Halos (25 page)
C
ARL DROVE THE MUSTANG INTO THE CAVE, a dugout, really, that they had timbered inside. But it felt like a cave. And from the outside, when he’d pushed the timbers across the bottom and released the boughs of the overhanging fir, it looked like little more than a depression. He’d brushed out the snow where he left the road, and no one came this way without a reason. It was cursed ground.
He pressed the emergency brake and sat there, shaking so hard it took him three tries to get the keys out of the ignition. He hadn’t intended to be seen, not by anyone but her. Steve and Ben were not supposed to be there.
Stupid. Stupid
. He made a fist and punched his face. Blood spurted from his nose. Pain cleared his head. He gulped air and looked at the blood dripping into his lap.
He climbed out of the car. The first-aid kit was easily accessible. He could find it in the dark. And it wasn’t just Band-Aids. It held tourniquets and needles and high-potency antibiotics and even antivenoms. He fumbled as he tore a piece of bandage and held it to his swelling nose. How would he explain that? But then … there’d be no explaining now.
He had to just hide, lay low until they stopped looking for him. He could do it too. He had everything he needed. And he knew how to survive.
Nose throbbing but no longer gushing, he went to the front. No moonlight penetrated. He reached for the propane lantern and carried it past the Mustang, feeling only lightly as he went. He knew his way.
Confidence built as he lit the lantern. He needed a plan. The light illuminated the space, much larger than a person would guess from the opening. And it was stocked. Oh boy, was it stocked. Duke’s paranoia had started it. When the government tried to take away his freedom, he’d be ready. And Carl had added things himself, taken them just as he’d taken the car. So easy.
He’d be okay. Yes, he would. He’d be okay.
The chapel was festive with Christmas finery. The decorated trees seemed overbright and gaudy, bows and garlands superfluous and insultingly joyous. Nearly every seat was filled, people who had snubbed or ignored Alessi. Steve could not judge them. No one had done more to break her spirit, to drive her out, than he.
Karen was at the piano, her eyes red puffballs, but she didn’t play any of the carols she must have planned for the gathering. She played nothing at all as the people looked around and began to whisper. Pastor Welsh was not on the podium. It was Christmas morning. Where was their pastor?
They depended on him, thrived on his message, opened their throats and were fed. Now his podium stood empty and the piano was silent. What was wrong? What had happened? Panic rose in the room like flames licking at the rafters, building and spreading from one heart to another. This wasn’t what they’d anticipated when they dressed this morning in their reds and greens and glittering gold.
Steve sat silently, dreading each minute that passed. He should have stayed at the hospital. These people were sheep. What could they do? What could any of them do? Karen looked his way with flooded eyes, but no one else seemed to know. They shifted in their seats and looked at their neighbors.
Then Ben stood up. He made his slow way to the front and didn’t stop even then. He climbed the platform stairs and stood behind the podium. Murmurs of shock and anticipation. Steve studied his face, long and serious, yet … compassionate too. Ben was doing better with this than he. But, as he’d said, he was not as close to it.
He cared about Alessi, had right from the start. But he hadn’t fallen in love with the angel who tumbled into their midst. What would Ben say? Would he just blurt it out?
Ben dropped his head in silence, then looked up and said, “Two thousand years ago a stranger came to Israel.”
He was going to preach? Give a sermon while Alessi lay dying? Steve felt betrayed. He couldn’t look at Ben, who seemed more concerned with ceremony than a dying woman.
“Came with nothing to recommend him, and every door was closed except a hillside stable. Though the heavens opened in song and even the night sky proclaimed his birth, only a handful of outcast shepherds paid attention. The innkeepers were too busy, the Pharisees too important, the scribes too learned. They had no interest in an inconvenient stranger.”
Steve wanted to shout, “That was two thousand years ago! What about now?”
Ben said, “A little more than two weeks ago a stranger came to Charity, came with little to recommend her, and what little she had was taken away.”
Steve’s throat went dry.
Ben looked directly at him. “Some of us did a little. But mostly we ignored the stranger in our midst, hoping her trouble would not become ours. We wore our freedom like a badge, like membership in the Charity Club, only we’d forgotten the meaning of the word.”
Steve could hardly believe it was Ben up there speaking so truly, so eloquently.
Ben looked over the people. “‘I was a stranger and you did not invite me in.’” He bent his head. “Father, forgive us for not recognizing you.”
Moments stretched in silence. Steve felt each beat of his heart. Did Alessi’s still beat? He ought to be there beside her.
Ben looked up. “Last night Alessi Moore was viciously attacked.”
Gasps filled the chapel. Heads turned and people whispered frantic questions.
Ben hadn’t given any details, hadn’t even named Carl. Maybe that was better. Keep the focus on Alessi and nothing else.
Ben said, “It doesn’t look good. In fact, it’s medically hopeless.”
Now there was silence as those words sank in. Steve felt them take hold and drag him down somewhere cold.
“But we are not people without hope.” Ben’s voice rang out.
False hope. Maybe her body systems would drag on awhile. What life was that? Would they pray to prolong it? Yet his throat tightened at the thought of letting her go. Just a little longer, then he could let her go. Or could he?
Ben said, “We have a God who surpasses hope, and so we turn to Him, the One who cares for even a sparrow who has lost her way.”
Not a sparrow, a dove. Pure and innocent and unsuspecting. A sacrifice. Steve’s throat tightened so hard it almost closed up.
Ben said, “Some of us got to know her, and it might help us pray if we shared our stories.”
Stories? Where was he taking this?
But Mary was right there with him. She stood up from a seat near the front. “Alessi changed my life. She gave me courage to love again, made me see the good and put the bad behind me. She said love was a rare and precious thing. She was right.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Dave stood up. “Alessi had a way of making things matter. Stuff you wouldn’t think was special mattered a lot to her, and then it sort of mattered a lot to you too. She helped me decorate our tree; first time she’d ever had one. I think her face lit up better than the lights.” He cleared his throat. “And she said Christmas was not about Jesus’ dying for us so much as His living for us. How He blessed people while He lived. I can’t tell it like she did.” He cleared his throat again, tried to say more, then sat back down.
Karen said, “Alessi Moore was the sort of person you felt like you’d known forever. There wasn’t anything false or fake about her. She was real.” She dabbed her eyes and leaned against the piano.
Steve’s chest constricted.
“Your Pollyanna con might fool Ben and Dave, but I see through you.”
How blind he’d been.
And it just went on. People who’d only moments with her, sharing their comments, their impressions.
“I went in to buy a book, and she spent all kinds of time making sure I found what I really wanted.” Dierdre Gaines sniffed. “I wasn’t even friendly.”
Sue Jolsten added, “She helped me at the store too. Looked right into my eyes when she talked, and explained why I ought to choose one thing over another. As though it mattered to her what I walked out with.”
Moll stood up, clutching herself.
Moll?
“She always said my food was good. Even when I wouldn’t talk to her.” She sat down, stone-faced and probably a little stunned.
He was stunned too. He wanted to shout for them all to stop it, just stop it.
Diana said, “Alessi called my praline parfaits fairy ambrosia. And she said it with tears in her eyes.” Diana sobbed. “I’ve never known anyone like her.”
Debbie said, “She was my friend.”
And those few words were the most devasting of all.
Down, down he sank. The service had become a wake. Of them all, he could say the most. He’d spent the time with her, knew her story, the things she’d told him. All she’d wanted was a place to belong, to be loved and trusted. He’d been the one to kiss her. His throat squeezed, remembering Ben’s mouth puffing air into her lifeless lungs, an action that a machine now repeated. Too late. It was all too late.
Ben folded his hands on the podium. “Alessi Moore came to Charity for a purpose. Nothing happens by chance, nothing in this life. We can ignore her appearance and pretend it never happened. People have ignored Jesus born in that stable.” He pointed to the plaster nativity beneath the cluster of Christmas trees. “But in the Lord’s own words, ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’” He looked around the room.
“I don’t know how we can make it right, except by taking to our knees right now and begging God’s mercy.”
Steve stared at him. Mercy, yes. Mercy to end her suffering. Yet selfishly he wanted more. Just through Christmas. If he could just look at her, hold her hand …
“Mercy for Alessi Moore, and mercy for ourselves because …” Ben let the word hang. “One way or another, our lives have changed.” He meant the pact was over.
Steve didn’t care about any of that. He had to get out, had to get back. But Ben had his keys. He got up anyway and made it to the back door. He knew from personal experience that prayer didn’t change things. He had prayed for his mother to come back, prayed that Barb wouldn’t leave. He had prayed for Dad to recover. Maybe prayer helped in unseen ways, gave strength or comforted, but it didn’t change what would happen anyway.
It was like children throwing themselves against a bulldozer. Prayer gave the dozer rubber bumpers to limit their injury, but it never changed direction, never halted course, just kept pressing through their lives. He staggered, and Amanda was at his side.
“Steve, are you all right? I am so terribly sorry.” Her sincerity caught him unawares. She walked outside with him. “Is there anything I can do?”
He looked back at the church, guessing she wasn’t inclined to bend a knee in her white wool pants. But maybe she was the answer to his prayer. “Will you drive me back to the hospital?”
“Of course.” She slipped her arm through his and guided him to her Lexus. As they climbed in she asked, “Do you want to stop for flowers?”
He turned and stared at her. Alessi wouldn’t know one way or another. She would neither see nor smell them ever again. He said, “Yes. Thanks.”
She started the engine. “Oh, nothing will be open. It’s Christmas.”
“That’s all right.”
“Wait. I have something. We’ll swing by my place.” She drove smoothly to her home, left him staring out the window, and went inside. She returned with a winter bouquet of evergreens, red roses, and white poinsettias, accented with gold and purple berries. So beautiful—Alessi would have loved it.
“Thank you.” He breathed its rose and juniper scent as she drove once again.
She pulled up to the entrance that was nearest the ICU and put the car in park. “Do you want me to come in?”
He shook his head, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Amanda.” He carried the bouquet inside. He should have offered to pay her for it. She probably had it for a table piece. But he headed to Alessi’s room and carried the flowers to a shelf that didn’t seem to be needed for anything at the moment.
It was a large, expensive bouquet that spread out at either side. He imagined Alessi’s expression if she could see it, the one she had worn for Dave’s Christmas tree, before he crushed her spirits. “Hey, Alessi. Brought you some flowers.” He sat down beside her. “I bet you can smell them from here.” He swallowed. “To be honest, they were Amanda’s.”