In the past, Deut had never expected prompt answers to her prayers. For the most part, praying was a one-way conversation. But that was before her visit to Heaven where Jesus Himself recruited her for a very important mission. Shouldn’t her prayers receive a bump up in status now and expedited replies? She honestly didn’t know and was too humble to presume they did. But didn’t Jesus assign Gabriel to be her guide? Well, she was in need of a little guidance about now.
“Please let Gabriel know I’m here, in McHardy, Lord. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. In Jesus name, amen.”
ALTHOUGH THE RIVER wasn’t deep, it never froze completely. A super-chilled vein of glacier water flowed beneath its icy crust. Here and there the water escaped through cracks to the surface where it built up fairy steps of black ice. Those and the rocks and snow drifts up to her knees made the going rough. Eventually Deut decided she had probably hiked far enough for today and should turn around. BJ was no doubt wondering where she’d gone off to.
But when she did turn around and start back, the little golden cross she wore as a pendant around her neck grew cold, really cold. It was her mama’s parting gift to her, the one from Mama P’s own grandmother. It quickly became an icicle between her breasts. She unsnapped her parka and pulled the cross out by its chain. It was an exquisite piece of jewelry, two tiny golden planks notched together to form a cross.
“What’s up, Lord?” she prayed. “You got my attention now.”
She looked all about her for a sign from Heaven. Gravel, rock, ice, snow, the tops of trees, the cloudless blue sky — nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
In actual fact, a substantial sign lay at her feet, and she didn’t notice it until she nearly tripped over it. It appeared to be a smooth river stone of the exact size and square shape of a throw pillow. A throw pillow here in the river channel.
Now, the Prophecys didn’t own any throw pillows because they didn’t own a couch. But Deut had seen plenty of them on other people’s couches over the years and had always considered them useless junk, more decorative than functional (except for the one she had fallen asleep on yesterday on Barbara Jean’s sofa).
This one had the coloring and texture of stone, so it was stone, right? Besides, how would a pillow end up on the ice in Caldecott? In the end Deut had to kick the thing with her boot to make sure. Yes, a freakish stone was what it was. And wouldn’t you know it, there was another freakish one a few paces downstream, and another one beyond that one. So, instead of returning to Barbara Jean’s, she continued downriver following a trail of throw pillows of all shapes and sizes, all solid stone, and kicking each one in turn. In this manner she left the real world and entered miracle time where she grew more excited with each new find.
As she approached a large limestone boulder she heard a strange hissing, gurgling sound. Unafraid, she crept to the boulder and peeked around it. There was something there, but it took her brain several long moments to work out what exactly she was looking at.
A sword! In actual fact, Gabriel’s sinewy sword of flames she had seen in Heaven. It lay in a pool of boiling water that had melted the ice around it and opened the river downstream. Steam rose from the pool and formed a thick blanket of fog.
Deut continued moving forward, occasionally enveloped by fog, careful not to step over the edge into the pool that increased in size until it spanned the entire width of the channel.
There was a splash, followed by a series of splashes, not far away, shrouded in fog. She stood perfectly still and peered into the frozen mist, wondering if this was really happening to her or was part of a vision. She thrilled to the idea of having visions. Perhaps she had inherited her father’s gift of prophecy.
Then the fog lifted and there, not ten feet away (3 m) was a giant, bare-chested man wearing only a loin cloth. He was lounging on a bed of throw pillows and soaking his hairy legs in the warm pool. At first Deut looked away in modesty, but she remembered Mama P’s lesson on angel glow and turned back to gaze at him with curiosity. For a girl with so many brothers, she was abysmally ignorant about men’s bodies, never having seen one without clothes. Were all men as beautiful as this angel?
Gabriel yawned and sat up straight to first stretch his arms and then his wings. He slipped into the pool, loosening his heavy mop of blond hair and letting it dangle in the water. His hair was knotted and singed in places and crusted with blood and gore. He had been in a battle, it looked like. Probably his robe was torn and that was why he’d discarded it. His chest and abs were solid muscle; how could he be so gorgeous? He washed his hair and submerged his whole head to rinse it. He wrung it out and combed it with his fingers. A fluffy white towel appeared out of nowhere, and he wrapped his head in a turban.
Then Gabriel looked up directly at Deut and said, “And so?”
Deut jumped.
“Hah!” he laughed. “I hope you didn’t think you were invisible over there burning up like a house on fire. Don’t mind me; I thought I should take the opportunity to clean up a bit, especially with you poking along so slow I wasn’t sure you’d ever arrive.”
“Sorry,” Deut said when she’d sufficiently recovered from her embarrassment, “but I didn’t know we had a meeting planned.”
“Interesting. And why is that?” Gabriel washed his arms and chest in the pool. “Aren’t you the one who called for a meeting with me not an hour ago? Even asking Jesus to set it up for you?”
Deut was aghast. “I didn’t mean . . .”
Gabriel held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Jesus understands. In any case, here I am. Can’t stay long. You wouldn’t believe how much time Satan forces us to squander on making war. I hear you have questions for me about your mission. Ask away.”
“Yes, lord.”
Gabriel shook his head. “I pray you cease addressing me as ‘lord.’ I am nobody’s lord. God did not fashion angels to be lords over men. We are your equals in His eyes. You may call me Gabriel or Archangel, whichever you like.”
“Thank you, Gabriel. Please call me Deuteronomy.”
“I will. Now, Deuteronomy, what is it you want to know?”
“I’m here; now what?”
“I don’t follow. Now what what?”
“I mean, what do I do next? You’re my guide, right? So what exactly is my mission anyway?”
The angel stopped bathing to give her a quizzical look. “Have patience,” he said. “The full scope of your mission is still under debate in Heaven, but Jesus has already made clear your next step. Do you need me to repeat it? The Throne Room can be overwhelming, I know; perhaps you were too distracted to hear Him. You are to secure the ranger as your driver. Do you not recall this?”
“Oh, I do.” Deut felt like a child being scolded. “I recall it very well. But please explain to me how I can ask someone I hardly know to drive me somewhere before I even know where I want him to drive me to.”
Gabriel frowned. “It’s been a while since I’ve been tasked to deal with humans on an individual basis like this, and I’ve forgotten how much hand-holding is required. Be at peace, Deuteronomy, and know that the Savior of the world picked you for this mission because He has confidence in your ability to figure things out on your own and find ways to accomplish them. He will inform you of the details of your mission in due time. A time of His choosing, not yours.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry to —”
“In the meantime, how is it that you’re already failing?”
Was he serious? “In what way am I failing, lord?”
“Two of your brothers are at the ranger’s house at this moment assaulting him. I doubt this will make your job any easier.”
JACE’S HAIR WAS sudsy with shampoo when Scrappy spoke again.
You are the popular one today. There’s another visitor approaching your porch.
Jace grabbed his shotgun. “Who’s it this time?”
Deut Prophecy. I detect a state of mental anxiety.
Deut here? No wonder the boys had co
me. They were checking on her, not him. He quickly poured rinse water over his head and dried it off with a towel. Wrapped the towel around his head, threw on a shirt, and headed for the door.
Bang-bang . . . bang-bang. Softer. More tentative.
It was full-on daylight by now. She stood on his porch with a grim expression that became suddenly brighter when she saw his turban.
“Deut, hello,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”
She shook her head. “It must be shampoo day today. I don’t want to interrupt your shampoo.”
“What? Don’t worry about it. I’m already done.” He sheepishly removed the turban and loosened his long brown hair. “Listen, I feel terrible about the other day and all, and I —”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“First to see if my brothers murdered you. It looks like they didn’t, so that’s good.”
He flashed on following the boys up the street with his shotgun.
“Nope. Nobody’s murdered.”
“Good. The other thing is to tell you that I’m staying at BJ’s house. Do you know her, Barbara Jean de Saul? And to invite you to brunch tomorrow. If you’d like to join us.”
The invitation was a pleasant surprise. “Join you and Barbara Jean for brunch?”
“Yes, tomorrow. Nothing fancy.”
“You left home?”
“Yes, for the time being, I left home, and I’d like to invite you for brunch tomorrow, if you’d like to come.”
“What time? Did your poppa kick you out of the mine?”
“Eleven in the morning. Can you come?”
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he agreed.
She gazed at him a long moment before abruptly leaving.
He watched her walk up the empty street until his damp hair began to freeze. When he shut the door, it hit him — he was going to have brunch with Deut tomorrow!
Poppy in Exile
PE1 1.0
BY THE TIME the family moved into the keep, the barrel stove in the prayer cabin had reached the end of its useful life. A barrel stove is just that, a barrel, a 55-gallon (208-l) steel drum typically used for the distribution of petroleum products that has been recycled into a wood-burning stove with a cast-iron door and legs you can buy in a kit. But the old barrel stove in the prayer cabin was rusted through in spots and deemed unworthy to accompany the family to the Promised Land. That was why it was still in the prayer cabin when Poppy moved back in. In order to return it to service, Adam needed only to install new stovepipe and patch a few holes, while Hosea scrounged up some dry firewood.
On his first night back in the prayer cabin, Poppy shivered under his blankets, still in shock. So quickly she had toppled him from his seat of authority, so complete was his banishment, it was hard to fathom. Was this farce a whimsical detour in Father God’s inscrutable plan for His faithful servant? Or was there a whiff of brimstone in the air? Poppy wasn’t sure.
One thing was sure, however. There was nothing wrong with the firewood Hosea was supplying him. It was properly and adequately seasoned and dried, and being spruce wood, it burned fast and hot. Yet, no matter how big a fire he stoked in the old barrel, it gave out only a pittance of heat. As Poppy was inspecting the stove, he saw something odd out the corner of his eye. There were many tongues of flame dancing on the spruce logs in the barrel. Suddenly, one of them stopped dancing and leaned forward out of the stove door to leer at him. What?
When Poppy looked again, the fire appeared normal. Was the stove infested with fire imps? With a shade or junior demon? Apparently, the cabin had been vacant long enough for supernatural mice to take up residence.
Poppy stood up on cranky knees and bellowed at the top of his voice, “Begone, evil ones! I command you in Christ Jesus name — begone! Amen.”
Tomorrow he’d have to tell Adam or Hosea to fetch him a bottle of olive oil so he could give the old cabin a proper sanctification.
In the meantime, just as he expected, the freshly liberated stove got hot. So hot, in fact, that the stovepipe glowed cherry red, and he had to open the door so as not to be driven out by the heat. At least he’d be warm in his exile — if he didn’t light the roof on fire.
BY NOW IT was the end of the second week of Firstmonth 2013. The days were breaking clear and cold, but not too cold. With Sue’s help, Poppy’s little refuge was becoming more comfortable and homey. Each passing day she and the boys would check up on him, bring him meals, and catch him up on the goings-on in the keep.
He was most interested in learning what Mama P was up to and what she was saying about him and who believed her and who stood by him. It would appear that everyone was in Mama P’s camp except Proverbs and Sue. It galled Poppy without end that his sons No. 1 and No. 2 should side with her against him. He had thought them to be men, or at least on the path to manhood, but apparently not. They were emotional geldings still suckling at their mama’s teat.
It seemed only just, therefore, that when he did return to his rightful place in the keep and accounts were balanced and corrections meted out that his sons not escape payment for their treason. Just how he’d deal with his hysterical wife he didn’t know. His heart filled with outrage just thinking about her. She was breaking the family apart; couldn’t she see that? She was turning his children against their father. There was no excuse for that. If what they said was true, she was strong on her feet, firmly in charge of the household, and always armed with the Winchester. He would have to take her by surprise somehow. He needed the advantage of an ambush to safely disarm her.
The sad fact of the matter was that Poppy was a sitting duck living outside of the keep like this. Any day now, the State Troopers would be landing their helicopter to arrest him and Proverbs. Surely, the whore Jezebel Ginger must have filed a trumped-up complaint against them by now.
Or, more likely, the police were overwhelmed by rampant End-Times crime and unrest and couldn’t respond to her complaint. That would also explain why the feds seemed to have stopped persecuting them. So maybe he was safe outside the keep for now.
Except that the Father God Who Poppy worshipped was not known for His sense of irony. And how ironic would it be if, after guiding Poppy every step of the way in finding and creating the keep, Father God would allow him to be outside when the Apocalypse hit the fan?
Whatever the cause of Poppy’s banishment, it had to be reversed as soon as possible. Even if it meant confronting his wife head on. Obviously, the woman was possessed. An open-and-shut case of supernatural infestation. The real Mama P was still a prisoner in her body, weeping and praying to Father God for deliverance from demons. To save himself, Poppy had to figure out how to save her.
WHENEVER MURDEROUS FANCIES began to populate Poppy’s imagination, he knew it was time to get out of the cabin for some fresh air, maybe go for a ride somewhere, or better yet, do some last-minute shopping for supplies.
Yurek Rutz’s place merited another visit. Poppy had hardly taken anything the first time he was there, so spooked he’d been by the demon voices. That was four weeks ago, when the raven broke the window and stole his smart phone. It was the Samsung Galaxy that Not Jeff Bridges had given him to run the family’s new e-commerce business.
Because Poppy had allowed Proverbs to use the new sno-go for racing across the countryside on his foolish quest for the traitorous Ginger, Poppy himself was stuck using the Skandic. Proverbs and Hosea had just finished putting it back together. Poppy wore himself out trying to start the thing. The weather wasn’t that cold for the machine to be so cantankerous. When he finally did get it going, it coughed up blasts of oily black exhaust.
Then, for a fleeting moment, the cloud of oily smoke seemed to coalesce into a shape, into the ghostly head of a man. The apparition seemed to be looking directly at Poppy. Its mouth was flapping like it was saying something of utmost urgency. Then, like the imp in the
stove, it vanished, and the engine coughed once and began to idle smoothly.
POPPY SLOWED DOWN as he rode past the Bunyan place and was surprised to see eight or ten sno-gos littering the yard. Dell had company. It took a moment for Poppy to remember that today was the Lord’s Day. Dell was the pastor of the Chapel of the Bear Rugs, and his congregation included the majority of McHardy’s wintertime idiots. How convenient — the ghost town would be even more deserted than usual. So he postponed visiting Yurek Rutz’s cabin and headed straight to town.
Orion Beehymer’s house was located on Main Street and featured relatively new construction from the 1970s. It was closed up snug and tight for the winter. Once upon a time, Beehymer had loaned Poppy a key to his house to drop something off for him and then forgot to ask for the key back. Poppy still had it on his crowded keyring. So there was no breaking involved in the entering.
Second-hand furniture was stacked in the center of Beehymer’s living room and covered with a tarp. There were no guns or tools or other things of value in sight. The kitchen cupboards were bare, but there was a nice set of saucepans hanging from hooks. Poppy took those, plus the silverware (much of it genuine sterling stamped with the Guggenheim crest), plates, bowls, and glasses (always in demand at the Prophecy house), a box of fresh Duracell batteries in various sizes and voltages, bedsheets, pillowcases, a rather attractive Meerschaum pipe, and a plush pair of Persian throw rugs. He hauled all of this and anything else that caught his fancy to his sled parked on the street.
There was one particular closet door in the bedroom that squeaked in a most expressive manner. It seemed to creak Mar-vin when he opened it, and John-son when he closed it.
Mar-vin John-son
Mar-vin John-son
Mar-vin John-son
It was the name Poppy’s parents had given him.
Glassing the Orgachine Page 22