The Visitation (16 page)

But I never again laid hands on anyone for healing at a Kenyon– Bannister meeting. No one ever said I shouldn’t, and I never heard anyone say they didn’t believe in my gift. We just didn’t talk about it. Without a word or a spoken agreement, we let the whole matter slip beneath the surface where it remained, right alongside the Question.

Karla still wears glasses to this day. Andy died from complications related to his diabetes in 1985.

I DID NOT ENJOY
such memories, but hey, I’d already been laboring over them for months, bearing the pain in an honest effort to sort them out. I didn’t ask for, nor did I need, old what’s-his-name stirring up the pile.

He had certainly managed to stir up the town. Although he had made no further appearances since the big Matt-and-Norman incident, folks kept right on believing and hanging onto their excitement. For Antioch, just the fact that people were excited was exciting. The media remained interested, but started dropping a few hints here and there: Competition for a slot on the evening news was fierce. Whoever this guy was, he would have to show up soon and do something worthy of television’s attention or the story would die.

Norman Dillard didn’t want that to happen. Neither did Matt Kiley, or Gary Fisk, who ran the Sundowner Motel on the other end of town. Jack McKinstry was hoping the flow of business through his grocery store would keep flowing, and Don Anderson had just stocked more cameras and camcorders in his appliance store.

As for the ministers in town, I think they were mainly concerned with helping the Ship of Church maintain an even keel.

Bob Fisher, the Baptist, was busy with the Fudd Revival, and that occupied his mind until it was over. Afterward, Bob kept his Bible open, admonished his congregation to do the same, and warned everyone not to stray from that which was written.

Burton Eddy, the Presbyterian, made a veiled reference to the situation in a sermon entitled “What Hath God Wrought,” in which he extolled God’s lofty and unsearchable ways, whatever we might conceive them to be.

The crowds at Our Lady’s spoke loudly enough for Father Vendetti. He had nothing to add, at least for the time being.

Sid Maher, the Lutheran, said absolutely nothing about it.

Morgan Elliott, the Methodist, stayed out of the discussion as well.

Paul Daley, Howard Munson, and Andy Barker could have been out of town for all the feedback we got from them.

Mostly, what Antioch got from its ministers was business as usual and apart from that, silence. I figured they were waiting to see what might develop before taking a position.

All except for Kyle, of course. He was still working on his position, but he kept nothing inside during the process: The sightings, the miracles, and the mysterious visitor were most likely the work of Satan, he said, and the folks in his church—the whole town, for that matter—needed to wake up.

As for me, I was hiding.

“TRAV,
I like how the house looks, just in case you wondered.”

Rene and I were in my kitchen. I was sitting in a chair with a sheet draped around my neck and shoulders, and she was behind me with her comb and scissors, attempting to make her brother look more presentable.

“Well, thank you,” I replied, and let it go at that. But I was glad she had noticed. I’d been putting things away a little at a time for the last several days and I was finally getting ahead of the mess.

“How long are you going to keep screening your calls?”

Sharp gal, as always. “How did you know I was screening my calls?”

“Because I got through but Kyle didn’t.”

I started to turn my head but thought better of it. She had the scissors. “Don’t tell me he called
you!”

“Simmer down. I didn’t mind.”

“So what did he have to say?”

She kept on combing and snipping as she talked. “Just wanted to tell me what was happening at the church.
Hold still!
Some of the people are really getting obsessed with the stuff going on in town. Dee Baylor’s got a regular cloud-watching detail organized, and they’re using the telephone prayer chain to keep everyone informed in case ‘Jesus’ shows up again. It’s kind of like a revival except it isn’t.”

“Rene,
I’m
not the pastor anymore. Is Kyle aware of that?”

She kept pushing it, and I kept still and listened. “Some of the people are cautious and wondering if it’s for real, and the rest of them—Kyle says about half—are siding with him. They think it’s demonic. So there’s a nice split developing.”

This time I did fidget. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

She sighed with frustration. “I know how you feel about all this, but just for the record, Kyle’s scared. He didn’t say he was, but I could tell.”

My throat tightened up—the first sign that my old stress was returning. “So what do you expect me to do?”

“Actually, I expect you to keep on hiding.”

I was about to defend myself when she added, “That’s what I’d do.”

My throat relaxed. It was comforting to hear her say that, and a little unexpected. “You would?”

“It’s church stuff, isn’t it?”

I sat still and let her continue cutting my hair. I had to think for a moment before remembering that, within days of her turning eighteen, she had moved out of the house and stayed away from church for years.

“Yeah,” I said at last. “It’s church stuff. You were never into that kind of thing very much, were you?”

“Sure I was, a long time ago. When I was little, growing up in church, I believed everything I heard, everything that happened.”

“But not anymore.”

Snip. Snip.
“I don’t have to.”

She came around the front to look at her work. “Okay, you’re done.” But then she put her hand on my shoulder. “Do you know what I mean by ‘stuff’?”

I nodded. “It’s becoming increasingly clear to me.”

She smiled. “That’s all it ever was. You know I never turned away from the Lord. It was just . . .” She shrugged. “All the
stuff.”

I nodded, then smiled as I realized how much I was finally beginning to understand her. “Kind of like having the same old conversation so many times you just don’t feel like having it again.”

She kissed my forehead and helped me get out of the sheet. I helped her sweep up.

WE USED TO HAVE
plenty of dull moments in Antioch. They would pass through town in close succession like box cars at a railroad crossing, each one displaced by the next, but all of them alike, their steady, monotonous pace never changing. Anymore, such dull moments were hard to find, thanks to our newest Visitor. He had a knack for spacing things precisely, keeping us all guessing, waiting until we were just about to have a tiny dull moment before throwing another firecracker into the hen house.

I’m certain he chose the time, place, and people for such events. Wednesday afternoon, he chose Mack’s Sooper Market, Jack McKinstry, and Dee Baylor.

Dee was grocery shopping, pushing her cart along, crossing items off her list, and considering what she would fix for dinner that night. These were routine tasks, but today she found them difficult. With every nerve energized with expectation and her eyes alert for any sign anywhere of
him
, it was hard to concentrate on calcium-enriched orange juice and coupons for a special on frozen peas.

When Dee rolled her cart up to Jack’s checkout, she paid little attention to the man in line ahead of her. Just a long-haired, hippie-looking guy. Humming quietly to herself, she began pawing through her cart and double-checking her shopping list.

And then a haunting suspicion crept into her mind, and she looked again.

The man was young, with a beard and black hair tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt. He had a dark complexion—he could have been Jewish. She stared, studying his face.

He was just paying for his groceries, counting out bills into Jack’s hand, when he glanced at her and smiled. “Hello, Dee.”

She lost all awareness that she was holding a can of beans and dropped it with a clatter into her cart. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. “Are—” She gasped. “Are you
him?”
All he did was look at her, and she began to tremble. “It
is
you!”

Jack saw her shaking and looking pale and obviously thought it might be something medical. “Mrs. Baylor? Are you all right?”

She pointed a finger at the man. “That’s, that’s
him!
He healed Norman Dillard’s eyes, and healed Matt Kiley so he could walk!” Jack eyed the man curiously.

The man just looked back and said with a casual shrug. “It was their faith that healed them. I just happened to be there.”

Dee let out a little shriek. “It
was
you!”

Now Jack’s eyes widened. “Was it? Was it you?” The man gave a little half-nod as if confessing. “Who are you?”

“I work for Ethyl Macon. I’m her new caretaker, handyman, cook, whatever. It’s a nice job.”

Dee approached him fearfully, as if drawing near to a god. “But who are you? Please tell me who you are!”

He looked deep into her eyes. “Those with open hearts and seeing eyes will know who I am, just as you do.” He gently touched her shoulder and she felt a tingle like electricity. “See that you tell Sunday, February 14, 2010

KAWUMP!
She hit the floor.

JACK SCURRIED
from behind the counter. “Mrs. Baylor! Mrs. Baylor!”

“I’ll call for help,” said the man, hurrying toward a pay phone by the front door.

“Use the phone by the cash register!” Jack shouted.

The man didn’t seem to hear him. No matter. Jack knelt by Dee and felt her pulse.

Other shoppers gathered. “Did you see that? All he did was touch her!” “Is she breathing?” “Get her a pillow, somebody!”

Someone handed Jack a bag of corn chips and he placed it under her head. The crackling of the chips seemed to bring her around. She began to mutter in another language.

Jack looked up, anxious.

There was no one at either telephone. The man was gone.

Jack grabbed the telephone by his cash register and dialed 911—not just for the EMTs, but for the police.

Mary Donovan happened into the store. She was Catholic, a good friend of Dee’s, and intervened immediately, kneeling and cradling Dee’s head in her hands. “It’s all right, everyone. She’s okay. She’s just slain in the Spirit. It’s a God thing.”

By the time Brett Henchle and Deputy Rod Stanton came storming into the store with the paramedics, Dee was sitting up and muttering like someone just returning from the threshold of heaven. “I saw him. He touched me, and I could feel his power . . . oh, you have no idea. . . .”

The paramedic checked her pulse.

“She’s okay,” Mary assured him. “It’s just a God thing.”

Brett nodded. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

“It was that guy!” said Jack. “The guy that healed Norman and Matt.”

That got Brett’s undivided attention. “Did he look like . . . ?”

Jack and Dee exchanged a quick look of agreement. Jack answered, “Sort of.”

Dee put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, it was him, it was him. Glory, glory, glory!”

“So everybody’s okay?” Brett asked, looking from one person to the next.

With help from Mary and the paramedic, Dee got to her feet.

Now her adrenaline was starting to rush. “He’s here, and now we know
where!”

“Where?” Brett demanded.

Jack answered, “He said he’s the new caretaker up at the Macon place.”

“The widow? Up there alone with that guy? Rod, get some statements. I’m going up to see the widow.”

“I’m going with you!” said Dee.

“No you’re not!” said Brett as he went out the door.

Dee and Mary looked at each other. “Oh yes we are!” they both said together.

MY ANSWERING MACHINE
went through its “leave a message” routine and then I heard Kyle’s voice. “Travis! If you’re there,
please
pick up the phone!” He kept talking a mile a minute, telling me all about the Sooper Market encounter. I listened, debating whether to pick up the phone until he said, “I’m going to follow Brett Henchle up there and see who in the world—”

I picked up the phone. “Kyle!”

“Travis! They’ve just seen the false christ at Mack’s—”

“I heard.”

“Already?”

“No, I heard you on the answering machine. Kyle, don’t go up there. Stay out of it.”

“He’s working for Mrs. Macon. Dee Baylor and Brett Henchle and some others are heading up there right now. I just saw Nancy Barrons drive by.”

“Oh brother . . .”

“Somebody needs to be there to confront—”

“NO! Don’t go up there.” Somehow, I had to keep from saying,
Kyle, I’m afraid you’re going to do something really stupid
. “Let Brett do his job and you stay out of it.”

“But Brett isn’t a Christian. He doesn’t have any spiritual discernment—” “Kyle! If you don’t want my advice, why did you call me?” He finally put the brakes on. “It’s going to be a circus up there and you don’t want to be a part of whatever stupid thing happens. And you don’t want to be part of a vigilante committee either.”

I could tell he didn’t like my terminology. “What do you mean, a vigilante committee?”

“A preacher and a cop, the church and state, on Mrs. Macon’s front porch! How’s that going to look, especially if Nancy puts a picture in the paper?”

“But we have to do something. We can’t just let—”

“Kyle, listen to me. This guy knows what he’s doing. That whole thing in the grocery store was planned. He knows who’s going up there to see him and he’s ready. It’s his game. Trust me.” Kyle hesitated, then asked curiously, “How do you know all that?”

All I told him was, “I’ve seen it before.”

IT WAS LIKE A MINIPARADE
on the open highway, a short little chain of cars moving together, up and down the gentle rises of prairie, never breaking formation. Brett was in the lead in his squad car, followed by Nancy Barrons in her Volvo. Behind Nancy was a Plymouth Voyager carrying Dee Baylor, Adrian Folsom, Blanche Davis, and Mary Donovan. A television crew from Spokane happened to be in town when the word got out, so they were bringing up the rear in their van with the big station logo on the side.