“Then why contact me?”
Muriel lowered her eyes and spoke in a soft voice. “He had a dream Saturday night and saw you coming to see him at the jail. When I visited him on Sunday, he told me to get in touch with you here at the church.”
Mike’s jaw dropped open slightly. Delores leaned forward in her chair.
“Excuse me,” Mike said. “Could you explain what you just said?”
Muriel sighed. “Sam has a lot of dreams. The Lord shows him things that are going to happen and stuff about people he’s supposed to pray for.” Her voice grew stronger. “It’s nothing that doesn’t happen in the Bible. Jacob had a dream and saw angels on a ladder; Joseph had dreams about himself and interpreted dreams for others—”
“I know the Bible,” Mike interrupted.
“Of course you do,” Muriel responded quietly. “I just didn’t want you to think Sam was a nut.”
Mike caught Delores rolling her eyes out of the corner of his vision.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Mike said to Muriel. “I have a luncheon meeting in Shelton.”
They entered a short hall. Mountain landscapes painted by Peg hung on the walls. Mike opened the door for Muriel. It was a warm but pleasant spring day. They walked down a brick sidewalk to the new parking lot. The asphalt sparkled in the sun. Mike had a reserved parking space marked “Senior Pastor.”
“Why is your husband in jail?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
It had been years since Mike heard that familiar line.
“I understand, but he must have been charged with something.”
“They claim he took money from the church. But it’s either a lie or a big mistake.”
“Embezzlement?”
“Yes, that’s the word.”
“Which church?”
“Craig Valley. It’s a little place not far from the house. Sam was filling in as their preacher for a few months while they looked for a new man to take over.”
“Is that your home church?”
“Not really. We move from church to church as the Lord directs.”
Mike glanced sideways at the strange remark. They reached his car, a Lexus holdover from his days as a lawyer that now had more than 250,000 miles on the odometer. Beside his car sat a red pickup truck with Miller’s name on the side. At least that part of this odd woman’s story was true. Mike faced her.
“My sympathies are with you, and I’ll pray for your husband, but I’m not the man you need. You should hire a practicing lawyer who can request bail. Three months is a long time to sit in jail. If your husband hasn’t given a statement to the police, tell him to keep his mouth shut until he talks to an attorney. Confession is good at the church altar, not during a jailhouse interrogation.”
Satisfied with his succinct and accurate counsel, Mike opened the door of his car. Muriel didn’t move.
“Good luck,” Mike said.
“Don’t forget the dream,” Muriel responded.
Mike slid into the car seat and looked up at her.
“Believe me. I won’t.”
Three
THE ROAD FROM LITTLE CREEK CHURCH TO SHELTON FOLLOWED the winding course of a valley nestled between two wooded ridges. Three times the road crossed a bold-flowing stream before climbing over one of the ridges and dipping into town. Mike and Peg’s house was on a street near the top of a ridge. When the leaves fell from the trees, they could see into the center of town, a picturesque view at Christmas when colored lights along the downtown streets twinkled and large angels with trumpets to their lips perched atop every other lamp pole. Mike liked to bundle up in a blanket, sit outside in a lounge chair, and enjoy the show.
Mike and Peg bought their house when he first started practicing law and were on the verge of purchasing a much larger home when he decided to go to seminary in Virginia. So, instead of moving into a showcase home in the best area of town, they lived in a modest condominium for three years and rented out the house in Shelton. After completing seminary, Mike accepted the call to the Little Creek Church, and they returned home.
Childless, their only house guest was Judge, an eight-year-old Hungarian vizsla. The short-haired, gold-colored hunter/retriever acquired his name the day Mike and Peg picked him out from the litter of a breeder in Highlands.
“Look how that one barks at all the other pups,” Peg remarked as they watched the dogs tumbling around in the pen. “I think he’s the one.”
“He reminds me of Judge Lancaster in Morganton,” Mike said.
“Why?”
“He spends all his time barking at the other lawyers.”
“Then that’s what we’ll call him,” Peg replied.