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  “Father Coughlin thinks all this over. ‘And what if I don’t go?’

  “Peter gets this solemn expression on his face and proceeds to shake his head slow. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d refuse if I were you. Seems to me you could spend a right long time regrettin’ a decision like that.’

  “Preacher Jones decides he’d better act while there’s time, so he clears his throat real loud and says, ‘Ah, Mister Saint Peter, sir, seems to me like the father’s real sorry for what he did.’

  “‘Oh I am, I am!’ Father Coughlin says, givin’ the preacher a look of pure heavenly gratitude.

  “‘I’m ready to let bygones be bygones and invite the good father on into heaven,’ the reverend says. ‘There ain’t no reason to send him back to earth.’

  “‘There’s not, huh?’

  “Preacher Jones tries his best not to squirm under Peter’s gaze and says, ‘Nossir. Why, I’d even be willing to go back myself and help out till the new man arrives.’

  “Peter pretends to give it some real serious consideration, then says, ‘No, the father’s gotta go back for a while.’

  “‘But I want to go,’ says Preacher Jones, real frantic-like.

  “‘Yeah,’ the father says, kinda frantic himself. ‘He wants to.’

  “‘Fine,’ says Saint Peter. ‘That’s just fine. So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re both goin’ back. Preacher Jones, you’re not gonna fully recover. Sorry ‘bout that. Your heart attack’s gonna leave you in the hospital. Father Coughlin, you’re gonna feel so sorry for the preacher you’ll go over and help out in his church till his replacement arrives. ‘Course, you’ll have to convert so’s they’ll let you in the front door.’

  “‘And you, Preacher Jones,’ Peter goes on, ‘you’re gonna be so overcome with gratitude that you decide to convert to Catholicism right there on your deathbed.’

  “‘Ah, Mister Peter, sir, ah, that ain’t exactly what I had in mind,’ says Preacher Jones weakly.

  “‘Me neither,’ agreed Father Coughlin.

  “‘Yep,’ Saint Peter says, ignorin’ them both, ‘that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. Ain’t it nice to have all this squared away?’ He holds up his hands to stop the fellas from sayin’ anything more. ‘No, no, don’t thank me. Y’all better be gettin’ on back to earth now. Have a real good time, and we’ll be seein’ you both in a coupla weeks.’”

  ****

  Catherine swung the car into a service station. “Pit stop, everybody. Macon, don’t go running off, honey. We won’t be here long.”

  Jeremy intended to ask TJ about the trip while Catherine was in the restroom, but his friend wandered off to the edge of the trees lining the back of the parking area. Jeremy leaned against the car and watched TJ, knowing without asking that he wanted to be left alone.

  “Something big happened out there, and don’t you even try and tell me different,” Jeremy said to Catherine when she returned.

  She gave him her gentlest smile, letting the warmth fill her dark eyes. “Our beloved Dr. Hughes,” she said, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and hugging him close.

  “I’m a lot of things, woman, but a doctor I’m not and never will be.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, giving a solemn nod. “A Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks.” She hugged him again. “Sure makes me feel a whole lot better having you here, Jem.”

  “You’re about to get me halfway worried.”

  Catherine was in her early fifties, but anyone who did not know would probably guess late thirties at the outside. Her café au lait skin remained unlined, and her tall frame was thin and shapely. When angry, which was seldom, her strong features flashed fire and she used her tongue like a lash. Her most common emotion, however, was an amused patience. She watched the world with the humor of a mother for a beloved child. She was regal in bearing without being cold or aloof, saved from being unapproachable by a heart full of love. Children flocked to her for support and a listening ear. Friends brought their troubles and were soothed. Her firmness and tough honesty were tempered with humor, perception, and real love.

  She displayed all of that now as she looked over to where her husband was wandering through a grove of whispering pines. “It’s not my story, Jem. You’ll have to wait and hear it from him.”

  “I don’t mind waitin’ for a surprise if I don’t know there’s one comin’,” Jeremy replied. “But I hate havin’ to wait for something once I know it’s there. Can’t you give me a hint?”

  It was as though he hadn’t even spoken. “If I didn’t see the change in him with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it had happened,” Catherine said. “He’s been like this for four days, Jem, and still there are times when it’s all too much, and I get to wondering and worrying. I can’t tell you how reassuring it is to hear you say you see it too.”

  “See what?”

  “Honey,” she called out to TJ. “Time to go. Do you see Macon? There she is. Come on, you two. We want to be home before dark.” Then she turned back to Jeremy and repeated, “It’s his story, Jem. You’re going to have to wait till we’re home and hear it from him.”

  When they were back in the car, Macon announced that her doll, Miss Priss, was very tired and needed to nap. Then the little girl laid her head down in Jeremy’s lap and with both arms wrapped tightly around her doll was asleep in seconds flat.

  “Miss Priss?” Jeremy asked softly.

  “It’s what her mother used to call her,” Catherine said in a normal tone of voice. “And there’s no need to whisper. That child could sleep through the Second Coming.”

  “If that’s the case,” Jeremy decided, “there’s no need to wait till we’re home to tell me what happened, is there?”

  With his eyes steady on the road ahead, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, TJ proceeded to tell Jeremy what had taken place on that morning four days earlier. Jeremy listened in silence, glad that he was sitting behind his friend so he did not have to show any response. When TJ was finished, Jeremy looked down at Macon and watched as she reached up and curled her hand around one of his fingers in her sleep. He wished he knew what to say.

  “You don’t believe it, do you?” Catherine asked.

  “I know what my best friend thinks he saw,” Jeremy responded. “I also know this same man was sufferin’ from nervous exhaustion when he left here a week ago.”

  “It happened, Jem,” TJ said. “It was as real as—no, that’s not true. It was the most real thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Well, since the Lord’s never spoken to me direct-like, I don’t have any yardstick for comparison,” Jeremy said, his voice flat. “What’re you gonna do, just hop on a plane and pop up to Washington? Drop in on Congress and say, hey, y’all, I got a message from on high and here I am?”

  “Now you wait just one minute—”

  TJ stopped Catherine with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If Jeremy’d come to us with a story like this, would we act any different?” He swiveled around to face his friend. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or how it’s going to be done. All I know is that the Lord spoke to me, and He told me I was to go to Washington.”

  Jeremy hesitated. That calm luminescence still filled TJ’s eyes, like a candle had been lit deep within him. “And do what?” he asked.

  “Whatever He tells me to do,” TJ replied.

  “You’re about the most solid man I know,” Jeremy stated. “And if you think you had a vision from God, well, I suppose maybe you did. I’m not saying I believe you. Not yet. But I’m listenin’, and I’m not makin’ any decision about what I hear. If He spoke to you once, more’n likely He’ll do it again.”

  “I appreciate that, Jem,” TJ said.

  “You gotta admit, this ain’t your ordinary experience. I mean, it’s not every day your best friend tells you he’s seen God. It takes a little gettin’ used to.”

  Catherine pulled up to the stoplight at the first major intersection marking the Raleigh city limits. As she
waited for the light to change, she turned to Jeremy and said, “But you saw the difference. You told me that yourself.”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s like,” Jeremy said. “I feel like half of me wants to put you back out there on the boat till you get your head together. The other half is positively certain you saw what you said you did.”

  ****

  After a brief stop at the home of TJ and Catherine’s daughter, where Jeremy placed the still-sleeping Macon in her own bed, the three drove the remaining blocks to the Case home.

  The house was painted white and was sheltered by four ancient oaks. A large veranda encircled the entire ground floor, open in front and screened in back, and a dozen hickory rockers just begged to have friends come up and “set a spell.” The windows were large and adorned with real working shutters, painted light blue to match the trim. It was a large, comfortable, happy-looking house.

  When TJ’s grandfather had originally built the house, which TJ later renovated and expanded, it stood in the heart of Raleigh’s oldest black neighborhood. In the three quarters of a century since then, the neighborhood had changed beyond recognition.

  In the early sixties the state went on a building spree and had decided that all of its new buildings would be finished in marble. TJ’s grandfather called it the most awful decision the legislature ever made, but not much of a surprise. Because the land in the black neighborhood was cheaper than that occupied by the businesses, offices, and small hotels on the other side of the capitol, the state proceeded to condemn the old neighborhood and level the century-old homes. TJ’s grandfather once told a visitor that the new buildings were fitting tombstones to the history that had been destroyed.

  The borders of this new construction were established by three untouchable bastions of white Raleigh—the oldest women’s college in the state, the capitol, and the governor’s mansion. Because TJ’s house was two blocks over on the safe side of the governor’s mansion, it was spared from destruction, but the neighborhood was gone forever. Land prices shot up a hundredfold, apartment complexes filled every free square inch, and the old houses that remained were purchased for astronomical figures and remodeled with no regard whatsoever for cost. The street was now lined with stained-glass front doors, lead-pane windows, split-oak sunrooms with polarized glass, and heated swimming pools. Compared to its neighbors, TJ’s place looked positively country.

  Usually Jeremy would pace around the front yard as if he were marking off footage for apartments, shade his eyes, squint around, and say something like, Maybe we oughtta keep one of the trees and pen it in a cutsey little courtyard. Call it Oak Hills Estate. How’s that sound? Today he just started unloading the car.

  “You’ll come in for a while, won’t you?” Catherine asked.

  Jeremy hefted the larger cases. “Yeah, I feel like an old hound dog that’s gotta worry this bone a little longer.”

  When the car was unpacked and Jeremy was slumped into a chair on the back porch, Catherine brought him a tall glass of lemonade. A few minutes later TJ came walking out with an unfolded letter fluttering from his hand.

  “What’ve you got, honey?”

  He adjusted his spectacles, lifted the letter, and read, “Dear Mr. Case: Your office informed me that you were on vacation and could not be reached. I have taken the liberty of writing to your private address, as this is a matter of utmost urgency. Please call me the moment you return, as I would like to discuss a very important opening here in Washington, a position which I am sure will interest you greatly. However, there are a number of other candidates being considered, and it is therefore absolutely necessary that I discuss this with you as soon as possible.” He looked up. “Sincerely yours, John Silverwood, U.S. House of Representatives.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Jeremy said, “You sound so calm. Doesn’t that scare you even the littlest bit?”

  “Of course I’m scared,” TJ answered. He pulled up a chair, sat down, and pointed at Jeremy’s glass with his spectacles. “Honey, do you think I could have one of those?”

  Catherine didn’t move. “You look about the most unscared of any man I’ve ever seen.”

  “My fears all seem a little puny in the face of this,” he responded, holding up the letter. “The Lord has called me, and I’m going to do what He tells me to do. It’s as simple as that. Yes, I’m scared. But how I feel about it doesn’t change things one bit.” He reached out his free hand. “Let me have some of that, Jem.”

  “You know what’s the strangest thing of all?” Jeremy paused for a sip before handing the glass over. “Here we are, sittin’ ‘round here, takin’ our ease, talkin’ like we would over the weather. If somebody’d asked you a week ago what you’d do if the Lord called your name, you’d have said, Dance down the aisles singin’ praises.”

  “I’m too worried to dance,” Catherine said quietly, her hands clenched in her lap. “I feel as if my life is about to go flying off in some cross-eyed direction and I don’t have anything to say about it.”

  “You’ve got the right to say anything you want about this or anything else,” TJ responded gently.

  Catherine sighed. “No, I don’t.” She clasped the arms of her rocker and pulled herself erect. “I’m too tired to talk about it anymore. Good night.” Without looking at either man, she walked into the house.

  “I oughtta be goin’,” Jeremy said, sliding forward in his chair.

  But TJ waved him back. “Stay a while longer, will you? I need a little company right now.”

  “What about Catherine?”

  “I learned long ago never to broach a difficult subject with Catherine when she’s tired.” TJ hesitated, then said, “I’ve got to do this, Jem.”

  Jeremy looked into the distance, blind to the brilliant sunset painting the sky. He nodded his head slowly a few times. “It’s still hard as the dickens for me to accept.”

  “In a way it is for me too.” TJ lifted the letter again. “It sure makes me feel better to have this.”

  “Makes it more real, you mean?”

  “No, I’ve never questioned that. It’s hard to describe, but the moment was so real it’s made the rest of my life seem a little unreal. Like watching shadows. No, that’s not right.” TJ shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Sort of a change of perspective?”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s as close as you can come to the feeling in words. A rearranging of all my priorities. Like everything in my life has suddenly become a lot less important than I thought it was.”

  “I can’t say as I’ve ever experienced anything like what you’ve just told me about.”

  “Neither have I,” TJ returned quietly.

  “Still, I’ve felt His guiding hand in my life so many times,” Jeremy said, his eyes on some unseen point beyond the porch railing. “Not some explosion like what’s happened here, but I’ve never doubted it was His voice.”

  “The still small voice that guides your life,” TJ agreed. “The daily miracles we so often take for granted.”

  “That’s for sure. It shames me to think how I ignore His presence because it’s so gentle. Makes it so easy to pretend like I’ve done it all myself.” Jeremy glanced over at his friend. “But I tell you what. All this takes my breath away.”

  “Mine too.” TJ looked down at the paper in his hand. “It’s a miracle. And this letter … you know, I think He gave it as a sort of reassurance. A reminder that He’s going to be there with me through it all.”

  Chapter Four

  “Sing to the Lord, you saints of his; praise his holy name. For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime. Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

  The passage from Psalm 30 popped into TJ’s mind as he passed through the oak doors and entered the Praise Hall of the Church of New Zion the next morning. It was a fitting note, especially after the surprise Catherine had dished up for breakfast.

  His prayer time that m
orning had been spent mostly asking the Lord to turn his wife around. I can’t do this without her, Father, he had said time and again. There’s nothing on earth that I can say to change her mind if she sets herself against it. And it’s not enough to have her grudgingly come along. You know it’s not. Whatever you’ve got in store for me is going to tax me to the limit. I can feel it in my bones. I can’t handle such a burden without Catherine beside me. She was awfully upset last night. And worried. I’ve spent most of the night feeling her anger and tension stretched out there beside me. I’ve been married to that woman for almost thirty years, and when she’s like this, there’s not a thing on earth I can say to her. It’s up to you, Lord. I’m turning it over to you.

  Then in typical fashion, once he had turned it over to God, TJ spent the better part of an hour worrying about possible arguments. Like his grandfather had often said, it was one thing to hand a problem over to the Lord; it was another thing entirely to let Him keep it.

  He heard her clattering around in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee, setting the table for breakfast, putting out the frying pan, with none of her usual Sunday-morning humming and singing. His heart started a frantic beat, as though she were already standing in front of him, hand on her hip, head cocked to one side, eyes squinting in that mixture of scorn and disbelief that never failed to send him straight through the roof.

  But when she appeared in the doorway, it was a Catherine he had not seen in years, a little shy and a little awkward and more than a little scared. Looking as if she wanted nothing more than to be held by her man. It was a look he had seen a great deal during their courtship days, and it was one of the many things about her that had captured his heart. With the arrival of their first daughter and all the worries and responsibilities of motherhood, those vulnerable moments had slowly slipped away.

  TJ set down his coffee cup and rose to hold her, trying to remember the last time he had seen that look. And the moment he had her in his arms, all the worries and arguments fled like smoke on the wind, and all he could say was, “I can’t do this without you, Catherine.”