Part 5 (2/2)
Bob built on that. ”My person said the angel said *Jesus' was coming.”
Suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, Brett Henchle spoke up. ”That's what an angel said to me!”
Everyone's head turned so quickly I thought I heard some neck joints crack.
”You saw something?” Sid asked.
”A hitchhiker,” said Brett. He quickly recounted the story and then said, ”So there's one more side to this. It might not be G.o.d or the devil or myth. It might be some clever huckster moving in on the town, and he might have some friends in on this with him. Now I'm not here to downplay anyone's religion, but I'm not looking for some heavenly vision here, I'm looking for a suspect. You tell the people in your churches that if anyone sees these guys again, I'd like to know about it.” He rose from the table. ”Thanks for letting me sit in. It was interesting.” Then he walked out, his boots clunking on the linoleum in the hall, his portable radio hissing as he clicked it on.
”If Jesus shows up, then we'll really have something to talk about,” I said.
Silence.
”Well, if I may change the subject,” said Bob Fisher. ”As most of you know, we're having a week-long revival with Everett Fudd. We expect the Lord to do some great things and we'd appreciate it if you'd pa.s.s the word around.”
”What about the softball team?” asked Paul. ”When does that start?”
EVERYTHING WENT WRONG on the way home. Kyle, emotionally wounded, kept bleeding all over me and making it sound like my fault, and I was sour and brooding about a conversation I'd just had with Bob Fisher.
”You just sat there!” Kyle huffed as we drove across town. ”These are pastors, ministers, people answerable to the Lord for how they lead their flocks and they get off on this stupid, wishy-washy, tolerance stuff-that's Morgan Elliott's bag, right? She and that Burton what's-his-face. She's some kind of liberal, feminist, radical, politically correct female pastor type, and all the men in there don't want to stand up to her, right?”
”She's a widow, and she made sense.”
”Not if she thinks the truth doesn't matter!”
”I was talking about the people-having-needs thing. She's concerned about people, and I think that's commendable.”
”At the expense of the truth?”
”That's an entirely different issue.”
He really turned on me. ”It should bother you!”
I shrugged. ”I've already been bothered.”
He shook his head in dismay and disappointment. ”Something's happened to you, Travis.”
I muttered, ”Sure it has.”
”What'd you say?”
”Nothing.”
”And who in the world is that Armond Harrison character?”
”He's a cult leader.”
Kyle checked for traffic, jammed on the brakes, and pulled over. ”What?”
I did not want to go into it. I didn't have to go into it. I don't know why I did go into it. ”He came out here from Michigan with about thirty followers, and they have their meetings in his house over on Maple Street. Some of them work in town; I think a few commute to Spokane. They're just average, hard-working people.”
”But they're a cult?”
I ran down the list-an old, wrinkled list ingrained in my mind through months of public and private discussion, debate, accusation, counteraccusation, and vitriol. It was a list peeled off a can of worms, and I would have loved to forget it. ”The Apostolic Brethren deny the deity of Christ, don't know diddly-squat about atonement or salvation, and think they're all going to be christs someday because Jesus was just one of many *christs' one of many *sons' of G.o.d. They're into pop psychology-you know, deep meanings behind bodily excretions and private body parts and whether or not your mother breast-fed you. They consider the whole church one big extended family, so they move the kids around from family to family wherever Armond wants them to go. Armond usually requires the young women to live with him for a while so he can teach them about s.e.x-whatever his view of it is, anyway. They, uh, they do things.” I wanted to cut this short. ”That's about the gist of it.”
Kyle's grip on the steering wheel was so tight I thought he'd bend it. ”And he's on the ministerial?”
”You have eyes.”
”Why isn't anything done about it?”
”Something was done about it.”
”But he's still there!”
”End of story.”
”But he's a heretic! He's a pervert!”
”n.o.body's asking you.”
He yelled at me. ”What?”
I tried to explain, even though I was pretty sure it wouldn't do much good. ”Kyle, in the long, drawn-out scope of things, it's really none of your business what the Apostolic Brethren do and believe. You can preach the truth just as G.o.d called you to do, but what Armond and his bunch choose to believe is up to them and you're better off just leaving them alone. If you don't believe me, just try to break up their little church. See how far you get. After you fall flat on your face, you can thank G.o.d you live in a country where heretics like Armond Harrison can still roam free, because his freedom is your freedom.”
Kyle shook his head. ”I can't . . . I can't be on this ministerial!”
”Oh, you'll break their hearts.”
”Travis, you're talking like you're in agreement with all this!”
I did not need or desire this conversation. I was looking at the door handle, seriously thinking of bailing out of the car. ”Not in agreement. Just wiser, that's all. We did talk about that before we went in, remember?”
”So you just sit and let people like that on the ministerial? You just sit and let me do all the fighting, all by myself? You let me walk right into that wolf pack and don't lift a finger to defend the truth, to help me out?”
”I warned you.”
He sighed a deep sigh, shook his head, and reiterated, ”Something's happened to you, Travis. I mean, the things I used to hear about you, the great spiritual warrior you used to be. You need to come back to the Lord, Travis. You need to get right with G.o.d.”
I grabbed the door handle and just about tore it off. ”See you around.”
”What are you doing?”
I flung the door open and practically leaped out. ”The ride's over.” Kyle leaned over, calling to me. ”Travis, I'm just trying to help you. You're heading down the wrong road.”
I was already walking. ”I know my way home, Kyle!”
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