Margaret's Ark

of that is just imitation of her sister. I mean, she was only two when it happened.”

Nick nodded. In his heart, he knew Vince was with God. The man had been devoted to his family and his faith - a rare thing these days. He had a feeling Margaret had something specific to talk about, so he merely waited for her to begin.

Margaret glanced at her tea, decided it needed to steep a little longer. “I hope I'm not putting you out, Father. I guess I needed to talk to someone, well... someone who knows about these kind of things.” She kept her gaze on the tea.

Nick thought of a dozen humorous quips, but kept them to himself. “What would you like to talk about?”  His old mentor after seminary, Father McMillan, taught him never to make assumptions by saying “What is wrong?” or “What's bothering you?” Everyone had their own reasons for speaking with their priest. Make an assumption that something is wrong and you could sabotage the conversation before it began.

Margaret looked into his face for a moment, then back to her untouched cup. “Have you been listening to the radio, seen anything unusual on TV?”

Nick smiled. “Not that I can think of. I don't watch a lot of television, and if I turn the radio on in my car it's usually to listen to cassettes. I'm currently listening to a series on evangelical ministries in Zaire. Very fascinating how --” He stopped and took a sip of coffee. “For another time.” He smiled and set the cup down. “No, to answer your question. At least I don't think so. Why?”

Now Margaret looked directly at him. “What would you say if I told you that God, or an angel of God, has come to me in a dream? More than one dream, actually.”

She gave him a general overview of the first two visions, deciding to leave out David's angry outburst the other night. “But it's not just me,” she added, looking at him squarely. No more nervous gazing at her tea. “Lots of other people, thousands maybe, have been visited by these angels. They all say the same thing. The exact same thing. Build an ark...” her voice was beginning to break, “…a boat to carry thirty people and no more. Then, just let everyone else die.”

Tears were running down her cheeks, one stream curving at the corner of her mouth. She said, “I know this sounds crazy, but I swear it's true. Maybe I am going nuts, but everyone else? And --”

“Margaret.”

She stopped. Nick lifted his coffee mug and leaned forward. “Margaret, hold on. This is a whole lot to take in.”

She nodded, picked up her tea and took shallow sips while the tears kept falling.

Nick began, “I --” then stopped. He had no idea what to say. He'd heard nothing about any of this. He tried to remember when Vince had died. Was this an anniversary? He didn't think so.

“Let's back up a little. You said God Himself came to you in these visions? These dreams?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, not really God, but an angel, yes. His name is David.” She laughed then. To Nick it was a small but healthy sign. “Listen to me. I sound like some lonely little girl talking about her imaginary friend. But I'm not imagining things. I swear. These haven't been like any other dreams. And other things, too. From people - seeing me...”

“Okay. Okay.” Nick leaned back, giving her as much space as his chair would allow. He took a sip, stalling while she regained her composure.

Something occurred to him. “Margaret, you’re forgetting an important detail. God’s promise to Noah not to destroy the world ever again with a flood. Granted, there are instances in the Bible when He changes his mind on some things, but this...?”

“That’s just it, Father. I don’t think this is any Wrath of God situation. David – that’s the angel – made it sound like God’s trying to help, to save us. As if what’s going to happen isn’t some typical natural disaster, but something so massive He’s warning us ahead of time.”

The last thing he wanted was to make her think she was frightening her pastor. It all sounded ludicrous on the surface. But hearing this from a woman Nick had long admired as a strong, rational person, he felt his pulse quicken. He was frightened. Fear of something unknown. Maybe seeing someone he had considered very rational begin acting irrational, yes. Or maybe there was something. No, he was letting her fear take over his judgment. Yet another lesson from his schooling. Be neutral. Be a sounding board. Don't judge.

“Father?”

Too late. He'd been staring at her with an expression he could only guess at.

“Ah, yes. Okay. Sorry, Margaret. Perhaps....” Think. Be rational. For her sake. “Perhaps you heard a reading during mass that put the thought in your head. I believe that particular passage from Exodus is coming up soon in the Lectionary cycle...?”

She looked away, considering.

He found himself saying, “Of course, though…” before catching himself and falling silent. Margaret looked up.

“What?”

Nick shrugged. “You mentioned there were many others who seem to have had the same dream? That must account for something.”

What was he doing? Feeding the woman’s delusions. Still, as off-the-wall as the story was, something about it, something subtle, had a ring of truth to it he couldn’t explain. He long thought these intuitions were, in fact, the whisperings of God, leading him along his path every day. That idea now sent gooseflesh along his arms.

They were both silent for a time. Margaret stared at Nick without really seeing him, lost in her own considerations. Her tears had stopped.

Nick was the one to speak first. “Margaret, if it’ll help, I’ll make some calls, see if I can get to the bottom of things a little - “

He was interrupted by tiny electronic piano music from inside Margaret’s purse. As she fumbled to retrieve her phone, she said, “Sorry. It’s a Veggie Tales tune. Robin picked it out. Hello? Yes, this is Margaret Carboneau.” She listened for a moment, then, “Oh, no.”

*     *     *

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

Light, blinding. God's light shining upon him. Jack smiled. The light moved, turned away. In its place a dark- skinned woman in a white lab coat giving him a somber look. She was young, pretty. Was this a new angel?

No. Something was wrong. This place did not look like Heaven. Jack turned his head, saw a curtain drawn beside his bed.

His bed . He was in bed. This wasn't right.

“Sir,” the woman repeated. Through half-closed eyes, Jack watched her click off the pen light she'd been holding and pocket it. Jack understood. He was in a hospital. Something dark and broiling tried to find its way free of some lost, forgotten closet in his brain. He held it, held it... until at last it went away.

The woman straightened and scribbled something on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. When she looked up, gone was any trace of concern in her eyes. She almost looked bored. “Do you have a name, sir?” Something in her voice, an accent.

“Jack.” His voice sounded funny, thick. His head hurt. His side hurt. His arm was heavy.

“That’s correct. Mister Lowry, I'm Doctor Ramprakash, the attending physician. Do you know where you are?” Her accent was thick and she spoke too fast for him to easily follow.

And she knew his last name. He didn’t even... no, think of other things. Jack raised his right arm. A white cast stretched from elbow to wrist, shiny, like plastic. He looked back to the doctor, wanted to ask her name again, tried to remember the question. He said, tentatively, “The hospital?” His tongue explored the inside of his mouth, sending throbbing pain through his gums whenever he poked too hard. It was like that every day but, still, something was missing....

Doctor Ramprakash nodded absently. “Yes, that's right. You are at Forest Grove Hospital. You had quite a spill. Do you remember what happened?”

Jack realized what was missing. “My teeth. I lost a couple of teeth.”

“Most likely that happened during the accident.”

Jack stared at his arm, tried to remember where he'd been. He’d gotten some money. He was hungry... his