Margaret's Ark

He prayed Margaret and the girls were OK.

From the looks he’d received during Eucharist, some frightened, others angry, Nick decided to break with tradition. When the service ended, instead of leading the processional down the aisle and out the front door where he could greet everyone as they went home, he stepped from the altar, turned right, and proceeded directly into the Sacristy.

The murmurs grew louder as he did this. Nick hoped the people would understand. Those who needed counsel knew where to find him.

*     *     *

“Pancakes this morning, Dora. And some sausage if it’s not from last year’s kill.”

“Don’t let Grim hear you say that, Hon. Good to see you ordering real food. Haven’t seen you much for a couple of days, and when I did, you left most of your food on the plate. Shouldn’t waste like that, even if you did pay for it. You been sneaking into that hotel’s cafeteria?”

“I’d never cheat on you, D. Just celebrating a return to normalcy. How’s the TV?”

“It’s wonderful! You do something to fix it?”

“Nope. Mother Earth fixed your reception, not me.”

“That doesn’t sound too scientific... more coffee? You need to drink slower or you’ll burn your throat clean out of your body, what with the way I make this stuff.”

“Heh, sorry. Please... thanks. I told you things would go back to normal, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You just didn’t sound too convincing yesterday. Your little North pole go back home where it belonged?”

“Yes, ma’am. Declination’s still a bit further south-west than a couple of years back, but that’s to be expected.”

“My Lord, I should be on Jeopardy with all the hundred dollar words you people teach me. Heading home soon?”

“I... well, no, not quite yet. They want me to stay... for a while longer. Take daily measurements, see if anything changes. Too soon to assume things have righted themselves permanently; too expensive to keep coming back when things get weird. I’ll be here a few more weeks. Sick of me already?”

“No... you keep tipping me with that voluminous expense account, and slip me more of those hundred-dollar words– “

“Like voluminous....”

“(chuckle),  and I’ll be your own personal waitress until you leave. Few more weeks?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said; why?”

“Oh, nothin’. Nothin’. I’ll get your order in before Grim falls asleep back there.”

“Dora?”

“Hmm?”

“You OK?”

“I’m fine, Hon. I’m fine.”

32

The following week went smoother than Margaret could have imagined after the events of the weekend. Aside from a few reports on CNN about the auroras appearing at night in places that had never before experienced them, the weather was clear and sunny. Normal. The earth dried, tempers abated, fears calmed. Somewhat. The crowd, though no bigger at the end of the week than during the rain’s apex over the weekend, did not wane. Faces changed, but the number of cars crowding around the town square forced the police to enforce the one-hour parking limit. No sooner did one pull away than another took its place. The waiting list maintained by Estelle grew longer.

Two newly-joined members of Margaret's crew had quit, the blue skies and increasingly hot days burning away their foreboding. Before that day had finished, however, Margaret had two new members from the list, and still more approached whom she could refer to Eric Benson’s ship across the common. She’d finally gotten his name memorized. Benson now had a full crew and his own waiting list as his ark quickly took shape.

The woman from Greenfield, Alicia, who had spoken with her that long, rainy night last Friday also made good strides. Margaret made it a point to call her for a few minutes every day to see how she was doing. Alicia had even stopped by a couple of times.

Margaret’s crew had made great progress in less than a week. The bulk of the ark’s exterior was complete, but so much more was required inside. They would finish construction on time, though, and well before the final day.

There was one more hurdle looming ahead of them. The selectman for the town of Lavish, California, were to convene a public town meeting Saturday. The single item on the agenda – whether to allow Margaret Carboneau to continue to violate multiple zoning ordinances, or “finally put a stop to her madness once and for all.” That was a quote from Adrian Edgecomb in the weekly local paper.

As if playing the role of coach, David the Angel appeared to Margaret early Saturday morning.

The soft, star-filled sky she had come to expect in these visions was comforting, like a homecoming, reminding her that if she was going mad, at least her madness was consistent.

She sat on the back porch steps, a warm breeze playing across her face. The fact that she was never bothered by mosquitoes or Mayflies was another positive aspect of this ethereal landscape. David sat beside her, hands folded between his knees as he looked out into the dark yard.

“There will be those who will support you tonight,” he said. “But they'll be the quieter ones. They always are.”

Margaret nodded. “The ones against you are always the loudmouths.”

“Two of the selectman are uncertain whether anything should be done. It’s Edgecomb who's leading the fight to stop you.”

Margaret turned to him. “That excuse for a pompous dickhead wants to close the whole thing down.”

David smiled. “I recommend you refrain from calling him that during the meeting, but yes. The reasons for his objections are no different than anyone else's. What sets him apart is that he has the power to back them up.”

“All three of them have a vote, don’t they?”

The angel nodded. “In any group like this, there's always one who's stronger than the others. In this case, it's him. You can be sure he's going to bring many people from town who will take his side.”

“But this is insane! How much do I have to do? I've dropped my entire life on the side of the road to build the ark. Now I have to stand in front of the town and justify it? You're in with God. I'm doing this for God. Why can't he just send a lightning bolt down and settle this whole thing?”

David was quiet for a moment, then said, “This isn't about you, Margaret. Sometimes it probably feels that way. It's about every person in your town, and in every other town. It's about every soul on the planet. You just happen to be the one getting the visions. But it's your job, and the responsibility of everyone who chooses to follow you, to spread God's message. You have to reach as many hearts as possible before it's too late.”

“But I'm only allowed thirty people! Am I supposed to build a hundred of these things?”

David smiled and shook his head. “God's message isn't that people should get onto the ark, Margaret, if they want to be saved. Only if they want to live. There's a difference. There are many who will not board any ship, but who will, in the end, give their hearts to the Lord.”

Margaret said nothing, but stared at the angel’s perfect face. He returned the look and added, “The ark, the faith you have exhibited and which I’m sure you will continue to show, are merely lights upon a hill. Symbols for others that there is something, someone, higher than the world itself. God is real. He is the master and maker of all things. If they acknowledge that, if they truly accept His Truth, then the waters may kill their bodies, but their souls will belong to Him forever.”

David shifted on the stair until he faced her. “Tell me something, Margaret. Do you think everyone who’s going to board the ships on June eighth will have perfect faith? Will every man, woman and child accept what you tell them because they believe in God, that they’ve accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts, or because they don't want to risk dying in the face of everything they've seen? Playing the odds, as it were.”

“I thought... I don't know.” But she did, and David knew this because he suddenly stood up and took a few silent paces away before turning back.