A Time to Love (12 page)

Blake gave her a mock scowl. “Mind your own business, woman!”

Sandy giggled as he walked back to his desk and picked up Bill Borahs file, then carried it to Hortense. “Put this away, please, would you?

Hortense nodded with a smile.

Haman’s customer had left before the Ropers, and Haman had heard the last part of Blake’s conversation. He smiled at Blake and said, “Maybe that’s what you and I both should do, B—Oops! I’m not supposed to call you by your first name anymore, now that you’re the man in the big office.”

Blake put his hands on top of Haman’s desk, leaned down, and whispered, “You can still call me Blake, except in the presence of customers. The employees are so used to hearing us call each other by our first names, they’d think we were at odds if we did anything else.”

“You’re right about that,” said Haman, also keeping his voice low. “We certainly wouldn’t want the employees to think we weren’t getting along, would we? Not when we’ve been such good friends ever since you graduated from college and came to work here.”

“That’s for sure. Mr. Hayworth was at your desk for quite a while. Did you get the information we need?”

“Sure did. His corporation wants to build a new office building right here in downtown Sacramento. They’re trying to buy the two vacant lots
between the other bank and Martins Clothing Store.”

Blake pursed his lips. “That would be a good spot for them. He say how the purchase of the lots looks?”

“Yes. Says it’s looking pretty good. And—”

“Mr. Barrett …” came Sandy Benton’s voice.

Blake turned and saw attorney Dan Laymon standing by her desk, a briefcase in his hand.

“Mr. Laymon is here to see Mr. Warner,” she said. “He says you know what it’s about.”

“Yes, Sandy. Come on over, Dan.”

Haman’s brow furrowed. “He wants to see me?”

“That’s right,” Laymon said as he passed through the gate.

“I hope somebody’s not suing me, or something like that,” Warner said with a chuckle.

“Ah … no. What I have is good news. Very good news.”

“Oh. Well, I’m always happy to hear good news!”

To Blake, the lawyer said, “Could we use your father’s office? I mean,
your
office, now, I imagine.”

“Yes,” Blake said. “It’s my office now, but since I know what this is about, and I understand the privacy you need, you’re welcome to use it.”

Haman looked at Blake quizzically. “You know what this is about?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Haman shrugged, looked at the attorney, and said, “Well, if the boss knows about it, and he’s still willing to let us use his new office, it really must be good.”

“You gentlemen have a nice time,” Blake said. “I’ve got paperwork up to my ears on the desk right here. Haman, we’ll get together later on John Hayworth and the Ridgely Corporation.”

“All right.”

Laymon and Warner entered the large office and closed the door.

When Haman had taken his seat, he looked expectantly at Dan Laymon and waited for him to speak.

Laymon set his briefcase on the edge of the desk and took out a file folder. From it he produced two official-looking sets of papers. He
handed Warner one set of the papers and said, “This is a copy of Mr. Bradley Barrett’s last will and testament.”

Warner stared at the lawyer blankly. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrett had our firm make some changes in his will shortly before he died. There was something he wanted to do for you, and I’m here to show it to you.”

Haman’s blood started to race.

“Mr. Warner, Bradley Barrett thought a lot of you, and he’s done something that is quite rare for a man to do for an employee.”

Haman blinked. “Oh?”

“Would you please turn to the second page.

Some seven or eight minutes later, attorney Dan Laymon emerged from the inner office and came to Blake’s desk.

Blake looked up. “Was he surprised?”

“Very much so. He would like for you to come into the office.”

“Sure,” Blake said, rising from his chair.

Laymon had his briefcase in hand. “My part is done; I’ll see you later.”

“All right. And thanks.”

Haman Warner was on his feet, standing in the center of the office, when Blake entered and closed the door. He was dabbing his cheeks with a handkerchief as he said, “Blake, I never dreamed your dad would do a thing like this for me. He was always good to me, of course, and paid me well, as you know, but this—“He choked up, then drew in a deep breath and said, “This is wonderful. The 5 percent bonus is terribly generous. I don’t deserve such magnanimous consideration.”

“Dad figured you do. And I’m in total agreement.”

“That means more to me than I can ever tell you, Blake. But 5 percent of the net annual income is that much less you will get.”

Blake cuffed him playfully. “Hey, my friend, you are a great part of what makes this bank successful. I’m glad to see you get the bonus.”

“Rest assured I will always
try
to earn it.”

Blake laid a hand on his shoulder. “Dad saw you work hard the seven plus years you’ve been here. He knew your heart was in it, and he wanted you to be rewarded for your faithful service. And I certainly do, too.”

Haman’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”

“Now what you have to do, my good friend, is find yourself a wife so she can enjoy your financial gain with you.”

Haman chuckled. “Yeah. One of those mail order brides, huh?”

“That Ben Roper sure did all right for himself by mail.”

A grin spread over Haman’s not-so-handsome face. “Mm-hm-m-m-m! If I could get one that pretty, I’d be one happy ex-bachelor, I’m telling you!

Blake chuckled. “There’s only one thing in this life that would make you happier.”

Haman’s grin faded. “Yeah. I know. Get saved.”

“Right.”

“You know I don’t want to offend you, Blake. But as I’ve told you probably fifty times, I’m like your dad when it comes to this religious stuff. I just don’t need it.”

“And as I’ve told you probably fifty times, opening your heart to the Lord Jesus and letting Him save your hell-bound soul is not religion. It’s
salvation.
Dad died without Jesus, Haman. I don’t want to see you do the same thing.”

“Well, I’m just a few years younger than your dad. In fact I’m only two years older than you, Blake. I’ve got plenty of time to think about dying.”

“The only problem with that kind of thinking is that lots of people who believe they’ve got till midnight to live, die at eleven-thirty. The greatest need you have is Jesus Christ. You die without Him, and you lose everything … even your own soul.”

Haman changed the subject. “Blake, I know you’re having a headstone made for your dad’s grave.”

“Yes …”

“Could I at least show my respect for him, and my appreciation, by paying for half of the stone?”

Blake peered into Haman’s eyes. “You really want to do this?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, because Dad thought so much of you, I’ll let you share half the cost as you ask.”

A smile curved Warner’s thick lips. “Thanks. Please let me know when you need the money.”

“All right.”

A serious look came over Haman’s features.

“Yes?” said Blake.

“I just want to say that I appreciate your friendship.”

“And I yours.”

“I … I hope you and I can develop the same kind of friendship I had with Bradley Barrett.”

“Me, too,” said Blake.

That evening, when Haman Warner entered his apartment, he sat down at his small kitchen table to look over Bradley Barrett’s will. At the office Dan Laymon had only discussed the 5 percent bonus with him, then told him to read the rest of the will for himself, since there was more in there that concerned him.

Haman had eaten a rich meal at the Blue Pacific Cafe, and he belched as he took the will out of the envelope Laymon had provided. Before he started reading, he chuckled, saying out loud, “I’ve got that stupid Blake Barrett eating right out of my hand! He’s as muddle-brained as his old man. If Blake only knew … if the old man had only known of the money I’ve stolen from the bank in the past seven years!” He laughed heartily.

“Yes, sir! Good of Haman Warner bilked Brad Barrett of thousands! And not even once was he suspected when the losses were discovered! Clever man, Haman! Too smart for the old boy and the rest of the stupid people at the Pacific Bank and Trust Company!”

He threw back his head and snorted. “Yes, sir, Brad of boy! All that money I took from you is sitting safely in a San Francisco bank under
my assumed name, and nobody’s the wiser! And now—“He laughed, belching again. “And now, clever Haman Warner is getting 5 percent of the profits! Not bad! Not bad at all! And just for being so loyal to you, Brad!”

He laughed so hard he cried, this time wiping genuine tears unlike those he’d shed in Blake’s office.

When he gained control of his mirth, he gleefully muttered, “Everybody at the bank thinks Haman Warner is such a nice guy! Well, they’ll never know any different, either! I’m too smart to get caught! Blake, ol’ pal, I’m gonna steal money right from under your nose, just like I did with your old man!”

He picked up the will and began scanning the document. When he came to the stipulation that the bank would become his property should Blake become incapable of directing the bank properly, his mouth dropped open. He read it again. And again.

A wicked smirk worked its way across his lips. “Well, whattaya know! If Blake dies, whoever he’s left his estate to will get it all. But! If he’s rendered incapable of directing the bank properly … well, now, this calls for a drink!”

He went to his liquor cabinet, poured himself a big shot of whiskey, and downed half of it in a gulp. “Except death, eh? All right. What if Papa Barrett’s little ‘born-again Christian boy was behind bars for a good long stretch? Like … ah …
ten to fifteen years
for stealing depositors’ money? There’s no way he could properly direct the bank from a prison cell!”

It would take some time to work out a foolproof plan, but before long he was going to own the Pacific Bank and Trust Company and have the riches he’d always dreamed about.

For the next several days, Blake Barrett thought about Ben and Minnie Roper and how they had found each other. Ben’s words came back over and over again:
“Maybe your ideal young lady is back East somewhere, just waiting for an ad from a bank president who needs a wife.”

Blake wrestled with the decision for a few days, finally deciding it wasn’t for him. Certainly the Lord wouldn’t have him put advertisements in eastern newspapers in order to find a wife. He tried to dismiss the idea from his mind, but it kept coming back. Maybe the Lord was trying to tell him something after all.

Pastor Duane Clarke was in his office at the church preparing a sermon when he heard a light knock on the door.

“Well, Blake! What brings you here this time of day? Aren’t you supposed to be at the bank loaning money and that kind of thing? Come in.”

“You’re right, Pastor. That’s what I’m usually doing, five days a week. But since I’m the boss now, I can take off whenever I want. I need to talk to you. Do you have time now?”

“Of course. A pastor’s time is for caring for his sheep.” He closed the door behind Blake and motioned to one of the two chairs that stood in front of his desk.

When both were seated, Clarke said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I need some guidance about something.”

“All right.”

“It’s about the fact that I’m going on twenty-eight years of age, and I’m not even engaged, much less married. I’m lonely as a bachelor, and since the Lord said it wasn’t good that Adam be alone, and He made Eve for him, I feel that it’s not good for me to be alone, either.”

“Makes sense. I sure wouldn’t want to be without my sweet Nora.”

“My problem is, I wouldn’t want to marry someone who isn’t genuinely saved and living to please the Lord.”

“No, you shouldn’t be unequally yoked. God makes it clear in His Word that He wouldn’t want you to.”

“I know that, and I only want to please Him. It’s just that—”

“There are no available young women in this town who meet the qualifications?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Blake, the Lord has already chosen the right young woman for you.
In Psalm 37:23, He tells us the steps of a good man are ordered by
Him.
If you’ll let Him order your steps, He will guide you to the woman He’s chosen for you.”

Blake nodded. “All right. Then this chosen lady must also be looking for the mate the Lord would have for her.”

“No doubt.”

“So, would the Lord put it on my heart to make a move in what seems to be the right direction—a direction that would result in bringing the two of us together?”

“He might do that very thing.” Clarke’s brow furrowed. “Have you got some move in mind?”

Blake scratched his head. “Well-l-l—”

“Something you’re not sure you should do?”

“Right. That’s why I’m here. I need you to tell me what you think of what I’ve got in mind.”

The pastor smiled and eased back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

Blake cleared his throat. “How about if I put ads in eastern newspapers for a mail order bride? Of course, I would specify that the lady must be a born-again Christian and ask her to tell me how she got born again. If I was satisfied with her answer, I would then lay down some other specifications, such as basic doctrinal beliefs, and living all out for the Lord.”

Without hesitation, Clarke said, “If you do it like that and pray hard while you’re doing your corresponding, the Lord may very well bring the two of you together in that way. May I ask what made you think of going the mail order bride route?”

Blake told him about the Ropers and that they seemed so happy. Ever since that day, he had not been able to get the mail order bride idea out of his mind.

“Pastor, I sort of figured you’d tell me right away not to pursue this course. But you seem to look at it favorably.”

“Number one, I look at it favorably because of the specifications you already plan to put in your ads. Number two, I’ve seen it work.”

“You know some Christians who were brought together through the
mail order bride system?” Blake said, eyes wide.