by Peg Herring
“So your ‘understanding’ bought you a Lear jet and a dozen expensive cars?”
“‘Whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance.’” Niven raised a sardonic eyebrow. “That’s from Matthew, in case you prefer New Testament citations.”
“We prefer people who don’t use scripture to justify greed. Doesn’t it say in Luke that life shouldn’t be about possessions?”
Niven wasn’t about to let anyone best him in religious disputation. “Proverbs 8:18: ‘With me are riches and honor, enduring wealth and prosperity.’” He looked up, his expression pious. “My Heavenly Father sees my work, and I am rewarded.”
Robin’s anger rose at the glib responses. “Didn’t Jesus warn that it’s hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven?”
Niven smiled. “That depends on the rich man’s approach. Matthew again, sixth chapter, verse 33: ‘Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.’”
Behind Robin Cam shifted his feet. The interview wasn’t going well, and she feared the preacher’s easy recitations of Scripture were having an effect on him.
“You cheat the people who give you money,” Robin charged. “You cheat the children your followers think they’re helping. I can’t think of a pastor who represents God’s kingdom on earth less than you do.”
Smoothing his hair at the sides with both hands, he replied, “At least I don’t kidnap innocent people and hold them hostage.” Robin went silent and Niven went on, sensing his advantage. “You didn’t bring me here to hear me quote the Bible. How much do you plan to charge my wife for my release?”
“Your wife has nothing to do with it.” He seemed surprised, and she went on, “We’ll take the money you’re carrying with you.”
Niven looked at Bill as if confused. “Money?”
“The cash you carry yourself so no one knows how much you actually collect from your revivals.”
Obviously distressed to hear they knew about his secret practice, Niven tried for outrage. “You’d steal money earmarked for the poor and disadvantaged of this world?”
Robin’s spirits rose at the plea in his tone. “They’ll get more of it our way than they will yours.”
As Niven huffed in anger, Robin imagined the sermon he planned to write about the evil men who’d robbed him. He was probably already considering just the right words, tragic pose, and sorrowful expression.
With a sigh that confirmed her suspicions Niven said, “All right. If you’ve got what you want, then let us go.”
“We’re not finished.” Again he looked surprised. “You’re going to confess your sins, pastor, and we’re going to record it.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Take a look at this.” She handed him a folder of documents Bill had provided: emails, letters, and photos, including one of Niven shaking hands with Martìn in front of the orphanage.
“What does that prove? We have a lot of work to do on the program, but helping those children is God’s work. You’ll never convince me to say I’ve done anything wrong.”
“Believe me, we will. You’ll admit you know exactly how underfunded the orphanage in Haiti is. You’ll explain how you divert massive amounts of your congregation’s gifts to yourself. And you’ll agree that will change. Those kids will get better housing, a school, decent food, and caregivers who actually care.”
He made a noise of objection, but she ignored it. “If you do that, we’ll keep the recording you’re about to make private. If you fail to live up to your promise, we’ll send it, along with the file I just showed you, to the media. They’ll like nothing better than to get their teeth into someone like you. I predict that even if you stay out of prison, the resulting investigation will dry up your revenue.” She paused to let that sink in before adding, “There are lots of pastors who actually do the Lord’s work. Your contributors will switch their allegiance to them.”
Niven seemed to mentally dissect the proposal. “What I say will remain secret?”
“As long as you do as we say.”
“I have to maintain a certain standard of living,” he protested. “It’s expected.”
Robin sighed. “We’ll allow you the tithe you suggest to your followers: ten percent of the intake.”
“Before or after expenses?”
From behind Robin, Hua spoke. “After.”
“I can’t live on that.”
“Sell Disneyland,” Robin suggested. “Get a nice place in a subdivision.”
He actually gasped in horror at the thought. “I’ve worked hard for what I have.”
“You can keep any money you earn yourself, like for the book you’re writing about your blessed life.”
“How did you know about that?”
Oops! Bill’s eyes widened at her accidental mention of what he’d told her on the way home from Haiti.
She made her voice even sterner. “What difference does it make? The profits on that mighty work of fiction will be yours. The ten percent will apply to what the church itself brings in.”
After a few moments Niven said, “Let’s get it over with.” Robin guessed he was already figuring how he’d get around their demands, but old Yardley didn’t know everything.
It took a long time to record the confession. Niven quibbled and excused himself at every turn, cloaking his dishonesty in convenient scriptural passages and insisting his “flock” wanted to reward him for the excellent work he did for the Lord. “If I got sidetracked, it was because I wanted my family, my friends, and my employees to have secure futures.”
“Your family’s future certainly looks secure.”
“If you interfere with the Deep and Wide Church, I’ll have to lay folks off,” he argued. “You’ll be taking away the livelihoods of many good people.”
“Have them do something useful instead of waiting on you and your spoiled kids.”
He didn’t give up the argument that he “blessed” his donors. “People who give to us feel they’ve made a difference in a world too big for them to comprehend.” His hands formed a globe and then expanded to demonstrate the size of modern problems.
“That’s good,” Robin responded, “because you’re going to make that difference happen for real.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Designate someone other than yourself to control church finances.”
He looked up, confused. “Someone—?”
“—less likely to succumb to the temptations of Mammon.” Robin paused as if considering. “There must be someone who knows your organization’s stated goals, who can see what’s needed and achieve real benefits.”
“My wife would—”
“Spend the money on those fat little sausages you call your offspring. Someone else.”
“Such as?”
“How about Uncle Bill?” She made it sound like she’d just thought of it. “Bill, if Yardley here put you in charge of his financial operations, do you think, with the help of competent professionals, you could do some good in the world with it?” She lowered her mechanical voice in warning. “If you fail us, you’ll be responsible for the destruction of his career as well as your own, and we will be watching.”
Bill said his line perfectly, as if he’d never considered the prospect until that moment. “I guess so.” He looked at Niven as he said it, his gaze telegraphing, What else can I do?
“Good. Within forty-eight hours, Mr. Niven will draw up documents making you partner and CFO of his enterprises. He’ll allow you full access to records and finances.” Turning to Niven she went on, “Bill may choose from existing staff or hire a new financial manager, as he sees fit. As soon as you email copies of the signed documents to us, we’ll put the confession you just made into long-term storage.” She handed Niven an index card on which Hua had printed an email address. “Several times each year we’ll require you both to prove you’re abiding by the agreement.”
Niven tappe
d the card against his knuckles before sliding it in the pocket of his shirt, a signal of capitulation. Robin stepped back, relieved to have the hard part done.
Cam switched off the lights and took Niven by the arm, leading him back to the limousine. Robin stopped Bill before he got in. “Are you going to be able to handle this?”
He grinned. “Actually, I’m kind of excited about it.”
“I hope he doesn’t throw too many roadblocks in your way.”
Glancing at the limousine, Bill shook his head. “Yardley isn’t really a bad man. He wanted to lead people to the Lord, but he got caught up in the fame and the money. He’ll go along, though we’ll have a time explaining all this to his wife.”
That opinion was borne out by what Robin heard Niven say as Bill got into the car. “I can’t tell the harpy she has to cut back, Bill. Think you could talk to her about it?”
***
At the headquarters of the Deep and Wide Church of God the next morning, Yardley Niven closed himself in his office with Uncle Bill. “I need your help, buddy,” Niven began. “We’ve got to get around these people somehow, and we have to do it together.”
“Why, Yard?”
The pastor’s face showed disbelief. “What do you mean, why? They want to ruin us.”
“That’s not true.”
All night Bill had considered the most important argument of his life. During his stay at the orphanage, he’d admitted to himself he was compliant in Yardley Niven’s dishonest ministry. He’d accepted Yard’s easy assurance that there was enough money for both good works and good living. He’d ignored his nagging doubts when old men in scuffed shoes and raveled sweaters contributed fifty dollars “for the children.” He’d suspected some of them didn’t have enough money to buy groceries for themselves at the end of the month. In the end Bill hadn’t felt good about himself for a long time. If he could turn the Deep and Wide Church into an entity that actually helped others, he might still find a little self-respect.
Now he steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the tips. “Yard, what do you want your legacy to be?”
Niven’s first reaction was the canned speech he’d sold to himself long ago. “When I face the Final Judgment, I want to be able to report to my Lord and Savior that I brought thousands to Him, that I showed them His love and caring.”
Bill said nothing, but an arched brow registered doubt.
Niven tried again. “I know it’s kind of a show, Bill, but we do bring people to God.”
“Then why do I drink too much Gray Goose? Why do you need another vintage car or another woman whose name you don’t remember the next day? If we were really doing what God wants us to, we’d be okay without booze and sex and new toys. Isn’t that what you preach to your followers?”
Niven looked away, unable to meet Bill’s gaze.
“The way I see it, the people who toss money in the collection plates give you—give us—the chance of a lifetime. You’ve built this great church, and there’s a regular pipeline of money coming in. You work hard, and you started telling yourself it was okay to enjoy the benefits of that work. Am I right?”
Licking his lips, Niven said, “People expect us to project a successful image. It gives them confidence.”
“Sure, sure. But you’ve had it good for a couple of years now, and I don’t see that it’s made you happy.” He raised his hands, palms up. “I know I feel funny about how we live.”
“It isn’t about the money, Bill. The bigger we get, the more people hear the message we offer. When they hear it, if their hearts are right, they want to help spread it to others. That’s why we need a large organization.”
“But this large organization only feeds itself. How about we try using the money the way we say we will?”
“We have a good thing going here,” Niven said stubbornly. “Why change it?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice.” Bill rubbed his chin. “From what I heard last night, these people can make things pretty uncomfortable for you.” Niven’s eyes hardened and he added quickly, “Not that I’m any better off. If that confession hits the news, I’m either the crook that helped you steal from God or the guy who’s so dumb he couldn’t see it.”
Bill scratched his head in a gesture reminiscent of his TV character, whose aw-shucks wisdom always came in a self-deprecating manner. “Since we have to change things, I say let’s do it right. Cut personal spending to reasonable levels and put the money where it can do some good.” He made the next thought seem like it had just occurred to him. “Heck, you might end up a saint, or whatever Protestants have that’s equal to it.” He leaned forward earnestly. “You’ve got the power to change lives, Yard. Money rolls in when you ask for it. Let’s do some good with it.”
Across the wide, cherry wood desk, Niven’s expression turned thoughtful. “Janie won’t like living on less.”
“She’ll change her mind when her husband starts getting featured in articles about today’s great philanthropists.” Bill pointed a finger at him. “If anybody can put a positive spin on this situation, it’s Yardley Niven.”
The pastor scratched at the side of his face. “This could be a plus for me, Bill. It could be a big, big plus.”
***
“Three hundred and twenty-four thousand, sixty-two dollars, and eighty-six cents.” Hua’s tone revealed disbelief. “I have counted it twice.”
Cam’s face creased in a frown. “Pastor Niven makes a lot of money.”
Robin grimaced. “If you’d seen those kids taking turns on their one and only swing—I wish we’d been harder on him.”
“We get what we get.” Em hobbled down the ramp with Bennett at her side and a cup of coffee in her free hand. The cash Hua had laid out included all denominations, crumpled wads of ones, folded fives, and crisp, new tens. One twenty had a note paper-clipped to it: Bless you Paster for the werk you do.
“Even after we split with the orphanage,” Robin said, “we can pay the debt on this mausoleum off.”
“And keep the wolf from our door for a few months,” Em added.
“Uncle Bill emailed this morning,” Hua said. “He’s taken over management of the orphanage and replaced Martìn and the two women. He is working on convincing Mr. Niven that if the Deep and Wide Church operates more philanthropically, there could be a Nobel Prize in his future.”
“Whatever.” Robin was grumpy. She’d had no physical response after the Niven KNP. Her breathing remained normal, her steps steady. Instead of seeing that as a positive, she’d stared at the ceiling most of the night, wondering if she’d become a conscienceless monster who hurt others without a shred of mercy.
“As long as those kids get treated better, we did good,” Cam said. Robin waited for Em to add that the end justified the means, but for once she kept her clichés to herself.
Did their targets’ behavior warrant the treatment they received? For Robin it boiled down to “maybe.” She had to believe she was better than Mark, had to focus on the good they did and not the methods they used. She decided as long as she felt empathy for her victims, she was not her father, who’d cared only about himself. Retreating to her room, she called Shelly. Talking to her friend made her feel normal, though she had to be careful what she said. Shelly’s comments about hairstyles, movies, and the latest diet advice were like a lifeline back to the old Robin. It wasn’t that she missed her former self, but it was sometimes nice to pretend that the most important thing in her life was deciding whether it was time to try bangs again.
An hour later Robin started downstairs, dressed for a walk outside. When they’d first come to Kansas, she’d been nervous in the rural setting. The quiet, the absolute darkness at night, and the surrounding trees had been new to her and therefore unsettling. She and Hua had wondered aloud if there were bears in the woods, but Em scoffed at their fears. “Take Bennett with you and go for a walk,” she’d urge. With the dog for security, she had explored the property and found nothing more threatening than
an irritated raccoon. After that Robin had decided she liked the woods. Walking among the trees was both relaxing and energizing, better than any spa treatment she’d ever experienced.
Since she’d left her shoes by the back door, Robin’s steps were silent on the stairs. Halfway down, she heard Em talking on the phone. “It went okay,” she said to some unknown person. “They got home last night.”
Robin stopped dead. Who was Em talking to? Hardly daring to breathe, she listened. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just take care of yourself, and we’ll get you up here when the time is right.” There was a pause as the other person spoke. Then Em said, “I know. Do what they tell you to, and everything will work out.”
Tiptoeing back up the stairs, Robin waited until she was sure the call had ended before coming down, slipping into her shoes, and going outside. The shady woods cooled her skin, but her mind struggled with what felt like betrayal. Em claimed she had no family, no friends, yet she was telling someone about their travels. What was she up to, and what should be done about it?
In the end Robin realized Em had the right to have friends and to speak with them on the phone about daily things. The comment about them getting home might serve only to reassure an acquaintance that she wasn’t alone. The promise to “get you up here when the time is right” was more puzzling, but it was vague enough to mean nothing, like when people say, “Let’s have lunch sometime.”
No reacting from emotion. Play it cool.
The sinister scenario came to mind only because she was a worrier. Not only was Em completely trustworthy, she didn’t owe Robin any explanations. She let the trees absorb her tension, and by the time she returned to the house, her shoulders were relaxed and her smile genuine.
Chapter Nineteen
Making a list for her weekly trip to the grocery store, Robin went to Hua’s apartment to ask what he needed for upcoming meals. The pocket doors that separated the wing from the main house were usually left open, but she never entered without announcing her presence in some way. When she tapped lightly on the door frame, Hua jumped as if he’d been slapped. He touched a computer key, collapsing the image on the screen.
