Fury

by Bill Bright

  Hannah yanked him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Excuse me, but I have to step out.”

  “Do you see your uncle?”

  “No.”

  “Then sit down.”

  She looped her arm in his and held him down. On the other side, Lucy did the same. Daniel found it to be a most delicious sensation to have a girl on each arm. Why did it have to be in church? He sat back.

  Finney stepped to the side of the pulpit to press his point. “Take up your individual sins one by one, and look at them. I do not mean that you should just cast a glance at your past life, and see that it has been full of sins, and then go to God and make a sort of general confession, and ask for pardon. Go over them as carefully as a merchant goes over his books. Your sins were committed one by one; and as far as you can come at them, they ought to be reviewed and repented one by one. Now begin.”

  At this point, Finney began listing sins, beginning with sins of omission:

  Ingratitude. You have received favors from God for which you have never exercised gratitude.

  Want of love to God. Have you not given your heart to other loves; played the harlot, and offended Him?

  Neglect of the Bible. Put down the cases when for days, and perhaps weeks—yea, months together—you had no pleasure in God’s Word.

  Unbelief. Instances in which you have virtually charged the God of truth with lying, by your unbelief of His express promises and declarations.

  Neglect of prayer.

  Your want of love for the souls of your fellowmen. Look round upon your friends and relations, and remember how little compassion you have felt for them.

  Your neglect of family duties.

  From these sins, he turned to the sins of commission:

  Worldly mindedness. What has been the state of your heart in regard to your worldly possessions? Have you looked at them as really yours?

  Pride.

  Envy.

  Censoriousness. Instances in which you have had a bitter spirit, and spoke of Christians in a manner entirely devoid of charity and love.

  The blade cut deep on that one. Daniel felt it down to his soul.

  While Finney continued with his list—slander, levity, lying, cheating, hypocrisy, robbing God, bad temper, hindering others from being useful—Daniel no longer heard him.

  His mind was thousands of miles away…far from land…bobbing on the turbulent Atlantic waves…with pieces of wreckage and human cargo…shirts, shoes, books, a pipe, a platter. Common items that are out of place floating in water, then dipping beneath the surface, then sinking, along with the people who once used them.

  Though he’d never seen them before in life, he saw the faces of the people who had drowned that dreadful day over a year ago. Their flesh was tinted blue and green, their arms stretched wide in resignation to death. Fully clothed, they looked ridiculous in their shoes. What good were shoes to a man or woman in the ocean?

  Two of the faces he recognized, despite the distortion of the water. Their images were so real to him, it was as though he were sinking with them.

  Across time, his father gazed at him. Recognition filled his eyes—of Daniel’s presence, of what was happening to him. His mother’s gaze, too, was a tender good-bye. She spoke his name, her words becoming bubbles that never reached him.

  Then, arms outstretched, his parents reached for each other, clasped hands, and sank into the inky depths.

  And God’s blade cut deep into Daniel’s heart, a heart that had been packed down and hardened with anger and rage and tears and pain. The blade turned all these things up to the surface.

  With the scream of a wounded animal, Daniel slid from the pew and onto his knees.

  Chapter 36

  Standing beside the pulpit, Finney pressed for a verdict: “How can you stand before God in the judgment, if your excuses are so mean that you cannot seriously think of bringing one of them before God in this world? O, sinner, that coming day will be far more searching and awful than anything you have seen yet.

  “See that dense mass of sinners drawn up before the great white throne—as far as the eye can sweep they are surging up—a countless throng; and now they stand, and the awful trump of God summons them forward to bring forth their excuses for sin.”

  Daniel crouched on the floor between pews, his face buried in his hands. Hannah knelt beside him on one side, Lucy on the other. He heard their voices. Felt their warm hands on his back. He wished they would go away.

  The weight of his sin pressed him against the floor. The blackness of the sin plunged him into despair.

  All this time he’d blamed God for killing his parents. Thought Him cruel and barbarous, a capricious tyrant playing with life and death and having no greater feelings for them than a boy would have for his toy soldiers.

  What kind of monster would kill the very people who’d dedicated themselves to serving Him? To teaching others about Him? To calling others to worship Him? What kind of a ruler would repay this kind of adoration by suffocating them in the sea and sending them to a watery grave?

  But here, tonight, before God, his accusations were as substantial as ashes.

  “Ho, sinners—any one of you, all—what have you to say why sentence should not be passed on you? Where are all those excuses you were once so free and bold to make? Where are they all? Why don’t you make them now? Hark! God waits; He listens; there is silence in heaven—all through the congregated throng—for half an hour—an awful silence—that may be felt; but not a word—not a moving lip among the gathered myriads of sinners there; and now the great and dreadful Judge arises and lets loose His thunders. O, see the waves of dire damnation roll over those ocean-masses of self-condemned sinners.”

  It wasn’t Daniel’s parents who had sunk into the depths, he realized. It was him. He may be the one who was still breathing, but they were more alive now than he’d ever been.

  His anger was a great weight, a ponderous chain that dragged him deeper and deeper into the depths.

  “Did you ever see the judge rise from his bench in court to pass sentence of death on a criminal? There, see, the poor man reels—he falls prostrate—there is no longer any strength in him, for death is on him and his last hope has perished!

  “O sinner, when that sentence from the dread throne shall fall on thee! Your excuses are as millstones around your neck as you plunge along down the sides of the pit to the nethermost hell!”

  Voices surrounded Daniel, praying for him. Hannah. Lucy. Ben. Mr. Robbins. For him! They didn’t even know him! They didn’t know the magnitude of his sin, the blackness of his despair—or how it had pounded him, worn him down, day after day, like a relentless wave beating against rocky shoals.

  They didn’t know that he didn’t deserve God’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve to be called a Cooper. His petty, self-centered life had sullied his father’s good name. What good was he to anyone?

  Every time the preacher cried, “O sinner!” Daniel heard him say, “O Daniel!”

  His guilt was evident. He knew it. The Judge knew it. He was without excuse. He deserved to die.

  In Daniel’s mind he could see the Judge rise from his bench, just as the preacher described. The Judge rose to pass sentence. There was no suspense. The verdict was not in question.

  The omnipotent Judge raised his gavel and cried,“Forgiven!”

  Daniel’s head jolted up.

  Forgiven!

  He refused to believe it. Yet how many times had he heard his father preach it? Grace, grace, God’s grace…

  Forgiven!

  Three times he heard the gavel sound. Three times he heard the verdict.

  The chains fell from him.

  Resigned to hopelessness, his heart flooded with relief and joy.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Daniel wanted to live.

  His face buried in his hands, he muttered, “The cross…the cross…the cross…the cross!”

  Night never sm
elled as fresh.

  Daniel stepped from the church giddy with life. He hadn’t realized how great was the weight he’d been carrying around. He felt like he could fly.

  What was it Ben had said the other night in the barn?“We’re going to have to backslide to get to sleep?” The joke seemed funnier now that Daniel could identify with it.

  Lucy, Hannah, and Ben were clustered around him, talking excitedly.

  “Look at you!” Lucy exclaimed. “You can see the change! You see it, don’t you, Hannah? He used to have a brooding aura about him.”

  “I was worried about you for a while,” Ben said. “The way you dropped to the floor. The Spirit must have hit you hard.”

  Uncharacteristically quiet, Hannah smiled.

  Daniel’s mind raced ahead to the barn. He remembered the way the three of them had stormed into it the other night while he was sleeping in the hayloft. They were laughing and falling all over each other. At the time he had envied them. Now he was one of them.

  He couldn’t wait to get there tonight. To reenact that scene. To laugh. To have fun. To play his music. To steal glimpses of Lucy.

  Lucy!

  He glanced over at her and smiled.

  She responded by taking his arm. Daniel’s head swam. Could this night get any better?

  People everywhere were in a good mood as they streamed out of the church and onto the road, walking together as families and side by side with friends. They were genial. Courteous. Strangers conversed with strangers as though they’d been lifelong friends.

  For the first time Daniel understood why his father had labored so diligently to preach the Bible. Growing up, he’d always thought that the purpose of the Bible was to guilt people into being good. Not until tonight did he understand its miraculous power.

  The Daniel who walked out of the church was a different Daniel from the one who had gone in.

  A little ways in front of them, a group of people were saying their good-byes to go their separate ways. There was a lot of neck hugging and handshakes. Then, when they departed, it was as though a stage curtain opened.

  And there, standing in what would be center stage, leaning on his cane, was Uncle Asa. Next to him stood a tall man with an imposing presence.

  “Daniel?” his uncle said.

  Daniel slowed. The others kept walking, then noticed something wrong. They turned to see why.

  They saw what Daniel saw. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

  Then Ben touched Daniel’s arm. “Maybe it’s time you stopped running. We’re here with you.”

  Daniel took a step forward. “I’m not afraid.”

  He walked toward his uncle. His uncle walked toward him. They met in the middle of the street.

  His uncle was the first to speak. “I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times—what I’d say to you when I finally found you. And now that you’re here…” He took a deep breath. “Daniel, I don’t pretend to understand…”

  Daniel stepped forward. He put his arms around his uncle’s neck and hugged him. “You never meant to hurt me. I know that now.”

  “Hurt you? Son, I’d give my life before I’d ever let anything hurt you.”

  Behind the hotel Epps stood in the shadows and watched Asa and the boy hugging each other. Epps’s hand rested on the butt of the pistol in his waistband. His pulse quickened.

  One tonight. One tomorrow.

  One with a pistol. One with a knife.

  He liked that the killing would have a sense of poetry to it, which the scene did not. The scene disturbed him. It lacked the conflict he’d expected to see.

  Why wasn’t Asa shouting?

  Why wasn’t the boy running?

  It didn’t make sense, and to a man who made his living anticipating the actions of his prey, surprises could be fatal.

  At the same time, the scene accomplished something good. Seeing the uncle and boy reunited and amicable made it easier for him to kill the uncle.

  While others might be heartened by this reunion, to Epps it was a scene of betrayal. Asa had gone over to the enemy. Epps should have known, should have seen it coming. He knew better than to trust the man. He’d allowed himself to be taken in by the man’s flattery.

  Epps drew the pistol from his waistband.

  He’d save the knife for the boy.

  In the center of the road, Asa and Daniel stepped back from each other.

  Epps had an angle on them. The boy’s back. Asa’s front. The man wiped tears from his eyes.

  Epps cocked the pistol.

  The boy’s friends held back, giving the two time alone and Epps a clear shot. He raised the pistol, leveling the sight on Asa’s chest.

  The movement of a man behind Asa caught Epps’s attention. The man had tall, broad shoulders and was staring directly at Epps with a steely glare.

  Epps evaluated his position. He was concealed. The man couldn’t see him. It had to be coincidence that he was looking in Epps’s direction.

  Then the man took a step toward Epps. And another. Something about him commanded attention. Despite the fact that Epps was certain he was hidden from view, the man’s eyes remained locked on him with a gaze that could be felt even at a distance.

  Robely Epps lowered the pistol and eased deeper into the shadows. His retreating footfalls echoed in the alley.

  Chapter 37

  “I can’t believe Asa Rush is sitting at my kitchen table.”

  Mr. Robbins circled the table pouring coffee and did a little dance that prompted a laugh from everyone except Hannah, who blushed and scolded him in a good-natured way.

  “You think it’s hard to believe Uncle Asa is sitting here. Imagine how it feels for me!” Daniel said.

  Another round of laughs.

  From the sounds coming from upstairs, the mood was equally joyous as Mrs. Robbins put the girls to bed. The pounding of girlish feet running up and down the hallway and high-pitched squeals was interrupted by the occasional motherly warnings and reproofs.

  At the table, Robbins moved from person to person, filling coffee cups. Salvos of jest and banter flew back and forth. Daniel found himself smiling a lot and simply enjoying being where he was.

  He amused himself watching his new friends dress up their coffee. Lucy added cream and two sugars; Hannah two sugars; Ben added double cream and three sugars, sneaking the last helping when he thought nobody was watching.

  “Question,” Uncle Asa said.

  The declamation was his schoolmaster method of commanding attention. It had always irritated Daniel. Tonight it didn’t.

  Attention around the table turned to Uncle Asa. Robbins poured the last cup of coffee—his—and set the pot aside. He took a seat next to his guest.

  “Daniel,” his uncle asked, “why didn’t you run? You’ve been running from me for weeks. Why not tonight?”

  Eyes turned to Daniel. Memory flashes of school played in his head, uncomfortable images of being singled out among his classmates. He ignored them. For some reason, he didn’t mind being singled out tonight. The friendly gaze of everyone around the table didn’t bother him.

  “My first instinct was to run,” he admitted.

  “But you didn’t. Why?”

  Even now the recollection of his experience in the road brought a warm feeling. “It was your friend,” Daniel said. “There was something about him. An assurance…a calmness. It’s hard to describe, but the moment I saw him I knew I had nothing to fear.”

  “My friend?” Uncle Asa said.

  “The man standing next to you.”

  Asa shook his head. “There was no one standing next to me.”

  Ben took exception. “No…there most definitely was someone standing beside you.”

  Asa chuckled. “I’m telling you, there was nobody standing beside me! I left the hotel alone. I stood alone.”

  “I saw him too,” Lucy said. “He had the kindest eyes.”

  “And he was strong,” Hannah added. “You could tell just by his bearing. He radiated…o
h, I don’t know…confidence. That’s the best I can describe it.”

  Lucy gasped. “You don’t suppose…” She shivered with excitement.

  A ripple of awe like an electrical charge circled the table.

  “Did anyone see where he went?” Ben asked. “I remember seeing him, but I don’t remember seeing where he went after that.”

  “Now that you mention it…,” Daniel said.

  “I was so caught up watching Daniel and his uncle…,” Hannah said.

  “His work was finished,” Lucy said.

  Uncle Asa looked dubious. “If I were standing that close to an angel, don’t you think I would have seen or felt something?”

  “Not if you were in a backslidden condition,” Daniel joked.

  The table quieted. Everyone exchanged glances, as if uncertain how the great Asa Rush would react to such a statement.

  He laughed. Not one of those polite laughs, but from the heart.

  Everyone joined him.

  Daniel couldn’t remember ever laughing with his uncle. He liked it.

  “Strange and mysterious things happen when the Spirit moves,” Robbins said.

  Although Daniel knew Mr. Robbins was referring to the possibility they’d seen an angel, he couldn’t think of anything stranger at the moment than sitting at a table with his uncle and having a good time.

  “After all that’s happened, it’s not surprising that it took a miracle to get Daniel and me together.” Uncle Asa sobered. “I still find it hard to believe you thought I would be part of an attempt to kill you.”

  Daniel said, “If you’d seen Epps do the things I’ve seen him do, it wouldn’t seem so far-fetched.”

  “Yes, well, about that…I’ve spent a good deal of time with Robely. He’s intelligent, resourceful. To think he’s capable of the things you claim he’s done…”

  Daniel tensed. Maybe things hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought. He happened to glance at Hannah. She pleaded silently with him to keep calm.

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” his uncle said. “Your description of the man in the forest…it had to be Watkins—Timothy was his name, if I remember correctly—from the bank at Green Ridge. The poor man agreed to carry a message to Camilla for me, which makes me wonder now if she’s received any of the messages I’ve sent her.” Uncle Asa stared at the table in thought.