Heavenly Hoboes

by Bob Brewer

As the two dejected apostles, weary of both mind and body, trudged down the lonely Maryland highway, the printers in Midvale were putting the finishing touches on Harley Goodhouse’s article. The weekly Monitor would be out the following day, and the true story of the Miracle would finally be known. Harley had done as he had promised. Under the double headlines ‘God is alive and well---The Miracle is truly a Miracle’, Harley’s story was a poignant collection of testimonials drawn from verifiable accounts of people whose lives and health were irrefutably changed for the better.

  In two days time the story was destined to be in the minds and on the lips of people around the globe, ranking it amongst the greatest miracles of all recorded time. But the beginning of this newest revelation was still some ten hours in the future---too late to save Roland Thompson the terror of being kidnapped from the security of his own bedroom.

  Entering the mobilehome had been a snap for Lido’s guys. They gave Thompson time to drift off then threw a blanket over him, hogtied him and tossed him into the trunk of their car. In twenty minutes they hauled his flailing body into Guerro’s villa and dropped it at Lido’s feet. Lido picked up the telephone and hit the quick dial. “Sorry to wake you, boss, but I thought you’d like to know I got him,” he said softly into the mouthpiece.

  Thompson yelled out something, and Lido put a foot on his chest.

  “You got who?” the boss’ irritated voice came back.

  “The guy that put the finger on us,” Lido answered. “The one you told me to find.”

  “Well, get rid of him,” the boss said.

  Lido nodded. “You want it to be an accident or just let him disappear? I’m at the ranch. By the time anybody finds him he’ll be considered an ancient artifact.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Lido. Don’t you ever watch the tube?”

  “Sometimes. Why?”

  “Things are startin’ to smooth out, that’s why. We don’t need no more publicity. You understand me? Antonio tells me you recognized a priest last night.”

  “Yeah. A Bishop from here in Windsor. What about him?”

  “He’s on the news tonight saying he don’t think we got any dealin’s in this miracle thing. And that’s good, right?”

  “Yeah. Right, boss. So what do I do with this guy?”

  “Let him go. Does he know who you are?”

  “He don’t know nothing.”

  “You didn’t erase him already did you, Lido?”

  “No. I swear to God. He’s just tied up and blindfolded.”

  “Well get him outta there. And, Lido, do me a favor.”

  “Anything, Boss.”

  “Read a newspaper now and then, listen to the radio, watch a little T.V., huh?”

  “Yeah, sure, Boss. Sorry I woke you. I’ll take care of it.”

  The boss hung up and Lido took one of his men aside. “Take him back to town. Tap him on the head and leave him. Don’t get carried away, one little tap, that’s all. Lo capite?”

  “Yeah. One. Consider it done,” the kidnapper answered, then he and his partner picked up the now subdued Thompson and hauled him back out to their car.

  Lido slugged down a long shot of bourbon and went to bed to forget the whole affair.

  A thousand miles to the east Abe and Shorty were ready to call it a day themselves. The deserted strip of asphalt agent Dodge had ejected them onto was a most desolate road. Only one car had passed them by in the two hours since the agents had left, and it was going in the wrong direction. Rather, it was headed in the opposite direction. Neither Abe nor the Irishman had given any thought that they might not be walking a westwardly course. They had simply taken Dodge’s word for it that he had put them out on a highway that would eventually lead them to Midvale. And then perhaps, on to Washington state. Except for Shorty’s incessant grumbling about how badly his feet hurt, they covered the six or seven miles in silence, thinking about what had happened to bring on such misfortune. The fact that God had let them down was something neither of them could fathom.

  “Me feet won’t take me body another step,” Shorty panted as he sat down on a guardrail post and began to take off a shoe.

  Abe stopped and looked over his shoulder. “It is getting pretty late. Maybe we ought to look around for a good place to spend the night.”

  “I’m thinkin’ there’s no better spot than right here,” Shorty moaned.

  The sight of the little man rubbing one foot then the other brought a smile to Abe’s face. “Let’s at least get off the road a bit,” he said. “Come on, you can make it another few yards.”

  Shorty slipped back into his shoes and the two half-skidded down the small embankment and made their way to an oak tree a couple of hundred feet from the road. They sat down and leaned their backs against the trunk of the tree.

  “Where did ya go wrong?” Shorty asked when they got settled in.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m thinkin’ ya must have done something to cause the Lord to neglect us like He did.”

  Abe shifted around to look directly at the Irishman. “Are you going to blame me for this?”

  “Well, yer the boss,” Shorty stated, pointing a finger at Abe’s chest.

  “I didn’t do anything, Mr. McDougal. And we’re in this together.” He pushed the Irishman’s hand away. “And there isn’t any boss, so quit calling me the boss. I don’t know why He didn’t show up, and I don’t know why we’re here.”

  “So what are we gonna do?” Shorty pleaded. “Ya do know we can’t go back to the Capt’n’s don’t ya? They’ll be sloppin’ that awful black stuff on us fer certain this time.” Shorty shuddered at the thought of Alecia and her brigade pouncing on them. His stomach emitted a loud, rolling grumble. “It’s me innards,” he apologized. He looked down and began searching his pockets for something to eat.

  “What are you doing?”

  Shorty held out a handful of after-dinner mints. “Would ya care fer one?”

  Abe looked astonished. “Where’d you get those?”

  “Well, they were just sorta sittin’ there in a bowl,” Shorty said with a shrug, “so I just sorta took a few.”

  “Just sorta where?”

  “In the restaurant, of course.”

  “You stole them!” Abe nearly shouted.

  Shorty jerked back. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to say that. I just did. You stole them! You stole them and now were here. What does that tell you, Mr. McDougal?”

  The little man’s eyes widened. “Oh, me ever lovin’ mother.”

  “That’s right. Now, whose fault is it?”

  “Abraham?” The voice came out of nowhere, but it was unmistakable to whom it belonged. The bickering ended abruptly.

  “Lord?” Abe answered, and Shorty, now convinced it was his doings that stranded them, tried to bury himself under Abe’s armpit.

  “It’s no one’s fault,” the voice said. “The plan just didn’t work out the way you thought it would. That happens on occasion.”

  A long silence followed as Shorty covered his eyes and continued to burrow deeper into the safety of Abe’s jacket.

  “Thomas?” the voice called.

  Shorty peeked through the jacket folds and his fistful of mints.

  “I said it’s no one’s fault, Thomas.”

  Shorty had pushed himself so close to Abe that it was becoming extremely uncomfortable. “Will you move?” Abe shrieked while trying to push the trembling Irishman away. “I’m sorry, Lord.”

  “I’m not the Lord,” the voice said.

  “You’re not?” said Abe.

  “No.”

  “But, but…” Abe stuttered his astonishment.

  “I know. You’re surprised.”

  The Irishman shifted his body and whispered into Abe’s ear, “We’re in fer it! If He’s not the Lord, that only leaves one possibility. It’s Satan Himself!”

  “Thoma
s!” the voice boomed.

  Shorty bolted upright. “What?” he gasped.

  “Now you’ve done it!” Abe shouted.

  “Both of you be quiet for a minute,” the voice ordered. “No, I’m not Beelzebub, and no, I’m not the Lord, and no, I’m not here to do you any harm. My purpose is quite the opposite, in fact. If you’ll just listen.”

  Shaken and confused by the whole situation, the two men obeyed and sat silently waiting for the voice to explain itself.

  A pulsating, low light took on the shape of a man standing in front of them. He was dressed in slacks and a blue blazer and was immediately recognized by both Abe and Shorty as the man who had given them their first donation back in Midvale. He smiled with the warmth an old friend bestows. “I understand your confusion,” he said. “You fully expected our presence and you believe we let you down. But that’s not the case.”

  “Well, it’s fer certain ya didn’t show up,” the Irishman blurted out, then almost as quickly capped a hand over his mouth forgetting the little hoard of mints that now flew away in every direction. He mumbled something and tried to pick up the closest candies. Abe jabbed him with an elbow and nodded his head to let McDougal know this wasn’t the time to worry about his stomach.

  Shorty yelped. “What did ya do that fer?”

  The image of the man disappeared.

  “You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?” Abe scolded. “He’s gone! You see that? He’s gone.”

  Shorty lowered his eyes and shook his head.

  “If you’d just think of the consequences sometimes before you say something,” Abe continued his lecture.

  Looking up through his brushy eyebrows, his lower lip quivering, Shorty tried to exonerate himself. “I’m sorry all the way to me bones. I truly am, but it’s just the way I’ve always been. As soon as somethin’ pops into me head it pops right back out through me mouth. I know it’s got us into a lot of trouble.” He paused and ran a hand over his face. “I guess I ain’t much of a partner, am I?”

  “It’s not that,” Abe said, furrowing his brow and patting the Irishman on the shoulder. “Actually, I can’t think of another soul I’d rather have as my best friend.”

  Shorty’s eyes lit up. “Ya mean that?”

  “I surely do. And whatever comes of this I’d like it if we stayed partners.” He held out a hand and Shorty grasped it with fervor.

  The image of the man they had momentarily put out of their minds returned. “We’re glad that’s settled,” he said. “It pleases God that you’ve made that decision.” His reappearance brought a sigh of relief from both the men. Abe raised a hand. “Do you have a question, Abraham?”

  “I do,” Abe said with a nod.

  “Go ahead.”

  “It…it…it just doesn’t seem right,” Abe stammered. “I mean all this time you’ve let us think you’re the Lord and you’re not. We told everyone that you were and when you showed up, a lot of them believed it. Not everyone, mind you, but a bunch of folks did. We all thought it was a miracle.”

  “It most certainly was,” the man said.

  “It might have been a miracle,” Shorty spoke up, “but it wasn’t a God miracle.”

  “It most certainly was,” the man repeated himself. “I couldn’t do this without God. Just look at yourselves. You’re sober, you’re clean, you have a dignity you’ve never had in your lives. Where were you a few short weeks ago?”

  Abe and Shorty exchanged glances.

  “Do you think that would have happened without a little prodding by God?”

  “It could have happened,” the Irishman answered.

  “Of course it could have, but my question was, would it have happened?”

  Abe shook his head, and Shorty agreed. Had it not been for the light of the Lord, they both knew they would still be living in some forsaken alley in some unknown town looking forward only to their next drink.

  “As you said, Abraham,” the voice continued. “Hundreds of people believed they saw a real miracle and those people’s lives have been changed as well. Some of them,” he stopped for a little chuckle. “Well let’s just say that you would never believe some of the changes that were made. In the end, hundreds of thousands of lives will be altered by the miracle you helped them witness.”

  “Are ya an angel then?” the Irishman asked. “The Sisters in me younger days said I had a guardian angel. Ya wouldn’t be him would ya?”

  “No, Thomas, I’m not your guardian. I’m what you might refer to as a facilitator. You see, God rarely finds it necessary to handle things personally. As a rule it wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest for Him to do that. So this job was delegated to me. Within His guidelines I produced small miracles to a limited audience. That way, whether people have faith in what they see or hear about is left up to them. And God is never put in the position of playing favorites, or in that of being the absolute ruler. It works quite well.”

  Abe raised his hand again but didn’t wait for an approval. “So why did you strand us tonight. It seems we could have done a lot of good there.”

  “I know in your view we let you down, Abraham. But honestly, we didn’t. There were those in your audience who were truly moved by your words. They were inspired to become better human beings, as we are certain they will. As for a visual miracle, that would have been in total opposition to God’s rule of non-interference in governmental affairs.”

  “So, why did you allow me and Mr. McDougal to come here in the first place?”

  The man wagged a finger and raised his eyebrows a bit. “If you remember correctly, that was your decision, Abraham, not ours.”

  “Well, that’s probably true,” Abe said. “But if it hadn’t have been for you we wouldn’t have been invited and we wouldn’t be stuck here. That’s not fair is it?”

  “Okay,” the man paused, and propped his chin in one hand. He seemed to be hard at thought. After a moment he continued what he had started to say, “Let’s weigh the good and the bad. On the good side, you and Thomas have become model citizens, you’ve helped countless other people, you escaped any number of things that could have caused you bodily harm and, oh yes, you got to ride on an airplane. Now, on the bad side, let me see…what was it?”

  “We’re stuck here and me feet are killin me,” Shorty answered.

  “That’s right,” the man agreed. “That makes it about ten-to-one in favor of the good. Doesn’t sound too unfair to me.”

  Abe laughed. “Not when you put it that way it doesn’t. I suppose we ought to be thanking you instead of complaining.”

  “That would be nice,” the man said with a twist of his head. “Unnecessary, but nice. By the way, we intend to fix both those bad things, starting with your feet, Thomas. I’m sure they feel better already.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Shorty said almost immediately. “Me poor old feet feel like a baby’s. I’m thinkin’ I could run all night on ‘em.” He stopped short and returned his gaze to the man. “I’m not goin’ to be doin’ that am I?”

  “Thomas, you’re an absolute wonder,” the man said with laughter in his voice. “Do you really think after all we’ve been through that we would turn a blind eye on you now?”

  Shorty coughed. “Not in a minute,” he answered hurriedly. “It was a wee joke, don’t ya see?”

  “Speaking of not leaving us here,” Abe said thoughtfully, “what are we going to do now? We can’t go back to Midvale. There’s a few of those people who’d like nothing better than to see me and Mr. McDougal show up so’s they could finish their job of railroading us.”

  “That’s fer certain,” Shorty said. “Are ya of a mind fer us to be takin’ the miracle somewheres else?”

  “I see I have some more explaining to do,” the man said. “You must understand that miracles have a very short life. They are meant to be only small reminders that God is still here and still looking out for His cr
eation. They can’t go on forever.”

  Abe gave him a quizzical look. “You mean it’s over?”

  The man nodded his head. “Logged in the annals of time.”

  “Ya can’t do that!” said Shorty. “Just look at all the people we didn’t get to.”

  “That’s the whole idea, Thomas. God doesn’t want to take away the rights He gave to each individual to let him or her make up their own minds about things. If the miracles went on and on that’s exactly what He would be doing. It would be like spending your entire life doing only what someone else told you to do. You wouldn’t like that would you?”

  “I’m thinkin’ I get enough of that already,” Shorty answered with a quick smiling glance at Abe. He promptly dropped the humor when he saw the serious look in Abe’s eyes. “What’s troublin’ ya, Mr. Douglas?”

  Abe directed his answer to the man. “Without the miracle, what’s to become of us? You know what we were before, and I sure don’t want to go back to that.”

  “Me neither,” Shorty added.

  “We certainly hope you don’t,” the man said sincerely. “But of course that would be your decision. We can’t help you there. As for the rest of your lives, we don’t know how that will go for you. We do know that you’re both good-hearted. That’s one reason why you were chosen to be a part of the miracle. We are sure you can put that quality to good use.”

  “Where?” Abe asked. “You don’t mean around Midvale, do you?”

  “You’re still worried about the problems you left behind? I told you we would fix that. In fact it’s being seen to as we speak. If you’d like to return there, it will be perfectly safe. No one who knew you as being the miracle’s spokesmen will recognize either of you now.”

  Shorty screwed up his face in bewilderment. “You can do that, ya say? You mean that not a soul will be puttin’ two and two together?”

  “It was part of the plan from the beginning,” the man assured him. “You were both new to the area, few people knew you, and in the condition you were in at the time, if you remember, even fewer people paid attention to you. That is until the miracle began.”

  “So you just erased us?” Abe said.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s as though you were never there.”

  Abe and Shorty stared at each other for a long moment in disbelief then Abe turned back to the man and asked the obvious question, “What about us? Are we going to remember?”

  “Absolutely,” the man answered. “It’s an indelible part of your souls. But we suggest you keep it confidential just between the two of you.”

  “No one would believe us anyhow,” Shorty said. “If ya recall they wouldn’t listen to a word of it the first time we saw ya.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the hissing sound of air-brakes releasing their pressure.

  “I see your ride is here,” the man said, adding a hand motion towards the road. “Have you decided where you want to go?”

  Abe and Shorty’s eyes followed the man’s gesture and saw the outline of a bus sitting idling on the highway. Its door was open.

  “Midvale?” the man asked.

  “I would like to see Horace again,” Abe answered. “See how he’s doing and if he’s okay. How about you, Mr. McDougal?”

  “Ya know, I’ve been sorta missin’ him too,” Shorty said. He looked up at the man. “Do ya think the bus could be dropin’ us off there at the orphanage?”

  “The Waverly Home,” Abe clarified.

  “We’re familiar with it,” the man said. “I am certain we can do that.” He smiled, took a step backwards then mimed an ushering movement with his arm. “It’s a limited, nonstop express. You’ll be there in the morning.”

  “So this is goodbye?” Abe said, and stood to offer the man his hand.

  “Farewell is a better term,” the man corrected. “With us it’s never goodbye. We are proud of you, Abraham.” He shook Abe’s hand then offered the same gesture towards the Irishman. “Thomas, never doubt yourself. You’re a kind and gentle man, and that comes from the highest authority.”

  “Yer not so bad yerself,” the Irishman said through teary eyes. “Thank ya fer all ya’ve done fer us. We’ll be tryin’ to keep up our end of the bargain.”

  “We have every faith in you both,” the man said as they walked towards the waiting bus.

  As they reached the steps of the bus Abe turned to the man. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

  “I don’t really have a name,” the man answered.

  “Well, we’ll be fixin’ that,” Shorty said quickly. “How about Bartholomew? That was me father’s name, rest his soul. They tell me he was good man. How would Bartholomew be strikin’ ya?”

  “I’d be honored, Thomas,” the man said with a slight bow. “I’d like that a lot.” He stepped back to give them access to the bus. “Better get aboard now. We wouldn’t want to run late.”

  As Abe and Shorty boarded, the man waved. “Goodnight, Abraham. Goodnight, Thomas,” he said just before he vanished. The big door of the bus closed behind them with a whooshing sound.

  “Pick any seat you want, fellas,” the driver said, grinning at their surprise. A potbellied pig scooted out from under his seat and squealed. “Elijah says howdy.”

  “Well I’ll be!” Shorty exclaimed. “So you were a part of this, too?”

  The driver nodded over his shoulder. “We all were,” he said laughingly.

  Shorty looked down the rows of seats. Several people waved hello, and the man nearest him stood. “I see we got you on the right train after all, Mr. McDougal,” he said pleasantly.

  Shorty gave him a broad smile. “You did at that,” he said. “But ya know, at the time I was expectin’ to go to Washington State not to the capital.” He pulled Abe up next to him. “Mr. Douglas, this is the man you can be thankin’ fer gettin’ us together.” Abe shook his hand. “I’m still at a loss of how ya did it,” Shorty went on. “One minute the train was speedin’ by at ninety miles an hour and the next minute I was on it. I laid it off at the time on me mental state seein’ as how I’d been drinkin’ quite a lot that evenin’. But at any rate I’m glad to see ya again. I’ll always be grateful fer what ya did.”

  They moved on down the walkway returning smiles to those faces they recognized as people with whom they had come in contact over the past several days. People who had helped them along the way. Ramon was there with his bright, toothy smile. And the brash young pool shark gave them a thumbs-up sign. The old lady who urged Abe to tell his story at his first meeting and later gave Horace the steak reached out and touched their hands. The lone drunkard who had trouble stepping over a crack in the sidewalk tipped his hat as they walked by. Behind him sat the young girl to whom Abe had returned an innocent wink that the ministry had misread as a signal to his fusilier. The last passenger was the woman in the dark business suit from the auditorium; the one who would have been to blame had the expected gunfire occurred. Abe laughed when he saw her. “You had me scared to death. Do you know that?”

  “Me too,” Shorty said.

  A pained look crossed her face. “We do know how you felt and we’re so sorry for the tense moments we caused you,” she said sincerely, then smiled. “You were never in danger, but of course we couldn’t let you know that.”

  Abe scratched his head. “I guess I don’t understand. Did you have to make everyone mad at me? I was being real serious about how smart they were. I wasn’t making fun of them like you said.”

  “We know you weren’t, Abraham. But when you asked for help, we had to consider the needs of everyone. You were not aware of this, but your audience consisted solely of skeptics, hand-picked by the president’s wife. She was there, by the way---the women you nodded to in the loge box.”

  “That was the First Lady?” Abe said in amazement.

  “Yes. And she recorded the entire event. She has already liste
ned to it seven times. By tomorrow, she will be completely convinced that the Miracle was authentic. Her opinion, you know, is very powerful.”

  Abe nodded. “Was that the president with her?”

  “No. Those were Secret Service Men, her bodyguards, if you will. But she was one of the people who were also asking for our help. She came to the meeting with only one thought in mind---to expose you as a fraud---but after your first few words she felt an immediate change of heart. She wanted to believe you, and she prayed for an indication of your authenticity. Some of the people in your audience were actually entertaining the idea that you were being facetious, so we merely showed them the absurdity of such thoughts. We purposefully turned your words around. By taking the burden of stupidity upon ourselves, and without interfering in free will, we answered everyone’s prayers, including yours.

  “We know all this is difficult for you to understand,” she said, laying a hand on each of their arms. “But just remember, you and Thomas have done a great deed for all humankind. You were chosen by God and you have done exceedingly well by Him.”

  Elijah waddled up behind them and squealed. “You fellas might ought to be finding a seat,” the driver called back to them. “Elijah says it’s time to be movin’ on down the road.”

  “Right away,” Shorty called back to him.

  Abe and Shorty took their seats and watched the little pig scurry back to his spot under the driver’s seat. As the interior lights slowly ebbed into total darkness, a blanket of warmth covered them and they fell immediately to sleep.

  The soft glow of the morning sun on their eyelids awoke Abe and Shorty. Rather than being startled, it seemed quite natural for them to be sitting on their cases at the entrance of the gravel drive to the Waverly Home. The bus had moved on; the highway deserted of traffic.

  Without a backward glance, they picked up their suitcases and walked towards the courtyard where Miss Haggard was just raising the flag. The children and two other women had gathered around the base of the flagpole and had their right hands over their hearts. Since their backs were to Abe and Shorty, none of them knew they had company. Miss Haggard finished raising the flag and tied it off for the day then turned to the children and began to recite the pledge of allegiance.

  Abe and Shorty set down their cases and joined in at the last part, “…one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

  “Amen,” Shorty added loudly. Miss Haggard, her staff, and all nine kids looked to see who was there. Shorty gave them a little finger wave. “Ya know, it only seems right to say that,” he defended himself, and waited for some kind of response.

  Miss Haggard nodded. “Amen,” she said.

  That broke the children’s silence. “Amen, amen, amen,” they all shouted.

  “That’s enough,” Miss Haggard shushed them, but before she could say anything else a red blur came charging through the small crowd and bounded over to Abe.

  “Hey boy!” Abe shouted, and bent down to take the dog into his arms.

  A look of puzzlement flashed over Miss Haggard’s face. “You know this dog?” she asked.

  “We surely do,” Shorty said.

  “That’s my dog, mister,” a little tike spoke up, then popped his thumb back into his mouth.

  Abe looked up at Shorty and shook his head slightly. “Well, he looks to be a fine dog,” he said while roughing up Horace’s hair and petting him. “Just like one we used to know. You wouldn’t mind if we shared him, would you?”

  The boy looked over at Miss Haggard as if to gain her approval or rejection of the idea. She gave him a quick wink and a nod.

  At the same time Horace went into a body wiggle and jumped up to lick the Irishman’s face.

  The little boy removed his wrinkled thumb once more. “He likes you, so I guess it’s okay. His name is Horace. Mine’s Alvin. Who are you?”

  “Well, Alvin, I’m Abe and this is Mr. McDougal.”

  “You can call me Thomas,” Shorty said and held a hand out to shake with Alvin.

  Alvin disregarded the offer. Instead he said, “You’re short like me, aren’t you?”

  “Alvin! Mind your manners.” Miss Haggard shouted. “I’m sorry. Alvin doesn’t think sometimes before he speaks.”

  Shorty playfully ruffled the boy’s hair. “Oh, think nothin’ of it. I am short ya know, and me mouth is uncontrollable at times, so Alvin and me are a lot alike. We’ll be gettin’ along just fine.”

  Miss Haggard clapped her hands and nodded to one of the women. “Oletha, take the children inside, will you?”

  “Come along, Alvin,” Oletha said. “And the rest of you. Time to wash up. Breakfast in a few minutes.”

  The second woman and all the children except Alvin shuffled off towards the front door. At the entryway, Oletha called, “Alvin, bring Horace with you.”

  Alvin took hold of Horace’s collar and tugged with all the might he could muster. “Come on, Horace,” he pleaded. “We have to go eat.” The old dog’s ears perked up, and with one last rub against Abe’s pant leg, he gave in and towed the little boy away.

  With the children and her staff members gone, Miss Haggard returned her attention to the two men. “So, gentlemen, what brings you out here, today?”

  Abe scratched his head and looked around the place. The grass was overgrown, the white rail fence looked more gray than white and the outbuildings were in sad disrepair. “Well, we were wondering if you could use some help,” he said. “We have some free time and we’d be glad to give you a hand. Isn’t that right, Mr. McDougal?”

  For the first time since they met, the Irishman surprised Abe with his answer. “That we would,” he said taking off his jacket.

  Miss Haggard’s face took on the expression of sorrow. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible,” she said slowly. “It’s not as though we don’t need it, we do, as you can see, but the home is state funded and there’s just not enough money to get everything done that needs to be done.”

  “A few nails and a little paint. That shouldn’t cost too much,” said Abe. “And the labor’s free.” He looked at Shorty. “We could probably handle that, couldn’t we, Mr. McDougal?”

  The Irishman started to say something but Abe cut him short. “Of course we could. The place’ll look brand new in a few days. And Mr. McDougal here is a fine cook. He can help out in the kitchen.”

  “Actually I am,” Shorty said, and bobbed his head up and down a few times. “And right now I’m thinkin’ I’ll get on into the house and whip up some breakfast. That is if ya don’t mind, Ma’am.”

  Miss Haggard was obviously stunned by the course of the conversation. She hesitated and stared heavily at the two men for a moment before answering them. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but God knows we need the help.” She paused, closed her eyes and lifted her face heavenly. “I pray I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Well,” Shorty said, “I’ll just find me way to the kitchen and let you two discuss the details.” He picked up his suitcase and headed for the front door.

  Miss Haggard offered her hand to Abe. “I’m Elizabeth Haggard.”

  “Abraham Douglas,” Abe countered, and shook her hand. “Call me Abe.”

  “Shall we join them in the house?” she asked, and Abe picked up his suitcase to follow along.

  “For some strange reason I have the feeling we’ve met before, Mr. Douglas,” Elizabeth said on their way across the courtyard. “And the way Horace took to you two…why I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s usually very protective of Alvin. Barks his head off at strangers. Have we met before and I’ve just forgotten?”

  “Oh, I can promise you I’d recall that if we did,” Abe said with a broad smile.

  She blushed noticeably. “My mind,” she said with a flourish of her hands. “I think I’m going completely bonkers at times.”

  As they reached the doorway she stopped. “You kn
ow, Mr. Douglas, there might just be a way to get you a paid position here.”

  “Really?” said Abe.

  “Well, it wouldn’t pay much, certainly not enough to cover two men’s needs.”

  “You needn’t worry, Miss,” Abe stopped her. “Mr. McDougal and me are here because we want to help. And we’ll stay on as long as we can and or as long as we’re useful to you. A place to sleep and a meal a day is about all we need. And we’ll help out with the groceries, too.”

  Miss Haggard laughed. “Oh, groceries is one thing we have plenty of and there’s always an extra bed or two. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. And I’ll check on that position. We had a maintenance man up until a few days ago, but he left under some, shall we say awkward circumstances. It’s just as well; he never did the work in the first place. I'm just not sure yet if they are going to refill the job or turn it over to the Parks Department."

  The aroma of cooking surrounded them as they entered the foyer. “It seems that Mr. McDougal found the kitchen,” Abe said, and motioned for her to take the lead. “After you, Miss Haggard.”

  “Call me Liz,” she said.

  That night Abe laid his tired but refreshed body down on a cot in a room above the boy’s dorm. He stared at the blackness of the ceiling recounting the events that brought him to this point in his life. For a few minutes he listened to the soft snoring of his equally exhausted partner. Then he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks.

  “You’re very welcome, Abraham,” a gentle voice said as he dropped off to sleep.

 

  The end…Well, not quite.

  Miracles have a way of living on long after the actual event—the stories, the recounting, the transformations of people’s lives, all consequences of the small but powerful acts of God—they live on. For the witnesses of the Midvale Miracle, those precious times when the Light of the Lord made its appearance above the city park did not mark the end of an era but rather the beginning of a new life.

  THE AFTERMATH