The Messenger of Magnolia Street (27 page)

The Midnight Hour

One clawed foot, and then another steps down. The shape rises on hind legs, a black wing whipping so close to their faces that they momentarily lose their breath. And yet it brings even colder air, until they are so cold they feel that they are blue.

I am unimpressed. But then, I am watching everything. I am watching, even now, as all the variations of the future line up before me. Even as the cave walls begin to crumble. As the threat of the death of all Shibboleth begins to rumble, I look beyond the
veil of now into the time when the well-worn wishes of a people's hopes fell easily through the earth, through rock and dirt and time, to rest protected in their Treasure Room. A room that was once guarded by small bodies with big believing hearts. One that is guarded still. Look and see.

The guardians are embracing. And in that embrace there is faith. And in that faith, there is a future. The seeds of destinies have been unleashed. The gold of purpose, the light of passion take their stand. They are of one mind. Of one heart. And the Presence is personified.

The beast stops laughing. Slowly turns around. It is confused. For it is only now, in the final hour, that this messenger of the Thief has realized what is taking place. And it takes one giant step forward to stop it. To slice through the thing that Nehemiah and Trice have become. But before it can reach them, Blister leaps without thinking through the air, grabs onto the slimy surface at just the point where the wings hook into the back. And here, in this close proximity where there is no human air, he bites down onto something inhuman until it screams with pain. It's not the bite that inflicts hurt but the courage of it that sinks so deep. It is a man's heart that has been long in the dark, a man who has stepped forward for unselfish gain, that causes the pain. It's Blister's bravery that sears the beast.

The dark wings flap back and forth. Rage spills from its gut. The walls shake and threaten here to swallow Trice and Nehemiah and Billy and all of Shibboleth. All of them once and for all.

Billy reaches into his right pocket and pulls out his hunting knife. He calmly opens it and with one last look at that strange unified apparition, one-half his brother and one-half his friend, he turns to face the beast head on, face-to-face. The wings writhe and flap wildly and knock his helmet from his head, but he doesn't
need the helmet light to guide him anymore. He follows the smell burning in his nostrils and leaps into the darkness with one intent. To give Nehemiah and Trice just a little more time.

Miles away, in the midnight hour of their existence, Sonny Boy lets out a long and mournful wail.

 

Cassie Getty pulls the thorny vines away from the stones. The skin on her hands is torn, and they are snagged and bleeding. If only Obie could see Cassie's hair now. It is truly the worse for wear. She clears the opening to the well that is so overgrown and hard to find. Even Kate's listening bench is covered now. “Lord, how'd I ever find it?” she asks and looks down into the darkness she knows is waiting but cannot see. She pulls herself up with both hands but she doesn't quite make it before she falls back again. She tries one more time and is up, with a little help from an unseen hand. (Sometimes destiny needs a holy push. It's called
colaboring.
) “Well now,” she says, trying to straighten her hair, brush it from her eyes, “I made it this far.” And straddling the well, with one leg in and one leg out, Cassie struggles to keep her balance as she opens up her purse. She doesn't realize that the very pits of hell are trying to swallow up Shibboleth one great clawing bite at a time. The earth rumbles. And with her purse open on her lap, with both her hands opening up her change purse, there is one great shake from below and Cassie tumbles over the side and into the darkness. Where once there was water that was cold and clear to drink.

 

Billy can feel black breath on his face. And he can feel the blade of his knife penetrate something. But what would you call that something? And how does a weapon from one world fight a manifestation from another? What I can tell you is this: it is Billy's heart and his intention in the fight that matters most. The fact that he has
embraced his purpose, remembered his position. And he isn't the only one.

There are walls going up around Shibboleth. Individuals are laying spiritual bricks. Each fighting with unusual weapons. Courage and compassion. Remembrances and recollections. Prayer and persistence.

Cassie Getty has worked long and hard through this endless night, in this final hour, to reach her destination. John Robert became the man he was meant to be when he took hold of the slimy-ridged back of a winged blackness, determined to protect his daughter if he had to ride through the gates of hell to do it. To protect them all. Butch, a man of action, is holding his prayerful position. And Magnus and Kate are weaving songs in the keys of forgive and forgiven. And another, most wondrous thing has occurred. Nehemiah and Trice have become their essence. And now those interlocking destinies have joined the passion and purpose of Nehemiah and Trice.

Nehemiah is extending his hand out toward the empty spot where the treasure once was held. He is calling something forth. The Treasure Room has become a new force. The light that emanates from it needs no other power than itself. The light pours out of the space of that rock. The light is cutting back the shadows. And it is growing still. As Nehemiah and Trice believe the same thoughts, see the same vision, there is a new sound from above them. It hasn't even yet begun, but it is the sound of soft, metallic rain. A sound of wishes being found. Wishes upon wishes for an entire town. And wrapped up inside of each wish is a seed of hope that one day, one hour, one moment soon, the wishes will come true. Nehemiah and Trice can hear it. And so can you.

Cassie Getty is hanging by a rope. She has both of her short legs wrapped around the old water bucket. She is bruised and
scarred. She looks up above her, where before she would have seen millions of stars, but now nothing. Just nothing. Her arms are wrapped around the bucket rope and her bottom's on the bucket's edge. If she were any larger than her five-foot frame, any wider in the hips, she'd be long gone, she figures. As it is, she has just enough backside to cushion the rim. But she thinks she may have dislocated something. A whole lot of somethings. Cassie's pocketbook has fallen to the rock far below, but still clutched tight in her left hand is her change purse. Carefully, with a shaking right hand, she reaches farther around the rope, opens the tiny bag, and pulls out a quarter. She holds it firmly in her right hand, closes her eyes, and wishes that this darkness will not prevail. Then she drops the coin below. And takes out another.

When all the wishing has been done, when all the coins of Cassie Getty have rained down below, her wishes count up to twelve. There has been one for their deliverance, for the city of Shibboleth to be saved. And another that it would never be blind-sided again. And a special wish for the Heritage Oak in the square, that it and all that it holds would survive the storms of time. Cassie says aloud, “Let the stories never die.”

A special coin is dropped for all the children, for their innocence to be protected and treasured another thousand years. Another for the church, that what stands inside the people would be stronger than the building's walls. One for fertile ground to grow good greens and all manner of other living things. And another for relationships (such a funny thing for Cassie to wish for), that the lonely would find comfort, that the angry would forgive and be forgiven. For the purposes of man to align themselves with the purposes of God. For the stars to be set right this night in the heavens (and as she drops the coin she wonders, is it really night?). The rope begins to sway, Cassie begins to turn. “For the sinners,”
she says. And raining down another coin, she says, “For the saints, of which I ain't.” And then one last coin remains. One last coin is clasped tight inside Cassie's palm. It's her special secret treasure. It's a gold coin from her grandmother. Passed down from one lifespan into the next. Then Cassie makes a final wish as the bucket sways, as the earth below her trembles, as the stone walls of the well begin to crumble. “Let the river run,” she says, “let the waters spring forth in dry, dry places.” And she opens up her fist and the last coin falls down and out of sight.

It's then that I hear the beginning of the music. Not as you would first imagine. It is music that defies description. Music made up of overlapping voices from ages past and voices from the ages yet to come. They are singing a song that is made up of life. Of all of its pleasure and, yes, even its pain. Made up of every nuance and new child. The ages are singing. And their song finds its way into the cave, down the long corridor below the dried-up surface of the well and into the Treasure Room. And then, most majestically, the gold of Cassie Getty's final wish falls directly into Nehemiah's outstretched, expecting hand.

This is the one that he grasps as he turns to face the beast.

Billy is cutting with his knife, but with every slash of the blade the stench grows deeper. As if the innermost parts of the monster were more vile than its external apparition. John Robert is using his fists and his fingers, trying to work his way up the back so he can ram the sockets of those fiery orbs. There is a loud wail as the walls and floor shake. Yet, at the same time, the light inside that treasure room grows so wild, so powerful, it casts a net over the struggle. The light catches the beast off-guard. Forces it to close its eyes, to stagger slightly on its clawed feet. The light grows until it fills the cavern room. It lights all the dark, secret passages in. And all the secret ways out.

The beast screams, and its teeth show the stains of the hopes and dreams it has eaten. Devoured quickly before they could grow. Dreams plucked from the bravest hearts, faith ripped right from their bones. And it has left behind its greatest poison: dreamlessness. But then, this beast is the dream stealer. And without a dream, without a vision, ahhh yes—but you know the rest now, don't you? You've been watching it happen all along the way.

Nehemiah steps forward into the cavern's open room, toward the writhing, shaking shapes. The screams are deafening. They are from another dimension. And there is a yell that outweighs all the others. It is a warrior's cry as Nehemiah runs forward and climbs up without a pause until he is standing on Billy's shoulders. Billy grabs his brother's ankles to hold him steady, as Nehemiah comes face-to-face with the nemesis of Shibboleth. Trice steps out of the smaller room, and the light becomes so bright that Billy and Blister close their eyes even as they keep their stand. But Trice looks up at Nehemiah with a peace that is beyond description. Beyond understanding. Trice is already in another place. And part of that place is in Trice. And when Nehemiah looks down, all he can see is light. But he knows somewhere in that light is his love. And in truth, if he ever had to take a picture to remember Trice in all her earthly glory, this is the glory that he would choose. Trice filled with the Mystery.

Nehemiah turns and shoves that gold coin of sacrifice into the beast's gaping mouth. And as he does so, I hear these words: “Let there be light.” But they are not spoken by Billy or John Robert. Not by Nehemiah or Trice. The words have come rolling in from another place. They are words that have never died. They echo through the cavern's walls and reverberate with explosive force. And in the middle of a roaring scream, the beast turns to dust. And the dust dissipates to nothing.

John Robert, Billy, and Nehemiah come crashing to the floor. Trice moves quickly to John Robert's side, bends over him as he tries to say, “So sorry. So very sorry.” But those words are never uttered, as Trice lays her hand along his face. And suddenly John Robert feels like the new man that he is. Inside and out.

Now the light itself has multiplied. The cathedral rocks show multicolors, the sands of time having captured color. They are like stardust. Like fire from a night sky, resting in repose. What once was a den of death is now transfigured. And oh, how the lights are dancing! Glowing sapphire blue and yellow gold. Ruby red and amber. Green and amethyst. As if the rocks were celebrating freedom. Then there comes a new song. Rising from the ground. From all around. Perhaps it is only I who hear it. Or perhaps you hear it, too. It is a song that has been a long time in the coming. The rocks cry out. And the song reverberates, finds its way, winds its way, up to the surface and into the hearts of the citizens of Shibboleth. Who, finally, after all these years, one by one, begin to wake up. And to remember.

Light falling and light hovering. There is light in the darkest corners of the cavern. Light where light has never been. Light that is not a reflection of light but the very essence, the presence of light itself.

Billy and John Robert are stirring, sitting up from where they fell. But then they fall back to silent sitting. To awed, hushed silence, as the images, the shapes, move and sing. As the shapes of Nehemiah and Trice become more distinguishable. As they begin returning as close to their old selves as they will ever be. And the light dances out from around them all.

Nehemiah and Trice hold hands and walk back inside the Treasure Room. They are traveling from a place between dimensions, between where time stands still and where time is not. And they are counting with all thankfulness the new hopes and dreams of Cassie Getty. They gather up the fallen coins and place them on the pedestal of the rock.

The dark night is cast off. Behold, the new day has come.

John Robert gets to his feet a different man, the one he was intended to become. He walks a few steps and extends a hand to Billy, who has been watching the lights dance across the cave's ceiling. Billy looks up into John Robert's face, but he doesn't get up. And he doesn't speak. Ahh yes. Beholding a miracle is a breathless thing.

This is how it happened and is happening still with Kate and Magnus. Kate and Magnus help one another to their feet, their
bones and flesh so bent into one another they have molded together. Now they are trying to separate, to get the feeling in their feet back. To find new footing.

Butch closes his eyes, feels the release of battle spreading across his face.
It's going to be a good day
, he thinks.
A very, very good day.

“Well, I reckon they're gonna be hungry.” Kate brushes off her apron. “But everything sure is cold.”

“I don't think,” Magnus rubs her lower back, looks down and sees that her boots are missing and wonders when she took them off, “that they're gonna care.” But she is still staring at her feet. “I wouldn't even have died with my boots on,” she says. And then, without any explanation, Magnus begins to laugh.

At first it is a chuckle in her belly. But then the chuckle escapes her lips, and when Kate hears it, it triggers something in her that is closest to a giggle. But it doesn't stop there. There is a rippling of laughter. But then the ripple becomes a rapid. And it overtakes them and pulls them under. Butch turns around with a quirk in his brow, a question mark on his forehead. But the laughter hits him full in the face, because by now Kate is saying “Oh my” with her hands on her knees and Magnus, with her head thrown back in laughter, loses ten years from her face. They are laughing tears of joy. And that belly-busting joy is very contagious. Butch begins laughing with them. And he cannot stop. Even when he tries.

Cassie Getty's empty change purse falls from her hand as she clings to the swaying rope. She wants to adjust her tired butt on the rim of the bucket. It's cutting into her flesh and cutting off circulation, but she is careful not to move. The crumbling walls have stopped crumbling. And the rope slowly stops its swaying, coming to a full stop as the first light of morning travels down the circle of the well. “Lord have mercy!” Cassie says, and for the first time she begins to cry for help.

Now there are two new sounds inside the cave walls. One is the distant reverberating cry of someone from far above. It is filtering its lonely way down through the wishing well, where Trice hears and looks up, with her head cocked to one side, listening intently.

“Cassie Getty is in the well,” she says to Nehemiah. But she doesn't fully understand how she knows that is Cassie specifically. Knows this without question. But as time starts again in a new direction, the gifts of Trice will begin to surface just like the water bubbling up at her feet. Cool streams are springing forth from the dry places. And the water is as clear as glass.

Nehemiah, Trice, Billy, and John Robert make their way out of the cave's cathedral room. But first they turn back at the tunnel leading out, take one last look at the moving lights that appear to be alive. And they take one last look at the saving graces of Cassie Getty's hopeful wishes, cast like new seeds down the well, reflecting light where they've been captured and collected, and left on the Treasure Room pedestal rock.

The laughter has barely paused when the four of them make their way into the waiting arms of Kate and Magnus. There is a loud, rambunctious commotion. There are cries of celebration. There are tears of joy. And tears of relief.

Nehemiah sees Butch at the cave's entrance and releases Kate to shake his hand. No words need to be said. They have fought the good fight. And they have won.

Magnus walks toward John Robert, raises a trembling hand to touch his cheek, and runs her fingers across his eye. It isn't until he stands looking into the mirrored eyes of Magnus that he realizes that the same power which destroyed a dark force has made him whole again. In a new way.

Their reunion is short. There is a very important thing left to do and that is get to Cassie Getty from the well. So the party makes its
way, cold chicken and biscuits in hand, out of the cave and across the wet, sandy ground, into the welcomed return of the sun.

The water gets deeper and deeper by the second. Kate has her dress and apron pulled up high above her knees. She and Magnus have linked arms, and they will in many ways stay this way for the remainder of their days. Billy, John Robert, and Butch walk behind them, trying not to laugh at the sight before them and then laughing anyway. Nehemiah leads Trice by the hand across the rocks just above the water's surface. But she doesn't think this is necessary. Her heart is so light, so free, she feels they could all walk on water. That, for just a little while, it would be possible today.

Each of them in their own turn, in separate ways, is more alive than they've ever been.

There's a promise waiting as they cross the waters. There's a promise.

The Sweet By and By

Nehemiah returned to Washington right away. He was making good his promise to his friend, the senator. After all, it was election year. But this time he brought back with him his new bride, Trice. This was their changing season. To every life, one must come.

For the most part, Trice spent her days reading in the cool, calm space of their brownstone. Sometimes, so far away from home and in such a different place, she wondered if any of it had really happened at all. But recently, one morning while making the bed, she ran her hand along the side where Nehemiah sleeps, and it
came away with gold dust as fine as sifted flour. Later she showed her hand to Nehemiah, but there was nothing there. He had kissed her palm and said, “It's okay. I know. I see that light in you from time to time. Sometimes when you're sleeping, I look over and it's there.” They have gifts, the two of them. Ones they still don't fully understand. But in due time they will. Right now they know the simple things. That they are together as they've always been and will be. And that today they are going home. To Shibboleth, where they will let their roots grow deeper.

And if you should ever wonder about that big marine, you can find him still in Washington. He traveled back with two fresh pies from Kate riding on the seat beside him. The blackberry one he ate entirely before he ever made it home. Some people say he has a different disposition. He goes home to Philadelphia on regular occasions, and very often he is heard laughing. For no apparent reason.

Most of Cassie Getty's briar cuts have healed, but her legs will never look the same. She has taken to wearing pants these days. And she's a little uncertain now about her cloning theory. Just a little. She is thinking if she had fallen down that well and things had not worked out, maybe if she'd had a clone she could have gone on the same but in a different way. Then she shakes her head and says aloud beneath the dryer, “That's just selfish cloning. That's what that is.” When she looks up, she sees Obie staring at her with raised eyebrows. She raises her voice another octave and says, “Well, it's the truth. Just face it. We are all supposed to die sometime.” But Cassie Getty, that good soldier, will not die for many, many years to come.

Trudy Getty, Cassie's niece, has gone to Birmingham and is studying to be a paralegal. She writes letters home about the city and everything it has. And, much to her surprise, what it doesn't have. She misses everyone in Shibboleth an awful lot.

On some occasions, Magnus goes over to the diner to help Kate out because it looks like Darla is never coming back. In the cool of the evening, John Robert comes to visit Magnus. They sit rocking on the porch. He is patient with Magnus and affectionate with the cats. Sometimes they talk about the way things might have been. But only for a little while. “All in all,” Magnus says, “we are blessed.” And John Robert adds, “Beyond measure.” And they say this without knowing that Nehemiah and Trice will soon have a child. Thereafter, maybe three. I see babies on their knees.

The story of John Robert's face is something the town of Shibboleth will paint for years to come. They will paint a picture of a miracle. And the miracle looks like this: there was a man who lost himself but in the end was found.

The diner has new glass in all its windows, new curtains, and new paint. The menu has nothing new, but there is still healing in those piled-up plates. And Kate guards the gates of souls with warm comfort all around.

Pastor Brown has been preaching with new passion. Even his most hushed sermons possess an intensity that pulls people to their pew edge. They are listening.

Obie's still stepping out back to smoke, but she has switched to lights. And God knows, she is
trying
to cut down. She keeps an eye on things downtown. And she has moved up to the seventh pew on Sundays instead of sitting in the back.

Billy spends many hours driving the back roads with Sonny Boy or simply sitting at the diner. He feels that he is missing something, but what it is he doesn't know. He is contemplating opening up the PURE gas station. Something about that sign bothers him, its unlit darkness pulling strangely at his heart. “Guess a man needs something to do,” he says, looking at the sign through the diner window.

Kate says, “You need more than that,” but Billy doesn't answer or ask her “What's that?” He is deep in thought. Right now they are alone. And it is fairly quiet, but not for long. Kate is cooking up a storm. Tonight there is to be a party. Nehemiah and Trice are coming home. And as I look into that future, only one path lies before them. It is as clear as the spring's running water. Very soon, Nehemiah will run for mayor and by unanimous vote will become all that Shibboleth once embraced. And so much more. Far into his future, well into old age, he will tell great stories of battles fought and battles won with man, and fish and hell beyond.

All things considered, everything downtown appears to be back to the normal flow. But there really is no
normal
anymore. A warm breeze suddenly passes through this afternoon. It is a breeze that brings an air thick with perfume, a perfume that is peculiar in origin. And with the perfume comes the Presence.

Business comes abruptly to a stop. Zadok steps outside the barbershop onto the sidewalk. Obie and Donna Allen are already there. They are followed out by their customers, including Cassie Getty, whose hair is not quite dry. Cassie says it smells “like something from another world.” But she doesn't say this in her usual tone. She whispers it. Ellen and Rudy and the customers at the Piggly Wiggly join them across the square. And Kate, batter spoon still in hand, steps outside the diner. Billy is right behind her. And the people of Shibboleth look across the square at one another, and they nod and smile. And then they look to the Heritage Oak tree. At the span of its branches and all that they hold. And they remember.

The light of twilight slowly fades as evening begins to envelop the city. It is a gentle evening, with the first glimmer of stars shining through the trees. The sky is still pink on the horizon, where the sun just lay down behind the hills. And there is a scent
of celebration on the air. Celebration like the city hasn't seen in a hundred years.

Cars and cars from miles around have packed Kate's parking lot to overflowing. They fill up the square and beyond, all up and down the road. There are people everywhere. And there are pots and food like you have never seen. Kate keeps serving and counting heads, counting plates, wondering how it is that what's in the pots won't diminish. I simply smile. Angels like a party. Sometimes we help facilitate.

The diner doors have been propped open, front and back, to circulate the air. And now the party spills over into the parking lot. Sonny Boy is delighted. As far as he's concerned, the party is for him.

Nehemiah and Trice are holding court together. They are telling stories that take the two of them. Borrowing and adding lines back and forth, here and there. John Skipper, Rudy's uncle, has brought his guitar and is playing from his truck bed just outside the door. And then Billy Shook pulls out his harmonica and joins in. But it's when Ellen opens up her fiddle case and pulls out her bow that the party begins. It's the fiddle that catches the ear of Magnus, and in a flash she hikes up her skirt and begins to buckdance. Then Zadok joins in, and no one even knew Zadok could dance like that. Look how high his legs can go! Look how fast that Magnus can click her feet in those big shoes. And there is Pastor Brown and even Wheezer keeping time. They are dancing out the story of their deliverance. They are dancing out their delight. And above their music I recognize the sound of whistling.

And it is during this dancing, in the middle of such mania, that a strange truck slowly pulls into Shibboleth. A truck piled as high as it is wide. With a rocking chair on the very top and all manner of things beneath. It parks on the side of the road, just off on the
dirt to the south of the diner. The driver's door opens, and a small, round woman climbs out. Sonny Boy stands, tail wagging, ready for attention, as the woman approaches the diner door.