House of Gold (29 page)

"Are you going to judge him? How will God judge him for how he handled the tremendous responsibility for all that wealth? How could Mr. Monaghan judge himself?"

"I don't know," Buzz responded after a moment.

"Well,
Buzz, you don't realize it, but you have a gift that is worth more money than a hundred pizza fortunes. You have something in you that..."

The Man paused, and Buzz could have sworn his friend had wiped a piece of dust–or perhaps a tear–from his eye with his pinky.

"...something in you that God used to give me Life. And helped Donna become a nun. And helped Sam find the faith. Something big like
the stars.

"I don't really care if you're a lazy Catholic or a Mother Teresa or a Tom Monaghan. And maybe God doesn't care either. Do you know who the Bible says is the first person to get into heaven on Easter?"

Buzz didn't try to answer. He didn't know.

"A common thief. The Good Thief on the cross next to Jesus. 'I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.' Christ came for the
sinners, Buzz. Remember that.

"And remember that the Good Thief merited this great promise by a simple act of humility. 'We deserve our punishments, for we are getting what our deeds merit. But this man has done nothing wrong.'"

Buzz pondered these nuggets of wisdom, but they did not compute–not as an integrated whole.

He couldn't help himself when he asked the Man: "So what is the big lesson?
Humility? Don't judge yourself? I know you just gave me this great speech about Monaghan and the Good Thief, but I still don't get it."

There was real exasperation in Buzz's voice. He truly did not get it. He didn't get it now.

Maybe this is what it's like for every sinner in the presence of a saint?

The Man, rather than becoming impatient, had not replied.

Buzz, reflecting on this conversation,
and all the events which had led up to his coming to the town of Blackstone, felt some unarticulated consolation, a peace in his heart.

Barely two weeks after his death, the Man was still ministering to Buzz.

I'll go with Buzz to Bagpipe!
the Man's final words.

Buzz folded his hands.

Dear Hal,
Buzz prayed now,
if you can hear me, and if you're in purgatory or in heaven, stay with me. Tell Jesus
to keep me safe, and to keep Mel and my boys safe. I miss you, brother.

Buzz spent the next two days adjusting the backs of the residents of Blackstone, taking his time, not putting on an act, but really doing his best to use his personality and his hands to bring some measure of healing and consolation to these courageous people.

The old nun, despite his predictions, had not died. She was still
hanging on, though she had gone deeper into her coma, and her heartbeat was becoming thinner. He even gave her and Father Mark massages, as best he could, under the circumstances. On his recommendation, they had carefully, lovingly moved the nun to a bed. Buzz was glad during the procedure that she was out of it–for moving her surely would have caused a conscious person incredible pain. Perhaps,
in her state, she didn't register it.

On the morning he left town, he opened his eyes and saw next to his pillow a newly sewn, heavy-duty pair of khaki pants, along with a neatly folded wool shirt with a grey and green checkered pattern.

"God bless you. Love, Dolores," said the note pinned to the shirt.

He was not without renewed mental and spiritual energy, even though he was hungry. More than
half the townspeople came to see him off, many of them shedding tears and hugging him, promising that they would pray for his family and for his safe journey. It was a windy day.

There was an awkward moment, as he mounted his bicycle (which had been given a complete tune-up by Pastor Ellison's oldest son), when he felt obliged to make a speech to them all. It was obvious they expected him to say
something hopeful, perhaps something profound.

He prayed to the Holy Spirit for inspiration, and to the Man, and remembered a story that Sister Regina had told him once, before she had entered the convent.

"In the 1500s, Saint Francis Xavier, the great Jesuit missionary, converted many Japanese to the Catholic faith," he had to shout over the wind. "The emperor then kicked Christians and all Westerners
out of Japan for three hundred years.

"In the 1850s, when the West was allowed back in, despite brutal persecutions and Christianity being outlawed, it was discovered that there were still fervent, devout Catholics in Japan. They had been given nothing to sustain them: no books, no Eucharist, no priests, no schools, no religious freedom. Yet they had each other, and they had the True Faith. As
Saint Teresa of Avila told us, 'God alone suffices.'

"I believe that is what Sister Emmanuel and Father Mark were trying to teach you, teach this whole town–the exact same lesson those brave Catholics in Japan were taught by Saint Francis Xavier. God alone suffices.

"I have been healed during my stay here. You have healed me, and in my humble way, I have tried to heal you. I believe that no matter
what happens, even if some of you should die, remember that no matter how bad it gets, that God alone suffices. Pray God I remember the same."

They had hung on every word. Buzz had seen old and young, man and woman, nodding, as he spoke.

Wow, did I say that?
he wondered.

He then shook Deacon Samuel's hand; the deacon then helped Buzz put his backpack on.

"We've added a few extra items to your
bag. Kinda like good-bye presents–"

"You didn't have to–" Buzz protested, but the deacon waved him off.

"You come back and visit someday, you hear?" the deacon said, Dolores at his side, smiling a real smile.

Buzz nodded.
Sure thing.

Dolores stepped up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She fixed her hair in the wind, and wiped away a tear.

"That's right, you come back and visit. Bring your family,"
Pastor Ellison piped in, hopeful tears in his eyes. Buzz hugged him last, unable to hold back his own tears.

"I have suffered much," the pastor whispered softly into Buzz's ear, quoting a psalm. "Preserve my life, O Lord, according to your word."

Buzz straightened on the bike, balancing, his legs feeling oddly weak yet somehow strong at the same time, and renewed his journey.

Sure are lots of
tears in this new world,
he thought after he turned from them, and began pushing on the pedals.

Behind him, someone–a tenor–started to sing a hymn. Others joined in.

Several little boys and girls, defying the lack of calories in their diet, ran after him, waving and calling out with the kind of joy only small children know, as he strained to climb to the main road, strands of
Faith of Our Fathers
fading behind him.

Chapter Thirteen

The Guns of Brixton

Buzz Woodward had everything and he had nothing. And he would need both.

His days after leaving Blackstone were the most peaceful of his journey since losing the Man. He had no definite plan except to make a wide northwestern arc around Albany, crossing the Hudson by night at the bridge in Shuylerville. By the fifth day, Buzz was coming out of the mountains
and was finding fertile valleys. And more refugees on the roads. Some eyed his bicycle, rifle, and backpack with envy, but he greeted or did not greet them according to the Spirit, prayed his prayers, and shared his food according to the Man's Policy, as he now thought of it.

If he was thirsty, he found a brook around the next bend. If he was hungry, he found a rabbit in his snare when he awoke.
If cold, he would find an outcropping facing away from the wind to sleep beneath. If he was lonely, he had the memories of the Man to sustain him. His nasty nightmares abated.

The saints of Blackstone had filled him with faith, and with the Vermont border a day's ride away to the east, Buzz allowed a small ember to glow in his soul that he would be able to reach Bagpipe in one piece. With this
hope came images of Mel, holding their new baby; Markie and Packy (who was now over two years old) were running up the driveway next to her at the homestead to greet him.

You're gonna make it to Bagpipe!

With these prophetic words, the grisly cloth of the Man's death-face was never packed far under the cleaner clothes in Buzz's mental suitcase.

I see Mel with Him!
the Man had said.

So he tried
not to dwell too often on the hopeful images of Mel and the boys (
and girl?
He was ardently curious to know). This kind of thought was dangerous. Too much to hope for...there had been the nightmares, possibly prophetic preparations from God. Buzz knew he shouldn't presume on God and His unfathomable plan, but still...

Why has He allowed me to make it this far?

He finally reached a town called
Argyle on Route 40 in New York, east of the Hudson River. Argyle was overflowing with food (relatively speaking). It had many survivors with back problems, most of them having never worked a true day of manual labor in their lives. Here they were now, undernourished or ill, bending over, trying to plant crops and vegetable gardens with tools no more sophisticated than shovels and pitchforks. He had
also started to carry the mail again. Argyle welcomed him.

A few forward-thinking farmers in Argyle had put in some extra diesel last year. The town fathers had decided to preserve it for the planting, rather than seize it for winter fuel.

It was early June.

The exact day didn't seem to matter much to Buzz anymore, except if it was a Sunday and there was an opportunity to reach a Catholic church–something
he could never really know in advance. What mattered was that it was warm most days and nights, and it was late enough into the summer for food to grow.

The meek have inherited the earth,
Buzz thought,
whether they like it or not.

+  +  +

Buzz met Johnny Bryant and Tom Kasovich in Argyle. They had waited outside the fire station with their bicycles while Buzz adjusted backs, and when he came out,
they asked him if they could accompany him north into Vermont. Johnny Bryant had an uncle with a small church and farm near Holland Pond on the northern border of the state. The three counties comprising the northeast section of the state were called the Northeast Kingdom.

Buzz looked them over. Both were in their early twenties, thin as rails, with long beards and hair. Tom had thin blond hair
and refined features, while Johnny had deep, sunken dark eyes, dark hair, and a nervous habit of biting his fingernails in public. They had been roommates at a small Bible college in Albany before taking off on their bikes for Argyle three months earlier. They had survived by doing odd jobs for the local farmers, fishing with homemade poles (which they planned to bring with them on the journey),
and on the charity of local Christians.

"Why with me?" Buzz asked.

"Because you're a Christian. We're Christians. We've been waiting for a reason to take off. We need help; you've been on the road and you know what you're doing."

This made Buzz laugh inside.
I have no idea what I'm doing!

But that wasn't true, was it? Hadn't the long walk hardened his body? Hadn't the Man trained him to live on
rabbits and squirrels, to survive by his wits and his prayers?

Upon further conversation, he discovered that they were Assembly of God. Their pastor here in Argyle had been taken by the pneumonia two weeks earlier.

"I'm a Catholic," Buzz cautioned. "I like to pray the Rosary–out loud. I often decide to take detours to go to Mass, to find priests. Will that bother you?"

Johnny and Tom looked at
each other.

Johnny, the more talkative one, replied, "We've prayed about it. The Lord told us to go with you. To put aside our differences."

"How does the Lord tell you such things?"

"We received a passage."

Buzz knew this meant that they had prayed for inspiration from the Holy Spirit, then let the Bible fall open and looked at the first passage on the page to strike their eyes. Supposedly, this
passage would be a directive from God.

"What was it?" Buzz asked.

"First Peter, five-five," Tom said softly, "'Young men, in the same way be submissive to those who are older.'"

Both men nodded and smiled, squinting at Buzz, who was standing with the setting sun behind him.

That seems pretty thin,
Buzz thought skeptically.
But then again, it would be a nice change to have company, and there's
safety in numbers.

He decided to take them on, with the understanding that their group would not be a democracy–Buzz would have the final say on when and where they would go.

Even so, they discussed possible routes, and convinced Buzz to head north on Route 22 into Vermont, and attempt to cross the Green Mountains just south of Burlington, perhaps at the Appalachian Gap, rather than head east
sooner toward Rutland to cross the mountains. Their logic was firm–there were smaller population densities on the northern route, and the terrain was less hilly on the western side of the Green Mountains. They would make better time.

Buzz realized that they were hoping his snare, his Ruger, and his chiropractic skills would be a source of food for them along the way, and that they would slow him
down during the first week or so while they built up their skinny legs–and that their stamina would depend on finding enough food to sustain the physical challenge of the ride. Then again, gardens were being planted, vegetables harvested, and out-of-the-way Vermonters had always been known for their self-sufficiency, even before the Troubles.

Buzz was also leery of their personalities. What if
they didn't gel with him? What if they weren't able to keep up with his pace? There was only one way to find out.

+  +  +

And after the first few days on the road, Buzz did not regret bringing them along. They were sore and tired, but were obviously determined to keep up with him. They didn't realize that Buzz was moderating his pace. The Lord blessed the travelers with a rich harvest of fish.
It seemed as if every pond or stream that crossed their path was teeming with fish. It was touching how the two men prayed before baiting their sharpened paper-clip hooks. The rigors of cycling prevented them from talking much during the day rides. During the evenings, it became clear that they were sincere Christians–or at least were capable of putting on a superb act.

Tom remained reticent,
but Johnny was perfectly willing to allow Buzz to explain the passages in the Bible that supported Catholic teachings on the pope, the Eucharist, the role of Mary, confession, and other topics. To make them feel comfortable, Buzz held his hands in the air and listened silently when they began their extemporaneous prayers and prayed in tongues.

Buzz, perhaps for their sakes, made a point of praying
his Rosary out loud, with a low voice, after the cooking fire was out, right before they fell asleep. The nights were warmer now, which was a good thing because Johnny and Tom's sleeping bags were nothing more than ordinary blankets sewn into large pouches. Buzz did not ask them to join in his Rosaries.

When they came to towns, Buzz healed with his hands, and Johnny and Tom offered to teach Bible
lessons at the local churches. Tom was more a private tutor, but Johnny preached to entire groups. His practice of ending his sermons by passing a hat for food made Buzz uncomfortable, but his audiences did not seem to mind. He caught Johnny expounding carefully veiled Catholic concepts during his sermons every so often.

That had been their dream in the old world–to be preachers. As was his practice
during his time with the Man, Buzz soon began allowing Johnny to do the talking when they came to roadblocks and town halls. Catholic churches were fewer and farther between as they made their way north, and these two sincere Protestant ministers were readily accepted by the predominantly Protestant town officials.

The men entered into the Northeast Kingdom through the Appalachian Gap, after some
excruciating climbs, where they often had to stop and rest almost by the mile. Soon they were past Waitsfield, where Tom was able to trade one of Buzz's gold coins for a much-needed new front tire for his mountain bike.

They were making their way up Route 100 now, which was lovely and scenic. Pennsylvania had been a cold, wintry grey. Vermont, true to the translation of its name–
green mountain
–was an explosion of green flora in every direction.

Johnny and Tom were becoming more optimistic. They were days, perhaps a week, away from their uncle. The two men talked about God's providence and showed Buzz passages in the Bible about His promises to keep His people safe from enemies.

It was a rainy day in mid-June when they came to Brixton, a full day's ride north of Eden Mills. Like a few
other towns Buzz had seen along the journey, Brixton was apparently a ghost-town. Not all Vermont towns had fully developed town centers. They were points on a map, with a town hall and a fire station located off the main road or crossroad. Brixton was just such a town. Besides the telltale green road sign announcing they were entering Brixton (Population 73), the only indicator that they were actually
near the town center was the empty, fully-looted, general store/Mobil station a quarter mile down from the sign.

The terrain consisted of long, rolling hills, with trees coming right to the shoulder of the two-lane roadway. On the pavement, there were plenty of sticks and effluvia left from the winter, which slowed their progress.

They continued to ride past the abandoned store, sometimes walking
up the steeper hills, looking for a place to camp in the twilight. Buzz got a stitch in his side near the top of a crest and decided to rest for a bit. Johnny and Tom waited with him for a few moments, then remounted their bikes and began gliding down the long hill beyond the crest. A roadblock gradually became more visible to them in the fading light.

There were two men with guns at the roadblock.
Neither minister was familiar with the seemingly infinite varieties and brands of weapons. Men with weapons at roadblocks were not at all uncommon in the new world.

This particular roadblock was constructed from a combination of trees and a huge fire truck. One guard, a thin man–weren't they all nowadays–stood up on the roof of the cab of the truck as they approached. The other was napping, sitting
on the ground with his green military cap over his eyes, resting his back against a log.

"Halt! Identify yourselves," the man on the cab called out, waking the other guard, who scrambled to his feet, grabbed his shotgun, then ran up to Johnny and Tom. Tom looked at Johnny.

"I'm Johnny Bryant and this is Tom Kasovich. We're preachers, and we're just passing through."

"Are you alone?" the guard
on the cab asked. He was clean-shaven, and quite handsome in a rakish kind of way.

It was difficult for Johnny to see the expression on the guard's face in the thickening darkness. The rain had become a light mist, but the clouds were killing whatever was left of the sunlight.

"No, there's another man named Buzz behind us. He should be coming right along."

The guard and the two Christians turned
to look up the long, low hill, but there was no Buzz Woodward in sight.

"Preachers, eh?" the guard on the ground, a ruddy-faced man with dull eyes, sneered.

"Yes, brother, do you love the Lord?" Johnny asked.

The two guards laughed.

"Nope," said the guard on the ground, pointing his shotgun at Tom's face. "Do you?"

A moment of truth.

Tom said, "Yes."

The guard pulled the trigger, and Tom's head
exploded into a mash of bloody bits. His body folded to the ground.

Johnny screamed, and fell to Tom's side.

The guard on the truck called down. "Dammit, Lloyd! Rheumy's gonna get pissed again. You can't just keep shooting every friggin' idiot who comes down the road like that. Now we're gonna have to bury 'im."

"You killed him!" Johnny shouted.

Lloyd, apparently unmiffed by the other guard's
rebuke, swung his barrel around, and placed the muzzle inches from Johnny's face.

"And I'll kill you, too, if you don't shut your goddamned trap."

+  +  +

Buzz, sitting next to his bike on the other side of the hill, straightened up with a start when he heard the report of the shotgun.

He quickly scrambled over to the crest of the hill, crawling forward on his stomach, and raised his head to investigate.
In the waning light he spied the guard standing over Tom's body, pointing his gun at Johnny.

Oh God!

Conflicting thoughts began to war in his head. Run down there? Get on his bike and take off? Do nothing?

Can't do nothing!

Then what?

He calmed himself. This was not like him. He could deal with this. He would have to deal with this. Violence had always been lurking off-stage during the drama of
the long walk. Buzz accepted this so he could pray efficiently:
Mary!