Free Dream a Little Dream by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

sight swamped him with both anger and guilt. Once again, he had fallen short. You knew from the beginning I wasn’t fit to be a minister, but would You listen? Not You. Not the Great Know-It-All. Well, I hope You’re satisfied.
    A voice that sounded very much as if it belonged to Clint Eastwood echoed inside Ethan’s head. Quit your bellyaching, chump. You’re the one who acted like a jerk two days ago and refused to help her. Don’t put the blame on Me.
    Great! Just when Ethan had been hoping for a little compassion from Marion Cunningham, he got Eastwood. With a certain amount of resignation, he wondered why he was even surprised.
    Ethan seldom got the God he wanted to hear. Right now, he’d wanted Mrs. Cunningham, the great “Happy Days” Mother God. It figured he’d get Eastwood instead. The Eastwood God was strict Old Testament. You screwed up, punk, and now you’re going to pay.
    God had been talking to Ethan for years. When he was a kid, the voice had come from Charlton Heston, which had been a major drag, since it was hard for a youngster to bare his soul to all that mighty Republican wrath. But as Ethan’s understanding of the many facets of the power and wisdom of God had matured, Charlton had been stored away, along with the other artifacts of his childhood, and replaced by images of three celebrities, all of them woefully inadequate to be divine representations.
    If he had to hear voices, why couldn’t they have come from more dignified people? Albert Schweitzer, for example? Or Mother Teresa? Why couldn’t he get his inspiration from Martin Luther King or Mahatma Ghandi? Unfortunately, Ethan was a product of his culture, and he’d always liked movies and TV. Thus, he seemed to be stuck with pop icons.
    “Is it too cold in here?” he asked, trying to overcome his animosity. “I can turn the air-conditioning down.”
    “Just fine, Rev.”
    Her cheeky manner set his teeth on edge, and he silently berated Gabe for getting him into this situation. But his brother had sounded so desperate on the phone when he’d called less than an hour ago that Ethan hadn’t been able to refuse him.
    When Ethan had arrived at the Pride of Carolina, he’d found the door of the snack shop locked and Rachel and her son sitting on the turtle in the playground. There was no sign of Gabe. He’d helped load up the pitiful pile of possessions that was stacked over by the riverbank, and now he was taking them to Heartache Mountain and Annie’s cottage.
    Rachel glanced over at him. “Why are you helping me?”
    He remembered her as being shy, and her directness took him aback, just as it had two days earlier. “Gabe asked me to.”
    “He asked you two days ago, but you refused.”
    He said nothing. In some way he couldn’t entirely define, he resented this woman even more than he’d resented G. Dwayne. Her husband had been an obvious crook, but she was a more subtle one.
    She gave a wry laugh. “It’s okay, Rev. I forgive you for hating my guts.”
    “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone.” He sounded stuffy and pompous.
    “How noble.”
    Her disdain angered him. What right did she have to be condescending after she and her husband had destroyed so much with their greed?
    None of the county’s ministers had been able to compete with the Temple of Salvation’s riches. They didn’t have rhinestone-flecked choir robes or laser-enhanced worship services. The Temple had offered Las Vegas in the name of Jesus Christ, and many of the local church members couldn’t resist the combination of show-business glitter and easy answers offered by G. Dwayne Snopes.
    Unfortunately, as members fled their local congregations, they took their money with them, along with the funds that had always supported the county’s good causes. Before long, an area drug program was abandoned, then the food pantry hours were cut back. But the biggest loss had been the county’s small storefront medical clinic, an interdenominational