The Visitation (21 page)

They strolled nonchalantly through the gate, past Matt and Norman who waved them in with the mantra, “Come on in; no cameras please.”

The ranch house was a beauty. The big doors of the four-car garage were open, beckoning to the gathering crowd. The widow’s Town Car and her late husband’s awesome truck were parked in the circular driveway in front of the house to make room in the garage for a sizable arrangement of folding chairs.

“There’s Nancy Barrons,” said Bob, nodding in her direction.

“Hey, and there’s, uh, the Episcopal guy.” Kyle waved.

“Paul Daley.”

“What does he think of all this?”

“He says he’s neutral, but boy, is he hooked. He really wants to know who this guy is.”

“Just like us. Oh, there’s the priest, uh, Vendetti.”

Michael the Prophet stood out in front of the garage now, directing people inside. “Fill all the rows. Please move all the way down to the end to make room for those still coming. Thank you. Thank you. Right this way. Second row now, second row. That’s it.”

Kyle and Bob ended up in the middle of the third row. The chairs were arranged in a wide fan pattern facing the back wall of the garage. As far as Kyle could see, there was no pulpit or lectern, only the workbench with Mr. Macon’s tools still neatly arranged on and above it. He spotted Sally Fordyce near the left end of the second row, and in the first row, dead center, were Bonnie Adams and her daughter, Penny. There were other familiar faces here as well, but also a preponderance of strangers from out-of-town, among them the motor home set bringing abundant riches from afar. The local business folks in the crowd had to be noticing that.

All this time, the widow Macon had been standing on the steps leading from the garage into the house, decked out in a blue denim western outfit with white fringe, silver buttons, and fancy white cowboy boots. Her arms remained folded and her face serene as she regarded each visitor taking a seat in her garage. As the last visitors still trickled in from the pasture, she crossed the garage and stood in front of the workbench, her hands clasped in front of her, and gave us all a greeting. “This is the day which the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

Someone in the group let out a cowboy whoop.

She reminded everyone about the No Cameras rule, added a No Smoking rule, and then told the story of how Brandon Nichols first came to the ranch. It wasn’t much of a story. He came to her door delivering four sacks of groceries and needing a job. She recognized a prophet of the Lord and hired him.

“But even now,” she giggled, “it’s not for me to say who he really is and where he is really from. I leave that up to you, just as he does. Brandon?”

The crowd broke into applause as the door to the house opened and a young man made his entrance, smiling, nodding at the crowd, shaking the hands that reached out. Kyle and Bob shot a glance at each other. This was their first sight of him. He was dressed in modern clothes—a white, long-sleeved shirt and white cotton trousers— but the resemblance to the traditional Jesus was striking. Kyle reached into his jacket and started the tiny tape recorder.

Nichols leaned against the workbench, looking relaxed, and scanned the crowd. Then he spoke clearly, informally. “I’d like to thank you all for coming and tell you from the outset that we tend to be a little unconventional up here. Jesus was unconventional for his times—or if you will,
I
was unconventional—” Several in the crowd laughed while several, including Kyle and Bob, cringed. “But whatever your religious background or belief system, don’t worry, there’s something here for each of you—”

He suddenly stopped, his eyes on a woman in the front row. “Pardon me, uh, Dorothy, is it? Your friends call you Dotty.”

Dorothy was one of the well-to-do folks from the motor homes. She nodded while her husband and some friends looked her way, obviously impressed that Brandon Nichols knew her name.

Nichols reached out and took her hand. “No more arthritis, Dotty. You’ve had enough.”

She lurched, cried out, shook a bit, and began flexing her hands, astounded and then ecstatic. She leaped to her feet, faced the crowd, opening and closing her hands rapidly for everyone to see. Nichols had to raise his voice to be heard over the excited clamor. “If I
were
God, I’d do something about the pain in the world. I have the power, right? Why shouldn’t I use it?”

He casually reached out and touched a long-haired young man who had come in a beat-up van. The young man immediately jumped up and screamed with joy and amazement, touching his ears.

“How’s that?” Nichols asked.

“I can
hear!
I can hear everything!” His girlfriend jumped up and they embraced. The young man wept, then looked around the garage and outside as if seeing a whole new world. “I can hear the birds! I can hear the wind!”

Nichols had to shout now. The crowd was really stirring. “If God is truly visiting you, then he should be willing to prove it. I have no problem with that.”

He gave his right hand a little twirl and suddenly, as if by sleight of hand, he produced a small loaf of bread and offered it to a little girl on the end of the second row. “Hungry?”

She took it and bit into it.

“What do you say?” asked her mother.

“Thank you.”

He smiled at her as another loaf appeared in his hand, then another, then another. He tossed them into the crowd as hands went up to catch them. “Why do you worry about tomorrow, what you shall wear and what you shall eat, when you know that your God cares for you?”

“Let’s see what’s up your sleeves,” a man wisecracked.

Nichols took it in stride. “Not today,” he said, and then winked.

“Hm,” said Kyle.

Nichols motioned for quiet and the crowd settled into their seats, wound up like springs.

“Don’t forget me!” a woman in the back shouted.

“Alice!” said Nichols as if seeing an old friend after many years. “Bad hip, right? Don’t worry, we’ll get to it.”

Kyle looked over his shoulder and saw Alice squeal, her hands over her mouth.

“This is incredible,” said Bob.

“Really incredible,” Kyle replied. He didn’t know what to expect when he arrived, but it certainly wasn’t anything as direct and intense as this.

“When Jesus came to earth the first time,” said Nichols, “he went about doing good. Well, why not now? And I’m not just talking about myself. I’m talking about all of us. You may define me any way you wish. Maybe I’m Jesus. Maybe I’m the reincarnation of Jesus. Maybe I’m only a channel of his power.

“It doesn’t matter. However I become Jesus for you, you have to be Jesus to others and the time to start is right now!”

“Oh praise the Lord!” a woman burst out. Kyle didn’t have to look to know it was Dee Baylor, but when he did look, he saw not only Dee but her two friends, Adrian and Blanche. His hands were clenching into fists now and his stomach was in a tight knot.

Bob must have noticed. He leaned over and said, “Take it easy.

Just pray.”

“We have to come against this and bind it!” Kyle hissed.

“Let’s get out of here alive first,” Bob replied, and Kyle could see the fear in his eyes.

Bonnie Adams reached out to him and he touched her, apparently giving her the jolt she desired. She flopped back in her chair, trembling.

Paul Daley and Al Vendetti were sitting together toward the back, both wearing their black suit jackets and clerical collars, and both spellbound, their mouths agape, their eyes intense. Paul Daley had his hand over his heart. Al Vendetti was tightly clutching the jeweled cross hanging from his neck. Behind them, Armond Harrison was actually smiling and nodding in glad approval— until he saw Kyle. Then he gave Kyle a warning with his eyes:
Watch yourself, bub.

Kyle couldn’t alter the unkind facial expression he sent back. He was too upset, his heart pounding, his stomach churning, his hands shaking. “Antichrist,” he whispered. “The spirit of Antichrist!”

“We can provide for those in need,” said Nichols, producing several more loaves of bread out of thin air and tossing them to waiting hands. One flew Kyle’s direction and he caught it for inspection. “Listen, God cares about your homes, your businesses, your health. He can bring new life to this community if you’re willing to get on board. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if people wanted to visit Antioch because here, more than any place else in the world, they could feel loved, welcome, and healed?”

Norman Dillard and Matt Kiley were grinning now, and Norman gave Nichols a thumbs-up.

Kyle examined the little loaf of bread. It was like a small sourdough roll. Nothing strange or unusual about it. He passed it along to someone else, not wanting to keep it, much less eat it.

Suddenly Nichols looked grim and pointed. “Sir, pardon me, no cameras.”

Every eye turned toward a skinny, cowpokish fellow in jeans and work shirt standing in the back, a small camera to his eye.

“Nevin, really!” the widow scolded.

Nichols found a reason to look away as Nevin hurriedly snapped two pictures. Then Matt, Norman, and Michael grabbed him. He tried to get loose. They tried to grab his camera. It turned into a disturbing scuffle. The joy of the gathering chilled like a campfire doused with water.

“He’s not Brandon Nichols!” Nevin yelled, trying to keep an iron grip on the camera while Matt and Norman almost carried him by the arms to remove him. “He’s not!”

“Lean forward,” Kyle whispered to Bob.

“Huh?”

“Scratch your head or something.”

Bob saw the small camera in Kyle’s hand and scratched his head. Kyle got a few shots of the distracted Brandon Nichols through the crook of Bob’s arm. “Okay, that’s it.” He quickly slipped the camera back into his pocket.

The widow was trying to explain, “Shhh now, it’s all right. Nevin used to work for me before I fired him. I’m sure you understand.”

“Okay, okay,” Nevin hollered in the distance, shaking the three men off. He turned to leave, but pointed at Brandon Nichols and shouted the last word as he went, “He’s lying!”

Michael ran back to the garage and grabbed the staff he’d left leaning against a post. “Hear the Word of the Lord, my people! Let not the siren song of deceit wrestle the blessings of God from you! The enemy roams about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour! This man would rob you of your blessing!” He looked one more time as Nevin Sorrel disappeared over the brow of the hill, and gave a shrug. “He’s crazy.”

Brandon Nichols took charge again. “We’ve gained a valuable lesson, haven’t we? Things haven’t changed much since the first time I was here. There are still those who would judge and condemn and set themselves up as moral and spiritual lords over the rest of us.” His eyes connected with Kyle’s at that moment and then moved on. “But why let them? We can start again, start fresh right now. I’m willing to get you started. The rest is up to you. Are you going to try loving and accepting one another and enjoying your differences, or are you going to go on hating and killing for another two thousand years?”

Some applauded, others said Amen, some said Right On, and some were still bothered.

“Alice!” Nichols called. “Let’s get that hip taken care of so you can get on with your life!”

He ran around and touched her. She leaped to her feet with a scream and started jumping and kicking. Nichols kept things rolling, restoring some eyesight, removing a cancer, producing more loaves of bread, healing more arthritis, and even causing a bald spot to fill in.

Kyle recorded it until his tape ran out and even managed to snap a few more pictures with Bob’s help. He was over his initial shock by now, but feeling as comfortable as a soldier who suddenly finds himself in the very center of the enemy’s camp.

“Adrian!” Nichols shouted, and Adrian Folsom leaped to her feet while Dee and Blanche squealed. Nichols approached her, extending his hand toward her face as he pronounced, “You will have a special place in God’s plan for this town! Be listening, be watching, for you shall be a voice for God!” He touched her, and she collapsed into the cushioning arms of Dee and Blanche.

While Blanche fanned Adrian’s face, Dee leaned in, expecting the very next touch. Nichols moved on without meeting her eye.

Ooh
! Kyle thought.
That hurt.

At three o’clock, just an hour after the meeting began, Mrs. Macon signaled Brandon and then pointed to her fancy jeweled wristwatch. He raised his hands in a gesture of blessing. “Our time is gone.” People began to protest, but he didn’t waver. “That’s all for today. Spread the word to your friends and come again tomorrow, eleven o’clock in the morning.”

Kyle and Bob both knew the significance of that time: It was when their own morning services began.

Nichols ran over to the door through which he first emerged as the crowd rose and applauded him. Then, with a Nixon-like farewell wave, he ducked through the door.

“Good-bye, everyone!” said the widow. “Thank you for coming.”

A reporter shouted, “Can we have a moment with him?”

She shook her head. “He’s not here to do interviews. He’s here to minister.”

Sally Fordyce hurried across the garage toward the widow, her eyes full of tears, her hands clasped under her trembling lip. “Mrs. Macon! I’m here! I’ve come to see him! I’m . . .” Her words became unintelligible as she wept.

Michael took his staff in hand and started herding the crowd. “Thank you for your presence with us today. Walk with God as you return to your vehicles! The Lord bless you and keep you! The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace! Watch your speed driving out.”

“Mrs. Macon! I’ve, I’ve got to see him!” Sally cried.

Suddenly, Nichols appeared in the doorway again and aimed a warm and welcoming gaze at Sally Fordyce. “Sally!” he called, smiling and beckoning to her.

She crumpled to her knees, shaking with emotion. He took her hand, raised her up, and they disappeared through the door.

Kyle and Bob looked at each other.

“Sally Fordyce!” Kyle said. “The one who saw the angel!”

“He has plans for her.” Bob shook his head.

“Oh God forbid!”