Part 49 (1/2)
”Is this where you see the Virgin in the Clouds?” the older man asked.
Dee felt her heart soar. The Lord had brought these seekers to her. The miracle would return and she would guide them. ”This is the place. If you have faith and a willing heart, G.o.d will speak to you.”
The young man checked the sky and smirked. ”There aren't any clouds.”
”There will be.”
”We don't have time for this!” said the older lady.
”What about the trees in the park?” asked the young lady. ”Somebody saw Jesus and Mary there yesterday.”
”Let's go!” said the older man.
Dee called after them, ”But this is the place!”
”You can have it!” the young man mocked.
And just that quick, they were gone.
Dee's heart sank, but she remained there, sitting on the hood of her car. The clouds would return. She had faith.
”HOW MUCH do we really know about this guy?” asked Richard, the real estate broker from Wisconsin.
”Everything we need to know,” replied Andy Parmenter, the retired California executive. ”He's a messenger of G.o.d-”
”No, no, now come on, that's a cop-out and you know it!” said Weaver, the CPA from Chicago.
”There's something he's not telling!” warned Richard.
”Like everything, maybe?” said Weaver.
They were gathered around the front of Andy Parmenter's big motor home, all three of them in sour moods they'd been working on for days.
”It hit me this morning,” said Real Estate Richard. ”Here we are in this RV park with-what?-three hundred other people?”
”Four hundred, I think,” Weaver the CPA offered.
”I'm still waiting to have my water turned on, I'm smelling the sewage from sixty other vehicles in my row that isn't going anywhere, it's just sitting in the sewer lines-”
”The whole system's backed up.”
”And we've got kids crying and couples fighting and radios blaring while I'm trying to sleep-”
”And who's that loud-mouthed prophet lady over in Row Four?” ”Which one, Moses' sister, Miriam, or Isaac's wife, Rebecca?”
”She doesn't know when to shut up, does she? Who's listening to her?”
”Your point, Richard!” Andy demanded. ”Get to your point!” Richard leaned forward and gestured like an angry Italian. ”My point is, this morning it hit me: I am not better off than I was back in Wisconsin. Back there I had a house and a job and people who looked up to me. I didn't like it, it didn't feel like it was about anything, but-” He looked around the RV park hastily laid out on George Harding's property. ”What's so great about this? I may as well be back in Wisconsin!”
Andy shook his head impatiently. ”Richard, you have to be willing to sacrifice.”
”What sacrifice? I didn't come here to sacrifice! I came here because you told me Nichols could produce.”
”He can't produce!” said Weaver.
”Wait a minute, Weaver!” said Andy. ”He healed your bald spot, didn't he?”
”My bald spot? My bald spot? Winnie and I came all the way out here and she still has her hay fever and she still bugs the heck out of me and now my motor home's in mud up to the axles! And you want me to be happy about a freakin' bald spot?”
”So leave!” Andy snapped.
”Uh-uh!” said Richard. ”I'm coming to my point here: You're the one who talked us into this!”
”I sold my house, remember?” said Weaver, who started poking Andy in the chest. ”You told me to sell my house, so now I'm sitting in the mud with that stupid motor home in a wheat field with a wife I can't stand who has hay fever!”
Andy grabbed the poking finger and pushed it away. ”Don't touch me again, Weaver!”
”Why? You gonna do something about it?” This time Weaver shoved him.
Andy outweighed him. His shove put Weaver on his back in the stubble. Richard got into the fight, then Weaver again. Andy's neighbor sided with Andy and threw his weight into it. Weaver resorted to straw and mud, Richard to lots of high kicking, Andy to more shoving and a little biting.
A bigger crowd would have gathered to watch, but theirs was not the only fight worth watching. Over on Row Four, Dorothy who once had arthritis and Alice who once had a bad hip were in the middle of a face-scratching, hair-pulling catfight over whose grandkid broke out a window, and Row Two had two fights involving six people and plenty of black, sticky mud to make it interesting.
”AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Brandon Nichols growled as Michael came in the back door to the house dripping wet. Nichols was standing on a chair while Melody Blair worked hurriedly, pinning the hem of his new white robe.
”I'm afraid I've taken a swim.”
Nichols's fiery eyes glared at him through his disheveled hair. ”You went swimming when I need you?” He snapped at Melody, ”Are you through?”
”Just a few more pins and-”
”The people need some enlightenment! They need their eyes opened! Who put their bodies together? Who put bread in their stomachs and hope in their hearts? TELL ME!”
Michael jumped a little at Nichols's outburst but answered loyally, ”You did, my Lord! You and only you!”
Nichols gave a slight nod of approval though the anger did not leave his face. ”Then we'll have to go over it again for the sake of those who've forgotten! Did you hear there's another messiah in town? There's somebody else telling people he's the christ! In my town!”
Michael was quite dismayed. ”How can this be, when you are the Christ?”
Nichols glared at nothing, half in a world of his own. ”Sally Fordyce is a poison to us. She's lying. We'll have to take care of that. And Mrs. Macon . . .” He cursed. ”I fault myself for hiring Gildy Holliday.” Nervously, he swept his hair from his face with his fingers. ”We've got a lot to do and not a lot of time. Michael, who is the Christ?”
”You are, my Lord.”
”Who, Michael? Who is the Christ?”
”You and only you.”
Nichols leaned, pointing his finger, his eyes like cold, white marbles. ”WHO IS THE CHRIST, MICHAEL?”
Michael shouted back, ”You are!”