by Donna Doyle
For a good while none of them spoke, but then Molly Gertrude let out a small cough and broke through the silence. "You smell that?"
Papa Julian looked up and gave her a small nod. "Flowers," he replied. "I smell roses. They were always his favorite."
Silence again.
Now Papa Julian heard the clock again and outside the window he could hear the twitter of a robin. Things were slowly getting back to normal.
"What are you going to do with that book?" Molly Gertrude asked at last. "You think it really is the first edition of John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress?"
Papa Julian shook his head. "I do not know, but it sure looks old, and Preston wanted to make sure I had it. Whether or not it is the first edition I cannot tell, but it is very old, and as such it is of great value. Preston must have believed it is very valuable, for he kept this a secret. He never told me about this book until today.”
"Maybe we should not broadcast it to everyone then," Molly Gertrude suggested, "at least not until you know what you want to do with it."
Papa Julian agreed. "For now, I will store it in the basement of our church. I will ask around and see if I can get some knowledgeable people to take a look at it."
Molly Gertrude pressed her lips together and her shoulders drooped. "My condolences," she sniffed. "I know how much Preston meant to you."
"Thank you, Molly Gertrude," Papa Julian replied, "but at least, my friend is safely home. Of that there can be no doubt."
The man licked his lips as he peered over the documents before him on the screen of his laptop, trying to force himself to concentrate. But the letters on the manuscript he was reading began to dance before his bloodshot eyes, and the man realized his body just wouldn't cooperate much longer. That wasn't strange, as it was late; way later than he had wanted; but then again, what better time to work than at night when the whole world had finally fallen asleep and had stopped its superficial, shallow and yet monstrous roar?
His wife had gone to bed early. She always did, but tonight it suited him fine. She had still brought him a cup of coffee, black with only one sugar cube, and a peanut butter sandwich. He had not touched either of them. The coffee in the mug with the yellow smiley face and the words, "We love you, grandpa," was cold and stale, and the sandwich had become prey for a couple of irritating flies.
It didn't matter, as he had more important things to worry about than a mere sandwich.
What time was it anyway?
The alarm clock that stood on top of a pile of study books right near the edge of the desk gave him the cold, harsh facts that it was after three in the morning. The man let out a sigh and threw himself back in his swivel chair. So close… He was so close to unravelling the secret. But a miss was as good as a mile, and so close simply wasn't close enough.
He rubbed his eyes, rolled his chair away from the desk and got up. Maybe if he splashed water on his face he could still study one more document. But he discarded the thought. He needed to stop as he was just too tired.
It was then that his laptop made a beeping sound.
A message.
The sound of the little bell, warning the man of an incoming message, pierced through the silence of the night and reverberated around the room. The man swallowed hard. A message this late? Maybe it was good news, and one of his contacts on Facebook had found out something more.
The man hesitated. He noticed his head was hurting too. Maybe he should just push that one button that would turn the whole caboodle off. Had he not done enough studying for one night? The silk sheets of the king-size bed, right next to the warm and comforting presence of his wife seemed like the better solution. He would turn the computer off and go to bed.
Bleep, bleep.
The warning bell… it sounded again.
The man narrowed his tired eyes and stared at his laptop screen, torn between his desire to check the message and his cozy, comfortable bed.
However, anyone who knew the man a bit better would have known what choice would be made. The man stayed, forced the tiredness out of his system, and plopped himself down in front of the screen once more.
Seconds later, with a driven look on his face, he opened his Facebook page.
Two new messages.
His eyes scanned the page and almost instantly he found what he was looking for. There it was. A message from Sanchez Cippolini.
He had met Cippolini on Facebook some months earlier, but actually had no idea who Cippolini was, where he lived, and what he did for a living, but he didn't really care. That didn't matter. Just about 95% of his contacts on Facebook account were like that; unknown social shadows, and Sanchez Cippolini was no exception. The one thing that had made Cippolini interesting, and what had prompted the man to add him as a friend on Facebook, had been their mutual love for history, artifacts and relics. Cippolini was a real history buff, and now after all those months that friendship on Facebook finally paid off. As the man read Cippolini's message his eyes began to sparkle and he lifted both of his hands in the air in a jubilant fashion.
There it was. A name… an actual name. Preston Linney. The man's eyes feverishly glided over the whole message.
It appears that what you are looking for is in the hands of a man, a pastor named Preston Linney. I don't know where he lives, but you can Google him, and no doubt you will find out all you need.
Good night. Sanchez.
The man grinned.
Preston Linney, huh? He had heard that name before. Wasn't that a pastor in Boulder Valley? If that were true, he didn't even have to pay for expensive travel tickets. He could just go there, and get it over with.
He let out a long, satisfied sigh as he turned off his laptop.
Life was good when everything went your way.
Very good.
Chapter Two
Papa Julian let out a sigh and scratched behind his left ear while staring at the flyer before him on his mahogany desk. The jovial man with the fringe of white hair around his balding head usually carried a happy smile around his thin lips, and it was rare to see him even the slightest bit depressed. He had been Calmhaven's pastor for a long time, and cared for the spiritual welfare of his flock with untiring zeal. It had earned him the title 'Papa'. His real name wasn't Papa, but Julian Maxwell, or Reverend Maxwell. But that name Papa had somehow grown on him. Even the most unbelieving person in Calmhaven had to admit the man had a heart for people, was true to his convictions, and usually quite willing to approach those with a different outlook on life with an open mind. It had even resulted in a good friendship with Malcolm O'Hara, Calmhaven's Catholic priest who was responsible for Saint Mary’s Catholic Church, located on the other side of Calmhaven.
One could always hear him say something like, “Smile, you are on candid camera. The Good Lord is watching,” and his dark brown face was usually framed with a bright smile for any who came to the door of the church. But today was one of those rare days when his worry lines seemed to have deepened and he was hoping the Good Lord wasn’t checking His candid camera.
The day had started out so well.
Blue skies, bright sunshine, and his dear wife Bella had surprised him even before he had gotten up.
"Good morning, Julian," her cheerful voice had sung when she opened the curtains and the light was streaming in. "This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it, and to help you do that, I brought you your coffee."
Dear Bella. Not one step was ever too much for her.
But after he had gotten dressed and told the Lord he was ready to face the day, things had progressively gotten worse. He just sat down for breakfast when Wolfgang Crossley knocked on the door.
Wolfgang Crossley, of all people.
Bella had let him in.
Of course she had. Hospitality was one of the first marks of a concerned Christian, but Papa Julian was not at all happy to see Wolf, as he liked to be called, and for once he wouldn't have minded if Bella had not been so kind.
Wolf w
as in a constant struggle with Papa Julian's teachings, he did not let one opportunity pass by without disrupting the Wednesday night Bible study. He had begun to speak against Papa Julian openly, causing doubts in the hearts of two new young members, who had only recently been baptized, but were barely grounded in the word. Wolf didn't think a true believer should ever be sick, or have serious problems, and he should always be wealthy and rich. "It's a promise from God, pastor," he would invariably say. "Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." Strangely enough, Wolf's children were often sick and the man himself usually carried a disruptive scowl on his well-groomed face instead of a smile, but at least, and true to his convictions, he had a few cents to his name. He ran Calmhaven's digital printing and advertisement company, SpiderWeb Corporation, and thus he could easily compete with Calmhaven's cream of the crop.
"Good morning, Wolf."
"I just came to tell you, Maxwell, I am through." The man scowled as was his custom, but today he seemed especially wroth.
"Coffee, Wolf?"
He shook his head. "You don't understand, Maxwell. I-am-done. I no longer wish to attend your church, and I will no longer give you my tithe."
Papa Julian frowned. "Your tithe? You never gave your tithe to the church."
"Regardless," Wolf bellowed, "I quit."
Wolf was as greedy as he was rich, and money had always been the issue with him from the very beginning. On Sundays, when the collection bag was passed, he usually made a big show of his giving and he dumped a whole bunch of pennies in the collection bag. It would make a lot of noise and he would look around with a smug expression, making sure everyone would know that Wolfgang Crossley was into being generous. But that had backfired one day, and it had been the start of Wolf's disgruntlement with the church. That happened when he realized to his horror one of the coins in between his pennies had actually been a gold coin.
He had wanted to grab it back. He was just about to stick his bony hand in the collection bag when usher Stan Pot stopped him and shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Crossley. Once in, forever in."
All eyes had been on him, as everyone waited with bated breath to see Wolf's reaction. At last he had grumbled and hissed, "Fine. At least God will give me credit for a gold coin when I stand before him in heaven."
But Stan Pot, not afraid of anything, had again shaken his head. "No you won’t, Mr. Crossley. Your heart only gave a few pennies, so that's all the credit you'll get."
From that day onward, Wolf had been disgruntled and today, for some reason, he gave up his membership.
"All right, Wolf. No one is forcing you in our church. I wish you all the best."
But Wolf wasn't finished.
"I found a better church, with a better pastor that's much more understanding," he grumbled.
"I am happy for you," Papa Julian answered as calmly as he could. "As I said, I wish you all the best."
Wolf wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, you can look all smart and confident, but I'll tell you, I am going to do my best to take your treasure away as well."
"Excuse me?" Papa Julian felt a tightening in his chest. "What are you talking about? My treasure is in heaven. My treasure is God."
"No it isn't," Wolf fired back. "You are just like all the other hypocrites. But I just felt I needed to tell you that." After he had said those words he turned around and stomped out of the room, leaving Papa Julian and Bella behind with their minds racing, as they had no clue what Wolf had meant by his ominous warning.
That had been the first downer of the day.
The second one came when Papa Julian went into Calmhaven right after breakfast to take care of some business.
A slender, young woman with blond curls that seemed to stick out in all the wrong places, and with piercing, blue eyes stopped him in the street and pushed a flyer into his hand. Behind her slightly pursed lips was an inviting smile, so bright it had made Papa Julian uneasy, curious, and suspicious, all at the same time. It was the kind of a smile you'd expect from the salesman at the door, just before he was about to explain the road to paradise in meaningless garble. It was also the smile people would offer when they wanted you to come to a meeting, like a political rally or to some sort of jamboree. Papa Julian was right. The first words out of the girl's mouth confirmed Papa Julian's apprehensions as she sang, "You are invited, Sir. Wednesday night at seven. It will be most glorious."
Papa Julian stared at the young woman. Whatever it was, he was not eager to attend. What's more, on Wednesday night he was supposed to lead his weekly Bible study, this time in Sunrise Acres, the only nursing home in Calmhaven.
Thus, he politely shook his head and gave the girl a smile of his own. "Thank you, Miss. But I am a bit busy that night."
"There's a meeting on Thursday as well, and another one on Friday. There's no excuse," the girl sung back in cheerful tones. "Many are called, but few are willing to be chosen. I am telling you, your life will never be the same after you have heard Pastor Sharlan. He will bring you the words of life."
"Excuse me?" Papa Julian bent forward a little. "Who is Pastor Sharlan?"
The girl frowned and curled her lip. Such ignorance was clearly beyond her. "Pastor Sharlan Tan," she clipped, but almost immediately she forced her almost seductive smile back on her attractive, young face. It was obvious it was her job to lure as many people as possible into whatever meeting this Sharlan fellow was organizing.
She licked her red lips and then added, "You'll love Pastor Sharlan. He is just so anointed, so eloquent, and he holds the keys to a brighter tomorrow."
"Does he now?" Papa Julian scratched his head as he kept on staring at the young woman. He had never heard of a pastor by that name, but something about the whole thing caused him concern. This pastor Tan was apparently a traveling evangelist, but how come nobody informed him the man was coming to Calmhaven? Shouldn't churches work together in unity?
He had never heard of a pastor by the name of Sharlan Tan either, and it made him feel uneasy.
The girl tilted her head a bit to the side and pushed her long, blond curls over her shoulders with a swift movement of her hand. "So… you have never heard of Pastor Sharlan Tan?" she smacked.
"No, I have not," Papa Julian responded a little curtly. "Should I?"
"Well, as I said," the girl continued undeterred, "Wednesday night, the heavens will be opened, and all who come may drink freely of the waters that Pastor Sharlan will pull out of heaven so willingly."
Papa Julian shuffled his feet. "How does he open the heavens, and what will come out?" As the words left his mouth, he realized he must have sounded rather skeptical. "Sorry," he added in a mumble, "I meant no disrespect."
"Pastor Sharlan Tan is God's man for this moment," the girl continued. Papa Julian noticed that when the girl spoke the man's name, her voice dropped to a whisper, as if a sacred utterance had just left her lips. She stopped for a moment and then spoke in soft tones, "Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet." *
Papa Julian recognized a verse of scripture. These were the words spoken of by Jesus Himself when he was talking about John the Baptist. He licked his lips. "Are you saying that this Sharlan is a prophet of God?"
"Oh yes, yes he is," the girl cried out. "And as I said, he's greater than a prophet. He is the one that will pave the way for the return of the Messiah."
Papa Julian stared at the flyer in his hand and scratched his head. "I am a little confused," he muttered.
"Confused?" The girl's blue eyes became wide. "Then yield to the utterances of Sharlan Tan and you will no longer have to grope around in darkness."
"I am not groping around in darkness," Papa Julian fired back. "I am the pastor of Calmhaven Trinity Church. I just don't understand why this man, Tan or whatever his name is, would just organize some sort of crusade without consulting the pastors of the local community. Don't you think it would be a decent thing to do?" Papa Julian did not easily get irritated, but as his wife Bella
could confirm, he was no saint, and had his moments of frustration and anger, and this was one of them. After all, the welfare of the church was of the utmost importance.
The small coat of jovial varnish on the girl's face was scratched. She shook her head and her smile froze. "You are resisting the new," she hissed. "Like many other pastors we've encountered, you too are yielding to your carnal jealousy. You are drinking old, stale wine, wine that's coming out of moldy wine skins. Master Sharlan however, offers the new wine. Pure, undiluted wine that is full of heavenly clarity." Her smile was completely gone now, and instead a mocking scowl hung around her lips. "It's not too late to repent, Pastor. But do not wait too long." She pointed a crooked finger at Papa Julian's belly, and the blond curls on her head no longer appeared to be just messy and unorganized, but looked more like vicious spikes ready to wound and maim. "Those who do not grab the chance when they can, will be gobbled up by the monster of carnality which ultimately leads deep into the pits of hell," she snarled and hissed, and was now pointing to the heavens, as if she were a fiery prophet carrying a message of doom and destruction.
"Well… eh, thank you," Papa Julian replied. "It has been most enlightening talking to you."
All at once, it was almost uncanny, the girl's smile returned. Papa Julian had always wondered what kind of a smile the snake had offered on that fateful day in the Garden of Eden when the deluded creature had tempted Eve, but he was certain it must have been somewhat similar to the grimace that now hung on the young woman's face.
"Goodbye, pastor," she said, and before Papa Julian could say anything she had moved away to someone else who was walking by. She clearly did not want to waste any more time on such an unreceptive soul as Papa Julian.
He stared at her for a moment as she peddled her flyers with zeal, and had slipped back into her supposedly innocent, but insincere sales mode. Within minutes she had delivered at least ten more flyers.