Читать книгу Songs for a Mockingbird - Bonnie Compton Hanson - Страница 6

How peaceful, how quaint, how totally American-apple-pie this barn and the large ramshackle farmhouse close by had seemed to all the Disciples when they first arrived. A picturesque covered well, inviting shade trees, rambling rose-covered fences, and acre upon acre of rolling Iowa cornfields and pastures. Like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

A dense stand of trees shaded nearby Crawdad Creek, clear and fish-filled, flowing into larger Rainbow Branch—with wide, willow-edged Bounty River just a few miles away. Sunflowers and daisies nodded everywhere, while mockingbirds trilled joyously from an old apple tree in the front lawn. Inviting rocking chairs waited on the wide front porch.

And so secluded—20 miles from sleepy Cottontree, the nearest small town. With bustling Big Bend City 40 miles in the other direction. And no freeways or shopping malls within 50 miles.

“This is it!” the Prophet had shouted to Josh when they first saw the farm, after driving cross-country with Harve’s wife, Agnes, in Josh’s old Honda. They’d been scouting a location for their new “true-to-the-Scripture” Christian commune, where “God’s people can all be safe from worldly temptations and End Times tribulations. This is exactly where God wants us to be.”

Only, back then, the Prophet was still just plain Harve, a caterpillar slowly developing his wings. That, of course, was a miracle in itself, beginning the night newly-converted Josh invited his floundering friend to the little Coffeehouse where he had found Christ. Then and there that young man without a purpose declared that God would be his purpose. Cold-turkey, he dropped his booze, grass, and 24/7 goofing off, replacing them with a sudden, fervent certainty that God had now raised up a brilliant new leader for His people. None other than Harve himself.

Melinda, who had come forward as a child at “invitation time” during a service at her Grandma Jackson’s church (but was never quite certain if it “took”), was thrilled for both young men. She too wanted so much to love and please God, but wasn’t sure how. She’d opened a friend’s Bible once, but it was too overwhelming. None of the three students had church-going families or friends—besides Melinda’s dear Grandma Jackson—or knew much about God’s Word and ways.

That’s why she joined Josh and Harve the following week at the Coffeehouse’s Bible study. She had to borrow a Bible to go, but once there she joyfully absorbed all Pastor Preston taught about God and His Word. She even dusted off her old guitar and helped lead the group in praise songs as she learned them. Josh and Harve were excited, too. In fact, Harve was so enthusiastic, Pastor Preston began asking him to fill in occasionally as teacher of the class.

Harve—now “Brother Harve”—threw himself into this new role. He began preaching in the streets and witnessing on campus, relishing shouting matches and threatening lawsuits with the police and school authorities. To look even more like a renegade Old Testament prophet, he let his hair and beard grow long, loose, and tangled, and sometimes wore a bedraggled white robe (converted from a bedsheet) over his knees-out jeans.

Then Agnes Louise Schroeder, another VVC student, began attending their Bible class also. Soon she and Harve were a twosome. A couple of years older than her boyfriend, tall and painfully thin, this strident math major made up for her lack of beauty with her megawatt enthusiasm, energy, full-throttle ambition, and lust for manipulation and control. Plus her instant determinationthat God could do great things with Harve Osborn - but only if He worked directly through her. After all, she was the only student in the Bible class with a church background and all the pat answers. So she plotted and planned. And spoon-fed him her dreams until they became his own.

Then one night when Harve was teaching the Bible class, he suddenly announced to the other members, “Brothers and Sisters, God says in the Book of Joel that His young men will see visions. Well, yesterday as I fasted and prayed, that’s just what happened to me. God gave me a miraculous vision, He did, halleluia! First, I was filled with glory. Then He said to me, in a voice like thunder, ‘Brother Harve, I’ve chosen and anointed you to start your own ministry’.”

Agnes jumped up, beaming. “Amen, Brother Harve! Praise the Lord! What a confirmation! Why, He gave me the exact same vision yesterday, He did! Obviously He wants us to live lives of holiness and separation to Him in these evil End Times. And the only way we can do that is to leave this world-tainted Coffeehouse and meet strictly by ourselves. From now on, we true believers will be called the Blessed Order of End Times Disciples. With you, Brother Harve, our anointed pastor and leader. And me, naturally, your assistant.”

That really troubled Melinda. Pastor Preston was kind and humble and loving. He not only taught God’s Word, he lived it— just as the Bible said God’s servants should do. So why should they follow Harve instead? Especially since he and Agnes seemed to be increasingly controlling, bossy, jealous, manipulative, vengeful, and far-out. Not the way Melinda understood God’s followers should be.

But Josh and most of the others were mesmerized, so finally she went along with it too. Soon they all spent less and less time with Pastor Preston, and more and more with “Pastor Harve.” Josh’s grades began to suffer. With less time to paint, Melinda missed a deadline for an important exhibit at the school gallery. Harve and Agnes dropped out of classes completely.

Soon their leader had an even more dramatic announcement: that God wanted him and Agnes to marry in a double ceremony, with Melinda and Josh as the other couple. And with Harve— now “Rev. Harve”—helping officiate at his own wedding.

Melinda’s mother was horrified. “Attend a wedding at such short notice? Are you crazy? I have three houses to show this weekend—including one in Bel-Air, thank you very much—plus a big charity ‘do’ with Matt near Rodeo Drive. Why, I’ve barely got time to get my hair and nails done. Don’t bother calling back till you’ve come to your senses.”

So Melinda married the love of her life without the presence or best wishes of either parent, although her father did eventually send a check with the note, “I’ve forgotten; what did you say his name was?”

She was thrilled to have Josh at long last for her very own. Their cramped studio apartment radiated joy. But even as a madly-in-love newly-married man, her dear one seemed to listen to his “pastor” and the “pastor’s” constantly-chattering wife more than to her.

Including their “revelation”—not long after their wedding—that God ordered them all to leave college and “godless” California and start a new life together as a Christian commune in rural Iowa, “in America’s heartland, away from the world’s temptations and influences.” With Harve himself their sole disciple, pastor, and Bible teacher.

Josh was first to sign on—even though it meant leaving families and education and all plans for the future, for somewhere far away that he’d never even been to. Grabbing Melinda in his arms, “We must honor God, darling. And what better way, than by living wholly for Him?”

Back then, they still had their original, normal names and made all decisions together—such as voting to have “all things in common” at their new commune. With each family guaranteed its own living quarters, its own privacy, its own hopes and dreams.

Melinda set up her easel and began painting the natural beauty around her. Josh plugged in his laptop and earned a little on the side helping out local businesses with their computer problems, besides setting up a computer system for the commune, complete with firewalls. Also, for his old company, GottaHaveIt! Industries, he designed Hang Ten!, sequel to his first video game and even more popular. Life glowed with possibilities—especially when Melinda discovered that God was going to send a little one into their lives, their precious son Jeremy.

This, of course, was before the guns, the guards, the gates, the gauntlets. Before their PCs, wallets, wedding rings, IDs, address books, cars, bikes, checkbooks, and other personal items were confiscated. Before all Bibles but the Prophet’s were banned—along with all books and musical instruments (except for Harve’s bongos), all pens, pencils, crayons, and paper, even Melinda’s paints. Before the children were pulled out of the local schools. Before phones were removed and contact with the outside world cut off to all but the Anointed Disciples—that is, the Prophet and Prophetess and their newly-formed Right Hands of Power 24/7 security guards, cell phones and .38s always at the ready.

Back before everyone was given a new, “revealed” name (such as “Sister Abigail” for Melinda) to conceal his or her identity and whereabouts. Before all letters and packages from families and friends of Unanointed Disciples (like Josh and Melinda) were marked “Return to Sender/Refused/Not Here/ Whereabouts Unknown.” (But not Social Security, unemployment, welfare, or other checks—such as for Josh’s video game royalties; these Harve and Agnes forged signatures on and kept for themselves.) And all except for the Prophet and Prophetess and their guards forbidden to leave the compound—a rule enforced at gunpoint.

Yes, prior to the progressively stranger and harsher “signs,” “revelations,” “prophecies,” and “words of authority” that Harve and Agnes insisted came directly from God—their “Orders from Headquarters”—proclaiming him not just pastor to be listened to, but Prophet to be obeyed unquestioningly. “Revelations” that either twisted Scripture or ignored it altogether. Before their feverish warnings about “fiery punishments,” “New World Orders,” “demons of rebellion,” “enemies in high places,” governments “out to get them all with evil laws and taxes,” and the need to prepare for dire End Times hardships and battles.

But all that came later. On that long-ago summer day in the middle of a sleepy Iowa countryside, their leader had continued enthusiastically, “I realize this place is small, Josh, and everything’s rundown and needs paint. But it’s perfect for us. We can all live together in the big farmhouse until we build our own church and school and homes for each of our families. Meanwhile, through our honest toil, we can be close to God’s earth while we get even closer to God.”

“Amen, Rev. Harve!” his wife had shouted. Suddenly trancelike, “Oh, praise the Lord! I’m getting me another vision, I am. Halleluia! Speak, Lord, your servant heareth!”

A few seconds later she declared matter-of-factly, while picking her teeth, “Okay, God says He knows we’re all students and don’t have much. But if we sell our cars and everything else we have, borrow money from our folks, max out our credit cards, and then pool all our cash together the way the early Christians did, we should be able to come up with a down payment. That is, if we have faith. And not having faith is a sin!”

Calling back to California that afternoon, Josh had rhapsodized, “Oh, Melinda, darling, it’s the most beautiful farm you’ve ever seen! Perfect for us all to live, work, and study God’s Word together like a real family of love.”

She almost choked. “A farm? Are you crazy? You guys said you were looking for a small town to move to that would be safe, one with plenty of jobs. I mean, none of us have farmed before. Why, you don’t know a rake from a raccoon! “

“Of course, darling, don’t you see?” he countered in awe. “Harve says this proves that this is indeed God’s leading, not man’s. By overcoming our own obvious shortcomings, God’s power will be magnified, and He will receive all the glory. So we can’t help but prosper!”

When Melinda did finally move there, with much reluctance, she fell in love with the place, just as her husband had. With little money or farming know-how to see them through, life was soon even harder than she feared—especially that first bitterly cold winter, with constant ice and snow storms, for which none of these “sunny Southern California” natives were prepared. Yet because the Disciples believed in what they were doing, and trusted Harve’s leadership, and—most of all—loved God, they gave their all for that old farm.

Even when they no longer believed.

Even when Harve no longer led, but controlled.

Even when the green, welcoming farm became their gray prison-fortress.

The tall, friendly trees had long since been chopped down for wood. The flower gardens converted to dusty parking lots. The wide porch littered with greasy power tools. The front yard piled with sawdust, lumber scraps, rusted metal, old tires, and leftover cement. The creek turned into a cesspool of sewage. The farmhouse itself, now more tumbledown than ever, used only for storage, while two unheated barracks housed the Unanointed Disciples, segregated by sex. Those never-built “homes for each of the families,” just another one of Harve’s empty promises.

Now, nursing a quickly-swelling lip, Melinda said a quick prayer for her husband, “Brother Shimron,” and her son, “Brother Meshach.” And worried anew at Josh’s cryptic words whispered when he passed her this morning: “It’s time. Now.”

No, her heart had cried out. Too dangerous!

For only she knew he meant that after all those years of wanting to believe in his old friend Harve despite increasingly ominous changes, of trying desperately to hold onto his dream of a “real family” of believers, Josh was finally ready to take his own little family and leave. Maybe he even had finally developed a plan to attempt it—however impossible.

B-r-r-r-K! B-r-r-r-K!

That same anguished mockingbird she heard earlier now landed on the fence right beside her, pleading for help. No, no, bird! There’s nothing but death here! Fly away quickly before—

But Gabriel had noticed it also. Still smarting from missing it earlier—nothing dared interfere with his will, man or beast!—he whipped out his gun.

And, with a mean smile, fired again.