The Road to Mercy (2 page)

He scanned the weeds for a sign. A red kerchief lay east of the wreckage. Perhaps the mother had worn it over her shoulder when burping the baby?

Come on, Jack, you’re grasping at straws. Just walk around the site in a grid. You know the rules
, he reminded himself. Search and Rescue 101.

He set out to walk every inch of soil in the field. It took more than thirty ever-widening circles before he reached the fence line. When he approached the final turn, he debated what he should do. No doubt he had scoured the entire field. Perhaps it was time to call in assistance.

Then he heard a sound.

He stopped to listen.

Nothing.

Only the low chirping of birds filled his ears. Must have been a barn cat.

Wait! He heard it again. It was coming from that haystack, and it sounded like . . . a baby.

Jack sprinted toward the loose mound of hay. How could a child have survived such a horrendous crash? What would he find? Walking closer, he saw what appeared to be a newborn. The baby was dressed in bright blue and lay motionless in a crater of gray-green straw.

Energy drained from Jack’s body. Had he arrived too late? When he touched the infant, he knew he hadn’t. The child’s soft, pale skin felt moist and warm. Jack gently picked up the sole survivor of the crash and held him to his chest, shielding him from the cold wind.

Panic replaced relief. The baby needed immediate medical attention. He could have internal injuries, complications from exposure, or even shock.

Lack of sleep had begun to take its toll, and Jack operated on remote power. He traversed the uneven terrain back to his car as fast as he could without jostling the fragile life cradled in his arms. If Chet was still there, he could drive them to the hospital in the squad car. If not, he would find a way to secure the baby in the front seat of his Belvedere.

When Jack passed through the gate, he saw the deputy’s green Bel Air, but no sign of Harold Chester. “Chet! Chet! I need help!”

A few minutes later, Jack watched Harold Chester’s right foot hover close to the floorboard of the police cruiser. His other leg jiggled nervously, as if peeved that it had no particular task in this special mission. They had decided to take the baby to Mercy Hospital. Although a small facility, it was the closest to the farm.

Despite the upset and commotion that had come into his world today, the infant lay quietly in Jack’s lap, swaddled in Chet’s olive-green jacket. The siren screamed, making conversation impossible. Jack cupped the baby’s ears between his hands and tried to focus on the narrow road ahead.

A patchwork of color blurred in his peripheral vision as they sped past white clapboard farmhouses and red barns with silver silos. He imagined farmers interrupting their chores and wives peering from porches to investigate the early morning disturbance. They would soon be the talk of the neighborhood. In fact, the party lines were probably already buzzing.

When Chet pulled into the hospital parking lot and stopped, Jack jumped out of the car and ran to the hospital entrance. Because the deputy had radioed ahead, a group of doctors and nurses met him at the door. As he transferred the baby into the arms of a nurse, the infant opened his blue eyes and held Jack’s gaze—for what seemed like a lifetime.

Three days later, Pastor Sam Lewis caught Jack’s shoulder and spun him around. “I heard about the rescue. Good work, brother.” He reached to shake Jack’s hand.

Jack smiled and thanked the reverend. People had made over him like he was some kind of hero. But he had done what any other man would do. “Right place at the right time,” he said. “That child is fortunate to be alive.”

“Blessed, I would say.” The reverend nodded. “In fact, I believe God has plans for that young man.”

Josh Harrison looked into the eyes of five thousand people, but he felt only the presence of one—the spirit of the Almighty God.

“Thank you, Lord,” Josh whispered as he lifted his hands toward the multicolored light truss above him. He stood motionless, soaking in the warmth. “Praise Yeshua,” he said.

“Praise Yeshua,” voices in the auditorium echoed.

From the stage, Josh could hear them. First one thousand, then two thousand—and finally all five thousand—praising God. Spotlights flashed across the crowd. The blue-white glow illuminated ten thousand hands in the air, an almost unearthly vision. Some swayed back and forth. Others held up lighted cell phones.

He signaled Ryan Majors, his lead guitar player. Ryan struck a low, reverberating E chord, which grew in intensity. At its high point the tone seemed to ricochet off the civic center walls. The crowd fell silent, still on their feet, when the hall went black.

Exactly three seconds later a laser light split the stage in two. The drum thundered and the cymbal crashed.

“He is the Light in the darkness,” Josh shouted. “He has come.”

The audience cheered and the band commenced a familiar melody. Josh began to sing the tender lyrics of “He Has Come,” his biggest single yet. He loved to sing it. The song was the main reason he had been invited to join the Triumphant Tour, the most successful U.S. concert series in Christian music—ever.

God had blessed him with the privilege of doing what he loved. He often wondered why people thanked him for his music. His reward came from doing the will of the Lord, whose presence especially filled him when he was onstage. It was a complete and awesome substantiation of his chosen career. A confirmation he was doing what he had been born to do, praising Jesus in song.

A few hours later, Josh sank into the comfortable leather seat next to the front door of his bus. More than a day stood between Rapid City, South Dakota, and his wife, Bethany. He longed to see her. To be home. He could be there sooner, but he hated to fly. It would be a long ride to Nashville.

“Do we have any jelly beans, Danny?” Josh asked, settling into the seat just as the bus rolled forward.

“You betcha, boss.” The driver glanced at his side mirror, assessing the lane to his left. “Look in the drawer under your seat.”

Josh leaned forward and pulled the drawer open. He found five or six bags of the colorful candies. “You’re too good to me, man.” He grabbed a bag and tore it open.

“Just trying to get on your good side.” The stocky driver laughed while merging the bus into the late-night traffic to head east on Interstate 90. “Actually, I need a favor. My mom’s surgery has been scheduled for next week, and I’d like to be with her if you don’t mind hiring a substitute driver.”

“How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected when you’re facing major heart surgery. I know I need to trust the Lord to get her through this, but I’ve only got one mom. It’s hard to imagine. . . .” The driver choked up.

“Let’s pray for her right now.” Josh stood and laid his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Father, I know how much you love Danny’s mother. I ask that you wrap your arms around her and her family. Give them peace—and bring something positive from this trial. I ask for complete healing, Lord, and pray for your will in Jesus’ powerful name. Amen.”

“Amen . . . and thanks.” Danny took a hand off the steering wheel to swipe his face.

“Can Mitch do the Tulsa trip on his own?” Josh asked, returning to the jump seat.

“He could if Ryan will lend a hand. He’s had an attitude lately when I ask him for help.”

Josh threw too many jellybeans into his mouth and contemplated what Danny had said. “What’s the problem?” He chewed through the words.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Ryan has a lot on him with playing guitar and road managing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to him. You just take care of your mother.” Josh stood, stretched, and stifled a yawn.

“You need to get some sleep instead of feeding that sugar addiction.”

“You’re right. I think I will. Let me know when we stop for fuel. I want to pick up a paper at the truck stop. Alabama played Tennessee tonight.”

“Will do, boss. See you in the morning.”

“Get us there safe, man.” Josh pulled back the thick black curtain that separated the driver’s compartment from the front sitting area of the bus.

He walked across the dimly lit lounge, between empty sofas and captain’s chairs, and pushed the white button on the far wall of the kitchen galley. The bunkroom door opened with a whoosh. The sliding air lock door always reminded him of a device from
Star Trek
. If only he could be beamed home instead of having to endure an eighteen-hour bus ride. Yet, at this point, he was thankful a comfortable bunk awaited him.

In a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the low light in the windowless hallway, which was little more than a twenty-foot compartment that had been divided into stacked bunks and skinny closets.

The band and crew had turned in for the night, which was evidenced by six drawn curtains. Sleep would pass the time and help heal the stress of the last few weeks. So could a phone call to his wife, but it was after two in the morning and Beth would be in bed. He would call her tomorrow.

Josh reached to switch on the overhead light inside his bunk. Because he was the lead performer and business owner, he could have commandeered the back lounge for a star bedroom, but he enjoyed being with the others. Most buses had bunks stacked three high. His 2003 Prevost had two stacks of two on each side of the aisle. Eight bunks. Enough for him, his band, and Mitch, his merchandise manager, plus one for Danny when he napped between shifts. They stowed miscellaneous gear and bags, or an occasional guest, in the extra bed.

Josh’s bunk was in the first stack on the left. Climbing in, he decided not to turn on the small television bolted to the wall. He pulled the covers up, tucked himself in, and prayed silently for a safe trip home. He knew it wouldn’t take long for the purring of the diesel engine and the gentle motion of the big bus to rock him to sleep.

Bethany Harrison measured a cup of chocolate chips and poured them into the soft cookie dough. Ordinarily she would have popped a few of the delectable morsels into her mouth, but not before breakfast. She glanced at the clock.
Eight a.m
. She hadn’t even dressed for church.

The smile on Josh’s face would be worth her rushing around this morning. It had been a month and a half since she’d seen him. She hated the separation.

Thinking about him temporarily stilled the nagging headache that had awakened her. No doubt the Nashville weather had taken a toll on her sinuses again. Allergies were part of the Middle Tennessee Welcome Wagon. One negative in her otherwise blessed life.

Help me, Lord, not to complain. But, please, relieve me of this headache
. And soon?

After rolling dollops of the cookie dough into balls, she placed them onto prepared baking sheets and reached for her secret ingredient—raw sugar to sprinkle on top. The caramel colored crystals added sparkle and sweetness to what Josh called her Chocolate Chip Pizzazz Cookies.

She popped the two pans into the oven, fed Buster, their one-year-old Boston terrier, and then sat at the kitchen table to sift through her Bible study materials and nibble on a breakfast bar. Alexandra Hayes would arrive soon to pick her up for church. Maybe she would pack a few cookies for Alex to take home.

The sweet aroma of sugar and butter prompted Beth to check the oven just as the timer chimed. Perfect. She grabbed a potholder and moved both trays to the nearby stovetop. With a metal spatula, she transferred the warm cookies onto a cooling rack.

She had just enough time to change into church clothes. When she turned toward the hall door, the pain hit her. The most devastating pain she had ever experienced, like a bolt of lightning had struck her left temple.

Clutching her head, she fell to the floor.

The siren shrieked as the ambulance made its way through the East Nashville streets. Beth tugged at the oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. If she could only ask the driver to turn off that intolerable noise, her head might not hurt.

She couldn’t remember: had the discomfort come first—or the noise? Pain blurred her normally focused vision. She no longer had her bearings. The throbbing in her head drew a line between reality and illusion, trapping her on its jagged edge. She could only pray that, if she fell, she would fall the right way.

Blackness began to overtake her. And silence chased away the noise. Only the feeling of motion remained, as the ambulance rolled through time and space.

Suddenly, a herd of horses thundered through her head and arcs of white light shot across the horizon of her semiconsciousness. Her dreamlike existence unlocked an aural display of colors, sounds, and memories. She could almost reach out and touch the special moments from her life.

Delicate pink roses adorned her wedding bouquet. Josh stuttered as he proposed. Bright yellow galoshes splashed through buckets of rain on her first day of school. Growing up in Kentucky . . . her first pony . . . sleeping in the backseat of the car on the way to her grandparents’ house in Illinois. The memories came faster and faster, reminding her that she had enjoyed a lifetime of love.