Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  Back there at the Brandt’s house, Dominic and Peter had probably seen Keefe. Every Franciscan on the porch had probably seen him, too. What had they thought as he’d zoomed by? Was he eight years old? Confused and afraid? What was he afraid of anyway?

  The sound of rushing water broke through his self-loathing thoughts. Without slowing down, he focused on his surroundings. Somehow he’d come to the waterfall.

  On impulse, he turned toward the steep slope that ran along the riverbank. He fixed his gaze on the waterfall and pumped the pedals. As he neared the slope, he pushed his weight down on the bike, then punched it, lifting the front wheel off the ground and standing. The back wheel cruised over the lip of the slope, making Keefe airborne, making time stop for a moment and giving him a strange rush that he almost liked.

  Reluctant to tear his eyes from the view, he lowered the handlebars and the bike landed on both tires simultaneously. But he was headed directly for the river.

  Adrenaline surging through him, he dropped a foot to the ground, released one side of the handlebars and jumped off the bike. The bike swerved around him, landing with a bounce on its side. Keefe’s heart raced, pounding in his throat. He righted the bike and rolled it closer to the slope. Then he turned to the waterfall.

  The loud roar and white tumbling water mesmerized him for a moment. He moved toward it, staggering through rocks on the sandy bank, teetering on rocks in the agitated water. The spray of the waterfall reached him, cool droplets on his sweaty, tear-streaked face. Then he plunged into it where the brunt of it poured down. And he stood there, gasping for air and struggling to keep his balance as the waterfall washed away his failure, struggling to hold it together as the blinding water reminded him to trust. He was not alone.

  The promises he’d made moved to the front of his mind, drowning out all other thoughts.

  I will listen to Your voice. I will live knowing that You are with me and that You love me . . . I will not forget, no matter what. No matter what!

  The thoughts forced their way out. “I will listen to Your voice!” Keefe shouted and then spluttered. “I’ll do what you want! I will live—”

  Someone grabbed him, latching onto his arm and tugging, saying something. The rushing water muffled the voice, but it sounded like a girl.

  Water flooded his eyes as he turned toward the person. Not wanting to fall, he yielded to her insistent redirection. A few steps later, he found secure footing on the ledge behind the waterfall and he trudged along with the girl, his cold wet jeans encumbering him. He wiped his eyes with his free hand. Then he opened them to see who she was.

  Caitlyn held his arm. Shadows hid her face, but he still caught the worry in her expression.

  “Wow, Keefe, what do you think you’re doing?” Phoebe shouted. “You’re drenched.” She sat on one of the two log seats at the back of the dim cave, glittery bracelets or maybe rosaries dangling from her wrist. A few candles glowed behind and on either side of her.

  “How did you know we were back here?” Kiara said, her soft voice competing with the roar of the waterfall. She stood by the other log seat. “We wanted to include you, but no one answered the phone when we called.”

  Shuffling to the dry part of the cave, Keefe squinted from one to the other, not sure what to make of the situation. They must’ve seen him as soon as he’d stepped into the waterfall. Could they have heard him over the noise? “What are you doing back here?” The cool air of the cave hit his wet skin and soaked shirt and made him shiver.

  “Sorry we don’t have any towels,” Caitlyn said.

  “We’re here because we couldn’t pray at the church today,” Kiara said, her pleasant smile returning. “But we still wanted—”

  “Woo hoo!” someone behind Keefe shouted.

  Keefe looked back just as Peter burst through the waterfall. Dominic came in behind him, hooting even louder. Wiping wet hair from their faces, they scuttled along the ledge and joined the girls.

  “So what’s with you?” Peter came up to Keefe, a big grin on his face. “Just came to spy and run?”

  “Spy?” Another shiver ran through Keefe, making him wish for a towel.

  “Yeah, vato.” Dominic stepped over, combing his dark hair with his fingers and lugging a backpack. “We saw you at Peter’s house. That was you on the bike, no? We took off after you but had a hard time keeping up.”

  Phoebe got up off the log seat and they all formed a circle, all eyes on Keefe.

  “Uh . . .”

  “Why didn’t you come and say ‘hey,’ at least to the brothers?” Peter was still smirking, looking like he knew something but wanted Keefe to say it himself. “You’ve been making yourself scarce these days, ever since our last prayer meeting. Something wrong?”

  “Well, I . . .” Keefe wanted to step back, but he felt the cave wall behind him closing in.

  “I know what the reason is,” Caitlyn said, her green eyes glistening in the candlelight and piercing holes through him.

  “You do?” Shivering and feeling exposed, Keefe glanced from face to face. Did everyone know?

  “You miss praying before the Blessed Sacrament, don’t you?” Caitlyn smiled, a look that would disarm anyone.

  Keefe exhaled. If she did understand more, she wasn’t going to say anything.

  “I do, too,” she said.

  “But since we can’t be there, we’re here,” Kiara said, and she dangled a pink crystal rosary in the middle of the group.

  Phoebe crossed her arms and tilted her head, her blue-streaked hair and dark eyes giving her a threatening look. “Wait! The only reason Father canceled was to see the Franciscans off. Why don’t we see if he’ll open the church for us later?”

  “Great idea!”

  “Let’s do it!”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t know,” Peter whined. “I’m sure he’s busy.”

  “No harm in trying,” Dominic said, lifting and unzipping his backpack. “But since we’re all here now . . .” He removed a towel, handed it to Keefe, and brought out a black book. “I brought my Bible. I say we open to a random verse for inspiration and say a prayer or two before we take off.”

  Keefe toweled off his hair and wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

  “Yeah, and let’s give our prayer intentions first.” Caitlyn clasped her hands. Eyes closed, she rattled off a list that went from the pope and government leaders to the forgotten man on the street, souls with no one to pray for them, and the tiny, unborn babies.

  Kiara spoke next. Then Phoebe and Dominic. When it came to Peter’s turn, he bowed his head, cleared his throat and said in the most serious voice Keefe had ever heard from him, “I offer our prayers for Roland over there in Arizona.” His eyelids fluttered up and he glanced at Keefe. “And for his brother, Jarret, who needs our help.”

  Keefe wanted to nod to show his appreciation, especially after the cruel things Peter had said last time, but emotion overwhelmed him. So he bowed his head.

  After a moment of silence, Dominic must’ve gotten the hint that Keefe wouldn’t be adding his intentions aloud. He ran his hand up the Bible and took a breath. “Okay, amigos, so I’m going to open the Bible up somewhere . . .” He flipped through the pages. “. . . here where I think is the New Testament. ‘Cuz some of those Old Testament verses are, like, you know, kind of kooky. Like some of those things in Leviticus, like skinning and chopping up animals or whatever.”

  Caitlyn and Kiara giggled. Phoebe clicked her tongue and probably rolled her eyes but Keefe had only lifted his gaze to Dominic.

  Dominic opened the Bible to a page, squeezed his eyes shut, and ran his finger down the page. “Okay, I got it. This is from, uh, Matthew, chapter nineteen. Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘In truth I tell you, it is hard for someone rich to enter the kingdom of Heaven . . .’”

  Heat rose up Keefe’s neck and to his cheeks. He’d developed a habit of applying everything Scriptural to himself. Ever since kids at school discovered that his family lived
in a castle-like house, they’d called them the rich boys. This verse referred to him.

  Heart pounding and physically rattling him, Keefe struggled to hide his emotion. He blinked back tears and dropped his head into his hands. He knew the rest of the verse. He knew what the Lord wanted of him. It might cost more than he wanted to give, but this was the Lord’s will and the Lord would make a way.

  Dominic continued to read.

  “And everyone who has left houses, brothers, sisters, father, mother, children or land for the sake of my name will receive a hundred times as much, and also inherit eternal life.”

  Roland

  Selena and Rosa swam and splashed in the pool for almost an hour before Roland finally joined them. He hated that he had to force himself into the water. What was the matter with him anyway? Where did phobias come from? Why couldn’t he get over it?

  After swimming, they had a late lunch and then hung out in the stables. Selena told stories about the horses and the places she had taken them, her eyes sparkling as she spoke, as if her re-telling had transported her back to past adventures. Wanting to experience an adventure with her, he blurted out an invitation. “Come stay with us next summer. You can ride our horses.”

  A long moment later, she answered, “I’d like that.”

  Later, they joined the family and a few stable hands for dinner, Laszio among them, Jarret absent. As the dinner plates were cleared, Señor Juan announced, “We will have prayers at your house, Laszio, for your wife. We will entrust her health to Our Lord and Our Lady.”

  Eyes down, Laszio gave a slow nod. “You know I am very sorry for what I have done, Señor Juan.”

  “As I told you last night, I forgive you. Trust and surrender, Laszio,” Juan said, clasping Laszio’s hand. “God is good to us.”

  With relatively good cheer, everyone filed through the sliding glass doors off the back of the house, making for Laszio’s apartment.

  “Where’s Jarret?” Papa said as they stepped out onto the back patio and into the heat.

  “I don’t know.” Roland donned his black Stetson. “I haven’t seen him since morning.” A part of him couldn’t care less. Jarret could do what he wanted. He obviously wanted nothing to do with any of them. He was selfish, rude, and unchangeable.

  “Not morning. Noon,” Selena corrected. “It was after noon. We left him in the entertainment room.”

  Papa gazed in the direction of Rufino’s house, but Rufino leaned against the stables with another stable hand. As he turned back, he said, “Did he say what he—”

  Jarret came from around the side of the house, strolling in the opposite direction of everyone else, heading for the back end of the stables. He gave a nod of greeting and let a cigarette fall from his hand without breaking his stride. At some point he’d gotten dressed and now wore jeans and his new cowboy hat.

  “Jarret,” Papa called, increasing the length of his gait.

  Jarret stopped. “Yeah, what?”

  Papa had a way of ignoring Jarret’s rude replies. He even had the hint of a smile on his face as he mumbled to Jarret now. Jarret shook his head, giving Papa a dirty look.

  “Do you think he will come pray with us?” Selena said, watching them.

  “No.” Roland turned away and resumed walking. He would’ve made an excuse of sorts for Jarret’s behavior, and one came to mind, but not this time. People could think what they wanted about him.

  He cast a last glance over his shoulder as he headed for Laszio’s apartment.

  Papa stood staring as Jarret walked away from him. Jarret headed for the big stable door.

  Was he going out for a ride? Alone?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  PRAYER WARRIORS

  Monettello

  Kneeling in the first row of Saint Michael’s church, slumped over as if utterly exhausted, Keefe prayed. Every now and then, he sighed heavily and turned his gaze heavenward, his look one of annoyance.

  Monettello prayed by his side and carried Keefe’s prayers to Heaven.

  Cyabrial entered the church with Caitlyn. As Caitlyn slipped into a pew a few rows from the front, he came up to Monettello. “Glory to God in the highest,” Cyabrial said.

  “And on earth peace to men of good will,” Monettello responded.

  Cyabrial watched Keefe for a moment. “Keefe seems troubled.”

  “Yes, he wrestles with his calling,” Monettello said. “It is more clear to him now than ever.”

  “Has he decided to keep in contact with the Franciscan friars?”

  “No.” Monettello smiled sadly. “He stopped speaking with them after telling Jarret about his calling. And he raced to the cave rather than see them off.”

  Peter and Dominic arrived together, parting to sit with friends. Peter slid into the pew with Caitlyn. Caitlyn didn’t give him a glance, so he turned to see what held her attention.

  “So what’s the matter with him?” Peter indicated Keefe with a nod.

  “I don’t know.” Caitlyn’s eyes held a sympathetic look. “That verse Dominic read in the cave had really seemed to move him, don’t you think?”

  Peter sneered, his gaze still on Keefe. “I’m guessing it’s Jarret.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keefe’s problem. It probably has to do with Jarret.”

  “No, maybe he misses the Franciscan friars.” She gave Peter a curious glance. “Or do you know something I don’t?”

  “Maybe. Roland called me a few days ago, wanting prayers. For Jarret. He’s worried about him. Sounded like something was really wrong. But you know Roland, not much on the details.”

  “Oh.” Caitlyn’s eyebrows slanted. “You should’ve called me. We could’ve all done a Stop, Drop, and Pray.”

  Peter shrugged. “I thought about it. But I started fasting instead.”

  Caitlyn had turned away to watch Keefe but jerked her face back to him. “You’re doing what?”

  Peter gave her a smug grin, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Yeah, you heard me.”

  Peter’s guardian beamed. He stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, arms folded across his chest, and a thick chain dangling from his hand.

  At his feet squatted the green and gnarled demon Grudge, bound by the chain. “This chain was meant for Peter! Not me.” Grudge sneered at the angels then set about grunting and gnawing on the links.

  “Nice work,” Cyabrial said.

  “Yes,” Monettello said. “Prayer and fasting for one’s enemy is a most powerful means of obtaining grace.”

  “Both for the one praying and the one being prayed for,” Peter’s angel said.

  “Yes.” Monettello smiled. “Ellechial will be pleased.”

  “You’re fasting for Jarret?” Caitlyn’s eyes bugged. “I thought you hated him.”

  Peter shrugged again. “Eh, what’s the point in hating someone? But let me tell you, my fasting and prayers better be doing some good. It better be worth my effort.”

  Caitlyn jabbed his side with her elbow.

  “Ow!” Peter hunched over and rubbed his side. “What? I’m hungry.”

  She smiled. “How long are you going to fast?”

  “I don’t know. I’m gonna call Roland and find out how the trouble-maker’s doing, I guess.”

  “Well, you have my admiration. I wish I could fast.”

  Peter nodded, glancing around the church. “Lot a kids here tonight. And with hardly any notice.”

  “Yeah.” She looked around, too, smiling. “I’m glad Father let us come at this late hour. It feels special, doesn’t it? Like maybe something pivotal is happening.”

  “Can I sit here?”

  Caitlyn and Peter both turned as Zoe stepped into the pew.

  “Yeah, sure.” Caitlyn straightened up, her full attention on Zoe. “Wow, what are you doing— I mean, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Zoe sat beside her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” She glanced to either side and behind her. “I know a lot of t
hese kids from school.”

  “Yeah.” Caitlyn kept staring.

  Zoe glanced. “Should I not be here? Is it only for Catholics? Because I’m not—”

  “Oh no. You should be here. I’m really glad you are. We’ve been praying for you. Not by name, of course. I’ve been asking for prayers for a friend whose parents are going through some troubles.”

  “They’re getting a divorce.”

  Caitlyn gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I have been praying, really.”

  Zoe smiled and put down the kneeler. “I believe you. I’ve been praying too. And the funny thing, even though my parents’ marriage is falling apart, I feel like God’s been there with me. I trust Him. Even if things don’t work out the way I want, I know He’s with me.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes watered as she watched Zoe kneel and bow her head. “Wow,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BACK IN THE SADDLE

  Jarret

  It felt great to sit in a saddle, finally. It was a good, deep-seated Western saddle, and it fit as if it had been made for him. Enyeto had selected it.

  Enyeto was a bossy old Indian. You should not ride alone. Take a friend. Bring water. Make sure you have your cell phone.

  He said the boundaries of the Zamoranos’ property were marked with fluorescent fiberglass posts and for Jarret to look out for them. He said Jarret would be able to have a nice ride before sunset and for him to stay within the boundaries. Red Storm, the chestnut Spanish Mustang he’d saddled for Jarret, knew the exercise trail and would follow it without guidance.

  Screw that. He meant to explore without boundaries. Water? No, he brought a Coke. His cell phone? He hadn’t paid attention to that thing since the call from Keefe. Whom would he need to call out here in the desert?

  Red Storm trotted through the open gate of the white fence at the back of the Zamoranos’ pasture, heading for a clear path that turned east. The mansion appeared small from here, its curvy design and natural tones putting it in harmony with the desert surroundings.

  A thin, less-defined trail branched off to the right. It was probably a desert wash or an arroyo formed by flash floods and not a trail the Zamoranos used.