The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye (24 page)

“Air California? They don’t leave the state, do they?”

“You do know your air travel, young lady. AC is an in-state airline, yes, but this one is on its way to Salt Lake City, only major airport open for hundreds of miles. There’s an old piece of Pan-Con equipment there that’s going to Oklahoma.”

“Thought you said the only major—”

“I’m not talking Oklahoma City or even Tulsa here, doll. Enid. Middle of nowhere. Military town.”

“That’s not on Pan-Con’s routes.”

“No, but Dallas is, and Enid’s getting lots of DFW’s slopover.”

“Okay, where do I go from Enid?”

“There’s an Ozark flight to Springfield, Illinois. I suppose you know that Ozark spelled backwards is Krazo.”

Chloe was not in the mood. “Yep, I’ve heard “Em all. What are the chances I can get to O’Hare from Springfield?”

The woman shrugged. “That’s as far as I can guarantee. Maybe you can get a bus from there. Looks like Pan-Con is running some ancient turboprops out of there, but who knows how long Chicago will be open.
JFK
is already closed, and O’Hare is taking every jumbo jet within five hundred miles. Can’t imagine they won’t run out of room soon. You want this or not? Got to get you on that bus right now if you’re in.”

“I’m in.”

“Isn’t this something, Mom?” Raymie said. “You’re getting these mind pictures, right?” “I am.”

“These next two guys are from the first and second centuries!”

“I don’t recognize their names,” Irene said.

“I have a feeling we’ll both be experts on them soon. Papias and Polycarp. Weird. And they were friends of John, the one who wrote the Gospel.”

“And the epistles and Revelation.”

“Just wait till it’s his turn, Mom.” But Raymie would find these two men every bit as captivating.

Hattie Durham enjoyed the delectable secret that she was not quite as ditzy as she seemed to be. How people reacted to her—particularly men—she had recognized so many years before that she couldn’t remember not using it to her advantage. Women seemed to baby talk to her, as if because she was a beautiful blonde she couldn’t have a brain. And men seemed to talk to her with their eyes, as if their gibberish was meaningless, which it often was. It was, however, not true that Hattie was other than calculating. She had largely charmed her way to senior-flight-attendant status just after her twenty-seventh birthday—no small feat—but these jobs were not just handed out. She had had to study, to be a quick learner, to gain favor with passengers, fellow crew members, and superiors. They didn’t give such a title to a body, a face, a hairdo, and makeup in uniform.

And now she was enjoying her new role, especially on a 747 streaking toward London. Hattie didn’t want any mistakes, no complaints. There would be issues, sure, but that’s why she and her crew were here. They would deal with everything and everyone quickly and efficiently. Tony Salazar, who had been with the airline since Hattie was in grade school, was already proving most helpful. He was one who could easily have had her promotion, had he merely wanted it. Clearly there was no animosity there. He apparently wanted her to look good and seemed to be doing everything in his power to effect that.

They were several hours into the flight already. Two meals had been served, the movie had ended, and except for just a few wanderers and the rare night owls still hunched over their laptops under their individual reading lamps, the plane had become dark and quiet.

“You want to make points with this staff,” Tony whispered, “urge them to finish breakfast prep now and let them take a load off until sunup.”

“Great idea,” Hattie said.

When they were finished, she swept through the cabins a few times herself, then finally sat, feeling the nervous energy drain from her and wishing she could close her eyes. The last thing she would do, however, was actually sleep on the job. Here and there other attendants were sitting, chatting, and watching and listening for any call buttons.

Hattie glanced idly up the aisle, where a woman was either getting some exercise or on her way to the lavatory.

Funny. In the dim light she seemed to be there one second and gone the next.

Something else was on Hattie’s mind. Rayford Steele. She had never seen herself as a home wrecker, though Captain Steele was hardly the first married man who seemed eager to throw away his family for her. She had merely teased previous conquests, knowing full well they were not responsible people and were merely lusting rather than loving her.

But Rayford. He was something different. It had not been lost on her that he had been more than careful. He had a beautiful family. He never bad-mouthed his wife. It was clear he was not happy at home; otherwise, what was he doing with his looks, his body language, his conversation? Yet it was his very discipline that attracted her… not to mention his striking appearance.

Okay, he was forty-two. Had forty-two ever looked so good on a man? He kept himself in shape and looked great in and out of uniform. They were headed for something, and Hattie didn’t want to scare him off and mess it up. She knew enough to let Rayford make the next move, and from what she could tell, he was well on his way. She had made clear her own intentions—or at least willingness—but this was a different relationship—for certain a different potential—than she had ever had.

Hattie’s goal was nothing short of claiming Rayford as her own. An affair was not enough; for one thing, given their situation, it would ruin her career. No, she wanted him. He would have to be willing to divorce his wife and pursue her to the altar.

If her instincts were right, London would be a city where memories were made.

Irene Steele took great pleasure in her new ability to-- what else could she call it?--multitask. She was able to watch and listen to the exhilarating judgments--which were, in reality, another way to bring honor and glory to Jesus--exult at the rejoicing of the angels every time someone received Christ, “view” as it were the stories of each supplicant in her mind’s eye, and simultaneously feel overwhelmed with joy at being able to take this all in in the presence of her son, now a full-grown man. Irene felt as if she would never be able to lose her eternal smile, nor did she wish to.

She quickly understood why Papias and Polycarp, those of the strange names, seemed to be dealt with together. They had been contemporaries, friends, and their most stark bond was that they had both been acquaintances of the disciple whom Jesus loved: John.

Papias proved to be a Greek Christian leader who had written a five-volume commentary on the sayings of Jesus. Jesus praised him for his efforts in offering one of the earliest records about the writing of the Gospels. While his work was lost to history after several centuries, it had been used in the early church to help give credence to the veracity of Scripture.

“Though some questioned your intellect and scholarship,” Jesus said, presenting him the crowns of Glory, Righteousness, and Rejoicing, “you proved authentic and devoted. You fed your flock, you anticipated My return with gladness, and you became My glory and joy by winning souls.”

Papias’s friend Polycarp had been a disciple of the apostle John and eventually became the bishop of the early church in Smyrna. Irene soon learned that he was one of the most celebrated characters in ancient Christendom, reminding her again how embryonic and provincial her faith was. The idea of having eternity to learn all this warmed her.

As a pupil of John, Polycarp had talked with many who had been with Jesus Himself. He became a bold pastor, preacher, and witness for Christ in spite of dangerous opposition from Rome, and indeed he was eventually martyred for his faith while serving as the bishop at Smyrna.

Jesus used the precious residue from the flame judgment of his works to make for him all the crowns he had given Papias, adding the Crown of Life, reserved for martyrs or those who had suffered undue trials.

Hattie Durham had enjoyed only a brief respite before feeling that she should get back on her feet and continue to monitor the needs and comfort of her passengers. She was aware that other attendants glanced curiously at her, probably wondering if they too were expected to get back to work. But really, there was little to do.

She missed Rayford, but she had decided the next move was his. And he certainly wasn’t going to do anything during a flight. Hattie moseyed to the back of the plane, idly checking to see how many lavs were occupied. Only one, and that soon became free too. Then she quietly began her stroll up the long aisle. Nearly everyone was asleep, so Hattie was careful to keep her steps light. When she was a passenger she could always tell when someone was coming, and nothing was more irritating than a lumbering staff member, interrupting someone’s rest.

Some passengers had their seats reclined, and they lay back, snoring softly or with their mouths open. Most had heeded the advice to fasten their seat belts outside blankets and sweaters so Hattie and her team would not have to rouse them to be sure they were buckled in. Others had slid down in their seats and slept in various curled-up positions of repose.

Strange though. Maybe it was the darkness. It seemed at least one seat in each row was empty. Several seemed to have two or more. Yet Hattie had seen only one woman in the aisle several minutes before. And she had not seen that woman return.

With every lav now vacant, Hattie’s eyes had to be playing tricks on her. Surely she was simply missing these people in the shadows, under blankets and pillows. But as her eyes widened—partly in alarm, she knew—it was as if her night vision improved. About a third of the seats she studied looked empty.

This was a full flight. Hattie scowled in concentration.

Focus. There had to be an explanation. It had to be her. She was missing something. Or was she still sitting, taking a break, dozing, dreaming this? That had happened before. Once, thoroughly sleep deprived, she had drowsed in a jump seat, only to dream that the craft had landed, but everyone was asleep and she couldn’t wake them to disembark.

Hattie took a deep breath. She was awake. She knew it. And this would all make sense in a moment when it would somehow come together in her mind. But she couldn’t help leaning past a sleeping man in an aisle seat and feeling the two seats beyond him. Both were empty. All she felt were blankets and what seemed like clothes. On the second seat she felt earrings. What was going on?

Six straight aisle seats on both sides had heads silhouetted in the dim light, but the next three, on both sides, were empty. The first one she checked revealed a man who had slid down beyond her view. But the others were vacant, blankets and clothes and jewelry lying there.

Hattie couldn’t breathe. Where were these people? She hurried up the aisle, no longer caring about the weight of her footfall.

A woman turned to see her coming and whispered, “Is anything wrong?”

Hattie mustered her cheerful voice. “No, ma’am. Everything’s fine.” But she couldn’t slow herself. Several more seats were empty before she reached the bank of lavs, and all of them still showed “Vacant” on the doors. She knocked and opened each, hoping they were full of people answering nature’s call who had somehow suffered from mass forgetfulness, leaving the doors unlocked. But no. All were empty.

Hattie rushed forward, only to trip on a pile of… what? She bent to examine it and picked it up to clear the aisle. It was a woman’s complete outfit, including hosiery, undergarments, and accessories. Hattie felt a sob rising in her throat. She must not cry out. This was where the woman she had seen had seemed to disappear.

Right out of her clothes?

And then it hit Hattie. At least a couple dozen children had boarded this flight. She now saw none. She pushed toward the galley to dump the pile of clothes.

There she met another flight attendant, who said, “Miss Durham, what’s up?”

“I don’t know.”

Call buttons began to ding. Reading lamps came on. People called out, “Hey! What? Ma’am? Sir?”

Hattie toyed with illuminating the cabin lights, but if that revealed her worst fears that a hundred or more passengers had disappeared out of their clothes, she could incite a riot.

“Have you seen Tony?” an attendant said. “He was back there, and now I don’t see him. Something’s going on and we need him. We need everybody. Hattie, where are all these people?”

Hattie held a finger to her mouth and trotted toward the stairs at the front of the plane. She was going to see if this craziness extended to first class, and then she was heading for the cockpit.

Irene had heard of an organization called Wycliffe Bible Translators, but she knew little about it and nothing about whomever it had been named for. That was soon remedied as John Wycliffe, a fourteenth-century saint, reached the fire judgment and his story was impressed upon the minds of everyone in the house of God.

Wycliffe had been a scholar who apparently had almost as much to do with the reformation of the church as had the more famous Martin Luther of the following century. Like Luther, Wycliffe came to believe that the essence of the gospel was that Christ’s own righteousness is imputed to those who believe, and on that ground alone they are accepted by God.

Wycliffe faced persecution and opposition from religious leaders of his day, but he persevered and eventually led the way in translating the Scriptures into the language of the people, a revolutionary concept at that time. He also expounded upon his theological ideas and sent out preachers to do the same.

Irene had always taken for granted that she was able to read the Bible in English, but until Wycliffe’s translation, Jerome’s Latin Vulgate had been the only Scripture available. Also, anyone other than clergy had been prohibited from reading the Bible. Wycliffe’s work was so controversial that years later the church actually prohibited the translation of the Bible.

But Wycliffe believed it was crucial that Christians be able to read God’s Word in their own language. He believed the Scriptures were inspired of God and should be accepted without reserve.