The Turning

by Davis Bunn

  Then John saw Ruth try to push herself out of the rocker and fail.

  She took a long breath, then said, “John, would you help me, please?” He was already up and moving.

  Heather stood too. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, don’t worry,” but her voice was very soft, fragile.

  John supported the woman’s full weight as she rose. Ruth’s legs seemed out of kilter, as though she had forgotten how to move them forward. He stayed with her as they made the slow trek down the length of the porch and into the kitchen.

  As they appeared in the doorway, the young woman by the counter went on full alert. “Should I get your medicine, Miss Ruth?”

  “I’m fine, dear.”

  “The doctor said that when the symptoms start, you’re supposed to take the pills.”

  “All right, I suppose.” The words faded away. Clearly all her energy was required to simply remain upright.

  The young woman plucked a container from the kitchen cabinet and hurried over with a pill and a glass of water. Once Ruth took this, she helped support the older woman as they moved slowly toward her bedroom. “Should I call the doctor, Miss Ruth?”

  “No. Don’t bother him.” Her voice trailed off as Ruth pointed to a small settee by three tall bay windows. “Let’s go there.”

  John could hear her breath puff slightly with each step. He asked, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”

  “Probably. But I want to see my garden.” She eased herself down, sighed with release of the strain, and pointed to the chair by the writing desk. “Roll that over and sit with me.”

  He remained where he was. “What’s happening, Ruth?”

  “My heart has been weak for a long time. It’s grown steadily worse since Bobby passed. I have these spells. Stop hovering and sit, please.” She watched him do as he was told, then went on, “Now tell me what I need to hear.”

  This was clearly no time to argue, though he dreaded even shaping the words. “I think … I believe you want me to take over Barrett Ministries.”

  “I want you to lead, John. I want you to grow into the role God has made for you. Now be a dear and open that window.”

  The breeze filtered in, carrying all the fragrances of spring. “Ruth, I don’t—”

  “Stop, John. Just stop. I don’t have time for this. We don’t have time.”

  “I’m an unemployed trucking dispatcher, with no education, a criminal record.”

  She looked at him with eyes that carried a slightly milky glaze. “How long are you going to hide behind all that?”

  “It’s the truth. All of it.”

  “I’ll tell you what the truth is, John. I’ve watched you become a man whose voice touches hearts. I’ve seen the strength that Heather has loved and nurtured.” She patted the back of her hand resting in her lap. “It’s time, John. And you know it.”

  “How on earth can you talk about these things now?” He reached forward to cover her hands with his.

  “Heather’s told me how you have yearned for a chance to live to your full potential. Here it is. Go out there and lead.”

  “But I …”

  His protest was halted by two fingers, soft as petals, coming to rest upon his arm. “None of us can, John. But God wants you to do this.”

  The fear was as strong as the hunger. “How can you be so sure?”

  She met him with the calm directness of a woman who saw far beyond the moment. “Remember this, son.” Daylight through windswept branches cast her pallid features in a vague shroud. “God does not call the equipped. He equips the called.”

  He started to object once again, but Ruth’s eyelids fluttered closed. She sighed again, a softly musical breath, and leaned against a pillow. She was soon sleeping.

  LOS ANGELES

  Every one of the plans Trent came up with was set in motion by the odd little man. Each time he suggested another idea, Dermott gave a thoughtful nod, murmured an approval almost too soft to be heard, then excused himself with the same words. “Let me go make some calls.” The remainder of their day was filled with a series of minor successes.

  And with each one Trent’s dissatisfaction mounted.

  It did not help that Gayle remained distant and distressed by Dermott McAllister’s presence. Her normal composure was shattered just by glancing in his direction. Trent assumed the strange man had something on her. He needed to find some way to tell her it didn’t matter, he didn’t care what it was, and in truth didn’t want to know. They all carried baggage. It came with the territory.

  But that would have to wait, because Gayle’s anxiety created an almost visible barrier around her. Her aloofness was a palpable force. She did not let him near.

  Then he had his next idea.

  This time, when he described what he had in mind, Dermott McAllister showed a spark of very real excitement. Trent saw the flame rise in his eyes, heard him say, “Well, now.”

  “Is this going too far?”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Cooper. I do believe this could prove to be a defining moment.”

  Trent knew what had to be said then, as clearly as though he read the words in the man’s gaze. “I want to be there.”

  The flame only grew stronger. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  But the force Trent felt building in his gut said otherwise. “If it works, people are going to be talking about this for years. Won’t they.”

  “You mean, around the Mundrose boardroom.” McAllister nodded slowly. “Yes, they might.”

  “I don’t want to be seen as the guy who hung back and let others take the risks. I want them to know I was in the middle of it too.”

  “Know it,” Dermott added. “And fear you as a result.”

  “It’s a long-term strategy,” Trent said. “If I make it and actually hang around for a while.”

  The man had a truly awful smile. The uneven cant to his muscles was on full display, as though one half scowled while the other tried to laugh, and failed. “When Barry Mundrose told me he saw something in you, I had my doubts, Mr. Cooper. For once, I am not sorry to be proven wrong.”

  He could not help his return smile. “You think it will work?”

  “What I think, Mr. Cooper,” Dermott replied, “is that this will bury that Barrett Ministries bunch firmly in the ground where they belong.”

  26

  “… praise him …”

  WESTCHESTER COUNTY

  When everyone gathered for a buffet lunch, John remained seated in Ruth’s rocker on the porch, looking out over the meadow and thinking. He heard several of them talk about Ruth and her strict instructions not to phone the doctor. He heard them list supplies the van driver needed to pick up. He heard them talk about yet more bad news being laid on by the main channels, including what sounded like his very own police booking photo. John listened through the open window behind him, as they described in hushed tones the shock of seeing his bruised and inebriated face as a young man. He wondered momentarily why this news did not bother him in the slightest. Then he went back to his task. Listening. Waiting. Making himself ready.

  Heather emerged to bring him a plate. When she kissed his forehead and departed, Yussuf and Aaron took that as their signal and approached him together. “How is Ruth?”

  “She calls it a spell.”

  “A spell,” Aaron repeated. “Sounds like a Jewish grandmother.”

  John asked, “Is it true that your residencies might be under threat?”

  “So far they are only rumors,” Aaron replied.

  “Wouldn’t it be better for you to return to the hospital?”

  Aaron shrugged. “Better for whom?”

  Yussuf asked, “Should we check on Ruth?”

  “Ruth said positively no doctors.” John had accepted the fact that further prodding would get them nowhere. “Take her a plate, and ask if you can look her over. You know, low key. Since you’re already here.”

  Aaron smiled. “You obviously have some
Jewish blood in there too.”

  “Anybody’s guess.” John shrugged. “I’m pure American mongrel.”

  Heather put her head around the door and announced that the chief programmer wanted a word. John found it hard to consider him the chief of anything, as Kevin looked only about seventeen years old. But Kevin Burnes had shown himself to be quietly capable, and spoke with the authority of a young man who knew his business. So John ate and listened as Kevin described a call he had fielded as soon as the phones started working again, from the head of the Gospel Channel. “They want you to do more interviews.”

  “Tell them yes.”

  “They want to do a live talk with you on their morning show tomorrow,” Kevin went on. He was probably nervous by nature. He twitched in his seat like he could not find a comfortable position, and finally wound himself into a pretzel shape with his left arm linked through the chair back and his legs tucked under him. His glasses were askew, his clothes unironed, and his hair was in desparate need of a trim. Even so, he was a handsome young man whom John was certain would probably clean up fairly well.

  “All right,” John said. But when Kevin’s unease only increased, he demanded, “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Kevin’s swallow was audible. “It’s about Jenny.”

  “A fine young lady.”

  “I was wondering. Do you think I could ask her out?” He swept the hair from his forehead. “I’m being a little nuts, aren’t I.”

  “Son, you’re being human. You don’t need my approval for anything, but if you did, I’d say, talk to the lady first, then her old man. And don’t hesitate any longer. It doesn’t get easier with time.” But as Kevin started to unwind from the chair, John asked, “Does the foundation have a lawyer on staff?”

  “No, but there’s one we use a lot.”

  “Do me a favor. Think you could hold off on the Jenny thing long enough to get the attorney on the phone?”

  “Sure, John. And thanks.”

  When the young man darted off, Heather drifted over and put her hand on his shoulder. “‘The Jenny thing.’ Did I really hear you say that?”

  The attorney consulting with Barrett Ministries came on with, “Ruth?”

  “She’s laid up. This is John Jacobs.”

  “I don’t—Oh, wait, you’re the man I’ve seen on television.”

  “Correct.”

  “What’s the matter with Ruth?”

  “She’s not well.”

  The attorney had the self-assured polish of someone who actually believed his time was worth six hundred dollars an hour. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  John read from the notes he’d made after Yussuf and Aaron had reported back on their impromptu examination. “She has a history of arrhythmia. Because of other issues, she is not a candidate—”

  “I know all that.”

  “—for a pacemaker. She has experienced negative reactions to every known heart medicine. As a result, from time to time Ruth has what she calls spells. Some are worse than others. This one is severe.”

  “Is it … Will she improve?”

  John chose his words carefully. “The doctors are not certain of anything except that she seems to be in no pain.”

  “Oh, this is not good. Not good at all.” The attorney had the decency to appear genuinely upset. “I have a list of instructions in the case of…people she wanted me to call, starting of course with her family. Should I begin?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh my, oh my.”

  “Let me contact her daughter in New York. And the pastor in Austin, is he on the list?”

  “Craig Davenport? Right near the top.”

  “I’ll take care of that one too.” John let the attorney fumble verbally for a moment longer, then came to the other reason for his call. “Does your firm have a courtroom brawler? Somebody who likes nothing more than a good fight?”

  “Does …? Well, of course. Ron Banks. But—”

  “Can you see if he’s free to talk? Tell him Ruth needs his help.”

  “Ruth, really?”

  “Tell him it’s urgent.”

  The lawyer came back on and announced he was putting them on speakerphone. A second voice said, “Ron Banks here. What’s going on?”

  John gave a mental sigh of relief. This second lawyer had the bark of a born combatant. Exactly what John thought they were going to require. “My name is John Jacobs. We need your help.”

  “My associate said this was in regard to Ruth Barrett’s affairs.”

  “That is correct.”

  “He also told me you have a felony conviction on your record.”

  Leave it to a courtroom bruiser to go straight for the jugular. “Also correct. Thirty years ago.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  John sketched out what already had happened. The previous loss of electric power, the continued assaults, and finished with, “My gut tells me this is only the start.”

  “You’re involved in ministry, Mr. Jacobs?”

  “Not before last week. I help run the largest trucking depot in the Midwest. Or did. Until I was just fired.”

  “You have any evidence the firing is linked to the current events?”

  “Four days back I was promoted and put in charge of the company’s largest new client. Since then I’ve been on vacation. Working with Ruth.”

  “In that case, I can definitely go after them for wrongful dismissal. Who’s in charge of the opposition?”

  “The Mundrose Group.”

  There was a tense pause, then Ruth’s attorney demanded, “You’re certain it’s Barry Mundrose?”

  “We are.”

  John could almost hear the man rubbing his hands together. Ron Banks’s voice carried the hungry anticipation of the fight to come. “I’ve always wanted a chance to take them on.”

  The other attorney asked, “You know them?”

  “I’ve seen their operations at work. Barry Mundrose is a bully, and he likes to fight dirty.”

  But the news left the other attorney palpably nervous. “I’m really not certain this is a good idea.”

  “I don’t care about going after Mundrose,” John quickly interrupted him. “That’s not why I called. I mentioned Mundrose only so you’ll understand they pack a real punch. And I don’t care about my job. Well, I do. But that’s not … There are two issues that can’t wait.”

  “I’m listening, Mr. Jacobs.”

  “First, they’re threatening the survival of my son’s business.” John related what his son had described. “If he doesn’t have his line of credit restored in forty-eight hours, he goes under. The pastor of Austin’s largest church, Craig Davenport, is trying to help. But we won’t know anything for certain, and this can’t wait.”

  “I know Reverend Davenport,” the polished attorney allowed. “He is solid.”

  “These tactics sound exactly like Mundrose,” Banks declared. “All right. Give me your son’s details. I’ll get on this immediately. What’s the second issue?”

  “My gut tells me these attacks are just an opening maneuver. See how we respond. I need you to go after the power company in a way that gets back to the attackers. Ditto for communications. Straight to the boardroom, or maybe the local town council. Strike from a multitude of different angles. And strike fast.”

  The courtroom lawyer did not actually laugh, but the humor was there in his voice. “That doesn’t sound like a ministry approach, Mr. Jacobs.”

  “I told you, I’m new to this business. But I’ve been dealing with unions for years.”

  “All right. Leave this with me.”

  The first attorney fretted, “Shouldn’t we discuss tactics?”

  “Absolutely,” Ron Banks barked. “Long as it doesn’t slow me down.”

  John smiled at the relish he heard in Banks’s voice. “You can reach me at this number,” he told them.

  27

  “How precious are your thoughts …”

  WESTCHESTER COUN
TY

  As soon as he finished the phone call, John had a word with the  kitchen staff, then went in search of an ally.

  Dexter Wise was exactly where the kitchen staff said he’d be found, seated in the grass and leaning against the shed holding the mowing equipment, a sweat-stained hat pulled down low over his brow. High work boots stretched out at the end of long, jean-clad legs. “Mr. Wise?”

  “Ain’t no mister ’round here, unless you come looking for my daddy, and he’s long gone.”

  “Don’t get up. I’m John Jacobs. Can I join you?”

  “Shade is free and the grass don’t mind. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” He already knew the type. Many truckers were the offspring of cowhands, with a wandering gene constantly hungering for the next open road. John had no trouble with their languid nature or the cautious way they dealt with strangers. “I understand you’re in charge of security around here.”

  “There ain’t much to speak of. Miss Ruth won’t have it any other way.”

  “Normally I’d agree with her,” John said as he lowered himself down. “But these aren’t normal times.”

  “Yeah, I been sniffing that same wind for a day or two.”

  “How many guards can you count on if things go south?”

  “I done what I could. All the men I hired as gardeners and such have experience running toward trouble.” He counted silently. “Two are on vacation out of state. That leaves us five. Six plus you, if you’re up for it.”

  “I don’t have trouble with trouble. But I think I’m probably going to be busy.”

  “Yeah, I caught your last spot in front of the cameras. You did good, boss.”

  “I appreciate that. Look, is there a group you could call on, help us out here?”

  “You mean, like, official security? Miss Ruth—”