The Turning (28 page)

Heather chose that moment to walk over. She smiled as she held out the phone. “It’s your nephew.”

John hesitated. “Now isn’t a good time.”

“You need to hear this.”

He took the phone, turned his back to the others, and said, his voice low, “What is it, Danny?”

“Uncle John, I know it’s probably a bad time. But I had to call. I worked the early shift today, and I got home, and I’ve got a few hours before I head out to the evening service—a church about three blocks from here.”

John felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “I’m glad, Danny. Really glad.”

“I’ve been reading my Bible. And I found something. It rocked my world. Can I read it to you?”

“Sure, Danny. Of course.”

“It’s in—let’s see—it’s a Psalm numbered 51. I wrote it down. I’m gonna pin it on my wall. I put verse 17 first, then 10 and 12. ‘My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise. Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.’”

The air seemed to tremble, as if the power John felt was taking shape in the meadow and the sunlight around him. “Those are powerful words, son.”

“What I wanted to say is, thank you. I came out of that prison a broken man. You gave me the gift of hope.”

The word seemed to take form and shimmer in the air before him.
Hope
.

When he didn’t speak, Danny went on. “I’d forgotten what it means to have that. I have so much to thank you for. Meeting me at the prison gates. Getting me this job. The money. The handshake and the words. But right now, all I can say is, thank you for the hope, Uncle John.”

John nodded.
I get it—thank you
, he silently said to God. “Danny, will you do something for me?”

“Anything, Uncle John.”

“Heather and I, we’re involved in something here. This—well, this venture, it’s … I don’t know exactly how to describe it, except that it’s big and growing bigger. I’d really appreciate it if you’d pray for us.”

“I’ll do that, Uncle John.” The young man’s voice cracked. “Thanks for asking me. Night and day I’ll be praying.”

The entire drive into Manhattan, John kept waiting for the fear, the dread, to assault him again. Instead, he remained unattached. They were seven in the first van. Richard drove with the same steady smoothness John suspected he applied to everything he did. John asked the group, “Any advice on what I should I say?”

“As little as possible,” Kevin replied. “Accept the fact you will not have the upper hand. Whatever you say will be twisted and thrown back in your face.”

He shrugged. “I’ve pretty much lived with that all my life.”

“But not in the public eye.” Kevin’s face was creased in a visual apology. “They will want to shame you.”

John surprised himself at how easy it was to smile. “That’s all probably true, Kevin. But you know what? This is the first time in years I’m
not
ashamed.”

Once across the bridge, traffic slowed to stop-and-go the closer they drew to Times Square. John could see Jenny’s forehead crease in concentration. “You have something on your mind?”

“I do, yes. I agree with Kevin, and what he has said is the same as what we heard from Reverend Davenport. On the surface of things, we are headed for failure. But this has been true since the beginning of all these encounters.”

Alisha harrumphed a chuckle. “And look how God has turned that one on its head.”

“Exactly. I feel this is what we need to prepare for here as well,” Jenny went on. “What if God moves in this place? That is the question we need to hold before our minds and hearts. That is why we did not follow Reverend Davenport’s urging. On the surface he was absolutely right. We are risking a great deal here.”

Richard said, “A very important point. Even if it did come from my daughter.” He smiled at her through the rearview mirror.

John realized what this was leading to. “You have something you want me to say.”

“If it is what
I
want, then it’s all wrong.”

“No, no, that’s not the way to look at this. Look, we’re a team. Why shouldn’t the Spirit use you to deliver the words?”

“Because
you’re
the spokesman.”

“But you’ve already been helping shape what needs saying, right?”

“After we left Ruth, something came to me. It’s very rough, but it’s all I had time for.”

He held out his hand. “May I see?”

She hesitated so long, Richard said, “Daughter, John is right. Show him.”

She drew a folded sheet from her purse, handed it over.

John unfolded the pages and read. Breathed in and out, slowly. Read them again.

She sounded tentative as she asked, “Is it all right?”

“It’s better than that,” John replied. “It’s inspired.”

Aaron chose that moment to announce from the backseat, “There is something I wish to say.”

Jason Swain sat in his cubicle, one of many in the large room, and pretended to work. Like all the senior programmers of the Austin-based electronic game company, “senior” had nothing to do with age since he was barely twenty. His office walls were only high enough to mask his computer screens from view. The intent was to offer privacy so long as he remained seated. If he wanted to connect with anyone else, all he had to do was stand.

The space was far removed from the office complex where the suits hung out. For one thing, the ceiling here was almost thirty feet overhead. For another, the programmers could decorate their space any way they liked. The young woman directly opposite Jason had a thing for giraffes. Her cubicle held twenty-four of the beasts, the tallest almost nine feet high and grinning down on Jason every time he lifted his head.

The tall, western-facing windows were veiled by diaphanous blinds that automatically descended as the sun began tracking toward the day’s end. Beyond the lawns sparkled their very own lake. The programmers had a score of paddleboats they liked to take out at sunset for high jinks and impromptu races. In the far corner was a space the size of ten cubicles that the programmers called the playpen, filled with games and bouncing toys and a pair of unicycles.

When Jason had first entered the chamber, he had thought he never wanted to leave. Today, however, he pulled up the clock on his computer and wished he could just wind forward to the moment he walked out, maybe for good.

His work area held four oversized LED screens, standard for programmers. Two held the code he was supposed to be working on. A third showed the storyboard and script governing the game. A fourth revealed the characters running the various options available to the gamer. As the gamer made choices, the various avenues would either open or close. Jason’s current task was to make the action flow smoothly. But right now the figures on his screens were frozen in place. Three ghouls gnashed their teeth at him, holding clubs and swords and other weapons over their heads. Waiting for him to get back to work.

The young woman who appeared in Jason’s cubicle evidently knew it did not hold an extra chair—she’d dragged with her a blue ball from the playpen. She straddled the ball, gripping the blue rubber tether, and bounced softly as she said, “What’s happening, Jason?”

Abigail belonged to his Young Life group at church. She worked in accounting, was perhaps the smartest person Jason had ever met. She could make her numbers do just about anything except stand up and bark. And Jason figured it was only a matter of time before she mastered that as well.

She was also very attractive. If one managed to look beyond the thick spectacles with their huge pale frames, the muslin clothing with vests layered over everything, the scuffed rubber clogs, and the absence of any makeup whatsoever. Jason had been working up the courage to ask her out. For five months and counting.

Jason glanced at her, then away. “I’m busy.”

“No you’re not.”

“I should be.” He glanced at his frozen screens and grimaced at the ghouls. “Maybe I should just quit.”

“You said you’d stick it out.” She bounced in time to her words. “You were right.”

“I’m not doing anything here. Literally.”

“That’s about to change.” She bounced back far enough to glance behind her, scouting the corridor. “You won’t believe what I just found.”

“Is it good?”

“Maybe.” Her bouncing drew her closer, her voice lowered. “Guess which ministry received a half million bucks.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Five hundred thou,” she repeated. Her grey eyes sparkled with a light remarkably soft, and he thought her voice was musical when she was happy. Like now. “From our own corporate foundation.”

“Wait. You’re telling me—”

“Yup.” Her dark hair floated around her face as she moved up and down. “The newest acquisition of the Mundrose Group celebrates by making a donation to a ministry.”

“Which one?”

“Reverend Albright.”

Jason could feel his synapses fire for the first time that day. “He’s not a real pastor anymore.”

“I know that. You know that. But that’s not what his website claims.”

“He teaches somewhere.”

“Pennsylvania.”

“And he writes books.”

“About God being only a cultural icon that belongs to a bygone age.” She was clearly enjoying this.

Jason said, “The donation has got to be tied to, you know, what’s happening out there with Barrett.”

“Why do you think I’m sitting here?”

“I’ve got to call Pastor Craig.”

“You know how to reach him?”

“He gave me a number to call. Day or night. If, you know, I had something.”

“Which you do.”

“Thanks to you,” Jason agreed.

“You’re welcome.” She seemed reluctant to rise off the ball. She watched him turn on his cellphone and said, “Guess that’s my cue.”

Jason was punching the number into his phone when he decided there would never be a better time. “Let’s do something, Abigail. You know, go out.”

Abigail turned very solemn. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” he said, swallowing hard. “I do.”

Her smile was glorious to behold. “So do I.”

“The Bible contains several different words that we translate as hope,” Aaron said. He leaned forward, placing his arms on the space between John and Jenny in the next seat. “The primary words are
tikvah
, which is a noun, and
mekaveh
, the verb. The first time this word appears, though, it is not used for hope directly. That passage is in the first chapter of Genesis, the ninth and tenth verses, where God gathers the waters and creates what will become the Garden of Eden.”

Richard slipped the van into a tight parking space, moving the vehicle back and forth twice before turning off the engine. He gripped the wheel and turned about, focused with the others on Aaron.

The young man with his scraggly beard and expressive hands seemed made for jokes. Even when, like now, he was utterly serious. “Why would the author of Genesis, inspired as he was by God, use that particular word in this particular place? Because we are to understand that it is here, in the gathering together, we know hope. God created man from the dust, and sheltered him in this divine haven. As we gather together in divine intent, we reflect the union of all things that existed within the garden. Before sin. Before the fall from grace.

“Here, then, is the
first
meaning of hope. The
highest
meaning. We gather together and seek to understand God’s eternal promise. And what is God’s fundamental purpose for man? To return the earth to God. When we act in faith and seek to do his will, we become a component, a significant part of the kingdom’s return. Here, in this imperfect search, strengthened by many hearts and minds working and praying together, we come closest to God. Through our shared hope in the unseen, through our unified desire to be his holy instruments, we know hope in its purest form.”

They sat in silence for a time. John’s only comprehensible thought was a yearning to do better. To do
more
.

Then his phone rang. He fished the device from his pocket and told them, “It’s Craig.”

Jenny’s mother asked, “Who?”

“The pastor in Texas,” Jenny explained. “The one who didn’t want us to do this.”

Richard reached back. “Let me take it.” He tabbed the connection and said, “Yes, Reverend. No sir, it’s always good to hear from you.”

Richard listened for a time, and then revealed a smile that transformed his features. “Really? They’re certain about this? Excuse me for asking, but we can’t get this wrong. No, I understand. Well, this is wonderful. Truly. A gift. Yes, sir, I’ll let you know as soon as John is done.”

Richard cut the connection, and shared around a smile so great his shining eyes almost vanished. “You won’t believe what just happened. Well, actually, you probably will.”

MANHATTAN

T
rent Cooper sat in the dressing room beside Radley Albright. The former pastor glowed with self-importance and stage charm. Trent had skimmed the man’s most famous book, which consigned religion to a cultural garbage heap. He had studied the professor’s website, which showed clips of him addressing thousands of students, talking about how he had finally seen the
real
light, left the ministry in order to serve the greater good and serve the people of this generation, serve the
truth
. Perhaps it was because the man had said the same words hundreds of times, but to Trent’s ears the message carried a calculated tone. As though it had been distilled from the man’s observations of society, rather than drawn from some deep personal change. So what the man actually believed, Trent had no idea. Nor did it matter. The longer he had studied the man and his message, the more convinced he had become. Dr. Albright was the perfect implement, a hammer to pound John Jacobs into the earth where he belonged.

The professor’s every word carried a pompous weight. “And who are you exactly?”