Luminary (27 page)
“Heaven.”
I am worried. I look at Rhen and Berk, and they are moving toward John. Rhen bends down on the other side of John. She takes his face in her hands. “John, you’re not well.”
“I am very well.” John is still smiling, still looking. “It is time.”
My heart constricts. I am not ready to say good-bye to John. I need him. New Hope needs him. “What do we do, Rhen?”
“Don’t do anything.” John lifts his hand up. I place my hand in his and he squeezes lightly. “He allowed me to see the earth again, to see the sun again. He allowed me to be in a church, to hold his Word in my hands. And he allowed me to see you, following him, growing in him. And now he is allowing me to go home.”
I can see the life leaving John. I will it back, but he is so content, so peaceful. It would be cruel to beg him to stay.
“I just wish I could see James.” John’s voice sounds so far away. “That I could talk to him one more time. I would tell him I forgive him. I love him.”
“We need to get him back to the medical center.” Rhen motions for Berk and Dallas to help.
“No, please.” John waves the boys away. “Let me stay here, by the water, outside. I spent far too much of my life indoors. Let me end my life outdoors.”
I want to argue, but the facts are glaring. John is dying. But this death is not violent, not bloody like Helen’s and Peter’s. John is ready, excited. He has longed for this. Rhen and I hold his hands. His face remains toward the sun, his feet touching the water.
“ ‘I have fought the good fight.’ ” John repeats words he read earlier in church. Words Paul the apostle wrote before his death.
We all gather around John, watching him watch something in the air we cannot see. But he reaches for it, smiles in greeting. He turns to me, his eyes shining. “We will meet again, my dear.”
“I know.” I wipe a tear from my eye as John turns his face back to the sky.
And then, with a sigh of joy, John is gone.
I
play “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” in the front of the church where John stood just the day before. We gathered here for a celebration of John’s life. This is what John would have wanted. Not a gathering to grieve, but one of hope. Berk requested I play this.
This is the song that started everything, that led me to the Designer. I heard him in the music. Now I hear him so much more. John told me the words that went with this song, words about drinking from deathless springs. John is doing that right now.
It is hard to grasp that John was just here, and now he is in
heaven, with the Designer. I recall that his bride, Amy, walked down the aisle to this song. He cried when he told me that memory, but they were tears of joy. John helped me see the Designer in so much. He helped me to see that music was his language, and that it communicates so much more than words alone. If I had a father, I would have wanted him to be just like John.
When I finish playing, I keep the violin under my chin. I do not want to stop. I do not want this song to end, do not want to acknowledge that this life has ended.
When I finally put the violin down, I see the church filled with people whose lives John touched.
One after another comes to the front with stories of ways John helped them. People I have not met speak of how John came into their homes, talked with them, genuinely cared about their pasts, their dreams, their families. He spoke to each one about the Designer, wanting them to know this God he loved.
The room is silent after several stories, then Gerald walks to the front. This man who had been so angry in that first meeting, wanting to send Diana back, wary of the four of us, is broken, tears streaming into his beard.
“I’ve never been an easy man.” He faces the congregation. I am sitting behind him, watching his head move as he speaks. “But John didn’t care about that. He wasn’t a bit angry with me for how I talked or what I said about him and his friends. I’ve never met a soul like him. He walked into my house one day, and I was sure he was gonna start getting onto me, telling me what I should do. But he didn’t do that. He walked around my house, looked at my pictures, and asked me about my wife and my kids. We shared stories about life before the War. We talked about music we liked and TV shows we watched. And after
about an hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Gerald, you don’t have a thing to be angry about. You are a blessed man. You should be thanking the Designer every day for what he’s given you instead of complaining about what you don’t have or what you don’t like.’ I wanted to get mad at him for that, but he was just too nice to get mad at, ya know?”
The people smile and nod their agreement. I do too.
“We talked for a while longer,” Gerald continues. “About all sorts of things. And then he left. But he came back almost every day. I’ve never known a man like him. He made me want to be a better person.”
Murmurs of agreement flow from the crowd.
“I know he is happy to be with his Savior.” Gerald nods. “He talked to me about heaven a lot. He sure was excited about that place. I think if he could say anything right now, it would be that we should all be excited for him.” Gerald lowers his head and walks off.
I think of John visiting all these people, talking with them and caring for them. The same way he did for me and Rhen and Berk. I think of how I was in Athens trying to help bring peace to New Hope and how John was doing the same here.
The service ends, and we all follow Gerald’s horse-drawn truck to the pond where we first saw New Hope. The pond where John dove in to swim and praised the Designer. The men of the city dug a hole just a few feet from the pond. Others have made what they call a casket to house his body, and that is lowered into the hole, then dirt piled on top.
I remain after the others have left. Berk is on my left, Rhen on my right. We do not speak, but neither do we cry. John is finally, truly home.
A
lex is here.
He arrived hours after we buried John. Carey and Kristie gathered the people into the church, and we all listen as Alex outlines his plans for peace between the two pockets of survivors. Peace, for the first time in their history.
My mind is full of so many thoughts; my heart is full of so many emotions. I think of John. He is dead. That knowledge brings a feeling far different than what I felt when Helen and Peter died. My heart is not as heavy.
Rhen said that we are not feeling sorry for him—he is where he has long wanted to be. We are feeling sorry for ourselves, for
the hole in our lives that he leaves. It is a hole that will never be completely filled. Nor do I want it to be. I do not ever want to forget John, who he was, what he taught me, how he cared for all of us with his gentle, humble way, his faith in the goodness of the Designer. I will carry all he taught me deep within my soul for the rest of my life.
“I do not wish to rule New Hope,” Alex says.
I look up at him and another emotion pushes forward, causing my heart to beat faster. The last time I saw him he was battling shock and grief. Today he seems burdened, still, by what seems to be a combined weight of duty and sorrow. He is speaking to everyone, but his gaze locks on mine. “I wish for us to work together. We can unite or remain separate. Whichever you wish. But Athens will no longer make demands of New Hope.”
I glance around. The people of New Hope are wary, doubtful. And they have reason to be. Athens has been a violent enemy for most of their lives. This transition will not be easy.
“I have spoken to the leader of our army,” Alex continues. “He is aware I am here to make peace. I want to work with your leaders to establish trade rules. I will come here or you may send them to Athens. They are welcome there—you are all welcome there. I hope to learn from your agricultural expertise. You have lived more peaceably than Athens. I want to follow that model. We have been at war far too long.”
The people murmur, but no one speaks. I am sure their silence is a result of the somber mood carried over from John’s funeral. Could even that timing be from the Designer? We were all here earlier, remembering John, recounting his kindness and love. Those memories hang in the air now. It seems
dishonoring to John’s memory to even consider arguing or being unkind.
Carey stands beside Alex. “Thank you for coming. Our village, I know, wants nothing more than to live in safety and in peace.”
Carey dismisses the people after making plans to reconvene in three days. Alex stays rooted to his spot as many of the villagers come to him, offering him a handshake or a word of thanks. I remain seated, watching, praying, hoping.
When the last villager leaves, Berk touches my arm. I barely noticed him beside me. His gaze darts to Alex, who is also looking at me, then back again. “Thalli, when you were in Athens, with Alex—”
I shake my head. “Nothing happened.”
Berk looks at Alex again. “You’re not the same as you were when you left.”
“Of course I’m not the same.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I watched innocent people die because of me. I saw a whole city drugged. I almost died. You almost died. I will never be the same.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I know what he means, what he is asking. But I cannot discuss it with him. Not now. We both turn as Alex walks toward us.
“Thalli, may I speak with you?” He looks at Berk. “Alone.”
Berk stiffens beside me. “She needs to rest. It has been a long day.”
“I am fine.” I raise my eyebrows at Berk and then turn to Alex. “Of course I will speak with you.”
I do not give Berk the opportunity to argue with me. I walk
toward the small pond, Alex following behind me. Neither of us speak. I know Alex is drained—of energy, of emotion. I want to ask him how the people of Athens are, whether or not he told them yet about the drugs, about the murders. How much truth has he revealed? How much does he feel needs to remain concealed? But I do not ask him any of that. I will let him speak when he is ready.
We walk around the pond so that when we sit, we are facing New Hope. I can see the homes, the buildings, the church. People moving around. I can see the fields that surround the village, the animals. I am filled with a sense of belonging like I have never had before. Not in the State, not in Athens. This—New Hope—is home.
“Thalli.” Alex’s voice is quiet, tired. “I cannot do this.”
I look at him. His hair is longer than it was when I first met him. The dark blond curls hang loosely, past his shoulders. There are dark circles under his blue eyes, his mouth sags, as if he hasn’t the strength to lift it into a smile. He is wearing black—black tunic, black pants, black boots—all of which adds to the heaviness that seems to surround him.
“Of course you can.” I push back a curl that has fallen in front of his face. “But you can’t do it all at once. Are you sleeping? Are you eating? You cannot solve all the problems right away.”
Alex lifts his face, and agony weights his eyes. “The people are looking to me, and I don’t know what to tell them. They don’t see me as a person. To them, I am just the king. They will do what I say because they do not know any better. But they will not see me as an equal. They don’t treat me as an equal. They fear me, Thalli. Me. And I don’t know how to convince
them I am not to be feared. I want to be one of them. I want to be part of them. I don’t want to be alone in the palace.”
“They will see that.” I put my hand on his chest. “Give them time.”
Alex places his hand over mine and leans in so close, I can feel his breath on my face. “Don’t leave me too, Thalli. Please. I need you.”
“I will help you however I can.”
“Then come back with me.” Alex lifts my hand to his mouth, caressing my palm with his lips. “I said once that I didn’t know if I loved you. I was wrong. I was ashamed to admit it. Love killed my mother. I did not want to fall prey to that same weakness. But I cannot help myself. I love you, Thalli. So much. I want you to rule with me. By my side. Please say you’ll come back with me.”
I do not know what to say. He is alone. And he needs me. I look into his blue eyes, and I cannot deny that I care for him. But do I love him? I was ready to marry Alex before to save New Hope. Am I willing to marry him now?
What about Berk? My heart has never felt so torn. My first thought is to ask John what I should do, and my own tears fall as I realize I cannot do that. Ever again. I must decide for myself. I must ask the Designer what he wants me to do.
But I do not have time to say this to Alex because the sky above New Hope suddenly darkens. I look up and see a transport larger than I have ever seen before. I know where it is from and who is aboard.
The Scientists have found New Hope.
I
run back to town as quickly as I can. My side aches but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. The transport is landing right in front of John’s church. Our church.
Townspeople are running outside. I hear some of them shouting that it’s an Athenian attack. They look at Alex and me, now standing among them, with distrust, anger.
Dust is flying all around the transport. A long white cylinder seems to be floating just above the ground as it hovers in place, then lands with barely a sound. The people who were shouting just minutes before are now silent, staring at the cylinder.
The front of the transport slides down, creating a ramp to the ground. Dr. Loudin steps out first. He is dressed in Scientist white. An unnatural smile fills his face. He looks at the people, at the church, at the sky.
“Greetings.” His accent surprises me. I have grown so accustomed to the manner of speaking here that he now sounds foreign. “My name is Dr. Loudin.”
Berk is beside me. Rhen is here too. I did not see them walk up. My eyes were trained on the transport, on the Scientists. I know they are thinking what I am—the Scientists have come to take us, to annihilate us. I look at Berk—the muscles in his jaw are twitching. Rhen appears calm, but I know her mind is working, analyzing Dr. Loudin’s appearance, considering what options we have.
“Loudin.” Carey walks up to the Scientist. He is not smiling. “What is the meaning of this?”