The Warning (15 page)

When she saw the exit sign, she asked, “Is it the first or second exit we're supposed to take?”

Buddy pulled the papers from his pocket and checked the map. “First.”

She made the turn and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Fine. Drained, but fine.”

“Will you be all right for another talk tonight?”

“I think so.” What had happened in that church flashed clearly before his eyes. “It really felt right back there.”

“It's nice to hear you talk like that. I want you to feel confident about what you are doing.” She stopped at the intersection. “Which way?”

“Right, and then right again at the first light. The hotel should be on our left.”

She checked both ways and pulled into the right lane. “You are God's messenger. You need to grow in confidence in your work and your message.”

Buddy felt a trace of the same resonance he had sensed while up at the podium.
Grow into it
.

“You spoke with such authority up there. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your wife.”

“I know you're not. I felt it too.”

“It's time you accepted the importance of what you're doing and give yourself to it. Fully and without reservation.”

Buddy waited until she had made the turn and pulled into the hotel's front parking area to say, “I'm glad you're here with me, Molly. So very glad.”

There was a message waiting for him to call Alex. He used the mobile phone for the first time as Molly checked them in. The little buttons were unfamiliar and left his fingers seeming too big and clumsy. When Alex answered, Buddy turned his back to the hotel lobby as he raised the phone to his ear. He felt very foolish. “I got your message.”

“The bank called. Some guy by the name of Thaddeus Dorsett. One of those real smarmy voices, fake as white margarine.” Alex snorted. “Sounded like somebody you'd like to shoot on sight.”

“No, Alex.”

“How about we just watch him trip on the rug as he enters the room. Bring him down a few notches.”

“That is not a worthy thought.”

“Well, he said it was urgent. Real urgent. Gave me his home phone, asked you to call as soon as you could.” Alex read off the number, then asked, “Did Clarke tell you about the change of venue for tonight?”

“Yes. Alex, what is this about Agatha paying our bills?”

“Hang on a sec.” The phone was laid down, and Buddy heard the sound of a door being closed. Alex picked up the phone and said, “Okay, now we can talk. It was her idea, Buddy. She came up with it all on her own.”

Molly chose that moment to walk over and say, “The bill's already been taken care of. Do you want to go on to the room?”

Buddy nodded and followed her through the lobby as he said into the phone, “I can't accept this.” Then he had to hit the brakes hard, for Molly turned and gave him a warning look.

“I told her you probably wouldn't like it. She didn't put up the fuss you'd have expected. More like a real wistful hoping.”

Molly asked him, “Is that Alex? Are you talking about Agatha?”

He nodded. Alex continued, “She really wants to do this, Buddy. She said that she'd only be giving the money to God in some other way, that you have a divine message, and that she wants to do as much as she can to help out. A lot of stuff like that. I didn't have the heart to say no. I could have argued with her if she had gotten on her high horse, but not when she is like this. Sounded like she was pleading with me.”

Molly told him, the warning still in her eyes, “Remember what we talked about in front of the church this afternoon? Let people help you, Buddy.”

“It's fine, Alex.”

Alex said, “It is?”

Molly continued, “You're not a banker here. You're not signing papers for other people's time and money. The only debts you have are with God, and those you'll never be able to repay, so you don't need to try.”

He could not resist the desire. Buddy reached over with his free hand and hugged Molly close. He didn't care how silly he looked walking through the hotel lobby talking on the phone and hugging his wife. He said, “Alex, please thank her for me the very best you can.”

“Thad, this is Buddy Korda.”

“Where are you?” The voice was tight, clipped.

“We've just checked into our hotel.”

“We?”

“My wife and I. I'm on my vacation, as you may recall.”

“No, you're not. I know all about your little escapades. So does the home office.”

Molly's antennae must have been up and working, because she turned from her unpacking to walk over and stand by his chair. Buddy glanced her way as he said to the phone, “I see.”

“No, that's your problem, Korda. You don't see at all. This is not some stunt you're going to be able to walk away from and forget. It has seriously damaged your career.”

Buddy could see the manager's face there before him, the yellow eyes, the feral snarl unveiled. “My career?”

“What's left of it. If you want to have any job at all, you'll pack up and head straight home. Do not pass go, do not collect your two hundred dollars for the little talk you
won't
be giving tonight.” The tone hardened to a surly growl. “Not if you want to have a job tomorrow.”

Buddy felt the voice battering him, or at least trying to. Which was a surprise, because he positively loathed confrontation. Yet in this confrontation, which threatened the position he had given his life to, he was able to hold to his calm. “I see.”

“You'd better. That is, if you're the
least
bit interested in holding on to your pension.” A pause, and when Buddy said nothing, Thad continued, “That's right, Korda. There's more than just your own little job at stake here. Think about what you're doing to your family. And your own future security.”

Buddy found himself searching for some sign of panic. His own lack of internal reaction was as bizarre as this conversation. “Well, thank you for calling, Thad.”

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, not taking it in deep, not seeing what this meant.