Part 17 (1/2)
All this time, the widow Macon had been standing on the steps leading from the garage into the house, decked out in a blue denim western outfit with white fringe, silver b.u.t.tons, and fancy white cowboy boots. Her arms remained folded and her face serene as she regarded each visitor taking a seat in her garage. As the last visitors still trickled in from the pasture, she crossed the garage and stood in front of the workbench, her hands clasped in front of her, and gave us all a greeting. ”This is the day which the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”
Someone in the group let out a cowboy whoop.
She reminded everyone about the No Cameras rule, added a No Smoking rule, and then told the story of how Brandon Nichols first came to the ranch. It wasn't much of a story. He came to her door delivering four sacks of groceries and needing a job. She recognized a prophet of the Lord and hired him.
”But even now,” she giggled, ”it's not for me to say who he really is and where he is really from. I leave that up to you, just as he does. Brandon?”
The crowd broke into applause as the door to the house opened and a young man made his entrance, smiling, nodding at the crowd, shaking the hands that reached out. Kyle and Bob shot a glance at each other. This was their first sight of him. He was dressed in modern clothes-a white, long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt and white cotton trousers- but the resemblance to the traditional Jesus was striking. Kyle reached into his jacket and started the tiny tape recorder.
Nichols leaned against the workbench, looking relaxed, and scanned the crowd. Then he spoke clearly, informally. ”I'd like to thank you all for coming and tell you from the outset that we tend to be a little unconventional up here. Jesus was unconventional for his times-or if you will, I was unconventional-” Several in the crowd laughed while several, including Kyle and Bob, cringed. ”But whatever your religious background or belief system, don't worry, there's something here for each of you-”
He suddenly stopped, his eyes on a woman in the front row. ”Pardon me, uh, Dorothy, is it? Your friends call you Dotty.”
Dorothy was one of the well-to-do folks from the motor homes. She nodded while her husband and some friends looked her way, obviously impressed that Brandon Nichols knew her name.
Nichols reached out and took her hand. ”No more arthritis, Dotty. You've had enough.”
She lurched, cried out, shook a bit, and began flexing her hands, astounded and then ecstatic. She leaped to her feet, faced the crowd, opening and closing her hands rapidly for everyone to see. Nichols had to raise his voice to be heard over the excited clamor. ”If I were G.o.d, I'd do something about the pain in the world. I have the power, right? Why shouldn't I use it?”
He casually reached out and touched a long-haired young man who had come in a beat-up van. The young man immediately jumped up and screamed with joy and amazement, touching his ears.
”How's that?” Nichols asked.
”I can hear! I can hear everything!” His girlfriend jumped up and they embraced. The young man wept, then looked around the garage and outside as if seeing a whole new world. ”I can hear the birds! I can hear the wind!”
Nichols had to shout now. The crowd was really stirring. ”If G.o.d is truly visiting you, then he should be willing to prove it. I have no problem with that.”
He gave his right hand a little twirl and suddenly, as if by sleight of hand, he produced a small loaf of bread and offered it to a little girl on the end of the second row. ”Hungry?”
She took it and bit into it.
”What do you say?” asked her mother.
”Thank you.”
He smiled at her as another loaf appeared in his hand, then another, then another. He tossed them into the crowd as hands went up to catch them. ”Why do you worry about tomorrow, what you shall wear and what you shall eat, when you know that your G.o.d cares for you?”
”Let's see what's up your sleeves,” a man wisecracked.
Nichols took it in stride. ”Not today,” he said, and then winked.
”Hm,” said Kyle.
Nichols motioned for quiet and the crowd settled into their seats, wound up like springs.
”Don't forget me!” a woman in the back shouted.
”Alice!” said Nichols as if seeing an old friend after many years. ”Bad hip, right? Don't worry, we'll get to it.”
Kyle looked over his shoulder and saw Alice squeal, her hands over her mouth.
”This is incredible,” said Bob.
”Really incredible,” Kyle replied. He didn't know what to expect when he arrived, but it certainly wasn't anything as direct and intense as this.
”When Jesus came to earth the first time,” said Nichols, ”he went about doing good. Well, why not now? And I'm not just talking about myself. I'm talking about all of us. You may define me any way you wish. Maybe I'm Jesus. Maybe I'm the reincarnation of Jesus. Maybe I'm only a channel of his power.
”It doesn't matter. However I become Jesus for you, you have to be Jesus to others and the time to start is right now!”
”Oh praise the Lord!” a woman burst out. Kyle didn't have to look to know it was Dee Baylor, but when he did look, he saw not only Dee but her two friends, Adrian and Blanche. His hands were clenching into fists now and his stomach was in a tight knot.
Bob must have noticed. He leaned over and said, ”Take it easy.
Just pray.”
”We have to come against this and bind it!” Kyle hissed.
”Let's get out of here alive first,” Bob replied, and Kyle could see the fear in his eyes.
Bonnie Adams reached out to him and he touched her, apparently giving her the jolt she desired. She flopped back in her chair, trembling.
Paul Daley and Al Vendetti were sitting together toward the back, both wearing their black suit jackets and clerical collars, and both spellbound, their mouths agape, their eyes intense. Paul Daley had his hand over his heart. Al Vendetti was tightly clutching the jeweled cross hanging from his neck. Behind them, Armond Harrison was actually smiling and nodding in glad approval- until he saw Kyle. Then he gave Kyle a warning with his eyes: Watch yourself, bub.
Kyle couldn't alter the unkind facial expression he sent back. He was too upset, his heart pounding, his stomach churning, his hands shaking. ”Antichrist,” he whispered. ”The spirit of Antichrist!”
”We can provide for those in need,” said Nichols, producing several more loaves of bread out of thin air and tossing them to waiting hands. One flew Kyle's direction and he caught it for inspection. ”Listen, G.o.d cares about your homes, your businesses, your health. He can bring new life to this community if you're willing to get on board. Wouldn't it be wonderful if people wanted to visit Antioch because here, more than any place else in the world, they could feel loved, welcome, and healed?”
Norman Dillard and Matt Kiley were grinning now, and Norman gave Nichols a thumbs-up.
Kyle examined the little loaf of bread. It was like a small sourdough roll. Nothing strange or unusual about it. He pa.s.sed it along to someone else, not wanting to keep it, much less eat it.
Suddenly Nichols looked grim and pointed. ”Sir, pardon me, no cameras.”
Every eye turned toward a skinny, cowpokish fellow in jeans and work s.h.i.+rt standing in the back, a small camera to his eye.
”Nevin, really!” the widow scolded.
Nichols found a reason to look away as Nevin hurriedly snapped two pictures. Then Matt, Norman, and Michael grabbed him. He tried to get loose. They tried to grab his camera. It turned into a disturbing scuffle. The joy of the gathering chilled like a campfire doused with water.
”He's not Brandon Nichols!” Nevin yelled, trying to keep an iron grip on the camera while Matt and Norman almost carried him by the arms to remove him. ”He's not!”
”Lean forward,” Kyle whispered to Bob.
”Huh?”
”Scratch your head or something.”