Read Online Righteous02 - Mighty and Strong by Michael Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Wallace
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said. “It always seems like mumbo jumbo to an outsider. Look, if you don’t like to think about the power of discernment, how about this? Maybe your friend is a one-in-a-million liar. And maybe for every liar as good as Agent Kite, there’s someone with a one-in-a-million ability to detect lies.”
“If you’d only seen her at work,” Fayer said.
“Yeah, I’d probably find her convincing,” he admitted, “but that only means I’m not one of the one in a million who can tell she’s lying. Maybe Brother Timothy, or someone else in the Church of the Last Days, is that person.”
“I guess that’s possible.”
Was there any difference between that and the so-called power of discernment? If you had a remarkable, one in a million ability, did it matter if you gave that a scientific versus a spiritual name? Yet it was interesting that Fayer dismissed one out of hand and accepted that the other might be possible.
Agent Krantz rose to his feet. “I don’t know anything about spiritual powers, but I can tell you’re hooked. You want to butt heads with these people, see what they’ve got.”
“Maybe a little bit,” Jacob admitted. “And I’m curious about your chameleon. Is she as good as you claim? And can I get her out of trouble?”
“We hope so,” Krantz said.
Truth was, he was hooked. If it weren’t for his wife and children, he’d be ready to sign up now.
“No promises. I’ve got to talk to Fernie, first. And I’ll need some help with the hospital.”
“Of course.”
“And protection for my family. You say these guys are dangerous, and I believe it. If they are, I can’t expect to stir the hornet nest and not take chances with getting stung. Any deal involves a couple of your agents watching my house at all times.”
“Fair enough.”
“The apartment upstairs is for rent, if that helps.” Jacob hesitated. “There’s one last thing. You want my help, it’s non-negotiable.”
“What’s that?” Krantz asked.
“Don’t mention my sister again. You try to bring Eliza into this and you’ll make an enemy.”
Chapter Eight:
Emma waited for her chance to ask Brother Timothy to give her Jacob.
It took more patience than she could bear. The prophet had blessings to give, sermons to deliver, bread to break with his own hands. Did he have a moment for himself? Or rather, for her?
She approached for the first time during the communal supper in the courtyard. Brother Timothy ate his soup slowly, his eyes focused on something in the distance.
Brother Clarence sat on the prophet’s right side, and he set down a thick slice of bread when he saw her approach, wagged his finger and shook his head.
“But Brother Clarence…”
“No, Sister Emma. Not now.”
Emma bowed her head in assent and withdrew.
But on the second morning after her trip to the hospital, she found him hoeing in the gardens, back bent beneath the heat of the noontime sun. One of his wives—heavily pregnant—gathered the wilting weeds turned up by his hoe, while another wife watered a row of lettuce. Emma didn’t see Brother Clarence, who would have surely waved her away again.
“Brother Timothy?”
He straightened his back, leaned against the hoe. Sweat trickled through the streaks of dirt on his face, dripped from his beard. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “Yes, Emma?”
The sun was too hot, too bright. She shielded her eyes. “Brother Timothy, please, I need your help.”
Brother Timothy studied her with a gaze so penetrating it almost hurt. “Are you in trouble?
She thought about why she’d gone to the hospital and started to look away in shame, but managed to check herself. “Brother Timothy, I’m ready to get married.”
He blinked. “Sister Emma, the Lord makes that decision, not you.” His wives stopped what they were doing, stared.
“I felt the Spirit. When I was in bed last night, it came upon me and I felt it burning inside me. It told me I needed to get married and who to
“If you’d only seen her at work,” Fayer said.
“Yeah, I’d probably find her convincing,” he admitted, “but that only means I’m not one of the one in a million who can tell she’s lying. Maybe Brother Timothy, or someone else in the Church of the Last Days, is that person.”
“I guess that’s possible.”
Was there any difference between that and the so-called power of discernment? If you had a remarkable, one in a million ability, did it matter if you gave that a scientific versus a spiritual name? Yet it was interesting that Fayer dismissed one out of hand and accepted that the other might be possible.
Agent Krantz rose to his feet. “I don’t know anything about spiritual powers, but I can tell you’re hooked. You want to butt heads with these people, see what they’ve got.”
“Maybe a little bit,” Jacob admitted. “And I’m curious about your chameleon. Is she as good as you claim? And can I get her out of trouble?”
“We hope so,” Krantz said.
Truth was, he was hooked. If it weren’t for his wife and children, he’d be ready to sign up now.
“No promises. I’ve got to talk to Fernie, first. And I’ll need some help with the hospital.”
“Of course.”
“And protection for my family. You say these guys are dangerous, and I believe it. If they are, I can’t expect to stir the hornet nest and not take chances with getting stung. Any deal involves a couple of your agents watching my house at all times.”
“Fair enough.”
“The apartment upstairs is for rent, if that helps.” Jacob hesitated. “There’s one last thing. You want my help, it’s non-negotiable.”
“What’s that?” Krantz asked.
“Don’t mention my sister again. You try to bring Eliza into this and you’ll make an enemy.”
Chapter Eight:
Emma waited for her chance to ask Brother Timothy to give her Jacob.
It took more patience than she could bear. The prophet had blessings to give, sermons to deliver, bread to break with his own hands. Did he have a moment for himself? Or rather, for her?
She approached for the first time during the communal supper in the courtyard. Brother Timothy ate his soup slowly, his eyes focused on something in the distance.
Brother Clarence sat on the prophet’s right side, and he set down a thick slice of bread when he saw her approach, wagged his finger and shook his head.
“But Brother Clarence…”
“No, Sister Emma. Not now.”
Emma bowed her head in assent and withdrew.
But on the second morning after her trip to the hospital, she found him hoeing in the gardens, back bent beneath the heat of the noontime sun. One of his wives—heavily pregnant—gathered the wilting weeds turned up by his hoe, while another wife watered a row of lettuce. Emma didn’t see Brother Clarence, who would have surely waved her away again.
“Brother Timothy?”
He straightened his back, leaned against the hoe. Sweat trickled through the streaks of dirt on his face, dripped from his beard. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “Yes, Emma?”
The sun was too hot, too bright. She shielded her eyes. “Brother Timothy, please, I need your help.”
Brother Timothy studied her with a gaze so penetrating it almost hurt. “Are you in trouble?
She thought about why she’d gone to the hospital and started to look away in shame, but managed to check herself. “Brother Timothy, I’m ready to get married.”
He blinked. “Sister Emma, the Lord makes that decision, not you.” His wives stopped what they were doing, stared.
“I felt the Spirit. When I was in bed last night, it came upon me and I felt it burning inside me. It told me I needed to get married and who to
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