Concerto for Flute and Orchestra

improved a bit. If anyone thinks he stands, let him beware lest he fall, he
thought. Maybe it was a case of Winters not having been alert.
"Oh," he said out loud, "I was under the impression that it was a
Lutherite group meeting in that church because they didn't have their own
building. I must have been given the wrong information." He shrugged, took
a mouthful of water and swallowed it, and changed the subject. "So, you're
an Elder there. Who's your pastor, Mr. Winters?"
"We don't have a minister at the moment. The last one was kicked out in
disgrace," the businessman answered, grimacing, "We haven't started
looking for a replacement yet."
"Oh, you're going to be looking for a pastor, are you? That's interesting,
now. I've just met one who was without a job—surprising, really, for he
struck me as being a man after God's heart, you know, like King David."
"Did he tell you he was looking for another position?" Winters asked
almost eagerly.
Carl wondered at the man's reaction. It would seem that he missed
having a pastor over him. "No, he didn't actually say that. Perhaps he's
having a break."
"Did he give you his name?"
"Yes. Henry Smith."
Winters was caught completely off-guard, and the mention of his pastor's
name made all the colour drain out of his face and rendered him speechless.
Carl watched his reaction with interest, but didn't comment. Winters was
quite at a loss. He glanced at his glass. It was empty. "Uh... Excuse me," he
muttered, "I'll just get myself another drink..."
He got up from the table and walked slowly to the bar, his shoulders
drooping. Carl watched him sadly, then drained his glass of water, got up
from his seat, and walked out of the pub.

!!!

"Where did you go?" Emma asked.

"Not very far, actually," Carl replied, "There was a sort of garden next to
the place, like a little park, with two or three benches under the trees. I went
in there and sat down where I could just see the front of the pub but I didn't
stand out because I was in the shade. After a couple of minutes Mr. Winters
came out, looking flustered, glanced right and left, shrugged, and went back
inside. After about fifteen minutes he came out again, hailed a taxi, and left.
I got up, then, and walked back to Joel's coffee shop."

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 CHAPTER 8

That evening Carl finally did have tea at Henry's house. The two men
took their leave of Alice and Joel and drove away in Henry's car, stopping on
the way to his home to buy some take-away food from a local restaurant.
"Do you mind eating in the kitchen?" Henry asked as they went into the
house, "Though I could clear the table in here if you prefer."
"The kitchen's fine," Carl replied, "You don't want to mess up your work.
By the way, I did notice your chemistry tomes there on the table. Are you
thinking of going back to research?"
Henry put the parcels of food on the kitchen table as he answered. "I was
toying with the idea..." he said, then looked at Carl curiously. "Did you
remem— Uh, how do you know I was in research? Oh, Alice and Dad
would've told you, of course!"
"Yes, Alice told me you'd been an industrial chemist," Carl confirmed, "I'd
been wondering yesterday about the titles of your books."
Henry got out plates and cutlery while Carl opened up the parcels. They
sat down to eat and Henry gave thanks to God. As they ate their meal he
told Carl about what had happened in the coffee shop after he had left.
"After Alice had started us off with that first hymn," he said, "well, we just
went on for ages, singing to the Lord together as we hadn't done for months.
Dad came in and joined us—I suppose that must have been just after you
left, since you heard us start singing. After a long while we stopped singing,
and people just started praying again, without anyone actually suggesting it,
and when that stopped, everyone just started talking to each other and it
was like a big family reunion. Dad said he'd make us all some afternoon tea,
and several people went to give him a hand. All of those people, each one of
them, came up to me at some point and assured me again that they'd
forgiven me and asked me to please remain as their pastor." He looked
happily at Carl. "I guess I can put my chemistry books away again."
"It looks like it," Carl said, "Thanks be to God. It's wonderful news." He
paused and sighed. "I'm sure you realize that there's a long way to go yet,
though, don't you?" he said, "Greenstone and his bunch are still around,
and they're hardly likely to give up without a fight. Believe me, they haven't
finished with you yet!"
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Henry replied softly, "On the other hand, we're
wise to them now, thanks to you."
"Not thanks to me, mate, thanks to God! Remember that it was
Greenstone himself who made the first mistake that gave them away! And it
was God's mercy that allowed it to happen that way and that allowed me to
be involved."
"True. Well, it is God's mercy that's brought you here, anyway. I haven't
forgotten that you stopped me from jumping into that lake..."

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Carl didn't respond, and they ate without talking for a few minutes. Then
Henry looked up at Carl as he served them some water. "Where did you go
this afternoon when you left Dad's shop?" he asked.
"Ostensibly for a walk. At least, that had been my intention. However, I
ended up stepping into a pub for a drink. I was invited to by someone who
wanted to talk about my 'sermon' as he called it."
"Oh. Who was it?"
"Someone you know—James Winters."
Henry was astounded. "James?! What did he want?" he exclaimed.
Carl told him about his conversation with the Elder, and as he spoke,
Henry looked increasingly dismayed. When he finished, Henry sat in silence,
staring at his plate. "He used to be one of our most steadfast people," he
said at last, "James was the man people went to when they had problems
and I wasn't available, or often, even when I was. But that was almost two
years ago, now." He sighed, and with his finger he traced patterns on the
table from a small puddle of water next to his glass. "I trusted him
completely. I guess that's why I didn't give it a second thought when he
suggested, along with Alf and Geoff—of whom we should have been wary—
that we start studying those other books in the study groups. How could I
have been so blind?"
"You took your eyes off Jesus Christ, Henry," Carl said gently, "But now
you're looking to Him again, so you'll see clearly. Just don't look away
again!"
Henry rested his chin on his hand and looked at him with interest. "How
old were you when you turned to Christ, Carl?" he asked.
"Forty. Why?"
"How in the world did you cope with life without Him?"
"I didn't. As I've mentioned to you, there came a point—two, in fact—
when suicide looked like the only choice for me. I was a mess. Emma could
tell you."
"Emma?"
"My wife."
"Oh, yes. She'd been your counsellee, isn't that right?"
"That's right. She saw me at my worst. Life without Jesus Christ is utter
darkness. Only, that's all I knew, so I didn't even notice it was dark—not
until I was counselling Chester Brown, and then Emma."
Henry sat up straight. "Chester Brown," he said, "You counselled Chester
Brown?"
"Yes. It was horrible, but he didn't budge. His faith was rock-steady. He
lives in Kawanyama now. He'd been an Elder in Emma's brother's church.
Do you know him?"
"Yes. He and Dad were good friends for many years when we lived up in
the Capital District. We lost touch with him when Denson came to power."
"He's a very special friend to us, now. Emma calls him 'Uncle Chester'—
she's known him since she was a child. He gave me much good advice about
being a husband—wisdom from his forty-plus years of happy marriage. His
wife suffered the same fate as yours, you know, only it was cancer that she

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had and that they refused to treat because she was a Christian. He nursed
her right to the end. And two years after, he ended up in the Counselling
Institute. The same man who helped Emma and me escape from the
Protectorate also helped him."
"So that's two of your former counsellees who are now your friends, Carl,"
Henry said, "That's rather remarkable, considering how Counsellors treated
their counsellees."
"That's also God's mercy, Henry," Carl said quietly, "You know, it was the
day I asked Emma to marry me that I met Chester again and he forgave me
for all I'd put him through. And by that evening he was already treating me
like a son..." He sighed. "I'm still in awe when I think of how good God has
been to me despite all those years when I hated Him."
"That's the God who rules over all creation and whom we serve..." Henry
said softly. After a moment's pause, he asked Carl, "Would you have an
address or a Telemail code for Chester Brown? I'm sure Dad would love to
get in touch with him again."
"I've got both. Get me some paper and I'll write them down for you."
Henry rummaged through a drawer and found a sheet of paper. He
handed it to Carl, who wrote the information down, then gave the paper
back to him.
"Thanks," Henry said, "Chester Brown was also an Elder... But he
remains firmly in the faith..." He looked at Carl. "Do you think there's any
hope for James, Carl? Any hope of his turning back to the right path, I
mean."
"We can't afford to give up on anyone, Henry, but at the same time we've
got to be careful that we don't become sentimental and confuse that with
loving. Let's ask the Lord for wisdom in dealing with James."
Together they prayed for James Winters and his family, and for wisdom
for themselves in relating to the Elder.
"Would you like a cup of tea or something like that before I take you back
to your truck?" Henry asked.
"Yes, please," Carl replied, "I'll help you wash up, too."
"Oh, never mind that, I'll just put it all in the dishwasher," Henry said as
he filled the kettle and switched it on, "What are you planning to do
tomorrow?"
"I thought I might drop in at the City Council Chambers for a look-see. A
little survey of their public records might give us some useful information.
By the way, you haven't mentioned the other Elders in your church. Did all
three of the Elders go off the straight and narrow?"
"Yes. Three of them—James, Matt Lee, and Tom Broker. I suppose they're
still Elders. They kicked me out, after all. As far as I know, they're all in with
Alf Greenstone, although I'm never sure these days where Matt stands."
Henry made some tea and they drank it hurriedly, because Carl had seen
the time and pointed out that an early bedtime might be a good idea.
As soon as they had finished they left for the caravan park. Once again
they sang hymns as they drove through the town. Henry indicated the City

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Council building as they drove past it. "Quite a landmark, that place," he
said, "The Protectioners used it as their headquarters, too."
At the caravan park, Carl found a note tucked in the door of his camper.
He opened it and read it. "They tell me my booking has run out and I have to
move the truck out to free up the space for the next occupant!" he
exclaimed, "But I booked until the end of next week!"
They hastened to the manager's office to find out what was going on. The
woman there was very apologetic but she insisted that Carl had to leave, his
booking had lapsed. Could he please pay his bill and move his camper truck
out?
Carl gave her the money and they went back to the truck. "Now what?"
he muttered, "Is there another caravan park here, Henry?"
"Yes, but it belongs to the same bloke—I have a feeling they'd be 'full up'
if you went there."
"Who's the owner?"
"The mayor, Lancaster," Henry replied, "Seems to own everything, as I've
told you before. I'm beginning to think he might be a Protectioner type, too."
Little do you know, Carl thought to himself.
"Tell you what," Henry said brightly, "Why don't you drive your truck over
to my place and park it on my driveway? Then you can take your pick as to
whether you sleep there or in the house. Anyway, we can hook your camper
up to my power board."
Carl accepted his offer, and within a few minutes they were driving back
to Henry's house, where Carl drove the camper onto the driveway. He
decided that he would continue to sleep in the camper, "just in case."

!!!

At dawn the next morning Carl went for a walk along Wattle Street,
ending up at the shopping centre. He mulled over the incidents of the day
before, and wondered where Lancaster fitted into it all. Why were the
Protectioners so intent on destroying the churches? He knew they were
vehemently anti-Christian, but he wondered at this obviously well-planned
and meticulous eroding—at least until Greenstone's faux pas—of the church
in Goldridge. And he was puzzled at how easily just about all the believers
had happily walked into the trap. He had a fleeting recollection of the
church in Warden, and its dangerous comfort. But surely the church in
Goldridge couldn't have become that laid-back in such a short time, so soon
after the end of the Protectorate? Or could it...? It certainly appeared to have
done so.
He sat down on a bench in the courtyard between the shops. His heart
was heavy as he thought of the division that had existed among the believers
of different denominations so soon after the persecution which had united
them had stopped. He compared the situation there to that in Apmirra. In
the capital, where persecution had been most intense, the pastors of the
various churches had categorically refused to return to denominationalism.

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In fact, they had decided, with the agreement of their flocks, to continue
meeting in small groups as house churches. They would all get together in
larger meetings now and then, in one of the parks, and the pastors got
together regularly for fellowship and mutual encouragement and
accountability, but otherwise the house churches remained small and
strong. From what Carl had seen in his travels, this pattern was repeated in
several other towns throughout Pamanyungan.
His thoughts turned to the Protectioners. They seemed not to have been
daunted by their defeat a few years back. Lancaster, now—how had he been
released from prison so soon? Was ex-President Denson free, too? And
where had Lancaster got his wealth? He seemed to own half of Goldridge!
Carl recalled the luxurious lifestyle, even during the Protectorate, of the man
who had once been his boss. I suppose, he concluded to himself, that when
you have no scruples you don't worry about where your money comes
from...
He looked around at the small shops around the courtyard. They were
still shut, of course, all except for a small bakery which was open for
breakfast. He decided to go in and get a cup of coffee and talk to anyone who
might be there.
The bakery smelled richly of freshly-brewed coffee and newly-baked
bread, and the man behind the counter greeted him cheerily as he walked
in. He was a tall, heavy-set man with thick, wavy, black hair and a matching
moustache, who would have looked at home on a football field or lifting
weights in a sports hall. His skin was so brown that it made the white of his
shirt and apron appear to shine like a beacon amid the equally dark
furnishings of the bakery around him. He was busy setting out loaves of
bread on the shelves lining the wall behind the counter. There were four
other customers in the shop, two men dressed in work clothes and a couple
of dark-haired schoolchildren in their mid-teens, a boy and a girl. They
occupied two of the four tables in the shop.
"Good morning," Carl greeted the man behind the counter, "Could I have
a cup of coffee and a bun, please?"
"A cup of coffee and a bun? Yes, in a tick," the man smiled, waving
towards the tables, "Have a seat. I'll bring it to your table."
Carl went to sit at a small table near the back wall. The two workers got
up, paid for their meal, and left. The teenagers were absorbed in some
private joke as they toyed with the milk shakes on the table between them.
The man who ran the shop brought over a tray with two mugs of coffee and
a plate holding two cinnamon rolls. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Not in the least," Carl replied with a smile, "I don't especially enjoy
eating by myself."
The man put the tray on the table and sat down. "It's nice to have
company for breakfast once in a while," he said, "The kids don't always want
their dad along." He laughed. "My name's Kevin. Food's on me, okay?"
"Thank you. My name's Carl. I'm a visitor here."
"Yeah, I guessed as much. You never see the locals wandering around the
streets on foot, especially not at this time of day."

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"Don't people here do much walking?"

"Nah... No time for it. Too busy. Have to rush here, rush there, all day. I
noticed you, yesterday. No, the day before. Yeah, Monday afternoon, it was. I
live across from Good Shepherd. I'd gone home to pick up a few things and I
noticed you because you came along walking and you were wearing this
same jacket you've got on now. And then you walked up to the church where
all those other folk were dressed like they were going to a do at Government
House! I was surprised when they pulled you into the church, though!"
"I was the speaker for their meeting," Carl said with a smile.
"What? You mean they let you stand up and speak to them? Dressed like
that? A non-conformist like you?"
Carl was mildly surprised at being so aptly classified by a complete
stranger. He grinned. "Why do you call me a non-conformist?" he asked.
"Come on!" Kevin exclaimed, "It's obvious—stands out a mile! You go to
that meeting dressed like you're going to the picnic races—and you're their
guest speaker, yet! You walk everywhere. You wear a wedding band—nobody
does, these days, except for old-fashioned sentimentalists like me. And you,
obviously. You're happy to let me sit and have breakfast with you even
though you don't know me from Adam..."
Carl laughed. "Let me add to that list, Kevin. I play the flute; I like
watching the sunrise; I enjoy reading poetry aloud with my wife; and I'm a
Christian. Does that confirm your opinion of me?"
"Even better than I thought!" Kevin picked up the plate of rolls and
offered one to Carl. "Here. Have a cinnamon bun. My wife bakes a fresh lot
every morning—the best in town, probably in the whole country!"
Carl took one and broke it open to spread butter on it. He took a bite and
nodded approvingly. "It's excellent," he said to Kevin, "Congratulations to
your wife."
"Thanks. Yeah, she's a good cook, and she enjoys doing it, what's more.
She helps me in here at tea-time when there's a lot of customers. You must
come and meet her sometime."
Kevin paused to take a bite of his roll and a mouthful of coffee. He sat
sideways on his chair and leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs
out in front of him. "Well, now, Carl—have I got your name right?—what
brings you to Goldridge?" he asked.
"I told you. I was the speaker for that church meeting on Monday
afternoon."
"Oh, yeah." Kevin slapped his knee. He looked keenly at Carl. "So, you're
a minister, are you? Did they ask you to replace poor Henry Smith?"
"No. To both questions," Carl replied, "I suppose you could call me an
evangelist—that's what most people call me, anyway."
"An evangelist. What's that?" Kevin asked.
"Someone who tells people about Jesus Christ and what He has done for
us."
"Ah! Same sort of thing Henry does, just with a different name."
"Has Henry told you about Christ?"
"Mmmm. Several times. Not my thing, Carl—no offense meant."

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"No offense taken, but I'll be praying for you."

Kevin laughed happily. "No offense taken. I don't mind," he said.
Carl smiled at him. He liked this man, and silently vowed to pray for him
daily, that the Lord would get through to him. It was so often more difficult
for "good" people to realize their need to be reconciled to God. He wondered
what people like Kevin thought of what had happened to Henry. He decided
to explore the subject since Kevin had introduced it. "Going back to Henry
Smith," he said, "I wouldn't have thought, myself, that he needed replacing.
Why are they wanting a new minister?"
"Well, I guess, as you're a visitor, you wouldn't have heard of what
happened with Henry," Kevin explained, "It was all over the front page of the
local rag. He was involved in some scandal with some woman, and the
Elders of the church kicked him out about a week ago. Poor bloke—he was
pretty broken up, and you wouldn't believe what some of those people from
his church did! They spat at him, in public! I saw them do it right here—in
that courtyard! Makes me feel like spitting in disgust, just thinking of it! And
they call themselves Christians!" Kevin grimaced—he didn't have a high
opinion of the local believers.
"Henry Smith is a good man," Carl, gazing unseeingly at the wall beyond
Kevin, said quietly, "He loves Jesus Christ and he loves the people in his
church." He shifted his look to Kevin. "Why do you think they set him up?"
Kevin gazed curiously at Carl for a long while, sipping his coffee slowly.
Finally he put his cup down. "What makes you think he was set up?" he
asked cautiously.
"He's not the sort of man who'd go chasing after loose women."
"You're certainly right, there!" Kevin exclaimed, slapping his leg again,
"You're certainly right! A very upright and decent man, was Henry. I admit I
found it hard to believe when I saw the story in the paper—but apparently
it's all true!" He looked at Carl and raised his eyebrows.
"I'm not disputing the truth of it—Henry himself told me it's true—I'm
just wondering why he was set up. Who wanted his downfall?"
"Henry told you—you know him, then?"
Carl nodded. "I'm staying with him," he said.
Kevin didn't seem surprised to hear that. He nodded approvingly. "Who'd
want his downfall, you ask," he said pensively, "Well, I suppose the same lot
who caused the downfall of all the others. The other ministers, I mean." He
stood up suddenly. "Excuse me, must get these two off to school or they'll be
late." He went over to the teenagers, who were just finishing their breakfast.
"C'mon you two," he said loudly, "Off to school, or you'll be in trouble!"
The boy and girl got up, mumbling something, picked up their bags, and
reluctantly went out the door.
"See you at lunchtime!" Kevin called after them, and they turned and
waved to him.
He came back to his seat. "Ah, kids!" he said, winking at Carl, "If you
don't keep on top of them they'd daydream their lives away, and then they
think they've got all the answers to the world's problems!"
"Are they your children?" Carl asked him.

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"Yeah. Luke and Lynn. Fifteen. Twins. Not bad kids, really. Just, like I
said, you have to keep on top of them."
"Now that's interesting. We've got twins too, a girl and a boy, four years
old," Carl said, "Helen and Andrew."
"They here with you?"
"No, Helen was sick so my wife stayed home with the twins in Apmirra.
But normally we all travel together. We have a camper truck."
"And you're all Christians?"
"Yes, we are. That is, we are followers of Jesus Christ. We don't belong to
a particular denomination. Most of the time we travel around the country in
our truck and I preach the Gospel in different places."
"Yes—definitely non-conformist, you are! I was right. Soon as I set eyes
on you, I could tell!"
Carl smiled. "I've always been considered odd. I'm used to it," he said
quietly.
"Just as well, too. Now, you were asking about Henry... Yeah, like I said,
there's a mob here who seem to make it their business to mess up the
church. Those two at Good Shepherd, for instance—the doctor and the
printer—I reckon they're part of the trouble. That was a nice, friendly church
until they came along. And all the other churches—one after the other, they
fell apart. It all started after that bloke Lancaster became mayor, you know.
Never trusted the man. Bet he's got something to do with it. You heard of
him? Ross Lancaster?"
"I've come across him."
"His name's in the paper all the time. Richest bloke in town. Don't know
where it comes from, though. Owns half the place. Or at least, his friends
do."
"It doesn't sound to me like you're a friend of his," Carl commented,
smiling.
"Not in a million years, mate! I wouldn't trust that man for a second! The
people in this town have gone barmy—beats me how they could've elected
him mayor. I'll tell you what—I sure didn't vote for him!"
"You agree, then, that Henry was set up?" Carl asked.
"Anyone who knows Henry Smith and who's fair dinkum knows he has to
have got caught in a trap," Kevin said firmly, "Like you said, he's not that
kind of bloke." He looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Odd, though, isn't it,
that all those folk in his church turned against him straight away—they
didn't even wait to see what he had to say for himself. Only one or two didn't
give up on him." He turned to Carl. "That old lady, for instance. She was
mad as anything when the Elders told him to leave. They told her she could
leave too if she wanted." He sat up and slapped his leg. "Wow, mate! You
wouldn't believe the fights I've seen among the church people in this town!"
Carl shook his head slowly. "Right now I'd believe almost anything, Kevin.
In the two days I've been here I've seen and heard some astonishing
things..." He looked at his watch. "I'd better go. Henry'll be wondering where
I've got to." He stood up. "Thanks for the coffee and roll, Kevin. I'll
recommend your place—and I'll come back again."

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"Well, Carl, thanks for the natter." Kevin stood up and grinned. "Take
care. See you soon." He patted Carl on the shoulder, then picked up the tray
and took it back to the counter as Carl went out.
He walked back up the street to Henry's house, where he found he hadn't
even been missed as Henry had only just got up. The pastor offered him
some breakfast, and he accepted, more for the sake of Henry's morale than
because he was still hungry. Kevin's cinnamon roll had been quite filling.
"I've got to meet with some of the church folk this morning," Henry
reminded him, "or I'd come along with you to the Council Chambers."
"I'll be right," Carl said, "If you can just drop me off near there I'd
appreciate it, though."
"No problem, it's pretty much on my way. How long d'you reckon you'll be
there?"
"An hour, maybe two? I'm not sure. Depends on what I find."
"Let's meet for lunch at Dad's, then, around midday. That okay with
you?"
"Fine. Thanks very much."
When they had eaten, Henry drove Carl to the centre of Goldridge and
dropped him off at the shopping centre. Then he headed away to his meeting
as Carl walked off towards the Council Chambers.

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