Mercy at Midnight

by Sylvia Bambola

  “No, and this has nothing to do with drugs. This has to do with Stubby and last night, and Effie and Miss Emily. This is about miracles and changed lives. I don’t know anything about things like that, Jonathan, so I need to come back and find out. And when I do, I’ll have my story.”

  “It’s still all about your story, isn’t it? No matter how you word it or how high-minded you make it sound, it’s still just about your story.”

  “That’s all I know, Jonathan.” Cynthia passed the school zone. “If there’s more, then you’ll have to help me find it, only please tell me I can come back.” During the long silence, she floored the pedal.

  “All right,” Jonathan finally said. “You want your old job back?”

  “You bet!”

  “There’ll be at least one person happy to see you. Miss Emily’s been lost without you. I was thinking of putting an ad in the paper, but now . . . well, welcome aboard. Again.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there later this afternoon, after I see Stubby.”

  The periphery whizzed by in a blur as Cynthia sped down the road. He could have said he’d be happy to have her back, too, even if he didn’t mean it. He could have lied.

  Preachers don’t lie, Wells, only reporters.

  Cynthia tiptoed through the doorway, trying not to disturb Stubby who looked asleep. She got halfway to the bed when he opened his eyes.

  “Miss Cynthia . . . I feel awful. What happened?”

  Cynthia pulled the brown vinyl armchair closer to the bed and sat down. “You’ve had us all worried. But you’re going to be fine, now.”

  “The nurse said the cops are comin’ later to ask questions. What for?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Stubby shook his head. “I had a dream, and didn’t wanna wake up.”

  Cynthia covered his bruised hand with hers. “Last night you promised that today you’d tell me about it.”

  “Last night?” Stubby closed his eyes and Cynthia thought he had drifted back to sleep. When he opened them, the look on his face startled her. It was as though he was looking past her, at something far away. “Jesus is beautiful, you know that? Beautiful. His hands and feet . . . they got scars. I didn’t wanna come back. Not after lookin’ Him in the eye. Not after seein’ all that love.”

  “Was that your dream? That you saw Jesus?”

  “He was real. As real as you sittin’ here, only we was in heaven.”

  Cynthia frowned. “That sounds nice, Stubby.” She watched him close his eyes again. “Maybe you should rest. I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

  When she rose, Stubby’s hand caught her fingers and held them. “You was in my dream.” Stubby opened his eyes and stared at her. “Not in it exactly. Jesus told me I gotta come back . . . so I could take care of you . . . so I could be your friend. He said you needed a friend.”

  How was she to respond to that? It was irrational—Stubby thinking he had gone to heaven, thinking he had a mandate from God to protect her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted that Stubby would think she’d believe such a story. But when she realized he believed it, she bent down and kissed his forehead. Jonathan had told her God would heal Stubby, and it looked like He was in the process of doing just that. Now, Stubby was telling her he had seen Jesus and that Jesus had given him instructions concerning her. This was too much of a stretch.

  “Get some rest. We can talk more another time.” Cynthia got as far as the door when Stubby called her name.

  “What happened to me? No one round here’ll tell me.”

  Cynthia turned and studied the aging man on the bed, still hooked up to tubes and machines, still looking like any minor thing could tip the scales against him. “Someone tried to kill you.”

  His face crinkled like foil as tears glided down his cheeks. “I’m glad . . . I’m glad it weren’t me that started up again with them drugs.”

  Jonathan Holmes didn’t look up when he heard someone walk into his office. “Have a seat, I’ll be right with you,” he said, tallying the column of figures and feeling pleased with what he saw. At this rate, if he was careful, he could last a year on the funds left in his bank account. There was a smile on his face when he raised his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a look of surprise. A man, dressed in an expensive-looking three-piece suit, sat in the nearby chair. Although he looked familiar, Jonathan couldn’t place him.

  The man must have sensed this because he flushed, then extended his hand. “Bill Rivers. Charles Angus introduced us, remember? I’m the liaison between Angus Enterprises and the mission.”

  Jonathan gave Bill’s hand a vigorous shake. “Yes, we spoke the other day. But I have to say I’m surprised to see you here. Nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “No. Nothing at all.” Bill Rivers straightened his silk tie that needed no straightening. “Like I told you on the phone, I’ll be checking in from time to time.”

  Jonathan suffocated a rising fear that Angus had finally heard what had happened at the mission and was going to pull the plug. “I hardly expected a personal visit, especially so soon after your call, but I’m delighted. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

  Bill shook his head. “No. I think we covered it all on the phone.”

  “What then?”

  Bill’s hand moved to his tie again. “Maybe a tour. I thought I’d check the place out—see your operation first hand.”

  The smile returned to Jonathan’s face. “Sure. I’d be happy to oblige.” He rose to his feet. “We’ll start on the first floor and work our way up.”

  For over thirty minutes Jonathan paraded Bill Rivers through one room after another, explaining what they already had in place, as well as his vision for the future. At first Jonathan thought he was imagining it, but by the middle of the tour he was sure that his guest had no interest in what he was saying. The man barely listened. Instead, he stared at everyone that passed, turned his head at every sound, wandered away in the middle of a sentence. By the time Bill Rivers left, Jonathan was relieved to see him go.

  He just didn’t get this guy.

  Jonathan tapped the fingers of one hand against the desktop. The other hand held the phone. “I’m fine, Aunt Adel. Just fine.” Bill Rivers had left moments before and Jonathan still had to prepare his Bible study for tomorrow, plus return calls to several local merchants. In between, he had three counseling appointments.

  “You sound distracted. Is this a bad time, Dearest?”

  “I’m busy, but never too busy for you.” He forced his fingers to be still. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for that lovely evening at the Pink Parasol. Gertie is still flying high. Of course the entire congregation knows all about it, now. And they’re all happy for you.”

  “Happy for me? Why?”

  “Gertie has been telling everyone that you’re seeing Cynthia Wells; that you two are an item.”

  “She what!” Jonathan bolted out of his seat.

  “Why Jonathan, I do believe I hear irritation in your voice.”

  “This time Gertie’s gone too far. I can’t believe her gall! How dare she spread such rumors! When her gossip was just about me, that was one thing, but now she’s involving someone else, and I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t? You mean Gertie has finally pushed your buttons?”

  Jonathan sat down. “Can you stop the talk? Before it gets out of hand? Before it ends up in the church bulletin or something?”

  “I can try.”

  Jonathan thought he heard his aunt giggle.

  “She is quite lovely you know, your friend, Cynthia. And I’ve been praying for God to send you a wife. You could do worse.”

  Jonathan rose to his feet again. “Cynthia doesn’t know the Lord.” He felt his irritation rise to a level he seldom experienced. He paced the floor, trying to calm down. “And since when have you gone into the matchmaking business?”

  “Since you turned thirty.”

 
; Jonathan sighed. “Please, Aunt Adel, stay out of this.”

  “Well . . . if you insist. But surely you won’t mind if I continue praying for Cynthia? If I ask the Lord to bring her into the saving knowledge of Jesus?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Then we shall see what we shall see. I really like her, Jonathan.”

  “Aunt Adel!” Jonathan heard the phone go dead.

  For several minutes Jonathan just stood, like a mannequin, holding the dead receiver in his hand. He hardly noticed it droning. His mind was busy beating out its own drone. Cynthia Wells. Cynthia Wells. Cynthia Wells. She had become a distraction. But what to do? That was the question. Finally, he placed the phone on its cradle and went to the door, locked it, then went back to his desk and sat down. He was drawn to her, no use pretending otherwise. She had even stirred something in him, a feeling of wanting to protect her and . . . yes, strong affection, too. But Cynthia couldn’t be the woman for him. She had no knowledge of God, and from what he could see, only a superficial desire to know Him. And even that desire was fueled by an obsession to get her story. Jonathan closed his eyes. “Oh, God, help me keep focused on You and the mission, and not on Cynthia Wells.”

  All the way to her apartment, Cynthia kept thinking about what Stubby had said.

  “Jesus told me I gotta come back . . . so I could take care of you. . . so I could be your friend. He said you needed a friend.”

  He better not try telling others that or they’d start fitting him for a straitjacket. In spite of herself, Cynthia smiled.

  But what if it were true?

  She shook her head. No. There was no great big God in the sky looking down on little Cynthia Wells and caring one hoot what happened to her. She thought of Jonathan, and Stubby’s miracle. She remembered how wonderful she felt the evening they had visited Stubby—the peace, the joy. Even now a residue remained. Had God touched her that day? She had yet to ask the hard questions. But even her natural cynicism had begun showing signs of cracking, like a windshield that gets dinged from a flying pebble then fractures, and eventually shatters. Surely, there had to be someone . . . something. An overseer maybe? How else could she explain what happened to Stubby? No one, not even the nurses and doctors, expected him to live. There had to be a higher power. And maybe sometimes prayers really were answered.

  She parked her car and felt her head pound like Miss Emily’s fist when she’d knead her dough. That’s what she got for taking on the mysteries of the universe. Maybe it was faith, faith in anything—it didn’t matter—that made things happen. But that was as ridiculous as believing in nothing. No, there was an answer. At least to the missing half of her story, and she was going to find it.

  Once in the apartment, she wasted no time in digging out an old backpack from her closet. This time she’d take a few items, underwear, some toiletries, a nightgown. Her clothes she’d get from the mission, like last time, so she’d blend in, make others feel comfortable around her. She removed her suit and put on the jeans and T-shirt Miss Emily had let her keep. Then she looked around her clean, tidy apartment. She was going from the lap of luxury back into a small, austere room with few possessions, and the thought filled her with unexpected joy.

  Cynthia slipped into her old room, unnoticed. She put her few things away, then headed straight for the kitchen. When Miss Emily saw her, she dropped the large soup ladle she was holding, scooped Cynthia up in her arms and gave her a hug that almost hurt.

  “My, it’s good to see you! I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

  “Me, too. Did Jonathan tell you I was coming back?”

  “Coming back? You mean for good?”

  “I mean for two weeks, so I can finish my story.”

  “Your story? Pooh. I’ve been praying that the Lord draws you back here so He can finish the job. I told you you hadn’t learned enough. ”

  “Well, my editor’s only giving me two weeks so I better learn fast.”

  “Pfff. You’re in the Lord’s timing now. You might as well just kick back and relax, because He’s in control, not your editor.”

  “Seems like the Good Lord is controlling a lot of things lately. Have you seen Stubby?”

  “No, but I heard. A lot of people have been praying, you know.”

  Cynthia followed Miss Emily to the stove and watched her stir the soup. “Smells good. What is it?”

  “My specialty. Chicken soup.”

  “May I taste?”

  “Sure. But you need some of my fresh baked bread with it.” Miss Emily picked up a loaf from the cooling rack and broke off a piece, then dipped it into the pot. Then she put the sopping bread on a small plate and handed it to Cynthia. “Welcome home, child.”

  Cynthia didn’t want Effie to find out through the grapevine that she was back, so after she finished eating a huge chunk of Miss Emily’s homemade bread and a small bowl of soup, she left the kitchen and headed for Day Care. She didn’t bother knocking, but opened the door part way and peeked in. Effie was in the middle of handing out large, oval cookies that looked like they had come straight from Miss Emily’s kitchen. Cynthia noticed the group had increased. Seven children now sat on blankets.

  “Hey, Effie. How’s it going?”

  Effie turned, and her smile made Cynthia happy she had made this effort. She waited while Effie finished passing out cookies and instructing the children to sit quietly. Finally, Effie walked over.

  “I knew you’d be back. I been prayin’ and here you are!” The two women hugged. “I just knew it was gonna be you that helped me get my boy back.”

  Cynthia gave Effie a stern look. “Don’t make this into something it’s not. I’m here to finish my story. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. But to be fair, I don’t know if I can.”

  “God’ll show you. You’ll see. God’ll show you.”

  Cynthia was relieved when Daisy walked over and ended the conversation. “My, don’t you look pretty!” She noticed the little girl’s head was free of sores. She also noticed that her brown hair, which was combed and tied-back by a bright green ribbon, had luster.

  Daisy smiled, then tugged on Cynthia’s hand. Cynthia looked at Effie. “What does she want?”

  “She’s still a little shy, but praise God, she’s startin’ to come around. I think she wants to tell you somethin’.”

  Cynthia bent down far enough so the little girl could whisper in her ear. When the child was finished, she skipped away, leaving Cynthia frowning.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she had asked God to bring me back.”

  Cynthia splashed water on her face, then combed her hair. She, Miss Emily, and Effie were going to the hospital to see Stubby. But before returning to the mission, the three of them planned to make a detour to Favorite Flavors, the best ice cream parlor in North Oberon. Effie had gotten one of the mothers of the Day Care children to watch Daisy for the evening. And while Cynthia and Miss Emily had sped around the kitchen getting all the dinner dishes done, Effie had given Daisy an early bath.

  Cynthia was almost embarrassed by her excitement. When her cell phone rang, she tried ignoring it, then gave in on the fourth ring. “Cynthia Wells.”

  “Hi! This is Pamela Harmon, you know, the girl from Social Services? The one you asked to check and see if I could get information on those two guys who died in Skid Row?”

  “Yes, of course, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. Your editor gave me this number so I hope it’s okay that I called.”

  “I’m glad you did. Do you have news?”

  “I’m dating a real nice guy—a dentist. I never thought I’d go for a dentist. Can you believe it? Liking a guy who does root canals?”

  Cynthia laughed. “Well, I hope it works out.”

  “Of course I didn’t call to tell you about my love life. I called to tell you that I saw Andy last night. You know, that caseworker I told you about? The one who handled both Turtle and Manny? I bumped into him at the S&S Marke
t. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw him there, big as life.

  “At first he didn’t want to talk, but when I wouldn’t stop following him around, he told me he was in town for only a few days so he could finalize the sale of his house and get his things moved out. I asked why he retired early and left without a word to anyone. He said for health reasons. Well, he looked pretty healthy to me, so I pressed and asked him what was wrong, did he have cancer or something? And he said no, it was nothing like that.

  “Then I asked him whatever happened with his investigation of those two men, and he turned green. I kid you not! As green as the pepper I was holding. Then he clammed up. I knew something was wrong. He was leaving clues around like breadcrumbs and I wasn’t going to let him off that easily. So I asked him point blank, was he running away from something? Had he stumbled upon some dangerous information? I thought he was going to faint! And for the longest time he just stood there staring at me, not saying a word. I told him I wasn’t going to let him go until he told me.

  “He finally admitted he had learned something that made it ‘unhealthy’ to remain in town. And he told me if I knew what was good for me, I’d just forget the whole thing and go off and get married and have lots of babies. I told him I wasn’t even engaged and that we were civil servants and had a duty to the public, and if he knew something he needed to speak up. That’s when he laughed. Not the kind of funny haha laugh, but more sarcastic like. It scared me a little because it was so unlike Andy—meek, mild Andy. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Did he tell you what he found out?”

  “No. He just said if I wanted to solve a puzzle do the crosswords.”

  Cynthia sat on the edge of her bed. “We already know we’re dealing with drugs; that the Angus Avenue Men’s Shelter is involved, and that they use some of the homeless to run the drugs to the crack houses.”

  “Wow! That’s . . . criminal!”

  “Trouble is, we can’t prove it. The police have tried, but they’ve run into a brick wall. So we’re going to need a lot more information. Keep your ears open. If you hear anything, let me know.”