Light of Dawn

by Vannetta Chapman

  “We’ll bed down here,” Gabe said.

  “Being in the middle of a field, no one will sneak up on us.” Patrick stretched his neck left and then right. “I like it.”

  “We’ll only need one guard at a time.” Gabe checked his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. That gives us ten hours. Each person takes a ninety-minute shift on guard duty. Keep your radio with you, and don’t hesitate to wake everyone if you see anything at all.”

  “Eight and a half hours of sleep?” Bianca collapsed onto one of the pews. “I must be dreaming.”

  “It gets better.” Lanh had been wandering around the single room, looking behind things, opening doors that led to closets, rummaging through cabinets. “There’s a bathroom back here, and you’re not going to believe this…there’s water.”

  “Must come from a well,” Max said.

  “Can’t be,” Bianca argued. “Wells still need a pump, and I don’t see or hear a generator.”

  “Low flow.” Shelby thought of the Amish series she’d written several years ago, what now seemed like a hundred years ago. “You see it in Amish homes all the time. You might not get a lot of pressure, but you’ll get water.”

  Max sat down on the ground with his back against the wall. “Ladies first.”

  Bianca made a beeline for the bathroom, but Shelby stood in the middle of the aisle scowling. “Why isn’t anyone staying here?”

  “Are you complaining?” Carter asked.

  “I’m just saying, if it seems too good to be true…”

  “It’s good to be cautious, Shelby.” Gabe offered a crooked smile as he picked up his pack and wound his arms through the straps, apparently taking the first guard shift. “But sometimes a gift is just a gift. Try to enjoy it.”

  She wanted to. She thought she would.

  It felt heavenly to spend ten minutes in the bathroom, pulling a comb through her hair, washing her arms and face, enjoying a little time alone. She changed into a clean shirt, washed out the one she’d been wearing, and hung it on the towel rack to dry next to Bianca’s. The room was small. The guys would have to take their shirts outside to hang, if they bothered to wash them at all. Somehow, she didn’t think cleanliness was the first thing on everyone’s mind.

  She walked back into the main room, spoke with Carter for a moment, and then stumbled over to her bedroll.

  One by one she heard everyone in their group fall asleep. Bianca and Patrick snuggled like two pups in a litter. Carter and Lanh both dropped off as soon as their heads hit their sleeping bag.

  But Shelby lay there in the dark staring up at the ceiling.

  “Problem?” Max asked softly.

  “Are you waiting on me to fall asleep?”

  “No.”

  “You are too. I know you are because normally you’re like Carter. You fall asleep as soon as your body goes horizontal.”

  “Can you blame a guy for worrying?”

  She couldn’t. She didn’t.

  Max moved his bedroll closer. Shelby turned on her side and studied him in the dark.

  “Caramel macchiato for your thoughts.”

  “Cruel, Max.” But she reached out, ran her fingertips down his arm, wondered at the roughness of his palm, and laced her fingers with his. “I was thinking of Saint Mary’s.”

  “Reverend Hernandez.”

  Shelby was powerless to stop the shiver that crept down her spine. Their trip to Austin had been a nightmare in many ways. Had that really been last summer? She’d left Abney thinking things were desperate, only to arrive in their state capital and find that Abney was actually doing pretty well. Austin? Well, it teetered on anarchy, and they had found themselves caught up in the desperation. They had been forced to do desperate things. She had done desperate things.

  Max scooted closer, wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’ve played that night over and over in my mind,” she admitted.

  “You’d do better to forget it.”

  “We thought it was a refuge.”

  “Hey.” He cupped her face in his hands, thumbed away the tears that had started to fall. “You did what you had to do, Shelby. When you killed that guard, you were defending yourself, and by doing so, you probably saved all of us.”

  “I don’t regret it.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  She sighed, allowed her eyes to drift shut.

  She had prayed for weeks after pulling the trigger, crying out to God for his mercy and grace. And she believed she had received that, but then tonight…seeing Carter in danger, instinctively raising her own rifle, intuitively protecting her son…those things had brought back all of the memories she’d tried to bury.

  “We needed a place to rest, and we found this place. Perhaps God is watching over us still.”

  “This is so different from our modern-day churches. I can imagine…” She didn’t try to stifle a yawn. “A service here.”

  Max wrapped his arm around her and began to hum softly—a tune that she should have been able to place, but her mind was shutting down. Too much had happened in too short a time. Too much was riding on the outcome of this trip. She needed rest. She yearned for a long, dreamless sleep. And then she remembered the name of the song—“Precious Lord”—and with that, she let go and tumbled into a deep slumber.

  FORTY-TWO

  Shelby woke to the sound of voices and the smell of bacon.

  Bacon?

  She sat up, patted down her hair, and stared around. Where was everyone? Bedrolls had been stuffed into bags and set next to the packs lined against the front altar. Morning sunlight pierced the beveled glass, creating a prism on the floor.

  Maybe she was dreaming.

  No, she definitely smelled bacon and coffee.

  Pulling on her shoes, she stuffed her bedroll into its bag, placed it and her pack beside the others, and made a quick stop in the church’s bathroom. As she walked back down the aisle, something caused her to stop, turn, and look toward the front of the room. The sun’s rays were higher now, just skimming the backpacks that sat in front of the altar rail. The rainbow of color slipped across each once, and it seemed to her that the prism of light indicated a special kind of blessing, a promise of good things to come.

  Could it be that God was telling her, I’ve got this?

  Could faith and believing and trusting be that simple?

  “I was coming to find you.”

  She turned to see her son standing in the doorway of the church. It was a marvel to her that they were still alive. Better than that, they were healthy and rested. Would she ever take such basic things for granted again? She didn’t think so. She couldn’t imagine doing so.

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  “I thought I smelled—”

  “You did.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

  “Are you kidding?” Carter bumped his shoulder against hers. “You were out. You were snoring. Sounded like Roy when he falls asleep in his rocker.”

  “I was not snoring like Max’s dad.”

  “Were too.”

  Carter reached out and tussled her hair, and Shelby batted his hand away. Why did everyone have an urge to mess with her hair? Patrick had put both hands on her head and proclaimed it a Chia pet the day before. It was embarrassing. Then again, if she could provide entertainment—

  All thoughts about her hair stopped as they came around the corner of the building.

  The other members of their group were sitting around a picnic table she hadn’t noticed the night before. Beside the table was a grill you might find at a park or camping area. Probably it was a place for the small congregation to hold Sunday picnics. Where had the people who attended Grace Chapel gone? Where was the pastor? Why was the church untouched, like an oasis in a raging storm?

  Standing in front of the grill was a lady who looked to be ninety. She wore her long, white hair braided down her back, faded jeans, and a red-checked flannel shirt. She glanced up at Shelby and offered a gap-tooth
ed smile.

  “Come on over, honey. Your friends told me that you’re a real coffee lover, and I make some of the best in the county. Don’t I, Stu?”

  “You sure do, Mary Jane.”

  Stu looked even older than Mary Jane. He was sitting at the picnic table, Bianca on one side, Patrick on the other. Carter joined Lanh and Gabe sitting across from them. Max stood to the side, holding a mug of coffee, content to watch the scene unfold.

  “Can I interest you in a cup?” Mary Jane held up a chipped blue enamel coffeepot.

  “Um, sure. That would be great, but…could you give me a minute?”

  “Take as long as you want. I can see you have something to say to that young man. Best say it before I serve up breakfast.”

  Max raised an eyebrow as she walked closer, but he didn’t put up much resistance when she tugged his arm and pulled him away from the group.

  “Who are those people?” she hissed. “Didn’t you have the last shift of guard duty? Did you just let them walk up to the church?”

  “Stu and Mary Jane Faulkner. Yes, and I didn’t see any reason not to.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “Hey. Relax, Sparks.”

  “Relax? What if they’d meant to kill us in our sleep?”

  “Mary Jane is ninety-two.”

  “She looks it.”

  “And Stu there, he’s eighty-nine. Seems Mary Jane caught her a younger man when they married in 1949.”

  Shelby stared up at him in disbelief. Maybe she was still sleeping, but that coffee…it smelled real enough.

  “Why did we leave our packs inside? I thought we were supposed—”

  “To wear them all the time. Yeah, I know. Look around you, Shelby. We’ll see anyone coming from a mile away. The church is a few steps from us. What are you afraid might happen?”

  Instead of answering, she pulled his coffee mug from his hand and took a long sip.

  “Help yourself.”

  “You should have woken me up.”

  “Really?”

  All teasing was now gone from his tone, and she had to glance away from his look of sincere concern. Somehow she could handle danger and anger and fear well enough, but when someone was especially kind, it pricked her heart.

  “You were exhausted, so I let you sleep in a few minutes. I wasn’t going to let you snooze all day. I sent Carter in to wake you up so you could eat.”

  “It does smell good.”

  “Because it’s real coffee, not instant. You know you want a cup.”

  He seemed unperturbed by her scowl, as usual.

  “More important than the coffee is what they have to say.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know, but don’t you think they’re here for a reason?”

  Shelby took one more sip of his coffee, pushed the mug into his hands, and turned back toward the breakfast picnic that was happening outside of Grace Chapel.

  Why was she surprised to find an elderly couple bringing them breakfast on a beautiful March morning as the world around them continued to crumble? If anything, she should have learned that life was unpredictable. She thought of Gabe’s words the night before. It’s good to be cautious, Shelby. But sometimes a gift is just a gift.

  She didn’t believe that a couple had shown up simply to bring them coffee and bacon and eggs. Mary Jane and Stu might be old, but there was a shrewdness in the old woman’s eyes that spoke of hard times and need—that was what she’d sensed. They needed something. Well, their group had nothing to give.

  The breakfast might be a gift, and she was hungry enough to accept it. Then they would be on their way because there was nothing in their packs or vehicles that they were willing to part with. They’d given away all of Hugo’s supplies, though they hadn’t received a single piece of good information for it. No, they needed to keep what was left. Their very survival depended on the few things they had.

  FORTY-THREE

  Max watched Shelby walk back to the group, accept a cup of coffee from Mary Jane with a smile, and then bump Carter over so she could sit on the picnic table next to him.

  He’d have to tell her the whole story sometime. How he’d watched her sleep for an hour when they’d first arrived. That she’d cried out twice in her sleep, mumbling about a truck and they’re coming and we need to hide. He’d fallen asleep beside her, and they’d lain there, huddled together for comfort more than warmth, until Bianca had awakened Shelby for her shift.

  When his turn came, he watched the stars go out one by one in the darkness before dawn. The morning sky was just beginning to lighten when he’d pulled the binoculars from his pack and focused on the two forms coming through what had once been a farmer’s field. They hadn’t bothered to use the dirt lane. Maybe they’d even purposely avoided it. The rusty red wagon they’d pulled held cooking supplies and food—fresh eggs, salted bacon, real coffee.

  It wasn’t a trap of any sort, of that much he was sure.

  Shelby, on the other hand, often had to be convinced.

  Max walked back to the table and scooted in beside Bianca. It was crowded with four people to a side, and that left nowhere for Mary Jane to sit. Gabe stood, went into the church, and came back out with a stool, which he placed at the end and sat on, indicating Mary Jane should take his seat.

  She pulled an old iron skillet off the grill. Carter jumped up to take it from her.

  “You’re a good boy—young man, I should say. Good manners. Now see if you can pass that around the table while I unwrap this loaf of bread.”

  Shelby met Max’s gaze across the table. Max understood that she might not want to trust these two strangers, but if there was one thing Shelby loved more than coffee, it was bread. Mary Jane had paved a path straight to her heart.

  “Good thing you all carry your own plates and utensils with you. There wasn’t much more that Stu and I could fit in that old wagon.”

  Mary Jane sat after making sure everyone’s coffee cup was full, and Max was about to dig in when Stu cleared his throat and reached for Bianca’s hand beside him. One by one they formed a circle, and then Stu uttered the blessing.

  “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

  Amens echoed around the table, and then they began to pass the food. There were scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, potato pancakes, which Mary Jane must have made at home and heated on the grill, and coffee with fresh cream.

  They spoke of the weather, the coming of spring, and Mary Jane’s fine cooking. When he was done, Patrick pushed away his plate and asked, “So do you feed everyone who stops for a night at Grace Chapel?”

  Max thought they would laugh off the question, but Stu stared at the church as if he were trying to think exactly how to answer.

  “Not all. No. We watch to make sure it isn’t someone who would harm us.”

  “We’re old and not that hard to get a jump on,” Mary Jane chimed in.

  “But if the folks look like good, decent people, then yes. We try to bring them some food.” Stu slurped his coffee and then smacked his lips together. “We bring what we can.”

  “We reckon it’s hard, being on the road and having to eat those meals out of pouches.”

  “How did you know we were good folks?” Lanh asked.

  “Good question, son. Mary Jane and I have been around a long time. We know how to look for the little things. You folks came in quiet, bedded down real early, and didn’t appear to be robbing the place or tearing it up. Just looking for shelter, that’s what we thought.”

  “Sheltering in God’s house.” Mary Jane leaned forward to she could level a steady gaze at Shelby. “Helps a person sleep even when they’re scared. That altar back there is a fine place to lay your burdens down.”

  “So you live close?” Bianca asked.

  “To the west of here. There was a time”—Stu raised his hand, weathered and covered with age spots, to indicate the surrounding
pastures—“all of this was cultivated. But then in the last year, folks found out they couldn’t plant but a small parcel if they had to do so by the sweat of their brow.”

  Patrick crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “How have you managed to get by?”

  “Same way as folks have always done. Same as my parents and their parents. We work hard, Mary Jane and I. We depend on each other, and we have neighbors—not many now, but a few. The Lord’s been good. Chickens have survived the winter, wild pigs are good for eating, and Mary Jane can make bread out of anything I give her.”

  “Like what?” Carter asked. “I mean, what did you use to grind the wheat? A mortar and pestle?”

  “How do you know about that?” Shelby asked.

  “Science class, Mom. Coach Parish made sure we knew all sorts of obscure stuff.”

  “Not so obscure now, though.” Stu drained his coffee cup. “Also have me an old hand grinder that my grandpa used. Still works. Lots of the old things still work, and they may be what saves us.”

  There was silence around the table as they all considered the implications of those words. Max resisted the urge to laugh at Shelby. She was fairly bristling with questions, but the protein and carbs and caffeine had hit her system, and she seemed incapable of being her normally confrontational self. Which might explain why the first question she threw out was no question at all.

  “I still don’t understand why you’d share what little you have…with strangers, no less.”

  “Wouldn’t we want someone to share with us?” Mary Jane asked. “We would, and hopefully you people would do so if we were in real need. What you want to know is what do we want in return, and the truth is that you’ve already given it. Life has become a lonely affair indeed, though Stu is good company.”

  “As are you, dear.”

  “Still, a person longs to see a new face, have some questions answered. What would we like in return for our hospitality? Answers. And you can start with where you came from and where you’re headed.”

  FORTY-FOUR