The Great Divide (27 page)

“Gary Loh. Brilliant kid. Medical student. Strong in the church.”

“You approved of him.”

“He changed Gloria’s life around. Before, well, Gloria went through a wild stage her first year at Georgetown.”

A lethargic fog began to take hold of Marcus’ limbs. “So I heard.”

“Who from?”

“Oathell.” He swung his legs up and onto the bed, eased his head onto the welcoming pillow.

“Yeah, she broke that boy’s heart. But Gary was good for her and Oathell couldn’t keep up, and that’s the truth from her own daddy. She and Gary made a fine-looking couple. Real fine.”

The warm languor seeped into his bones and traveled up his body. “But they split up. Why?”

“Gloria wouldn’t say a thing. One moment she and Gary were planning to get married. The next, nothing. We didn’t hear anything for over a month. Then she came home for Thanksgiving and spent the entire time locked in her room sobbing. Like to have broken Alma’s heart, especially when she wouldn’t tell us what was wrong.”

His mind could not hold a train of thought. It flittered about, landing where it would. “How did she get so interested in New Horizons?”

Austin seemed to find nothing odd in the sudden shift. “I doubt there’s a single family in our church without some tales about that company. All of them bad.”

Marcus murmured, “You?”

“Ask Alma sometime about her nephew, the one who worked for the unions.”

Marcus wanted to ask more, but the talk left him. His final awareness was of a strong dark face watching as he slid into sleep and away.

HE AWOKE late in the night. It was only in the midst of this silence that he recognized the noises that had occupied the rooms and hallway outside his door. Marcus reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory. When Charlie Hayes answered, Marcus asked, “What time is it?”

“I know you must be sick. Calling me in the middle of the night, waking me up so you can find out the time.” There came a rustling sound, then, “It’s just gone one. There. You satisfied?”

“I was thinking about one of the stories you told me. About that case when you got so excited in your closing argument you fell over the railing and landed in the jury’s lap.”

“I won that case, by the way. Guess the folks figured if I was that excited I had to be telling the truth.” A pause. “How are you, son?”

“Better.”

“I came by twice, but you just snored through my visits. Libby brought me one time, Deacon the other. Made Libby cry to see you lying there with your head all bashed in.”

Marcus fingered the bandage over his left temple. “Tell her I’m fine.”

“That why you called, to remind me about some foolishness from forty years back?”

“No.” A single breath, then the commitment. “Jury selection is scheduled to start on Monday.”

“Been pondering that myself.”

“I can’t handle it alone.”

“Recognized that fact the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“I don’t want to postpone the trial, Charlie. It means they win, at least for the moment. And every day counts.”

“You can go ahead and ask, son. I won’t turn you down.”

“That means a lot,” he said, taking an easier breath. “Good night.”

M
ARCUS WAS ALONE
when he awoke the next morning. After breakfast he showered and shaved, finding great consolation in his isolated mobility. The doctor came soon after, inspected him carefully, and declared him free to go. “But I want you to watch for signs of internal bleeding.”

“I will.” His belly was a rainbow of dark and violent hues. It was not a time for a cavalier attitude.

“And if your vision should start blurring or the headaches worsen, call me immediately. Otherwise I want to check you over in a week’s time.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

As the doctor departed, Kirsten stepped inside. “You’re up.”

“I’m more than that. I’m free to go.” Marcus wanted to ask why she had been apologizing earlier, but not at the cost of that small sad smile she gifted him. “You look very nice.”

And she did, standing there in the doorway in her floral-patterned skirt and dark blouse and hair so blond it held highlights of fine morning mist where the sun touched. He even liked her uncertain air and the way her purse strap was wound tightly through her fingers.

“Alma and Austin are downstairs. We wanted to check in on our way to church.”

Though his body ached and he doubted he would have the energy to go the full round, he found the prospect pleasing. “Is there room for me?”

Clearly this had already been discussed. “I could drive you in your car, if you like. The deputy brought it over from the courthouse.”

“That would be great.” He rose slowly, ashamed of the need to
test each joint in turn. Then he was glad of it, for she walked over and fitted herself to his side. Almost as if she belonged.

T
HE DRIVE
out of Raleigh was under clouds so low they almost grazed the eastern hills. Their leaden color was scarcely lighter than the asphalt. Marcus cracked his window and let the warm, humid air wash away the hospital’s bitter tang.

Kirsten followed Alma and Austin out of town. She waited until they hit the four-lane U.S.-64 to say, “I want to help you.”

“That’s good. I need all the help I can get.”

“I mean with the case.”

“I know what you mean, Kirsten. And I’m grateful. Really.” Her expression showed she needed more convincing. “We’re going up against an army. They had seven lawyers in the meetings with Judge Nicols. I need help with the prep work. A lot.”

“I thought after what I told you in the hospital, you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

Marcus knew he would have to ask her to repeat herself, and sooner rather than later. But her tone had the somber openness of the confessional, and right then his greatest desire was to give back in kind. “I never wanted to take this case.”

“I know.”

“Not because I couldn’t win it. Because I was afraid of letting the Halls down.” He settled his head onto the backrest, easing deeper into the cushions, letting the seat take all his weight. “I guess you’ve heard about the accident with my family.”

“Alma told me. I’m so sorry.”

“I never went back to my old house. Neither did Carol, my ex-wife. I hired a mover and some friend of Carol’s supervised. Except for my clothes, I haven’t unpacked any of the boxes. I couldn’t risk accidentally coming across something that belonged to one of the kids.”

“I could do that if you like.”

The offer meant so much he had to confess, “I never wanted anyone to rely on me for anything important, not ever again. I’ve been too good at letting people down.”

“Alma said the accident wasn’t your fault.”

Marcus sighed and made do with, “I always saw my grandparents’
place as my last refuge. Somewhere I could go and take only what was comfortable.” He paused, then concluded, “It’s not the first time life has proven me wrong.”

To her credit, Kirsten did not respond. She held to her silence as she drove into the church parking lot. Only after she cut the motor did she say, “Alma and Austin both think you are the only one who can bring Gloria home. Deacon Wilbur feels the same.”

The words weighed heavily upon his entire being. Marcus opened his door and started the distressing process of unlimbering, only to be halted by a featherlight touch on his arm. He turned back to meet a gaze far keener than the day’s light. Kirsten said, “I think they are absolutely right.”

T
HE CHURCH
gleamed white beneath the slate-colored sky. The neighboring hillside was dotted with autumn colors, startling in their brilliance when all else loomed dark and gray. The building on the summit seemed washed to an ashen sullenness, as though mortally offended by Marcus’ arrival.

The congregation had always been pleasant in their welcome, gracing his arrival with genuine smiles and warm handshakes. Today the customary was not sufficient, however. Marcus was met by a charge of faces and greetings and softly spoken questions. Alma and Austin could not even make it to where he stood, for too many others moved in and claimed him as their own. Everyone seemed intent upon calling him by name. There was much laying on of hands as they ushered him inside and settled him down. Even then they still surrounded him, reaching over to pat his shoulders, arms, hands. The attention left him wounded and grateful both.

He sat by himself, Kirsten across the aisle with Alma and Austin. People stood all around him, their singing a shout of impossible harmonies. Impossible that so many voices could find so many different ways of joining together. He felt sorely alone and yet glad of it, as though the two sides of his conflicting nature were both exposed and comfortable in this noisy yet hallowed place. Here he was, both the man who sought to remove himself from the world and the man who loved to do battle. The man who scorned the fray and the one who lived for the formal jousting of courtroom wars. The man who was newly wounded and the one who could not deny that he was healing still.

Marcus found the world returning to focus, and he realized that Deacon Wilbur was walking toward the center of the stage. The audience hummed approval. Clearly this was an unexpected gift. Marcus had not heard the old man preach before.

Deacon reached forward and took hold of the podium. He did not merely stand. He gripped the wood and leaned out, scowling, fierce as a bird of prey. Through his fatigue, Marcus struggled to listen.

“You’re out there, running life’s race. The pressure is constant, the pace relentless. Is it so? Let me hear how hard it is for you folks outside these sacred doors.” Deacon Wilbur waited through the calls and the clapping, scowling and squinting, forcing those who watched to watch themselves. “Tell me, brothers. Are you tired? Speak your mind, sisters. Do you lose sight of the finishing line?”

He remained utterly unmoved by the clamor he was raising. He shouted to be heard. “Do you feel like you’re not going anywhere, you just stay busy running? Is an easy breath hard to find? Has the struggle left you wounded?”

A woman in the second row, big and made bigger by a bright scarf wrapped around her middle like a second skirt, wriggled by those blocking her way and danced into the central aisle. She shook from her head to her feet, her hands up and waving, the words a chant of startling beauty. “Hard, oh yes, Jesus, so hard, so hard!”

Deacon Wilbur remained unfazed. Only his glistening face suggested he was moved by the message. “Then the problem is, brothers and sisters, you are running alone.”

Marcus was not aware he had risen to his feet until he noticed that Deacon had become easier to see. “Brothers and sisters, just because you’re busy doesn’t mean you’re moving in the right direction. No. Can I have me an amen?”

The crowd sang its chant of accord.

“You’re not drawing closer to the goal just on account of you’re making good time. No. The task here isn’t to be busy. No. The world is full of the lost and alone, filling every crack in the mask they use to hide an empty heart with
busy
. Look around, see the desperate people shouting words they don’t want to hear. Just filling the world with busy, yeah, filling the void with everything they can.”

Deacon Wilbur was a man transformed, fierce and authoritative now, as though the cloak of age had been kicked aside. The old pastor’s
face shone like it was coated with a fine sheen of oil. “Listen to me now, brothers and sisters. Listen good. Your very lives depend on this. Are you listening to me now?” When they shouted their attention, he said, “All right. Here’s the truth revealed. You’ve got to do your work for a higher cause. You’ve got to take your steps for something more than yourself. You’ve got to draw that next breath with something greater than your own selfish desires in mind. Can I have me an amen!”

The church rocked to the shouted response. Dozens more clustered and danced along the central aisle.

“Then you know what happens? You will rise up on
eagle’s
wings. Shout me an amen, brothers and sisters! You will run and
never
stumble. Let the Lord hear your joy!”

“Hallelujah!”

“You will strive and not grow weary, no. Sing your praise to the Lord!”

When the tumult quietened, the old man went on, “You got to work for something bigger, something finer, something eternal. You got to cross that great divide to make your work matter. You got to march over the bridge set in place by perfect sacrifice. The bridge God built for you and you alone.”

The upheaval grew more intense, the chants a song that carried no set tune, but swept like a lyrical wind through the church. “The bridge across the great divide, oh yes, it is the infinite gift. The
holy
gift. Yeah. And there is only one thing you can do to give it meaning, you hear what I am saying? You must accept this gift. You must aim your walk. No matter how scared you might be, looking down over the sides and seeing that chasm open up, yes, the one that looks dark as eternal night, the one that whispers words of death. Keep your eyes focused on the other side, the place where light dwells in all things. The place where you are welcome. Yes. The one place you can call home.”

Rising fatigue forced Marcus back into his seat. The weariness swelled until the words no longer mattered. Only the welcome they contained stayed with him. And that was more than enough. He looked around him, his gaze met by such open friendliness he wanted to weep. He found himself thinking of Dee Gautam’s words, about how home was the place that accepted him. Marcus found himself adding new words of his own. Perhaps home was the place that accepted
him because of his needs. Not in spite of his lacks and failings;
because
of them. Then he shook his head a fraction. No. That would be too much to ask. Except perhaps for a single moment now and then, in a time out of time, one touched by the divine. Such as here and now.

M
ONDAY MORNING brought no physical improvement whatsoever. Marcus’ body and mind both seemed stubbornly set against the day. His head pounded, his arm and gut ached, shaving was a chore, even the shower found tender places to probe. His tie defeated him entirely. As he descended the stairs, a burdensome weight remained upon his heart. He knew the reason for his concern, and was helpless in the face of it all. Today marked the beginning of the most hopeless trial of his entire career. He was wounded in body and mind and spirit. He felt lonelier than he had since the funeral eighteen months earlier. And he was sorely afraid of letting everyone down. Again.