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Carl wondered vaguely if his sermon would ever get written as he went to
sit in the lounge with his elderly friend. "How did your visit go?" he asked.
"They invited me to stay for lunch..." George replied slowly, his eyes
twinkling as always, "and you know what their cooking's like!"
"Memorable," Carl grinned.
"Ah," George said solemnly, holding up his hand, "but what happened
before lunch was far more memorable, Carl." He smiled broadly.
Wonder on his face, Carl stared at him. He guessed what he was referring
to. "They heard Jesus Christ and they surrenderred to Him..." he said softly.
"Yes," George answered simply.
"Kevin and Silvia, welcome to the ranks of the non-conformists!" Carl
exclaimed happily, jumping up and spreading his arms, "Oh, Lord God our
Father, how wonderful You are!"
"Their children, too," George said, grinning at Carl's reaction.
"The twins? 'You and your household' it always was, in Acts, wasn't it?
Oh, praise God! Praise God!" Carl said, clapping his hands in delight, "Did
you tell Emma?"
"Not yet. Is she out in the camper?"
"Yes, the children are having a nap and she's reading her Bible. Why
don't you go tell her now? She'll be thrilled!"
"Well, let me tell you something else, first," George said seriously.
Carl, sobered by George's tone, sat down again next to him. "What?" he
asked.
"We saw Mr. Hillman—Kevin told me who it was. He drove up to the
church rather abruptly. That is, he was driving fast and he stopped rather
abruptly. He stalked into the church—he seemed to be angry or something—
and a little later on he came out again with Mr. Greenstone—I gather it
was—and they were discussing something heatedly. Greenstone locked the
church and went to his own car, and Hillman to his, and they both drove off
towards town."
"Interesting," Carl commented, "We saw Hillman over at Goldridge Park
this morning." He told George about Rick's encounter with Hillman.
"Well, this would've been after that—it was around quarter to eleven, I'd
say," George said.
"I also finally recognized Hillman," Carl said grimly, "Do you remember
me telling you on the bus that when I met Hillman at the church that first
time I had the feeling I'd met him before?"
"Yes, I remember you saying that. So you had met him, had you?"
"Do you remember us telling you about the Experimental Farm, where
counsellees like Chester and Emma, who refused to change, were taken?"
"Yes, a biological engineering research place, wasn't it? Only you said it
was much worse than that."
"That's right. They used people for their experiments and tests," Carl
said, "Well, I'm pretty sure Hillman is actually Gerard Dillmon, who was the
director of the Farm..."
George's eyebrows went up and he sat up in surprise. "Are you sure?" he
asked.

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"Positive," Carl replied, "I don't know how much you know about Dillmon,
but he was known at the Counselling Institute as 'the man with a heart of
ice'. None of us—and we were a pretty hard-hearted lot—wanted to have
anything to do with him, ever."
"If it really is him, that makes this business even more sinister. You
really are sure?"
"I'm as sure of it as I am that you are George Newman."
"Have you told Henry? He'd be very interested to know."
"I told him when we got home, and he certainly did find it very
interesting, but he didn't say why."
"He told me he thinks he knows what Lancaster and his mob have been
using, and that research on it had been carried out during the Protectorate,
most probably at the Farm."
"Oh, I see... He didn't mention that."
"He doesn't want to talk about it too much until he's told Ron about it."
"Fair enough, we can't be too careful."
George stood up and started to walk around the room slowly. His back
was giving him trouble and he couldn't stay sitting for very long. "Did you
know that Hillman has a practice here as a G.P.?" he asked.
Carl received this information with amazement. "No! You're kidding!" he
exclaimed, slapping his knee. "How did you find that out?"
"Henry knew all along. Hillman was a member of his congregation, after
all. He said he'd never really paid much attention to the fact, though. There
are several doctors at Good Shepherd and one more or less didn't make a
difference as far as the church was concerned. What mattered was their
participation in the life of the church, and Hillman certainly put in his
share, he said."
"I'll say he did," Carl said, grimacing. Then he looked skeptically at
George. "Hillman can't have many patients—he's always wandering around
causing trouble."
"I rang his surgery to make an appointment and his phone recording said
he was on leave..."
"That figures," Carl said, "It's probably a front for something less than
legal. Ron and his men can look into that too, I guess. Our job is to help by
not getting in their way." He stood up and stretched. "Right now, my job is to
get this sermon written, and I'd better get on with it or there will be a long
silence at that meeting on Sunday when it comes time for me to speak."
George laughed. "You do that," he said, "We can't have you tongue-tied at
such a critical time. I'll go tell Emma about the Hastings."
He went out to the camper, and Carl went back to his seat at the dining
table. As he tried to gather his thoughts together, he caught sight of the pile
of scientific journals on the far end of the table. He reached for the topmost
issue and read its name: Biochem. He read the date on the journal, which
was less than two years before, and saw that it was published in
Kawanyama. He glanced at the table of contents and saw that one line of it
had been underlined —"The Effects of Dremasone on Memory Cells". Part of
Henry's investigations, no doubt, he thought. And then he noticed the

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author's name: G. S. Dillmon. Dillmon! He turned to the article and tried to

read it, but by the second paragraph the technical jargon had lost him. He
put the journal back on top of the pile and turned his thoughts back to the
job at hand, making a mental note to ask Henry about the article.
By afternoon tea-time Carl had an outline for his sermon but that was
all. He couldn't understand why it just wasn't falling into place as usual.
Lord, he prayed silently, if I can't get something together by Sunday, You're
going to have to take over. He was startled by a distinct impression as if
someone had chuckled and said quietly, "That is exactly what I intend to
do." The experience was so fleeting that he wondered if it had really
happened at all. But whether it was real or not, he knew that he had to keep
trying to get this sermon together, even if in the end he didn't succeed. As he
closed his Bible and notebook he felt at peace.
When the twins had got up from their nap Emma and George had taken
them to the park at the top of Wattle Street so they could play for a while
without disturbing Carl. He was still working when they came back form the
park, and Emma told them to play quietly in a corner of the lounge while
she and Alice, who had arrived with Joel a few minutes before, worked at
preparing tea in Henry's kitchen. George, Henry, and Joel were outside
talking.
At last Carl got up and called Helen and Andrew over. "Let's get this table
set for tea, twins," he said, "Helen, go and ask Auntie Alice how she wants
this meal organised. Andrew, you go ask Uncle Henry for a tablecloth."
While the children did as he had said, he cleared his papers and the
journals off the table and put them all on the already crowded sideboard.
Andrew came skipping back into the room and told him the tablecloths were
in the bottom drawer.
"Okay, you get one out for me," his father replied.
"Auntie Alice said that the Hastings are also coming," Helen announced
as she came back from the kitchen, "so set the table for a buffy."
"You mean a buffet," George chuckled as he joined them.
"Yeah, that," Helen said.
"What's a buffay?" Andrew asked.
"It's a meal where you just get a plate and put all sorts of food from the
table on it, and then you go somewhere else to eat it," Carl explained.
"Where?" Helen asked, "Outside?"
"You can sit on the sofa with your plate on your lap," Henry said.
"Hey, that's fun!" Helen shouted, and ran into the kitchen to tell her
mother.
"What if I spill some?" Andrew asked anxiously.
"We'll clean it up," Henry answered, picking him up and hugging him,
"but I don't think you'll spill it. You're a very careful lad, like your daddy."
"A whole lot more careful than his daddy, I hope," Carl said.
"My word!" Joel said from the other side of the room, and winked at Carl.

!!!

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On Saturday morning, Emma left the children with Carl and George and
went to visit the Winters. She was surprised to find Rick there, talking with
James in the lounge.
"He's trying to sort out how he feels about things, after all that's
happened," Laura explained, "In some ways he's having a harder time than
Amanda. He doesn't get much sympathy from his father and he doesn't feel
he can really tell him about it at all."
"It's good that he feels comfortable talking to James and to Carl," Emma
said, "but I do hope that things will improve between him and his father.
How is Amanda doing?"
"She's a lot more settled now, and seems to be happy in herself though
she's still struggling with all that's happened," Laura said, "She spends a lot
of time reading the Bible, and usually sits in here with me to do it so she
can ask me for help when there's something she has trouble
understanding."
"That's a big change, isn't it?"
"Yes, and one we really thank God for," Laura agreed, "Oh, Emma, it's so
good to have my daughter back, you know. When she was fourteen or so she
went through a difficult stage, the normal sort of teenage pushing at the
boundaries, but it was nothing like the last several months. Back then she
was still reasonable and approachable, even though she did struggle with
the implications of my illness and she felt angry at God about it. But she
would come and talk over things with me. Now that's how it is again and I'm
so thankful for that."
"I hope it remains that way or even gets better and better, Laura," Emma
said, "My mother's friendship, as well as her authority, was terribly
important to me when I was a teenager. And we became better friends as I
became an adult."
"Is your mother still alive?" Laura asked.
"Yes," Emma replied, "but I don't know where she is. My brother, Jack,
has been writing to all sorts of places to try to locate our parents and
brother and sister. They were overseas when the Protectorate started and
the borders were closed. We haven't heard anything yet. I got very
discouraged by all the red tape involved in the search, but Jack doesn't give
up! On the other hand, it's been four years already and we seem to have got
nowhere. You'd think they've disappeared off the face of the earth... The
worst thing is that nobody in all those government bureaus or those refugee
services seems to care whether we find them or not."
"Oh, I do hope you'll have some news soon," Laura said.
"So do I," Emma agreed, "and I'm looking forwards very much to getting
back in touch with them!"

!!!

After lunch, Joel and Alice took George out sightseeing for the afternoon,
and when they had gone, Henry declared it was time he sat down and did

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something about a sermon, because no matter what else might happen, he

still had to lead the worship service to be held on Sunday morning at the
Winters'.
Carl winked at Henry, who winked back. "I need to go out to get
something," Carl said, "Could I borrow your car, Henry? I won't be long."
"Do you want me to come along?" Emma asked. She had not noticed the
exchange of winks between Carl and Henry, as she was reading the children
a story.
"No, you stay here," Carl said, "I won't be very long. Get the twins down
for their nap."
"Go ahead and take the car, Carl," Henry said, throwing him his keys,
"Here, catch."
Shortly after Carl had left, Emma asked Henry if the twins could have
their nap in his room, as she didn't really want to have to sit out in the
camper.
"Of course they can," he replied, "Just make yourself at home, Emma."
He sat down at the dining table to work on his sermon preparation, while
Emma took Helen and Andrew into his bedroom and settled them on the
bed. She read them another story, then went back to the lounge. "May I
borrow a Bible from you, please?" she asked Henry.
"Yes, of course, help yourself," he said, pointing to the bookshelf, "There
are several versions there."
Emma chose a Bible and went to sit in the lounge. She wondered how
long Carl would take. For some reason she felt restless and found it difficult
to concentrate on the passage she was reading. The air was very still and
there were few sounds from outside other than the occasional sparrow's
chirping. She glanced at Henry and saw that he was busy reading and
taking notes, then she tried again to concentrate on her reading.
There was a sudden loud knock at the front door. Emma jumped, and
Henry looked up in surprise. He started to push back his chair.
"I'll get it," Emma offered, and went to open the door. A man wearing the
uniform of a local courier company stood on the step. "Mrs. Slade?" he
asked her.
"Yes, that's me," she replied, rather surprised that he should be asking
for her.
The messenger handed her a white envelope and asked her to sign a
receipt, which she did, and then he left.
Emma puzzled about the envelope as she closed the door. Who could
have sent it? How would they have known where she was? Hers was the only
name on the envelope, and there was no return address, either. Could it be
news of her family? Surely if this came from Jack he would have had his
name and address on the envelope. She wondered if perhaps she ought to
wait until Carl came back to open it. On the other hand, it was addressed to
her, and it might be urgent. She pulled off the sealing strip and opened the
envelope, then slid out the contents.
Henry looked up as he heard Emma gasp, and he saw her sit down
heavily in an armchair, staring at what appeared to be a photograph in her

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hand. Her face was chalk-white and he got up hurriedly to go to her,

thinking she was about to faint.
Her hands shaking, Emma fumbled with the envelope, trying to stuff the
photograph back into it. In the end she gave up and just dropped them on
the floor, covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
Henry stopped in front of her, wondering what to do. Finally he bent
down and picked up the envelope and photograph. He caught his breath and
felt the blood drain from his face as he looked at the picture. It appeared to
be a photograph of Carl in a very compromising situation with a strange
woman. But then he recognized the woman. He looked at the photo more
closely, then suddenly grabbed Emma's shoulder. "Emma, listen," he said,
"This isn't who you think it is! It isn't Carl!"
She didn't seem to have heard him and just continued to sob.
He grabbed hold of both her shoulders and shook her gently. "Emma,
listen to me!" he said loudly, and she finally looked up at him, her eyes red
from crying. "That's not Carl. That's not a photo of Carl!" he repeated, "Do
you understand what I'm telling you?"
"It-It isn't?" she asked, confused, "B-But it looks like him! Are you sure?"
Henry put the photo back in the envelope. "Positive," he replied firmly,
"It's not him. The photo's been doctored to make it look like it's Carl, but it
isn't him."
"But how can you tell?"
"You can tell me. Does Carl have a large birthmark on his shoulder?"
"A large— No, he doesn't have any large birthmarks." She looked at him
uncomprehendingly. "How do you know it's not Carl?"
"Because, Emma, unfortunately for me, that's a photo of me," Henry said
quietly, grimacing, "and whoever sent it wanted you to think it was Carl.
They joined two photos to make it look like that."
"But-But... Why would anyone want to do that?" Emma stared at him,
horrified. "And what makes you think it's you?" she added softly, shuddering
as she realized what that meant.
"I know it's me because I was certainly involved in that way with that
particular woman, and I have just such a large birthmark on my left
shoulder," Henry said quietly. "Someone has got hold of a photo of Carl and
joined it to this one of me... It's easily done, any printer could do it in less
than five minutes." Printer, he thought, a printer... Alf is a printer. He hates
Carl and he hates me... Could Alf have done this? To what purpose?
He sat down next to her on the sofa. "Emma," he said soberly, "I think
someone is trying to break up your marriage."
"Why?" she asked him, "Why would they want to break up our marriage?
What advantage would that give anyone?"
Henry got up and walked to the window before answering. He stuffed the
envelope into his pocket as he looked out. The photo might have been sent
to Emma, but he wasn't about to give it back to her. It was better if she
never saw it again. He sighed, and turned and went back to her. "I think
someone—I'd postulate Lancaster and company—wants to destroy Carl's
credibility, like they did to all the Christian pastors in this town," he

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explained, "You see, Carl is not only a man totally dedicated to the Gospel of
Jesus Christ, he is also an ex-Protectioner. He knows them and their tactics
and their goals. He can and he does warn people about what they're doing.
They want him out of the way."
"I would've thought they'd try to kill him, then."
"Oh, no—that would just make him a martyr, and then people would
really pay attention. But if they have so-called proof that he's been
womanizing, committing adultery, and they turn his wife against him, and
his marriage falls apart, then they'll have destroyed his credibility and no-
one will listen to him! Because, despite people's liberal attitudes, despite all
the Protection philosophies which are still bandied around, when it comes to
the crunch, people still expect a minister of the Gospel to practice what he
preaches, as indeed he should, and as everyone knows Carl does—"
"What is it I do?"
They hadn't noticed Carl walk in, and his sudden question made them
both jump. He grinned at their surprise as he closed the door, but his smile
disappeared instantly when he saw Emma's face. He had a small parcel in
his hand, and he put it down on the bookcase. "Why, Em, what's the
matter?" he asked with concern.
She rushed over to him, tears streaming down her face, and buried her
face on his shoulder. He put his arms around her and looked questioningly
over her shoulder at Henry. The pastor pulled the envelope out of his pocket
and waved it briefly, then stuffed it away again. He pointed to his watch and
mouthed the word "later", gestured to Carl that he should take care of
Emma, and went out to the kitchen.
Carl looked down at his wife and hugged her close. "Emma, what's
wrong? Tell me, please!" he urged her gently.
He led her over to the sofa and made her sit down, then sat down beside
her, putting his arms around her again. She had stopped crying, and she
lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. "Oh, Carl," she whispered, "I'm
sorry, Carl." She hid her face on his shoulder again.
Carl moved her away from him so he could see her face. He was
mystified. "What's wrong, Em? What are you sorry about?"
"I-I thought it was you on the photo, Carl, and I lost all my trust in you!"
She burst into tears once more and buried her face on his chest.
"Emma! What are you talking about?" he exclaimed, "What photo?"
She sat up and looked puzzled, then remembered that Carl didn't know
about the photograph. She looked around her and down on the floor,
searching for it. "Oh, Henry must have it," she muttered when she couldn't
see it anywhere.
Carl surmised that she meant whatever it was he had seen Henry put
into his pocket as he came in the door.
"It was a horrid photo," she continued in a monotone, "He said it wasn't
you, it was him, and somebody'd played around with it to make it look like it
was you... But I'd already believed it was you and lost my trust in you, and
it happened so fast, so easily..." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Can you
ever forgive me, Carl, for that?"

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He gazed at her, feeling confused and wondering what there was to

forgive because it didn't sound to him like Emma had done anything wrong.
"What sort of photo was it, Emma?" he asked quietly. A photo of Henry made
to look like it was of him? He suddenly had shivers up his spine.
"It-It was of you— No! Of someone—a man—in bed with some strange
woman and-and— Oh, Carl, the man had your face!"
"Oh," Carl said. He felt anger rising in him. He knew who had done this.
How dare they do this to Emma! It was one thing to attack him, but to do
that to his wife—! "Where's the photograph?" he asked.
"I-I think Henry's got it."
"How did you get hold of it, anyway?"
"A courier brought it."
"Who sent it, do you know?"
"It didn't say. There wasn't a return address."
Carl wrapped his arms around his wife. "My dearest, my beloved Emma,"
he said softly, "How dare they do this to you..." He kissed her hair as he held
her head against his shoulder. "Emma, I love you," he whispered, "You're the
only woman I've ever been in bed with, Em, believe me."
She pulled her head away and looked up at him. His blue eyes, always
such a clear window to his soul for her, were as clear as ever. How could she
ever have believed the lie that had come in the white envelope? Again she
asked his forgiveness.
"I'm not sure what it is you want me to forgive, Em," he replied, "I'm not
sure that you've done anything that I need to forgive you for."
"When I opened the envelope and took the photo out," she explained, "all
I saw was you in bed with some other woman, and I believed what I saw. It
didn't even occur to me that it could be a dirty trick, Carl, and I'm scared at
how easily I accepted that lie as the truth..."
Carl smiled warmly at her and grasped her shoulders. "I forgive you,
Emma, and I know that you haven't lost your trust in me, despite their
attempt to turn you against me. After all, you came running to me, didn't
you?"
Emma stared at him in astonishment as the import of what he had said
sank in, then gradually her surprise turned into a smile, and she gazed at
him with joy in her eyes. As she had done countless times in the last five
years she thanked God from the bottom of her heart for her husband. Carl
put his arms around her again and kissed her full on the mouth, a kiss
which took her back to the very first time he had ever kissed her thus, at
their wedding. It was a kiss that said, "We belong to each other, and nothing
can separate us." Then they sat in silence, with their arms around each
other.
After a while Carl got up and went to fetch the parcel that he had put
down on the bookcase. "This is what I went out for, Em. I saw it the other
day," he said, handing it to her, "I gather that the husband of the woman
who wrote this felt about his wife the way I feel about you. Only his wife
expressed it better, I think. Happy birthday, my love."

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She looked at him open-mouthed as she took the parcel. She had
completely forgotten about her birthday. "Th-Thank you, C-Carl," she
stammered, and burst into tears again.
At that moment Helen and Andrew, having woken from their nap, came
into the room. Henry came in behind them, carrying a tea-tray.
Helen ran to her mother, full of four-year-old's concern. "Whassamatter,
Mummy, why you crying?" She patted Emma on the knee as she looked up
at her.
Andrew went to Carl, but kept his bemused eyes on his mother. He was
still half asleep. He leant against Carl's leg and gazed at Emma a moment,
then looked up at his father. "Is Mummy hurting, Daddy?" he asked, "Did
she get hurt?"
Carl thought to himself, yes, she got hurt, but I kissed it better. "No,
Mummy's not hurt, Andrew," he said, smiling at his son, "She's just happy."
Andrew looked confused and stared at Emma, who looked up, wiping her
eyes, and confirmed what Carl had said. "Yes, Mummy's happy," she smiled,
putting her arm around Helen, "Mummies sometimes cry when they're very
happy." She showed them the parcel. "Daddy gave me a birthday present.
It's a very special birthday present. That's why I'm glad." She looked up at
Carl with a look of such happiness it made his heart jump. He sat down
next to her and pulled Andrew onto his lap, and put his arm around her.
Henry had put the tray on the table and had sat down quietly next to it.
He watched them all affectionately and thanked God for the privilege of
seeing Carl and Emma's love for each other. He thought back wistfully to the
distant days when his own Martha had still been alive.
"Open it, Mummy," Helen said, fingering the parcel, "I wanna see what's
in it."
Emma carefully removed the wrapping from what she could guess was a
book. It was one that Carl and she had read together several times, back at
Bethany Lodge in Kawanyama—Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from
the Portuguese. How wonderful to see that such books were once again
available in their own country! She turned to her husband. "Thank you,
Carl," she said softly, "It's a beautiful gift."
Henry smiled to himself as he looked at the four of them sitting on his
sofa. He wished he had a camera, but since he didn't have one he would just
have to store this "picture" in his memory, as he had before stored so many
"pictures" that reminded him of God's goodness and love. He briefly recalled
Carl as a Counsellor, and marvelled at the difference. Finally, he stood up
and clapped his hands. "Would you folks like some afternoon tea?" he
asked, "I gather today is a special occasion so I dug up some chocolate
biscuits. Do any of you like that sort of thing?"
Helen and Andrew, hearing those two words, jumped off their parents'
laps. "I do! I do!" they both exclaimed eagerly, skipping over to Henry.
Carl and Emma walked over to the table holding hands. Carl patted
Henry on the shoulder. "Henry's offered to babysit so I can take you out for
tea," he said to Emma.

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"Thank you, Henry," Emma said, smiling at him warmly, "You're an

angel."
Henry gave her a quick hug. "Happy birthday, Emma," he said quietly,
and turned to Carl. "It's a privilege to know you both. May God bless you
two."

!!!

Later that evening, while Emma was putting the twins to bed in the
camper, Carl asked Henry about the photograph.
"I won't show it to you, Carl," his friend said, "I don't think you need to
see it, but it's yet another of the despicable things they've done." He
described it briefly to Carl and told him who he thought was probably
behind it. "When Ron gets here I'll pass it on to him. I think we can add it to
the mounting pile of evidence I've been collecting."
"I haven't been this angry since I was a Counsellor, Henry," Carl said,
clenching his fists, "At least now I have plenty of good reasons to be angry!
These people have to be stopped!" He looked at Henry, perplexed. "Only
thing is," he said softly, "I'm not quite sure how to stop them." He sighed
and clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Let's pray together, mate," he said, "I
mean with Emma, too, when she's finished getting the children to bed. Let's
pray about this situation, and what we should do next. Only God can stop
this evil. Only God can tell us what the next step is."
They went out to the camper, and Carl said goodnight to the twins. Then
the three adults knelt and asked God to lead them as they faced the next
stage in the battle against the Protectioners. When they had finished, Henry
gave Carl his keys.
"Have a wonderful time," he said warmly, "and don't hurry back. This is a
very special birthday tea you're going out for. I'll see you when you get
back."

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