went over to the teenagers, who were just finishing their breakfast. "C'mon you two," he said loudly, "Off to school, or you'll be in trouble!" The boy and girl got up, mumbling something, picked up their bags, and reluctantly went out the door. "See you at lunchtime!" Kevin called after them, and they turned and waved to him. He came back to his seat. "Ah, kids!" he said, winking at Carl, "If you don't keep on top of them they'd daydream their lives away, and then they think they've got all the answers to the world's problems!" "Are they your children?" Carl asked him. 63
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yeah. Luke and Lynn. Fifteen. Twins. Not bad kids, really. Just, like I said, you have to keep on top of them." "Now that's interesting. We've got twins too, a girl and a boy, four years old," Carl said, "Helen and Andrew." "They here with you?" "No, Helen was sick so my wife stayed home with the twins in Apmirra. But normally we all travel together. We have a camper truck." "And you're all Christians?" "Yes, we are. That is, we are followers of Jesus Christ. We don't belong to a particular denomination. Most of the time we travel around the country in our truck and I preach the Gospel in different places." "Yes—definitely non-conformist, you are! I was right. Soon as I set eyes on you, I could tell!" Carl smiled. "I've always been considered odd. I'm used to it," he said quietly. "Just as well, too. Now, you were asking about Henry... Yeah, like I said, there's a mob here who seem to make it their business to mess up the church. Those two at Good Shepherd, for instance—the doctor and the printer—I reckon they're part of the trouble. That was a nice, friendly church until they came along. And all the other churches—one after the other, they fell apart. It all started after that bloke Lancaster became mayor, you know. Never trusted the man. Bet he's got something to do with it. You heard of him? Ross Lancaster?" "I've come across him." "His name's in the paper all the time. Richest bloke in town. Don't know where it comes from, though. Owns half the place. Or at least, his friends do." "It doesn't sound to me like you're a friend of his," Carl commented, smiling. "Not in a million years, mate! I wouldn't trust that man for a second! The people in this town have gone barmy—beats me how they could've elected him mayor. I'll tell you what—I sure didn't vote for him!" "You agree, then, that Henry was set up?" Carl asked. "Anyone who knows Henry Smith and who's fair dinkum knows he has to have got caught in a trap," Kevin said firmly, "Like you said, he's not that kind of bloke." He looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Odd, though, isn't it, that all those folk in his church turned against him straight away—they didn't even wait to see what he had to say for himself. Only one or two didn't give up on him." He turned to Carl. "That old lady, for instance. She was mad as anything when the Elders told him to leave. They told her she could leave too if she wanted." He sat up and slapped his leg. "Wow, mate! You wouldn't believe the fights I've seen among the church people in this town!" Carl shook his head slowly. "Right now I'd believe almost anything, Kevin. In the two days I've been here I've seen and heard some astonishing things..." He looked at his watch. "I'd better go. Henry'll be wondering where I've got to." He stood up. "Thanks for the coffee and roll, Kevin. I'll recommend your place—and I'll come back again." 64
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Well, Carl, thanks for the natter." Kevin stood up and grinned. "Take care. See you soon." He patted Carl on the shoulder, then picked up the tray and took it back to the counter as Carl went out. He walked back up the street to Henry's house, where he found he hadn't even been missed as Henry had only just got up. The pastor offered him some breakfast, and he accepted, more for the sake of Henry's morale than because he was still hungry. Kevin's cinnamon roll had been quite filling. "I've got to meet with some of the church folk this morning," Henry reminded him, "or I'd come along with you to the Council Chambers." "I'll be right," Carl said, "If you can just drop me off near there I'd appreciate it, though." "No problem, it's pretty much on my way. How long d'you reckon you'll be there?" "An hour, maybe two? I'm not sure. Depends on what I find." "Let's meet for lunch at Dad's, then, around midday. That okay with you?" "Fine. Thanks very much." When they had eaten, Henry drove Carl to the centre of Goldridge and dropped him off at the shopping centre. Then he headed away to his meeting as Carl walked off towards the Council Chambers.
65
CHAPTER 9 Carl stroked his wife's hand absent-mindedly as he held it. "It's strange," he said quietly, "but I walked over to the Council Chambers knowing full well there was a risk I'd run into Lancaster, yet when I actually did meet him I wasn't really prepared for it." Emma stilled his hand by placing her other hand over it. He looked down at their hands on his lap, then at her, and smiled. He leaned over and kissed on the nose, making her giggle, and put his arm around her. Then he was suddenly serious again. "It was an odd meeting," he said, "I'm not sure I understand it even now." "Lancaster's really the mayor there, then?" Emma asked. "Oh, yes, it's him all right." "Has he changed at all? I mean, is he different from the way he was back when he was your boss?" "Has he changed?" Carl repeated, "In one way, he hasn't changed—he's just as ambitious and unprincipled as ever. Like Kevin said, 'I wouldn't trust him for a second!' But in another way, he has changed, and that's what I found puzzling. It's as if he's developed charisma, you know, the ability to charm people, to attract them. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe you'll see what I mean as I tell you about my encounter with him." He stood up and put his hands in his pockets. "Shall we walk again for a while?" he asked. "Sure," Emma replied, getting up and linking her arm in his. He continued talking as they walked slowly by the Lake. "When I got to the Council building I went in and looked around the front lobby. It looks about a hundred years old—probably dates from the nineteen-thirties, at that. There was an information desk so I went over to ask where I could find the Public Records. While I was talking with the woman there I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a group of men and women were coming in the main door. The reason I noticed them is that I heard and recognized the voice of one of the men... They were walking past behind me towards the lifts when the man stopped talking in mid-sentence, and the whole group stopped in their tracks. Then suddenly someone slapped me on the shoulder."
!!! "Well, well, if it isn't Carl Slade!" Ross Lancaster boomed genially for the benefit of his audience. Gripping Carl's shoulder, he made him turn around to face him. "And what brings you to our fair town, my dear friend?" Carl's blood ran cold as he faced the man who four years before had had him tortured and then handed over to a firing squad. Lancaster had been unpleasant enough to deal with as Chief of the Police Counselling Institute, but it was rather sinister now to see him as Mayor of Goldridge, and Carl 66
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
shuddered at being called 'my dear friend' by this man whom he felt quite sure was most definitely still his enemy. What Carl saw before him, however, was not the strutting, self-important, blatantly unscrupulous man who had fawned after Brent Denson. This Ross Lancaster had the appearance of a benevolent, friendly, fatherly figure, and the smooth manner of a man who knows he has the upper hand, who is quite certain he is the winner. "Good morning, Mr. Lancaster," Carl said, in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice, "I came to Goldridge at the invitation of several of your churches—they asked me to speak in their meetings." "Ah, yes, I was forgetting that you're in the church and religion business now," Lancaster said, "Let me introduce you to my staff, Carl." He turned to the group who were still standing around them. "This is Carl Slade," he informed them, "I knew him when he was a Counsellor in Densonia." He smiled unctuously at them and then at Carl. "Nowadays he goes round the country preaching religion, don't you, Carl?" Carl smiled—on the inside he wasn't smiling at all—but he didn't answer. Instead he asked Lancaster a question. "How long have you been Mayor of Goldridge, Mr. Lancaster?" "Almost two years, my dear fellow," he answered suavely, "It's a four-year term." "And these people are your staff, then?" "You might say that." Although Lancaster's tone was affable, the look in his eyes was quite the opposite and Carl decided that this might be a good time to leave. He did not really want to have anything to do with Lancaster personally. "I have to keep going, Mr. Lancaster," he said, looking at his watch, "I'm sure you're a very busy man. I wouldn't want to keep you from your work." "Nonsense, Carl," Lancaster exclaimed, "You're coming to have a drink with me in my office. For old time's sake." He took hold of Carl's arm and waved his colleagues away. The group dispersed in different directions and Lancaster, not giving Carl a choice, led him towards the lifts. Carl prayed silently and urgently for wisdom and for discernment. What he found most disconcerting about this "new" Lancaster was that he found himself, against all his better judgment, suddenly on the brink of believing the man had actually reformed. The only thing that had stopped him actually taking the plunge was the cold steel glinting in Lancaster's eyes as he'd greeted and spoken to him. Silently, he asked God to remove fear from his heart. He had come to the conclusion that Lancaster could well be more dangerous now than he had ever been as the Chief of the Counselling Institute. In his office, Lancaster invited him to sit down, indicating the two armchairs in front of his desk. Carl sat down in one of them, but he was on his guard.
67
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"What can I offer you to drink, Carl?" Lancaster asked, waving towards a row of dispensers on a sideboard at one end of his office, "I have quite a choice." "A glass of water, please," Carl replied. "Water?" Lancaster said disdainfully, "What kind of a drink is that?" "One that quenches thirst," Carl answered levelly, "I happen to like drinking water, Mr. Lancaster." "Now, now, Carl, you can call me Ross, you know," Lancaster said easily, "I'm not your boss any more." The last thing Carl wanted to do was to be on a first-name basis with the man, and he declined. "You're not my boss, that's right, Mr. Lancaster," he said, "but neither are you my friend. I cannot call you by your first name." He suddenly found himself fighting a battle against hate, for he was sorely tempted to hate Ross Lancaster the way he had hated him before Jesus Christ had saved him, when he was still a Counsellor under orders from the Chief of the Institute. "'Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who ill-treat you.'" The words of Jesus in Luke's Gospel rang in his mind, and he understood that to love his enemy didn't mean he had to like him, or be friends with him. Jesus loved the Pharisees, but he hated what they did. Lancaster was not pleased with Carl's answer, but he didn't show it. He was determined to either win Carl over or silence him the way he had silenced the other Christian leaders in Goldridge. Only, Carl Slade would be a bigger prize, for he was listened to all over the country... The Mayor poured himself a drink from one of his dispensers and gave Carl a glass of water from a bottle in his fridge. "Thank you," Carl said as he accepted the glass. Lancaster shrugged and smiled crookedly. He sat down behind his desk and crossed his legs, and studied Carl as he took a sip of his drink. "Well, Carl, I hear you're married, now!" he said affably, "You've even got kids! Things have changed since we last met." "I was already married, then, Mr. Lancaster," Carl said quietly, not smiling, "and I already had children, even if they weren't actually born yet." "Ah, yes, quite so, quite so," Lancaster muttered, somewhat confused by Carl's answer. Carl looked him in the eye. "You may recall, too, that our last meeting was not a very friendly one," he said, "If I remember rightly, you handed me over to the executioners..." Lancaster started, recovered himself, and regarded Carl chillingly. "You deserved execution, Carl, one way or another," he said, his tone suddenly hostile, "You were—you are—a traitor to all that the Protection stood for. You dared to turn your back on all that the Protection had done for you. You dared to become one of those-those Christians!" He spat the word out, as if expelling something foul from his mouth. "And you topped it all off by becoming a spy for those Kawanyamans!" Carl didn't respond to his tirade. He gazed at Lancaster with interest, for it had suddenly occurred to him that the man was a bore. He had a one68
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
track mind. His only aim in life was to be at the top of the heap. As long as that remained his life-goal, he was doomed to miss out on all that made life worth living—starting with God and the joy of His presence in one's life. Carl had a sudden and fleeting vision of Lancaster, wild-eyed, surrounded by utter darkness and desperate because he was unable to find light of any sort. From that moment on he determined more than ever to fight all that Lancaster stood for, and hoped and prayed that in the process Lancaster might allow God to snatch him from that terrible blackness. He found it frightening that the population of Goldridge had been so easily deceived by Lancaster that they had elected him Mayor less than three years after the end of the Protection Party's rule. Didn't anyone in the town know anything about Lancaster's past? He was still puzzled, too, that Lancaster was not in prison. There was something sinister about the whole situation, something that rang a bell, but he just couldn't figure out what it was... After a long silence, Carl decided to put a few questions to his former boss. "Mr. Lancaster," he asked, "What are your plans for this town, since you're in a position to influence its progress?" Lancaster seemed flattered by the question, which is what Carl had expected would be his reaction. In that way he hadn't changed, anyway. "I intend it to be the capital one of these days, Carl," he replied, "A few changes need to be made, first, of course, but you must be aware that most of the population here would appreciate their town being more important in the affairs of the country." "Is that why you opened the Pleasure House earlier this year?" Carl knew he was taking a risk asking that, and hoped Lancaster wouldn't hear it as a cynical remark. Lancaster didn't. He shrugged. "The people were demanding it, and of course we must keep them happy. You should know that, Carl, from your background. When the people are happy they don't cause trouble. Or have you forgotten your Protection training?" "Unfortunately, I haven't," Carl answered, "Or maybe fortunately. It depends on how you look at it. Are you thinking in terms of another Protectorate, Mr. Lancaster?" The Mayor got up and went to the window. He swept his arm around to indicate what was beyond the building. "You can see that the relaxing of rules has not done the country any good, Carl," he said, "Look at the number of workers' strikes we've had in the last couple of years. Look at the rise in the crime rate. Look at all the fighting in the churches—you'd be most familiar with that area—even in Goldridge alone. We need a return to law and order, and we need to give people what they want to keep them happy. Unfortunately for him, Denson forgot that he had to get rid of the rebels before he became President. We'll be more efficient. When I become President, Carl, I'll have the whole country behind me." A picture of the meeting at Joel's shop the previous day passed through Carl's mind. Not quite the whole country, he thought to himself, thank God. "Mr. Lancaster," he asked, "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps God 69
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
might have His own plans for the country and that they are doubtless quite different from yours?" Lancaster guffawed. "God?!" he exclaimed, "Carl, you may have fallen for all that religious nonsense, but I certainly have not! In fact, that's one thing that will not pollute my country—religion! Get that into your head." Carl got up from his armchair and put his glass down on Lancaster's desk. "I'm afraid I have things to do, Mr. Lancaster, so I'll go now." he said quietly, "Thanks for the drink, and for letting me know where I stand." He looked at Lancaster, and the Mayor was disconcerted to find he couldn't stare back, for Carl's blue eyes were full of compassion. To Lancaster, who was not familiar with that sentiment, they seemed hostile. "I will pray," Carl continued softly, "for your sake as much as anyone else's, that your plans might fail utterly. 'The fool says in his heart, "There is no God."'" "You are the fool, Carl," Lancaster said, his eyes like ice, "and so is your friend Henry Smith. Both fools." "Goodbye, Mr. Lancaster," Carl said politely. He bowed slightly, turned around, and left the office, leaving Lancaster staring open-mouthed after him. He walked to the lift, took it down to the ground floor, walked out of the building, and made his way to the shopping centre. He walked around the area, looking at the shops without seeing them, remembering Densonia as he had seen it with newly-opened eyes during his visits with the Kawanyaman delegation, imagining the return of that nightmare to his country. He was in a daze. His reaction to Lancaster bewildered him. He had been battling the whole time he was in Lancaster's office—battling against a feeling of powerlessness, against a growing inclination to just give up and join what appeared to be the winning side. He'd felt as if he were two people—one being pulled almost willingly into something which surely must be next door to hell, the other hanging on grimly to God's hand. He couldn't understand it, and he thanked God for having kept him from such an insane move as joining Lancaster's side. And then it struck him. Lancaster had said, "Your friend Henry Smith". How did he know that Henry and he were friends? Who had told him? It seemed that Kevin's comment about Lancaster that morning might not be far off the mark... He sat down on a bench and bowed down, his face in his hands, and prayed. People going past glanced at him, most of them thinking he must be someone who'd just received some bad news. Little did they know.
!!! After some time, comforted and refreshed, Carl sat up and looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time before he was to meet Henry at his father's shop. He stood up and decided to look around at the shopping centre. He began walking around, but hadn't gone far before a sign caught his eye. The
70
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
shop beneath the sign sold books and Video-CD's. The sign proclaimed it to be a Christian bookshop. He went in to have a look. The salesroom was not very large, and was lined on both sides with bookshelves. A table in the middle of the room held items being sold at reduced prices, and a salescounter stood in front of the back wall, where a door led to a room behind the store. Carl examined the shelves. There was one displaying a few Bibles of different sizes and versions, and a shelf next to it held a variety of commentaries. He found a handful of classics, which looked as if he might be the first person to discover them, for they were very dusty. Another shelf held biographies and songbooks. But there was a whole bookcase containing what he concluded, after a glance at the titles, was popular psychology disguised as Christian teaching. He picked up book after book, reading randomly from each, and was horrified that he hardly found anything in them that was in straight harmony with Scripture. As he examined the books he thought of Henry's account of the decline of his church. A woman had come in from the room behind the store and saw him looking at the books. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" she asked in a friendly tone. "No, I was just having a browse, thank you," Carl replied, "but I wonder if you could tell me which are the most popular titles these days?" "Oh, almost anything in that section sells very well," she said, indicating the bookcase, "but the CD versions—interactive, you know—sell even better. A lot of people still haven't got back into the habit of reading books." "Would you recommend any title in particular?" Carl asked. "Well, these two we've got displayed here on the counter have been highly acclaimed lately," She showed him a display rack on the counter. The two books being promoted bore the titles Turn the Other Cheek? and Your Hidden Self. "We had to order more stock," she went on, "because so many of the local church groups wanted them." He picked up the books and skimmed through them, reading paragraphs at random. Your Hidden Self seemed to him to be a step-by-step course in narcissism, and would be easily dismissed by anyone familiar with Christ's life and teaching and with the letters of the New Testament. But the other book he found especially disturbing. As far as he could see, it thoroughly distorted the words of Jesus in Luke's Gospel. The book was about being a victim, and encouraged readers to blame—though it didn't actually use that word—anyone who may have made a victim of them, for their problems. He skimmed the book several times, looking for the words 'forgive' and 'forgiveness', but they were not there. The saleswoman watched him curiously. Finally he put the books back on the rack. "This isn't quite the sort of book I'd enjoy reading at the moment," Carl said, truthfully, "I wonder if you have anything by, uh... for example, Tozer?" "Tozer? Never heard the name. Is that a foreign writer?" the woman asked, frowning. "American, I think," Carl replied, remembering George Newman's complete set of the works of A.W. Tozer. 71
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Have you looked through the shelves?" "Yes, but I might have missed it. I'll look again." "Wait. Let me look through our stocklist," she said, going to her compufiler to do so. She looked at the names on the screen. "No—nothing under that name, I'm afraid. Are there other authors you enjoy reading?" Carl gave her more names—Lloyd-Jones, Brainerd, Nee, Wesley, MacArthur, Barnett, White, Jensen, Murray—not one of them were on the list. He looked again at the dusty volumes on the shelf. They were all by recent evangelical authors, and he guessed that they hadn't been bought mostly because their language was difficult for people used to interactiveCDs. "Do you happen to know when these books were written?" the woman asked him. "Oh, at the turn of the century or earlier," he replied, "Some of them, two or three hundred years ago..." "Oh, we've nothing that old!" she exclaimed, "You'd have to order specially." She looked at him strangely, as if she could hardly believe that anyone would want to read such old authors. "Well, never mind," Carl said, smiling, "Thanks for your help, anyway." "Anytime," she replied, regaining her composure, "Do come again. We might have something more to your taste another time." Carl left the shop feeling very depressed. It's not a matter of taste, he said to himself—he felt like shouting it out loud— it's a matter of God's Word! He wondered if all the Christian bookshops in Goldridge were the same. He felt like weeping. He wanted to be alone with God. Was there anywhere in this town where he could just be by himself? He considered going back to Henry's home and his camper van. He wondered if there might yet be an unsullied church in Goldridge. In the end he decided to ask Joel if he could use his back room— just lock himself in it for a little while. After all, he was supposed to go there to meet with Henry at lunchtime. Joel was a bit surprised at his request, but one look at Carl's face told him all he needed to know. "Go ahead, Carl. Make yourself at home," he said, patting him on the shoulder, "You can lock it from the inside. Lock the back door, too." Carl went into the room, locked both doors, and knelt down on the floor, his heart heavy. He took out his Bible and read from the Psalms, but his eyes filled with tears and he put the Bible back in his pocket. He stretched himself out, face-down, on the floor, and wept and asked God for help, for strength, for wisdom—he felt terribly small and helpless in the face of this enemy that was attacking on all fronts.
72
CHAPTER 10 "Have you ever met Ross Lancaster?" Carl asked Henry as they were having lunch together. Joel was busy serving other customers but he joined them for a few minutes now and then when there was a lull. "Yes, a few times, but not to talk to, much," Henry replied, "Strange bloke, he is, but people seem to like him. He's got some ambitious ideas for this town and I guess that appeals after the dreariness of the Protectorate. I'm getting a bit suspicious of him, though, as I told you the other day. Remember? When you had to move your camper?" Carl nodded. "He seems to be incredibly wealthy. And to have a lot of power," he said, "I'm puzzled about where his wealth comes from, but I think I saw some hints in those articles in the National. But never mind that— what I wanted to know is how you reacted to him, to Lancaster as a person." "Oh. Well, now, how did he strike me?" Henry thought for a moment, tapping his fork on the edge of his plate and looking up at the ceiling. When he answered he seemed to be thinking aloud. "He seemed very friendly. Was he perhaps overly friendly? Hard to tell. He seemed very concerned about the problems in the churches. This was about a year ago. But notice that I said 'seemed'—I don't know if that was just a politician's pose. Anyway, he asked me all about my own church, how we were doing, and so on." "And you told him all about it," Carl muttered. Henry's eyes moved from the ceiling to Carl's face. "Why, yes, of course," he said, surprised, "I had no reason not to—he seemed genuinely interested." "Do you know anything about his background?" "Does anyone? Really? His official campaign biography said he was a businessman. In fact he owns the Stardust Video-CD retail chain and an awful lot of other businesses besides. Like the caravan parks." "Is he married?" Carl asked. "Yeah... His wife's name is Myra or something like that. Never see her in public, though. He even throws some big parties now and then, for the bigwigs, but apparently Mrs. Lancaster has nothing to do with them." Carl was surprised to hear that. Back in the Protectorate days, it had always been Myra Lancaster who had organized the parties at the Lancaster mansion. Another strange thing to add to the list. "So, how did he get elected?" he asked. "He put on a big campaign. He sort of came out of the blue, you know, but he managed to win a lot of people to his side very quickly. One of the other candidates unfortunately was caught in some big scandal with a drug deal, so he had to drop out of the running—he wasn't likely to be elected while in prison! People became very suspicious of the second candidate but nothing could be proved against him although all sorts of rumours went around—killed his chances, anyhow. The third man was found in a scandalous affair involving all sorts of perversions—that was the end of his
73
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
campaign. That left Lancas—" Henry stopped in mid-word and stared openmouthed at Carl. "Oh, brother!" he exclaimed, slapping the table loudly so that several customers glanced at them, "Doesn't it sound like what's been happening in the churches!" "That's what I was thinking," Carl agreed, "and might I add that I'm quite sure that Lancaster has a hand in what's been happening in the churches. With the help, of course, of people like Alf Greenstone, Geoff Hillman..." "James Winters?" "Unwittingly, perhaps. I don't think James is in on much of their plan, from what I could gather in talking with him." Carl toyed with his food. He wasn't feeling very hungry. He looked up at Henry again. "Could you tell me more about James, d'you think?" he asked, "What's his family like?" "He's married, has one daughter, Mandy—she's the rebellious one," Henry explained, "His wife, Laura, suffers from some degenerative disease with a long name, which means she's housebound. She used to get around in a wheelchair but most of the time now she's in bed. They have a nurse who looks after her in the daytime." A sudden disturbing thought came to Carl. "You say she's housebound," he said, "Do your church folk visit her much?" "Well... Over the last year or so only one or two people, like Alice, for example, have visited her," Henry answered, "When she first became sick, during the Protectorate, people took it in turns to visit her, to help James with cooking—Mandy was still only little then—to give a hand with physio, and so on. But then they got too busy, and that's when the Winters had to get the nurse. I don't think she sees very many of our church folk these days." He glanced up at Carl and frowned. "She must get very lonely..." "When was the last time you visited her, Henry?" The pastor stared down at his plate for a moment before answering. "It's been months, Carl," he said softly, not looking up. I think I'm beginning to understand James Winters, Carl thought to himself. "Who pays for their medical expenses—for example, for the nurse?" he asked out loud. "I assume James does. He has all those stores, after all," Henry said, too defensively, "They do quite well." "Is Laura Winters a Christian?" "Yes, and she used to be very involved in James' ministry as an Elder when she was well. They used to work as a team, actually, especially when helping people with marriage problems. I can't understand what caused James to turn away..." "I think I do." "What do you think it is?" "They needed a lot of love and support, and your church stopped giving it to them just when they needed it most. Laura, particularly, must have felt terribly abandoned. And James was left to carry the load by himself..." Henry considered this for some moments as he stirred his tea. "I expect you're right, Carl," he said at last.
74
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I'm just remembering our own experience, after I'd been shot, you see," Carl said. "You were shot? When?" Henry asked in surprise, "Was it an accident?" "If they'd managed to kill me, mine would have been the last public execution in the Protectorate. It's a long story that I can tell you another time—to do with my becoming a Christian when I was a Counsellor. The point is that the bullets didn't kill me—as you can see." He grinned. "But one of them hit my spine and for a while it looked like I would be paraplegic for the rest of my life. Shortly after that, our twins were born. If it hadn't been for the church folk, I don't know how Emma and I would have coped. We were essentially housebound for many months, and people rostered themselves to help with my physio, to help Emma with the babies, to clean the flat, even to take us out—which was quite an expedition, with the babies' things, the prams, and my wheelchair! They babysat so Emma and I could have some time to ourselves. And they made a point of visiting us regularly. They kept this up to a large extent until we started our travelling, when the twins were about two years old. They must have been tempted at times to just forget us, we meant so much hard work! And we weren't the only ones being helped, they were doing this for several families, not all of them church people, either. And they're still doing it." "Yes, that's the way we used to be, too, until we got into those books. Then we became more and more focused on our own problems—'Got to sort myself out, first!' 'How about someone looking out for me, for a change?' That sort of thinking. What a mess that ended up making!" "Well, as we saw yesterday, all hope is not gone. The mess can be cleaned up and you can start afresh." "Yes. Which reminds me—I haven't told you that we're having a prayer meeting at my house tonight. We all agreed to that yesterday. We're going to start the clean-up right away. I'm also going to try to get the other ministers together to see if something can be worked out for the other churches. That meeting yesterday—isn't Alice wonderful?—it really turned everything around for me. God's given me hope again, those people have forgiven me, I feel that there's hope that most of the damage that's been done can be repaired. All because thirty people came together and forgave one another and proclaimed their love for Jesus Christ and their desire to obey Him." "You asked me last night if there's any hope for James Winters, Henry. Now that I know more about his situation I can assure there's plenty of hope. All it needs is for your people to love him more than the Protectioners do. That shouldn't be difficult, since that mob don't love him at all—they're just using him!" "But he was one of the Elders who kicked me out, too. He won't want to have anything to do with me!" "Give him time, Henry," Carl smiled, "He'll come round. And pray that the Protectioners will fail in their plans."
!!!
75
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
While Carl had been in Lancaster's office, Alice McIntire had been visiting someone else—James and Laura Winters. She had been very insistent that James be there, which had made him curious, so he joined them for a cup of tea in his wife's room. Laura was having a 'good' day, and she was propped up in bed so that she would be able to see out of her window. When it had become apparent a year before that she would be confined to her bed most of the time, James had arranged for a floor-to-ceiling picture window to be installed in their bedroom so that Laura would be able to see their garden from her bed. On fine days he would open the window and move her bed nearer to it so she wouldn't feel so shut in. He worked hard in his spare time at keeping their garden looking attractive, and at the moment it was replete with spring flowers. Every couple of days he would go out and put together a bunch of flowers from the garden for Laura's room. Betty, Laura's nurse, had taken a break, so it was just the three of them—Laura, James, and Alice—who were in the bedroom. Alice commented appreciatively on the view through the window, but she was really watching James helping his wife drink her tea. It wasn't the first time she had witnessed his loving attention for Laura, but she was especially glad to see it now, because of the mission she had set herself in coming to see them. They chatted for a while about unimportant things, then Alice mentioned that she had seen Mandy a few days before, and asked how she was doing. The Winters admitted that their daughter seemed to be going from bad to worse and they had no idea what to do about her. This provided just the opening Alice had hoped for. "Did you know that we're starting up our mid-week prayer meeting again?" she asked, "Why don't you come along tonight, James, and we can all pray about Mandy with you?" James was suddenly on the defensive. "Who is 'we'?" he asked suspiciously, "The Elders haven't said anything about a prayer meeting!" Laura's face, however, brightened up. "Oh, Alice!" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad to hear that! Do you know why? I've been praying and praying that our folk would join together and have true fellowship again. If some of you are getting together for prayer, then it is happening!" James stared at his wife in astonishment. He hadn't realised that she was aware of the situation in their church. How had she found out? Well, he could guess, actually—it could only be through Alice. She visited Laura regularly—one of only two people from the church who did. He turned to her. "Who are these people who are having a prayer meeting, Alice?" he asked again. Alice recited a list of names, watching James' reaction carefully as she did so. He wasn't being as careful as usual to conceal his feelings, and his face registered his amazement. Alice was aware of Laura's mellowing influence on her husband, which was one reason why she had wanted to meet with both of them together, and she was pleased to see the smile on Laura's face. "What time is this meeting?" James asked. 76
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Seven thirty this evening," Alice answered. "At your house?" "No, someone else's. Will you come, James?" He didn't reply immediately, but got up and started pacing the room, deep in thought. Laura and Alice watched him in silence. At one point he stopped, looked quizzically at Alice, then shifted his gaze to Laura, who smiled at him. He resumed his pacing for a few minutes, then suddenly stopped again, looking at his wife. "No, I've had enough of them!" he exclaimed, hitting his left hand with his right fist, and turned to Alice. "I'll come, Alice, you can count on me. I've had enough of this fighting that's been going on. And our daughter needs our prayers—the prayers of the church, I mean. I'll come! Where is the meeting being held?" Alice looked him straight in the eye as she told him. "At Henry Smith's home," she said levelly. James was astounded, and his face went white. Not taking his eyes off Alice, he sat down heavily on the end of the bed. "At Henry's home?" he echoed weakly. Laura gazed at her husband with concern. Alice wondered if she knew where things stood between James and Henry. "That's right," she said to James. He sighed deeply. "Alice, how can I possibly go to a meeting at Henry's place?" he asked miserably, "You know we kicked him out." Laura gasped, and James looked at her sadly. "You kicked him out? Who did? Out of what?" Laura asked. "Out of the church. The Elders did," her husband said. "But-But why?" "Because he was involved in some pretty scandalous things with a woman." "When did this happen? When did you kick him out?" James was now looking at the floor. "This time last week," he said, "I don't know how long he'd been caught up in that stuff..." "Are you sure he was doing... those sorts of things?" "Yes, there's no doubt about it—and he didn't deny it, either." Alice noticed that Laura was crying. She got up and wiped her eyes for her. "It's all right, Laura," she said, "Henry confessed it, he's repented, and all those people—whose names I told you just now—have forgiven him, and so has the Lord. They've asked him to stay on as our Pastor. They didn't change their minds when he admitted to having led the church astray, to not reading the Bible for months, to not praying. They forgave him all that, too, and asked his forgiveness for having done the same thing and for the way they'd treated him. And then when we all agreed on the prayer meeting, they asked him if he would host it." "When did all this happen?" James asked, surprised. "Yesterday afternoon," Alice replied, turning to him, "And do you know what started it all? The talk on Monday afternoon—Carl Slade's talk." James didn't know what to say. He was suddenly ashamed of his behaviour towards Carl. And then he thought of his behaviour towards 77
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry, and of his betrayal of his own church, and the man who was known for his ability to maintain his composure in awkward situations completely lost it and wept bitterly, his face in his hands. Alice had sat down on the edge of the bed next to Laura, who was watching her husband helplessly, a mixture of concern and puzzlement on her face. Alice put her arm around Laura's shoulders and prayed silently for James. He calmed down after some minutes had passed, and sat, his hands clasping and unclasping, staring through the window at the garden. After a while he sighed, and turned to the women. "Alice, how can I face Henry?" he asked, "After what I've done to him..." "I don't think he holds it against you," she answered quietly. "Wasn't it all three of you Elders who kicked him out?" Laura asked. "I'm not referring to that," James muttered. "What do you mean?" his wife asked him. James looked up at her, glanced at Alice, then looked back at the window. "I spat at him, Laura. In public. I went out of my way to do it," he said in a monotone, "and I felt proud of myself..." He suddenly got up and banged his fist down on the footboard of the bed. "God! What a pig you have for a husband, Laura!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Oh, don't say that, James!" Laura cried, "You're not a pig!" He turned on her fiercely. "You have no idea, Laura," he said in a tight voice, "You have no idea what your husband has been up to these last few months. Like a pig with a ring in its snout I've let myself be led along to dig around in the dirt by a mob of scoundrels. I suppose it was in the hopes of getting a treat out of it for myself. Only it isn't truffles they're after, it's souls! And I've only just now realised the depths of the mud in which I've been wallowing! You have no idea, Laura!" He turned to Alice. "And you think Henry can let me into his house after what I've done?" he asked her, "Of course not!" Alice answered quietly but deliberately. "Henry will welcome you with open arms," she said, "and he would do the same for Matt and Tom." "You sound quite sure about it," James said, surprised by her tone. "I am quite sure of it. Come tonight and see for yourself." Again he started pacing the room, thinking. Laura was looking quite distressed and Alice still had her arm around her. Finally James stopped pacing, and went up to Alice. "I'll come, Alice," he said firmly, "I trust your judgment. Now I do. If only we'd listened to you all those months ago..." He sighed again. "Well, we can't turn back the clock, but we can try to repair the damage done." He waved Alice off the bed, sat down next to his wife, and took her in his arms. "Laura, can you forgive me for my behaviour, for being such a hypocrite, such a-a pig?" "Oh, James, I wish I'd known what was happening—I knew the church was full of fights and divisions, but I didn't know you were involved!" "I didn't want you to know. I suppose deep down I knew that I was in the wrong..."
78
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I knew something was wrong, you know, you just weren't yourself, but I thought it was because you were upset about the situation in the church, and I didn't want to pester you about it." Alice picked up her bag and car keys. "Well, I've got to be going, now," she said cheerfully, "I've a few things to do, some shopping and all that, and I'm meeting someone for lunch." She kissed Laura on the cheek, then patted James' shoulder. "I'll come and see you again soon, Laura. See you tonight, James. Stay there. I'll let myself out."
79
CHAPTER 11 Henry and Carl spent Wednesday afternoon preparing for the prayer meeting. They cleaned Henry's house and brought chairs over from Joel's storeroom to set up in Henry's living room. In the late afternoon Carl suggested they have an early tea so they would be ready by the time people started arriving. "We could buy tea at that bakery in the local shops," he said, "I gather they do serve tea there." "You mean Kevin's place?" Henry asked. "Yes—I stopped in there this morning before breakfast. Looks like a friendly place to eat in." "Oh, I often used to eat there. Their bread and buns are beaut. He lives across the street from the church, you know, and his wife does all the baking for the business. There were times when I'd be sitting in the office at church finding it very difficult to concentrate on my work because of the delicious smells coming from their house!" "Are they believers?" Carl asked the question although he was quite sure the answer was negative. He wanted to hear what Henry had to say. "No, they're not, and you can imagine what kind of a witness we've been giving them lately, can't you?" Carl nodded and grimaced, remembering Kevin's comments that morning. "Kevin's not impressed," he said, "but I don't think he's against you." "Kevin's a good bloke," Henry said, "He's just not aware that he's working on the wrong side. I haven't given up hope yet. Let's go." They set out on foot for the shopping centre. The sun was already low in the sky and traffic along the street was quite heavy as people made their way home from work. Carl noticed that what Kevin had said was true—noone else was walking. Kevin greeted them jovially as they entered his shop. "Well! Here're my non-conformist and his pastoral friend!" he bellowed. He came over to them and patted Henry's shoulder. "G'day, Henry—long time no see. Howya doin', mate?" "Great, Kevin, I'm doing great!" Henry smiled. Kevin was obviously startled. "Fair dinkum?" he asked. "Fair dinkum!" Henry replied firmly. Kevin regarded him for a moment, looking puzzled. Then he shrugged and turned to Carl. "Come and meet my wife, Carl. She's cooking tonight, so you're in for a treat. Isn't he, Henry?" Kevin winked at the pastor and grinned. "Silvia's a very good cook, Carl," Henry confirmed, adding with a wink of his own, "But so is Kevin!"
80
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Kevin led them to the small kitchen at the back of the shop. "Silvie," Kevin called to his wife, "Let me introduce you to the bloke I was telling you about." Kevin's wife was a blond, petite, and graceful contrast to her dark, rotund, and boisterous husband. She came over to them, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling cheerfully. "You must be Carl Slade, then," she said pleasantly, "Kevin was raving on about you at lunchtime. He said you were like a breath of fresh air after what's been going on at Good Shepherd lately." She caught sight of Henry and blushed in confusion. "Oh, I'm sorry, Pastor Smith. I didn't know you were there." "Not to worry, no harm done," Henry smiled, "Kevin's quite right. Carl is a breath of fresh air, and doing a fair amount to revive our suffocating church." "I don't understand you church people," Kevin commented, almost as if he were talking to himself, "You're always preaching about God's love and the next thing anybody knows you're spitting at each other like tomcats!" Henry winced visibly. Carl patted Kevin's shoulder. "Unlike tomcats, though, Kevin," he said, smiling, "church people can turn around, clean the spittle off one another, and forgive each other..." "I'm still waiting to see it!" Kevin exclaimed almost angrily, "I have yet to see one of them wipe the spit off their pastor's face!" Again Henry winced. "Kevin," he said quietly, "They haven't all done that." "No, that's true," Kevin admitted, apologetically, "That old lady, what'sher-name, for example..." Silvia patted her husband's arm and smiled at Henry. "I've got to get back to my cooking, Kev," she said, "and you've got to get back to your customers. Why don't you let these fellows sit down, and give them a menu?" "Okay, love," Kevin said, and turned to the two men. "I'd better get you seated and find you a menu, eh?" he grinned. Carl and Henry sat down at the one table still empty, at the back of the shop. Kevin brought them a menu, then went to serve other customers. "Kevin suffers a bit from foot-in-mouth, doesn't he?" Carl observed with a smile. "He's not a bad sort," Henry said, "He's not one to hide behind platitudes or flatter you. He tells you what he thinks. They moved to Goldridge about two years ago, when he bought this bakery. Thanks to their good cooking, they've made a fair go of it. But living across from our church..." He sighed and fell silent. "Why don't you ask them to come tonight?" Carl asked suddenly. "Ask them?" Henry asked in astonishment, "They're not Christians!" "I know—but it's about time they saw some fair-dinkum Christian behaviour." Henry looked skeptical. "I don't know..." he said dubiously, "Sounds a bit iffy to me."
81
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
At that point the restaurant owner came over to take their orders. Several more customers had come in, so they didn't want to keep him long, but Carl asked him at what time he closed his restaurant. "About eight, usually," he replied, "Not much business after eight. Why?" "Just wondered," Carl said. When Kevin had brought them their meal they ate in silence, as the noise level from the roomful of customers waiting for take-away orders had got too high for them to make themselves heard without shouting. When they had finished, they went to the counter and paid Kevin. Despite his powerful voice, they had trouble hearing him over the din. Henry motioned to him to step outside, which he did, following them through the door. "Kevin, we're having a few folk from the church over to my place this evening for a prayer meeting," Henry said, "Would you and Silvia like to drop in and join us after you close the shop?" Kevin frowned at Henry a moment, trying to figure out why he'd be asking him to, of all things, a prayer meeting. His curiosity got the better of him. "Okay, Henry," he said, "I'll try anything once! We'll see you later." He grinned at Carl and Henry, and went back into his bakery. "Well!" Carl exclaimed, "You floored me, then, Henry! I was quite sure you'd rejected the whole idea." "It must have been Silvia's cooking that affected my brain," Henry muttered, "Now he's accepted the invitation I'm getting cold feet..."
!!! At about seven o'clock Henry was pacing nervously around his living room, and Carl was doing his best to calm him down although he felt somewhat apprehensive himself. He heard a car stop outside, and glanced through the window. "Henry," he said softly, "Were you expecting a visit from James Winters?" Henry stopped in mid-stride and went pale. "James? No," he answered, astonished, "Is that him who just drove up?" "Most definitely. I think I'll make myself scarce, for your sake," Carl said, "I'll be in the kitchen, praying. All right?" "All right, Carl. Thanks," Henry answered uncertainly, just as the door buzzer sounded. Henry swallowed hard and went to the front door as Carl slipped out of the room. He opened the door to find a very nervous-looking James Winters standing on the step. "Uh... Good evening, James," he said hesitantly, "What can I do for you?" "G-Good evening, Henry... uh... May I come in?" James asked dubiously. "Of course... uh... Come on in," Henry said, standing aside to let him in. James stepped through the door, and stopped on seeing all the chairs prepared for the meeting. He looked at Henry in surprise. "Are you expecting that many people?" he asked.
82
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Uh... Why... Yes!" Henry answered as he closed the door. He gestured towards the chairs. "Won't you... uh... sit down, James?" Winters moved to the nearest chair and sat down on the edge of it, which was a mistake, for the folding chair was not designed to carry weight on its edge only, and it promptly collapsed under him. Henry saw it happen, and tried very hard to contain the laughter that was rising inside him, but he was so flustered that the effort was beyond him and he roared with mirth at the sight of the Elder's astonished face as he went down. James' trepidation was also his undoing and he burst out laughing as well, so that the sounds of laughter reaching Carl in the kitchen were the last thing he had expected to hear. His curiosity aroused, he decided to take a peek at the situation in the living room. The scene that met his eyes when he reached the doorway was so incongruous that he started laughing too, but he held his hand over his mouth and kept himself out of sight. It was a minute or two before their laughter died down, and by then James had extricated himself, with Henry's help, from the chair, and the two of them were hanging onto each other for support as they tried to quell their mirth. They stood like that for a few moments, catching their breath, then suddenly James straightened up and held Henry by the shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Henry," he said quietly, "Please forgive me. I came to ask you to forgive me, to tell you how sorry I am for the hateful way I've behaved towards you. I've been an utter pig! I'm truly sorry, Henry." Carl caught his breath. Dear Lord, he thought, smiling to himself, You're wonderful! How long would it have taken James to get around to saying that if he hadn't sat on that chair? His smile broadened as he recalled the sight of James on the floor and Henry in stitches, and he took a deep breath to avoid laughing again. Henry, still not quite recovered from his laughter, was beaming from ear to ear. His response, for he was momentarily incapable of speech, was to put his arms around the Elder and hug him. Then he led him to an armchair and motioned to him to sit down. "M-More reliable," he stammered, grinning, and burst out laughing again as he too sat down. James took his seat and put his hand over his mouth but was unable to stifle the chuckle that escaped it. The two men sat grinning at each other without attempting to speak. All of a sudden James caught sight of Carl, who was standing in the archway smiling at them. "Mr. Slade!" he exclaimed in surprise, and glanced apprehensively at Henry who was beckoning to Carl to come in and sit down. "Good evening, Mr. Winters," Carl said, bowing to him and still smiling widely. James fidgeted in his confusion and glanced again at Henry. Carl patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Mr. Winters," he said, "I won't tell anyone." He picked up the offending chair and set it up with the other ones. He grinned 83
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
at James, who was looking rather sheepish, and added, mischievously, "Except my wife, of course!" Henry burst out laughing for the third time, and James looked horrified. "It-It serves me right," he stammered, "I've been a fool!" Henry was instantly serious. He looked at James with a steady gaze. "It wasn't you who was the fool, James," he said, "It was me. I was—I am—your pastor and I should have stopped you right at the beginning and I didn't. It would never have got to that point if I'd been in tune with the Holy Spirit instead of listening to the world's whisperings. I have to ask your forgiveness too, James. Please forgive me for leading you astray." "I forgive you, Henry," James replied, "and I agree with these people who are coming tonight. Please do continue to be our pastor." He paused for a moment, then added, "Only, I don't think I could forgive you if you make me sit on one of those chairs again!" The three men were bent double by a gale of laughter again, to the delight of Alice and Joel who chose that moment to walk in the door. "What's going on here?" Joel asked gruffly, "Are you guys drunk?" "No, Joel," Alice said happily, "They're full of the Holy Spirit!" Joy had filled her heart as they had come in and seen James with Henry and Carl. Henry beamed at them and got up from his chair. James got up and went to Alice and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Alice," he said, simply. He turned to Henry. "This is the person responsible for our hilarity, Henry. Blame it all on her. She told me to come." Carl put his hand firmly over his mouth and hurried out of the room. Henry smiled at Alice. "I should have guessed," he commented, and looking at Joel, added, "Dad, you ought to marry her. She's an angel." "I know," Joel said softly, smiling at Alice. He went to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "What do you think, Alice," he said, winking, "Shall I take his advice?" Alice, mischief all over her face, pretended to look coyly at Joel. Then she looked pointedly at a jewelled ring on her left hand and winked back at him. "What a good idea, Joel," she said. She turned to smile at Henry and then added to Joel, "Your son is very perceptive." Henry grinned at them. "When's the wedding, Dad, Alice?" he asked. "Next month, Henry," Joel replied, "We decided this evening." "That's wonderful," Henry said quietly, smiling, "I really am happy for you. And for me." "And we would like you to officiate," Alice added, "If you're willing." "I'd love to," Henry assured her. James had followed this interchange with a bemused look, and felt a bit like an interloper. He looked from one to another, not knowing what to say. Joel finally realized they had been ignoring him. "Well, James," he said, putting a hand on the Elder's shoulder, "It's good to see you here. I gather my fiancee had something to do with it?" "She came to see Laura and me this morning. She's very persuasive— thank God." "How is Laura, by the way?" Henry asked him. 84
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
James hung his head. "She's not too bad," he said softly, "but she'd be a lot better if she hadn't found out today about my rotten behaviour..." "Nonsense!" Alice exclaimed, "Laura's fine, James, and is very happy to have her husband back to his normal self." Seeing James' look of surprise, she added, "She told me so herself when we dropped by on our way here." "We thought we'd give you a lift," Joel explained, "but Laura said you'd already left." "Was Mandy home yet?" James asked anxiously. "No, she wasn't," Alice replied, "Laura was very upset about that and asked us to pray much for Mandy. Her sister was there with her—Betty had left already." "When Mandy hadn't turned up by six o'clock I wasn't sure whether I should come," James said, "But Laura pleaded with me—she wanted me to come here tonight. She asked me to ring her sister and ask Jean to come to stay with her, so I did. I guess Betty said she'd wait until Jean arrived." "What's been happening with Mandy?" Henry asked. "She's just got worse and worse. She's been skipping school, hanging out with strange people—neither she nor her friends will tell us who those people are. She yells at us all the time, always seems to be mad at us..." "We'll spend some time praying about that whole situation tonight, James," Joel said, "It needs much wisdom from the Lord." The door buzzer sounded and Alice went to open the door. The other church folk had started arriving. They looked surprised but happy to see James there. Carl came back into the room and helped Henry and the others to greet the believers as they arrived, thanking God in his heart for bringing about the reconciliation of Henry and James.
!!! "I wished so much that you could have been there, Em," Carl said, squeezing his wife's hand, "It was so wonderful to be in a group of people who had suddenly rediscovered their real reason for living—Jesus Christ— and were rejoicing together in that discovery and in the return to fellowship with each other." "I have some idea of what it's like, Carl," Emma said softly, "That's what it was like in the late tens when the persecution began." Carl gazed at her a moment as he considered what Emma had lived through with the other believers in Densonia in those years before he had known her, when he had been one of the persecutors. "Thank God for His steadfast love..." he murmured, and sighed. Then he continued, "To see James and Henry hugging each other—when you know how deeply James had hurt Henry—was a real encouragement, Em. I knew then that no matter how smug Lancaster and his lot might be, in the end they can't win. They can't win, because there are still people there who are willing to humble themselves before the Lord. Just like in the end Denson lost. Only, I hope Lancaster can be stopped before he gets anywhere near that far!"
85
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"You said that Henry had asked Kevin and his wife to come. Did they?" "Yes, surprisingly enough, they did!" Carl replied, "Everyone greeted them warmly, which took them by surprise. A few of the people recognized them, and complimented them on their cooking, too. We'd been praying for a while when they arrived, and we interrupted the meeting for a few minutes when they came in, to get them settled in, but then we went back to praying. They just sat in silence through it all. I peeked at them now and then, and most of the time they looked quite bewildered. Kevin was unbelievably subdued!" "I wonder what they made of it." "Yes, we all wondered that, and not least because at the end, as they were leaving, they asked if it would be all right for them to come again..." The afternoon was well advanced by now, and Carl and Emma had walked right around the Park several times since they had first set out after lunch. There were fewer people around now, and most of the kiosks had shut. "It'll be tea-time soon," Emma observed, "Do you think we ought to go home?" "Not yet. We'll have tea out, anyway," Carl said, "Where would you like to go?" "How about the Chinese restaurant round the corner from the flats?" she suggested, "Their food's pretty good and not too expensive." "All right," he said, "We'll go there—but not yet." He stopped to stare out at the Lake, put his arm around Emma and pulled her close. "The worst part of my trip starts at this point in my story, Em," he said, "Let's sit down." He led her to a low wall bordering a raised flower bed and they sat down on the lawn with their backs against the wall, holding hands. Emma leant her head on his shoulder. "Go on," she said quietly, "Tell me about it." "On Thursday morning," Carl began, "Henry went off to the Winters' home because James said he'd try to get the other two Elders to come and meet with him and he wanted Henry to be there. I decided to stay at his house for a few hours and do some Bible reading and spend some time praying and thinking about the whole situation in Goldridge. He gave me his spare house key in case I wanted to go out while he was away." "Was the camper still in Henry's driveway all this time?" "Yes, since I'd moved it from the caravan park. It's still there. I hope it is, anyway! That's where I slept, at night—in the camper." "So, did you spend all Thursday morning praying and reading the Bible, then?" "Most of it. I did some clothes-washing, too. Around eleven I decided to go for a walk. I needed the exercise and I wanted to have a look at the Good Shepherd church. So I locked up the house and the camper and set off down the street."
86
CHAPTER 12 When he reached the shopping centre at the end of Wattle Street, Carl turned up Eucalyptus Street. Everything seemed very quiet—there was little traffic on the streets, and there were few people around the shops. He strode up towards the church, and stopped on the footpath outside when he reached it. There was no-one about that he could see, and there were no cars in the parking lot. He walked over to the building and up the steps, and tried the door. It was locked. "There isn't anybody home!" a shrill voice sang out. Carl looked around for the owner of the voice. A group of teenagers, six boys and girls, was sitting on the grass under a tree at the far end of the carpark, staring at him. He walked over to them. "Do you know if there's ever anyone there when there isn't a meeting on?" he asked them. They just continued to stare insolently at him for a moment, as if he were some peculiar animal in a zoo. He stood gazing at them equably, waiting for one of them to answer. "There's never anyone there even if there is a meeting on!" a red-haired youth sneered, and the others laughed mockingly. "That's a strange thing to say," Carl, unfazed, commented, "Why do you say that?" The boy looked him up and down, turned his head, and spat on the lawn. "That religion stuff is for people who aren't all there," he said, tapping the side of his head with his finger. One of the girls, tall and slim and provocatively dressed, got up and took Carl's arm. "You're not one of those religious blokes, now, are you, handsome?" she purred. Carl pulled his arm from her grasp and moved away from her a few steps. "It so happens I am," he said, and looked down at his arms and legs, "and I seem to be all here." He grinned at the red-haired lad. "I'll bet you can't see your head, mate!" the boy retorted, "How do you know you didn't leave it behind?" The others sniggered. "Your girlfriend wouldn't have been so keen to come close if my head were missing, I don't think!" Carl laughed. "Pow! One point for his team, Blue!" a black lad cheered, slapping his leg. He stood up, and went over to Carl, who was a good head taller than him. "Who are you looking for, hey? Those blokes, Hillman and Greenstone, they left ages ago. You wanting them?" "No, I wasn't looking for anyone in particular," Carl replied, "I just wanted to go inside the church. Churches are good places in which to sit and think." "That place is locked up most of the time," the boy muttered, "Waste of a building, if you ask me!" He shrugged and sat down on the kerb. "Used to be they had youth meetings of a Friday in there, before they kicked ol' Smithie out. Now, we have to meet out here, rain or shine!"
87
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Oh, come on," the boy he'd called Blue snapped, "Those ----- meetings were for wimps and you know it—it's no great loss!" One of the girls had been watching Carl steadily the whole time. She was a slim but not especially pretty young woman with untidy auburn hair and a too-heavily-made-up face. Like the other girls, she wore revealing clothing and an insolent expression on her face. She suddenly got up, brushed bits of grass and leaves off herself, and walked briskly away from the group towards the street. "Hey! Where ya goin'?" Blue exclaimed. She stopped, turned around, and scowled at him. "None of your ----business!" she snapped at him, and walked off, swaying her hips, her head held high. The red-haired boy shrugged and spat again. "Thinks she's boss, she does," he muttered angrily, "but just wait 'til she comes looking for me, I won't be there! Switch to somebody else, I will!" He jumped up and made a grab for the tall girl, who nimbly escaped him and crouched behind the third boy. "You leave me alone, you -----!" she warned Blue. Carl watched them with a strangely sad feeling. He wondered whose children they were—he guessed they were between fifteen and nineteen years old—and whether their parents knew where they were. The boys wore the current 'rebel' fashion, and the three girls were dressed in what he would have normally considered beachwear—very short skirts and halter tops. He wondered vaguely and irrelevantly if they had any sun-blocking lotion on their skin. "Hey, you look pretty bleak, Mister Religious Bloke," the black boy remarked, "You lost your best friend?" Carl gazed at him a moment before answering. The boy's skin colour, and his question, brought back strong memories to Carl's mind of his best friend Andrew Parker, a black man, a Police Officer in the Counselling Institute, who had been executed five years before because he was a Christian. He considered the contrast between Andrew and this boy. "I did lose my best friend once, five years ago," he told the boy, "He was shot by firing squad. But that's not why I'm sad now. The reason I'm sad now is that you boys and girls are wasting your lives when your lives could be so full." The five of them gaped at him in disbelief, then suddenly burst out laughing. But their laughter was mirthless—it was the laughter of those who are too close to the truth and who find that it makes them uncomfortable. The black lad suddenly stopped laughing, and frowned at Carl. "Why was your best friend shot?" he asked curiously. The others also stopped laughing and waited to hear Carl's answer. "He was a Christian," Carl replied, "In the Protectorate, government officials and employees who became Christians were executed as traitors." "Why did they shoot Christians?" the other girl, an olive-skinned, darkhaired girl with black eyes, asked him, "Were they afraid of them?"
88
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, I suppose they were," Carl replied pensively, "The Protectioners considered Christians as enemies. Obviously, then, a Protectioner who turned to Christ would be considered a traitor of the first order." "I can't see why they should've been afraid of Christians," the tall girl commented, "All those church people do is fight!" "That is not normal Christian behaviour," Carl pointed out. He took out his pocket Bible. "May I read you something to explain what true Christians are supposed to be like?" he asked, smiling, and sat down on the kerb near them. "You a preacher, carrying a Bible in your pocket like that?" Blue asked. "I suppose you could call me that," Carl answered, "But I've always carried this Bible with me—you can see it's looking rather the worse for wear. I've carried it ever since the night when Christ saved me. It used to be my wife's, but she gave it to me." "You're married?" the dark girl asked, "You got kids?" "Twins. They're four years old. A girl and a boy." "Oh, they're only little," the tall girl said, "I'd have thought they'd be our ages. You look pretty old!" "I'm probably only as old as your own father," Carl laughed, "That's not that old, surely!" "Ha! That's told you, Carrie!" Blue cried, "Tell him about your father, then!" "Leave my ----- father out of it," Carrie muttered. Carl glanced at her, wondering at the reason behind her obvious disgust. These children were hurting, that was becoming clear, and their hostility was a way of trying to bury the pain. "D'you have a picture of your kids?" the other girl asked. "Oh, Steph, you and kids!" the black boy hooted. "Shut up, Ed!" the girl retorted. "Actually, I do happen to have a photo of my family, in my Bible," Carl said. He slipped the photograph out and handed it to the girl. She looked at it, then passed it to the others, who examined it and gave it back to Carl. "Your wife looks like a nice lady," Carrie observed. Stephanie nodded in agreement. "Emma is the most wonderful woman in the world," Carl said warmly, smiling at the girls. "I wish my Dad would say that about my Mum," the third boy, who so far hadn't said a word, commented unhappily, "He's always swearing at her, calling her names..." Ed hastily interrupted him. "Drop it, Brendan," he said, and turned to Carl, "You were gonna read us something. What was it?" Carl gazed at Brendan a moment before responding. His look told the boy that he had heard him. He opened the Bible to 1 Corinthians 13 and read out verses four to eight slowly. "Love is patient and kind. It doesn't envy others and it never boasts. Love isn't proud and it isn't rude. It doesn't get angry easily and it isn't selfish. Love never holds any wrong against others. It mourns when evil is done, but it rejoices when truth prevails. Love always 89
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
protects and always trusts. It never loses hope and never gives up. Love never ends." He put the Bible back in his pocket. "That is true love, and that is how Christians are supposed to behave towards each other," he said. His audience of five was silent, pondering the words he'd read out. Blue broke the silence first. "But that's impossible!" he exclaimed, "Nobody can do that! It's way too hard!" "You're quite right," Carl agreed, "No-one can love like that—on their own. But that is the way Jesus Christ—God—loves, and a person who belongs to Christ can love that way, but only if they are completely dependent on Him for it." Ed looked at Carl thoughtfully. "Like you," he said quietly, "You are, aren't you?" "I'm what?" Carl asked. "Completely dependent on Jesus Christ," the boy replied, "You're like that." He pointed to Carl's pocket in which he'd put the Bible. Carl's face turned red. "I try to be," he said softly, "I often fail, you know. But Jesus is faithful. When I keep my eyes on Him, He does make it possible for me to love like that." "Like now," Brendan mumbled. Carl looked at him pensively, but didn't say anything. "----- !" the red-haired boy swore, looking at his watch, "Look at the time! I'd better get home and make lunch before my old man gets home! He'd kill me!" "Yeah! I've gotta go too!" Stephanie blurted out, jumping up. Carl stood up and looked at his own watch. "I'd better go and get some lunch, too," he said. He looked at each of them in turn. "It's been good talking to you," he smiled, "I hope we'll get a chance to talk again sometime." "We often sit around here, or in the Wattle Street Park up the road," Ed said, "You can find us easily." "See you later, then," Carl said. They waved to him as they set off in several directions, and he started walking back towards the shopping centre. He had been thinking of going to Kevin's bakery for lunch, but as he walked along he changed his mind and decided to head for the centre of town. He caught a bus at the shopping centre and ten minutes later got off near the Council building, then walked over to the shopping area and looked for a place where he might eat. There was a restaurant with tables set up outside in the mall under the trees, and Carl went to sit at one of the tables. A waitress came over and he placed his order, then sat watching people coming and going along the mall. He thought about the young people he had been talking to, and prayed for them and their families. He wondered how Henry's meeting with the Elders had gone. He thought about Emma and the children and missed them. "Mr. Slade!" a voice interrupted his thoughts, "Fancy meeting you here! Would you mind very much if I sit at your table for lunch?" 90
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He looked up and was astounded to see, standing by his table, the girl who had so suddenly left her friends earlier on. She was still wearing the same provocative clothes, and it made him uncomfortable, but he didn't want to be rude or unfriendly. He gestured towards the chair across the table from him. "Go ahead, there's plenty of room," he answered. To his consternation she chose to sit down in the chair next to him instead of the one he had indicated. "How do you know my name?" he asked the girl. "Oh, I picked it up somewhere," she said airily. "What's your name?" Carl asked. He really wished she would go away, for her whole manner made him uneasy. He considered moving to another chair. "My name's Amanda, but you can call me Mandy. Everybody does," she said, leaning over to pat his arm in such a way that her halter top drooped, and he looked away hastily. "Why aren't you at school, Amanda?" he asked without looking at her. Lord, he prayed, please make her go! "If I were at school I couldn't be having lunch with you, now, could I?" the girl answered cheekily, patting his arm again. "Well, Mr. Slade," another voice interrupted, "What a pretty picture the two of you make. Pity your wife isn't here to see it!" Carl turned to see who was speaking. Geoff Hillman, wearing a black suit as before, smirked at him as he came up to the table. Carl gazed at him steadily, not smiling, and not answering. Mandy had sat up and turned around too. "Hello, Mandy," Hillman said tartly, "Is this your latest conquest?" "It's none of your business, Mr. Hillman," she said smoothly, but Carl was startled to notice her winking at the man. Hillman turned his attention back to Carl. "It's a pity we didn't know about this before we invited you to speak to our church, Mr. Slade," he said icily, "We like our speakers to be men of good reputation." Carl didn't say anything, but continued to gaze at him. Hillman looked momentarily disconcerted, then bowed slightly and moved away. "I've just remembered I was supposed to ring a friend," Carl said to Mandy. He got up, and added, "I've already ordered my lunch, but you can have it, seeing as you haven't ordered anything yet." He put some money on the table. "That should cover the cost of it. Goodbye." Without waiting for an answer or even looking at Mandy, he strode away from the restaurant and headed out of the shopping centre. He wasn't interested in lunch anymore— he had lost his appetite. He walked aimlessly around for a while, not knowing quite what to do. He wondered why Mandy had winked at Hillman. He wondered why she had come to his table in the first place! How had she found him there, anyway? Had she followed him? Had Hillman known she had? Had Hillman told her to follow him?
91
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Then it struck him, all of a sudden! Her name was Mandy, and she'd looked vaguely familiar, even when he'd first seen her with her friends. This was Amanda Winters, James' daughter!
!!! "No wonder her parents were worried about her!" Emma exclaimed, "How old did you say she was?" "Seventeen," Carl answered, "Not finished school yet. I had no idea, when James was telling us about her, that she might be involved with that mob. It wasn't until later that I realized the extent to which she'd become involved..." "Do you think her father's behaviour had something to do with her rebellion?" "No doubt it did, and perhaps her feelings of helplessness with regards to her mothers' illness, too. Initially, anyway." "What did you do, then, after you realized who she was?"
!!! Carl decided to go and visit Laura Winters. As he had no idea where the Winters lived, however, he found his way to the Goldridge telecommunications centre and phoned Joel to find out. Joel gave him their address. "Carl, there's a problem with Henry," he added, "He dropped by after the meeting with the Elders, thinking you might have come here for lunch. He asked me to let you know, if I saw you, that he would be out all afternoon but that he'd like us all to meet here for tea. He was planning to go see a doctor because he was feeling dreadful—looked it, too. He asked if we could try and get together about six. Can you make it?" "Yes, I don't imagine it will take that long to visit Mrs. Winters." "Okay, we'll see you tonight then," Joel said, "I've got to go—customers." "All right, see you later," Carl replied, and hung up. He walked out of the phone office, wondering how to get to the Winters' home. I suppose I'll get a taxi, he thought to himself. As he looked up and down the street, he caught sight of the sign on the building across the way: Greenstone and Company—Printers—The Goldridge Courier, it proclaimed in gold lettering. He postponed getting a taxi and crossed over to the building. There was a large picture window to the side of the doors where a large map of Goldridge, showing street names and points of interest, was displayed. He noticed that Nugget Avenue, where the Winters lived, was not far from the town centre. He could walk there—no need to get a taxi. Although it was lunchtime, the newspaper office was open, and Carl went in to have a look. He decided to buy a copy of the paper as a reason for going in. "Good afternoon, may I help you?" the young man behind the counter greeted him. 92
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I'd like a copy of today's paper, please," Carl replied. The young man handed him a Courier and took his money. "Perhaps you can tell me," Carl said, "Is it possible to purchase copies of photos published in the paper?" "Yes," the man replied, "All you need to do is to provide the date of the particular issue and the page number. There's usually only one photo per page." Carl was about to ask about prices when the young man shifted his attention from him and grinned at someone who had come in through the door behind him. He turned around just as the new arrival reached him, and before he had even seen who it was she had thrown her arms around his neck and was kissing him on the mouth. In his surprise, Carl dropped the newspaper he was holding. He grabbed the woman's wrists and pushed her away from himself. It was Mandy, and she looked very pleased with herself. Out of the corner of his eye, Carl saw the man behind the counter handing something through the door to someone in the office beyond. "What do you think you're doing, Amanda?" he asked grimly, frowning at the girl as he released her arms. "Kissing you!" she replied saucily, her hands on her hips, "Pity you didn't let me do it properly, but it'll make a good picture anyway! Thanks for the lunch!" She smiled insolently, tossed her head, and ran out the door. Carl stood staring at the door. He surmised that the girl had followed him from the restaurant, and the implication was that she was after him on purpose. Whose purpose, was the question. What did she mean by "It'll make a good picture?" He turned back to the counter. "Anything else?" the young man asked, looking at him oddly, his manner over-solicitous. "No, uh... thanks," Carl replied. He stood undecided a moment, then turned and walked out of the building, leaving the newspaper where he'd dropped it. He checked the map in the window again, and set off towards the Winters' home. The walk was very welcome, for it gave him time to think about the odd incidents of the day and to try and figure out what was going on. It took him about fifteen minutes to reach the Winters' house, another ordinary blockshaped construction like Henry's but surrounded by a most extraordinary garden. He could not recall ever before having seen such a profusion and variety of shrubs and flowers in one place. A covered verandah had been added to the front of the house and a honeysuckle vine climbed up its pillars and covered its roof. A concrete ramp led up to the verandah from the edge of the footpath, and Carl walked up it to the front door and pressed the buzzer. He heard brisk footsteps approaching inside the house, and presently the door slid open and a large, smiling woman whom he guessed to be Laura's nurse greeted him. "Good afternoon, may I help you?" she said cheerfully.
93
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
It occurred to Carl that if one had to have a full-time nurse to look after one it was a good thing to have someone who was good-natured about it. He smiled back. "Is Mrs. Winters able to receive visitors today?" he asked. "Oh, yes, and she'll be glad to see someone else besides me! She needs cheering up, Mr. Slade," the nurse answered. "How do you know my name?" he asked in surprise. "Oh, Mr. Winters was talking about you the other day, and he had a picture from one of the national newspapers. But please, do come in. I'm Betty, Laura's nurse. I'll just let Laura know you'd like to see her." He entered the house and went through the front hall to the living room. The nurse shut the door and went down to Laura's room. She came back after a moment to tell him that Laura would be very happy to see him, and led the way to her room. She warned Carl that Laura was essentially paralyzed from the neck down and unable to move anything except her head. "Some people find that difficult to cope with," she said, "I hope you don't." "A few years ago I had an accident, and I spent many months in physiotherapy, surrounded by people in various stages of paralysis," Carl replied, "I don't think it will be a problem." The nurse preceded Carl into the room, and asked Laura if it would be all right if she took a short break. Laura smiled at her. "Of course, Betty," she said, "I'll ask Mr. Slade to find you if I need help." She looked at Carl, still smiling. "Good afternoon, Mr. Slade. It's very nice of you to visit me. I've heard a lot about you from James and Alice, and I was sorry not to be able to go to your talk on Monday." Laura had the same auburn hair and hazel eyes as her daughter, and her voice was the same, but the resemblance ended there. The rest of Amanda's looks had to be inherited from her father. Laura's face was pretty, but the rest of her was very thin. Only constant physiotherapy kept her emaciated body from seizing up completely. Carl went up to the bed and bowed slightly. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Winters, having met your husband a few times this week," he smiled, "From what I've heard, though, you are one person in this town who didn't need to hear my talk on Monday—you've already been doing much about its subject." He looked around for a chair, found it, brought it to the bedside, and sat down. "What do you mean, Mr. Slade?" Laura asked curiously. "Alice McIntire informs me that you have been one of the few people in town praying fervently for the church in Goldridge," he replied. Laura reddened and looked down at her hands. "The church here has been in a terrible mess over the last year or two," she said quietly. "Yes, I know," Carl said, "Henry Smith told me all about it." Laura looked up quickly. "Did he say anything about James?" she asked with apprehension.
94
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"He didn't have to, I saw," Carl answered softly, "but I also saw James apologise to him last night." He smiled as he remembered the incident of the chair. "He and Henry are good friends again, I think." "Yes, they came in here this morning to tell me. It was so nice to see Henry again—he hadn't been here for some weeks." Carl looked at the window and beyond it to the wonderful garden. "You have a beautiful view from your window," he commented. "James had that window put in for me," she explained, "He spends a great deal of his spare time keeping the view beautiful." Carl was delighted to hear this—it confirmed what he had felt about James after meeting him and what Henry had told him about the man and his family. "Your husband is a special man, Laura," he said. "Oh, he certainly is, Mr. Slade," Laura said warmly, "He's a wonderful man. He carries a heavy burden, as you can see. But he's never complained about the difficulties brought on by my illness, you know. He's just looked after me and taken on everything so cheerfully." She looked out of the window and smiled, but suddenly her smile disappeared as she recalled something. "Mr. Slade," she said, "Did you know that James and Henry were going to meet here with the other Elders this morning?" "Yes, Henry told me. How did it go, do you know?" Laura looked distressed. "I don't really know, but it didn't sound very good, Mr. Slade," she said softly. "Please, call me Carl," he said, "May I call you Laura?" She nodded. "Of course. Please do," she replied, "Well, Carl, there was plenty of shouting going on out there—in the lounge, I mean—and it was mostly Tom and Matt. Have you met them?" "I don't know. I may have, on Monday, I can't remember. They introduced me to rather a large number of people." "I'm worried about it. James wouldn't comment, and Henry looked quite grey when he came in to say goodbye." "His father told me he was sick. Apparently he was going off to the doctor's this afternoon." They gazed silently out of the window together for a few moments, then Carl sighed and glanced at his watch. Plenty of time before he had to be back at Joel's. "There was something else I wanted to mention, Laura," he said, "I met your daughter this morning." "Oh dear—that means she was skipping school again," Laura said despondently, "Was she with her friends?" "At first, yes, then I saw her again later in the Civic Centre, but she was on her own, then." At least, she'd appeared to be on her own, Carl thought to himself, recalling Mandy's winking at Hillman. "We're awfully worried about Mandy, Carl," Laura explained, "Over the last year or so she's become very rebellious and irresponsible. She used to be such a quiet, tractable girl, and everybody used to comment on what a nice girl she was. I don't know what happened, except that her decline seems to have coincided with the worsening of my illness." "Do you mind if I ask you what your illness is, Laura?" Carl said. 95
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"No, I don't mind. It's a rare progressive disorder of the nervous system— the name is unpronounceable, at least for me. Get James to write it down for you sometime. There's still no treatment for it, despite all the research that's gone on all over the world. Of course, the Protectorate had no research into it at all." "Are you confined to bed all the time?" "I used to be able to get about in a wheelchair, but I hardly ever can, these days—I break out in pressure sores almost instantly, so I stay in this airbed most of the time. It keeps my body changing position slightly every few minutes, to keep the circulation going properly. James does take me to the hospital pool when I'm able to cope with the trip in the car, but that hasn't been possible for a while." "Doesn't it get you down, being immobile all day?" "I get depressed sometimes, but overall I'm not unhappy, Carl. God's been good to me. James is wonderful. I'm only worried about Mandy, and for James' sake. Betty's a good friend. She's a Christian, which is a blessing. We pray and sing together a lot. She thinks up all sorts of ways to keep my brain working, and to make physiotherapy more fun." "She's here all day, every day, I gather. Does she live nearby?" "No, she doesn't even live in Goldridge—she commutes every day from Mallee. It's a fair way. She takes Saturday and Sunday afternoons off, when James is here. She's a special person too." "She certainly is," Carl agreed. He paused and then changed back to a previous subject. "So you think your illness has disturbed your daughter Amanda to such an extent that she's had a complete change of personality?" he asked. "I-I don't know what to think," Laura stammered, her eyes filling with tears, "I-I haven't seen Mandy for two weeks—she comes home late, and she never comes in here any more. All I can do is p-pray, Carl! What else can I do in this state?" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering her. "Laura," he said, "There's something extremely unpleasant going on in this town, and I think Amanda has somehow become mixed up in it. There's more to her problem than just rebellion." He sighed. "You remember the Protectioners, Laura, don't you?" She nodded. "Yes, I know who they were. Are you suggesting that they're behind what's been going wrong here?" "I'm not just suggesting it. I know they are," Carl said, "I have good reasons to be sure of it." "But I thought they were all in prison!" she exclaimed. "They're not. And this is where we need your help, Laura. If we're to stop that mob from carrying out their plans, we need you to pray and to get others to pray." Carl hesitated, but then went on, "Laura, what I'm going to tell you will help you to pray, but I would like you not to talk about it with anyone but God unless I tell you it's okay. Can you promise that, d'you think?"
96
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
She looked thoughtfully at him for a few moments before answering. "Yes, Carl, I can promise that," she said, finally, "I'll talk only to God about whatever it is you're going to tell me." "The man at the head of all this mess is the mayor, Ross Lancaster," he began, staring out the window as he spoke, "I've known that man for a long time. He is completely unprincipled and extremely ambitious. He has told me himself that his aim is to return to a Protectorate-type dictatorship, with himself as president and this town as its capital. He has somehow managed to win the favour of most of the people here—how, I don't know. He doesn't care whom he destroys on his way to power, but he's determined to get rid of anyone who gets in his way, even by killing them if necessary. He and his mob are responsible, to some extent, for the state of the church here. I say 'to some extent' because unfortunately the rot started before he got into the act. He just took advantage of it. He's quite determined to destroy all believers in this country, though. I've met two of his allies here—Alf Greenstone and Geoff Hillman." He looked up at Laura. She was horrified by what he'd told her, and didn't know what to say. "I think Lancaster has somehow got a hold on Amanda and is using her for his own ends," he added gently. He got up to fetch a tissue to wipe Laura's face, for she was crying. "Th-Thank you," she said as he wiped the tears from her cheeks, "I can't do that for myself." "So I guessed," he said, "You see what we're up against, don't you? Why we need all the prayers you can muster?" "Yes. Don't worry, you'll get them. Thank you for sharing that with me—I promise I won't say a word to anyone about it until you say so." "Thank you," Carl said, getting up, "I'll have to go now, I have to meet Henry for tea this evening. I'll tell Betty to come back in here as I go out, okay?" "Yes, thanks. and thank you so much for coming, Carl," Laura said, smiling, "God bless you." He patted her shoulder. "God bless you, too, Laura," he replied, "And your family. Don't give up hope for Amanda." "I won't," she assured him. He left the room and went to find Betty to let her know he was leaving, then let himself out and walked down the ramp towards the street. He was halfway along the ramp when Mandy suddenly jumped out from behind one of the bushes on the front lawn. Carl sighed. I'm getting a bit tired of this girl, he thought, wondering what she was up to this time. "What were you doing at my house?" she asked imperiously, standing in front of him on the ramp, her arms crossed. "I might answer that if you can ask it politely, Amanda," he said quietly. "You were visiting my mother and you were alone with her," Mandy said insolently, "I know—I saw Betty come out to cut some flowers while you were in there. What were you up to with my mother, when my old man isn't home?" 97
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Excuse me, Amanda," Carl said, starting to walk past her, "I haven't got time to play games. Why don't you go and see your mother? She's missed you very much." "My ----- mother can drop dead!" Mandy snapped, her face suddenly contorted hideously as she spat the words out. Carl stopped, turned around, and stared at the girl as if she were an apparition. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "How dare you speak that way about your mother," he said, quietly but fiercely, "All you seem able to do is to be insolent and disobedient, causing your parents incredible anguish. Why don't you start doing the right thing and showing some love for your mother instead of trying to make her condition worse?" She wriggled from his grasp and slapped him hard on the face. "Mind your own business, you ----- !" she yelled, and ran off towards the back of the house. Carl, stunned, watched her go, his hand over his cheek. "Quite the little fury, isn't she?" chuckled a middle-aged woman who had watched the episode from her garden next door. Carl turned slowly to see who was speaking. "Hard to believe she used to be such a quiet kid not so long ago, isn't it?" the woman continued. "That's what everyone says," Carl replied. He wasn't interested in gossip. He looked at his watch. "Excuse me, please, I've got to get going." He walked away towards the town centre, still nursing his face. He hailed the first taxi he saw, and asked the driver to take him to the shopping centre where Joel had his coffee shop.
98
CHAPTER 13 "That's an interesting mark you've got on your face, Carl," Joel remarked as he carried a tray with two mugs of coffee and led Carl to a table at the back of the coffee shop. Carl's hand went up to his cheek and he grimaced. "Courtesy of Amanda Winters, Joel," he said. Joel's bushy eyebrows rose to meet his wild grey hair. He put the tray down on the table and frowned at Carl. "Why on earth did she slap you?" he asked. "I told her off for cursing her mother," Carl replied as he sat down and took one of the mugs. Joel sat down facing him. "Is she down to that kind of thing, now?" he said, "My word! She's not improving, is she?" He looked very concerned, and indeed, he was. The Winters were old friends—he'd known Mandy since she was a baby. "Did you get to see Laura?" he asked, "You said on the phone you hoped to visit her." "Yes, I saw her," Carl replied, tapping his teaspoon on the table, "She's very upset about her daughter. She told me that Amanda hasn't been into her room—Laura's room, that is—for two weeks!" "Poor Laura! She must feel so awfully helpless!" "I gather she spends a great deal of time praying, and she told me that she considers that God has been very good to her." Carl paused pensively. He put down his teaspoon and toyed with his serviette instead. "That's really something, you know, when you realize just what it must mean to be completely immobile like that." "Laura used to play the piano, the guitar, and the flute. She used to do a fair bit of gardening. And she was also a very good seamstress, you know," Joel reminisced, "until—sometime during the Protectorate, it was—she suddenly started tripping over her own feet, and dropping things, and being unable to lift things. It wasn't so bad as long as she could get around, even in a wheelchair. It's when she finally lost all control of her limbs that it became really hard for them, about a year and a half, two years, ago. The doctors reckon that it won't be long before she can't even breathe on her own." He shook his head sadly. "It's been terribly hard for the family." He got up and went to attend to a customer who had just come in. Carl sat reviewing the afternoon, and what Joel had said, as he sipped his coffee. He felt quite sure, as he'd said to Laura, that there was more behind Amanda's behaviour than just normal teenage rebellion. There was a hostility behind her conduct which chilled him. He hadn't found that hostility in her friends, yet they, too, were clearly rebelling. Something was niggling in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He closed his eyes and prayed for the Winters family. Henry arrived just after six, and Alice a few minutes later. Alice and Carl were shocked by Henry's appearance—he looked much worse, even, than he
99
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
had on the Monday morning when Carl had first met him. He sat down heavily on the chair across from Carl's and held his head on his hands, his elbows leaning on the table. "Did you get to the doctor's, Henry?" Alice asked, taking a seat at their table. "Yeah..." he answered, barely audibly, "He said there's nothing wrong with me, physically." "But you look like you're minutes away from the grave, mate!" Carl exclaimed, "What did he have to say about that?" "'Have you had any nasty shocks lately?' That's what he asked me," Henry muttered, "I've had a nasty shock, all right. So has James." "The Elders' meeting." Joel, arriving just in time to hear what Henry said, stated it as a fact. Henry nodded wearily. "Dad," he said, turning to Joel, "do you still have that camp bed you used to keep in the back room?" "Yes, that's still there," his father replied, "Are you wanting to lie down for a bit?" Henry nodded again, and Joel helped him up and led him off to the door, beckoning to Carl with his chin. "Come and give us a hand, would you?" he said. Joel supported his son, and told Carl where to find the camp bed and how to set it up. When that was done, he helped Henry to lie down, and rummaged in a cupboard until he found a pillow and blanket. He handed Carl the pillow, and Carl placed it under Henry's head while Joel spread the blanket over him and removed his shoes. Henry had closed his eyes almost before he lay down. "Can you stay with him a few minutes and make sure he's okay, Carl?" Joel asked, "I've got to get back to the shop." "Sure. No problem," Carl answered. He sat down on the floor by the stretcher, near Henry's head, as Joel left the room. "What happened, Henry?" he asked softly, "This morning, I mean. Laura said she heard the other Elders shouting." "Oh, I'm glad you've seen Laura!" Henry said without opening his eyes, "This morning... Yeah, they shouted... They called James and me the foulest things they could think of—in James' own living room! And then, Carl, then..." He grimaced and fell silent. After a moment he sighed. "Then they showed us some photographs... Unless we keep our mouths shut the pictures will be published on the front page of the Courier." "What kind of photographs?" Carl asked, though he could guess. "The kind no-one would want to see anywhere, of themselves, of their loved ones. Especially not in the newspaper!" Henry still spoke very softly. He fell silent again. He still kept his eyes shut. "Have a sleep, mate," Carl said, patting his shoulder, "It'll help." Henry rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. Carl bowed his head and prayed quietly but earnestly for wisdom for them all, and for a restful night for James and Laura. Then he got up, and seeing that Henry was asleep, went back into the cafe. 100
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He explained to Joel and Alice what Henry had told him. Henry's father looked like he was about to explode as he voiced his opinion of this new and contemptible attack on his son. "And on James, too!" Alice exclaimed, "What is going on in this town?" "Something very ugly," Carl sighed. He told them about his encounters with Mandy and his visit to Laura. "Also," he added, "this morning I had quite a long chat with Amanda's friends, and I didn't find the kind of hatred in them that I saw in Amanda. There's something happening with that girl that I can't quite fathom." "Sounds to me like she's being egged on by someone else," Joel mused out loud, "My word! Why else would she be following you? I wouldn't have thought she'd know you from Adam!" "Sounds to me like someone is having a go at Carl," Alice observed, "It would appear that someone wants to discredit you, Carl, and I'd say it's probably the same people who've been tearing the local churches apart... Don't you think so?" "I don't know why they would be bothered about me," Carl said, "but I admit I tend to agree." They invited me here, after all, he said to himself. "I told Laura her part in all this is critical," he added, "We need all the prayer support we can get..." He suddenly felt very tired. "You wouldn't happen to have two camp beds, would you, Joel?" he asked. Joel laughed. "You know what, Carl?" he said, "If Alice is willing to hold the fort here, I'm going to drive you and Henry home right now and get you to bed! You blokes have had quite a day! Are you game, Alice?" "Yes, Joel," she smiled, "I can handle your coffee shop. I think it's a good idea. These boys have had a rough day." Carl grinned at Alice—Henry and he were hardly boys! "I'll get the car and take it to the back of the shop," Joel said as he stood up, "See you shortly, Alice." "See you later, Joel," Alice said, and turned to Carl with a twinkle in her eye. "Carl, was that silly grin because of my calling you 'boys'?" she asked mischievously. "How old is Henry, Alice?" Carl asked with a smile. "Forty-nine, I believe," she answered, "How old are you?" "Forty-five." "Mere lads, you see. I'm well into my seventies, old enough to be your mother." "And about to become Henry's, eh?" "He hasn't objected," Alice laughed, "In fact, he's agreed to officiate at our wedding." "That will be a very special occasion," Carl said, then, suddenly serious, he asked, "How long ago did his wife die?" "Let's see..." she replied thoughtfully, "It was twelve years ago, Carl. They'd been married just ten years." "He's had a rough time..." Carl muttered, looking towards the door. He sighed. "Well, I'd better get on home with him." He turned to Alice again.
101
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Good-night, Alice, see you tomorrow sometime," he said, and headed to the back room. "Good-night, Carl," Alice smiled, "God bless you."
!!! Henry's phone was beeping insistently, but he was so deeply asleep that it was a good three minutes before the sound reached his consciousness. He lay in his bed another minute trying to work out what the sound was, and realised it had been going on for some time. He got up slowly, still feeling unwell, and made his way to the lounge. He drew a chair up to the phone and sat down before picking up the instrument. "Yes?" he asked sleepily. "Henry? Are you all right?" Joel's voice sounded urgently through the receiver. "Oh, hello, Dad," Henry muttered, "Yeah, I'm all right. Why are you ringing so early?" "It's not so early, son," Joel replied, "It's after seven-thirty. My shop opens at seven, you know. Anyway, the reason I'm calling you is to ask you if you've seen this morning's Courier. My word! Page three. Have you seen it already?" "No—I was still asleep," Henry said. He was wide awake now. "What do you mean? Oh—hang on, someone's at the door. Can you hang on a minute?" "Sure." The door buzzer sounded a second time. Henry went to the door and opened it to find Carl, white-faced, holding the morning paper. "Come in, Carl," he said anxiously, "What's the matter? You're looking a bit pale!" He pulled at Carl's sleeve, and closed the door when Carl had stepped through. "Sit down, mate. Excuse me—I've got Dad on the phone." He returned to the instrument. "Dad? That was Carl, and I think he's seen what you were referring to. He's got the paper and he's as white as a sheet!" "Yes, I'm not surprised," Joel remarked, "but warn Carl to be on his guard. Remember what they did to you. I don't think they've finished with him." "I will, thanks, Dad. Look—I'll, we'll come by later. Oh, wait a minute— you brought us home last night, didn't you?" "That's right." "That means my car's over there... Oh, well, we'll take a taxi. Must see to Carl. Thanks for ringing, Dad. See you later." Henry replaced the phone and turned to Carl. His friend was sitting at the table, his face in his hands. Henry got up and went to pick up the newspaper which Carl had dropped on the floor next to his chair. He opened it to page three and stared at it, stunned. He pulled out a chair and dropped onto it. "Oh, brother! No wonder you're pale, Carl," he said, putting a hand on Carl's shoulder.
102
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl lifted his head and looked at Henry, but said nothing. He didn't know what to say. A thought occurred to the pastor. "Oh dear!" he exclaimed, "I wonder if Laura's seen them?" There were two photographs on page three, breaking the pattern mentioned by the man in the Courier office. One was of Carl at the restaurant with Mandy leaning over suggestively, one hand on his arm. It had been taken from behind them, but both Carl and Mandy were clearly recognisable. The other picture was of Mandy kissing Carl. The captions were aimed at undermining both Carl's and the Winters' reputations. There was a headline at the top of the page: "Well-known Preacher Has a Sweetheart in Goldridge." Carl stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He walked over to the lounge and stopped. He turned around and gazed at Henry without seeing him. His blue eyes were full of pain. He took a few steps back towards the table, then stopped again and sighed. "I wish Emma were here," he said so softly it was almost a whisper, "Oh, I wish she were here." "You wouldn't want your wife to see that, surely!" Henry exclaimed, waving the paper. "No, not really. It's too awful... But Emma would know what to do, you know," Carl said, finally looking properly at Henry, "When I don't know what to do she always seems to... And right now I don't know what to do." "I'll tell you what to do right now. Sit down and I'll make you some breakfast," Henry, suddenly feeling better, told him. After all Carl had done for him, he could, for a change, do something for Carl. "How about a cup of tea to start with?" "I don't really want anything..." "Sit down, anyway. I'll make us a cup of tea and some toast." Carl sat down at the table, and Henry went out to the kitchen, taking the paper with him. He folded it up, unlocked a drawer, added the newspaper to a pile of papers in it, and locked the drawer again. The police might want this sometime, he thought. Alf Greenstone and friends, the case against you is growing...
!!! No sooner had she seen the Courier than Alice had gone straight to the Winters' home. James, his face ashen, opened the door. He was holding the morning paper. "Alice! Have you seen the paper?" he exclaimed. "That's why I'm here!" Alice replied unblinkingly, "Has Laura seen it?" "Not yet—I don't really want her to, either!" "Well, we'd better show it to her, then," Alice said, taking James' arm and heading for Laura's room. James stopped her. "But, Alice, it'll get her terribly upset!"
103
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Alice looked at him soberly. "Would you rather Alf Greenstone showed it to her, James? I know he visits her regularly!" James went pale. Yes, Alf had made a point of visiting Laura at least once a fortnight. He knew that Laura didn't like the man, but she had always been very polite to him. Alf had published this! "I see what you mean, Alice," he said quietly, "All right, let's show it to her, then." "Is Betty here?" "Not yet. She usually gets here about eight, just as I'm leaving for work." James opened the door to the bedroom and looked in. "Laura, are you awake?" he asked, "Alice is here." "Oh, do let her in, James," Laura answered, "But—she's awfully early, isn't she?" James let Alice through and followed her in. Alice went over to the bed and gave Laura a hug and a kiss. "Good morning, Laura, how are you?" she asked quietly. "I'm quite well, Alice... But what's wrong with you, James?" Laura looked beyond Alice to her husband. "Laura, James has had a shock," Alice said matter-of-factly, "You're about to get one, too. But I'd like you to know that it's all a lie, a horrible lie, believe me." She took the paper from James, who yielded it freely, opened it to page three, and folded it back. Then she showed it to Laura. James had come over to the bed when Alice had taken the paper, and had put an arm around his wife's shoulders. The colour drained from Laura's already-pale cheeks as she saw the photos of her daughter and Carl and read the caption. "Oh, that poor man!" she gasped, "They're doing it to him, too—just like they did to the others! And-And Mandy's helping them!" She turned her face against James' shoulder and burst into tears. James hugged her against him, his own eyes filling. Alice folded up the paper and put it at the foot of the bed, and fetched some tissues to wipe Laura's face. "Joel reckons this isn't the worst they can do to Carl," she said, "I rang him when I saw the paper. He told me to come over to see you." "What does he mean about 'the worst' they can do to Carl?" James asked. "He reckons they're out to destroy Carl's reputation once and for all, for their own reasons. He thinks the people behind this want more than just Goldridge, and perhaps by attacking Carl, who's known all over the country, they can achieve more of their goals. Carl had already told Joel and me about the encounters with Mandy, yesterday evening. Little did he know... One thing he did say is that he's quite sure Mandy is being used. Whether she's being forced into it, or whether she's doing it willingly is another question. Carl and Henry aim to find out."
104
CHAPTER 14 As Carl and Henry sat at the table having breakfast, the door buzzer sounded again, several times in quick succession. "Who can that be?" Henry muttered, getting up to go and open the door. It was Kevin, looking very upset. From the door he couldn't see Carl, and when Carl heard his voice he quietly moved further out of sight. "Uh, sorry to disturb you, Henry," Kevin said, seeing that the pastor was still in his night clothes, "but I was wondering if you could come over to our house... Uh... You see, we've got Mandy Winters there, in such a state... I thought seeing as you know her family, and you're their pastor... We've got the doctor coming, too." "Mandy Winters?" Henry exclaimed, "What's she doing at your place?" "Her friends found her this morning, behind the church. They saw me out in my garden, and seeing as they know me and Silvie, they came to get me... Can you come?" "Yes, yes, of course. Just have to get dressed," Henry answered, "Why don't you go on back home. I'll be right over, soon's I get some togs on." "Okay," Kevin said, relieved, "See you shortly." He left and Henry shut the door. "Oh, brother," he said, sweeping his hands through his hair over and over, "Did you hear that, Carl?" "I heard," Carl replied grimly, "I'm not surprised. They've got what they wanted out of her, so they've dumped her. I guess just this once I won't offer to come along..." "No. You'd better stay here. Stay put and lie low. I wouldn't put it past them to try and blame you. I'll be back as soon as I can, and I think I'll ask Dad and Alice to come here rather than us going there. Excuse me, I'd better get dressed." Henry went out to his room and came back shortly wearing slacks and a sports shirt, his hair still dishevelled, his face unshaved. "I'll see you later, Carl," he said as he went through the room, "Make yourself at home." "Thanks, mate," Carl replied. He was clearing the table. "Go with the Lord." "Oh, bother!" Henry exclaimed loudly, startling Carl, "I've just remembered my car's over at Dad's shop!" He looked undecided for a moment, then he threw up his hands and opened the front door. "Oh, well, I'll just have to walk," he said, looking at Carl and shrugging, "It's not far, anyway, just round the corner. 'Bye." He went out, shutting the door behind him. He walked as fast as he could up Wattle Street, for he recalled that there was a narrow laneway further up that crossed over between the houses to Eucalyptus Street. He jogged along this, then hurried down towards Kevin's house. Mandy's friends were sitting on the grass in front of the house, looking anxious. They stared at Henry as he walked up to the front door.
105
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Morning, Pastor Henry," Stephanie finally piped up. "Hi, Stephanie," Henry smiled. "Hi, all of you," he added. The others mumbled back a greeting. "Do you know how Mandy's doing?" Henry asked them. "She's really crook," Ed said fearfully. "Has the doctor been yet?" "Don't think so," Stephanie answered. Henry pressed the buzzer and Kevin let him in almost immediately. "Good," he said, "You got here quickly." He indicated the group on the lawn. "Those kids are really worried about her." "Have they seen the paper yet?" "Yes, they're pretty upset about that, too." Kevin looked straight at Henry. "They say he's been set up—like you were," he said firmly, "and they used the Winters girl and then did this to her. Come on." He led the way to their spare bedroom and let Henry in. "Silvie," he said to his wife, who was standing next to the bed, "Henry's here." Turning to Henry, he added, "We're still waiting for the doctor." "Hello, Silvia." Henry greeted her as he entered the room, then turned his attention to Mandy. He sat down on the edge of the bed. The girl was conscious, but deathly pale and very frightened. "Hello, Mandy," he said quietly, "What happened?" She stared wide-eyed at him but didn't answer, and he wondered if she knew who he was. He glanced up at Kevin and Silvia. "Do you know?" They shook their heads. "No," Kevin said, "No idea." "Pastor Henry?" Mandy said suddenly, in a small voice. He turned back to her. "What is it, Mandy?" he said gently. "I-I want my Mum!" she cried, and the tears came. Silvia sat down on the other side of the bed and gathered the girl up in her arms. "It's all right, Mandy, we'll take you to your parents as soon as the doctor's been," she said to her, "We've called the doctor to come and see you." "Would you like me to ring your dad, Mandy?" Henry asked her. "Please, yes, tell him to come," she sobbed. "Kevin, may I use your phone, please?" Henry asked, getting up. "Sure. It's in the lounge. Come and I'll show you." Kevin led the way out of the room, Henry following. The pastor entered the Winters' code and waited. When the light came on, he picked up the phone. "James? This is Henry," he said, "Could you possibly come over to number fifteen, Eucalyptus Street, right away? It's urgent. It's about Mandy. The house straight across from Good Shepherd." "I'll be right over," James replied, "Betty's here now so I can leave Laura. Alice is here too. I'll be there in about ten minutes." He hung up. Henry put the phone down and turned to Kevin. "He said he'll be right over. Can you tell me any more about Mandy?" "Not really. Her friends found her behind the church, all in a heap, barely conscious, and bleeding like mad. All she had on was this short gown, like a hospital gown, you know? They couldn't tell what was wrong with her and 106
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
she was incoherent. They saw me watering my lawn and ran over to get me. I've often seen them hanging around the church, and sometimes we have a natter. I just picked her up and brought her over. Silvie put her to bed while I rang the doctor and went to get you. I was going to bring you back with me except that you weren't dressed." "Have you seen the paper yet?" "Yeah—I told you, Carl's been set up, like you were. He's not the kind of bloke who'd go round chasing teenagers. That lot out there agree, by the way. I gather he had a natter with them, showed them a photo of his wife and kids. They like him. Coming from them, that says a lot. They said he treated them like real people. They also told me that Mandy's been very strange the last few months and hanging out with strange folk. They reckon they're the ones who did this to her." "I might have a chat to them when James gets here. I know those kids— they hang around the church grounds a lot. A couple of them used to come to the old youth group now and then."
!!! Back at Henry's house, Carl finished washing up the breakfast things and went back to the living room. He got one of Henry's Bibles from the bookshelf and sat down in an armchair. He turned to the Psalms and found Psalm 64. Its words comforted him, reassuring him that God would always have the upper hand, no matter how much evil people might plot: "He will make their own words turn against them and He will bring about their destruction;... Rejoice in the Lord, all who are righteous, who look to Him for refuge; Praise Him, all who love what is right!" He read through Psalm 63, which reminded him of his part: "O God, You are my God, I seek You with all my being;... I have seen you in the holy place; I have seen Your power and glory... For as long as I live I will praise You..." He got down on his knees and began worshipping God, remembering all that the Lord had done for him, even before he'd known Him. His praises turned into song and after a few minutes he was singing joyfully and the words just flowed from his heart, an offering to the Lord in the midst of his
107
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
distress. Then as suddenly as he'd started, he stopped singing, and knelt there in amazement, completely reassured in his spirit that God had everything under control and was with him. He jumped as the door buzzer sounded, and wondered who might be out there. Without showing himself, he glanced out the window, and recognized Joel's car. He went to the door and slid it open. Joel was standing there, smiling broadly. "Was that you singing, just now?" he asked.. Carl reddened and said it was. "Come on in," he added, stepping aside, "Henry's out at the moment—did you want to see him?" "Both of you, actually," Joel replied, "Do you know how long he'll be?" "No, he's gone over to Kevin's. Sorry, I don't know his surname. Kevin and Silvia have Mandy at their place. Her friends found her behind the church this morning and fetched Kevin to get her. He lives across the street. From the church, I mean." "Oh, yeah, I know the bloke—big black bear of a man," Joel remarked, "Alice went over to the Winters' first thing this morning. I wonder if they know where Mandy is?" "I expect Henry will let them know as soon as he can, especially if she's hurt—and from Kevin's tone I suspect she was." "Do you mind if I stay and wait until Henry gets back?" "No, of course not. Actually, I'm very thankful to have your company. I'm feeling somewhat out of sorts." "Yeah—that was some dirty trick they played on you.," Joel said heatedly, "My word! And on Mandy! How low will these people stoop?" "As low as it's possible to get," Carl said quietly, "I know—I used to be a Protectioner. I've seen their methods and I've used them myself. As you said, this is only the beginning." Joel eyed Carl thoughtfully, but didn't say anything. He went to sit on the sofa. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Carl asked him. "Yes, thanks. That would be nice," Joel replied. "Did you close your coffee shop today?" Carl asked as he headed towards the kitchen. "Yeah—for this morning, at least." After a few minutes, Carl brought in two mugs of tea, handed one to Joel, and sat down in an amchair. "I was saying to Henry this morning that I wish my wife were here—she's so much better at coping with crises than I am. But I'm glad she didn't have to see those photos—and I hope she never does see them." "I get the impression, from what you've told us about your wife, that she knows you well enough that those photos wouldn't upset her unduly," Joel commented, "I do hope you will bring her here someday, and your children. I'd like to meet them." "And I'd like them to meet you, too. And Alice. And Henry. I certainly intend to bring them here sometime, as soon as this business is dealt with."
108
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
!!! James arrived at Kevin's house with Alice, and Henry was pleased to see that Alice had driven them over in her car. It would be better if James didn't have to drive to take Mandy home. They followed Henry into the bedroom, and James bent over his daughter. Her eyes were closed. "Mandy, it's Dad," he said softly. She opened her eyes and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Dad, please take me home, please," she started crying again, "I've had such an awful time." "Mandy," her father replied, "as soon as the doctor's seen you I'll take you home, okay? Mrs. McIntire is here with me. She'll drive us home." Alice had gone to the other side of the bed, where she stood with Silvia, watching James and his daughter. Henry tapped James on the shoulder. "Now that you're here," he said, "I think I'll go back home. Carl's on his own, and he's had a pretty bad shock, too." "Okay, Henry, thanks for calling me," James said, "I'll let you know how things go—or Alice can." "Fine. Give my love to Laura, won't you?" Henry replied, moving towards the door, "See you later, Alice, Silvia, Kevin, Mandy." "I'll drop you home, Henry," Kevin offered, "You've had your exercise for today! I'm off to work anyway." "Thanks, Kevin, I'd appreciate that."
!!! Henry was pleasantly surprised to find his father with Carl. He told them about Mandy, and that James had arrived with Alice to fetch his daughter. "The doctor hadn't come yet, when I left. I'd planned to have a chat with Mandy's friends before coming home, but they'd all disappeared when I came out of Kevin's house." Seeing a movement from the corner of his eye, Joel glanced out of the living room window. "Is that them coming up the footpath to your front door, by any chance?" he asked. Henry, surprised, looked through the window. "Yes!" he exclaimed, and went to open the door. The young people were taken aback at his opening the door before they had even reached it. "Pastor Henry," Stephanie blurted out, "Can we talk to you, please? About Mandy?" "Of course," Henry answered, "But let me warn you first. Carl Slade is here too—the man in the photos with Mandy—and so's my dad." They hesitated, looking at each other. Finally, Brendan made their minds up. "That's okay," he said, "Mr. Slade is fair dinkum. Does your dad know Mandy, Pastor Henry?" "Yes, he does."
109
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"It's okay, then," the boy said to his companions, who nodded in agreement. "Come on in, then," Henry said. They trooped in, and greeted Carl and Joel. As he returned their greeting, Carl wondered if they had seen the paper yet. He fetched the chairs from around the table and invited the young people to sit down. "Mr. Slade," Carrie said quickly, "We know that Mandy was told by somebody else to do those things. We know it wasn't your fault." The others all voiced their agreement. "We know you wouldn't do those sorts of things." Carl looked at them quizzically. "How can you be so sure I wouldn't?" he asked them, "You don't really know me, after all, do you?" Brendan answered without hesitating. "You love your wife, Mr. Slade," he said, in a tone which told Carl far more about Brendan than the words said about himself. He could only guess at the depth of suffering hidden in the boy's heart. He gazed at the boy warmly. "Yes," he said softly, "You're right. I love her very much." "Your kids are lucky," Ed said, and Blue, the boy who was apparently Mandy's boyfriend, added, "I wish my dad loved my mum..." Joel interrupted them. "What was it you wanted to say about Mandy?" he asked. No-one understood a word as the teenagers all started talking at once. Henry clapped his hands and shouted, "Hey! One at a time!" They all turned to Stephanie. "You tell them, Steph," Ed urged. "Mandy hung around with us a lot of the time," the black-haired girl explained, "but sometimes—more and more often—she'd disappear for hours, and Blue—" She indicated the red-haired boy. "He's her boyfriend. He asked me to follow her once, so I did." "Where did she go?" Henry asked. "To the Council Chambers. You know—in town, where the aldermen work, or whatever it is that aldermen do." She frowned in puzzlement, then shrugged. "Well, she went in there and didn't come out for ages, then when she did, this car drove up and she got in and it drove off. I saw the men who were in the front." "Did you know who they were?" Joel asked her. "One of them was the Mayor—you know, that Lancaster bloke. The other one was Mr. Hillman, from the church." "Lancaster?" Henry exclaimed, "What did he want with Mandy?" Carl looked at him sadly. "You saw in the paper today what he wanted her for," he said quietly, "One of the things he wanted her for, anyway." "Are you suggesting Lancaster's behind that?" Joel asked. "Carl's already suggested to me that Lancaster's involved in the downfall of the churches, Dad," Henry said. The teenagers listened to this in silence, until Blue touched Carl's arm. "Why do you think Mr. Lancaster's behind it, Mr. Slade?" he asked. Carl didn't answer right away. He got up and walked to the window. To answer Blue's question he would have to tell them a lot more about himself and his past. Did he really want to? Henry knew it, but the others didn't. No, 110
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
he thought to himself, I can't keep it to myself. They've got to know who they're up against! He turned around and came back to the group. "I know Ross Lancaster," he said, "It was an awful shock to find out he was the mayor of this town. You see, Lancaster was the Chief—the man at the top— of the Police Counselling Institute in Densonia, during the Protectorate. Does that mean anything to you, Blue?" he asked the redhead, "Or to you?" he asked the other young people. Ed answered. "It does to me. I don't know about the others," he said, glancing at his friends, "I heard about it from the old man who lives next door to us. He told me how he'd been taken there 'cos he didn't like Denson and he'd made the mistake of saying so. He said the Counsellors had people tortured to make them agree with the government. He was—and he said he quickly agreed to everything they said and they let him go and he just played it safe after that and did what they wanted." "How do you know Mr. Lancaster?" Stephanie asked Carl. "He was my boss for five years, and I was afraid of him," Carl answered. "He was your boss? How come?" Blue asked, staring at Carl incredulously. "I was a Police Counsellor, Blue," Carl replied, glancing at Henry and Joel. Henry must have told his father already, because Joel didn't look surprised, unlike the boys and girls sitting in front of him. They were staring at him open-mouthed. Brendan broke the silence. "Did you torture people?" he whispered. Carl didn't want to mention his sessions with Emma, but neither did he want to lie. "Counsellors normally handed their counsellees to the Institute guards to be 'treated', as it was called," he explained, "Not that that makes me any less guilty." Carrie was puzzling over something. "Mr. Slade," she asked curiously, "Are you a Christian?" "Yes, you know that," Carl replied, "I told you yesterday morning, remember?" "How could you do that, then? Hand over people to be tortured?" she asked. "I wasn't a Christian at the time. When Jesus Christ saved me, my whole life was turned around," Carl said, and sighed. "Then I stopped being afraid of Ross Lancaster. But," he added, turning back to Joel and Henry, "Lancaster has changed since those days. For the worse. He's far more dangerous than he was then." "How do you mean?" Blue asked from behind him. Joel, who had understood what Carl was saying, answered for Carl. "Are you kids aware of how Lancaster became Mayor of Goldridge?" he asked. "He won the election," Stephanie said. "That tells you why he's dangerous, if you think about it some," Joel said. They looked puzzled for a few moments, then Brendan spoke. "He can make people like him," he said soberly. Carl noticed that Henry was suddenly deep in thought. "What's on your mind, Henry?" he asked. 111
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Something... I need to think about it some more, Carl, but I just had a disturbing thought," Henry replied, "Never mind, I'll tell you later." At that point the door buzzer sounded. Since he was standing up, Carl went to open the door, letting Alice in. She was rather more subdued than usual.
112
CHAPTER 15 "I thought you'd be here, Joel, when there was no answer at the shop," Alice said, "I rang. Hello, kids, how are you all?" She turned back to Carl, who had just shut the door behind her. "I'm sorry, Carl," she said, taking his hand, "I just walked right past you. How are you?" "I'm okay, Alice," he replied, smiling and clasping her hand in both of his. Then he turned serious. "What's the news of Mandy?" he asked quietly. Alice took a deep breath, and looked around at the others in the room before replying. "She's been taken to hospital, and her father went with her. She's lost a lot of blood." She glanced back at Carl and indicated the teenagers. "I'm not sure I should say any more, because of these young ones." "Alice, these are Mandy's friends," Carl said, "Let me introduce them to you." He pointed to each of the boys and girls in turn, naming them. "I expect you all know Mrs. McIntire," he said to them. To Alice he added, "They care about her very much. That's why they're here, in fact. I think you can count on them. " "Okay, Carl," Alice said, "I trust your judgment. Let's sit down." She went to sit on the sofa next to Joel. Carl sat in the other armchair. All eyes were on Alice now. "The doctor came shortly after you left, Henry," she began, "The others left the room but I stayed with Mandy while he examined her." "What did he say was her problem?" Henry asked. "The first thing he said was that it looked to him like she'd had a general anaesthetic—" "What?!" Joel exploded, "And she was lying at the back of the church? They gave her a general and then they dumped her there? She could have died!" "She would have, if these kids hadn't found her when they did," Alice replied, "As I told you, she'd lost a lot of blood." "That's right," Stephanie agreed, and shuddered, "She was bleeding like mad. Mr. Hasting's clothes got all covered in blood when he carried her to his house." "Could the doctor tell how it happens she was bleeding?" Carl asked, suspecting the answer. Alice sighed. "He said it looked to him like she'd had an abortion, and it hadn't been done properly. He asked Mandy if she'd been pregnant, and she said 'yes'. He was very gentle with her, but when he talked to us outside her room after examining her, he was livid. He said he'd asked her if she knew where it had been done, and she told him she hadn't known anything about it. She told me that the last thing she remembered happening before she found herself in the bed at the Hastings' place was having a cup of tea with-with—" Alice faltered, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath before going on. "With Ross Lancaster!" she exclaimed, "and-and being shown this
113
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
morning's Courier!" Alice finally gave in to her emotions and buried her face on Joel's shoulder and wept. He put his arms around her and hugged her. The rest of them sat in stunned silence, their faces pale. After a few moments, Carl got up and beckoned to Blue to move away from the group with him. The boy followed him over to the dining table. "Blue," Carl said very quietly, "Were you and Mandy sleeping together?" The boy stared at him in confusion a moment, and then he understood. "You mean, were we having sex?" he asked. "Yes. Were you?" "N-No, Mr. Slade, we weren't," Blue replied, his face red. He suddenly realized why Carl was asking. He stared at him in horror. "D-Do you mean— Oh, Mr. Slade, she was pregnant! Th-That means she-she—" He broke off, disconcerted. "It's all right," Carl said, putting an arm around the lad, "It's not your fault, Blue." The boy was suddenly angry. He wheeled around at Carl and grabbed hold of his arm, and Carl looked at him in astonishment. "It isn't all right, Mr. Slade! It isn't!" Blue cried out in anguish, "Mandy could've died! That-that ----- man took advantage of her and then he tried to kill her!" Suddenly the young people were all talking at once again, gathering around Carl and agreeing with Blue that it wasn't all right, that Lancaster was a monster, that they couldn't just sit there and see him try to kill their friend and then let him get away with it! They had to do something! Joel stood up and bellowed for silence in an amazingly loud voice, with instant effect. Now everyone was looking at him expectantly. "Blue is right, the man is a monster," he said in a rather more quiet voice, "but you have to remember what Carl said, and you have to remember what Lancaster has actually managed to do in this town. He's a dangerous man—he'll stop at nothing, in the end, not even at killing." "Alice, has anyone been to the police about this?" Carl asked suddenly. Alice looked at him as if he were not quite sane. "Are you kidding?" Joel said almost angrily, then caught himself as he saw the startled look on Carl's face. "Sorry, Carl, I didn't mean to bite your head off," he said more quietly, "but you need to be aware of the fact that Mr. Lancaster and the police are best of friends. My word! How he's managed it, I don't know, but that's how it is. You may not have heard about our new Pleasure House." To his surprise, Carl nodded. "Oh, you have? Well, there you are, you go to the police about this and most likely it's you they'll charge. Remember this morning's Courier. For your sake, and especially for Mandy's, keep the local police out of this. They're not what they're supposed to be." "No, Carl," Alice said softly, "No-one's told the police about it, and I'm sure no-one will." "Well, actually," Carl said in a rather subdued tone, "I'm rather relieved that nobody told the police. I had a suspicion that that would be the situation with them, and I am aware that my photo in the paper puts me in 114
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
a precarious position. It occurred to me just now that Lancaster's lot just may have happened to plan to—quote, unquote—'find' Mandy behind the church, by accident as it were, and start an investigation leading straight to me..." "I wouldn't be surprised," Joel commented, "However, now we have to do something about it, and we can't afford to waste time." "The first thing we have to do," Henry reminded them, "is pray. We need to pray for Mandy and for her parents. We have to pray for Carl and for his safety. We need to pray above all for God to give us wisdom and discernment. And we have to do it now." To the young people's surprise and embarrassment, the four adults got down on their knees. Carl noticed their unease and smiled at them. "You can kneel with us if you like," he invited, "or you can sit down if you prefer. I don't know if any of you are Christians. If you hear God calling you, answer Him. And let your answer be 'yes'." The teenagers returned to their chairs and sat down, still looking uncertainly at each other. The others bowed their heads, and Henry led them in heartfelt prayer to God. They had been praying for some time when Alice nudged Carl. He turned to her, and she pointed with her chin to the young people. Carl turned to look at them. All five were kneeling, and all five were weeping freely. His heart leapt, and his own eyes filled with tears. Oh, Lord, have they really all turned to you? he asked silently, Are they really Yours, all of them? As he gazed at them, all five of the young people looked up at him, smiling, their eyes shining. His joy burst out of him as delighted laughter, at which Joel and Henry looked up. Within a few seconds, adults and teenagers were all standing in the middle of the room hugging each other and praising God together. After a few minutes they all knelt again, in a circle and holding hands, and thanked God for the miracle of new birth in Mandy's friends. When they all stood up again, Alice suddenly said to Carl, "I'm taking you to the hospital to visit Mandy. I'll take Blue as well." She turned to Henry and Joel. "Can you two explain to these young folk what has happened to them?" she asked them. "Don't you think it's a bit risky to take Carl there?" Henry remarked, "when he's been so manifestly linked to Mandy in the paper?" "I am quite sure—very sure—that I should take him, Henry," Alice said meaningfully, "Carl, Blue, please, let's go right now. I want to get there before James leaves. Blue, remind me, what's your proper name, please?" "Rick, Mrs. McIntire," the boy answered. "Okay, Rick, let's go. Come on, Carl," Alice said firmly, and led the way to the door. "See you folks later," Carl said, looking helplessly at Joel and Henry. They shrugged, and he followed Alice out.
!!!
115
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Mandy was in a private room, and her father was still with her when Alice and her companions arrived. Alice went in first and told James about the visitors she had brought. He turned to his daughter. "Mandy, Alice has brought Blue and Mr. Slade to see you," he said, "Do you want to see them?" The girl, still very pale, looked surprised, then nodded. "Okay, Dad, if you think it's all right," she replied. "Let them in, Alice," James said. Alice opened the door and beckoned to Rick and Carl. Rick walked in hesitantly. He stopped at the foot of the bed and gazed shyly at his girlfriend. "Hi, Mandy," he said softly, "How ya doing?" "Hi, Blue," she replied, "I'm sick, Blue." His gaze followed the tubing in her arm to the container of blood above her bed, stopped there an instant, then returned to her. "Alice—I mean, M-Mrs. McIntire—said you'd l-lost a lot of b-blood," he stammered. "Yeah, I guess I did." Neither of them knew what else to say. Carl had walked over to James and hugged him. "How are you, Carl?" James asked, patting his shoulder. "I'm okay, James," he smiled, "How's Laura? Does she know about all this?" "She knows about the photos, and I rang Betty a little while ago and asked her to let Laura know the latest. Actually, Alice," James said, turning to the older woman, "I was wondering if you could drop in and see Laura again today." "Yes, I'll certainly do that, James, after I take Carl and Rick back," she answered. Carl turned to Mandy. He was startled to see how pale she was, and how small she seemed in the hospital bed. Her eyes were sunken and darkrimmed, and were looking at him apprehensively. She looked so different from the brazen young woman who'd pursued him the day before that he found himself wondering if they were, after all, the same person. There was a chair by the bed and he sat down on it. He put his hand over Mandy's and smiled at her reassuringly. "How are you, Amanda?" he said softly, by way of greeting. "I-I..." she began, and swallowed hard, "I'm-I'm s-sorry, Mr. Slade..." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. Carl squeezed her hand. "It's all right, Amanda, I forgive you," he told her, "And we're all going to work together to clear up this mess once and for all, with God's help." He looked at Rick, who was still standing at the foot of the bed looking rather lost, and called him softly. The boy glanced up. "Come here, mate," Carl said, beckoning to him, "How about you have a chat with Amanda while we old folk step outside for a minute?" He stood up and indicated the chair to Rick, who sat down uncertainly, his eyes on Carl. "Uh... Will you be long?" he asked. "Tell her about this morning," Carl suggested, not answering the boy's question. He left the room with James and Alice.
116
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
As they stood in the hall, Carl turned to James. "How long will she be in hospital?" he asked. "Only a day or two, I think, from what the doctor said," James replied, "Why?" "I have reason to believe that Amanda should not be left alone at any time while she's here. Alice, could you get her friends to take turns being with her, do you think? I'm asking you because you're a very persuasive lady." Alice laughed. "I'll do my best," she assured him. "The sooner she can be taken home, the better," Carl added, to James. "I can only agree with that," James said. "Now, would you mind if I just go for a walk by myself for a few minutes?" Carl asked. Both Alice and James looked alarmed by his question. "Do you think that's wise, Carl?" James asked anxiously, "Your picture in the paper..." "I'll try to be inconspicuous," he answered, at which Alice looked him up and down and raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You'd need to shrink a few centimetres before you'd blend into the landscape, Carl," she said, not smiling. "All right, look, I'll just go down to the shop and come right back," Carl said, "Will that be safe enough?" "They sell the Courier in the shop, Carl," James pointed out. Carl had to admit defeat. Yet he still wanted to have a few minutes by himself. He asked James if there was a lounge for visitors on the ward. "Yes—just down there," James pointed, "See that trolley? The door next to it. There's a sign on it." "Okay. I'll just go sit in there for a few minutes," Carl said, "I won't be very long. I just need to think for a bit." He looked at the door to Mandy's room. "Number E 17. Okay. See you shortly." "All right, Carl," Alice answered uncertainly. Carl strode off towards the lounge and Alice looked at James uneasily. He shrugged and suggested they go back into Mandy's room. Rick was talking excitedly and neither of the two young people noticed James and Alice come back into the room because the bed curtain hid the door. The two adults stopped by the door as they heard what Rick was saying. "They all knelt down, all four of them! I didn't know where to look!" the boy exclaimed, "Then Mr. Slade suggested we sit down. He was trying to make us not feel uncomfortable, like. But then he said something else, something strange. He said if we heard God call us we should say 'yes'." "Why did he say that?" Mandy asked softly. "I'm not sure," Rick answered, then paused before continuing, "But when they were praying I just felt like getting down on my knees, and the others must've too, 'cause we all did. And when I was kneeling there I suddenly remembered something from 'way back that my Mum had told me about once." "What?" 117
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That Jesus had said, once, 'Come to Me, all you who are burdened with work and heavy loads, and I will give you rest' and that it meant He was calling all those people who have lots of worries and lots of wrong things they've done, so if they come to Him He'll forgive them and He'll make it so they don't worry any more at all. And it made me cry because I suddenly felt He meant me and that He was calling me to come to Him. So I said 'yes' because that's what Mr. Slade told us to do. Only, I wanted to say 'yes' anyhow..." "So what happened when you said 'yes'?" "He-He—I mean Jesus—He made me all peaceful, like. Up until then I'd felt really afraid—for all sorts of reasons—and I didn't, any more!" "You didn't what?" "Feel afraid!" "Blue," Mandy said softly, "I feel awfully afraid. I'm so scared, Blue, after what I've done!" "But you heard Mr. Slade—he's forgiven you!" Rick blurted out. "It's not that, Blue..." Mandy hesitated. "It's not that, it's-it's what I d-did with Mr. Lancaster, B-Blue!" she stammered, and burst into tears. The boy didn't answer—he had no idea what to do or say. This was beyond him. James and Alice decided it was time for them to get into the conversation. Alice went to the other side of the bed and took Mandy in her arms. James went to Rick and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Blue," he said, "I'll handle this." The boy nodded and stood up. "Mr. Winters," he asked, "Where's Mr. Slade? I want to talk to him." "He's in the lounge, Blue," James replied, "Just down the hall. There's a sign on the door. It's about four doors down, just past the nurses' station." Rick glanced at his girlfriend, smiled awkwardly, then excused himself and left the room. He came back in less than half a minute. "Mr. Slade isn't in the lounge, Mr. Winters," he said, "He's gone..." "Gone?!" James stared at him in astonishment, and Alice looked alarmed again. "I found this in there," Rick said, holding up a small brown book, "It's his Bible that he read to us out of, with the photo of his wife and kids..."
118
CHAPTER 16 "There was something about the whole episode with Amanda which rang a bell, as it were," Carl explained to Emma, "which made me feel I'd come across that kind of thing before, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. I just wanted to be alone for a while to think about it and ask the Lord about it. That's why I wanted to go for a short walk. But James and Alice were obviously worried that I might run into trouble, so for their sake I agreed to go to the lounge instead. As it turned out, I ran into trouble there. I wasn't there for very long." He stopped walking, put his hands in his pockets, and sighed. "And that was the beginning of the answer to my question, in effect," he said quietly, "I must say I can think of more pleasant ways of getting an answer. I wonder how long it was before they found out I'd gone..." "It doesn't sound like you saved them from worrying for very long, anyway," Emma observed, "What happened?" "There was a fellow sitting in the lounge, reading a newspaper, when I went in. He had his back to me. You have to picture the place to understand. There are three separate sets of armchairs in that lounge, each grouped around a low table, and he was sitting in the furthest one, with his back to the door. I sat down in the nearest armchair and took out my pocket Bible—I thought I'd read it for a bit, just to turn my mind to God. I didn't get a chance to read, as it turned out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man turn around, but I didn't really pay attention. And then he got up and came over to where I was sitting, and greeted me. I think it was Geoff Hillman. I'm not sure, but I have this impression of someone wearing a black suit, and I'm sure the man I saw when I came in had blond hair, so I assume it was Hillman." "Why aren't you sure? Couldn't you see him very well?" Emma asked. "I don't really know—for some reason I have trouble remembering who it was... He was wearing dark glasses, I'm sure of that much. Anyway, he said he was glad to see me and asked me to join him for lunch. And I accepted! Would you believe it? He was either a stranger or Geoff Hillman—either way not someone from whom one would normally accept an invitation to lunch— and yet I accepted! I had this vague feeling that there was some reason I shouldn't go, but I couldn't think what the reason might be. I had this feeling of walking in a fog, of not being quite sure where I was. I put my Bible down on the chair—it's strange, but I clearly remember doing that— and I followed him out. I don't really understand what happened." "You left your Bible there, you said. Then hopefully Alice or James would have found it. Hopefully they would realise that you didn't just walk out on them. And they'd keep it for you, wouldn't they?" "I hope so," Carl replied, "I'd hate to lose it, it's rather special. When Jack gave me your pocket Bible that night I came to Christ, I had no idea how special it would be to me, any more than I realized it was yours."
119
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Going back to what you were saying... So this fellow took you out to lunch. Do you know where he took you?" "The same restaurant where I had that unpleasant encounter with Amanda, in the Civic Centre. It was very odd. The whole way there I felt as if there were two of me—one that was happily going with this bloke, the other wanting to run in the opposite direction. The first 'me' apparently was stronger... When we got to the restaurant he led me to one of the outdoor tables. There were two other people sitting there." "Who were they?" "Alf Greenstone and Ross Lancaster..." "Was the other man Geoff Hillman?" "I'm still not sure. He didn't sit down with us, he just left. And when he left, I suddenly felt more or less normal, if somewhat confused." "How strange! What were they up to?" "You'll see. It isn't—wasn't—very pleasant." "Did you have lunch with those two, then?" "They ordered something for all of us, starting with a drink. Lancaster knew I don't drink alcohol, so he ordered orange juice for me. I asked him what was going on, why I'd been brought there, but he avoided answering by asking me how I was, was I feeling all right, how had my morning been, that sort of thing."
!!! "Mr. Lancaster, I have to return to the hospital or my friends will get worried about me," Carl said impatiently, not answering Lancaster's questions, "Either tell me what you want or I'll just leave now!" "Carl, don't be in such a hurry," Lancaster said placatingly, "Have a drink, then go back to your friends. You might as well stay a few minutes, your drink's been ordered already." For some reason, Carl found it difficult to decline. He still felt rather confused, but shrugged it off. He turned to Greenstone, whom he had avoided looking at so far. "Mr. Greenstone, what was the purpose of publishing those slanderous photographs in your paper this morning?" he asked quietly. Greenstone laughed unpleasantly. "Mr. Slade," he said, "A man in your position should be more careful who he meets with in public. You never know when there's a photographer around..." "You know as well as I do that I had no choice in the matter—Amanda Winters was told to meet me by someone else!" "Oh, who told her, Carl?" Lancaster asked innocently, "Tell us, now." Carl suddenly felt cold. He stared at Lancaster, who was eyeing him smugly, wondering what the man was up to. He decided not to say any more. It was quite possible that Lancaster did not know that he was aware of exactly what had happened to Mandy. He was surprised, too, to realise that he was not having the problem he'd had in Lancaster's office of battling
120
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
against the man's apparent charisma. He felt repelled by his former boss and not in the least inclined to trust him. The drinks came, and the food shortly after. Although he had no appetite, Carl decided he might as well eat something. The other two men fell to their meal heartily, and they ate in silence. All of a sudden, Lancaster, who was sitting next to Carl, rose slightly from his chair to reach for a sauce bottle in the middle of the table, fumbled with it, and dropped it as he sat back in his chair. Carl tried to catch the bottle as it fell between his chair and Lancaster's, but he wasn't quick enough. Greenstone jumped up from his chair opposite Carl's, as if he could do something about it. The bottle crashed on the ground, and sauce spattered all over Carl's and Lancaster's trouser legs. "I'm sorry, how clumsy of me!" Lancaster said, standing up and looking down at the mess. A waitress hurried over to clean it up and he apologized to her, offering to pay for the sauce. "Don't worry, Mr. Mayor," she said, "This happens now and then. It was an accident." Carl looked down at his trousers and, incongruously, wondered if the sauce stained permanently. He used his serviette and water from his glass to wipe off as much as he could, but decided not to worry about it beyond that. When the spill had been cleaned up, the men went back to their food. Carl drank up his orange juice. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. Lancaster offered to order him another drink, but he declined. He glanced at Greenstone and was surprised to find him staring at him curiously. "Is anything the matter, Mr. Greenstone?" he asked. "What? Uh—no, nothing, Mr. Slade," the man answered hastily, "I was just—uh—staring into space, thinking about something..." Carl became aware of an increasing feeling of nausea. He looked at his plate. Had he eaten something that disagreed with him? he wondered vaguely. He didn't think so. But feeling ill might be a good excuse for leaving sooner, he thought. However, his nausea was rapidly getting worse, and he had a horrible feeling he was about to vomit. He stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over, and Lancaster and Greenstone glanced up, looking alarmed and confused. "Is-Is there a gents' here?" Carl asked urgently, holding his hand over his mouth. At the same instant he realized there wasn't time. He walked rapidly towards a flowerbed in the middle of the mall, stumbling as he went, for he suddenly had a raging headache and double vision. He reached the flowerbed just in time, as the contents of his stomach refused to stay down any longer. As he threw up, his knees buckled and he fell forwards into the plants, where he lay retching violently long after his stomach was empty. His vision had got worse, and the light hurt him, so he closed his eyes. He could hear people shouting around him and he wished they would stop, because of his headache. He was vaguely aware of Lancaster and 121
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Greenstone arguing, and some of their words reached his brain, although it wasn't until much later that he realised their import. "How was I to know it would make him sick?" Greenstone yelled, "It's extremely rare! And it was your idea!" "You could have used the newer ones! But you're just too stingy!" Lancaster riposted, "Shut up and help me! We've got to get him out of here!" "Excuse us, please," Greenstone shouted to the crowd, "We've got to get him to a doctor, let us through!" "Yes, please move away," Lancaster said authoritatively, in a loud voice, "Give the man some air, let us through to him." "Here, you, can you give us a hand?" Greenstone called out to someone, "Help us get him to the car!" Carl felt himself being picked up roughly by several strong hands, and being carried away awkwardly. His head throbbed angrily, and he wished they would just leave him alone. He was man-handled into a vehicle which seemed to move away almost immediately. He could hear three men arguing but couldn't be bothered trying to understand what they were arguing about. He started retching again and wished he could just die, he felt so dreadful. Oh, God, please help me! he cried in his heart. "All right! Give it to him now, then, if that's how you feel about it!" a voice shouted almost in his ear, hitting him like a sledge-hammer, "The whole plan's got to be changed, anyhow!" Carl wasn't sure who had yelled, but he felt the car stop precipitately, almost throwing him off the back seat, then a sudden sharp pain in the back of his hand, and then blackness engulfed him.
!!! "They gave you some sort of anaesthetic?" Emma asked incredulously, "Whatever for?" "For the next step in their plan, I guess," Carl answered, "And I didn't find out what that was until many hours later, when I came out of it." "When was that?" "Sometime after two in the morning. This morning! At first I was just in and out of consciousness, I think. Anyhow, I felt like I was waking up, and dozing again, and waking up, for some time. Then I started waking up properly and I must have made some noise, moaned or something, because I heard somebody say something, and I opened my eyes and there was this woman sitting on the edge of the bed next to me and stroking my face!" "You were in bed? Where? In hospital?" "No, it was a motel room. I was lying on the bed, not in it, and I was still dressed. Even my shoes were still on. My clothes stank—I don't know how she could stand it! But this-this woman—I've no idea who she was—said she ought to get them off me, and she started to undo my shirt. Well, I just panicked! I felt rotten, and I remembered the strange way Lancaster and
122
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Greenstone had looked at me, and everything going black, and then waking up to find this-this, uh, woman there—I panicked, Em!" Emma found Carl's sudden agitation as he told her what had happened distressing. "Wh-What was wrong with the woman?" she asked. Carl stopped again and grabbed her hand. "She-She— Oh, gosh, Em, she had on just a skimpy nightgown-thing which revealed more than it covered! And she was saying all these-these, uh, things! And she was starting to undress me!" "What did you do?" "I sat up, and I pushed her away, and jumped off the bed. I don't know how I managed it, I still felt rotten. She didn't do anything, you know. She just stood there wringing her hands and cried to me that I mustn't go, that I should stay. She didn't try to stop me, though, she just acted confused, as if she hadn't expected me to react like that and didn't know what to do. But I wasn't about to wait and find out if she would do anything, anyway. I opened the door and went outside—it was night. I tried to figure out where I was, and I recognised the park where I'd met Henry, across the road. It's all lit up at night." Carl paused and took both of Emma's hands tightly in his. "Two thoughts—very clear—came into my head, Em," he said, "One was, 'Go home', the other was, 'The roadhouse'. I remembered the place where I'd had breakfast with Henry on the Monday, and realized it was just up the road. All this only took about a second or two. And then, do you know what I did, Em?" "What?" "I ran." "You ran?" she exclaimed, "You mean, you really ran?" "I ran," he replied happily, "For the first time in four years, Em, I ran. All the way to the roadhouse. It wasn't until I was on the plane coming home that I realised what I'd done..." "Wow." Emma smiled at him in glad amazement. She knew what it must have meant to him to suddenly find that he was able to run again. "Can you still run now?" she asked. "I don't know," he said, "but I intend to find out. Not today, though—I don't have the energy." He gave her a quick hug. "What happened when you got to the roadhouse?" Emma asked, returning to his narration. "I went to the back. I'd got the impression on Monday that the owners lived there. There's a flat behind the restaurant itself, you see. I just banged and banged on the door until they finally came and opened it. It was the same girl who'd served us on Monday, and an older man—her father, she said—who came to the door." "Did she recognise you?" Emma asked. "Amazingly, yes," Carl replied, "I must have been a sight, though—I hadn't even done up my shirt, and I was filthy from that fall. She even knew my name." He paused pensively a moment. "Perhaps she'd seen the paper, too—I didn't ask. Her father told me to come in, and took me into their 123
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
kitchen and made me sit down. He asked me what the matter was, and how could they help. I was still trying to catch my breath, but finally I asked if I could use their phone, I had to ring Henry Smith urgently. The girl told her father that I'd been there with Henry on Monday morning and how kind I'd been to him—something like that." Carl's face reddened as he said this, and he continued rapidly, "And they said of course I could use their phone and when I pulled out my phone card—I was surprised it was still there, actually—they said I didn't need it, I could use their private phone." "So you rang Henry, then?" "That's right. Poor fellow—I gave him such a fright! I asked him if he could come and get me, and told him where I was, but then the girl's father— Oh, I never did ask their names, would you believe it?" "Well, that's forgivable, under the circumstances..." "I suppose so. Anyway, her father said not to worry, he would drive me to Henry's, it would be quicker, so I told Henry and asked him to make a pot of tea because I sure needed it. And then I rang you, remember? I was wondering what I should do, how I would get home, and I wanted you to pray, but I didn't want to tell you how to pray, and I was still feeling quite shaken about the whole thing." "You certainly sounded it." "And I wanted to hear your voice, Em..." Carl added softly, squeezing her hand. "The man took you to Henry's home, then?" she asked, squeezing his hand too. "Yes, and I thanked him and he said it was a pleasure to be able to help a brother in distress! He told me to be sure to help someone else similarly sometime!... Well, Henry was very upset, you can imagine, and he told me how James and Alice had come and told him I'd disappeared and they were afraid for me. I asked him to ring them first thing in the morning to let them know I was okay, but I was going home and I'd be back within a week. 'But now,' I said to him, 'I'm going to shower and get changed, get these clothes in the wash, then have something to eat. And then I'll ask you to take me to the airport because I'm taking the eight o'clock flight to Apmirra. I'm going home to Emma for a few days.' He stared at me for a moment, then he grinned and said, 'You do that, Carl, you do that! And God bless you!'" "And so you came home..." Emma said, putting her arms around him and hugging him tightly. "All I could think of, Em, on the way home, was you. I just wanted to be with you, I wanted you, and I wanted all of you!" He paused thoughtfully, then added, "Come to think of it, perhaps it was a residual effect of the Personality Pills they gave me, that I was so irrational about it. I don't really know." "Of course! That's why you were so sick!" Emma exclaimed, "They wouldn't have known that you'd react like that to those Pills!" "I could've told them, but they didn't ask..." Carl grinned, "But that's what saved me from whatever it was they'd planned, in the end. The Pills
124
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
make me horribly ill, but they don't change my inclinations. It's obvious what happened to Henry, and the others, however." "Are you feeling all right, now?" Emma asked anxiously. "Yes, I've been feeling all right all day, Em," he replied, "although I'm a bit weary." "Shall we go and have some tea, now, then? Jack and Rose will be bringing the children home soon." "Let's go, then!" Carl said, hugging her happily, "I'm so glad to be home with you, Emma! I'm certainly not going back there without you!" They walked, their arms around each other, through the park and up their street to the restaurant. While they waited for their meal, Carl remembered something else that he had forgotten to tell Emma about. "There was another thing I haven't mentioned yet," he said, "Something which Henry told me just before I left." "Oh, what was that?" she asked. "He drove me to the airport after ringing James to tell him I was okay, and he said he'd wait with me until it was time to board the plane. I guess he didn't want to risk my disappearing again!"
!!! Henry and Carl sat in the passenger lounge waiting for the flight to Apmirra to be announced. They had been discussing Carl's experience, and Carl had been explaining his reaction to Personality Pills to his friend, when Henry suddenly became very quiet and pensive. He looked at Carl very strangely, and Carl asked him what the matter was. Henry sighed. "Carl," he said quietly, "did you wonder at any time over the last few days why I knew so much about your career as an evangelist?" "Actually, yes," Carl replied, surprised at the question, "In fact, I meant to ask you about that several times and never had a chance, and then I just forgot about it." Henry gazed into the distance. "When I first heard about a preacher named Carl Slade," he said, "about three years ago, my ears pricked up, so to speak. I decided to keep track of him—of you. Do you remember my reaction on Monday, when you told me your name?" "Yes—you said I would have problems if I was seen with you, and you got up to go. You went rather pale when I grabbed your wrist to stop you." "Well, the reason I gave you was part of the reason I jumped up. But not the whole reason..." He paused and gazed steadily at Carl. "Those blue eyes of yours give you away..." he muttered, then continued more clearly, "When you came up to me in the park, I was startled by your greeting—by your voice, that is. It was terribly familiar. And I use that adverb, 'terribly', on purpose, Carl. When you told me your name, you just confirmed my suspicions, but I wasn't completely sure, because you didn't seem to recognize me or my name. But I'm quite sure now." Carl looked puzzled. "What are you sure about?" he asked.
125
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry smiled. "You'll understand when I tell you that I was one of the first people 'taken into care' as a counsellee when the Counselling Institute opened, back in 2026. I was assigned to Counsellor Slade..."
!!! "What? And you hadn't recognized him?" Emma exclaimed. "I always made a point of forgetting counsellees, and their names, Em," Carl replied, "One can train oneself to do that. But I suppose the memories are still there, hidden somewhere deep down, because when Henry told me that, I did recognize him. It all came back, and I realised why his way of sweeping his hands through his hair seemed so familiar. He used to do that all the time in his counselling sessions and it would make me wild! I even remembered that he'd lasted less than a week and appeared to have given in, so he was released. He confirmed that, but he told me that it was all an act, and that the next thing he did was to join the Underground. But he had to tread carefully for the next few years!" Carl reached across the table and took hold of Emma's hand. Softly, he added, "He also said he'd been praying for me every day since the first time he'd met me, in his first counselling session..."
126
PART TWO "Take good care and be on your guard for yourselves and for all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has put you in charge. Pastor God's church; remember that He redeemed it with His own blood." [Paul's words to the elders of the church at Ephesus] (Acts 20:28) The man who goes out with tears to sow the seed, will come back from the field rejoicing, carrying the harvest. (Psalm 126:6)
CHAPTER 17 "Don't forget to phone Ron," Emma had said when they had got back to their flat that evening, "You asked me to remind you." "I'll do it right away," Carl had replied, "Thanks for telling me. I knew I could count on you, Em." Ron Velasquez, Chief Inspector in the Federal Police, had been Chief of the government's Bureau of Investigations in the Protectorate while at the same time being leader of the Underground. He was a Christian and a close friend of Emma's brother Jack, and he had become a firm friend of the Slades. He must have been right next to his phone, for he had answered almost instantly. As Carl had begun to explain his reason for ringing him, Ron had interrupted him and said he would come over to their flat, where they could talk more at ease. Now he and Carl sat talking together in the lounge. Jack and Rose were in the kitchen with Emma. They had brought the twins home earlier and had stayed for supper. "This is relevant to the case you're working on, I think, Ron," Carl said, "I noticed an article about your extortion case in the National while I was in Goldridge, and I have a feeling you may want to extend your investigations down that way." "Depending on what you tell me, I might go and have a look 'down that way', as you say," Ron answered, "Which I assume means Goldridge." "I'm not so sure you should go down there yourself," Carl warned. "Why not?" Ron asked. Carl smiled wryly. "The mayor of Goldridge is Ross Lancaster. Does that tell you?" Velasquez stared at him open-mouthed. Then he gulped. "Ross Lancaster?" he exclaimed, "You don't mean the former Chief of the Counselling Institute?"
127
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Himself," Carl assured him, "I had the dubious privilege of having lunch with him down there yesterday. There's no mistaking the man who was one's boss for five years." Ron frowned. "Now why hadn't that come to my attention?" he mused aloud, "I suppose I can't keep track of everything going on in this country, but Ross Lancaster being elected mayor—of Goldridge, yet—I'm amazed I missed that! How in the world did that slimy character manage to get people to vote for him?!" "I have no idea," Carl replied, "What's more, most people there still seem to like him! I assure you, though, he's no different, as far as ambition and lack of principles go. And he's just as ruthless... But he's different in a way that makes him more dangerous than ever. He seems to have developed—I don't know, charisma, I guess you'd call it, or something like that. Even I found it hard to resist." "Hmmmm. Very strange, Carl, definitely," Ron said, "I've never liked the man, and I dealt with him as little as possible. But now—why do you think this is relevant to my investigations?" "Because of what's been happening in Goldridge over the last year and a half or so. One of the pastors in Goldridge got together a pile of newspaper articles which taken singly, as they were published, you know, weeks apart, are just sad. But when you put them all together, they tell a horrifying story! I'm sure they would never have been published at all if Alf Greenstone had seen them the way Henry and I saw them. Greenstone owns the Goldridge Courier and is a good friend of the mayor." "Who's Henry?" "The pastor I just mentioned, Henry Smith." Jack came into the room, carrying a tray with supper set out on it. "Emma's bringing the tea," he said, putting the tray on the table and turning to Carl. "Did you say Henry Smith?" he asked, "I've met Henry Smith. He was taken to the Counselling Institute early on. They let him go, thinking he'd given in, but he joined the Underground. He was known as Gideon." "Gideon!" Ron's face lit up. "Him! I never knew his real name. I didn't like to know everything about the members of the Underground, you'll remember, Jack. No wonder 'Henry Smith' didn't mean anything. But I had many occasions to talk with Gideon over the radio." "He was one of my earliest counsellees, Jack," Carl said quietly, "I didn't recognize him or his name, and he didn't let on that he knew who I was, all week. He told me when we were waiting for the plane, this morning, and then I remembered him." "He must have been pleased to see how you've changed," Jack smiled. "He's been following my preaching ministry for three years—since I started travelling around—and he's been a true brother in Christ to me all week. He's a good man, Jack—one of your sort." Rose and Emma came into the room with the rest of the supper and Emma suggested they all sit around the table.
128
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Once they were seated and supper had been served, Ron turned to Carl. "Well, what's been going on in Goldridge that might be of interest to me and my team?" he asked. Carl summarized the downfall of the churches and the concurrent happenings in the political scene of Goldridge. Ron listened carefully, asking questions now and then to clarify points, and recorded Carl's report on his CD-filer. Carl finished his explanation by relating what had happened to him. "You wouldn't have brought those clippings back with you by any chance, would you?" Ron asked hopefully. "I'm afraid not—I left in rather a hurry and it didn't even occur to me to bring them. They're at Henry's place—though he was talking about passing them on to Joel to look after." "Well, now, Carl," Ron said, "There certainly is something going on down there that I think I should look into. It fits neatly with the odd things we've come across so far, interestingly enough. I can't say any more—you'll have to wait until we finish with the case." Jack turned to Carl. "Do you think we could tell the fellowship a bit about this business, tomorrow?" he asked, "At least tell the prayer group that meets after the worship service?" "Yes—but we should only tell those people that we know will pray about it. I think we ought to be careful otherwise." "The fewer details, the better," Ron cautioned, "In my experience one does not need to know details to pray effectively." "That's true!" Emma said, remembering in particular her prayers with Jack and Rose for Carl that morning. Carl looked at his watch and sighed. "I don't want to be rude," he said, "but I wonder if I could call this meeting to a close now? Except for you, Ron—as far as I know, anyway—we've all been up since three o'clock this morning and I'm afraid I'm about to give up fighting to keep my eyes open." "You're right, Carl," Ron said, getting up and looking mournful, "We'll forgive your being rude and kicking us out, under the circumstances. We realise it's only because you're tired that you're behaving this way." He grinned as Carl appeared confused by his answer, and patted his shoulder. "There, there, mate," he said consolingly, "I should know better than to hit you when you're just about lying down!" He looked around at the others. "I'll leave in a minute and let you folks get some sleep," he said, "Let's pray before we part ways, though." He led them in prayer, in thanks for Carl's safe return and in asking for wisdom for the task ahead. Then he bade them all goodnight and left. Jack and Rose helped to clear up the supper things, and Carl and Emma thanked them for looking after the twins, then they, too, went home. "It's been a long day, Carl," Emma said as they locked up and turned lights out, "but I'm awfully glad you're home. And it was nice to spend the afternoon in the Park with you, you know, even if what you had to tell me about was not very pleasant."
129
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"As I said earlier on, Em, I'm very glad to be home, to be with you, and I'm not going back to Goldridge unless you come with me. And now I'm going to bed, because in a few minutes I won't be awake enough to even find the bed, let alone get into it."
!!! On Sunday morning Jack and Carl talked about the situation in Goldridge to the prayer group that met in the Winstons' home. The group spent time in prayer about it right then, and promised to continue praying about it every day until the situation was resolved. When their fellowbelievers left after the prayer meeting, Carl and Emma and the twins stayed on for lunch with the Winstons. "It's a comfort to know people here will be praying, when I think about going back to the nightmare down there," Carl said as they ate, "but it's also a comfort to know that there are still people who love the Lord, there, too." "Yes, and I'm looking forwards to meeting them," Emma said, "especially Alice and Joel. And Henry, of course. Those teenagers sound like a special bunch, too!" "They are," Carl agreed. "Daddy, what's a teenager?" Helen piped up. "What you'll be one day," Carl answered, smiling, "and what Simeon has just finished being." "Simeon is a teenager?" Andrew said, looking at his cousin in surprise. "Was," Simeon answered, "A teenager is someone who is thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen years old. Can you hear the 'teen' in those numbers? Young people whose ages are one of those numbers are called 'teenagers'." "But you're not young, you're old!" Helen said to him, "and Daddy said you've just been a teenager!" "If Simeon's old, Helen," Jack said, "I must be positively ancient." Helen looked at her uncle uncomprehendingly, and Emma came to her daughter's rescue. "Uncle Jack thinks he's very, very old, Helen," she said, "because he's a lot older then Simeon who's his littlest boy." "Simeon's not a little boy!" Andrew objected, "He's a big man!" "Ah! There you are, Auntie Emma," Simeon grinned, "Truth comes from the mouth of babes!" Rose smiled and turned to her son. "Would the big man be very kind and make us all a cup of tea, please?" she asked sweetly. "For you, Mum, anything!" Simeon said, in a mock-serious tone, and went out to the kitchen as everyone laughed. "I think I'll pass up the tea, Rose, if you don't mind," Carl said, "I'll be wanting to play my flute shortly, so I'd better stop feasting." "You should have learned to play the violin, Carl," Jack laughed, "or the piano. Violinists and pianists don't have to watch what they put in their mouths!"
130
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"It's what comes out of the mouths of flautists that one has to beware of," Carl responded, "or at least, that their flute has to beware of!" "Out of a man's mouth comes what is in his heart," Rose said, "and judging from what comes out of your mouth via that flute, Carl, what is in your heart must please the Lord greatly." "I don't think that's quite what Jesus was talking about, Rose," Carl said softly, reddening. "You're right, it wasn't," Jack agreed, "but I agree with Rose about your heart anyway." Emma saw that her husband was very uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, and decided it was time to change the subject. "Shall we start clearing the table while we wait for our tea?" she asked, "Knowing Simeon and his perfect cups of tea, he'll be ages yet. We might as well get a head start on cleaning up." She stood up, and Rose and Jack did too, and all three began to clear the dishes and food from the dining table. "Carl, how about some music to clear the table by?" Jack said, grinning at his brother-in-law. "All right, then," Carl replied, "Scales and marches coming up. Or how about something from Spartacus? All those revolting slaves, you know." "Just watch yourself, mate," Jack retorted, "or your flute might disappear! Scales and marches—yes. Insults—no. Try the march of the Hebrew slaves—we're working hard, we are." "Not quite making bricks without straw, though, are you?" Carl said, "If I remember rightly they didn't even have cups of tea." He went over to the sideboard and opened his flute case. As he took out his flute, his gaze fell on the picture of the three Winston children when they were little. Every time he saw that photograph he was reminded of the wonderful night when Jack had led him to Christ, five years before. That was the first time he had seen the photograph. He took his flute to the lounge and tuned it to the piano, musing on all that had happened since that night. He played some scales and a few short pieces, and Jack winked at him and grinned as he came back into the room from the kitchen. When the table had been cleared, Simeon brought in and served the tea. Carl continued to play until he saw that Emma had finished her tea. Then he beckoned to her. "Come on, Em, time for some singing," he said. The twins, coming back from washing their hands and faces in the bathroom, skipped over to him ahead of their mother. Emma went to sit at the piano. "Can we sing, Daddy?" Andrew asked, his blue eyes shining at his father's. "Some of the time you can," Carl replied, "When you know the words for the tune." "What do you want to sing, Carl?" Emma asked. "Something the children can sing along to, to start with, yes?" he replied, winking at Helen and Andrew.
131
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Jack and Rose joined them, and together they began to play and sing Amazing Grace. Even Simeon, washing the teacups in the kitchen, joined in.
!!! That afternoon Carl and Emma went for a walk in the Park with their children. While Helen and Andrew romped in the children's play area, their parents sat on a bench watching them. All of a sudden Carl got up. "What's the matter?" Emma asked in surprise. "Em, can you just watch the children by yourself for a few minutes?" he replied, stretching, "I'll be right back. I want to find out something." "Okay," she answered, puzzled. He walked off down the path and she watched him, wondering what he was up to. The path led off around some large bushes and she lost sight of him and turned back to watching the children. A few minutes later, Andrew, on top of the climbing frame, suddenly called out, pointing in the direction opposite from that in which Carl had gone. "Mummy! Look! Mummy!" he cried, "Daddy's running!" Emma jumped up and turned to look, and there was Carl running towards her, grinning from ear to ear, his brown hair flying about, his blue eyes shining. He slowed down as he reached her and flung his arms around her, laughing. "I can run, Em! I can run!" he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath. She hugged him tightly, tears running down her face, and passersby stared at them curiously. The children ran up and hopped around them in excitement. "Daddy can run! Daddy can run!" they squealed. Carl squatted down and the twins hugged and kissed him, bowling him over. "Hey! Let Daddy get up!" Emma cried out to them, pulling them up. Carl, still beaming and panting, stood up and went to sit on the bench. "Oh, boy, Emma," he said, "I am not very fit! I just followed the path around there," he indicated the area behind them, "and I'm bushed!" "Well, just rest, now, while the children play a bit longer," Emma said, and added softly, sitting down next to him, "I'm so happy for you, Carl. You're just about back to normal!" Carl laughed as a thought struck him. "Emma, I never thought I'd have reason to thank Lancaster for anything," he said, "but I must admit it's thanks to him—indirectly—that I can run again! I'm sure that wasn't part of his plan, though!"
!!! George Newman, having obtained a visa, bought a plane ticket, and leaving Bethany Lodge Farm in the capable hands of his wife Mei Li and his son William, arrived in Apmirra on the Tuesday evening flight from Kawanyama. Carl went to meet him at the airport. 132
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I don't think I enjoy flying any more," he said to Carl as they walked to the taxi, "I must be getting old!" "I didn't think getting old was part of your plans, George," Carl joked. "Ah, well," George replied, grinning, "it must have happened when I wasn't looking! It just goes to show one should always be on the alert! I am over seventy now, you know." He didn't mention the pain caused by sitting for the two hours of the flight. Carl knew about George's lifelong back problem and guessed that it was probably getting worse as he got older. The taxi drove them to the block of flats where the Slades lived. George was very quiet and pensive as he gazed out of the window, and Carl wondered what he was thinking. When they arrived at the flat, Emma greeted George with a warm hug. "How are you, George?" she asked him, "And how is Mei Li? It's a pity she couldn't come with you!" "I'm fine, as you can see," George smiled, "And Mei Li is very well indeed, as always. Yes, she was sorry not to be able to come, but as you may remember, it's shearing time now and she can't very well leave all the food side of it to Adela and Denise! I'm not much use with the shearing, so it's just as well I'm not up there getting in the way!" "How are Will and Denise doing?" Carl asked, "It must be getting on for their first anniversary by now." "Yes—and you two have just had your fifth, haven't you? Praise God!" George clapped Carl on the shoulder, "Will and Denise are doing really well, Carl, they're very happy together. You two had no idea, did you, what you were doing when you sent Denise and her two to Bethany Lodge for a holiday? And I'd resigned myself to Will's being a confirmed bachelor for life, too... Well! The Lord is full of surprises, isn't He? And I must tell you, too— Chris and Elsie will have a brother or sister in a few months' time!" "Oh, that's wonderful!" Emma exclaimed happily, "We're going to have to make a trip to Kawanyama when their baby's born, Carl!" "I hope we can do that, Em," Carl said quietly, "We'll be needing a holiday once this business in Goldridge is over..." George went to sit on the sofa. "Are your two younguns asleep already?" he asked. "Yes, they are," Emma replied, "You'll have to wait for morning to see them." "Well, then, let me see what else I was supposed to tell you..." George muttered, "Oh, yes! Simon and Jess send their love, and also something for the twins which is in my bag. You may have been told already that Brian is engaged—" "No! We hadn't heard!" Emma said, "But, George, he's only twenty! Isn't that awfully young?" "Now, Em," Carl smiled, putting his arm around her, "Just because your husband was twice that age when he married you doesn't mean all men take that long to grow up!" "Brian has certainly grown up a lot over the last few years, it's true," George observed, "and his fiancee, Lisa, who is also twenty, is a fine 133
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Christian girl. And speaking of Emma's husband," George winked at Carl, "Brian is following in your footsteps, Carl, and refusing to kiss his wife-to-be until they are married!" Carl smiled and gave Emma a hug as he thought back to their own wedding. She looked up at him, guessing his thoughts, and smiled back. Then she suggested they have tea and get to bed early because the coach to Goldridge left early in the morning and they had to be on it. "Carl will fill you in on what's happening in Goldridge on the way down," she told George, "It's a long ride."
!!! "There's a surprise in my bag for my favourite set of twins," George announced cheerfully as they finished breakfast the next morning. He looked at Emma and then at Carl. "Do you know who they might be?" "Us! Us!" Helen and Andrew clamoured, getting down from their chairs and going over to him. "Well, well," he smiled at them, his grey eyes twinkling as always, "You just might be right, you know!" He got up from his chair and went over to the sofa. Rummaging through his bag, he brought out three small parcels. "Oh!" he said in mock surprise, "There are three parcels. They're from Uncle Simon and Auntie Jess. One says 'Helen, one says 'Andrew', and the third one says 'Happy Anniversary'. Now who could that one be for?" "Is a happy aversary like a birfday, like a happy birfday?" Helen asked. "Yes," George answered, "Only it's when people celebrate the date when they got married." "Oh, that's for Mummy and Daddy! They're married!" Andrew exclaimed brightly. "Are you married, Uncle George?" Helen asked, taking his hand and looking up at him. "Of course I'm married," George replied, laughing, "Don't you remember Auntie Mei Li?" "Is she married too?" the little girl asked. George turned to Carl and Emma, who were trying hard not to laugh. "What are you two teaching your children about marriage?" he asked, pretending to scold them. "Not enough, I'd say," Carl chuckled. "Can I give that one to Mummy?" Andrew asked George. "Which one?" George asked him. "The 'happy aversary' one." "Of course," George replied, handing him the parcel. "That's with love from the whole church, not just Simon and Jess," he said to Carl and Emma. He gave the twins their parcels and sat down to watch the family open their gifts.
134
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Each of the twins had a jigsaw puzzle, and Carl and Emma's gift was an attractively bound copy of My Utmost for His Highest. "Oh, this is one of Jack's favourites," Emma remarked, handing it to Carl, "This is a beautiful edition!" Carl looked up the reading for the day of their anniversary. "Well," he said after reading it, "This man Chambers didn't mince his words, did he?" He showed the entry to Emma. "He was a man who loved Jesus Christ and had a real heart for the Gospel, you know," she said. "This is a lovely and very special gift," she said to George, "Please tell them that we are delighted with it." "I'll tell them, and I'll describe the looks on your faces when you opened it!" George grinned, "And the pleasure on the twins' faces, too!" "Thank you for bringing those, George," Carl said, "Now, however, we'd better get moving or we'll miss the bus! We still have to get to the terminal." He got up and began clearing the table. "Em, can you finish getting our bags together while we clear up the breakfast things?" They all hurried to finish getting ready, and twenty minutes later were walking down towards the bus terminal ten minutes' walk from their flat. Carl had George's bag, and the twins were taking turns holding George's free hand. Emma had a bag in one hand and a child holding onto the other. On the bus, George and Carl sat together while Emma and the children shared the two seats across the aisle from them. The children were very excited but did as they were told and sat back quietly in their seat. As the coach started off, the three adults prayed quietly about the trip ahead and the challenges they faced. Then Carl began to tell George about his week in Goldridge. At lunchtime the bus stopped at a roadhouse so the passengers could get a meal. George was glad of the opportunity to walk around—sitting on the bus for several hours had been hard on his back. The twins asked if they might go and play in the playground next to the restaurant. They felt the need to get rid of the energy stored up as they had sat in the bus. "If you eat quickly we'll have time for you to play there a bit before the bus goes," Emma told them. They ordered a simple lunch and ate together at a table outside so the children could go to the playground as soon as they finished eating. "What you've been telling me is very disconcerting," George said to Carl as they ate, "and I hope that we will be of help and able to do something about it, but I must say that I feel rather small and helpless in front of the magnitude of it!" "The only reason I have hope, George," Carl said, "is that we serve God, Who is all-powerful and Who answers prayer, and He has shown us that He still has many people there—because I'm sure the other churches, like Henry's, also have their groups of true believers." "With people like those you've told me about," Emma said, "there is plenty of hope. But you did tell me about some strange things that have been happening there that you couldn't explain—strange things that happened to you, too, what's more. That sounds scary..." 135
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I know," Carl answered, "and I hope we can get to the bottom of that, too." "Well, to change the subject somewhat," George said, cheerfully, "I'd like to comment on my impressions of your country—which some thirty years ago was also my country, as it happens. I have to admit to getting a shock when I got off that plane, and it hasn't really worn off yet." "A shock?" Emma said, "Why?" "It was a bit like going back in time some forty years!" George replied, "This place is still like it was forty years ago, at the turn of the century..." "I guess that's what happens to a country when a dictator like Denson takes over—it goes backwards," Carl said thoughtfully, "We're sort of used to it, though, I suppose, after living here four years." "A huge number of the country's population left in the 10s, you know," Emma explained, "most of them from non-Anglo-Saxon backgrounds. That was more than two-thirds of the population by 2010! They included business people, academics, doctors, scientists, engineers, and so on. There was essentially nobody left to foster progress." "And there were so many restrictions on life after that—especially after Denson took over—and most of the people just lived for self-gratification, that it really did make the country go backwards," Carl added, "When Denson became President he closed the borders and stopped all communication with the outside world, just about. That didn't help, either. Our government, you'll recall, was made up of people like me. Do you remember how ignorant I was of so many things when I arrived at Bethany Lodge? My life had been so narrowly defined by the Protection that I didn't even know what I'd missed out on until I met Chester, and then Emma. And at that point I wasn't listening too well. Most of the Protectorate wasn't listening at all!" "I suppose it takes time—and money, and manpower—to catch up with the rest of the world," George said. "Yes," Carl agreed, "but it also takes something else to make a difference and to stop the vicious circle of coming out of the rot only to go back to it a few years later... People's hearts have to change." "You're doing your part, Carl," Emma said, "and now the Protectioners are trying to stop you." "Not just me—they're trying to stop anyone who loves the Lord," Carl pointed out. "But they forgot that God looks after His people," George said. "They were alert, though, weren't they?" Emma asked pensively, "They noticed the downslide in the churches in Goldridge and took advantage of it... At least, from what you've said, Carl, that's how it looks to me!" "Yes, that's how I see it, too," George agreed. "That certainly would appear to be the case," Carl said, "Certainly the churches there are in a mess. Playing right into their hands. And George, you should see what I found in a bookshop there. I'll take you to it when we're down there."
136
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I have a feeling I know what you found, Carl," George said quietly, "and I expect it didn't include anything by Charles Spurgeon or Phil Jensen. Am I right?" "Spot on," Carl said. "It's time to get back to the coach," Emma said, getting up, "They're calling the passengers." "I'll get the children—you two go on ahead," Carl said, and went off to the playground. He was soon on the bus with Helen and Andrew. "George, why don't you sit with Emma for a while," he said to their friend, "and I'll look after the children on this leg of the trip?" "Fine," George said, "Actually, I might even have a sleep for an hour or so." He sat by the window, tilted his seat back, and put his feet up on the footrest. Helen and Andrew were absorbed in looking out of the window, and Carl turned to smile at Emma across the aisle. He leant over to talk to her. "I'm so glad to have you along to go back there, Em," he said, "The closer we get to that place, the more knots get tied up inside me, and then I remember that you're with me, and the knots all come undone and I feel I can face anything." She reached across the aisle, smiling, and squeezed his hand. "I'm much happier being with you, Carl," she said, "When you're away it's like half of me is missing. But really, it's God who's undoing all those knots, not me. He's the one who's giving you strength. If you only had me, you might as well turn around and go home!" Carl grinned, his blue eyes warm as he gazed at her. "You're right, Emma, of course it's God," he said, "Still, I thank Him for the joy of having you for my wife, and that we can face this together now."
137
CHAPTER 18 Henry and Joel were at the bus station in Goldridge to meet the Slades and George when they arrived, for Carl had phoned Henry to let him know they were coming. Henry had asked his father to come with his car because they wouldn't all fit in his own small car. Carl introduced his family and George to his friends. "Joel, Henry, this is my wife Emma and these are our children, Helen and Andrew," he said, indicating each one in turn, "And you may have heard of George Newman, Gideon." Henry was momentarily startled to hear Carl use his Underground code name, but then he grinned. "Where did you hear about Gideon, Carl?" he asked. "From Emma's brother, Jack," Carl replied, "and from Philip, who didn't even know your real name! Do you know Philip's real name?" "Ron Velasquez, isn't it?" Henry said, "Used to be Chief of the Bureau of Investigations for the Protectorate?" "That's the man, all right," Carl agreed, "He was once a student of George's, would you believe?" Joel and Henry led them all to their cars. The twins wanted to "go with Uncle George", and got into Joel's car with him, and Emma and Carl went with Henry. They all drove to Henry's home, where Alice was waiting for them. She had prepared supper and had made up the beds in the camper truck and in Henry's spare room. It was a joyful reunion for Carl, and he was very happy to be able to introduce Emma to Alice, because he felt that Alice was one person who would really understand why Emma meant so much to him. As he had expected, the two women liked each other right away. A little while later, the children sat at the dining table, quietly eating their supper. It was very late, and they were already half asleep. George was talking with Henry and Joel in the lounge, and Emma and Alice were seated at the other end of the table, deep in conversation. Carl went to fetch something from the kitchen but forgot what he was after because he noticed the calendar Henry had on the wall by the door and it reminded him that in a few days it would be Emma's birthday. He stood there, staring at the calendar, smiling to himself as he thought about his wife. On Saturday she would be forty-one. He turned around and headed back to the front room. He stood in the doorway, gazing at his wife and thinking back to the events that had brought them together. Even five years later, he still marvelled that she had been able to forgive him for the way he had treated her when she was his counsellee, even before he had come to Christ and asked for her forgiveness. He marvelled, too, at how completely she had trusted him from the day of his conversion, and he remembered how close he had come to betraying her trust during their escape to Kawanyama
138
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
through the bush. As he watched her now, talking animatedly with Alice, he thought she looked more beautiful than ever. He wished he could write poetry, or compose music, so that he might be able to express for all the world to know, just how he felt about this woman—his wife, his best friend, the mother of his children. But he wasn't a poet, or a composer... Emma was suddenly aware that she was being stared at, and she looked up in surprise, interrupting what she had been saying to Alice. Her eyes met Carl's, and it was all she could do to stop herself jumping up and running to him. She got up slowly and walked over to him and took his hand, not taking her eyes from his. The poetry and the music were all there, in his blue eyes, where only she could see it. "Come and sit with us a bit," she said softly, "We were talking about you." "All right, love," he said, also softly, squeezing her hand, and followed her to the table, feeling a little dazed. As he walked past Andrew's chair, however, Carl was just in time to catch his son as he toppled off the chair, fast asleep. This brought him back to reality. "I have a feeling these children need to get to bed," he said, cradling Andrew and glancing at Helen, who was absently chewing on her spoon, "Can you bring Helen, please, Em? We've all lost track of the time, I think." Emma went to Helen and picked her up. The little girl put her arms around her mother's neck, buried her face on her shoulder, and went to sleep. As Alice got up to clear the table, Emma and Carl excused themselves and took the twins out to the camper. They got the children into their pyjamas and put them to bed, and together prayed over them. They stood for a moment, hand in hand, gazing down at their son and daughter, then Emma turned to Carl. "Why were you looking at me like that?" she asked, "Back in the house, just now, I mean." He grinned. "I was thinking about what I could possibly give you for your birthday that would properly express how I feel about you, Em." She hugged him happily. "How can anything express it any better than the way you show your love in so many ways every day of the year, Carl?" she whispered. He didn't know what to say to that, and just hugged her back. Then he kissed her lightly and took her hand. "Our bags are still in the house. I'd like to get my flute out and play. I really missed it last week," he said, "Shall we ask the others if they'd like to join in a bit of singing?"
!!! On Thursday morning, Carl phoned the Winters to ask how Amanda was doing. He apologized to James for having given everyone such a fright the previous week, and explained to him that he still hadn't worked out why he so willingly left the hospital with the man he still felt sure was Geoff Hillman.
139
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Well, let me tell you, Carl," James said, "On Sunday we had an interesting time at church! Alf and his friends were quite taken aback to see more than half the congregation get up and walk out when they found out that Alf was going to preach. Bob Martins told him flatly that after what he'd published in his paper on Friday he was the last person to have the right to preach in a church!" "They didn't believe the photos of Amanda and me, then?" Carl asked, feeling relieved. "No way! These are the people who listened to what you had to say, Carl, and when they saw me with Alice and Joel on Sunday morning they asked us about those photos and we told them the whole story. They chose to believe us, and several of them even visited Laura and Mandy on Sunday afternoon. Laura was so happy to see them, Carl." "I can believe that—it must have been awfully lonely for her all those months... So, how is Amanda now?" "She's better, physically," James answered, "but otherwise she's still pretty disturbed. The one good thing about all this business is that she's spent a great deal of time with Laura, and asked her forgiveness for the way she'd behaved. But she's very disturbed about her affair with Lancaster. In fact, I'd like to talk with you and your wife about that, because I'm puzzled about the whole thing, about what she's been able to tell us about it." "I'd like to come around sometime today," Carl said, "if it's all right with you, and bring Emma so you and Laura can meet her. When would be a good time?" "Come for lunch, Carl," James said, "Laura would love to have guests over for a meal, and I know it won't bother you that our meal arrangements have to be a bit different. Oh, but, will it be all right with your wife, do you think? Would it upset Emma?" Carl laughed. "Emma? No!" he said, "Even if she weren't a nurse, it wouldn't upset her!" He paused a moment. What about the twins? "James— could we bring the children with us? Can Laura cope with a visit from two four-year-olds?" "Yes, yes, of course, bring them along. I'll dig out some of Mandy's old toys for them to play with." "Thanks, James, we'll see you at lunchtime, then." Carl put the phone down and turned to the others sitting at breakfast. "Apparently Amanda's recovering okay physically, but she's pretty upset otherwise," he said. "Yes," Henry confirmed, "She came out of hospital on Monday morning, but she's having nightmares every night and spends most of the day in her mother's room. Her friends took turns being with her in hospital, and they've been in and out visiting her at home. They've also been coming here every afternoon for teaching. They're a good bunch—and they're learning to cope with their home situations. Which reminds me, Carl, Rick asked if he could have a talk with you when you came back." He stopped and looked at George. "Has Carl filled you in on what's been happening here?" he asked him. 140
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes," George answered, "He told me all about it on the bus coming down. It's pretty grim, but not without a glimmer of hope, I gather." "James told me about what happened at church on Sunday," Carl said, "and how your people believed him and Alice about the photos in the Courier. Were you there too, Henry?" "Yeah, but I lay low," Henry replied, "Even so, Alf spotted me—you should've seen his face!" "Was he surprised?" "Horrified is a better description." "Speaking of Alf and of published things—George, I wonder if you and I could go downtown this morning?" Carl asked, "There are a few places I want to point out to you. Would you mind staying here with the children, Em?" "No, I don't mind," Emma answered, "I can clean the camper—it needs it. You can help me clean up our house-on-wheels, Helen and Andrew." "Would you like to borrow my car, Carl?" Henry offered, "I'm not planning to go out any further than walking distance this morning." "Oh, that would help a lot! Thanks, Henry," Carl said, "We ought to be back in time to go the Winters' for lunch, then." "They've asked you to lunch, have they?" Henry asked. "Yes, and seeing as George and you are having lunch out anyway, I thought we could take them up on it."
!!! Carl and George set off shortly after breakfast, and Emma went out to the camper with the twins. Henry set to clearing up after breakfast. He told Emma he would probably be around most of the morning, if she needed anything. "The first thing we'll do," Emma said to the children, "is sweep the floor." The three of them got down to work. Of course it took three times as long to finish the job with the twins' help, but they decided it was more fun. They had been working about an hour, and Emma was shaking out rugs and blankets outside, when a group of teenagers came walking up the footpath. They stopped when they saw Emma and the children by the truck. "Hello!" Emma greeted them, smiling. "Hi," they chorused uncertainly. "Oh! You must be Mrs. Slade," Stephanie exclaimed, "Is that right?" "Yes, that's right," Emma answered, coming over to them, "and you must be Mandy's friends." The twins sat on the camper steps eyeing the newcomers curiously. The young people introduced themselves and confirmed Emma's guess. "Do you know Mandy, Mrs. Slade?" Carrie asked, "Have you met her yet?" "No," Emma replied, "but I think we'll be seeing her family later today. I do know what happened to her, though, Mr. Slade told me all about it."
141
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"All about it?" Carrie asked incredulously, "He told you about the photos, too?" "Why, yes, didn't you think he would?" Emma asked. "If my dad told my Mum about anything like that she'd leave him there and then. She wouldn't even wait to find out more. She'd just assume he was lying if he told her it wasn't for real!" Carrie said, then shrugged, "She's done that sort of thing before..." "Well, as you can see, I believe what my husband's told me, and I'm not about to leave him, Carrie," Emma said, "I'm sad about your mum and dad, though. That must be hard for you to cope with." Carrie looked at the ground. "Yeah..." she muttered. The boys hadn't said a word, but had gone over to greet the twins. Helen and Andrew were surprised that these strangers knew their names, but they decided the boys must be all right because their mother obviously thought so. They followed the boys back to where Emma stood with the girls, who also greeted them cheerfully. "Mr. Slade showed us a photo of you and your kids," Rick explained, "That's how we knew who you were." Stephanie remembered what Carl had said to them about Emma, and she gazed quizzically at her. "Mrs. Slade," she said, "You know, Mr. Slade is a very nice man." "Yes, I know," Emma laughed, "I'd even go so far as to say he's the most wonderful man in the world, myself!" "You know, that's what he said about you," Carrie remarked, "only he said 'most wonderful woman', of course." "When did he say that?" Emma, blushing, asked quietly. "When he was here before—last week—he went to the church and it was locked and he saw us in the parking lot and he came over to talk to us." "Only we weren't very nice to him to start with..." Ed admitted. Carrie, remembering her forwardness, reddened. "How did he react to that?" Emma asked, though she knew the answer. Brendan smiled. "He was friendly," he said, "He joked, and he talked to us as if we were being nice instead of nasty." "He told us about you and your kids," Stephanie said. "He told us about his friend that was shot," Ed recalled, "and he said how he was sad that we were wasting our lives." "And he read to us from the Bible," Rick added, "about what love is, and he told us how we can love like that if we depend on Jesus Christ." Emma looked around at them in wonder. She found it amazing that they could remember everything Carl had said to them when they'd first met him. It happened all the time when people met Carl, but she couldn't get used to it. "You know," she said, "When Mr. Slade was telling me about you he made you sound like a pretty special bunch of people. And I think he's right, now I've met you." "Mrs. Slade," Rick said hesitantly, "I think Mr. Slade thinks everybody is pretty special..."
142
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Why do you say that?" Emma asked, surprised that the boy should have realised this so soon after meeting Carl. "Uh... I don't know," he replied, "I guess it's because of how he treats people, even when they've been nasty to him. Like Mandy, you know, she was pretty awful to him, but he was still nice to her. And he was nice to us even when we were rude to him..." Brendan frowned. "It's pretty hard to imagine him torturing anyone," he commented, "When he was a Counsellor, you know." "He told you about that?" Emma asked, startled. "Well, he was talking to the others, the grown-ups," the boy answered, "but we were right there in the room with them when he said it." "He was telling us how it was he knew Mr. Lancaster," Carrie explained, grimacing. "He only ever actually beat up one person himself," Emma said pensively, "and he was pretty distressed about it. And anyway, that person forgave him for it, completely." It's funny, she thought to herself, even I have trouble imagining Carl beating anyone up, now... But I'd better change the subject, she decided. "Have you come to see Pastor Henry?" she asked them. "Yeah—he was going to go over to the Hastings' with us," Stephanie said, "They're the people who saved Mandy's life. They run a bakery in the shopping centre and they asked us to go there for morning tea with Pastor Henry." "Oh—is that Kevin and Silvia?" Emma asked. "Yeah, that's them," the girl replied. "Well, I'd better let you go, then," Emma said, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, anyway." The young people agreed, said goodbye, and went over to the house to see Henry. Emma finished shaking out the blankets and the twins helped her take them back into the camper. She looked in the cupboard under the sink for the scrubbing brush but couldn't find it. Perhaps she could borrow one from Henry. She told the twins she would just be a minute, and went into the house. Henry got her a brush from the kitchen. "Carl threw yours out last week after using it to wash my car," he explained. "Oh yes, Carl told me about the incident of the horse manure," she said, "That was pretty low of them." "It's over now," Henry said, shrugging, "I'd rather forget it. You can keep that brush if you like. I've got two." Thanking Henry, Emma went back out to the truck. The twins weren't inside, and she came out and called them. She felt a pang of apprehension as she called them again and they didn't appear. She looked in all the possible hiding places in the camper. The twins could never successfully stifle their giggles when they hid, but she couldn't hear any giggling. Feeling suddenly sick with fear, she rushed out of the camper and collided with Carl, who had just got back from town. He saw the fear on her face. "What's the matter, Em?" he asked uneasily. 143
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"The twins, Carl," she replied anxiously, "Helen and Andrew—I can't find them!" "Can't find them?" he asked in surprise, "Have you looked in the house?" "I-I've just come from th-there." She was getting quite distressed. "I-I went in to get a b-brush, and when I came back out they were g-gone!" "You left them alone out here?!" Carl asked, suddenly angry, and grasping her by the shoulders, "We've got enemies in this town, Em!" "I-I was in the house only a m-minute, Carl," she stammered. "That was a minute too long!" he snapped, his temper short because of his fear for their children. Emma burst into tears. "C-Carl! We've got to l-look for them!" she cried, "I'm sorry! I didn't think! Please, Carl!" He stared at her for a moment. He had a fleeting recollection of Counsellor Slade beating up Emma Winston. He shuddered, and gave her a quick hug. "I'm sorry, Em," he said softly, and kissed her forehead, then turned and went up to the house. He opened the front door but didn't enter. "The twins have disappeared!" he said to Henry and George and the teenagers, who were sitting in the lounge talking, "Can you help us look for them?" They rushed out, all talking at once. Carl asked Henry to drive around in his car, while the rest of them searched on foot. Henry suggested that George stay in the house, in case the children came back. "Good idea," Carl said, "Emma and I'll go up Eucalyptus Street, Brendan and Stephanie, you go up the main street towards town, but turn back when you get to the highway. Carrie, Ed, and Rick, you go up Wattle Street. Let's go, and let's all pray!" George put his arm around Emma. "Don't worry, my dear," he said, "We'll find them. They can't be far away." "That's right," Carl said, taking Emma's hand, "Come on, Em." He led her off towards the shopping centre. It was Ed who spotted them first, in the little park at the top of Wattle Street. They were playing on the swings, and there was a man with them. "Isn't that Mr. Hillman?" Carrie whispered. "Sure looks like him," Ed agreed, "He always gives me the creeps, with that black suit of his!" "What does he want with the twins, though?" Rick asked, "and how did he get them to go with him?" "Well, those two are pretty friendly. They're not shy," Ed pointed out. "I'll bet Mrs. Slade has warned them about not going with strangers, though!" Carrie said. "I think I'll just go over there and tell them it's time to go home," Rick said, "You two stay here just in case." Carrie and Ed sat down on a bench while Rick strode over to the swings. "Helen! Andrew!" he called cheerfully, "Mum said it's time to go home for morning tea!" He turned to the man, who had spun round in surprise as Rick called out. "Oh, hello, Mr. Hillman," he said, "How are you? Come on, kids!" 144
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The twins had recognized Rick and they skipped over to him happily. Hillman looked distinctly hostile, and Rick shook as he took the children's hands and turned to walk back down the street with them. Andrew caught sight of Hillman and hesitated, but Rick held his hand tightly and kept walking. The twins went with him unresistingly. Carrie and Ed joined them as they walked out of the Park. Ed threw a glance over his shoulder at Hillman. "Boy!" he exclaimed, "Now I know what people mean when they talk about looks that kill! Remind me to keep well away from that bloke, won't you?" "We'll all keep away, Ed," Carrie said, "That's one of the guys that Mandy hung around with!" Halfway down the street they came to the lane leading to Eucalyptus Street. "You two go back to Pastor Henry's with the kids," Ed told Carrie and Rick, "I'll go this way and catch Mr. and Mrs. Slade, okay?" "Good idea, Ed," Rick said, "C'mon, Carrie, twins." Ed ran down the lane to the other street. He wondered if the Slades had got that far, decided they hadn't, and ran down towards the shopping centre, keeping an eye out for them. He met up with them just as they were reaching Good Shepherd church. They were on the other side of the street, and as he saw them, Ed waved his arms excitedly and called out to them. "Mr. Slade! Mrs. Slade! We've found them!" He looked both ways, and ran across the street to them. "You can come back, we've found them!" "Where are they?" Emma asked anxiously. "At Pastor Henry's. Blue and Carrie took them back," Ed answered, still hopping about with excitement, "C'mon, there's a shortcut lane just a little ways up the street." Carl put a hand on Ed's shoulder. "We're coming, Ed, you can calm down," he said, smiling, "Thanks, Ed." They walked rapidly back to Henry's house. Carrie and Rick were sitting on the front step with the twins and George was standing behind them in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick. Carrie was telling the children a story. As they came in view of the house, Emma let go Carl's hand and ran over to gather up Helen and Andrew in her arms. "Oh, thank You, Lord, thank You, thank You," she said, her face wet with tears, and hugging the twins hard. Carl reached them and put his arms around his wife and children, praising and thanking God in his heart. After a moment he stood up and smiled at the three young people. "Thank you for finding them and bringing them back," he said, "Where did you find them?" "In the Park at the top of Wattle Street," Ed replied. "On the swings," Carrie added. "Mr. Hillman was with them," Rick said. "Mr. Hillman?" Carl exclaimed. "That's right," Rick replied, "He's one of the guys Mandy used to go and meet, as well as Mr. Lancaster. It looked like he might have been waiting for someone—maybe someone was supposed to come and pick them up?" 145
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Emma stared at them, horrified. She had heard enough about Geoff Hillman from Carl to realise that her children had been in danger. What was the Protectioners' aim in wanting to kidnap their children? And how had the man succeeded in persuading the twins to go with him, anyway? Carl and she had drilled them over and over about not going with strangers. Carl had the same question. He squatted down to talk with his children. "Helen, Andrew, why did you go with that man?" he asked gently. "What man, Daddy?" Helen asked, looking surprised. "You mean him?" Andrew asked, pointing to Rick, "That's Blue—he said Mummy said to come for morning tea." "No, not Blue," Carl said, "the other man, the one who took you to the park." "The man with the black suit," Rick explained, "He was in the park with you." The children looked blankly at their father and at Rick. "I didn't see the other man," Helen said, suddenly confused, "We just went to the park..." "All by yourselves?" Emma asked pointedly. Both twins looked confused now. "We're not allowed," Andrew said, "but—" He broke off and looked, frightened, from one parent to the other. Helen also looked scared. Carl pulled his children close. "It's all right, you're safe now," he told them, hugging and kissing them, "and it is morning tea time, so we'd better see if we can find something to eat!" He stood up and turned to the teenagers. "Thank you so much," he said. Then a thought struck him, and he asked them, "How did you get them away from Mr. Hillman?" Ed told him what Rick had done. "He just stood there, looking really angry," Rick said, "I was scared silly, but he didn't move, or come after us, or anything. He didn't even answer when I said 'Hello'." "You were very brave, Rick," Carl said, patting him on the shoulder, "I have reason to believe that Mr. Hillman is a dangerous man. Thank you." Emma had gone into the camper, followed by the children. She came to the door and called the others. "It isn't a banquet, but I'm making a pot of tea and we have a few biscuits," she said, "If you want more than that you'll have to wait for Henry to get back or you'll have to go shopping! Come on in." They all climbed into the camper and the three youths sat down around the table, next to the twins. Carl offered the only chair to George, and sat down on the end of the double berth. He thought about the attempted abduction. Emma had been away from the twins only a minute or two—the only way Hillman could have got the twins away so quickly was if he'd been watching. But how did he persuade them to go with him without resisting? For them to have got to the park so quickly, Hillman must have got them away from the truck almost as soon as Emma went into the house. The children were trained not to go with strangers. Besides, as strangers go, Hillman wasn't one to inspire 146
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
confidence, even in the most trusting child. On the other hand, the children didn't seem to remember Hillman at all. There was an uncanny similarity about this to his own experience in the hospital lounge—and again it was Hillman who was involved. He shivered. "Are you cold?" Emma asked him as she handed him his mug of tea, "It's not a particularly cold day." He took the mug and looked up at her. "Emma, do you remember me telling you about the man in the hospital lounge who invited me to lunch?" "Yes..." She stared at him, and sat down on the bed next to him. "It's the same thing, isn't it?" "Looks like it." He thought for a moment. "I'd say we all need to avoid Hillman like the plague. You hear that, all of you?" He addressed the young people. "If you see Mr. Hillman—anywhere, even in church—don't go within ten feet of him. And if he moves towards you, run away!" "You think Mr. Hillman is that dangerous, Mr. Slade?" Ed asked. "Something about Hillman is dangerous," Carl replied, "Look out for each other, warn each other, too." There was a knock on the side of the truck. "Can we join your tea-party?" A deep voice boomed. Kevin looked in at the door, then climbed in. Silvia followed him. "You lot were supposed to be at our place by now!" he said accusingly to the young people, then turned to Carl and Emma, "Hi, there! Glad to see you're back! Is this your wife?" "Yes, this is Emma," Carl confirmed, putting an arm around Emma, "and this is our friend George, from Kawanyama. Em, George, these are Kevin and Silvia, who own the bakery in the local shopping Centre. Best pastrycooks and breadmakers in the whole of Goldridge, I'm told." Kevin laughed. Pointing to the children, he asked, "These the twins you told me about?" "Yes—Helen and Andrew," Carl replied. "Hello, twins," Kevin said heartily, "We've got twins too, only they're bigger than you. These people know my twins," he said, indicating the three teenagers, "Don't you?" Ed, Rick, and Carrie all smiled and agreed. "Where's the rest of your gang?" Silvia asked them. "Out looking for the twins," Carrie replied, "except for Mandy, she's at her house." "Looking for which twins, Carl's or mine?" Kevin asked. "Carl's—I mean, Mr. Slade's," Ed replied, "only we found them first." Kevin looked at Carl curiously. "Someone tried to kidnap our children, Kevin," Carl explained, "Rick, Carrie, and Ed found them just in time." "Kidnap your kids?!" Kevin spluttered, "Why ever would anyone do that?" "You might as well sit down and have a cuppa while we tell you about it," Emma said, "Would you like a cup of tea?" Kevin and Silvia accepted, and the teenagers made room for them around the table. "Who's minding your shop?" Carl asked. 147
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"We have a partner who mans the place every Thursday morning," Silvia answered. "Where's Henry?" Kevin asked. "Also looking for the twins," Emma replied. "That's probably him, now," George observed as they heard a car draw up on the driveway behind the truck. Ed jumped up and went to look out. "Yeah, it's him, and Steph and Brendan," he confirmed, "He must've picked them up on the way back." He yelled to the three outside, "We've got them! We found them!" Henry appeared in the doorway as Ed backed away from it, but didn't come in. "Where were they?" he asked. "How about we all move into your house and continue our morning tea there and we'll tell you all about it?" Carl suggested. "I'm not sure the camper can cope with any more visitors. Besides, we were about to tell Kevin and Silvia, and I'd rather tell it only once at this point." "Good idea," Henry agreed, "Come on, then, all of you." He went off towards the house. The young people and the twins got up and went out, carrying their cups, George, Kevin, and Silvia followed with theirs, and Carl and Emma were left alone for a moment. Carl sat down on the end of the berth again. He looked up at Emma, who was putting the biscuits and their mugs on a tray. "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier on, Em," he said quietly, "There was no way anyone could have guessed such a thing would happen—you weren't gone long enough." "You were upset, Carl," Emma said, sitting down next to him, "The whole thing gave me an awful fright." "That's no reason for me to lose my temper at you, Em. I'm sorry." She smiled warmly at him. "I forgive you, Carl." She paused, recalling the conversation with Mandy's friends. "You know, I realised something this morning, Carl," she went on, "When I was talking to those young people, one of them—I think it was Brendan, the quiet one—said he found it hard to imagine you beating anyone up." Carl grimaced. "I don't find it hard." he said grimly. "What I became aware of as he said that," Emma continued, "is that I find it hard to think of you doing that too..." "You do?" Carl said in astonishment, "You find it hard? I don't understand." "I don't understand it either," Emma said softly, "but I don't mind, Carl, that's for sure. It's nice to find that memories like that have faded to that extent..." Carl stared at his wife. Thank You, Lord, for doing that, for making those memories fade for her, he said in his heart. And thank You, too, for reminding me of them this morning when I got angry with her... "Let's go and join the others before they start thinking we've been kidnapped, Em," he said, getting up and picking up the tray, "Could you lock the camper behind us, please?" "Yes, I will," she replied, "I get the impression we can't be too careful as long as that mob are on the loose." 148
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
In the house, Henry had made more tea and opened up another box of biscuits. The adults were seated in the armchairs, and the teenagers were sitting on the floor, having decided they preferred that to sitting on chairs. Andrew and Helen were at the dining table enjoying a cup of cocoa each and their own plateful of biscuits. Carl and Emma joined the young people on the floor, and Carl asked Rick to tell everyone how he and his friends had found the twins. As the boy was explaining how he had called Helen and Andrew over and then led them away, Andrew suddenly interrupted. "There was a nasty man in the park, Mummy," he said quietly, going over to Emma and snuggling up against her. "What kind of a nasty man, Andrew?" Carl asked gently, as Helen joined her brother at their mother's side. "He was all black but his hair was yellow," the child answered, "He scared me." "Me too, he scared me too," Helen said, "I was glad that Blue came. I wanted to go home." The older folk looked at each other, puzzled. Emma hugged her children. "Don't worry," she said, "We'll make sure that nasty man doesn't come near you again!"
149
CHAPTER 19 "We didn't quite know what to make of it," Emma said as they finished telling the Winters about the morning's events, "What would these people want to take our children for?" James looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "You said the man who lured them away was Geoff Hillman," he said. "That's what the young people told us," Carl replied, "They seemed quite sure about it." "They also said," Emma added, "that Amanda used to 'hang out' with Hillman, among others." "Why don't we ask Mandy what she thinks?" Laura suggested, "She could probably shed some light on this matter." James agreed, and went to fetch his daughter, who had taken the twins out to the garden, and Betty offered to look after the twins while they talked with her. Mandy was very subdued when she came into the room. She avoided looking at Carl, but glanced shyly at Emma, who startled her by smiling warmly and greeting her cheerfully with a hug. "Hello, Amanda," she said. "Uh... Hi, Mrs. Slade," Mandy replied uncertainly. "How are you, Amanda?" Carl said, not smiling, though his tone was friendly. "Uh... I'm okay," she answered, finally looking at him. He looked pointedly at Emma, then expectantly at Mandy. The girl stared at him, then suddenly understood that he wanted her to apologise to his wife. She turned to Emma, who had watched the silent exchange curiously. "Uh... Mrs. Slade..." she faltered, "I... uh... I'm sorry about what I did to... To your husband, I mean, Mr. Slade." Emma took Mandy's hands. "Amanda," she said, "Carl's forgiven you, I forgive you, but are you sure of God's forgiveness?" The others in the room, taken aback by Emma's response, held their breaths as they waited for Mandy's answer. She was staring at Emma with a look of horror on her face. She didn't know what to say, and finally looked down at her feet. "Mrs. Slade," she said, very softly, "I don't think God can forgive me. What I've done is too awful." She looked up at Emma. "It's not just what I did to Mr. Slade, it-it's all the rest!" I've heard this before, somewhere, Carl thought, remembering Henry Smith standing by the lake in Goldridge Park. "Amanda, have you talked about this to your parents?" Emma asked. "Only some," Mandy replied, shaking her head. Letting go of Mandy's hands, Emma turned to Laura. "This may seem presumptuous on my part, Laura," she said, "but would it be all right if the rest of us left the room for a while so Mandy can talk to you about this?"
150
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I don't think it's presumptuous, Emma," Laura answered, "If Mandy wants to talk to me about it, I would very much like her to. Mandy, would you like to do that?" Mandy looked uncertainly from Emma to her mother. She hesitated, and stood rubbing her hands together, then looked back at the floor. "I-I think so," she whispered. James and Carl, who had been witnessing this exchange in silence, rose to leave. Emma smiled at Mandy and headed for the door, but Mandy caught her arm. "Mrs. Slade," she said, "Please—could you stay, too?" Emma looked at Laura questioningly, and Laura nodded. "I'd like you to stay, too, Emma," she said, "Please." Emma turned and looked at Carl, who was waiting in the doorway. He smiled and nodded, then went out and shut the door. "Come up here and sit by me, Mandy," Laura said gently to her daughter, who was standing uncertainly at the foot of the bed. The girl walked slowly to her mother's side, and perched herself on the side of the bed. Emma wasn't quite sure what she should do and finally she pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down on it. "Let's pray," Laura suggested softly, and proceeded to pray for her daughter and to ask for wisdom for herself and Emma. "Mum," Mandy said softly, her eyes brimming, "I wish you could put your arms around me like you used to before..." Emma saw the pain in Laura's eyes as Mandy said this. How awful, she thought, to want to hug one's child and be utterly unable to do it! Mandy put her head on her mother's shoulder, and Laura put her cheek against her daughter's hair and wept quietly. "Mum," Mandy asked, "would it be all right to ask Mrs. Slade to put your arm around me?" "But Mandy, it won't be the same!" Laura said. "It doesn't matter, Mum, it'll still be your arm around me, and I know if you could do it yourself, you would." Emma looked questioningly at Laura, who nodded. She went over to the bed and eased Laura's arm around Mandy's shoulders. "Thank you," Mandy whispered to both Laura and Emma. Emma walked to the picture window and gazed out at the garden, and tried to imagine how she would feel in Laura's situation. She couldn't do it— it suddenly seemed to her that she spent half her days hugging her children and her husband! She couldn't imagine not being able to do it, and just trying to imagine it tied her stomach up in knots and made her tears flow. She swallowed hard and brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand. After a few minutes she heard Mandy start talking quietly to her mother, and she started to move away to give them privacy. But Mandy called her. "Mrs. Slade, please don't go away," she said, "Please come and listen too." "Why do you want me in on this, Amanda?" Emma asked. "I-I'm not sure. For Mum's sake, I guess. And because you care." Laura wished she could hug her daughter properly. She looked up at Emma and smiled. Emma fetched a tissue and gently wiped her face. 151
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Thanks, Emma," Laura said, "Mandy, what did you want to tell us?" Mandy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering. "I was pregnant, Mum," she said. "Yes, I know," Laura said quietly. "It was... I think... Mr. Lancaster..." Mandy said haltingly. She still had her eyes shut. "What do you mean?" Laura tried to keep the shock from her tone, but didn't quite succeed. Her face had gone pale as she understood what Mandy was not saying out loud. Emma held her breath. "I-I..." Mandy faltered, and took a deep breath. "I don't really know..." she whispered, "I don't really know whose baby it was..." Laura threw a horrified look at Emma, who responded in kind. Neither said a word. Mandy was shaking, and Emma got up, moved Laura's arm, and put her own arm around the girl's shoulders, reaching around her to squeeze Laura's shoulder. Mandy looked up in surprise, then closed her eyes again and put her head back on her mother's shoulder. She sighed deeply, and finally started telling them about everything that had happened to her and that she had done since the day she had first met Geoff Hillman and Ross Lancaster. It had been several months previously that she had gone for a walk in the Botanic Gardens, to try and sort out her thoughts about her mother's worsening condition. She had been so afraid that her mother might die soon! She had come upon the two men talking together near one of the rose displays, and had recognised Hillman as someone from her family's church, so she had greeted them. Lancaster had asked her who she was, and when she had told them that she was James Winters' daughter, they had invited her to have lunch with them. She had been flattered, and had accepted... Mandy spoke rapidly, as though she wanted to get it all out, but as quickly as possible. She felt an immense relief at being able finally to tell someone who cared about her of the nightmare she had been through during those months, and she only wished that she could have told her mother about it much earlier, before it had become so horrible. But for some reason that she couldn't understand, for most of that time she had found herself thinking of her parents as her worst enemies... As she spoke, Mandy kept wringing her hands, staring at them as if her story were written on them. Laura and Emma kept looking at each other as if to say, "Are you hearing the same thing I'm hearing?" Emma felt sick as she listened to Mandy's story. She hadn't known that people could actually behave the way Mandy described. She thought of Geoff Hillman luring her children away, and thanked God again and again for Rick and Ed and Carrie. As Laura listened to her daughter's account she wondered how Mandy would ever be able to get over the experiences she had been through—and she wasn't even eighteen years old! She felt a mounting anger towards the men who had done this to her, but at the same time she knew there was nothing she could do about it except to pray for and encourage Mandy in the weeks ahead. 152
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Mandy finished her story by saying how surprised she had been to find herself in the Hastings' home, and to find, too, that the anger that had propelled her along all those weeks and months had completely gone. "It was like I was waking up from a horrible nightmare, Mum," she said, glancing at Laura, "only it wasn't a nightmare, it was for real, I'd really done all those things..." The three women were silent for some time after Mandy stopped. Laura had her eyes closed and was weeping again. Emma's face was wet, too. She brushed her tears away with her fingers. Mandy was so worn out from the effort of telling her story that she couldn't even cry. "Amanda—there's something I don't understand," Emma said, "Why did you go along with it? You said that all the time you knew that what you were doing was very wrong. Why didn't you stop?" "I couldn't—it's almost like there were two of me and the bad 'me' was stronger," Mandy replied, "And Mr. Hillman kept saying, too, that if I didn't do as I was told he would send you and Dad some photographs that you'd rather not see. Oh gosh, Mum, he even showed me the ones he'd send!" She shuddered. "But I couldn't help doing it, anyway." She shuddered again and put her arm around her mother and buried her face on her shoulder. Emma hugged the two of them. After some moments, Mandy looked up. "You see, now, Mrs. Slade," she said, "Why God can't forgive me..." Emma took her hand and squeezed it. "Mandy," she said gently, "God can forgive you, and He will. He tells us that if we admit—confess—our sins, He will forgive us and make us completely clean because He is faithful and He is just." "It's true, Mandy, it's true," Laura agreed, "God is willing to forgive you. There's only one sin He can't forgive, you know, and the reason He can't forgive it is that the person who commits that sin refuses His forgiveness, refuses Him..." "Do you belong to Jesus Christ, Amanda?" Emma asked. Mandy nodded. "Yes," she said softly, "I do." "When did you turn to Him?" Laura asked in surprise. "Last Friday—when I was in hospital," Mandy replied, "Blue told me how he and the others had turned to Jesus, and I could tell that he was different—I didn't know how, but he was. And I wanted to be different too. And Mrs. McIntire told me about Jesus dying for me, and so on, and she read it to me out of Mr. Slade's pocket Bible that he'd left behind. So I just asked Him—Jesus, I mean—to save me..." "Well, Amanda," Emma said, "you can confess what you've done to God, and tell Him how sorry you are, and then thank Him for forgiving you—and He has promised to cleanse you all of all the evil that might be in you. That means He has promised to clean away all the wrong things you've done. He might take some time to do that last part, but His promises are true." Mandy looked at her mother, who nodded. "It's true, Mandy," she said, "God will forgive you. He loves you, Mandy."
153
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The girl closed her eyes again, and this time she prayed. She told God about what she had done, and that she knew it was wrong, and that she was terribly sorry and did not intend to do anything like that ever again. Then she thanked Him for forgiving her and that He would make her clean. After she had prayed they were again silent for a while. Then Emma decided to ask Mandy about the attempted kidnap. "Amanda, I'd like to ask your opinion on something," she said, "This morning someone tried to kidnap our children. Your friends are quite sure it was Geoff Hillman. Do you think that's likely?" Mandy's face went white. "He tried to kidnap Helen and Andrew?" she exclaimed in horror, "Oh— Oh, Mrs. Slade! Oh, yes, it is likely!" She shuddered. "Thank God he didn't succeed—thank God!" "Why do you think he wanted to kidnap them?" Emma asked. "I-I don't know," Mandy replied, "I guess to hurt you and Mr. Slade, to make you do what they want. Something like that? But Mrs. Slade, Mr. Hillman is awful! He's-he's horrible! I don't know how to explain it—it's as if he doesn't have any feelings at all. It's that awful! How on earth did you stop him?" "Rick got the twins away from him," Emma said, "Hillman had taken them to the park at the top of Wattle Street. Apparently he didn't try to stop Rick, which seems a bit strange, actually. Rick thinks it's because Ed and Carrie were with him..." "Whatever the reason, Mrs. Slade," Mandy said, "Thank God Mr. Hillman didn't succeed. He's the most horrible person I've ever come across, by a long way." They were silent again, thanking God in their hearts for getting the twins away from Hillman. After some time, Laura suggested gently that perhaps they should call the others back in and have lunch, as it was late and the children were probably quite hungry. "Yes, you're right," Emma agreed, "I'll go call the others, and help Betty bring in the lunch things. Amanda, why don't you stay here with your Mum?" She left the room and went to look for Carl and James. She found them in the living room, standing talking together by the window and watching the twins playing on the lawn outside under Betty's watchful eye. Emma walked over to her husband, and he turned towards her as he heard her approaching. She put her arms around him and buried her face on his chest. Carl was surprised, but he put his arms around her and held her close without saying anything. The things that had been going on in Goldridge were beginning to frighten Emma, and she was grateful for the reassurance of his arms around her. She looked up a moment, and told James that he might like to go to his wife and daughter, then she hid her face again. James understood that she needed to talk to Carl alone, and left the room. "What's the matter, Em?" Carl whispered, when James had gone. He led her to the sofa and sat down with her, still hugging her. "Tell me."
154
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Oh, Carl, that poor girl!" she replied, "It-it's dreadful, what she went through, what she did, what they made her do! I couldn't believe it, when she told us, but she couldn't make something like that up, surely!" "Something like what?" Carl asked. "I-I don't know that I want to even repeat what she told us, Carl, it's so perverse!" "Do you remember the Pleasure Houses, Em?" "I never went in one." "I did. Once. Very, very briefly. The perversion was horrible. I didn't— couldn't—stay, it was too awful. Well, Em, the people who ran the Pleasure Houses are the same sort of people Mandy was dealing with. People like Ross Lancaster. No, Amanda wouldn't make that up—whatever the horror was that she told you about." "Oh, Carl, poor Laura, to know that her daughter did all those things..." "Has Amanda asked God's forgiveness?" "Yes, she did." "Well, then she's on the mend, and I expect Laura will be His main instrument in helping her back to sanity. I don't think you need to worry about her." "You're probably right, Carl. If I needed what Amanda needs now, I'd go to Laura. She's a woman of prayer, and God's love comes through her unimpeded. I've only just met her, and yet I feel as if I've always known her. D'you know what I mean?" "Yes, I do. I felt the same way the first time I met her, too." Emma hugged him again then suddenly got up. "We'd better get the twins and I'd better help Betty with the lunch things," she exclaimed, "Come on!" Carl stood up, took her hand, and kissed her lightly. "I'll get the children, you get the lunch, Em." He smiled at her gently. "I love you, Em. I know that what we're facing here is very evil and frightening. But don't worry, and don't be afraid. God's on our side."
!!! The meal arrangements at the Winters' were certainly a bit different, but Helen and Andrew were not in the least fazed by eating in someone's bedroom and by that someone's having to be spoon-fed the whole meal. They were used to human beings of all shapes and sizes and of varying physical and intellectual abilities. They accepted anyone their parents introduced to them, as children are able to do who are loved and secure in the love their parents have for each other and for others. Carl and Emma often told their children how much God loves people. To the twins, Laura's quadriplegia was just something about her, like the colour of her hair or the sound of her voice. Besides, like their parents, they felt comfortable with Laura as soon as they met her. They were sitting with Mandy at the table opposite the bed while the adults got the meal ready.
155
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Your Mummy likes laughing," Andrew whispered to Mandy timidly, "I like her." "I like her, too, and I'm glad she's my Mum," Mandy whispered back to him. "You look like her," was Helen's considered opinion, "and you talk like her." Halfway through the meal Helen walked up to Laura's bedside and asked boldly, "Can I have a turn to feed you, too?" James, Betty, and Emma had been taking turns helping Laura with her meal. They all held their breath, waiting for Laura's reaction. She looked at Carl, then at Emma, and both of them saw the laughter in her eyes, but she kept a straight face as she then looked down at Helen. "Of course you may have a turn, Helen," she said kindly, "I'd love you to help me eat my lunch. But you'll have to go to the other side of the bed and climb up because where you are you can't reach." The little girl skipped over to the other side of the bed and Emma lifted her up and sat her on the bed next to Laura. Then she handed her Laura's dish and spoon. "You ready?" Helen asked Laura. "Yes, and I'm very hungry," Laura replied. Helen scooped up some stew with the spoon and gently put it into Laura's mouth. She gazed thoughtfully at Laura's face, then looked down at her arms and hands. "Can't you move?" she asked Laura curiously. Laura smiled. "No, Helen, I can't move at all, except for my head." "Why not?" the child asked. "I was very sick and the sickness stopped me being able to move," Laura replied, "Have you ever seen a puppet with strings? You know, like a doll, with strings on its arms and legs to make them move?" "Yeah..." "Well, it's as if I were a puppet that had all its strings cut off!" Laura explained. "Oh..." Helen thought this over. "Does it hurt?" she asked finally. "No, it doesn't hurt at all," Laura replied. "Oh, that's all right then," Helen decided, much to Laura's amusement. The little girl was once again lost in thought for a moment. "Helen—could I please have some more food?" Laura asked gently. Helen started, looked down at the dish of stew and the spoon, and back at Laura. "Sorry—I forgot," she said, and fed Laura another mouthful of stew. She looked at the dish again. "Do you like it?" she asked. Laura swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I do. Did you enjoy yours?" "It was nice. I like the little green things in it. Do you want some more?" "Yes, please." After a few minutes Emma could see that Helen was tiring, and she went over to her. "It's my turn, now," she said. Helen handed her the dish and spoon. "My mummy will help you eat now, Mrs. Winters," she said brightly. She knelt up on the bed and leaned over to kiss Laura's cheek, then she slid down from the bed and skipped 156
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
over to her brother, who was still sitting at the table. "Andrew, are you going to have a turn, too?" she asked him. Poor Andrew blushed and studied his dish and shook his head. "I'm still eating..." he whispered. Mandy, sitting next to him, put an arm around him and smiled. "You don't have to, you know," she whispered to him, "Mum knows you like her anyway. She's got plenty of helpers." Helen laughed and hopped over to Carl. "Can I sit on your lap, Daddy?" she piped. For answer Carl pushed his chair back from the table, picked her up, and sat her on his knee. She leant against him and gazed at Laura. Emma was laughing at something Laura had said, and James, who had sat down next to the bed, chuckled. Laura had a mischievous look on her face. Helen wondered what had made them laugh. She looked up at her father, and he smiled at her. "Looks like Mrs. Winters said something funny, doesn't it?" he said. "Laura is always cracking jokes," Betty, sitting next to him, said, "Hardly a day goes by that she doesn't make me laugh at least once!" "It's wonderful to be able to make people laugh," Carl said, "especially when one is surrounded by a tense situation the way we are, here. We do need to laugh, to be reminded that despite all the evil in the world we have joy from the Lord." "Daddy," Helen said suddenly, looking very serious, "Is Mummy pretty?" Carl was taken aback by the question. He looked at Emma and tried to see her objectively, but failed. To him, she had always been pretty—even that first time she had been brought to his office in the Counselling Institute he'd found himself thinking that if he had to be assigned a woman counsellee, at least she was good-looking! Well, he asked himself, is she? Do other people think her pretty? Does it matter what other people think, anyway, as long as I find her attractive? He looked down at Helen. "Why do you ask, Helen?" "Because I wanna know!" "What do you think?" he asked, "Do you think Mummy's pretty?" "I asked first, Daddy," Helen answered. Carl grinned at his daughter. "Helen," he said quietly, "I think that Mummy is very pretty, especially when she's happy, which is most of the time. And she's very, very beautiful on the inside." Helen frowned. "How is she byoo-byoo— pretty on the inside, Daddy?" she asked. Carl hugged her. "She loves Jesus, Helen," he replied, "That makes her beautiful. Do you understand what I mean?" Helen thought this over. Her four-year-old mind was not used to abstracts. She was puzzled. "Do you mean because Mummy is nice and she makes people happy?" "That's right," Carl replied. Helen hopped off his knee and went back to Andrew at the table. "Andrew, you know what? Daddy said Mummy is very pretty," she 157
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
announced in a voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "and even more pretty on the inside!" Carl and Emma both flushed crimson and everyone else laughed. Helen and Andrew both looked confused. Emma handed the dish and spoon to James and went over to Helen. She squatted down and whispered in her daughter's ear. "You can tell Andrew that Daddy shines in the dark," she said. "He does?" Helen exclaimed, turning to stare at Carl in astonishment. "What did Mummy say?" Andrew asked, "What did she say? I wanna know!" Helen was still staring at Carl, who was looking at Emma suspiciously. Andrew got up and repeated his question. "Daddy shines in the dark..." Helen said dubiously. Carl looked bewildered. All eyes were on him now. "How does he do it, Mummy?" Andrew asked Emma, tugging at her dress. "He lives for Jesus, Andrew. He's a light in the darkness for Jesus," Emma answered, smiling, "Do you remember the song you learned, "Jesus wants us to be lights for Him In the darkness of this world. He calls us to shine out for Him, Raising His banner high, unfurled." "Oh," Andrew mumbled, looking disappointed. Carl went over to Andrew and picked him up. "Did you want Daddy to really shine in the dark, Andrew?" he asked gently. "Mmmmm," Andrew responded, "Can you, Daddy?" Helen looked quite perplexed, and Betty scolded Emma jokingly. "Now look what you've done, Emma!" she said, trying to look fierce and not succeeding, her laughter being too close to the surface, "Your poor children are thoroughly confused!" Emma, smiling, picked Helen up and went to Carl and Andrew. She kissed Andrew on the cheek and hugged Helen. "I'm sorry, children," she said, "Mummy was trying to tease Daddy and it backfired!" "Emma," Laura cautioned, laughing, "It might be safer if you just don't say anything for a little while—you're getting yourself into hot water!" At that point everyone burst out laughing except the twins, who looked quite bewildered. Carl put an arm around Emma and Helen. Emma was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, and she buried her face on his shoulder, which was shaking from his own mirth. The twins wriggled out of their parents' arms and moved away to a stiller spot. "Why they laughing?" Andrew asked his sister. "I dunno, maybe they said a joke?" she replied uncertainly. The laughter gradually died down and they all sat grinning at each other. Mandy brushed tears from her eyes. "It's wonderful to be able to laugh, really laugh, at something funny but clean," she said, smiling at her parents. She got up to wipe her mother's face, and gave her a hug and kiss. 158
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl was suddenly serious. He had seen the time. "I'm sorry to say that we have to go," he said to James and Laura, "but we promised George we'd be back at Henry's by now and we're still here. Thank you so much for inviting us to lunch here. If this had been a so-called 'normal' meal situation I don't think we'd have had such a good time." "By the way," Emma said, "We would like you and George to meet. Could we bring him around sometime?" "Yes, of course, please do," James said, "As you know, Laura's always home, and I'm home in the evenings. I'm glad you pointed out the time, Carl, I have to get back to work!" "You have some explaining to do to those children, Emma," Laura smiled as Emma kissed her goodbye. "Don't worry, I'll do my best to sort them out, Laura," Emma grinned. "I'll help if I can," Carl added, "I have a feeling I'm the one who started the confusion!" "Perhaps you'll just have to find a way to shine in the dark, Carl," James said mischievously, "Shed some light on the matter!"
159
CHAPTER 20 "As I see it," George said to Henry, Carl, and Emma as they sat in Henry's lounge later that afternoon, "there are two main problems here—the disunity and muddleheadedness of the believers, and the scoundrels who want to bring back a Protectorate. From what you told me on the bus, Carl, and from what you explained to me about Mandy and her friends, I gather some pretty odd and awful things have been going on." "I have some ideas about some of the things that have happened," Henry said, "but I want to finish checking them out before I tell you what I'm thinking." "Something that is quite clear is that Lancaster and his mob took full advantage of the downslide in the churches here," George continued, "It suggests that they were keeping an eye on the churches here and noticed that this town would be especially vulnerable. Of course they've probably been keeping an eye on churches all over the country, perhaps even before the fall of the Protectorate." "What I find puzzling me is that Lancaster got out of gaol so quickly..." Carl commented. "Oh, it's not the first time in history that a fellow like him has managed to wangle his way out of gaol!" George pointed out, "The fact is that he isn't in gaol, and he has a lot of influence in this town. That's what we're facing and what we have to do something about! Never mind how he got out." "Which reminds me that I got a phone call from our friend Philip," Henry said, "That's Ron Velasquez, but I think we all know him better as Philip— and he told me that he's sending a couple of his men down tomorrow, and he's planning to come here himself on Monday." George's eyes lit up. "Well!" he said, "It'll be good to see him again—my Aramaic's getting rusty!" "I have a feeling he's coming down for something other than to practice his Aramaic, George," Carl laughed, "but I'm sure he won't mind chatting with you in your old code language!" "To get back to our topic," Emma interrupted, "Do any of you have any idea what we should do about Lancaster and co?" "First of all," Carl said, "We must pray. About every step we take—make sure it's the right one. For guidance—and then to stay alert. For discernment. For protection. We must be on our guard, especially if we come in contact with any of them." He sighed. "Philip's coming here because of some items Henry and I noticed as we went through his old newspapers. They seem to fit in with something Philip's been investigating. I expect his investigations to have certain results, but I can't be completely sure, so I won't say more about it at present." "We need to get the believers back into gear and working together, not against each other," Henry said, "and that's mainly the job of the church leaders and elders."
160
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"From what they were telling me over lunch, Joel and Alice have been busy over the last few days," George said, "Between the two of them they contacted each of the churches via those whom they knew to be fair dinkum believers in each one. They've organized a meeting—a prayer and worship meeting—for Sunday afternoon, for those who want to turn back onto the Right Road and re-commit themselves to abiding in Christ. And who want to stand together in His name! Alice said they're going to ask you to preach, Carl. I asked her if I was allowed to warn you about that, and she laughed." "Did she say you could?" Emma asked. "I assumed that's what she meant when she laughed," George smiled. "I expect it was," Henry confirmed, "Who else could she ask but Carl, after all? How do you feel about that, Carl?" Carl looked thoughtful. "I'll have to pray about it," he said softly, "but I have a feeling I will be preaching on Sunday. That's why I came to Goldridge in the first place, after all. I just want to be sure it's what God wants me to do, though." "I have no doubts myself that you should preach at that meeting, Carl," Henry said, "but I agree that you should ask the Lord about it." "To change the subject somewhat," George said, "Henry, you know that Carl took me to that bookshop downtown this morning. With the twins' disappearance, and then all of us going out for lunch, I haven't had a chance to talk to you about it." "What did you want to say?" Henry asked. "Are you aware of the kind of books and CDs they sell there?" George asked him. "Yes..." Henry answered slowly. "Is that what the believers in your church have been reading?" "Yes, I'm sorry to have to admit it," Henry replied, "That's what we've been studying, not just reading. And not just our church, either—all of the churches. Until they all fell apart, that is." "No wonder the Protectioners did what they wanted with you all..." George said quietly, "You'd all been feeding on their kind of food!" Henry was apparently studying the rug on the floor. He looked up at George. "You're right, George," he said quietly, "And I not only let my flock study those sorts of books, I even started using them in my sermon preparations..." "I would like to make some suggestions, if I may," George said tentatively. "Please do so, George," Henry replied, "I need all the help I can get from God-fearing people." "One of the first things you should do is to get your people to read the Bible—and only the Bible—as much as they can," George said, "Don't even bring in the good books, the Scriptural ones, for some time. Concentrate on the Bible. Start with Genesis and then Matthew's Gospel. And get back to prayer—secret prayer especially, but also prayer as a group. Forget about how-to books and self-help books—all of them! Jesus taught us how to pray. We don't need to read about it more, we need to do it!"
161
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
There was a knock at the door and Carl went to open it. Mandy Winters stood on the front step. "Hello," she said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable because it was Carl who had come to the door, "I told Mrs. Slade I'd come to see her this afternoon..." "Come in, Amanda," Carl said, "Emma's in here too." She walked into the room and Emma came over to greet her. Mandy pointed out to Henry that his door buzzer wasn't working. "Thanks, Mandy," he said, "I know. I disconnected it because the sound of it was getting to me the other day, and then I decided that knocking is a more pleasant sound for announcing one's presence at the front door, so I left it disconnected!" "You said you'd like to talk to me, Amanda," Emma said, "Is that in private?" Mandy looked embarrassed. "Yes, please," she said, quietly. "We can go out to the camper. The twins are asleep in there, but I don't think we'll disturb them." "They're out there by themselves?" Mandy asked in a frightened voice. "Don't worry, Amanda," Carl said, "There's only one way into the camper, and I've had my eye on it the whole time." He pointed through the window. From where he sat, the door of the camper was clearly visible. "Let's go out there," Emma said, leading the way. The two women went out and walked over to the camper. "Well, would you fellows like a cup of tea?" Henry asked Carl and George. "I wouldn't mind one, thank you," George said, following Henry to the kitchen. "Good idea, yes please," Carl agreed, "We can continue our discussion while you make it."
!!! Emma and Mandy went into the camper and Mandy sat down on the end of the double berth. Emma took a seat at the table and asked the girl what she wanted to talk about. Mandy blushed and looked down. "Marriage," she whispered. "Oh," Emma said, "Do you mind if I ask you why you want to talk to me about it? Why not your mother?" "I've talked with Mum," Mandy answered, "and I also asked her if she minded if I also talked to you. She said that was fine with her because she was sure that you'd say much the same as her." "Well, I hope she's right," Emma said, somewhat taken aback that Laura should be so certain about her, "Okay, what do you want to ask about?" Mandy decided to start with the question that was bothering her most, although she had many other questions to ask. "Mrs. Slade," she asked quietly, "Will I ever be able to marry after what I've done, d'you think?" Emma considered the question for a few moments before answering. "How old are you, Amanda?" she asked. "Seventeen. Almost eighteen."
162
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"You're still very young... It might be years before the question really comes up, you know." "But would any man want a wife who's done the things I did?" Mandy asked in a small voice. Emma gazed at the girl thoughtfully. She sat down at the foot of the double berth beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "If a man loved you so that he wanted you to be his wife, I should think that by God's grace he would be able to forgive all that and marry you." "But I wouldn't want to let him know about it unless I knew he really loved me! How could I know for sure that he loved me?" "Let me answer that in this way," Emma said, "How would you know that you really loved him?" Mandy thought about this. "I guess if I really loved a man," she said presently, "I'd respect him; I'd want to make him happy; I'd want to share everything with him..." "Yes, those are some of the ways we show love, that's right," Emma agreed, "Now, how about if the man you loved had done some awful things before he met you, or even after he met you?" Mandy found this more difficult to consider. "I guess," she said hesitantly, "if I really loved him I would forgive him those things and love him for who he is, not who he was?" "Yes, you would, Mandy," Emma said, "That's what true love does. I can tell you that from my own experience." "Mrs. Slade," Mandy said sadly, "Blue was my boyfriend. He said he loved me. But now he avoids me, but I still love him!" Ah—that's the problem, Emma thought, and her heart ached for Mandy. She gave her a hug. "Amanda, try to see it from Blue's point of view," she said gently, "He's probably very confused. His girlfriend has been involved in something pretty horrendous, and he probably doesn't know what he really feels about it. Don't assume he doesn't love you any more—remember his visit to you in hospital—but don't assume that he still does, either. From what I've seen of Blue, he's a very sensitive boy who's suffered a great deal already. Carl told me a bit about him. Give him time—plenty of it—to sort out how he feels and what he's going to do about it. Pray for him. Be patient. And ask God to work things out His way for both of you." "You know, Mrs. Slade," Mandy said softly, "that's what Mum said, too..." "Well, I'm glad! I guess she was right about me," Emma laughed quietly, "I didn't contradict her!" "I'm glad, too," Mandy smiled, and sighed. "And I guess that's what I'll do," she added softly. She sighed again, and looked at Emma questioningly. "Mrs. Slade, if you don't mind my asking, how did you meet and marry Mr. Slade?" she asked. The question was not one Emma had expected, and she wasn't immediately able to answer it. Should she tell Mandy about Carl's past? Then she remembered that Carl had already told Mandy's friends that he'd been a Counsellor during the Protectorate, so Mandy would probably find out anyway. "It wasn't very romantic, Amanda, I'm warning you," she said, 163
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Do you know anything about the Protectorate? For example, have you heard about the Police Counselling Institute?" "Yes—I've read about it some. Pastor Henry was taken there, my Dad told me. I know the Counsellors tortured Christians." "Mostly it was the Institute guards who did that. The Counsellors did the talking to and they handed counsellees over to the Carers for beating up." "But that doesn't make the Counsellors any better, does it?" Mandy remarked, "In some ways that's even worse!" "Perhaps. I won't discuss that right now. What I was going to tell you was that about a year before the end of the Protectorate I was taken to the Counselling Institute." Mandy stared at Emma, horrified. "You were?" she exclaimed, "Was that because you were a Christian?" "Yes. The point in telling you all this is that the Counsellor they assigned me to was Carl Slade. That's how I met him." Mandy looked confused. "You mean—Mr. Slade, your husband?" she said, "He was a Counsellor? Your Counsellor?" "That's right, that is, until he met Christ some two weeks later." "But-but— He made the guards beat you up?" the girl asked incredulously. "No," Emma replied softly, feeling as if she were speaking about someone else's experiences, "He did it himself. He had an incredibly short temper." "Mr. Slade did? I can't believe it!" "He did. He was terribly confused, and his confusion made him very frustrated and angry. Until he met Jesus Christ and turned to Him. He was transformed overnight. When I was brought in for my counselling session the next morning I had quite a shock. The first thing he did was ask me to forgive him. And then he told me he'd become a Christian. He was so different that I found myself wondering if it really was the same man!" "But if he'd treated you like that, how could you marry him?" Mandy exclaimed. "Mandy, until just now, what was your opinion of Mr. Slade?" "I thought he was a very nice man, very patient, very kind to everyone," Mandy answered uncertainly, "When he came to talk to my friends and me that time, we weren't nice to him at all, but he was very friendly to us and treated us as if we were, too. But I didn't stay. And then he was so kind even after what I did to him..." "Are you really surprised that I could come to love him? Despite what happened in the Institute?" Mandy considered this a moment. "N-No, I guess not..." she said at last. "It was God who arranged it, of that I'm sure, Amanda," Emma said, "We got married six weeks after his conversion—it's a miracle, really. I'm amazed when I look back on these past five years and on how happy we've been together despite some of the very hard times we've been through." Mandy considered her thoughtfully for some moments. Never before had she heard anything like Emma's story. And Emma had just said that her
164
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
marriage was happy, as well. Perhaps there was hope for her future after all. "How do you make a marriage happy, Mrs. Slade?" she asked. "If you look at your own parents' marriage you can probably answer that yourself," Emma replied, "To start with, you have to love God—both of you— and God has to be first, He has to be most important, in your life, more important than your husband, more important than anyone. Having that as your foundation, then each spouse must live for the happiness of the other. Your husband must be, after God, more important to you than yourself, your children, your friends." "That's pretty difficult, isn't it?" Mandy said pensively, "But you're right, that is the way Mum and Dad are. And even though Mum can't move, she can't do anything, Dad loves her just as much as ever." She lowered her voice. "You know, he writes poems about her!" "Your father? He writes poems about your mother?" Emma asked in delighted surprise, "Does he let her read them?" "No—he reads them to her. I've heard some of them. They make me cry..." "What makes you cry?" a small voice sang out from one of the berths. Helen was leaning out of bed grinning at her mother and Mandy. Mandy got up and went over to her. "My daddy's poems, Helen," she said, "Do you know what a poem is?" "No," Helen answered, climbing out of bed, "What you doing here?" "I came to visit your mum," Mandy said, taking Helen in her arms. Andrew also woke up, got out of bed, and went to sit on his mother's lap. Emma gave him a hug, then Mandy and she got the twins dressed. That done, she picked Andrew up again and sat him on her hip, and suggested they all go over to the house. "Thanks for talking with me, Mrs. Slade," Mandy said quietly, "I'm glad Mum let me talk to you." "Your mother is an amazing woman, Amanda," Emma said, "I don't think I could cope with creeping paralysis gracefully the way she has." Mandy, holding Helen by the hand, stopped on the footpath and grinned at Emma. "Do you know what Mum says to people who say things like that to her?" she asked. "What?" Emma said, shaking her head. "She says, 'Of course you couldn't! I couldn't either! It's God who enables me to cope with it. And He didn't enable me to cope with it until it actually happened, either!' That's what she says." "And that's the secret to coping with anything, isn't it?" Emma smiled, "even what's happened to you. Look to God to enable you." Mandy smiled back. "Yeah, that's right," she agreed, "It sure is." They went back into the house and Henry offered them a cup of tea, which they gladly accepted. The twins went over to George and asked if he'd play a game with them. "I could read you a story," he suggested. "No, not a story," Helen said, "Daddy reads stories to us. He reads them good!" "A game, please, Uncle George," Andrew pleaded, "Play a game." 165
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Actually," Henry said, "there isn't really time for a game if we're going to have tea at Dad's coffee shop. Remember we have to make two trips to get us all there!" The twins were disappointed, but were easily placated when Henry gave them each a biscuit. He told Mandy he could drop her off at her home on the way to taking George and the children to Joel's. Then he would come back to get Carl and Emma. "I'll clear up the afternoon tea things," Emma offered, "so you people can get going." She turned to Carl. "It'll only take me a few minutes, then I'll join you in the truck." Henry, George, Mandy, and the twins left, and Carl went out to the camper. Emma tidied up the lounge and kitchen, then locked up Henry's house and also went out to the camper. "What were you planning to do tomorrow?" she asked Carl, "Or haven't you any plans yet?" "I thought tomorrow morning we could take the children over to Goldridge Park, where I first met Henry. There's a playground there that I think they'd enjoy very much. It's a good, quiet spot, too, and I could do a bit of study and preparation for Sunday. What do you think?" He put his arm around her waist, and bent down and kissed her lightly. Emma smiled up at him. "I think it's a lovely idea," she replied, and kissed him back. "Shall we take George along, too?" "Yes, if he wants to come. He may have other plans—we'll ask him." "We'd better get moving and tidy this up so we're ready when Henry gets back to pick us up, now," Emma said. They finished in a few minutes, and locked up the camper. Then they sat on Henry's front step, talking, until he came to fetch them.
166
CHAPTER 21 The next morning the Slades set off for Goldridge Park in Henry's car soon after breakfast. George had been invited to have morning tea at the Hastings', so they had dropped him off there on their way out. "There's a big playground here, children," Carl said to the twins as they drove into the parking area of Goldridge Park, "You can play there for a while—until morning tea time." They climbed out of the car and walked through the park gates towards the playground. The twins skipped ahead happily while their parents followed behind them hand in hand. "Do you remember the first time you held my hand, Carl?" Emma asked suddenly. "Yes, why are you asking?" he replied, looking at her curiously. "Oh, I was just thinking about those first weeks in Kawanyama," she answered, "and all the things that happened back then, and that came to mind." "That must have been one of the saddest days of my life, that day when I heard that Andrew Parker had been shot," Carl mused, "and the only bright spot in it was you." He stopped, called to the twins to wait, and gazed quizzically at his wife. "You knew, somehow, that I would need a friend to lean on, and you knew just what to say and do. I hadn't wanted anyone to come outside with me, you know, but I couldn't bring myself to say 'no' when you asked if you could come with me. And what a comfort it was to have you there! Actually, you know, that day wasn't the first time I'd wanted to hold your hand, but it was the first time I knew it wouldn't frighten you if I did." "It was such a surprise to me, to realise that we'd actually become close friends. It felt a bit strange at first when you took my hand, but not for long. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, when we walked back to the house holding hands." "Did you know that I'd never held hands with a woman before that day, Em?" "No, I didn't know, but I'm not surprised to hear it. You weren't exactly a model Protectioner in every way, were you?" "Hardly. The more I think about it, the more amazed I am that I lasted as long as I did and even made it to Head Police Counsellor! If you consider my life outside work, it was in many ways what the Protectioners said it shouldn't be, and yet they did nothing about it." "Even before you knew Him, God had His plans for you, and I guess part of those plans included your being a Counsellor. The Protectioners couldn't touch you until He allowed it." "That's the only explanation I can think of, too." Emma noticed that the children were fidgeting impatiently, so they resumed walking and soon reached the playground. The twins were about to
167
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
run off to play when Carl called them to him. "Helen, Andrew," he said, crouching down to their level and eyeing them gravely, "Remember what happened yesterday, when the man took you to that other park?" "Yes, Daddy," they answered together, nodding. "Well," Carl continued, "we don't want anything like that to happen again, so make sure you are near Mummy or Daddy all the time, and that you can see us. Do you understand?" "Yes, Daddy," they answered again. "All right, you can go and play, now," Carl said as he stood up again. "Daddy, can you push me on the swing, please?" Helen asked. "And me?" Andrew said. "Mummy can push one of you and I'll push the other," Carl replied. They helped the twins onto the swings and pushed them along. After a few moments, Emma noticed a familiar person approaching. She pointed him out to Carl. "Look, there's Rick," she said, "and I think he's seen us." She waved to the boy, who waved back and came sauntering through the playground to the swings. "Hello, Rick, how are you?" she greeted him. "Hi, Mrs. Slade, Mr. Slade," Rick replied, "I'm okay, I guess. I was just walking through the park when I spotted you." "Why aren't you at school?" Carl asked him. "Our school's shut today—there's some sort of course on for the teachers," he explained, and waved to the children. "Hi, twins. Having fun?" "Yeah!" Helen answered enthusiastically, "You coming to swing too?" "No, not this time," Rick answered, smiling. He turned to Carl, and said somewhat anxiously, "Actually, I was going to go past Pastor Henry's place. I'd like to talk with you, Mr. Slade, if I could. There's something bothering me and I can't talk to my Dad about it." "Yes, Pastor Henry mentioned that you wanted to see me," Carl said, "I'd be happy to talk with you, Rick." He turned to Emma. "Em," he said, "would it be all right with you if I go sit down with Rick for a little while and leave you looking after the twins?" "Sure. Go ahead, now's a good time," she replied, "Rick's here, we've got nothing pressing. I'll be all right with the children." "Thanks, Mrs. Slade," Rick said, looking relieved. "Okay, let's go see if there's a bench under those trees over there," Carl suggested, "See you shortly, Em." He walked off with Rick towards a group of trees a short distance from the playground. They found a bench there and sat down, and Carl suggested they pray before starting. They bowed their heads, and he prayed for wisdom, and for a light heart for Rick. "So, what's on your mind, mate?" he asked the boy. "It-It's hard t-to talk about," Rick stammered, "I want to talk about Mandy..." "I don't know Amanda very well," Carl said, "I think you might be asking the wrong person." "Oh, no, Mr. Slade, I don't think so," Rick said vehemently, "I think you can help me." 168
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'll try," he said, "What's the problem?" "Mr. Slade," Rick asked timidly, in a very soft voice, "do you think that Mandy did all those-those things because she wanted to?" Carl looked at him thoughtfully before answering. "How much do you know about what Amanda did, Rick?" he asked presently. "What she told me—and what was in the paper," the boy answered, "What she told me sounded pretty awful..." "When did she tell you?" Carl asked. "When she was still in hospital. When I went to sit with her—we all took turns so she wouldn't be on her own. She said she was afraid I wouldn't love her anymore because of what she'd done. I said I knew Mr. Lancaster had made her pregnant and then made her have an abortion and I didn't really know how I felt about it. But I said I liked her better now she was back to her normal self than the way she'd been for so long, so angry and sassy all the time. And then she started crying and she told me after a bit that she didn't know who it was that'd made her pregnant, that she couldn't say for sure that it was Mr. Lancaster..." Rick paused, and swallowed hard. He was leaning over, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands, and looking at the ground. "I didn't know what to say, and then she said that those blokes had forced her do other things, awful things, she didn't say what, just that they were awful. And then she didn't say any more." "Don't you believe her, Rick?" Carl asked, "Don't you believe that they forced her to do those things?" "I-I don't know," Rick said miserably. "Then let me reassure you," Carl said, "I'm quite sure that Amanda was telling the truth. I know what those people are capable of. They care nothing for those they use. You saw what they did to her when they'd finished with her. The only thing she did of her own free will in all that mess was to allow herself to be flattered by them when they invited her to lunch that first time. From then on they had her under their control." "But how?" Rick exclaimed. "I'm pretty sure they must have used Personality Pills," Carl said, "and they must've started doing it at that first meal. You see, Rick, they wanted to have something to use against Amanda's father in case he stopped playing their game—they didn't trust him. They got it, all right, and it's dreadful. Pastor Henry saw it, and it made him sick. Then they obviously decided they might as well use Amanda against me while they had her. And on top of that they had some use out of her for their own perverse pleasures. She's going to need a lot of love and understanding, Rick, to get over it." "Oh, Mr. Slade," Rick cried out as if in pain, "Mandy was my girlfriend! We were going to get married one day, when we were older!" Tears filled his eyes, and then he broke down and wept frankly. Carl put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him, wishing he could spare him from such pain. He didn't say anything, but just let the boy cry, and prayed for wisdom. After a while Rick stopped crying, and brushed the tears from his eyes and face with his sleeve. "Sorry," he sniffed, "I-I couldn't help it..."
169
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"You needn't apologize," Carl said quietly, "A good cry helps at times like this..." The two of them sat without speaking for some moments, then Rick, feeling somewhat sheepish, apologized again for crying. "Tell me—if you know, yourself," Carl asked him, "Why were you crying?" "B-Because I don't know what to do about Mandy and me, and because her life is ruined and she's not even eighteen yet!" Rick blurted out. Carl took the boy firmly by both shoulders and made him turn to face him. Rick stared at him apprehensively. "Rick," he said sternly, "Don't ever say that again! Don't ever think it again! Amanda's life is not ruined, no matter what's happened to her, no matter what she's done. She belongs to Jesus Christ, as you do. She's asked God's forgiveness, and wants to do as much as she can to repair the damage she's helped cause. As far as God's concerned she's going on from now with a clean slate. And God is the only one who can judge whether her life is a success or a failure—and because of Jesus' Blood He's judged it a success, hasn't He?" "I-I guess so," Rick answered uncertainly, startled by Carl's grave tone and manner. Carl released him, and pulled out his pocket Bible. "Let me read something to you from God's Word, Rick," he said, more gently, "Here it is. John's first letter, chapter one, verse nine: 'If we confess our sins, He'—that is, God—'will forgive them all and purify us from all evil because He is faithful and He is just.' 'Purify' means 'cleanse thoroughly'. Amanda confessed her sins—she had a long talk with her mother and my wife about what she'd done—and she asked God to forgive her. What do you think? Has he?" "Yeah, I guess He has," Rick said quietly. "Here's something else. Romans—Paul the Apostle's letter to the Christians in Rome—chapter five, verse ten: 'For if God reconciled us to Himself because of His Son's death when we were His enemies, how much more will He save us by His Son's life in us.' Jesus died, He shed His blood, to change us from enemies of God to friends of God—actually even better than that, He made us children of God—but He doesn't stop there. He's put His own life in us—His Holy Spirit. He works in us to make us more and more pleasing to God, despite all the mistakes we make and the sins we commit." He closed the book and put it back in his pocket. He gazed into the distance and thought about what he had done before he had come to Christ, and how wonderfully God had forgiven him, to the extent that Emma had been willing to marry him. He didn't know whether Rick was the man that God intended Amanda to marry, only God knew that. But he did know that Rick had an important step to take. "Rick," he asked gently, "have you forgiven Amanda?" "I don't know, Mr. Slade," Rick replied. "You do know that you have to, don't you?" Carl continued, "apart from whatever else you do about her?" "Yes, I know," Rick said softly. 170
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Are you willing to forgive her?" "What do you mean?" "When you forgive someone, it means that whenever you remember the thing you've forgiven, you remind yourself that it's forgiven and therefore it doesn't stand between you. It is possible to make yourself forget things, to some extent, but even those have a way of popping back into your mind without warning, so you can't promise to forget. For example, I'd forgotten that I'd counselled Pastor Smith, until he mentioned it." "Pastor Henry was your counsellee?" Rick exclaimed incredulously, "But he's your friend!" "That's right—and there you are, there's a good example of forgiveness. He knew who I was when we first met here two weeks ago—in this park, actually—but he didn't let on, because he'd forgiven me." "But you said he'd mentioned it..." "Only after I'd been here a week. By the time he reminded me, we were friends, so that when he told me, I knew he'd forgiven me because it didn't come between us, either before or after he told me. Just as Emma forgave me—and as I'm sure you're aware, that's fair dinkum too." Rick stared at Carl in amazed disbelief as he realised what he was saying. "Was Mrs. Slade also a counsellee?" he asked softy, "Your counsellee?" "That's right. And, you know, she forgave me even before I was sorry. And I knew that she'd really forgiven me, because from the time I asked for her forgiveness she trusted me completely, despite all I'd done to her. And then she was even willing to be my wife. Our marriage is a very, very special gift from the Lord, Rick." "Yeah..." Rick said slowly, looking at Carl wonderingly, "That's the most incredible thing I've ever heard." Carl smiled, and patted his knee. "Well, Rick," he said, "to go back to our topic—do you want to forgive Amanda?" "Yes, I do, Mr. Slade," the boy said softly. He sighed deeply. "But I don't know if I can." "Then tell God about it," Carl said, "Tell Him, and ask Him to enable you to do it. If you are willing to obey God—and He commands us to forgive one another as He's forgiven us—then He enables you to obey." He gave Rick a quick hug. "How about I leave you here to have a chat with God, and when you feel at peace about this, you come over and join us and we'll go get some morning tea together?" He stood up and looked at Rick, waiting for his answer. "Okay, Mr. Slade, I'll do that," Rick said, "I guess God knows how I feel about it." He smiled bashfully. "Thanks." "See you shortly," Carl said, and strode off towards the playground. "Where's Rick?" Emma asked him as he came back alone. "Still over there," he replied, waving towards the trees, "having a little talk with the Lord." "Poor lad. This business with Amanda must have hit him hard." "Yes, it's rotten. As if he didn't have enough on his plate with bitterly divorced parents. But God knows what He's doing, and His ways are often 171
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
not what we'd choose, but they're the best." He turned to the twins, who were playing on the climbing frame. "Are you two tired yet?" "No!" they yelled together. "Are you ready for some morning tea, then? When Rick comes back, we'll go and see if we can find somewhere to have it." "Yes! Yes!" the twins shouted. Andrew climbed down from the frame and looked up at his father. "Daddy, can I have a piggy-back ride?" he asked. "Me too! Me too!" Helen shouted, clambering down and skipping over to her parents. Carl grinned at his children, and turned to Emma. "Mrs. Slade," he said mischievously, "are you feeling piggly enough today to oblige one of these little jockeys? You can have the lighter one..." "Are you?" she laughed. "I think I can just manage it! Come on, Helen," he said, crouching down so she could climb onto his back. "Andrew, you get to ride that piggy!" he added, pointing to Emma. "Get down, Mummy," Andrew asked, and Emma squatted down so he could get on her back. "D'you reckon we can hold hands while we give them their rides?" Carl grinned as they got up. "I reckon so," Emma replied, taking his hand. Together they sauntered around the playground area with their burdens for a few minutes. The children urged them to "Go faster!" but Emma told them they were too tired and their jockeys were getting heavier every day. "They'll just have to stop eating!" Carl teased in a loud voice, "Perhaps they shouldn't have any morning tea after all!" There were loud protests from the twins and Emma laughed. "I guess we'd better feed these hungry chil—" she started to say. She stopped suddenly, and touched Carl's arm. "Carl," she said quietly. "What's the matter?" he asked, turning to her. "That man over by the trees," she said anxiously, "He seems to be talking to Rick. Who is he? It looks like Mr. Hillman." Carl looked where she pointed, and his heart skipped a beat. The man had blond hair and was wearing a black suit. Yes, Geoff Hillman. Only, seeing him like this from a distance, the way he stood, the way he gestured as he talked, Carl suddenly, and with his skin crawling, recognized him. Geoff Hillman was Dr. Gerard Dillmon, the former Director of the Protectorate's Experimental Farm. All that was missing was his white lab coat. Carl shuddered, and squeezed his wife's hand. "No!" he exclaimed under his breath, "Not him!" "Why did you stop, Daddy?" Helen asked, "Can you go again?" "Shhh, Helen," Carl said, "In a minute." "Isn't it Mr. Hillman, then?" Emma asked in surprise, "I could have sworn—"
172
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Oh, yes, it's Hillman," Carl said, quietly but fiercely, "Only Hillman is someone else." "Someone else? Who?" Carl turned to her and his face was white. "Did you ever hear of Gerard Dillmon, Em?" he asked, "Back in Denson's time?" "Gerard Dillmon?" Emma said, frowning, "Yes, the name rings a bell. Wasn't he a doctor or something like that?" She suddenly gripped his arm. "Oh.... Carl! Not the head of the Experimental Farm? It can't be!" "It is," Carl said grimly, "'The man with a heart of ice...'" At that moment Hillman must have said something to Rick which angered the boy. They saw Rick leap up from the bench, which was just out of sight behind the trees, and lash out at Hillman, who grabbed hold of his arm. Rick kicked him in the shin and wrenched his arm free, and came running towards Carl and Emma as Hillman bent over to rub his leg. "Daddy!" Helen yelled in Carl's ear, making him jump, "That's the man from the park! Over there!" She pointed over his shoulder. Andrew, from his safe perch on his mother's back, his chin on her shoulder, stared fearfully at Hillman. "He's the man with yellow hair, Mummy" he said quietly, "I don't like him. He scared me, Mummy." Rick stopped next to Carl, trying to catch his breath, and Carl put a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked when the boy had stopped panting. He saw Hillman stare at them a moment then stalk off towards the park entrance. "He-He c-came over to m-me," Rick stammered, "and-and asked how m-my g-girlf-friend—" "Calm down a bit, mate," Carl said, patting his shoulder, "It's hard to understand what you're saying." Rick took a deep breath. "He said— Oh, Mr. Slade, I could have kicked him a hundred times more!" he exclaimed, "He said I-I ought to take Mandy to bed, find out what she's like, and he started to tell me—" Rick was fuming and his voice was shaking. "He started to tell me what he'd done with her," he cried, "and I told him to shut up and he wouldn't, and I tried to hit him but he grabbed my arm, so I kicked him and ran!" His face was white and he was trembling, and once again his tears started flowing. Carl put Helen down and put his arms around the boy. Rick hid his face on Carl's shoulder and wept disconsolately. Emma took the twins to the seesaw and helped them onto it, glancing now and then at Carl and Rick. Her heart went out to the boy, and she prayed silently that all the pain in his heart might be healed. The twins looked bemused. Andrew tugged on his mother's shirtsleeve, looking up at her. She crouched down and put her arms around his waist. "What is it, Andrew?" she whispered. "Why is Blue crying, Mummy?" he asked softly. "Because he's hurting a lot on the inside," Emma replied, "He's very, very sad." "Does he have a tummyache?" Helen asked from her perch at the high end of the seesaw. 173
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"No, I don't think so," her mother answered, "It's just that he's terribly sad." The twins seemed satisfied with this explanation, and Emma stood up again and helped them ride the seesaw. At last Rick pulled away from Carl and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Carl patted him on the shoulder and waited. Emma helped the twins down and, taking each of them by the hand, came over to where the two men were standing. After a few deep breaths Rick spoke up. "Mr. Slade," he said slowly, "I think I've forgiven Mandy, with God's help. When Mr. Hillman said... uh... all those awful things, it made me so mad to hear him talk like that about her. She's my girlfriend, Mr. Slade, and he hates her." He stared at the ground for a moment and shuffled one foot to and fro in the gravel. Then he looked up at Carl and Emma. "Mandy must hurt terribly... Knowing she did all that..." "She is hurting, Rick," Emma confirmed, "but she also knows that God loves her and that He's forgiven her, and she's trusting Him to deal with the hurt. And her parents are being very good to her." "I'm glad to hear you've forgiven her, Rick," Carl said, "Now the Lord can deal with your hurt, too." "Thanks for your help, Mr. Slade," Rick said softly, "I really appreciate it." "I'm glad we were here today, Rick," Carl replied, "You can thank God for arranging that. I'm sure it was His doing. Now let's all go and find a quiet place for morning tea." "Speaking of quiet places, Carl," Emma said, grinning, "I seem to recall your saying that this was a good, quiet place for you to work on preparing your sermon. You haven't done much sermon preparation yet!" "I've done a lot more than you think, Em," Carl smiled as he led his family and Rick towards the carpark, "You'd be amazed..."
174
CHAPTER 22 Ron Velasquez's men arrived in Goldridge that Friday afternoon, and they rang Henry with a pre-arranged message to let him and Carl know they had arrived. After what Carl had told him, Ron had felt it would be better if the Federal detectives were not seen with any of the Good Shepherd people. They would carry out as much of their investigation as they could before he himself arrived on the following Monday. Shortly after the call, Henry had gone out to visit some of his congregation and Carl had sat down at the dining table to do some work on his sermon. Emma had put the twins to bed for their nap and she stayed in the camper to mind the children and do some Bible study so that Carl could have some time by himself. She prayed for him, asking God to give him wisdom and discernment, and just the right words to say. Even though she was his wife, Emma had not often heard Carl preaching, for he usually asked her to stay at home and pray for him and the people who would be listening when he went out to preach. He needed to know that she, at least, would be praying specifically in that way at the time when he would be speaking. She was happy to do that, and she had trained the twins to be quiet with her at those times. On the other hand, he had asked her to go with him a few times when he had felt especially nervous, because at such times her presence in the audience encouraged him. On those occasions she had found herself almost forgetting that it was Carl who was speaking, so challenged and so moved was she by his message. It wasn't that he was particularly eloquent or emotional in his preaching, but just that he was speaking from his heart, and his heart was full of love for God. She thanked God for giving her the privilege of being married to such a man. Before starting on his writing, Carl knelt by his chair and prayed, not only about what he should say, but also for Joel and Alice, Rick, Mandy, Mandy's parents, her friends, and all those who were brought to his mind as he knelt there. He prayed for Ron Velasquez's men and their investigations. He started to worship God, and as had been happening more and more often when he praised God, he began to sing, softly at first, then out loud. The window was open, and out in the camper Emma could hear Carl singing. Smiling to herself, she joined in very softly so as not to wake the children. Carl had been singing a few minutes when he was startled to hear another male voice singing along with him. He turned around and smiled as he saw George standing by the door. He had come in very quietly, having heard Carl's voice as he approached the house. He motioned for Carl to keep singing, and the two men made music to the Lord together, George's tenor harmonizing with Carl's baritone. When they stopped singing, they prayed together for a little while.
175
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl wondered vaguely if his sermon would ever get written as he went to sit in the lounge with his elderly friend. "How did your visit go?" he asked. "They invited me to stay for lunch..." George replied slowly, his eyes twinkling as always, "and you know what their cooking's like!" "Memorable," Carl grinned. "Ah," George said solemnly, holding up his hand, "but what happened before lunch was far more memorable, Carl." He smiled broadly. Wonder on his face, Carl stared at him. He guessed what he was referring to. "They heard Jesus Christ and they surrenderred to Him..." he said softly. "Yes," George answered simply. "Kevin and Silvia, welcome to the ranks of the non-conformists!" Carl exclaimed happily, jumping up and spreading his arms, "Oh, Lord God our Father, how wonderful You are!" "Their children, too," George said, grinning at Carl's reaction. "The twins? 'You and your household' it always was, in Acts, wasn't it? Oh, praise God! Praise God!" Carl said, clapping his hands in delight, "Did you tell Emma?" "Not yet. Is she out in the camper?" "Yes, the children are having a nap and she's reading her Bible. Why don't you go tell her now? She'll be thrilled!" "Well, let me tell you something else, first," George said seriously. Carl, sobered by George's tone, sat down again next to him. "What?" he asked. "We saw Mr. Hillman—Kevin told me who it was. He drove up to the church rather abruptly. That is, he was driving fast and he stopped rather abruptly. He stalked into the church—he seemed to be angry or something— and a little later on he came out again with Mr. Greenstone—I gather it was—and they were discussing something heatedly. Greenstone locked the church and went to his own car, and Hillman to his, and they both drove off towards town." "Interesting," Carl commented, "We saw Hillman over at Goldridge Park this morning." He told George about Rick's encounter with Hillman. "Well, this would've been after that—it was around quarter to eleven, I'd say," George said. "I also finally recognized Hillman," Carl said grimly, "Do you remember me telling you on the bus that when I met Hillman at the church that first time I had the feeling I'd met him before?" "Yes, I remember you saying that. So you had met him, had you?" "Do you remember us telling you about the Experimental Farm, where counsellees like Chester and Emma, who refused to change, were taken?" "Yes, a biological engineering research place, wasn't it? Only you said it was much worse than that." "That's right. They used people for their experiments and tests," Carl said, "Well, I'm pretty sure Hillman is actually Gerard Dillmon, who was the director of the Farm..." George's eyebrows went up and he sat up in surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked. 176
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Positive," Carl replied, "I don't know how much you know about Dillmon, but he was known at the Counselling Institute as 'the man with a heart of ice'. None of us—and we were a pretty hard-hearted lot—wanted to have anything to do with him, ever." "If it really is him, that makes this business even more sinister. You really are sure?" "I'm as sure of it as I am that you are George Newman." "Have you told Henry? He'd be very interested to know." "I told him when we got home, and he certainly did find it very interesting, but he didn't say why." "He told me he thinks he knows what Lancaster and his mob have been using, and that research on it had been carried out during the Protectorate, most probably at the Farm." "Oh, I see... He didn't mention that." "He doesn't want to talk about it too much until he's told Ron about it." "Fair enough, we can't be too careful." George stood up and started to walk around the room slowly. His back was giving him trouble and he couldn't stay sitting for very long. "Did you know that Hillman has a practice here as a G.P.?" he asked. Carl received this information with amazement. "No! You're kidding!" he exclaimed, slapping his knee. "How did you find that out?" "Henry knew all along. Hillman was a member of his congregation, after all. He said he'd never really paid much attention to the fact, though. There are several doctors at Good Shepherd and one more or less didn't make a difference as far as the church was concerned. What mattered was their participation in the life of the church, and Hillman certainly put in his share, he said." "I'll say he did," Carl said, grimacing. Then he looked skeptically at George. "Hillman can't have many patients—he's always wandering around causing trouble." "I rang his surgery to make an appointment and his phone recording said he was on leave..." "That figures," Carl said, "It's probably a front for something less than legal. Ron and his men can look into that too, I guess. Our job is to help by not getting in their way." He stood up and stretched. "Right now, my job is to get this sermon written, and I'd better get on with it or there will be a long silence at that meeting on Sunday when it comes time for me to speak." George laughed. "You do that," he said, "We can't have you tongue-tied at such a critical time. I'll go tell Emma about the Hastings." He went out to the camper, and Carl went back to his seat at the dining table. As he tried to gather his thoughts together, he caught sight of the pile of scientific journals on the far end of the table. He reached for the topmost issue and read its name: Biochem. He read the date on the journal, which was less than two years before, and saw that it was published in Kawanyama. He glanced at the table of contents and saw that one line of it had been underlined —"The Effects of Dremasone on Memory Cells". Part of Henry's investigations, no doubt, he thought. And then he noticed the 177
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
author's name: G. S. Dillmon. Dillmon! He turned to the article and tried to read it, but by the second paragraph the technical jargon had lost him. He put the journal back on top of the pile and turned his thoughts back to the job at hand, making a mental note to ask Henry about the article. By afternoon tea-time Carl had an outline for his sermon but that was all. He couldn't understand why it just wasn't falling into place as usual. Lord, he prayed silently, if I can't get something together by Sunday, You're going to have to take over. He was startled by a distinct impression as if someone had chuckled and said quietly, "That is exactly what I intend to do." The experience was so fleeting that he wondered if it had really happened at all. But whether it was real or not, he knew that he had to keep trying to get this sermon together, even if in the end he didn't succeed. As he closed his Bible and notebook he felt at peace. When the twins had got up from their nap Emma and George had taken them to the park at the top of Wattle Street so they could play for a while without disturbing Carl. He was still working when they came back form the park, and Emma told them to play quietly in a corner of the lounge while she and Alice, who had arrived with Joel a few minutes before, worked at preparing tea in Henry's kitchen. George, Henry, and Joel were outside talking. At last Carl got up and called Helen and Andrew over. "Let's get this table set for tea, twins," he said, "Helen, go and ask Auntie Alice how she wants this meal organised. Andrew, you go ask Uncle Henry for a tablecloth." While the children did as he had said, he cleared his papers and the journals off the table and put them all on the already crowded sideboard. Andrew came skipping back into the room and told him the tablecloths were in the bottom drawer. "Okay, you get one out for me," his father replied. "Auntie Alice said that the Hastings are also coming," Helen announced as she came back from the kitchen, "so set the table for a buffy." "You mean a buffet," George chuckled as he joined them. "Yeah, that," Helen said. "What's a buffay?" Andrew asked. "It's a meal where you just get a plate and put all sorts of food from the table on it, and then you go somewhere else to eat it," Carl explained. "Where?" Helen asked, "Outside?" "You can sit on the sofa with your plate on your lap," Henry said. "Hey, that's fun!" Helen shouted, and ran into the kitchen to tell her mother. "What if I spill some?" Andrew asked anxiously. "We'll clean it up," Henry answered, picking him up and hugging him, "but I don't think you'll spill it. You're a very careful lad, like your daddy." "A whole lot more careful than his daddy, I hope," Carl said. "My word!" Joel said from the other side of the room, and winked at Carl.
!!!
178
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
On Saturday morning, Emma left the children with Carl and George and went to visit the Winters. She was surprised to find Rick there, talking with James in the lounge. "He's trying to sort out how he feels about things, after all that's happened," Laura explained, "In some ways he's having a harder time than Amanda. He doesn't get much sympathy from his father and he doesn't feel he can really tell him about it at all." "It's good that he feels comfortable talking to James and to Carl," Emma said, "but I do hope that things will improve between him and his father. How is Amanda doing?" "She's a lot more settled now, and seems to be happy in herself though she's still struggling with all that's happened," Laura said, "She spends a lot of time reading the Bible, and usually sits in here with me to do it so she can ask me for help when there's something she has trouble understanding." "That's a big change, isn't it?" "Yes, and one we really thank God for," Laura agreed, "Oh, Emma, it's so good to have my daughter back, you know. When she was fourteen or so she went through a difficult stage, the normal sort of teenage pushing at the boundaries, but it was nothing like the last several months. Back then she was still reasonable and approachable, even though she did struggle with the implications of my illness and she felt angry at God about it. But she would come and talk over things with me. Now that's how it is again and I'm so thankful for that." "I hope it remains that way or even gets better and better, Laura," Emma said, "My mother's friendship, as well as her authority, was terribly important to me when I was a teenager. And we became better friends as I became an adult." "Is your mother still alive?" Laura asked. "Yes," Emma replied, "but I don't know where she is. My brother, Jack, has been writing to all sorts of places to try to locate our parents and brother and sister. They were overseas when the Protectorate started and the borders were closed. We haven't heard anything yet. I got very discouraged by all the red tape involved in the search, but Jack doesn't give up! On the other hand, it's been four years already and we seem to have got nowhere. You'd think they've disappeared off the face of the earth... The worst thing is that nobody in all those government bureaus or those refugee services seems to care whether we find them or not." "Oh, I do hope you'll have some news soon," Laura said. "So do I," Emma agreed, "and I'm looking forwards very much to getting back in touch with them!"
!!! After lunch, Joel and Alice took George out sightseeing for the afternoon, and when they had gone, Henry declared it was time he sat down and did
179
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
something about a sermon, because no matter what else might happen, he still had to lead the worship service to be held on Sunday morning at the Winters'. Carl winked at Henry, who winked back. "I need to go out to get something," Carl said, "Could I borrow your car, Henry? I won't be long." "Do you want me to come along?" Emma asked. She had not noticed the exchange of winks between Carl and Henry, as she was reading the children a story. "No, you stay here," Carl said, "I won't be very long. Get the twins down for their nap." "Go ahead and take the car, Carl," Henry said, throwing him his keys, "Here, catch." Shortly after Carl had left, Emma asked Henry if the twins could have their nap in his room, as she didn't really want to have to sit out in the camper. "Of course they can," he replied, "Just make yourself at home, Emma." He sat down at the dining table to work on his sermon preparation, while Emma took Helen and Andrew into his bedroom and settled them on the bed. She read them another story, then went back to the lounge. "May I borrow a Bible from you, please?" she asked Henry. "Yes, of course, help yourself," he said, pointing to the bookshelf, "There are several versions there." Emma chose a Bible and went to sit in the lounge. She wondered how long Carl would take. For some reason she felt restless and found it difficult to concentrate on the passage she was reading. The air was very still and there were few sounds from outside other than the occasional sparrow's chirping. She glanced at Henry and saw that he was busy reading and taking notes, then she tried again to concentrate on her reading. There was a sudden loud knock at the front door. Emma jumped, and Henry looked up in surprise. He started to push back his chair. "I'll get it," Emma offered, and went to open the door. A man wearing the uniform of a local courier company stood on the step. "Mrs. Slade?" he asked her. "Yes, that's me," she replied, rather surprised that he should be asking for her. The messenger handed her a white envelope and asked her to sign a receipt, which she did, and then he left. Emma puzzled about the envelope as she closed the door. Who could have sent it? How would they have known where she was? Hers was the only name on the envelope, and there was no return address, either. Could it be news of her family? Surely if this came from Jack he would have had his name and address on the envelope. She wondered if perhaps she ought to wait until Carl came back to open it. On the other hand, it was addressed to her, and it might be urgent. She pulled off the sealing strip and opened the envelope, then slid out the contents. Henry looked up as he heard Emma gasp, and he saw her sit down heavily in an armchair, staring at what appeared to be a photograph in her 180
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
hand. Her face was chalk-white and he got up hurriedly to go to her, thinking she was about to faint. Her hands shaking, Emma fumbled with the envelope, trying to stuff the photograph back into it. In the end she gave up and just dropped them on the floor, covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears. Henry stopped in front of her, wondering what to do. Finally he bent down and picked up the envelope and photograph. He caught his breath and felt the blood drain from his face as he looked at the picture. It appeared to be a photograph of Carl in a very compromising situation with a strange woman. But then he recognized the woman. He looked at the photo more closely, then suddenly grabbed Emma's shoulder. "Emma, listen," he said, "This isn't who you think it is! It isn't Carl!" She didn't seem to have heard him and just continued to sob. He grabbed hold of both her shoulders and shook her gently. "Emma, listen to me!" he said loudly, and she finally looked up at him, her eyes red from crying. "That's not Carl. That's not a photo of Carl!" he repeated, "Do you understand what I'm telling you?" "It-It isn't?" she asked, confused, "B-But it looks like him! Are you sure?" Henry put the photo back in the envelope. "Positive," he replied firmly, "It's not him. The photo's been doctored to make it look like it's Carl, but it isn't him." "But how can you tell?" "You can tell me. Does Carl have a large birthmark on his shoulder?" "A large— No, he doesn't have any large birthmarks." She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "How do you know it's not Carl?" "Because, Emma, unfortunately for me, that's a photo of me," Henry said quietly, grimacing, "and whoever sent it wanted you to think it was Carl. They joined two photos to make it look like that." "But-But... Why would anyone want to do that?" Emma stared at him, horrified. "And what makes you think it's you?" she added softly, shuddering as she realized what that meant. "I know it's me because I was certainly involved in that way with that particular woman, and I have just such a large birthmark on my left shoulder," Henry said quietly. "Someone has got hold of a photo of Carl and joined it to this one of me... It's easily done, any printer could do it in less than five minutes." Printer, he thought, a printer... Alf is a printer. He hates Carl and he hates me... Could Alf have done this? To what purpose? He sat down next to her on the sofa. "Emma," he said soberly, "I think someone is trying to break up your marriage." "Why?" she asked him, "Why would they want to break up our marriage? What advantage would that give anyone?" Henry got up and walked to the window before answering. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket as he looked out. The photo might have been sent to Emma, but he wasn't about to give it back to her. It was better if she never saw it again. He sighed, and turned and went back to her. "I think someone—I'd postulate Lancaster and company—wants to destroy Carl's credibility, like they did to all the Christian pastors in this town," he 181
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
explained, "You see, Carl is not only a man totally dedicated to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, he is also an ex-Protectioner. He knows them and their tactics and their goals. He can and he does warn people about what they're doing. They want him out of the way." "I would've thought they'd try to kill him, then." "Oh, no—that would just make him a martyr, and then people would really pay attention. But if they have so-called proof that he's been womanizing, committing adultery, and they turn his wife against him, and his marriage falls apart, then they'll have destroyed his credibility and noone will listen to him! Because, despite people's liberal attitudes, despite all the Protection philosophies which are still bandied around, when it comes to the crunch, people still expect a minister of the Gospel to practice what he preaches, as indeed he should, and as everyone knows Carl does—" "What is it I do?" They hadn't noticed Carl walk in, and his sudden question made them both jump. He grinned at their surprise as he closed the door, but his smile disappeared instantly when he saw Emma's face. He had a small parcel in his hand, and he put it down on the bookcase. "Why, Em, what's the matter?" he asked with concern. She rushed over to him, tears streaming down her face, and buried her face on his shoulder. He put his arms around her and looked questioningly over her shoulder at Henry. The pastor pulled the envelope out of his pocket and waved it briefly, then stuffed it away again. He pointed to his watch and mouthed the word "later", gestured to Carl that he should take care of Emma, and went out to the kitchen. Carl looked down at his wife and hugged her close. "Emma, what's wrong? Tell me, please!" he urged her gently. He led her over to the sofa and made her sit down, then sat down beside her, putting his arms around her again. She had stopped crying, and she lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. "Oh, Carl," she whispered, "I'm sorry, Carl." She hid her face on his shoulder again. Carl moved her away from him so he could see her face. He was mystified. "What's wrong, Em? What are you sorry about?" "I-I thought it was you on the photo, Carl, and I lost all my trust in you!" She burst into tears once more and buried her face on his chest. "Emma! What are you talking about?" he exclaimed, "What photo?" She sat up and looked puzzled, then remembered that Carl didn't know about the photograph. She looked around her and down on the floor, searching for it. "Oh, Henry must have it," she muttered when she couldn't see it anywhere. Carl surmised that she meant whatever it was he had seen Henry put into his pocket as he came in the door. "It was a horrid photo," she continued in a monotone, "He said it wasn't you, it was him, and somebody'd played around with it to make it look like it was you... But I'd already believed it was you and lost my trust in you, and it happened so fast, so easily..." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Can you ever forgive me, Carl, for that?" 182
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He gazed at her, feeling confused and wondering what there was to forgive because it didn't sound to him like Emma had done anything wrong. "What sort of photo was it, Emma?" he asked quietly. A photo of Henry made to look like it was of him? He suddenly had shivers up his spine. "It-It was of you— No! Of someone—a man—in bed with some strange woman and-and— Oh, Carl, the man had your face!" "Oh," Carl said. He felt anger rising in him. He knew who had done this. How dare they do this to Emma! It was one thing to attack him, but to do that to his wife—! "Where's the photograph?" he asked. "I-I think Henry's got it." "How did you get hold of it, anyway?" "A courier brought it." "Who sent it, do you know?" "It didn't say. There wasn't a return address." Carl wrapped his arms around his wife. "My dearest, my beloved Emma," he said softly, "How dare they do this to you..." He kissed her hair as he held her head against his shoulder. "Emma, I love you," he whispered, "You're the only woman I've ever been in bed with, Em, believe me." She pulled her head away and looked up at him. His blue eyes, always such a clear window to his soul for her, were as clear as ever. How could she ever have believed the lie that had come in the white envelope? Again she asked his forgiveness. "I'm not sure what it is you want me to forgive, Em," he replied, "I'm not sure that you've done anything that I need to forgive you for." "When I opened the envelope and took the photo out," she explained, "all I saw was you in bed with some other woman, and I believed what I saw. It didn't even occur to me that it could be a dirty trick, Carl, and I'm scared at how easily I accepted that lie as the truth..." Carl smiled warmly at her and grasped her shoulders. "I forgive you, Emma, and I know that you haven't lost your trust in me, despite their attempt to turn you against me. After all, you came running to me, didn't you?" Emma stared at him in astonishment as the import of what he had said sank in, then gradually her surprise turned into a smile, and she gazed at him with joy in her eyes. As she had done countless times in the last five years she thanked God from the bottom of her heart for her husband. Carl put his arms around her again and kissed her full on the mouth, a kiss which took her back to the very first time he had ever kissed her thus, at their wedding. It was a kiss that said, "We belong to each other, and nothing can separate us." Then they sat in silence, with their arms around each other. After a while Carl got up and went to fetch the parcel that he had put down on the bookcase. "This is what I went out for, Em. I saw it the other day," he said, handing it to her, "I gather that the husband of the woman who wrote this felt about his wife the way I feel about you. Only his wife expressed it better, I think. Happy birthday, my love."
183
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
She looked at him open-mouthed as she took the parcel. She had completely forgotten about her birthday. "Th-Thank you, C-Carl," she stammered, and burst into tears again. At that moment Helen and Andrew, having woken from their nap, came into the room. Henry came in behind them, carrying a tea-tray. Helen ran to her mother, full of four-year-old's concern. "Whassamatter, Mummy, why you crying?" She patted Emma on the knee as she looked up at her. Andrew went to Carl, but kept his bemused eyes on his mother. He was still half asleep. He leant against Carl's leg and gazed at Emma a moment, then looked up at his father. "Is Mummy hurting, Daddy?" he asked, "Did she get hurt?" Carl thought to himself, yes, she got hurt, but I kissed it better. "No, Mummy's not hurt, Andrew," he said, smiling at his son, "She's just happy." Andrew looked confused and stared at Emma, who looked up, wiping her eyes, and confirmed what Carl had said. "Yes, Mummy's happy," she smiled, putting her arm around Helen, "Mummies sometimes cry when they're very happy." She showed them the parcel. "Daddy gave me a birthday present. It's a very special birthday present. That's why I'm glad." She looked up at Carl with a look of such happiness it made his heart jump. He sat down next to her and pulled Andrew onto his lap, and put his arm around her. Henry had put the tray on the table and had sat down quietly next to it. He watched them all affectionately and thanked God for the privilege of seeing Carl and Emma's love for each other. He thought back wistfully to the distant days when his own Martha had still been alive. "Open it, Mummy," Helen said, fingering the parcel, "I wanna see what's in it." Emma carefully removed the wrapping from what she could guess was a book. It was one that Carl and she had read together several times, back at Bethany Lodge in Kawanyama—Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. How wonderful to see that such books were once again available in their own country! She turned to her husband. "Thank you, Carl," she said softly, "It's a beautiful gift." Henry smiled to himself as he looked at the four of them sitting on his sofa. He wished he had a camera, but since he didn't have one he would just have to store this "picture" in his memory, as he had before stored so many "pictures" that reminded him of God's goodness and love. He briefly recalled Carl as a Counsellor, and marvelled at the difference. Finally, he stood up and clapped his hands. "Would you folks like some afternoon tea?" he asked, "I gather today is a special occasion so I dug up some chocolate biscuits. Do any of you like that sort of thing?" Helen and Andrew, hearing those two words, jumped off their parents' laps. "I do! I do!" they both exclaimed eagerly, skipping over to Henry. Carl and Emma walked over to the table holding hands. Carl patted Henry on the shoulder. "Henry's offered to babysit so I can take you out for tea," he said to Emma.
184
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Thank you, Henry," Emma said, smiling at him warmly, "You're an angel." Henry gave her a quick hug. "Happy birthday, Emma," he said quietly, and turned to Carl. "It's a privilege to know you both. May God bless you two."
!!! Later that evening, while Emma was putting the twins to bed in the camper, Carl asked Henry about the photograph. "I won't show it to you, Carl," his friend said, "I don't think you need to see it, but it's yet another of the despicable things they've done." He described it briefly to Carl and told him who he thought was probably behind it. "When Ron gets here I'll pass it on to him. I think we can add it to the mounting pile of evidence I've been collecting." "I haven't been this angry since I was a Counsellor, Henry," Carl said, clenching his fists, "At least now I have plenty of good reasons to be angry! These people have to be stopped!" He looked at Henry, perplexed. "Only thing is," he said softly, "I'm not quite sure how to stop them." He sighed and clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Let's pray together, mate," he said, "I mean with Emma, too, when she's finished getting the children to bed. Let's pray about this situation, and what we should do next. Only God can stop this evil. Only God can tell us what the next step is." They went out to the camper, and Carl said goodnight to the twins. Then the three adults knelt and asked God to lead them as they faced the next stage in the battle against the Protectioners. When they had finished, Henry gave Carl his keys. "Have a wonderful time," he said warmly, "and don't hurry back. This is a very special birthday tea you're going out for. I'll see you when you get back."
185
CHAPTER 23 On Sunday morning Emma woke up to the sound of Carl's flute. It had been two weeks since she'd heard it so early in the day, and she lay on the bed in the camper enjoying the flow of the music. Whenever he played in the early morning, she recalled the first time she had ever heard Carl playing his flute. It had been five years before, at dawn on the second day of their escape from the Protectorate. She wondered how Henry's neighbours felt about someone playing the flute so early on a Sunday morning. After a while she got up and knelt by the bed to pray. Helen and Andrew had also woken up by then. They climbed out of their berths, came over to her, and snuggled up beside her on the floor, and she acknowledged them with a kiss on the forehead each, then continued praying. They sat quietly, leaning against the bed and against their mother, one on each side of her. A few minutes later they were both asleep again. Emma felt their bodies relax against her and smiled to herself. When Carl came back into the camper he found his family in that attitude. Even Emma had fallen asleep again, her head cradled on her arms on the edge of the bed. He crept about the camper quietly, putting his flute away, setting the kettle to heat up, and getting out his Bible. He sat down at the table to read and pray. Emma woke up a little while later feeling rather stiff and wondering at the weights against her sides. She straightened up carefully, but the twins woke up anyway and sat up. "Good morning!" Carl said brightly, "You have an interesting new way of sleeping, you three!" "Good morning, love," Emma said sleepily, hobbling over to the table, "Oh, I'm so stiff! And my legs haven't woken up yet, either!" "Water's boiled, how about a cup of tea? Would that help?" Carl asked her. "Yes, please," she replied enthusiastically, dropping onto the seat. She sighed, then looked up at him with a smile. "It was lovely to wake up this morning and hear your flute!" "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Em," Carl said, and smiled wryly, "Fellow across the road didn't—he came out in his dressing-gown and glared at me. I smiled at him and said, 'Good morning' but he just stamped back into his house." "Poor man. Oh, well, I guess maybe you'd better wait until we get home before you do it again," Emma said, "Henry has to live with his neighbours, after all, and we don't want to make it hard for him..." Carl poured them each a cup of tea and gave the children a mug of milk each. They would soon be having breakfast with Henry and George. "I'm looking forwards to this meeting at the Winters'," Carl said, "Just to be one of the flock and not the shepherd will be a refreshing change."
186
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Jack used to say the same thing," Emma remarked, "I guess even shepherds have to be fed and rested now and then..." "However, this shepherd had better feed his family now," Carl said, opening his Bible again, "Time for devotions, then we can go knock on Henry's door and beg to use his ablutions block!" "You're very cheerful this morning," Emma observed, grinning. Carl leant across the table, almost upsetting their cups of tea, and kissed her. "How can I help being cheerful when it's Sunday, you're all here with me, and I've been playing my flute?" he said, his blue eyes twinkling. "I won't be terribly cheerful if I end up with a lapful of hot tea!" Emma exclaimed as she grabbed her cup to keep it from tipping over. As she held the cup with both hands, Carl put his hands over hers and gazed at her, smiling gently. She blushed as she returned his gaze. Helen and Andrew, sitting together on the bench at the end of the table, grinned at their parents. Carl picked up his Bible and turned to the Psalms. "Since it's a beautiful morning and we're feeling happy," he said, "I won't read Psalm 43 which was the next one on our agenda. I think we'll do Psalm 47 instead." He read the Psalm aloud, slowly, and Emma and the twins listened attentively. Emma watched her husband affectionately, and at one point he glanced up, saw her look, and flushed. When he had finished reading the Psalm, he explained it a bit to the children, then led his family in prayer. Emma prayed after him, and then each of the twins said a few words of prayer. Carl closed by reading from the Psalm again. He shut his Bible and looked across at his wife. She blushed and smiled shyly as he winked at her. "It's been a long while, hasn't it?" she said softly. He nodded. "I think I'll take these two over to Uncle Henry's," he said, "I'm sure he won't mind keeping an eye on them for a short while." He got up and fetched the children's towels and clothes. "Come on, you two, I'll take you to the house. You can have a wash and get dressed." The twins finished their milk and slid off the bench, and followed their father out of the camper. He went to the door and knocked, recalling that Henry had disconnected his door buzzer. Henry came to the door and opened it. "Good morning," he said, "and thank you for the early concert." He grinned. "I hope my neighbours enjoyed it as much as I did." "Bloke across the road didn't, much," Carl shrugged, grinning. "Bah! That fellow doesn't like anything," Henry laughed, "He'd find fault with your music even if he'd asked you to play your flute at dawn. Don't mind him, He's not a bad bloke, really, just a bit grumpy. We get along all right." Carl cleared his throat and frowned. "I'd like to ask you a favour, Henry," he said, mischievously. "Oh?" Henry said, looking at him suspiciously, "All right then, fire away." "Could I leave these two under your able supervision for a bit while they get washed and dressed?" Carl's face turned red. "Uh... Emma and I would like a little time to ourselves, say, half an hour?"
187
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry laughed. "Go on, you incurable romantic!" he said to Carl, "I'm happy to look after the twins for you!" He waved him away as the children went into the house. "Thanks, Henry," Carl said. "Don't forget breakfast!" Henry said to him loudly as he walked back to the camper and Emma.
!!! Over forty people crowded into Laura Winters' room later that morning for the worship time, and Laura was delighted to be able to join in with the prayers and singing. It had been a very long time since she had been able to go to church. After a while, however, Henry noticed that she was tiring visibly, and he suggested that the people move to the lounge for his sermon. James decided to stay with his wife, but the rest of the assembly trooped out to the front room. "You know," James commented to Laura as he looked out of the window, "On fine days we could meet out there in the garden, with maybe a few of us in here, and you could still join in and hear the sermon." "It would be worth trying, James," she replied, "I'd really appreciate that. But do you know what I'd really like to do?" "What?" "I'd like to go to the meeting this afternoon." James gazed at her, frowning and thoughtful. "You haven't been out for a very long time," he pointed out, "You might get a heap of pressure sores..." "I don't mind—it would be worth it, just to be there with everyone, James," she pleaded, "I've been praying for this to happen for so long..." James patted his wife's shoulder and kissed her. "All right, Laura dear," he said, smiling, "After they've all gone I'll get your wheelchair out and check it over, make sure it's in working order, and Mandy and I'll take you to the meeting this afternoon." Laura's face shone with happiness. "Thank you, James," she said softly, "I promise I won't complain if I get pressure sores." "You don't need to make promises like that," her husband replied, kissing her again, "You never complain anyway. You're a very special person, Laura, and I thank God for giving me the privilege of being your husband."
!!! On Sunday afternoon over five hundred people gathered in the hall at the Goldridge School of Arts, and many of them were sitting on the floor for there were not enough chairs for them all. Alice had been able to arrange for the believers to meet there—it seemed that there were still a few places in Goldridge where Mayor Lancaster had no clout, and this was one of them. Carl had sat in the back of the hall and had watched it filling up, his amazement growing with the number of people. At one point he had seen 188
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Matt Lee and Tom Broker come in with their wives. They hadn't noticed him as they walked through towards the front of the hall. Henry and six other ministers stood on the low platform at the front of the hall, watching the people arrive. Henry's amazement was also great, especially when he spotted the two Elders from his church. He searched around for James Winters and couldn't see him, but a few minutes later he saw him enter the hall, pushing a wheelchair. Henry was astounded—how long had it been since Laura had last been able to come to a church meeting? Mandy wasn't with them, but he knew she had come, as he'd spotted her with her friends to one side of the back of the hall. Emma, the twins, and George arrived with Joel. Emma sat down next to Carl, slipped her hand in his and pressed it. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, but didn't say anything. Helen and Andrew went to him and he gave them each a quick hug. Then he sat Helen on his lap and told Andrew to sit on Emma's knees. Joel walked up behind Carl and leant over his shoulder. "There are a few more folk here than I expected," he said quietly, "I hope it doesn't give you cold feet?" "On the contrary, Joel," Carl replied, "It warms my heart and gives me courage. It reminds me that God is in control and He always does more than we expect." Joel squeezed his shoulder, and went off to find a place to sit down. He looked around for Alice, but couldn't see her in the crowd. Alice was sitting talking to George, who had found a chair to sit on towards the back of the hall. She told him how wonderful it was to see that so many more people than they'd expected had turned up. "I rang Mei Li—my wife—last night," George said, "and told her about this gathering, among other things, and she assured me that she would get as many people together to pray for us all as she could. She intended to have them praying over the whole time we expect the meeting to last." "Thank God for your wife, George!" Alice said. "I do—all the time," George replied, "I wish she'd been able to come with me." "Maybe Joel and I should go up your way for our honeymoon," Alice mused aloud, "then we could visit your farm and meet your wife." "We'd give you the bridal suite!" George said, grinning, "Just give us a day's warning so we can kick out its present occupants!" Alice laughed. Then she stood up on tip-toe to look around the room for Joel. She couldn't see him at all until she turned towards the platform and saw him praying with the pastors and elders from the different churches gathered there. When he raised his head, she waved to him. He waved back and stepped down into the hall to make his way to where she sat. On the other side of the hall, Emma leant over to Carl. "Are you going to play your flute?" she asked him quietly. "I don't think so, Em," he replied, "Not this time. I'd like to join in with singing the hymns, to just be part of the crowd praising God until it's time for me to preach. Did you bring it with you, then?" 189
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, I did, in case you wanted to play it. But that's all right, you don't have to play it just because I brought it, after all. Are you planning to stay down here until it's time for the sermon?" "Yes—I'd rather these folk focused on God and on their pastors. I'm only a guest speaker, I'm not needed up there until it's time for me to speak. Besides, I don't often get to sit with my family in a meeting, do I? It's nice not to have to be up at the front for a change." Earlier that day, after lunch, Carl and Henry had knelt together in Henry's tiny backyard to pray about the afternoon meeting. Henry had told Carl that he was hoping that after the opening minutes the meeting would follow the leading of the Spirit rather than the programme that had been planned. He had reminded Carl about the meeting at Joel's coffee shop and the prayer evening at his own house, and this had prompted Carl to tell him about his experience while he was trying to prepare his sermon. Both of them had then prayed that the meeting would be entirely led by the Holy Spirit. By the time the meeting was to start the hall was full, but there were still people arriving. Henry went to the microphone and a hush fell gradually over the crowd. He welcomed everyone, then immediately started to pray that all those gathered in the hall might be alert and open to the Holy Spirit. He announced the first hymn and the crowd began to sing. After the opening hymn, Henry made the first change in his plans for the meeting, and read from Psalm 95 instead of announcing a second hymn: "'Oh, come, let us bow and kneel in worship before the Lord who made us, for He is our God and we are His people, the flock He cares for.'" He paused and looked around the hall. "Let's do that right now," he said, "Let's humble ourselves before the Lord, our Creator, and worship Him." He led the way by kneeling down himself on the platform. It seemed as if a wave went through the hall as the people assembled there got down on their knees. Some were happy and ready to do it; others hesitated; yet others wondered at being told to kneel for it had never been done in their own church. So they did not all go down at the same time. A few people, like Laura or George, physically unable to kneel, did so in their hearts. Carl had knelt even before Henry had suggested they all do so, while Henry was still reading the Psalm. Already his joy was overflowing, and now in his strong baritone voice he began to sing the first verse of How Great Thou Art. As the crowd joined in, he raised his hands. He had closed his eyes, so he was quite oblivious to the odd looks some people were giving him. When the hymn finished, a man somewhere in the middle of the hall began to pray, and someone else in another part of the hall joined his voice to the first one, then several voices were added at the same time, and soon most of the people in the hall were praying out loud, together. Although all were saying different words, they were of one heart in their praying, and the effect was as of a rushing river, not of chaos as might have been expected.
190
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Emma knelt down beside her husband and put her arm around his waist. Carl put his arm around her shoulder and both raised their other arm as they praised God with everyone else. The twins had moved close to their parents, and huddled against them. Andrew, leaning against his father's side, had his eyes closed and a blissful look on his face, but Helen grasped her mother's skirt and looked around, her eyes wide with astonishment. The believers continued in praise and prayer for almost half an hour—on their knees the whole time. At one point James looked up at Laura in her wheelchair to check on her. His wife's eyes were tightly shut, her cheeks wet with tears, but her face was radiant. He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder, and she leant her cheek against his arm. Gradually the praying died down, and those who were no longer speaking out loud kept silent as others continued to pray aloud. As the praying ended, several voices around the room started to sing the same hymn at the same time, and others took it up until the hall shook with the sound of five hundred voices singing to God. When they had all knelt together, the meeting had been taken away from Henry's leading, as he'd prayed it would be. He was alert and ready to stand up and direct things again if God wanted him to, but he was thanking God for the way He was working it all out like this. The other ministers had come to kneel near Henry, and at one point during the praying they had all taken each other's hands and started praying for the unity of the church in Goldridge, in all its diversity. They prayed that each person present would from that day on truly live for and in Jesus Christ. Carl felt a prompting to get up and go to the platform. It was time for him to speak. Emma looked up and smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek as he let go his hold on her. "Go with Jesus, Carl," she whispered to him. He made his way carefully and quietly around the edge of the hall to the platform, and went up to the group of pastors and joined hands with them. When the praying finished, they all embraced, and then the pastors went to sit on the bench which had been placed for them at the back of the platform, leaving Carl at the microphone. Carl looked around the hall at the Christians who had gathered together to proclaim their bond in Christ. He found himself wishing he could put his arms around them all and tell them how much he loved them, and then go on to tell them how small and insignificant and even too close to hating his love was, when compared to the infinite love of God. He closed his eyes and prayed that his words might be the Lord's tool for Him to use in His plans for His people in Goldridge. Then he opened his eyes to look at his audience, and began to speak. "I don't know if you have any idea of how much the sight of all of you, my brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ gathered here, warms my heart," he said, "Over the last two weeks I've seen such a nightmare situation here that I even got to the point of wondering if it was possible to change it. So it's wonderful to see you all coming together to worship the Lord in Spirit and in Truth, as His people, the flock under His care."
191
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Some of the things I have to say to you will be hard to take, I think, but they are what the Lord has given me for you. But He has also given me other things to tell you as well, to encourage you as you look to Him together." He paused and took a deep breath. It wasn't easy for him to say what he knew he had to say. "Some two years ago, a deadly disease struck in this town," he continued, "and the disease infected the very heart of the town— those who call themselves Christians. You. The disease hit the church. I understand that it didn't come suddenly. There were warning signs, early symptoms, and had they been heeded, the disease could have been stopped in its earliest stage. But it seems that the sense of well-being in the Body in Goldridge was too strong, and the symptoms were ignored. The church here had survived ten or more years of a frenzied war against it, and was resting, adorning itself, patting itself on the back, instead of staying on the alert. The Head—Christ—was trying to get the rest of the Body to fight the disease. That is, there were members who, firmly rooted in Christ, were sounding the alarm and pointing out the symptoms! But the rest of the Body did not respond. It is extremely frustrating when one's body does not respond—I was paraplegic for some time a few years ago, and believe me, when you're trying with all your might to move your leg and nothing happens, you can't even feel that your leg is there, it can just about drive you mad! Or make you very angry. Or get you so depressed that life hardly seems worth living. How does Christ feel, I wonder, when His church, His Body, turns away from Him?" He paused again for a moment and swept his eyes over his audience. Then he went on. "The church here in Goldridge, having survived the persecution of the Protectorate, seemed to promptly have forgotten those years of suffering. You became comfortable! You took off your armour! You relaxed! How this happened so quickly I find difficult to understand—but it happened. And as you became comfortable you took your eyes off Jesus Christ, and in His place you put denominations. Traditions. Rules. Factions. Divisions. Oneupmanship. Pride." Carl could see that his words were having a strong effect—there were people cringing, weeping, horrified, puzzled, angry. He knew he sounded very judgmental. But he knew, too, that this was the message he had to preach, and that, like a surgeon operating, he would have to cut and cause pain before he could do something about healing. "In place of Jesus' love," he continued quietly, "you let hatred into your hearts. The left hand hated the right hand. The right foot trod on the left foot. The heart pumped only to itself. The lungs kept the oxygen breathed in all to themselves. The kidneys blocked themselves up. The Body became sick indeed..." He paused, and when he started speaking again he raised his voice. "Throughout this time each faction was holding—I can't say 'celebrating'—its own version of the Lord's Supper. I'm not attacking here any particular understanding of what Communion is all about. What I am attacking is attitude. And with the exception of a handful of individuals scattered throughout the churches, the attitude was one of pride, and of 192
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
disdain towards the other groups. I want to read something to you from the Gospel of Matthew. Chapter five, verses twenty-three and twenty-four: 'If you go to offer a gift at God's altar and there you remember a dispute between you and your brother, leave your gift there at the altar. Go and resolve the dispute and be reconciled to your brother, then come back to offer up your gift.' Also, a passage from Paul's first letter to the believers in Corinth. Chapter eleven, verses twenty-three to twenty-seven: 'On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took some bread and broke it up and said, "This is My body, which is for you"... He picked up a cup of wine and said, "This cup is the new covenant signed in My blood"... So whenever you eat bread and drink wine in this way, you declare until He comes back the fact that the Lord died for you. Thus, anyone who eats the bread or drinks the Lord's cup in a manner out of keeping with the Lord's character will actually be guilty of sinning against the very body and blood of the Lord.' And another passage, from the first letter of Peter, chapter one, verses eighteen and nineteen: 'For you know that it was not with things that will not last, such as gold,... that you were bought... but with the precious blood of Christ...'" Carl was speaking softly again. He was remembering the effect on himself when Jack Winston had read him the account of Jesus' death that night five years before when he'd gone to Jack's house in search of an answer to his despair and confusion. If it hadn't been for the microphone, and the hush in the hall, he would have been inaudible. "The blood of Jesus Christ—God become Man—the Lamb without blemish... For the joy of seeing you and me cleansed and purified and reconciled to God, to Himself, He willingly went to be killed and shed His blood in one of the most awful forms of torture and death ever devised by man..." He paused and sighed deeply. He could never think or read or speak of Christ's suffering and death without being deeply moved, and this time was no different. He could feel tears coming and he had to swallow hard. Still quietly, he repeated, "He willingly shed His blood for you... for all of us." "Jesus offered up His own body," he continued, "He offered up His own blood, for you, and He said, 'Come,' and you came to Him, and you took the cup that He gave you to hold with Him, and you held it gladly—joyfully—for ten years..." He paused again, and the people listening to him seemed to be holding their breaths, waiting for his words, but they weren't ready for what he did next. "And then you threw the cup in His face!" he cried, startling everyone in the hall. There was a look of horror on almost every face. After that outburst he went on quietly, as before, but now he could no longer hold back the tears and they ran down his face as he spoke, and his voice shook. "You held that cup, and you held it firmly, through all those years of storm and fury against you... And then the storm abated, and you grew tired of holding it, you even forgot that the only reason you could hold it at all was that all the strength for holding it was coming from Christ Himself... You threw it at Him and you turned against each other. You turned away 193
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
from looking to Jesus together and you looked instead to your doctrines, your traditions, your taboos, your favourite hymns... And you turned from His Word, too, because it would have been too embarrassing to have to admit that it cramped your style, or to admit that in it was the cure for the disease whose symptoms you were trying to ignore..." "I'll read from Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, again, chapter one, verses ten and thirteen, and verse thirty-one: 'I plead with you, my brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you all agree with each other so that you won't be divided and so that you may be perfectly one in your thinking... Is Christ divided? Was it Paul who was crucified for you? Was it in Paul's name that you were baptized?... So, then, do as the Scriptures say: "If you have to boast, boast about the Lord."' From verse eighteen to verse thirty-one, Paul talks about God's wisdom in comparison to the world's wisdom—I'll come back to that later." He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face, then slowly he scanned the audience, silently praying that all the wounds there would be healed, and soon. "Brothers. Sisters. That is what you all are, in Jesus Christ, because of His blood: brothers and sisters. My brothers and sisters. Each other's brothers and sisters. One of the amazing things in a family is how different brothers and sisters can be from one another and yet love each other. I have twins, a boy and a girl, born on the same day, from the same mother and father. Andrew is quiet and a bit shy, Helen is lively and not at all timid. They are almost inseparable. 'But,' you might say, 'they're still little.' All right, then—my friend George has four grown children, all married, all very different from each other in temperament, talents, tastes. A family reunion at George's is a taste of heaven. Why? Because of the love that binds the members of that family, despite all their differences and various ways of doing things and looking at life. And do you know what that love is that binds them together? It's their love, their common love, for Jesus Christ. They all belong to different denominations, too, but Jesus Christ is the One they look to— He's their Lord in every way. And their love for Jesus and for each other is such that it overflows, and each year there are more members in George's family—and I'm not referring to his grandchildren! When there is such love in a family they can share it and welcome new members the way George's family welcomed a peculiar person like me, or a ray of sunshine like my wife, or even a deeply hurt and hostile young man like their latest 'adopted' son. After a year living in their family, Suhadi is now a gentle and loving member of Jesus' flock." "Paul addressed his letter 'To the gathering of God in Corinth'—in other words, to the group of people in Corinth who meet together in God's name. Listen to how he describes them—and this describes you, too: 'to you who are those sanctified in Christ Jesus and who are called to be—separated from the world's ways, for God—together with all people everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ: their Lord and ours.' We are sanctified— set apart—in Jesus Christ, called to be holy, together, and not only us, here, in this hall, but every single person anywhere on this planet who has been
194
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
saved by Jesus Christ. Remember that." He paused again, to let what he'd said sink in. "There's nothing wrong with being different, as long as we are of one mind and heart in the Spirit. There are certain basic and essential points on which we are all in agreement. During the persecution they would have been especially clear. I wasn't a Christian then—like the apostle Paul I once persecuted Christians. But even then I noticed that there were certain things on which you all agreed, no matter which group you were from. You must keep in mind what those common points are, you must remember them, and on anything else you can just agree to disagree. Allow me to quote Paul again: 'For one person one day is more sacred than the others, yet other people consider every day the same. Each person should make up their own mind... If we live, we live for the Lord,... So, whether we live or whether we die, we belong to the Lord... Each of us is answerable to God.' That's from the letter to the Christians in Rome, chapter fourteen, verses five, eight, and twelve. Paul was telling those believers that certain differences of belief which are not fundamental are between individuals and God and should not divide the church." "Let me go back to the church here two years ago, struck down as it was by this dreadful disease of disunity, division, pride, and hate. As you know, a sick person, someone suffering from a disease, is easily overcome by anyone wanting to harm or use that person. So it was with the church in Goldridge. There was a group of people who saw the disease ravaging the church, who rubbed their hands in glee, and plunged in to render the church worse than dead—their aim was to turn it into a living lie, one they could then use against the people of this country as they plotted for power. Praise be to God! Their own pride tripped them up! But look at how far they got! Can you remember how they started? They were very subtle, weren't they? But how could such people fool God's people, you might wonder? Well, God's people weren't listening to God, and they weren't reading His Word, or they would have recognized those false prophets instantly, by their fruit. Have you been reading the Bible? Do you know what the fruits—the results—of evil are? Do you even know what the fruits of the Holy Spirit are? The fruit that you who have the Holy Spirit in you should be bearing?" "The week before last, here in Goldridge, I visited a bookshop that proclaims itself to be Christian. I came out of there feeling sick at heart. The salesperson told me which books had been selling best—it wasn't the Bibles or the books full of Scriptural truth. I could tell that from the layer of dust on those... It was dozens and dozens of books selling worldly wisdom and calling it Truth... The ones I glanced through distorted Scripture to an extent I would never have imagined. And that is what you'd been feeding your souls for the best part of two years. No wonder you've been starving and diseased! Those books are about as good for your spiritual health as a diet consisting only of sweets would be for your physical health!" "Again Paul the apostle has a comment—I told you I'd come back to this passage. In the first letter to the Corinthians, chapter one, verse eighteen: 'The message of the cross makes no sense at all to those who are on the 195
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
road to eternal death, but to us on the way of salvation it is the power of God.' Verse twenty: 'Hasn't God turned the world's wisdom into nonsense?' Verse twenty-two on: 'The Jews want to see miracles, and the Gentiles want to hear philosophy, but what we preach is Jesus Christ crucified. This is a barrier for the Jews, and to the Gentiles it sounds like complete nonsense, but to those called by God, including Jews and Gentiles, it is Christ, who is the power and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of man, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's power.' Nothing that man can think up can come close to God's wisdom—His thoughts are way beyond ours." "Two weeks ago I spoke in one of the local churches. Some of you heard me there, and God used that to bring us all here together, today. He put a longing for restored unity, for restored love for Him, in your hearts. May His name be praised forever! Hallelujah! I can assure you that God loves to hear the praises of His people. He loves to hear His people, united in love for Him and for each other, praising Him in Spirit—His Spirit—and in truth, some of them in the quiet tones of a liturgical chant, some in the sweet strains of an Asian hymn, some with the joyful beating of drums, some clapping, some raising their hands to heaven..." He smiled warmly at them as he looked around the hall. "You're all here, you know—the liturgical ones, the evangelical ones, the free-worship ones, the pentecostals. You're all different, but you are all Christ's—He's bought you with His blood. Bow down before Him, ask His forgiveness, wipe His face, and take the cup from Him once more with joy, and love each other as He loves you. To all that, I do need to add a warning. Beware of the wolves who pretend to be sheep! And may God pour out blessing upon blessing on you all." Carl fell silent and stood looking at the believers for a moment, loving them and praying with all his heart that they might love each other, then he walked off the platform and down the side of the hall to the back. Few people watched him go for they were all as if thunderstruck. He reached the doors at the back of the hall and found Emma standing there holding his flute case. He stopped and smiled quizzically at her, but she didn't say a word. She just smiled gently, took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, handed him his flute case, and turned and went back to her seat. He gazed at her gratefully for a moment as she walked away, then left the hall. A couple of minutes later Emma could just make out in the distance the sound of Carl's flute. He was playing the tune of And Can It Be, the first hymn he'd learned after turning to Christ, the one she had taught him as they had fled the Protectorate the day after his visit to Jack.
196
CHAPTER 24 Rick had been sitting on the floor near the doors. He had noticed Carl leaving the hall, and he listened to the faint sound of his flute for only a few minutes before he got up and went outside. Following the direction of the music, he spotted Carl, his back to the hall, sitting on a law wall overlooking the sportsground behind the school. Slowly, and stepping carefully so his footsteps wouldn't intrude on the music, he walked over to the wall and stood behind Carl, his eyes closed, letting the music sweep around him in soothing billows. Finally, he stepped over the wall and sat down next to him. Carl moved his head to see who had come. He acknowledged him by raising his eyebrows, but did not stop playing. When he reached the end of the piece, he greeted the boy with a grin. "Hello, Rick," he said, "How are you doing today?" "I'm fine, Mr. Slade." Rick smiled, and pointed to the flute. "I really enjoyed listening to that. What were you playing?" "An old lullaby—some hundred and fifty years old—by a man called Köhler," Carl said, "Do you like this kind of music?" "When I get the chance to hear it, yes," Rick answered wistfully, "I don't often get a chance, 'cause my dad doesn't like it much. He says it gives him headaches." More quietly, he added, "Maybe it's because my mum likes classical music a lot and it reminds him of her..." "How long have your parents been divorced?" Carl asked gently. Rick shrugged and grimaced at the same time. "I'm not sure—four, five years?" he said, "It was before my dad decided to move down here, anyway. I don't keep track of it—I'd rather not think about it at all." "Where's your mother?" "Up in Kawanyama, in Breston." "Is that where you lived before?" "Yeah..." "Do you have any idea why they divorced?" "I guess they hated each other.... They fought all the time. Mum didn't like the way Dad did things, and he didn't like the way she did things. And they'd fight over real stupid things a lot..." Rick sighed. "I guess really they just both wanted to do their own thing and by being married they just got in each other's way, so they divorced." "And how is it you live with your father rather than with your mother? Do you have any brothers or sisters?" "Nah, there's just me. They told me to choose who I'd go with—I don't think they wanted me, either of them. I figured I'd get in Mum's way more than in Dad's, so I stayed with Dad. Only they hadn't told me I'd never get to see Mum again because I'd be in another country..." "Do you miss her?"
197
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yeah, I guess I do, sometimes..." Rick sighed again, and shuffled his feet. He looked up at Carl. "Mr. Slade, why do people go and get married if they don't really want to get married?" he asked. Carl thought this over a moment. "I don't really know, Rick," he said at last, "Maybe they don't realize what marriage means. Maybe it doesn't cross their mind that they're going to have to live with this other person and all their faults all day, every day, for the rest of their life. When I got married it was because I wanted to live with Emma for the rest of my life, and I knew that it would have to be for the rest of my life because God hates divorce. I thought a great deal about what marriage would mean long before I met her, and even before I knew God I was quite sure that once I married it would be for life. Which, I suppose, explains why I was forty before I got married—I hadn't met any woman with whom I'd want to spend the rest of my life, until I met Emma. And now the thought of life without her horrifies me more than it did when I asked her to marry me!" He smiled as he recalled the first days of their marriage, back on George's farm in Kawanyama. He toyed with his flute for a moment, remembering the joy he'd felt when Emma had become his wife, then finally he turned back to Rick. "I don't suppose your parents are Christians, are they?" he asked. "Dad isn't. I don't know about Mum. But she would've said something if she were, wouldn't she?" "Does she keep in touch with you?" "She writes now and then." "I expect she would have told you," Carl said, "It isn't the sort of thing that's easy to keep secret. I had a friend in the Counselling Institute, though, who managed to keep quiet about being a Christian, because he wanted to help people in the Institute. Like he helped me, for example. He's the one who got shot for treason..." He stared into the distance a moment and sighed deeply. "Anyway," he continued, "back to why people marry when they don't really want to be married. Some people might think that they can get married but still continue with life as before. Maybe that was the case with your parents. Maybe they thought they could continue their single lifestyles. It doesn't work, of course. When you're married your life isn't your own any more. They must have tried hard to make it work, though—they were married some twelve, thirteen years, after all." "They fought all the time, Mr. Slade! I can't remember a time when they weren't yelling at each other, not even when I was little... And they used me to say nasty things to each other, too!" "What do you mean?" "Mum would tell me to go say something horrid to Dad and he'd send me back to her with something nasty from him. After a while I refused to do it and they were both angry at me, but I said I still wouldn't do it any more. They divorced a short time after that and I wondered if it was because I stopped taking their nasty messages, you know. I wondered if they might have stayed married if I'd continued to do it..." "I hope you don't think that the divorce was your fault, Rick!" Carl exclaimed. 198
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"No, I know it wasn't my fault, Mr. Slade, but back then when it happened I did wonder." "If you don't mind my asking—how does your dad treat you?" "He's okay, I guess. He's always buying me things, but hardly talks to me. He mostly ignores me. Except meal times, 'cause I have to prepare his food. He gets real mad if I skip school, though. Doesn't stop me—I hate school." Rick fell silent, but Carl didn't say anything, and the boy broke the silence again after a couple of minutes. "Mr. Slade," he said hesitantly, staring at his hands and wringing them. "You know, that time in the park, on Friday, when we had that talk, I wished you were my dad..." There was a catch in his voice. Carl put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Rick, you know I can't be your dad," he said softly, "but I can be—and I am—your friend." "I wish Mum and Dad could've been like Mrs. Slade and you, Mr. Slade," Rick continued very quietly, "You're so happy together, and you love each other. You never fight, even." "Oh, Rick, you're right, we are happy together, and we do love each other very much, but we're human, you know, and we do have our disagreements—but not often, it's true. But I'm not an easy person to live with, you know—I have a tendency to lose my temper, I'm somewhat disorganised, I don't like being interrupted, and I don't like people disagreeing with me! I married a wonderful woman who is very eventempered but nevertheless is methodical to a fault, interrupts me at every opportunity, and does not always see eye to eye with me. We have our moments—you could call them fights, I suppose." "I guess so..." Rick said dubiously, "but I bet you never hit her or beat her up!" Carl winced involuntarily. "No, Rick, I don't, not since I became a Christian..." Rick caught the implication in his statement and stared unbelievingly at him. "Do you mean that you did before you were a Christian?" he whispered. "Yes—I was a Counsellor, remember?" Carl replied quietly, "Emma was my counsellee for more than two dreadful weeks. But, you know, that's one of the reasons our fights are few and far between, and don't last—whenever I start to lose my temper with her, the Lord reminds me of those weeks..." "But she married you!" Rick exclaimed, "Wasn't she afraid of you?" "No," Carl said, "Not after the Lord turned my life around. She told me she stopped being afraid of me right away, as soon as I told her what had happened. Even now, five years later, I find that truly amazing. That was God's grace, you know, all of that—Christ saving me, Emma trusting me, our marriage, my recovery from paralysis..." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Oh, Rick," he said wonderingly, "God is so good!" The awe in Carl's voice affected the boy deeply, and he found himself longing to know God the way Carl Slade knew Him. It was the way Pastor Henry and Mandy's parents knew Him, too.
199
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
As he thought of Mandy's parents, Rick recalled what he'd wanted to see Carl about. "Mr. Slade," he said, "You know how this morning Mr. Winters stayed in Mrs. Winters' room when everyone went into the lounge?" "Yes. What about it?" Carl asked. "Well, when Pastor Henry was giving his sermon, I went back there to talk to them..." Rick paused uncertainly. "Go on," Carl encouraged him. "Uh... I asked them if they thought it would be okay for Mandy and me to marry someday..." Carl was taken aback, but he hid his surprise and asked quietly, "What did they say?" "Mr. Winters looked at me for a long while without saying anything, and then he looked at Mrs. Winters, and then he looked back at me," Rick answered, "and he asked why I wanted to marry her." "What did you tell him?" "I-I said it's because I love her!" Rick exclaimed, reddening and shuffling his feet again. Carl prayed silently for wisdom. He felt as if Rick had handed him something very precious and very fragile that might be shattered irretrievably by the slightest hint of rough handling. "You love Amanda," he whispered. "Yes, I do," Rick replied very softly, "At least, I think I do." "Why do you think so?" Carl asked very gently. Rick frowned at his shoes as he thought about this. "I-I guess it's because I wish I could take all her pain away," he said slowly, "And I want to make her happy, I want to help her go on with life without looking back at all the horrible things she's been through..." He looked up at Carl. "I know she's not like that, you know, like... uh... the way she was all these weeks, and I want to help her be herself again." He sighed and stared at his shoes for a moment, then looked at Carl again. "You know, Mr. Slade," he said, more brightly, "A couple of years ago—no, not even that long ago—I couldn't care less whether or not I lived another day. Then Mandy joined our gang. She was upset because of her mother getting worse and her dad's getting chummy with those blokes, and she said she'd had enough of their God who let her mum get so sick and who didn't care at all about her. So she started skipping school and hanging around with us. But she wasn't a bad girl, you know, and I got to like her, and we'd do things together, even silly things like going for walks in the Botanical gardens and making up wild names for all the exotic plants. Or we'd go to the park and play with the little kids in the playground." Carl couldn't help smiling in amusement as he recalled the bold, rebellious front Rick had put up when they'd first met. "Really?" he asked, "You played with them on the swings and all?" "Fair dinkum, Mr. Slade," Rick said, "They didn't mind us being silly and having fun on the playground equipment with them." Carl was surprised at his earnestness. "I've seen you with my children often enough now to know you get on well with them," he said, "so it's not 200
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
surprising that you get on well with children. But are you telling me that those children's parents let you play with them? You must admit your behaviour and dress weren't calculated to inspire confidence." "I guess not," Rick said, looking sheepish. He straightened up abruptly. "But, you know, their parents," he said, grabbing Carl's arm, "I don't think they even noticed us. They were too busy chatting with their friends or whatever. They hardly looked at their kids. Only one or two paid any attention to their kids. And it's just as well we were there, too, because there were always some weirdoes around who were out to take advantage of the kids. We kept an eye on them. If we saw a kid off by himself or herself being approached by one of those types we'd quickly go over to get them, and those creeps'd just walk away." Carl watched Rick thoughtfully as he spoke, and listened not only to what he actually said, but to what was spoken, as it were, "between the lines". Here was a boy who had learned through his suffering, who had grown instead of becoming bitter. At first glance Rick and his friends had passed for just another group of youngsters out to get their own back at a world which had treated them badly. Yet it had soon become clear to Carl that they were not malicious, on the contrary. He recalled how readily and happily Rick and his friends had turned to Christ. Not for a moment did he doubt that when Rick said he loved Mandy he meant it. "Rick, what do you mean when you say that you want to marry Amanda?" he asked the boy. "I-I want her to be my wife!" Rick exclaimed in surprise. Carl smiled, but managed not to laugh. "Of course. But what do you understand by marriage?" "Oh—I see what you mean," Rick said, and smiled too. He stretched out his legs and clasped his hands tightly on his lap, and gazed into the distance. "Well, for one thing," he said pensively, "I think it's for life, like you do, Mr. Slade. I think that it's to last until the wife or the husband dies, right? If I ask Mandy to marry me—I haven't, yet—I mean that I want to live with her, and look after her, and be the father of her children, and love her, until I die, or until she dies if she dies first. It means if she gets sick or something—like her mum, say—I'll stay married to her and look after her like her dad looks after her mum." "But what if you have disagreements—fights?" Carl asked. "Well, I guess..." Rick hesitated, and looked up at him. "What do you do when you have a fight with your wife?" he asked hesitantly. "We apologize to each other as quickly as possible," Carl replied, "then we work out whatever the problem is in a more reasonable way, with prayer. At least, that's what we try to do." Rick sighed deeply. "I wish Mum and Dad could've done that..." he said wistfully. Carl gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "It's pretty hard to do—maybe impossible?—without the Lord," he said, "He's the One who makes it possible to forgive each other. To forgive, again, and again, and again..."
201
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"But Mandy and I are Christians—we do have the Lord to help us," Rick said quickly. "That's right," Carl agreed, "Don't ever forget that." He smiled at Rick and patted his knee. "However, there is another aspect we haven't mentioned yet," he said, "Loving and forgiving are essential for marriage. However, you do need a home, and food, and clothing, too, which means you need a job, some form of income." "Oh, I've worked that out already," Rick said excitedly, "and-and Dad seemed happy about it when I put it to him on Saturday. I asked him if he'd take me on as an apprentice and help me to save up. We wouldn't get married for, say, two years, and I could save up some and then I'd finish my apprenticeship and get work. People are always needing plumbers and Dad said fewer and fewer people go into plumbing these days." Rick's words announced to Carl that there had been a definite improvement in the boy's relationship with his father, notwithstanding Rick's earlier statements about it. He didn't comment on this, but his joy showed as he smiled at Rick. "So, your father's a plumber, is he?" he asked, "and he's willing to take you on as an apprentice?" "That's right," Rick replied, with obvious satisfaction. "Do you think you'll like doing that kind of work?" "Oh, I know I do already. I've always enjoyed it whenever Dad's had me help him with something." Carl took a deep breath and looked very pleased. "Well, Rick," he said, grinning at the boy, "You seem to have worked all this out very well—and since Friday!" The boy looked at him shyly. "I spent half of Friday night praying about it, Mr. Slade," he said very softly, "That's when I got the idea about the apprenticeship." Carl squeezed his shoulder again. "Well, now," he said, "You haven't told me yet. How does Mr. Winters feel about your proposal?" Rick looked down at his shoes again. "Well, he asked me some of the same things you did, and at the end he said that he'd be proud to have me as his son-in-law..." he said, still very softly. So James Winters had also seen through the veneer of 'young rebel' to the young man who, having found God's way, was determined to stay on it. Carl was very glad to hear this. He smiled warmly at Rick and gave him a hug. "Well, Rick," he said, "I'll be praying that God will say 'yes', and Amanda will say 'yes', and that in two years' time we'll be receiving an invitation to Rick and Amanda's wedding!" The boy grinned happily. "Thanks, Mr. Slade," he said quietly, "We'll certainly want you to be there." "And, Rick," Carl added, "Please feel free at any time, as long as we're here, to ask me, or Emma, any questions you may have about marriage—or anything else. We don't have all the answers, but we can give you those we do have."
202
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
As Carl spoke, he noticed someone else approaching. Ed had also left the hall and he came over to where they sat. "Hi, Mr. Slade. Hi, Blue," he greeted them as he sat down on the wall next to Rick. "Hello, Ed," Carl replied, "How are you doing?" Ed didn't answer, but sat looking pensively at the playing fields. "What's on your mind?" Rick asked him. "That was some meeting, wasn't it?" he said quietly. He turned to Carl. "Mr. Slade, do you believe in miracles?" he asked. Carl was surprised by the question and wondered what in the meeting could have prompted it. "What do you mean by 'miracles'?" he asked. "I mean, things that happen that anyone would've thought would be impossible," the boy explained, "like the things Jesus did, for example, when He made the blind man see, or when He walked on the water, and so on." "And what do you mean by 'believe in miracles'?" Ed look non-plussed for a moment and wondered if Carl was making fun of him. "I mean," he said, "do you think that miracles are real, that they do happen, even today?" Carl turned and looked at Rick, and thought of Rick loving Mandy and wanting to marry her. How could one not believe in miracles? He looked back at Ed. "Yes, Ed," he said, smiling, "I believe in miracles. In fact, I can see them all around me, all the time. If you think about it, everything God does every day is a miracle, isn't it?" Ed frowned. "But I mean extraordinary things like feeding five thousand people with five loaves and two fishes," he said impatiently. Carl smiled warmly at him, his blue eyes twinkling. "I know what you mean, Ed," he said, "and I'll come back to that." He pointed to a small plant growing in a crack on the wall. "But I want to show you that this little weed here is as much a miracle as the paralyzed man getting up and walking. Your being able to see this weed and to recognise it as a plant that's alive and growing is also a miracle. You being you, and Rick being himself, and me being me, is also a miracle. Can you see what I'm getting at?" Ed didn't reply. He stood up and gazed at the weed, and after a moment he looked at Carl, then at Rick. He turned around and swept his eyes over the view in front of them. He looked up at the sky. Carl and Rick watched him silently, wonderingly, and he glanced at them again. Then he held up his hands and stared at them, turning them this way and that, flexing his fingers, making his hands into fists, then opening them wide. He suddenly crouched down, closed his eyes, and ran a hand over the concrete footpath, then over the grass, and finally along his trouser leg. He got up again, and stood there deep in thought for a few moments. Then he slowly went back to the wall and sat down next to Carl. "I see what you mean, Mr. Slade," he said in a hushed voice, "I'd never looked at things that way... Even just something as ordinary as my hands..." "Neither had I," Rick said in awe as he gazed around him and nothing looked the same as it had five minutes before. All of a sudden he was surrounded by a world full of impossible things that were real and were
203
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
really happening. "It's like everything's new!" he exclaimed, "Like I'd never seen anything properly before!" "Like when I got glasses and I could see clearly for the first time ever," Ed said softly, "How did you do it, Mr. Slade?" "How did I do what?" Carl asked. "You made us see different!" Ed exclaimed. Carl laughed in delight. "Do you think I did that?" Ed looked confused. "Well it was you who said everything's a miracle," he pointed out. "But it wasn't me who opened your eyes to see it," Carl said. The two boys stared at him, perplexed. "Who did, then?" Rick asked. Carl laughed again. "Who do you think? Who is it that works miracles, that created a universe of billions of galaxies out of nothing, that fills the universe with more miracles than we can ever imagine, every minute of every day?" "Oh," Ed said, smiling sheepishly, "You mean God." Carl didn't answer, but put his flute to his lips and played the melody of Mozart's Praise the Lord. "That's really nice," Rick said when Carl finished, "Is it a hymn?" "Yes, I suppose it is, really," Carl replied, "It's a song of praise to God, the Faithful One, written almost three centuries ago by a young man not much older than yourselves, whose eyes were also opened. The words to it are from Psalm 117: 'Praise the Lord, all you nations! Exalt Him, all you peoples! For His love for us is great, and His faithfulness lasts forever. Praise the Lord!'" Ed suddenly looked worried, and he frowned as he turned to Carl. "Mr. Slade," he said hesitantly, "there's something I don't understand..." "What's that?" Carl asked him. "If God loves us so much, why doesn't He get rid of all the horrible and evil things in the world?" he asked. "That's something many, many people have asked, throughout the centuries," Carl replied, "King David asks it in his Psalms, written many centuries before Christ was born. I can only explain it as I understand it, Ed. What I understand is that God hates the evil in the world—He makes that pretty clear throughout His Word. But He still loves the people who cause the evil—and don't forget that not one of us is free of fault—and He wants to give them all a chance to turn from evil. On the other hand, you know, the day will come when He will get rid of all the evil—that's the time we call 'the end of the world'. The other thing about the evil He allows to exist is that He uses it to make us who believe become better people, more like Christ. How else would we learn patience, kindness, generosity, loyalty, and so on? How else could we learn to trust in God?" He turned to Rick. "How else would we learn to forgive and to love?" Rick's face went as red as his hair, but he grinned. Ed, however, still looked unhappy. "My dad beats Mum up. I think he must hate her. He beats me up, too, sometimes, and my sister. He's drunk 204
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
all the time. He tried to kill the fellow next door when they had a fight. He's been in and out of gaol. Why does God let all that happen?" "I'm not God, Ed, I can't tell you His reasons. But I can tell you that His purposes for you are good. Because you're His child. And because you're His child, Ed, you can be His light in your home which is so full of darkness. You couldn't do that before, could you? All you could do was get angry. Hit back. Run away. That only added to the darkness. But now you can take away from it because God's grace and love are in you." "How can I?" Ed cried, "How?" Carl pulled out his pocket Bible. "Jesus tells you how, Ed," he said quietly, "Let me read from the Gospel of Matthew: 'Love your enemies and pray for those who do evil against you, for you are children of your Father in heaven. He makes the sun rise for everyone, both those who are evil and those who are good, and He sends rain on both those who do what is right and those who do not. If you love only those people who love you, what good will that do you?... So, be perfect in the same way as your heavenly Father is perfect.' Those are Jesus' words. He knew what He was talking about, didn't He? He came to earth, God-made-Man, knowing full well that He was coming to die for us who were His enemies, so that He might forgive us. That is what He means by 'love your enemies'—be willing even to go as far as to die for them if necessary!" He paused to look at Ed, who was still frowning. "How can you love your father, Ed? Remember that Jesus says 'love', not 'like', and He never says it's easy." Ed looked at his feet. "I don't know, Mr. Slade," he said in a small voice. "Let me put it another way, then," Carl said, "Say your father was a really good father, like you wish he were—someone who treated you, and your mother, and your sister with love; who was never drunk; who was fun to be with but who was also a man you could look up to and be proud of calling your Dad. How would you behave towards him?" "Oh, if only he could be like that!" Ed said wistfully. "If he were, Ed," Carl insisted, "how would you behave towards him?" "I guess I'd be respectful, and kind, and I'd obey him, and talk with him, and do things with him like other kids do with their dads." "Well, Ed," Carl said firmly, "that is how you should behave towards your father." Ed was astounded. He stared at Carl. "But I can't!" he exclaimed, "How can I be like that when he's so horrible to us?" "'Be strong in the Lord, and in His mighty strength,'" Carl quoted, "On your own, you can't do it, it's true. But you're a child of God, Ed, and 'it is God who works in you so that you can choose to do His good will.' You have God's Holy Spirit in you now that Christ has saved you, and that means that you have all God's power available to enable you to obey Him. And He expects you to obey Him! 'Love your enemies.' 'Honour your parents.' God can work this miracle in you, Ed, if you let Him." Ed was silent. It was Rick who spoke next. "It's true, Ed," he said quietly, "He does make it possible... I-I found out with my own dad. I can respect him, now, because God's made it possible." 205
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"There's another thing," Carl continued, "and that's prayer. Pray for your father, and the rest of your family. And we'll be praying with you, and for you. You're not on your own, Ed. I'll also tell you what I told Rick—that you can come and talk to me, or Emma, anytime while we're here. And I'm sure Pastor Henry, or Mandy's parents, or Joel Smith, or Alice McIntire would say the same thing. Read the Bible every day, and learn what God tells you in it, and pray." Ed looked at him silently for a moment. "Thanks, Mr. Slade," he said at last, "I really appreciate your telling me that. I'll try—I'll try to, uh, honour my dad." "You do that, Ed," Carl said, "and you'll find that after a while you'll be able to do it without even thinking about it. And you never know—God might do another miracle and your dad might change, too." He straightened up. "Which brings us back to the subject of miracles," he said, "loaves-andfishes-type miracles, that is. Yes, Ed, I believe they still happen. They've happened to me. Maybe someday I'll tell you about it. God doesn't change, you know, and He still loves us, and He is full of mercy. He still makes paralysed people walk again, and He still feeds multitudes with a handful of food. He does it when He decides to, though, not just anytime we feel like having a miracle happen. He doesn't believe in spoiling His children." He turned to look towards the building behind them. "I can hear people coming out of the hall now," he said, "I think I'll go and find my family." He took apart his flute and put it back in its case. "It was good talking with you lads," he said as he got up and stepped over the wall. "I'll see you later. Go with God and in His strength."
!!! Later that evening, Henry and his friends met together in Joel's coffee shop. The Winters had taken the twins home with them so that Carl and Emma could join in the discussion, and Carl and Henry would be picking them up later. Joel put together a pot of tea and some sandwiches, and they all sat around a table to talk. Ron Velasquez would be arriving in the morning and they all wanted to be in agreement and informed about the situation so far. They had already talked over everything that had happened since Lancaster had arrived in Goldridge, and especially since he'd become mayor. They had gone over the history of the downfall of the Goldridge churches, and finally they had discussed what had happened since Carl had first come to Goldridge. "It was such a surprise to see Matt and Tom at the meeting this afternoon, and with their wives, yet!" Henry said, "It was even more of a surprise when they came to me afterwards, with their wives, and asked me to forgive them for the way they'd behaved towards me." He pulled an envelope from the pocket inside his jacket. "They also handed these to me—I won't show them to you—and I'll add them to my drawerful of evidence to hand over to Inspector Velasquez when he gets here."
206
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Are these the photographs they threatened James and you with?" Emma asked. "That's right," Henry confirmed, "Speaking of James, they apologized to him and Laura, too." "I wonder how Lancaster and his mob will react to this," Carl muttered, "First James, now Matt and Tom... The believers are rallying together... I can't imagine them watching all this and just shrugging it off..." "What could have made Matt and Tom turn around so suddenly and come back to the fold?" Alice asked. "Perhaps my little talk to them on Saturday afternoon had something to do with it?" Joel suggested. "That's where you went!" Alice exclaimed, and turning to the others, explained, "He asked me to mind the shop yesterday afternoon because he had an important visit to make, but he wouldn't say a word about it either before or after." "Dad rang me up at lunchtime yesterday asking me to pray about some important meeting he had, but he wouldn't give any details!" Henry added. "You're a sly one, aren't you?" Emma smiled at the old man, who winked back. George had listened to all this in silence, now and then nodding or smiling or frowning at what had been said. Now he asked if he might be allowed to comment. "Please do tell us your impressions about all this, George," Alice said, "As an outsider you may be able to see things more objectively than we can." "I don't know about that," George replied, "but to my mind the most important thing that has to happen in the church here is that the leaders start listening wholeheartedly to the Holy Spirit and taking their instructions from Him." He looked pointedly at Henry. "You must stop using the world's methods. You belong to Jesus Christ and only His way is the right one for you." "I wish we'd kept that in mind all along," Henry said quietly, "I wish I'd kept it in mind." He sighed and shifted on his chair. "Well," he said, "What happened can't be changed, but it should never happen again. I wonder, George—if I got the other church leaders together would you be willing to talk to all of us and tell us what you've told me? It would be easier to take from someone like you than from any of us here in Goldridge, I think. You haven't been involved in any scandals." "What about Carl?" George said, "He doesn't mince his words." "Uh... There's only one problem," Carl said, "My photo in the paper Friday before last..." "That wouldn't help, it's true," Alice said, "They know it was all a lie, but it still colours things." "It didn't seem to get in the way this afternoon," Henry observed, "Everyone was paying attention to Carl as if their life depended on it." "Which it did," Alice said. "My word!" Joel exclaimed, "You had quite an effect there with your picture of the cup, Carl! It really showed us what we'd gone and done!" 207
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry slapped Carl on the shoulder. "Yes, you told it to us straight, didn't you?" he said, "It took us all by surprise, but there was no doubt on anyone's part that it was the truth." He looked around at the others, who nodded in agreement. "Nonetheless," he continued, "It was the truth spoken in love." He put his hand on Carl's arm and spoke firmly. "It was pretty obvious to everyone, Carl, that you're a man whose whole aim in life is to get people on the right track, God's track." Carl gazed at Henry, recalling that moment at the airport when Henry had reminded him of his time in the Counselling Institute. "Thank you, Henry," he said softly, "You've encouraged me no end these last two weeks." "Well, you know, back when I was your counsellee, even though it wasn't your aim at all, you helped me far more than you could ever guess," Henry said, "I became more firm in my faith than I'd ever been before. I came to realize just how much God loves me, and how completely I could trust Him. I learned the meaning of forgiveness and of loving one's enemies. You can't imagine the joy I had in my heart two weeks ago when I recognized you and saw what God had done in you. And these last two weeks have confirmed it again and again. God has made you a wise and true counsellor." "Henry, when you reminded me of who you were, I was astounded," Carl said, "partly because I'd spent a whole week with you without recognising you, but mostly because you hadn't even hinted at it the whole time. There wasn't any bitterness in you about it. I really am glad that I failed back then—that your faith was even stronger when you left the Institute." Suddenly, he looked mischievously at Henry. "I hope you've asked God's forgiveness for that deception, Henry!" he exclaimed. Henry was surprised, but he noticed the twinkle in Carl's eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously. Carl wagged a finger at him and spoke fiercely. "You were freed from the Institute on the understanding that you'd converted to the Protection philosophy." Henry chuckled. "Yes, that's true," he said happily, "I suppose you could say that I lived a lie from then until the fall of Denson." He became serious as suddenly as Carl had started teasing. "Yes," he said quietly, "It did bother me that I had to lie, even if it was for the right reason. I had to ask God's forgiveness..." George cleared his throat loudly. "I wonder if we could switch back to the matter of the leaders now you two have cleared your consciences," he said, grinning as Carl's face turned red and Henry looked startled, "Henry, I would like to talk to the pastors and elders of Goldridge about the life of the church—is there any possibility of getting together with them while we're still here?" "I'm sure I can arrange it, even for as soon as tomorrow night—the sooner the better," Henry replied, "From what they were saying to me this afternoon, sorting out the mess in the church is their first priority at the moment. Would you like me to start ringing them now?" "If you think they'll be happy about it, yes."
208
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Fine," Henry said, and got up. "May I use your phone, Dad?" he asked Joel. "Go ahead," Joel grinned, waving towards the phone. Henry took his notebook out of his pocket and started towards the phone. Halfway there, he turned around. "Could you lot pray while I ring all these people, please?" he asked his friends. "Sure thing!" Joel replied, and as Henry began making his calls, he led the others in quiet prayer.
209
CHAPTER 25 When Ron Velasquez drove up to Henry's house early on Monday morning, Carl was sitting on the steps of the camper reading his Bible. As the car stopped at the kerb, he looked up and recognized it. He got up and opened the camper door slightly to put his Bible on the bunk just inside, then went to greet his friend. "Did you drive all night?" he asked as Ron got out of his car and handed him a briefcase. "That's a funny way to greet a friend, Carl," Ron answered, not smiling, but with amusement in his eyes, "asking them if they drove all night, indeed! 'Good morning' might be more appropriate, I feel. Don't you think so?" "Good morning, then, Ron," Carl grinned, shaking his hand, "Now we've got the formalities over with, I'll ask my question again. Did you drive all night?" Ron ignored the question. "Is this house watched, do you know?" he asked. Carl looked around pensively before answering. "Sometimes," he said, and turned towards the house. "Come inside if you're feeling paranoid, Ron," he said, grinning at his still-unsmiling friend, "I'll just tell Emma you've arrived." Ron bowed to him, and the old Protectioners' form of greeting took Carl by surprise. He bowed back hesitantly. "I'd much prefer it if we behave formally whenever we're in public, Carl, until the case is over," Ron said in a low voice, "much as I appreciate your friendship. We're dealing with Protectioners, remember." Carl sighed and nodded. "That's fine by me, Ron," he said. He went to the camper and put his head in at the door. "Em, Ron's arrived," he told his wife, "I'd better warn you that he's Mr. Inspector whenever we're in public. Seriously. We're going over to the house." "Okay," Emma replied, "I'll be over shortly, soon's I've got the twins dressed." Carl and Ron walked up to Henry's door, and Carl knocked loudly. After a moment Henry opened the door. "Henry, may I introduce Inspector Ron Velasquez of the Federal Police," Carl said, "Inspector, this is Pastor Henry Smith, whom I told you about. Henry, we're in earnest." Henry understood Carl's cryptic comment. "Come in, Inspector," he said, bowing slightly, "It's a pleasure to meet you." Once they were inside, Henry closed the door and Carl felt it was safe to greet Ron as a good friend. He gave him the hug he'd wanted to give him when he'd first arrived, then stood back and frowned at him. "Well, Ron, did you or didn't you drive all night?" he asked fiercely. Ron grinned but didn't answer. He turned to Henry and shook his hand warmly. "Well, Gideon, we meet at last!" he said, "Until today I've only ever known you as a disembodied voice over the radio!"
210
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I'm very pleased to meet you, too, Philip," Henry said, "and to know that you're doing all you can to keep this country headed the right way." Carl shrugged and went to knock on George's door. It wasn't long before George, wearing his dressing-gown and leaning on his walking-stick, opened the door. "Good morning, Carl," he said, "You're up bright and early, as usual. But I like to sleep in, you know—what's up?" Carl grinned. "There's someone out in the lounge I'm sure you'll be pleased to see. How's your Aramaic these days?" George's face lit up. "Is Ron here already? He must have driven all night!" He started out towards the lounge, leaning heavily on his walking-stick. "He won't admit to it," Carl muttered mock-peevishly as he followed George. Ron came and gave George a hug as he walked into the room, and the two of them immediately began talking excitedly in another language. Henry stared at them, then looked at Carl in surprise. Carl shrugged. "Aramaic," he said, "Happens automatically. Don't mind them. Let them be rude. They haven't seen each other for ages. Why don't we two go and throw some breakfast together?" Henry and Carl went out to the kitchen just as Emma and the twins came into the house. Ron greeted them warmly, then Emma took the children to the kitchen with her. She gave the twins the job of preparing toast, and helped Carl to cook the rest of the breakfast while Henry set the dining table. It was rather crowded at the table when they all sat down to eat, but it was a happy crowd. They didn't linger over the food, however, for Ron had to meet his men at their lodgings, and he wanted to hear what Henry and Carl had to tell him about the situation in Goldridge before going there. Emma and George offered to clear the table so the others could sit in the lounge and talk. The three other men made themselves comfortable in the lounge, Carl sitting on the sofa next to Ron, and Henry taking one of the armchairs. "I've been doing some reading research, Philip," Henry began, "and I've found that some of my suspicions were well-founded." "Before we go any further," Ron interrupted him, looking from him to Carl and back, "Allow me to ask you to call me either Ron or Ronald all the time—not Philip. I know you're used to calling me by that name, but I would rather the Protectioners know as little as possible about the old Underground, all right?" "Fine," Carl said. "Okay," Henry agreed. "Good. All right, go on with what you were saying, Henry," Ron said. "Okay," Henry said, then paused as he changed his mind, "No—I think I'll start with something else. Just a minute." He hurried out to the kitchen, and came back carrying a drawer full of papers. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Ron, and sat down on the sofa. "These are a few bits and pieces that might give you leads in that extortion case—and some," he said, "There are some very interesting articles in those newspapers—interesting, 211
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
that is, when they're all put together. Don't look at them now, just put them in a bag—I'll get you one—and look through them at your leisure, and together with whatever your men have found so far. But I must warn you, Ron. There are some awful photographs in that lot—they're in the white envelopes. Some of them are doctored—the one of Carl, for example—but the rest are not. I think you can tell the difference. If the photos are not needed as evidence, please destroy them—burn them. All right?" "Don't worry, Henry," Ron assured him, "if I don't need them, that'll be the end of them. I won't let my men see them, either." Henry went to his room and came back with a travel bag. He held it open as Ron stuffed the papers and envelopes into it. "Now—back to the other topic," he said as he sat down again, "Carl told me that he's filled you in on what happened to Mandy Winters, to the church leaders, and to himself. A few other things have happened since, notably the attempted kidnapping of Carl's children last Thursday morning." Ron's eyebrows went up. "Attempted kidnapping?" he said, "This is a new twist. Why would they have tried to kidnap Carl's children?" "That's what we're asking, too," Henry said. "Maybe you'll find out the answer," Carl added, "It might answer some other questions too." Ron took a recorder out of his briefcase and switched it on. "Tell me about it," he said, and Carl gave him the account of the twins' disappearance and the search for them. As Ron continued to record he also told him about Geoff Hillman's involvement in the incident "See what you can make of that," he said. "You haven't exactly been bored, here, have you?" Ron said, putting his recorder down on the coffee table and switching it off. "We wouldn't have minded a little boredom, rather than all this," Carl said, grimacing. "Well, now," Henry continued, "what I did was to write down a list of all these incidents and then note what was similar about them—quite a bit, as it turned out. For example, in some instances they clearly used Personality Pills to gain control over people's actions. Carl reacts very strongly to those—one of the very rare people who do—so when they used them on him we knew for sure that they were using Personality Pills. Mandy Winters also confirmed that she'd put them in my tea. She does remember doing that. However, in other instances people were obviously being controlled and it was not by means of Personality Pills, so how were they doing it? For example, when Hillman accosted Carl at the hospital—how did he get Carl to agree to go with him? He didn't use hypnosis, he was wearing dark glasses. Then we have Hillman taking the twins away in record time—and Helen and Andrew do not normally go off with strangers. There were several other such incidents. The list is in with those papers, along with a report of my research and conclusions. Anyway, the day that Mandy was taken to hospital—when she'd been found behind the church—I started to do some hunting in my chemistry and other journals because I suddenly remembered something I'd read about shortly before the Protectorate, and something else in the last 212
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
couple of years. Except during the Protectorate, I've always kept up my subscriptions to the journals because I'm still interested in what happens in my old field." "What was it that you remembered reading about, then?" Ron asked with interest. "It was some work that was an offshoot of the research to improve on the Personality Pills. Some chemists had been working on an aerosol that would have a similar personality-changing effect. The main problems with it were its smell and the fact that it caused amnesia, as the earlier pills did. But in my research I found several articles, most of them by a certain Gerard S. Dillmon, about Dremasone, which is the active ingredient in the aerosol. They confirmed all my suspicions." Carl recalled the title he'd seen on the journal he'd looked at. "And what was your conclusion?" he asked. "Lancaster and his mob have been using Dremasone as well as Personality Pills to get people to do what they want. Dremasone is their secret weapon. By the way, they've managed to get rid of its smell—it's now odourless. They also use Lancaster's charisma, mind you—Dremasone isn't as effective in the open air, especially if there's a breeze, and you can't use it to control a crowd. I became quite certain that the aerosol was being used when Hillman lured the twins away but then didn't do anything to stop Blue taking them back. I have two reason for being sure about that. One, the children couldn't remember what had happened. Two, Hillman must have run out of aerosol." George had come back into the room as Henry was speaking. "How do you know that?" he asked. "He couldn't stop Blue and the others, and the twins were quite happy to go with Blue. If Hillman had been using the aerosol, the children would've obeyed him, not Blue." "Now I understand why I left the hospital with Hillman so willingly and then couldn't really remember much about it," Carl said. "How long does the effect of the aerosol last?" Ron asked. "As long as the person's breathing it in," Henry replied, "In other words, only as long as there's any of it around. It disperses very rapidly." "That would be why I felt 'normal' almost as soon as Hillman went away, then," Carl said. "That's what you'd expect," Henry agreed. "Who is this Hillman fellow?" Ron asked. "Gerard S. Dillmon," Carl and Henry said at the same time. Ron frowned. "That's a serious allegation," he said, "Are you aware that Dillmon is wanted for crimes he committed when he was Director of the Experimental Farm? Quite a lot of evidence against him was found when we went through the records at the Farm, but the man himself seems to have vanished without a trace." "I wasn't aware of this," Carl said, "Were you, Henry?" "No," Henry replied, "but I'm surprised about him vanishing—he's published articles in several journals in the last few years." 213
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Besides, I know what Dillmon looks like, and there's no doubt in my mind that he and Hillman are the same person," Carl said, "It should be easy enough to prove, anyway, shouldn't it? Do you have any means of identifying Dillmon, Ron?" "One not-very-good photograph, and witnesses who know him, like you," Ron answered, "But what Henry has just told us puts forward a new problem, too. If Hillman—or Dillmon if that's who he is—carries concealed Dremasone, one must approach him rather cautiously. If one gets too close he obviously has the upper hand." "Except that he himself isn't affected by it even though he can't help breathing it in as well when he uses it," Henry pointed out, "Which meant there had to be an antidote. I had no idea where to start as far as finding an antidote goes, so I prayed about it." "Did you find one?" George asked. "Yes, and would you believe, Dillmon had actually written about it in one of his articles!" Henry exclaimed, "But that's not how I found it. As I said, I prayed about it, and the next day, last Friday, Rick had his encounter with Hillman in the park. What struck me when Carl told me about it was that Rick had obviously not been affected by Dremasone. There were two possible reasons: Hillman wasn't using it, which is unlikely; or Rick somehow had the antidote in his system." "You mean, he'd eaten or drunk something that was an antidote to Dremasone?" Carl asked. "Yes. And as I was mulling over that," Henry continued, "I recalled that you hadn't been affected by it either when you preached at Good Shepherd that first time. Yet I'm sure Hillman must have used it then, because of what you told me, Carl, about his reactions to the things you said. I get the impression that they were not quite what he'd have expected from someone under the influence of Dremasone, and it showed." "So, then what?" Ron urged. "I rang Rick and asked him a few questions, and I thought back to what Carl did just before he left to preach that Monday, and I discovered something in common. Do you remember what you swallowed just before you left, Carl?" "That's two weeks ago, Henry!" Carl excalimed, "Do you really expect me to remember what I ate back then?" "Yes," Henry said, grinning. "You'd better," Ron growled. "Come on, you've got a good memory," George prompted, "Think back to what you did." "All right, then," Carl said shrugging, "Let me think..." He frowned for a moment as he thought back to the events of his first day in Goldridge. Then his face cleared. "Yes, I remember now, Henry!" he said, "I had a headache, and I asked you for a painkiller, which I took just before leaving your house."
214
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That's right!" Henry confirmed, "And Rick had a toothache on Friday morning, and he took some painkillers—the same sort Carl had taken— before he went out..." "The antidote is a painkiller?" Ron asked incredulously. "That's what it looked like to me, and I decided to try it out," Henry replied, "So I took some painkillers Saturday morning—even though I didn't have a headache or a toothache—and I went for a walk. Remember, Carl? George? I said I would just take a walk over to the church and you warned me to be careful." "Yes, that's right," George said. "When I got to the church I was pleased to see Hillman's car—" "You were pleased?" Carl interrupted. "Obviously he had to be there for me to find out if I was right or not," Henry said, "How else could I test my hypothesis?" "Oh, right," Carl said, "Of course. So what did you do, then?" "I went into the building as noisily as I could, within reason—you know, clearing my throat, shuffling my feet, banging the door—and Hillman and Greenstone both hurried out of the office to see who it was. They were rather suprised to see me, of all people, I can tell you. It was clear I wasn't welcome, but their manner changed abruptly as they got closer to me, so I assumed they—or one of them, at least—were using the Dremasone. All of a sudden they were quite friendly and Greenstone took my arm and started to lead me toward the office. At that point I thought I'd learned enough, so I told them that I could see they were busy and I'd come back some other time, and I pulled my arm from Greenstone's grasp, and left in rather a hurry!" "You were a bit breathless when you got back," Carl remarked. "But you wouldn't tell us what had happened," George added. "No, I wanted to get it all sorted out clearly before I told anyone about it," Henry said. "You'll have to tell me what brand of painkiller it is so we can be prepared too," Ron advised. "It's not the brand that matters—it's the active ingredient," Henry pointed out, "As I said before, it's actually mentioned in one of Dillmon's articles! When my experiment confirmed my hypothesis, I looked up all those articles again, and sure enough, there was the painkiller!" "Well, Henry, congratulations!" Ron said, "You've certainly produced some very interesting and useful material. It will make our job an awful lot easier! But I've just seen the time—I'd better go and meet with my men and find out what they've been up to." He stood up, put his recorder back in his briefcase, and picked up the bag of papers Henry had given him. "Just a minute," Henry said, "I think it might be a good idea if you take these as well." He fetched some of his journals from the sideboard and added them to the bag. "Thank you, all, for your help," Ron said, "I'm not sure when I'll be in touch again, but it should be soon. Please pray for us. This is a tricky case."
215
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"We certainly will, Ron," Carl assured him, "and we know you pray for us, too." "Go with the Lord, Ron," George said, patting him on the shoulder. Ron looked in at the kitchen and took his leave of Emma and the twins. "Be careful, Emma," he said, "Don't take your eyes off these two unless they're in safe hands." "Don't worry, Ron," she answered, "One scare was more than enough for me. Go with God, and we'll see you later." As he went out the door, Ron turned to Carl. "By the way, Carl," he said, without a hint of a smile, "Yes, I did."
!!! Henry had arranged to meet with James Winters and the other two elders at James' house, and as soon as Ron had left he went to his room to prepare to go. George returned to his own room to get dressed, and Carl went out to the kitchen to wash up the breakfast dishes. Emma was finishing to wash the clothes, and the twins were playing in the lounge. George went to join Carl in the kitchen as soon as he'd got changed. "Has Henry arranged a venue for your meeting tonight?" Carl asked him. "Yes, he rang up the principal of the School of Arts. Apparently he's happy for us to use the hall again," George replied, "And would you believe, all of the pastors and leaders he rang have agreed to come." "Well, praise the Lord for that!" Carl exclaimed. Emma came into the room. "Carl, would you give me a hand to hang out the washing, please?" she asked. Carl gave her a hug and a kiss. "Nothing would give me more pleasure," he said grinning. "You expect me to believe that?" Emma said, raising her eyebrows, and grinning back. "Behave yourselves, you two," George muttered, smiling. Emma called the children and settled them at the dining table with their crayons and some paper. They were soon engrossed in producing works of art "for Daddy". George sat down at the table to watch them while Carl went out to the small back yard with Emma. "How do I help, Em?" Carl asked. "Hand me the clothes one by one and I'll hang them on the line," she replied. He took the clothes out of the basket and shook them out before handing them to her with the pegs. "Funny, isn't it?" he remarked, "When I was growing up hardly anyone hung clothes out on a line to dry—almost everyone used a dryer. Now it's the other way round." "Well, along came the Protectorate, didn't it," Emma replied, "complete with rationed electricity, no appliances for sale anywhere, and Denson's 'simple living' philosophy..."
216
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"And people discovered that their clothes lasted longer and smelled nicer when they were dried in the open air, and it was a lot cheaper, too! There, that's the last item!" "Thanks." Emma hung up the shirt he'd handed her, then turned and put her arms around his waist. "What were you planning to do this morning?" she asked, "I know you're going with George and Henry to that meeting tonight, but what about the rest of the day?" "Well, George would like two or three hours to himself at some point— preferably this morning—so he can prepare for tonight, and Henry's out all day," Carl replied, "Helen and Andrew have been especially well-behaved... How about we take them out somewhere special, maybe go and visit that mine museum, or something like that?" "That sounds like a good idea—let's do that." She picked up the clothes basket and started back towards the house, then stopped. "Wait," she said, "How do we get there? We can't borrow Henry's car, he's taken it." "We can get a taxi. There seem to be plenty of them and the fare is reasonable." They went into the lounge to tell George about their plans for the day. He had been "helping" the twins with their drawings and all three of them were in stitches as Carl and Emma came into the room. "What are you three laughing so hard about?" Emma asked with a grin. Carl looked over George's shoulder at the pictures on the table. He could see what was so funny and he chuckled. "Is that your self-portrait, George?" he asked. "Uncle George said he likes to draw funny people!" Helen piped up, "Look at this one, Daddy!" She thrust a sheet of paper at Carl, who "examined" it carefully. "I didn't know you were an artist, George," he said in a very serious tone. George had sketched an assortment of caricatures wearing absurd clothing and extravagant hairstyles. One fat man with no hair—"That's posed to be him," Andrew offered in his quiet voice—was wearing a huge fur coat and diving fins and was waving a stick with a fish tied to it. A tall, thin woman with a puzzled expression and a mound of curls on her head wore a dress with a long train on the end of which sat a cat washing its paw. There were several more such caricatures and Emma giggled as she looked at them. "Uncle George! Draw Daddy! Draw Daddy!" Helen cried as she tugged impatiently at George's sleeve. "Yes, please, draw Daddy!" Andrew chimed in, half climbing onto the table. Emma pulled him back onto his chair. George turned and looked Carl up and down, mischief written all over his face. "I dare you to!" Carl tried to look fierce but his blue eyes betrayed his merriment. George turned back to the table and got a fresh piece of paper. "You're not allowed to look until I've finished," he said, looking at each of them in turn, "so do something to occupy yourselves while I work!" 217
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl beckoned to Emma and she went over to him. He whispered something in her ear, and she nodded and went out to the kitchen. She came back shortly, hiding something behind her back. The twins looked at her curiously but she hushed them, putting her finger over her lips. After a few minutes, George straightened up. "I reckon this is my chef d'oeuvre!" he announced. "Let's see! Let's see!" the twins clamoured. "I think your daddy should see it first, since it's his portrait," George grinned, "Don't you?" "Daddy, hurry, look at it! Daddy!" Helen cried, skipping impatiently around Carl. George handed the picture to Carl. He took it, looked at it, turned red, and burst out laughing. "Well done, George! Well done!" he exclaimed, and handed the picture to Emma. She stared at it, blushed too, and laughed, slapping George's shoulder. "Can I see? Can I see?" The children jumped up and down with eagerness, and Emma finally let them have the drawing. George was beaming with pleasure, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Oh, it's Daddy playing his flute and shining in the dark," Andrew exclaimed in amazement. "Uncle George also thinks you shine in the dark, Daddy!" Helen said, a wide smile lighting up her face. George had drawn a caricature of Carl playing his flute against a dark background. He had dressed his caricature in a suit hung all over with lighted globes, and drawn a lighted candle on his head. "I'll never live that down, will I?" Emma chuckled. "No, my love, you won't," Carl laughed, taking her in his arms, "We'll keep reminding you of it! It's just too delicious for us to go and forget it!" "Speaking of delicious," Emma said, pulling away from Carl and looking at George mischievously, "Such a masterpiece deserves a prize, don't you think?" "What trick have you got up your sleeve, Mrs. Slade?" George chuckled, looking warily at her. "This!" Emma answered, bringing her hand from behind her back, "Please accept this humble bouquet from your admirers." She handed George a bunch of lettuce, silverbeet, and celery tied together with a spring onion. George got up from his chair and bowed as he took the vegetables from her. "Thank you! Thank you!" he said loudly. He pretended to smell them as if they were flowers, winking at the twins who were grinning in delight, then suddenly he pulled them away from his face and looked at Emma in mock horror. "If Henry comes in and finds us playing with his food," he said in a hushed tone, "he'll— he'll—" "Make us eat it for tea!" Carl exclaimed. "Oh, no!" Emma cried in pretended alarm, "Quick! Quick! Put them back in the fridge!"
218
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
George burst out laughing again, and the others joined in, and the three adults stood hugging each other, laughing happily, while the twins danced around them, squealing with delight. Finally they calmed down and Emma took the vegetables back to the kitchen. George and Carl helped the children tidy up their crayons and paper. Carl picked up George's drawing of him. "I'll have to get this framed," he said, smiling, "Here, George, you haven't signed it." He handed George the picture and a crayon, and George wrote his name in one corner. Carl rolled up the picture, picked up the box of crayons and paper, moved it to the sideboard, and sighed. "That was very refreshing," he said quietly, "Thanks, George." The old man patted him on the arm. "It did me a lot of good, too, Carl," he said, "I feel ready to work on my talk for tonight now." "We'd better be going, then, and give you some peace and quiet for a few hours. Is Henry coming back here for lunch?" "I think so. Yes—he said he would." "We might have lunch out. Say, if we're not back by eleven thirty, that's what we're doing, okay?" "Fine," George said, "Where are you going?" "I thought we might take the twins to the mine museum. Henry said it's a good place to take children of all ages." "Like you, you mean?" George joked. "Like me," Carl grinned, "I expect I'll enjoy it, too!"
219
CHAPTER 26 The visit to the mine museum had taken some three hours, as the displays were scattered over quite a large area and included amusement rides for children. Carl had decided that they would take their time and enjoy the visit. He felt that after the negative excitement of the previous two weeks they needed this time of having fun together as a family. They had lunch at an outdoor cafe in the Botanic Gardens and afterwards walked around the gardens to see what was being done to restore them after the neglect of the Protectorate era. Although most of the paths wound around the gardens, there were some long, straight paths down the middle of the grounds. The family reached one of them and Carl turned to the twins. "Shall we have a race?" he asked. "Yes! Yes!" the children shouted together. Carl raced them down the path, keeping his own pace slow so they could keep up. The children were glad that their father could now run and they would ask him to run with them at every opportunity. This time he had anticipated their request, much to their delight. Emma watched them affectionately as she followed them at walking pace. When they reached the end of the path they all sat down together on a bench to rest. "I wish I'd brought my flute along," Carl said, "I feel like filling the air with music and song, I'm so happy!" "We can do that anyway," Emma replied, "We can just sing!" "Let's! Let's!" Helen, always ready for a song, urged. "What shall we start with?" Carl asked her. Helen didn't hesitate, and named her favourite hymn. "All right," Carl said, and quietly started singing. Emma and the twins joined in, and they sang the hymn through, oblivious to the stares and smiles of passersby. They sang another two songs, then Emma had a suggestion. "Why don't we visit Laura Winters on the way back to Henry's?" she asked. "That's a good idea," Carl said, and winked at Helen, "To quote my favourite daughter, 'Let's!'"
!!! When they reached the Winters' home, they found Laura suffering from pressure sores as a result of her Sunday afternoon in the wheelchair, and having to lie in bed rather than sit up. "It was worth it!" she said cheerfully when they expressed sympathy, "Even if it means weeks of not being allowed to sit up!" James had been very upset about it, but Laura had encouraged him to look at the good side of it. It had meant so much to her to be able to join in the meeting, and she didn't regret having gone. 220
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Amanda was helping Betty to look after her mother. She seemed very cheerful as Emma asked her how she was. "I'm still feeling a bit washed out, Mrs. Slade, but otherwise I'm fine," she answered, "But could I just speak to you by yourself a minute, please?" She pulled Emma out into the hall and closed the door. "Mrs. Slade, may I tell you a secret?" "Is it a secret you're allowed to share?" Emma asked cautiously. "With you, yes," the girl replied firmly. "All right, then, but first let me warn you that there are no secrets between me and Mr. Slade," Emma told her. "Oh, that's okay," Mandy said, "I think Mr. Slade probably keeps secrets better than anyone." Emma considered that statement. "That's probably true," she agreed, "All right, then, what's your secret? You're obviously dying to tell me." Mandy blushed. "Blue's asked me to marry him. He asked me yesterday, after the big meeting. He wants us to be engaged for two years, while I finish school and he does his apprenticeship." Carl had not told Emma what Rick had told him the previous day, so she was surprised. "Have you told your parents?" she asked. "Blue asked them before he asked me. He said he wouldn't have asked me if they hadn't been happy about it." "How do you feel about it?" "I could hardly believe it," Mandy replied, "I thought Blue would just drop me after the things I did." Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. "But he said he loves me and with God's help we'll get over all that. He said he wants to make me happy the way Mr. Slade makes you happy..." "Did you say you would marry him, then?" "Oh, yes, I did—I love him, too! I want to make him happy, too!" "And he suggested you wait two years..." "Yes. He said we're still a bit too young and he'd like me to finish school and he'd like to get started on saving up so we can get a place to live." "That's wonderful news, Amanda," Emma said, hugging the girl, "Thank you for telling me." "Blue said he'd had a talk with Mr. Slade yesterday, and told him that he was going to ask me, and Mr. Slade was very happy for him." "Mr. Slade told me he'd had a chat with Rick, but he didn't tell me what about. This is wonderful news." Mandy toyed with the hem of her blouse a moment, then looked up shyly at Emma. "Uh, Mrs. Slade, could I come and talk with you sometime?" she asked hesitantly, "About marriage, I mean?" "Of course, Amanda, anytime," Emma replied, "as long as we're in town, anyway." "Would it be okay if I brought Carrie and Steph, too?" "Of course it is." "Thanks Mrs. Slade, I'll tell them and we'll come over." They went back into Laura's room. Mandy offered to entertain the twins in the garden while Emma and Carl spent time with Laura and Betty, but after about half an hour Mandy came in with the children, saying she 221
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
thought that they were tired out by their long outing, and Emma suggested they take them home for a nap. "Thank you so much for dropping by," Laura said to them as they took their leave, "It makes it much easier to cope, when people visit." "We'll come again soon," Emma assured her, "It's always a pleasure visiting you, Laura."
!!! When they arrived back at Henry's home they put the twins to bed for a nap in the camper. "I think I'll have a rest, too," Emma said, "I'm rather tired from our outing too." "All right," Carl said, "You have a nap, too, and I'll go to the house and see what's new with Henry." In the house he found Henry and George sitting at the dining table planning the leaders' meeting. "Hello, Carl," Henry greeted him cheerfully, "Did you folk have a good time this morning?" "Wonderful!" Carl answered, "In fact, it looks like I've worn them all out!" "I'm surprised you're not worn out as well," George smiled, "but that's probably just as well—you can come and sit here and sort us out." "Sort you out?" Carl grinned as he sat down, "I haven't a hope!" He turned to Henry. "First, though, I'd like to know how your meeting with the elders went. We asked Laura when we dropped by, but all she would say was that Matt and Tom went in to see her before they left, and both they and James seemed to be in good spirits. She suggested we should ask you about the meeting." "It was as different from the previous meeting as white is from black, Carl," Henry answered happily, "Matt and Tom are as determined as James to do their utmost to help the church back onto the right path. We had a long time of prayer together, and they were looking forwards very much to tonight's meeting when they went home." "I'm so glad to hear that," Carl rejoiced, "Praise God! Isn't he wonderful? His mercies are new every morning!" "Amen!" George said, "Thank You, Lord!" He smiled at Henry, and after a lengthy pause, went on, "Now, about the meeting tonight—there obviously won't be as many folk there as there were yesterday afternoon. I'm inclined to get us all to sit in a circle, so we can all see each other. What do you think?" "That's a good idea. How many pastors and leaders are coming?" Carl asked. "Eight pastors, including me," Henry replied, "and about twenty elders, deacons, lay readers—so that's about thirty men, total." "It should be no problem, then, to sit us all in a circle, although it'll be a large one," Carl observed.
222
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Not too large—it sounds okay to me," George said, "But that's not what I wanted your help with, really, Carl. What I really want to discuss is what's going to happen at this meeting. How we'll order it, I mean. I favour the kind of programme we had yesterday afternoon, myself." "So do I," Henry agreed, "but that doesn't mean we shouldn't prepare something." "Well, I've got my talk ready," George said, "and that is the main reason for the meeting..." "May I make a suggestion?" Carl asked. "Sure. Go ahead," Henry replied. "I assume you've both prayed about this already," Carl said, and his friends nodded, "but why don't you make prayer the focus of the meeting before George's talk? There's no lack of things to praise and thank God for, and there are countless items for intercession just to do with this town alone." "That's what we keep coming back to, Carl," Henry grinned, "You've only confirmed it!" "We'll start with prayer," George said. "And keep going until we run out of steam," Henry added. "With thirty of us there it should be no problem," Carl commented. "We ought to sing, too," Henry pointed out. "Definitely," George agreed, "Always begin with singing praises to God. It gets us looking in the right direction right from the start." "I can bring my flute to accompany the singing, if you like," Carl offered. "Yes, please do that," Henry said. "All right, that's settled, then," George said with satisfaction, "Let's think of some possible hymns for starting, between now and tonight. I assume you're coming, too, since you offered to play your flute, Carl." "Yes, Henry'd already asked me to," Carl replied. "Well, let's pray now, then, and then we can do something about organising tea," Henry suggested.
!!! As Carl prepared to leave for the meeting that evening he told Emma what had been decided. He also asked her to pray while they were gone. "I know you've got to get the twins ready for bed and everything on your own tonight, but please do spend some time praying for us, Em," he said, "especially for George." "I will, Carl, don't worry," Emma said, and beckoned to the children. "Come and say goodnight to Daddy, Helen and Andrew. Daddy's going out with Uncle George and Uncle Henry tonight." The twins came over to Carl and he hugged and kissed them. "Goodnight, Helen, goodnight, Andrew," he said to them, "Be good and do as Mummy says, and God bless you. I'll see you in the morning."
223
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Goodnight, Daddy," Andrew said, smiling at him, "God bless you, Daddy." "We'll be real good," Helen promised, hugging her father fiercely. They went back to their game at the table and Carl gave Emma a kiss. "I don't know what time we'll be back, love," he said, "but I'll see you then." "Go with the Lord, Carl," she replied, "See you later." He left the camper and she closed the door, and he went to join Henry and George who were getting into Henry's car. As the men drove to the meeting they sang hymns together, George harmonizing as Carl and Henry sang the melodies.
!!! When all the leaders had arrived at the hall, Henry had them arrange their chairs in a circle before sitting down. He opened the meeting with prayer and then asked Carl to accompany them on his flute as they sang a few hymns. With each hymn, the men sang more heartily, until they were all singing joyfully at the top of their voices. When they finished the last hymn, Henry suggested they praise and thank God, for anything that came to mind, then they could go on to present their prayers of intercession and petition. He asked one of the other pastors to lead the prayers, and this man suggested they all kneel to pray. The minutes passed and turned into an hour and more as the men knelt and, one after the other, and finally all together at the same time, lifted their voices to God. Some of them raised their hands, and two of them bowed down, but they were all of one accord as they worshipped God and interceded for their town. After a considerable time, they gradually quietened until all were silent. They continued to kneel in the stillness for a few minutes, until Henry got up and invited them to sit down to listen to what George had to say. George stood in front of his chair, leaning on his walking stick, as Henry introduced him. Then he began his talk. "My brothers," he said, "I have great joy in being here tonight to encourage you as you begin the task of repairing the damage that has been done in the church here in Goldridge. I gather from all I've heard and seen that you've all had a very bad fall indeed, but I do know that as you head back onto the right path you have God on your side." He shifted his position slightly, wincing as pain shot up his back. "You'll have to excuse me if I sit down to talk to you after a while," he said, "I can't stay standing up for very long without moving around. So please bear with me." "As you are aware," he went on, "the responsibility for a great deal of what has happened to the church in this town falls on you. As the pastors and leaders of the various congregations you're expected, by both God and the people under you, to keep your congregation on the path of truth, and looking to God. Of course, the people are not without fault, but it is you men who have the greater responsibility. You were chosen by God to lead your
224
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
congregations—you can't claim otherwise. There is no authority except that which God allows. You are the leaders in the church because God appointed you." "Now, as leaders in the church of Jesus Christ, you are not only in authority—you are also servants. Don't forget that. And what is the role of a servant? To do what is needed by his master, to do what his master requires. And who is your Master? Jesus Christ. And He commands you to serve His church. So you are essentially at the beck and call of your congregation as well as being in charge of it. Sounds like a paradox, doesn't it? It would be, and it would be an impossible position, if it were not that He who has appointed you to the role of servant/leader is the One who makes it possible for you to carry it out. This is Jesus Christ to Whom all authority on earth and in heaven has been given and Who is with you always." "So—what went wrong? Why did your churches fall apart one after the other? Why did so many of you go off the straight path? You know why—you took your eyes off your Master; you stopped looking to His Word, His instructions; you stopped obeying Him; you turned to the world for wisdom." At this point, George had to sit down. He moved his chair forward a bit, and sat on it leaning over on his walking stick. Carl, sitting only three seats away from him, realized from the colour of his face and the beads of sweat on his forehead that George was in a great deal of pain. George did not speak for a minute or two, but sat there and slowly looked around at the men gathered around him. He was encouraged to see that there was no sign of hostility or pride among them, as far as he could tell, and they were all waiting for him to continue. "You found out—the hard way—that the world's wisdom is foolishness. It leads in one direction only—away from God. It is subtle, and the incline down which it leads you is not a steep one, so that you can get a long way down it before you realise how low you've got! And the further down this incline you go the harder and the more painful it is to get back up. Somehow it's steeper when you try to retrace your steps. But as you're finding, I hope, the pain is worth it, just to get back to trusting God." "As Carl pointed out yesterday, the state of the church here—the division, disunity, and the following of false prophets—didn't go unnoticed by those who wanted to take advantage of it. And these people infiltrated your congregations and spread the division and the false teachings, and you let them do it. However, now you know who they are. And now you know, too, the solution to this horrible situation. Look to God alone for the wisdom you need for pastoring and leading your flocks. Know His Word. Spend much time in prayer. Love one another as He loves you. When Jesus Christ saved you, He put His Holy Spirit in you. That means that His wisdom, His counsel, His power and might, are available to you in the carrying out of the work He has appointed you to do." "Jesus told us to beware of wolves in sheep's clothing. The only way we can recognise them is by their fruit. What kind of lives do they lead? Are they full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self-control? Those are the fruit of the Holy Spirit. Those are 225
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
the fruit produced by those branches that are attached to the True Vine, Jesus Christ. Those are the fruit you should be bearing in your lives. Be continuously filled with the Holy Spirit—bear His fruit in abundance." "Then there's prayer. 'Pray continually.' 'Pray at all times.' 'Pray in the Spirit on all occasions.' 'Pray for each other.' 'Pray in the Holy Spirit.' There is the secret to effective servant-leadership: constant communication with God, close communion with Him at all times." "And, in the end, what should be the purpose of all your efforts? To increase attendance at meetings? To be acclaimed as a leader of the church? To bring people to Christ, even? No—none of these things should be your aim. You know that more people in church doesn't necessarily mean more people in God's Kingdom. Being put on a pedestal usually results in a great fall. And only Christ can bring people to Himself—we are only told to bring His Gospel to them and to disciple them. So, then, your goal in all you do, at all times, whether in public or in private, is to glorify God. How do we do this? By obeying Him, by loving Him, and by loving one another. What is meant by love? You are all familiar with the thirteenth chapter of Paul's first letter to the Corinthian church, I'm sure." "A word of warning here: remember that loving can mean disciplining. Don't confuse love with sentimentalism. There will be times when loving someone in your church will mean having to tell them they're wrong, and if they refuse to do what is right, even to punish them. As you probably all know from experience, this can be extremely hard to do, especially if your congregation disagrees with you, or there are pressures from outside the church as was common at the turn of the century and in the two decades before the Protectorate. Nonetheless, if you love, you will discipline. And if you love, you will also submit to being disciplined if you need it. Be accountable to each other—that is one way of showing your love. Remember at all times, brothers, that you are Christ's, that He is with you, that He enables you. Be filled with His Holy Spirit. May His grace be with you all." "And now, please excuse me, I cannot stay any longer. Could one of you take Henry home at the end of the meeting, please? Henry, could Carl please borrow your car and take me home?" There was a general commotion as several of the men, including Carl, jumped up and went to him. Some suggested closing the meeting right away, but George insisted it wasn't over, and Henry agreed with him. James Winters said he would be happy to give Henry a lift home, and Henry gave Carl his car and house keys. George thanked them and addressed a few more words to the gathering. "I'll be praying for you all, and for your people," he said, "Please pray for the other churches in this country, and for the church in Kawanyama, that they won't go astray. Thank you for listening to me. Good night and God bless you all." Carl helped him to get up and he and James helped him out to the parking lot and into Henry's car. James returned to the hall and Carl and George drove off to Henry's house. When they arrived, Carl helped George out of the car and over to the front door. He unlocked the door and opened it, switching the light on. He 226
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
was about to help George into the house when he became aware that all was not as it should be in Henry's loungeroom. The two of them stood in the doorway and surveyed the mess. Someone had strewn Henry's books and papers all over the floor, the contents of the sideboard had been emptied out of it, and the upholstery of the lounge suite had been ripped open. Carl groaned at the sight. Someone had broken into the house while they were at the meeting... He suggested to George that he could sleep in the camper truck that night. "We have to get you to bed," he said, "and I expect the house has to be left as is until the police comes." "As long as I can lie down soon, Carl," George said, his voice shaking because of his pain, "That's the main thing." Emma opened the camper door. She'd heard their voices and wondered why they were still outside. "Em, can you make up the end berth, quickly, please?" Carl said urgently as he helped George towards the camper, "George needs to lie down and there's a bit of a problem with Henry's place." "What's wrong with Henry's place?" Emma asked. "It's been broken into. We have to leave it as is until the police come." Emma got out clean sheets and made up the bed as Carl helped George up the camper steps. "Just help me get my jacket and shoes off," George whispered, "I'll sleep in my clothes. I need to lie down!" Carl took his jacket off and eased him down on the bed, then removed his shoes. "Would you like a painkiller?" Emma asked George. "No, thank you, Emma, I'll be all right now," he answered, "Thank you very much, both of you. I guess I've just been a little too active lately, and it's caught up with me." "I'd better go out there and wait for Henry," Carl said, "He'll get a bit of a shock when he gets home." "I'll come with you," Emma said, "Is that all right, George? Will you be okay?" "Yes, thank you, my dear, you go ahead and wait for Henry with Carl." It wasn't very long before James and Henry drove up. Henry got out of the car, said goodnight to the elder, and James drove off. Henry was surprised to find Emma and Carl sitting on his front step. "What are you two doing out here?" he asked. "There's a bit of a problem, Henry," Carl answered, "I've called Ron and he's on his way. He said he'd tell us, when he's had a look, whether we should get the local police or not." "What do you mean, a problem?" Henry asked, "And why do you need Ron to deal with it?" "Your house has been broken into, Henry," Emma said quietly. "My house has been broken into?!" Henry exclaimed, going up the step, "You're joking!"
227
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Sorry, mate, we're not," Carl answered, getting up and taking his arm, "It's not the sort of joke we play on people. Don't touch anything. We mustn't touch anything until Ron's seen it—and maybe even then we'll still have to wait for the police." Henry opened the door and looked into his house. His face went pale. "Whoever did this didn't believe in doing only half a job, did they?" he said anxiously, "It'll take a week to clean up!" "It gives you an excuse to do some spring cleaning, Henry," Carl said seriously, "Look on the bright side..." He patted Henry's shoulder and smiled. "Besides, we'll help." Henry turned around, leaving the door open, and sat down on the step next to Emma. To their surprise, he grinned. "Folks," he said, "after this evening's meeting, and the elders' meeting this morning, my heart is too full of joy to let a little thing like this trouble it. Besides," he added mischievously, "with your cheerful sort around, Carl, how can I possibly let myself get gloomy?" Carl sat down on the other side of Emma and put his arm around her. "This man will never cease to amaze me," he said, pointing to Henry with his chin. Emma smiled. "He's one of a kind, all right," she said. Henry pretended to ignore them, and turned and looked through the door. "I wonder what they were after..." he mused out loud, and sighed. "I think I know..." he muttered. "Burglars usually look for valuables," Emma said. "I tend to side with Henry, who obviously thinks this isn't the work of an ordinary burglar," Carl said. "I've an idea who might be behind it, and what they were after," Henry said. "Ron should be here soon, you can tell him and us together," Carl suggested. They didn't have long to wait. A few minutes later Ron Velasquez arrived with one of his detectives. Henry, Carl, and Emma got to their feet as the men got out of their car. "Right," Ron said briskly as he walked up to the house, "where's the body?" "The body?" Emma asked, "What body?" "Do you mean George?" Henry asked, "He's in the camper." Ron gave him an odd look, and Henry shrugged and gave Carl a questioning glance. "We had to put him to bed in there—he couldn't stand up any longer. His back hurt too much," Carl explained. "Ah!" Ron said, "I see. All right, then, how about showing me the real body?" "Don't you talk to me about bodies!" Carl said fiercely. "What is the matter with you lot?" Henry asked in exasperation, "Didn't you tell Ron this is a break-in, not a murder?"
228
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Ron grinned and patted Henry's shoulder. "Sorry, Henry," he said, "It's a private joke. Show me the body of evidence, I mean, which is not what Carl understood." He winked at Carl. "Sorry, mate, I get carried away sometimes." "No harm done," Carl said, "Come on, Henry, show them why you'll have to do some spring cleaning this year." "Have a look, Ron," Henry said, waving towards his front door. Ron and his officer went into the house. They took only two steps inside the door, and stood to survey the damage. Henry was just behind them, and Ron turned to him after a sweeping look around the room. "Have you had a look in the rest of the house?" he asked, "The bedrooms, kitchen, and so on? Is anything missing?" "Not yet," Henry replied, "We thought we'd wait for you to come." "Well, go in and have a look," Ron said, "and see if anything is obviously missing." He called to Carl. "Did you call me from Henry's phone?" "Yes," Carl said, "Why?" "I hope you held the receiver with a cloth in your hand, or your fingerprints will be all over it." "My fingerprints were probably all over it anyway, but yes, I did use a cloth." "Good." Ron turned to the detective who had come with him and smiled broadly. "Officer Stuart, could you write a detailed description of the state of this room?" he asked. "No, Sir," Stuart replied with a straight face, "Descriptive writing was not one of my best subjects at school." "Oh, well, never mind, then. There used to be a saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. So please get your camera out and take plenty of pictures." "Yes, Sir," the detective replied, grinning, and did as Ron told him. Ron walked through the room and went to join Henry at the back of the house. "Should we go in?" Emma asked her husband. "No. We might get in the way," he answered, "We'll just wait out here." He sat down on the step and Emma sat down next to him. "The funny thing is, I didn't hear any noise, or anything," she said, "I would've thought they'd've made some noise breaking in." "I expect they broke in at the back of the house," Carl said, "and anyway, they would've been very careful not to make any noise. Henry had all his windows shut, too, so it's not surprising you didn't hear them." In his bedroom, Henry was trying to figure out if anything was missing without touching anything. His clothes were strewn all over the room, his bed had been pulled to pieces and the mattress slashed, and all his drawers had been tipped out. The same state of affairs reigned in the spare bedroom which George had been using. Ron surveyed the wreckage in the kitchen. He remembered that Henry had brought him the contents of one of the kitchen drawers that morning, and suddenly realised that he could guess who was behind the break-in and what they were looking for. 229
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
He walked over to the bedroom. "Anything missing?" he asked Henry. "Not that I know of," Henry replied, "Certainly none of the things that you'd expect to be stolen by a normal burglar. Not that I have much of that, anyway. The CD-viewer/recorder is here, and so is the handful of CDs I own." "Do you think this was done by a normal burglar—ordinary thieves, I mean?" Ron asked. "Ron—does it look that way to you?" Henry asked back, raising his eyebrows. "Frankly, no. This is more the sort of situation I've seen in the homes of diplomats in Apmirra when spies have got in." "I think I've an idea who's behind this, Ron," Henry said, "and I think I know what they were after." "How many people knew you had that drawerful of papers?" Ron asked. "Only those who used my kitchen might have known about it—but I kept it locked." "How long had that stuff been in it?" "Not more than three weeks." "And who used your kitchen during that time besides you?" "Not many people," Henry counted on his fingers, "Let's see... Carl and Emma, Dad and Alice, George, and me. Oh, the twins were in there, too, I guess." "Well, something tells me none of those people are responsible for this mess..." Ron commented. "Look, Ron, no-one actually knew—apart from Carl—that I was saving all that up, until I mentioned it to James last Friday, I think it was. I'm quite sure he wouldn't have said anything to anyone about it. No, I know what whoever broke in was after, Ron—it was the photos that Matt and Tom handed over to me yesterday after the meeting." "Matt and Tom?" "The two other elders at Good Shepherd besides James Winters. They had these photos of James, of me, of Mandy, with which they were trying to blackmail us. They're in that bag of stuff I gave you this morning." "No, they're not—I took all the photos out," Ron said. "What'd you do with them?" Ron looked meaningfully at Henry. "You don't need to know where they are. Maybe later I'll tell you, but for now all I'll say is that the ones that are relevant are in a safe place and the others no longer exist." "Fine," Henry said. He waved towards his bed. "Look at this mess. I don't understand why they felt the need to slash the mattresses—or the lounge suite," he said sadly, "Did they really think I'd have put them in there?" "Sheer spite, probably," Ron said, shrugging, "When they couldn't find what they wanted, they thought they'd take revenge somehow. Be thankful they didn't do worse." "Yeah, I s'pose so..." Detective Stuart came into the room to take photos, and Ron and Henry went back into the lounge. 230
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"When can I start cleaning up?" Henry asked. "Just give Stuart a little more time to take photos and to look for fingerprints," Ron replied, "Actually, I suggest you ask Carl and Emma if you can sleep in the camper tonight. Leave the cleaning up for tomorrow." Carl heard what Ron said and he came into the room, Emma following him. "We've got one more berth, Henry," he said, "You're welcome to sleep there." "I'll go get it ready," Emma said, and went out to the camper. "Should we call the local police?" Carl asked Ron. "No—I think I know who's behind this," Ron answered, "and there won't be any evidence to prove anything. Besides, I discovered that the local police kow-tow to friend Lancaster." "Oh," Henry said in dismay, "We can't even trust the police, now. Just like in the Protectorate..." Detective Stuart returned to the living room. "Finished the picture-taking, Inspector," he announced, "Shall I lift fingerprints?" "Yes, you do that," Ron replied absently. He was thinking about what he had found out so far and how it all fitted in with what he'd learned about the Protectioners' activities in Goldridge and the extortion case in Apmirra. Finally he shrugged. "Guess we'll find out," he muttered. "Eh, what?" Carl asked. "Oh, nothing," Ron replied, "Just talking to myself." Carl gave him a strange look. "We two are here with you, and you have to talk to yourself?" he said. Ron frowned at him. "Some things one cannot tell others." "Typical," Carl said, looking at the ceiling. Ron wheeled on him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. Carl grinned at him. "Some things one cannot tell others," he said, and slapped Ron's shoulder. "Henry, watch this fellow—he can be dangerous." "So I'm beginning to realise," Henry chuckled. When Officer Stuart had finished his work, Ron suggested to Henry that he lock up the house and go to bed. Henry offered him a cup of tea, but he declined. "I want to get to sleep," he grinned, "but thanks, anyway. Another time." "We all want to get to sleep," Carl pointed out, "I'm not a night owl at the best of times. When shall we see you again, Ron?" "Not sure—it depends on how things go. I'll give you a ring," Ron replied, "Unless you arrange another break-in or something like that, of course." "Maybe we'll arrange for a body, next time," Carl said mischievously, rubbing his hands together, "Just for you, Ron." "Thank you, Carl," Ron said seriously, "I appreciate your thoughtfulness." "Goodnight, then, Ron, Officer Stuart," Carl said. Henry had locked up his house and he joined them on the footpath. "Thanks for coming," he said, "Goodnight."
231
CHAPTER 27 On Tuesday morning, while Emma helped the twins to get dressed, Henry helped Carl to prepare breakfast. He had fetched some food from his kitchen and had taken it back to the camper, for the Slades had moved all their food supplies into his house. George remained flat on his back in bed. "How are you feeling, George?" Emma asked him when she saw he was awake. "Not in the best shape, my dear," he said, smiling, "I think I'll have to stay here this morning and be good to my back." "You've been putting too much strain on it, have you?" "Well, normally I have to lie down for an hour or two each day. So far I've only managed to do that once since I left home, and now I'm paying the price..." "Well, George, I'll see if I can remember any of my nurse's training," Emma teased, "You know—things like making a bed with the patient in it, feeding a patient that's flat on his back without making him choke, giving a bed bath, and so on." "Oh, dear!" George exclaimed, looking suitably horrified, "Maybe I'll get up after all." "I wouldn't take her seriously, George," Carl said, winking at him, "Not unless she threatens to give you an enema, anyway!" Emma and George both laughed. "Do you mind if I change the subject?" Henry asked, "I'm in the cooking business, myself, at the moment, and I was wondering which of you folk would like an egg for breakfast." "Scrambled eggs for everyone," Carl said, clapping his hands, "I don't think they'll object." They all agreed with him, so Henry set about making scrambled eggs while Andrew and Helen took on the task of preparing toast. George began to sing a hymn quietly, and after a few moments the others were all singing along with him, even the twins. They continued singing, with George choosing the hymns, as they finished preparing the meal. Then Henry helped Emma prop George up on his side with all the pillows and cushions they could find. "Will you be all right, to eat like that?" Emma asked him anxiously. "Yes, thank you, my dear," he replied, "I'm very comfortable." Emma set George's breakfast out on a box next to his bed so he could reach it easily, and went to sit with the others at the table. "Today's work is all mapped out for us, I think," Carl announced as they ate, "Isn't it, Henry?" "You mean, cleaning up the mess?" Henry asked. "Obviously," Carl said.
232
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"No sense putting it off, I guess," Henry said without much enthusiasm, "and yes, I'll take you up on last night's offer, Carl. I would appreciate help in doing it." "We'll be very happy to help you, mate," Carl assured him, "I'd hate to face a clean-up like that on my own!" After clearing up the breakfast things, Carl and Emma left the twins under George's watchful eye in the camper and followed Henry into his house. "Where do we start?" Henry asked, spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "I suggest you tackle your bedroom, Carl does this room, and I clean up the kitchen," Emma said, "Then whoever finishes first can sort out George's room." Carl examined the torn upholstery of the lounge suite. "Can this be repaired, d'you think?" he asked Emma. "I can mend it temporarily, but it'll probably need a professional upholsterer to do it properly," she replied, "I'll have a go after we clean up." "What about the mattresses? They've been slashed," Henry asked. "Same thing. You'll need a professional to fix them," Emma told him, "but let's get on with tidying up, right now. It's going to take us a while." Henry disappeared into his room and Emma went out to the kitchen, leaving Carl to clean up the lounge. She looked around at the mess in the kitchen and wondered where to start, and finally decided to begin by getting rid of broken crockery and glass and spilt food. Carl went from one end of the living-dining room systematically picking up Henry's papers and stacking them on the dining table. Then he did the same thing with the books and journals, and followed with sorting the contents of the sideboard and putting them away. He swept up the broken plant pots and spilt soil and plants and took the rug outside to shake it. Then he sat down at the table to sort out Henry's papers. Meanwhile, in his bedroom, Henry picked up his clothes and replaced them in his wardrobe and chest of drawers. He folded up the bedclothes and put them on the end of the bed, then picked up all the other items scattered around the room. Emma put away the undamaged items in the kitchen and swept the floor. She went to check the bathroom and remembered that she'd already tidied that room up earlier that morning when she had come in to have a shower. Henry had started cleaning up George's room. "How's it going?" she asked him, looking into the room, "D'you need a hand? The kitchen has been found and is once again usable." "Thanks. I'm doing all right in here, I think," Henry answered, "I'm glad George didn't see what they'd done with the contents of his suitcase!"
233
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Speaking of George," she said, "Could you hand me his pyjamas? If he's going to stay in bed much longer he should probably get changed. Carl can help him." "Here," he said, handing her George's pyjamas and dressing gown, "How's Carl's end of the house coming along?" "I don't know. I haven't looked in the lounge yet." She left the room and went into the front room, where Carl was still trying to sort papers. "This looks much better than it did when I last saw it," she said, gazing around. She went over to the table and looked at the piles of papers and journals on it. "What are you doing?" "Trying to figure out what order this lot should be in," Carl replied without looking up, "I think I'm about to give up and call Henry to help." Emma looked more closely at one of the papers. "This looks like chemistry," she commented, "I thought Henry was a pastor." "He was a chemist, first, remember?" Carl said. "That's right. Of course! That's why he knows about the Dremasone! I'd forgotten." She put the paper back on the pile and sighed. "Would you mind coming out to the camper and helping George to get into his pyjamas?" she asked, "I think he'll be more comfortable." Carl patted the papers into a neat stack and got to his feet. "I think Henry'll do a better job of sorting those out," he said. He stretched and started towards the door. "Right, Em," he said, "let's get George comfortable, then." They went out to the camper, where they found George still lying on his back, telling the twins a long, involved story. Helen and Andrew were sitting on the floor beside his berth. "Well, children, it looks like I'll have to stop for now," he said as Emma and Carl came in, "I'll continue the story later. How's it going with the spring cleaning, you two?" "Just about finished," Carl replied, "With three of us doing it, the task is nowhere near as daunting as it might be. However, Emma thought I ought to add to my jobs by getting you into your pyjamas." "Ah, that's a good idea," George said, "These clothes are a bit tight for wearing in bed." "All right, then, I'll give you a hand," Carl said, "Em, I suggest you take these two into the house while I help George change." "Okay," Emma said, "Come on, Helen and Andrew, we'll go see how Uncle Henry is doing." They followed her out of the camper and she closed the door, then led them to the house. Henry was going through his papers on the table, putting them in order. The twins skipped over to him and greeted him happily. "Hello, children," he said, smiling, "Can you help me sort out this mess, d'you think?" Andrew got up on a chair and took the topmost sheet from one of the piles. He looked at it, frowning, then put it back. "No, Uncle Henry," he said, very seriously, "I can't read." He got down from the chair and, just as seriously, went over to the sideboard to fetch the box of crayons.
234
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry managed not to laugh, though he found it most difficult, especially when he looked at Emma and saw she was having a hard time controlling her own urge to laugh. "Never mind," he said finally, standing up, "I'll get around to it sometime. There's no rush. Thank you for your help, Emma. I don't know if I'd be even halfway through if it weren't for you two. How's George?" "I think he's in worse shape than he's letting on," Emma said, "He probably ought to stay lying down all day. D'you think we could turn over the mattress in that room and make the bed up? It would be better if we can bring him in here—it's getting rather hot in the camper." "Sure. If you give me a hand. Come along," he said, and went out to George's room. Emma followed him out after telling the twins they could do some drawing. The two children settled down in the lounge with their box of crayons and some paper. "What you gonna draw?" Helen asked her brother. "Mmmm... I think... I dunno..." the boy replied as he searched through the crayons, "Maybe Uncle George." Carl came in from the camper and saw the children in the lounge. "Where's Mummy?" he asked. "She's helping Uncle Henry with the bed," Helen said. "For Uncle George," Andrew added. Carl went into George's room. He showed Emma a pile of clothing he was carrying. "I'll put these in the hamper in the bathroom, okay?" he said. "Sure," Emma replied, "We'll do some washing later. Carl, I thought we should bring George in here. It isn't as hot as in the camper, and it's closer to the bathroom. Could you and Henry help him walk over, d'you think?" "If he can be moved—he might not feel up to it," Carl answered, "C'mon, Henry, let's see if the patient can ambulate this far with assistance." The two men went out to the camper and told George what Emma had suggested. "She thinks you probably ought to stay on your back all day," Carl explained. "She's right," George agreed, "It's a nuisance, all right, and more problems for you folks, as well." "Makes a nice change from battling Lancaster and his mob," Carl muttered, "Henry—you support him on that side, I'll take this side. Let us know if we hurt you, George." Supporting George between them, Carl and Henry helped him down the steps and over to the house very slowly. They took him into the bedroom and helped him to lie down on the bed. Once they had him settled, Carl suggested that it was about time they prayed for him. "We ought to thank God, too, that we were able to tidy up the house so easily, don't you think?" He knelt by George's bed, and
235
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Emma and Henry followed suit, and the three of them prayed for their elderly friend. There was a knock at the door, and Emma went to see who it was. Mandy was standing on the step with Carrie and Stephanie. They had come to talk with Emma. "Come in, girls," she said, "Sit down—I'll just be a minute." Mandy and her friends went to sit down in the lounge while Emma went to tell Carl and Henry who had come. "I think I'll take them out to the camper to talk with them," she said, "They might feel more comfortable if it's just us women. They want to ask me about marriage." "You do that, Em," Carl replied. He took her hands and smiled at her affectionately. "You tell them about what real love is—you're an expert on that. You're a very good wife." Emma blushed crimson and he hugged her quickly, suddenly remembering they weren't alone. She left the room and Carl smiled sheepishly at Henry and George. Henry patted his shoulder. "Didn't I call you an incurable romantic the other day, Carl?" he said, shaking his head. George laughed. "You know, when those two first arrived at Bethany Lodge, Henry, they were a bit of an unknown. For one thing, they were covered in mud from head to toe—not likely to inspire confidence, is it?" He winked at Carl. "And after all, Carl had been a Counsellor. We human beings have a tendency to judge people according to their past, and we were all a bit wary of him. At first. Say, the first day. Emma, now—being the kind of cheerful spirit that she is, we warmed to her right away. My son Will, especially. You didn't know that, did you, Carl? I can tell by that look of surprise on your face!" He laughed again. "Within a week, though, Will had realised that someone else already had his eye on Emma. He came and talked to me about it and I suggested that he pray and ask the Lord about what he should do. He came to me the next day looking somewhat crestfallen and told me that the Lord had made it quite clear to him that Emma was to be Carl's wife. He didn't tell me how the Lord had shown him, in case you're wondering, and I didn't ask him. He was rather despondent about it, but he decided that from then on he would treat both Carl and Emma as brother and sister. I asked him if that meant he expected me to adopt them, and he said, 'Of course!'" Carl winked at George and spoke to Henry. "We ought to warn you, Henry," he said, "in case you ever meet this man, that Will has taken the gentle art of teasing to new heights." "And I've found out that you've taken lessons from him," Henry riposted. Carl was suddenly serious. He turned back to George. "I didn't know that about Will," he said, "He never let on, never hinted at it. I wonder if Emma ever guessed? Will's certainly always treated me like a brother— even to teasing me mercilessly! I'm so glad he and Denise are happy together."
236
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"They certainly are," George confirmed, "It's a delight to see them together, just as it's a delight to see you and Emma together." "Mei Li and you have been like parents to Emma and me, George—you essentially adopted us, just as Will said you should," Carl said quietly, "Do you know, I've almost gone and called you 'Dad' on several occasions!" George's eyes twinkled. "I would consider it an honour to be called 'Dad' by you, Carl," he said, "I mean that. You know, if we hadn't been away in the Middle East when your parents died, I think you'd have been calling me 'Dad' a long time ago..." Carl considered this. What if things had turned out differently and he'd grown up in the Newman family instead of in the Rainbow Garden Children's Home? If he'd been brought up as a Christian? He wouldn't have gone through all those years of serving the Protection, he would never have been a Counsellor... And he would never have known Andrew Parker and his family. He might never have met Emma... "You know, George," he said after a moment, "Emma once told me that all those years before I became a Christian—which I considered to have been completely wasted—God had allowed me to go through them because He had His own plans for me, and I was skeptical. I still had reservations about her statement. But just then when you told me about what might have been, I could see that the things God did allow to happen in my life have turned out for the best in the end." "If you hadn't been a Protectioner once," Henry commented softly, "you wouldn't be able to help us now..." "If I hadn't been a Counsellor," Carl murmured, "I might never have met Emma..." "Yet in the end you've become part of our family anyway!" George pointed out. Carl looked at him in amazement. "You're right!" he exclaimed, "So I have!" He gazed at George gratefully for a moment, and sighed. Almost pleadingly, he said, "It's forty years later, George, but I wonder if I could call you 'Dad' from now on?" George grinned with obvious pleasure. "Better late than never, as we used to say, Carl," he said, "Yes, do, I'd like that. Of course, you'd have to call Mei Li, 'Mum', then, you realise." "Yes, of course. She wouldn't mind, would she?" "Mind? Carl, Mei Li would have been delighted for you to call her 'Mum' almost from the day you arrived at our home. You know her—she mothers everyone—but she felt very drawn to Emma and you right from the start, from the moment when you arrived covered in mud!" "That's the second time you've said they were covered in mud," Henry observed, "Had they been wallowing in the mud?" Carl laughed. "It's a long story, Henry," he said, "I've said several times that I'd tell you my story, haven't I? Well, now's as good a time as any, I think." He left the room and came back with a chair. "Have a seat, Henry, and I'll tell you our story." 237
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
!!! Emma had left the twins in the lounge, playing quietly, with strict instructions to go to Daddy or Uncle Henry if they needed something. From where she sat with Mandy and her friends, at the table in the camper, she could keep an eye on the front door of the house. "Let's pray before we start, shall we?" she suggested, "It's always good to ask the Lord to guide us and give us wisdom when we want to discuss something, especially something as important as marriage." They all bowed their heads, and she prayed quietly about their planned discussion, and also for each of the girls and their families. "The first thing I'd like to ask you, if you don't mind telling me," she said when she finished praying, "is how old you are. Amanda, I know you're almost eighteen. How about you, Carrie, Stephanie?" "I'm eighteen already," Carrie answered. "I'm sixteen," Stephanie said, "I won't be seventeen for a few months yet." "Amanda, have you told them about your plans?" Emma asked. "Yeah—they know about Blue and me," Mandy said. "All right, then," Emma said, "we know that Amanda and Blue are planning to get married, God willing." She looked at the other girls. "What about you two, what are your thoughts regarding marriage?" "Brendan and I have been going together," Carrie said, "but I don't know that we're thinking about marriage..." "I've been going with Ed," Stephanie said shyly, "and I like him." "How old is Ed?" Emma asked. "He's nineteen," Stephanie answered, "He's the oldest in our gang." "Has he finished school?" "Yeah. Mr. Hastings offered him a job cooking in his restaurant. Ed's a pretty good cook." "Is he working for Mr. Hastings, then?" Emma asked in surprise. "Not yet. Mr. Hastings only asked him on Sunday." "Will he take the job?" "He said he'd like to." "That sounds like a good opportunity for him," Emma said, "I hope it works out." She took a deep breath and looked at each of the girls in turn. "All right, then, girls, those are my questions. What did you want to ask me?" The girls looked at each other, and Stephanie finally spoke. "Mrs. Slade, how can people have a happy marriage?" she asked, "Except for Mandy's parents, none of our parents are happily married... It makes me afraid to get married at all, because I'm afraid I might end up the same way. It seems to me that most men end up beating their wives or getting drunk, or just fighting all the time. How can a marriage be happy?"
238
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"How can a marriage be happy?" Emma repeated slowly, "I'll tell you what I think is God's plan for marriage, girls, according to what He says in the Bible." "God has a plan for marriage?" Carrie asked in surprise. "Of course. You see, marriage isn't just a relationship between a man and a woman. It's meant to be a picture for us of the relationship between Christ and the church. So God has pretty definite ideas about what marriage should be like. Amanda, would you please hand me that Bible on the shelf behind you?" Mandy passed the Bible over, and Emma opened it to Proverbs 31 and started reading. "Can a wife of virtuous character be found anywhere? Such a woman is worth far more than precious jewels. Her husband can trust her completely; he lacks nothing that is of real value. Every day of her life she brings him good; she does nothing that will harm him in any way." "How is she able to do this, you might ask? Well, the writer of Proverbs tells us at the end of that chapter: Charm deceives and physical beauty does not last, but a woman who fears the Lord God is honourable." "The first requisite for a wife of virtuous character is that she fear the Lord. Do you know what that means?" Emma asked them. "Pastor Henry told us to learn Proverbs 9:10, 'Wisdom begins with fearing the Lord God. To know God brings discernment.'" Carrie said. "He told us that to fear God means to realise how much greater He is than us," Mandy added "and how powerful He is, and to... uh... be in awe of Him, and... uh... obey Him." "I guess a woman who fears the Lord has to be a Christian?" Stephanie asked. "A Christian woman should certainly fear the Lord," Emma replied, "She should delight in the privilege of being a child of God, because Jesus has made us children of God, but as a child is in awe of its father, so a child of God, beloved of God, is nevertheless in awe of Him. God is so much greater than we can possibly imagine and we always have to keep that in mind. He loves us, He's made us His children, but He is still God, the Holy One." "So if we're Christians and we fear God, then we'll be good wives?" Carrie asked. "If we're Christians and we fear God, it should follow that we'll be good wives," Emma said, "The trouble is, we don't always fear God, do we?" "What do you mean?" Mandy asked. 239
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"We don't always put God first in our lives. We sin." "What do you mean when you say 'put God first', Mrs. Slade?" Stephanie asked. "I mean considering God as more important than anyone else, including yourself, your husband, your children, your friends, and so on." "I don't get it," Stephanie said, "Of course God's more important than them. What do you mean by 'consider Him as more important'?" "We have to obey His will rather than anyone else's, including our own," Emma explained, "Let me give you an example. I'm aware that you find your parents very difficult to relate to, Stephanie, from what you've told me about them. However, God tells us that we must honour our parents. Does He tell us to honour them only if they're honourable?" "No..." the girl answered slowly, "He just says 'Honour your father and your mother.'" "So, that means that if you put God first, you'll obey Him and honour your parents, even if you don't feel like honouring them. You'll respect them, and obey them, and never say bad things about them." Stephanie looked distressed. "But, Mrs. Slade," she said, "that's impossible!" "As Jesus said, 'for a human being it is impossible, but for God everything is possible.' When your desire is to put God first, and to obey Him, and you set out to do it, He gives you the ability to do it. You might find it extremely difficult at first, but if you do it for God, because it's His will, it becomes easier each time." "But what's this got to do with marriage?" Carrie asked. "Everything," Emma replied, "because God has to be first in your marriage too. Starting with who you marry. What does the Bible say about who you should marry? Do you know?" "No," the three girls answered together. Emma read out 2 Corinthians 6:14: "'Do not be yoked together with those who don't believe.'" She went on to explain the verse, sketching a picture as she did so. "A yoke was a specially carved piece of wood that fitted across the shoulders of two oxen, or water buffaloes, so that they could pull a plough, or a cart, or turn a mill, together. The idea was that the pair pulled in the same direction; they worked together. One of the oxen was often stronger or more experienced than the other, and the yoke meant that the weaker one would follow what the stronger one did. If they were equally matched in strength but wanted to move in opposite directions, the yoke joining them meant they either didn't get anywhere at all, or they moved backwards. How does this picture apply to marriage? When a man and a woman marry, they become like a yoked team—permanently. 'No man may separate what God has joined together.' The husband is the stronger member of the team, because God's order is that the husband should be the head of the home, so the team will go in the direction in which he leads—unless he refuses to lead, or his wife refuses to let him lead, in which case the team will stop going 240
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
at all or it will go backwards. Now I come to who you should marry—or rather, who you should not marry. The verse I read out refers to this. A Christian must never marry a non-Christian. A Christian woman who marries a non-believing man will end up either following her husband's direction, away from God, or her marriage will be unhappy—that is, the team will stop. Or it will fall apart—the team will go backwards." "But what if I fall in love with a man who isn't a Christian?" Carrie asked. "That's where the fear of God also comes in, Carrie," Emma answered softly, "If God is first in your life, no matter how it hurts you, you won't disobey Him, you won't marry a non-Christian. And in fact, if you really love such a man, you won't want to draw him into a marriage that is bound to fail..." "You make love sound like hard work, Mrs. Slade," Carrie observed. "Mr. Slade told me that he once read out the verses on love from I Corinthians 13 to you people. Do you remember?" Emma asked them. "No," Mandy said, "but I've read them in my Bible." "You weren't there, you'd gone off somewhere," Stephanie reminded her. "Well, don't those verses sound like hard work to you?" Emma asked. "Yeah..." Stephanie said. "Love is hard work," Emma told them, "It's not a feeling that you suddenly get and that carries you along. But think—is hard work a bad thing? If you work hard to clean your house, you can do it with a glad heart, because you know that at the end you'll have a house that's pleasant to live in. Or when you work hard at your school work, you can do it cheerfully because it means you'll be learning more, your teachers will be pleased with you, and you'll have the satisfaction of a job well done. It's the same with love—you have to work hard at it, but it's pleasant work because you know it's right, because God is working at it with you, and because the results are so often so much better than you expect. Although, let me warn you, the results are not always what you expect. A friend of mine struggled for years at loving his brother, who hated him for some reason. He never told me the reason, though I understand it had to do with how their parents had treated them as children. Anyway, no matter what his brother did to him, he responded in love, with respect and kindness. The temptation to hate back was very strong at times, but my friend persevered, and he told me that as the years went by it got easier to love his brother even though his brother continued to hate him. The brother ended up becoming a Christian just before he died of cancer. He told my friend that it was because of the way he'd loved him all those years—he saw Christ in him, and he wanted to have what my friend had." "Is your friend still alive, or did he die too?" Mandy asked. "He's still alive, although he's quite elderly. He lives in Kawanyama. He's a good friend of Dr. Newman's. God used him to bring Mr. Slade to Christ, too, because he was also a counsellee of his." 241
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Oh," Mandy said. "How does working hard at love work in marriage, then?" Stephanie asked. "In the everyday life of marriage. In having to live with another person day in, day out, putting up with the things they do, or don't do, which irritate you. In having to think of that person's needs rather than your own. In having to submit to one's husband when one would rather do thing's one's own way. You see, no matter how wonderful your husband is, he's still human and he still has faults, like anyone else! My husband is a man who fears God, who loves his wife and children dearly, who bears the Fruit of the Holy Spirit in abundance." Emma smiled. "As far as I'm concerned, as I've told you before, he's the most wonderful man in the world. Most of the time, it isn't particularly hard work to love him. But at other times I have to work very hard at it, because my own needs and wants get in the way, and because he's human. I'm very methodical. I like things to be just so, and Carl is rather the opposite. He doesn't mind a bit of disorder. When he leaves things lying around it can drive me to distraction, especially if I'm trying to teach the twins to be tidy. At those times, Carl looks somewhat less than wonderful to me, and I have to work at loving him. If I don't, we can end up having an argument, especially if I've also been doing things that irritate him, like interrupting him when he's talking. But I do try not to let his disorganized lifestyle upset me—that's just the way he is, after all, and he was like that when I married him, and I knew that and loved him anyway. He shows his love for me by trying to be more orderly, or being patient when I interrupt him, and believe me, for him, that's hard work!" "I guess my dad has to work very hard at loving my mum, sometimes," Mandy said quietly, "With her sick like she is he must get very frustrated at times. But he does love her very much..." Carrie stood up suddenly. "Mrs. Slade," she said, "I just saw the time on your clock. I'm going to have to go—I have to do some errands for Mum and Dad before I go home for lunch." "Well, you'd better go, then," Emma said, "I hope your questions have been answered." "The most important ones," Mandy said, "We'll go too, now. Steph needs to get home too." "Thanks very much for talking with us, Mrs. Slade," Stephanie said, "Could we come again?" "As long as we're in Goldridge, yes, of course," Emma replied, "I enjoyed chatting with you." "Thank you very much, Mrs. Slade," Mandy said as the girls left the camper. Emma went back to the house and sat down with Helen and Andrew to admire their pictures and to spend a bit of time with them. She could hear the men talking in George's room, and she wondered what they'd been talking about.
242
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl came in a few minutes later to check on the twins. "Hello—how long have you been in here?" he asked Emma in surprise, "Have the girls left?" "About ten minutes ago," Emma replied, "They had to get home for lunch. What have you men been up to?" "Talking. I finally got around to telling Henry my life story. He'd asked me to several times before but there'd never been enough time. And it was handy having Dad there to comment. You know what his comments are like!" Emma straightened up and stared at him in astonishment. "Dad?" she said. Carl's face went crimson and he grinned. "Sorry, I should have warned you. It's just that I've been calling him 'Dad' for the last hour and I've sort of got used to it..." She got to her feet and went over to him and took his hand. "Do you mean George?" she asked softly. Carl felt absurdly bashful. He squeezed her hand. "That's right, Em," he answered quietly, "Maybe I'm being childish, I don't know, but he has been to me what my father would have been, for the last five years. It just seemed right to call him 'Dad'. And-And it's just wonderful, Em, to be able to call someone 'Dad' because that's what he's become to me." "I had no idea you missed having a father that much," Emma whispered, putting her arms around his waist. "I didn't either, really, until today, when he said they would've adopted me if they'd been around when my parents died..." "Will you call Mei Li 'Mum', then?" "Yes. Dad said she would even have liked it if we'd called her 'Mum' right from the start." "How does George feel about you calling him 'Dad'?" "Ask him. He told me he liked it." She gave him a hug and smiled up at him. "You just continue to be full of surprises, don't you? It wouldn't do for you to be predictable!" "You don't mind, Em?" he said wonderingly, "You don't think I'm being silly?" "I don't think it's at all silly," she assured him, "I think it's lovely! Thank God for George—he has been a father to you, and it's fitting that you should call him that, to my mind."
243
CHAPTER 28 At Henry's suggestion, Emma decided to make lunch for them all in Henry's kitchen, and she enlisted the twins' help in preparing it. She set the table in the kitchen, for Henry was still trying to sort out his papers on the dining table. Carl collected up all the clothing that needed washing in the camper and the house and set to doing the laundry. When the meal was ready, Emma went to George's room to tell Henry and Carl. "Lunch is a bit late, but it's ready," she said, "I'll bring you a tray, George. It's probably better if you stay lying down." Back in the kitchen, Andrew watched his mother preparing the tray for George. "Can I eat my lunch with Uncle George, Mummy?" he asked. "Let's ask him how he feels about that," she answered. She took the tray to George and asked him Andrew's question, and he told her that of course he would be delighted to have Andrew's company. So she prepared a tray for her son as well, and took it to George's room. Andrew was a picture of bliss as he settled himself on the floor next to George's bed, his tray in front of him. George was lying on his side, propped up with cushions and pillows, his own tray on the bed. Henry, Carl, and Helen were already seated at the table when Emma came back to the kitchen. Henry led them in a prayer of thanks, and they began to eat. Halfway through the meal there was a knock at the front door, and Carl went to see who had come. It was Alice, her face flushed from barely-contained excitement. "Hello, Carl," she said, coming into the lounge, "I've got some unexpected and, I think, important news to share." She looked around the room. "Where is everyone?" "We're having a late lunch in the kitchen," Carl said, "I don't know if you heard, but we had a fair bit of cleaning up to do after last night. Also, Dad's flat on his back, and Henry and I spent the rest of the morning entertaining him while Emma had a chat with Mandy and her friends." Alice grinned at him. "Did I hear you say 'Dad', Carl?" she asked. Carl's face turned pink. "Yes," he replied, "Since this morning, George is 'Dad'." Alice beamed and patted his arm. "I'll bet George is absolutely thrilled about that," she said happily, "and I'll bet you are, too, though you're trying not to show it! I'm afraid your tendency to blush gives you away, and just as well!" She suddenly looked at him seriously. "However did you manage to keep your feelings to yourself when you were a Protectioner, Carl? Or have you only had this tendency for the last five years?" Carl's face went deep red this time. "It wasn't easy," he said quietly, "I've always been prone to blushing. There were only two ways in which I could hide my true feelings. One was to lose my temper, which I did constantly, and violently, and the other was to avoid people, which means I had a reputation for being unsociable."
244
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Alice gazed at him thoughtfully, comparing what he'd just told her with what she'd seen of him since she'd met him. She had yet to see him lose his temper—he seemed to her one of the most patient men she'd ever met!—and he was definitely, to her mind, the antithesis of unsociability... "God has certainly made a new creation out of you, then, hasn't He?" she said, "Praise God! If anyone else—except perhaps Emma—had told me that, I don't know that I'd have believed them. But to go back to 'Dad'—it seems very fitting to me that you should call George 'Dad', seeing as he's been treating you like a son and you can't really remember your own father. Tell me, how did Emma react?" "She was surprised," he replied, "but pleased, I think, from what she said." Alice nodded. "She understands," she said, almost to herself. She patted Carl's arm again. "Well, go back to your lunch. I'll just pop in and say 'hello' to George, then I'll come in and tell you all about what I discovered this morning." She went into George's room and Carl returned to the kitchen. "Alice has some news for us, she says," he told the others, "She's just gone in to see Dad, then she'll come and tell us." Henry grinned at him mischievously. "Did she hear you call George 'Dad'?" he asked, "I'll bet she was tickled!" "You could say that," Carl answered, as gravely as he could. Helen looked at her father in surprise. "Uncle George is your daddy, Daddy?" she asked, "I didn' know he's your daddy!" "Well, Helen, he's not my real daddy the way I'm your real daddy," Carl explained, "but my real daddy died a long time ago, when I was only little like you, and Uncle George has been like a daddy to me, so I asked him if I could call him 'Dad' and he said 'yes'." "You had no idea of the complications that might arise out of such a simple move, did you?" Emma said, smiling, "It could end up like you glowing in the dark..." Carl blushed again, but he smiled. "I don't mind that kind of complications, Em," he said happily, "Not one bit." Emma blew him a kiss, and Henry raised his eyebrows and looked up at the ceiling. "Complications..." he said, and shrugged, then he turned to Helen. "Your Mummy and Daddy are nice, aren't they?" he remarked. Helen had her mouth full, but she nodded enthusiastically. "Mm-mm." Alice came in and greeted them in her brisk way. "I think George might like to be in on what I have to say," she said, "so could we move to his room when you've finished eating? Except for the children. This is not for little ears." "We've finished, Alice," Emma said, "I'll just get Andrew and put these children to work to keep them occupied." They all left the kitchen to go to George's room but Emma came back with Andrew and the two trays. The twins sat down at the table as she told them to, and she gave them a bowlful of peas to pod. After showing them how to do it, she went to join the others. Henry and Carl had helped George 245
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
to lie on his back again, and Henry and Alice were sitting on the two chairs. Carl had settled himself on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, and Emma went to sit down next to him. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "That's in answer to yours from across the table," he said, "for Henry's benefit." Henry chuckled. "You're incorrigible," he said to Carl. "I have to maintain my reputation as a romantic, you know," Carl retorted. Emma giggled and leant against her husband's shoulder, taking his hand and squeezing it. George just managed to suppress his laughter. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Would you boys please behave yourselves," he said gruffly, "There are ladies present. Alice, I believe you had something to tell us." Alice had been smiling in amusement, but suddenly her face was very sober. "Yes," she said, and cleared her throat. "This morning I went to do some shopping," she went on, "and when I'd finished I thought I might take a walk in Goldridge Park, you know, on the other side of town. I enjoy a short walk there on my own now and then, just to think, you know, and to enjoy the greenery and watch the people." "Is that the park you showed me the other day, Carl?" George asked, "Where you met Henry?" "Yes, it is," Carl answered. "Well, it wasn't too crowded, it being a weekday," Alice continued, "and I'd taken some scraps to feed to the ducks on the lake, so I sat down on a bench at the water's edge. It was fairly quiet, and after a while I became aware of someone crying—you know, weeping. I looked around and I saw this woman sitting on the grass a little distance away, looking at a newspaper and apparently crying her heart out." "Did you go see what was wrong?" Emma asked, though she was quite aware that Alice would not be able to see someone crying without trying to find out if there was anything she could do to help. "Yes, I went over to her, and sat down on the grass next to her and asked her what the matter was and could I help her," Alice said, "'Stickybeak' is my middle name, as you know—or should know, by now." "What did she say?" Henry asked. "Did she welcome your 'stickybeaking', as you put it?" he added with a grin. "It was very strange, Henry," Alice replied, but she was not smiling. "First I must point out that the paper was last Friday's Courier and she had it folded open at page three. And you all know what was on that page." "The photos of Carl and Mandy," Emma said quietly. "Yes," Alice continued, "She pointed to the photos and said something which I couldn't understand, then pointed to herself, and then to Carl and Mandy on the photos, and seemed to get quite hysterical. There was obviously something about those photos which upset her greatly, but I couldn't understand what she was saying though I'm sure she was speaking English." 246
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry frowned. "What did she look like?" he asked slowly. Alice caught the note of misgiving in his tone. "Reasonably attractive, early thirties, a little on the round side, with short, curly, brown hair, hazel eyes, nose a bit flat," she answered, and sighed. "Does that sound like someone you know?" she asked Henry. Carl suddenly put his arm tightly around his wife and she gave him a puzzled look. Henry, his face pale, nodded slowly, looking first at Alice and then at Carl, who also nodded. "That's what crossed my mind," Alice said, "and I thought I'd try and see if my guess was right. I took out the photo of Joel and Henry that I always carry with me, and showed it to her. When she saw it she grabbed it to have a closer look. She pointed to Henry and grinned and said something else incomprehensible." "She knew Henry?" Emma asked. "Unfortunately, yes," Henry answered sadly, and Carl nodded. Emma, beginning to understand, looked from one to the other and shivered. Carl put both his arms around her and gave her a quick hug. "It sounds to me like this woman was behaving in a rather peculiar way," George commented. "She certainly was," Alice agreed, "And I finally realized why after I'd been talking—or rather, trying to talk—with her for some time." "Why?" Emma asked. "It struck me finally that there was something wrong with her, and what was wrong was made clear when I asked her if I could take her home. She jumped up and eagerly took my hand and started to lead me out of the park. By this time I'd realised that she was at least intellectually handicapped. I went along with her and she took me to where she lives. It's not far from the park—it's a hostel attached to the Psychiatric Hospital, for people who are mildly emotionally disturbed and/or intellectually impaired, who can look after themselves to a large extent but need 'parenting', as it were. I spoke to the lady in charge—Selina called her 'Mother'—and she was very helpful, far more helpful than she realised, I'm sure. Selina is the woman's name, by the way." She glanced at Henry and saw that he had his hands over his face. Carl followed Alice's glance and realised what was happening. "Excuse me, Em," he said, releasing his hold on his wife and getting up. He went to Henry and tapped him on the shoulder. "Come and sit down here with us, mate," he said quietly. Henry didn't reply, but left his chair and went to sit down next to Carl. He put his face in his hands again and began weeping quietly. Carl put an arm around his shoulders and Emma took hold of Carl's other hand. Alice had watched them in silence. "I'm sorry, Henry," she said shortly, "I couldn't tell you about her without making you remember..." "But Alice," Emma blurted out, "How— How—" She stopped, not knowing quite how to word her question. "I know what you want to ask, Emma," Alice said, and sighed deeply, "What the house-mother told me was that Selina often disappeared for a week or ten days at a time, she didn't know where to. She always seemed all 247
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
right when she came back although she couldn't tell them where she'd been..." Carl felt chills up his spine as he realized what Lancaster had been doing—or was it Hillman? Henry was still weeping, his shoulders shaking. "Henry, it's not your fault, mate," Carl said, "This is the Protectioners' doing—Lancaster's and Hillman's and Greenstone's." "They're the ones who took advantage of her," Emma said, "They're the ones at fault." Henry lifted his head, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face with it, and turned to look at her. "But I went along with it," he said, "I'm not without blame—I knew what I was doing. What I didn't know was who I was doing it with..." He took a deep breath and looked at Carl. "How could they do that?" he asked, his voice shaking, "How could they use someone like that? A poor woman who isn't even capable of being responsible for her actions!" "Henry, I've already told you, Carl said grimly, "and you know it from your own experience—the Protectioners are ruthless, they'll do anything if it serves their purposes." Emma twisted around to look at him in horror. "Oh, Carl!" she exclaimed, "They tried to kidnap the twins!" "They didn't succeed, Emma, keep calm!" Carl said firmly, putting his arm back around her. She hid her face on his shoulder, and Carl looked up at Alice helplessly. Alice smiled at him. "You seem to have your hands full, Carl," she said. He smiled wryly. "Alice, we've got to do something to help that poor woman," he said, "She obviously can't be held responsible, but she does need help." "I've already done something," Alice replied. Emma sat up and turned to her. "What?" she asked. She moved Carl's arm off her shoulders. "Let me hold your hand instead, Carl. You'll get a cramp in your shoulder." "I've already got one," he muttered, and turned to Henry, "Mind if I move my arm, Henry? Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'll be all right," Henry said quietly, straightening up, "Thanks, mate." "What did you do, Alice?" George asked. "I went to see Bob Martins—he's in our church and he's a lawyer—for some legal advice. To get an idea of what can be done. I told him all about what we know, what we're aware of, and I also suggested he get in touch with Ron Velasquez, which he seemed to think was a good idea." "Oh, Bob's great," Henry said firmly, "He's still young, but he's got a heart for people and he knows his stuff!" "I've left the matter of Selina—as far as the law's concerned—in Bob's capable hands," Alice said, "but as far as anything else is concerned, I think I'll get some of the older women—Matt's wife, for example—to go and visit her. I don't have to point out, I hope, that this is not a job for men. Selina is
248
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
very disturbed, and the way Lancaster's used her has done nothing to improve that..." She shuddered. They were all silent as they considered what Alice had told them. After a few minutes, however, Emma suddenly got up. "I'd better go and see what Helen and Andrew are doing," she said, "They're awfully quiet." She left the room but came back very shortly, grinning. "You should see this—it's quite a sight!" she said. Henry, Carl, and Alice, their curiosity aroused, got up and went out to the kitchen. "You'd better stay put, George," Emma said, "I'll describe the scene for you. Picture Henry's kitchen. On the table is one bowl full of peapods and another bowl full of podded peas. Kneeling up on one chair is Helen, clutching a handful of pods, her head on the table, fast asleep. Andrew, also clutching some pods, and a handful of squashed peas, is kneeling next to his chair, also fast asleep, with his head on the seat of the chair." George smiled. "They still need their afternoon nap, don't they?" he said, "Actually, come to think of it, that's not a bad idea. My dear, if you people don't mind, I think I'll have a little sleep..." "That's a good idea. I'll tell the others so we don't disturb you. Would you like me to pull the blind across?" "Just halfway will do." She pulled the blind halfway across the window so that the room was not so bright. "See you later," she said. He waved to her and she went out of the room, closing the door, and went to the kitchen to help Carl with the twins. Alice was taking her leave as she still had some errands to do. "You could put the children on my bed," Henry suggested after Alice had left, "They'd be less likely to wake up than if you take them all the way out to the camper. Only thing is, we have to turn the mattress over first." "Let's go do that," Carl said, and the two men went out to Henry's room to turn his mattress, then Carl came back and carefully picked Andrew up off the floor. Emma took Helen, and they settled the two children gently on Henry's bed and prised the peas out of their hands. Henry was contemplating his torn lounge suite when they joined him in the living room. "I'll just get my mending kit and sew those tears up for you," Emma offered, "but it'll only be a temporary measure, I'm afraid." "Thank you, Emma," Henry said, "Sewing is not one of my areas of expertise. I'll get these chairs re-upholstered sometime, but in the meantime it'll be good if they're usable." "Well, if Henry's going to be working on his papers, and you're going to be sewing, Em, I think I'll go out to the camper and do some Bible study," Carl said. "I've got to sort those papers out so I can get them out of the way," Henry said, "but I might just retire to the kitchen and do some Bible study too, first." He picked up his Bible from the sideboard and left the room.
249
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Emma looked at Carl helplessly. "The twins are asleep... You'll be out there... Henry's in the kitchen... George is asleep..." she said wistfully, "I'd better leave the sewing for a bit and get my Bible out, too..." Carl grinned, and hugged her. "Wait here, Em, and I'll bring you your Bible," he said, "and your mending kit. But I think you've got the right idea!"
250
CHAPTER 29 Early the next morning, Carl sat on the step of the camper, reading from his Bible and praying. For some reason he had woken up feeling that he should go to the Council Chambers again and meet with Ross Lancaster. The whole idea appalled him—he had no desire to have anything at all to do with Lancaster. But with the idea had come the prompting, "Love your enemies." On top of that, when he'd opened the devotional book he used each day, the Scripture reading for the day was Luke 6:27-36. He was struck especially by the command of Jesus—"Do good to people who hate you. Bless people who curse you. Pray for people who treat you badly." He kept coming back to it, and finally gave in. He would go to visit Ross Lancaster and try to share the Gospel with him. There was now no doubt in his mind that this is what he had to do, and once he had finally made the decision to go, he felt at peace. However, he recalled Lancaster's reaction when he'd mentioned God two weeks before. The idea of trying to share the Gospel with his former boss made him feel small and weak. He knew there was no way he could do it on his own—he would have to go utterly dependent on the Holy Spirit. Oblivious to anyone who might happen to be watching, Carl knelt down on the lawn. "O Lord," he prayed quietly, "I've been praying so long for this man to get a chance to hear about You, and now You're asking me to be willing to be used in answering my own prayer. Yes, Lord, I'm willing, but You know how unequal I am to such a task. I'll go, but only in the power and wisdom of Your Spirit, Lord. Only You know if it will do any good; if he'll even be willing to listen, let alone turn to You. I leave that in Your hands, but please, Lord, be my strength." He got up and went back into the camper. Emma was still kneeling by their bed, but she looked up and smiled as he came in. He went to kneel beside her and put his arm around her. "I think God wants me to visit Ross Lancaster," he said softly, so as not to wake the twins, "I feel that He wants me to go and tell him about Jesus Christ." He told her about his devotions that morning and asked if they could pray about it together. "Yes, of course," she answered, "It looks to me, from what you said, that it's quite clear you have to go." They prayed quietly together for a few minutes, then Emma got up to start preparing their breakfast while Carl shaved. "Does the idea frighten you?" she asked him. "Mmmm... No, not frighten, exactly. It makes me nervous, yes, but not really afraid." He put his shaver away and began to set the table. "I don't know why," he added, "but there's a tendency to forget that part of loving one's enemies is presenting the Gospel to them. Perhaps it's just that we're afraid of their rejecting it?"
251
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I suppose so—after all, a lot of people do reject it. Some of them reject it rather violently, too." Carl took knives and spoons out of their drawer and moved back to the table. "When I mentioned God to Lancaster the other week it was pretty clear that he wasn't exactly eager to know more... " He put the cutlery down on the table and shuddered. "Oh, Em," he exclaimed, "the man gives me the creeps—he's one bloke I really have a hard time coping with, let alone loving!" "I can understand that," Emma said, "He's very much your enemy, and has been for a long time, hasn't he? On the other hand, Jesus' command makes no exceptions—you have to love Lancaster." She, too, shuddered. "I've never met the man, but I know enough about him for it to give me the creeps, too. That goes for Hillman and Greenstone, what's more." She stopped buttering toast and turned to face him. "There's no way you or I can love those men the way Jesus wants us to, Carl—it's got to be God's doing. That kind of love can only come from Him. I know from my own experience." She smiled at him. "There was no way I could have loved Counsellor Slade without God's enabling me..." Carl grimaced. "I can well believe that, Em," he said, "Something I've wondered about, but never got around to asking you—how did you feel about telling me about Christ, back then, when you were a counsellee, and I asked you to tell me about your faith?" "I was delighted that you were giving me the opportunity—I'd been praying you would," Emma replied, "but I admit I was awfully disappointed when you rejected it even before I'd finished explaining it to you..." "I didn't understand it, not then. It just seemed like a lot of nonsense to me," Carl explained. He grabbed Andrew as the boy started climbing out of his berth. "Good morning, son of mine!" he said, hugging him. Then he sat him on his hip and went on talking to Emma. "No, I didn't understand. But two days later, at your brother's, the result was quite the opposite. All of a sudden it was all very clear, and it all made sense!" "Which just goes to show that we can't give up on someone just because they reject the Gospel once. The next time they hear it they might turn to Christ!" Carl sighed deeply. "That's right," he said slowly, "We can never give up hope..." He sat down with Andrew on his lap. "Well, mate, would you like a hand getting dressed?" he asked him. "Yes, please, Daddy," Andrew answered in his quiet way. Carl put him down on the seat and went to the wardrobe to get him some clothes. Helen woke up and bounded off her berth. She skipped over to Emma and hugged her legs. "Hello, Mummy, I'm up!" she announced. "So I see," Emma said, smiling, and leaned over and kissed her daughter. "Daddy's getting some clothes for Andrew. See if he'll get some for you, too."
252
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl helped the twins get dressed while Emma served breakfast. They sat down to eat and chatted happily together as they ate. When they'd finished and he'd led them in their family devotions, Carl prepared to leave. "I'll just go over and let Henry and Dad know what I'm expecting to be doing, and then I'll be off," he said, "Em, do keep on the alert for prayer prompts, please." "I will, Carl. And I'll pray as often as I can while you're out."
!!! Carl caught a bus at the local shops and got off at the Civic Centre. He walked slowly to the Council Chambers, keeping a lookout for the likes of Hillman or Greenstone. He didn't think he could cope with them as well as Lancaster. At the Chambers, He walked into the lobby and went to the enquiries desk. "Could you please tell me if it's possible to meet with Mayor Lancaster?" he asked the woman at the desk. "I can ring and ask if he'll see you," she replied, "What's your name, please?" "Carl Slade." She gave him a strange look. "Just a minute, please," she said, and turned to call on the intercom. "Mr. Lancaster, there's a man here who wants to see you. His name is Carl Slade. Shall I send him up?" She listened to Lancaster's answer then turned back to Carl. "Mr. Lancaster will see you in his office now, Mr. Slade, if you'll just go up. Do you know the way?" "Yes, thank you," Carl said, "Thanks for your help." He walked off towards the lifts. On the top floor he got out of the lift and walked slowly to Lancaster's office. Outside the door he took a deep breath before he pressed the buzzer. The door slid open, but he hesitated. "Come on in, Carl," Lancaster boomed jovially, from behind his desk, "What a nice surprise!" Carl took a few steps into the office. "Good morning, Mr. Lancaster," he said, bowing slightly, "I hope you are well." "Never better," Lancaster said, getting to his feet, "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" "No thank you, I've not long since had breakfast." "Well, Carl, what brings you here today?" Lancaster asked curiously, as he headed towards his drink dispensers, "Have you finally decided to come back to the winning side?" "No, Mr. Lancaster," Carl replied quietly, "I've come to tell you about Jesus Christ." Lancaster stopped abruptly in mid-stride and turned to stare at Carl. "You've come to what?" he blurted out incredulously.
253
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"To tell you about Jesus Christ," Carl repeated, smiling. "Are you out of your mind?" Lancaster snapped, "You must be, if you think I'm interested in your religious babble!" Carl continued to speak quietly. "Mr. Lancaster, have you ever wondered what the purpose of life is?" he asked. "The purpose of life? What do you mean?" Lancaster asked warily, returning to his seat behind his desk. His natural curiosity was piqued, which is what Carl had hoped would happen. "Why are you alive? Why am I alive? Why is any human being alive? What's the point?" Carl asked. "That's like asking why ants are alive, or why cats and dogs are alive!" Lancaster exclaimed, "There is no point, except to attain self-realization, to achieve oneness with nature, and to succeed!" "To succeed? Succeed at what?" "Power, wealth, happiness—what people want in their lives. What I want in my life!" "But only a very few people can achieve power and wealth, Mr. Lancas—" Lancaster slapped the top of his desk. "And I intend to be one of them, Carl!" he declared, "and you can achieve them too, if you join us!" Carl gazed at Lancaster for a few moments before speaking again. Couldn't the man see the emptiness of his ambitions? Couldn't he see that he would never succeed, never be satisfied, that his goal would always be beyond his reach? "What about the rest, Mr. Lancaster? The people who have no hope of ever achieving those things?" "Well, they're useful, aren't they? The worker ants who serve the queen ant—it's a matter of survival of the fittest, of the superior being waited on by the inferior. Somebody's got to do the dirty work!" Carl thought of Amanda Winters and felt sick. He could feel hatred for Lancaster building up in his heart again. O God, he prayed silently, You want me have love for this man? I can't do it, Lord. I don't even know if I'm willing. Please enable me to obey You, to be willing, even, to obey You in this. He noticed that the mayor was beginning to lose patience—he was drumming on his desk with a small ruler and had already glanced twice at his watch. He'd better get on with what he'd come to do. "Mr. Lancaster," he resumed, "what happens, then, when you die?" Lancaster laughed as if Carl had made a joke. "Oh, Carl, there's plenty of time before that! I have many, many years to enjoy yet!" Carl leant forwards and put one hand on the edge of the desk. "How can you say that?" he asked earnestly, "You might be killed in an accident on your way home! You might get cancer or some other terminal illness! What if you have a sudden asthma attack? It happens even to people who've never had asthma before, and they die of it! You have no idea of how much time you have left, Mr. Lancaster. It might be forty years, or it might be only forty minutes. Only God knows exactly when you'll die." 254
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Lancaster guffawed. "You Christians are far too pessimistic!" he exclaimed, "Why, statistics show that a man of my age, in my state of health—which is excellent—has a life expectancy of another thirty-five years at least!" Carl realized the futility of trying to contradict him. "Whatever your life expectancy, Mr. Lancaster," he said quietly, "in the end you'll still die. I'll repeat my question. What happens, then?" "Well, that's it! That's the end!" Lancaster replied. There was a hint of uncertainty in his blustery tone. "The end of what?" "Oh, Carl, what game are you playing? The end of life, of course!" "And of health, power, wealth, happiness?" "Obviously!" "So what's the point of life, then?" Carl brought him back to the original question. Lancaster stared at him as if he'd like to hit him, but didn't answer. "Physical death isn't the end of life, Mr. Lancaster," Carl said, "It's only the end of physical life, of life in this world. The point of this life is to prepare us for life after physical death, and that's why you need to know about Jesus Christ." Lancaster laughed unpleasantly. "Do you mean to say you actually believe that 'life after death' nonsense?" Carl ignored his question and continued with his topic. "Mr. Lancaster, what do you know about God?" "God? God?" the mayor exclaimed, "I know nothing about God— there's no such thing! And you're fooling yourself if you think there is!" "I don't think that God exists, Sir, I know He exists," Carl replied evenly, "and that He loves me. And that He loves you." Lancaster laughed again, a rude and mirthless laugh that made Carl shudder. He got up and walked over to Lancaster's window. "And He loves every single one of the people in this town, in this country, on this planet," he added softly, but his words only caused Lancaster to laugh once more. Carl felt like weeping. The man was laughing at that which he held most sacred—the love of God; the incredible love of God that had saved him from the horror of sin and death. Lancaster came over to him and slapped him on the shoulder. "You really have flipped, haven't you, Carl? All this crazy talk of God, of love!" Carl wheeled on him. "Shut up!" he snapped, his blue eyes flashing at Lancaster, who stepped back in surprise. "God is real, Mr. Lancaster," he said in a tight voice, "He is spirit, which means we cannot see Him unless He chooses to let us, which He doesn't because it would kill us. He is allpowerful—so powerful that your ideas of power are laughable next to His might. He created everything there is, the whole universe, out of nothing. He is good—so unutterably good that the best human being is positively foul compared to Him. And He loves us all, Mr. Lancaster, He loves us." Lancaster was staring at him open-mouthed. He hadn't quite recovered from the shock of Carl's outburst, and he was trying to decide 255
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
what to do next. He wasn't listening to Carl, however, and Carl suddenly became aware of it. He stopped talking and just gazed at the man. His anger had gone as suddenly as it had come, and he was surprised to find that for the first time he felt compassion for Lancaster as he realised how far the man was from God. He didn't know about God and he didn't even want to know. Oh, Lord, he prayed in his heart, can You get through to him? Carl was also suddenly aware that a miracle had taken place. His hatred for Lancaster had vanished, and although he didn't like the man one whit more than before, he found that he loved him and longed for him to be free from the evil that held him prisoner. Only God could have done that—God had answered his prayer. Carl felt an overflow of gratitude in his heart to his Lord who had done such a thing in him. Now he could tell Lancaster about Christ and know that it came from his heart. "Mr. Lancaster," he said, speaking quietly again, "I would like to tell you about Jesus Christ, to let you know what God freely offers you through Him. Could we sit down again—it won't take very long—so I can share that with you, and then I'll go." Lancaster didn't know what to make of the way Carl had been looking at him—he'd never seen anyone look at him with compassion before. It made him uncomfortable, and it gave him the impression that perhaps there was more to this God business than he cared to know. A part of him—a very small part—was mildly curious about it. But that he quickly and easily quenched, for he had the feeling that, if he acknowledged that there might be anything in it, there would then be some kind of obligation on his part to respond. And an obligation of that sort was one that he was not prepared to meet. He was his own master and he wished to remain so. Deep down he had an inkling that if he even allowed for the possibility of someone like Carl's God existing, he would have to admit that such a Being had absolute sovereignty—He wouldn't be God if He didn't. Life was much more comfortable without such a Being. Lancaster had lived for himself alone for more than fifty years, and he wasn't about to change that. He considered Carl's request for a moment. Why not listen to what Carl had to say? It could be amusing; it might even be useful... "Well, then, sit down, Carl," he said affably, indicating the armchair Carl had sat in before, "Tell me about it—get it out of your system." He returned to his own seat behind the desk. Now Carl hesitated. Was Lancaster up to something? Well, he told himself, what if he was? He still needed to know about Christ. How would he know if he wasn't told? Lord, please tell Em and the others to keep praying... He sat down and took a deep breath. "Mr. Lancaster," he began, "are you aware that most of the time, when we human beings try to do what is right, we fail miserably?"
256
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"How do you decide what is right, Carl?" Lancaster asked, "What's right for you is not necessarily right for me. What's right for me depends on my reality and my circumstances. Truth is relative, my dear fellow." Carl was horrified—he'd forgotten that for the Protectioners there was no such thing as truth—they were a law unto themselves. How could he have forgotten? He'd been brought up in their system, he'd lived for their system for thirty-six years! Recalling this last fact, however, renewed his hope—Christ had got through to him despite those thirty-six years. He might yet get through to Lancaster. What Carl still forgot, however, was that when Christ saved him, he'd already been longing for years for something better than the Protection teachings, for peace in himself, for truth. He'd been vulnerable—he had even chosen to be vulnerable—in his friendship with the Parkers. He forgot, too, that before his parents died, they had prayed much for him, they had trained him in obedience to God, they had been an example to him of godly living, and all this had added up in his favour despite the fact that he was only four when they were killed in a car accident. For Lancaster, on the other hand, the Protection had been his life from the day of its foundation and he'd lived by its philosophies all his life—and for him they had worked. He had power, he had wealth. He even thought he had happiness, though his cravings for more power and more wealth were never satisfied. He did not find truth attractive—it made him uncomfortable and it was not expedient. Furthermore, a man who wants power cannot allow himself to be vulnerable. Lancaster could not afford to have friends. He removed anyone who was in his way, and he still intended to remove Carl Slade, one way or another. "Truth is not relative," Carl said, hoping he didn't sound as discouraged as he felt, "There is only one Truth, and that is Jesus Christ. He is the absolute Truth, He is the Way to God, He is Life, who gives life to all, and who gives eternal life to all who put their trust in Him." He felt an urgency to put the Gospel in as few words as possible. He knew that Lancaster's patience was extremely limited. "We human beings are enslaved by evil, willingly, and we're doomed to eternal separation from God and from all that is good and true—unless we turn to Jesus Christ and trust Him and put our lives entirely in His hands. Jesus is God, who made Himself a man, and died a horrible death because He took upon Himself our depravity—our evil—and the punishment for it. You don't have to be a slave to evil, Mr. Lancaster, you can know the freedom, the peace, the joy that come from obeying Christ's call and turning to Him. All it needs is for you to say 'yes' to Him, to surrender to Him, to let your life belong to Him." Carl's blue eyes searched the mayor's face for a sign, for a hint of interest, but all he could see was boredom. His heart sank. Even hostility would have been more welcome than that! "Have you finished, Carl?" Lancaster asked impatiently.
257
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, I've finished," Carl replied wearily, "I'll go now. Please think about what I told you. Don't ignore God, Mr. Lancaster, don't ignore the gift of life that He offers you." "Well, I'm a very busy man, Carl," Lancaster said briskly, "I don't know if I'll have time to do that. I've already used up rather a lot of time just listening to you." Carl stood up and bowed to him. "Thank you for giving me your time, Mr. Lancaster," he said, "I'll be praying for you." "Yes, yes, you do that," Lancaster replied vaguely. He pressed the switch that opened his door. "Goodbye, Carl." Feeling quite worn out and depressed, Carl walked out of Lancaster's office. He noticed Geoff Hillman sitting on one of the chairs near the door waiting to go in, but he walked past him without acknowledging him and went straight to the lift. He did not even notice the startled look on Hillman's face as he saw him come out of Lancaster's office. Carl felt like weeping. In his four years of preaching the Gospel all over the country, he had never encountered so solid a rejection of it as he'd found in Lancaster. If I feel like this about it, how must You feel, Lord? he asked silently. He walked through the lobby and out through the main doors. Outside it had started raining—one of those drizzly, continuous rains that make the world seem sad and grey and uninviting—and it only deepened his melancholy. He wandered around the Civic Centre for a while, letting the rain gradually soak him as he prayed for Lancaster and reviewed his meeting with him. After a while he stopped praying. He got the impression that his prayers were getting nowhere, and he felt emptier and emptier. Finally he hailed a taxi and went back to Henry's home.
!!! "Carl! You're wet through!" Emma exclaimed as he entered the camper, "What happened?" "I walked around in the rain," he answered in a monotone as grey as the weather, "I'd better get changed." He started to go towards their wardrobe, but Emma stopped him. She put her arms around him and hugged him. "Em, I'm all wet! You'll get soaked..." he said, but made no attempt to move away. "If I get too wet, I'll get changed, too," she said, "You obviously need a hug." He put his arms around her and kissed her. "Thanks, Em," he whispered. She grimaced. "That was a very wet kiss!" she said, "Your hair is dripping wet, all over my nose!" Carl laughed, hugged her again, and shook his head, sending a spray of water in every direction and making her laugh too.
258
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"That's better," she said, "You look so much nicer when you're smiling, Carl." He held her at arm's length and gazed at her wonderingly. "You're marvellous, you know, Em. You knew just how to make me snap out of that black mood." He gave her another hug. "How did you get on with Lancaster?" she asked softly. He shrugged. "I didn't. I mean, he didn't—wouldn't—listen. He doesn't want to know. Not at this point in time, anyhow. He let me tell him about Christ, but he wasn't really listening. I don't know, Em. I did what I felt I was supposed to do. I guess the rest is in God's hands." "That's right," Emma agreed, "All you have to do is obey, and He takes care of the rest. And you did obey." "One thing that's come out of this, though, Em," he said, "is that there isn't a shred of hatred left in my heart towards that man. That's a miracle, you know. God did it, while I was there. He made me able to love my enemy..." "Maybe that was the reason He sent you there," Emma suggested. "Yes, maybe it is," he replied, "Maybe it's me He wanted to work on..." "After all, He hasn't finished with you, yet, has He?" she observed, grinning. "Not by a long haul, Em, as you well know," he laughed, "Thank goodness He doesn't give up!" Emma happened to look down then, and noticed they were standing in a puddle of water. "Uh... I think you'd better get changed now," she said, "and I'll clean up the floor. Stay there—I'll get you some dry clothes." She went to the wardrobe, found what he needed, and passed it to him. "What about you?" he asked. "I'm not that wet—I'll dry," she replied, "When you're decent again and I've dried the floor, we can go over to Henry's and have some lunch. The children are over there keeping George from getting too bored. Henry found some old magazines—dating back some forty years!—for them to cut out." "It's amazing what Henry's got hidden in various corners of his house!" "A lot of it was his wife's and he couldn't bear to get rid of it. He was telling me about her this morning. Poor man—how awful to have to watch helplessly while your wife dies so horrendously because no-one would treat a Christian..." "Yes, he told me about it too, and how it's taken him years to get over it." "What a shock it must have been when his church turned against him—the same people who'd been so good to him when Martha died." "Mmmm..." Carl thought about that a moment, and about the way Henry talked about the past. "There's no bitterness in him, though," he said, "I haven't seen a hint of bitterness against anyone in that man..." "'Be humble in every way and think better of others than of yourself.' He takes that literally, doesn't he?" 259
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, and I'm sure he doesn't even do it consciously anymore. It's part of him, he's like that. He's suffered so much, and all it's done to him is that he's becoming more like Christ... It's a privilege to know that man." "He went to visit Kevin this morning, by the way. Kevin had a day off from the restaurant and asked him over for morning tea. He should be back soon—he said he'd be back before lunch."
260
CHAPTER 30 As Henry left Kevin's house to go home, he heard his name called from across the street. He looked towards the church and saw Alf Greenstone standing at the foot of the steps beckoning to him. "Could I have a word with you, Pastor?" Greenstone repeated. Henry hesitated. He didn't trust the man, and he'd also noticed that Geoff Hillman's car was in the parking lot next to Greenstone's. He thought about Dremasone, and wished he'd had a reason to take a painkiller before going out. What did Greenstone want? He decided to take the risk of going over to find out. There was a fair breeze blowing. Perhaps if he stayed outside and didn't get too close to Greenstone... He crossed the street slowly and approached Greenstone warily. "Good morning, Alf," he said, sounding more confident than he felt, "Anything I can do for you?" Across the street, Kevin happened to glance out of his living room window and saw Henry walking up to where Greenstone stood. He decided to keep an eye on the proceedings and enlisted the help of his son, Luke. Kevin didn't trust Alf Greenstone either. "Keep an eye on what goes on over there at the church," he said to Luke, "If Pastor Henry goes inside, give me a yell. If he looks like he's going to go off with Mr. Greenstone or Mr. Hillman, give me a yell and run out there and stop him." "Okay, Dad." Luke settled himself on a chair from which he could see out of the window without being seen. Back at the church, Greenstone bowed to Henry, a smug smile on his face. "Pastor Smith," he said unpleasantly, as if talking to an errant schoolboy, "what were you doing in the church on Saturday? Hadn't the elders told you to stay well away from here?" Henry didn't answer. He just stared at Greenstone. "Well?" Greenstone said impatiently. "I don't have to answer that, Alf, it's none of your business," Henry replied quietly. "Oh, so that's your opinion, is it now?" Alf sneered. He stepped forwards and grasped Henry's arm. "Come inside, Henry, there's something I want you to see." Henry pulled his arm away. "No, thank you, Alf, I'm not interested," he said. "I didn't ask you if you're interested. That was an order, not an invitation." "I'm afraid orders from you are meaningless, Alf. You have no authority over me. I'm not going inside. In fact, I'm leaving." He began to walk away, but Greenstone hurried after him. "Henry, you have to come in, you don't have a choice—not if you're at all interested in what happens to Carl Slade and his family, that is."
261
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry stopped in his tracks. He turned and looked at Greenstone and his stomach turned as he saw the smirk of satisfaction on the man's face. Was he bluffing? He swept his fingers briskly through his hair as he considered what to do. Were these people really planning another attack on Carl? Probably—they hadn't got him out of their way yet, after all. But what if they wanted to use him in some way to trap Carl? He'd be walking right into their plans if he went with Greenstone. Right there on the footpath in front of the church, Henry dropped to his knees, closed his eyes, spread out his arms, and prayed earnestly, if silently. Greenstone took two steps backwards and stared at Henry in confusion. At that point, Geoff Hillman came out of the church, headed for Greenstone, and stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Henry. "What's he up to?" he whispered to Greenstone. "I'm not sure," Greenstone muttered, "I think he's praying." "Like that? Out on the street? The man's soft in the head!" Hillman exclaimed. "Shall I use the spray?" Greenstone asked. "No. In this breeze it'd be wasted," Hillman replied, glancing uneasily at Henry, "We've got to get him inside the building." He walked over to Henry and tapped him on the shoulder. Henry ignored him and continued praying. Hillman stood back and considered him a moment. Finally, he shrugged impatiently, turned on his heel and stalked back to where Greenstone stood. "This is ridiculous!" he snapped, "The man's an idiot! Why is Ross bothered about him?" "He wants him for—" Hillman clapped his hand over Greenstone's mouth. "Why don't you yell it in the town square, Alf?" he said sarcastically. All of a sudden, Henry opened his eyes and stood up. He carefully brushed off the knees of his trousers and walked over to the two men, and stood gazing from one to the other in silence. Both men stared back at him curiously. At last Henry spoke. "Alf, Geoff," he said quietly, "Who is Jesus Christ?" Both men started and took a step back in surprise. "What kind of a question is that to ask one of the leaders in the church?" Alf spluttered. "A very simple question," Henry replied, smiling, "that a leader in the church should have no trouble answering." "You have a nerve, Smith," Hillman spat, "After all you've done, you come and treat us like Sunday School kids!" "A Sunday School pupil would at least have answered my question by now, if only to say 'I don't know'," Henry pointed out, "I'll repeat it—Who is Jesus Christ?" "Why, he was a-a fellow who started the Christian religion, some two thousand years ago," Greenstone fumbled. Hillman glared at Greenstone, muttered something under his breath, and looked back at Henry. "Why are you asking us that question?" he demanded gruffly. 262
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry still spoke quietly. "Because I don't think you know the answer," he said, "Alf has just proved that he doesn't, and your hedging suggests the same about you, Geoff." "And what's it to you, anyway, whether we know the answer or not?" Greenstone asked in a surly tone. "All people are sinners—'Every one of us has sinned; not one of us comes anywhere near God's glory'—which means that we are all cut off from God, for no matter how hard people try to be good, to God it all looks as attractive as 'a bunch of filthy rubbish.' Unless we put our trust in Jesus Christ, who died so that our sins might be forgiven, we remain cut off from God. But if we surrender to Christ, and trust Him to deal with our load of sin and to give us new life, then we can be reconciled to God and our joy is complete in Him. Geoff, Alf, turn to Jesus Christ, give up your lives, all you have, to Him, to Jesus Christ." Henry was in earnest now, and pleading with them. "Depend on the salvation He offers you; open your hearts to Him. Jesus Christ is God, become a man, yet still fully God, who as a man died crucified so that you and I and all of mankind might have the hope of eternal life with God, with Him. He offers you salvation, don't refuse His gift!" Hillman and Greenstone simply stared at Henry as if he'd lost his mind. They were speechless. Henry prayed in his heart that they might turn, that they might choose Christ. He stood looking at them steadily, waiting for an answer. Greenstone finally became very uncomfortable. He glanced at Hillman, then looked back at Henry. "Do you really believe all that?" he asked uneasily. "With all my heart," Henry said warmly, "Jesus Christ is my Saviour, my Redeemer. He saved me from sin and its consequence, eternal death. He is my Lord and Master. I owe Him obedience, and to obey Him is joy at its fullest." Henry's eyes shone as he spoke, despite the fact that he was still on his guard. Hillman snickered. "You have a peculiar idea of obedience to God, Henry—cavorting in perversions of all sorts!" Henry blinked once at his words and turned to face him. He gazed steadily at Hillman as he answered his taunt. "That was sin, and it was wrong, it was dreadful," he said evenly, "I confessed it to God and to His people, and repented of it, and God has forgiven me and so have His people. God has cleansed me from that sin because Jesus Christ shed His blood for me. It is a thing of the past, gone forever from God's sight. It may yet have consequences, but guilt is no longer one of them. What's more, you can't use it against me, you can't blackmail me with it, because everybody knows about it already." Hillman laughed unpleasantly. "We don't blackmail anyone, Smith," he said smoothly, "You should know that by now. However, we do have other plans for Carl Slade, and I suggest you come inside to acquaint yourself with them so they don't take you by surprise." He reached out to take hold of Henry's arm, beckoning at the same time to Greenstone. Henry moved away from them hastily. "I'm not going into the 263
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
church, or anywhere else for that matter, with you two—with either of you," he warned them, "If you make another move towards me, I'll run. And I haven't finished what I started to tell you. Alf, Geoff, I beg of you, consider where you're headed—don't continue down that road! Turn to Christ! You've been involved in every church in this town and all the way you've been fighting against God and His people. Stop now! Get on God's side, confess the evil in your lives and repent, and accept His salvation!" Henry was pleading with them still, but he had the horrible feeling that his words were just bouncing off the pair facing him like tennis balls off a wall. Greenstone and Hillman just looked at him with stony faces. In his house across from the church, Kevin sat with his son, watching the three men. "What's he up to?" he muttered. "He seems to be asking them rather earnestly about something," Luke said, "Do you think he's okay?" "There doesn't seem to be any immediate danger," his father replied, "I'm ready to run out there at the first hint, though!" Hillman took another step forward and Henry moved away from him several steps. "Smith, you can forget all that nonsense—we're not interested," Hillman said, "You've seen how easily your so-called God's people gave up their high principles. They'll do it again. We'll keep going—we don't need your religious props to succeed. It's only a matter of time before we win. A short time. You'd be better off joining us, Smith." "It's only a matter of time before you're stopped, Geoff," Henry replied, "before you're arrested. You can't keep doing the kind of things you've been doing without running afoul of the law." "They can't do anything to us, Henry," Greenstone blurted out, "Long before they caught up with us they'd trip up. And anyway, even if we did end up in their hands they'd never be able to prove anything—they wouldn't have us for long!" Hillman glared at Greenstone as if he would like him to drop dead. Henry decided that it was time to leave, and wondered which way he should head. He didn't trust them not to follow him, and he didn't put it past them to follow him and try and force him into their car if he went along the street. He glanced towards the Hastings' house. Of course! He'd just go straight back there and maybe Kevin could drive him home when the coast was clear. "I'm going," he informed the two men, and walked off briskly without waiting to see their reactions He crossed the street and went up the Hastings' driveway to the house. Kevin opened the door for him even before he'd reached it. Hillman and Greenstone seemed rooted where they stood. They watched Henry walk off and return to the house across the street. Then Hillman wheeled on his colleague. "You ------ idiot!" he swore savagely, but without raising his voice. Greenstone shrugged. "Your words don't frighten me, Geoff," he said smugly. He turned towards the building. "I'll lock up after I put that stuff away. Do you want it left here or moved to your place?" 264
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Take it to my place, this building's probably not safe anymore with those snoopy kids who've been hanging around," Hillman grumbled. He stalked off to the carpark, got into his car, and sped off towards town. Greenstone went into the church and came out again ten minutes later carrying a small suitcase. He locked the door, walked down to his own car, and also drove off towards town. Henry and Kevin had watched from the lounge window. "I suppose that suitcase contains whatever they wanted me to see," Henry said, "though I'm not so sure it was only a 'show-and-tell' setup." "What were you talking to them about, out there?" Kevin asked, "You seemed to be awfully in earnest." "The Gospel," Henry said sadly, "I don't know if it even registered..." "Well, mate, you tried," Kevin said, patting him on the shoulder, "I thought it was pretty game of you, considering. I don't know that I'd have stopped and talked to that lot if you'd paid me to do it!" "I wonder where they went. I feel rather nervous about going home." "Anyone else there right now, or are they all out?" "I'm not sure. George might still be there. He hasn't been well." "Oh? What's up with him?" "His back's crook. He's got some problem which means he's got to lie down for a bit every day, but he hadn't been doing it, so his back gave up, like. He had to stay flat on his back all day yesterday." "That's a pity," Kevin said, "Would you like me to run you home? If he's there I can have a natter to him. If he isn't I could take you to your dad's shop." "I don't want to mess up your day off, Kevin." "No problem, mate," Kevin laughed, "What are days off for, anyway? To do something different! Want to come, Luke?" he asked, turning to his son, who was still sitting with them. "No, I'll stay here, Dad," Luke replied, "Mum might need something taking over to the shop. Also, Lynn didn't take her keys when she went out— she'll need to be able to get in when she comes home." "All right, then," Kevin said, "C'mon, Henry, let's go." The two men went out to Kevin's car. Henry was very subdued and pensive. His heart was heavy and he wondered if he'd said the wrong things, or been too impatient, or perhaps had chosen the wrong time to share the Gospel with Hillman and Greenstone. "What's bugging you, Henry?" Kevin asked as he drove towards Wattle Street, "You're very quiet." "I'm feeling a bit low after that encounter," Henry replied, "I keep wondering if I did the right thing..." "Weren't you praying, when you were down on your knees?" Kevin asked him. "You saw that?" Henry asked in surprise, his face reddening. "Luke and I kept an eye on you the whole time, mate," Kevin chuckled, "I was ready to run out if you needed help. I don't trust those two."
265
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Henry was speechless for a moment, then found his voice. "Thanks, Kevin," he said softly, "I don't know what to say..." "Never mind," Kevin said, "Here we are, let's go in." "Kevin, you're right," Henry said, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him getting out, "I was praying, of course, and what I did and said after that was just what I felt the Lord leading me to do. It was the right thing, the right time. You're right." "There you are, then—leave it in God's hands, now, right?" Kevin said, grinning, and got out of the car. "Right!" Henry agreed, and led the way to his front door.
!!! The mid-week prayer meeting was being held at the Winters' home again, and Henry drove there with George and the Slades after tea. Rick, Ed, Carrie, and Stephanie had offered to babysit the twins. "We'll have our own prayer meeting, too," Ed told Carl, "after the children are in bed." "You do that," Carl encouraged them, "The more of us are praying, the better. When Christians are praying together they can't fight, they can only be in harmony. Remember to pray for our enemies, too—perhaps even especially for them." The believers had gathered in the Winters' living room, and George had asked Henry if he could speak to them before the meeting actually started. He wanted to remind them of the importance of following Scripture in their daily lives and in the life of the church; to keep their goal of being conformed to Christ in mind at all times; to love God above everything and to love each other as Christ loved them. After George had finished, Tom Broker said he had an announcement to make. "You folk may remember," he said, "that two years ago our church had a roster which had been going for some time, even during the Protectorate. It was a roster for providing help to one particular family in our church that needed a lot of help. Well, that family still needs our help and our fellowship, and for two years we've not provided it. I propose that tonight we draw up a new roster and get back to helping to carry that family's burden. I think you all know who I'm talking about. But let me also point out that one particular member of that family is in great part responsible for the fact that we're all together here tonight and that we're once more looking to Jesus Christ. Laura Winters may be confined to bed in the physical sense, but her heart certainly is not. Every day for the last two years she's spent much time in prayer for the believers in Goldridge—for our own church and for all the others. I'd like to ask you to let me know at the end of our meeting what you're able to do for the Winters and how often each week, and Matt and I will draw up the roster from tonight's list and present it to you on Sunday. We'll need people to help with meals, washing, house cleaning, Laura's physio, and, above all, visiting. Thank you, all."
266
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl noticed James get up and leave the room halfway through Tom's announcement. When he didn't come back quickly, Carl got up and went to look for him. He found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his face in his hands and weeping quietly. He looked up as he heard the door open. "Oh, it's you, Carl," he said, sounding relieved, "Isn't it wonderful? Isn't God good?" "Yes, He certainly is," Carl replied, "May I have some water, James? I'm quite thirsty." "There should be some in the fridge. Do you know where the glasses are?" "Yes. Would you like some water, too?" "Yes, please." Carl poured out two glasses of water and placed them on the table. He sat down across from the Elder. "We should probably get back to the lounge promptly, James," he said, "The prayer time will be starting soon." "Yes, as soon as I've had this water," James said. He looked at Carl quizzically. "Did you really come in here just for a drink of water, Carl?" Carl grinned. "Actually, I came to see if you were okay, James." "Thanks. I'm okay—just overwhelmed." James smiled and stood up. "I'll be in there in a minute. I'll check on Laura and let her know what Tom said." Carl went back to the living room and joined in the last hymn as Henry stood up to start the meeting. As he had done at the Sunday gathering, Henry began to lead the prayers, but control of the meeting was soon out of his hands. The believers prayed earnestly, many of them in tears, one after the other, and then all together, for over an hour, until someone started to sing a hymn of praise, and they all joined in, also singing for a long time. When at last the singing subsided, Henry waited a few minutes before he closed the meeting with a prayer of blessing. Tom Broker sat down by the Winters' dining table when the meeting was over, and people gathered around him to put their names on his list. They also went to James and asked for his and Laura's forgiveness for their neglect of his family. James, once proud of his ability to control his emotions, was almost in tears again as he hugged them all and assured them that he forgave them. Laura was delighted that many of them went to her room to greet her and chat for a few minutes. As they drove back to Henry's home, George, Carl, Emma, and Henry sang praises to God. Henry felt incredibly encouraged by the Elders' move to help the Winters again, and sang at the top of his voice. After saying goodnight to George and Henry, Carl and Emma went over to their camper, where Ed greeted them cheerfully as he opened the door. "Mr. Smith and Mrs. McIntire dropped by just after you left," he said, "and they stayed here praying with us until about fifteen minutes ago. It was wonderful!" "That explains why they weren't at the Winters!" Carl laughed, "I was rather surprised when they didn't turn up there."
267
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Oh, they prayed with us and they sang with us, and read to us from the Bible," Stephanie said happily. "I told them I'd like to start a prayer meeting especially for people around our ages," Rick said, "and Mr. Smith said that was a great idea and he also said they're available if they can be of any help." "Oh, Rick, that's a wonderful idea," Emma agreed, "You young people are so important in keeping the church alive. Your prayers are needed very much." "We aim to start tomorrow," Ed said, "Mr. Smith said we could meet at his coffee shop unless we find somewhere closer to the church." "I get the distinct impression you started this evening, Ed," Carl said with a smile, "It was good to know you people were praying along with us." "Did the twins behave themselves?" Emma asked. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Slade," Stephanie assured her, "They were very good. We played a few games with them, then Ed read to them and prayed with them, and they went to bed without any fuss." "They're nice kids," Carrie said. "We'll go now," Ed announced, "We all have to get home." "We're happy to babysit for you any time while you're in Goldridge," Carrie offered, "Just let us know. And we don't want any payment, either." "Thank you very much," Carl said, "You folk are a blessing and encouragement to us." "Do be careful going home," Emma said anxiously. "It's okay," Ed said to her, "I'll see them home first and then it's not far to my place." "Good night, Mr. Slade, Mrs. Slade," they chorused. "Good night all," Emma and Carl replied, and the young people left. "Things are changing for the better, aren't they?" Emma said as she closed the door. Carl had sat down on the end of their bed and was taking off his shoes and socks. He didn't answer right away. "I admit to being surprised at how much those young people have changed from when I first met them," he said, finally. Emma laughed. "Now you have an inkling of how I felt after your conversion!" she said. He smiled at her quizzically. "I'm still overwhelmed sometimes, even after five years, when I stop and think about the fact that you really are my wife, you know. That you were willing to marry me..." "I've never regretted it," she said softly, sitting down beside him and putting her head on his shoulder, "You really are a wonderful man." He put his arm around her and leaned his cheek on her hair. "Despite all my faults?" he asked quietly. "Your faults pale to insignificance beside your qualities, Carl," she replied, then added, mischievously, "except when they irritate me, of course!" Carl hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Let's pray together, Em, and thank God for it all, for all the blessings He's poured out on us." 268
CHAPTER 31 Early Thursday morning Kevin Hastings phoned Henry, asking him if he could drop by—he had something to show him, that Luke had found. Henry drove over to Kevin's house as soon as breakfast was over. Kevin showed him some small, flexible, flat, pale brown objects about the size of a jar lid and half a millimetre thick. "Do you have any idea what they are?" Kevin asked him. "They look like those skin patches that were used years ago for slowrelease medicines," Henry replied, "The company I used to work for used to produce them until they came up with the coatings instead." "That's what I thought they might be," Kevin said, "but I thought I'd check with you." "Where did Luke find them?" "Behind the church—this boxful of them, by the rubbish disposal unit." "What was he doing there?" "He was coming home from the shop when he noticed all this smoke pouring out from behind the church, and he went to investigate," Kevin explained, "and he found this box there and some of these things being burnt in the rubbish unit. Whoever had been doing the burning must have been interrupted, and neglected to set the smoke filter before going off." "Was there anyone at the church?" "Hillman and Greenstone's cars are in the parking lot, but Luke wasn't about to go and see if they were in the building! He just came straight home after setting the smoke filter, and he brought the box with him. He thought you might want to pass it on to your Inspector." "I recognise that type of box," Henry remarked, "We used them a lot at work for packing drugs and other medical stuff." "What shall I do with it, then?" Kevin asked. "Well, Luke's suggestion seems the best," Henry answered, "hand it over to Inspector Velasquez and explain to him where it came from. Or better yet, take Luke with you and get him to explain, since he found it." "How do I get in touch with the Inspector?" "Oh, yes, that's a point... You don't want to risk one of those blokes stopping you," Henry mused out loud, "and we can't very well ask Ron to come over either to your house or mine..." He thought for a moment. "I know what we can do," he said, "I'll take it to Dad's shop. If I can use your phone, I'll ring Velasquez and tell him where to pick it up and at what time. You write a note explaining where it comes from, and get Luke to check it and sign it, and we can enclose it. Have you got a bag we can put the box in?" "I expect so," Kevin said, "I'll have a look in a minute. Okay, we'll do what you suggest. Go ahead and make your phone calls, and I'll write that note." He noticed that Henry was staring out the window of the lounge and moved over to look too. "What's the matter?" he asked.
269
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I just happened to glance out and noticed an interesting little drama," Henry replied. While Kevin had been talking, Henry had noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was movement at the church across the street. He had turned to look out of the window and had seen Hillman gesticulating angrily at Greenstone. Hillman started walking off towards the back of the church, then turned around abruptly, walked back to Greenstone, still apparently talking angrily, and finally stalked off and disappeared behind the building. Henry and Kevin watched all this from the window, taking care that they could not be seen from outside. Hillman came back to the front of the church, flung something at Greenstone which fell to the ground so that Greenstone had to pick it up, and stormed up the steps into the church. Greenstone shrugged and followed him into the building. "I wonder what that was all about?" Kevin said. "I suspect he found his box of goodies had disappeared," Henry muttered, "Perhaps Greenstone was supposed to burn them and he left them unattended..." He shrugged and went to sit down on Kevin's sofa. "I wonder when we'll have our church back?" he asked rhetorically. "Would be nice to get it out of their hands, wouldn't it?" Kevin said, assuming the question was to be answered, "and use it for its right purpose... Maybe even by Sunday?" "Yes," Henry agreed, "Mind you, I'm all in favour of meeting in homes, myself, even if it means splitting the congregation into smaller groups." "But wouldn't that just cause more division?" Kevin objected. "Not necessarily. Division is caused by an attitude of the heart, not by physical distance, Kevin." "Yeah—I guess that's true," Kevin agreed, "Of course it is! When people want to work together they can still do it even if they're separated by distance—as long as they're determined to be united in effort." "That's the idea," Henry said. He stood up again and stretched. "Well, I'd better ring Dad while you get that note ready," he said, heading towards the phone. Kevin glanced out the window. "Hallo—those two are leaving. They still don't seem to be very chummy, either. Whew," he whistled, "That Hillman bloke has a lead foot, hasn't he?" Henry was entering Joel's code in the phone. "Why d'you say that?" he asked. "His car shot off towards town doing something like ninety k's! Greenstone left a bit more slowly, say fifty." "Those two are a real puzzle... You know, I've been wondering just who is in charge of that mob. Carl thinks it's Lancaster but I'm beginning to have my doubts." The indicator light came on and he picked up the receiver. "Hello, Dad, this is Henry," he said. "Henry? Where are you?" Joel answered, "I just called your place and George said you'd already gone out!"
270
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I'm at the Hastings'. Kevin and Luke found something rather interesting. I wonder if we could leave it with you for Ron to pick up later from your shop?" "Yes, of course, no problem," Joel assured him, "But I had something to ask you. Are you aware that Rick Strand is planning to start a prayer group for the young people in the church?" "Yes," Henry replied, "Carl told me this morning. He also told me that you and Alice had offered your assistance if they want it. That's great, Dad. Those kids are something else!" "They're a great bunch. Brendan does the thinking, Ed and Stephanie do the planning, and Rick puts it into action! The other two girls have their talents too, but I think they're overshadowed at the moment by their problems..." "Has Alice been to see the Winters since Sunday?" Henry asked. "I don't know. She hasn't mentioned it. You know we stayed with the young folk last night, don't you? That's why we weren't at the meeting at Winters'." "Carl told us. You know, Dad, he's awfully touched by the whole business. He said he had no idea what the outcome would be when he went to chat with those kids that day in the church carpark." "It's certainly amazing what God's love achieves when we let the Lord have free rein," Joel said, "Anyway, some customers have come in, I'll have to go. Bring that stuff over and I'll get it to your friend. Oh, by the way—how will I recognise him?" "Shall I tell him to greet you in Aramaic?" Henry asked, "That should be unmistakable." "I don't know, Henry," Joel chuckled, "Hebrew might be better. Chinese, even!" "You'll know him, Dad, there's nobody like him. He'll be pulling your leg from the moment he walks in, and with a straight face at that!" "Right. Well, I'll see you later, Henry. I'd better attend to my starving customers now." "See you later, Dad." Henry replaced the instrument and turned to Kevin. "All arranged at that end. Now I'll get a hold of Ron and let him know. Say, do your kids know about Rick's prayer meeting?" Kevin laughed. "Yeah, he came by and told Luke," he said, "and Luke asked me if they could possibly meet here. They'll be coming here every Thursday evening!"
!!! On his way out Henry stopped at the post office and picked up his mail. Among the envelopes was one addressed to Emma, and he detoured back via his home to take it to her. Carl opened the door of the camper when Henry knocked.
271
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Here, Carl, Emma's got some mail today!" Henry announced, handing him the envelope. Emma had come over behind Carl, and he passed the letter to her. "Oh, it's from Jack!" she exclaimed, "I wonder why he's writing? Thanks, Henry." "Kevin and Luke found something interesting behind the church this morning, Carl," Henry said, "I'm taking it over to Dad's for Ron to pick it up later. I'll tell you about it when I get back." "Okay, Henry," Carl said, "Will you be back for lunch?" "Yes, I'll see you then." Henry drove off and Carl turned back into the camper. Emma was sitting at the table staring at her letter, and he tried to guess what it was about from the look on her face. It didn't seem to be good news. The twins were kneeling up on the bench seat next to her and waiting expectantly. Letters were not something the Slades received very often. Emma put down the letter and looked up at Carl with tears in her eyes. "What's Jack writing about?" he asked quietly. She sighed and brushed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. "He's finally found the rest of our family..." she replied softly, "He got a letter from Liz." "What does he say? Is it bad news?" Carl asked with concern. "They-They were interned in a refugee camp when their visitors' visas expired and it was found out that they couldn't come back here because of the Protectorate closing its borders." "Where was this refugee camp?" "In England. They were there five years, then our relatives sponsored them, but it took another five years before that was approved! And by then, of course, the Protectorate had fallen. B-But the worst thing is that Mum and Dad, both of them—" Emma broke down and couldn't continue. She buried her face on her arms on the table and wept. The children stared at her, upset. Carl took her gently by the shoulders, led her to the end of their bed, and sat down with her, putting his arms around her. Emma continued to cry quietly on his shoulder. Helen and Andrew, bewildered, got down from the table and came over to the bed. They climbed up and snuggled up against their father, and gazed wonderingly at their mother. After some time Emma's sobbing subsided. She sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, and sighed deeply. She leant back against Carl, who still kept his arms around her. "Mum and Dad," she whispered, "both of them, died in the refugee camp... There was an awful flu epidemic one winter and they ended up getting pneumonia and the medical care just wasn't good enough... Oh, Carl, I'll never see them again!" she wailed, and started crying again, hiding her face on his shoulder. Carl held his arms tightly around her and rocked her gently as if she were a child. "Oh, Em, I'm so sorry, Em," he murmured, his own voice breaking, "After all your waiting and hoping... Oh, Em..." He stroked her hair and continued rocking her. Fourteen years with no news of her parents,
272
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
brother, and sister, and then to hear that both her parents had died years before... After a few minutes Carl put an arm around Helen and Andrew to reassure them. "Em, what does Jack say about Liz and Mike?" he asked his wife softly. Emma sat up and wiped her eyes again. She got up and fetched the letter from the table, and sat down once more next to Carl. "It was Liz who wrote to Jack," she said, skimming the letter, "He says she wrote quite a long letter and I'll be able to read it when we get back, but he thought he ought to let me know the main points of it. First, about our parents dying and about the refugee centre. Then about Mike—he was able to continue his engineering studies because they gave him a daily pass to go to lectures. He's married, works as an engineer for one of the London councils, has three children, the eldest of whom is getting married soon. He's planning to make a trip out here within a year, with his wife, to see us. Liz is also married, and she has four children. She's a teacher but only works part-time. Her husband's background is Arab, apparently, but she says he's 'quite British', being second-generation." "Why did it take so long to get back in touch with them?" Carl asked, "It's four years since the end of the Protectorate, after all!" "Well, you know the results of my enquiries, Carl," she answered, "Bureaucratic red tape everywhere, and at that end no-one seemed to care whether we succeeded in contacting Liz and Mike. It's thanks to Jack's persistence that we've finally heard from Liz, I'm sure!" "Are they Christians?" Carl wanted to know. "I assume so—they were when they left, after all." She frowned. "Jack doesn't say anything about that, does he?" She skimmed the letter again. "No—he doesn't mention God at all, except when he asks about what we're doing and in his blessing at the end..." "Arab background..." Carl mused, "I suppose there are Christian Arabs..." "Liz's letter may say more about that," Emma said, "We'll just have to wait until we go home to find out." Helen could no longer contain her curiosity. "Daddy, whassa matter?" she asked in a small voice, "Why's Mummy crying?" "I just had some very sad news, Helen," Emma answered, "I just found out that my mummy and daddy died. Your grandmother and grandfather..." She looked up at Carl and tears filled her eyes again. "Oh, Carl—they never met you! They didn't know our children!" "I'm sure they know all about me and our children, Emma," he said, hugging her and smiling, "Just as I'm sure my parents know all about you and the twins. They're all of them in that 'cloud of witnesses' after all, aren't they? Your parents were Christians too." "Yes, they were! Dad was like Jack, you know, only he wasn't a pastor, he was an engineer." "What's a grandfather, Mummy?" Andrew asked. "A grandfather is your mummy's daddy or your daddy's daddy," Emma told him. 273
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"And what's a grandmother?" "That's your mummy's mummy or your daddy's mummy." "Do you have a mummy and a daddy?" Helen asked, "Does daddy?" "No—I'm afraid they're all d-dead, Helen," Emma stammered, giving Carl a stricken look. He hugged her again. "I'm going to make a cup of tea, Em. I think you can use one, eh?" "Yes, please, that would be lovely," she replied. Carl got up and she started reading Jack's letter again. The twins wriggled over to her and snuggled up against her, and she put her arms around them. "Jack said Liz sent a couple of photos, one of her family and one of Mike's," she said to Carl. "You know," she added pensively, "it's funny, but I feel like he's writing about people I barely know!" "Well, in a way, that is the case, isn't it?" Carl commented as he prepared the tea, "Think about it—in the last fourteen years Jack's and your experiences have been quite different from theirs. None of you are really the same people you were fourteen years ago, are you? And you've had no contact with them, and vice-versa, all that time!" "Still, I hope that when we meet again we'll be able to go beyond that and regain the closeness we had before they left..." Emma said softly. "We'll pray about it, Em," Carl said, "Don't worry about it. Worrying won't do any good. Just pray that you'll all love each other when you meet again." "I wonder how Jack feels..." There was knock on the side of the camper, and George looked in through the open door. "May I come in?" he asked, then seeing the looks on their faces, added, "Is something the matter?" "Oh, George, I just got a letter from my brother, Jack," Emma answered, "and-and I've found out that m-my parents died seven years ago, in a refugee centre!" She burst into tears again. George had come into the camper as she talked, and now he went over, sat down next to her, and put an arm around her. "Oh, Emma, my dear, I am sorry to hear that. Oh, that must hurt so much. You were looking forwards so much to finding them after all these years..." Carl poured the tea into mugs and made some cocoa for the twins. "I assumed you'd have some tea, Dad," he said, handing a mug to George. "Thank you," George said gravely, "I never refuse a cup of tea!" He winked at Emma, who grinned despite her tears. "Thanks Carl," she said, smiling up at her husband as he handed her a mug of tea. Carl kissed her gently on the forehead. The twins went back to sit at the table, and Carl gave them their cocoa, then he got his own mug of tea and sat down next to Emma and George on the bed. "It's a big shock for Emma," he said to George, "but it's also a shock for me. I was looking forwards to meeting her parents. They must have been very special people to have children like Emma and Jack..." "Oh, Carl, I'm sorry," Emma said, "I've been so immersed in my own sorrow I didn't even think about the effect on you!"
274
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"It's all right, Em, I understand," Carl said, "After all, I didn't actually know your parents, so it's not quite the same for me as it is for you. For me it's more a disappointment than a loss, really." "'Rejoice always. Pray all the time. Be thankful no matter what your situation—this is what God expects of you who belong to Christ Jesus,'" Emma quoted softly. She asked no-one in particular, "Why is it that verse just came to my mind?" "To remind you to obey it, perhaps?" George suggested kindly. Emma stared at the wall at the other end of the camper. "Yes," she mused out loud, "The pain and the grief are there, but I can pray and ask God to help me through it. I can rejoice because He is with me in it, and because my parents are with Him, and because at last I know what happened to the rest of my family. I can give thanks because He works all things out for good in the lives of His children, even grief and pain... Oh, Carl! I want my parents!" She sobbed, and buried her face on his shoulder again. George just caught her mug of tea in time as it tipped over in her hands. He carefully took it from her and set it on the table. "Em, don't worry," Carl murmured gently, hugging her, "God knows you want to obey Him, but He also knows your sadness and your pain. Remember that Jesus, too, knew grief and pain. Even while you rejoice in Him you can cry because of your loss, you know. Crying is a good thing when we hurt." His heart ached for her, and he held her close and prayed silently for God to comfort her. The twins had come over to stand next to George, who smiled at them and put his arms around them as they gazed at their parents silently. When Henry returned and they went over to his house for lunch, Carl told him about Emma's news. Henry went to Emma, took her hands, and spoke gently to her. "It's a terribly sad thing, Emma, to have waited all these years with the fond hope of being reunited with your mum and dad, of showing them your beautiful family, only to have your hopes dashed so finally like this. Don't hesitate to tell God exactly how you feel, Emma—He understands. And don't forget that we're all here to share your grief, to weep with you. Your burden is ours." Emma gazed at him silently, her eyes full of tears. Yes, Henry knew all about grief, and how the love of brothers and sisters in Christ eased the pain of it. "Thank you, Henry," she whispered, "You're a true brother." Later that afternoon, while Emma and Carl had gone out to Wattle Street Park with the twins, Henry had a phone call from Alice. She asked him if Emma was around, and told him that she was wanting to invite her to go out with her for lunch the next day. Henry explained about Emma's parents, and suggested to Alice that she ring back later to ask Emma herself. "Alice rang while you were out, Emma," he told her when the Slades returned from their walk, "She'll ring back in a while, she said, so she can talk with you. She'd like to take you out for lunch tomorrow." "Thanks, Henry," Emma said, "I think I'd like to go have lunch with Alice—if it's all right with Carl." She looked at her husband questioningly. 275
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl smiled. "I think it's a wonderful idea," he said, "Alice is someone— like you, actually, Em—who knows just the right thing to do and say to bind up wounds or celebrate joys." He grinned at Henry. "Trust a bloke like you to find a stepmother like that!" Henry laughed. "Actually, Carl," he said, "I think Dad found her!"
!!! Friday morning had been quiet. Henry and the Slades had spent it resting and comparing notes. There was no news from Ron Velasquez or his men, and a quick call to Kevin Hastings revealed that none of Lancaster's men had been near the church since Kevin had watched Greenstone and Hillman leave the previous day. Alice came to pick up Emma just before noon. "How are you feeling, Emma?" she asked as they drove away from Henry's house. "Sort of empty," Emma answered, "I guess I was counting on seeing my parents again far more than I realized. It never occurred to me that they might have died!" "If I'd been in your shoes I don't think it would have crossed my mind either," Alice said, "You must be very disappointed that they never met Carl or the twins." "Yes, I would've dearly loved them to meet Carl. I remember how happy they were when Jack married Rose," Emma said, "and how much they enjoyed Jack's children. They would've loved the twins—they had twins, too, you know." "Who are the twins in your family?" Alice asked. "Jack and Liz. And the youngest in our family is Mike. He's a couple of years younger than me. Jack and Liz are quite a bit older than me, because Mum had a couple of miscarriages after she had them. Liz wrote that Mike will be coming for a visit with his wife. I'm looking forwards to that but I'm also a bit apprehensive..." "That's understandable—you aren't the same people you were when you last saw each other. How long ago was it? Fourteen years?" Alice was quiet a moment, then asked quietly, "What was your mother like, Emma?" "As I remember her, Alice," Emma replied pensively, "she was, uh... Well, actually, she was a lot like you!" "Oh dear, the poor woman!" Alice exclaimed. Emma laughed, then grinned mischievously. "Be careful, Alice, Carl said to me the other day that from knowing you he has a fair idea of what I'll be like at your age!" Alice laughed too. "I love your Carl, Emma! He's one of the best things that's happened around here for a long time!" When they reached the Civic Centre, Alice parked her car and led Emma to the outdoor restaurant in the shopping area. She warned Emma that this was the same restaurant where Carl had encountered Lancaster and
276
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Greenstone and the Personality Pills, but added that it was nevertheless a pleasant place for a meal, with excellent food. They sat down at one of the tables in the shade and ordered their meal, then sat back to talk and watch people going by. "When are you and Joel getting married, Alice?" Emma asked. "Three weeks from last Saturday," Alice replied, "and I admit I'm getting rather excited about it!" "How does Joel feel about it?" "He's as pleased as a penguin on an iceberg—it was his idea after all!" Alice laughed, "Although it didn't take me more than half a minute to make up my mind when he proposed..." A waitress brought them their drinks and they were silent for a moment as they took a few sips. "Well, well," a man's voice boomed suddenly, "If it isn't Emma Winston!" Emma looked up in surprise that anyone should be calling her by her maiden name, and was horrified to find Ross Lancaster beaming down at her. She had seen enough of his photos in the Courier to recognise him straight away. His sudden appearance so disconcerted her that she tipped over her glass as she put it down on the table, and jumped up from her seat as the orange juice ran off the table into her lap. To Emma's amazement, however, Alice greeted the mayor cordially. As she accepted a towel from the waitress who'd brought her one, she was nonplussed to notice that Geoff Hillman was standing next to Alice. Then she guessed why Alice wasn't being quite herself. She wiped down her skirt as best she could and gave the towel back to the waitress, thanking her, and ordering another orange juice. "Do you mind if we join you for lunch?" Lancaster asked as he pulled out the chair next to Emma's and sat down. Hillman took the seat next to Alice. "P-Please do," Emma said, realising she had no choice, and trying to smile but succeeding only in grimacing. She was worried about Alice, who was obviously under the influence of Dremasone. Lancaster and Hillman would of course be assuming that Emma was also being affected by the aerosol. Lancaster ordered lunch for himself and Hillman, then turned to Emma. "Well, Miss Winston, I never thought we'd meet you in this town," he said, "Last I heard, you were living in Kawanyama!" "I haven't lived there for four years, Mr. Lancaster," Emma said quietly. She glanced at Hillman and saw that he was eyeing her in a very unpleasant way. She suddenly felt very frightened. "So what do you do with yourself these days, Miss Winston?" Lancaster asked affably, "Still cleaning schools?" "N-No, Mr. Lancaster," Emma replied, trying to keep her voice steady, "I look after my family." "Are you married, then? You have children?" "Yes." The waitress brought Emma and Alice's food, allowing Emma a chance to pray silently for help. 277
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Who is the man fortunate enough to be your husband, then?" Lancaster asked with interest after the waitress had left. Emma was surprised at his question. She'd assumed that Lancaster knew about Carl and her. After all, from the incident with the twins, and the encounter at Goldridge Park, it seemed that Hillman knew. And wasn't Hillman working for Lancaster? "My husband's name is Carl Slade," she said, and added, "Do you mind if I start eating while my food is still hot?" "No, no, go ahead," Lancaster said cordially, and Emma shuddered involuntarily at the way he looked at her. "Carl Slade, eh?" He smiled in satisfaction. "Now that is a nice surprise! I know your husband from way back, Miss Winston—I mean, Mrs. Slade." "Do you? Where do you know him from, Mr. Lancaster?" Lancaster suddenly looked hostile. "How do you know my name, Mrs. Slade?" he asked coldly. Emma fought to keep calm. She looked at him in feigned surprise. "Why, your picture's in the paper all the time, Mr. Lancaster!" she exclaimed, "Everybody knows you!" Lancaster seemed to relax. He picked up his serviette from the table and shook it open, but he shook it too hard and the serviette ended up on the ground near Emma's chair. She automatically started to bend down to pick it up, but something made her hesitate and as she did so she noticed Hillman drop something in Alice's and her glasses. Alice was looking towards her and Lancaster and didn't see Hillman's action. Emma guessed what he was up to. She straightened up in her chair and looked at Hillman unblinkingly. He stared back at her with a puzzled expression, as if he didn't quite understand what was going on. Then Emma saw Alice reach for her glass, and she quickly leant over to pick up the salt shaker, knocking Alice's apple juice into Hillman's lap. Hillman yelped and leapt up, and Alice cried out in surprise. Lancaster, still bent over trying to retrieve his serviette, straightened up hastily and gave the table a hefty knock with his shoulder, sending Emma and Alice's plates flying to the ground. Emma grabbed her own glass just in time, then wished she hadn't. "Geoff!" Lancaster yelled, "Use it, ------ you!" The man in the black suit was still trying to wipe off the juice that had landed on it. He looked furious, and swore at Lancaster. "Use it yourself! Can't you see she's not responding to it, you ------?!" he growled. "Use what?" Emma asked innocently, "Here, do you want to use my serviette? I'm awfully sorry, I was only trying to get the salt." Hillman looked up at her quickly, and frowned. "Thank you," he snapped, grabbing the cloth she held out to him and dabbing futilely at his wet clothes with it. People at the other tables had been staring at the impromptu spectacle, but now that order seemed to be restored they quickly lost interest and turned back to their own meals. Lancaster glared at them all in turn. 278
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Alice seemed to be completely confused. She reached for Emma's orange juice, but Emma saw her movement in time and moved the glass out of her reach. "That's mine," she said, "Shall we order you another apple juice?" "Yes, please," Alice answered, "I'm very thirsty." "Mr. Lancaster, could you please order another apple juice for my friend?" Emma asked the mayor with a smile. Lancaster looked at her strangely, but beckoned the waitress over and ordered the drink. Emma considered what to do next as she looked at the food and broken china scattered around her chair and Alice's. "You sent our lunch flying, too—you'll have to order some more food for us." Hillman shifted impatiently in his seat, trying to catch Lancaster's attention. Alice was staring at him. "Why, Mr. Hillman," she exclaimed, "What happened to your suit?" "------ it, Ross," Hillman muttered, "Can't you see what's happened?" Lancaster heard him and stared at him. He was flustered and not quite sure what had gone wrong. "Is the Dremasone wet?" he blurted out. Hillman turned livid. "Shut up!" he hissed, "Let's go!" At that moment a man approached their table. He was wearing a brown suit and carried a small professional CD-camera-recorder. Emma recognised Officer Stuart, the detective who had come with Ron Velasquez when Henry's house had been broken into. Another brown-suited man approached from the opposite direction. He, too, carried a camera. A third man walked out of the restaurant. It was Ron Velasquez. "Good afternoon, Ross," Velasquez said mildly, "That was a good show you and Gerard put on for my men." Lancaster stared at Velasquez as if he were a ghost. Emma collapsed onto her chair with relief. Hillman's face was dangerously purple. Alice still looked thoroughly confused. She reached for the orange juice again, but Emma jumped up and grabbed the glass. "Ron," she said, holding the glass up, "You might like to add this to your collection." Lancaster was about to lunge at her but Officer Stuart latched onto his arm and nimbly managed to handcuff him. Emma handed the glass to Velasquez, who took it and poured some of the juice into one of the small plastic bottles he always carried with him. He poured the rest of it out onto the ground. The other detective had put handcuffs on Hillman, who still looked furious. Velasquez looked from him to Lancaster and shook his head. Lancaster was still staring at him incredulously. "I didn't think I'd get what I needed within a few days of arriving—but you two made it easy for us. You said all the right things just when we needed you to. Right, men, you can take them away." He waved his detectives away and walked over to the crowd that had gathered to watch the arrest of the mayor. "All right, you can go back to your own business, move along now," he told them. Slowly the crowd dispersed.
279
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Ron turned back to Emma and Alice, and sat down in the chair Lancaster had vacated. "Are you two all right?" he asked the two women. "Oh, R-Ron, I was awfully s-scared," Emma stammered weakly, fighting to hold back tears, "H-How did you know they'd be here?" "My men have been following them all morning. I just happened to have popped in there," he indicated the restaurant, "for some lunch. Stuart signalled to me and I watched it all from behind the door." "I don't understand what was going on," Alice said helplessly. "I'll explain it when we get home, Alice," Emma said, "I'd like to get home soon—this skirt is horribly sticky." "Emma, how is it you weren't affected by the Dremasone?" Ron asked. She smiled. "I remembered last Monday's conversation. When Alice said she was bringing me here for lunch I took the two painkiller tablets I always carry in my purse, just in case we ran into any unpleasant characters..." She shuddered. "I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't taken them? I did not like the way Hillman was looking at me when he thought I was under the effect of the stuff." "Well, you did take them, and nothing much happened except that we have the local boss and one of his henchmen," Ron said, looking satisfied. "Nothing much happened?" Alice exclaimed, "Have you seen this mess?!" She gestured towards the table, covered in orange and apple juice, then towards the ground, where the waitress was busy trying to clear up the broken dishes and scattered food. Ron laughed. "Please put this on Mr. Lancaster's bill," he said to the waitress. Then he was serious. "I don't think you're in any shape to drive," he said to Alice and Emma, "I'll take you two home. Is it all right if I take you both to Henry's?" Alice nodded. "Yes, that's fine. Joel can come and pick me up." Emma remembered that she hadn't introduced them. "I don't think you've met Alice, yet, have you, Ron?" she asked. Ron turned to look at Alice and frowned. "No, I haven't," he said grimly, "but I've heard of her. Of course, my source of information was somewhat biased..." Emma grinned at him. "Alice," she said, turning to her friend, "this is Inspector Ron Velasquez of the Federal Police and the National Leg-Pullers Society." She turned to the Inspector. "Ron, may I introduce Alice McIntire, Henry's guardian angel and his father's fiancee." "Ah, yes," Ron said, still seriously, "My source—Joel Smith! I'm very pleased to meet you, Alice." His face finally broke into a grin. Alice laughed as she held out her hand to him. "Ron," Emma said suddenly, "You've got Lancaster and Hillman—what about Greenstone and the others?" "Greenstone is as good as stopped. The others will follow," Ron answered, "Besides what Henry gave me last Monday, and the evidence from this meal, we found quite a heap of evidence in a most unexpected place." "Where?" Alice asked. "A doctor's surgery." 280
CHAPTER 32 Saturday afternoon Henry answered his phone. "Henry, this is Ron." Velasquez's tone sounded uncharacteristically urgent. "Could I speak to Carl, please?" "Hang on, I'll get him—he's in the camper," Henry replied, "Here, talk to George while you're waiting." He handed the instrument to George who was sitting in the armchair nearby. "It's Ron," he explained, "I'll go get Carl." Henry hurried out to the camper. The door was open, so he just knocked and looked in. The family was seated around the table. Helen and Andrew were busy colouring, Emma was doing some mending, and Carl was preparing his message for Sunday. "Carl, Ron's on the phone for you," Henry said, "It sounds urgent." They all looked up, and Carl got up and came to the door. "Did you say Ron? Ron Velasquez?" he asked Henry. "Yeah—he's talking to George, but it's you he asked for, and he sounded pretty upset." "Takes a lot to get him upset, too," Carl muttered as they went into the house. "Here's Carl, Ron. See you later," George said, and handed the receiver to Carl. "What's up, Ron?" Carl asked. Ron sounded very tense. "Something terrible's happened, Carl," he replied, "and I could kick myself a hundred times for not being prepared! I should never have trusted the local police!" "What happened?" Carl asked. "Greenstone and Hillman are dead, and Lancaster's in critical condition in hospital." "What?!" Carl exclaimed, so loudly that both George and Henry jumped, "How? What happened? What went wrong?" "Somehow they got hold of Exit tablets. Perhaps they even smuggled them in, but I suspect someone brought them in for them," Ron said, "Greenstone and Hillman were both dead in their cells this morning. Lancaster was in frightful condition—he mustn't have taken the right dose, or something. You realize what this means, don't you? This case is now open-ended." "Why is that?" "Hillman was the man in charge here in Goldridge, and he took his orders from someone else—we have no way of finding out who, now. Lancaster doesn't seem to know, and there's nothing in the evidence that gives any clues." "Don't be so categorical about it, Ron," Carl said encouragingly, "You're upset, which isn't like you at all. When you calm down you'll find everything you need, I'm sure. Now, tell me, where is Mr. Lancaster?" "In the locked ward at the hospital, under guard." "Is he conscious?"
281
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"On and off. The doctors don't give any hope. They managed to get the antidote into him but the tablets had already done too much damage." "The man who invented Exit ought to be drawn and quartered," Carl said tersely. "It was Hillman, I mean, Gerard Dillmon, who developed it, Carl," Ron said very quietly. "Oh," Carl said, "Uh... Is Lancaster allowed visitors?" "Strictly speaking, no. But I can make exceptions. I had a feeling you might want to see him." "You're right, Ron, I do. How can I see him?" "Get Henry to lend you his car, if he's willing—there's no telling how long it'll take. Drive over to the Civic Centre, to the Central Police Station. I'll meet you there to work through the red tape. Then we'll go over to the hospital, have a chat with the doctors, and then you can see him—if he's still alive by then!" "Complicated procedure, isn't it? Can't it be speeded up when it's urgent?" "As far as they're concerned, Carl, there's nothing urgent about it. They wouldn't even understand why you want to see him." "No, I suppose they wouldn't..." Carl agreed, "Have you seen him, Ron?" "Yes, I saw him this morning. He was conscious, but not at all interested in chatting with me, I assure you. Quite apart from the state he's in, we've never been friends." "How long d'you reckon it'll take before I get to see him?" "There's no way of knowing. It depends on who's on duty and how obstructive they're feeling. Could be an hour or less, could take half the night." "Well, I'll get to the Police Station as soon as I can, and I'll meet you there. Do I need to bring anything?" "Tons of patience. I'll see you there, then, Carl." "Yes. See you, Ron." Carl replaced the receiver and stood looking down at it, thinking. After a few moments he turned to George and Henry, who were watching him expectantly. "What's going on?" George asked. "Greenstone and Hillman committed suicide," Carl replied, "They took Exit tablets. Lancaster did, too, but they didn't work properly, wrong dose or something, and he's dying rather more slowly than they did. Ron says he's conscious on and off. I'm going over to see him." He looked at Henry. "Could I borrow your car, please, Henry? Ron said it might take some time to get permission to see him, so I figure I could be out all night." "Of course, Carl, no problem. I can walk to Good Shepherd—it's only on the next street," Henry said, giving him his car keys, "But why do you want to see him?" "While there's life there's hope," Carl replied enigmatically, and Henry nodded. "Let's pray right now about this," George suggested, "I suspect it's going to be a long evening for you, Carl." 282
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The three men prayed together, then Carl went out to the camper to tell his wife what was happening. Emma gazed at him quietly as he told her what he proposed to do. When he finished telling her, she didn't say anything right away, but instead put her arms around his waist and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I'll be praying while you're out, Carl," she said softly, "It's right that you should go." Carl took Henry's car and drove into town. Ron was already at the Central Police Station waiting for him. They waited over an hour to get in to see the Police Chief, and then the man kept hedging. Finally Carl told him that he'd known Lancaster for a long time, although Lancaster was hardly a friend. Couldn't he be allowed to see him one last time, if only to keep a dying man company? The Chief reluctantly agreed and at last filled in and signed the necessary forms, but he took his time about it. Finally they were able to leave for the hospital. Ron was very much on edge. "You'd think this was the Middle Ages," he muttered under his breath, "and the Chief a petty feudal lord glorying in his power." Carl's knowledge of history was not as complete as Ron's and he had no idea what his friend meant, but he patted him on the shoulder. "Let it pass," he said, "He let us go ahead in the end, after all." "Hmpf," was Ron's only response to that. Night had already fallen by the time they set out from the Central Police Station. At the hospital they went straight to the locked ward and asked to see the Medical Officer in charge. The doctor, an elderly, overweight, and rather lethargic man, called them into his office and began to tell them the details of Lancaster's condition. After ten minutes of the man's droning, Ron had had enough. "Look, Doctor, I know how Exit works—it's part of my job to know such things," he said, trying, though not all that successfully, to keep his exasperation out of his voice, "Mr. Slade doesn't need to know. He just wants to see the patient, say goodbye to him, as it were. Could you please just give him permission and get someone to take him to Lancaster?" The man looked offended, but he shrugged, and pressed a switch on his intercom. "Send Prentice," he said when an answer came. An orderly came into the office and stood waiting for the doctor's instructions. "Take Mr. Slade to Ward 3-C," the director said to him, then pointing to Ron, added, "and take the Inspector to the waiting room on the way." The orderly led the way out of the office and Ron and Carl, having taken their leave of the doctor, followed him. Ron asked Carl if he wanted him to wait. "No, I'll be able to find my way home, Ron, thanks," Carl answered, "I'll let you know how I went, tomorrow." "All right, then, Carl, I'll be praying," Ron said quietly as they reached the waiting room, "Good night." "Good night, Ron, and thanks."
283
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl followed the orderly, who took him into the locked area and to Ward 3-C. Detective Stuart was sitting outside the door of the room. The orderly left Carl with him. "Well, Mr. Slade, it's good to see a friendly face," Stuart said, shaking Carl's hand, "You coming to see Mr. Lancaster?" "That's right," Carl replied. "I'm afraid I have to search you for concealed weapons, Mr. Slade, even though I'm sure you're not carrying any," Stuart said apologetically, and proceeded with the search, "It'll only take a minute." "Is Mr. Lancaster conscious?" Carl asked. "Yes, and he's in a stinking mood, I'm afraid," Stuart replied, "There, all clear, Mr. Slade. You can go in. Take as long as you like—he doesn't get many visitors..."
!!! Ward 3-C had originally been designed to hold four patients but now contained only one hospital bed, a locker from which the drawer, shelves, and door had been removed, and a heavy vinyl-covered armchair. A plastic jug of water and a plastic tumbler stood on top of the locker. The highceilinged room, with its pale green walls and barred, frosted-glass window, looked huge and bare. Two recessed flurolite fittings in the ceiling gave the room harsh illumination. Lancaster was lying on his back on the bed, which was sideways on to the door, propped up to a semi-sitting position by several pillows and with a light brown blanket pulled up as far as his armpits. He was staring at the ceiling but he turned his head slightly as the door opened and Carl entered the room. "What do you want?" he growled, recognising his visitor. Carl smiled although he didn't at all feel like smiling. "Just a word with you, Mr. Lancaster," he said. "I'm not interested in words from you," Lancaster snapped, and turned his head toward the wall. Carl moved the armchair closer to the bedside. He wondered, irrelevantly, why the chair was so heavy. Lancaster continued to stare at the wall, but Carl sat down and waited for the man's natural nosiness to get the better of him. It didn't take long. After a minute or so, Lancaster turned to look at him. "Well, what do you want to say?" he said brusquely, "Get on with it, then get out of here!" Carl gazed at the man who had once been his boss and had always been his enemy. He was amazed that a man who, according to the doctors, was likely to die within a day or so, should have as much energy as Lancaster seemed to have, despite the drugs and painkillers they'd filled him with. "Mr. Lancaster," he said, "the doctor told me they've told you there's nothing they can do for you."
284
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Hm! Bunch of incompetents!" Lancaster exclaimed. But his face showed fear. "Have you made peace with God?" Carl asked him, knowing full well the answer was negative. "Peace with God?" Lancaster cried out, "Peace with God! Slade, do you have any respect for a dying man? Then cut the nonsense!" "Are you afraid of dying, Ross?" Carl asked gently, using Lancaster's first name for the first time. Lancaster stared at him, taken aback by both the question and Carl's use of his name. He scowled but didn't answer. "If you haven't made peace with God, Ross, you have every reason to be afraid of death," Carl continued, "It's not too late—you can still say 'yes' to Him." Lancaster remained silent. He felt suddenly very weak and sick. "May I read something to you?" Carl asked him. Lancaster waved a hand feebly, as if shooing a fly away. "Do what you like," he said in a hoarse whisper, wearily. Carl took out his Bible and found Romans 3:21. "This follows on from what I was telling you the other day," he said, and began reading. "'Now the kind of goodness which comes from God, and which is separate from the law but to which the Law and the Prophets point and bear witness, has been proclaimed. This goodness from God can only be received by those who put their faith in Jesus Christ. There is no discrimination here—everyone has sinned and not one comes anywhere near God's glory; it is by God's grace and through the redeeming action of Jesus Christ that each one is freely pronounced not guilty through the redemption. God offered Him as a sacrifice, to redeem us through faith in His blood.'" He glanced at Lancaster, whose ashen face suggested he was in considerable pain. "What kind of gibberish is that?" Lancaster whispered. Carl didn't answer but got up and went to the door, looked out, and asked Officer Stuart to call a nurse. "He's in quite a lot of pain," he explained, and Stuart turned to use the intercom. Carl went back into Lancaster's room. "I'll try and explain it to you, Ross," he said, "It's about how to make peace with God. But first I'll let the nurse help you." A nurse came in while Carl was talking. She came over to the bed and nodded to Carl, then turned her attention to Lancaster. "Would you like some pain relief?" she asked him, and he nodded wordlessly. She had come prepared and took a small hypogun out of her pocket. Pushing the instrument against Lancaster's upper arm, she pressed its switch and injected the painkiller. "That should work in a few minutes," she said encouragingly, replaced the hypogun in her pocket, and left. Carl sat back and waited for Lancaster to be more comfortable. He prayed as he waited. He had a sense of urgency—there was no knowing how soon Lancaster might lapse into unconsciousness again, or even die. Then it would be too late.
285
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
After a few minutes, Lancaster turned to him again. "You still here!" he exclaimed, "Persistent, aren't you?" "Ross," Carl said earnestly, "You're dying! This is your last chance to get right with God, to confess your sins and turn to Jesus Christ and be forgiven! You don't know how much time you've got left—it might be days, it might only be minutes!" "Oh, I wish those tablets had worked!" Lancaster muttered, "You're making me sick with all that stuff..." His voice was thick and sluggish. Carl was alarmed by the colour of his face. "Ross," he said softly, "Do you have any regrets about your life?" "No," Lancaster said tersely. Then he turned his head slowly and looked at him, his eyes troubled but hostile. "Yes. Only one, Carl. I regret that the firing squad didn't kill you, five years ago." Carl was beginning to feel confused. He didn't understand how Lancaster could be at the threshold of death and not want to turn from eternal despair. He had a fleeting recollection of his talk with the mayor a few days before he was arrested. It seemed the man's heart was permanently closed. Yet he couldn't give up, not while Lancaster was still conscious. The thought of the man being condemned to eternal damnation horrified him more than he could have said. But there was still time—Lancaster was still conscious and lucid. He was staring at the ceiling again, and his face was now an ugly yellowish-grey colour. Despite the painkiller, he was obviously still in pain. Suddenly he turned his face towards Carl. His eyes were wide with fear. He reached out his hand towards Carl, and Carl got up and took hold of it. "I'm scared, Carl! They're coming to get me!" he moaned, "Tell them to go away!" He made a pushing motion with his other hand, as if to push someone or something away from him. "Ross! Tell God you're sorry! Ask Jesus to save you!" Carl cried, feeling almost desperate. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Lancaster was now holding onto his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. His face was contorted by fear. "Call on God, Ross!" Carl begged, "Don't run away from Him, run to Him!" Lancaster suddenly sat up. He grabbed both of Carl's arms and looked him straight in the eyes. "I cannot. I will not." His voice was hoarse and his eyes flashed. All of a sudden he burst into tears, and dropped his head onto Carl's chest. He was still gripping Carl's arms, and Carl wondered what to do. He noticed the call button at the side of the pillow, and managed to push his hand forwards to it. He pressed the button. Another nurse came hurrying into the room and immediately saw Carl's predicament. He prised Lancaster's fingers from Carl's arms and between the two of them they eased the sobbing man back onto the pillows. "I wonder how long he'll last?" the nurse, a young man, asked. Carl angrily motioned to him to shut up. The nurse gave him a resentful look, then noticed that Lancaster's eyes were open, and looked apologetically at Carl. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked. 286
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Please," Carl answered. Lancaster looked at Carl. "No," he croaked, "Go." "I'm staying with you to the end, Ross," Carl said quietly. "Him," Lancaster said. The nurse looked at Carl and started towards the door. "Call me if you need me. I'll come right away," he said, and went out. Carl turned back to Lancaster. "Will you turn to God, Ross?" he asked again, softly. "No." Lancaster's tone was final. "Do you want me to leave, then?" "No." Now the tone was pleading. "Stay." "Are you afraid?" "Yes." "Don't worry, Ross. I'm staying here." Carl sat down in the armchair. He felt worn out, like an old rag. He was horrified by Lancaster's adamant refusal, in the face of death, to turn to God. He couldn't understand it, it was beyond his ability to understand. He prayed—he asked God if he ought to try, one more time, to get Lancaster to change his mind. Then he knew that he'd done what he had to and that he had to leave the rest in God's hands now. He looked again at his former boss. For an instant he thought Lancaster was unconscious, but suddenly the man began to cry out in fear again, and to fling out his arms repeatedly as if to repel someone. Carl jumped up and grabbed his arms as Lancaster sat up again. "What is it, Ross?" he asked anxiously. "Keep them away!" the man cried hoarsely, "They're coming!" "Who's coming?" Carl cried, struggling to keep Lancaster's arms still. "They are! Can't you see them?" Carl looked around wildly. Of course there wasn't anyone else in the room. Ross must be hallucinating, he thought. Lancaster suddenly went limp. "Save me, Carl, save me, don't let them get me," he moaned as Carl eased him back onto his pillows. "I can't save you, Ross," Carl said miserably, wishing with all his heart that he could, "Only Jesus can save you—call Him, Ross!" "N-No," Lancaster whispered, and his arms went limp as he lost consciousness. Carl went back to the chair, leant his elbows on his knees, and put his hands over his face. He tried to pray and didn't know what to say. I can't cope with this, Lord. I can't cope with it, I don't understand it... A few minutes later he noticed a change in Lancaster's breathing. He got up and pressed the call button. Lancaster's face was still that awful colour, and his eyes were closed. The nurse came in, went to Lancaster, and felt his pulse. Carl looked at him questioningly and he held up five fingers, then ten, then shrugged as if to say, "Who knows?" He motioned to Carl to sit down on the chair, and himself sat down on the edge of the bed.
287
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The room was very quiet and Lancaster's breathing was strangely loud in the silence. Carl felt sleepy, and fought to keep his eyes open. He dozed, and finally, fell asleep. He woke to the nurse's gently shaking him. He wondered at first where he was, and why he felt so melancholy. Then he remembered, and jumped up from the chair. The nurse grabbed his arm. "It's all right," he said, "He's gone." Carl looked at the bed. The blanket had been drawn up to cover Lancaster's face. He stood staring at it, at the finality of it. He fell on his knees and buried his face on the side of the bed and wept. He wept long and hard for the man who had refused God to the last. After a few minutes, the nurse put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, "Was he a relative of yours?" Carl looked up at him. He took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and stood up before he answered. "No," he said quietly, "and he refused to become one." The young man looked at him strangely. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Are you a Christian?" Carl asked him. "Yes, I am," the nurse replied. "Then you'll know what I mean," Carl said. "Oh." The young man stared at the bed a moment, then looked back at Carl. "I think I understand," he said softly, "We'll never see him again..." "That's right," Carl whispered. "Why wouldn't he?" the nurse asked. "I don't know," Carl whispered again, "I don't understand it." They stood in silence for a few moments, then the nurse remembered he had work to do. "I've got to see to this," he said, indicating the figure on the bed, "Do you know who'll be claiming the body?" "I don't know," Carl replied, "His wife, I suppose. I don't know. You'll have to ask the police. I'd better go. There's nothing else for me to do here. Thanks for your help." The nurse patted his shoulder. "Go with the Lord," he said. "Thanks," Carl said, "You too."
!!! It was past midnight when Carl crept into the camper, trying not to wake up his family. He was surprised to find the light over the double berth still on, then he saw Emma sitting at the table, her head on her arms. He went to sit next to her, put his arm around her, and kissed her hair. She sighed deeply and slowly raised her head, and regarded him sleepily. "What time is it?" she slurred. "After midnight," he whispered, "I've just got back." She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes again.
288
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Come to bed, love," he said, "It's more comfortable." He helped her up and walked her to their berth, where she lay down and apparently went back to sleep. By the time he'd changed into his pyjamas, however, Emma was awake. She looked at him questioningly as he came to bed. "He's gone," Carl said softly. "Where?" she asked. "The wrong way," he answered. "He wouldn't turn?" "No. He refused. To the last. I don't understand it." They lay side by side in bed, pondering this dreadful mystery. Carl felt completely spent, but he also felt a strange peace. He had done his part, no more was expected of him in that quarter. He found his thoughts wandering to Hillman and Greenstone. Had they turned? There was no way, in this life, for him to know, and there was no point wondering. He drew Emma to his side and held her in his arms, and both of them were so tired that they fell asleep in that position, hugging each other.
289
CHAPTER 33 Early Sunday morning, while the twins were still asleep, Carl and Emma sat on the front step of Henry's house, talking and praying quietly together. Despite the few hours of sleep they'd had, they had both felt the need to get up early to spend time with God together. Their hearts were heavy, grieving for Emma's parents and for Ross Lancaster. Carl wondered how in the world he would find the courage to stand up and preach in the Church of the Good Shepherd later that morning. It crossed his mind that he had good reasons for bowing out and telling Henry he couldn't do it. He shared his thoughts with Emma, and she took his hand and kissed his cheek before answering. "Henry and the elders are counting on you, Carl," she said quietly, "and I think God is, too..." He looked at her and smiled. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that, my little conscience," he said. He gave her a quick hug. "I guess I'd better get on my knees and ask the Lord for a large dose of courage!" "You've always told me that He never gives it to you until you're actually standing up about to preach," she reminded him, "You might continue to feel like this on and off until the time for you to talk, you know. It's happened before." "Yes, I know," he replied, "and I also know that God and you won't let me get away with running away!" Emma squeezed his hand, and was silent for a while. Her thoughts wandered back to the subject of her parents. "You know," she said softly, "I don't even have a photograph of them..." "Of whom?" Carl asked in surprise. He was still thinking about his sermon. Then he realised what she was talking about. "Oh, of your parents, you mean. You don't? Would Jack have one?" "I don't know," Emma answered, "I'll ask him when we go back. Maybe Mike has one. Maybe there's one in their things which are still stored at Jack's house." She sighed. "I keep telling myself I shouldn't be sad, I shouldn't be upset—they're with the Lord and I will see them again one day..." Her eyes filled with tears. "But I can't help it—I feel upset anyway." She looked up at Carl. "Now, it's reasonable, I suppose, to feel sad about Mr. Lancaster, because he isn't with the Lord, and that's just so horrible." "Yes, I certainly feel sad about him, Em," Carl said quietly, "but it's not the same sadness I feel about not getting to meet your parents, and I'm sure it's not the same as the sadness you're feeling." He patted her knee. "I'm very sure that it's right for you to be sad, Em, as I told you the other day. You're happy for your pa—" "But that's just it, Carl!" she exclaimed, interrupting him and grabbing his arm with both hands, "I don't feel happy for them—I feel angry at them, that they went and died, that they're happy wherever it is they are—heaven, I guess—while here I am, missing them like mad!" Shocked by her own vehemence, she added in a small voice, "And I feel horribly guilty about it..."
290
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Carl gently moved her hands off his arm and put both arms around her. "That's all right, Em," he said, "you don't need to feel guilty about it. I think it's probably normal to feel that way for a bit when someone you love dies. You know, I was quite horrified at myself at one point back when Andrew Parker died, because I was angry that he'd gone and let them execute him! As if he could have done anything about it! I was angry because I missed him and, I suppose, in a way I envied him being with God." "You never told me," Emma said in surprise. "No. I thought you'd feel I was being very selfish!" Carl explained. "But you weren't, really..." "I don't know. When you consider it, I suppose it is selfish to feel that way, but it seems to be part of the process of facing the loss. Even our gentle Henry told me he went through a stage of being cross at Martha for dying on him! The main thing is not to stop there, I guess, but to recognize the fact that it is a rather crazy thing to feel, and to keep looking to God to help us cope with life despite our sorrow." "How long did you stay angry at Andrew?" "Not very long—a day, maybe? I don't remember exactly." "I guess I'll get over being angry at my parents too," Emma said softly, "with God's help..." They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Emma got up. "I'd better go in—the children will be waking up," she said, "Do you want to stay out here a little longer?" "Yes, I'd like to pray some more about my talk, Em," Carl replied. "Okay, I'll see you at breakfast." Emma went back to the camper and Carl stayed sitting on Henry's front step, bowed his head, and had a heart-to-heart talk with God.
!!! Henry was very quiet and pensive as they all sat together around his dining table having breakfast. He too was feeling nervous and inadequate about standing up in front of his congregation. As he'd been getting dressed that morning, he'd been reviewing all that had happened over the previous several months, and though he rejoiced that his church was finally back on the right path he knew that something had been lost along the way. He'd had a quiet chat with George as they'd been waiting for the Slades to join them for the morning meal, and George had encouraged him and prayed with him when he'd voiced his doubts that he was the right man to pastor the Good Shepherd church. "How are you feeling about giving your sermon, Carl?" George asked, noticing that Carl was also very subdued. Carl grinned sheepishly. "Well, Dad, I was about to hand in my resignation," he admitted, "but my guardian angel wouldn't hear of it." He indicated Emma with his chin.
291
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
George smiled. "Good for you, Emma!" he said, "Hold that man to his promises!" "I'm afraid we've been feeling somewhat gloomy, George," Emma said quietly as she cut up Helen's toast, "what with my parents' death, and then Mr. Lancaster's death..." "Oh, yes," Henry said, looking up, "How did you get on last night, Carl? We were all asleep by the time you got back." "He died," Carl said very quietly, conscious of Helen and Andrew's curious looks, "in every sense of the word." "Oh," Henry said. He noticed Carl's meaningful glance at the twins. "I'm sorry to hear that, Carl. You can tell me about it later. If you want to." "Yes, I'm sorry to hear it, too," George said, "but not entirely surprised." Carl raised his eyebrows but didn't comment. Emma looked at George quizzically but she, too, said nothing. When breakfast was over and the dishes had been cleared, they all got together in the living room to pray about the service that was to be held that morning, and the prayer meeting to be held in the afternoon, at the Church of the Good Shepherd. Andrew and Helen listened to the adults praying, as they had listened to them discussing, and in a quiet lull in their prayers, Andrew's soft highpitched voice broke the silence. His eyes were tightly closed as he spoke, but there was no hesitation in his prayer. "Jesus," he said, "please help Daddy and please help Uncle Henry to be happy for You and to make all the people in the church happy because You love us and we love You too." Carl stared at his son in astonishment. He'd never heard Andrew pray without prompting from Emma or himself, let alone so clearly and confidently. His heart overflowed with joy, and he suddenly felt that he would be willing to preach to the whole world that morning if he had to!
!!! After over an hour of heartfelt singing and prayer, the believers gathered in Henry's church settled down expectantly to listen to their guest speaker. "The last time I spoke in this church I felt that I was definitely not welcome," Carl said, "Today the atmosphere is quite the opposite, and the warmth of your welcome is a blessing and an encouragement." He smiled warmly as he surveyed the congregation before continuing. "It's wonderful that you're all here now desiring to love and obey God above all things, determined to live Christ at all times, to love each other, to support your pastor and elders, and to tell your community about Jesus Christ. After the state of affairs of the last year and a half, it is nothing short of a miracle. Indeed, it is God's doing." "It's only four years since the fall of the Protectorate. Most of you, I understand, were Christians already during that time and underwent persecution to some degree. You know what it can cost to belong to Jesus Christ. Today I would like to warn you, to point out, to remind you, that the
292
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
cost hasn't changed just because the Protectorate is gone. Back then, perhaps, it was much clearer, more obvious. But it is nevertheless the same cost today." "Can you tell me what it costs to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, to be a child of God?" He paused a moment and looked around. Some people were nodding; others, like Alice and Joel in their corner at the back, or Emma and George in the front row, smiled encouragingly; most of the others were waiting attentively for him to continue. "I'll tell you what the price is: everything you have. Your possessions, your time, your affections, your dreams, your plans, your friends, your very own selves. I don't really think I'm telling you something you haven't heard before, but I am reminding you of it. It's only as you surrender everything to God and trust Him to look after it all in the way He thinks best that you can expect to stay on the right track. What God reckons you need in order to do His will He'll let you keep. What you don't need He'll get rid of for you. Sometimes that will hurt, as I'm sure you all know. Most of you have gone through times of loss and suffering which, though they were very painful, nonetheless brought you closer to God." "You've been through a painful time of a different sort recently, because of letting sin rule in your church, but now you've confessed and repented and received God's forgiveness. From now on, be on the alert at all times! Don't let the downward slide start again. Look out for each other—build each other up, encourage one another, care for each other's needs. Don't tolerate sin, either in yourselves or in the church. Don't allow the world to creep in. Study God's Word, immerse yourselves in it. Pray at home on your own; pray with your family; pray with the other believers. Keep in close touch with God." "Keep yourselves from sin. When Christ spoke about sin once, He said things like, 'Cut off your hand if you sin because of it.' He was pointing out the seriousness of sin. Of course He knew that it's not a person's hand, or foot, or eye, that causes them to sin, but the attitude of their heart. What is the attitude of your heart? Is it one of cheerful submission to the sovereign will of God? Is it one of glad service to others? Is it one of complete childlike trust in God, Who has promised that His plans are not to harm us but to prosper us, to do us good? Then you will not be sinning." "That's very important—sin puts a barrier between a person, or a church, and God. It lets the devil get a foothold, and the next thing you know, he's right in. And you've seen the havoc he can create! Don't let it happen again!" "Each one of you has a part in the life of the church—you each need to do your part and to do it well for the whole group to keep going in the right direction. How do you find out what your part is? Seek the Lord about it— read His Word, and pray about it. The New Testament has very clear guidelines about that: the roles of men and women, the roles of older folk, young people, children. I know that in the past there has been controversy about those roles, but that's only because people want their own way, not God's, or they pay attention to the foolishness of the world, or they twist the
293
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Word to suit their own agenda. Don't do that! Read God's Word as it is given. God knows what is best, what results in His kind of people." "Make sure you don't follow only half the Word, follow the whole Word. For example, I know men who are very fond of pointing out that the Bible says that wives must submit to their husbands, but remember, husbands, that you are to love your wives the way Christ loves the church. Consider what that means. Jesus Christ left the glory of heaven and as a man He died for the sake of His church, of His people. What, then, do you think He is requiring of husbands?" "Remember to honour your leaders and to obey them. It's God who's allowed them to be in authority over you, even if you chose them yourselves. Honouring them includes caring for them, making sure they aren't carrying greater loads than they can handle. Pray for and with them. Encourage them, thank them. You leaders—be loving shepherds of your flock. Take care not to lead them astray." "God is for you, He is on your side because you are His. Do remember, though, that God's love shows itself as discipline when necessary. Don't get discouraged when things get tough—pray, praise God, for He has everything in hand and He is always with you. May He bless you abundantly as you endeavour to walk in His path. May your hearts overflow with His love as you reach out to others. May His peace, which is beyond our understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord." After one more look around at the congregation, Carl returned to his seat at the back of the church. Henry stood up and led the people in singing a hymn of praise, blessed them, and closed the service. Almost as soon as Carl had gone outside after the service, a man hurried over to him. "Excuse me," he said importantly, "I'd like a word with you." Carl smiled. "Yes, of course, how can I help you?" The man didn't smile back. Instead, he pulled a newspaper page from his pocket, opened it, and showed it to Carl. What Carl saw was page three of the Courier of two Fridays before. "Isn't this you?" the man snapped. Carl looked at him pensively. "Yes," he said slowly, "that's me. Why?" "You have a nerve, Sir, standing up in that church and preaching to those people when you're carrying on like this the rest of the time!" the man said angrily, waving the paper in Carl's face. Emma had come up to them just as the man had started his attack. She now linked her arm in Carl's. "Do you always believe what you see in the newspaper?" she asked the man. He looked at her, surprised at the interruption, and stared disapprovingly at their linked arms. "Excuse me, Madam, but what business is it of yours if I do?" "In this instance, it's very much my business, Sir," Emma replied levelly, "This is my husband you're attacking." The man looked startled and fidgeted nervously with the newspaper. "Are you a member of this church?" Carl asked him. "No, just a visitor," the man answered, regaining his confidence, "and I'm appalled that they let a hypocrite like you preach in their church!" 294
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"But what have you got against Carl?" Emma asked him. "Aren't you aware of this?" the man asked disdainfully. He practically threw the newspaper at her, and she saw the photos of Carl and Mandy for the first time. To the man's surprise, she started laughing, and at the same time she tore the paper to shreds, then handed him the pieces. Abruptly, she stopped laughing and looked very angry. Carl watched, bemused. "I don't know who you are," Emma said in a tight, quiet voice, her eyes flashing, "but I'll tell you that you'd be better off checking out your sources of information thoroughly before you believe them. I happen to know what's behind those photos. You obviously do not. What are you trying to do? Cooperate with the mob responsible for those lies?" Carl was quite taken aback—he'd never before seen his wife angry like this. He was fascinated. She went on in the same tone. "This church has just come out from a long battle with an almost-fatal illness. They have, by the grace of God, recovered their health. Don't you dare bring your infection into it! Get on your knees and ask God's forgiveness for what you just tried to do. Then ask Jesus to save you, from such sin and worse!" The man looked very offended. He scowled at Emma but didn't answer. He dropped the pieces of paper on the ground, stalked off to his car, and drove off. Emma started to pick up the paper, and Carl bent down to help her. "Em," he said very quietly, "I've never seen you like that—I couldn't believe it! Have you ever been angry like that before? I mean, it would have been before I met you..." "Once or twice," she replied, smiling at him warmly, "As you know, Carl, it takes a lot to get me really angry. That man was just too much!" "I agree," Henry said. He'd been standing nearby and had witnessed the whole scene. He grinned at Emma. "Thank you for scaring him away! I'd hate to be on the receiving end of your wrath, Emma!" He turned to Carl, who was taking the pieces of paper Emma had picked up and wadding them up with his. "We'll have to be on the alert for him and his ilk, won't we?" "Yes," Carl agreed, "The Protectioners aren't the only ones out to destroy the church." Several members of the congregation came over to Carl to thank him for his talk. They assured him that they had every intention of following his advice and of keeping close to God. After a while, Carl spotted a familiar figure coming towards them with an older man. "Hello, Rick," he called out, waving to their teenage friend. "Hello, Mr. Slade," Rick said cheerfully, "I'd like you to meet my dad, Mr. and Mrs. Slade. Dad wanted to come with me this morning." He turned to his father. "Dad, this is Mr. Carl Slade, that I told you about, and Mrs. Slade." Carl shook hands with the man. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Strand," he said. Emma, too, shook hands with him and greeted him warmly.
295
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Rick's father was to all appearances an older version of his son—ginger hair, hazel eyes, wide shoulders. But whereas Rick's freckled face was fresh and youthful, as it should be, Mr. Strand's face was grey and heavily lined, and he looked more like seventy than like his actual forty-three years. His divorce and his chronic dependence on alcohol had taken their toll. Nevertheless, he grinned at Carl and answered his greeting in a surprisingly youthful voice. "Rick's changed so much over the last few days I had to come and see why," he explained, "I want to know more about this Jesus Christ who can transform a rebellious teenager into a model son overnight." He added wistfully, "So far, I like what I've seen and heard..." To hear that Mr. Strand thought that Rick had become a model son warmed Carl's heart to such an extent that he was speechless. Emma guessed how he felt, and came to the rescue. "Would you like to belong to Jesus Christ too, Mr. Strand?" she asked. Rick's father hesitated. He looked at his son, at Emma, at Carl. He turned and looked at the other people milling around in front of the church. "I guess so, Mrs. Slade," he replied slowly, "but how does one 'belong', though?" "By saying 'yes' when Jesus Christ calls you to put all your trust in Him, for everything," Carl said, "Do you think He's calling you?" Rick's father looked puzzled. "I don't know," he said, "Does one hear Him, or something?" "Not exactly," Carl said, "The fact is that He calls everyone, because He died to save everyone. It's just that not everybody wants to hear." He took Mr. Strand's arm. "Let's go sit in the church for a bit so I can explain it better to you," he suggested, "It's quieter in there." He led the way back into the building, beckoning to Henry as they walked past him. Once inside, Carl introduced Rick's father to Henry. "Mr. Strand would like to know more about Jesus Christ, Henry. I was wondering if you would like to join us." "Yes, of course I do," Henry replied as he shook hands with Mr. Strand. The three men went to sit in a pew towards the front of the church. Emma and Rick had followed them in, but Emma suggested to the boy that they sit further back and pray for his dad while Henry and Carl talked to him. Although Carl began to explain the Gospel to Rick's father, he soon let Henry take up the thread. Mr. Strand listened attentively, now and then asking a question quietly. Henry and he were so absorbed that they didn't even notice Carl leave the pew after a while to go and sit with Emma and Rick. Some time later Rick's father knelt down, and Henry got up and came to sit with the others. "Keep praying," he said softly, and knelt down next to them. The minutes passed and Strand showed no sign of getting up. After a quarter of an hour had passed, Henry decided to check on him, and went back to his pew. He found Rick's father clutching his chest and gasping for breath, and very frightened. He turned to the others. "Rick, do you know Dr. Grant?" he asked urgently. 296
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes, I do," Rick answered, jumping up, "What—" "Get him in here, quick!" Henry cried. The boy ran out and Emma and Carl went over to Henry and Mr. Strand. Emma took one look at Rick's father and guessed what was wrong. She asked Carl and Henry to move him into the aisle and told Carl to support him in a half-sitting position. Then she loosened his shirt and felt his pulse, and talked quietly and reassuringly to him. Rick came back with the doctor, who went to attend to the sick man. "What's wrong with Dad, Pastor Henry?" Rick asked. "I think he's had a heart attack," Henry answered, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Let's you and I pray, Rick. Your dad's very sick." Dr. Grant examined Rick's father and confirmed that he'd had a heart attack. "When the boy called me so urgently," he said to Carl and Emma, "I took the liberty of sending someone to call an ambulance. Looks like we need it. It should be here any minute." A few minutes later the ambulancemen were wheeling Mr. Strand out of the building. Rick, white-faced, followed them and tugged at Dr. Grant's sleeve. "Are you taking Dad to hospital?" he asked apprehensively. "Yes, I'm afraid your father's had a serious heart attack—he needs urgent care," Dr. Grant replied, "Is your mum here or at home?" "Dad's divorced," Rick murmured, not looking at him. "Come, Rick," Carl called, "Pastor Henry's going to the hospital with your dad and wants you to go too." Dr. Grant patted Rick's shoulder, then took the boy's arm and led him to the ambulance. Henry handed Carl his keys. "I've left Tom in charge, I don't know how long this'll take," he said, "You'd better take my car, for the same reason. I'll see you later." He got into the ambulance with Rick, shut the door, and the vehicle drove off. Tom Broker and the other elders had been going around to the people still gathered around the church, suggesting they all go inside the building and pray together for Mr. Strand. Gradually most of the members of the congregation who were still there went back inside the church. Alice approached Carl, Emma, and George as they walked back towards the building. "Can you all come to Joel's shop for lunch?" she asked, "Henry said he'd be ringing Joel as soon as he has any news." "That would be lovely," Emma said, "Can we, Carl?" "We'd have been eating out, anyway," he answered, "so a friendly place like Joel's is even better." "Where are the children?" Alice asked. Emma smiled and pointed with her chin towards the far end of the carpark, where the twins and several other children were obviously having a good time with their teenage friends. "Mandy and her friends 'borrowed' them," she said. "I wonder if those young people know about Rick's father?" Carl muttered, "You lot go on in. I'll go tell them."
297
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
!!! When George and the Slades returned to Henry's house after lunch, Emma decided to have a rest while the twins were having their nap. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed by her grief and by the morning's events, and decided it would be a good idea to have a rest. George and Carl planned to go to the prayer meeting later in the afternoon. They sat down in Henry's lounge to chat for a while. "Dad," Carl said, "something's bothering me very much and I'd like to talk to you about it. It's about Lancaster." "Are you referring to his refusal of Christ?" George, discerning as ever, asked him. "Yes," Carl replied, "I just can't understand why he stubbornly refused to be saved, even after getting a glimpse of where he was headed. I can't understand it and I find it frightening!" George closed his eyes in thought a moment before speaking. "Carl," he said presently, "is this the first time you've come across someone who refused to turn to Christ?" Carl was mildly surprised at the question. He thought back over his four years of evangelistic work. "No," he answered, "it's not the first time. Many people have said 'no' before. But it is the first time I've seen it happen this way, with the man on his deathbed, minutes away from death, and yet refusing categorically, vehemently—even after he became conscious of being in terrible fear of what lay ahead for him. That's what I don't understand." He paused a moment, then went on to explain, "You see, for the others I hope there were other chances—as far as anyone could tell they weren't about to die. Of course God knew whether they'd have a fatal accident in the next five minutes or not, but mostly I think one can safely assume they'd have another chance, maybe even chances. On the other hand, for Lancaster this was his last chance!" George studied him pensively before commenting. "Carl, what do you think Lancaster saw when he was so frightened?" he asked quietly. "I don't know," Carl said hesitantly, "I couldn't see anything, myself." "Did you assume it must be something evil?" "Well, I suppose so." George looked hard at him. "What if it wasn't?" he asked slowly. The question took Carl aback. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously. "What if he saw the antithesis of what was in his own heart? What if he had a glimpse of heaven?" Carl stared at George in astonishment. "Why would that have frightened him?" he asked incredulously, "Surely it would have made him long for it!" "My dear boy," George said, patting Carl's knee and smiling at him with affection, "you are one of God's children, you love God with all your heart, you long to do what pleases Him, to live for His glory—of course you long for heaven, for your real home, for the joy of God's presence forever!" He paused and frowned. "Look at it, though, from the viewpoint of someone who hates
298
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
God and all He stands for—goodness, purity, honesty, faithfulness, and so on; someone who does not have the light of the Holy Spirit in his life and doesn't want it because it would mean giving up himself; someone who is not interested in living for others. What do you think heaven means to someone like that? It must be a fearful sight indeed, for it would show up all the evil in him for what it really is." "Yes, that it certainly does," Carl murmured. He vividly remembered his encounter with Christ five years earlier. "But when it happened to me, I didn't say 'no', I said 'yes'!" he exclaimed, "I was terrified by the awfulness of the evil it revealed in me, but I called for help, for God to save me, and He did! I don't understand why Lancaster didn't want to ask God to save him!" "Carl," George said softly, "from what you told me about your conversion—you confirmed it when you were telling Henry about it the other day—I understand that you had been searching for God, for heaven. You deliberately went to Jack's house to ask him about Jesus Christ. You wanted to know more about Him." "Well, that's true, but I'm not sure that was entirely my own decision, Dad," Carl replied, "Of myself I don't know that I ever would have gone there—I was much too afraid of adding to my confusion! It's almost as if I couldn't help going to Jack's." He stopped, frowning, trying to recall exactly how he'd felt about the risk of being caught breaking the curfew. "On the other hand, I guess I could've backed out at any time... But I did want to know! Yes, and it wasn't until Jack read to me from his Bible that I knew I'd found the answer to all my confusion, and it wasn't until then that I saw my true nature, and that was far more frightening than anything I'd ever encountered before. The horror of it was the reason I cried out to God to save me—I couldn't bear to live unless I could be changed, and only God could change me." "That's right," George agreed, "Only God, through Jesus Christ, can save us from sin." "So why didn't Lancaster cry out to God?" Carl asked. "Carl, only God can answer that," George said softly, "I can make a guess, but that's all it can be—a guess." "Well, what's your guess, then?" Carl insisted. "All right. Lancaster considered himself a god. To acknowledge God Almighty was beyond him, because he himself wanted to have the last word about his life. He chose hell, Carl, of his own free will. That's how I understand it." Carl put his hands over his face, and George placed a hand on his shoulder. "There are people who choose hell, Carl," he said softly, "people who do not want God's forgiveness. To choose heaven would mean having to deny themselves, to die to themselves, to surrender to God, and they aren't willing to do that. That's my guess. That's how I understand it. But really, it's in God's hands. He's the one in charge." Carl was silent for a long while, still with his hands over his face. At last he looked up at George, his face pale. "God let him choose hell?" he whispered, "Why did He let Lancaster choose hell and let me choose heaven?" 299
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"God would have let him choose heaven if he'd wanted heaven, Carl—but he didn't want heaven. But I can't presume to explain why God does or doesn't do things. You did what God wanted you to do; you told Lancaster about Him, and you've just got to hand the rest to Him and trust Him about it. There's nothing else you can do. You told me you had peace about that, about having done your part. That's all you need, Carl. Trust God for the rest. It's too heavy a burden for an ordinary human being to carry." Carl sighed. "I suppose you're right. Yes—of course you're right! It is too heavy." He knelt down then and there and prayed, asking God to take the burden from him, to help him trust the whole affair to Him, and to give him peace. George prayed for him too, and for Emma, asking for God's comfort in their grief. Emma came in with the twins just as Carl got up from his knees. "Any news from Henry?" she asked. "No. We've been sitting here talking and the phone hasn't buzzed at all," George said. "I'll go make a pot of tea," Emma said as she walked through to the kitchen. The children went over to their father. "Can we draw, Daddy?" Helen asked. "Yes, of course you can," Carl replied, getting up. He fetched their crayons and paper and settled them at the dining table. George glanced out of the window. "Actually, here's Henry now," he announced, "and he's got Rick with him. They came back in a taxi." Henry and Rick came in the door and Henry told Rick to sit down. Rick's face was red and swollen from crying. "Mr. Strand had another heart attack," Henry told Carl and George, "He went home about three o'clock..." "Home?" George's eyebrows shot up. He looked at Rick. "Dad said 'yes' to Jesus Christ, Mr. Newman," Rick said softly, "In the ambulance." He looked at Carl. "He asked Jesus to save him, Mr. Slade." "I'm glad to hear that," Carl said, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder, "but I'm very sad to hear your dad died. I'm sad for your sake, Rick." "It happened so fast," the boy murmured, "He seemed okay this morning—he was so keen to come to church." He straightened up abruptly and looked around in astonishment at the three men. "You know, Dad was very keen to come to church—he acted like it was terribly urgent." Carl and George looked at each other, each guessing what the other was thinking: Lancaster had said "no". Rick's father had said "yes". God's ways are not our ways... Carl thought to himself. Emma came in with the tea, greeted Henry and Rick, and went to fetch two more mugs. When she returned from the kitchen she looked more closely at Rick and guessed the news from the expression on his face. She sat down on the sofa next to him and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Rick," she said gently, "It was awfully sudden, wasn't it?" "Yes, Mrs. Slade," Rick replied, "but he did ask Jesus to save him. He also said to me, in the ambulance, just as we got to the hospital, that he loved me and that he prayed that Mandy and me would be very happy..." 300
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Tears welled up in his eyes. "Like he knew, you know, that he was going to die... That was the last time he spoke to me..." "They took him straight to Intensive Care," Henry said, "and that was where he had the second heart attack. They tried to revive him but they couldn't. We went up with him but they wouldn't let Rick into the ICU. I was with him until he had the attack, then they shooed me out too. He asked me to look after Rick..." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "You're very welcome to stay here for as long as you need to, mate." "Thank you," Rick said quietly, "I-I think I will. It'll be very lonely at home..." "Let's have this cup of tea and then I'll drive you over to your place so you can pick up some clothes and so on," Henry suggested, and added, to Carl and George, "I rang the Winters and gave them the news. James said he'd let people know at the prayer meeting." While they were talking, Andrew had got down from his chair and come over to Carl. Leaning against his father's side, he had listened to their conversation and had managed to understand that Rick's father had died. Now he went over to Rick and stood by his knee, looking up at him with solemn blue eyes. "God loves your daddy, Blue," he whispered, "Your daddy is happy." He smiled gently at the bemused teenager. Rick finally stopped staring at him, gave him a hug, and sat him on his lap. "Thank you, Andrew," he murmured, "Thank you very much." Carl was once again astounded by his son's action and words. He sat, deep in thought, gazing at Andrew, and jumped when Emma came quietly over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "You startled me, Em!" he exclaimed, "What's the matter?" "Come out to the kitchen a minute, would you?" she said softly. He got up and followed her out of the room. "What's up?" he asked. "Andrew's different, isn't he?" she said, "You've noticed, haven't you?" "Have I ever! It's like a flower suddenly opening up," Carl replied, "I mean, he's still our quiet, shy, little Andrew, but he has an insight and boldness all of a sudden that I've seen in few adults, let alone four-year-olds." "When I was putting him to bed for his nap he told me he's given his heart to Jesus," Emma explained, "He said that when he was having lunch with George the other day—you know, when George was flat on his back all day—George asked him what he'd like to be when he grows up. Andrew said he wanted to be Daddy! George asked him if he meant he wanted to be like his daddy, and he said 'yes'. And George asked him why, and he said he wanted to be kind, and to love Jesus, and to marry Mummy—you have a rival!—and just be a really nice man like Daddy." Carl swallowed hard. He sat down on a chair and sighed. Emma saw he had tears in his eyes. "What did George say to that?" he whispered. "I asked him about it. He said he told Andrew that the surest way of being like his Daddy was to belong to Jesus, and that meant he had to let Jesus take over his life, he'd have to give himself to Jesus, because Jesus died for him so that he could do that. I don't know exactly how he put it, but 301
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
he obviously explained it well enough for a four-year-old to understand just what that implied." "My little son is now also my brother in Christ..." Carl murmured, "It sounds odd, doesn't it?" He looked up at Emma. "What about Helen? Has she turned to Jesus too?" "I'm not sure. She's such a cheerful little thing and so outgoing, and always so busily occupied... I guess we'll just have to ask her." "We can ask her tonight when we pray with them before they go to sleep, Em," Carl said, "It's something I've been praying for—and I know you have, too—ever since we found out you were pregnant. I prayed that our children would belong to Jesus Christ from an early age, like Jack and Rose's children." "Yes, so did I," Emma said quietly, "Well, Carl, He's certainly answering our prayers."
302
CHAPTER 34 Ron Velasquez had gone to the afternoon prayer meeting, and he called in at Henry's home on his way back to his hotel. Henry was keen to hear how the meeting had gone, and he invited Ron to stay and have tea with them. "Carl's picking up some take-away from Kevin's shop on the way home," he said, "I'll just give Kevin a ring and ask him to add an extra portion." "Make that two," Ron said firmly. Henry looked surprised. "Why two?" he asked warily. He knew by now that despite his serious countenance Ron was likely to be joking. The Inspector raised his eyebrows. "One for me and one for Ron," he said in a tone of stating the obvious. Henry stood considering his answer and looking for the catch in it. He shrugged as he gave up. "What on earth do you mean?" he asked Ron. Ron smiled with the satisfaction of knowing that he had Henry well mystified. "I'll tell you later," he said, "Just do as I say." Henry was still not convinced that Ron wasn't pulling his leg. He frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged and went to the phone. He got through to Kevin and asked him to add two extra portions to Carl's order. Emma came into the room with the twins, who had just had their bath and were ready for bed. The children ran over to Ron who greeted them enthusiastically and offered to play a game with them. Emma said she would set the table for tea and Henry went to help her. He told her about Ron's curious order and asked her if she understood what Ron was talking about. "No, I don't," she replied with a smile, "but I think you're right in taking it with a large helping of salt! Knowing Ron, he's got some mischief up his sleeve!" When Carl and George arrived, Ron announced triumphantly, "See, Henry? It's just as well you asked for two extra orders instead of just one!" Carl looked at Ron suspiciously. "What are you up to, mate?" he asked. "We needed two extra portions," Ron said mildly, "One for me and one for Ron." George's eyes twinkled. "You and you riddles, Ron!" he chuckled. Officer Stuart came in behind George, and Ron pounced on him. "Aha!" he cried, making Stuart jump. "Hey, Inspector, calm down," Stuart said placatingly, "It's only me!" Henry understood Ron's joke immediately and burst out laughing, leaving everyone except Ron and Emma looking quite perplexed. He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes and finally had to sit down to catch his breath. Emma was also laughing, but Ron frowned. "There, there," he said comfortingly, patting Henry on the back, "don't take it so hard, Henry!" "Oh, Ron, however did you survive the Protectorate?" Henry asked when he'd calmed down.
303
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Well, I started the Underground, didn't I?" Ron answered levelly, winking at Carl, who smiled in understanding. He turned to the detective. "Do you all know Rob Stuart, alias 'me'?" he asked. "I hadn't met him before," George said, coming over to shake Stuart's hand, "Pleased to meet you, Officer, I'm George Newman. I once suffered your Inspector's presence in my lectures..." George's eyes twinkled as usual, and the young man grinned. "Where's Rick?" Carl asked, noticing the boy's absence. "The Winters invited him over for tea, and James picked him up on his way home," Emma told him. "How about we eat while the food's hot?" Henry suggested, and everyone agreed with him. As they ate, Ron told Henry his impressions of the prayer meeting. "It was the antithesis of the situation you found when you arrived here, Carl" he said, "There was a strong sense of unity in the Spirit. Tom Broker led to start with, and he read from Psalm 51, and he hadn't even finished before everyone, including me, was on their knees asking God's forgiveness for their sins. In case you're wondering, I had to ask forgiveness for the hatred I'd had for so long towards Lancaster, Dillmon, and other Protectioners. This sort of praying went on for some ten minutes, and then Matt Lee started to sing a hymn of praise—one of the older ones—and soon everybody was singing it. Joel was sitting next to me and he was telling me who was who, by the way. The meeting went on like that until the end. No-one gave any prayer points, everyone just prayed as the Spirit led. I think we could have gone on all night except that James had to get home to his wife so her nurse could go home, and he's the one with the key to the building!" "It warms my heart so much to hear this, Ron, you've no idea," Henry said happily, "Oh, I pray we'll continue united in the Spirit and seeking only God's will!" "We all join in that prayer with you, Henry," George assured him. After tea was over they all went to the lounge. Rick came back from the Winters' and joined them, but it became obvious after a few moments that he was feeling a bit out of place. Ron sat down in an armchair and George asked him if he could sum up his visit to Goldridge for them. "Fine," he said, "One of the reasons I came by was to tell you all a bit about what my investigations here turned up. You'd better all sit down—it will take more than five minutes." When they were all seated, he looked around at them. "Where's Emma?" he asked, "I think she'd want to hear this too." "She's out in the camper," Carl said, "She went to put the children to bed." "I'll get her," Rick offered, jumping up a little too eagerly, "I'll stay out there with the kids so she can come in." He went out, and shortly after, Emma came in the door. "Rick said you wanted me in here," she said to Ron. "Yes, I thought you might like to be in on my debriefing too," he said. "All right, Ron," Henry said, "We're all ears—tell us what you found." 304
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
The Inspector took a deep breath and looked at Officer Stuart. "Rob," he said, "Please tell me if I make any mistakes." Stuart nodded. "Only thing is," Ron continued, not smiling, "every time you do so I'll make a note, and tell Personnel to dock it off your pay when we get back." Stuart, playing Ron's game, nodded gravely, and handed Ron his notepad and pen. Ron took it, raised his eyebrows, and wrote something down. "You're right, Rob, I left my notepad behind at the hotel. Mistake number one. One dollar off your pay." "Excuse me, Inspector," Stuart said very politely, "What do you aim to do with this money?" Ron frowned at him. "Officer Stuart, how do you think we can manage to keep afloat the National Leg-Pullers Society—to give it the title so generously endowed on it by our dear friend Emma Slade?" Carl and Emma had their hands over their mouths in an effort not to laugh, George's eyes were twinkling with delight. Henry, however, had frustration written all over his face. He crossed his arms and glared at Ron. "And do Chief Inspectors in the Federal Police have to belong to this Society every minute of every day?" he asked grimly. Ron gazed pensively at him, and decided it was time to be serious. "I'm sorry, Henry," he said, "I do get carried away sometimes. It's been a tense few months... When the tension decreases, I tend to go overboard..." "I forgive you, Ron," Henry said quietly, "Please forgive me for being rude." Ron nodded. "I guess I'd better get on with the serious stuff," he said, and took a deep breath. "Carl was right when he thought that events here had some connection with a big extortion case we were investigating," he began, "but what he didn't know—and I didn't either, until I came down here—was that the extortion case was part of something much bigger. The Protectioners were planning to get back in power, as you'd already found out. The ones at the top were headquartered here because here they found fertile ground for their schemes, but they had subordinates all over the country. We found lists in Lancaster's files in his home. Yes, we got warrants to search Lancaster's, Hillman's, and Greenstone's homes and offices, and they yielded far more than we'd hoped for." "You mentioned on Friday, when you brought Emma home, that you'd found interesting evidence in Hillman's surgery," Carl reminded him, "What was it you found?" "Ah, yes," Ron smiled, "Actually, Kevin and Luke Hastings' discovery at the church fitted in well with that, didn't it, Henry?" "That's right," Henry confirmed, "Do you folk remember the skin patches for timed release of drugs? Well, Hillman—that is, Dillmon—was working on a Dremasone version of that. He had a lab at the back of his surgery. It's just as well he was stopped when he was. Can you imagine the havoc it would have created had that mob been able to fasten a Dremasone patch on people?" "I was surprised at the lack of security measures around those homes and offices, at first," Ron remarked, "but then I realised that those fellows were so sure they would succeed that they became careless." 305
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Yes! Like when they argued in public," Emma exclaimed, "I would've thought they'd want to be more careful..." "Perhaps they were being affected by the Dremasone themselves?" Stuart suggested. "Or the painkillers they had to take all the time as an antidote..." George put in. "Perhaps someone ought to check out the effects of prolonged exposure to the stuff, sometime?" Henry asked rhetorically. "Well, whatever the reason, they weren't careful, and on top of that, they reckoned without God getting involved, which assured their downfall." Ron paused and took another deep breath. "My biggest and most surprising piece of news, however, is that we found out who was in charge of all this mess. It was a shock to me, I assure you—I would never have guessed it. At first glance, here, it was Lancaster who was at the top. It soon became clear to me, however, that it wasn't Lancaster, but Hillman, who was running the show here. Where did Greenstone fit in? I'm not entirely sure, but the search of his house uncovered a rack of CDs containing enough material to blackmail Hillman and Lancaster and the big boss many times over." "So who was leading this mob, then?" Carl asked curiously, "Who was 'the big boss', as you put it?" "Myra Lancaster," Ron said, with obvious satisfaction. "What?!" Carl exclaimed, "Myra Lancaster was the boss? You're kidding!" "No, I'm not," Ron replied, very pleased at the effect his revelation had achieved, "For once, Carl, I'm not joking. I really am serious, I assure you." "Myra Lancaster?" George asked, "Is that Lancaster's wife?" "Yes, although I gather she's long been Hillman's mistress. Lancaster himself wasn't exactly a faithful husband, as we know. Nor was Hillman particularly faithful to Myra. She obviously had him under her thumb, though, judging by what we found in his papers..." "Where is Myra Lancaster these days, anyway?" Henry asked, "As far as I know, no-one in Goldridge has ever set eyes on her." "She's in Apmirra—Lancaster had a rather palatial residence there that she was 'minding' for him," Ron said, "I expect someone else is minding it now—the warrant for her arrest went out Saturday morning and I wouldn't think she'd have been expecting it." "Well, who would have thought it," Carl muttered, "Mrs. Lancaster and her famous fruit punches, and her concerts, and her parties..." He shuddered, remembering that at one stage it had been well known in the Counselling Institute that Lancaster's wife was President Denson's mistress. Then, it would appear, at some point—Denson's fall, perhaps?—she'd switched to Hillman/Dillmon. Had she been plotting all along, even back then when Denson's Protectorate had seemed firmly established? "Ron, I have to admit that I'm floored," Carl said, "This whole business has been like a nightmare and this bit of news just rounds it off in suitably horrible fashion." "Indeed," Ron agreed, "Most nightmares have plenty of absurdities in them and this one is no exception. But of course that's not what made it a 306
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
nightmare—it was the horror of it, the way people were used, and trampled on, the direction in which it was headed, and the way they took advantage of the backsliding Christians. And the awful way those blokes died..." He looked at Carl. "I remember Myra Lancaster's parties too, Carl. It was during one of them that I enlisted Andrew Parker in the Underground." He grinned at the look of astonishment on Carl's face. "Does that surprise you?" he chuckled, "Nothing I do should surprise you any more, Carl! There was only ever one part of her parties I enjoyed. I would've avoided her parties if I could have, but one couldn't very well refuse to go, could one? But the only part of those parties I ever enjoyed was the concerts given by your trio—you and your flute; Matt Lewis and his violin; and Andrew and his cello." "Do you have any idea what became of Matt, Ron?" Carl asked. "Yes," the Inspector replied, "He committed suicide when the Protectorate fell. Several of the Counsellors did. So did many other people." "Oh, dear," Emma said sadly, "What an awful mess." "Yes, that's right," Henry said, "That's all one can expect when sin is given free rein—an awful mess..." He sighed deeply. "Well, at least our part of the mess is being cleaned up now, thank God." Before Ron and Officer Stuart left, George suggested they thank God together for the way He had led them and protected them. "We're only here for another two days," he said to Ron, "and I don't know if we'll see you again before we leave." They all bowed their heads and together thanked and praised the Lord, then Carl got out his flute and led them in a few songs and hymns. All too soon it was time for Ron to leave. "I'll be sure to drop by to see you again before I go back to Apmirra," he said to Henry as he took his leave. Henry looked appropriately alarmed. "Please warn me in advance so I can wear my armour," he said pleadingly. Ron laughed. "Maybe I'll smile when I'm pulling your leg, Henry. Will that be a good compromise?" Henry shrugged. "All right," he said, and grinned. "Just go easy on the leg-pulling, Ron, or you'll give me a permanent limp!" "Well, anyway," Ron said, "seriously, though: If you ever get tired of pastoring—which I can't imagine you doing—you can always come and work with me. You'd make a good detective. Wouldn't he, Rob?" Stuart looked Henry up and down and nodded. "Not bad, not bad," he conceded in a patronising tone. "Ron and Rob, you're two of a kind, aren't you?" Emma said. Stuart shrugged and grinned. Henry laughed. "You're right," he said to Ron, "I'm not likely to give up looking after God's people—not after all the lessons He's taught me these past several months. But I'll keep your offer in mind!" "Ron, come up to Kawanyama and have a holiday with us soon," George said, "Mei Li would love to see you again after all these years." "I will, I promise," Ron answered, "Within the next six months: I've got some leave due me coming up sometime."
307
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Will you come back here in two weeks for Joel and Alice's wedding?" Emma asked. "I hope so," Ron replied, "it should be easy enough to fly down from Apmirra for the weekend." "I'm sorry I'll be missing that," George said, "but one can't have everything..." He clapped Ron on the shoulder and said something to him in Aramaic. For the next few minutes the two men chatted away in that language, until Carl tapped George on the arm. "Dad, please have mercy on us poor ignorant folk who do not speak in extinct languages," he said. "I'm sorry, Carl, I couldn't resist," George smiled, "Who knows when I'll next have the opportunity?" "Oh, come on, Dad!" Carl exclaimed, "I know very well that Will speaks Aramaic too!" "Well, we'd better go," Ron said, "or Officer Drummond will be sending out a search party. Goodbye, Carl and Emma, I'll catch up with you in Apmirra. See you in a couple of days, Henry, and see you in a couple of months, George!" "Thank you very much for having me over," Officer Stuart said, "I thoroughly enjoyed myself." The two policemen left, and Carl and Emma said goodnight to Henry and George. "We'd better go and relieve Rick," Emma said, "and get to bed." "Thanks for dinner, Henry," Carl said, "We'll see you two in the morning."
308
CHAPTER 35 On Monday morning Carl got up at dawn and sat outside on the camper step playing his flute. While he was playing, Henry came out and sat down on his own front step to listen." I'm going to miss your flute-playing," he said when Carl stopped and put the instrument back in its case. "We'll be back, Henry," Carl said, "and I'll be sure to bring the flute with me." He sighed. "We're going to miss you, and those young people, and Alice and your father, and James and Laura... As you can see, we'll just have to keep coming back! We'll be here for your father's wedding, anyway." "I certainly hope you do keep coming back!" Henry said, "but we'll keep in touch anyway." He paused and frowned. "Although... If you're always travelling, how do we do that?" "We'll let you know as far as possible where we are and when," Carl replied, "but we're in Apmirra at least once a month, so you can always use our address there." "That reminds me," Henry said, "I've been meaning to ask you and I keep forgetting—how do you cover your expenses, how do you pay for your travel, your food, clothing, and so on? Where does your money come from? You don't seem to have a paid job..." "Actually, it is a paid job that I've got," Carl grinned, "It's just that the pay depends on what my Employer thinks I need rather than being a set sum! When God called me to itinerant evangelism He made it clear in several ways that we were to depend on Him to see that our needs were provided—on Him alone. There are several people who send us something regularly because they felt God wanted them to do that, but overall our monthly income is always a surprise. If we know of an actual need that's coming up we just pray about it together. Our first need—housing and transport—was provided even before the call was clear. Ron bought this camper truck because he was quite sure that God wanted him to buy it. When he realised he was supposed to get it equipped with hand controls, he also realized that it wasn't for his own use! That was back when I was still paralysed, but I didn't know about the truck. Jack—Emma's brother—took me out for lunch one day when I was still learning to walk with the frame. He'd arranged for Ron to meet us at the restaurant so we could all have a chat together. In the middle of the meal, Ron suddenly stared at me and practically shouted, 'It's for you!' out of the blue." Carl grinned. "He was a bit embarrassed when he noticed that everyone in the place, including Jack and me, was staring at him! But you know Ron—he quickly recovered. He was pretty excited, though, as he explained about the truck, and the hand controls, and the driving lessons he was arranging. He told us the Lord had wanted him to buy this truck, but hadn't let him know why until just then while we were eating. And at that moment I knew for sure what God wanted me to do—it was so clear and certain, I was stunned."
309
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"How did Emma react when you told her?" Henry asked. "How do you think?" Carl smiled. "As if it were the most natural thing in the world, I expect, from what I've seen of her," Henry replied, "She probably asked you, 'When do we start?' or something like that." "Pretty much. She was rather used to trusting God for everything, after doing it for over ten years!" "How did you react?" "I was on top of the world... And scared. God Himself had told me to set off into the unknown—and you can imagine just how unknown such a move would be for a former Counsellor who'd only been a Christian about eighteen months... I wondered if Abraham had felt the way I did... But God had showed me then, in that most wonderful way, that He would have no problems meeting our needs. Ron asked me to wait until the camper was ready before telling Emma about it. Believe me, that was not easy, I was that excited about it!" Henry regarded him silently, a quizzical smile on his face. He didn't speak for a few moments. "What's on your mind?" Carl asked, wondering about the way Henry was looking at him. Henry sighed. "I just had a flashback to the day nine years ago when I first encountered Counsellor Carl Slade at the Counselling Institute..." He smiled warmly at Carl. "Isn't God marvellous? It's a privilege to have been able to see what He's done in your life, Carl." He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, and walked over to the camper. "It's a privilege to have you as a friend, Henry," Carl said quietly, "and I thank God that he allowed us to meet again as brothers rather than as enemies." Henry walked down the footpath to the edge of the road, looked up and down the street, then turned around and came back towards Carl. "I'd better let you have some time with the Lord before your children wake up," he said, "I gather you have a full day ahead of you." "Yes, we do," Carl confirmed, "and you're right, the busier the day the more we need to start it with a talk with the One who keeps us going." "I'll see you at breakfast, then," Henry said, and went into the house. Carl stayed sitting on the camper step for some time, reading his Bible and praying.
!!! About mid-morning Henry looked into George's room. "Are you ready to go, George?" he asked, "Carl and Emma are just locking up the camper." "Yes, I'm ready," George said, walking out into the hall, "I was just getting my walking stick. And what are you planning to do today, Henry?" he asked as they walked through the living room to the front door.
310
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I have a few visits to make, and a meeting with the elders at lunchtime, then I'll take Rick over to the College and get him enrolled for the plumbing course. Tomorrow's Mr. Strand's funeral, and I have to prepare for that, as well." They stopped on the front step. "Yes, Carl said we wouldn't leave until after the funeral, for Rick's sake," George said. "It would be difficult for Rick to go with you if you left before the funeral, George." "Ah? Is Rick coming with us, then? I didn't know." "Carl and Emma asked him last night if he'd like to spend a couple of weeks with them before his course starts." Carl came over to them and took George's arm. "C'mon, Dad," he said, grinning, "We're waiting and waiting for you and you just stand here chatting!" "I'll see you folks at Dad's tonight, then," Henry said. "Yes. God bless you, Henry—hang in there with Him," Carl replied. "I will. Go with Him too." Henry went back into the house, and Carl and George walked over to where Emma, Rick, and the twins stood waiting with the taxi that would take them to the Winters' home. When they arrived, James greeted them warmly. "I'm glad you came too," he said to Rick, "I've got some news for you." The boy was very subdued, but he was surprised that there should be news for him. "Is it good news, Mr. Winters?" he asked. "I hope you'll think so," James replied, patting his shoulder and smiling, "But come in and say 'hello' to Mrs. Winters first. She'll be glad to see you again and so will someone else who's in her room with her." Rick grinned as he guessed that James was referring to his daughter. James led the way to Laura's room. It was a fine spring morning, and Betty and he had moved Laura's bed closer to the window, which was open. The perfume of the spring flowers and the music of bird songs floated into the room on the warm breeze. Laura was delighted to see them. Because of the pressure sores she was still having to lie down all the time, and visitors were even more welcome than usual. The Slades greeted her, then Rick went over and kissed her on the cheek. He spoke quietly. "Hi, Mrs. Winters," he said, "I guess you've heard?" "Yes, Rick, Mr. Winters told me your dad died," Laura answered softly, "I'm very sorry, Rick. You were just starting to get close to him, weren't you?" "Yeah..." Rick said, looking at his feet, "If only I'd been a better son, we would have been friends much earlier..." "Mr. Strand did turn to Christ before he died, though," Emma said, "because he'd been impressed by the change in Rick's behaviour, didn't he, Rick?" "That's right," Rick agreed quietly, "and he said he did love me and that he hoped Mandy and me would be happy." He turned around in surprise as
311
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
someone took his hand. It was Mandy, who had walked over quietly and was standing behind him. "Hi, Rick," she said, smiling at him. "Hi, Mandy," he replied, "Howya doing?" "I'm all right, but how are you? Dad told us that your dad died yesterday. I tried to ring you but there was no answer on your phone and I didn't know where you were." "I was staying at Pastor Henry's and I'll be staying there tonight too," Rick said, "but tomorrow I'm going with the Slades and I'll spend a couple of weeks with them." "Oh. I guess that's a good idea," Mandy said, sounding disappointed, "I'll miss you." "Two weeks isn't all that long," Rick commented, but he didn't sound very sure. He looked up at Carl questioningly. "No, it isn't, Rick," Carl agreed, "but you don't have to come, you know. It was a suggestion. You don't have to make up your mind until tomorrow afternoon." "Thanks, Mr. Slade," Rick said, and looked at Mandy, then looked down and frowned as he thought for a few moments. He became aware suddenly that everyone in the room was looking at him expectantly, and he blushed in embarrassment as he looked up again. He turned back to Carl. "Mr. Slade, I think I will come with you, I think it is probably best," he said hesitantly, squeezing Mandy's hand as he spoke, then added, more firmly, "Yes. I will come with you." "Fine. We'll be very glad to have you along," Carl said, and Emma echoed him. "Mandy, could we just go and talk by ourselves for a minute?" Rick asked his girlfriend as he headed towards the door, still holding her hand. Mandy agreed, and the two of them left the room. "What a blow for him," James murmured, "Just as his relationship with his father was taking off..." "Rick has had to grow up fast, and very suddenly," Laura remarked, "and I admit that I like what he's becoming. I'll be very happy for Mandy to marry him." She suddenly grew very pale and gave her husband a stricken look. "Oh, James, I just realised..." she said in a hushed voice, "I won't be around when they get married..." James sat down on the bed next to her, took her up in his arms, and kissed her. "We don't know that for sure, Laura," he said gently, "You may be around for years yet." "James, you know very well what the doctors said about the progress of this disease," Laura pointed out, "I don't really have much longer." "Laura, doctors aren't infallible," Emma observed quietly, "At the turn of the century there was a fellow with a progressive disease similar to yours— he was a scientist, I think—and the doctors said he'd die within two years of his condition being diagnosed. That was when he was about twenty-one. He lived considerably longer than they'd expected—some thirty years longer!" Laura smiled at her. "Thank you, Emma. I needed to hear that, to be reminded that God is the one who decides when we die, not doctors," she 312
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
said, "I guess I'd better just keep trusting God and taking one day at a time and enjoying each day as it comes." "If you worry about raking the autumn leaves when it's spring, you'll miss out on the spring flowers," Carl muttered to no-one in particular, but Laura smiled at him and nodded in agreement. "Did you bring your flute with you by any chance, Carl?" she asked him. "Yes, actually, I did, would you believe," Carl answered, "Just like that, at the last minute, as we went out, I grabbed it! Would you like me to play something?" "Oh, yes, please," Laura said eagerly, "anything you like. I'd love to hear you play. Mandy told me she heard you playing yesterday at the morning service and at the prayer meeting. She said you play very well." Carl got out his flute and assembled it. He blew a few notes, then a couple of scales followed by a few practice pieces, to warm up. Then he took a deep breath and began to play. Over the next half hour, almost without a pause, he worked his way through pieces by Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi, Suzuki, and Campos, then went on to play several hymns. Laura and the others listened attentively. Laura had her eyes closed most of the time but opened them now and then to smile at James and the others. Outside in the garden, Rick and Mandy had paused in their chat and sat quietly, holding hands, listening to the music coming through Laura's open window. Emma gazed affectionately at her husband as he played. How she loved to hear him playing his flute! She still remembered vividly the very first time she'd ever heard and watched him play it, at dawn on that first morning of their escape to Kawanyama—his first offering of worship to God as a new Christian. Almost every day since then she'd had the privilege of listening to him play his flute. "Thank you ever so much," Laura said warmly when Carl finished playing. "That was very beautiful, Carl." "Did you learn to play the flute as a child?" James asked him. "I took it up when I was twelve," Carl answered, "It was one of the things that marked me as peculiar in the Protectioner orphanage where I grew up." "Well, I'm awfully glad you did take it up," Laura said, "It was a special pleasure to listen to you play." The twins had also sat very quietly while Carl played. Now Andrew came over to Carl, who had sat down again. He leant against his father's side and fingered the flute which was lying across Carl's lap. "Daddy," he said softly, "can I play it too?" Carl smiled down at him. "You'd like to try it, Andrew?" "Yes, please," Andrew replied in a whisper. "Watch how I blow in it, first, then," Carl said, "Watch carefully, now." He put the flute to his lips and blew the same note several times. Andrew watched his mouth intently. "All right," Carl said, moving Andrew to stand in front of him, "Now you can try it. I'll help you to hold the flute, and you blow the way I did."
313
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
Andrew's efforts weren't very successful and he looked up at his father in dismay, his blue eyes filling with tears. Carl picked him up, sat him on his lap, and hugged him. "It takes lots and lots of practice, Andrew, to be able to play the flute," he said gently, "I'll teach you, if you'd like to learn, but it's hard work, I'm warning you." He put the flute to his lips again and played one of Andrew's favourite pieces, the lullaby from Jocelyn. When he stopped, Andrew leant back against his chest. "I wanna learn, Daddy," he said softly, "I'll work hard, really." "All right, Andrew, I'll teach you, then," Carl said, "and we can pray right now that God will make it possible for us to get you your own flute." He handed the instrument to Emma. "Here, Em, could you please clean it and put it away for me?" Father and son bowed their heads and prayed very softly together. Then Carl hugged Andrew again, and put him down on the floor. "Carl..." Laura said hesitantly, "I don't know if you'd be willing..." She glanced at James, who had guessed what she was thinking and nodded. "I used to play the flute, years ago," she continued, "I have a flute, and it's just been sitting in a drawer all these years. I kept hoping that Mandy might want to learn to play it, but she preferred the guitar. Would you like to take my flute for your son?" "But Laura, it might only be a passing whim!" Emma exclaimed, "Andrew's only four!" "No, I don't think so," Laura said, "Andrew is his father's son... I was watching him at one point while Carl played. I don't think it's a passing whim. And I'd like to give him my flute, if it's all right with Carl and you." James had got up and gone over to the chest of drawers in one corner of the room. He brought out a flute case and handed it to Carl, then returned to his seat on the bed next to his wife. Carl opened the flute case carefully, took out the flute and put it together. He looked at it carefully. "Why, this is a silver flute, Laura!" he exclaimed, "Surely you don't want to give this away!" "Oh, but I do, most definitely!" Laura assured him, "It's sat in that drawer far too long. A flute is meant to be played. In fact I hope it's still playable after all these years." Carl blew a few notes, then played a Bach minuet. He looked at the instrument again. "It's got a beautiful tone," he remarked, "Where did you get it?" "I inherited it from my grandfather," Laura replied, "He was a flautist with the Sydney Symphony." "It's been around a while, then," Carl said. He looked down at Andrew who was leaning on his knee. "Mrs. Winters says you can have her flute, Andrew, if you really want to learn to play." Andrew's face lit up. He reached for the flute, and Carl gave it to him. The boy gazed at the instrument in wonder. Then he looked up in amazement at his father, his blue eyes shining. "God answered our prayer awfully quickly, didn't He, Daddy?" he said softly. He turned and looked at Laura, who was 314
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
smiling as she watched him. He handed the flute back to Carl and went over to the bed. With Laura lying down he was just at eye-level with her. "I do wanna learn, Mrs. Winters," he said, "Thank you for such a nice flute." He closed his eyes and bowed his head on the edge of the bed. "Thank you, God, for sending a flute so quickly..." he whispered. He went to George, who had witnessed the whole scene with mounting joy. "God answered our prayer very quickly, didn't he, Uncle George?" he said softly. "He certainly did," George replied, giving him a hug. Helen broke the hush in the room. "Can I have one too, Mrs. Winters?" she asked. "Helen!" Emma exclaimed. "I'm afraid I've only got one flute, Helen," Laura answered, smiling at the little girl, "but I don't think you'll be playing the flute, Helen. I expect you're more likely to play the guitar, like Mandy, or the piano, like your mummy." Helen thought this over. "Yeah, that's right," she said shortly, satisfied with Laura's comment, and skipped over to Carl to have a look at Andrew's new flute. Rick and Mandy came back and Andrew walked over to Mandy and took her hand. "God and your mummy gave me a flute and now Daddy can teach me to play," he informed her quietly. "Oh. You've given him your flute, have you, Mum?" Mandy asked, looking at her mother. "That's right," Laura confirmed, "It's about time that flute got played again." "Thank you very much, Laura," Carl said warmly, "That is a beautiful gift." "And to have an answer to his prayer like that..." Emma added, "It makes your gift extra-special." "It's a pleasure to give it to you people," Laura smiled, "You folk have brought me so much encouragement and cheer in the last couple of weeks." "Well, Blue," James said, addressing Rick, "Now I think would be a good time to tell you the news I have for you." Rick glanced at Mandy, then looked back at her father expectantly. "I know that with your father's death your plans for an apprenticeship were dashed," James went on, "but this morning I went down to my office for a couple of hours and while I was there Joe Trent dropped by for a chat in between jobs. He had something to suggest." Rick's face had lit up with interest at the name James mentioned. "What did he say?" he asked with barely-suppressed eagerness. "He said he needs an assistant in his work and he was wondering if Rick Strand was still interested in an apprenticeship." "Oooooh..." Rick didn't know what to say. He glanced at Mandy again and she squeezed his hand. "Well, Rick, are you?" James asked him, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, Mr. Winters, am I ever!" Rick cried, "I thought all my plans for marrying Mandy would have to be thrown out, because I'd have no way of supporting us!" 315
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"Joe Trent is a plumber," James explained to Emma and Carl. "Oh, that's wonderful," Emma exclaimed, "Thank You, Lord!" "Yeah, praise God!" Rick whispered. He tried to say something else, but faltered, and suddenly turned around and left the room, leaving everyone staring at the door which he'd slammed behind him. Carl recovered from his surprise first, and went out after Rick. He found him sitting on the front porch staring out at the garden, his eyes red from crying. "Well, mate, you took us all by surprise, leaving suddenly like that— are you all right?" he asked the boy. Rick turned slowly to look at Carl. "I-I don't know, Mr. Slade," he answered, "I guess I'm okay." "Just a bit overwhelmed, eh?" Carl sat down next to him. "Yeah." They sat in silence, gazing out at the garden, for a few minutes. They could hear the background noise of the town in the background, but the bird songs were the main sound around the house. Rick sighed several times and shuffled his feet. Finally he spoke. "I do want that apprenticeship, you know, Mr. Slade," he said quietly, "it's just that I was looking forwards to working with Dad, to getting to know him better and all..." Once more he sighed deeply. "Yes, that must hurt very much, I'm sure," Carl said softly, "My wife would understand better how you feel, Rick. She's only just found out that her parents died, and she'd been looking forwards so much to seeing them again. Only they'd been dead almost eight years before she found out..." "Why did it take so long for her to find out?" Rick asked. "They were in a refugee camp in England during the time of the Protectorate here, and that's where they died. After the end of the Protectorate, it took four years before Emma and her brother were able to get in touch with their brother and sister in England, because of bureaucratic paperwork." "Oh, that's awful!" Rick said, "At least I was with my dad almost until the moment he died. He even sort of said goodbye, in the ambulance." "I don't know that one situation is more awful than the other, Rick." Carl commented, "They're both painful for those who are left behind—in different ways, but painful nonetheless. But even as you face the pain and deal with it, remember that for your dad, as for Emma's parents, there is no more pain. For them, there's the joy of God's presence forever. We wouldn't really want them to be back here, and we can look forwards to being in that joy with them someday. And the pain of losing them is a part of the road to get there. We have to travel along it." After a few moments more of silence, Rick changed the subject somewhat. "Mr. Slade, what's a funeral like?" he asked, "Have you ever been to one?" "I went to my parents' funeral when I was four years old," Carl replied, "All I remember of that is that it was raining and I was scared. That fear has always been there whenever I've been to funerals. You see, I've never been to a Christian one. From what Emma tells me, they are different because 316
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
rejoicing for the believer who's gone home to God is part of them, despite the sadness of losing a loved one." "My dad's funeral is tomorrow... I wonder what that will be like." "I expect Pastor Henry will lead it in a very special way, for your sake, Rick." "Yeah, he's like that, isn't he? I like him." Rick paused, recalling something, then continued, "Do you think he'll ever get married again? Mandy told me about his wife, how she died. But he's very lonely, isn't he?" "I don't know if 'lonely' is the right word, Rick," Carl said pensively, "Henry is a most extraordinary man—he just doesn't think about himself, he lives for others. He's quiet, and thinks deeply about things, and loves God so much I sometimes feel like a heathen compared to him." "What's a heathen?" Rick asked. "Technically, someone who isn't a Christian or a Jew. But the word is usually used to mean someone who doesn't know God or who hates Him." "Oh. But you love God, Mr. Slade. Nobody could ever accuse you of not loving God!" "What I meant," Carl explained, "was that Henry Smith's love for God is so much greater than mine..." "Oh, I see," Rick said, and added pensively, "I'd like to love God the way you and Pastor Henry do, Mr. Slade." "Keep your eyes on Jesus Christ, Rick, and let Him work in your life, and you'll find your love for God increases day by day in an amazing manner," Carl said softly, "Remember, though, that Jesus works in each one of us differently." He stood up. "Come on, we'd better go back inside before they think we're gone permanently, eh?"
!!! The meal at Joel's that evening was a joyful one despite the sadness of impending goodbyes and Emma and Carl's grief. Most of the conversation focussed on Alice and Joel's forthcoming wedding. "I'm really looking forwards to your wedding, Alice," Emma said at the end of their discussion. "So are we!" Alice said. "My word!" was all Joel could say to that, and Henry clapped. "You know what Dad'll say when he's asked if he'll take Alice as his wife, don't you?" he asked mischievously, looking at everyone in turn. "My word!" they all chorused, and laughed. When everyone had calmed down, Alice turned to Carl. "So, where are you people headed from here?" she asked, "Are you going straight back to Apmirra?" "Yes, to start with," Carl answered, "Dad's got to get back home, and he's booked on a flight to Warden on Friday." "Then where do you go?" Joel asked.
317
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
"I don't know, there was nothing planned yet for after my trip to Goldridge," Carl explained, "We'll see what the Lord has in store when we get home. There may be something in the mail, or Jack may have some suggestions, or something like that." "Are you always this vague about your plans?" Alice asked in surprise. "Not always, as you know," Carl replied, grinning, "Sometimes I get five or six letters from the same town all at once..." Henry laughed. "Well, mate," he said, "I certainly hope you don't get landed in this kind of situation ever again!" "And don't you look into any deep lakes, wondering how deep they are, ever again, either, Henry!" Carl riposted. "If I ever get the urge again, I'll make sure you're around first," Henry said quietly. Andrew suddenly looked up from his ice cream and gazed at Henry. "When you get married I'll play the flute for your wedding, Uncle Henry," he said softly, "Like daddy's going to play for Uncle Joel's wedding." Henry stared at him speechlessly for a moment. Finally finding his voice, he exclaimed incredulously, "My wedding?" He turned to Carl. "Does your son know something I don't know?" he asked him. Carl was as surprised as Henry. "Looks like it," he said, shrugging helplessly. "What do you mean, Andrew?" George asked. Andrew was nonplussed by the reaction to his announcement, and he just stared blankly at George for a moment. "I mean I'll play my flute, the one Mandy's mummy gave me..." he said at last, in a very small voice. Emma, who was sitting next to her son, gave him a hug. "But what did you mean about Uncle Henry getting married?" she asked him gently. Andrew's blue eyes were wide as he looked up at her. "Well, he's going to get married, isn't he?" he asked. Joel decided that perhaps it would be best to leave it at that. He frowned at Henry. "My dear boy," he said to his son, "Looks like the Lord might have more surprises for you around the corner." Henry shrugged. "One day at a time," he said, "to quote Laura Winters. My word! To quote someone else..." "If I may change the subject," Emma said, "Are you feeling ready to lead the funeral tomorrow, Henry?" "As ready as I'll ever be, Emma," he answered, "I have very mixed feelings about funerals..." "Oh?" Emma looked at him questioningly. "As I understand it," Henry explained, "a Christian funeral should be a time for encouraging those who are left behind, for helping them to face life without their loved one who's died, and as a sort of goodbye to the person who's died. Like a wedding, it should really be part of the whole church's life, not a special occasion for a select few... In other words, like Dad and Alice's wedding, Rick's dad's funeral should have been held during the normal service, so that everyone in the church can join with Rick in saying goodbye to his dad and then can join together to help Rick face the future. 318
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra
We changed the day of the wedding to Sunday so that Dad and Alice can be married in front of the whole church, so the whole church can rejoice with them and have a party for them and join together to encourage them in their new life together. Well, I think this is the last time I agree to hold a funeral outside of the regular service time. I mean, most of the congregation are at work on Tuesday morning! Very few of them can take time off for the funeral!" "You've got a point, Henry," George said, "A very good point. I'll have to have a chat about that to our pastor, see what he thinks of it." He looked at Carl and Emma and frowned. "Which reminds me that you folk are overdue for a visit up our way," he pretended to scold, "Mei Li likes to watch her grandchildren growing up, so you'd better come up soon!" "We will, Dad," Carl assured him, "I expect we'll be in the north of the country in the very near future, and as long as we've made sure we have our visas before going up there, it's only a short drive over the Kawanyaman border to Bethany Lodge." "Good," George said, and turned to Helen who was sitting beside him. "We'll be looking forwards to that, won't we, Helen?" he said, patting her on the head. "Yes, Uncle George," Helen answered, "I like you." "I like you, too," George beamed, "And your brother. And your mummy and daddy." Alice sighed deeply. "Well, we'd best all have an early night, I think," she suggested, "Tomorrow is a full day, and we'll need to be wide awake for it." "My word!" Joel exclaimed, "Especially Carl, who's driving his house all the way to Apmirra!" "I'd like to thank all of you very much for all you've done for us while we've been here," Carl said, smiling affectionately at his friends, "We've been through a nightmare, but in the best company possible." "'How right and pleasant it is when brothers and sisters live together in harmony,'" Emma quoted, "Praise God for giving us loving brothers and sisters like you people!" "Praise God because He makes all things beautiful in His time," Henry said quietly. "Praise God because He is great, and He is good, and He is faithful," Joel said. "Praise God because He gave us Jesus Christ, His Son," Alice and George said at the same time, and laughed joyfully, with the twins joining in. "Praise God!" Carl exclaimed happily, standing up and spreading his arms, "He's our Joy, our Refuge, our Fortress, our Redeemer! There is noone like Him!"
319
CONCERTO FOR FLUTE AND ORCHESTRA
Carl Slade arrives in Goldridge to find that all is not well in that town, especially among the Christians. He is befriended by a pastor, a gang of teenagers, and an elderly couple who want to find out who is behind the strange happenings. However, he wasn’t expecting a trap to be laid for him. He escapes narrowly, but returns to Goldridge with his wife and children and his mentor George Newman, determined to help his new friends solve the mystery and to help the Goldridge church back onto the right track.
ISBN 0 9577741 1 7
