Margaret's Ark

In the dream, David explained that although things were quiet now, they would become more heated.

“As the time draws near,” he said, walking beside her in a yard much too big to be her own, “those who choose not to follow God's word will react in different ways. Out of fear, some will come to you. Others will laughingly point out to anyone who will listen - and there will be many - that they are right. These people are the majority, but not the ones you must be cautious of. Rather watch for those who observe quietly, nursing an anger borne of the fear. 'Who is she,' they'll say, 'to tell me I'm going to die? Who is God to frighten us like this?'“

He offered a faltering smile. “You've done well to keep things calm, Margaret. The Lord will not deliberately test your faith. He's done enough of that as it is; don't you agree? But giving his people free will means they react in different ways.”

They'd begun walking back towards the house. As in the other dreams, there was no moon, but the stars shone brilliantly overhead. “We're approaching the time when it will be forty days before the appointed hour. There will be one final sign to those who balk at the faith of others, and need something more tangible to shake them into action.”

“A sign?” Margaret's voice sounded so harsh, so human, compared to his. As if this night was for the angel alone.

David nodded. “That's right. Forty days before the appointed time, rains will come. You need to be prepared. This will only be one final sign to the people. It will not last. It’s an obvious parallel, but sometimes the crowds need the obvious thrust under their noses in order to accept.”

Now, in the bright sunlight of morning, Margaret tried to understand what David had meant. If there was going to be a flood, why wouldn’t it last? Al Hawthorne – she'd finally broken down and asked the fireman’s last name – was checking Estelle's latest inventory list against what lay scattered in piles around and inside the ark. Estelle herself, along with her niece and soon-to-be-nephew had not yet arrived. They attended the Methodist church in Greenfield, and wouldn't be on-site until after lunch. Margaret had suggested to the group, which was bigger since yesterday by three people (that is, if Carl ever returned), that anyone belonging to a parish, be it Protestant, Catholic, Jewish or Islamic, attend their respective services this weekend.

Katie and Robin scooted about the common in a game of look-for-the-missing-piece whenever Al was unsuccessful locating an item from Estelle's sheet. The old couple who'd been with Margaret from the start walked slowly towards her. The man kept his gaze towards the ground. His wife kept a constant hand on his shoulder.

Margaret met them halfway.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carboneau,” the woman said. “I'm glad you're here. We need to talk.”

Uh oh , Margaret thought. A bit too formal. “Is everything all right?”

The man nodded almost imperceptibly. His wife said, “Well, no. Not really.” They were near one of the many scattered benches, and without speaking further, they moved to it and sat.

“What wrong?” From the furtive look the man gave her, and the fact that the woman began with the old catch phrase, “Well, where should I begin?” Margaret knew her crew was about to be reduced by two.

*     *     *

Jack felt a new energy, unlike any other day since his ministry began. His purpose was clear. He was the disciple of God and God's angel had given him the responsibility of passing on Heaven's warning. A sign, the angel Michael had said, a sign coming soon from God for all to see and heed. A sign so plain and obvious that soon the crowds would flock to him at this chilly park along the wharf. The days had begun to warm significantly, even with the constant breeze blowing off the brackish Boston Harbor, but the nights had been too cold to preach. Now the heat of so many believers hearing his word would allow him to preach day and night.

Eight o'clock, the sun down long before, but the lights from Faneuil Hall and its associated Marketplace cast a glow among the leaves in the trellised walkways of Christopher Columbus Park. Not all of the lights lining the park shone; some had turned off. A select few were programmed to burn all night. Soon, when the weather turned warmer, his church would be constantly illuminated. He walked along the damp cobblestone walk, unconsciously scratching at the worn cast on his right hand, reaching for an itch under its surface. He sang tuneless praises and stopped at one of the concrete pylons along the path, marking the border to the main road beside the hotel. The lights were bright in the marketplace across the street. People milled in and out of the shops which faced the avenue. Many of the glass storefronts were closed, but those that remained open offered overpriced clothes and chocolates, toys for rich kids to squeeze from their mothers only to toss neglected and unused in their rooms two days later.

Of the crowd, most were college students in this early season, rushing out to see the sights they'd avoided during the frozen winter. Now they emerged to spend and flirt and talk. The mating ritual of the young.

Jack stared across the road and watched one couple walk slowly from the lights, hand-in-hand. She, of the long blonde hair falling over her ankle-length black coat, teeth perfect, visible even from Jack's vantage point, looking at her companion with desire. The boy was built big, a sportsman, but moving in a gentle, slow gait.

“Gentle,” Jack whispered, seeing another face, so different from this one save the natural beauty. Dark complexion, long, braided, black hair, brown eyes staring into his with the same love and warmth and lust and friendship which the blonde girl so freely offered to the boy. A choir of angels around them singing praises as she smiles and says, “I do....”

“Praise God! For he has chosen the instrument of your deaths!” Jack squinted away the image and focused on the strangers across the way. He stepped up onto one of the cement pylons, balancing his feet on either side of the rounded top like a miniature version of King Kong on the Empire State Building. The wind whipped behind him, tossing his loose shirt in the gust, exposing his pale skin to the passing headlights, forcing him to balance, to forget. As he yelled, his chest contracted, revealing ribs, giving him the look of a skeleton in the pale hue of the lamps.

“He has shown me what will come! He has told me of a sign which He will cast down upon you all, so you can understand for yourselves that this is no false prophet you see before you. On the fortieth day, He will pour the rains upon your heads!”

Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing the new Mr. and Mrs. Jack and Anita Lowry! Music playing, Anita’s face glowing beside him, and flowing across the banquet hall’s floor and... No!

“Come hear God's plan for all of you! If you do not listen, then you will die without His saving hand! You will drown clinging to the side of the boat! I - “

He faltered, wondering what boat he meant, thinking of the priest last week, trying to remember what was said. It didn't come; too many other images clinging to the side of his memory like hands on the rails of a ship. Other moments, a picture on the paper he'd seen through the grillwork of a newsstand. Others and more others, still. He tried to regain his train of thought.

Across the street, the couple had slowed their sojourn and were now watching him. The boy had taken a step back towards the shopping area, holding the blonde's arm between them like a bridge. For a moment, Jack's gaze met the girl's. She smiled. He reached out.

“Come, please, and save yours –Ah!” His foot slipped. Jack stumbled from the pylon, his shin connecting with the concrete. Just as quickly, he righted himself and tried to ignore the pain, staggered to walk it off. “Forgive me, Lord, for doubting you,” he shouted to a sky partially obscured by the artificial lights around him. “I have sinned, and yet you still believe in me!”

He looked across the street, thrust both hands into the air, in her direction. “Please! How can you ignore this! You must listen. You must fall to your knees and beg God for forgiveness before it all ends. You must be purified and redeemed in Christ's blood, born again into the mercy of His light!”

The girl pulled herself free and walked to the edge of the road. Jack hesitated, unsure what to say next. She kept looking through the flashes of headlights running through the river of Atlantic Avenue, her face soft, caring, darkening to that other vision, that other face, his bride, his love, squeezing his hand while a man Jack should know raised a glass and spoke and no… and no and this is not true;  please stop  – .

The boy ran up and laid a hand on his date’s shoulder. Jack squeezed his eyes tightly shut but opened them when all he saw was his brother – the other, he does not remember – speaking. When he opened his eyes, the girl was hesitating at the edge of the road. Of course, he realized, she’s pulled by God's words, by the Truth.