by Jerel Law
M’chala turned around, though, and looked directly at Jonah.
He held his finger over Eleanor, who pulled against the angels as they braced themselves to restrain her. She may have been sick, but she was still a nephilim.
M’chala placed his other hand on her shoulder to steady her and drove his finger into her chest.
Her eyes fluttered once, then opened, looking straight at them all. He thought for a brief second that she may even say something, but then her eyes shut again.
By the limpness of her body, Jonah knew that she was gone.
Jonah sat in the dirt beside Eliza and Jeremiah. He ran his hand into the dirt until it was just as black. The picture up above had disappeared some time ago. There were hushed conversations going on all around them, but it was awkwardly quiet. Quarterlings, nephilim, and angels formed a sort of circle around them, trying to figure out what to do, making plans, but they were giving the Stone kids their space.
Jonah half expected a fallen angel to come and attack them now that they were already down. Maybe M’chala would come for him too.
Whatever. He didn’t care.
Finally, he rose, unable to even feel his legs, or anything else, for that matter. He stumbled through the crowd, his eyes searching, people offering soft “I’m so sorry’s” and other kind words he barely heard.
He found his dad, who was standing with Camilla, her hand on his arm.
“Dad?”
His eyes met his son’s, and Jonah saw them melt. He fell into his dad’s shoulder, and they both wept.
SNOWFALL
From his seat on the train, Jonah stared out at the landscape moving by. The mounds of dirty snow were the same charcoal gray as most of the buildings he passed. He held his hand up, lazily tracing the outline of an angel in the moisture on the window. His hand was unscarred now, just like the rest of his body. Immediately after his mother died, the boils all over had disappeared, although it took Eliza pointing it out for him to even notice. His headaches were gone too. But it was nothing he felt like celebrating in the face of losing her.
Winter had set in four weeks ago, just after his mother’s funeral in Peacefield, and the first storm of the season rolled in, dumping two feet of snow on their sleepy town. Usually, the first snow of the year was like a sugar high for the Stone kids, injecting them with an extra dose of energy that could be spent only by afternoons of sledding and snowball fights.
But their house had been subdued and all too quiet, to the point that it began to drive Jonah outside. He’d do anything to get away from the silent, empty rooms and the feelings he was having. He would wake up and walk into the kitchen, somehow expecting her to be there, whipping up an amazing breakfast, hands moving in a thousand directions at once. And then he would realize, again, that she wasn’t.
He didn’t join in with the other kids on their street, screaming and shouting and laughing in the snow. He found himself instead taking long walks. Sometimes Eliza or Jeremiah would join him. Other times, he would go alone.
It was on his walk last night that Jonah decided he would come to New York again. His father could give him answers, thoughts, and theories. But he needed more than that. He needed to talk to someone who knew.
“Jonah Stone!” Camilla said, looking up from a stack of notes on her desk. “I wondered when I might see you. What a wonderful surprise.”
She rose and gave him a big hug, then stood in front of him, sizing him up for a few seconds.
“We’ve missed you around here,” she said. “All of you. Angel School has continued, but it hasn’t been the same without the Stone kids. How is everyone holding up?”
Jonah shrugged, picking up a paperweight from her desk and studying it. “Everyone’s doing all right, I guess. It’s been . . . hard.”
She nodded, her eyes welling up as she sat back down. “And you would like some answers.”
He looked up, meeting her eyes with his, and unable to hide the fire in them. “Yeah. Don’t you think I deserve some?”
She motioned to the chair to his right, and he sat down. Leaning back in hers, she pivoted, looking through the window at the snow. It was beginning to fall again.
“I know you want answers, Jonah. Why M’chala targeted you. Why Elohim allowed it. Why your mother is gone.” She paused, not moving too quickly past the weight of those words. “But sometimes, even the angels are prevented from understanding His mystery.”
“Why did He make this happen?” Jonah exploded, his face reddening, and he felt himself lose control more than he intended. It was a question—the question—he had been turning over and over again.
Camilla turned and faced him squarely. “Of course He didn’t make this happen, Jonah! Don’t you know better than that at this point? After all you have been through, after everything He has shown you, done for you, and led you through. Do you really believe He would cause awful things to happen to you and to those you love?”
Jonah folded his arms, slumping into his chair a little more. He knew her words rang true somewhere in his heart, but he wasn’t ready to back off just yet. “He let it happen, didn’t He?”
Camilla smiled at him sadly. “Yes, He did.”
“So what does that mean?” Jonah asked, still smoldering. “What does that say about Him? Why would Elohim let Abaddon have his way with me?”
“You are not the first to be tested in this way, Jonah,” she said. “Many other followers before you have been allowed to experience dire situations, attack, and, yes, even death by Abaddon’s forces. It is a mark of honor and should be taken as such.”
Jonah turned back toward her, her words causing him to boil again. “Honor? Really? The fallen angel of disease targeted me . . . and my friends and family . . . all because Elohim chose to let it happen . . . and this is some kind of honor?”
Camilla sat up straight and leaned forward. “Jonah, the loss of Eleanor was a great loss to all of us. To me. And my loss is nothing compared to yours and that of your father, brother, and sister. But it is an honor to be tested in this way. Many do not see it that way, but it is absolutely correct. Elohim has His plan, and you can be assured that He has something in mind with all of this. He has never once let you, or your family, or even your mother, out of His grasp.”
She arose and moved over to the chair beside Jonah now.
“You are to grieve this loss, yes. And it’s even all right to be angry. But do not let it cause you to hide—especially not from Him. There is a difference.”
Jonah sat still, trying to keep his lip from trembling. He realized that for a month he had been doing that, trying not to break down, to stay strong, to do whatever it was he thought he was supposed to do. But in the safety of her office, he felt the wall inside begin to crumble.
His shoulders began to shake, softly at first, then progressively harder. His first instinct was to cover his face with his hands as the tears began to fall, even though it was only Camilla. Thoughts began to run wild. Memories of his mom came quickly, her smiling face, that time when she dropped a carton of eggs on the kitchen floor, another time when they snuggled together on the sofa and watched a movie. And more. Pain like a knife cut through his chest, and his lungs began to heave in and out as his entire body shook. He had no control of himself, and the waves crashed over him.
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing his arm softly. Camilla said nothing, allowing the waves of grief to come, praying silently for him.
A word came to him from somewhere deep within, rising up, bubbling from a place tucked down in some crease in his soul. It moved through his stomach, rose into his throat and mouth. It was equal parts cry, declaration, and confession.
“Elohim . . .”
Jonah had no idea how long he sat there, but finally the waves subsided and he was able to breathe normally again. He felt like he’d just run ten wind sprints at basketball practice. Exhaustion was overtaking him. But the waves had been replaced by calmer waters, bringing to him a deep sense of rel
ief.
Camilla sat there, still silent, rubbing the back of his neck with her hand.
Finally, he peeled himself out of the chair, rubbing his face with his hands. “I need to get home before my dad starts to worry about me.”
“Should I contact a messenger angel for you?” Camilla asked. Jonah knew it wasn’t the normal mode of transportation allowed for the quarterlings. It was a generous offer.
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind riding the subway.”
She raised her eyebrows but didn’t push.
He turned around before he walked through the door. “Thanks, Camilla. I really mean it. I guess I just needed to get that out.”
“You’re welcome.” Camilla smiled. “Just know that we are all thinking of you often, praying for you, and looking forward to the day when you will be back with us at Angel School. Do you happen to have an idea of when that might be, by the way?”
Jonah hesitated, thinking, his hand on the door handle. “Thanks again, Camilla. For everything.”
He walked down to the street, wrapped his scarf snugly around his neck, and shoved his hands deep into his warm coat, leaving behind him new tracks on the fresh, white snow.
Jonah sat with Eliza on his left and Jeremiah on his right, listening to his father speak once again. The pews of the church were full of people, young, old, and in between. They had come from many different places in life, but for one reason—in search of the presence of Elohim. To express what was on their hearts to Him. To remember, once again, that in spite of the battles they were facing, He was in control and He loved them.
The people stood, and Benjamin joined his family in the pew as the guitar strummed the first soft chord. He placed his arm around Jeremiah and winked at Jonah. Jeremiah wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tightly.
Jonah studied the words on the screen and once again thought about his mom. How her voice had sounded when she sang, how her face had looked when she closed her eyes and prayed.
And then something connected, deep within him. A thought he hadn’t had until now.
That his mom was with Elohim this very moment, basking in His presence and worshipping.
And so were they. Even though they were here, and she was there, maybe right now, she was singing too, raising her voice once again to the God she had never doubted, always loved, and forever trusted—the God who had forever been faithful to her.
This realization jolted Jonah, and he stood suddenly taller, closing his eyes, lifting up his voice to the heavens. He sang with all of the air his lungs could give and felt the tears begin to wet his cheeks. He pictured his mother singing too, right beside him, and knew that, even in death, the connection he had with her could never be broken.
He joined the rest of the church—and his mom—in heartfelt praise to Elohim.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jerel Law is a gifted communicator and pastor with twenty years of full-time ministry experience. He holds a master of divinity degree from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and began writing fiction as a way to encourage his children’s faith to come alive. Law lives in North Carolina with his family. Learn more at www.jerellaw.com.