Part 13 (1/2)

”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 pa.s.s 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 s.p.a.cing 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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. ”h.e.l.lo, 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 G.o.d. ”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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sured him. ”It's just a G.o.d 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.