“Go ahead, sit wherever you like,” Reverend Starks said.
Dewey and I sat beside each other on the divan. “Can I get you boys anything?” the reverend asked from the entranceway into the parlor.
“I’ll have some sweet tea,” Dewey said.
I glared at him again.
“What ’bout you, Abe?”
“I guess,” I said. “Since you’re gettin’ some anyway.”
Reverend Starks went back to the kitchen.
“Why are you askin’ him for stuff?” I whispered harshly to Dewey.
“Because he offered.”
“He was just bein’ polite.”
“I really want some tea.”
“He didn’t really want to get you some.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to get it,” the reverend said, coming back into the room with two glasses of tea. Each had a slice of lemon floating in it. He set them on the table in front of us.
“Thanks,” we both said, almost in unison.
Reverend Starks took a seat in the burgundy chair closest to me. “So, what is it exactly you wished to speak with me ’bout, Abe?”
I hesitated. Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure how to begin.
“Well . . .” I stumbled. “I . . . um . . .”
“Abe’s grandfather from way back freed a bunch of black slaves and he wants to tell you ’bout it,” Dewey said after taking a gulp of tea. Then he quickly followed with, “This tea’s really good. You make it yourself?”
The reverend laughed. “Yes, I did. So, what’s this about your grandfather?”
“Well,” I started again after glaring at Dewey for the third time, “my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a Confederate soldier who I suppose was actually against slavery. And one day after the Union navy took over a port up in Georgia, he marched into a plantation with just two pistols and, after winning a gunfight against six men who I reckon must’ve owned the plantation, he walked out with a hundred and ten slaves that he’d set free. He brought them to a fort that the Union navy had moved on and defeated and the Yanks made him an honorary Union soldier and even gave him a medal.”
Reverend Starks sat back in his chair and interlaced his fingers. “How do you know all this?”
“I went to the records office here in Alvin and they connected me with this historian woman from Chickasaw who got information on my family history for me.”
“Well now,” the reverend said. “That’s pretty interestin’. Sounds like you’ve got some pretty great blood in you.”
I smiled. I knew, of all people, Reverend Starks would be impressed. “I reckon he was a hero,” I said.
“Sounds like a hero to me.” The reverend glanced down at the sword at my waist. “Is that what you’re tryin’ to become carryin’ that sword?”
I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Oh. These are just pretend.”
“I see.”
Dewey was looking around the room. “How come you ain’t got no TV?”
I couldn’t believe how rude he was being.
Reverend Starks laughed. “Because the Lord keeps me busy enough without me needin’ no television, that’s for sure.”
“I think it’s weird not having a TV,” Dewey said.
“Dewey!” I said, through gritted teeth.
The reverend leaned forward. “Abe, there was something you wanted to ask me?”
“Yeah. I was wonderin’ . . . I mean, I know your church is for black folks and all . . . but—”
“Full Gospel is for everyone, Abe,” he said, cutting me off.
I brightened. “So then it might be okay if some white folks attended? Just one time?”
“Abe, as I said, all folk are welcome in this house of the Lord. And not just one time but any time and all times. Why are you askin’ me this?”
“On account of I wanted to know if it would be all right—that is, if my mom agrees—if we could come along one day to your services.”
“I would absolutely love it if you did!” The reverend slapped his knees.
I hesitated. “Would it be okay if we brought Miss Sylvie? She’s this girl—well, she’s sort of a lady, I guess. She’s older than me—my mom works with her and she’s got quite a few problems and my mom promised to take her to church next time we went cuz her spirits need upliftin’. And I think her spirits would get way more uplifted here than at Clover Creek First Baptist where we usually attend. Not that I don’t appreciate Reverend Matthew . . . it’s just that . . . well . . . anyway . . . so, would it be okay if she came along?”
Reverend Starks just looked at me a long minute. “You’re not listenin’ to me, boy. All folks are welcome, all the time. You don’t need to ask permission. And it sounds like she needs the Lord’s help as much as anyone, maybe even more so. And I reckon my congregation would just love to see some new faces.” The reverend’s face lit up with a creased smile.
I didn’t rightly know what my mother would say about attending church at Full Gospel, but I knew I was going to ask her first chance I got. From what I knew about God, He viewed all people the same, black or white. It was my mother who had spent a good deal of time teaching me that, so she should not be disagreeable to the idea. I didn’t mind church at Clover Creek where we regularly attended (not that we attended quite so regularly), but I thought we could use a change for once. And I definitely thought bringing Miss Sylvie along was a good idea given all she was going through.
I told Reverend Starks I would do my best to see him next Sunday.
“That would be grand, Abe.” He held out his hand for me to shake it. His brown fingers were huge with pink fingertips. They wrapped right around mine as we shook.
“Oh, and I want to say sorry,” I said.
“Sorry? For what?”
“For the swords. I forgot we was wearin’ them.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“On account of I doubt Jesus would be very appreciative of swords, especially in the house of the Lord.”
“Well, this isn’t the church, this is my house. And Jesus doesn’t have a problem with swords, Abe. In Matthew 10:34, Jesus says, ‘Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.’ ”
I couldn’t believe he knew all this stuff by heart.
“So Jesus wanted people to fight?” Dewey asked. I was kind of wondering the same thing.
“Jesus was a warrior,” Reverend Starks answered. “The word of God is represented by a sword. If we take two passages a little further on, it might make more sense to you. Matthew 10:38 and 10:39 where Jesus says, ‘And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worth of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’ ”
“I still don’t get it,” Dewey said. “And how come you don’t have a cross on any of your walls?”
I could not believe how rude he was being.
“We don’t need crosses to be reminded of Jesus, Dewey. Remembering the Word is enough.” He shifted in his chair. “And I do have a cross. A very simple one. It hangs in my bedroom.”
“And you have a cross in your church,” Dewey said. “Two of ’em. They’re small ones, though. Compared to Clover Creek, at least.”
“Dewey!” I hissed. He was completely out of line.
“What? I’m just tryin’ to figure things out.”
“Dewey,” Reverend Starks said, “big crosses isn’t what the Lord Jesus is about. This—” He tapped his chest where his heart was. “This is what the Lord Jesus is all about. Keeping Him in your heart and keeping your faith strong.”
“So is that why He’s sayin’ we should follow him with our own cross or else we will lose our life or whatever it was you said?”
Reverend Starks pushed his lips together into a thin line, looking away in thought for a second or two. “Dewey, Jesus is sayin’ that to be a warrior one must be brave, and if you are not brave enough to fac
e your own fears, you do not deserve his love. And if you discover a way to live without his love, you shall lose all that is dear to you. It is only by being brave enough to give up everything you have that you will really find what’s important, and it will all come through the love of the Lord Jesus.” Reverend Starks turned his head and stared straight into my eyes. “This is the true strength of the warrior, Abe. The true test of the sword. Although, always remember the true test of a warrior is not raising that sword—it’s knowing that even though you have the power to take a life, you also have the power to spare it; and there’s always more power in mercy than in dealin’ out death.” The reverend’s eyes drifted back to Dewey. “Is that clearer now?”
Dewey didn’t answer right away, so I took advantage of the silent spot and jumped in. “I think so,” I said. “My great-great-great-great-great-granddaddy was brave like that. He risked everythin’ he had in order to free them slaves. I bet he didn’t like shootin’ those people at that plantation, but he probably reckoned he had to in order to get them people free. I’d hope that if I were in his shoes, I might do the same.”
A smile came to Reverend Starks’s face. “Abe,” he said, “I reckon you just might have the heart of a warrior.”
CHAPTER 24
Leah didn’t like the expression on Eli Brown’s face when he opened his door to find her on the porch. “I thought I made it clear that I was to be left alone,” he told her in a commanding yet still somehow brittle voice.
“That ain’t yours to command, I’m afraid,” Leah said. “I’m here on police business.”
“I ain’t got no business with no police.”
“That again ain’t your call to make.”
A young man dressed in a button-down white shirt tucked into a pair of dress pants came into the room behind Eli. “Is it the police again?” he asked.
“Never you mind, Leland,” Eli said. “I’ll take care of this.”
“No,” the boy—Leland (who couldn’t have been much older than twenty)—said. “Let me.” He came up beside Eli and told Leah, “My grandfather is old. Can’t you see he’s been through enough? Why do you people insist on botherin’ him? He’s done his time. Far as I know, that makes him a free man. Surely you have better things to do than bother old men who are repentin’ their deeds ’fore the Lord.”
Leah nearly laughed. Judging by the way the boy was dressed, which was much different from how Chris had described finding him that day he came out, she thought her guess that he was involved was probably on target. “First off,” she said, her voice growing loud and stern, “you make your granddaddy sound like some decrepit ancient hermit. He ain’t much a day over sixty. Secondly, I have reason to believe he might be involved in some illegal activity that requires my attention. In fact, the only reason I’m telling you this instead of telling you to go out and play is because I think you may be involved, too.” She shifted her gaze to Eli. “Now we have a choice. We can do this here, or we can do it at the station. Personally, I’d prefer the station. I’m more prepared to back up everythin’ I have to tell you with documentation down there. But I don’t think we’ll need those documents, on account of I don’t think you’ll be tellin’ me I’m wrong.”
Eli looked her up and down as though trying to decide how seriously he should take her. “What’s this ’bout?”
“The Carson Cattle Ranch.”
“And what of it?”
“And it’s connection to Argo Atkinson.” Her eyes locked on Leland. His own eyes suddenly widened.
Eli looked around the yard, as if checking the weather. It had grown windy and a few clouds had gathered overhead since Leah left the station. “All right,” he said. “You may as well come in. I don’t relish a trip to your police station.” His voice no longer held the commanding tone of the preacher part of him it had a few minutes ago.
“Fair enough,” Leah said, and followed him inside.
Ahead of her she heard the boy whisper to Eli, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It was gonna come out sooner or later,” Eli replied to him. “It’s just happenin’ a bit sooner than we expected.”
Eli led them to a little room just past the door where a settee stood along with a chair and an oval coffee table. None of the furniture matched in color. The settee was a dark green, the chair was made of oak, and the table pine. The floor of the room was rough-hewn knotty pine. A small, shiny cross hung on one wall. The rest of the walls were bare.
Pulling her notepad from her pocket, Leah took a chair as Eli and his grandson took a seat beside each other on the settee. They had to move a couple of blankets out of the way to do so; this was obviously where the boy had been sleeping.
“Before we start,” Leah said to the grandson. “Your name’s Leland? Leland . . . Brown?”
He just nodded.
“You have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ son,” Leah said.
“Yes,” he said angrily.
“And you live in Alabaster?”
His face snapped to Eli’s. “How . . . ?” He looked back to Leah. “How did you know that?”
Eli’s hand came down on Leland’s knee. “Because I told her,” he said. “Now relax. You’re actin’ guilty. You haven’t done anythin’.”
“Why are you here, Leland?” Leah asked.
Eli interrupted. “I thought you wanted to question me.”
“I’ll get round to you, don’t you worry ’bout that.” Her gaze fell back on Leland. “Why are you here?”
Leland glanced across to Eli and back to Leah. “Just . . . vistin’ my grandpa. Haven’t seen him in so long.” He grinned, but Leah could tell it was a fake smile even if she’d been standin’ five acres away. This kid may have been the worst liar in the history of scam artists.
“That all? Nothin’ else?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Eli,” Leah said. “Who is Argo Atkinson?”
“My father-in-law.”
“And are you aware that his name is on the title of the Carson Cattle Ranch property?”
“Yes.” The boy kept looking from Leah to Eli and back to Leah like he was watching a tennis game.
“Can I ask why you hadn’t told me this before?”
“Lots of reasons,” Eli said. “The main one bein’ I don’t see how it’s any of your damn business. Another bein’ that I was never asked.”
“I came here and inquired specifically ’bout Sylvie Carson.”
“And I told you the truth, that I ain’t been near her property or her. Nor do I have any plans to be. That has got nothing to do with land purchased by my father-in-law. In fact, the land really isn’t my business at all. It’s his. Perhaps he’s the one you should be questionin’.”
Leah wrote down everything they said. Taking statements was something she’d had lots of practice at. And interviewing Argo Atkinson was something she had already planned on doing. Only, Eli came first because she had a sneaking suspicion that Argo hadn’t bought the land for himself.
“Do you know what Mr. Atkinson plans to do with the ranch?”
There was a brief hesitation, during which Leland looked to Eli expectantly for an answer. Finally, Eli broke the silence. “I think,” he said slowly, “that he plans on developing on it.”
“What sort of development?”
“A religious educational institution.”
“Grandpa . . . ,” Leland whispered, loud enough for Leah to hear.
Again Eli’s hand came down on his grandson’s knee. Eli turned to the boy and said, “It can’t be kept a secret, Leland. Once the tractors start diggin’, folks are gonna know what’s goin’ on. Better to get this out in the open now. It ain’t like we’re doin’ anythin’ wrong.”
“So,” Leah said, “Argo bought this land for you, on account of you was in prison?”
“Argo made an investment,” Eli said. “Do you have any idea how much he’s already gained on that property since buyin’ it? It turned out to be a very shre
wd investment.”
Leah knew exactly how much he’d already gained. She even had the paperwork to back it up. She looked to the kid. “I have a hunch, Leland,” she said.
He just stared back, like a goldfish in one of them round glass bowls.
“Call it a gut feelin’,” she said, “but it’s definitely there.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That you’s lyin’ to me.”
He shook his head. “No I ain’t.”
“I think you are. I think your granddaddy might be tellin’ mostly the truth, but I think you lied to me earlier.”
“No, ma’am, I did not.” She could see his back coming up while simultaneously fear rose in his eyes.
“I think you are down here to help your grandpa Eli start workin’ on his institution. In fact, I bet if I ran a check on you, I’d discover that you’re either in college or just graduated with some sort of degree in business management.”
She saw him swallow. She definitely wasn’t far from the mark.
“Did you know I can arrest you for lying to a police officer?”
“Give the kid a break,” Eli said. “He’s not used to havin’ questions fired at him. He’s only twenty-two, damn it.”
Twenty-two? Damn, he looked young for his age. “I’ll tell you what,” Leah said. “I’ll give you another chance, Leland. Tell me again: Why are you down here?”
He looked at Eli. Eli nodded slightly.
When Leland spoke again, his voice was shaky. “I’m here to help find investors for Grandpa Eli’s institution and help reorganize his congregation. We need to get his church back up and runnin’ ’fore anythin’ else can proceed. Then we need money.”
“Surely the property has enough equity to move ahead with your project?”
Eli answered that one. “My father-in-law don’t wanna risk his investment any more than he has to. He didn’t buy the property for me. It will remain his, at least until he dies. If we have to mortgage the property for some of the funding then I suppose that’s a route we’ll have to take. But he won’t mortgage more than half of it. He’s already made that clear. And building this facility is gonna cost more than that.”
Close to the Broken Hearted Page 23
