The List (37 page)

Jo sat down beside him and motioned for Lois and Jack to go ahead. Layne was already in line to go to the front.

“Remember when I prayed for your headache in Georgetown?”

Renny nodded without looking up.

Jo continued softly, “Father, I ask you to touch Renny now and heal him.”

She waited; Renny kept holding his head in his hands.

“Do you feel any better?”

“No. You go on up. I just need to be still a minute.”

Jo hesitated then slipped past him. A place opened at the altar rail, and she knelt to receive the bread and wine. She lingered and Paul Bushnell came back to her as the crowd at the altar thinned and asked, “Is there something I can pray about with you?”

“If you have time, could you pray for my friend after the service?”

“Sure. Don't leave. I'll come back into the sanctuary as soon as most of the people are gone.”

After the rector gave the benediction, Lois Berit asked, “Renny, can you and Jo join us for lunch?”

“No thanks, I've got a migraine and don't feel like eating right now,” Renny said.

“I'll be in town for a couple of days. Maybe we can get together,” Layne spoke up. “Do you have a card with you?”

Renny pulled out his wallet and gave him one.

“Hope you feel better,” Lois said. “It was nice meeting you, Jo. Hope you visit again.”

Jo motioned for Renny to wait as the Berits and Layne walked toward the door. “I asked the rector if he would pray for you. He said to wait here until he finishes greeting the people.”

“Why did you do that?” Renny asked. “I barely know the man.”

“That's your headache talking. Let's give it a chance.”

Renny sat down grumpily. “I feel like a calf waiting to be branded.”

They sat in silence until Bushnell came over to them. He shook Renny's hand. “We met last week, didn't we? Ronny, isn't it?”

“Yes, uh no, it's Renny.”

“Sorry. What's the problem?”

“I didn't want to bother you. It's only a headache.”

“A bad one though?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get some oil.”

Renny looked at Jo as Bushnell went to the front of the sanctuary.

“Oil?”

“Anointing oil. It's a symbol of the Holy Spirit. The New Testament gives guidelines about praying for sick people and anointing them with oil. It's in the book of James.”

“Oh.” Renny knew he was going to have to submit to the ritual whether it was motor oil or castor oil.

“Do you know about anointing with oil?” Bushnell asked when he returned with a small vial of golden liquid in his hand.

Relying on his education of the past thirty seconds, Renny said, “Yes.” “Good. Let's pray and ask God to touch you.”

Bushnell moistened his finger with the oil and put his hand on Renny's right temple. “Is that where it hurts the worst?”

“Yes, it is.”

“OK. Lord, we ask you to touch Renny with your healing power.” He waited several seconds, then said, “It's really bad, isn't it?”

“Yes, it still hurts,” Renny said.

“I may have suffered the type of pain you're feeling. It's a sharp, knifelike sensation centered in your right temple. Makes you feel a little nauseous?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the first severe headache you've experienced?”

“No. They started recently. I've had two or three since my father's death.”

“Did he have headaches?”

“Yes. All his life, as far as I know.”

“There may be a connection. Let's pray again. Father, we ask you to remove this headache and rebuke its origin in Jesus' name.” He waited again. “It's not gone, is it?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No.”

“Why not?” Jo asked.

“When I prayed for you, Renny, I saw a picture in my mind of two swords coming down out of heaven. They clashed in the air then fell to earth, sticking in the ground in a crossed position, blade to blade.”

“What would that have to do with a headache?” Renny asked.

“It means the basis for the headache may be more spiritual than physical.”

“Well, it hurts in the physical,” Renny said.

“Granted. Many headaches have a physical explanation—stress, fluid pressure, poor circulation, blows to the head. Do you have a history of a physical condition that could cause you to have headaches?”

“No.”

“Then I would think even more strongly that it is a spiritual issue.”

“Whatever.” Renny was ready to leave. The rector was getting on his nerves.

“What do the swords represent?” Jo asked, ignoring the tone of Renny's response.

“I would interpret the clash of swords as a battle over your spiritual vision or understanding. It's so fierce you are having effects in your body. Does anything I've said make sense to you?” Bushnell asked.

Renny wanted to say no and shut the rector up, but he answered, “Perhaps. But I still don't know what to do.”

“I don't know either, but I'm willing to help. Could the three of us get together later this week and spend a longer time praying about this?”

“I'm going back to Michigan this afternoon,” Jo said. “But Renny lives here in Charlotte. You could come by this week, couldn't you?” she asked Renny.

“Maybe Wednesday,” Renny said reluctantly.

“I'm here in the morning, but I usually play golf Wednesday afternoon. I can skip it, though, if that's the only time you can meet.”

“Thanks,” Jo said.

They stood, and Bushnell shook Renny's hand. “Give me a call, please.”

Renny dreaded walking out into the sunlight, but the pain lifted as he walked across the parking lot to his car.

“Do you want me to drive?” Jo asked.

“No, I can do it. Maybe it's a delayed reaction to the prayer. Does it work that way sometimes?”

“Yes, it can.” Jo sat in the passenger seat. “Do you want to go home? That would be fine with me.”

“No, I'm better. Really. Let's get something to eat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Mexican OK?”

Jo turned in her seat and faced him. “Wait a minute. This is strange. One minute you're so sick you can't go forward for Communion and the next you want to eat Mexican food.”

Renny shrugged. “I don't know. Neither did the good rector.”

The phone rang four times while the old man took a tentative sip of his Bloody Mary. Like Renny, he was recovering from the remaining vestiges of the morning's headache.

“No, I feel terrible,” he said in response to the caller's greeting. “Get to the point.”

He listened and took a few more swallows of his first cocktail of the day. “Satisfactory. Keep me posted.”

He put on dark glasses before walking into the sunny kitchen.

20

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

R
OMEO AND
J
ULIET
,
ACT 2, SCENE 2

R
enny turned onto Park Road, an open boulevard flanked by newly developed residential areas that fed a steady stream of minivans and sport utility vehicles onto the busy roadway.

“It shook me up a bit seeing Thomas Layne in the parking lot,” he said.

“That was obvious. I could tell you were uptight as soon as you came into the church.”

“He's intimidating.”

“Did he tell you to pretend you'd never met him?”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad it wasn't your idea, but I didn't like it. At best it was phony; at worst it was deceptive.”

“I didn't know what to say. It caught me off guard. The parking lot of the church on Sunday morning didn't seem the place to open a discussion with Layne and his sister about a 140-year-old secret society that neither he nor their father ever told her about. She seems happy enough without the information.”

“That should tell you something about happiness.”

“You mean that ignorance is bliss?”

“Not exactly, but go ahead.”

“Well, I had trouble concentrating in the meeting, and I knew you were upset when I asked you to play dumb about Layne. Worst of all, I think I should have gone forward at the end.”

“I wondered why you didn't. I thought about giving you a nudge but decided you were able to hear from the Lord yourself.”

“Earlier today I would have thought so, too. I know what happened at the mountain and the times I've had with God in the mornings the past couple of days have been real, very real. But at the church everything was thrown into a barrel of doubt and questioning.”

Renny turned into the restaurant parking lot. Inside, they sat across from each other in a high-backed booth under a multicolored piñata. Dipping a tortilla chip in the salsa, Renny continued, “When the rector asked people to come forward and openly acknowledge Jesus before the congregation, I knew it was my opportunity to take the next step. I was a little hesitant to walk forward in front of a group of people, but the real reason I stayed in my seat was concern about Layne. What would he think? I doubt he would have approved of an open religious display.”

“Probably not. But remember what George Manor said.”

“What part?”

“God is not like your father.”

“How does that apply to Thomas Layne?”

“Don't let your father, Thomas Layne, or the List determine how you respond to God.”

The waiter took their order.

“You're right,” Renny said thoughtfully. “I'll try not to miss my opportunity to respond to what God is telling me. And before I eat this whole basket of chips, will you pray a blessing?”

Jo prayed.

“Hearing you pray reminded me of something,” Renny said when Jo finished. “Speculation about your religious beliefs was a hot topic in Georgetown. While you were out of the room, they asked me about your Christian faith. I didn't think it was relevant, and I bet most of the men on the List are church members, probably more ‘whiskeypalian' than Episcopalian in their theology. But I'd guess they're tolerant of casual religion; it's part of their tradition.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I told them Christianity was very important to you. I'd already heard you pray and felt your missionary zeal toward me as a potential proselyte when we went to Pawley's Island.”

Jo smiled. “You were a difficult prospect. Too much of a know-it-all.”

“Hey, I think I've been easy. Anyway, I think some of them were scared by your religious fanaticism. Religion is not a threat unless it affects behavior. And since the List operates on the edges of law, some of the other members were concerned you might create problems. Why else would they offer you a million dollars and ask you to keep everything confidential?”