The Messenger (10 page)

Clarice felt the coming of unspoken wisdom, a gift of insight beyond herself. She glanced at Ariel and let herself be guided into saying, “My name is Clarice, and this is my friend Ariel. She needs praying over.”

Both the janitor and Ariel looked up at her. But it was the old man who spoke. “That a fact?”

“Yes,” Clarice replied. “She has fallen from heaven and wants to return to God's sweet embrace.”

The old man looked at Ariel. “That true, what she's saying?”

“Yes,” Ariel said, her eyes big as saucers. “Yes, it is.”

“Well, ain't a soul on earth who hasn't stumbled and fallen at one time or another. Happens to the strongest believer.” The janitor set his mop back in the bucket, turned his full attention on Ariel. “What's important now is that the erring child wants to be reconciled. Returned to the fold and joined again with the Maker of all.”

“Oh yes,” Ariel said. Stronger now. “I want that more than anything.”

“I hear the truth in your voice,” the janitor said, and wiped his hands on his trouser legs. “Wait here just one minute, let me see if they're ready to help another.”

When the janitor had shuffled off, Ariel walked over and grasped Clarice's hand. “Do you really think it will work?”

“Ask and you shall receive,” Clarice repeated. “My whole life has been built upon the truth in those words.”

****

The janitor came back with one of the biggest men Clarice had ever seen. “Which one of you sisters is Ariel?”

“I am.” Her voice was soft, yet strong as the wind.

“I'm John Roskovitz. He shook hands with her, then with Clarice. His eyes were bright as midnight lanterns. “Got to tell you, the Spirit's strong in there. Strong.”

“That's just exactly what we need,” Clarice replied for them both.

“Never can tell who God is gonna use,” John said, ushering them down the hall. “Might even be you or me, we let Him have His way.”

They entered the room to find a group of smiling people clustered around one young man, whose face was suffused with newfound wonder. Clarice felt Ariel start at the sight of him. The young man glanced over, jerked just as Ariel had, and exclaimed, “I don't believe this.”

“Better stop with that right smart,” the janitor said, shuffling in and seating himself. “Belief is something you can't have enough of.”

“It
is
you,” Ariel said.

“Bet your life,” the young man said. He reached into a hidden pocket of his vest, came out with a shining silver card. “This yours?”

“Oh yes.” Staring at it, at him, then to Clarice, wonder filling her features. “But how—”

“Don't ask. You do
not
want to know.” He walked over and placed the card in her numb fingers. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I gotta thank you. If it wasn't for you, I don't know where I'd be right now, but it sure wouldn't be here.”

Ariel gazed at the card in her hand, said quietly, “Thank God.”

The guy grinned. “I just did.”

“Enough of this chatter,” the janitor said from his seat. “We're keeping the Spirit waiting.”

“Right.” John Roskovitz turned to the group. “We've had a special request for prayers from Ariel here. Seeing as how we're all charged up, I thought maybe we should just go ahead now.” He turned to her and asked, “You ready?”

“I . . .” Ariel stopped, slid the card into her pocket, said, “Yes.”

“Great.” The big man clapped his hands. “Okay, places everybody. Join hands, brothers and sisters, and let the Spirit move as it will.”

“We thank you for the victory, Father,” John intoned. Words seldom came easy to him, except in those prayers when he felt the Spirit's guidance. And never before had it been as strong as now. Never. “When we are weak, you are there for us, strong for us, there to see us through.”

The murmuring around the circle was an unbroken refrain. He felt the Spirit rise within him, growing in power and focus until it lifted from his heart to his throat and into his mouth. And his words became not just his own, but more.

“Saints and angels gather nigh,” he prayed, and the vista behind his closed eyelids became brilliant with a light from beyond. “Love of God, rich and pure, fill us now. Bring us home, Lord. Bring us home.”

The words were spoken by a human voice, yet joined by a chorus of song and light and power. His eyes still closed, he felt as though the chamber had suddenly grown so crowded with unseen hosts that there was scarcely room left to draw breath.

Yet breathe he did, and with the air drew in a power so overwhelming that he felt lifted beyond the room. Beyond the world. “Saints and angels gather nigh,” he intoned once more, the words carrying a shimmering brilliance he both felt and saw with his outpouring heart. “Love of God, rich and pure, fill us now. Bring us home, Lord. Bring us home.”

He opened his eyes to find all others raising their heads, drawn back by the chiming of a distant silver bell.

Ariel had clearly heard it too. For when she rose to her feet, her eyes shone with the same illumination that filled the room. “I have to go,” she said, her voice singing with unmistakable joy. “It is time.”

She looked from one face to the other. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all.”

The room watched her cross to where Manny sat, reached in her pocket, and came out with the slender card. “I want you to have this.”

He drew back in genuine fear. “Not me. Not ever.”

“Go ahead,” she urged. “It's been changed. It's yours now. No one will ever try to take it from you.”

Hesitantly Manny reached out, took it, looked with widening eyes as he held it up. The card was now perfectly clear, save for silver letters scrolled across the surface. Manny read quietly, “Jude 20 and 21. ‘Dear friends, build yourselves up in your most holy faith, and pray in the Holy Spirit. Keep yourselves in God's love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.'”

As Ariel walked toward the door, Clarice asked, “But what about you?”

“Oh, I don't need the card anymore. I've learned the lesson now. The way to heaven is paved with prayer.” She looked down at Clarice, her smile as soft and pure as faith. “Thanks to you, my newfound teacher and friend.”

Clarice raised one hand, half in farewell, half in entreaty for her to stay. “I will miss you, Ariel.”

Ariel grasped the hand with both of hers and replied, “Not for long.”

DAVIS BUNN, a professional novelist for over twenty years, is the author of numerous national bestsellers with sales totaling more than six million copies. His work has been published in sixteen languages, and his critical acclaim includes three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction. Formerly an international business executive working in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, Bunn is now a lecturer in creative writing and Writer in Residence at Regent's Park College, Oxford University. He and his wife, Isabella, divide their time between the English countryside and the coast of Florida.

Books by

Davis Bunn

The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter

Lion of Babylon
Rare Earth
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep

A
CTS OF
F
AITH
*
The Centurion's Wife   •   The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way

S
ONG OF
A
CADIA
*
The Meeting Place   •   The Sacred Shore
The Birthright   •   The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land

H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
†
The Solitary Envoy   •   The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive   •   The Night Angel
Falconer's Quest

*with Janette Oke     †with Isabella Bunn