Angel on His Shoulder

Angel on His Shoulder

Chick Lung

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2011 by Chick Lung. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse      08/12/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-5299-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-5298-8 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

This book is dedicated to Pastor Mike, one of the nicest and most honorable men I know. With Pastor Mike, what you see and hear is what you get each and every time you’re around him. But you still should ride your motorcycle with your helmet on because I know God is shaking his finger at you each time you cruise down the highway with the wind in your hair and your helmet on a hook in the garage.

Previous books written by Chick Lung

Watcher 231

Montezuma’s Gold

The Dark Twin

Time Sealers

The Money Trail

The Lung Family Chronicles

The Rushville Gold Coin Murders

Escape From Kilimanjaro

Earth Two

The Reluctant Politician

BOOKS COMING TO PRINT

Cushing in the Crosshairs

Perfect Practice/Practice Perfect

Chapter 1

Mary smiled a mother’s smile when she heard the rumbling sound and looked out her kitchen window and down the gravel driveway. She watched as her sixteen year old son Peter guided the tractor to a stop some sixty feet in front of one of the barns before putting it in reverse and expertly backing the tractor into the designated slot inside the barn. The clearance on either side of the door was only three inches. If Peter had been off by that much on either side, he would have had to pull forward and try it again, but the tractor was now parked where it belonged.

Wiping her wet hands on her apron, Mary reached for one of the tall glasses in the cabinet above the microwave. Opening the refrigerator, she pulled from it a large glass container that held dark sun tea. She had brought it in from the small table outside her kitchen door early that Saturday morning. There was nothing better than old-fashioned sun tea that had sat in the sun for three to four hours before you would strain the tea leaves and place the container inside the refrigerator to get good and cold.

After pouring the large glass of ice cold tea, Mary looked back out her kitchen window and watched as her son strolled to the garden hose located at the corner of the house. Reaching down, Peter turned the handle and held the hose away from him as the water came spitting out. Once the last of the hot water in the hose was gone, he tipped his head and let the hose run over his black curly hair and cascade down a tan, muscular neck and back.

Peter’s face, arms and neck were plastered with the day’s dust, and sweat stained his tee shirt a dark brown. He had been in the field plowing the acreage on the east side of the long driveway since seven o’clock that morning. It was now two-thirty on a Saturday afternoon, and Mary knew her son was finished with his work or he would not have parked the tractor in the barn.

Watching Peter hose the dirt from his head and arms, her heart filled with pride as she watched him pull the tee shirt over his broad shoulders and toss it on the stool next to the hose. His arms bulged with pure muscles, not the kind on weight lifters but a natural look, as if he had been sculpted by a god. She had exceptionally good-looking children, everyone had told her so. She had watched the girls and now even women stare any time Peter walked by. She had not noticed it so much with her older son Jack; either that or she just wasn’t as aware of it as she was now with Peter. But she knew that what set Peter apart from his brother and sister was his gentle smile and his friendly manner.

Both boys were six feet tall by the time they were fourteen. Jack at eighteen and a senior in high school now stood six feet three inches tall and two hundred twenty pounds of muscle. Peter at sixteen now stood at six feet one inch and two hundred fifteen pounds and would be a sophomore in the fall. Both boys had jet black hair and brown eyes while their older sister Sara was just the opposite. She was five feet seven inches tall with long, golden blond hair and blue eyes. All three children had been involved in sports from the time they were six years old. Sara had just finished her freshman year at the university where she had a full soccer scholarship. All three children were A students from the first day of their schooling—but Peter, well; Peter’s intelligence was off the chart.

She remembered the first time she had realized he was far beyond any boy his age. He was barely three years old, and she had come into the living room where he sat with an open Bible in his hands. She thought he was talking to himself until she heard clear and precise words coming from a passage he was reading in the Bible. Sitting on the floor next to him, Mary only smiled when he looked over at her before continuing his reading of the Bible. Up to that point no one in the family had even known he understood written words. When he stopped, she asked him who it was that taught him to read. Peter had replied that no one had taught him to read; he had listened and watched in Sunday school as the teacher read a passage to the class and then he would pick up the Bible and ask the teacher what page she was reading. He said he had memorized all her words, and when she had showed him where she was reading, he could see what the words meant. His learning only accelerated from there, and his love for the Bible deepened the more he read it.

Hearing the back porch screen door slam shut, Mary poured the iced tea and held it out for Peter as he walked into the kitchen. Seeing the iced tea, Peter smiled broadly at his mother as he kissed her on the cheek and put the glass to his lips. He drank it until the contents were gone.

Would you like another fill-up, Peter?

Yeah, my mouth feels like cotton. Thanks, Mom.

I assume you’re all done with the plowing. I saw you park the tractor in the barn a few minutes ago. Peter?

Yeah, Mom, I finished.

That was pretty fast, Peter. Your father figured you boys would be another two to three hours finishing up today.

I was lucky. Everything went right today. Even the old tractor never gave me any trouble.

So what’s your plan for the rest of the day, Peter?

I think I’ll go into the den and do some studying before I talk to Professor Sloan tomorrow afternoon. Mom, I really need to understand what it was he said to me last Sunday afternoon at our regular meeting.

Mary smiled and pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes as he handed her the empty glass of tea that he had drained a second time. It’s Saturday afternoon, Peter. Why don’t you put on your bathing suit and go down to the swimming hole instead. You’ve been on that tractor for seven hours.

This will relax me more than going swimming, Mom. You know that.

Fifteen minutes later Mary heard the back porch screen door slam shut again. She looked up from the potatoes she was peeling for the evening meal as her husband John walked into the kitchen.

I see the older tractor’s in the barn. Did Peter finish plowing already?

Yes, he came in a few minutes ago; he’s in the den now studying for the meeting with Kenneth Sloan on Sunday afternoon.

Mary handed John a large cold glass of iced tea as he headed for the den. He kissed her lightly on the cheek as he took the tea. Walking into the den at the far corner of the house, John saw Peter sitting cross-legged on the couch with one book in his lap and one on each side of his knees. A yellow marker was clenched between his teeth as he ran his finger down one side of the large book in his lap.

That one of your Greek books, Peter?

Oh, hi, Dad. Yeah, it’s one of the earlier ones I got two years ago, you remember?

Do I remember? How could I forget? It cost us a small fortune to purchase the five volumes you said you needed for your study.

I’m sorry, Dad. I know it cost a lot of money both times you and mom ordered the books I said I needed.

There’s nothing to be sorry about, son. We were both glad to do it for you. I was just joking with you when I said it cost a fortune. I don’t care about the cost of books, Peter. If any of our kids need something for school, your mom and I don’t give it a second thought.

Peter nodded, knowing his father meant every word as he reached up and took the marker out of his mouth.

You have any trouble in the field today, Peter?

Nope, didn’t even have any when I plowed the hill. I had to really go slow to keep the lines straight while I was doing it though.

Well, you sure finished faster than I thought you would. Was your brother finishing up?

Coming in I saw him at the south part of the field, and it looked like he still had a ways to go before he could finish.

Well, I got to get back to the shop. I’ll see you at supper time. Don’t study too hard. After all, it’s Saturday afternoon and that old swimming hole hasn’t had anyone in it for a while.

Everyone wants me to go swimming, Peter mused as he picked up the marker and started underlining words.

Peter smiled at his father as he turned and left the den for his shop. John had built a shop years ago because he found it hard to find someone to fix his machinery when he had a breakdown. There wasn’t anything John couldn’t fix. Over the years the shop had gone from being just for his own work to the top machine shop in the county. Most farmers hauled their broken machinery to his shop to be fixed since they didn’t have the time or the expertise to do the job. With the boys doing most of the farm work, John spent most of his time working on other people’s equipment, which brought in a good income to supplement the farm.

Peter yawned and raised his head as he thought of the swimming hole his father had just mentioned. There was a small creek running through their farm, and over the years Peter and his brother and sister had cleared away a small section of the bank where the creek flowed fairly fast. There they had built a small beach and, of course, a swing that would send them way out into the middle of the stream. Sighing, Peter pushed the thought away as he reached down and picked up the New Testament to compare the page to the Greek writing of two thousand years ago. It had taken Peter less than six months to learn how to read and write the ancient Greek language, and he was forever grateful to the professor for making him learn it.

At five thirty, Mary tested the roast she had cooking. It was just about done, and maybe fifteen more minutes would do it. She knew her men would be hungry from their hard work, and she was cooking them one of their favorite meals. The roast beef had new red potatoes packed tightly around it, shitake mushrooms were on top of the roast with two fresh cut onions covering everything. For dessert, Mary had baked a deep dish apple pie with brown sugar sprinkled on top. To top it off, she would bring the last of the homemade ice cream the boys had made the week before.

Mary looked back at the clock; it was now five forty-five. Any minute she knew she should see the cloud of dust rising above the gravel road leading to their farm from the highway. Their daughter Sara would be coming down the lane at any time since she always got off at five thirty and was generally home by a quarter before the hour. Sure enough, when Mary looked back out the kitchen window she saw the dust rising as Sara drove onto their gravel road at way too high a speed. Mary shook her head; Sara always drove too fast. She’s lucky she’s never had a wreck or hurt someone, Mary thought as she shook her head.

Sara smelled the roast before she opened the back screen door and it made her stomach rumble. There was nothing better than coming home from work to smell the dinner her mom would always have ready for everyone. Sara heard her father holler, and she grabbed the door before it swung shut, holding it open for her dad.

You drive too fast on the gravel road, Sara. You know how easy it is to flip a vehicle on gravel, so why don’t you slow down a little. We won’t start supper without you, I promise. John laughed as he gently punched her in the arm. He knew how hungry Sara always was when she finished her shift at the only factory left in town. She was lucky to get the job, the way things were now in town what with all the stores and other factories closing in the last two years.

Mary waited until she heard the familiar sound of another tractor before pulling the roast from the oven and setting it and the rest of the ingredients aside while she made the brown gravy from the juices of the roast. Moving to one side of the stove while she made the gravy, Mary watched Jack as he pulled the tractor to a stop and began backing it up just as Peter had done three hours before. She softly bit her lip as she watched Jack stop a few feet short of the barn before taking the tractor out of reverse and moving forward seven or eight feet. Backing the tractor up a second time, Mary could tell Jack was still too far to the left. Just before the big back wheel was to hit the post, he put on the brakes before