A Sounding Brass Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2006 by Shelley Bates

  All rights reserved.

  All song lyrics ©2006 by Shelley Bates.

  WARNER BOOKS

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  First eBook Edition: June 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56215-7

  For Jeff

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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)

  Chapter 1

  “JUST AS IAM, 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 on
ly 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.

  Theoretically. This, of course, had not proven to be the case with Phinehas and his thirty-year persecution of the Traynell women.

  “I’d like to present Mr. Luke Fisher,” Owen said, “evangelist from our very own KGHM radio, right here in Hamilton Falls.”

  What?

  People turned in their seats to stare at one another and gaped at Owen as if they couldn’t believe their ears. A worldly evangelist? To speak to them? Someone who wasn’t even Elect?

  “Is he completely mad?” Rebecca asked aloud, forgetting to whisper.

  No one heard her. Everyone was busy talking, speculating, wondering the same thing.

  “Please, folks, listen to me.” Owen’s voice rose above the noise, and out of habit, the congregation quieted enough that he could be heard. “We’ve all been praying without ceasing that God would save us in our hour of need. And I believe the reason He hasn’t is because we’ve strayed away from Him. We’ve put our trust in our leadership—in man, in human frailty—and the result has been a disaster. We’ve looked inwardly to ourselves instead of looking outwardly at what God is doing in the world.”

  People murmured, and Claire nibbled her lower lip, wondering where on earth this was going.

  “It’s been revealed to me that perhaps God speaks to people outside of the Elect, that maybe we might have something to learn from Mr. Fisher, who has led congregations two and three times this size and who, I’m convinced, has his heart right with God.” Owen looked around at them all. “I’m not saying he’s a Shepherd. I’ve only invited him to be a guest speaker. Our fundamental beliefs remain the same—but I think it would do the people of God good to embrace the Holy Spirit in others, as well as in themselves.”

  Mark McNeill, Owen’s father-in-law and a retired Elder, stood and cleared his throat. “Owen, I don’t think that’s right. You know the Holy Spirit is only given to God’s people. His grace is only poured out on us through the gospel spoken by the Shepherds. Only they have the authority.”

  Owen nodded respectfully. “But at the moment we don’t have a Shepherd. Mr. Fisher is just a guest speaker, Dad.”

  “You or I could speak in the Shepherds’ place.”

  Owen began to look uncomfortable at having a disagreement with his father-in-law in public. “I’ve had a revelation,” he repeated, “and I believe it was from God.”

  It was hard to argue with that. Since the downfall of Phinehas, Claire had wondered if the Elect put their leaders on a pedestal, to the point where perhaps they blocked the light that came from God. Some, such as the McNeills, catered to their every whim, bringing out the best china, the best food, making even a bowl of cereal or a cup of coffee an event. Others, including her parents, treated the Shepherds like visiting relatives whenever they came to stay. Hospitality to the Shepherds was part of their sacrifice, but the danger lay in
making a show of their service in order to impress the leaders.

  “Folks,” Owen pleaded, “let’s listen to Mr. Fisher’s message and then do what Paul exhorted us to do—try the spirit and see if it’s of God.”

  He yielded the microphone to Luke Fisher and returned to his seat. Every eye in the hall was riveted to the front. Claire drew in a breath as Luke Fisher began to speak. That melodious voice—which had sounded in her car, announcing songs, exhorting people to come to God, talking with people who called in—filled their humble meeting place with his particular brand of music.

  “Those of you who listen to the radio,” he said, “may have heard a number of your hymns being played and wondered how it could be that worldly artists could sing the music and words that mean so much to you.”

  He paused, and all the young people in Claire’s row looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Obviously they’d thought the very thing she had. Maybe some of them had even been listening to the radio on the way to Mission and had heard “Just As I Am.”

  “Well, here’s the thing.” He paused, then said, “I grew up in the Elect.”

  An audible gasp swept through the room.

  “I did, and when I went Out, I lived a life of sin and suffering, brought on by my own headstrong will. But God had a plan for me, and do you know what that was?”

  Claire found herself shaking her head, as though he had spoken directly to her. She wished he would. She wished those eyes would seek her out in the midst of this crowd and see that there was a mature, reasonably attractive woman who was currently single and very much available, right there in the seventh row.

  “God’s plan was for me to preach the gospel, but not as a Shepherd. No, His plan for my life reaches farther than that. It’s been revealed to me that radio isn’t a sin, my friends. It’s a way of reaching the hearts of the sick, the shut-in, those who aren’t as fortunate as we are in this hall tonight. It’s a way of bringing cheer to your soul as you drive to the supermarket, of focusing your mind on Christ while you work in the office. It’s a way to reach the soul on the other side of the cube divider who doesn’t know which way to turn in a life that looks like a maze.”