Eli (23 page)

“Mom . . .” Her voice wearily faded. She was so drained, so exhausted . . . and so very much alone. She closed her eyes.

Every inch of her head throbbed. She lowered it, letting out a long, slow sigh. Eventually the phone began to beep, a reminder to hang up. She reached over and replaced the receiver. There, still on her knees, amidst the piles of books, she thought how easy it would be to stretch out, to just use a book or two for a pillow and catch a little sleep right there, right now.

But of course, she wouldn’t. That wasn’t her style. Julia Davis-Preston was stronger than that. She had to be. So with another heavy sigh, she rose to her feet and once again did what she had to do.

v

The park officials shut the meeting down a little before eight. Just as well. There’s no telling how long Eli would have gone on if they hadn’t. With so many people in need of healing and teaching and explanations regarding the Kingdom of Heaven, he would have stayed there all night. On three separate occasions Conrad and the guys had tried to convince him to quit. But his argument was always the same: “These are the people I’ve come to help . . . and my time is so short.”

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Yet, as dusk approached, it was obvious that even the great Eli Shepherd was reaching his limit. By five o’clock his voice was going. By seven o’clock it was barely above a whisper. And still he was reluctant to stop, and still the crowd was reluctant to leave. “There’s so much pain here,” he had croaked to the guys. “So much need.”

Conrad was pleased that McFarland had chosen to stay.

He was pleased for Eli’s sake, he was pleased for McFarland’s sake, and he was pleased for his own. Truth be told, he enjoyed watching Eli’s logic scramble McFarland’s religious self-righteousness. There were times the man listened with his mouth agape, times he nearly scoffed out loud, and times he could only shake his head in wonder. It was amusing, to say the least.

What was not amusing was the way McFarland, after the crowd had been dismissed and was heading home, suddenly produced a tape recorder and confronted Eli. Conrad, Jake, and Will had been trying to get him through the mass of people to Maggie’s camper parked backstage when McFarland suddenly appeared, calling and pushing his way toward the front. “Eli? Eli, Gerald McFarland from EBN News. Eli!”

If Eli heard, he did not respond. Instead he turned and suddenly came to a stop. “Who touched me?” he croaked.

Conrad exchanged glances with Jake and Will. What was he talking about?

“Somebody touched me,” Eli’s voice cracked. “Who was it?”

“Eli.” Jake leaned closer. “We’ve got a whole crowd pushing in here, what do you mean, who touched you?”

Eli tried to speak louder, his ruined voice croaking and skipping. “Somebody touched me. I felt power leave. Where are you?”

The small crowd murmured, glancing at one another.

McFarland took advantage of the moment to try again.

“Eli? Gerald McFarland from EBN News.”

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Eli held out his hand, motioning for silence. “It’s important that you tell me,” he tried to shout. He waited, continuing to search the crowd. “It’s important for you.”

Jake coughed slightly. “Eli, I don’t think he’ll—”

“Shh,” Eli said. “Give her time.”

The crowd grew restless. Now there was only the sound of crickets and the nearby highway. Nearly a half minute passed before a slight disturbance began toward the back.

People stepped aside, making room for someone to pass.

Finally, an embarrassed woman in shorts and frizzy red hair came into view. She was in her late twenties, perspiring heavily, and very, very frightened. But she continued forward. As she approached, her gaze dropped to the ground, and when she arrived she was breathing so hard she could not speak.

“It’s you,” Eli croaked.

She looked up, but only for a moment. “I . . . I’ve . . .” Her voice trembled as she looked back down. She swallowed and tried again, this time in a low whisper. “I’ve had this problem . . . for years.”

“Go on,” Eli said.

She swallowed again. “They keep operating and stuff . . .

but nobody is able to fix it.”

Eli nodded but remained silent, forcing her to continue.

She stared at the ground, struggling with each phrase. “I knew . . . if I could just touch you . . . or your clothing . . . I knew I’d get well.”

“And?” Eli’s wrecked voice whispered back.

Finally she looked up, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I am!” she blurted. “I can feel it! I’m completely well!”

At last Eli broke into a grin. He reached out to embrace her, and she threw herself into his arms. They remained hugging like that for a long moment. When they finally separated, Eli’s face was as wet as her own.

“Thank you,” she whispered fiercely. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

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He tried to answer, though it was growing harder for him to talk. “Your faith,” he finally croaked, “that’s what has made you well.”

She hugged him again. Then, abruptly turning, she started back through the crowd. Although she was still embarrassed, she did not look back at the ground. Instead, she kept her head up, beaming.

Eli watched after her, also grinning . . . until he was again interrupted by McFarland. “Eli? Eli, Dr. Kerston has a question for you.”

Conrad tensed as he saw Eli slowly turn toward him.

“Sir, Dr. Kerston has a question.”

“You’re Connie’s friend,” Eli said.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Helped us . . .” His voice quit and he tried again. “Helped us to serve lunch.”

“Well, yes, a little, that’s right.”

“Did you get anything out of my talk?”

“Me?” McFarland asked, caught off guard.

Eli nodded. “What do you . . . think?”

“What do
I
think?”

That’s when Conrad moved in. “Come on, Eli, you two can talk another time.”

“No,” Eli croaked quietly, “I’d like to hear what your friend thinks.”

The crowd focused their attention on McFarland.

“Well, I, uh . . . as far as the teaching, you mean?”

Eli nodded.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “it makes for some very interesting theory. I mean this business of giving to receive, of servants becoming leaders, of praying for your enemies. But that’s all it is, just theory, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why? Why? Well, let’s face it, no one can possibly live by those standards.”

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“On their own, no. But with God’s power, absolutely. In fact God
expects
us to.” Eli’s voice was again giving out, but he pushed himself. “Listen to me carefully, Gerald McFarland. My Father expects you to be holy just as He is holy.”

McFarland blinked, trying to gather his wits. Finally he responded. “And yet you pick followers who”—he motioned across the crowd toward Will, then Leon—“no offense, but who are at the bottom of the moral and social food chain.”

“Hey!” Leon countered.

“Yes.” Eli quietly nodded. “But the Will Pattons and Leon Brewsters of the world . . . they know they need my help.

They know they need God’s forgiveness. Whereas men like you and Dr. Kerston—you are sadly oblivious to that fact.”

“Men like Dr. Kerston are worth a hundred Leon Brewsters!”

Eli smiled sadly, then quietly answered, “To whom?”

McFarland’s anger continued to rise. “Listen, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t talk about God’s holiness and perfection one minute, then His love and forgiveness the next.”

“Why not?”

“It’s . . .” McFarland’s frustration grew. “Because it’s impossible, that’s why.” Eli was about to respond, but McFarland wasn’t through. “That’s exactly what I mean about theory versus reality. You can’t have it both ways. Holiness and forgiveness. Justice and mercy. In theory, you can say anything you want. But when it comes down to practical, day-today living, the two are incompatible.”

“Why?”

Conrad watched uneasily as McFarland’s wheels turned.

Over the years, he’d seen this man spin and weave traps for many a prey. He was quite good at it, and this would be no exception. “Take Ellen Perkins,” McFarland finally said. “The little girl they’re getting ready to execute in Texas for the murder of her boyfriend?”

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Eli nodded.

“Says she was doped up out of her mind, didn’t know what she was doing when she hacked him to pieces. And now she claims to be all sorrow and repentance over her actions, says she’s—”

Eli finished his sentence. “—given her life to God. I know,” he croaked, “I’ve been following her story.”

Conrad moved in to clarify, “He means we’ve been following the story along with the rest of the nation.”

Eli continued. “And now she’s counseling with drug addicts, speaking to schools over the Internet, and—”

“So what’s your position?” McFarland interrupted.

“About?”

“About whether or not she should be executed.”

Suddenly Conrad saw it. McFarland was setting Eli up, putting him in a no-win situation. If Eli took the pro-death position, he’d be nullifying everything he’d said about God’s mercy. If he took the anti-death position, he’d be nullifying everything he’d said about God’s justice. McFarland had asked him the perfect lose/lose question. Once again Conrad moved in to the rescue. “Listen, it’s been a long day for Eli, maybe—”

“So you’re telling me you don’t have a position?” McFarland asked.

Eli tried to answer, but again Conrad interrupted. “I’m just saying he’s tired and there might be a better time to—”

“See what I mean?” McFarland forced a grin. “Your words are fine as long as they remain theory and conjecture. As long as they remain high and lofty ideals. But when you get down to practical application, well, I’m afraid they really don’t hold water, do they?”

“They don’t?”

“The facts speak for themselves. If you went down to Texas, what would you do—talk Milquetoast mercy and forgiveness to the family of the boy this woman brutally butchered, or do you tell her and all the kids she’s helped that hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 178

178 God is a holy tyrant who demands justice and expects blood for blood?”

Eli paused a moment and began to nod. “That’s a good idea, Mr. McFarland.”

“What?” McFarland frowned. “What’s a good idea?”

“You’re right,” Eli croaked. “I should talk to them. Both of them.”

“Eli!” The protest came from Conrad before he could stop it.

Eli turned to him. “Your friend has a point. I’d be happy to meet with Ellen. Didn’t she e-mail us?”

“Well, yes, once, but—”

“And the boy’s family. I’d be happy to talk with them also, if they’d let me.”

Now it was Conrad’s turn to stand openmouthed.

Eli turned back to McFarland. “Can you help us set that up?”

Instinctively, McFarland glanced to Conrad, then back to Eli. This was too good to be true. “Well”—he cleared his throat—“certainly”—he coughed again—“certainly, I could arrange that. That would be no problem at all.”

Eli smiled. “Good. Then maybe you and Connie could work on the schedule.”

Conrad stared as McFarland tried unsuccessfully to hide the smile spreading across his face. And why not? He’d set the perfect trap, and Eli had blindly strolled into it. No, he hadn’t strolled in; he’d helped build it and purposely leaped into it! A sinking feeling filled Conrad’s gut and spread through his limbs.

“I’d love to help,” McFarland repeated, throwing another grin over at Conrad. “Anything I can do to help clarify this matter, you can count on me.”

v

Julia did not relish heading down the paneled corridor to her father’s office. It wasn’t only because of the recurring dream, it was also because of the memories—sweet and bitter, tender and horrible. Still, that was where he kept his filing cabinets, and that was where she might find something, hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 179

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anything, to better enable her to make the correct decision.

Because, despite what
she
thought of his current situation, as his attorney, it was more important to know what
he
thought.

If there was something he’d saved in a file, something to further define his understanding of living wills or that all-elusive phrase, “heroic efforts,” then it might help her better understand his wishes on the matter.

At least that’s what she told herself as she made her way down the hall, as she took hold of the metal knob, opened the door, and headed for the filing cabinets. But no matter how many files she reviewed, no matter how she kept herself occu-pied flipping through them, she could not completely detach herself from this place or its past.

It was nearly midnight when she pushed the last of the heavy drawers shut and leaned against the cabinets with a sigh. There had been nothing. Just old articles, press releases, bios, contracts, and scripts from past segments—nothing to shed any light on his feelings or her decision. She hesitated a moment before finally allowing herself to look around the room.

So many memories.

She glanced over at the trophies on the shelf under the window. There were several more since the last time she’d been there. But something other than the trophies caught her attention. Amidst all of the dust and brass and Plexiglas set a yellowing baseball atop a child’s teacup. She hadn’t seen the ball in years, but recognized it immediately.

Slowly, almost cautiously, she stepped toward it. She reached out and carefully took it into her hands.

“Daddy? What happened, what’s going on?”

“It’s a home run, Sweetheart!”
He grinned down at her as he clapped his hands with the other fans.
“He just hit a home
run.”

“A home run!”
she cried
. “A home run?”

“Yes.”
He laughed at her excitement
. “Now he gets to run
all around the bases and score a run.”

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