The Warning by Davis Bunn Page A

Clarke’s closed door were the sounds of people hurrying off, sounds gradually replaced by the stillness of a big empty place. “Every night for more than two weeks.”
    â€œDo you want to tell me about it?”
    Clarke was the perfect man to discuss this with, and Molly was a gem for having paved the way. He was a graying man in his early sixties, far too mild-mannered to have ever made a dynamic sermonizer. Yet he was adored by the parishioners, the one they always turned to in times of stress and strain. Clarke was a steady listener who knew the value of an open heart.
    Even so, Buddy did not answer him directly. “What would you say if I told you I thought maybe God was giving me a message?”
    Clarke leaned back and eyed him over steepled fingers. “Is that what you think?”
    â€œI don’t know.” The calm was a comfort to his soul. Here he could be honest, and honesty was what was called for. “Well, yes. Yes, I think He is.”
    â€œBuddy, I’ve known you for how long, thirty years? You’ve been a deacon for most of that time. You’ve seen us through two building programs, loaned us the money, looked after our accounts, done just about anything we’ve asked you to. You never look for thanks; you never ask for the limelight. You are one of the most selfless servants I have ever had the honor of knowing.”
    Buddy looked askance at the pastor. This was the last thing he had expected to hear. “Clarke—”
    â€œHang on a second. You should know by now never to stop a pastor in mid-sermon. Now then. I know you to be a good husband and father. You are also known throughout the town as someone to approach with a financial problem. Half the houses in these parts are owned through mortgages you have personally written. You have the ability to help people see what they can and can’t afford, and you do it without offending them or making them feel that you’re prying or trying to take advantage. You’re the only banker I’ve ever met who counsels people away from debt if they can possibly help it.” Clarke allowed a small smile to break through. “Have I forgotten anything?”
    â€œI feel like you’ve been talking about somebody else,” Buddy replied. “Somebody I just wish I was.”
    â€œNatural modesty is a fine trait, so long as it doesn’t keep you from being all you can be.” Pastor Owen paused a moment and then finished, “Or all the Lord wants you to be.”
    Buddy stared at his old friend. “Does that mean you believe me?”
    â€œI haven’t heard what you think you’ve heard. But I have to admit that my natural inclination would be to say yes. If Buddy Korda tells me that the Lord has given him a message, and if the message stands up to scriptural inspection, I’d be inclined to accept it as truth.”
    Buddy found the same question welling up that had remained unanswered the day before in his den. “But why me ?”
    â€œWhy not you?”
    â€œBecause I don’t like people noticing me.” The mere thought of it was enough to make his hands damp. He wiped his palms down the legs of his trousers and went on. “I’m a nobody, Clarke. I’m a second-rate bank clerk in a small town midway to nowhere. I don’t know the first thing about talking to people.”
    â€œAh. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Pastor Owen reached to the desk for his Bible. “We’re really facing two parts to your question. The first part is why would the Lord choose you to receive a message from on high. The second is why would He want you to pass it on.”
    â€œI guess that’s it.” Relief was so strong it made his eyes burn. Not only was he dealing with a solid man of the church who believed him, or at least was willing to, but here was also someone who had the ability to put things into perspective. “That’s it