Hidden Pearl (15 page)

"I don’t really know." Soul spread his arms wide. "I'm not a practical person. Actually Lane worked more with one of my men. I believe you met him--George. He will probably know what you need."

"All right." He gave a few moments before he replied as though he was considering the offer. "I'll stay here at least tonight. It would be more convenient. Right now, I'd like to walk around the site again."

"It is pouring outside," Soul said, stating the obvious.

S.T. grinned. "If I never went out in the rain, my jobs would dry up quicker than the puddles left by that rain."

"Of course." Soul smiled again. "Well, unfortunately I can't go back out with you as I have other commitments, George, however, will accompany you." Soul rang a buzzer, making it obvious to S.T. that he wouldn't be wandering anywhere by himself, not if Soul knew about it at least. Well, there was always after the others had gone to bed.

As he followed the ever-present George back out of the room, he took a quick look at the lock to the study.  It didn't look as though it would be hard to open. Finding what was on that computer would take longer. He doubted anything important was stored on the disks alongside it. What about jump drives? It would take time that Soul wouldn’t be giving him.

Outside the rain was coming down steadily. "You don't have to come with me, George," S.T. said, goading George a little as he knew the man would not let him go anywhere without being at his side.

"No problem," George said affably. "What did you want to see?"

"Let’s go back to the proposed site. Your boss said you'd know if there'd been soil studies done."

"I will find out," George said, keeping in step with S.T.'s long legs. Although George had appeared to be a bland man, not given to thoughts of his own, out here, away from Soul, he seemed to change, his expression sharpened.

"We will either have to have them done or find ones Lane might’ve done before I seriously consider taking this job."

"Why?"

"Some locations can’t support big buildings. Can't build anything on sand."

George gave him a sharp look. "I'm sure this site is acceptable."

"It wouldn't be your reputation on the line if it wasn't."

“I thought you were a professional. Can’t you tell?”

S.T. smiled. “You’re kidding right? You think I have x-ray eyes that can look into the soil for clay layers, possible fault lines.” He shook his head. “I need those surveys.”

"You mean right away?"

"If you have them. If you don’t, it could take a weeks, even if you can afford to get someone to do a rush study. You could head for Salem, look at what is out there; but that takes time and your boss seemed to be in a hurry for this to get started."

George sucked in a breath that could have meant irritation. “We are behind as it is. We'd hoped to be in the building by summer."

"Not a chance, but then you know that."

"I do?"

"Lane didn't promise that, did he?"

George shook his head. "Mr. Brown promised nothing."

S.T. wondered if the tone had reflected a touch of irony. George put on an impassive mask to hide his thoughts. Did he ever reveal them? He wondered how tough that mask was.

"How long you been with the rev?" S.T. asked, trying to deliberately use a term that might offend George. Nothing like irritating a man to find out what he’s really thinking and break past preset plans.

"Many years."

"Never done anything on your own, huh?"

"I believe in what he is doing. Why would I leave it?" That definitely sounded ironic.

"If you have never been anywhere else, how do you know something better is around the corner? There’s a whole world out there, George."

George’s face was carefully expressionless. "It has been very good to be with a man like Reverend Soul. He is a saint."

S.T. definitely heard the sarcasm in his tone, but it didn’t show on his face. "What has he done for you?"

“Why helped me see the error of my ways, of course.” His eyes narrowed. “You could benefit from his teachings yourself."

"Now, we barely know each other, George. How could you know I have any errors in my ways?" S.T. asked, with a mocking laugh.

George shot him a quick look. "Every man has some errors. Man must get control of himself."

"Control of himself or be controlled?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Never mind." S.T. walked over the cleared area designated for the future church. Only a little grass had grown back. "Clay under this?" he asked, digging at the ground with the toe of his boot.

"I wouldn’t know, Sir."

"Well let’s find out right now. Get me a shovel. We can get an idea."

"Right now? In the rain?"

"What's it with you people and rain? You all come from California or something?"

"Riverside," George said, then snapped his mouth shut.

"Was that supposed to be a secret?”

"Of course not," George said, still acting flustered by the dual commands he'd received.

"How many years you folks been up here?" S.T asked, determined to probe until he was told to shut up.

George considered before responding. "Why?"

"You'd think you'd have gotten over that thing about rain." He smiled crookedly. "Way you go about hiding stuff, like how long you been up here, man'd think you were hiding something more."

George glared at him. "We're hiding nothing. We've been in this area for five years. Three years on this land."

“Well, whether you like rain or not, I need a shovel.”  He folded his hands over his chest.

"Right now?" George when he was flustered didn’t respond well.

“Yep.”

“This is ridiculous. You can’t dig yourself."

S.T. gave him the wolfish smile that had always caused the men he employed to jump to attention. "Just get the shovel, George." He then waited while George pondered his options. There was no way George could demand he accompany him without it seeming suspicious, nor could he refuse to get him the shovel. One way or another, S.T. would have a few moments to look around the site.

George headed off at a quick trot, obviously deciding the less time S.T. was on the loose the better. S.T. stalked around the perimeter of the site, then into the nearby brush. He looked at the ground, most especially any newly broken soil. Rain was running down his face, soaking his pants and the shirt under the leather jacket, but he didn't care. All too soon George would be back.

He looked for a test site nearby. Although the soil had been disturbed several places, there were no pits left open for determining water percolation. Lane couldn’t have had much time on this project. Did it have anything to do with his death?

All too soon George was back with the shovel. Making no secret of his irritation now, he shoved it toward S.T.  Resentment was preferable to a vacuum so far as S.T. was concerned.

He dug the shovel into the dirt, working a sizeable hole before he stepped back out. "Like I guessed. Slick clay under the surface, no rock to anchor to, no drainage. This site won't work."  It wasn't strictly speaking true, but he was betting George wouldn't know that.

"That's not possible," George said through his teeth. "It's been chosen."

“By Lane?”

George didn’t like that question either.

S.T. shrugged, water running down his neck, his hair soaking wet, his boots now caked with mud. "How would you get a septic permit? You would need bathrooms, wouldn’t you?"

"We'll get whatever we have to."

"My bet is this site won’t pass a percolation test. You won’t get any building permit up here. How would you anchor your foundation? We do get earthquakes in Oregon." He shook his head. "Let's look around for other possible sites."

George almost literally jumped into his path. "Hardly!" When he saw the smile on S.T.'s face, he said, "We need to talk to Reverend Soul first. I'm sure we can find some way to work the problems out. If the Lord wants it here, it will be built here."

"The sky pilot get messages from God, direct like?" S.T. drawled.

"Sky pilot?" George asked frowning.

"Western term for pastor."

"Oh."

"Hey, George, don't look so worried. We'll find a better place to build." He pointed toward the hill behind the compound. "How about up there?" he asked innocently

George was growing more and more perturbed. “Definitely not up there."

"The view would be inspirational; the roundness of the hill seems promising. We could incorporate its shape into the design. Let's just walk up and take a look."

"Not without permission," George said stubbornly, moving to block S.T.’s way.

S.T. had no intention of pushing George aside but he now knew where he’d be looking when he got a chance. What was on that hill?

#

After dinner, a meal S.T. ate at a small table with Soul, George and a woman called Sharon as his only companions, Soul suggested S.T. come to one of their healing rituals.

"What's that?" S.T. asked sipping the herbal tea he'd finally yielded to. He didn't like it and it did nothing for his caffeine withdrawal headache, but it had been the only thing offered. Juice was evidently available in the mornings only. Even water wasn’t offered and when requested didn’t appear.

"We meet in small groups, where various spiritual issues are discussed."

S.T. looked around the room and guessed maybe a hundred people had driven up to dine at the compound this evening. He knew by now that only a fraction of those lived on the site. Going to some sort of ritual had an advantage because maybe he'd get to talk to someone outside Soul's careful control.

"Sounds interesting," S.T. said.

"Wonderful."

Five minutes later S.T. found himself in a covered area behind the building. The floor was of gravel, the area lit with candles, in the center a small bonfire had been lit. Unfortunately for any hope he’d get a chance to speak to someone alone, Soul was leading a group of eight men and seven women.

S.T. was beginning to feel a frustration at the close watch under which he was being kept, at never being able to evade Soul’s company. He had half expected it, but had not realized how much he would dislike it.

Soul looked at him. “We would like it very much if you would participate, Storm Walker, but you are free to simply watch if you prefer. When we finish the ceremony, there will be time for discussion over what we’ve done and what you’ve seen.”

S.T. didn’t the use of his given name and didn’t want to participate but refused to admit even to himself that he was beginning to feel uneasiness, and so he moved into the circle. Soul smiled, increasing S.T.’s sense of discomfort.

Soul raised his hands looking into the darkening sky. “Creator, we ask that you be with us, that you bless this ceremony as you have for so many centuries.” To S.T.’s surprise then, Soul was handed a small, leather skinned drum. He’d seen others like it on the Rez. What kind of service was this going to be?