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charge.”
    “I’ll take my leave, too,” Pastor Shattuck said. His expression softened with compassion. “There’s no way of knowing at this point what you’ll face in Kansas City, but you need to remember you won’t face it alone.”
    Christopher drew strength from the words and stood a little taller. “I know you’re right. I’ll remind myself of that at every turn.”
    But deep within there was a nagging sensation that, in spite of the prayers and the knowledge that God would be at his side, Christopher was about to fall into a dark abyss—an abyss that promised to consume him, body and soul.

 
    G . W. Vandermark tied his horse to the hitching post outside the house Stuart Albright had taken for himself. The nervous bay sidestepped—almost sending G.W. to the ground—and he winced in pain. His leg injury was good to remind him of how quickly life could change. Who could tell? Maybe there would be another change after his discussion with Albright. The important thing was to keep a tight rein on his temper.
    After regaining his footing, he stroked the horse’s mane. “Easy, boy. There’s no sense in either of us gettin’ our head up.”
    Drawing a deep breath, G.W. gave the horse another couple of pats, then made his way to the door. He knocked and, while he waited, rubbed the tops of his boots on the back of his trouser legs just in case any dirt clung to them. No sense appearing shoddy.
    A young Negro woman dressed in a simple black gown and white apron opened the door and smiled. “Mornin’, Mr. Vandermark.”
    “Mornin’, Essie. I’m here to see Mr. Albright. Is he in?”
    “Yessuh.” She stepped back and reached for his hat. “Please step inside and I’ll fetch him.”
    G.W. entered the house, none too surprised at the extravagant decor. Statues and paintings adorned every possible space. While completely out of place in Perkinsville, no doubt Albright felt right at home.
    Essie disappeared for several minutes and G.W. continued to study the interior of the entry. A marble-topped receiving table near the center of the room was graced with a stylish silver vase and a huge arrangement of flowers.
    “Mr. Albright say you can come to his office,” Essie said from the hallway arch.
    G.W. squared his shoulders and let the young woman lead him. There would be nothing pleasant about this meeting—of that he was certain.
    Lord , he prayed silently, please go before me. Give me the right words to say.
    As they made their way, G.W. noted that the rest of the house was just as elaborate as the foyer. When Essie ushered him in to Stuart Albright’s office, he noted the room boasted pieces of art, including a huge oil of Jael dressed in a daringly low-cut gown. Embarrassed at the risqué piece, G.W. quickly glanced at the book-laden cases that lined one entire wall.
    “Do you not care for my painting?” Albright chuckled. “I believe beauty should be appreciated. You can hardly appreciate what you cannot see.”
    G.W. felt at a loss for words. He shook his head, but still couldn’t find his tongue.
    Albright was not a patient man. “Why are you here?”
    G.W. turned to address the man. Stuart sat behind a massive mahogany desk that very nearly reached from wall to wall. Of course, the room wasn’t all that big, but it was made even smaller by the ridiculous furnishings.
    “We need to talk,” G.W. finally said.
    Albright’s icy blue eyes seemed to lend a chill to the room. He motioned to the red leather chair. “Sit down, Vandermark, and tell me why you’ve come to disturb my day.”
    G.W. tried not to let his temper flare at his host’s rudeness. He took his seat and folded his hands. For a moment, he wished he had his hat back so that he could twist the rim, as he often did when feeling edgy. Instead he rubbed his leg.
    “I’ve come on behalf of Vandermark Logging. We want to know what your plans are for the future.”
    Albright looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m afraid