“Thanks be to God,” his father said, remaining seated.
Andrew joined the other two men on his knees, and as his father led the mantra of God’s Army, he repeated it along with Bucket and Temple. The words were so ingrained in his mind, they came easily as he thought of other things, relived the near-death experience of earlier.
In the background, as the men prayed, Andrew’s mother talked softly to the two men’s wives in the kitchen. The sound of a knife slicing through something on the carving board— handed down from his granny — came faintly from that direction. Making sandwiches, he told himself, causing him to realize how hungry he was. His stomach rumbled.
He had refused breakfast this morning, knowing his father had called for a selection. He never ate when his father called for a selection. Andrew was a creature of routine. He washed before going to bed at night and again showered when he arose. His pants hung in the closet on the left side and his shirts on the right. Coats and suits hung in the hallway closet of the small three-bedroom farmhouse. Andrew expected his mom to have coffee ready by the time he dressed. He only expected it because his father demanded it. His underwear was divided into briefs on the left and undershirts on the right. Everything had a time and a place, his father taught. Andrew had yet to reach the age where such meticulous attention had turned into a full-blown phobia.
Selections were emotional days. Someone always died. The selections disturbed Andrew’s sense of order. So, this morning like others, Andrew took the obligatory solitary walk of his developing phobia along the path leading from the house, past the barn, listening to the chickens rising, the clucks announcing fresh eggs filling the nests. Two roosters parried in the corner for master of the roost as he passed. Life was a cascading waterfall of complexities. His twin sisters were already gathering the eggs, waving at him as he walked past.
From behind the barn, Juan had emerged. Andrew had waved at Juan as the hired hand led the two cows into the barn, their bells parading tones in front of them. He could almost feel the man’s rough hands on the teats pulling forth God’s bounty. This smell of the fresh morning air mixed with the rich odor of manure, and the faint rustle of the dark leaves of the nearby wood, accompanied him, surrounding his solitude of thought, as he walked to the spot above the stream. The heat and humidity of the summer morning had already stained the underarms of his shirt.
“Amen,” his father now said, bringing Andrew’s thoughts back to the living room.
Andrew repeated the word with the others. He took a deep breath, finding ease in the situation as he leaned back onto the couch. His father was speaking, but Andrew’s thoughts returned to his walk.
He recalled how upon reaching the huge rock jutting out over the stream, he had bent down and run his hands over it feeling the moisture blanketing the moss that covered it. Andrew and his brother had played many times on this huge rock, playing Indians and cowboys as children. Scaring each other with tales of gore and wild animals when they camped upon it. It was here he had fallen, gashing his forehead. He touched the faint scar above his eyebrows, feeling the long indentation that ran from above the left eyebrow to the top of his forehead on the right. The thin line blended with his face except when he was sunburned. Then the scar glowed in brilliance across his forehead, drawing pitying comments from his mother. His brother and he had fished, swum, and camped on this huge rock, scraping their initials in it. It was here while camping one night that his brother had taught him the fine art of masturbation.
“Andrew, you listening, son?”
Andrew shook his head, shooing away his thoughts and bringing his attention back to his father. “Sorry, Father. I was thinking of Joshua.”
His father nodded. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank the
Lord for the time He allowed us to have your big brother.” He sighed.
Andrew had walked his life in the shadow of his older brother. Joshua’s death while in the Navy had devastated Ezekiel. Andrew never understood why Ezekiel sent Joshua into the Navy.
He looked across the room at Mr. Temple. Then his eyes rested for a brief second on his father before shifting to Mr. Bucket. He was surprised to see Bucket returning his gaze. Their eyes locked for only a moment before Andrew quickly lowered his in deference to the older man. There was coldness in the man’s eyes, as if he enjoyed the tasks on which his father sent him more than for the purpose of the tasks.
These three men had a plan to hasten Armageddon, to bring God’s kingdom to earth during their lifetimes. Many a night, as a young lad, Andrew had fallen asleep listening to the men dissect Revelation, fighting to understand the meaning. To find the secret that was intertwined in this Holiest of Holies within the Bible. Along with the theological discussions had gone hours of prayer, until one night as he lay in bed listening to the men begin their studies, his father had announced that God had visited him.
Andrew lay in bed listening to his father tell the story of how a few hours earlier, God had seized him in the barn and when he revived hours later, the vision had been given to him. The prayers had been quite loud that night, as if the three wanted to ensure that God was aware of their faith and love. Andrew had quietly joined them, muffling his voice with his pillow. He had peeked several times from beneath his pillow to glance at the moon, afraid each time it would be a bright red, the sign of the Lord’s imminent arrival. He loved the Lord, but he wanted more time on earth before joining the heavenly Father.
The morning after his father’s vision, the three men packed their camping gear and disappeared along the Appalachian Trail. For two months they vanished, sending his mother into a panic. When they returned, they were surprised to discover how long they had been gone. It had been their trek into the wilderness to understand God’s message and His love.
For him, Joshua, his mother, and his twin sisters, Mary and
Charlemagne, it had been a time of deep sadness and loss. It was as if they had no path to follow. It had been the time when Joshua discovered how to comfort his sisters, and watched as he brought Andrew into the comforting.
The day of his father’s return, he had dismissed with a wave and impatience the family’s concern. Ezekiel and his two disciples had sat down at the kitchen table as if they had been outside for only minutes instead of being gone for two months. The light in his father’s eyes that day seared a spot in Andrew’s memory, for as his mother rushed around the kitchen making food and coffee, Ezekiel announced that they carried the plan to fulfill the prophecy of God’s return — a prophecy given to his father in the vision. A prophecy refined with his two trusted disciples. A prophecy burst forth in glory and vision during the wilderness months in the Appalachians.
Andrew blinked a couple of times, realizing his father was speaking to him. His thoughts returned to the living room.
“Andrew, I said you need to listen and pay attention to what we are going to share with you. You understand?”
“I always understand, Father.”
Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed. “You do not fully understand, son. It is your youth speaking. Do you understand the vision?” Andrew bent his head in deference. “Yes, Father.”
Ezekiel shook his head. “No one but the three of us, and now you, will understand the vision. A vision entrusted to me by the God Almighty. A vision only myself, Thomas, and Scott fully understand.” The Bishop leaned forward in his chair, his elbow knocking the empty glass of iced tea off it. “Sophie!” his father shouted.