Brother Word (28 page)

“So, all you’re wanting is one paragraph?” Travis asked.

Chance nodded. “A statement of mine that’s copied verbatim and left completely unedited when it goes to print. I take it that you . . . do . . . know how to
copy
words verbatim, don’t you, Travis?”

Travis coughed again before nodding.

Chance briefly glanced at Lynn, then took a deep breath. “Good. Well, here’s my statement: I believe in God’s power to heal using ordinary human hands because I’ve seen it happen many times . . . right under my own two hands. There’s nothing fake about it—it’s just the power of Almighty God flowing through the faith of His children. You can’t manipulate, control, or direct this power any more than you can manipulate the wind. Because this
is
wind—a wind of the Holy Spirit sweeping through the hearts and souls of Christians praying to see God’s power made manifest to this generation. To the believers, I want to encourage you to keep praying and keep speaking words of healing everywhere you go. Signs and wonders shall follow them that
believe
. When you do this, it won’t matter what the world says about you. It will be as Jesus Himself said in Matthew 11:5—‘
The blind see and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them
.’ ”

Travis set his pen down. “Is . . . is that it? Is that your statement?”

Chance nodded. “It’s not even two hundred words, so it’s certainly short enough for your article.”

“Matthew 11:5, huh?” Travis asked, scribbling something else in his reporter’s notebook. “That’s from the Bible, right?”

“The Word, yes.”

Travis’s hand paused atop the notebook. “The Word?”

“I call it the Word of God, you call it the Bible. It’s the same book.”

Travis scratched at a spot behind his ear, still visibly shaken from Chance’s knowing about his plagiarized article. “Do you quote a lot of things from the Bi—from the Word, I mean?”

Chance shrugged. “It’s not like I know it from cover to cover, but I try to learn as much as possible. I guess I’m just another brother who’s trying to get direction from the Word.”

“Sort of like . . . a . . . like Mr. Word, hmm? No, how’s this for a name—Brother Word?” said Travis.

“That’s a better name for him than you claiming he was calling himself Jesus Christ,” Lynn cut in.

Travis coughed again.

“I’d have to agree with Lynn on that one,” Chance said. “So, this story is going to be in Thursday’s edition of the
State
?” he asked.

“Y-yes.”

“Where? On the front page?”

Travis hesitated. “I-I think so.” He took a quick glance at his watch. “I should be going . . . you know, if I want to finish this and send it back to Columbia.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Everett,” Chance said, a slight gleam in his eye. “It was a pleasure speaking with you.”

As soon as Travis had left, Lynn stood from her chair and walked over to Chance. “Well, that was incredible! Brother Word, huh? I like it! Fits a man like you perfectly.”

“It was like God . . . was giving me the words to say. All I had to do was open my mouth.”

“And that’s when you know that it’s the Lord’s will—that it’s what He wants to say. Still, how can you be so sure Travis is going to include it, unedited, in his article?”

“Because it’s the Lord’s will, right? Besides, a little . . . gnat told me he would.”

“A
gnat
?”

Chance shrugged, shook his head, and stared out the window. “It’s a long story.”

Chapter Fifty

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY,
Dr. Peterson released Chance from the hospital. The swollen knot atop Chance’s head would hurt for a few more days; likewise, the gunshot wounds in his shoulder and lower back would take time to heal completely, but his overall prognosis was encouraging.

“Just take it easy for a few days, then we’ll get you doing some light physical therapy for two months, and you’ll be as good as new,” the doctor announced as he signed off on Chance’s four prescriptions.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Chance replied, glancing at Lynn. She stood by the door, waiting with a wheelchair that he realized, all too late, was for
him
.

“Wait a minute, Doc,” he began, protesting. “I can walk. I’m walking out of here on my own two feet.”

“Not while you’re still in my care, you won’t,” Dr. Peterson replied, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard. “This hospital can’t risk a lawsuit if you were to fall down while walking out of here.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Lynn piped up. “I’ll even push you. Probably the only chance I’ll ever have to
push
you around, anyway.”

Dr. Peterson handed Lynn the prescriptions, then turned back to Chance. “I trust you’ll follow my instructions and take care of yourself. To have experienced what you have in the past four days and emerge as strong as you are—I consider you highly fortunate.”

“I consider him highly
blessed
,” Lynn spoke up, wheeling the chair to his bed. “He’s Brother Word, you know.”

Chance swallowed his pride and took a seat in the wheelchair. With a final handshake from Dr. Peterson, they wheeled out of the room and down the hallway.

“Your flight back to South Carolina is today, right?”

Lynn nodded. “Tonight, actually. I leave at seven-thirty.”

“Probably have a lot of work waiting for you at home, huh?”

“Not
work
—I think of it more as a labor of love. Pastor Gentry tells me the phones are ringing off the hook. And it’s not just churches calling to ask our outreach team to conduct healing services—several nursing homes and hospitals have been calling, too. We’re breaking through cultural, religious, and societal boundaries with the power of God’s love—which is exactly what we’ve been called to do.

“And you played a role in this move of God, Chance. I’d like for you to come back, when you get stronger.”

“Come
back
?”

“Yes, come back. Alright, so maybe your experience there wasn’t as great as it could’ve been—”

“You don’t say . . .”

Lynn playfully shoved the wheelchair in response to his remark. “But think about all that can be done,
now
. You seem to have gotten Travis Everett’s wild reporting antics under control, and our outreach team would be
so
inspired if you shared with them some experiences from your ministry. We’re having special healing services at Faith Community now every Sunday night—people are flying in from all over the country and the testimonies of God’s power are drawing people by the hundreds.”

They were at Lynn’s rental car now, and he stood and helped her first fold, then break down the wheelchair.

“Are you hungry?” Lynn asked, once she was behind the wheel. “I know that hospital food was absolutely delicious, but maybe you’d like to show me where the good Cajun restaurants are. This is my first time in Louisiana.”

“Well, the best Cajun joints are in New Orleans, but I know somewhere we can get a good meal.”

“IT’S CALLED A PO’ BOY,
” Chance explained, watching Lynn’s reaction as she took a bite of the shrimp sandwich. He’d taken her to Kelly’s Po Boy, a popular restaurant on Milam Street in Shreveport. A tiny stream of mayonnaise dribbled down Lynn’s chin and she quickly wiped it away with her napkin.

“I’m making such a mess,” she said, laughing. “But this is delicious—I’ve never had one of these before. Why is it called a po’ boy?”

“It’s short for poor boy. These used to be the cheapest way to get a solid meal. But the kicker is the bread—you’ve got to have that New Orleans French bread with the crunchy crust and light center.”

“I’ll remember that.” She took another bite of the sandwich, smiling again when more mayonnaise dribbled down her chin.

Chance had been suppressing the fact that Lynn physically resembled Nina, but watching how she now politely dabbed her mouth with her napkin in the
same way
that Nina did was a new shock to his senses.

“Is my messy eating just too much for you?” Lynn asked, sensing his discomfort.

Chance shook his head. “No. It’s not that at all. Nina used to do the same thing . . . I didn’t realize how much you . . . how much she . . .” He fiddled with the straw in his soda. “You think you’re going to be with one person for the rest of your life. I mean, I know how the divorce rates are climbing each year, but Nina and I . . . we were gonna be together forever.”

“Chance . . .”

“Hmm?”

“I want to say this right, but forgive me if I don’t. If you and I are still keeping in contact five years from now, will anything have changed? I don’t mean to take away anything from the love you have for Nina, but . . .” She left the question dangling.

“You’re asking if I’m ever going to be able to move on?”

Lynn nodded.

“I’d like to think that I would. If it had been me instead of her . . . I’d want her to continue living her life. I’d want the rest of her life to be
happy
.”

“What would it take to make
you
happy, Chance?”

“I don’t know,” he replied after a short pause.

“Love? A family? Money? Come on, there must be
something
that could make you happy.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been one to want a lot out of life. That’s why what I had was so perfect—a wife, a house, land . . .” He looked at Lynn with a rueful expression. “I sometimes think I should’ve been born in the 1800s, because that was all a man needed then—a family and a place to hang his hat.”

“Do you ever think that you could love again? Couldn’t God give you someone else to share life’s experiences with?”

“I haven’t asked Him for someone else.” He fingered his straw again, concentrating his attention on his glass to avoid Lynn’s gaze. “Love is . . . an interesting thing. I can’t imagine loving someone the way I loved Nina.”

“Nina will always be special to you, Chance. No one will ever deny you that.” She half shrugged. “Maybe I’m not understanding because I’ve never really had a strong love like that.”

Chance saw a way to shift the conversation. “No boyfriends? No fiancés? Surely a life’s calling to the gospel ministry isn’t the same as a nun taking a vow of chastity.”

“No, it certainly is not,” she replied, laughing. “I’ve dated a few guys, but no serious suitors. The brothers I dated were all nice, but nobody was particularly interested about doing the work of ministry, even though they were Christians. I guess that was sort of a turnoff for me.”

“Well, I’m sure God has somebody out there for you.”

“Preaching to the choir, Chance. Yes, that’s right.” She finished her po’ boy and looked at her watch. “Guess we should be going, huh? I want to get you back home, and maybe get some rest myself before going to the airport.”

Chance looked at his watch, too. “I think we have time to make one quick stop before you take me home. Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, I’m getting kind of used to this chauffeur job.”

OAK GROVE CEMETERY
was located near the town of Simsboro, a few miles west of Ruston on Highway 80. Chance could sense Lynn’s hesitance as she pulled the car up to the front gate.

“I’m not going to be long,” Chance began. “I haven’t been by in two years, and—”

“I understand, Chance,” Lynn cut in, resting her hand atop his. “No explanations needed.”

“Would you mind walking with me? It would help having someone . . . having
you
. . . walk with me.”

“Sure.”

The weather was pleasant, in the low eighties with a slight breeze, as they navigated carefully around the headstones. Chance led the way, limping slightly as he walked.

“If you get too tired, just let me know,” Lynn offered. “You can lean on my shoulder. Remember what Dr. Peterson said about resting for a few weeks—I don’t want you hurting yourself on the same day as your hospital release.”

“I’ll let you know,” Chance answered, his mind someplace else. The day of Nina’s funeral two years ago had been bitterly cold and rainy. The inclement weather had been no match for the brewing storm between Jucinda and Chance, however. She had argued against him even showing up at the funeral, since in her mind he was squarely to blame for Nina’s death. At the gravesite, he had sat as far from Jucinda as he could in the first row, although it was impossible to avoid the dagger-like glances she frequently shot at him. One week after her funeral, his exile from Ruston had begun with him taking the Greyhound bus to Vicksburg.

“Her grave is over there,” he now said, stepping around one final tombstone and pointing to a red sandstone marble marker with an ornate flower design etched along the corners.

Nina Reneé Howard,
the tombstone read.
You brought joy to all who knew you. Yours is a beautiful life that will be missed.

“It’s a beautiful stone and inscription,” Lynn said.

“It was what Jucinda wanted on it. I wanted to place my own special message on it, but she was having no part of that.”

“What would you have written on it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Chance knelt down, eye level with the marker.
“An angel from heaven, now returned home,”
he whispered. He knelt there for a while, not even noticing Lynn silently retreat to give him some privacy.

The memories of Nina flooded his mind. Staying up every single night in Washington, D.C., that senior year Spring Break, excitedly discovering how much they had in common. Showing up with Nina at the senior prom, experiencing the unique pride of having the most beautiful girl in the room at your side. Going to the secluded brook behind his property for sunrise picnics and romantic skinny-dips. The rhapsodic sensation of making love to a wife as attuned to his needs as he was to hers. The way her belief in divine healing had forever changed his life. She had been his best friend, his lover, his soul mate, and his life partner. Only she’d left his life much too soon . . .

“Hey, baby,” he said, gently caressing the headstone with his fingertips. “I’ve been wanting to come back here so much, but I guess you know how crazy it’s been. I’ve tried to help your mother understand how . . . but I give up. I finally realize that I can’t help her. Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about her.”