Authors: Daniel G. Keohane
“Yes, ma’am. Declination’s still a bit further south-west than a couple of years back, but that’s to be expected.”
“My Lord, I should be on Jeopardy with all the hundred dollar words you people teach me. Heading home soon?”
“I... well, no, not quite yet. They want me to stay... for a while longer. Take daily measurements, see if anything changes. Too soon to assume things have righted themselves permanently; too expensive to keep coming back when things get weird. I’ll be here a few more weeks. Sick of me already?”
“No... you keep tipping me with that voluminous expense account, and slip me more of those hundred-dollar words– “
“Like
voluminous
....”
“(chuckle), and I’ll be your own personal waitress until you leave. Few more weeks?”
“Yeah, that’s what they said; why?”
“Oh, nothin’. Nothin’. I’ll get your order in before Grim falls asleep back there.”
“Dora?”
“Hmm?”
“You OK?”
“I’m fine, Hon. I’m fine.”
32
The following week went smoother than Margaret could have imagined after the events of the weekend. Aside from a few reports on CNN about the auroras appearing at night in places that had never before experienced them, the weather was clear and sunny. Normal. The earth dried, tempers abated, fears calmed. Somewhat. The crowd, though no bigger at the end of the week than during the rain’s apex over the weekend, did not wane. Faces changed, but the number of cars crowding around the town square forced the police to enforce the one-hour parking limit. No sooner did one pull away than another took its place. The waiting list maintained by Estelle grew longer.
Two newly-joined members of Margaret's crew had quit, the blue skies and increasingly hot days burning away their foreboding. Before that day had finished, however, Margaret had two new members from the list, and still more approached whom she could refer to Eric Benson’s ship across the common. She’d finally gotten his name memorized. Benson now had a full crew and his own waiting list as his ark quickly took shape.
The woman from Greenfield, Alicia, who had spoken with her that long, rainy night last Friday also made good strides. Margaret made it a point to call her for a few minutes every day to see how she was doing. Alicia had even stopped by a couple of times.
Margaret’s crew had made great progress in less than a week. The bulk of the ark’s exterior was complete, but so much more was required inside. They would finish construction on time, though, and well before the final day.
There was one more hurdle looming ahead of them. The selectman for the town of Lavish, California, were to convene a public town meeting Saturday. The single item on the agenda – whether to allow Margaret Carboneau to continue to violate multiple zoning ordinances, or “finally put a stop to her madness once and for all.” That was a quote from Adrian Edgecomb in the weekly local paper.
As if playing the role of coach, David the Angel appeared to Margaret early Saturday morning.
The soft, star-filled sky she had come to expect in these visions was comforting, like a homecoming, reminding her that if she was going mad, at least her madness was consistent.
She sat on the back porch steps, a warm breeze playing across her face. The fact that she was never bothered by mosquitoes or Mayflies was another positive aspect of this ethereal landscape. David sat beside her, hands folded between his knees as he looked out into the dark yard.
“There will be those who will support you tonight,” he said. “But they'll be the quieter ones. They always are.”
Margaret nodded. “The ones against you are always the loudmouths.”
“Two of the selectman are uncertain whether anything should be done. It’s Edgecomb who's leading the fight to stop you.”
Margaret turned to him. “That excuse for a pompous dickhead wants to close the whole thing down.”
David smiled. “I recommend you refrain from calling him that during the meeting, but yes. The reasons for his objections are no different than anyone else's. What sets him apart is that he has the power to back them up.”
“All three of them have a vote, don’t they?”
The angel nodded. “In any group like this, there's always one who's stronger than the others. In this case, it's him. You can be sure he's going to bring many people from town who will take his side.”
“But this is insane! How much do I have to do? I've dropped my entire life on the side of the road to build the ark. Now I have to stand in front of the town and justify it? You're in with God. I'm
doing
this for God. Why can't he just send a lightning bolt down and settle this whole thing?”
David was quiet for a moment, then said, “This isn't about you, Margaret. Sometimes it probably feels that way. It's about every person in your town, and in every other town. It's about every soul on the planet. You just happen to be the one getting the visions. But it's your job, and the responsibility of everyone who chooses to follow you, to spread God's message. You have to reach as many hearts as possible before it's too late.”
“But I'm only allowed thirty people! Am I supposed to build a hundred of these things?”
David smiled and shook his head. “God's message isn't that people should get onto the ark, Margaret, if they want to be saved. Only if they want to
live
. There's a difference. There are many who will not board any ship, but who will, in the end, give their hearts to the Lord.”
Margaret said nothing, but stared at the angel’s perfect face. He returned the look and added, “The ark, the faith you have exhibited and which I’m sure you will continue to show, are merely lights upon a hill. Symbols for others that there is something,
someone
, higher than the world itself. God is real. He is the master and maker of all things. If they acknowledge that, if they truly accept His Truth, then the waters may kill their bodies, but their souls will belong to Him forever.”
David shifted on the stair until he faced her. “Tell me something, Margaret. Do you think everyone who’s going to board the ships on June eighth will have perfect faith? Will every man, woman and child accept what you tell them because they believe in God, that they’ve accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts, or because they don't want to risk dying in the face of everything they've seen? Playing the odds, as it were.”
“I thought... I don't know.” But she
did
, and David knew this because he suddenly stood up and took a few silent paces away before turning back.
“It's going to get harder before the end. Even before the town meeting tonight.”
The yard was darkening. Margaret assumed she was about to wake up. David blended in with the darkness. “Hold fast, Margaret. Don't be discouraged, no matter what happens when you awaken.”
She didn't like the sound of that. The dream faded. Bells rang. In the darkness before her, green lines formed, swirled. The bells were shrill, electronic. The green lines came into focus. Her clock. It was four twenty-nine in the morning. The cell phone beside the clock rang again. Estelle's phone, which the woman had insisted Margaret keep with her since so few people knew the number. She in turn used Margaret’s and handled any calls from the increasing number of people who had learned her cell number. Margaret had permanently disconnected her house phone.
She sat up, fumbled with the small device until she found the right button.
“Hello?”
“Margaret?” Al's voice. It was tinny with digital static, the connection broken but still a vast improvement over the nearly unusable signals during the rain last weekend.
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “You need... get ov... ere as fast as possible.”
* * *
In ten minutes, Margaret was dressed and driving her car towards the town center. Her hair was pulled back in a hurried ponytail, which pressed against the back of the seat. She’d woken Jennifer Donato to tell her where she was going. She and Estelle remained at the house to be there when the girls woke up, but Tony insisted on coming with her. Even before rounding the corner to the common, Margaret saw the emergency lights. Red and white flashing against the front of the House of Pizza, the post office and the fire station. With the driver’s window down, the smell of smoke was pungent.
Carl waited at the curb, removed the orange cones left to preserve her parking space. The scene was awash in spotlights. The flames had died down, but the smoke still twisted and roiled into the air, lost in the pre-dawn sky.
* * *
They weren't allowed to approach the ark until after eight o'clock that morning. The back of the ship, the stern, was gone - either burned out or hacked to pieces by the firemen as they fought to contain the blaze. They'd caught it early enough that the bulk of the ship was still intact near the bow. The morning air smelled like a wet campfire. The stink was more powerful when Margaret stepped though the charred opening into the lower deck. She stared through the hole that once was the back of the ship. She wanted to cry, to fall to the floor and wail like a child with a broken toy. She wanted to give up. They’d won. The people could not accept what she was telling them and struck out rather than accept that it would not stop what was going to happen.
Margaret’s throat ached with the wet, burning stench, and she silently cursed the angel for not warning her beforehand so this could be prevented. What horrible sin had she committed to be laden with this? Why did God make life so hard sometimes for people who believed in him?
Outside, Al, Tony and Carl looked through the hole. They nodded to her, but spoke to each other, pointing to the closest intact beams. Already, they planned how to rebuild. It wasn't coming any easier to them, at least not from what Margaret saw of their faces, tight with rage. But they were doing something. They weren't wallowing in self- pity.
She clambered above deck, did a cursory inspection before heading down the ladder and rounding the hull to join them. Only then did she think to look across the common, where the second ark had been making such great strides. Benson's ark was a pile of smoldering ash. The fire crew had responded to Margaret's fire first, perhaps deciding her nearly-finished ark was more valuable than the few days’ growth across the square. She hoped Vince Carboneau's widow hadn’t simply gotten preferential treatment.
Benson and his crew were standing around the ashes. He did not look up. Margaret was grateful for that. She would walk over there as soon as she and the men worked out what they needed to do with their own situation.
“It's gonna stink,” Carl said. “No matter what we do. I suppose we can cut a few more vents up high, and hang a lot of air fresheners or something.”
Al 's moustache twitched. “I suppose. Let's cut out the hull at this point.” He pointed a few inches in from the burnt wood. “Cut here, square, all the way around, double the beam there, and work our way back.” He sighed. “I suppose we could just close out the stern at this point instead. It'll make the overall size a little shorter, but the extreme back was going to be for shelving anyway. We can move those four post and harness points forward a bit, double up a little. Save us from trying to build it all out and risk the integrity of the hull any further.”
He looked at Margaret. “What do you think? A slight deviation from the plans you got, but I'd have to assume accommodating the right number of people is all that matters, anyway.”
His expression was calm. And he was mostly right. Margaret said nothing, just stepped forward and hugged him. He hugged her back awkwardly, then cleared his throat as Margaret stepped sideways and hugged Carl then Tony. “Thank you,” was all she could say.
* * *
As the sun rose higher and the morning chill burned away, the rest of the crew arrived. When a handicapped van pulled onto the grass, Tony ran to it. He and Jennifer helped Estelle and her chair down the small lift. Katie and Robin walked slowly across the grass, their eyes moving back and forth between their ark and the remains of Benson's across the way.
When they saw their mother they ran the few remaining steps into her arms. Robin was crying, Katie darkly silent. The older girl said simply, “Is it over now?”
Margaret froze. A small question that could mean a dozen different things. She held a hand to Katie's cheek and whispered, “No, Katie. We're going to fix it, and keep going forward.”
The girl’s eyes focused sharply, glanced at the others gathering around. Her jaw worked back and forth. Grinding her teeth like that was a recent habit. “Are you sure,” Katie said at last. “It looks pretty bad.”
“Yes. It'll be OK.”
She pushed away her mother's hand and stepped back. “No, it won't!” Tears rolled down her face. “It won't be okay. Everyone hates us because we tell them they're going to die. Now they're
really
mad! They're probably going to kill us! Why can't we just stop this and go home? Why can't I just go back to school? Why can't I have my friends back?”
“Katie, don't -”
“Shut up!” the girl screamed. “Shut up! Shut Up! Why don't you all leave me alone! I don't want to do this anymore!”
Little Robin buried herself against her mother's shoulder, her sobbing growing louder as her big sister shouted. Carl put a hand on Katie's shoulder, but she swatted his arm away and ran across the grass towards the Donato's van.
Margaret watched until her daughter clambered into the front seat and slammed the door shut. Katie hunkered down, out of sight below the window.
* * *
The Lavish High School auditorium was warming quickly with bodies and tempers. Even before the meeting was officially underway, loud discussions and one shoving match between two fathers nearly closed the meeting. Every available police officer and a handful of firefighters were on hand. The police were positioned at every door, along the back of the hall and onstage. Like many of the townspeople there that night, they looked frustrated.