A Warmth in Winter (33 page)

Salt swallowed the information with a simple “Oh.”

“Every second, every human on earth is penetrated by more than one hundred cosmic rays,” Gabe went on, apparently warming to his subject. “In the same second, more than fifty thousand gamma rays from your surroundings zip through you at the speed of light, while thousands of potassium atoms and two or three uranium atoms within your body release more radiation. With every breath, you take in several radioactive atoms that decay in your lungs.”

Salt forced a laugh. “Reckon it's a miracle I've lived to threescore and ten, heh?”

“Every day is a miracle, Captain. But life is not the miracle I'm to show you tonight.”

Salt squirmed in his pajama top. “I can't fall, can I?” He dared not look down, but he couldn't help but see that they now flew over a glittering array of lights. Boston? Washington, DC?

“You cannot fall. You are held in the palm of God's own hand.”

Salt didn't feel terribly
held
by anyone or anything, but he kept his mouth shut. Up and up they flew until the rushing wind grew silent and they moved through utter soundlessness. Holding his breath, Salt wondered if they had crossed into outer space, but the blackness was like that of the sea at night, the stars like the reflection of a million tiny organisms that spun and glowed in the deepest compartments of Davy Jones's locker . . .

That's all this is, a dream springing from my subconscious—

But suddenly the angel roared upward in a blaze of brilliance so stunning that Salt threw up his arms and still his eyes burned behind his fists and his closed eyelids. He could feel light pressuring his eyes and knew he couldn't open them without blinding pain. Even behind his fists and lids, his pupils must be mere pinpricks, so intense was the light—

“Humble yourself,” Gabe said, his voice now a reverent whisper. “You are about to behold the throne room of God.”

Still hiding behind his hands, Salt whimpered. “I'm in heaven?”

“No. You're being allowed a glimpse; the things you see are only a shadow of the glory that exists in the third heaven. Your mortal body could not survive the journey into that realm.”

And suddenly the blinding pressure eased. Lowering his clenched fists, Salt saw that they were moving through an atmosphere the color of a Maine sky on a summer's day. Bright lights winked through this firmament, and as each light approached Salt caught a glimpse of a face and smile, then the dazzling creatures passed with no more sound than a sigh.

He and Gavriel flew on, toward a gleaming temple with pillars that radiated in a soft golden glow. Through a courtyard they moved, over a sea of those intelligent, brilliant lights.

“What are they?”

“The spirits of those who await the resurrection,” Gabe replied.

On the wings of this celestial morning they descended into a chamber dominated by a throne so impressive in its brightness that Salt's weakened eyes ached to look at it. A man sat upon the throne, and at their approach his eyes lifted—

Salt covered his face with his hands. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Gabe answered. “The Ancient of Days, the Alpha and the Omega. He who was, and is, and is to come. He who is holy.”

Salt cringed, knowing that he reeked of grief and guilt. The ravages of his life on earth clung to him like smoke from his woodstove, permeating his clothing and pores and even his soul. “You've brought me here to die,” he cried, tears stinging his eyes. “I know what the Good Book says. No man can see God and live.”

“That's right, for God is a spirit, and only those with spirit eyes can see spiritual beings,” Gabe answered, his voice but a breath in Salt's ear. “The souls you see as lights below—they see him, they know him. But until you are incorporated in spirit, Salt Gribbon, you must see him as he is.”

Salt raised his arms, determined to flee from the sight.

“I can't!”

What had he done to merit this supernatural interrogation? He had done wrong, he knew it, but he was willing to pay for his pride and stubbornness. Let them come and take the children; let them take everything he owned. He had been wrong; he did not deserve to live. He was guilty, guilty, and he knew it. He had been willing to die in the sea; he was willing to die now.

So why was he here? As a child he'd been taught to honor and obey God, except the preacher in his small church had always pronounced the word
Gohd
, as if it must be spoken in an affected and holy whisper.
Gohd
, the preacher had frequently intoned, did not suffer fools. He watched over all; he kept accurate accounts, He knew when every single person sinned and fell short of his holy standard. Therefore every man had to fear
Gohd
, and tremble before him, lest he be cast aside in the final reckoning . . .

“Salt.” This voice was new, but it resonated through every fiber of Salt's being. It was the voice of knowledge, love, and justice.

“Salt, do you not know who I am, even after all the time I have been with you?”

Lowering his hands an inch, Salt peeked over his fingertips. The One on the throne had risen and seemed to be speaking to him alone.

But I can see you!

The Lord smiled. “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. I am in the Father and the Father is in me.”

Gabe whispered in Salt's ear: “The Word became human and lived on earth among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And now you see his glory, the glory of the only Son of the Father.”

Salt felt his spirit wavering before the steadfast concentration of those loving eyes.

Why have you brought me here?

“Because I long for your companionship.”

The words were spoken without rancor, but they fell with the weight of stones in still water, spreading ripples of guilt and conviction. Salt bowed his head, unable to face the loving rebuke in those eyes.

“Because God's children are made of mortal flesh and blood,” Gabe whispered, “Jesus also became flesh and blood by being born in human form. For only as a human being could he die, and only by dying could he break the power of the Devil, who had the power of death. Only in this way could he deliver those who have lived all their lives as slaves to the fear of dying.”

Salt felt a trembling arise from some place at the center of his soul.

“Do you not see?” The angel's voice softened. “It was necessary for Jesus to be in every respect like you, his brothers and sisters, so he could be your merciful and faithful High Priest before God. He then could offer a sacrifice that would take away the sins of the people. Since he himself has gone through suffering and temptation, he is able to help you when you are being tempted—or when you're afraid. He endured it all for you, Salt—so you wouldn't have to endure pain alone.”

Like a careening vehicle, the truth crashed into Salt full force, wrenching a soft cry of despair from his battered heart.

What a fool he'd been. Self-reliant and stubborn, he had scorned Birdie's help, refused the town's assistance, and ignored this Savior who stood ready and willing to give grace and comfort and fellowship. Oh, he'd muttered perfunctory prayers every night when the children first arrived, but he'd addressed them to the great and powerful
Gohd
, never really believing that he would be interested in Salt's situation. And then, as time passed and Salt's little family settled into a routine, he had convinced himself that he hadn't needed
Gohd
after all. He alone had made things work.

But all he'd done was make a mess of the situation. And he'd known that he could never be the permanent answer for Bobby and Brittany, for his mortal life span was already far spent . . .

Forgive me, Lord.

“I will.” His voice, low and passionate, commanded the glittering chamber. “As you forgive those who have wronged you.”

Salt gulped hard as hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

Oh, the shame of his life! He'd been so judgmental, so hard-hearted! He had given up on a wayward son and steeled himself against the pain he'd caused. He had taken two wounded and impressionable children and subjected them to a solitary existence more suited to a misanthropic hermit than youngsters on the threshold of life.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, turning to bury his face in the softness of the flannel pajama sleeves. He tasted the salt of tears on his lips, and when he opened his eyes again, he was back in the lavender bedroom, propped on two lilac-scented pillows and covered with a pristine white counterpane.

Chapter Twenty-four

O
n Sunday morning, Birdie ate a day-old doughnut for breakfast, then placed two phone calls. In the first, Babette announced that Bobby and Brittany were still sleeping. Georgie's first official sleepover had ended, Babette assured Birdie, far sooner than Georgie had anticipated. At eight she had bundled the three children in warm bedclothes and placed them in front of an animated video with a huge bowl of popcorn. In less than ten minutes, all three kids were fast asleep.

A call to the B&B revealed that Salt still slept, too. Cleta said the lightkeeper hadn't moved, but Dr. Marc had come by just after sunup and found Salt sleeping soundly with a steady pulse.

Birdie had been glad to hear that Salt would fully recover from his misadventure, but she knew she wouldn't be able to rest until she saw him herself. So at eight-thirty she bundled herself in hat, coat, and gloves, then walked the short distance to the Baskahegan Bed and Breakfast.

Floyd answered the door and let her in with no comment other than a knowing smile. As Birdie shed her coat and hat in the foyer, Micah thrust his head out of the kitchen and asked if she wanted a cup of coffee or cider.

“In a minute, maybe,” she called, pulling off her gloves. “After I check on Cap'n Gribbon.”

“First door on the left at the top of the stairs,” Cleta called from the kitchen. “He was snoring like a walrus last time I walked by.”

Birdie climbed the stairs with more energy than she'd felt in days.

Salt didn't answer when she rapped at the door, which was probably a good sign. She turned the knob and let herself in, then stood in silence for a moment at the foot of the bed.

What a man he was. Stubborn and muleheaded, for certain, but loyal, hardworking, and responsible. As a husband he'd be the type to show his love in actions, not words, but Birdie figured she could learn to live with that.

Once he realized he needed a wife.

She sank to the edge of the mattress and ran her hand over the soft bedspread. Salt lay flat on his back, his chin jutting above the covers, the collar of Floyd's pajamas framing his strong face.

She pressed her hand to the spot just above his heart. At her touch, his eyelids fluttered open. “Wh–What?”

“It's me, Salt.” She smiled as his gaze lowered and met hers. “How be you this morning?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then groaned. “Nicely, I reckon. But my toes are still cold.”

“That's okay. I expect they'll warm up soon enough.”

He struggled to push himself up into a sitting position. “What about the kids?”

“They're staying with the Grahams. Babette said Georgie was thrilled to have friends sleep over, but they conked out ten minutes after she got 'em into their jammies.”

His mouth twisted in something not quite a smile. “That's good. I expect they can stay there . . . until they have to go. If Babette will keep 'em.”

Birdie shook her head. “Why would they have to leave you?”

“Oh, Birdie.” Lines of concentration deepened along his brows and under his eyes. “I was wrong to take 'em in the first place—I should have gotten some help for my boy. Or I should have taken him in. But instead I wrote him off and took those kids, thinking I could do with them what I never did with my own son—be a father, I mean. I was always gone when Patrick needed me, and last summer I took his children and left him alone, just like I've always done.”

He turned slightly, gazing out the window with chilling intensity for a long moment. “Last night I learned something—I was never meant to live alone. I thought I had God's help, I thought I knew him, but I only knew the figurehead.” His squint tightened, and Birdie saw thought working in his eyes. “Last night I met Jesus. And I realized that I've been the most hardheaded man on the planet.”

Birdie felt her throat tighten as his blue eyes brimmed with tears. Something had happened to Salt, and though she didn't understand it, she felt a thrill shiver through her senses. God worked miracles all the time, even on the little island of Heavenly Daze.

“Salt.” She reached out and took his hand, then held it gently between both her own. “Do you know what I read the other day?”

Looking away, he shook his head as if he could dislodge the tears from his eyes.

Continuing, she kept her voice light. “I read a quote by George Bernard Shaw. He said, ‘I can think of no other edifice constructed by man as altruistic as a lighthouse. They were built only to serve. They weren't built for any other purpose.'”

Salt looked at her again. “What does that have to do with—”

“You're a lighthouse. Yes, you're hardheaded, and yes, you make mistakes because you're human. But God created you with a mile-wide streak of responsibility, and your intentions were good. You wanted to serve those children, and you've done a good job with them.”

“But my son—”

“You can start tomorrow with your son. Don't dwell on the past, Salt; look toward the future. Let your light shine.”

He gave her a quick, denying glance. “That sounds real nice, Birdie, but it's too late. Lighthouses are a relic of the past. They've got these newfangled things now, aerobeacons and navigational buoys. With that GPS system, nobody really needs a lighthouse anymore . . . just like nobody needs an old mule like me.”