The Age Of Odin

connections and concordances which may or may not exist. It's a failing of mine. A burden.'

He slapped his thighs and stood.

'Well, I shan't take up any more of your time, Gid,' he said. 'I just thought I'd drop by and make my number with you. I try and see all the new arrivals as soon as I can. We'll talk further when you're more rested and recovered. There's much to show you, much to explain. But in the meantime, anything you require? Anything that might make your life easier?'

'Any way I can phone my ex, just to let her and my kid know I'm all right?'

'No phones. Not here.'

'Oh. How about internet, then? I could drop them an email.'

'Ha. Such things are… not possible at Asgard Hall. We lack the necessary sophistication.'

'Broadband not reached here yet?'

'Something like that. If you're bored, I could arrange for someone to bring you something to read if you wish.'

'I'm not much of a reader.'

'A book does help pass the time.'

'Really, not much of a reader. Last time I opened a book was at school. Great Expectations. It didn't live up to them. Oh, and David Copperfield. I was expecting a bit more magic in it than there was. He didn't even make the Statue of Liberty disappear once. The only thing I can really remember about that one is the first line. 'Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or… something, something, something…' Obviously can't remember it so well, can I?'

Odin chuckled and left the room.

And I thought, Nutter. Not in a condemning way.

Well, not completely.

But Odin Borrson was clearly not a hundred per cent sane.

Eccentric, that would be one word for it.

After all, trolls.

Trolls!

And he'd seemed serious when he said it. As though he sincerely believed things like trolls existed.

Despite what I'd said about reading, a book did appear. It was lying on my bedside table when I next woke up. Big fat hardback that looked like it had been read several times. Bumped around a bit. Jacket creased and torn at the edges.

I peered at the large gold lettering on the spine.

Only President Keener's autobiography. Her life story, her small-town-girl made good saga. From Wonder Springs To Washington. Last year's big bestseller. I'd heard she got a ten million dollar advance for it.

I left it well alone.

For about an hour.

Then curiosity — and/or boredom — took hold. I grabbed the book. There was the prez, gazing winsomely out from the cover. Off to some fancy function, some Republican party fundraiser maybe. Hair all coiffed. Evening dress on, showing a hint of cleavage but not enough to be trashy. Clutch bag. Diamond necklace and earrings. Teeth all sparkly white like only an American's could be. Belle of the ball.

That face — so wholesome. So shiny and corn-fed and true.

But you could tell. You could just tell. She was a dirty bitch. It was in her eyes. Get her behind closed doors, down under the covers, she'd be all filth and knickers. She'd do stuff no good girl ever would and not every bad girl would either.

Or so it was nice to think.

I started flicking through. Scanned a paragraph here, a page there.

Soon, in spite of myself, I was engrossed. Engrossed as you might be by a glossy soap opera or a grade-Z slasher flick.

Seven

Passages from From Wonder Springs To Washington:

If somebody asks me where I come from, I always tell them, 'I come from where you come from. I come from a small town where the people are kind to each other and look out for each other and go to church on Sunday and bake stuff like there's no tomorrow and always have time for a 'good morning' and a 'how do you do?''

But should this person press me, I'll say, 'I come from Wonder Springs, Georgia. Location: thirty miles south-west of Savannah. Incorporated: 1936. Population: Just right. Weather: Never less than perfect.'

I was born there. Raised there. Have kin there. Still own a home there. I'm a Wonder Springs girl through and through. The name of that burg is tattooed on my heart. Whenever I can get back there, I go, and whenever I'm wandering down Main Street, that wide old avenue where the cottonwoods are draped with Spanish moss like chiffon accents on a gown, everybody greets me as though I've never been away. It isn't 'Oh, lookee here, if it ain't Miss Grand High Mucky-muck, come down from Washington to see how us ordinary folks are gettin' on with our lives.' It's 'Hi there, Lois!' and 'Long time no see, Lois!' and 'You drop on by for some iced tea, gal, y'hear?'

Wonder Springs exists. You'll find it on a map. You can visit. You'll be welcome.

But for me, it's way more than just a place. It isn't even home.

It's goshdarn Heaven.

I was all the things a woman of my age and social standing was expected to be. I was a mom, a homemaker, a baker of cakes, cookies and cobblers, a supportive wife to Ted, a good friend to my gal pals. I was on the PTA at Brian and Carol Ann's elementary school. I volunteered as a parishioner at the First Baptist Church on Mulberry Drive, helping hand out the hymnals and straighten the hassocks. I worked one evening a week at the soup kitchen down on Okefenokee Lane, doing my bit for the homeless. I drove Brian and Carol Ann to more soccer games and cheerleading practises than I care to recall!

I don't think it occurred to me even once during the first thirty-one years of my life to have ambitions beyond the world of Wonder Springs… to have dreams whose scope extended past the town limits. I was happy to be what I was, content with small-town life and my part in it.

As you doubtless already know, a vision from the Lord changed all that.

Now, there's some as would be embarrassed to admit to having received an honest-to-gosh visitation from the Almighty. Ashamed of it, even, like it's a dirty secret they'd not want others knowing.

Not me. I'm proud of it. So proud I'll state it here again.

I had a vision from the Lord. He came to me in a blaze of light and glory, and He said to me, 'Lois, you have been chosen. Here's what I want you to do for Me…'

For weeks afterwards I discussed it with Ted, and with Reverend Johnson, and I thought long and hard about it, and I prayed for guidance. All along, though, I knew deep down what course I should take. In my heart of hearts I was sure. What else could I do?

There was no mistaking the Lord's message to me. I may have been sitting in my kitchen when it came, doing nothing more extraordinary than fixing grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids, but the splendor and righteousness the Lord filled me with were overwhelming and the feelings I had at that moment have never gone away. I can see now in my mind's eye, as clearly as when it happened, that image of the White House hovering before me, superimposed right in front of the fridge with all its magnets and shopping lists and the kids' drawings on the door — the White House, and myself standing outside on the lawn, ready to walk in, assume my place in the Oval Office and take command and set this country back on the straight path.