Spirit Code

By Harold McNabb

Most of the time, mistakes cost you, but now and then lead to a lucky break.

A spur of the moment detour into a small town, for example, could lead to nothing but a wasted half-hour, or it could be the hinge that changes your life. Josh Parker, alone with only his Basset hound, Max, and a small inheritance in his pocket, ventures in Glenview, a town he hadn't planned to visit. His life soon takes a decisive detour. He encounters the beautiful Elizabeth Guthrie and buys an old church with a secret past leading to an encounter with Arnon, a warrior angel. A small but determined group of opponents will stop at nothing in their quest to thwart Arnon's mission in the lives of Josh and Elizabeth.

 

 

 

This novel is set up as the first in a series of at least three books featuring Josh and Elizabeth Parker, their dog Max, and from time to time, the angel Arnon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harold Mcnabb
• Release date: Apr 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201795207

Harold McNabb

Harold is an ordained minister who along with his wife Valerie lives in Victoria, British Columbia. They have four children, five grandsons, who along with amateur photography keep Harold from needing to take up golf.

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Spirit Code

Copyright 2021 by Harold McNabb, all rights reserved

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Published by Harold McNabb

ISBN:9798201795207

All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Chapter One

THE DISCOVERY OF PENICILLIN was accidental, but so was the sinking of the Titanic. Most of the time, mistakes cost you, but not always.

A spur-of-the-moment detour into a small town could lead to nothing but a wasted half-hour, or it could be the hinge that changes your life.

Josh Parker tapped the fuel gauge on his 1999 Toyota 4Runner, sure there was a mistake, but the needle didn’t budge, edging on empty.

Max! You forgot to remind me to fill up last night. I didn’t want to stop yet.

The Basset hound twisted his head and eyeballed Josh, then returned his attention to the window and the passing countryside. The old Toyota’s air conditioning wasn’t working, so Josh had the vent fan on high, and the passenger side window opened a crack.  Max's outrageous ears flopped in the breeze.

At the first exit, Josh wheeled off the highway.  The exit sign read, Glenview. Pop 8,000. Just off the road was a Sunoco next to an IHOP. He pulled in and began fueling his vehicle.

Josh stood just over six feet tall and wore a Chicago Bulls t-shirt over his athletic frame. His blonde hair was cut short, with one strand of hair he kept brushing away from his hazel-brown eyes.  Enjoying the early morning sun, he was also aware of a deep sorrow where his joy should have been.

He put forty dollars’ worth into the tank, and twisted the gas cap in place, then shut the gas filler flap with a hollow pop.

Max, do you love the smell of gasoline in the morning? Josh knew Max hated the smell of gasoline and would show his displeasure if he didn’t move on. He stood next to the pump for a moment, looking for the entrance back onto the highway. The on-ramp and highway underpass were to his right. He slid back into the driver’s seat and rolled slowly out of the gas station.

OK, this isn’t on our map of places to visit this morning, but what do you think? You game for a quick drive down Main Street just for a look-see?

The Basset hound turned to Josh and gave him two seconds of undivided attention before turning back to the window.

Alright, I’m with you, but just a quick look. We’re off schedule, and there are more promising towns to check out.

He headed for Main Street. The Glenview Hotel was on the left. On the right-hand corner, a block farther along was a Presbyterian church. A variety of shops and services occupied street-level. Most were wood-framed two-story buildings.

He spotted a restaurant on the left.  Beneath an awning with alternating pink and white stripes, the sign on the front said, Busby’s Diner. Just as he signaled a left turn, thinking he’d seen everything worth checking out, he locked eyes with a young woman with dark shoulder-length hair. He quickly looked in the rearview mirror, but her back was to him.

Wow, Max, did you see that? I know she saw me.

He completed his left turn and accelerated to the next intersection to turn back onto Main Street, hoping he’d be in time to see her again.

He didn’t want to look like he was gawking but didn’t want to lose sight of her either. Before completing another left, he noticed a single-story brick building with Glenview Realty painted in fancy gold script on its window. Once he turned back onto the main street, the young woman he figured to be about his age was gone. He drove slowly but still couldn’t see her.

I don’t know what I’d do if I did see her anyway, and there’s no point asking you for advice. I know what a hound would do, and none of those is an option for me.

Once more around the block, he parked in front of Glenview Realty, debating whether to head out of town or spend more time in the first town he visited. On impulse, he took Max and went inside. Cyndi Marlboro greeted him and offered to show him some of Glenview’s real estate.

By late morning, nothing Cyndi had shown him had any promise as an art studio and living residence, not that he was surprised or disappointed.

"Time to move on to some more likely towns. You agree, Max?"

I do have one more property you can see. I think you’ll find it interesting; the price is good, and there’s more to it than meets the eye.

A short distance out of town, she swung into a long gravel driveway. And now, as small stones crunched under the weight of her vehicle, Cyndi brought her blue Subaru Forester to a stop in a gravel parking lot.

You want me to buy a church? I’m a painter, not a preacher!  

Instead of a home or commercial property, he stared at a white clapboard church that occupied the property at the driveway's end. It was old and rural, but it looked in good shape. It was an icon surrounded by acres of corn and bordered by large shade trees.

You seriously want me to buy this? The young man laughed out loud. That’s what I call American Gothic! It’s something I might paint, but not something I’d buy.

I think you’ll see it has what you’re looking for, and as I said, the price is right. She checked on her dog in the back seat, a German Shepherd. Josh swiveled to see how Max was doing.

Josh gazed at the country church just off the road about a mile out of town. He swung his long legs onto the gravel and stared in disbelief that she would think he’d buy it. Cyndi opened the rear driver’s side door and let her dog out to run. He sprang from the car heading for an elm tree and began to relieve himself.

Josh opened the other rear door, and Max tumbled out, nose to the ground, and began a patrol of the new territory. The late June sun was already hot by ten o’clock in the morning. Josh had heard German shepherds didn’t take easily to new dogs, but at least the shepherd showed no hostility to Max.

I knew southern Indiana had hot summers, but I had no idea it would be this hot and humid. I don’t remember it raining overnight.

The earth smelled hot and organic. He felt a breeze on his cheek, which brought the whiff of a fresher scent. The leaves' rustle just to his left revealed its source — an apple tree full of unripe green apples.

The property is an acre in total. Cyndi Marlboro swept her arm in an arc to show the property's scope, which was bordered by trees on three sides, in addition to the single apple tree.

The land is the most expensive part of the deal, and since you can’t do much farming on a single acre, it’s not that expensive. The building itself has little commercial value.

She stood with one hand on her hip, looking at the church rather than at Josh. Cyndi Marlboro looked about fifty, and while not slim, seemed fit. She wore a light blue suit and a plain white shirt. She looked to Josh like she might be heading to a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. If she was, Josh figured she ran the meeting.

The restrictive covenant on the place says it must be either a church or farmland. It’s not functioning as a church, but I know for a fact that no one is going to go to all the bother of rezoning it just to regain an acre of farmland.

Josh didn’t hear the slightest doubt from Cyndi that all would turn out exactly as she described it.

Besides, folks have gotten used to seeing the building where it is. People will come out here for picnics from time to time. You’d need to expect that. I am sure they would ask in advance, but that’s a way to endear yourself. And I’m sure they’ll take to you.

The building may have what I need, but couldn’t someone challenge the purchase since I would have zero intention of holding religious services here? I’m an agnostic who walks around a block to avoid anything religious. He felt he needed to keep pace with her confidence or be swept away by it.

No, that kind of challenge would never be allowed.

He said nothing, pondering whether or not he would move on.

As I said, the property isn’t that expensive. The asking price is thirty thousand, which would be a bargain.

I could afford it if it met my needs. I have the money.

Your art must be selling well. It must be nice having financial freedom.

I guess it would, but it’s not always what folks think.

I may be out of line to say this, but you don’t sound as happy about it as I would expect. You’re young, have money and the world before you.

The only reason I have the money is because of death—my parents’ death. And I have freedom because there’s nobody left.

Josh, I’m so sorry. I apologize if I said anything wrong.

It’s fine. You couldn’t know, and I’m not offended. He wanted to talk about the day he heard the news of their death but had learned that most people aren’t interested in hearing about other people’s losses. But confining the pain within himself heightened the sense of loneliness he felt.

I do have a good feeling about you. I’m a good judge of character. I have to be meeting so many people.

He smiled. Thanks, I appreciate that, but you did bring your dog to chaperone me.

Yeah, Chip’s accepted you, but I’m careful.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Fair enough. You don’t know me.

I don’t, but I’ll let you in on a secret about this place.

What’s that? Despite knowing this building and this town were not on his schedule, he felt intrigued.

She stepped over to the vehicle and put her vinyl realtor’s case on the hood, and began to tell her story.

My father was a Baptist minister. He died a couple of years ago, but he lived in Glenview before the congregation left this building and moved into a newer building in town.

Was your father the minister of this church here? Josh asked with rising curiosity.

No, this is or was a Presbyterian church. He moved to Glenview when he retired from his last church in Ohio. He came to be close to me and the grandkids after my mom died. But he became friends with the retired former pastor of St. Andrew’s, the Presbyterian group who owned this building. The Reverend Paul Smythe died about five years ago.

OK, so you have inside information. Is it haunted or something? Now that would be cool. He sized up the old building. It was in excellent repair, he figured, for a building not in use out in the country.

Haunted? No, exactly the opposite. The building has never been deconsecrated. She looked away from Josh to the empty building.

Josh looked around for Max. The Basset would typically have been sniffing every bush and pursuing every scent but was seated on the ground, twenty feet to the right, looking at the church. Cyndi’s dog was busy patrolling the perimeter of the property.

Josh turned back to Cyndi and leaned against the other side of the hood to hear her story.

Why does that matter whether it’s deconsecrated? he asked.

Legally, I think it makes a case for it still being considered a church. When a congregation builds a church, they consecrate it for holy purposes.

The phrase holy purposes raised a small alarm but not strong enough for him to object.

She continued, When the church received permission and blessing to move, there was a farewell service held here. According to my dad, they held a consecration service at the new church. Still, somehow, they forgot to deconsecrate this piece of property.

How does that happen? I have to tell you all this religious talk doesn’t mean much to me. Should it?

No, you don’t need to concern yourself with that. All is well, and personally, I think it gives the place a bit of character. I’ve been told often that folks can feel its peaceful character. But it’s unusual for Presbyterians to forget something like that. She grinned at Josh.

I know nothing about Presbyterians.

No worries, it’s just a curiosity. The building is charming, don’t you think?

Yeah, I guess it is. I’ve heard of old church buildings being converted into theatres and homes but never gave it much thought until now.

Josh, I’d say it fits the bill for everything you’ve said you want. It has plenty of room, and with some imagination, you could do a lot with it. And it’s less expensive than anything else you’ll look at. Furthermore, I know the owners are highly motivated to sell.

Could someone insist it be deconsecrated after the fact?

Nah, only if you asked them to, and why would you want to go to the bother? Just for interest's sake, it was my father who tipped me off. He thought that any purchaser would find it intriguing.

The only thing Josh knew about holy places he’d learned from Raiders of The Lost Ark. He thought about asking Cyndi if going into a sacred place like this might make his face melt off.  He decided against that. Still, the idea didn’t leave.

If your dad and the other minister knew about it, why didn’t they suggest the building be deconsecrated?

I have no idea, but now you know. Still interested? She unscrewed the top of her water bottle and took a sip.

And what would I be walking into if I was? 

Let’s go take a look.

Chapter Two

TWO WOODEN STEPS LED to a wooden porch and a heavy wooden front door. Cyndi unlocked the door and stepped directly into the sanctuary, followed by the two dogs who explored the inner space. Cyndi went to the center of the empty church.

I love this place. It feels like home to me, even though it was never where my family attended. She slowly turned, admiring the panorama of the interior. Josh remained just inside the door, examining the space before him.

The interior was a few degrees cooler than outside and smelled of old wood. He examined the wooden beams and ceiling. The interior walls were wooden, the varnish darkened with age. Along the left and right side of the old church was a row of tall windows. Nothing about the place surprised him, but he reminded himself that this was alien territory for an agnostic.

The pews were gone, so the space was wide open right up to the church's front. There was a raised wooden platform about four feet higher than floor level with a shallow but broad staircase on the right, next to the windows, which were transparent glass.

Weren’t there ever stained-glass windows in here?

Yes, but they were removed and used in the new building we came past on the way out here.

OK, that makes sense.

Josh walked up what had been the old building’s center aisle to where Cyndi was standing.

I guess a lot of brides have walked up this aisle over the years.

The pathway that brides took coming in and going out was visible in the worn wood. The notion of holy place was hard to put aside.

Many, and all with a story to tell. Cyndi was now on the platform. Important moments in many lives. Many smiles and many tears.

Josh was surprised by her sentimental tone. A few moments ago, she had been all business.

He joined her on the platform with no pulpit and no choir pews, though small holes showed where they had been fixed to the hardwood floor.

You can tell the age by the width of the boards on the floor. Builders used wider boards generations back. It looks like oak.

He circled the platform taking in the details as well as the feel of the place.

The woodwork in here is maple and oak. She ran her hands across the surface of the dark wood framework of a window. Her matter-of-fact tone had returned. The wood came from woodlots around here. Farmers cut the wood and hauled it here, likely on horse-drawn wagons. I’ve seen photos of the small portable sawmill used to cut the logs into dimension lumber.

I can see why people would want to protect it for heritage value.

Yes, but heritage value costs money; it rarely produces money.

Value to the purchaser but not to the vendor.

You sure you didn’t sell real estate? So, what’s your first impression?

Less light than I would have guessed, though I like the tall windows. Do you know the dimensions?

That’s just what I’m going to measure. The spec sheet lists the main floor as fifteen hundred square feet. She unfolded the realtor’s floor plan.

This space is supposed to be thirty feet wide by fifty feet long. Let’s check. She handed him an end of her metal mearing tape. They measured both the length and width of the interior.

Well, how about that! You know, I always brag about how accurate those old-time carpenters were, and they were darn good, but someone seems to have goofed up a tad, or we’ve gotten the wrong information.

What’s wrong? Josh’s voice echoed in the empty space. He still held the steel measuring tape.

It’s ok, and you can let go now.

He did, and she retracted the tape with a hand crank on the side. He walked to where Cyndi stood. What do you see?

I was expecting the length to be exactly fifty feet. I assumed the measurements would be exact. It’s supposed to be fifteen hundred square feet.

What is the length?

Cyndi was scratching some numbers on her copy of the building description. My measurement is forty-eight and a half feet. Either the builders were off by a foot and a half, and I can’t imagine that, or someone just rounded up and called it thirty by fifty.

She entered the numbers into the calculator on her smartphone. So...it’s fourteen hundred and fifty-six square feet, to be exact. Not fifteen hundred.

Not a big deal.

She frowned, Not in the big scheme of things, no. I’m just a little surprised. I don’t like giving out specs that aren’t completely accurate. It looks amateurish.

Josh strolled around what had been the sanctuary. Cyndi sat on the edge of the platform, writing notes on the back of her realty forms.

Josh surveyed the interior. The ceiling beams and trusses were large and looked hefty but graceful. He could hang extra light fixtures from them if needed, but he felt he would need to respect the building's lines. He was sure the craftsmanship would be excellent on close inspection.

When I was in art school, we did a tour of some old homes in the city, and it was amazing how those old craftsmen did such amazing work with only hand tools. Some of the joints in the attics were so tight you couldn’t slip a piece of paper between the boards.

They took pride, and people were willing to wait. Now, they complain if a house isn’t ready the moment they expect it. No wonder some builders get a little sloppy.

‘I love the smell of the old wood in here. I didn’t expect that, being old and all."

Are you interested in talking price?

Sure. You said the owners are asking thirty thousand. An inner voice tugged at him to not be too eager. There would be other towns to check out.

The asking price is a good deal. I told you the greater part of the value is in the land. This place has inherent value but not much commercial value. She sat again on the edge of the platform.

Josh checked for his hound. He walked to the rear of the building and saw stairs heading toward a basement. Max, you down there? Two dogs climbed the stairs, this time with the Basset in the lead.

Cindy took a sip from her water bottle and continued once Josh returned. It’s an acre. Farmland goes for about nine thousand dollars an acre, and it’s hard to put a dollar value on an old church building in the country. Yes, the presbytery is asking thirty thousand dollars for land and building. I think you’d get it for something over twenty. You could use it for painting and living. You won’t find anything with this quality for anywhere near that price.

I like it. It could work as an art studio. It has lots of space. I’d need to install lighting, which should be no problem. And I could live here if I could get an occupancy permit for a dwelling. He saw no point in haggling over price as he would never find a home and studio for twenty to thirty thousand dollars anywhere else. And the place seemed right.

That would be no problem. You’ll get permission. I know everyone on the council, and besides, what other purpose suits it? The people at St. Andrew’s, the new church, would have a fit if someone tried to turn it into a chicken coop! She laughed. And the presbytery, who has responsibility for it, want it sold. They need the money and don’t want the responsibility of owning it.

Who is presbytery? I thought the church owned it.

That’s the regional governing body.

Ah, OK, thanks. So, they have the legal power to buy and sell property?

I’m not sure they own it, but they’re the ones who put it up for sale.

The building has something about it that I like. Something uplifting. I suppose that’s the architecture, said Josh.

Oh yes, and other influences too.

Josh noticed her smile.  He figured she was pleased with the thought of making a sale.

Let’s check out the little kitchen and bathroom downstairs, then we can meander around outside, and I’ll try to find the boundary markers for you.

Sounds good.

Cyndi called her shepherd, who followed. Josh’s Basset hound had been sniffing the church's perimeter but was now seated on the floor of the platform.

The church had a small basement with no larger than a third of the upper floor equipped with a small kitchen and bathroom.

You’d have to install a shower or tub down here, but I don’t think that’d be difficult.

Right. And I see the furnace is down here. Oil fired?

It is. The tank’s outside.

Back upstairs, Cyndi led Josh and the two dogs out a side door near the rear and stepped out onto a patio paved with concrete slabs laid out in a rectangle. There were picnic tables just as Josh assumed there would be. Three tables took up about half the space, and