Feldman called after his friends, “Don't forget when Anke wakes I need to see her right away!” Hunter gave Feldman an okay sign and left with Litti to inform the world of the miraculous recovery.
While the physician disconnected Feldman's intravenous tubes, and tapped and poked, the reporter sat back in his bed with thoughts of how he might best frame his forthcoming apology to the woman he loved.
On the TV, there appeared a story about the U.S. presidential campaign and Feldman turned up the volume. The commentator was reporting on the utter collapse of Democrat Billy McGuire's presidential candidacy. A “Draft Moore” movement was under way, although the incumbent was described as unavailable, and said to be more interested in pursuing a personal, nonpolitical “New Way” of his own.
Turning to a local Israeli channel, Feldman saw where a conglomerate of American evangelists bad arrived in Jerusalem, led by someone named the Right Reverend Solomon T. Brady, D.D. They intended to petition for franchise rights to a U.S. Center for the New Way, to be constructed in Dallas, Texas. The Reverend wanted to call his proposed establishment the Brady University Jeza Studies Institute. Feldman winced, muted the volume again and closed his eyes.
Once more he slept. This time, his dream was both pleasant, and real. Anke had arrived at his bedside, gently stroking his hand, tears in her big brown eyes. And when he awakened, if she had any further doubts about his true feelings for her, Feldman's reaction dispelled them completely.
“Anke, Anke, Anke!” he cried and enveloped her with his encumbered arms. He kissed her repeatedly, unable to satiate his feelings. “I'm so sorry! So very, very sorry!”
While not the eloquent apology he'd rehearsed and now forgotten, Feldman's sincerity was indisputable. He drew himself up in bed, anxious to explain himself better. “Anke,” he began, “I want you to know that my feelings for Jeza and my feelings for you, they're totally different, they're-”
She stilled his lips softly with her forefinger, smiling, and whispered, “Jon, Jon. It's okay. I know.”
They remained caught up in their tender intimacies until a familiar voice at the door cleared its throat.
“Well,” Cissy nonchalantly interrupted, “I guess this means you two are back together again?” The elated gleam in her eyes betrayed her emotions, and Anke generously moved aside to make room for another teary-eyed reunion.
After telling Feldman how awful he looked, Cissy wiped her eyes with his sheet and informed the couple that there were special guests waiting to see them. Two people she thought they'd be particularly pleased to see.
Feldman nodded, and Cissy returned to the doorway, motioning to the visitors outside.
A well-dressed, elderly woman with silver hair and a glowing smile peered hesitantly around the door and trilled, “Hello!”
Feldman and Anke instantly recognized Anne Leveque and returned her greeting, inviting her to enter. But as she did, Feldman's heart faltered and his delight immediately changed over to disbelieving shock.
Following shyly behind Mrs. Leveque, holding the older woman's hand, her face and eyes downcast, was a small, frail, pretty-looking woman with blue eyes, pale skin and dark hair. For the briefest moment, Feldman was electrified with the misconception that this was Jeza. And then, his heart racing, he realized who this timid little woman was.
“Marie!” he whispered in awe.
The resemblance was startling, but certainly not exact. Marie was older than Jeza. And while attractive, Marie hadn't Jeza's perfection. Nor her eyes or luminescent complexion. But Marie's was a sweet and endearing face. And when introduced, her smile was engagingly, entirely Jeza's.
“When? How?” Feldman stammered.
Beaming, Mrs. Leveque stood behind her daughter and gently drew her in, wrapping her arms around Marie's tiny waist. “Good Friday afternoon,” she said, placing her cheek on Marie's head, her eyes starting to water. “I was in my home,” she explained, “watching my Jeza give her last speech, live on television. Then, there was that awful moment when she was struck down, and all the announcers were saying that she was shot. I could not bear the pain of another loss. I just slid from my chair to my knees, rocking and crying, begging God, pleading for Him please not to take away my child from me again.
“And then, suddenly, I heard a voice calling behind me, softly, ‘Mama, Mama, Mama.’ ” The poor woman could no longer contain herself and she began sobbing heavily as Marie looked up, squeezing her mother's hands with a consoling smile. “God took my Jeza, but He restored to me my Marie.” Mrs. Leveque composed herself, gazing adoringly down at her daughter. “He returned her to me, in His great love and forgiveness, completely and wholly as she was before the accident.”
Feldman could only stare in wonder at the incredible scene.
In the corner, on the TV, an image of Feldman was flashed up on the screen along with the headline “Newsman Recovers!” Simultaneously, Hunter and Litti reentered the room just as a growing tumult arose from outside the window. The crowd below was reacting to the news, cheering and shouting.
“Your public,” Cissy announced to Feldman, bowing and extending her arms to the window.
Coming upon the surprising sight of Marie Leveque, Hunter and Litti skidded to a halt in utter bewilderment. While they were introduced and brought up to speed, Feldman tried out his legs, Anke on one side, Cissy on the other, making his unsteady way to the window on his sore ankle.
Spotting him, the crowd erupted. There were hundreds of thousands of people camped out across the hospital grounds, spilling out into the bordering roadways. All facing the newsman's window, they were pressing forward, calling out, waving, displaying signs and celebrating Feldman's wondrous recovery.
The reporter was moved. “They've all been watching and waiting here for me?” he asked in disbelief.
“You're an important link to Jeza for them,” Alphonse Litti said, coming up behind Feldman to admire the crowd. “You've had a special relationship with the Messiah, a closeness that I confess, even I envy.”
A placard below, held as high as the unseen author could stretch, read: “Jon, You Are Jeza's Chosen.” Another said, “Show Us the Way!” And still another proclaimed: “She Is Risen!”
In spying the ex-cardinal at the window with Feldman, the crowd's excitement intensified.
Feldman gazed without focus into the distant Israeli hills, waving abstractedly to the celebrating throngs, as Anke watched him, intently, silently.
Fearful that Feldman's energies were being overtaxed, the doctor returned to clear the room. The visitors were, forced to offer their abrupt farewells, but Feldman wasn't about to let Anke go. As the room emptied, he grasped her by her arm and held her back.
“Anke,” he said earnestly as they held hands, locking eyes, attempting to see into each other's hearts. “Everything is much clearer to me now. Clearer than ever before. I know what I want from life. And I know how that I could never be happy without you.”
She didn't respond immediately, taking time to consider more than just his words.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Sweetheart, I love you, too,” she finally said. “But during these past strange days, I've had lots of time to think. And things are much clearer to me now, too. I know our love for each other is very important, but it isn't a complete answer. It's only a beginning.
“Look at all you've been through. Look at all the incredible experiences you're holding inside you. Look at what's going on right now outside your window. Jon, you've got to deal with this first For my own peace of mind, I need to know exactly where all this is taking you I need you to tell me where
Feldman nodded and looked away toward the window. “You're right, Anke. I know I have to do something with all this. I have to deal with it somehow. But not in the way that Breck and Alphonse are. I'm a journalist, not an archivist. Maybe I have been chosen, but I intend to have a say in what I do with that responsibility. And I know now that that's perfectly okay with Jeza, that's part of Her message.
Anke followed his eyes out the window and nodded with a growing appreciation and approval.
“I can do my part to spread the gospel of the New Way,” Feldman explained, “transcribing all the experiences and revelations I've been privy to. But Anke, I don't want to be without you anymore.”
“Is this a marriage proposal, Mr. Feldman?” she asked with feigned suspicion.
Attempting to kneel to make this more formal, Feldman put undue weight on his injured foot. He groaned in
