The Greatest Gift (27 page)

She left and Michael splattered dirt and pieces of rock all around him. “Elizabeth, hurry,” he shouted. When he turned, several men holding torches stood in front of him.

“Well, how is my friend from our journey doing?” asked Alexander, as he stepped in front of a group of soldiers holding Elizabeth. He pressed his spear against her neck.

She kicked his feet, and he slid the weapon across the side of her face, creating a small gash.

Michael stood and two Romans drew their spears to his chest. He kicked away the cloth behind a rock. “What do you have there?” asked Alexander.

“It is not yours.”

“It is now,” Alexander said, pushing Elizabeth into a group of soldiers.

“No!”

The two soldiers pushed Michael to the ground as Alexander picked up the cloth. “Ah, this is what Julius was hiding. He will not be able to enjoy the riches from this.” He turned to the soldiers. “Kill Julius.”

He turned back to Michael. “This should fetch me a mountain full of silver.”

Michael reached up and grabbed the cloth, running to the edge. He held the cloth out as the water’s mist moistened it. “You are a fool,” said Alexander.

“Let my daughter go or I will drop this.”

“Throw her over the cliff,” Alexander said, walking away. “I can wait for you to hand it over.”

“No!” Michael’s cry echoed through the cave as a soldier pushed Elizabeth toward the cliff. He dropped the cloth and tackled the Roman. He struck him in the face. “Leave my daughter alone!”

Michael smashed him again, bloodying his nose. He gripped the soldier’s neck and pressed hard. “I will take every breath you have.”

“Stop, Dad!” yelled Elizabeth.

He watched the Roman’s eyes turn back into his head. Another soldier grabbed Michael, trying to pull him away.

“Kill him,” shouted Alexander.

Michael wrestled free of the solider and picked up a large rock. He held it high over his head. “I will take your life like you have taken so many others.” He felt a shiver inside and trembled. A man grabbed his hand and took the rock from him. Michael looked back.

“Leave your anger here,” Jesus said. “You have done well, my son. Your journey is over.”

Michael got up off the soldier, still shaking with rage.

“Leave your hatred behind,” Jesus said. “Their empire will end. My Father’s Kingdom will live.”

He walked around the cave, staring at the Romans as they drew their spears. “When you leave here to go home, remember these words. Do not be deceived by the treason of those who speak my name to gain personal riches.”

The spears inflamed, and the soldiers screamed, dropping their weapons. “Those who use swords and spears to defend what cannot be taken from one’s heart only contribute to the evil of the world.”

Jesus picked up the cloth. “There will be those who say holy words in my name yet will never walk in my shoes.”

The cave shook. Rocks from above and around them fell and rolled, splitting and splintering into many pieces, sending the soldiers running from the cave.

“When the ground trembles from doubt, take the step of faith to find your way home.” Jesus stepped aside and motioned toward the waterfall. “Be baptized on this day. The water given to you from my Father is pure and good. Beware of those who stain it and use it for their personal gain.”

Alexander rushed Jesus and gripped the cloth. “You are a madman, preacher,” he said.

His hands crumbled, and fire filled his feet. Flames engulfed him, and Alexander screamed in pain as he fell to the ground. He crawled toward Elizabeth. “Murderer,” he said, groaning.

Michael clamped his foot on Alexander’s arm. “You are going nowhere, Roman.” Jesus took Michael by the arm and guided him to Elizabeth.

“Where there is man, there are fools,” Jesus said, standing over Alexander. “Where there is man, there is greed. Where there is man, there will be war. Do not be like man, Michael and Elizabeth. Look at the fool beneath you, guided by power and weapons.”

They watched as Alexander crawled and then slithered like a snake out of the cave. “Where there is oppression, let the angels sing from your heart with tolerance. Where there is poverty, may you spare a meal. Where there is pain, may you share your comfort.” He took a few steps back from the waterfall. Jesus motioned to it. “Let your faith take you home.”

Jesus smiled and moved his hands forward. A soft, warm wind brushed up against them. “Your world is beautiful. Make it more so.”

A bright light shone down upon Jesus. His body glowed.

“Are you ready, Elizabeth?” Michael asked, taking her hand.

She nodded and closed her eyes. A hot gust of air blew against them, pushing them into the waterfall.

Hewitt sat in the first pew and stared at the beautifully decorated manger. He lowered his head and let his mind take him back to the last Christmas Eve that he and his wife had spent with Hailey. Hewitt had put together her first bike, a pink tricycle with training wheels. A shiny silver horn was attached to one handle while red ribbons hung from the other.

He could still hear her laughter and see the unobstructed joy on her face when she came downstairs. “Wow, wow, yippee,” she squealed. “Can I ride it, Daddy? Can I?”

Hewitt grinned. “Just don’t run me over.”

“I won’t, Daddy.”

She hopped onto the bike and beeped the horn twice. “Watch out. Here I come. Miss Hailey is coming through. This is her street now. All aboard.”

“All aboard, what are you riding? A train?” he asked.

“No, Daaaaaaddy,” she squealed. Hailey rolled forward a few feet and put her hands up in the air. “Just like a roller coaster.”

Hewitt grasped Veronica’s hand and gave her a kiss.

“Yucky. Mom and Daddy kissing in a tree, kissing, first comes tub, then comes marriage then comes a puppy in a baby carriage.”

“A puppy?” Hewitt asked.

“Yes. A puppy,” said Hailey. Her voice started to fade as she rode the bike around the living room.

“Son? Hewitt? Are you feeling okay?” A voice jarred him back to the present.

Hewitt lifted his head. “Sorry, Pastor. I was lost in thought.”

“Good ones, I hope?”

He nodded and sighed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Pastor. I was just reflecting.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Hewitt took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Pastor Timothy sat next to him. “I’m here to listen.”

“Why did God take my daughter from me?”

Pastor Timothy moved closer. “I wish I had the answer to that difficult question. I ask many questions similar to yours every day.”

“I didn’t think you had an answer.”

“I’m not sure God wants us to have the answers. He may be asking us to find the answers instead of him sending them to us. What would we learn from life if the answers were always available? I don’t think we would learn much.”

“That may be true, but all I know is tonight I’m sad. I’m sad for my ex-wife. For what I’ve done to our lives. How I’ve failed in our marriage. I can’t seem to shake my anger. Our joy was taken far too early.” He glanced at him. “She was only five years old.”

Pastor Timothy turned to face Hewitt. “There’s no rational reason why someone so young and innocent with much to live for is taken from us in such a way.”

They sat in silence for several minutes until the pastor stood. “I must go pay a visit to a special friend of ours. Do you need to talk more?”

Hewitt stared straight ahead, mesmerized by the manger scene set up by the podium.
That’s where Michael disappeared. It has to be right around the manger. Yeah, we looked at it before and couldn’t find anything.

“Hewitt?”

“Huh?” He looked at Pastor Timothy. “I’m fine.”

Pastor Timothy held out his hand. “Merry Christmas, Hewitt.”

They shook hands. “You have a great day of celebration.” He remained seated in the front pew and pondered whether he had been attentive enough to the security around his house.
I was in the public eye. People knew I was rich, and they knew about my daughter. We should have kept her picture out of the newspapers and off the Internet. We invited every wacko out there to come take her.

He put his hands over his face briefly as the weight of his thoughts overwhelmed him. Suddenly, the church shook, interrupting his contemplation.
What was that? The wind?
 

He stood and noticed he was the only one left. He approached the manger and admired how the light shone on the face of the baby Jesus, like a laser from God’s hand. Hewitt dropped to his knees. “Why, Lord? Why won’t you help me find that girl? Haven’t I suffered enough losing my own daughter? Why should another girl suffer? Don’t we have enough pain in this world? Enough grief? How many times must I call some parent about finding their kid dead? How many more times must I do this? Tell me. Please, in the name of Hailey, help me.”

The strain of his voice echoed through the old church. The wind, once full of intensity, was silent now. He looked at the baby Jesus and saw some moisture on the face of the child. He took out a tissue and wiped his eyes, embarrassed that his tears had fallen on the infant. As he dried off the baby’s face, he began pleading, “I’ve got no more energy to fight the good fight. I have no clues as to what happened to them.”

He shook his head. “No. No.” He decided he had to fight back. The fear of having to call Connie about finding Elizabeth dead somewhere unnerved him. “I need to do this for Hailey,” he said to the baby.

He took out another tissue and wiped the baby’s eyes again. He stared and wondered.
What is that?
He dried another tear coming from the right eye and watched as yet another tear dripped down the cheek. Hewitt stood up and backpedaled a few steps.

“Pastor, are you still here?” he said loudly.

He spun around, inspecting the entire church. “Special Agent Ramirez? Are you still in the back?”

There was no response. Hewitt went to the pastor’s office and knocked. “Anyone in there?”

He tapped the door again. “Hello. Pastor. Anyone?” Hewitt stepped back and rubbed his forehead. “What the … ” He placed his hand on the metal casing that held Pastor Timothy’s name. It read “Pastor Vincent.”

Hewitt pulled out the black book and flipped through the pages until he came to Pastor Dennis’ scribbling. He read through his notes on Michael Stewart’s journey. He turned back a few pages and stopped. “GF believes he traveled to the time of Christ. Here are his thoughts.” – Pastor Vincent.

Am I dreaming? Have I finally lost it?
Hewitt tapped several more times on the door. “Pastor, are you in there?”

A thumping noise in the church area alerted him to return. “This is Special Agent Paul of the FBI. Show yourself.” Hewitt pulled out his gun and held it shoulder high. “I have my weapon out.” He grabbed his flashlight and held it out in front of him as he searched pew by pew.

He retreated to the manger, noticing a tear again trickling out of the baby’s eye.
This has got to be one of those automated dolls that cry.
Hewitt picked it up and turned the baby over, looking for a small screw with an attachment. There was none. He held the baby on its back and stared. A tear dropped again from the right eye and dribbled down the cheek. “Whoa,” he said, holding the baby away from himself.

Another tear fell. “Is this some joke, Ramirez?” he asked, shouting in the church. “I know I’m off this case, but this isn’t funny. Did Holligan put you up to this?”

Hewitt touched the tear with his finger. “Ouch,” he said, feeling a burning sensation run up his hand, arm and shoulder. The heat rippled through his body, sending him to his knees. A young voice called out. “Daddy, Daddy, help me, help me!”

Hewitt placed the baby back in the manger. “Who’s that? Where are you?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” the voice called out.

“Who are you?”

“Hailey.”

“Hailey? Dear. Honey. Where are you? Tell me! Daddy will come and get you.”

Hailey touched his hand. “Here, Daddy.”

Hewitt stared and took a couple of steps back. He fell to his knees and pulled her to his chest. “My Lord, you’re alive. How is it you’re here? Why are you here? Where have you been hiding?”

“Here.”

He looked up at her. “Here? In the church? I’ve looked everywhere for you. I looked in every pew, every closet, every office, every door, every stairwell and I didn’t find anyone.”

“Here,” she said, pointing to his heart. “I’m there every day.”

Hewitt closed his eyes and absorbed the feeling of holding his daughter. “I wish I could bottle this and feel this forever,” he said.

He opened his eyes and saw he was surrounded by older children. They were smiling and holding hands. He stood and turned around, looking at each child. “Do I know you? Were these your classmates, Hailey?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Who are they?”

“You don’t know them?”

“I can’t be sure. Were they at your parties?”

“No.”

He turned to each one. “Tell me.”

The older children moved around counterclockwise, singing.

“Why are they singing, Hailey?”

“They’re happy.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Tell me, honey.” He bent down on his knee and touched her face. “Tell, Daddy.”

She smiled.

He shook his head. “Are you really here?”

“Do you not see me?”

“I do. I want to believe you’re here.”

“Well, then I am. You saved them, Daddy. You saved them from the bad people.”

He stood and looked at each of the older children. Hailey held his hand. He squeezed it harder.

“You are a great daddy.”

Hewitt kept staring at the older children singing. He wiped a tear away and saw Hailey was gone.

“No, Hailey, come back,” he yelled. “Don’t leave.”

A big pile of salt stood in the middle of the parking lot. Susan maneuvered her car around it as kids were tumbling down the side. Once parked, she grabbed a bucket from the back seat, helped her mother out of the car and up the concrete steps. A piece of wood stood straight up in front of them, left over from the last super storm. They walked around it and were greeted by a brisk wind off the water.

Susan held her mother’s arm as they walked down the next set of stairs and onto the sand. They stepped through an opening of a plastic fence, leaning at a sharp angle. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “We can come back when it’s warmer. Maybe summertime?”

“Look at me, dear,” her mother said.

“Yes, so?” she said, stopping.

“I don’t have many more days to make memories with you.”

“Mom, stop talking like that. You could live to a hundred and twenty.”

“Not likely.”

“I’m not listening,” Susan said, covering her ears.

“Well, you’re going to listen to this. I’ve spent my whole life watching others make memories, others make moments.” She walked a couple of steps toward the shore and lifted her head toward the sky.

“What are you doing?” asked Susan.

“My grandfather would tell me around Christmas to look up in the sky and you would see … ”

“Santa Claus. Yes. I know the story, Mom.”

“Oh, Susan, no. He said if you looked up in the sky, you could see him traveling.”

“What?”

“My grandfather said he could travel to the end of time.”

“Well, you said he spent time in a psychiatric ward too.”

They took a few more steps toward the ocean. “He did. Yes. But was he really crazy?”

“Sounds like it. I thought you believed he was crazy.”

“I used to think so.”

They stopped at the edge of the water. “Now, what do you think?” Susan asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Susan got to her knees and placed the plastic bucket down. She extended her hand to her mother. “Do you need help getting down?”

“I’m old, not feeble.”

“Glad you’ve got some spunk left,” Susan said.

“That I’ve always had.”

They pushed the wet sand into the bucket, packed it tightly with their hands and turned it over. “Time it, Susan,” her mother said.

“How long?”

“Ninety seconds should do it. Long enough to dry.”

“Okay, you’re the expert.”

Susan set the timer on her cell phone. The waves rolled softly up to her feet. She took her shoes off and let the cold water caress her toes. Her mother sat, hands folded over her knees, her hair pushing back from the breeze. Susan noticed her smile.
I wonder why I didn’t see more of it.

The wrinkles, once seen as a stark reminder life was leaving less time for them to be together, instead gave Susan a sense of hope that they were embarking on a new relationship. The buzzer rang, and she tapped her mom’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Her mom didn’t respond. She closed her eyes.

“Are you feeling all right?” Susan asked.

“I am. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Susan said as she dug her toes into the wet sand.

Her mom put her hands on the bucket. “On the count of three,” she said. “One, two, three.” They pulled the bucket up and began to build. Three buckets later, a sand castle was born.

“Beautiful,” Susan said.

“It would have been beautiful even if it crumbled,” she replied.

“Spoken like a true mom,” Susan said with a laugh.

“I’ve been fortunate to be a mom,” she said.

“Ouch. Sorry, I haven’t been able to give you any grandkids.”

Her mom grabbed Susan’s hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant how lucky I am to have a daughter, someone to share and make memories. Like tonight.”

Susan nodded and stared at the waves coming ashore. The sounds of seagulls flying around were like white noise for her as if a fan were blowing on a hot August day. She closed her eyes and dreamt of a better tomorrow.

“Do you think you will get married to him?”

“Married to who?” Susan asked, opening her eyes.

“You know, him.”

“Him as in Michael?”

“Come on, honey. You told me you love him.”

“As a friend.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I know. You don’t believe men can be friends with women. I’ve heard the talk before.”

“No. I believe they can. I just don’t believe you and Michael are just friends.”

Susan kicked at the sand. “We have an understanding we are friends.”

“Is he your best friend?”

“I think so.”

“Best friends do get married.”

Susan wiped away some sand from in between her toes. “Gee, no pressure there, Mom.”

“I only want what’s best for you.”

“Michael is hard to read. I get mixed signals.”

“He’s a man, Susan. Men don’t know how to express their true feelings. He’s also had so much to deal with in his life. Sometimes, you need to give them a little push.”

Susan stood and wiped more sand off her legs. “There’s no point in discussing this. I have no idea where he is. Or whether he’s alive. Or whether he’s coming back.”

She watched the sky clear as the horizon sparkled with the evening’s stars. “Maybe you’re right, Mom,” she said, looking down at her.

Her mom stared straight ahead.

“Hello? Mom?” She waved her hand in front of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Her mom pointed to the sky.

“What is it?” asked Susan, turning around.

The sky lit up with a bright white light, and two dark blue streaks flashed across the sky and then downward. Susan waited for an explosion. “Was that a plane?” she asked, glancing down at her mom.

The light dimmed moments later, and the sky darkened again as the stars returned. “That was no plane,” her mom said.

“It wasn’t Santa, either,” Susan added. She noticed a flickering light in the distance as she looked to her left. “Is that a fire?”

Her mom got up. “I can’t see that far.”

“My God!” Susan said, standing. “It looks like it’s on top of the church.” She grabbed her cell phone and called 911. “Hello! I’m at Crab Meadow Beach, but I can see a fire not too far away.”

“Where is the location?” the operator asked.

“It looks to be the church on Main Street.”

“Town?”

“Northport.”

“Thank you.”

“We have to get to the church,” Susan said, putting her phone away.

“The firemen will take care of it,” her mom said, holding onto Susan’s arm. “I need to go home. I’m cold.”