The Dawn of Grace :: A Mystery and Suspense Christian Historical Fiction Comprising of Enduring Love and Glory (Revelation Book 1)

by Christian Hunt

  Franz looked at him then, the flat luster in his eyes reminding David of a rabid animal. “Surge et—” He spun toward the river as if facing some unknown adversary. “Rope for, get a—tidy rope and down there, go make the jump! Jump now!” he screamed. “Do it! It's mine! Surge et sequere—it's in the future, in the future I have to have it—” he glanced back at David, spittle foaming down his beard, and in that instant, he hurled himself over the balustrade into the water.

  “No!” David stumbled to the wall, struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed, searching the black tide. The river rushed headlong toward the dam. David ran to the end of the bridge, looking downstream for the missing man, all the while beginning to seriously question what he had just seen.

  Do not sell your soul for a bucketful of pleasures and temptations. It’s God’s priceless gift to you.

  Chapter Ten

  The Confession

  David slowly walked back to the hotel from the Charles Bridge, contemplating each event of the evening, trying to put the pieces together mentally. Had he truly just witnessed the death of a man or some tortured doppelgänger of his Uncle Franz? When he entered the lobby, the desk clerk flagged him with a note.

  “This was left for you, sir,” the desk clerk said, handing it to David.

  David pocketed the note and headed for the elevator. He needed to call Uncle Franz and verify what he'd just witnessed was a hoax. The other visions on the bridge, however, felt true to the core, and he was eager to share his Damascus Road experience with Amy. Something about the weight of the paper in his pocket, however, compelled David to stop. He needed to read the note first. Somehow, he just knew. David sat in a crushed velvet wingback chair near the fireplace in the lobby and carefully unfolded the note:

  My dear David,

  I must beg your forgiveness. I've kept a terrible secret from you for many years, and I have no choice but to confess. Why you may wonder, after being haunted by such as I have for so long—and I suppose the weariness from carrying the gravity of these sins compels me to do so.

  I always knew there was a treasure near your grandfather, and I wanted it for myself. It’s not important how I came to know about the treasure, but once the old man mentioned it to me, my soul was consumed with covetous desire for it. Over the years, he let the news slip that he was going to hand this treasure over to your father after he was married.

  My mind was assiduous with many ways to make him bequeath it to me instead. The plans I orchestrated became more convoluted as years passed. I introduced your father to my stepsister at the Lüchow's restaurant, and you know the rest. I thought I'd convinced him about the benefits of making me the executor of his estate, but your grandfather was smarter than I'd thought. He learned about my ultimate plan. How? I'll never know. But I believe he had help, supernatural or otherwise. He always talked about the gifts of the Spirit. I never really understood what he was prattling on about, but I suspect that’s how he discovered my secret.

  Once I realized he knew what I was planning, I had to get rid of him. I brooded over the best solution for weeks. I decided that the easiest way to get rid of him was to poison him.

  Once I had eliminated your grandfather, I began to spend more time with your parents. At first, I was certain that your father already knew about the treasure. Sometimes he would say things about a gift his father had given him, but soon enough I realized he was clueless. Your grandfather had died before he was able to tell him his secret; and nothing was indicated in his will. I knew then that all I had to do was stay close to your mother and father and wait.

  Years passed, and I grew complacent. Your father was a dolt who couldn’t see the signs your grandfather had left. Oh, yes, the old man had a backup plan. As you can imagine, I was furious when I realized I had been duped. Luckily, as I said, your father never did figure out how to find the treasure. I intensified my search so that I might discover where it was hidden before your parents did.

  In my haste, I made a fatal mistake. Your parents discovered I was the one who killed your grandfather. They were on their way to the police, and they died in a car crash. No one suspected the incident as coincidental or convenient, and I had escaped scrutiny once again. But I had damaged one of their brake lines, for their deaths were the only way I could ultimately cover my tracks.

  I admit I felt remorse for the grief I caused you, but as you can see, my actions were necessary. With your parents out of the way, I was able to focus solely on finding the treasure. But it continued to elude me, and with each year that passed, I became more obsessed with finding what the old man had hidden.

  My efforts were thwarted, however, by the ghosts of your grandfather, father and mother who haunted me day and night. At first, they were flickering specters in my peripheral vision, but over time, they began to linger in front of me. They spoke to me, mocked me and rebuked me. Your grandfather’s spirit has always been the strongest. He has beckoned me time and time again to repent, to make myself right with the Lord. I never did understand this obsession with Christ, but ever since we left for Prague, the intrusions by the ghosts have intensified. I’ve decided the closest I’ll ever come to making things right with anyone is confessing my misdeeds to you.

  The nightmares are the worst. I relive the horror that all three of them experienced, and other things too terrible to speak of, even in the context of this letter. I have realized over these past few days there is no escaping this hell that I have made, so I have decided to leave this life and its sins behind. If I can never make this right with anyone, at least I won't be able to inflict any more pain.

  My one regret is never once seeing the treasure. So I leave you with the hope that one day, you will find it.

  Ever and always,

  Your Uncle Franz

  David sat stock still, the only sound the wood crackling in the fireplace. Part of him was consumed with a raging grief over finding out the truth of three most precious and significant losses of his life. Another part was filled with fear of and for his uncle. He struggled to reconcile, however, that the disturbed soul he had just watched leap from Charles Bridge was his uncle. Then he remembered a dream that had haunted him all his life, about someone jumping off a bridge.

  Sinking back into his seat, David leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He called the dream to mind, as familiar as the back of his hand, shadowy forms chasing a man he couldn't identify. David had always assumed that the man was himself, but now he wasn’t so sure. If he'd been the unknown man, surely John or the lights on the river would've revealed that to him already. His uncle was the unknown man. David decided to try something that he never would've considered before: he decided to pray.

  When he opened his eyes, understanding suddenly dawned on him. The bridge he had seen in his dream was, in fact, the Charles Bridge and the man who jumped, his uncle.

  Sadness crushed down over David as the reality filtered into his heart, and yet at the same time, he felt a sense of peace that all these things were brought to justice after all. His uncle too had come to the conclusion that what he sowed, he had reaped.

  How blind is the delusion that the greatness of a man is measured by his living; rather, it’s always by his giving.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Discovery

  After David had recovered from the shock of his uncle’s letter, he bounded up the stairs to their hotel suite. Amy and the boys were up, having tea and scones and waiting for him. “We need to get to Mass,” he said.

  Amy’s eyes widened, and but all she said was, “Hurry, boys!” She rushed off to help them find their Sunday best.

  They arrived at the Church of Our Lady of Victory, which houses the Miraculous Infant Jesus statue, just as Mass started. The family slipped into a back pew as the priest began to speak. David's fledgling faith flared as he heard the Bible readings and listened to the priest’s Christmas message. Truths he had only recently discovered continued to be reinforced when he thought about the blessings he h
ad received in spite of the loss of his family of origin.

  After the service had concluded, David went up to shake the priest’s hand. The other man said, “Welcome. I am Father Victor. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you visiting the city for Christmas?”

  “We are,” David said. “I'm David. This is my wife, Amy, and our boys, Lucas, and Christophe.”

  “David, you say? I had a dream that I would be visited by a man named David on Christmas Day. Please, would you join me in the rectory for some tea and sweets?”

  David and his family accompanied the priest to his sitting room in the rear of the rectory where the conversation quickly turned to David’s story. Once the priest had heard all that had happened to him, he said, “Come, let us pray.” They all bowed their heads as Father Victor spoke a blessing over them. Then he continued, “You must thank John. I shall accompany you to St. Vitus tomorrow morning. I am keen to learn more about this inspirational man.”

  The next morning the whole family went with Father Victor to St. Vitus in search of John. Amy, Christophe and even Lucas were eager to meet him and hear the things that he had to say. But when they got to the cathedral, none of the members there seemed to know anything about John. After many inquiries—even a trip to the accompanying St. Wenceslas Chapel, they returned outside, standing at the entrance of this massive Neo-gothic structure. David was confused, and he gave Father Victor more details about how he met John.

  Father Victor listened intently; his gaze turned back toward the silver tomb of St. John of Nepomuk.

  David continued, “I knew there was something mysterious about John, but now I don't know what to think. Even with everything else I’ve learned, he still remains a mystery.”

  Father Victor smiled. “Do you know anything about Jan of Nepomuk?”

  David shook his head. “No, nothing.”

  “Come,” Father Victor said, indicating that they follow him. He led them to a small café nearby. Once they were seated, Father Victor said, “I think these things will make more sense if you hear the story about him.” He began, “Jan Velflin, known as Jan of Nepomuk was a priest in Prague during the reign of King Wenceslas IV, the son of Charles IV. Magister Jan was the Queen’s confessor. If you don’t already know, the relationship between a person and their confessor is sacred, a bond that a priest is sworn to uphold, and a vow that he will never break.”

  “All right,” David said. “I think I understand that, but what does this have to do with John?”

  Father Victor chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. “As I was saying, Jan was the confessor to the Queen. Unfortunately for Jan of Nepomuk, the King was paranoid. He wanted to know what the Queen confessed, but the good priest refused to betray the seal of confession in spite of the King’s threats. Because of this refusal, Nepomuk was executed by being thrown into the river Vltava from the bridge and drown.”

  Amy gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  “Indeed,” the priest agreed grimly. “Many good men and women were martyred over the years for that, and much less. After Magister Jan had been thrown down, a crown of five stars was said to appear over the river. Jan of Nepomuk was revered as a saint soon after his death, and his cult spread quickly. He wasn’t canonized, though, for over three hundred years. When his body was exhumed around the turn of the eighteenth century, something fell from the skull. Upon closer inspection, it was found to be an intact tongue, with no decay, and in healthy pink.”

  “Wow,” Lucas murmured, his eyes shining with fascination. The priest smiled at him.

  “After Jan of Nepomuk received sainthood, work began on a church in Zdar nad Sazarou dedicated to him, replete with symbols of stars and tongues.”

  David’s head was reeling from the information. Surely the priest wasn't insinuating—

  “Please, go on,” David urged.

  Father Victor held David's gaze. “The tomb of Jan of Nepomuk is inside St. Vitus. In Prague, St. Jan is John. Son, I think somehow you were talking to him.”

  David mentally retraced his steps over the past few days, including his personal tour of St. Jan's tomb and his statue atop the Charles Bridge. St. Jan—John, had not only appeared to him but had acted as his guardian and personal advisor, drawing him closer to God from the day he'd arrived in Prague. St. Jan the Confessor had compelled him to admit his lifelong trend toward ambition and greed. He had also blessed David with a prophetic dream, a warning of things to come if he continued down his self-destructive path.

  “We need to pray,” David said urgently. They all joined hands, and David prayed, “Dear St. John, I thank you for watching over me, for guiding me to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. You revealed the gifts of the Holy Spirit to me in ways I had not understood. I ask for your continued guidance and safety. I ask these things in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  After sitting for a while longer, Father Victor said, “Perhaps we should go to the Charles Bridge once more, where St. John was thrown in.”

  As the family approached the bridge, a wave of emotion surged through David, forcing him to lean against the balustrade for support. Amy took his hand, a glimpse of worry crossing her face. The boys ran ahead on the snow-covered bridge, chattering among themselves. Father Victor stood to one side. He said, “There is a Czech belief that if you place your hands on the five stars there on the wall, and pray to St. John to hear your confession, he will do it, and one day you will return to Prague.”

  “What a wonderful oracle,” Amy said. “You should write about that, David.”

  David gave his wife an unsettled smile. His entire life's expression and devotion and just undergone a momentous upheaval, he couldn't be certain what he wanted to pursue next. The story of St. John as a confessor was too raw and too emotionally taxing for him to tackle with a fresh perspective. In fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever have enough distance. Perhaps, he thought, this taut emotion was something he shouldn't lose, after all. He knew for sure he didn't want to ever forget the lessons he had learned.

  Suddenly Christophe ran back toward them, pressed his fingers over to the stars, and said, “I wish to return to Prague someday!” He grinned at his father. “What about you, Dad?”

  David smiled at him and said, “St. John gave me my life back. I don’t need anything more than this.”

  David took Amy’s hand in his own, slung an arm around his younger son’s shoulders, and called out to Lucas. They left the bridge with Father Victor, continuing to discuss everything that had happened. Snowfall shimmered in the sunlight like thousands of diamonds, and for a fleeting moment, David remembered the treasure under the river Vltava, all that could have been his if only he had wanted it. A smile curved across his face.

  As if reading his mind, Christophe looked up and said, “Dad? Did you find that treasure?”

  David was slightly surprised that young Christophe had remembered about the treasure after all this, happy to see him following his quest from his discovery of the Wenzel Bible in this way.

  “I found a new treasure in my life, Christophe, yes.” He smiled at Amy, who snuggled up against him. David was reminded once again that he had made the right decision, and that from now on the Lord would be with him, guiding his every step. He was counting on it. He longed to convey every bit of it to his youngest son, but for the moment, he said, “Always remember, Christophe, that true success is with you when you trust the Lord.”

  Lucas spoke up behind them. “I’ll be right back. I-I forgot to do something.”

  David turned to watch his oldest son run back to the place along the wall where the five stars were. Lucas pressed his hands over them, and David heard him pray, “St. Jan, help me . . .”

  You are invincible, when Jesus lives in you.

  Epilogue

  Three months after the events in Prague that set David on a new way of life, one and only one question still haunted him, one that brought him and his family back to Prague. Was Queen Sophia's confession really worth John's life, or was
it something bigger?

  What haunted him more was he couldn't reason away his concern about this. Something about Jan was leading him back. He wrestled with the question and prayed about it, seeking the answer from God.

  David walked the streets of Prague on the first day not knowing what he was seeking. God had yet to answer him. Another day and night passed while he searched his mind, heart and soul. By the third night, he'd lost hope. He went to bed wondering if there was an answer.

  The next day, Amy awoke early, but he was slow to rise. She joined him back in bed and kissed him.

  “Will you tell me what you're looking for?” she asked. “Or is this another day to mope?”

  David still wasn't sure why he didn't want to let Amy that close. But at this point, he had nothing to lose. “An answer to a riddle, a riddle that I haven't identified.”

  Amy thought a minute. “That does make it tough.” She smiled. “So—I will let you work it out—on a full stomach.”

  “What's for breakfast?”

  “I thought maybe we could go out. There's a small restaurant—Peklo; I think it's called. It's next to the Strahov Monastery. I hear it's very good.”

  David's mouth dropped open with dismay. The massive monastery with its blue-green pinnacle and the Spanish-tile roof had always been there, right in front of his nose.