Читать книгу Stewards of the White Circle: Calm Before the Storm - JT MDiv Brewer - Страница 12

The Johns' old blue Ford truck kicked up a cloud of dust behind it as it rattled down the road leading from the farmhouse toward the highway. As soon as he hit pavement, Michael rolled both windows down and fiddled with the radio dial until he found a country station that he liked. Music with a solid beat and homey lyrics, the warmth of early summer’s sunshine on his bare arm, the wind in his hair, all helped take his thoughts away from missing his father, selling a ranch that was the only home he had ever known, and the uncertainty of the future he now faced.

Around him, Star Valley spread out like a well-worn quilt, a patchwork of green and yellow pasture squares knotted on each corner with a white sideboard farmhouse here and a ramshackle barn there; the whole effect stitched together with barbed wire and fence posts. Star Valley was, in fact, two valleys joined in the shape of a peanut. The valleys, known as the upper and lower valleys, were, in the minds of the locals, the most beautiful place on earth. Few outsiders, once having seen their unspoiled grandeur, would dispute that opinion. The dirt road Michael had been driving on from his ranch joined Highway 89, which ran straight through both valleys, due north to south. He passed Star Valley’s famous cheese factory on the outskirts of a little horse rail of a town called Thayne, then drove on through the Narrows, where the Salt River flowed lazily between green banks of willow and cattail. Here, where the valley was cinched in like the waist on a bridal gown, a deer suddenly darted across the highway, narrowly escaping Michael’s truck. He slammed on his brakes and swore.

Glad for the deer as well as himself, Michael muttered a short prayer of thanks and sped on his way. The narrows opened and the upper valley was laid out before him in all its bucolic postcard perfection.

The morning sun's glare on his dusty windshield forced Michael to squint as he viewed the approaching town of Afton, some five miles distant, tucked against the western skirt of the Salt River Range. The whole familiar sweep of it was easily taken in by one glance of his eyes. This time he almost resented the beauty of it. For all but three years of his life, he had wakened, worked and slept within the bosom of this valley, a place he must now leave for good. There was nothing to keep him here now. In his mind, he told himself, he was likely looking at these fields, these farms and Star Hill, which bore the valley’s high school symbol, a star formed of white, painted boulders, for the last time.

The town began now in proper. Michael drove past a string of small businesses, the dentist, the insurance agent, a Pizza Hut, then on past the town’s only two gas stations, a car dealership, and then the Frosty River—a drive-in where he and his friends had demolished many a greasy cheeseburger and thick chocolate malt after a Braves’ football game. Streets lined with a hodge-podge style of houses, built anywhere from the 1930’s to present, side by side. Even so, pride of ownership was evident. The yards were kept well. Backyard gardens of vegetables and raspberry bushes spoke of a self-reliant people who loved their little spot on earth. The homes may be humble, but dear. Michael felt an ache in his gut. A part of him longed to stay in this place, so familiar that had he been struck blind, he could still have navigated every street. But a restlessness stirred inside he could not ignore. It whispered in his ear like an insistent fly. There’s more than this for you, Michael Johns. Time to go. Time to go.

He drove down the eight-block length of Main Street, grinning as he passed under one of the town’s more charming features, a worn, elk-horn arch erected right across the highway. It was said some veterans returning from the Korean War had nothing to do when they got back to the Valley and thought an elk-horn arch would be just the thing to attract tourists. It had stood there ever since, looking down on all the rodeo and homecoming parades, observing the changes in automobiles that passed beneath it, mutely taking note of all the comings and goings of the town folk at their shopping. Michael grinned. If that old arch could write a book, what tales it could tell.

Moving on, Michael cast nostalgic sidelong glances at more small buildings standing shoulder to shoulder, businesses that had been passed down from parent to child for generations: a furniture store, a pharmacy, grocery store, a jewelers and, last of all, the newspaper office. He had been in every one of them, knew every item stacked on every shelf. Everyone behind every counter knew his name and he theirs. Leave it behind, the fly buzzed in his ear. Time to go.

At the end of the block he turned left, drove two streets east past the town park, up to a tidy, yellow, gabled house which had been converted into the Lincoln County Library. Here he parked the truck, hopped out, and started up the walk.

The elderly librarian was sitting at her desk, reading, her back to Michael as he entered. She was dressed in a navy blue, cotton-print dress with a doily collar. This would be the way he would always remember her, Michael thought—-twinkly, gingersnap eyes and a doily collar.

As she did not look up when he came in, Michael tiptoed up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.

“Gracious!” she gasped, dropping her book to the floor.

Michael leaned down and whispered menacingly in her ear, “This is a stick up, ma’am! Hand over your rubber stamps and paper clips or I'll be forced to use my voice in a loud and unruly manner.”

The woman laughed then and reached up to grasp his strong young hands with her frail, bent, arthritic fingers. “Michael Johns, you scoundrel! You about gave me a heart attack.”

“Ah, Mrs. Crandall, how'd you know it was me?” Michael asked innocently as he removed his hands, picked up the book for her, and sat himself down atop her desk.

Bright eyes, framed with sagging eyelids and crow's-feet wrinkles, frowned up at him with mock disapproval through a pair of square, rimless glasses. “Who else would it be but my favorite student? I see your behavior has not improved since you graduated.” Her voice was stern, but her whole face suddenly broke into a warm smile. “I am awfully glad to see you, Michael!”

Michael looked deeply into those sweet, wrinkled eyes he knew and trusted so well. He wondered at the strong prompting he felt that morning to come talk to her. Perhaps it was that Mrs. Crandall had been his champion and sounding board ever since he had her for Sophomore English and Literature at Star Valley High. No matter what the subject of conversation, whether it was grades or fishing or Shakespeare or baseball, she always loved to visit with him during lunch or after school. After he graduated and left for Laramie to attend the University of Wyoming, she wrote him letters and often phoned him on holidays. In many ways, Michael looked upon Mrs. Crandall as a surrogate mother. So it made sense that he would want to see her after all that happened the past three weeks.

But the prompting he felt this morning to see her was something more. It wasn’t a casual thing, but a pressing need. From the moment he opened his eyes, her face popped into his head and, along with it, a desire to talk with her. The feeling nagged at him through breakfast and followed him around through chores like a toothache, until at last, he felt he was almost yanked out of the farmhouse by his earlobe and dragged by the seat of his britches out to the truck. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to talk to her about, but talk to her he must. So it was, on this fair morning, Michael Johns found himself standing before her, somewhat confused, but nevertheless anxious to see her.

She smiled at him and said softly, “I heard the funeral was very nice, Michael. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend. I was visiting a friend out of town and did not hear of it until I returned just the other day.”

“I felt you there—in spirit,” Michael said, squeezing her hand. “It was a longer time coming than he would have wished. He hated feeling useless or a burden. Of course, he never was a burden.”

“I know it was tough on you to leave college and come home and run the ranch while he was getting treatments in Utah.”

“No’m. It was an honor.” Michael said. “I was glad he agreed to come home at the end and die in his own bed.”

Mrs. Crandall sniffed, reached for a tissue and dabbed her nose and eyes. “I want you to know I admired your father very much, Michael. A kinder, more generous man I’ve never met. He suffered with great patience all those months.”

Michael nodded. “I’m really going to miss him.”

She patted his hand affectionately. “Of course you will. He was a fine, fine man ... and so are you. What are your plans now? Going to stay and work the ranch or go back to school?”

“Pete Grover made me an offer on the ranch and I took it. I intend to go back to the university for fall term.”

She clasped her hands in relief. “Oh good, good. You should. You're such a good student, Michael. You have a wonderful mind. I know you'll go far.”

Michael looked down at the floor, swinging his legs. “I hope so. I want to make Dad proud of me ... and you, too.” He looked up at her and grinned. “You're my favorite teacher, you know.”

She shook a finger at his nose, smiling. “Well, you’d better do well or it reflects on me, then! I have great hopes for you.”

“Thanks. I'll try hard not to disappoint you. I owe you big time for helping me get my scholarship.”

“You deserved it.”

“Maybe. But I couldn't have done it without you.”

The librarian blushed, pulled another tissue from the box on her desk, and dabbed her eyes. There was an awkward silence.

Embarrassed, Michael decided it was time to change the subject. “Say, Mrs. Crandall, I wonder, do you have anything I could read?”

She sniffed and smiled. “I believe I might.” Her hand gestured toward the shelves surrounding them. “This is a library, you know.”

“Thought a good book might take my mind off things while I'm hanging around waiting for school to start. Does the library subscribe to any current scientific journals or magazines?”

“You always did have a thirst for knowledge, Michael. It's one of the things I liked best about you. But I'm afraid we have a very limited number of scientific publications. Probably nothing up to your caliber, anyway. Maybe a National Geographic or two.…”

“That's better than what I've been reading.” Michael hopped off her desk to take her elbow and help her up. “All Dad kept around was Readers Digest.”

“Oh dear, we can surely do better than that.” She tapped the pencil on her desk in thought. “I know! How about a good novel? Science Fiction?”

Michael shook his head. “Don't think that's quite my style. Sorry.”

She peered at him over her glasses. “Something dashing then ... an adventure story. The Three Musketeers?”

“I don't think so.”

“It has some juicy parts....” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Definitely not, then.”

“Why not? Too mushy?”

“No. It's just hard to read about a banquet when you're starving.”

“What?” Mrs. Crandall dropped back down in her chair. “Michael, you don't have a girlfriend? A strong, good-looking, brilliant young man like you?”

“Please!” Michael interrupted her, reddening. “No. I don't. Yet.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Haven't met the right one I suppose. Plus, I haven't had much time for looking. But when I find her, you'll be the first one to get an invite to the wedding, okay?”

“Only if you don't take too long,” she said sternly. “I'm not going to live forever, you know. You listen to me and settle down, young man, or one day you'll wake up and all your chances will be gone.”

The librarian suddenly brightened, “By the way, I have some interest in science myself, you know.”

“That doesn't surprise me. Since high school, I've looked up to you as the ultimate authority on just about every subject.”

“Well, aren't you a dear?” she laughed delightedly. “You know, Michael, now that I'm retired from teaching, I like to travel a little now and again. It so happens I have an old friend who works over at Colorado State University in the administration office. Two months ago, she called me up and asked if I would like to take a refresher course being offered there in library science. She invited me to come out and stay with her for a while at Fort Collins. Sounded like fun, so I accepted and, in fact, I just got back a few days ago.”

“Then the science you are referring to is library science?”

“No, no, silly boy! Just listen. While I was there, my friend and I had time on our hands in the evenings, so we started attending a summer lecture series. And one of these lectures was on biology. That's your specialty, isn't it, Michael?”

“I'm beginning to wonder,” Michael replied.

“What do you mean? Isn't that your major?” Mrs. Crandall stared at him.

“It is, if I ever get back to it.”

“Of course, you'll get back to it! Don't let me hear you talk like that!”

Michael pulled a chair over to the desk and plopped down. “Oh, don't mind me. I 'm just feeling a little unsure about what I really want right now. But, go on—please. You were saying you went to a lecture on biology and...?”

“And, I was enthralled! Simply enthralled!” she exclaimed, clapping her wrinkled, bent hands for emphasis. “The professor giving the lecture was one of the most fascinating men I've ever heard. The way he talked, you'd think biology was the most amazing subject in the whole world. Held us all spellbound for two solid hours. Now, I say if a man can keep me glued to my chair for two hours talking about worms and snakes and prairie dogs, he's something extraordinary.”

Michael chuckled. “I'd say so. What was his name, do you remember?”

The librarian looked up. “I'll never forget his name, in fact, because it was so different—-it was Omega. Dr. James Omega.”

Michael straightened up, eyes wide open. “James Omega? At Colorado State? I thought he was at Chicago.”

“You sound like you know him.”

“Not, ah ... personally,” Michael stammered. “But he is someone special to me. Kind of an inspiration, you might say. Well, you see, I read one of his books back in high school and it made me first think of going into biology as a career. He's quite famous, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he's been on television and written some of the most wonderful stuff on endangered animals I've ever read.”

“That sounds pretty passionate for someone who claims he's uncertain about his major.”

Michael put his chin on his hand. “Oh, it's not that I don't love biology. It's just that it hasn't been quite what I thought it would be. But, you don’t have time to listen to my worries.”

Mrs. Crandall settled back into her chair and smiled that warm, gentle smile he loved. “Michael Johns, for you, I have all the time in the world.”

He hesitated, then began. “I just don't know quite what to do.”

She said nothing, just listened.

“I love animals, you know that. For a long time, I thought I wanted to be a vet. Then I read a book by Omega, A Biologist’s Notebook: Animal Societies and How They Interact. I was hooked. Wow, I thought, I wanted to learn more about all that. By the time I graduated, I had read everything by Omega I could get my hands on; and I knew that biology was the direction I wanted to go. To be honest, though, my three years at the University of Wyoming were disappointing.”

He paused. She still said nothing.

“Oh, there were fine professors there and plenty to learn. It was just all textbooks and formaldehyde. I kept thinking I was ready to take it to another level—-I wanted to see and understand animals the way James Omega did. Man, I can't believe you got to hear him lecture! I'd give my best saddle to…”

“Michael,” Mrs. Crandall said, very, very softly.

“What?”

“Why don't you transfer to CSU?”

There was silence. Michael stared at her.

“You could, you know.”

A grin slowly spread across Michael's face. “I guess I could, couldn't I? But I can hardly believe Omega is at Fort Collins. Are you sure he wasn't just visiting?”

“Just a minute.” The librarian opened the side drawer of her desk, shuffled a few papers and pulled out a brochure. “Here it is, the pamphlet for the lecture series. See? There's his picture. You read what it says.”

Michael picked it up, a tingle going through him as he stared at the face of the man he idolized only a slim horsehair less than his father. “Dr. James Omega, our featured speaker, is the newest member of CSU's Faculty,” he read aloud, “and will begin teaching classes this fall in the Department of Natural Sciences.” Michael's voice was filled with disbelief. “Holy cow!”

“Well?”

Michael straightened, looking toward the door. “I knew I was supposed to come see you today. This is why. Now I know what to do.” He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Mrs. Crandall, you have just shown me the way. Again. Like you always do. God bless you.”

Crooked fingers patted his hand. “God bless you, Michael Johns. I see in you great things.”

“I’ll try like heck to not disappoint you,” he grinned. “Guess I better get cracking if I’m going to get an application to CSU in time for fall semester. Bye, Mrs. Crandall, and thanks again.”

Grinning like a schoolboy, Michael Johns threw his former teacher a farewell kiss and charged out the door.

“Eritrichium nanum!” Anna Dawn greeted Omega triumphantly as he walked through the door at 8 o’clock Monday morning his third week at Colorado State University.

“Beg pardon?” he said, setting his briefcase down beside her computer desk.

“The blue wildflowers ... Eritrichium nanum. Family, Boranginaceae. Common name, Alpine Forget-Me-Nots. Genus name, erion, comes from the Greek word for “wool”, and trichose, meaning “hair,” referring to the soft, wooly hairs on the leaves. Satisfied?”

Omega grinned at her. “Very. Good work, Ms. Hamlyn. You have proven yourself a worthy opponent. Now, how well will you do with these...?” He opened his briefcase, unrolled a newspaper, and handed her a spray of creamy white blossoms. “The gauntlet has again been thrown.” He turned and walked into his office.

Anna Dawn, he thought, seemed to enjoy this little ritual of his bringing her flowers for identification as much as he did. He was glad he thought of it. And he was glad for her. She was a blessing—-just the secretary he hoped for. That was important. She would soon be trustee to several things of a delicate nature and, not only cooperation, but discretion from his secretary would be essential. His last secretary betrayed him and he could not let that happen again. Anna Dawn Hamlyn had a straightforward manner and an honest and pretty face. He felt already he could depend on her, and he hoped it would be mutual, that she would come to trust him as well. Trust was akin to loyalty, and loyalty was a binding virtue.

He believed without question it was meant to be; that this particular girl being here at this place and time was no accident. If there was anything Omega had learned, it was to trust in the higher-powers to arrange important things. Not a very scientific philosophy, but one which had proven itself true to him over and over again.

In much the same vein, he trusted the intuition that led him to this new university. He could have chosen from any in the world, and logic might have brought him to a more prestigious location; but he was not concerned about his own career. Not hardly. He was on a quest for someone he must find, a very special, unique soul who probably had no idea of his true calling … yet. Such a search took faith. Omega knew when one goes looking for a single shell on a beach of thousands, one had better trust in something more reliable than logic.

So I follow my gut and this is where I end up—-Fort Collins, Colorado, for goodness sake! Who would have thought? He chuckled softly, shaking his head. He leaned his elbows on his desk and let his eyes wander back and forth over his beloved knickknacks and reflected. Quite a leap from Chicago to Fort Collins, from celebrity to this humble swivel chair. James Omega has shown he can dance in the spotlight, now we will see if he can exit gracefully off the stage. One season wanes, another waxes. You do not miss the hoopla. It is so peaceful here. It has all come round for the best so far, right, old man? Being here feels right. You have to trust in that. You have to trust that you have been led to where you are supposed to be.

He pushed back his chair, stood and moved once more to his precious window. His fingertips drummed on the window ledge as he peered down, watching the buildings below swallow the students in gulps. Except for Anna Dawn's keys snapping away in the next room, the office was perfectly peaceful and silent. The afternoon sun beamed in soft rays through scattered clouds above, its position in the sky almost directly overhead. Soon it would move southward, summer would pass and the precious days would keep marching onward, unabated.

The master-clock is ticking. Time, precious time, is slipping through my fingers. I must find him!“ He struck the window ledge with his hand in frustration.

“This is the right place to look, I know it, I know it!” he spoke aloud, trying to reassure himself. ‘All that is needful, shall be given,' he thought, that is the promise. Ah, but what a test! I feel as if I stand in the vortex of a rising storm, holding my breath, waiting for the cyclone of events to sweep my way. I cannot run from them, nor control them. I can only play my humble part as best I can. As for now, in this decision to be here, I must stand firm! I have followed the call. Surely, he cannot be far away.”

Omega drew in his breath and held it a long time in pensive thought. There were heavy stakes in this game he was playing. Where much was to be gained, much was at risk. The enemies would be out hunting for him, soon enough. Like bloodhounds, they had his scent in their noses and weren't about to give up the chase. He had bought himself a little time with this move, but he would be found out sooner or later; and then they would be after him again.

A sudden anxiety rose like a cold hunger in his stomach. He splayed his hands against the glass, pressing its silicon chill against his palms as if trying to reach desperately through it, to touch someone below, beyond his grasp. He pressed his forehead to the window, fighting to keep down the anxiety that rose like bile to his throat. The greatest danger of this game was not going to be for him.

There were more than bloodhounds about. More than men seeking to crush James Omega. There were wolves. Dark forces. Powers of evil. Everywhere Good raised Its head, there was Evil, throwing stones. Every time he or another of the Council raised a banner, there was Evil, scrambling to pull it down.

The moment word got out there was a mortal chosen for a special calling assigned by the Maker himself, the wolves would have their noses to the air.

Omega bowed his head. Please, dear Maker, bring him to me quickly, he prayed. Let me find him before they do.