“You know what I mean,” Delores retorted. “Coming in here talking about setting fire to the church!”
“It was a dream, not a literal event. And he didn’t mention anything about burning down the church. God speaks to men and women like him through pictures and symbols. Don’t let it bother you. I’ll be here until he finishes working.”
The phone rang, and Delores picked it up. Mike went into his office. Over the next few hours, he occasionally glanced out a window to check on Sam’s progress. The old man was a steady worker, but once, Mike saw him kneeling at the water hole where the spring bubbled up through the rocks. At noon, Mike let Delores leave for lunch and went outside. Sam was finishing up the far side of the cemetery. Mike waved him over. Sam turned off the push mower and walked across the graveyard.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” Mike asked.
Sam mopped his forehead with a yellow bandanna he took from the front of his overalls.
“I brought a plate of cold fried chicken, green beans, and black-eyed peas left over from supper last night.”
“Want to heat it up in the microwave?”
“It’s good cold, but better hot. What are you going to eat?”
“A cup of yogurt.”
Sam scoffed. “Not unless you have a chicken leg first.”
Sam retrieved a small cooler from the front seat of his truck and followed Mike into the church kitchen. After a couple of minutes in the microwave, the fragrance of the chicken seeped into the room. Mike sniffed.
“You should have tasted it last night,” Sam said, patting his stomach. “Since I got out of jail, Muriel has been spoiling me rotten.”
When the beeper sounded, Mike opened the door of the microwave. It was an impressive amount of food.
“Get yourself a plate,” Sam said. “I’m going to share Papa’s bounty with you. It’s the least I can do, seeing that you’re not charging me to be my lawyer.”
Mike handed the old man a plate, and before he could protest, Sam scraped half the meal onto the second plate.
“Pray and eat up,” Sam said, handing it to him. “If you’re still hungry, you can eat all the yogurt you want.”
They sat on folding metal chairs at a rectangular table. Mike prayed and took a bite of chicken.
“What did she put in this batter?” he asked.
Sam held up a drumstick. “A secret recipe Colonel Sanders didn’t know about.”
The meal reminded Mike of dinners at his aunt Sue’s house. Twice a year, Christmas and the Fourth of July, his family gathered at the large white home of his father’s sister in an older section of Raleigh to visit and eat, not necessarily in that order.
“What will I tell Peg when she asks me about lunch?” Mike asked as he collected the final bite of black-eyed peas. “I’ve been trying to cut back.”
“Pray she doesn’t ask,” Sam replied. “If she does, tell her you ate organic.”
“Organic?”
“That’s a word, isn’t it?” Sam replied. “For food that’s homegrown without using bag fertilizer.”
“Yes. I can believe that about the vegetables, but did you raise this chicken?”
“No, but I know the man who did. Muriel likes him because he kills and cleans them, too.”
“Tell Muriel it was good. Sorry I can’t offer you dessert.”
“I skip the sweets if I can have the rest.”
Mike rinsed the empty plates in the sink and put them in the dishwasher.
“How is the work progressing?”
“You were right about the cemetery. It’s slow going, but once I finish I should move faster with the big mower. Do you know about the spring at the edge of the creek?”
“Yes, I like to go there. It used to be a watering hole for horses.”
Sam nodded. “I splashed some of the water on my face and got refreshed. There have been some praying people in this church. It would be good if a few new ones came to the surface to put out the fire.”
Mike didn’t respond. He liked it better when Sam talked about Muriel’s fried chicken.
FRIDAY MORNING, MIKE LIFTED HIS DAY PACK FROM ITS HOOK on the wall of the garage and brought it into the house. Judge saw the pack and began barking.
“Settle down. You’re included,” Mike reassured him.
He loaded the pack with water, snacks, a jacket for Peg, and an old quilt. He was lacing up his boots when Peg entered the kitchen. She was dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt with her hair in a ponytail sticking out the back of a ball cap.
“How do I look?”
“Perfect,” Mike answered. “I saw your hiking boots in the corner of the garage. Do they still fit?”