The Presence (6 page)

“‘You think this is a game?' Saint Peter roars.

“The father does a major cringe. Desperate don't even begin to describe the look in that poor man's eyes.

“‘How'd you like to regret this for all eternity?' Peter bellows.

“Preacher Jones, now, he's stepped back a ways, just in case little bits of Father Coughlin start flyin'. Has his eyes open all big and innocent, watchin' it all come down on the father. He has one big toe diggin' a hole in the cloud, and looks like a little kid who just found out he's gonna get a lollipop instead of a spankin'.

“‘I'd be happy to show him the other door,' Preacher Jones says to Saint Peter.

“Peter's not havin' any of that, though. He swings around and says, ‘You just remember what side of the pearly gates you're standin' on and keep a civil tongue in your head!' Then he turns back to the father and says, ‘Now, what am I gonna do with you?'

“Now old Peter's a kindhearted saint. He's gotta be with a job like his. But he's shrewd too. He knows he's gonna let the father in, see, but he doesn't want him knowin' that just yet. Not till he'd really seen the error of his ways.'

“Well, by this time the father's sweatin' harder'n a farmer who's just finished a day of croppin' August tobacco. He kind of gibbers a minute, then says, ‘How ‘bout I apologize to Preacher Jones real nice like?'

“‘No,' Peter says, ‘I don't think that's gonna do it.'

“Father Coughlin realizes the time for worryin' about pride is long gone, on account of he can feel the flames around his ankles. He flings himself facedown at Peter's feet, twists the folds of the old man's robes in his fingers, and sobs fit to beat the band.

“‘Please, sir!' he cries. ‘Pleeeeze don't send me down below. I been good all my life. Please don't make me burn.'

“That's all Peter wants, see, just to be sure the father is really and truly sorry. But just as Saint Peter is ready to lift the man up and dust him off and send him through to Paradise, Peter catches sight of Preacher Jones.

“The reverend's kind of sidled off to one side, thinkin' he is safe over there from Peter's eyes. He's got his hands behind his back and is rockin' back and forth on his heels, wearin' the biggest grin you'd ever hope to see. Yep, this was a dream come true for Preacher Jones. He points his nose up in the air, sniffs long and hard like he'd just caught a whiff of barbecue on the wind.

“You gotta remember now, gloatin' ain't real high on the list of things to do in Paradise. So you might say Saint Peter was as put out with Preacher Jones as he was with the father.

“Then the light dawns in old Peter's eyes. He lifts the father back up to his feet, dusts the cloud off the front of his robe, and tells him to get ahold of himself ‘cause he's not goin' to hell.

“‘I'm not?' the father asks, wipin' his eyes.

“‘No, you're not,' Peter answers. ‘You're goin' back to earth and convert.'

“‘Convert to what?'

“‘You're gonna have this major inspiration from your heart attack, see, and in your very first sermon you're gonna tell the world you've decided to become a Baptist.'

“‘A Baptist!'

“‘That's right. And not in just any old church either. You're gonna join Preacher Jones's church. Hey, maybe we should make you assistant pastor. How'd you like that?'

“About this time Preacher Jones comes bouncin' up all panicky-like. ‘In
my
church?'

“Peter turns around, tuggin' hard at his beard to keep his mouth from turning up at the edges. ‘Well, now, it ain't
your
church anymore, is it?'

“Anybody with a grain of sense could see what was goin' through Preacher Jones's head. Here he is, all dead and everything, about as far out of the picture as anybody can get, and what's old Peter gonna do but send his arch-rival back to convert and join his church. And there ain't nothin' he can do about it. This is a very worrisome development. Yep. Preacher Jones is about to become the first angel in heaven with an ulcer.

“Father Coughlin's still kinda shell-shocked too. ‘You want me to go back and be assistant pastor in a Baptist church?'

“‘Yeah, see, they're a little shorthanded right now,' Peter says, ‘since Preacher Jones here died so sudden-like. It won't be for too long, though. Just a couple of weeks. They'll be gettin' this bright young fellow in, and then you can come back up and take your rightful place in Paradise.'

“Father Coughlin thinks all this over. ‘And what if I don't go?'

“Peter gets this solemn expression on his face and proceeds to shake his head slow. ‘Oh, I don't think I'd refuse if I were you. Seems to me you could spend a right long time regrettin' a decision like that.'

“Preacher Jones decides he'd better act while there's time, so he clears his throat real loud and says, ‘Ah, Mister Saint Peter, sir, seems to me like the father's real sorry for what he did.'

“‘Oh I am, I am!' Father Coughlin says, givin' the preacher a look of pure heavenly gratitude.

“‘I'm ready to let bygones be bygones and invite the good father on into heaven,' the reverend says. ‘There ain't no reason to send him back to earth.'

“‘There's not, huh?'

“Preacher Jones tries his best not to squirm under Peter's gaze and says, ‘Nossir. Why, I'd even be willing to go back myself and help out till the new man arrives.'

“Peter pretends to give it some real serious consideration, then says, ‘No, the father's gotta go back for a while.'

“‘But I
want
to go,' says Preacher Jones, real frantic-like.

“‘Yeah,' the father says, kinda frantic himself. ‘He
wants
to.'

“‘Fine,' says Saint Peter. ‘That's just fine. So here's what's gonna happen. You're
both
goin' back. Preacher Jones, you're not gonna fully recover. Sorry ‘bout that. Your heart attack's gonna leave you in the hospital. Father Coughlin, you're gonna feel so sorry for the preacher you'll go over and help out in his church till his replacement arrives. ‘Course, you'll have to convert so's they'll let you in the front door.'

“‘And you, Preacher Jones,' Peter goes on, ‘you're gonna be so overcome with gratitude that you decide to convert to Catholicism right there on your deathbed.'

“‘Ah, Mister Peter, sir, ah, that ain't exactly what I had in mind,' says Preacher Jones weakly.

“‘Me neither,' agreed Father Coughlin.

“‘Yep,' Saint Peter says, ignorin' them both, ‘that's exactly what's gonna happen. Ain't it nice to have all this squared away?' He holds up his hands to stop the fellas from sayin' anything more. ‘No, no, don't thank me. Y'all better be gettin' on back to earth now. Have a real good time, and we'll be seein' you both in a coupla weeks.'”

****

Catherine swung the car into a service station. “Pit stop, everybody. Macon, don't go running off, honey. We won't be here long.”

Jeremy intended to ask TJ about the trip while Catherine was in the restroom, but his friend wandered off to the edge of the trees lining the back of the parking area. Jeremy leaned against the car and watched TJ, knowing without asking that he wanted to be left alone.

“Something big happened out there, and don't you even try and tell me different,” Jeremy said to Catherine when she returned.

She gave him her gentlest smile, letting the warmth fill her dark eyes. “Our beloved Dr. Hughes,” she said, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and hugging him close.

“I'm a lot of things, woman, but a doctor I'm not and never will be.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, giving a solemn nod. “A Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks.” She hugged him again. “Sure makes me feel a whole lot better having you here, Jem.”

“You're about to get me halfway worried.”

Catherine was in her early fifties, but anyone who did not know would probably guess late thirties at the outside. Her
café au lait
skin remained unlined, and her tall frame was thin and shapely. When angry, which was seldom, her strong features flashed fire and she used her tongue like a lash. Her most common emotion, however, was an amused patience. She watched the world with the humor of a mother for a beloved child. She was regal in bearing without being cold or aloof, saved from being unapproachable by a heart full of love. Children flocked to her for support and a listening ear. Friends brought their troubles and were soothed. Her firmness and tough honesty were tempered with humor, perception, and real love.

She displayed all of that now as she looked over to where her husband was wandering through a grove of whispering pines. “It's not my story, Jem. You'll have to wait and hear it from him.”

“I don't mind waitin' for a surprise if I don't know there's one comin',” Jeremy replied. “But I hate havin' to wait for something once I know it's there. Can't you give me a hint?”

It was as though he hadn't even spoken. “If I didn't see the change in him with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it had happened,” Catherine said. “He's been like this for four days, Jem, and still there are times when it's all too much, and I get to wondering and worrying. I can't tell you how reassuring it is to hear you say you see it too.”

“See
what
?”

“Honey,” she called out to TJ. “Time to go. Do you see Macon? There she is. Come on, you two. We want to be home before dark.” Then she turned back to Jeremy and repeated, “It's his story, Jem. You're going to have to wait till we're home and hear it from him.”

When they were back in the car, Macon announced that her doll, Miss Priss, was very tired and needed to nap. Then the little girl laid her head down in Jeremy's lap and with both arms wrapped tightly around her doll was asleep in seconds flat.

“Miss Priss?” Jeremy asked softly.

“It's what her mother used to call her,” Catherine said in a normal tone of voice. “And there's no need to whisper. That child could sleep through the Second Coming.”

“If that's the case,” Jeremy decided, “there's no need to wait till we're home to tell me what happened, is there?”

With his eyes steady on the road ahead, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, TJ proceeded to tell Jeremy what had taken place on that morning four days earlier. Jeremy listened in silence, glad that he was sitting behind his friend so he did not have to show any response. When TJ was finished, Jeremy looked down at Macon and watched as she reached up and curled her hand around one of his fingers in her sleep. He wished he knew what to say.

“You don't believe it, do you?” Catherine asked.

“I
know
what my best friend
thinks
he saw,” Jeremy responded. “I also know this same man was sufferin' from nervous exhaustion when he left here a week ago.”

“It happened, Jem,” TJ said. “It was as real as—no, that's not true. It was the
most real
thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Well, since the Lord's never spoken to me direct-like, I don't have any yardstick for comparison,” Jeremy said, his voice flat. “What're you gonna do, just hop on a plane and pop up to Washington? Drop in on Congress and say, hey, y'all, I got a message from on high and here I am?”

“Now you wait just one minute—”

TJ stopped Catherine with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If Jeremy'd come to us with a story like this, would we act any different?” He swiveled around to face his friend. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do or how it's going to be done. All I know is that the Lord spoke to me, and He told me I was to go to Washington.”

Jeremy hesitated. That calm luminescence still filled TJ's eyes, like a candle had been lit deep within him. “And do what?” he asked.

“Whatever He tells me to do,” TJ replied.

“You're about the most solid man I know,” Jeremy stated. “And if you think you had a vision from God, well, I suppose maybe you did. I'm not saying I believe you. Not yet. But I'm listenin', and I'm not makin' any decision about what I hear. If He spoke to you once, more'n likely He'll do it again.”

“I appreciate that, Jem,” TJ said.

“You gotta admit, this ain't your ordinary experience. I mean, it's not every day your best friend tells you he's seen God. It takes a little gettin' used to.”

Catherine pulled up to the stoplight at the first major intersection marking the Raleigh city limits. As she waited for the light to change, she turned to Jeremy and said, “But you saw the difference. You told me that yourself.”

“I'll tell you what it's like,” Jeremy said. “I feel like half of me wants to put you back out there on the boat till you get your head together. The other half is positively certain you saw what you said you did.”

****

After a brief stop at the home of TJ and Catherine's daughter, where Jeremy placed the still-sleeping Macon in her own bed, the three drove the remaining blocks to the Case home.

The house was painted white and was sheltered by four ancient oaks. A large veranda encircled the entire ground floor, open in front and screened in back, and a dozen hickory rockers just begged to have friends come up and “set a spell.” The windows were large and adorned with real working shutters, painted light blue to match the trim. It was a large, comfortable, happy-looking house.

When TJ's grandfather had originally built the house, which TJ later renovated and expanded, it stood in the heart of Raleigh's oldest black neighborhood. In the three quarters of a century since then, the neighborhood had changed beyond recognition.

In the early sixties the state went on a building spree and had decided that all of its new buildings would be finished in marble. TJ's grandfather called it the most awful decision the legislature ever made, but not much of a surprise. Because the land in the black neighborhood was cheaper than that occupied by the businesses, offices, and small hotels on the other side of the capitol, the state proceeded to condemn the old neighborhood and level the century-old homes. TJ's grandfather once told a visitor that the new buildings were fitting tombstones to the history that had been destroyed.