Xanthe whispered, “I wish someone would be that glad to see me.”
Allegra’s eyebrows raised slightly. She had not missed the interest that Xanthe St. Dymion had shown—and tried so hard to hide—in David Mitchell. “Maybe he will be someday.”
Xanthe blushed slightly but made no reply, for David called out loudly, “All of you! Come and meet my grandparents!”
The group struggled forward. David scooped Kyle up and said, “These are my friends, Grandpa: Merrill and Genevieve Stanton, Allegra Stanton Saylor, Riley Case. This is our boss, Kyle Saylor. And I think you already know Commissar Xanthe St. Dymion.”
Jesse moved at once to stand before Xanthe and took her hands. “Daughter, it’s good to see you again. Noe and I have prayed for you every day.”
Xanthe felt a sudden warmth at the words. “I wondered if we’d ever meet again.”
“I don’t believe in accidents. Have you told this grandson of mine how the Lord used you to take care of us?”
David spoke up quickly. “She’s been pretty quiet about it. I’ll have to hear the whole story from you.”
Now Jesse, in silence and without self-consciousness, went to each of them and studied each face. Somehow each member of the group felt as though the faded blue eyes penetrated right to the very center of the mind—or of the spirit. Such face-to-face meetings and perusal were not the norm in this world of cybercommunications, and Allegra felt awkward. But as Jesse studied her, she experienced a warmth, not physical, but in her spirit. This old man is something, she thought, and her lips curved upward in a smile. “I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Mitchell. You’ll never know how glad I am to see you.”
“Almost everyone calls me Dad Mitchell. I guess that would do for all of you,” Jesse said. “Now then. Come in out of the weather!”
David herded them all into the cabin, which crowded the small room. “Kyle, you get over there and warm yourself at the fire,” David said, plunking him down solidly. The boy had formed a real attachment for him and for Riley Case. David noticed that Riley immediately, upon entering the cabin, stood with his back against the wall and was studying the older couple carefully.
“Let me stir up this fire, and we’ll have a little tea. I’ve been cutting some sassafras. Always use the root, not the branch. It has more bite that way. Wish we had some coffee but we’re out,” Jesse apologized.
“Anything hot would be fine, and we’re all pretty hungry,”
David said.
“Noe, let’s cook these folks up some breakfast.”
“We have lots of that venison that you killed last Thursday, Jesse, and we can make up a bigger batch of biscuits.”
“That would be great, Grandma,” David declared, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “My grandmother’s biscuits! Are you all in for a treat!”
“Could we help with the cooking?” Genevieve asked.
“Guess you might at that,” Noe said warmly. “I’m so used to being the only cook around, it’s really nice to have some women here to help out. You men just stay out of the kitchen, and especially, Mrs. Stanton, don’t let Jesse there tell you how to make biscuits. His bread isn’t fit to eat!”
With Xanthe, Allegra, and Genevieve helping (at least, Genevieve was some help), soon the cabin was filled with the delicious aroma of venison steaks and fresh baked biscuits. Jesse did not ask any questions directly about how the group had arrived, but his sharp eyes went from face to face. He brushed his sweeping mustache in a habitual gesture, listening as Merrill told the story of their journey from Hot Springs.
Finally the meal was ready, and there were just barely enough plates, including saucers and cooking pans, to give everyone a steak. Noe had fixed white gravy, and the spicy fragrance of sassafras tea overlaid the other delicious smells.
There were only the three rocking chairs, but David found the boxes that the Mitchells and Xanthe had brought their belongings in—the Mitchells never threw anything away—and soon everyone had a seat and a plate. Jesse said, “We’ll thank the Lord for this.” He bowed his head and prayed simply, “Lord God in heaven, I thank You for bringing our brothers and our sisters safely to this place that You have prepared. Bless the food and give us strength and let us use that strength for Your glory. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen,” David echoed. He had no fork, so he picked up his steak and bit off a huge chunk. “Ow, that’s hot!”
“It’s good, though,” Genevieve said with a sigh.
“Hunger makes a good sauce,” Noe replied. She moved around the room, seeing that everyone was fed, eating very little herself.
When the meal was finished, Noe asked, “Now, David, I want you to tell me how you got here. East, I mean. Xanthe told me about that old brooch—I’m glad it did somebody some good. But how did you get to Hot Springs? I just know you jumped out of a plane or something like that.”
“Mm, not quite like that,” he said, smiling, but then he grew grave. He told them sketchily of the sudden German attack on Fort Carson and how the team had finally ended up in Chaco Canyon. Then he related briefly how he and Captain Slaughter and Deacon Fong had stolen the German helicopter. He hesitated momentarily, grief etching lines into his boyish face and tingeing his voice as he spoke of Deacon Fong’s death. Finally he looked at his grandfather and said, “I think Deac died so I could get to you.”
The others listened to his story with some shock. David had not told them, not even Xanthe, of the German attacks on the military or of the death of his friend.
Jesse said quietly, “I know that some of you were searching for a hiding place in the wilderness. That’s why I built up that fire. The Lord God told me to give a signal for those who needed a refuge.”
At these words, Riley blinked and stroked his scratchy two-day growth of beard thoughtfully. Allegra studied him out of the corner of her eye; Riley had admitted that he’d been drawn to the beacon built by Jesse Mitchell, but that was about all of a personal nature that he’d ever said. He was an intensely private man—even secretive.
Jesse went on, “I know that many turned back. And I know that two of you died. These are evil days, but God will bring us through.”
Merrill frowned. “When you say two of us died, I assume you mean the young pilot that David just told us about.”
“No. There were two besides him.”
Riley asked sharply, “How do you know that, Mr. Mitchell?”
Jesse did not answer for a moment. He looked down at his folded hands. They were thin now and had liver spots, the hands of an old man. He looked up and said directly to Riley, “There was one more.”
Riley had not told anyone of the body that he had found, and for some reason he did not want to bring it up now. The old man must really mean Perry Hammett and Deac, the pilot. That’s all it could be. He couldn’t know about my finding the other body.
Jesse watched Riley closely, but simply said, “The Lord has brought you all here.”
“It was hard for me to come, Grandpa,” David said, dropping his eyes. “I hated to leave my team. But I knew I was supposed to be with you.”
Except for Riley, all of the others were feeling a sudden, soul-deep relief. They had seen so much horror. It had seemed that all the rules were being broken, that everything was out of sync, that nothing made sense anymore. It had been hard for all of them to know the right thing to do.
But in the warmth of the old cabin, peace came over them. There was reason. There was a plan—each of them had been selected and had followed God’s leadership. This assurance, this certainty, also had to do, Xanthe knew for a certainty, with the old man who sat at the table calmly examining them. He was not impressive, for he was small and his face was lined with age. The sweeping mustache and the hair were the pure white of long years. In Jesse Mitchell there did not seem to be the strength that one sensed in his grandson or in Riley Case. Still, something emanated from Jesse Mitchell, a power she sensed, yet could not quite define.
Jesse stood u
p and with a mischievous grin aimed at his wife said, “These womenfolk aren’t the only ones who have chores, no matter what they say. Why don’t you men come out with me and we’ll cut some firewood and shoot us a pig.”
“You have some pigs, Grandpa?” David asked with surprise.
Jesse answered, “Well, some pigs have been coming to visit. I’ve been putting some scraps out for them, about a half mile from here, so they’ll make it part of their run. Must have been domestic pigs a long time ago, but some of the old hogs are growing their razorbacks. You know that, Kyle? Old pigs grow razors along their backs up in these hills if they run wild. And mean and vicious beasts they are, too. But whichever of you is the best shot can probably bring one down. They usually come early in the morning like this.”
“Can me and Benny go, Mama?” Kyle asked, holding Benny the Blue Bear (who was one-eyed and definitely not blue) up for inspection.
“May Benny and I go?” Allegra corrected him automatically.
“Me, too!” Kyle pleaded. It did make sense to him.
David looked at Allegra. “Will it be all right, Allegra?”
“But—you just said those hogs are dangerous, didn’t you, Dad Mitchell?”
Jesse smiled. “Yes. But I guess David and Mr. Case here look pretty dangerous to the hogs, too.”
Allegra considered, then asked Riley, “You’ll watch out for him, won’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Always do.”
“You watch him, too, David. All right, Kyle. You may go.”
“Can I shoot the pig?” he asked earnestly.
“May I shoot the pig?” Allegra said stubbornly. “And these days, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
“Uh, don’t think so this time, hoss,” David answered Kyle, pointing to Riley. “Right there’s probably the best pig killer.”
Riley nodded and quickly moved out of the cabin, followed by the others. As soon as they were outside, Jesse said, “I have one ax and a splitting maul. I used up most of the wood that was already down, and I burned it for the beacon. But thank the good Lord there’s plenty of hands here now.”
“Sure, Grandpa,” David said. “Just leave it to us.”
“Why don’t you take that white oak over there? It isn’t too big, and white oaks split easy as anything and burn real good,”
Jesse said.
“Merrill and I will chop firewood,” David decided. “Riley can take down a pig without my help.”
“I’ll help,” Kyle solemnly promised.
“Thanks, kid,” Riley said, almost smiling.
“I’ll just go along with you, Mr. Case,” Jesse said, “and show you where the pigs are. Might even shoot two if you have a fancy repeating rifle.”
“I have that,” Riley said. “Just show me those razorbacks.”
The day was soon gone. Merrill and David cut, split, and hauled enough firewood to last a week. Riley brought down two fat pigs, and he and David dressed them out. The women decided on the sleeping arrangements, with the Mitchells taking the single bedroom, the two women and Kyle upstairs in the tiny attic, and the men downstairs. All of them had sleeping bags, and Allegra and Xanthe collected soft, fragrant fir boughs to cover the hardwood floor. Though the sojourners had been sleeping in their sleeping bags among the pines and firs and oaks for weeks, somehow the same rough beds in the cabin seemed luxurious.
Reaching the relative safety of the cabin lightened their hearts. Riley Case even talked a little more. Their supper that night was fresh pork ribs that Riley cooked on an open fire outside, while the women fixed more biscuits and a huge blackberry cobbler. A festive air filled the room. Xanthe said nothing about Hot Springs, but David watched her eat ravenously and thought that some people would consider them as having hardships; yet the shelter of the cabin, the fresh food, and the company were soft living compared to conditions in the rest of the world.
“I’ve been picking loads of these wild blackberries for a long time,” Noe said with satisfaction, watching the cobbler that bubbled on the woodstove. “We’ve got plenty of sugar, and they’ll keep for a long time, cooked up in simple syrup. Thank the Lord for His abundance.”
They all sat down, and Jesse turned to his grandson. “Then, David, you do just that.”
David bowed his head and said a quick prayer, simple, very much like that his grandfather had spoken earlier. When he glanced up, he saw that Riley had a strange expression on his face, somewhat puzzled and a little strained. First time he’s ever bumped into God, David reflected.
They all ate heartily, speaking mostly of small, comforting things, like the lovely snow and how good a real fire smelled.
After the meal, David said, “Grandpa, I want us to have a Bible study.”
“Why, that would be good,” Jesse said at once. “Anybody that wants to stay, just sit right where you are. After we clear the table, we’ll look into the Word of God.”
The women cleared the table and washed the dishes while the men talked quietly of everyday things. When the women came back, they all sat down and discovered that there were only four Bibles, the two possessed by Jesse and Noe, the one that Merrill had carried faithfully, and the large, oversized one that Perry had treasured.
Allegra pulled her box up to the table, holding Kyle on her lap.
He put his hand out on the Bible and said, “I like this book. It was Perry’s.” Looking over at Jesse, he stated solemnly, “Perry died.”
Jesse did not answer, but studied the boy. His eyes lifted to Allegra, who added, “He died saving Kyle’s life, Mr.—Dad Mitchell.”
Somehow it gave her a good feeling to call Jesse Mitchell “dad.”
She related briefly how the bite of the wolf caused the death of their young friend.
“I’ve thought about Perry a lot. It wasn’t a natural thing,”
Merrill said, shaking his head. “That boy shouldn’t have died.”
“There are many unnatural things in this world right now,”
Jesse said quietly. He looked around the table and asked, “Anyone got something particular to study in the Word?”
It was a question that David Mitchell had heard often. One of the most treasured memories of his youth had been his grandfather’s Bible studies. Great numbers of people had come, for Jesse
Mitchell’s teaching drew people from everywhere. The studies always began with the same question: “What do you want to study?” Someone would say, “Justification.” And Jesse would turn to the person on his left and say, “You turn to Romans, chapter 7, verse 15.” To the next person, he would assign another scripture, perhaps from the Old Testament. He would go all the way around, assigning everyone a scripture, and then would begin by saying to the person on his left, “All right, read.” After the scripture was read, he would speak. It had always been miraculous to David how his grandfather seemed to know every scripture and could tie them all together. Now David said, “I’d like to pick a subject.”
“All right, grandson. What is it?”
“The end times.”
A sudden silence fell over the group, and Jesse’s eyes gleamed. “The end times! Well, I think that would be a fine study. Wish everyone had a Bible, but we’ll do the best we can.” He turned to Allegra. “Sister, why don’t you turn to First John, chapter 2, verse 18.” Xanthe huddled close, looking down at the big Bible with curiosity. She’d never seen such a book.
Allegra found the verse and put her finger on it, with Kyle doing the same. “I’ve got it, Dad Mitchell.”
“All right, sister, read!”
Allegra read in a clear voice: “‘Little children, it is the last time—’”
Jesse interrupted, “Now stop, sister, right there. That’s the foundation of everything we need to know about what’s happening. You’ll hear preachers talk about one of these days the last times will come, but the apostle John was living in the last time. That’s what he said. It is the last time. Now, read the rest of that verse, sister.”
; Allegra continued, “‘It is the last time: and as ye have heard that antichrist shall come, even now are there many antichrists; whereby we know that it is the last time.’”
“There it is again,” Jesse stated. “All of us are living in the last time right now. The church lived in the last time in the days of Martin Luther. It was the last time in the days of John the apostle . . .”
Riley sat apart, close to the fireplace, idly whittling small kindling splinters. But his eyes were watchful as Jesse moved from scripture to scripture. He was amazed at the ability of the old man, who apparently had memorized the entire Bible.
Finally Jesse asked if there were any questions.
Merrill looked uncertain, and then reluctant, but he finally spoke. “Brother Mitchell—there are many other teachings about the end times. It’s—it’s a little confusing.”
Jesse smiled and brushed his mustache down. “You know, brother, people used to do charts and graphs and drawings and timetables and calendars and such. They all used to try to pick out the Antichrist from living men. They picked out Stalin, but he died. They picked out Hitler, but he died, too. The fact is, their antichrists kept dying off !” His sharp blue eyes glowed with merriment, but then he grew grave. “And that’s the story of all of the antichrists, you see. They’re all going to die.”
He paused a moment, and the silence in the room grew thick.
From far off came the thin howl of a wolf. Kyle visibly shivered, then drew closer to his mother.
“I don’t think the book of Revelation is primarily prophetic,”
Jesse said slowly. “I think it’s a pastoral book. There’s prophecy, of course, no doubt about that. It comes and goes, but the pastoral remains.” He leaned far up in his chair, like an eager teacher, and his hands were expressive. “You see, when you think you’re at the end of everything, brothers and sisters, the book of Revelation is the place to go. When you come to the end of yourself, the end of all your dreams, when everything is tumbled about you, you make a beeline for Revelation!”
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 12