The Warning Page 12

  His reaction threw off the bank manager. “This is the only warning you’re going to get,” Thad said, but the cutting edge had been dulled. “And frankly, if it had been left up to me, I wouldn’t have given you this one. If you give your little talk tonight, don’t even bother to come back to clean out your desk.”

  Buddy cut the connection and said to Molly, “The bank is going to fire me if I keep this up.”

  Molly’s face was wreathed in concern. “How do you feel about it?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel much of anything right now.” He gave his heart another mental check and said doubtfully, “Maybe I’m just in shock.”

  “I don’t think so.” Molly sank to the edge of the bed closest to Buddy’s chair. “Honey, have you been listening to your own messages at all?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Buddy, if what you’re telling the world is true, five weeks from now, what shape is your bank going to be in?”

  The thought pushed him back in his chair. The bank was going to collapse. It took a moment before Buddy realized he had not spoken out loud. The bank was going to go under.

  His bank. That was the way he thought about it. He had given his adult life to making the bank’s balance sheet and profit statement as sound as he could. He had served his community through his bank. It was as much a part of him as his eyes or his feet. And it was going to collapse.

  “While we’re on this,” Molly went on, “have you thought about doing with our savings what you’re telling others to do?”

  “No,” he replied slowly, his mind still caught by the earlier thought. It had been shown clearly, even made a part of his dream. But he had refused to see. His bank was going under. “The money for the ridgeline has been deposited into our account, I checked that before we left. Easiest transaction I’ve ever made. But I didn’t do a thing with it. I guess I’ve missed that too.”

  “Well, you can worry about it tomorrow.” She patted his knee. “Right now I want you to lie down and have a rest. You look exhausted.”

  Molly let him sleep so long he had to button his shirtsleeves and knot his tie in the car. It had been a curious slumber, leaving him more tired and woozy than before he had lain down, as though all he had done was give his body and mind a chance to reveal some of the stored-up tension. He had dozed in fitful bursts, tensing and jerking awake every few minutes. The same thought continued to course through him even when he was asleep. His bank was going under.

  When they pulled up in front of the auditorium, Molly stopped him from opening his door by reaching over and touching his arm. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s a hard thing to accept, Molly. My bank is not going to make it. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Would you listen to yourself?” she said softly. “Going out to pass on a message about turmoil afflicting the whole nation. You’ve just received word you’re going to be fired for your troubles. And what are you worried about? The bank.”

  “A lot of people rely on us,” he said feebly.

  “Of course they do. Here.” She reached into the purse beside her and pulled out a little note card. “I want you to have this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A passage I thought of while you were sleeping.”

  Buddy turned on the interior light and held up the card. He read: “A man can receive nothing unless it has been given to him from heaven.” John 3:27

  “I just wanted to remind you of what you already know,” Molly told him.

  “This is perfect.” He reread the passage, looked up. “Thank you, Molly.”

  She turned shy. “I could do this every day if you like. Find a passage for you to take with you into your talk.”

  “I would like that,” he replied, “more than I can say.”

  Clarke met them halfway to the auditorium. “I was just about ready to get worried.”

  “He needed to rest,” Molly said firmly.

  Buddy accepted the outstretched hand. “What are you doing about your duties in the church?”

  “I asked for a leave of absence. The elders agreed unanimously. Even the ones who had not heard you speak that night said I should come help you.” Clarke extended his smile to include Molly. “Maybe that’s an indication of how vital they think my work is around the place.”

  “Don’t you think that,” Molly scolded. “Not for an instant.”

  Clarke said to Buddy, “Before we get started here, there’s one thing. We’ve had some journalists show up tonight. I know who they are, at least I think I do. Should I let them stay?”

  Buddy reflected a moment and could only come up with, “We don’t try to keep anyone else out. I suppose we shouldn’t start with them.”

  “I agree,” Molly said. “Who knows? Maybe they will feel the Spirit and come to their knees and their senses.”

  Both men looked her way. It was not like her to speak her mind in public. Buddy reached over and took her hand. It was a good change.

  Clarke went on, “A lot of them wanted interviews. I figured you’d be too tired to do it tonight. So I said anyone who wanted could show up tomorrow after breakfast. The television folk have been after Alex all day. They wanted to have you all to themselves, one at a time.”

  “No.” Buddy did not need to think that one over.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Clarke motioned to his right. “Here comes the lady responsible for tonight. Mrs. Sandown, can I introduce Buddy and Molly Korda?”

  “Such a pleasure, I just can’t tell you.” She was nervous and excited and dressed in a sharp businesslike outfit of navy serge. “My husband and I heard you speak at the Bible Fellowship dinner over in Wilmington. Well, more than heard. He’s had to go to Boston for a sales meeting, but he helped me set this up. It’s been amazing how willing the churches have been to get the word out. Nothing at all like what I might have expected.”

  The words no longer held the power of surprise for him. “I’m grateful for all the work you’ve put in.”

  “You have something important to say, Mr. Korda. I feel that everybody needs to hear it.” She gave a nervous glance at the doors leading to the high school gym. “The reason why we needed to change venues is that we’ve had a surprising response from several African-American and Roman Catholic churches.” She exhaled what seemed to be a breath she had been holding all afternoon. “And someone wants to video your talk. Not the press, we’ve already had it out with them. This isn’t a circus. A member of my church works for the local television station, and I know he’ll do a good job.” Again the anxious waiting.

  Buddy thought it over and decided. “I think that would be a good idea.”

  “There isn’t that much time to get the word out,” Clarke agreed.

  “We’ll ask that it be distributed only to churches, but you know how these things are.” She twisted her hands together. “Do you think the Spirit will be with us like it was the other day?”

  “I hope so,” Buddy fervently replied. The people headed for the entrance doors in a solid stream. “I surely do.”

  Perhaps it was because of the sound that bounced off the hardwood floor and the distant ceiling. Perhaps it was because of the bleacher seating, or because of the size of the audience. Or perhaps it was simply because Buddy was so tired. Whatever the reason, it seemed as though the meeting would never end. Time after time he had to stop and wait for the noise to abate before he could continue. But he did not feel a thing. Not when people started crying and shouting and moving down the steps to stand in the middle of the gym and wave their hands in the air. Not when he reached the message’s second portion and waited for the sense of authority to confirm his work. Nothing.

  Whenever the noise forced him to halt, Buddy found his thoughts returning to the realization of that afternoon. His bank was going under. It was so strange that he had not really accepted this before. He had only thought of it in passing, like a stone skipping over the surface of a lake, n
ot taking it in deep, not seeing what this meant.

  He arrived at the final portion of his talk feeling that the evening had worked on him like a crowbar. His lack of vivid spiritual experience seemed to leave him not only empty, but exposed.

  After it was over and Molly was driving them home, she asked, “Where do you feel like eating tonight?”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said dully, which was only part of the truth. He was tired, yes, but he was more bothered than tired.

  She gave him a worried glance. “You need to have something, honey.”

  “I’ll get a soft drink and crackers from the machines at the hotel. You can order room service.” Buddy leaned back on the headrest. He did not even feel angry. Just grumpy.

  He could understand what was happening. He had felt a glimmer of this in his prayer for Alex’s health, then again in front of the church. He was being instructed to look beyond himself and his own concerns. But he didn’t want to. Not the least little bit. If truth be known, the prospect was appalling. The sorrows and burdens of countless believers loomed before him like a great gaping maw. Ready to take him in and swallow him whole.

  He felt Molly’s eyes on him, and so he said what was there in front of him. The safe and selfish complaint, “I didn’t feel a thing again. Not one thing. I felt like I was up there all by myself the whole time.”

  “Didn’t you see the crowd?”

  “Sure. They were there, and I was a thousand miles away.” He sighed to the window. “When I’m up there and God is silent, it rattles me. I wish I had thought to ask for that as a sign. One that would continue for as long as this work does.”

  “Maybe God is keeping that back because it needs to be used sparingly.”

  “Why, Molly? Can you tell me that?”

  “No, I can’t. It was just an idea. Maybe we grow stronger through the silence.”

  “I don’t feel strong. I feel drained.” More than that. Buddy felt the burden of this new calling. The challenge. His horizons were being reshaped. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Molly drove into the hotel parking lot. She cut off the engine and turned to him. Buddy took that as a signal to go on. “I found myself growing jealous standing up there, watching my audience struck by the Spirit. Jealous and isolated.”

  “They’re not your audience,” Molly said quietly.

  Buddy stared at his wife. “How do you have this ability of shaming me so quickly?”

  Instead of responding, Molly opened her door and got out of the car. When Buddy was out, she said, “I admire you for asking these questions. I’ve never even thought of them. I never even thought I was good enough to deserve God speaking to me at all.”

  “You mean, you don’t feel anything in these talks I’m giving?”

  “Not a single, solitary thing.” When they had walked to their room, she unlocked their door and turned on the light. After Buddy had shut out the night, she went on. “I’ve always simply accepted God’s silence. The way others go on sometimes, well, I’ve assumed that’s because He has something to say to them. But He doesn’t need to say anything to me.”

  Buddy stood by the door. He felt slapped by the impact of Molly’s words. Spanked for being a naughty child. That was exactly how he felt. Childish.

  She looked at him. “Maybe what I need is to ask Him to speak with me. But I don’t know how. Would you ask Him for me?”

  “Of course I would.” Hiding his shame over being so demanding. Having felt so much, received so much, his wife had never felt anything at all. “Why don’t you sit in the chair?”

  Buddy waited until she got settled and then walked over and placed both hands on her shoulders. He said aloud, “Heavenly Father, when I hear my wife speak, I hear the wisdom of one who would probably make a better messenger than me. Yet she has never felt the gift of Your presence move through her. And that is what I am asking for now. Breathe upon her, holy Lord. Make Your gentle Spirit move within her.”

  He stopped speaking. But the prayer continued within the depths of his soul. Over and over I come to this place, Father, he prayed. All my life I have missed the mark. And I’m doing it again right now. I’m being selfish and demanding. I’m weak and afraid and unwilling to trust that You will be strong for me. I’m sorry to have failed You, Lord. Again. Shape me anew. Make me a servant who lives for You. Grant me the gift of selflessness. Do with me as You will, and show me how to obey.

  Buddy spoke aloud the final words, “In Jesus’ precious name do I pray. Amen.”

  He felt the faintest breath across his face. A trace of motion, an angel’s wing so soft that he could have easily ignored it and pretended it did not exist, save for the glory that infused his soul. He felt Molly’s hands come up to rest upon his own. Warm peace flowed back and forth between them.

  Standing over his wife of twenty-nine years, sensing with a wisdom that was not his own, again the unspoken lesson was made clear. How the time and the experiences and the love and the shared prayers had united them. They were one person, living out a single life in two bodies. Joined by the same gentle Lord whose power was so great it did not even need to be noticed. Whose presence was always there, always working, always loving, if only he would step beyond his own selfish barriers and allow himself to be lifted up upon the wings of heaven.

  –|| TWENTY–TWO ||–

  Thad Dorsett drove through Aiden’s darkened streets, impatient with everything about this town, even the night. For the thousandth time since being posted in this backwater, he wondered if he had made the right decision by staying with the Valenti Bank at all.

  Most banks treated traders like tigers on a chain. They were tightly controlled and never given the chance to roam the jungle unleashed. Which was why Thad had leaped at the chance to join the ranks of upper management. Rumor had it that Nathan Jones Turner, Valenti’s new owner, was planning to raise a few traders to board level and grant the profit makers real power. This was the only reason he continued to hold on to his impatience and make it through the horror of living in Aiden, Delaware. Thad felt as though he had been holding his breath for months.

  When a stockbroker received an order from anywhere in the nation, he did not himself make the buy. He passed on the order to a person who handled thousands upon thousands of such transactions each day. The same was true for fund managers. Their buying and selling went through traders. Some operated from the floors of exchanges, such as the Chicago Mercantile where Thad had cut his teeth. Others worked from trading floors within large banks and fund groups. Traders sometimes operated on their own, working sums granted to them by people who trusted their savvy and knew that the time spent discussing a possible buy was time lost from the trade. These were known as indies. Most indies came and went like moths chasing flames.

  Some people along the Street thought Nathan Jones Turner was insane to even consider offering traders the keys to the kingdom. But Thad knew better. Executive status meant faster access to capital. Speed was everything. Every day trades accelerated and rose in size. Going through various levels to gain permission meant losing out to the guy who could do it faster. Thad had lost out too often because his cap was set too low; his cap being how large a buy-sell order he could make without authorization from higher up the food chain. Thad wanted direct access to major funds. He wanted his name on the line and his deals to shake the Street. Gaining that clout was worth any price. Even enduring the straitjacket life of Aiden. For a while.

  Thad Dorsett had come out of nowhere. That was how Thad described growing up in a suburb of Gary, Indiana. Son of a pastor and a doting mother, he had been trouble since before he could talk. He had more savvy than both parents combined. He understood things they would never grasp and tried hard to ignore. These days, the strongest emotion he felt for his family was impatience.

  But he seldom thought of his family. It was a trait common to the trader breed. Whenever someone in the bank asked where he was from, Thad instantly knew he or she didn’t trade. For a trader
, the only personal history that mattered was the guy’s last deal.

  His parents would have loved Aiden, though. It had all the charm of a church picnic and about as much excitement. People around here lived life at one-quarter speed. He was being driven nuts on a daily basis.

  Which was why he did not mind this present assignment. Not in the least.

  At a quarter to one in the morning, Aiden’s streets were as dead as yesterday’s trade. Thad passed a patrol car and saw the cop’s head propped on the backrest. Thad imagined he could even hear the snores. No question, this job would be a snooze.

  Finding the doctor’s address had proved harder than Thad had expected. Buddy’s secretary had been no help at all, giving him a hard stare and demanding to know why Thad was asking for the doctor’s name. Because, he had said, trying for nice, I need to complete records for the home office. Lorraine had looked at him standing there and said in a cold voice, “Then you’ll just have to wait until he’s back, won’t you?” She had even taken her organizer home with her that evening. No question, Thad thought to himself as he scouted the empty night, she was definitely another on the way out.

  Because of Lorraine’s suspicions, Thad had been forced to spend the afternoon calling all the town’s doctors. He had repeated a dozen times or so how he needed to make a follow-up appointment for Buddy Korda. He had known of the doctor’s visit the morning of their argument and had seen Buddy clutching his chest for a couple of weeks up to the start of this latest mess. Which was why he was going to all this trouble. He had a hunch, nothing more. But traders learned to follow hunches. Good traders were known for the quality of their gut feelings.

  Thad pulled into the parking lot and resisted the urge to blow the horn to see if he could maybe add a little risk to the exercise. He pulled his tools from the trunk and sauntered across the lot, feeling like the real Thad Dorsett was being released. The tiger unchained. He knew what he wanted for this. He could even see himself making the request. No, not a request. A payback.