Leaving Fishers (8 page)

“Why?” Angela asked.

“Because there are so many bad things in the world. Think about people dying of AIDS, or cancer, or starving to death in Africa. If God’s really in charge, and He’s supposed to be a good guy, how come there’s so much suffering?”

Everyone was silent. Dorry waited for Pastor Jim to answer from the back of the crowd where he was lounging. She was curious what he’d say. But the next voice wasn’t Pastor Jim’s resonant one.

“It’s because of free choice,” Zachary said. His voice was thin and reedy, but echoed in the huge lodge. “You know, after Eve ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, God gave humans the power to make choices in their lives. It naturally follows that if some of our choices are bad, bad things happen.” He shrugged, as if it were just an academic point.

“So if bad things happen to you, it’s your fault?” Moira said. She was sitting up straight now. “My little brother got leukemia, and was on chemotherapy for a long time and then . . . then he died anyway. What did a six-year-old do that
he deserved to die?” She ended with a whimper that was almost crying.

Because he was right behind her, Dorry heard Zachary’s answer: “No, I don’t mean it was your brother’s fault. Maybe it was the fault of everybody else, society as a whole, that we haven’t worked hard enough to find a cure for cancer. Why do we spend so much on, I don’t know, sports, when the same money could save a lot of lives?”

Dorry had never thought of things that way. She wondered if Zachary was right. But she didn’t think many others heard him because Angela was speaking, her voice ringing clearly through the lodge.

“We all deserve to die,” she said. “The Bible says, ‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ Even six-year-olds. Even newborn babies, because of original sin. It’s the grace of God that saves us from eternal death, eternal separation from God.”

Now Moira really was crying. “So God
did
kill my brother.”

“No,” Angela said, more gently. “Death happens because of evil. God offers us a way out of evil, a chance to live with Him forever without sin. All we must do is accept Jesus’ gift of salvation.”

The lodge was quiet again, except for Moira’s
sobs. Dorry looked around. The others all sat frozen, looking uncomfortable. Dorry thought everyone must be feeling the same as she was: embarrassed at witnessing Moira’s grief, not sure what to do. She wished there were something she could say to help.

And then, suddenly, Moira’s sobs ceased. “I feel—I see it—Oh my God!” She breathed in sharply.

“What? What?” several kids said at once.

Moira didn’t answer. Her face had gone very pale. Her dark eyes were unfocused, as if she were gazing far beyond the crowd and the lodge. She inhaled again, but slowly and steadily this time, ending with a beatific smile. Her eyes slid closed and she dropped her head as if in a trance. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes again. “Yes,” she breathed, still smiling peacefully. Her eyes were focused now, but she seemed oblivious to everyone’s stares.

“What happened?” Angela said.

“I think I saw . . . I saw God,” Moira said calmly. “He spoke to me. He said . . . I can’t really explain. It wasn’t like words.”

“But what did it feel like?” Angela persisted.

“Love,” Moira said. “He told me He loves me.”

Dorry couldn’t believe her eyes. How could someone go from crying that hard to being totally
calm so suddenly? For Moira seemed absolutely at peace. A nuclear bomb could land at her feet, Dorry thought, and she’d go to her death still smiling that tranquil smile.

But just as abruptly as she’d changed before, Moira suddenly gasped, her smile gone. She held her hand over her face. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh, no. He can’t love me—”

“What are you talking about?” Angela asked.

“In the hospital—when my brother was dying—” Moira spoke in spurts, barely coherent. “I ran out of his room—I yelled at God—‘I hate you! I hate you!’ It was sin, the worst sin of all—”

“Moira, Moira.” Pastor Jim spoke from the back of the room, his voice resounding with empathy. “Don’t you know that when you accept Jesus, all your sins are washed clean? Then you are clean enough to live with God forever, to be worthy of His love. Is that what you want, to accept Jesus’ sacrifice and be saved for all eternity?”

“Oh, yes,” Moira breathed. “I want to be saved.”

And then her smile was back. Angela walked over and gave her a deep embrace. Pastor Jim followed, and then others were lining up, hugging her and murmuring congratulations.

Dorry hung back, not sure if she should hug
Moira or not. Nothing like this had ever happened at Bryden Methodist. She looked around, and several other kids looked uncertain, too. That made her feel a bond with them. Dorry could never have told anyone else exactly what she’d witnessed. She could picture Marissa saying, “This girl did
what
?” But everyone around her had seen it, too.

The hugging ended, and everyone began singing. Moira sat there the rest of the night looking absolutely joyful. Dorry kept sneaking wondering glances at her.
Had
she seen God? What had it been like?

Chapter

Eight

IT WAS 3:30
A.M.
BEFORE EVERYONE BEGAN heading for bed.

Brushing her teeth in the communal bathroom, Dorry whispered with some of the other girls about Moira’s conversion.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Dorry said.

“It was like a movie,” one of the others, Janelle, said, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste. “Except she wasn’t acting.”

“Have any of you ever felt that close to God?” Angela asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

“I have,” Angela said.

And if Dorry had envied Angela before because she was rich and pretty and good friends with Brad, she wondered now if maybe there wasn’t more to it. If she wanted Angela’s confidence and self-possession, maybe she also had to have Angela’s God.

“How—” someone started to ask.

Angela brushed her hair in long, flowing strokes. “Just turn your life over to God. He’ll reward you abundantly.”

“That’s too simple,” someone protested. “Sure, it’s easy to say, but—”

“And it’s easy to do,” Angela said firmly. “You must turn over everything to God, wholeheartedly.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and began gathering up her toothbrush, toothpaste, washcloth, and towel. She walked toward the door then, hand on the knob, turned around. “Pray about it tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

After Angela left, Dorry waited for someone to start making fun of her. She had sounded so sincere. If this had been a group of kids back in Bryden, people wouldn’t have even waited for her to go before they began laughing. But nobody was laughing now.

“See you tomorrow,” Janelle said, following Angela out the door.

“You too,” the others muttered, subdued.

Dorry wasn’t sure if she was just tired or still awed, but she seemed to notice everything with heightened senses: the row of faces reflected in the mirror, the smell of skin cream, the hum of the lights overhead. Even her toothpaste tasted different. Had witnessing Moira’s transformation somehow changed Dorry, too? Did she want it to? She finished brushing her teeth and left, too. She was sharing a room with Angela, and she didn’t
want to bother Angela if she was already in bed.

But Angela was kneeling beside her bed, hands folded, head bowed, eyes closed, lips moving. With her hair cascading over her shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned portrait of a little girl saying bedtime prayers. Dorry wasn’t sure what to do. Was it rude to walk in on someone’s prayers? Should she wait in the hall until Angela was done? Or should she just climb into bed and pretend she hadn’t noticed? But surely it would be rude not to say good night.

Dorry cleared her throat. Angela didn’t look up. Dorry watched, curious now about prayer. Angela’s face was solemn as she spoke silently. Then her mouth was still and she seemed to be listening to an answer. She kept her head bowed and eyes closed. Then she smiled and began praying again. Dorry wished she knew how to read lips. After a few minutes, she tiptoed to her bed and climbed in. She was asleep before Angela finished her prayer.

In the morning Dorry was awakened by someone with a wonderful voice singing, “Morning Has Broken” in the hallway. Her watch said it was only 7:30, and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. But when she looked over at Angela’s bed she saw that Angela was already up and gone. Something like guilt drove her to stumble
out of bed and to the bathroom. Angela was there, rubbing a towel on her wet hair.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“Mmm,” Dorry answered groggily. “Do we
have
to get up now?”

“Of course not,” Angela said. “But you don’t want to miss breakfast or any of the fun, do you?”

She looked so concerned—so potentially disappointed—that Dorry mumbled “No” and went to get her shower things.

Saturday passed much as Friday afternoon and evening had, with games and laughter and food, and discussions of God cropping up at every turn. Dorry had tuned out most of the religious talk at other Fishers events, but now she was fascinated by every mention. The whole group played kickball on a huge field by the lodge, and Brad accused the boy serving as ref of “legalism” when he called him out.

“Do you think we’re saved by works instead of grace?” Brad said. “Are you trying to earn your salvation by being the perfect ref?”

“No. But don’t you believe in confessing your sins? Just admit you’re out, and I won’t have to judge you,” the other boy said.

“Okay,” Brad said. “You’re absolutely right. I will be meek about it.” He raised his face to the
sky and shouted, “Hear that, God? Doesn’t that mean I get to inherit the earth?”

Dorry wasn’t sure exactly what they meant, but for the first time in her life, she began to see how religion might relate to everything. It wasn’t just something that belonged in church, something you mumbled about for an hour on Sunday morning (maybe), and then forgot about the rest of the week. She was so busy thinking about that notion that she missed the ball when it came zooming right toward her in left field. She braced herself for the inevitable, “Idiot!”—or worse—someone was sure to yell at her, the way people had in every other game of kickball she’d ever played. But nobody screamed. Instead, Moira, who was pitching, shrugged and smiled sympathetically, and Angela ran over and patted her on the back.

“Better luck next time,” she said encouragingly.

Dorry thought what a wonderful place the world would be if everyone were a Fisher, if everyone lived by the words in the Bible.

By nightfall, Dorry had practically forgotten there was a world outside the retreat. She felt as though she’d known the other kids forever. They had their own inside jokes, even their own pet names. People had begun calling Dorry “Chocolate,” or just “Choc,” because when Pastor Jim
had asked them to imagine heaven and hell at lunchtime, she’d said, “I guess there’d be a lot of chocolate in heaven, and none in hell.” It’d gotten a good laugh, a friendly laugh.

After dinner, everyone gathered by the fireplace again. But tonight, Pastor Jim strode to the front right away and leaned against the wood mantel. “You like each other, don’t you?” he began.

The group laughed. Brad pointed at Angela and joked, “Everyone but her!” She threw a pillow at him.

Pastor Jim let the hilarity die down. “The reason I ask is because if you are to become Fishers, to devote your life to God, you must also devote yourself to your brothers and sisters in Christ. They are to be everything to you; your counselors, your confidantes, your forgiveness, your friends. You must trust them absolutely, with your life.”

Dorry wanted to stop him and protest, “Wait a minute. I never said I wanted to become a Fisher.” But maybe she did. Did she? She didn’t speak. Everyone else sat silent, too, waiting.

“There’s a game we play—it’s more than a game, really, almost a test.” Pastor Jim pointed into the crowd, moving his hand slowly in a circle. Dorry felt a thrill of fear when he pointed to her, but he kept going. At last he stopped,
pointing directly at Moira. “Moira,” he said in a low, confidential tone. Dorry had to lean in to hear. “We witnessed the birth of your faith in God last night. Do you also have faith in your fellow Fishers?”