Concerto for Flute and Orchestra

they will be safe. They cannot say, 'It's not my fault, he deceived me,' either,
because God has given them, He's given us, His Word, His precious Word, so
that we won't be deceived. So there's no excuse. 'Beware of wolves in sheep's
clothing,' He tells us. How can you tell them apart? God tells you in His
Word. Read Matthew, chapter seven. Read the first few verses of chapter
four in John's first letter."
It had become obvious to Carl that few, if any, people had been following
the readings in the Bible. Once again he paused and looked around at them.
"Have you got your Bible here with you?" he asked, "Have you been
checking out all I've been saying? Paul commended the believers in Berea
because they checked everything he preached to them against God's Word.
They didn't want to be deceived."
Carl paused again and glanced around the hall. He could tell by the looks
on their faces that his listeners didn't like what he was saying, and had the
distinct impression that if he reached out his hand he would be able to feel
the hostility in the room as a solid barrier between him and the people
sitting there. He felt a gloom threatening to engulf him. They didn't want to
hear this kind of message. And yet, this was the only message he had for
them, whether they wanted it or not.
As he looked around he found his glance being drawn to the back of the
room and landing on an elderly woman who was looking straight at him
and—his heart jumped—smiling warmly. He could hardly believe it, but the
effect on him was like that of the sun breaking through a thick layer of dark
clouds. In the glorious shower of light that suddenly bathes the earth the
clouds are quickly forgotten. Carl thanked the Lord silently for this
encouragement, and continued his preaching.
"With the return of books to this country following the end of the
Protectorate," he said, his voice quiet again, "there has been a flood of books
aimed at Christians. Some of these are reprints of classics written by people
who loved God and loved His Word. Some of them are new books also
written by God-fearing people. But too large a number of them is produced
by people who have forsaken God's Word for the teachings of the world. They
are full of lies disguised as truth. They are sentimental and they are false!
What's more, they are addictive, because they are so empty they leave one's
spirit crying out for food which no number of them can provide. They
promise knowledge that God has not given us the right to have—if He had,
He would have given us that knowledge in His Book."
"Do you recall hearing about the serpent, the snake, who asked Eve, 'Did
God really say...?' That same snake lurks in those books. If you start
reading and you suddenly have a thought like, 'Wait a minute, that doesn't
sound Scriptural!' the snake will immediately hiss at you, 'Did God really
say?' in his most seductive hiss. You must be on your guard! When you hear
that hissing sound, it's time to check out what God does say. And if what
God says is not the same as what the book says, then don't waste any
time—throw the book out, and soak up what God says!"
"There is another subtle danger I must warn you about. Think back to
the Hebrews in the wilderness, shortly after they'd left Egypt under Moses'

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leadership. Do you remember? They'd hardly finished crossing the Red Sea
in that incredible miracle of the parting of the waters, when they were
already grumbling, and talking about 'the good old days' back in Egypt! Four
years ago you were delivered from your Egypt. That is, four years ago the
Protectorate ended. Have you already forgotten the ten years of persecution
that God brought you through? I hope not. I hope that you never forget
them, those years when you knew clearly what really matters, when you
loved God more than your own life, when His Truth was a most precious
thing, worth risking everything for. I hope those years are still with you, in
their true form. Don't look back to Egypt, but remember how it is that you
survived its horrors."
"Don't forget, however, that Egypt has not entirely disappeared. It looked
like the Protectioners had been soundly defeated, didn't it, on that spring
morning in 2036? Well, I have news for you. No, they were not done away
with. They're still around, and they hate Jesus Christ and His followers just
as much as they ever did. Be on your guard. They are still after power, they
still hate all that is of God, and they can be very, very subtle, twisting truth
just enough to deceive those who are not alert. At every turn, be on your
guard—keep close to God!"
Carl stopped. It was an abrupt ending, but he had no more to say. He
bowed his head and prayed silently, briefly. He could feel looks of hatred
coming from certain people in the room, two of them behind him. He could
feel a great sadness pouring out of others. But he could also feel that single
ray of sunshine which warmed him more than any of the hostility could chill
him.
No-one moved or talked. Greenstone and Hillman and the man who had
led the singing seemed to be glued to their chairs on the platform. His
sermon was obviously not what they had expected. Carl straightened up,
glanced back at them, then walked down the platform steps, down the aisle,
and out of the building. He had no desire to stay around and he felt
completely washed out.
He reached the street and wondered what to do next. It would probably
not be a good idea to go straight to Henry's home from the church, but the
pastor would be eager to know how his talk had gone down. He looked left
and right, then decided to walk to the shopping area and phone Henry from
there.
Back at the Good Shepherd, all the members of the congregation had
stayed seated for a few moments after he left the church—all of them except
for the elderly woman at the back. She got up and walked out into the
portico, reaching the main doors just in time to see Carl walk off towards the
shops.
Behind her there was a sudden uproar as all the people started talking at
once. She ignored it and walked down the steps to the carpark, made her
way to her small white car, and drove it out onto the street, heading for the
shopping centre. She drove along until she caught up with Carl, and
stopped just a short distance ahead of him. She opened the passenger door

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and when he came alongside she leaned over and called to him. "Mr. Slade!
Mr. Slade!"
Carl stopped and looked at the car, and recognized the driver as the
"Sunshine Lady", as he'd named her in his mind. He went over to the car
and crouched down by the door. "Yes," he said, smiling at her, "What's the
matter?"
"Can I give you a ride anywhere, Mr. Slade?" she asked him, "Where
would you like to go? Do please get in."
With a glance back towards the church, where no-one was out as yet,
Carl got into her car and closed the door. "Thank you," he said warmly,
"Could you take me somewhere where there's a phone, please? I need to ring
a friend."
"I'll take you to a shopping centre, Mr. Slade," the woman replied, "but
not this one, it's too close."
She drove on in silence for a few blocks before addressing her passenger
again. "I really ought to have introduced myself, oughtn't I?" she laughed,
"My name is Alice. Alice McIntire. I'm a widow—my husband died fifteen
years ago, before the Protectorate. Thank you so much, Mr. Slade, for what
you said this afternoon."
"It wasn't what I'd originally planned to say, you know," Carl said, "It-It
didn't seem to go down too well..."
"Of course not, Mr. Slade! It hit below the belt!" Alice said, "It was just
what was needed, though—something to wake people up to what's been
going on! Poor Pastor Smith tried, but then when he got mixed up in that
business with that woman he lost all his credibility..."
"Are you a member of Pastor Smith's church?"
"Yes—have been for twenty years, ever since we moved here with my
husband's job. Only it wasn't Pastor Smith back then, he was still in
college."
"In college? Did he come late to the ministry, then?" Carl asked,
surprised.
"Yes, he was a chemist before that," she told him, "Not someone who sells
medicines, though, not that kind of chemist, but an industrial chemist, you
know, one who does research."
Well, that explains the books on his table, Carl mused. He'd been
surprised by some of the titles: Polymers, Electrochemistry, Biochemical
Principles, and so on. Was Henry considering returning to his previous
career?
"Did Pastor Smith really give permission for the Lutherites to use the
church building?" Carl asked.
Mrs. McIntire gave him a curious glance, as if she wondered what he was
really asking, then answered his unspoken question. "None of those people
there this afternoon are Lutherites, Mr. Slade," she said soberly, "Most of
them were Good Shepherd folk, and some of them I think you described
quite well in your talk. You know—predators disguised."
Carl was taken aback by her answer. This woman is discerning, he
thought. Not only had she listened to his sermon, she had heard what he

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had been saying. Alice McIntire might even be able to clear up some points
for him. "Isn't Alf Greenstone a Lutherite?" he asked her.
"Alf? No—whatever gave you that idea?" she replied, surprised, "He's
what one might call a church-hopper, except that he has this ability to
wangle his way into important positions wherever he goes. I have no idea
how he conned Henry and our Elders. I wonder if we'll ever know."
"He was the one who sent me the invitation—to come and preach, I
mean—on Lutherite church letterhead," Carl said slowly, "That's why I
thought he was Lutherite."
"Now where would he have got hold of that?" Alice seemed to be talking to
herself as she asked the question. "Unless he made it up himself, of course.
Alf's a printer, you know."
"But why the deception? It doesn't make sense! Especially considering his
reaction when I first arrived at the church and asked him where the
Lutherite church was!"
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Who told you there's a Lutherite church in this town?'"
Alice laughed, and Carl thought it a delightful sound—it reminded him of
Emma's laugh.
"You know," Alice said, still chuckling, "that's the trouble with liars—
eventually they get so deceived themselves they end up putting their foot in
their mouth!"
She drove into the carpark of a small group of shops and parked the car.
"Well, here we are," she said, "There's a public phone in the coffee shop over
there. The owner of the shop is a good friend of mine. May I invite you to join
me for a cup of coffee, Mr. Slade?"
"Thank you very much, Mrs. McIntire, I'd love that."
They walked into the little cafe to the tune of a chime which sounded as
the door opened. A dozen or so small round tables covered with bright green
tablecloths crowded the room, and they sat down at one near the counter.
There were no other customers in the shop.
Alice greeted her friend with a wave. He was an elderly man, not
especially tall, wearing thick glasses and with a disorderly mop of gray hair
and a bushy grey moustache. He wore a large checked apron over his
clothes and was standing behind the counter, busy entering figures in a
small computer. His hazel eyes twinkled as he grinned at Alice. "G'day, Alice,
howarya?" he said.
"Great, Joel," she answered, "Doing your monthly accounts, are you?"
"Yeah—end of month's here before I'm ready for it, as usual," the man
answered, and chuckled. "Who's your friend?" he added, smiling at Carl.
"This is Carl Slade," she answered, "I don't know if you've heard of
him—he's an evangelist."
Joel gave Carl the same odd look Henry had given him, and nodded
slowly. "Oh, yeah," he said, "Henry mentioned him the other day, said he
was going to come preach here." He bowed slightly to Carl. "Pleased to meet
you, Mr. Slade. We can sure use some evangelizing around here! My word!
God must shudder when He looks down on Goldridge!"

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He continued to gaze curiously at Carl a moment, as if he were trying to

place him.
Carl looked back at him quizzically. So Henry had mentioned him the
other day. Joel must be another member of Henry's church. That reminded
him—he wanted to ring Henry. "Could I use your phone, please,
Mr....uh...Mr.—" he asked.
"Smith. Joel Smith. But just call me Joel, won't you?" the older man
answered, "Of course you can use it. It's a public phone. Over there, in the
corner. Have you got a card?"
"Yes, I do. Thank you," Carl replied, pulling his phonecard out of his
pocket. Then he looked at Joel thoughtfully and asked, "Are you by any
remote chance a relative of Pastor Smith's?"
The man laughed heartily and Alice smiled. "Yes! I'm related to Henry!"
Joel exclaimed, "He's my son!" He stopped smiling and looked oddly at Carl
again. "What do you know about Henry?" he asked quietly.
"The whole story," Carl replied, also quietly.
Joel came out from behind his counter, pulled another chair over, and
sat down with them at the table. His face was serious. Alice, puzzled, looked
from one to the other. "Who told you?" he asked Carl curiously.
"Henry himself did," Carl said, "This morning."
Alice grabbed his arm. "You saw him? Today?" she exclaimed, "Where?
He's been missing for four days!"
Astonished, Carl looked at Alice and then at Joel, who nodded sadly. "We
thought he'd left town," the old man muttered.
"As far as I know, he's still in town," Carl said, "As a matter of fact, that's
who I want to phone." He got up and started walking towards the phone.
"Do you know where he is, then?" Joel called after him.
"At home," Carl threw over his shoulder.
"At home?" Joel and Alice exclaimed at the same time.
"Well, that's where he was when I last saw him, anyway," Carl replied,
inserting his card in the machine and pressing Henry's number code. The
indicator light came on and he picked up the receiver. "Henry? This is Carl."
He smiled and nodded to Alice and Joel, who looked relieved. "Yes, it's over."
His eyebrows went up. "No, I don't think they liked it. Oh, one exception—a
lovely lady named Alice McIntire." He chuckled at what Henry said, glanced
at Alice, and winked. "Yes, I thought you might say something like that," he
said, "and I agree. 'The Sunshine Lady' was my name for her." He paused
again as Henry explained something at length, and his face darkened.
"Where am I? At your father's coffee shop. Mrs. McIntire brought me here to
use the phone." He glanced again at Alice and Joel and grimaced. "All right.
We'll wait here. See you shortly."
Carl put the receiver down, retrieved his card, and returned to the table.
"Henry says you're an angel and I agree entirely, Mrs. McIntire," he said to
Alice.
"Hear! Hear!" Joel exclaimed, slapping the table top.
Alice laughed, glanced at Joel, then suddenly looked down at the table
bashfully. "Thank you," she whispered, "Bless Henry."

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"When I saw you sitting in the back of that church smiling at me," Carl
said to her, "you've no idea what it did for me—it meant I was able to go on,
you know. The atmosphere in that place had become decidedly volcanic."
"Yes, it exploded—or should I say, erupted—about three minutes after
you left," Alice said.
Carl sighed. "Well, Henry's coming over," he went on, "He's got something
unpleasant to show us. I said we'd wait for him here. Shall we have that
coffee?"
"Oh, dear, I'm sorry!" Alice said, looking shocked, and turning to Joel.
"Here I invite Mr. Slade to have some coffee and then I forget all about it!
Could we have some of your best brew, Joel?"
"Sure thing, Alice. I'll join you—not many customers this time of day, as
you can see." He swept his arm around to indicate the empty shop, then got
up and strode off to make the coffee.
Alice turned back to Carl. "Please, Mr. Slade, may I call you Carl?" she
asked, smiling, "and please call me Alice."
"Yes, of course, Alice," he replied, "You certainly may."
"Well, Carl," she went on, "I think the Lord is finally answering our
prayers for the church here. It looks to me like He's going to do some
shaking up of people."
"Why do you say that?" Carl asked.
"It's been many, many, months since anyone gave a talk like yours
around here. There hasn't been a heated reaction like what we had at Good
Shepherd today for a long, long time. It seems the paralytic just might take
up his mat and leap and dance soon."

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 CHAPTER 6

"Alice McIntire sounds like a very nice person," Emma said, smiling in
amusement at the figure of speech Alice had used.
"She is—you'll like her," Carl agreed, "She can be very funny. It's pretty
obvious that she and Joel are more than just good friends, by the way. Joel's
wife—Henry's mother—died during the Protectorate, too, just like Henry's
wife. She was also refused treatment because she was a Christian."
"Poor Henry. Both his wife and his mother... And now he's caught up in
this mess." Emma sighed. "You said he had some news for you all. What was
it?"
"Well, he drove up about ten minutes later. Joel made him a cup of tea—
Henry doesn't like coffee—and he sat down and told us what he'd found. You
see, he'd spent most of the two hours since I'd left him praying for me and
my preaching, and for his church, but then he decided that perhaps he
should tidy up a bit before I came back. He expected me to come for tea, you
see. There was a pile of old newspapers under the table and he went to move
them to the kitchen. But apparently he tripped on the hall mat and dropped
the lot, and as he was picking them up one of the headlines caught his
attention. It was an article about Alfred Greenstone and a generous
donation, in kind, that is, in printed materials, that he'd made for the
mayoral campaign some twenty or so months ago. He brought the paper
over to show us. There'd been an election for the position of Mayor—" Carl
stopped suddenly and stared across the Lake as he recalled the shock and
the shivers up his spine that he had felt as he had read the article.
"Did it say who won the election, or was this a pre-election article?"
Emma asked.
"Post-election. Yes, it did say. In fact, it was a sort of 'Thanks for Helping
Us Win' article. Henry noticed it because of Greenstone's name. The name of
the new mayor didn't mean anything to him, strangely enough, beyond its
being the name of the new mayor of Goldridge."
"Did the name mean anything to you, then?" Emma asked.
Carl's face was ashen as he replied. "Yes, it did, Em. His name is Ross
Lancaster."
Emma sat up and stared at him wide-eyed. "Not the fellow who was Chief
of the Police Counselling Institute?" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he replied soberly, "The very man."
"But-But I thought he was in prison, with Denson and the other
Protectioners!"
"Well, he isn't. He's the mayor of Goldridge. And what's more, Em, he's
aiming at being the next president of this country. He always was
ambitious."
She grabbed his arm. "I can see now that something awful really is going
on down there," she said, "That man Greenstone, then, at the church—he
must be friendly with Lancaster."

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"That's right..." Carl said, "And so far I've only told you about my first day
there, Em, and I haven't even finished telling you about that. It got worse."
"Did you tell Henry you knew Ross Lancaster?"
"No, not at that point. I felt I wanted to find out more about the situation
before I told him. I didn't know whether it might make it more dangerous for
him if he knew too much. I didn't know how closely they might be watching
him. But that article confirmed my misgivings about Alf Greenstone, and
about his friend Geoff Hillman. They're Protectioners, there's no doubt about
it."
"Oh, Carl, what a mess you've uncovered!" Emma said, "And the church
down there is caught up in it!" She sat back on the bench and thought for
some moments. "I guess," she said at last, "from what you said before, that
Joel—and, I suppose, Alice, too—knew what Henry had done, didn't he—I
mean, they?"
"Yes. I assumed that's why he asked me how much I knew."
"Was he awfully upset with his son?"
"He was upset, but he wasn't angry at him, if that's what you mean. He
was worried for Henry. Joel seems to know his son very well and they're
obviously very close as father and son. He agreed with Henry that he'd been
very foolish, but he was greatly relieved to find that Henry had finally
accepted God's forgiveness. Joel told me that what Henry had done was so
out of character that he wondered if it really was only Henry's foolish
notion—feeling guilty about the first incident—that got him into that mess.
By the way, Alice is very fond of Henry, too. In a motherly sort of way, that
is. She's the sort of person who takes people under her wing, you know, like
Mei Li does. But she's a lot more outgoing than Mei Li."
"So you think that Joel also thinks that what happened to Henry was
part of some foul plan?"
"Yes, he does. And he added that he's quite sure that most of what
happened in the other churches is part of it, too. Someone, or rather, some
group of someones, is doing their best to destroy the Christian witness in
that town."
"The Protectioners."
"Yes—or whatever they call themselves these days."
Emma sat up on the edge of the bench and took hold of Carl's arm again.
"Oh, Carl, that's awful!" she cried, "We've got to do something! We can't let it
go on and just sit back watching!"
Carl put his hand over hers. "Don't worry, Em," he said evenly, "I told you
we're going back. I just want to wait for George to get here first so he can go
down with us."
She relaxed again, but then almost immediately stood up. "Shall we walk
around again for a while?" she asked.
"Yes, why not?" He stood up and stretched, then took his wife's hand,
and they began walking slowly along the footpath.
"All right, then," Emma said, "So that was your first day in Goldridge.
What happened after that?"

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"That wasn't the end of the first day yet. I didn't go to Henry's for tea, in
the end. Joel made us a light tea in his coffee shop and we continued talking
there, and when he'd closed his shop for the night he suggested we spend
time praying together. Then they drove me to the caravan park, in Joel's car.
Henry came along in his own car."
"Three different cars in the one day—not bad, Carl!" Emma teased.
He smiled at her. "Yes, we need a bit of light relief, don't we?" he said,
and squeezed her hand. "As we were walking over to the camper," he went
on, "the lady who manages the place saw me and called out that I had some
messages, so I went over to the office to pick them up. I didn't open them
until we were in the truck."
"What were they about?"
"All my other speaking engagements in Goldridge had been cancelled..."

!!!

Henry was astounded. "What? All of them?" he asked.

"All of them," Carl said quietly, staring at the letters spread out on the
table. He turned to Joel. "I don't understand it, do you?" he asked.
They were all sitting around the table on the bench seat which
surrounded it on three sides, Carl on one end, Joel and Alice in the middle,
and Henry at the other end.
"Someone really didn't like your sermon this afternoon, Carl, and they've
gone and warned the other churches," Joel said, "and the others don't want
to hear the truth! At least, whoever makes the decision about guest speakers
doesn't..."
"May I have a look at those letters, Carl?" Alice asked, "I'd like to see who
wrote them."
He pushed the letters over to her. "Go ahead," he said.
She put the letters together and read them one by one. Each had a
different signature. Alice recognized all the names. She shook her head in
disbelief. "Those are all friends, colleagues, whatever you want to call them,
of Alf Greenstone's," she observed, "Did you notice that the text of the
letters—apart from date, time, venue for your talk—is exactly the same?"
"Is it?" Joel asked, "Let me see." He took the letters from Alice and looked
through them. "My word! So it is. Well, well, well..." he muttered, and looked
at Carl. "Do you know any of these people, Carl?"
"No."
"So, why did they ask you to come and preach?"
"I'd assumed they'd got my name from a church or pastor somewhere
else, and that they'd all agreed to invite me at the same time since it's a long
way to come! Churches elsewhere have done that."
"They certainly were in agreement, I'd say," Joel remarked, grimacing,
"but I'm beginning to have a horrible feeling about it, my word I am!"
Henry had been deep in thought, and he now looked across at Carl
curiously. "Are you sure you don't know any of those fellows?" he asked.

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"Positive. At least, not by name. I haven't seen any of them, that I know
of. Why?"
"After what you told me this morning—about the Protectioners,
remember?—I was wondering if there could possibly be something else
behind their invitation."
"What do you mean?" Alice asked.
"Just thinking about what happened to me—as I told you at teatime, it
didn't happen by chance. It occurred to me just now that this might possibly
be along the same lines. I-I'm not sure I'm being very clear. What I mean is:
suppose Carl made enemies when he was a Protectorate official, and those
enemies still want to destroy him, or are determined to destroy him because
he's a Christian now—worse, from their point of view, he's an evangelist!
Just suppose they wanted to get him out of their way, because—as you
pointed out to me this morning, Carl—he knows too much about their
methods, and they want to get back in power. You see, in most places people
listen to Carl, and in many ways he's a prophet. If this town is the new
Protection headquarters, they wouldn't want people listening to him! What's
more, they might even want to discredit him. Getting all the churches here
to cancel their invitations is one way of doing that, isn't it?"
Carl gazed at Henry pensively. He does seem to be better informed about
me than he lets on, doesn't he? he said to himself, I'll have to ask him about
that sometime. "I don't know if that's their aim," he said aloud, "but the
whole business is very disconcerting, and my aim now is to find out just
what's going on here and to do something about it!"
"Count me in on that!" Henry said.
"And me!" Alice and Joel said in unison.
Carl smiled at them all gratefully. If only Emma were with me, he
thought, so she could know these wonderful people, too!
"Let's spend some time praying about that now," Joel suggested, "We
need to look to God for wisdom." He turned to Carl. "Excuse me, Carl, could
you let me out, please? I'd like to kneel to pray."
"Why don't we all kneel?" Carl replied, getting up to let Joel slide out from
the corner of the bench seat.
Alice and Henry agreed, and the four of them knelt on the floor of the
camper, between the table and the stove, and held hands. "You're the
Pastor, Henry," Alice said, "Please would you lead us in prayer?"
Henry looked startled, then he glanced at Joel and Carl, who nodded to
him, smiling. "All right," he said, and they all bowed their heads as he began
to talk to God.
They prayed for a long while, and when they finished they knelt a little
longer, in silence. Then Carl got up and pulled out his pocket Bible. "There's
a passage that's come to my mind that I'd like to read out," he said, flipping
through the pages. He read out Isaiah, chapter thirty-five, to them, and to
Henry, especially, it held a promise that lifted his heart and filled it with a
joy and peace he hadn't known for a long time:

"The desert land and the thirsty ground will be full of gladness;

45