Mountain Top Page 9

  “Only if he points in the right direction.”

  Judge Coberg rewarded Mike with a rare smile.

  “Are you enjoying the ministry?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Still have an itch to practice law?”

  “No, sir. My involvement in this case is not the sign of a trend.”

  The judge nodded. “Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re helping Sam Miller. He’s a unique individual. I’ve known him a long time and was surprised to see him on the criminal calendar. Do you think I should recuse myself?”

  Mike stepped back in surprise. “Why?”

  “Because I like his cauliflower.”

  “He mentioned that to me, but I don’t have any objection to you sitting on the case.”

  “The DA might. I’m going to send you and Ken West a disclosure memo about my prior contact with Mr. Miller.”

  “You’ve rubbed shoulders with a significant percentage of the people who live in Barlow County,” Mike protested.

  “How many of them are like Sam Miller?”

  Mike studied the judge’s face. The dark eyes revealed nothing.

  “We’re all different,” Mike replied slowly. “How is Mr. Miller unique?”

  A slight smile again lifted the corners of the judge’s mouth. “You don’t have me on the witness stand or kneeling at the altar, Reverend Andrews. If you have to ask that question, you don’t know your client.”

  MIKE MADE SEVERAL COPIES OF THE ORDER, FILED THE ORIGINAL in the clerk’s office, and dropped a copy by the DA’s office. He left the courthouse and walked to the jail. Mike took off his jacket and threw it over his shoulder. At the jail, he handed the Order to the officer on duty.

  “I’ll send word around to the back,” the deputy said. “They’ll bring him up.”

  While he waited, Mike called Muriel Miller and gave her the good news. Her voice cracked with emotion as she thanked him, and he could imagine the tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks.

  “How long will it take you to get here?” Mike asked her.

  “I don’t know. I left the truck’s lights on last night, and it has a dead battery. I’m still waiting for someone to come by and give me a jump start.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mike said. “I can bring Sam to your house.”

  “But that’s out of your way.”

  “It’s not a problem. I don’t have to be anywhere else, and I only have one client.”

  In a few minutes, Sam came out wearing blue jeans and a denim shirt.

  “I’m taking you home,” Mike said. “Muriel knows you’re coming but couldn’t pick you up because the battery in your truck is dead.”

  “That’s happened before. She doesn’t like walking up to a dark house.”

  Outside, Sam looked up at the sky.

  “The grass has been growing, and so have I,” he said. “Ninety-six days in jail is a long time. It was tough, but I can see why so many of Papa’s children have been locked up. It forced me to think seriously about some things.”

  Mike didn’t take the bait. “I’m parked at the courthouse,” he said. “Can you walk that far?”

  “My legs are fine,” Sam replied. “It’s my jaw that hurts.”

  Sam set a surprisingly brisk pace. Mike fell in beside him.

  “You’re a fast walker,” Mike said.

  “When you make your living walking behind a lawn mower, you can’t be a slowpoke. Muriel is worried about my heart, but I get more exercise than most men half my age.”

  “I didn’t say anything to her about your jaw.”

  “Thanks. They took away the boy who hit me, and he didn’t come back. I was sorry to see him go.”

  “Why?”

  “After someone hurts you is often the best time to help them. They’re invulnerable.”

  “You mean vulnerable.”

  “That, too.” Sam shook his head. “I’m going to have to stop trying to impress you with my vocabulary.”

  They passed the local drugstore where Mike enjoyed ice cream cones when he was a boy. No longer dressed in jailhouse garb, Sam looked even less like a criminal. The old man glanced around as they walked and seemed to study each person they encountered on the sidewalk.

  “Tell me about Judge Coberg,” Mike said. “He seemed to know more about you than just the fact that you cut grass and grow vegetables.”

  “I never worked for him regular, but when I did, he always paid me on time.”

  “There must be more to it than that. He’s going to notify the DA’s office that his relationship with you may justify his removal from the case. He didn’t give me any details, but I suspect you’ve had conversations with him similar to what you’ve told me.”

  “He’s not one of my sons. We never talked too much, and he was always at the courthouse or out of town when I worked at his house.”

  “He said you were a different type of person.”

  Sam smiled. “That could be said about him, too.”

  They reached Mike’s car and got in. Sam settled in the leather seat and sighed.

  “This sure is comfortable. I’ve missed my recliner at home.”

  Sam gave directions to his house then immediately closed his eyes. Mike wasn’t sure if his client was awake or asleep.

  After they passed the west edge of commercial development for Shelton, fewer and fewer houses dotted the countryside. There weren’t many farms in the rocky soil of Barlow County. Most of the people who lived outside the city limits did so because land was cheaper and neighbors more distant. Like Sam, they drove into the more populated areas to work. When they came to a stop sign, Sam opened his eyes and looked at Mike.

  “You know one thing I learned in jail?” Sam asked.

  “I guess you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

  “It’s something you’ll agree with. You bringing up Lou Jasper the other day got me thinking. Papa showed me that sometimes I run my mouth when I ought to keep quiet. Even after all these years, I get excited when He shows me something and look for the first chance to tell it.”

  “If the Lord really reveals something to you, it’s understandable that you would be excited.”

  “But it’s not an excuse for loose lips. The right word in the wrong time is as bad as the wrong word in the right time. I need to call Lou and apologize.”

  Mike, temporarily caught in the convoluted web of Sam’s logic, didn’t immediately respond.

  “Uh, I’m not sure I follow you, but I don’t see why an apology is necessary. You said Lou Jasper didn’t follow through on what you shared with him.”

  “That’s his problem. I have to deal with mine.”

  They turned onto McAfee Road.

  “Which house is yours?” Mike asked.

  “A half mile on the left,” Sam said. “It’s yellow with blue shutters and sits on top of a little hill. You can’t miss it.”

  They passed a mailbox resting on a car tire painted white and partially buried in the ground. A few stodgy Angus cattle glanced up from a field on the right-hand side of the road. They drove up a steep driveway to a small frame dwelling.

  “Could you park in front of my truck so you can give me a jump before you leave?” Sam asked.

  They got out of the car. Muriel came onto the small front stoop. Mike held back while Sam walked quickly across the grass and climbed three concrete steps to greet her. They embraced. Mike could tell that Muriel was crying. He looked away. When Sam turned around, his eyes were red, too.

  “Toss me the keys to your truck, and I’ll hook up the jumper cables,” Mike said, backing away. “You need to spend time together without me interfering.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Muriel said with a wave of her hand. “Come in the house. You can mess with that old truck later.”

  “She’s right,” Sam added. “We won’t keep you long.”

  The interior of the small house looked surprisingly normal. Mike wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Sam Miller didn
’t live in a cave. He glanced around the modestly furnished yet meticulously clean room. Muriel went into the kitchen and returned to the living room with two glasses of iced tea. Sam, sitting in a fat recliner, squeezed a thick slice of lemon in his glass and took a deep drink.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “This is delicious.”

  Mike positioned himself on a plaid sofa and took a sip.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s very good.”

  Muriel, a glass of water in her hand, looked at Sam. Mike saw her expression change to one of alarm and concern.

  “What happened to your face?”

  She kept her lips pressed tightly together while Sam related the story of the attack.

  “It wasn’t near as bad as some of the licks I took when we first got married,” Sam said. “Getting hit by four drunk sailors who thought they could whip two Marines was a lot worse.”

  “And you were a lot younger,” Muriel said. “I’m just glad you’re out of that jail.” She turned to Mike. “Thanks again for helping us.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mike relaxed on the sofa and listened while Muriel brought Sam up to date on their household news. Sam had lightbulbs at the edge of the roof to change and a leaky faucet to fix. Hearing the couple talk about everyday issues made Sam seem more normal. Mike drained his tea glass of the last drop. Muriel took it to the kitchen for a refill.

  “Preacher,” Sam said, “I have a question.”

  “What?”

  “Will there be sweet tea in heaven?”

  “Only in the Southern part.”

  Sam laughed. “That’s where I want my mansion.”

  Muriel returned to the room.

  “You should have seen Mike in court,” Sam said to her. “He was smooth as your egg custard. Judge Coberg thinks highly of him.”

  “And he thinks highly of you,” Mike responded. “Especially your vegetables. However, everyone doesn’t agree with the judge. My former boss was in the courtroom this morning. He caught me in the hallway after the hearing and told me it would be an embarrassment to both of us if I continued to represent you.”

  “What’s his name?” Sam asked.

  “Maxwell Forrest.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

  “He also mentioned that Jack Hatcher, the president of the bank, was very interested in your case.”

  “Is he the man you wrote the letter to?” Muriel asked Sam.

  Sam put his fingers to his lips and shook his head.

  “What letter?” Mike asked sharply.

  “Mike, I told you I can’t go running my mouth about everything.”

  “And you can’t expect me to represent you if I don’t know the facts.” Mike placed his glass on a coaster. “Mr. Forrest told me the bank records clearly show how you embezzled the money. Why shouldn’t I believe him?”

  “I passed the money test many years ago. It doesn’t have a hold on me.”

  Mike looked at Muriel. “Why is he making this so hard for me? Ever since we met he’s been dumping a lot of stuff on me that I don’t understand or want to hear. Now, he won’t answer a simple question.”

  “Sam, you’ve got to tell your lawyer what he needs to know so he can represent you. I’m glad you’re home, but this isn’t over. The thought that you might be sent off for a much longer time—” Muriel stopped.

  Sam went to her chair and kissed the top of her head. “I’m here now, and we’re going to start praying about the future.”

  “What about the letter?” Mike persisted.

  Sam returned to his recliner. “I don’t have a copy and can’t see how it could have anything to do with what’s happening now.”

  “You should let me make that decision. Do you have any notes?”

  “Check in one of your notebooks,” Muriel suggested.

  “Yeah, a written notation may refresh your memory,” Mike said.

  Sam sighed. “Okay. You seem determined to find out one way or the other.”

  Sam left the room. Muriel spoke. “He writes things down in a notebook that he keeps beside the bed. He has stacks of them in boxes on the floor of our closet, so it may take him a while to fetch it.”

  “How long ago did he write the letter to Mr. Hatcher?”

  “Maybe six months ago.”

  “Did he show it to you?”

  “No, but I remember he thought it was unusual.”

  “If he thought it was unusual, I’m sure it was different,” Mike said. “Does he know Mr. Hatcher?”

  “I don’t think so, but he’s written lots of notes and letters to people he doesn’t know. He writes the president a couple of times a year.”

  “President?”

  “Of the United States. He sends it directly to the White House. He never hears back, but that doesn’t seem to discourage him.”

  Mike guessed the FBI couldn’t check out every eccentric individual who regularly wrote the president.

  “What about Judge Coberg? Does he write him?”

  “Not that I know of, but it could have happened.”

  “Has he ever had any dreams about the judge?”

  “Not so fast,” Sam said as he entered the room. “Don’t use your lawyer tricks on Muriel.” He held up a tattered notebook. “I think what you want to see is in here.”

  Sam sat in his recliner and began turning the pages. Mike leaned forward on the couch so he could get a better view. It was impossible to decipher the meaning of the words, numbers, and drawings scrawled on the pages.

  “Here are the verses Papa gave me to share with Myra Cordell,” Sam said to Muriel. “She was thinking about killing herself. How is she doing?”

  “Better. Her daughter has moved back from St. Louis to stay with her for a while.”

  “Get back to your notebook,” Mike said.

  While Mike sipped his tea, Sam kept turning the pages.

  “Tell me about the photos on the wall,” Mike asked Muriel.

  Muriel gave him a brief family history.

  “Matthew dying overseas was a hard blow,” she said. “Losing a young-un is one of those things you never get over. Now we’re praying for Anne Marie, one of my great-nieces. She’s battling leukemia.”

  “I’ll put her on the prayer list at my church.”

  Mike entered her name in his PDA.

  “Ah, take a look at this,” Sam said. “Down at the bottom of the page.”

  He handed the notebook to Mike, who examined the heavily stained and wrinkled sheet of paper for a few seconds.

  “I can’t read it. What’s that brown stuff?”

  “Coffee, I guess. I must have spilled a cup on it while I was writing the letter at the kitchen table.”

  “Can you make it out?” Mike asked.

  Sam squinted at the paper. “Some of it. What I do in the night is write down a few words that remind me of other things in the morning. Have you started keeping a notebook by your bed?”

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  “Let’s see,” Sam said. “I remember it was nighttime in the dream. There was a hatchet, a box of finishing nails, a baseball bat, and a tree. They were all standing up and talking like men. I could see Cohulla Creek behind them. The baseball bat gave a man I know named Larry Pasley a string of glass beads. They were pretty, but I knew they were worthless. Larry seemed happy, but I knew he was being duped. They didn’t know I was watching because they didn’t believe I could see in the dark. But day and night are the same to Papa. And here in the margin are the verses I sent, Ephesians 5:11–14.”

  Sam looked up at Muriel. “What does that passage say?”

  “It’s about the deeds of darkness. I’ll get the Bible.”

  Muriel left the room and returned with a black Bible that showed signs of heavy use. She touched her index finger to her tongue as she flipped through the pages.

  “Here it is,” she said. She read slowly and deliberately. “‘Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of da
rkness, but rather expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for it is the light that makes everything visible.’ ”

  “Yep,” Sam said. “That’s it.”

  “What does that mean?” Mike asked.

  “Exactly what it says. Papa always tells it like it is.”

  “I know, but why would you send those verses to Jack Hatcher at the bank?”

  “’Cause he was in the dream. Papa often uses pictures to speak to me.” Mike stared at the sheet of paper.

  “Jack Hatcher was the hatchet.”

  “Yep.”

  “Who are the other people?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Mike continued to stare. “Maxwell Forrest.”

  “Yep, that might be right, but there was only one tree. A forest has a bunch of trees.”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” Mike answered. “Who is a box of nails and a baseball bat?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “How did you know it was Cohulla Creek?”

  “They were standing near a spot along the creek where I like to pray when the weather is nice. There is a rock that sits out in the stream. I can sit on the rock and enjoy the view in both directions. Praying by a creek, listening to the voice of the Lord in the waters—it restores my soul.”

  “Did you put all the symbolism in the letter?”

  “What?”

  “The pictures. Did you tell Jack Hatcher that you saw him as a hatchet in a dream?”

  “No, he would have thought I was crazy. That part was for me, not him.”

  “The crazy part makes sense. How can you interpret this stuff and claim God is communicating to you?”

  “After you eat a lot of peaches, you know what a good one tastes like.”

  Mike gave Sam a puzzled look.

  “Check the fruit—the change in a person’s life or things turning out exactly like Papa showed you. Have you counted how many dreams are in the Bible?”

  “No.”

  “Me either. But there are hundreds of them.”

  Mike’s face remained skeptical. “So what did you write?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, but I think I warned him not to take advantage of Larry, who owns property along the creek. It looked like Larry was getting the bad end of a land deal.”