A Sounding Brass
Authors: Shelley Bates
Copyright © 2006 by Shelley Bates
All rights reserved.
All song lyrics ©2006 by Shelley Bates.
WARNER BOOKS
Hachette Book Group
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First eBook Edition: June 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-56215-7
For Jeff
Contents
My thanks and deep appreciation go to the following people, who unstintingly shared their knowledge and experience with me.
Louise Steck, general manager of KKUP 91.5 in Santa Clara, California, the last listener-supported radio station in the country,
brainstormed numerous creative methods of embezzlement.
Jackie Loken, DJ of “The Moonlight Trail” on Thursday nights at KKUP, hosted me during her show and explained how the studio
works.
Amelia Rose Kelly (retired, Corrections), answered my questions about court procedures.
John Langholff and Jennifer Leonard explained the complicated maze that is the commercial banking system and gave me some
nifty plot points along the way.
Bruce Redding of the Spokane office of the Washington Human Rights Commission clarified Washington employment law, particularly
in regard to discrimination and at-will termination.
My parents, Dan and Carol, and my husband, Jeff, continue to support me as I follow my dream and forget to clean the house.
And as always, my thanks go to Jennifer Jackson, Leslie Peterson, and Holly Halverson, the best partners a writer could wish
for.
I love to hear from readers. Visit me on my Web site, http://www.shelleybates.com, or feel free to drop me a note at [email protected].
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
—1 CORINTHIANS 13:1 (KJV)
“This is Luke Fisher, coming to you live from 98.5 KGHM in Hamilton Falls, where we rock for Jesus!”
—LUKE FISHER AKA BRANDON BOANERGES AKA RICHARD BRANDON MYERS, DOB 4-13-74 OCTF SUBJECT FILE 06-17033
So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.
—ROMANS 10:17 (KJV)
“
J
UST AS I
AM,
without one plea.”
Willie Nelson’s voice filled the car, and Claire Montoya gawked at the radio as if it had suddenly started speaking in tongues.
The man in the farm truck ahead of her slammed on his brakes for one of the three traffic lights in Hamilton Falls, Washington,
and Claire whipped her attention back to the road before she ran into him.
“Just As I Am”? What on earth was Willie Nelson, a worldly entertainer, doing singing one of the hymns of the Elect of God?
Had he run across one of their privately printed hymnbooks?
Or was it a sign of something bigger? Lately KGHM’s programming had changed from farm reports that nobody listened to, to
gospel music, call-in shows, bluegrass, and Christian pop. An even bigger change was that everybody in the Elect—well, the
young people, anyway—listened to KGHM, even though listening to the radio was technically a sin. It filled the mind with worldly
noise, which caused the still, small voice of God to be drowned out.
Or so said the Shepherds, the itinerant preachers who gave up all natural expectations such as home and family to minister
to the souls of men, and who were the final authority on all things natural and spiritual.
But how could “Just As I Am” fill the mind with noise when they had sung it just last week in Gathering? At least Willie Nelson
was easier on the ears than Alma Woods, who on a good day sounded like a raven with its tail caught in a gate. During that
very hymn last week, a woman had risen to her feet, indicating her willingness to serve God with the Elect, their community
of true believers scattered throughout the state. Claire wasn’t sure how valid the woman’s profession of faith was, though.
At the moment, they had no Shepherds to oversee the flock, and a person couldn’t enter the fold and find salvation without
one.
She turned into the parking lot of their plain, unadorned mission hall and parked her car, feeling very visible and solitary
as she crossed the lot alone, went into the hall alone, and chose a seat halfway up on the right side, where the young people
tended to sit together. There weren’t as many as there used to be. A year ago she and Julia McNeill, her best friend, would
have come in together after having spent the day together or with the gang. But Julia had left and married Outside their fellowship.
Unlike someone who had been Silenced, people could still speak to and about her, but they tended not to. What would be the
point? Her soul was lost for all eternity. And besides, she and her husband lived in Seattle.
Lucky Julia.
Claire could have sat with Dinah Traynell, if she still lived in Hamilton Falls. But Dinah’s mother, Elsie, had sold the home
place where people had been going to Gathering for a hundred years or more and had bought a cozy house in Spokane. At the
same time, Dinah had left town and gone to California.
It hadn’t taken long for the reason the whole Traynell family had moved away to leak out. That reason—Phinehas, former senior
Shepherd of the flock—was currently spewing fire and brimstone in the county lockup at Pitchford while he waited for his trial,
which was scheduled to begin tomorrow. Much to everyone’s shock and dismay, their leader had been accused of raping two generations
of Traynell women. It had taken all these months for Claire herself to come to the slow acceptance that their leadership had
been seriously flawed.
She sighed and stared sightlessly at the open Bible in her lap while she waited for the service to begin. Dinah would be back
to testify, but it wasn’t likely she’d get much of a welcome. She’d gone Outside, too, and was engaged to be married to her
former hired man. They were going to Cornwall for their honeymoon.
Claire had never been farther from home than Seattle. Cornwall seemed like a magical place, full of Celtic ruins and brilliant
light and flowers—at least, according to Matthew Nicholas, Dinah’s intended, who had spent fifteen minutes on the phone the
other night long-distance from California rhapsodizing about all the childhood haunts he was going to show his bride.
By the time Dinah got there, she was going to need a good dose of light and flowers. Claire didn’t see how her friend was
going to get through the next few weeks. Or how she herself was going to manage it. She hadn’t been deposed yet, but there
was no guarantee she wouldn’t be called upon as a character witness. Or so said Investigator Raymond Harper of the Organized
Crime Task Force, who was camped out in Hamilton Falls and Pitchford for the duration of the trial. She’d met him on her last
visit to Ross and Julia’s when he’d dropped in at dinnertime. He was Ross’s partner, and frankly, he made her uncomfortable.
Maybe it was his size or maybe it was simply the knowledge of just how ugly human behavior could get that lurked in his eyes.
Whatever it was, the less she saw of him, the better.
Owen Blanchard left his seat and made his way to the microphone at the front of the hall. He was Elder of the church that
met in his home—or had met there. After the Traynells’ departure, Sunday Gathering had been moved here to the hall because
not everyone could fit in his rec room. Gathering could only be held in the homes of one of the favored families, which was
problematic now since there was only one, and Owen couldn’t be expected to shoulder the burden indefinitely. He had two children
and the principalship of the local high school to think about.
Face it
, Claire thought,
the Elect are in total disarray. Julia started it, Dinah finished it, and now we have to pick up the pieces
. She hoped Owen had come up with some kind of solution. These stop-gap Gatherings couldn’t go on forever. She also hoped
she could grab a private moment with him after the service. She needed an answer, and the waiting was killing her.
Owen announced a hymn, and after they had sung it in tolerable four-part harmony, he led them in prayer. Claire expected testimony
time would happen next, when all the men took turns speaking on a verse or confessing struggles or saying what their wives
told them to say. But Owen stayed at the microphone until everyone stopped wiggling in their seats and whispering.
“You all know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” he said. The overhead lighting glinted on his hair, which had been a vibrant
reddish gold until recently, but was now a sandy gray. “Phinehas’s—I mean, Mr. Leslie’s—jury has been chosen, and his trial
is going to begin. It’s up to you folks whether you go or not. Some of us have been deposed to testify.” He sighed, and then
went on. “Folks, we have to come to some kind of decision, here.”
Mark McNeill, Julia’s father, whom Claire had hardly ever seen speak outside of his duties as former Elder, stood up. “I heard
from Spokane this morning. Melchizedek is still at the Grotons’ place. He had a nervous breakdown and is completely unfit
to lead the flock. The family is on suicide watch.”
Melchizedek, the younger Shepherd over the congregation in Hamilton Falls, had practically worshipped the ground Phinehas
had walked on. At the news that Phinehas had been sexually abusing the females in the Traynell family for thirty years, he
had cracked and gone to his sister’s place in Spokane. The other Shepherds, scattered throughout the state of Washington,
were in as bad a condition as the people in Hamilton Falls when they’d heard the news about their leader. Some believed the
accusations; some did not. Some tried to carry on in their faith; some had gone Outside and had not been heard from since.
“Why is God punishing us?” Derrick Wilkinson, the man sitting on Claire’s right, wanted to know. “Have our sins been that
bad?”
God isn’t punishing us
, Claire thought.
He’s punishing Phinehas, thank you very much. And just because you don’t get to marry into a favored family and become an
Elder, let’s not take this personally
. It was a well-known fact among the local Elect females that Derrick had pursued first Julia McNeill Malcolm and then Dinah
Traynell because they were daughters of the two favored families. Without one of them as his wife, he would never realize
his career aspirations to be Deacon and, later, Elder of his own house church. The position was hereditary—and now there was
no one left to inherit.
Poor Derrick. Maybe he’d have to move to a new town and find another favored-family girl to date—unless the Shepherds had
told him what they’d told her.
“There is a solution,” Owen said. “I’m putting it to you all tonight in hopes that we can take heart and move on in strength,
particularly in view of the days ahead.”
“What’s that?” Derrick asked, speaking for all of them.
“I’d like to introduce a guest speaker.” Owen waited for the murmuring to die down. Claire glanced at Rebecca Quinn, her landlady,
on her left. Other than the Shepherds, who were anointed of God to speak, and the Elder, whose job it was to administer the
flock in the Shepherds’ periodic absences, guest speakers were unheard of. Who else could bring the Word of God to his people
but the anointed ones?
“Maybe the Shepherd from Richmond has come to help us,” Rebecca whispered.
“He’s gone,” Claire whispered back. “My folks got the word this morning. Left without a trace. They think he joined the army.”
Claire would have said more, but a man got up from the front row and bounded up to the microphone as if he owned the very
earth.
Wow
. Claire blinked and forgot the rest of what she had been about to say.
The man was tall and had the kind of presence that natural leaders possessed. His shoulders were broad and strong, in contrast
to a trim waist and athletic grace. Chestnut hair glinted under the lights, and when he turned to face them, she saw that
his eyes were brown and long-lashed. He smiled, and a long dimple cut into his cheek.
Claire heard a rustle as all the single women in the crowd sat up and took notice, including a few of the widows.
“Now, that’s a fine-looking man,” Rebecca murmured.
“If he’s a new Shepherd, it won’t matter,” Claire said. The Shepherds were homeless and celibate, the better to go wherever
the gospel led them. Free of natural ties, their lives were consecrated to God’s will. Most of the Elect’s rules about women’s
dress, Claire often thought privately, were designed to make it easier for the Shepherds to make this sacrifice. If a man
couldn’t see a woman’s skin, if her hair was pinned up modestly, the Shepherds were less likely to be reminded of what they
had lost from a physical standpoint.