Peter helped Dominic to the ledge. Roland followed with the wheelchair. They stepped out onto the rocks. Dominic clutched and leaned on Peter for support but then pushed away, determined to walk alone.
Chapter 53
Roland struggled with the wheelchair, trying to maneuver it to the riverbank without taking a dive. His bare feet tingled and vertigo threatened him with every awkward step. Maybe it wasn’t vertigo this time . . .
His head still spun with amazement and gratitude. Saint Conrad had been right there, praying with them. So humble and charitable while on earth, he had lost nothing of his love for others, nothing of his desire to help. Now he lived with God and could accomplish even more good. Through this saint’s intercession, the Lord had given them a miracle!
Hopping from the last stepping-stone, Roland made it to the riverbank and sighed with relief. He banged the wheelchair down onto dry land and looked up to find the others.
Jarret was here?
A stone’s-throw away, Peter and Dominic stood side by side, gawking at the spectacle Mr. Reinhard and Roland’s brother Jarret created. Jarret, a punk with a wide-legged stance and wielding a big stick, blocked Mr. Reinhard, a large, scowling, professionally-dressed man.
Roland chuckled at the sight. But as he drew near, it moved him. Jarret was trying to help. Jarret was not beyond hope.
An image flickered in Roland’s mind . . . an image of Roland praying and touching Saint Conrad’s cloth to Jarret’s heart.
Snapping out of it, Roland almost laughed. Jarret would never allow that.
“That is one of those West twins, no?” Dominic said to Peter.
Roland came up behind them. “Yeah, that’s my brother Jarret.” He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms. “I thought he had an ulterior motive for giving me a ride to church. I guess he followed us.” A hint of irritation, knowing Jarret had followed him, rose up. But it faded as he watched Jarret smoothly keep Mr. Reinhard from getting away with the box.
Whenever Mr. Reinhard stepped to the side, Jarret mimicked his move and shook his head, a threatening sneer on his face. Jarret said something Roland couldn’t hear then swung the stick to indicate Peter, Dominic and Roland. Mr. Reinhard glared at them over his shoulder and hugged his sweater tighter. He shook his head.
Jarret’s sneer deepened and he inched closer to Mr. Reinhard. His grip tightened on the stick, making Roland worry he might actually use it, even on an adult as big as Mr. Reinhard.
Crossing his arms over his bare chest, Roland approached them. “What’re you doing, Jarret?”
“Hey, Roland.” Jarret gave him the once-over and a crooked grin. “You’re wet. And shirtless.”
Roland shook his head and walked away, giving Peter an eye roll as he passed. Peter could take care of it.
Caitlyn and Toby had crossed the river and shuffled down the riverbank toward Roland. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask him a question. But his mind was set on getting a shirt, so he kept going, heading for the cave.
“What’s going on?” Caitlyn said to Peter, who mumbled some reply.
After dashing back through the dreaded waterfall, Roland found his leather bag and changed quickly into blue jeans and long-sleeved, red T-shirt. As he prepared to exit through the falls, it struck him . . . Heidi’s accident, passing through icy waters, had brought grace to the Brandts and to Mr. Reinhard’s family. Today, passing through icy waters brought grace to all of them. . . .
Returning to the bank, Roland found the situation the same, except for the sound of an automobile crunching over rocks. He came up beside Caitlyn, who turned and peered down the trail, along with everyone else.
A kid on a bicycle came into view. Hunched over the handlebars and raised off the seat, he pumped the pedals as if death pursued him. A second later, Mr. Brandt’s green Dodge rolled up behind the kid.
“Is that . . .” Roland thought the kid looked like—
“Well, what d’ya know?” Peter laughed. “It’s Foster.”
“How do you think he found us?” Roland said.
“Think he followed your papi’s truck?” Dominic said.
“Maybe,” Peter said. “Probably went to my house to find you.”
Foster raced nearer, not slowing as he approached the group, making Jarret and Mr. Reinhard hop out of his way. Without releasing the handlebars, he jumped off his bike and let it spin around and kick up dirt.
Dominic laughed. “Hey, amigo.”
Foster did a double-take and let go of the bike. It crashed to the ground. Mouth hanging open and eyebrows slanted, he stumbled back. “D-D-Dominic?”
Dominic stepped forward. “That is my name.”
“What, uh, what . . .” Foster gulped and took another step back, his eyes fixed on Dominic’s legs.
Roland got goosebumps, watching them.
The truck’s engine rattled to a stop. Mr. Brandt jumped out and gave Mr. Reinhard a squinty-eyed glare before directing his attention to Peter. “I got your message on the receiver. Is everyone all right?” Mr. Brandt also did a double-take of Dominic. “Dominic’s walking?”
Peter laughed. “Yeah. He’s healed.”
Foster continued backing away until he stood by the slope. Then he made glances toward the slope as if he might try to climb it.
Dominic followed him, a little unsteady on his newly-healed legs. “Look at me, vato. Esto es un milagro.”
“What the—” Foster shook his head. “You’re, you’re . . .”
“I have my legs back, vato. It is a miracle.”
Foster said something low, under his breath. Dominic responded with something low and in Spanish. Then they started pushing each other, playfully, until Dominic fell over. Foster sat down beside him and said something about his football and about being stood up.
“Where you going, Mr. Reinhard?” Mr. Brandt said.
Mr. Reinhard must’ve thought he could use the distraction to sneak off. He had started down the trail.
Jarret jogged over and positioned himself in front of the man again. “I think he’s got something that belongs to Peter.” He tossed his big stick to the ground and formed a fist.
Toby skipped over and picked up the stick.
“Is that true?” Mr. Brandt said.
Mr. Reinhard let out a breathy chuckle and hugged the box close to his chest.
Jarret grabbed the box, but Mr. Reinhard didn’t let go. Instead, he twisted his body and flapped his elbow. Then the two of them jabbed elbows, pushed and smacked each other’s hands.
Everyone laughed.
Jarret came out the winner. He held the box overhead and gave Mr. Reinhard a lopsided grin. Mr. Reinhard straightened his sweater, cleared his throat, and smoothed his thin hair.
Jarret sauntered up to Peter and slapped the box against his chest. “This yours?”
Peter grunted at the impact. “Thanks.”
Mr. Reinhard, defeat written on his face, turned and lumbered away.
“Aw, hey,” Peter said, fumbling with the key and opening the box. “Mr. Reinhard, wait.” He stepped forward and stumbled, the rosary sliding halfway out, the holy card and brown cloth sailing into the air.
Roland sucked in a breath and threw out a hand, but he wasn’t close enough.
Peter’s hand shot out, snapping the holy card before it hit the ground.
Jarret reached, too. “Caught it,” he said with a cocky grin. The grin faded and his mouth fell open as his gaze fastened to the brown cloth in his hand.
Jarret held the swatch of Saint Conrad’s habit, the relic!
“Oh, God,” Roland said, his hair standing on end and his skin prickling. This was big. Saint Conrad, please, please pray for Jarret. Help change his heart.
“Take it.” Jarret shoved the cloth into the box and backed away, raising both hands. He exchanged glances with Roland.
And at that moment, Roland knew it. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, but he knew God would answer St. Conrad’s prayer. One day, He would conve
rt Jarret.
Mr. Reinhard had stopped. He stood giving Peter a hard look. “You’ve won, Peter. Forgive an old man for his determination. I’ll be on my way. I won’t bother you again.”
Peter jogged up to him. “Well, sir, Mr. Reinhard, I just wish you would’ve talked to me instead of trying to take the thing. Here, I . . .” He held up the holy card. “I want you to have this, I mean, if you want it.”
Mr. Reinhard hesitated but then accepted it. “You’re giving this to me?”
“Sure. And I’ll put the relics up at the church, at St. Michael’s. You can bring your sister up there. Heidi, right?”
Mr. Reinhard swallowed hard. “I can see I misjudged you. I’m sorry.” He mumbled something else to Peter that Roland couldn’t hear then Mr. Brandt joined their huddle.
“Please, give my apologies to Charlotte,” Mr. Reinhard said. “I doubt she’ll be interested in me now, learning that I’m an old fool. I never meant to get involved. But she’s a lovely woman.”
Mr. Brandt responded with kindness, his voice low.
A moment later, Peter broke from the group, leaving the men to talk alone. He approached Caitlyn and Roland, looking Roland over. “You’re wearing a red shirt and blue jeans.”
“So?” Roland readjusted the strap of the leather bag that hung from his shoulder.
Peter laughed. “Well, I didn’t think you wore, I mean, all you ever wear is, well, never mind.”
Something splashed in the river, and everyone turned to see.
Toby stood by the bank, and the big stick Jarret had wielded bobbed in the water. Toby waded in after it.
Caitlyn laughed then gave Peter a serious look. “Does it bother you that God didn’t heal Toby?”
Peter stared at Toby. “Nah, I guess not. I’m sure God has a reason for it. Maybe Toby never needed to change. Maybe I did. Besides, I kind of like Toby just the way he is.”
Toby stood knee-deep in the river, winding his arm up to throw the stick again, grinning from ear to ear.
“You know,” Peter said, “I think Toby’s the happiest kid in the world. All he needs is a stick and a river, or a door, or a key . . .” He strolled toward the wheelchair. “. . . or a train, or a fishing pole, or some light shining on an outcropping of rocks. He’s, I don’t know, special. He kind of makes life fun. Don’t you think?”
Caitlyn giggled, nodding her head.
“Well, I’m out of here.” Jarret was suddenly beside Roland, giving Roland a jab in the ribs. “You with me?”
“You got Papa’s car?”
“What do you think?” He walked away as he spoke. “I really need my own car. I’m sixteen. I should have my own car.”
Roland followed Jarret but stopped by Caitlyn who was watching Peter load the wheelchair into the back of the truck. After getting the wheelchair secured, Peter jumped down from the truck bed. Dominic and Foster walked to the cab, arms wrapped around each other, talking like the best of friends . . . until they reached the cab. Foster gave Dominic a shove. Dominic shoved back. Then Foster helped him into the truck.
“I’m glad to see those two friends again,” Peter said. “That’s almost a bigger miracle.”
Caitlyn smiled. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then her eyes lit up. “Hey, we should add Dominic’s healing to the notebook.”
Mr. Brandt approached them, his eyes on Peter. “You three want to ride in the back of the truck? I think I can squeeze Toby in the cab with us.”
“No. Let Toby come with us. We’re gonna walk,” Peter said.
“I’ve got a ride,” Roland said. He turned and found Caitlyn staring at him. “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, her big green eyes blinking fast.
Roland decided he would miss her when he got to Italy. He gave her a nod and a smile before dashing after Jarret.
Chapter 54
Roland couldn’t stop smiling, so he stared out the passenger-side window. He’d never witnessed an actual miracle before. His head and heart had felt light, almost floated above him, when he saw Dominic stand up. He imagined Jesus saying, “Rise, Dominic, and walk.”
“So, what else is in Peter’s box, besides that rag?” Jarret said, tapping the steering wheel to a song on the radio. “And who’s the wheelchair kid? I see him all the time at school. Why does he have the chair if he can walk? And what’s up with that history teacher of yours? He some kind of pervert?”
Roland shook his head, trying not to laugh. “That box holds Peter’s inheritance, the relics of a saint.”
“Gross. You mean like some guy’s bones? That’s what a relic is, ain’t it? A part of a saint’s body. Like a finger or something.” Jarret’s upper lip curled, and his eyes narrowed.
A laugh slipped out, but Roland turned away so Jarret wouldn’t take offense. “It doesn’t have to be part of the saint’s body. That rag you caught, that’s a swatch of Saint Conrad’s habit, and Peter’s got his rosary, too.”
“Oh.” Jarret’s face straightened, his eyelids flickering.
“And Dominic was in a car accident a few years ago that messed up his legs. He couldn’t walk until today, until we touched the relic to his legs and prayed over him.”
Jarret glanced and opened his mouth but didn’t speak.
“God healed him,” Roland said. “It was a miracle.” A tingle ran through him as he said the words aloud.
“A miracle? Maybe Dominic never had the courage. Maybe he could’ve walked before but didn’t know it because he was afraid to try.”
Roland shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Jarret cranked the steering wheel, turning onto Forest Road. “And your history teacher? What’s his story?”
“Oh, I guess he really wanted the relic. He’s been after it for a while. His sister’s sick, dying.” True, he hadn’t gone about it the right way. And he would’ve probably gotten what he wanted if he had just asked. But Roland admired Mr. Reinhard’s unwavering determination and willingness to step out of his comfort-zone to help his sister. Would Roland do that for another?
Roland found himself staring at Jarret.
With one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh, Jarret gazed at the road through cold brown eyes. The stubble on his chin and the curl of his lip made him look tough, or at least irritated . . . perpetually. He wore his hair down, dark spirals hanging to his shoulders. He had hair like Mama’s—which probably explained why he never wanted it cut. Maybe it was his way of holding onto her. He missed her, too, maybe as much as Roland did. What would it take for Jarret to find inner peace? Would he and Roland ever be friends?
Jarret threw Roland a dirty look. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.” Roland averted his gaze. “Hey, thanks for getting Peter’s box back. We thought Mr. Reinhard had gotten away with it. So, I guess I’m glad you’ve been following me.”
“Been following you? No. I started following you today. I know you’ve been up to something. I wanted to know what. Thought maybe you’d add to your problems, your rebellion . . .” He gave a sly grin. “. . . even without my help.”
“I’m not rebellious. Not everybody’s like you. When you want something, you take it. You know Papa has a trip planned for you, too. He said so. Didn’t you hear that when you were spying? Why can’t you wait for your own trip and let me take mine?” Roland wished he would shut up, but the words kept coming. “You said you couldn’t live without Keefe, well I can’t live without this trip. I need it. You don’t want to be alone. I’m already alone. You have Keefe. I have no one.” Wow, was he really saying all this to Jarret? Did he think he could change Jarret’s mind? His attitude?
“Oh? So you think Papa plans on taking me to Italy? Or any other foreign country? No. He’ll take me somewhere a few states away to do something dirty, something boring, like to a dig. I don’t want that. I’m not giving up.” His lips curled into a crooked, sneaky smile. “I’ve got Nanny. I’ve almost got Papa. The trip is mine. Even now, following
you, picking you up, saving Peter’s relic . . .”
Jarret’s grin grew. His eyes flickered with an evil confidence. “Sorry, brother. This trip is mine. I earned it.”
“Do you really think Papa won’t believe me when I tell him what happened? I’m going to tell him. I’m not going to lie for you.”
“It’s not your word against mine, little brother. It’s your word against Nanny’s, Keefe’s, the school’s, Mr. and Mrs. Brandt’s, and, yes . . .” He slowly faced Roland. “. . . mine.”
Roland gulped.
Chapter 55
“Our love must become a flame which destroys within us
all that does not unite us intimately with Him.”
~St. Conrad of Parzham
The tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room never seemed so loud. Papa ran a finger along the mantle over the fireplace as if checking for dust. Jarret and Keefe sat side by side on one couch.
Roland sat alone in the middle of the other couch, the one closest to the fireplace . . . and to Papa. Roland had changed into a black, cotton, short-sleeved shirt, thinking it’d be cooler, but sweat swamped his underarms and dripped down his back. They might as well have had a fire roaring in the fireplace.
Papa, having finished his white-glove inspection, turned to face them. He tapped the brim of his cowboy hat. “I want everyone to be above-board with me, get things out in the open.” His gaze bore through each of them in turn.
Jarret shifted and threw Roland a warning look.
“While I was away,” Papa said, “apparently you, Roland, had a radical transformation.”
All eyes shot to Roland.
Roland wiped the sweat off his forehead and ran a hand through his hair.
“I spoke with Nanny at great length. And I’ve given you, Roland, every opportunity to speak with me privately. But since you’ve declined that offer, you need to give me some explanation now. I have some decisions to make about, well, consequences.”
Roland sucked in a breath. Italy. Papa must’ve meant the trip to Italy. He had to tell on Jarret. It was the truth, after all. Would Papa believe him over Nanny and Jarret? Had Papa really talked about Roland with Mr. Brandt?
Roland West, Loner Page 28
