by J B Hawker
Regaining his composure, he dragged the heavy door open and gestured for Keenan to help him get the bag inside.
“We gotta go in there?” Keenan asked, looking pale.
Biggie glared at his companion and grabbed one end of the bag. Keenan shuffled closer and took hold of the other end, giving it a push. The pair tugged and pulled the bag into the dark vault, then turned around to retrieve the other duffel.
“Man, I’ve got cobwebs in my hair!” Keenan cried, batting wildly at his unkempt tangles. “That place is probably full of giant spiders who’ve been feasting on dead bodies,” he shuddered.
“Don’t be stupider than usual,” Biggie snapped, reaching into the car for the second bag.
“Ah, gee! This one’s heavier than the other one,” Keenan moaned. “You sure this one doesn’t have a body in it?”
“If you don’t shut your yap and get hold of this thing, the only dead body around here will be you!” Biggie threatened. “Now, move it!”
Once again, they struggled up the hill, stumbling over downed tree limbs and broken headstones in the long-abandoned mountainside cemetery.
When they were halfway to the top, a sharp piece of broken marble pierced the canvas, tearing a long hole in one side. As they continued to drag the damaged bag toward the mausoleum, the contents began to spill out into the brush, lightening the load.
“I think I’m getting stronger,” Keenan said. “Maybe there’s something to this ‘fresh air and exercise’ business, after all.”
Biggie stood up, saw the reason for the lighter load and slapped Keenan on the back of the head.
“You idiot! Look what you’ve done. Now pick those up, right now!”
Biggie panicked. What would Dwayne and Beto do when they found out he’d seen the goods?
He had to cover this up, somehow. Remembering his empty backpack in the car, he jogged back down and got it, then began stuffing the spilled packages into it as he scrambled back up the hill.
Getting to the top with his laden backpack, he set it inside the crypt and dragged the torn bag inside, pushing it up against the far wall.
He stepped outside to see if he’d missed anything and spied Keenan sitting on a fallen tombstone with a blissful look on his face. A torn bag of white powder was on his lap and Biggie noticed a telltale dusting of white on Keenan’s hands and around his nostrils.
Without thinking, Biggie whipped the gun out of his jeans, pointed at Keenan, and fired.
Keenan tumbled backward onto the sunken grave behind him and Biggie’s eyes opened in fright. He’d never expected to hit Keenan, only scare the fool.
Hustling over, he squatted down and saw a neat hole in his former friend’s forehead, just above his now sightless eyes. There was no doubt Keenan was dead.
Biggie fell back onto the dirt, tossing the gun away from him. He felt sick.
As the shock wore off, he began to think of ways to cover up his crime.
Looking around him at the graveyard, he uttered a harsh laugh. Was there a better place to hide a body than a graveyard?
Biggie got to his feet and, grasping Keenan’s legs, began to drag the body toward the open crypt.
In the darkness, he pushed the lid off the sarcophagus on the bier inside and, without looking at the prior occupant, heaved Keenan’s body inside.
Running back out, he gathered up the opened bag of drugs and the others Keenan had picked up before deciding to sample the merchandise, threw these into the coffin, and slammed the lid.
Once that was done, Biggie stepped back into the sunlight.
Closing the door and hanging the broken lock back onto the hasp, he stood outside the tomb listening to his heart pounding in his ears and trying to think.
Returning to the car, he sat panting and trembling until he’d recovered enough to drive, then started the engine and left the cemetery without a backward glance.
After making his way down the winding mountain track, Biggie stopped the car before driving onto the paved road and sent a brief text message to Dwayne confirming delivery of the bags, hoping to put off the day of reckoning. He made no mention of his troubles, but he knew Dwayne and Beto wouldn’t be happy when they found the opened bag. Not to mention Keenan’s body.
Thinking of all the ways the dealers might make him feel their unhappiness, Biggie looked south toward town, his fear showing on his face. After a few moments of indecision, he turned his car onto the roadway heading north, looking forward to a nice long visit with his uncle in Spokane.
…
Not far from where Biggie sped along heading north, Hope was turning her Jeep off the main highway onto the dirt road leading to the campground where the Mount Zion kids went every year.
The Jeep hit a bump and Gideon, in the passenger seat, gripped the dash to keep steady.
“Whoa, Speed Racer, this isn’t Indianapolis, you know,” he teased.
“Sorry. I didn’t see that dip. Aren’t you glad we brought my Jeep, though? Your sedan would bottom out on this road,” Hope replied, slowing slightly.
“No, it wouldn’t, because I would be driving at a sedate pace more suitable to the road conditions,” Gideon replied.
Hope grinned, speeding up ever so slightly and hitting another dip.
“Now, cut that out!” Gideon laughed, then pointed ahead. “Turn at that sign; the place we’ll leave the car is not far beyond the park entrance.”
Arriving at the empty parking lot, Hope jumped out of the car and looked around.
“Is the campsite very far? We’ll have pretty heavy packs,” she said.
“Even heavier than the load of books those kids haul around every day?” he asked.
“You’ve got a point there,” Hope agreed. “Properly balanced, they could carry quite a bit more weight.”
“It’s not far, though, just through here,” Gideon said, walking to a paved path leading into the woods.
Hope stepped onto the path, kicking at the paving.
“We’re going to be really roughing it, I see,” she said, shaking her head. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“Don’t be snide,” Gideon said. “It may not be a remote wilderness worthy of your mountaineering skills, but it gets a bit more ‘natural’ before we get to your campsite.”
After walking a few hundred yards, the pavement stopped, and the dirt path branched off in two directions.
Gideon led the way onto the narrower, more overgrown path.
“Ah, the road-less-traveled, at last,” Hope said, grasping Gideon’s hand.
As the path narrowed, she fell back into single file. After walking awhile longer, they crossed a gurgling brook and entered a level clearing surrounded by trees and a few large boulders.
“How charming!” she cried with delight. “This is more like it!”
Standing in the center of the clearing, she turned slowly around, pleased that no sign of civilization was visible from the campsite.
“It’s just like you said, Gid. Parking, a shower room, and port-a-potties only a short hike away, but it feels like a wilderness camp. Perfect. Even a cute little stream for atmosphere.”
Gideon threw an arm around Hope, basking in her delight.
“So, have you seen enough?” he asked.
“I’d like to tramp around outside the clearing, just to check on any possible hazards. Even though the group was here last year, you never know what might have changed in that time. Just give me a few minutes to sweep the perimeter and then we can go.”
Gideon let Hope get on with her investigation while he sat on a big rock to enjoy the sunshine. The boulder moved a bit when he shifted his weight, surprising him. It looked like a permanent fixture, but it must have been a recent arrival, perhaps from a storm or earth tremor.
He was thinking about how deceiving appearances can be and trying to work out a sermon illustration when Hope returned to his side.
“All clear. Let’s go,” she said, breaking his concentration. “Were you doing your i
mpression of that statue, The Thinker? ‘Cause I don’t think you’re dressed for the part.”
Gideon jumped up, laughing, and whispered something in Hope’s ear, making her chuckle, before the couple strolled back down to the parking area.
Once in the car, Hope turned to Gideon.
“Thanks for bringing me up here today. Getting the lay of the land is a huge help with my plans,” she said.
“Happy to be of service,” he said, lifting her hand from the steering wheel and kissing it.
After making an issue of buckling and tightening his seatbelt, he braced himself, saying, “All set for take-off, Captain.”
Looking at his phone and noting the time, he added, “I’ve got a meeting before lunch, so you’d better drop me at the church.”
“I can get you there with plenty of time to spare,” Hope said, peeling out of the parking area.
“Just get me there alive!” Gideon cried, not altogether in jest.
…
That evening, Gideon and Hope were relaxing on the sofa watching a video and thinking about going to bed, when his phone rang, waking Hope, who had nodded off.
Easing out from under his sleepy wife, Gideon answered the call, listened, and said, “I’ll be right there. Thank you for calling.”
“What is it?” Hope asked, groggily. “Do you have to go out?”
“You go on to bed, I may be awhile. Sister Moses asked for me. She’s dying.”
Hope jumped up, running her fingers through her hair.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, straightening her sweatshirt.
“Are you sure? It can be, well, pretty emotional,” Gideon said as he stepped into his shoes and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack in the entry hall.
“Sister Moses is a special lady. I want to be there... but do you think she wouldn’t want me there?”
“I’m pretty sure, if she’s still aware of her surroundings, she will want you to be there, but I will let you know when we get to her house. Come on, the nurse said there isn’t much time.”
Driving through the night to Sister Moses’s home, Hope thought about other deaths she’d witnessed. Those had been violent deaths of young men and women in battlefield conditions. How would this passing be different?
Sister Moses had lived a long, full life, unlike the young soldiers. Hope had no knowledge of how those men and women believed, or what faith they had, while Sister Moses held a firm belief in a Heavenly afterlife in the presence of the Lord. Would that faith protect the old woman from the fear Hope had often seen in the eyes of others facing death?
Gideon pulled up in front of the house. All the lights were on and several other cars were parked in the driveway and along the street. Hope could see people moving around inside, as though a party was in full swing.
Wind-tossed trees danced in the illumination from the windows, lending an eerie touch to the chilly night.
Hope shivered as she emerged from the car.
The door opened before they knocked, and a middle-aged man Hope had never met pulled Gideon inside.
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Pastor. She’s waiting for you. Says she’s not going before you come,” the man said. “You know how stubborn she can be.”
The man’s words were cheerful enough but Hope noticed tears at the corners of his eyes as she followed the two men to the bedroom.
Chairs had been dragged from the kitchen and they were filled by women Hope recognized from church.
Sister Evans jumped up when they entered.
Hope almost failed to recognize her. Without her ever-present hat, her sparsely covered head looked sadly vulnerable. She’d obviously been called when she was already in bed because she wore a raincoat over a flannel nightgown and had carpet slippers on her feet. Sister Evans seemed unconcerned about her appearance as she clutched Gideon’s hand.
“Take my seat, Pastor. Geraldine’s been asking for you,” she said, leading Gideon to the chair closest to the bedside.
As Gideon leaned over the dying woman, Sister Evans stepped to Hope’s side and took her hand.
“Is this your first passing?” she whispered to Hope.
Hope thought of those earlier deaths and decided that this was, indeed, her first “passing” in such a setting. She nodded.
“This is a good one to be your first,” Sister Evans nodded. “Geraldine will do this right; you can be sure. I just wish some of our young ones could be here.”
This comment puzzled Hope. Everyone she knew wanted to protect children from scenes of death.
As though aware of Hope’s confusion, Sister Evans spoke again, softly.
“It was my old Auntie Lucy’s passing that brought me to Jesus long ago. Seeing that blessed lady greet her Lord with joy is an image I’ll never forget,” she said.
Gideon gestured for Hope to join him at the bedside.
Seeing her hesitate, Sister Evans gave her a gentle nudge and Hope stepped forward.
Sister Moses seemed even more shrunken than on their previous visit. She was so still that Hope feared she was already gone.
She twitched in surprise when the woman’s eyes opened.
Looking directly at Hope, she moved her lips and Hope leaned down to hear what she was trying to say.
“I’ve got Betty praying for you, dear,” she closed her eyes and whispered. “You’re going to be alright.”
Hope was unsure if Sister Moses was aware of those around her or could possibly know who Hope was. Her words didn’t make much sense.
Not knowing what else to do, Hope remained standing beside Gideon as he prayed, and then stepped aside while the nurse checked her patient’s vitals.
“It won’t be long, now,” she said when she finished.
A gentle swell of prayers filled the room and Sister Moses opened her eyes again. A wide smile creased her withered cheeks and a radiance seemed to shine from her face.
“Lord Jesus, I come!” she cried before sagging back into the pillow.
The nurse stepped forward once again, then stepped back, announcing, “She’s gone.”
Sobbing, the watchers in the room surged forward to touch Sister Moses one last time and pay their respects, many with tears running freely as they leaned down to kiss her papery cheek.
Gideon nodded to Hope, and they went into the other room where he shared the news with those who were waiting.
After gathering the mourners for a brief prayer and offering condolences to the family members, he and Hope returned to their car.
Driving home, Gideon asked Hope what Sister Moses had said to her.
“I don’t think she knew who I was,” Hope replied. “She said I’d be all right because someone named Betty would be praying for me. I don’t even know a Betty.”
“Sure, you do. That’s Sister Evans. She’s taking over the prayer ministry from Sister Moses. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
When they drove into their driveway, Hope turned to Gideon before getting out of the car.
“Did you see her face?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Just before she died... I thought it sort of… glowed. It’s silly, I know. It must have been the reflection of lights from a passing car or something.”
“Her bedroom doesn’t have a window facing the road,” he said. “I saw it, too. Everyone there did.”
“What was it?”
“I suppose there are ways to rationalize it away, but I have seen the same phenomenon before, and I believe what we just witnessed is the reflection of the glory of God as Jesus welcomed His precious child home.”
…
Dawn dragged her feet after school a few days later. She dreaded what would happen when she got home.
Mrs. Jones resented Dawn’s absences to attend school and took it out on the girl as soon as she walked through the door.
School wasn’t much fun for Dawn, either; she worried about the little kids while she was away. But at least it was a break from Mrs. Jones
’s abuse.
Hearing music, Dawn looked up and saw that she’d wandered near the Mount Zion church. It sounded like some sort of celebration going on inside, even though it was the wrong day of the week for a regular church service.
Curious to see what was making the crowd of people so happy, she slipped through the open church doors.
The sanctuary was crowded. The pews were tightly packed, and people were even standing in the aisles. Flowers overflowed the baskets and tables at the front of the room, filling the air with a heady fragrance.
Dawn squeezed in beside a well-dressed, heavyset, middle-aged man whose deep voice joined the others in an upbeat song of praise. Peering up, she saw tears streaming down the man’s smiling cheeks.
What was going on?
The song ended and when those in the pews sat down. Dawn saw a white-draped casket at the front of the center aisle. With a shock, she realized she’d barged in on a funeral. But this was like no funeral she’d ever heard about.
While she was trying to figure out how to slip away unnoticed, Gideon stepped to the pulpit and invited the mourners to offer any memories they’d like to share about the departed, someone called Sister Moses.
The large man at Dawn’s side raised an arm and walked up to the pulpit. He adjusted the microphone and began to speak.
“Grandmother Moses was the reason I’m here today and not in prison or a grave of my own,” he began, his voice rumbling from the overhead speakers.
He went on to tell of his troubled youth and how the dead woman had taken him in and straightened him out with a combination of tough love and prayer. As he spoke, murmurs of “That’s right!” “Me, too!” and, “Praise God!” echoed on all sides.
When he finished speaking, the choir burst into song as other speakers made their way to the podium to wait in line to share stories of how the deceased had made a difference in their lives.
Dawn was transfixed by this outpouring of love for the old woman who’d died. It seemed she had touched everyone in the place. What amazed Dawn, even more, was the way the people’s grief for themselves at losing this woman in their lives was combined with happiness for her at what they called her “going home.” There seemed to be more laughter at the sometimes-comical antics of this beloved woman, than tears at her death.