Dawn of a New Day (28 page)

“I'll do the best I can, Reverend,” Bobby said, looking around uneasily.

“You might not know some of these songs. Do you know anything besides rock and roll?”

“Oh yes, Reverend Pearl,” Prue said quickly. “Bobby grew up in church. He knows all the old songs. All the old Baptist songs, anyway.”

“Well, the Baptist songs are good. You can put a little pep in 'em.”

Bobby followed the diminutive woman to the front and sat down at the piano. Mark and Prue took their places in one of the hard, uncomfortable seats, and Prue whispered, “Have you ever been at a Pentecostal service?”

“Never have.”

“They're a little bit different from what you're used to, I think.”

“I've heard they climb over the benches to get at you and drag you down the aisles.”

“That's not true. Not of Reverend Pearl anyway. I heard someone say that once to her, and she said, ‘If a body ain't got the gumption to get out of a pew and walk twenty feet to the front of a church, then he ain't ready for God.'”

Mark grinned despite himself. “I think Bobby's pretty shook up over this. I talked to him while he was shaving and he said he nearly cut his throat.”

“He's very nervous talking about God. I think he's been running from the Lord most of his life.”

“Yes, I think you're right. He's talked to me a few times about it.”

“He has? I'm surprised.”

“It's kind of a strange thing,” Mark said quietly as the musicians were tuning up their guitars and Bobby was running his fingers over the keys in a quiet fashion. “Bobby puts up a hard front, and he's done a lot of things that aren't right, and the world has practically bowed at his feet, but underneath he's unhappy and very insecure.”

“I've noticed that about young girls who are very pretty. The beauty queens. You remember Maxine Baker? She became Miss Arkansas. When we were in high school she was the prettiest girl there, but she told me one time she never was satisfied with the way she looked.”

“I never knew that,” Mark muttered in surprise. “I wonder why that is?”

“I think anybody who trusts in their looks or their talents would never really know whether people liked them for themselves or for something else.”

Mark sat there listening to the congregation sing. Some of the songs were strange to him. One of them was called “The Royal Telephone” and urged people to call up God on the telephone. It struck him as humorous at first, but as the untrained voices of the congregation boomed out, he thought,
These people get some sort of blessing out of that. I guess it depends on how you grew up. They wouldn't get much out of a high church Episcopalian service, and I can't imagine what an Episcopalian would think of singing like this.

He could not see Bobby, of course, but he could hear the piano as it wove its way through the melodies. He remembered Bobby telling him he had played in church for years before he became a celebrity. Even now with the crudeness of the singing, there was some sort of magic in the way that Bobby Stuart managed to play the piano. He knew that Prue felt it too, for he felt her arm pressing against his, and once she whispered, “What a great gift Bobby has, and how much of it he's wasted.”

“How does Bobby look?” Mark inquired, having to lift his voice.

“He looks like he'd rather be anywhere in the world but here.”

Prue's words described Bobby very well. He sat bolt upright at the piano and had no trouble with the music. There was a genius in him for anything connected with singing or playing the piano, but as the old songs continued for over an hour, he found himself becoming more and more miserable. One of them, he remembered, was the first hymn he ever learned to play. It was “At the Cross,” and Reverend Pearl insisted on singing it again and again:

The words seemed to hammer into Bobby's head—
And now I'm happy all the day
. He was very much aware that throughout the years he had become more and more unhappy, and now the thought came to him,
Where did I lose it? Back when I was a kid I was happy. When I first started playing for the public I was happy, but I lost it somewhere along the way.

Reverend Pearl, at one point, called for those who were sick to come forward and be prayed for, and Bobby watched as several people came down. Reverend Pearl put her hands on their head or shoulders, whichever she could reach, and prayed at the top of her lungs, and he wondered if any of them actually were healed.

Finally the Reverend began preaching. She had a worn black Bible that she opened once at the beginning, and read a Scripture that Bobby did not remember ever hearing. She lifted the Bible up and held it, saying, “My text is taken this morning from the Gospel of John, chapter 12, verses 24 and 25. ‘Verily, Verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.'” She looked up then and said, “Let me preach at you about that verse. Every one of you here are farmers. Let me ask you. If you took a grain of corn and put it in a glass mason jar and put the lid on it, and set it up on the mantel, and you waited a year to go back, how many grains of corn would you see in that mason jar?”

Several loud voices called out, “Just one, preacher! Just one!”

“That's right! Amen! Just one! And why's that? Jesus said a grain of corn has got to die before it's any good to itself or to anybody else. Now, let me ask you. If you took that same grain of corn out, dug a hole in the good, black Arkansas earth, put it in there and covered it up, something would happen; what would it be?”

The congregation answered, “It would die! Amen! Glory to God it would die!”

“Amen! That's right!” Reverend Pearl said. “That grain of corn might have enjoyed bein' in that mason jar, but there'd never be but one grain there. Never two or three or a hundred. Imagine with me that grain of corn could talk settin' up there in that mason jar. You know what he'd say? Why, he'd say, ‘I reckon as grains of corn go, I'm about the top of the ladder. Look at how slick and pretty I am. I'm fat and healthy!' He'd feel mighty proud of himself. Matter of fact, you could take a bunch of grains—twenty, or thirty, or a hundred—and put them in a jar, and you could call it a church, but at the end of the year it would still be the same number because a corn of wheat has got to fall into the ground.”

She went on for some time speaking of the uselessness of life outside of God and then said, “Now, just play like that grain of corn could talk again. Grain of corn, aren't you tired of being all alone? Come on out, and let me show you how to amount to somethin'. And then that grain of corn, I'd take him out and put him in the ground, and I'd reckon he'd think after a while, ‘Well, it's all over. I feel myself dyin'. Sure wish I was back in that glass jar again.' Then all of a sudden when he's fallen all to pieces, he'd feel something between his shoulder blades. What is it? Why, it's a little root and it begins to go down, then he feels something else. It's a shoot. It begins to go up, and that root goes down, and that shoot goes up, and if you're standin' there watchin' you would see a tiny, green spear that would grow into a tall stalk of corn. And then you know what would happen…!”

“That's right, preacher. There would be nubbins, and then full ears of corn.” The congregation helped the Reverend along.

“That's right. So, Jesus says a corn of wheat has got to fall to the ground and die, and that's exactly what Jesus done. He died so that you and me, and that everybody could live.”

Suddenly she turned and looked right at Bobby Stuart, who was listening entranced. His heart seemed to pound hard as he looked into her eyes. “He that loveth his life,” Reverend Pearl said slowly, “
shall lose it
. A lot of people have lost their lives. They're in a little glass jar, and they look good, and smell good, and talk good, but they're dead. And until they fall into the ground and die to everything they got, they're going to be dead. But the rest of the verse says, ‘He that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.'”

Bobby felt his throat tighten as the small woman continued to preach, and finally she said, “Now, verse 26 tells us what will happen if anybody will give up on themselves and let God have his way. ‘If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will my Father honour.'”

Reverend Pearl closed her Bible and looked directly into Bobby's eyes again. “You've had the honor of the world,” she said, speaking as quietly as if they were alone, “and what has it brought you? Happiness, or joy, or peace? None of those. You been honored by the world, but God wants to honor you.” She stopped, and everyone in the congregation knew that there was something between these two—the gray-haired Pentecostal preacher lady and the idol of the rock world, Bobby Stuart. A silence seemed to fall over the entire building. Prue felt it, and so did Mark. They both almost held their breath. Mark was straining in the darkness to understand what was going on, and Prue had her eyes fixed on Bobby's pale face, which was twitching with emotion.

“The Lord's told me to have you, Bobby Stuart, sing ‘The Old Rugged Cross.'”

Bobby swallowed convulsively, and Prue thought he meant to refuse. But he ran his hands over the keys and the old familiar melody filled the church. He played the song through once, and then Reverend Pearl said, “The Lord says for you to sing the words, son. Sing them words loud and clear!”

Bobby Stuart had sung in arenas where thousands of people listened, but he never had a harder time singing a song in his life. He knew the words and began haltingly.

Bobby sang the first verse, then the second, but when he got to the chorus, suddenly his voice broke. Prue reached over and grabbed Mark's arm. “Something's happening to Bobby,” she whispered.

“What is it? What's going on?”

“God is convicting him.”

Bobby tried to sing another line, but suddenly his heart seemed to swell, and he thought of his parents in their years of prayer, and his brother who loved him dearly. He looked up and saw Prue, tears running down her face, and he began to weep. His shoulders shook, and he could not speak. He looked helplessly at Pearl, whom he expected to preach loudly at him. Instead she came over, put her arms around him, and sat down on the piano bench beside him. He looked at her through tear-filled eyes and saw a kindness and a goodness in her eyes that he had never recognized before. She spoke then, and her voice was gentle, and everyone in the congregation heard her say, “Jesus is waiting for you at the old rugged cross, Bobby. I'm going to pray for you, and you're going to die. But you're going to come alive again and know honor from God, and happiness, and joy.”

Bobby Stuart leaned forward, put his arms on the keys of the piano, and laid down his head. He heard the voice of Pearl Riverton praying, and soon he began to cry, “Oh, God, I can't stand it. Whatever I have to do, help me! Save me in Jesus' name….”

T
he conversion of Bobby Stuart sent shock waves not only throughout the small Ozark community but around the country and even into foreign lands. Reporters, as is the manner of the breed, came from the big cities demanding details and discounting most of what they heard.

Jake Taylor flew in mostly to visit with Mark, of whom he had become very fond, but he also congratulated Bobby, saying, “You're not going to make most hard-nosed reporters believe that you're really going to follow Jesus Christ. They don't want to hear that.”

Bobby grinned. “They'll just have to believe what they want to, but I know what's happened in my heart, Jake, and that's all I care about.”

After a week all the reporters had left, and the magazines and TV stations were printing and broadcasting stories about Bobby. The
National Enquirer
and others of its sort, of course, had a field day.

Prue was reading one such account to Mark as they sat on the front porch after supper. It was a rather cynical article suggesting that Bobby was trying to win back his public after his drug bust. Lowering the paper, Prue exclaimed in disgust, “Why do they have to say things like that?”

Mark sat silently listening to the crickets chirp for a moment, then he shrugged. “Most of them aren't believers, Prue. They don't believe the Bible, and they think most Christians are hypocrites—but I know something's different about Bobby.”

Prue smiled as she said, “All he wants to do is read the Bible and talk to Miss Pearl. He idolizes that woman now, I think. Well, that's the wrong word,
idolize
, but at least he has a world of confidence in her.”

“I know,” Mark said. “It took a miracle of God to bring Bobby back from where he was. I think he's going to be all right now. I don't know what will happen to his career, and I don't think he cares a bit.”

“He doesn't seem to. He won't even talk about a performance.”

“Strange how it all happened, isn't it? Of all the places for a public celebrity like Bobby to get saved, a Pentecostal church would be about the last place you'd think it would happen.”

“God's ways are not our ways, Mark.” She sat quietly for a moment, and the two enjoyed the evening breeze. A black-and-white cat emerged just then from his hunting trip in the barn. They had called him Conan the Barbarian because he seemed to be so wild and strong. Now he came and jumped up into Mark's lap and curled up. Mark flinched, but then he laughed and began to stroke the silky black fur. “Well, Conan. Did you have a mouse for supper tonight?”

“That cat really loves you, doesn't he?”

“Yes, he does. I've always been a dog man. Didn't think cats had much personality, but this one does. Don't you, Conan?”

The cat looked up sleepily, yawned hugely, exposing sharp white fangs, then closed his eyes and put his chin down on Mark's leg. He began to purr, a small miniature motor going inside his chest, and Mark laughed. “It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it? Just a mouse and a little petting every now and then.”

They sat on the porch until Bobby came home. As he got out of the van, they noticed he was carrying a Bible in his hand.

Sitting down, he said, “You two waitin' up for me? Afraid I'd go down to the pool hall and be led astray?”

“That's it,” Mark said. “Where have you been? With Miss Pearl?”

“Yep! She's been trying to teach me something about Revelation.” Bobby shook his head ruefully. “If I get a dog, I'm going to name him Revelation because I never understood dogs, and I don't think I'll ever understand this book.” He continued to speak with excitement about what he had learned and finally said, “Well, I don't understand about all those beasts with seven horns and things like that, but I understand the last part of it. Jesus is gonna rule over the whole shootin' match. Why, he could come back any day. Did you know that?”

“That's what I've heard,” Prue said slyly, squeezing Mark's arm.

“Well, that would suit me fine,” Bobby said. He sat there for a while and then looked over at Mark and spoke in a voice filled with excitement. “You know, Mark. I've always heard that God healed people, and I've been reading about this blind man. If Jesus healed back in those days, he could do it again. I think we ought to ask God to heal your eyesight.”

Mark sat absolutely still. He knew that Prue and his family had refrained from saying too much about the hope of his being healed, of his sight coming back, but coming from Bobby this was quite a shock. He could not answer for a time, and at last he got up and left, saying, “I think I'll lie down and listen to music for a while.”

After the screen door slammed and they heard his bedroom door close, Bobby turned to Prue, a worried expression on his face. “I guess I hurt his feelings, but I didn't mean to.”

“It's all right, Bobby. I'm glad you spoke up like you did. It means a lot coming from you.”

Bobby Stuart leaned back on the cane-bottom rocker and began to rock slowly. “I reckon it is kind of odd, isn't it? I've been away from God so long doing everything in the world. I worried about that, you know. All the stuff I did, drugs and women.”

“You mustn't do that, Bobby.”

“That's what Reverend Pearl says. She said when I gave my heart to Jesus he took all my sins, dumped them in the sea, and then put out a sign that said, ‘No fishin', devil.'”

“She has a way of saying things, doesn't she?” Prue smiled.

“Sure does. You know, I'll never forget that morning in church at the piano with Miss Pearl praying for me. A few times the devil's come to me and told me I don't know what I'm doin', and sometimes I don't feel saved, but I go back to that little church, and I go in and point to that bench and say, right there's where it happened. I guess I may have to do that for a long time. I've got a lot to make up for.”

Prue was touched by his openness. He was so different! There had always been a streak of arrogance in Bobby Stuart, naturally enough, for he had received the adulation of the world. But now there was a new spirit in him, and if Prudence Deforge needed any evidence of the reality of a conversion, she had it before her eyes.

“We do need to pray about Mark. He needs a miracle. A minor miracle, I guess, as far as God's concerned.”

Bobby smiled at her and stopped rocking. “All right. Let's just ask God right here to give that old boy his sight back. Those doctors don't know everything, but God does.”

Prue reached out, and the two held hands and prayed for Mark to receive his sight.

The next morning, after Bobby left for the daycare center, Prue washed the dishes, then went into Mark's room. He was listening to his tape player.

“Mark,” she said abruptly, “I've got to talk to you.”

Mark shut the music off and said, “What is it, Prue?”

Prue went over and sat down and put her hands on his shoulders. “I love you,” she said simply, “but I'm not ever going to marry a man who is filled with doubts. You have to learn to believe God.”

Mark stood up and turned to face her. “What are you talking about?” he said, his voice uncertain. His face was twisted with confusion, and he said, “What's all this talk about marriage?”

“We're going to get married someday. God's told me this a long time ago.”

“He didn't say anything to me about it!”

“I think he did, but you haven't been listening. You know, Mark, I think back to the days when we were growing up and I was so tall and skinny. No more figure than a rake handle, and you were the star quarterback and the most popular boy in school. But I knew even then that somehow you would be my husband.”

“Prue, I can't—” Mark's face was contorted. He said, “You can't marry a blind man.”

“Do you love me, Mark? That's all that matters.”

Mark suddenly felt a release of his spirit. He reached out and pulled her up toward him. She came to him, pressing herself against him, putting her arms around his neck. Her lips beneath his were soft and yielding, and yet at the same time demanding. As he held her, savoring the wild sweetness of her kiss, old memories arose, and at the same time hungers came of a man for a woman. He clung to her, as a drowning man might cling to a spar, for he had been lonely and lost, and now he realized with a shock that Prudence Deforge was the one stable element in his life. He lifted his head and said, “You can't marry a blind man and wait on him for the rest of his life.”

“I love
you
—not your eyesight,” Prue said quietly. “And besides, you've just seen a miracle. Bobby getting saved. I'm not sure I always hear God right. As a matter of fact, I know I don't, but somehow I just know in my spirit that God is going to do a miracle. That you will see again. Can you believe that, Mark?”

Mark reached up and stroked her hair. It was fragrant, and he remembered how black it was and longed to see it again. “I guess it's hard for me to believe much of anything since Vietnam, but Bobby is a miracle. You're right about that. I guess if God can save him from what he was, he can cause me to see again.”

She kissed him and clung to him, and pressing her face against his, she whispered huskily, “We'll see God do a mighty work. I don't know when, but it will happen.”

A strange peace fell over Mark Stevens. Ever since he and Prue had expressed their love for one another, there was a richness and a quietness in his life such as he had never known. He still could not see, but now she would come to him, kissing him and whispering of love, and that sank into his spirit in a soothing fashion, and he found himself coming to life again. It was as if in Vietnam he had died with the rest of his squad—except that he kept on walking, and talking. And now at night the dreams of his lost squad members did not come anymore. He remembered them, and now for the first time was able to dictate letters to Prue, to the families of the men that he had been bonded with in the struggle in the jungles. As he dictated the letters they came alive for him, and Prue whispered, “These are fine, Mark. They'll mean so much to the families of your friends.”

Two weeks came and passed. June arrived, and heavy rains began to fall. Mark still could not see, but there was a steady confidence in him, and he and Prue talked about their future as if he could see.

“When will we get married?” he asked her once as they walked through the woods. It had begun to drizzle that day again, and he could hear the creek as it roared along its bank.

“Any time you say, Mark.”

He held her hand, squeezed it, and then turned and held his head to one side. “The creek is out of its banks, isn't it?”

“Yes, and Buffalo River is higher than it's ever been.”

As they walked on, talking about the floods that had ravaged Arkansas, Missouri, and parts of Tennessee, Mark said, “I always loved the rain. I like to just hear it on the roof or be out in it. It doesn't matter if it gets me soaking wet.”

“I guess you like that movie
Singing in the Rain
so much because of that one number where Gene Kelly dances in the rain.”

“You're right,” he said. “I've watched it over and over again just to see that scene.”

The rains continued for several days, and on a Wednesday afternoon it appeared to clear off. “Let's go for a walk. I want to see how high the creek is,” Mark said.

“All right,” Prue responded.

The two left the house and laughed as their feet squelched in the mud making sucking sounds. “Going to ruin our shoes,” Mark said cheerfully.

“They'll clean up. Smell that freshness. Rain always does that, doesn't it?”

When they reached the creek, Mark said, “It's way out of its banks. I can hear it.”

“Yes, it is. If it gets much higher it's going to get into the Jemsons' house.” The Jemsons were a large family that lived down the creek about half a mile. They walked along the banks, and Mark held tightly to Prue's arm. Once he said, “I don't mind holding onto you and trusting myself to you. Until I can see again, it's good to have a good guide.”