Margaret's Ark (6 page)

Thankfully, her request for forty eight-by-four foot sheets of plywood, along with two-by-two and four-by-two beams of low-grade oak, was taken graciously. She then explained that she would need the wood delivered. Her heart skipped a beat, dreading what was coming next, but the man simply smiled and told her to give all the delivery details to the cashier at the lumber desk. He led her to a large square counter in the center of the store, behind which two clerks rang up orders for other customers. Contractors most likely, stocking up for the next Big Project. She supposed what she was doing was not much different. That’s what she told herself as she waited her turn.

The wait was shorter than she would have liked. The customer in front of her moved aside, leaving a shopping cart's width for Margaret to roll toward the smiling young girl behind the counter.

“Do you have a lumber order? Otherwise you'll need to check those items - oh, thanks.” She took the form Margaret proffered. It took a few minutes for the hand-written manifest to get into the computer. All the while Margaret's heart beat furiously. What was she nervous about? What would anyone care
what
she was going to do with the wood?

Because, eventually, everyone would know. And Margaret didn't think they would like her too much when that happened.

“OK. There. Now, can I have your name?”

“Margaret Carboneau.” She spelled her last name.

“How are you going to pay for this?”

She held out the Discover Card.
It's the end of the world, but why not get cash back?
she thought without humor.

“Address?”

Margaret gave the address. Beat-beat went her heart.

“And you want delivery to this address?”

The girl was already typing when Margaret whispered, “No. Not there.”

“Oh.” Backspace a few times. “Sorry. Where would you like it delivered?”

“The Lavish town square.” When offered a blank look, Margaret added, “The grassy area in front of the fire department. Between Center and Cambridge Streets. I’ll be there when they come and can point out the exact location.”

Another pause, then a wide smile. It looked forced, but the girl said, “Great! What are they going to build?”

Margaret's mind whirled. What to say?
Tell her an ark
, she thought,
and say goodbye to the order. No, definitely don't tell her. Yes, tell her
. Margaret smiled sheepishly as her cheeks burned. “To be honest, I'm really not sure. But it's supposed to be ready by early June.” Then Margaret actually laughed. A nervous laugh, to be sure, but the girl behind the counter smiled and typed in the delivery instructions. Something began happening to her expression. The cashier typed slower at first, then stopped. When she looked up, the smile had faded.

“Early June?” She looked sideways, as if doing some mental calculation. Margaret felt tiny balls of sweat running from her armpits. The girl added, “You don't know what they're going to build?” Her eyes bore into Margaret, as if begging for a straight answer.

The look wasn't accusing. It was something else - enough to make Margaret say, “Yes, I do know, but please,” a quick glance around the store (
please let her know what that means
), “don't ask me. Not now. Please.”

The young woman's face went pale, but she completed the order.

Margaret looked at her nametag. All it said was “Holly”. The name filled her with an unease she didn't understand. Margaret needed twenty-seven people, not counting her own family. Was this how missionaries felt when they arrived in the darkest corners of the world?

Holly fumbled her way through the rest of the order, including the supplies in the cart - all of which were barcode scanned with shaking hands. She looked more relaxed as the credit card reader screeched and whined and the slip printed out.

Margaret signed it, paying no attention to the sale total. What did it matter at this point, except to threaten her credit limit? The girl behind the counter said, almost as reflex, “They should deliver the lumber tomorrow, sometime between eight and noon. I'm sorry I can't be more specific.”

The girl’s nervousness had the inverse affect on Margaret. She felt a sudden calm as she aimed the shopping cart towards the front of the store. She hesitated, then whispered, “There's room for you. Please, come join me. I could use the help.”

Holly grew more pale and actually
swayed
for a moment. She muttered something Margaret didn't catch, something about clay, then looked away.

Margaret left, not wanting to seem pushy. As she worked her way outside and searched for her car, the scene played itself over. The girl hadn't laughed, nor made her feel like a nut. On the contrary, Margaret couldn't help but think she believed in what she’d been told, or
not
told in this particular case.

This small belief filled her with... comfort? Maybe a simple hope that she might not end up alone in all of this. She wondered if she'd see this girl named Holly again. If not at the store when she returned, then maybe on the town common.

Maybe.

You're insane
.

Maybe
.

*     *     *

Boston’s Faneuil Hall marketplace swam before him as Jack stood on the sidewalk and spoke the Lord's words. Most people kept a safe distance, eating their sandwiches and talking amongst themselves.

“Mothers will cling to their babies and howl for mercy. One will scream ‘Take me but spare my child’.  She will watch her innocent one disappear under the waves. In weakness and despair, she will know the ultimate horror, then fall herself into suffocating darkness.”

The words were not his own. Perhaps he knew them once, when he lived a normal life and his brain worked as it should, but not now. Jack moved awkwardly in a small circle atop a short, two-foot wall. God's power surged through him as he preached. He fed off this power, needing nothing but the blessed manna from heaven – on the power of His words. Words which Jack spewed forth to those feigning disinterest in what he said.

He stumbled. “I will...” The world swayed again. He saw the sky.
No!
Seeing the sky meant he was falling. He couldn't fall. Time was short. He jerked his head down, saw the ground moving. He thrust out one long skinny leg and caught himself.

Had someone giggled? No matter. He was still standing, could still
proclaim
. Only
that
mattered. Sweat trickled down his back under the multiple layers of clothes. It had been warm today. Others around him still wore their winter coats but unzipped, fluttering in the breeze. Summer weather would come early this year. Spring would never come again.

“I will stand here when the deluge comes. God has lavished such gifts upon the Earth, and all - “

“Jack.” An arm on his shoulder. Jack pulled away.

“- you people have done is fattened yourselves on his graces. Now -”

“Jack!”

The arm spun him around. He almost fell off the wall again, half-expecting to see the angel Michael standing before him. He didn’t. The man was shorter than Jack, but wore the dark blue jacket and cap of the Boston Police Department.

“Good morning, Officer. Please, I'm in the middle of my sermon.”

Mitch Leary shook his head. “Jack, I've asked you a half-dozen times to stay away from here.”

“God has asked me - “

“God's not responsible for keeping scary people away from the lunch crowd. Now come on.” He pulled the preacher off the wall and onto the sidewalk. Jack resisted and tried to regain his footing.

“You don’t understand. We're running out of time.”

“
You're
going to jail, Preacher.”

Jack froze.
Jail
. No, he had a duty.

Officer Leary saw the look on the preacher's face and sighed. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, he led him away from the crowd. They stopped at a round ticket kiosk, still closed on weekdays this early in the tourist season.

“Listen, buddy, I don't want you in jail. But if you don't knock this off, especially in such a public place, I'm going to have to take you in.” He stopped and eyed him warily. “Unless, that's what you're shooting for. Free meals and all.”

Jack felt his face flush. Already he felt time slipping away and this man thought he was doing it for charity? He tried to hide his anger, but the policeman saw it nonetheless. Leary raised a hand defensively.

“All right. I apologize. You're on a mission from God, right?”

“That's correct.”

Leary whispered, “Stay away from Fanueil Hall, that's all. There are plenty of other places. Try the Wharf over there.” He gestured past the twin rows of buildings that made up the marketplace. Jack knew he was implying Long Wharf on the other side of Atlantic Avenue. A long brick-lined park running along the inner reaches of Boston Harbor.

He whispered, “But they already kicked me out of there.
You'll
kick me out of there, too. I have to preach, and you can't lock me up. We only have a short time left.”

“When was the last time you ate, Jack?”

The change in subject made him pause a moment. “Ate? I don't know. This morning, I think.”

“What'd you eat?”

“I don't remember. I think someone gave me part of a muffin.”

“Part of a muffin,” the policeman muttered. “Here, take this.” He shoved something into Jack's hand and folded his hand closed over it. When the preacher tried to see what it was, Leary squeezed his fingers.

“Don't look, just take it and buy yourself something decent to eat. Maybe get a toothbrush. There's also a slip with the address of a shelter just around the corner. They can get you cleaned up. Just don’t buy any booze with it.”

Jack straightened. “I don't drink. I promise you that.” Already he felt an excitement at the prospect of finding the shelter again. God had provided. Had it really been just around the corner all this time?

Leary smiled. “Good. That's good.” He looked down for a minute, and whispered, “God's good that way, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing. I've seen a lot of people in trouble, and they come out of it when they -” he made the two fingers of each hand into quotation marks - “find God.” He laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and led him along the outskirts of the marketplace, towards the waterfront. “Whatever it takes, right?”

“It's the only way.” Jack’s own voice sounded foreign to him. He was seeing something special in this officer, something long buried, and had the urge to begin preaching. Never mind the threat of jail. He was a messenger of God.

But he didn't preach. A quick peek in his hand revealed a ten-dollar bill. Ten dollars would buy a nice meal, maybe two if he found someplace cheap. His stomach turned in anticipation. This felt wrong. He shouldn't be eating, except what God granted he should have. But here he was, walking the length of the market with a man who could easily arrest him but instead was talking of God and giving him money for food.

For whoever does right by my brethren so he does to me
. Something like that. The officer was talking, but Jack couldn't hear. He was too hungry.

They walked along the sidewalk skirting the traffic moving on Atlantic Avenue and underground into the expressway tunnel. Across the way the waterfront park was nearly deserted. Though April promised warmer days ahead, the constant breeze off the inlet made staying for any length of time daunting.

Not for Jack. Once again he found himself led to this place. This time he felt God's hand at work. He would not be relocated again.

“Promise me you'll eat something with that? Maybe over there?”

Jack turned around. Officer Leary had stopped ten paces ago and was pointing to the Blue Gull diner across from the Marriott hotel. Jack squeezed the bill tightly in his hands and smiled.

“Yes, sir, Officer. I promise. God bless you!”

“I hope so,” he said and turned away. Jack felt the world tipping again, and the policeman was lost in a swirling haze. If he didn't eat soon he might pass out. He held his fist to his mouth and whispered, “Thy will be done.” 

He opened his hand, and stared with a growing joy at the rumpled ten- dollar bill. The wind caught it, and it fluttered away. For the briefest of moments, Jack watched it sail off, as if seeing it only in his mind like a sad memory. Then he realized what was happening and stumbled forward. In his peripheral vision, the city moved above and around him. The bill fluttered off the sidewalk, across the street. He couldn't lose sight of it, lest it blow into some rich man's overstuffed wallet.

At that moment, God opened one of the seven seals. A trumpet sounded throughout the heavens. A blaring klaxon promising death and redemption. A long, drawn out wail....

Jack never looked up. As he reached for the bill, something slammed into him, a building maybe, falling on top of him.
It’s happening again
, he thought, then shouted at the sudden pain and memory--turned, tumbled, felt every stone and piece of gravel from the road against him. His arm screamed in agony.

He lay in an unconscious heap in the middle of the road. The taxi backed up, its driver weighing his options of driving off, then the clicking of the gear going into park. The cab door opened. Jack heard these sounds from deep within the hole into which his senses had fallen.

*     *     *

An unnatural quiet permeated the air in Saint Mary’s rectory. It always had. During the funeral, Margaret marveled at how peaceful she felt sitting in the priest's home. As if some invisible barrier had been laid across the house, emanating from the equally-serene church next door. Unlike the more popular, flat-roofed, stucco homes in town, the rectory was a large Victorian, built by the diocese in the mid-twentieth century when the Catholic population had grown too large to be handled with one church for every three or four towns. Saint Mary’s was located on the western edge of town, the church itself an unassuming box with a short steeple. The rectory, housing Father Mayhew and - during the week days - his secretarial assistant, overshadowed the church in architecture and charm.