Brother Word (19 page)

Travis slid into the seat opposite his friend and nodded a hello. “You got the stuff?”

Stu laughed. “Stuff? Who am I, Deep Throat? Relax, man. This ain’t Watergate. Just the name of some guy who’s picture made the front page of a South Carolina newspaper. In my line of work, we call that small potatoes.”

“Yeah, well those small potatoes are about to put more money in my pocket. If I land this guy’s name, that’s a surefire raise for me.”

“Good. ’Cause I might have to charge you for this info. I had to pull some strings to get access to the fingerprint database.”

“Wait a sec—isn’t that a
criminal
database? You’re saying our mystery man did hard time somewhere?” This was much better news than Travis had expected. In journalism, nothing was more valued than a piece of scandalous news.

Stu shook his head as he dipped a large pancake morsel into a round of syrup. “No, nothing like that. Your man’s name is Chance Howard. Born and raised in Ruston, Louisiana. His prints got on file after a disturbance at a bar in Shreveport when he was nineteen. Seems he got into a fight with one of the locals over something his father said. His father was drunk, rowdy, causing a scene—you know, typical bar fight. Chance paid a small fine, but his prints stayed on record.”

“Ruston,
Louisiana
? What’s he doing here?”

Stu shook his head again. “Can’t figure that out. His wife died two years ago, and it seems he’s just been wandering around small towns all over the South. He’s been making a name for himself over this healing business, though. There was a story in the
Vicksburg Post
about a man who supposedly healed a seventy-year-old man with scoliosis of the spine for forty years. Just laid his hands on this old guy and the vertebrae straightened out.”

“The
Vicksburg Post
? You don’t waste time gathering your information, do you?”

Stu smiled. “I’ve got very good sources at the department.”

“Yeah, well . . . let’s get back to the tape. Anything else interesting on it?”

“As a matter of fact, there was.” Stu slid a manila folder across the table. “The camera shows a woman two pay phones down from Chance. Right after he hangs up, she follows him to the trains. Then she purchases a ticket to the same destination Chance was headed—Savannah. You recognize her?”

Travis’s eyes widened as he stared at the grainy black-and-white photo stills inside the folder. He’d seen this woman just
yesterday
at that church service! She’d gotten up right after Eddie’s speech to give her own healing testimony.

“Th-this is Lynn Harper, the woman who claims Chance healed her from blindness. I used some of her quotes in my first article.”

“I thought you said that blind woman didn’t know who the mystery man was.”

Travis’s ears started burning. “Th-that’s what she told me, too! She knows this guy? What if they got a scam working?” He started nodding as he pieced it all together in his mind. “Yeah, I bet they prey on gullible church people and make it
look
like people are getting healed, but it’s all fake. Steve Martin did a movie on that years back, didn’t he?”

Stu nodded. “
Leap of Faith
. Funny movie.”

“Yeah, this has
gotta
be a scam!”

“But why? Where’s your motive?”

“I don’t know.” He also didn’t know how his nephew fit into this scenario, because whatever argument he tried to make, it was beyond his intellect how Eddie could now hear and walk. That healing was
certainly
not fake.

“I think I need to have another talk with this Lynn Harper woman. My gut tells me she’s hiding something.”

Chapter Thirty-one

A
S THE HEALING SERVICE’S
new testimonies continued piling in, Lynn’s team worked double time to make sure all the testimonies were documented. Every person who had gotten healed at the altar received periodic prayer calls, ensuring that they “hold on” to their healings. Pastor Gentry had stressed the importance of these prayer calls, reminding them the devil often brought seeds of doubt to the minds of those who’d been healed.

“Walking in divine
health
should be the primary aim after a miracle healing service,” Gentry had said to the outreach team. “It’s wonderful to see someone healed of cancer, but not if that cancer comes back after a one-year remission. We need to arm those testifying of their healings with God’s Word so they can daily confess the divine health that God desires they walk in.”

In addition to the prayer calls, initiatives were also set up to provide healthy-living alternatives. The reasoning behind such effects were sound—those healed of high blood pressure-related problems, diabetes, or heart problems needed to modify their daily eating and exercise habits with positive alternatives. Pastor T. R. Smallwood had been the first to enroll in Faith Community’s new senior-citizen aerobics class, making it widely known that it was now his
personal
responsibility to maintain the healthy heart God had blessed him with.

Lynn heard a knock on her door and looked up to Arlene’s smiling face. “You doing alright today, Lynn?”

Lynn smiled back at her friend. “I’m doing great. Busier than I’ve ever been in recent memory, but great.”

“Well, ask and you shall receive, right? How many healings have been documented so far from the service?”

“Fifteen, so far. Everything from arthritis to chest pains, chronic migraines to heart conditions. God is so awesome, Arlene! And the faith of the congregation for divine healings is growing by leaps and bounds.”

“I know
my
faith is growing in the area of healing. My nephew was sick with the flu this morning, so I stopped by his house to lay hands on him and pray the Word of God over him.” She smiled. “Of course, I’m also believing God to work through that TheraFlu medicine and chicken noodle soup, but I know that God can touch his body.”

“That’s absolutely right. You know, during those weeks that I was blind, I sometimes wondered where God was. Why did He allow my car window to explode right into my eyes? It seemed so unfair, and I couldn’t understand why a loving God would allow that to happen to me. But now that my sight is restored, it’s like my faith has gone to another level. I was praying for this woman at the altar who was dealing with the early stages of Alzheimer’s. And even though my rational mind
knows
there’s no known cure for the disease, my faith didn’t care! I mean, I was blind for seven weeks with virtually no chance to recover full sight! But what the doctors couldn’t do, God did! And now my 20/20 vision has been restored, and I’m beginning to understand why God allowed me to go through those seven weeks. Because in order to go from strength to strength, you first have to go through weakness. In order to go from glory to glory, you have to endure some . . . Well, for lack of a better word . . . you have to endure some
hell
.”

“Lynn, you’re preaching now! And you are so right. I watched you go through that devastating season, and seeing how you kept confessing the Word for your healing stirred something up in me.”

Lynn was about to reply when her phone started ringing.

Arlene shook her head knowingly and headed for the door. “No rest for the weary, huh?”

“Apparently not. Talk to you later, girl.” Lynn picked up her receiver. “Faith Community Church, Minister Harper speaking.”

“Lynn? Travis Everett, the
State
. You got a moment?”

Lynn’s first response was to give this lying reporter a good piece of her mind, but that wouldn’t be right. It would’ve felt good, but . . . it wouldn’t have been right.

“Do I have a moment to
talk
? About what? You want to use my name to support your half-truths and unfounded theories once again?”

“Miss Harper, in no way did I intend to—”

“Whatever your
intentions
were doesn’t matter to me. What does matter, however, is the good faith on which I spoke with you concerning this man God is using in a mighty way.”

“Good faith? You want to talk about good faith, Miss Harper? If I remember correctly, you told me you had no idea who this man was.”

“Yes, and what I told you was the truth. What you wrote, however, was nothing but sensationalism and lies. I never said this man claimed to be Je—”

“Pardon me, Miss Harper, but you’re hardly in a position to lecture me on the subject of lying.”

What!
Was she hearing this man correctly? Who in the world did he think he was? He was on the verge of harassing her, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to be staring at a lawsuit. Saved woman of God or not, she wasn’t one to play the fool.

“You listen to me carefully, Mr. Everett. I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“Let me tell you
exactly
who I am. I’m a reporter with the scoop on the most talked-about story in South Carolina. And before you say something else that you might regret, I should probably inform you that I’m in possession of a videotape showing you and our infamous mystery man boarding a train to Savannah, Georgia, five days ago. Oh, and he’s not such a mystery man anymore. His name, as you well know, is
Chance Howard
.”

Lynn’s mouth fell open.
He knows Chance’s name . . . he has a videotape . . .

“I’m
also
in possession of a videotape showing you and Mr. Howard talking rather candidly in that Savannah train station. Now, would you care to retract your previous statement about not knowing who this man is?”

“I . . . I . . . um . . . you can’t . . .”

“Oh, I most certainly can, Miss Harper. You see, as a newspaper reporter, I believe in the freedom of speech and freedom of the press, which is protected by the First Amendment of our great Constitution. So I have every right to publish this information whether you like it or not. Cat still got your tongue?”

The . . . nerve! The nerve of this man!
“Mr. Everett, I . . . I can explain everything.”

“I’m sure you can, Miss Harper. But you see, I have quite an important story to write—one based on facts and not the lies of someone who claims to be a minister of the gospel.”

What!
“Mr. Everett, you are way out of line! I haven’t said anything to you that was not true. At the time we spoke, I had no idea who this man was.”

“Rii-iight. So I suppose you just
happened
to run into him at that train station.”

“Well . . . yes,” Lynn replied, knowing how unrealistic that sounded. “Yes, that is exactly what happened.”

Travis started laughing. “You expect me to believe that? You expect the 115,000 daily subscribers to the
State
to believe that?”

“B-but . . . but surely you don’t plan to reveal this man’s identity!”

“I most certainly do. As a matter of fact, I have a flight to catch to Louisiana to obtain a quote from Chance Howard himself. Seems I can’t track down his phone number, but being the diligent reporter I am, I understand the importance of allowing all involved parties an opportunity to be quoted. You’ve had your opportunity, and I’ve got to say, I’m a little disappointed in you. But no matter—it will make a better story if I get a quote straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“You know about
Louisiana
?” Lynn could not believe what she was hearing. After Chance had confided in her how much he respected his privacy, and how she had sensed the extent of his personal pain, how could she let this headline-seeking reporter just go traipsing off to Louisiana! Making matters worse, she felt guilty about the whole affair, like she had somehow personally led Travis to Chance.

“Mr. Everett, you don’t understand,” she started pleading once more, but she quickly realized that saying anything else was a waste of breath. The hollow, empty ringing of a dial tone on the other end of the phone signaled that Travis Everett had ended this conversation.

Chapter Thirty-two

I
’VE GOT TO WARN CHANCE . . .

This immediate thought raced through Lynn’s mind as she hung up her phone with now-trembling hands. Forgotten were all the wonderful healing testimonies she’d just documented on a spreadsheet just ten minutes earlier, and in their place was a world of worries.

What was she supposed to tell Chance, assuming she now called him? The conversation she imagined in her mind was downright foolish-sounding.

“Hello, Chance?” she might say. “Um . . . I know how much you value your privacy, but there’s a reporter headed your way wanting to do a surprise interview with you. What? How did he find out where you live? Well, he must have tracked security tapes at different Amtrak stations after he spotted me with you. What? Yes, he spotted you with me. Why was he following me? Now that’s . . . a good question.”

Chance Howard did
not
need the misguided publicity of a headline-seeking reporter prying into his personal life under the guise of “the people’s right to know.” And why was Chance Howard’s identity such a big deal to Travis Everett anyway? Not only was this reporter way out of line to initially write such lies about Chance, but he was still missing the most important story angle—that
God
, not man, was working all these miracles. Lynn had even reminded her outreach and altar workers team not to get caught up by one person possessing a gift of healing. It was the same principle written about in Acts 5:13, where the people esteemed the disciples highly, as the disciples healed all manner of sicknesses and diseases. It was easy to become distracted by the men you
saw
perform the healings in place of God, who alone possesses the power to heal.

Wait a minute
, Lynn thought, mentally processing a piece of information she’d missed before.

Everett . . . Everett . . .
Earlier, she’d been typing the names of those healed at the altar into her database, and there was something familiar about the last name Everett. She quickly pulled up her alphabetical list and scanned for the E’s.

Everett, Eddie
.

It was the name of the little boy who had had his hearing restored and been given strength to his ankle bones. In the column underneath Eddie’s name, Lynn had listed all family members who were living in the area. Eddie’s mother and father, Andrea and James, lived in Columbia. And Eddie also had an uncle in Columbia by the name of . . .
Travis.