The Greatest Gift (17 page)

Timothy played with the microphone on top of the podium. “Testing, one, two, three.” His voice carried from end to end through the empty church. He opened an old, tattered Bible and thumbed through it.

Where is that passage?

He removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He flipped the pages until he reached the end.
Why can’t I find that passage?

He looked up at the empty pews and scratched his head. “Am I losing it?” he said to no one in particular.

“Katie, I need your help,” he called out.

“Yes, Pastor,” she said, carrying a stack of papers.

“I know I’m getting old, granted. But I know I’m not crazy. Is this the Bible I read from during the last service?”

Katie put the stack of papers down on the side of the podium. He handed her the Bible. She looked at the inside cover. “Yes. Look at the marking.”

Always remember, 12/25. Ask for forgiveness.

“This is the personal Bible of Pastor Dennis,” Katie said. “You did want this one, didn’t you? You told me you wanted to remember him by using his Bible for the services.”

“I did request this. Good. I’m not going crazy. But there are pages missing.”

“What pages?” she asked, turning them one by one.

“The Acts of the Apostles. Acts 27-28:10. They’re missing.”

Katie sat down in the first pew. She looked at each section of the New Testament. He joined her. “I don’t see it,” she said, looking at him. “You’re not going crazy. Let me look through it one more time.”

Katie took nearly thirty minutes, carefully examining each page. She shook her head and closed the book. “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “At the end of your last service, I locked it up in the office.” She stood and handed him the book. “I’ll get you the spare copy.”

“Good. I need to read from one of Paul’s works.” He held the Bible to his chest. He removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyebrows.

She returned moments later and gave him another Bible. “This is brand-new,” she said. “I’m sorry, Pastor. I didn’t notice any torn pages or rip marks. I know I locked it up. This Bible was special to Pastor Dennis. I treated it that way.”

“Don’t worry yourself about this,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you. But how did this happen?” she asked. “It’s odd there are no tear or rip marks where the pages are missing. Maybe part of it fell out? Maybe the glue dried holding the pages together?”

“Perhaps,” he said, as he began paging through the new Bible.

He kept pushing the pages along. Each time he finished ten or so pages, he looked up toward the church ceiling. “Mary, Mother of God, are my eyes deceiving me?” he asked out loud.

“Is everything okay?” asked Katie.

He put one finger up in the air. “I’m checking.”

He finished going through the Bible minutes later and held it up to his face, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong, Pastor?” she asked.

“It’s not in this one either.” He turned to her. “What is going on here?”

He dropped the Bible on the bench and walked to a couple of pews behind them. He grabbed a couple of Bibles used by churchgoers for the services. Sitting down, he instructed Katie, “Take some books. Check again.”

Katie went to the other side of the church and took one each from four different rows. She returned and sat down next to him. “Do you think someone came in here and removed the same pages?”

“No. This is too random.”

They paged through the books with speed. When they finished, he half ran, half walked to the last pew and took eight more Bibles out of the holders. He gave four to Katie as she joined him in the back near the organ.

“They’re all like this,” he said, dropping the last one on top of the organ. “Call and check with the company that provided us with the books.”

“Yes, Pastor,” said Katie. She ran to her office, holding one of the Bibles.

“Why?” he wondered out loud. “How did this happen? This has to be a printing mistake we didn’t recognize.”

He walked to the front and stopped by the podium. He opened Pastor Dennis’ Bible and examined the New Testament again. He glanced upward, catching Katie’s blank expression as she stood off to the side.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“They said it wasn’t a printing error.”

“What? How could it not be?”

“They said it was the version they were given. They checked their templates.”

“Then they got the wrong templates.”

She shook her head. “They said all their templates are like that.”

Timothy sat on the lip of the service area and grasped the side of the podium. He stared for several seconds at the vacant church. “You can go, Katie.”

She didn’t move as he turned to her. “You can go.”

“But Pastor, what are we going to do about the Bibles?”

“There’s nothing we can do here.”

Michael flung his arms, flailing away through a waterfall. He coughed and turned over, tasting sand. He gagged, spitting it out. He felt more water dousing his face.

“Stop,” yelled Elizabeth. “Are you okay, Dad?”

“Huh?” He rolled back over as the early morning sunlight hit his face. He squinted and rubbed his eyes with his soggy sleeves. Elizabeth stared at him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Plenty,” said the captain, leaning down. He extended his hand, and Michael grabbed onto it. Lifting him up, the captain slapped his back and gripped his shoulder. “The men thank you.”

Michael shook his head as Elizabeth gave him a half hug. “What did I do?”

The captain smiled. “You kept rowing. Do you not remember?”

“I do remember rowing, a little. Then nothing. All was black.”

“The storm was unforgiving. Big wave after big wave came crashing overboard. You kept rowing. You have our respect.”

Michael looked around at the surroundings and saw the remains of the boat strewn about the shoreline. “Are we in Rome?”

The captain laughed and walked away.

“We’re on some island,” Elizabeth said.

“Which one?”

“One of the workers told me it’s Malta.”

“Great. Now what? Did they say when we could get another boat?”

Elizabeth walked a few yards toward the shore. He staggered to catch up to her. “Were there any men lost?”

“The captain said he lost three of his men.”

Michael bent over and coughed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Michael rubbed his forehead and stared at her.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I don’t recall it happening that way. I wonder if we changed history? What about Paul?”

She looked back at him. “He’s safe.”

“Thank goodness,” he said while gagging on more seawater. “It’s so salty. This stuff is awful.”

He touched the chain around his neck and felt the cross inside his wet shirt.
Thank God I didn’t lose this during the storm.
He joined her at the shoreline’s edge and kicked at the waves as they tumbled over his feet. “This complicates things.”

“How?” she asked.

“I’m not sure this is where we should be. I thought we were supposed to be in Rome.”

“The captain said we will be going to Rome once they get a new boat.”

“Yes. But how long will we be stranded on this island?”

“The captain said there is another boat to sail this way on the next sunset.”

“Great,” he said, backpedaling from a big wave hitting the beach.

She didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Elizabeth walked away and sat down on a big rock near the edge of the forest.

He joined her. “I know it seems bleak,” Michael said. “We will eventually get to Rome.”

She lowered her head and scooped up a fallen petal from a red flower. A Roman soldier stood nearby, watching.

“Talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

“Do you know Paul has someone write for him?”

“What?”

“Paul. The so-called apostle we were told to find and travel with, according to what you were told by Jesus. He has someone write for him.”

“I wasn’t told which apostle.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“I’ve spoken to him. He’s very smart. He’s an educated man. I think you have it wrong.”

“I’m telling you, he can’t write.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“Why would he even tell you something like that?”

She smelled the petal. “I heard him talking to a man before about how he needed someone to write his thoughts down.”

“What did he say exactly?”

“I can’t remember every word. But he told the man he was worried about his work being lost.” Elizabeth stood and pocketed the petal. “He asked for you.”

“All right. He can’t write. Why are you so sad? Many men during this time could not write or even read for that matter. This is not unusual.” Michael dug his feet into the ground and pulled them out, watching the sand roll off. “Do you not agree?”

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “What do I know?”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

“Is it supposed to?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Where is he?”

She pointed to a dirt path about twenty yards away. “They went toward that big tree over there.”

“Come on,” he said, tapping her shoulder.

They walked along a narrow road, surrounded on both sides by dense brush and shrubs. They emerged several minutes later into a wide clearing where makeshift sheds were formed in a circle. In the center, a big fire was pushing flames skyward and several men were warming their hands and feet.

Michael located the captain. He was sitting down, chewing on some charred fish. “Have some,” the captain said, greeting him with a smile.

“I will. Thanks.”

“I do not know your name.”

“Michael.”

“Michael, where are you from?”

He thought for a few seconds. “On the other side of Rome.”

The captain put his meal down. “That is a long way from where I met you.”

Michael nodded. “Way too long.”

“My name is Augustus. I can tell you have the heart of a tiger.”

“I appreciate your confidence. I seek my friend, Paul. Can you tell me where he is?”

The captain gestured with his free hand. “Over there. He has been requesting you. Be careful of men like him. He tells strange tales. Ask for Julius.”

“I will. Please watch my daughter.”

“I shall. I owe you.”

Michael looked to his left and then his right, making sure no one was following him. He was met by three Roman soldiers. “Where’s Julius?” he asked them.

“Wait,” one soldier said.

“Do not move,” another soldier added.

Michael felt something cold on his leg. He froze and watched the soldier drop his spear. A snake curled its way onto the weapon. The soldier ran to the fire and dropped the spear into it.

“Come,” said Julius, startling him. “This way.” He waved him inside the shed.

Paul was sitting on a bedroll. “My friend, I am happy to see you. I hear you swallowed much sea water. Are you feeling better?”

“I am glad to see you. I am fine.”

Julius left and the remaining Roman soldiers did the same. Michael glanced behind him to see where they were going.

“They are no threat to us now?” he asked.

Paul did not answer and took a sip of water from a cup. “Are you thirsty?”

Michael shook his head.

“I thought so,” Paul said with a smile.

“I have many questions for you,” Michael said.

“I hope I can answer all of them.”

“My daughter … ”

Paul put his cup down. “Yes,” he said, interrupting Michael’s next thought. “A curious woman.”

“She is. She said you have a problem writing.”

“Many men do. My eyes fail me sometimes.”

Michael dropped his head.

“Are you ill?” Paul asked.

“No. I am not.”

“What troubles you?”

“My faith. Just when I think I have all the questions answered, more arise.”

Paul smiled. “This is why we call it faith. Is it not?”

“It is,” he said in a reluctant tone.

“What part of your faith troubles you now?”

Michael looked up and studied Paul’s face for the first time. He shouldn’t have been more than thirty-five to forty years old, an average age for a male during this period of time. Yet he looked much older, more like he was in his sixties. He could see his hair was starting to recede. His brown eyes were surrounded with deep wrinkles and had dark circles beneath them.

His cheeks were flushed, and his nose was spotted in red blotches from the ocean’s breeze.

“If you cannot write,” Michael said in a measured pace.

“Yes, go on,” he said, leaning forward.

“How can you help spread the word of your rabbi as I have been told?”

Paul closed his eyes and rubbed them. Taking a deep breath, he opened them just as quickly. “I do not understand your question.”

“Your writings are not yours? Am I right?” Michael asked.

“You are right to say I cannot write sometimes. My eyes are not the same as when I was young. I try to do my best.”

Paul stared at him. “Why do you have so little faith?”

The smoldering fire signaled it was time for Augustus and his men to sleep. Michael was given a blanket while Elizabeth lay on a bedroll still soaked from the storm. “Here, get up,” he said.

She stood as he tossed aside the bedroll and placed the blanket on the ground. “Thanks, Dad.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“You haven’t said much since you spoke to Paul,” she said.

“There’s not much to say after we had our discussion. I’m confused. I’m not sure now why we’re here with Paul. I’m starting to wonder whether it was Paul we were supposed to help. Maybe it’s when we get to Rome that Paul will need our assistance.”

He sighed and stretched his arms and legs.

“Maybe we should start worrying about ourselves,” Elizabeth replied as she sat up to face him. “Is there a way we can get off this island?”

“I’ve already looked. I took a walk around while the Romans were fixing the boat. There are guards everywhere. Unless we find another boat, our best chance is when we get to Rome. I’ve spoken to the captain and have given him enough silver to help us escape when we reach there.”

“Are you sure?” Elizabeth asked.

Michael shrugged. “Who can you trust in this time, in this place?” He stayed quiet for several seconds before speaking. “You should sleep. The captain told me it is possible another ship might be here or this one can be repaired by the next sunset.”

“How do we really know either way?”

“He said it is a normal stop for another boat.”

“What are the odds that will happen?”

“Who knows? I’m just a visitor here like you.”

Elizabeth looked away, and Michael let his body relax. He listened to the crackling of the fire outside for several minutes. The birds were boisterous, and the wind brushed the high-standing trees like a paintbrush as he struggled to find a comfortable position.

Elizabeth slipped into a deep sleep.

Michael flinched as he began to dream. He was shaken out of it as an eerie sound alerted him.

He stood, went outside and circled around the shed.
Nothing.
He watched a couple of Roman soldiers drinking wine, laughing and telling stories. One turned around and yelled, pointing at him. “You, go rest. We have traveling to do once the next sunset comes.”

“I am going to see my friend first before I do.”

“Sleep when you can. It can be a tiresome journey.”

Michael nodded and entered Paul’s shed without obstruction. Julius and a Roman guard were asleep. Paul opened his eyes as Michael approached.

“What worries you my friend?” Paul asked.

“Much,” said Michael as he sat next to him.

“Do you worry about what has already happened or what the next sunrise will bring?”

“Both.” Michael faced him. “You have to understand this. I come from another place and time. I’ve read your works. Your words have lasted thousands of years.”

Paul gave him a confused look.

“Many, many sunsets,” said Michael.

“What troubles you?”

“You do know the others are in danger.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders.

“Peter, Mark, your brothers.”

“We know this.”

“You need to protect yourself,” Michael said, drawing closer. “It’s in the words I’ve read.”

Paul raised his hand. “They are still being written.”

Michael shook his head. “No. They have been written. Millions of people have read them, not just me. It does not end well for you and the others. The Romans and the haters will kill you.”

“Are you troubled staying here with me?”

Michael shook his head. “I do not understand what you mean. I am trying to help you by telling you what will happen in the next several sunsets. Your future.”

Paul smiled. “You cannot walk in fear of what is not known.”

“I want to help you. I want to find a way to get you to a safe place.”

“There is no safe place. I am here for a reason. You are here for a reason. Your daughter is with us for a reason.”

“What is the reason?”

“The next sunrise will speak the words you seek. Rest. Sleep. We have much work to do.”

Michael returned to the shed and took one more look around. He picked up a couple of stray cups.
I must have heard something else.
He sat and listened to Elizabeth’s deep breathing as she slept.
Amazing. Whether it’s Jerusalem, Long Island or Ma
l
ta, she sleeps. Like her mother.
He looked up and nodded.
Yes, like her mother.
He sighed and lay down.
Like you, Vicki.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to remember happier moments. He thought back to when Vicki and he were in love.

“Stop freaking out every time something wonderful happens,” he heard Vicki say.

“I’ll do my best.” He flinched as Vicki faded. “Where are you going? Come back. Don’t leave.”

Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her words. “Come back,” he struggled to say, holding out his hand.

“Ow,” he screamed.

Startled awake, Elizabeth asked, “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“I just got bit,” he said.

A commotion outside distracted them at first.

“What bit you?”

He looked at his leg, now swollen. “Had to be a snake or something.”

They went outside to see Paul battling a serpent near the fire.  A crowd had surrounded him. “What is going on?” Michael asked the captain.

“The preacher was bit by that devil.” He pointed to the snake in Paul’s hand.

Paul stared at it, tightening his grip on the serpent. He whispered some words, looking skyward.

Michael felt dizzy, and his eyes blurred. He tried to stumble around the crowd to get a better look. The vision of Paul manhandling the snake faded. He staggered and fell to his knees.

“Dad,” Elizabeth yelled, running to him. She touched  his forehead. “My God, you’re burning up. Captain! Captain!”

Elizabeth ran around the crowd as Michael thrashed about with his arms and tried to pull himself up. Water rolled out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He could see the blurry outline of the crowd. “Something is wrong,” he said in a weak tone.

He crawled toward Paul.

A Roman soldier lifted him up and held onto his shoulder. “What is wrong?” he asked.

“Look,” said Julius, joining Elizabeth. “His leg.”

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

“Another snakebite,” Augustus yelled.

The crowd of soldiers and natives now gathered around Michael as the soldier lowered him to the ground.

“Dad, can you hear me?” Elizabeth asked.

He reached out to touch her hand.

Augustus kneeled beside him and gripped his shoulder. “Can you feel your feet?”

“No.”

“What does that mean?” Elizabeth asked.

Augustus shook his head, stood and walked away.

“My friend, stay strong, our work has begun,” said Paul, who fell to his knees beside him. He gripped his leg.

“I cannot feel anything,” Michael moaned.

Paul closed his eyes and whispered some words, keeping his hand on top of the bite.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked. “You are not a doctor. We need a doctor. Is there a doctor on this island? Can someone help him?” She rushed around asking the natives. “Do you know a doctor? Do you? Do you?”

Michael closed his eyes and drifted into a dream, into a place he had never visited, meeting his relatives and friends again. “Mom, I can see you,” he said. “Nana. Uncle Ed. Joe. Uncle Jack. Mary. Sweet cousin. I’ve missed you.”

“Wake up,” Elizabeth yelled. He felt his cheeks being struck. “Wake up, Dad. You are not leaving me now. Not after what we’ve been through. I cannot live without you. Stay awake.”

He opened his eyes again. Paul’s face blocked the sun’s light. His brown eyes blinked several times. “My friend, this is not the place for you to leave me. We are now ready.”

“What?”

Paul stood and backed away. Michael crawled a few feet and then propped himself up on his elbows. He watched Paul walk through a crowd of people and back to his shed. Elizabeth stared as he struggled to sit up. “Help me,” Michael said.

“Did you see that?” Elizabeth asked.

“What? What happened?”