Mammoth Secrets (26 page)

Next week, he'd talk to Raymond about teaching Marilee a contemporary song, or two. Next week. That was presuming they wouldn't boot him out by then. Jake gripped the podium.

Imposter. Deceiver. Liar.

Time for truth telling. Again. Jake closed his eyes a moment while he finished singing along with the congregation.
Lord, help me share Your word. Help them hear what each needs to hear this morning.
He prayed, sermon notes thick in his hand. Then he stood up to begin. Jake inhaled deep, soul tingling with the presence of the Holy Spirit as he quoted Acts 13: 38-39. “All of you, my fellow Israelites are to know for sure that it is through Jesus that the message about forgiveness of sins is preached to you; you are to know that everyone who believes in him is set free from all the sins from which the Law of Moses could not set you free.” He closed the book. “All of you. To know—for sure. Not just some of us. But everyone. Everyone who believes will be free from all of the sins. All. Every single one.”

Jake took his time to tick through the list of impossible laws as he traveled across the stage, away from the podium: The proper number of knots on a robe; the right prayers to say before eating; how or what to eat for that matter. This always was a good one, to share the differences between Old Testament rules and New Testament freedom in Christ.

Nods. They were nodding. They weren't taking him out to the proverbial stockade. For the first time since he arrived in Mammoth, Jake inhaled the sweet vapor of their approval. At last, could this really be his church?

“Baptism is the time for renewal—a new member of the flock, showing their faith and trust at being dunked by their pastor.”

Chuckles.

Keep them with me, Lord...

“It's a renewed pledge for all of us who witness. We're re-baptized, just by being there. Watching, lending a hand, or a towel. This Wednesday, come back out at sundown, and let's show our support for our brothers and sisters who are ready to announce their new-found faith.”

 

~*~

 

Jake's voice boomed in the small building about his baptism plans.

Sandwiched between Eden and Papaw, Lilah's heart was full for his profound words, and the willing ears of the faithful as he preached.

“Someone has a good case of revival fever,” Eden's whisper tickled her ear.

“Stop it.” Lilah brushed at her hair and shot a glare to her twin. “He'll settle down.”

“Just trying to impress his new girlfriend, maybe?”

“Shhh!” Nana glared at them from the other side of Papaw, then returned her gaze to Jake, at the podium.

Eden shot a grin. “Our Nana's supplying her own brimstone this sermon.”

Burying laughter, Lilah focused hard on the offering envelopes until it subsided. Across the aisle, Luke lasered his attention to the stage, ignoring them.

“I should have known to separate you.” Papaw leaned to whisper around Eden, a grin brightening his otherwise pale face. His hands reached out to clasp both of theirs. “You two girls always did get into trouble in church.”

“Sorry it took me so long to come back.” Lilah squeezed back.

His skin, cold, clammy.

“You're here now.” His gray eyes went sad, watery behind his freshly cleaned glasses. “That's what counts.”

“You OK, Papaw?” She rubbed heat into his palm.

“Juss let me rest a spell.” Papaw's head sagged forward.

Fear welled in her breast.

Around them, the music started again, the church rose to sing in one voice.

Lilah frantically tried to wake him, to no avail.

“What's wrong?”

“He's collapsed!” Her gaze met Eden's, fast with worry. “Call an ambulance.”

 

 

 

 

36

 

Lilah traced the hospital wallpaper design with her fingertip. Loops and whorls, over, up, down, back again. She relived the church scene.

Papaw was teasing them, right before the sudden pallor that swept over his skin.

Luke was at his side almost before she realized what happened, inspecting airway and pulse, calling for the ambulance that took them away.

Everyone sorry. Everyone praying. So many concerned folks touching, hugging, reaching that she had to race outside to even breathe.

Somehow, she'd driven herself and Eden, while Nana rode in the ambulance. Now, here in the long hallway with whispering nurses and doctors with soulful eyes, she waited, tracing the bumpy pattern in a vicious, tangled circle.

Through the propped open door Papaw's breathing apparatus clicked, hummed, and whooshed air into her grandfather's lungs. His chest rose and fell in forced, awkward motions. Robotic. Unnatural. She brushed past memories of him dozing in his chair, the river running out the window.

This is no way for him to go, Lord...Not here, not now.

A tear leaked down her cheek, followed by another.

“Hey.” Jake walked down the corridor from the nurses' ward, fingers quick-combing his shaggy, red-gold hair.

Lilah hurried to meet him, falling into his ready embrace.

“How is he?” He breathed into her ear.

She couldn't speak around the knot, just shook her head.

He cocked his head, “Want to go in with me?”

“No. That's OK. Now that you're here, I'll go get coffee for everyone.”

There were hushed greetings with Nana and Eden as he entered the room. A nurse buzzed past Lilah on her way to the cafeteria. Garish lights, plastic-wrapped sandwiches, burnt coffee.

For hours Papaw was poked, prodded, carted here and there for tests, his body frail, thin, fragile. Hanging on to this world by a thread. And, to what end? For what purpose?

She prepared a tray, busying herself with the mundane process of caring for others, as Papaw had taught her an age ago. Her mind's eye swept to those burnt orange booths, the Formica counters, Papaw's confident, competent hands teaching her how to cook. How to serve. How to greet folks. Coffee for four, creamers, sugars. Snapping lids atop the fourth cup, she blinked back tears. Papaw. When had he gotten old? How had she missed everything, following her own foolish aspirations?

She sagged into a chair at one of the empty tables, her clutched tray clattering to the surface. A cup bobbled, then righted itself as Lilah inhaled, exhaled in rapid streams, unable to catch her breath. Too much air. Too much breathing. The world tunneled, and, at its core, she saw her grandfather's handsome, lined face, concern darkening his gaze.

“Miss?” A voice called from beyond the darkness.

She blinked, looked up.

“Are you OK?” The weathered man from the carnival—the glassmaker—adjusted his dark green jacket over a bandaged, sling-cocked right arm.

“N-no.” Shaking her head, she at last admitted the truth. Her soul revealed. She wasn't OK. None of this was.

An unsettled look marred his rugged face. The carnival man turned to the row of coffee machines and condiments and left her side.

Her tears came hot, fast, and unstoppable. Memories, remembrances of childhood that she'd forgotten. Simple things. Little things. Learning to thread a hook. Practice a perfect cast. Train a hunting dog with nothing but a bunch of turkey feathers and a fly reel.

Papaw there, in the background, all the while.

But none more potent than the motorcycle pulling up in front of the house. Riding away, hands clamped around the waist of a stranger. Nana's disapproving gaze from the upstairs window. Papaw remained down, fishing at the river. Not even turning for a wave, or her pausing to say goodbye.

Sobs wracked her shoulders. Lilah's heart wrenched, her soul churned with an ache that couldn't be soothed. How could she apologize for shredding the fabric of someone's life?

“Breathe.”

A paper bag crinkled over nose, mouth, catching her off guard.

“In. Out. Slow. On purpose.” He directed with a shaking hand, replacing his hand with hers.

She held it in place and did as she was told. The air tasted of paper, warm, and something peppermint.

“Good.”

She concentrated on inhaling, exhaling. Coughed, but kept going. Time stood still until her mouth warmed, her breath intoxicated and slowed by the carbon monoxide, she removed the bag and wiped her face with a weary hand. “Thanks. It all just hit me. My grandfather's upstairs, they don't know if he's gonna make it. It's been a long day.”

He nodded, shifted in his seat, and hugged his bandaged arm closer.

“Everything OK?” They both glanced up as Jake joined them. Jake studied the two of them, the tray of coffee cups in between, and then made quick work of a napkin, mopping up the splash.

“Had herself a panic attack. Had myself a few over the years. Got her calmed down, I reckon.”

“Thanks for…”

“None needed.”

She flattened the rumpled paper bag. “I think I'm OK now.”

She stood, retrieved the coffee tray, an eye to Jake. “You coming?”

“Be right behind you.”

 

~*~

 

Jake watched her leave and slid a gaze to the bandaged arm. “That looks painful. What happened to you, friend?”

“Ah. Had worse.” Guthrie sighed, looked at his bandaged elbow. “Some workers didn't take kindly to the church taking over the carnival tent. I set ‘em straight, though. Doc said it'll be fine in a few days.”

“God doesn't need you fighting for Him, you know.”

He nodded. “Actually, it was for you. And the others. Good folks in this town. I used to live here, you know.”

Jake kicked back in his seat. “Is that right?”

“Grew up not too far away, down in Hardy.” Guthrie continued. “Declared my love to my girl on top of the carnival Ferris wheel.” His face brightened, the creases all but vanished. A much younger man hid there, beneath the weathered surface. Memory must have swirled Guthrie away, taken him back to that moment in time. Wherever he went, it was far from this bustling hospital cafeteria.

Jake glanced around and caught sight of a doctor he'd seen upstairs. Time to get back to his own girl. “That must have been something.” Jake smiled, tried to bring the man back to the present.

“Got myself saved with her at a tent much like yours that same year.” Guthrie's gaze lasered on his, all hint of smile lost to the solemn, brooding hood of his brow. As he spoke, the lines in the man's face seemed to deepen, a shroud of remorse wrapping around each word. “I done asked for forgiveness again and again. I've been baptized in the water, and in blood. But there's nothing that can save me from what I done.”

Silence brewed. The hairs at the back of Jake's neck soldiered to attention as he prayed for the right words. “Sounds like you've got a wrong idea about salvation.”

Bright overhead lights gleamed down on the polished table and glared off the metal spoons, as though it all shone dim through a filter of darkness.

Guthrie wadded up a napkin, stuffed it inside his cup, and stood. “Don't you go fretting over me, Pastor Jake. I'm happy to stand at the gate and watch the ones I love squeak through.”

Jake watched the carnival man in the army jacket push through the span of blue and white scrub suited doctors, nurses, and spattering of visiting families, the darkness following with each step. A shadow, disappearing around a dark corner then gone through the glass doors.

Lord, cover him. Help him see You through that dark cloud he's wrapped himself inside.

Upstairs, Lilah needed him. Nervous energy powered through Jake's blood as he took stairs to the fourth floor, turning quick by the nurses' station. Three blue-scrub-shirted nurses circled around a cake box and chatted. One glanced up.

“Pastor to the Dales.” Jake offered, huffing past at a trot, heading straight to the room across from the station.

“Go on in.” The blonde, spectacled nurse pointed to the open door. “Doctor's with them.”

Earl Dale was pale as the white sheets up to his chest. Wired and monitored, IV in his sun-blotched arm, pallor over the tan of a man who'd spent his entire life in the sun. He sat up, the respirator no longer forcing air into his lungs—an oxygen tube along his upper lip, eyes open, limbs outstretched, clamped with devices that would alternately squeeze and release his legs for circulation.

The girls stood, arms linked, on the window side, their faces grave. Their grandmother, Naomi, stood opposite, alone, clutching the bedrail.

Jake walked to her, wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders. He'd never realized how slight a figure she was. How fragile, under all the fanfare. Even accounting for the top of her perfectly set white curls, Naomi Dale barely came up to his shoulder.

“He's breathing on his own.” Her thin voice rose above the beeps and whirrs.

Jake nodded, clasped her hands in his own. “How're you?”

“I'm tired.” She blinked, stared at him with cloudy blue eyes, a sad smile. “So's Earl.”

The sheets rustled, and Earl's thin arm rose. A mumble at his lips.

“What's that, hon?” Naomi leaned forward.

“Na…omi...” Voice slurred, his fingers curled into a hook.

“I'm here, Earl.” Her forehead crumpled in concern, she patted his hand.

“That.” He dragged his hand away again, pointing. “See that?”

Jake looked the direction Earl pointed, seeing nothing but the empty doorway, the bright hallway lights. He knelt at Earl's bedside, heart slamming. Was this it? He'd seen death call before, but… “What do you see, Mr. Dale?”

“White.” Earl blinked, ran his tongue over his lips. “So beautiful.”

“Not now.” Tears slid down Naomi's cheeks. “Not yet.”

“White. Beautiful.” Earl cocked his head at his wife. “Go ask ‘em for a slice.”

“A slice?” Jake blinked, looked again to where Earl pointed. Outside, a quartet of nurses parted, revealing the white frosted birthday cake, sparkling under the incandescent lights. “You want cake?”