When considerable time had passed and the voyage was now dangerous, since even the fast was already over, Paul began to admonish them and said to them, “Men, I perceive that the voyage will certainly be with damage and great loss, not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives.” But the centurion was more persuaded by the pilot and the captain of the ship than by what was being said by Paul. Because the harbor was not suitable for wintering, the majority reached a decision to put out to sea from there, if somehow they could reach Phoenix, a harbor of Crete, facing southwest and northwest, and spend the winter there.
When a moderate south wind came up, supposing that they had attained their purpose, they weighed anchor and began sailing along Crete, close inshore.
But before very long there rushed down from the land a violent wind, called Euraquilo; and when the ship was caught in it and could not face the wind, we gave way to it and let ourselves be driven along. Running under the shelter of a small island called Clauda, we were scarcely able to get the ship’s boat under control. After they had hoisted it up, they used supporting cables in undergirding the ship; and fearing that they might run aground on the shallows of Syrtis, they let down the sea anchor and in this way let themselves be driven along. The next day as we were being violently storm-tossed, they began to jettison the cargo; and on the third day they threw the ship’s tackle overboard with their own hands. Since neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small storm was assailing us, from then on all hope of our being saved was gradually abandoned.
When they had gone a long time without food, then Paul stood up in their midst and said, “Men, you ought to have followed my advice and not to have set sail from Crete and incurred this damage and loss. Yet now I urge you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. For this very night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood before me, saying, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before Caesar; and behold, God has granted you all those who are sailing with you.’ Therefore, keep up your courage, men, for I believe God that it will turn out exactly as I have been told. But we must run aground on a certain island.”
But when the fourteenth night came, as we were being driven about in the Adriatic Sea, about midnight the sailors began to surmise that they were approaching some land. They took soundings and found it to be twenty fathoms; and a little farther on they took another sounding and found it to be fifteen fathoms. Fearing that we might run aground somewhere on the rocks, they cast four anchors from the stern and wished for daybreak. But as the sailors were trying to escape from the ship and had let down the ship’s boat into the sea, on the pretense of intending to lay out anchors from the bow, Paul said to the centurion and to the soldiers, “Unless these men remain in the ship, you yourselves cannot be saved.” Then the soldiers cut away the ropes of the ship’s boat and let it fall away.
Until the day was about to dawn, Paul was encouraging them all to take some food, saying, “Today is the fourteenth day that you have been constantly watching and going without eating, having taken nothing. Therefore I encourage you to take some food, for this is for your preservation, for not a hair from the head of any of you will perish.” Having said this, he took bread and gave thanks to God in the presence of all, and he broke it and began to eat. All of them were encouraged, and they themselves also took food. All of us in the ship were two hundred and seventy-six persons. When they had eaten enough, they began to lighten the ship by throwing out the wheat into the sea.
When day came, they could not recognize the land; but they did observe a bay with a beach, and they resolved to drive the ship onto it if they could. And casting off the anchors, they left them in the sea while at the same time they were loosening the ropes of the rudders; and hoisting the foresail to the wind, they were heading for the beach. But striking a reef where two seas met, they ran the vessel aground; and the prow stuck fast and remained immovable, but the stern began to be broken up by the force of the waves. The soldiers’ plan was to kill the prisoners so that none of them would swim away and escape; but the centurion, wanting to bring Paul safely through, kept them from their intention and commanded that those who could swim should jump overboard first and get to land, and the rest should follow, some on planks and others on various things from the ship. And so it happened that they all were brought safely to land.
When they had been brought safely through, then we found out that the island was called Malta. The natives showed us extraordinary kindness; for because of the rain that had set in and because of the cold, they kindled a fire and received us all. But when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks and laid them on the fire, a viper came out because of the heat and fastened itself on his hand. When the natives saw the creature hanging from his hand, they began saying to one another, “Undoubtedly this man is a murderer, and though he has been saved from the sea, justice has not allowed him to live. However he shook the creature off into the fire and suffered no harm. But they were expecting that he was about to swell up or suddenly fall down dead. But after they had waited a long time and had seen nothing unusual happen to him, they changed their minds and began to say that he was a god.
Now in the neighborhood of that place were lands belonging to the leading man of the island, named Publius, who welcomed us and entertained us courteously three days. And it happened that the father of Publius was lying in bed afflicted with recurrent fever and dysentery; and Paul went in to see him and after he had prayed, he laid his hands on him and healed him. After this had happened, the rest of the people on the island who had diseases were coming to him and getting cured. They also honored us with many marks of respect; and when we were setting sail, they supplied us with all we needed.
Hewitt closed the Bible and stood, retrieving the black book from his pocket. He paged through it a couple of times, stopping near the end. He tucked the Bible back into the bookcase, cleaned up the floor and threw most of the debris from the desk into the wastepaper basket. Hewitt sat and unwrinkled an old newspaper article. He smoothed out the ends and read. My goodness. What a lot of baggage to carry around. He folded it back up and tucked it into his side pocket.
It was time to pay Mrs. Farmer a visit.
Chapter 38
Hewitt peered through the window, noticing an old lady pushing a box into a closet. She returned with a smile and opened the door.
“Mrs. Farmer,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Special Agent Hewitt Paul.” He flashed his identification.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“May I step inside so we can talk?”
“What would you want to be talking about?”
“Your husband.”
“Come in,” she said, moving aside. “I’ve been expecting you anyway.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“The local police have been here. The county police have been here. Why not the FBI? Besides, you looked upset at the service for our pastor. You looked like you needed to talk to someone.”
“Yes, I am upset. But why would you think I would need to talk to you?”
“You gave me a suspicious look at the service. Like you thought I was hiding something.”
“I did a little research on those who attended the church on a regular basis. People who might know the pastor. Or might know Michael Stewart. Should I be suspicious?” Hewitt asked, stepping into the living room.
“Would you like some hot tea?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll make it just right for you,” she said as she turned and walked into the kitchen.
Hewitt walked around the living room and inspected the bookcase.
Several minutes later, Mrs. Farmer returned with a tray. Steam rose from the two cups and two cookies were arranged side by side. Hewitt sat in the bigger of the two chairs in front of an old record player. She handed him a cup and placed a cookie on a nap
kin in his lap. Sitting down next to him, she took a bite. “One of my best batches.”
Hewitt broke off a piece of cookie and chewed it. “Delicious.”
She smiled. “You’re not here to get my recipe or sample my baking skills. How can I help you?”
He leaned sideways. “First, I want to express my condolences for the loss of your husband.”
She nodded and took a sip of her tea.
“I’m trying to find Elizabeth and Michael Stewart. I was wondering if your husband had mentioned them at all.”
“He had. He was worried about them.”
“Why?”
“George only mentioned him once. I really didn’t think much of it because he was always worrying about someone here in town.”
“Did he mention anything in particular?”
“He worried about Michael and his daughter, especially when he found out he was a widower.”
“Did George talk about Michael having any … crazy as it might sound, ability to travel places?”
She shook her head.
Hewitt sat back in the chair and sighed. “What about Michael? Did you speak to him?”
She broke off a piece of her cookie and nibbled on it. “We spoke. Michael was very generous with his time when I was grieving. He gave me great comfort.”
“Did he ever tell you about places he wanted to visit? Anything that bothered him?”
She sipped her tea some more. “He spoke a lot about his daughter. He was worried sick about her. He told me how sad he was and couldn’t live without knowing if she was safe. I saw a man with a broken heart.”
Hewitt leaned forward. “Breaks my heart too. Were you close to Pastor Dennis?”
“When George was alive, we saw him almost every weekend at the Sunday service. He was a good man. But he’s helping George now.”
“What?” Hewitt put his tea down.
“George is helping the pastor now.”
“Where?”
She pointed to the wall.
“Mrs. Farmer, please forgive my ignorance. We are talking about him, right?”
She nodded.
“Where is George helping Pastor Dennis?”
“There,” she said, again pointing at the wall.
Hewitt stood. He went to the wall and stared at the picture. “I see a painting. So what?”
“Is that all it is to you?”
“Yes,” he said, turning around to face her. “Did your husband paint this?”
“Yes. He worked on it for many years. What do you think of it?”
Hewitt studied the four-by-two-foot framed picture. There were eight soldiers with spears drawn, towering over women, their arms up, defending their children. “Very disturbing.”
“I thought so too.”
“Did he talk about why he painted this?”
“Sometimes. He said it kept him mindful of the cruel realities of this world.”
“I’ve read enough biographies about artists,” Hewitt said. “Studied it a bit in college too. Tortured souls, some of them were. Most of them had no grasp of reality; that’s probably why many drank or committed suicide.”
“Oh, that’s not true, is it?” Mrs. Farmer asked.
“Well, I may be reaching a little,” Hewitt replied.
“Well, my George wasn’t like that,” she said, taking another piece of cookie off the tray.
Hewitt returned to his seat and took two sips of the simmering tea.
“George said painting helped remind him of his travels.”
“Where did he say he traveled to?”
“He would never say. He liked to take long walks. Said it kept him in teenage shape.” She laughed and finished the last bit of the cookie. “This is my best batch.”
“How did your husband die?”
“Don’t you know that?”
He nodded. “I just want to hear what you thought.”
“The police would only say he died from a suspicious wound in his chest. They told me they were investigating it as a suicide. George was not that way. He loved life.”
Hewitt rubbed his forehead and went back to the picture. He placed his finger around the outline of a soldier. He turned to face her, keeping his left hand on the painting. “What did your husband do before he retired?”
“He was a pastor’s assistant. For Pastor Vincent.”
“Did you say Pastor Vincent?” asked Hewitt as he walked back to Mrs. Farmer.
“Yes. They were very close, until the incident.”
He sat down. “What incident?”
“George came home all bloodied, screaming and yelling. I never saw him so upset. He said he got hurt at the church.”
Mrs. Farmer picked up her cup and grabbed his, placing them on the tray. She walked to the kitchen and dropped them in the sink. She rejoined Hewitt and sat down, placing her hand on his. “George was a good man. He cared about Pastor Vincent.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t talk about it again.” There were some seconds of silence between them. “That’s when he started to paint,” she said.
“From what I’ve heard, Michael had a close relationship with Pastor Dennis.”
“I believe so. That’s what Michael told me.”
“Close enough where they would share secrets?”
“I can’t tell you one way or another whether they would. But I can tell you it’s tragic for everyone here in Northport that the pastor is no longer with us.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Hewitt as he got up from the chair.
“Why would you say that? How awful. You should be praying for him. Pastor Dennis has gone home to the Lord to work with George.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t believe he’s with the Lord right now.”
Chapter 39
Hewitt stared into his refrigerator. He saw a half-empty box of pork fried rice, three cans of Bud Light and an unopened bottle of white Chardonnay. He grabbed the bottle of wine and with some difficulty, extracted the cork from the top. Pouring the wine into a tall beer glass, he watched a piece of the cork bob around the top. He put his finger in it and pressed the cork against the side of the glass. He pushed it up and smirked. Got ya. It fell back in as he lifted his finger to pull it out.
No. You’re not going to get the best of me. Hewitt reached into a drawer near the stove and grabbed a spoon. Come on. Come to me. Come to Papa. He twirled the spoon around and the piece dipped on and off of it a couple of times. Frustrated, he started to pour the wine into the sink. Get out of there. Now. The wine fell smoothly down the drain while the tiny piece of cork hung on for dear life in the glass. When it was empty, he held it to the ceiling light. I don’t believe it. He banged the faucet on and let the rushing water flood the glass, finally pushing the stubborn cork into the sink and down the drain. That’ll teach you.
He stared at the remaining wine in the bottle and then at the glass. I’m losing it. I’ve been drinking myself into oblivion, and now I’m fighting a piece of cork. On top of that, I’ve got a bunch of religious freaks almost convincing me a man time travels to the time of Jesus. Think of that, Hewitt. Think of what these people are trying to sell. This is absolute horse crap. I’m college educated and part of the world’s best governmental agency. I am the best at what I do – finding missing children.
“You’re not going to break me,” he said as he poured the remainder of the wine into the sink. He opened the three beers and did the same, holding the last can up high to make it more dramatic. “No one is going to make a fool out of me anymore.”
Hewitt went upstairs to change and sat on the bed with fresh pajamas in his hands. He listened to the silence of the house for a few moments before going to open Hailey’s bedroom door. She’s not coming home. It’s time for me to accept this.
“Daddy, Daddy, help me,” Hailey�
�s voice echoed in his mind. He squeezed his head with his hands and dropped to his knees.
“I’m trying, honey. I’m trying.”
He sat against the edge of the door for several minutes, keeping his mind blank until his cell phone rang.
“You have something that can help me, Connie?” he asked, answering the phone.
“No. Sorry.”
“Why are you calling me then?”
“To warn you. I saw a photo of you at the cemetery. What were you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Um, you digging.”
“Oh Lord,” he said, standing up.
“Yeah. Are you okay? Even the best people lose it.”
“I’m fine. I haven’t lost anything.”
“You can’t be fine if you’re digging up someone’s body after he was just buried. It sure looks like you’ve lost your mind.”
Hewitt put the phone to his side for a brief moment. He took a deep breath and put the phone back to his ear. “Where did you see this photo?”
“I just saw it. It’s only a matter of time before every social network is either sharing it or tweeting the link. The captions I saw are funny though. Crazy FBI guy digging up clues was my favorite.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Sure looks like it.”
“Oh, Lord,” Hewitt said again. “What am I going to do now?” He paused.
“Do you need a friend?” Connie asked.
Hewitt didn’t answer. He went to the kitchen and dropped the phone on the table.
“Hewitt? Are you there?”
He picked it back up and reluctantly placed it on his ear. “I’m here. I can’t believe how much I’ve screwed this up.”
“Do you need a friend?” Connie asked again.
Hewitt didn’t answer and sighed. A knock on the door shook him out of his momentary trance. He opened it and turned away. “I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”
“Nope,” said Connie as she hung up her cell phone. She walked in and looked around. “Well, well, so this is how a big shot FBI special agent lives.” She proceeded into the living room. “Not too impressive.”
The Greatest Gift Page 15