Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

God, though he never put anything in the plate. Curious.

“Black’s move, I’d say. Knight to queen’s knight five.”

Willie sat up and looked from the man to the board. He had contemplated that move himself. Who would the old sourdough have played with out there in the hills? Or did he, too, play by himself? Some players could play the game in their head.

He looked back to Callender. “I’d gladly let you make that move, my friend, if I weren’t too tired to play right now.” He lay back down. He didn’t need to ask what his problem was. The Times had printed an article about a new evangelical church, the Temple of the Angels, to be built in Echo Park for the Rev. Mull and the Church of the New Gospel. To be built by the reverend’s brother, entrepreneur Eddie Mull. Willie had pinned it on the vestry bulletin board.

How did Eddie know about the name he’d wondered?

Callender was a good Soldier, as loyal to the Church of the New Gospel as anyone in the congregation. Despite the oil strike he still dressed and acted the same, diffidently, shyly, though Willie sensed the steel inside. God bless him, he thought. His heart was good and he was always ready to lend a hand—help in the commissary, help the infirm to their seats and afterward to buses and trolleys, sometimes even accompanying them home again. But why had Callender come to him? Cal had mentioned something about a quarrel with Eddie over oil profits. That certainly was not something Willie intended to get into.

He stared at the chessboard, wondering if black knight to queen’s knight five was the right move. Probably not, but it was intriguing.

“It just ain’t right, Reverend.”

“What isn’t right, Henry.”

“I was going to build the temple for you, Reverend. I reckon you remember I told you about that after I met your brother. I knew there was oil down there. I think I told you all about it at the time, didn’t I, Reverend? First time. Do you remember that?”

“I believe I do, Henry.”

“I also told your brother the first time I met him. I told him that when we hit I was going to build you the biggest church this town ever saw. Did he tell you that? We had a fifty-fifty agreement. Did he tell you that?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You remember how I used that very name—Temple of the Angels. You do remember that, don’t you?

“I do, I do.”

“So you know how I feel about things. How is it that article on the bulletin board says your brother’s going to build the Temple of the Angels when I was going to build it? Something not right about that, wouldn’t you say?”

Something about Eddie owing him money, wasn’t that what Cal said? Willie didn’t get into things like that: Matthew 6:24: “You cannot serve God and mammon.”

“My brother can be a hard man to move.”

Callender shifted in the chair, leaning back and looking from the chessboard to Willie and back to the board.

“And I as well, Reverend.”

Willie heard the edge in the voice. Delicate business.

“After all, what does it matter, Henry? The important thing is that the temple is built, isn’t it? Built thanks to Venice oil, God’s gift to all of us. What does it matter if the money comes from you or my brother? Seems to me the same thing. It is to be seed money only, for the temple should be built by the Soldiers, by God’s little people.

Callender didn’t answer right away. He’d had the same thought and rejected it.

“It ain’t the same thing, Reverend. You’d think it was, wouldn’t you? Same oil, same money, same temple. But it ain’t the same. In my mind it ain’t the same thing at all. Your brother has robbed me of what is rightfully mine and what I was rightfully going to do for you, and I have to find a way to set things right.”

A threat? No, certainly not.

An idea came. “Henry, I can’t give you back something I don’t have, surely you can see that. But maybe I can give you something I do have. You are a good man, Henry, a good Soldier. One of the best, I would say. I like the way you help people, look after them. I don’t know where you got the gift of compassion, but you have it. It is God-given and it is genuine.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“Will you join us? We’re bigger now, have more to do. In a year or two we’ll be moving into something far bigger still. I don’t know what it will be yet, but I know this: It is God’s will. We can use you, Henry, use your God-given talents. And of course, we will compensate you generously. Think of it as a start, Henry, however small, toward restitution.”

Chapter 7

Willie studied the drawings for some time without reacting, without a single gesture or twitch of a facial muscle. The men were scrutinizing him, but he stood still as a statue, giving nothing away. Eddie had called the night before to say the drawings were ready, and he should come by to meet with the architects. “You’re going to be bowled over,” he said, and now Willie was staring dumbfounded at the thing expected to bowl him over. He’d not been asked about it. “After all, what do we know about architecture,” Eddie had said. “I’ve hired the best firm in town, showed them the land, told them what I could afford. Don’t forget Mamá’s last words. This is the church she wanted you to have: the Temple of the Angels.”

And so here they were: two brothers and three architects, Wynken, Blynken and Nod, for all Willie knew of these people, and what they were showing him was monstrous.

They never argued. As children they’d had their snits, but not often because identical twins, sharing the same sperm and egg, are mirrors of each other. They are Siamese twins lucky enough to