Pierced by a Sword (24 page)

She laughed at his odd joke.

"Joe, darling, you're already making me feel better. It's just that you surprised me so much with your proposal. Everything is happening so fast!"

"I surprised myself, Becky. It usually takes me months to figure things out. Maybe with you around, we could bring it down to weeks! But my dad and mom fell in love and decided to get married on their first date, and so did Chet's folks. It's not that
uncommon, I guess. If it's the right thing, I don't really care how much time passes before making a decision. We might want to wait a while before telling anybody for the sake of appearances. But privately, as far as we're concerned, why wait? Now we can talk about what it's going to be like to
be
married instead of whether or not to
get
married. Those are two different sets of conversations.
This way, we can skip dating altogether. I've never been much for dating, anyway."

Yeah, why wait?
she thought. Becky reflected upon his words, a little bit amazed at how different Joe was compared to any other man she had known. There was a fearlessness about him. After all, weren't men afraid of commitment?

Where is it carved in marble that you have to spend years together before knowing if
the other person is the right one for you? I made up my mind about Joe inside the restaurant before Joe even brought marriage up.
The idea of marriage hadn't crossed her mind inside Bruno's. She just knew that she
wanted
him. Joe had taken that desire to the next logical step.

She was also amazed at her own lack of fear.
Shouldn't I be afraid that I'm making a mistake? But I'm not afraid.

After
a long silence, she spoke, "I liked it when you called me 'my love,' Joseph."

"And I liked it when you called me 'darling,' Miss Becky."

"We better get back to the party," she suggested.

"Sure thing."

"Oh, by the way,
darling,"
she whispered tenderly, taking great pleasure in hearing the words come from her lips with such emotional certainty.

"Yes,
my love,"
he said softly, more softly than usual.

"I accept your proposal for marriage. I don't think I did that yet. I was too busy exploding! My father is dead, so there's no one else to give away my hand, as they say. My mom won't care either way."

"Okay," he said, back to his taciturn self, as he put his arm around her waist and led her to the party, which was just beginning to peter out.

2

Monday, Midnight
9 October
Notre Dame, Indiana

Nathan
and Joanie stood under the Father Sorin statue where their new life together had begun the day before.

After the party broke up, Denny drove Nathan and Becky back to Notre Dame to pick up Nathan's car, which had a parking ticket on the windshield. The plan was for Nathan to drive Becky back to Chicago. Denny was waiting in his idling car so he could drive Joanie home.

Father Chet had left for
New Jersey from Bruno's Pizza after the dinner. Chet had been terse with Nathan when the two friends had exchanged good-byes. After returning from his discussion with Joe Jackson, Father Chet had announced that he wanted to cut his vacation short. Because his bags were already packed in the Malibu, he would head back to New Jersey right away. Chet made it quite clear that he was not interested in
discussing the reason with anyone.

"But you'll have to drive all night long to get back. It's over eleven hours of driving. Stay over at my place one more night...or at least stay in South Bend with Joe–" Nathan had reasoned.

"Can't, buddy. Listen, I'll stay at a hotel if I get tired. Don't worry about me. Nothing personal. I've just got to get back, that's all." This was all the priest would
say, a determined tone in his voice.

Slinger and Joanie's parents were long gone. Joanie, Denny, Becky, and Nathan said their good-byes to Joe at Bruno's. Becky had given Joe a light, but rather lingering kiss on the cheek, Nathan noted. He deduced that something had occurred outside the back door. Then the remaining four had gone back to retrieve Nathan's car which was parked on the circle at
the end of Notre Dame Avenue.

+  +  +

"I wish we had more time to talk, Nathan," Joanie said as she looked up at the Father Sorin statue.

He admired her classic Irish beauty. Her skin was more delicate and white in the moonlight.

"The time for talk is over. Now is the time for action," he said, somewhat distantly.

"Are you quoting somebody?" she asked.

"Uh, no. I don't know where that came from.
Maybe the good Father Sorin said it. I heard he was a ventriloquist on top of being one hell of a chef, as well as a founder of great universities. All around guy, that Sorin. Real jack of all trades. Pole vaulted, too–1844 Olympics in Moscow. Silver Medal. I saw it on ESPN. The place went bonkers. Thousands of drunken Russians, storming onto the field, lifting Sorin up on their shoulders, singing
the Fight Song in Russian..."

"Your sense of humor is bizarre, Mister. And they didn't have cable in 1844–even I know that." She gave him a wry smile.

"I'm nervous, that's all. This Tom Wheat No Kissing Rule leaves me without the usual avenues for saying good-bye to a beautiful woman after a wonderful date. I did have a great time these past two days.

"I know it's only four days until Friday when
I come back. And that thing about not wanting you more than twenty yards away still holds, Joanie. I don't even have a picture of you!"

"Hold on Nathan–Denny!" she called, waving to her brother. Denny got out of his car and jogged over to them.

"What, Sis?"

"Do you have a picture of me in your wallet for Nathan?"

"Sure, I have your college photo. It's a few years old." He pulled a photo out of
his wallet and gave it to Joanie, who handed it to Nathan. Nathan noticed that the photo had a note to Denny from Joanie on the back.

"Listen, lovebirds," Denny said, shivering, "I've got to get up early to fly to Midway tomorrow. Don't mean to break up a great time but..."

"We understand, Denny," Nathan said. "Joanie?" He opened his arms and she gave him a quick hug.

They walked back to their
vehicles, said good-bye again, and pulled their respective cars onto Notre Dame Avenue. Nathan and Becky waved as he turned the Mustang right onto Angela Boulevard. It was too cold to put the top down.

Now what?
Nathan thought, as he headed away from the Golden Dome.

3

Early Tuesday Morning
10 October
Indiana Tollway

After ten minutes of silence, Becky said, "What a weekend, Nathan! I never thought
I'd be driving back to Chicago from South Bend with you on Monday after going to a party in your apartment on Saturday. I guess we both had a strange last couple days, eh? We also have one Father Chet Sullivan in common now, don't we?"

Nathan, distracted by his thoughts, nodded but said nothing in reply.

Becky felt like bursting out with song. Her thoughts were filled with her memories and emotions
associated with Joe Jackson. She looked at Nathan and frowned.

I guess Nathan's not hankering for conversation. Boy, he's a moody one. If he feels the same way about Joanie that I feel about Joe, you would think he'd want to shout it from the rooftops!

In fact, Nathan was in a dark mood. With every mile he put between himself and Notre Dame, the more he despaired of ever being able to win Pascal's
Wager. He didn't know it, but he was being attacked in the same way Lee Washington had been attacked in the Motorman Motel in Santa Paula. The enemies of God, realizing that their time and influence over Nathan were running out, had decided to bring out the big guns. For decades the enemies of God had relied on the depraved morals and messages of the world to keep Nathan unknowingly in their
camp. Now they found him slipping away. A three day battle had begun.

+  +  +

At the Calumet exit Nathan stopped to buy some Red Bull to help keep himself alert. As he pulled up to the highway entrance, he saw a large man hitchhiking. The hitchhiker looked very cold.

"George the Animal!" Nathan exclaimed, amazed. "George Moore! I used to know that guy in high school!" He spoke almost to himself.

Although his Mustang had already passed the man wearing only a worn checkered shirt and dirty Wranglers, the car had not yet entered the highway. He made a decision and hit the brakes rather hard.

"Oh Nathan! You're not going to pick him up, are you? What if he's dangerous?" Becky protested, alarmed.

Nathan said nothing as he cracked the gear into reverse and looked over his shoulder at George
Moore.

He's got a beard now!
Nathan thought.

Nathan stopped under a glowing orange ramp light. The man ran up to the Mustang and stuck his face next to Becky's window. Nathan powered down Becky's window. Becky immediately smelled beer on the man's breath.

The man spoke up, "Goin' to Chicago, Mister?"

It's not George,
Nathan thought dejectedly after hearing the hitchhiker's decidedly un-George-like
voice. The hitchhiker's voice was way too high.

Oh well, it's too late now,
Nathan thought, disappointed that he had stopped.

"Yeah, hop in. No, wait. Becky, mind jumping in the back? It's cramped but I don't think this guy could fit back there."

Becky opened the door, squinted her eyes at the hitchhiker and climbed into the back. She was not happy. The strange man was intruding on her pleasant
thoughts about Joe Jackson.
He stinks! And he doesn't look a day older than eighteen!

Tommy Gervin got into the car without saying a word. He did stink. Tommy hadn't had a shower in over a week and hadn't slept indoors in over two days. He had just been fired from a job washing cars in Gary that very day–for stealing. He heard there might be work in Chicago on the docks from one of the brothers
at the car wash where he had worked for three whole days.

Except for his voice and beard, he could have been the twin of George Moore. Tommy eyed Nathan cautiously. Nathan seemed to be concentrating on the road.

Rich guy and his prissy rich girlfriend,
Tommy thought.
He's probably soft and weak after sitting on his butt at some fancy desk in some fancy office. I'm twice his size.
Tommy crossed
his arms and felt for the knife resting inside his thick woolen shirt.
Bet he's carrying a ton of cash. And five credit cards.

Tommy had never robbed anyone before. But there was a first time for everything.

4

Tuesday Morning
10 October
California Highway 190, California

If Randall Knott had not read the passage about the Good Samaritan that morning, he might not have picked up the sorry-looking
black boy on the outskirts of White River.

That boy looks like he's a-been dragged down the Sierra Nevadas by the coyotes.

Randall Knott was also a black man. He was a janitorial supplies salesman who had the northwest territory outside of Bakersfield for Johnco Distribution Company. Johnco's name was only half-pun. The owner's name was Johnny Johnson. Johnson and Knott belonged to the First Baptist
Church of McFarland. Randall's next stop would be the Tule River Indian Reservation. He had an excellent relationship with Chief Roundrock.

And they can't call
me
paleface up at Tule River!

Randall chuckled to himself.

Randall read the Bible for a half hour every morning when he woke up, and for a half hour every night before he went to bed. This morning he had meditated upon the story of the
Good Samaritan. Randall Knott had asked himself if he would have done what the Samaritan had done.

Well, that boy's your chance to find out, Randall. Sure looks downtrodden enough. Thank you Jesus for the opportunity to prove the value of your good and trusted servant Randall!

Lee Washington was walking alongside the two lane road, and did not have his thumb out. Randall pulled his dusty 1986
Buick Riviera onto the shoulder, leaned across the seat and opened the door.

"Need a ride, stranger?" Randall offered, praying silently to Jesus.

Lee turned. He looked at Randall. "Brother, I was just praying for a ride."

5

Early Tuesday Morning
10 October
Chicago Skyway, Illinois

Becky was trying to stay awake in the back seat. Fear had overcome her need for sleep. The hitchhiker gave her the
creeps.

Tommy decided to pull his knife on the Skyway because he figured the driver of the Mustang would have no room to pull over and would have to concentrate on driving. He waited until he was certain Nathan's eyes were not on him, then moved his left arm slowly toward the handle of his knife–Tommy Gervin was a lefty.

In a split second Nathan reached over and grabbed Tommy's wrist. Nathan's
grip was like an iron vise. Tommy was frozen. Then Nathan
looked
at Tommy and Tommy was suddenly filled with fear. What began as a physical battle had quickly become a battle of wills. Nathan won.

Big mistake,
Tommy thought.
Now I get my butt kicked.

"Listen friend," Nathan whispered, "that's not what you need. It's not what we need. Hand it over."

Don't break the bruised reed,
Nathan thought,
wondering where the familiar-sounding words came from.

Nathan had seen the bulge in Tommy's shirt as soon as the hitchhiker had opened the door to get into the Mustang. He had purposely avoided looking directly at Tommy, waiting patiently for over ten minutes for him to make his move–if any move were to come at all.

Thank God he went for the knife slowly,
Nathan thought.
It's been a long time
since I've been to a dojo.

A gasp of breath escaped from Becky when she saw the hitchhiker hand Nathan a large hunting knife. She noticed it still had a price tag on its green rubber handle.

Is it stolen?
she thought.

Nathan began to speak quietly, soothingly, but Becky could make out the words, "What's your name, buddy? You remind me of a guy I used to go to high school with."