Behind the Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  “Need a break?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

  “No, I’m fine. But, why don’t you grab that box of tissues in the living room? Just in case you need them.” I smiled, and so did she as she got up to retrieve them.

  Setting the box down, she said, “Keep going. I promise not to break your fingers.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  SEVERAL MINUTES PASSED. John watched as Virgie placed her left ear on Hannah’s chest. Then she lifted his wife’s eyelids.

  Turning back to John, she pressed her lips together for a moment as if considering something, then left the bedroom. A minute later, she returned from the kitchen with a cup of warm water. After moving the bloodied pillow to the floor, Virgie sat on the edge of the bed and supported Hannah’s head.

  “John, will you come over and open Hannah’s mouth for me? Just like ye’ve done in the past.”

  He did so.

  Virgie tilted the cup, bringing it to Hannah’s lips and allowed a little bit of water to trickle into her mouth. Hannah’s tongue and throat took over. She swallowed the clear liquid without any problem. Virgie continued to tip the cup over and over again until the full content was drained.

  “That’s a good sign, John. A good sign.”

  “But, the blood…”

  “Dunno ‘bout that. No, sir. Dunno. Cain’t be good though.” She looked John straight in the eyes. “John, you might need to start preparin’ for the worst.”

  John clenched his jaw, his anger wanting to flare. “Virgie…not the best thing to be sayin’ just now.”

  “She ain’t gettin’ any better,” Virgie said softly. “I think she’s holdin’ on fer you, not because she’s a’wantin’ to stay.”

  Instantly, John’s anger was gone, rapidly transitioned from one raw emotion to another. His mind tried to keep up with the deep piercing sorrow that began to fill his heart. “You really think that? She might be livin’ this pain ‘cause of me?”

  “You and the children. Seen it before. Most times they’re waitin’ to be given permission to leave. Might be what’s a’happenin’ now.”

  Grief, like a crushing mudslide, overwhelmed him in that moment. John fell to his knees beside the bed and reached for his wife’s thin hand. He began to weep. His chest heaved uncontrollably. When he was finally able to draw in a full breath, he let out a mournful wail that filled every room of the old farmhouse.

  All six of his children, Joe, Carson, and David, Sharon, Sarah, and Sissy, filled the doorway and watched. All had to have believed that in that moment that the worst had just occurred.

  “Hannah! You cain’t leave me! I cain’t let you!”

  “John…you have to.”

  Without exception, all six of Hannah’s children, now at the foot of the bed, began to weep as they gathered close to hold one another.

  In a flash, anger surged within John and pushed out the invading emotional pain. “No! Ain’t gonna! Ain’t gonna let her go!” He quickly got back up on his feet, walked past Virgie and opened the other door. Just inside the hallway was a set of stairs that led to an attic and a single bedroom. He climbed the flight, turned left into Joe and Carson’s room, and slammed the door closed behind him.

  John walked to the middle of the room and screamed! “What do you want?! You want me to say you exist?! Okay! Yer real! Does that settle things?! Does that make everthin’ better?!” He stomped his left foot on the hardwood floor. Pictures on the wall rattled. “Answer me!”

  He began to pace the distance from door to window between the two single beds. The temperature in the room was nearly intolerable. He walked to the window and threw up the lower sash. He leaned out the window and stared out over the front of his property.

  “It don’t matter. None of it!” He straightened up, walked back into the middle of the room, and looked up, his eyes doing their best to penetrate the ceiling into the heavens. “I don’t have anythin’! I’ve got my children and I’ve got this land! That’s it! Take it! I’ll live in a box crate on the street! Just give me my wife back!”

  Anger, spite, and fear continued to surge within him. He couldn’t control any of it anymore. Tears came in a torrent as he dropped his head and his chin hit his chest. He was a defeated man. Even if there was a God, John knew in this moment that he had absolutely nothing to bargain with in order to get his wife returned to her proper place in his life.

  In the amount of time that it took to draw his next breath, everything went cloudy before him. His arms went weak, a tingling sensation reaching his fingertips. Then his legs failed him and he hit the floor hard with his knees. If not for his son Carson’s bed, he would have fallen forward and hit the ground, with his head leading the way.

  The blow against his chest as the metal frame of the bed came into contact shocked his mind enough for him to realize that he was now kneeling. The fog cleared from his senses.

  He pushed his upper body off of the bed and supported himself on his elbows. What’s goin’ on here? He tried to sit up fully and put his feet underneath him to stand back up, but he toppled forward again onto the bed. Frustration was beginning to mount as he tried a third time and failed.

  “What is this?!”

  “Stay on your knees, Jonathan.”

  Terror, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, cascaded through his system like an electrical current. Not for a moment did he wonder if he’d really just heard a voice. Someone had just spoken a command to him! His mind tried scrolling through the list of possibilities—the possibilities of who.

  John swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. There was no list of possibilities. Just one possibility. While his body involuntarily shook, he asked the only question that would approach his lips. “Who?”

  “Jonathan, I Am. I am the God of my people Abraham, Moses, David son of Jesse, Saul known as Paul, Simon known as Peter, and…Hannah daughter of Martin.”

  At the mention of his wife’s name he felt a wave of utter shame overtake him. The intensity of it caused him to hide his face. He buried it in the sheets of the bed. “Oh God… Oh God… Please, please leave me! Please! Leave me to die!” He couldn’t face what was happening. Who was happening.

  “I have come for you, Jonathan.”

  “I know! I know! I deserve it. Kill me. I’m a worthless man! I wouldn’t believe…”

  “Jonathan, son of James, listen to my words! I am he who gave you life! I placed your spirit and soul within your mother’s belly. I fashioned a purpose for you to complete, but you have fought against me. You have ignored my call, time and again. Who are you, son of the dust, that you pridefully fashion your own purpose? Who are you, created one, that you think you can create your reason for living?”

  John didn’t even try to form an answer. He was but a grain of wheat underneath the foot of one who could grind out his very existence. The clarity…the absolute clear knowledge of his position… He was at the very mercy of a King. The very King against whom he had fought so hard to never swear allegiance.

  “This day, I have come for my own sake, to establish my kingdom and my purpose. Ask of me, son of the dust. Ask of me your heart’s bitter yearning.”

  “I…I cain’t. I’m not worthy of askin’ you. I’m worthless!”

  “Jonathan, I am just and true. I am the judge of all value. Ask.”

  Mixed with the terror was another growing emotion, fueled with the realization that he was being given a chance. Hope. Not a lot. A small hope.

  He couldn’t see how hope could turn into reality. He didn’t have anything to give in exchange. “I don’t have anythin’! I told you! I’ve got nothin’ to trade!”

  “From traitor to trader. What is it that you have, Jonathan son of James, that no one else has? What do you possess that I, your king, desire above all else?”

  John was confused. There was nothing. Of what could he possibly have possession that was worth anything to God? What could he trade that would…

  Me.

  Dead sil
ence. A realization began to settle over John. He was the bargaining chip. A life for a life.

  John had said over and over again to any who would listen that he would give his life for Hannah, if only it would save her. He was now face to face with his own words. Now he would find out about himself and the truthfulness of that proposition.

  He drew a deep breath and stared at the checkered cotton linens on Carson’s bed. If ever he was given the chance to be a man, this was it.

  There was nothing to consider, really. Life would not be worth living without his wife. He wouldn’t want to go on and didn’t think he could go on if she died. He was giving up nothing by giving up his life.

  “God, I ain’t never been a religious man. Never known you to be anythin’ but a Bible story. Cain’t deny who you are no more, though.” He took in a deep breath and released a resigned sigh. “Don’t guess you’d take my life in trade. I’d ‘preciate it if you would. Take my life, and save my Hannah.”

  “Jonathan, this day I do require of you your life. In exchange, I will heal your wife—my servant—Hannah.”

  Jonathan released a single grateful sob. He drew in and held his breath, wondering how his own death would feel at the hand of his Creator. How painful would it be?

  Another thought flashed. His heart sank further than he thought it could possibly go.

  “Am I goin’ to hell?”

  “As it stands, that is the destination you have chosen for yourself.”

  Not a single thought of debate crossed John’s mind in that moment. He had been given the truth of the situation from the God of the universe. The judgment was just. It had always been his choice whether to seek out the reality of God’s existence; an incorrect decision to leave the question about God alone.

  His voice trembled with fear. “I’m ready.”

  “Jonathan, son of the dust, remove your shoes and stand.”

  John unlaced both of his shoes and pulled them from his feet. Placing them neatly beneath his son’s bed, he stood.

  “This day, your wife, Hannah, will awaken to a body healed of all ailments. She shall fulfill the purpose for which I alone have created her. Her life will be poured out as a blessing to many, including your very grandchildren.”

  John considered carefully his words. What else could he have hoped for? His wife was going to be alive to touch another generation of his bloodline. Truly, if there was ever a worthy trade, it was being made now, even if it meant punishment. And he’d heard enough preaching, heard enough people talk about it, heard enough songs… Hell was forever.

  “Thank you. I thank you.”

  “From this day forward, Jonathan, will you serve me? On this day of exchanging your life, will you acknowledge me, Jesus the Christ, as your Savior? Will you honor me, and none other, including yourself, as Lord?”

  Was he hearing right? “Yer not… You… Yer not gonna kill me?”

  “Jonathan, son of James, will you serve me with your life?”

  “You mean…you want me? Not to kill me, but…just me?”

  “A third time, I will ask you, Jonathan, son of the dust: will you pour out the remaining days of your life as an offering to me?”

  The message was clear. God was requiring of him his life—the life that he had stubbornly refused to give away to a God that he had never wanted to acknowledge. John’s answer back was clear, as well.

  “Yes, my God! Yes, my Lord!” He dropped to his knees and fell forward onto his hands. He lowered himself to his forearms and clasped his hands. “You are my God! You are my Savior! I accept your blood payment for me. I believe it! I believe it and I’m yours!”

  “Jonathan, three times during a world at war, I gave you the strength to rescue your friends from death. Three times I moved my hand to save your life in the mines of the earth. Three times did I place it in you to call upon doctors for the restoration of your wife, Hannah. Your number is three. Your hands, stretched forth in my name, shall be the third set to touch my servant in faith. I shall then raise her up from her bed of death. Listen to me closely, son of dust. Spend your life well for me, for in the year nineteen-hundred-and-________-three, I shall call you home.

  “Go, my son. Go and touch your wife.”

  John took in a deep breath and listened. As he slowly released the air from his lungs that he’d been nervously holding, he came to feel just how much his body was shaking. He raised his right hand before his face and watched the uncontrollable movement. He took another deep breath and let it out.

  Birds were chirping. A cool breeze fell upon the back of his sweat-soaked shirt.

  Nervously, he sat up. Leaves in the breeze and birdsong were all he could hear now. He realized something in that moment. Peace. Peace as he’d never known peace before.

  John noticed something else. He felt clean. He felt…brand new!

  A third and startling thought came to his mind. Hannah!

  John jumped to his feet and scrambled for the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges as he swung it open. He ran down the stairs and back into his wife’s bedroom. Their bedroom!

  Virgie was still sitting on the bed. She was just removing a cool compress from Hannah’s head as he entered. All six of his children sat in chairs and on a small couch at the far side of the room, all of them looking very apprehensive. That is, until they looked at their father’s face.

  “What is it, Daddy?” asked David, rising to his feet.

  “Virgie, please.” John offered his hand to her to help her off of the bed.

  Virgie took a couple steps away from the bed and watched as John knelt down on the floor next to his wife.

  He began to reach his hand out to her forehead and stopped. He looked back at Virgie and then to the kids and said, “Don’t know if I’m s’posed to say somethin’.”

  He saw seven people produce the same questioning stare.

  John looked back to Hannah. Then, as he moved his hand toward his wife, he said, “Jesus told me to do this.” His left hand made contact with Hannah’s forehead as he rested his other hand upon her right arm.

  It took hardly any time at all. The color of life began to return, as if poured back into her skin. A gasp for air startled John as her lungs filled to capacity. He felt warmth—glorious warmth—as it spread through her clammy arm.

  The transition from near-death to renewed vibrancy was so staggeringly obvious that Virgie’s mouth dropped open and a little squeak exited her vocal chords.

  Six pairs of feet quickly stepped closer.

  The girls began to scream with utter joy, jumping up and down with reckless abandon. It was then that John knew he wasn’t just seeing things, hearing things, and feeling things.

  His heart leapt! Wonderment and excitement whirled through his soul.

  Within moments, Hannah’s eyes fluttered open. They were as bright and clear as the day that she and John had first met.

  Decades in the making, John and Hannah were each looking upon the other with brand new eyes.

  I’m stuck for words!” Tara just stared at me, her mouth slightly open.

  “Changed my papaw’s life. In fact, it changed a lot of lives. As I understand it, his life was so radically different that dozens of people sought him out to ask what had happened. Apparently, the rumor mills operate at full force in the hollows of Kentucky.”

  “I knew that he was passionate for Christ,” said Tara, “but I had no idea that he had a big impact in the lives of people outside of his immediate—and extended—family.”

  “Tip of the iceberg, baby.” I grinned. “He gave up the coal mine and began working as a carpenter. He spent his life talking to people about Jesus—apparently to anyone who would listen. He also used his talents to build a few churches.”

  Tara looked down at our hands, hers resting in my own. She whispered, “His number was three.”

  “Yeah, that’s really something to think about, isn’t it? I’ve tried, but I’ve never discovered anything about my life that reflected a specific numb
er given by the Lord. One of the letters that I had found in his Bible was actually a look back through his life and at the significance of that number throughout it. I was astounded.”

  “So, God let him know that he wouldn’t live out the rest of the century. He only knew that he’d die in a year ending with a three?”

  I grinned. “Think of the relief he felt at the stroke of midnight on January 1st, 1964!”

  Tara giggled. “Not bad knowing you’re guaranteed another ten years! At least ten years.”

  “And another ten years was what he was given.”

  “How did he die?”

  “That, my dear wife, is a story for another time. Let’s get back to my experience on that mountain.”

  “Yes, let’s. But let’s do it in the family room. My tush is starting to hurt on these chairs.”

  “We’ve definitely gotta protect that tush!”

  THE AFTERNOON SUN continued its arc through the cloudless sky. Brent’s body had been able to cool down quite a bit as he enjoyed the frequent breezes of the eighty-two-degree day.

  He stood once again at the edge of the ridge. It had taken a while, but he’d finally found some sort of structure on the opposite hill below him. He couldn’t make out what it was for sure, but he suspected that it was a deer blind. Outside of that lone object, it appeared that he was alone in the world. No towers, no cables, not even a jet contrail in the sky. Every few minutes, though, he could hear the deep guttural sound of engine brakes on the coal trucks making their way down some far-off mountain road.

  Almost perfect.

  It seemed that nothing here could be quite perfect. Not anymore. Not without the knowledge that Hannah Moore would greet him with a smile every time he came back to these hills.

  Maybe Brent and his grandfather were more alike than he’d ever suspected. Two men, angry at God over the life of the same woman.

  The last time that he’d been to Kentucky for a visit was the previous year, when he had chosen to come down by himself, almost on a whim. He’d called his Uncle Joe and Aunt Sally to find out if they and his mamaw would be open for a visit during the long Labor Day weekend. They were, and he had come. He spent most of his time laughing hysterically with his hero.