His comment made Jesse and even Noe laugh. “Brother, God is no respecter of persons,” Jesse said. “He can talk to you just like He does me. Probably does, only I talk so much sometimes, maybe I need to keep quiet for a change.”
“Okay, here goes,” Merrill said. Everyone leaned forward, extremely curious. Merrill was a rather shy man, not one to put himself forward. When he did, it was always because he had something important to say.
“The Lord has shown me some things, Brother Mitchell. He’s shown me many things, and my wife—bless her—has helped me to see them clearly. In fact, she’s seen some of it herself.”
“That’s scriptural, it sure is,” Jesse said with enthusiasm. He already seemed stronger. “The Spirit is confirmed between you.”
“Well then you just be quiet and let him talk, Jess,” Noe said good-naturedly.
“Sorry,” Jesse said a little sheepishly. “Say on, brother.”
Merrill leaned forward, his eyes and voice intent. “The world is different now. What the Lord is showing me is that—somehow evil has become more—physical, more—temporal. The forces of evil, instead of being simply spirits, are taking on actual, physical shape. Like Count von Eisenhalt. And many others, I think. Even, maybe, some animals . . . Anyway, the Lord is showing me that He, too, is giving us—tools, tasks, weapons, to fight this evil. And I mean actual, physical tasks and things we must do, tasks we must perform. And you, Brother Jesse Mitchell, are a key, a pivotal point. The forces of good, you see, are being—concentrated here, in you, in this place, just as the devil is concentrating his forces in certain people and certain places. That’s why you’ve been feeling compelled to wander in the wilderness, Brother Mitchell. Because the Lord is showing us that it’s not just spiritual warfare anymore. It’s here. It’s now. It’s a real, physical fight.”
Everyone sat back, stunned. Even Jesse looked astonished. Merrill took a long, deep breath of relief and waited. Genevieve smiled at him, then took his hand and squeezed it.
“Well, for goodness’ sake,” Jesse murmured. He glanced at Noemi. “Wife, you’re a wise woman. What do you think?”
“I think—no, I know—it’s the truth,” Noemi said thoughtfully. “It is, Jess. All of us—even I—have sort of sat back and let you do all the work, and sort of depended on you to be everything. But I know now that the Lord’s been trying to show us that we’ve got to do more. That’s why you finally gave out, Jess. The Lord’s giving you notice that you can’t do it all alone.”
David asked, puzzled, “But we all pray for each other, and I’m pretty sure we all pray for Grandpa a lot. I guess I don’t understand what more we can do.”
“Well, I’ve got an answer to that,” Merrill said, growing more confident. “I think that the Lord has shown me why we’re here. I mean, each of us, in particular.”
Riley Case, who almost never spoke up during their meetings, said, “I’d like to know that myself.”
Merrill turned to him and said, “Mr. Case, you’ve already saved our lives. Literally. And now, I think, you’re here to save more lives. I don’t know whose. I don’t know how or when. But I do have a strong feeling that you will again physically save one—or maybe all of us—from death. In the meantime, I think that you were brought here, by God, to watch over Jesse Mitchell.”
Riley nodded vigorously. “I can do that. I’ll be glad to do that.”
Jesse balked a little. “I don’t need a bodyguard. The old devil doesn’t want us to die, you know. Then we’ll be in heaven, beyond his reach. He wants to turn us away from God.”
Merrill listened, and once again he seemed distressed, for he had no thought of correcting a man like Jesse Mitchell. But he knew—he was certain—he had to. The Lord was telling him to, right here and now. “Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I have to tell you that you may not realize or know exactly what the devil’s going to try to do to you. You know better than I do, Brother Mitchell, that he’s not omniscient; he’s even blind in some things. But one thing I do know for sure is that somehow you’re very important in these evil days. God has set you in this place, sir, and if the old devil can kill you, well, it just may mean that a lot of sheep may be lost. I know that we here would be very frightened.”
Jesse was bemused and considered this for a while. Then, with a trace of his wicked humor, he looked over at Riley. “You’re a good shot, are you, Mr. Case?”
Before Riley could answer, David muttered, “Best I ever saw.
Wish I was that good.”
Jesse nodded. “Should have known that if the Lord God was going to give me a guardian, He’d give me the best.”
To everyone’s surprise, Riley looked absurdly pleased and even muttered a low, “Thank you, Mr. Mitchell.”
David said a little petulantly, “Wait a minute, he’s my grandfather. If anyone’s going to watch over him, it should be me. Hey, I’m a soldier, remember? I’m—I’m trained to—to—guard people!”
Merrill said in his most kindly manner, “I know, David. And let me tell you now that I’m only telling you what I feel the Lord has shown me. But you all always have a right to make your own choices and to seek the Lord.”
“David, you’ve been a light of my life,” Jesse said gently. “Don’t you ever think otherwise.”
David looked rebellious for only a moment longer. He was so good-natured and had such a kind temperament that he couldn’t sustain any negative emotions for long. “I’m just jealous, Grandpa. I wanta be the big, bad bodyguard.”
Jesse, who was looking better by the minute, grinned. “You’re just a puppy, you are.”
“Aw, Grandpa, don’t even start that,” David rasped. “My team even calls me that. But nobody here is going to—Mr. Case!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Riley said, staring up at the ceiling. Almost, but not quite, inaudibly he added, “Puppy.”
Ignoring him, David said to Merrill, “You don’t even have to tell me, Mr. Stanton. I already know. I knew even before I started acting like a spoiled little kid. There’s wood to cut, and hunting, and repairs and maintenance on the cabins, and water to haul all day every day. I can do that. And I know that I’ll be thanking the Lord for making me strong and healthy enough to take care of my grandparents.”
“You’re a good boy, David,” Noemi said quietly. “You always have been. I thank the Lord for you every day of my life.”
David smiled, clearly pleased. He hugged Kyle, who had long fallen sound asleep in his lap, closer.
“But what about the rest of us?” Allegra asked. Even she seemed to have become a little more animated. “What can I do?”
“You’re already doing what might be the hardest task of all, Allegra,” Merrill said gently. “You’re like our servant already. You wash our clothes, clean for us, wait on us, do so much for us all. It’s not much glory, but the Lord knows that we all need help, for this is hard living. Especially Mrs. Mitchell, for her task is to take care of her husband as she’s always done. Only we all know that your hands really give you a lot of pain, Sister Mitchell. I think that sometimes you really do need help, maybe with cooking or cleaning or making the bed. But you won’t ask for it. Well, I’m telling you now that the Lord has sent Allegra to help you.”
“Why, I never . . .” Noemi’s eyes shone, and she gulped a little.
“The Lord is good.”
“It would be my great pleasure, Mrs. Mitchell,” Allegra said honestly. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than to feel like I’m—helping somehow.”
“So that leaves us, wife,” Merrill said, his eyes shining with joy.
“Last night we read the book of Exodus about the first battle that the Israelites had. Joshua led the fighting men in the battle against the Philistines, and one thing became apparent. As long as Moses held up his hands and prayed, the children of Israel won. But when his arms grew weary and he dropped them, they lost.”
“That’s the way it was,” Genevieve added. “The power was in
the prayers of Moses. Isn’t that right, Brother Mitchell?”
“That’s exactly right, daughter. And it’ll always be that way.”
The faded eyes gleamed, and he was studying the pair carefully.
Merrill took a deep breath and turned to face Jesse squarely.
“What He’s told me is this: my wife and I have been brought here to hold your hands up, Brother Mitchell. I don’t mean literally—well, then again, it may come to that sometime. But what I mean is, when you pray, one of us will be praying. When you walk and seek the Lord, one of us will be seeking Him for you. When you study the Word, we study. All day, every day. One of us will be praying.”
Jesse Mitchell’s eyes filled with tears, and he wasn’t a bit ashamed. “Bless you, my brother, for your faithfulness. It takes courage to stand up in faith on the Word of God. And I know this is the Word of God. I already feel new strength, new hope—new faith from you. From all of you. Now, let’s pray, and I want to praise Him for His victory. Though we’ll have to fight and fight hard, the victory is already in Jesus!”
TWENTY-THREE
RILEY CASE knew that it was almost dawn, though he didn’t understand exactly how he knew. Ever since the blackout he had stopped wearing a watch; occasionally he had a disturbing thought that all the watches in the world had stopped, that they were a symbol of men’s foolish beliefs that they could control universal forces such as the flow of time by faithfully wearing a piece of jewelry.
In any case, the little sixth sense that had measured time for his ancestors (before a single Cylex had been made) kicked into play. Throwing the blanket back, he lifted his legs and came off the cot. As he slipped into his Ty-jeans, he deliberately stifled the shiver that ran over his body in the freezing cold. One of Riley’s defensive measures was not to give in to mild physical discomfort; he forced himself to ignore such things. He regarded this as a fine exercise in self-control. Pulling on his boots and heavy Ty-canvas drover’s coat, he grabbed his hat and his rifle, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him so as not to awaken David, who was still snoring gently.
He made his sure way through the woods, knowing the path to the Mitchells’ as well as he knew the inside of the small cabin. As Riley trudged on, he was aware of the rush and the vigor of the land as it changed from night into morning. He watched the day’s color sweep across the sky, as if a powerful hand were scouring the dome of heaven. Up here, in the cleanness of these old hills, the land seemed to waken quickly. One moment it was quite dark and all the stars were clear in the sky—then a thin line of violet light made a fissure dividing earth and the land, and long waves of light rolled out of the east, turning the soft silvery snowscape into brilliant whites and crystal blues. The snow was deep. Yesterday, as they had returned to the Mitchells’ cabin after a long day of wandering, Jesse remarked that the winter seemed to be more severe than he recalled from when he lived there many years ago.
Riley’s thoughts moved ahead of him as he forged toward the Mitchells’ cabin. Day after day he stayed with Brother Mitchell, watching over him. Once Jesse almost walked into a twelve-foot-deep ravine, and Riley was barely able to get to him in time to pull him back from the edge. After that, Riley stayed closer to the older man, though he was extremely uncomfortable to be able to hear Jesse’s prayers so clearly. As he listened to Jesse for hour after hour, he became more and more . . . was the word . . . frightened ? Maybe so, Riley admitted to himself, for he was an honest man. He thought that long ago he had lost the ability to feel fear, as he had lost the ability to feel much emotion at all. Such weaknesses he had conscientiously culled out of himself, along with his illusions and dreams. He had many dreams at one time, but they were like children who went out to pick flowers in a field and did not return.
Their loss left a void, he knew, but he always convinced himself that instead of the soft stuff of dreams, he filled that hole in his spirit with a hard-eyed knowing of who he was and his place in the world. He was a solid man, a measured man, and he must plan for and strictly control life at all times.
Of course, his life had been thrown off the track. He was bemused at first, but he recovered. He was fully back in control, and he carefully planned for all eventualities, even in this off-kilter world.
As he followed the well-worn path into an evergreen glade, Riley lifted his head and breathed deeply, appreciatively, of the aromatic scent of pines and cedars. Another of his self-disciplinary tools was that he never took anything for granted. He determined never to grow callous to the beauty, the wonder, of this place and time. Living alone in first one heartless co-op city and then another, Riley thought he would never have the chance to live like this, in the woods, with no commissars threatening to arrest him every time he stepped on some flower or drank from a spring.
What amazed him most, however, was how much he relished the company. His mind shied away from such thoughts as loving his companions and friends, and he especially trained himself never to dwell on thoughts of Allegra Saylor for long. Yet he was glad to have these companions in this odd journey of life. Idly he reflected that they all—the Stantons, Allegra and Kyle, David, and especially Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell—were the best companions to have in these days.
He had been right to follow that far-off unknown fire in the hills. At the time, it was a difficult decision for Riley to make; it went against his common sense and his deep instinct for organized action. Then when he realized they were all a bunch of dunkheads, he was disdainful, as he always was of Christians. He had always thought that dunkheads were rather weak and silly people, deluded by fatuous beliefs. But now he knew differently. These people had an inner strength that he’d never seen before.
Riley was presented with a terrible quandary. If the dunkheads were right and true and strong, then suddenly he was faced with hard questions of life—and death. Although he was not an old man, lately he had been feeling the crushing weight of mortality. Almost against his will, he remembered one of the verses of Scripture that Jesse quoted in a Bible study that Riley pretended not to listen to but couldn’t help hearing and remembering. One verse drove into his mind, leaving the words as indelible as if they were pressed into damp concrete and allowed to harden. It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.
The tiny feeling of dread that always accompanied these hard words started somewhere in the back of his skull. Just a tiny prick, almost unnoticeable, but while the words echoed as if in a chamber, the feeling quickly spread, and only by a grim act of will was he able to force them out of his mind.
As if mirroring the thick veil he drew over certain thoughts and feelings, the landscape suddenly grew gray and flat. Riley looked up at bleak gray clouds plodding across the cheery sun and wondered dully if it would snow again. He picked up his pace. It didn’t matter if it was a blizzard. Jesse would probably insist on his lonely wanderings. And however ludicrous it might seem, Riley’s job was to watch over him. He didn’t want Jesse to take one step without him.
By noon Riley was feeling a little differently.
A few feet ahead of him, Jesse had stopped to stare up into the gray sky. His breath came in steamy expulsions, like incense rising from a censer. He was wearing his long coat and thick boots and his funny red toboggan hat. Jesse had been wandering, almost aimlessly, all morning. Usually he sat down somewhere about midmorning, but on this bitterly cold and gray day he walked slowly, his shoulders and head bowed.
With some irritation Riley reflected, The old man wouldn’t even eat if Mrs. Mitchell didn’t make him . . . and he’s supposed to be the key to saving the world? It’s ridiculous! How did I get myself into this— this—farce?
From a great distance, Riley heard the long, hungry cry of a wolf. It seemed to go on and on, a deep, angry sound, a warning sound. He glanced at Brother Mitchell. Jesse sighed deeply, as if he were in pain, and began trudging again. Riley followed, more closely than he usually did. Though he never sensed any danger—and he was certain that he would
if it was present—on this day he felt a certain reluctance, a certain reservation about letting Brother Mitchell get far away from him. He always observed animal tracks in the fresh snow: deer, rabbits, coyotes, raccoons, mice . . . wolves. Though they hadn’t caught a single glimpse of one since they’d reached Blue Sky Mountain, they heard them, and Riley had seen their tracks, sometimes perilously close to the cabins.
Finally Jesse seemed to settle on a place to rest for a while. They came upon a small clearing circled by wild holly trees. The green leaves made a vivid contrast to the snow, and overhead a large fir tree had borne the weight of the snow, while underneath the needles were deep and still green, shielded from the snowfall. Without speaking to Riley, Jesse knelt and began to pray.
Riley moved to a discreet distance where he could still see Jesse but was, so to speak, not in his personal space. Brushing the snow off an upended tree, a giant brought down by the mighty hand of a storm, he sat with some gratitude, for treading through deep snow was hard walking. He wondered how in the world Jesse, at his age, could keep on hour after hour, day after day. Riley held the rifle across his knees, ever alert, his eyes relentlessly searching the clearing and the thick woods surrounding them, his ears keen on the small sounds of the wilderness. Suddenly Jesse started praying aloud. It went on and on, and Riley grew restless. What in the world can he be saying to God all this time? All the words in the dictionary, and I can’t think of a single word to say to God! But he prays all day and half the night—then does it again.
He couldn’t help listening, though he tried hard not to. He couldn’t make out the words, yet the passion of the man’s prayers disturbed him. Jesse Mitchell cried out to God as if He were right there, standing there, responding to him . . . and Riley thought uncomfortably that there certainly was a Presence in the little clearing.
As the time and the prayer went on, Riley became absolutely miserable. He had tried all his life, he thought, to convince himself that religion was a somewhat laughable, somewhat pathetic, self-deception. But Riley had seen, had heard, and now knew that Jesse Mitchell was not laughable, was not pathetic, and was certainly not deceived by himself or anything else. He was real.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 34