“Okay, okay already,” Rev. Paul Purpose’s voice boomed, responding to the incessant banging on the parsonage’s back door. “Hold on, I’m coming.” Groggy, the minister struggled to focus on the two shadows outlined against a backdrop of black night. Thick clouds stifled the full moon’s light.
Luther moaned, jabbing the vandal in the back with his clutched fist, a cue to fess up.
Rev. Purpose switched on the back porch light and instantly recognized the mute. But who was the young lanky man with him? Finally, the minister said to Luther, “I’m surprised to see you out at this time of night.”
To give the criminal a better incentive to confess, Luther stared at the perpetrator with hard fixed eyes, his face threateningly contorted. Then he shoved the man, pushing him into Rev. Purpose’s cozy kitchen.
“Ah-ah-ah,” the man stuttered, his eyes darting between the minister and Luther, who was trained to destroy such a man. The criminal wondered why his captor failed to speak, instead grunting.
“Sit down, sit down,” Rev. Purpose invited, pulling out two wooden chairs for Luther and the uncomfortable stranger.
Luther waited until the vandal sat, before moving to the empty seat. Rev. Purpose remained by the stove where he curiously watched the peculiar interaction of his guests.
Slowly, Luther lowered himself, keeping a considerate distance from the uneasy stranger. But, he remained close enough to be a threat, should the young man try to flee.
After a long uncomfortable moment of silence, with tension-filled air, Rev. Purpose asked directly, “What’s going on?”
With flashing hands, Luther gestured to the vandal. His eyes appeared daggers, aimed directly at his foe. Finally, the mute crashed his fist hard onto the table, pounding with a fury. He had lost all patience.
Startled, the wide-eyed young man raved, “Okay, okay. I did it. There, are you happy, you crazy old man?”
Bracing his hands against the edge of the table, Luther slowly rose to his feet, his lips twisting with rage. Rev. Purpose stood dumbfounded. What was happening in his kitchen? It appeared as if all hell was about to break loose.
Jabbing his pointy finger into the vandal’s shoulder, Luther instinctively lashed with his tongue. “You miserable punk.”
“What?” the minister blurted, surprised. “Luther, you spoke. You just spoke. Hallelujah, it’s a miracle. Luther can speak.” And then he performed a little celebratory dance on the blue linoleum, around the table.
Abruptly, Rev. Purpose halted his dance. “Luther, you can speak? How?”
But Luther ignored the minister, instead maintaining his threatening posture and stare upon the petty criminal sitting directly beside him. “Tell this good man what you did,” Luther demanded, his tone harsh.
By now, the two men had disturbed Denise Purpose, who came to the kitchen doorway in stunned silence. Had she not heard it with her own ears, she never would have believed the miracle, which manifested itself when Luther opened his mouth. The mute was speaking. No longer was his tongue constrained. Smiling, she glanced upward, as if looking towards Heaven.
“Tell him now,” Luther spoke again, his voice loud and raspy from his shallow breathing. His chest heaved up at down as his fist pounded the table once more.
Terrified, the vandal sheepishly muttered, “I cut the pipe, the church pipe.”
Rev. Purpose leaned forward, astounded. “You caused the flooding?”
The young man nodded in horror, afraid of the consequences that were surely to follow his coerced confession.
“You, and your friend,” Luther corrected.
“What is your name?” the minister asked the stranger, knowing full well this man didn’t reside in Dalton Springs. Surely, he came from Brightan, a place with a reputation for a few scoundrels.
“Chucky.”
The minister nodded, sighing. “And what is your friend’s name?”
“Dale.”
“And where’s he?”
“He’s not around tonight. He’s working late.” Chucky turned pale, afraid. “You gonna call the sheriff?”
Paul Purpose failed to respond, his mind still reeling from the unexpected news.
“Well?” Chucky repeated, his eyes unable to fix upon the minister’s. Guilt appeared to have gotten the best of the vandal, or maybe fear. If authorities got involved, there would be punishment. Chucky dreaded the threat of jail time.
“I don’t know,” Rev. Purpose said contemplatively. Then he offered his thoughts. “I think you’re a good person who made a bad choice.”
Chucky started to respond, but found his words quickly interrupted.
Luther moved away from the table, coughing. What started as a tickle in his throat became hoarse hacking.
“Oh my,” Denise commented, stepping toward the struggling older man. “I’ll get you a drink of water. Maybe that will help.”
Luther nodded as his chest continued convulsing with his coughing.
But a funny thing happened when the minister’s compassionate wife, lovely Denise Purpose, turned on the sink’s spigot. Soap suds bubbled from the faucet.
© 2006 by author. All rights reserved.
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