by Krista McGee
I tell them what happened when I returned. I tell them Alex recognized that his father was drugging him, that he knew I did not kill Helen. I tell them he recognized that his father must die. I tell them we were planning just how to commit that assassination when Peter arrived and did it himself.
I wait as the people process this news. “Alex will remain to bury his father and be coronated as king. Then he will come here, to make peace with us.”
The people are silent. Some appear afraid to talk; others seem skeptical. A few have tears rolling down their faces. Most, however, look like a massive burden has been lifted from them. They had been planning how to face the wrath of the powerful Athenian army, to be annihilated together, and now they hear there will not be war, but peace.
Kristie steps forward. “We owe Thalli our thanks. She did not mention that she was imprisoned and almost killed, that she was willing to do almost anything in order to procure our peace—including sacrificing her own happiness. She is new to our village, and yet she has given more than most of us ever will. Thank you, Thalli.”
A slow clap begins, growing louder. I want them to stop. I do not need applause. I do not deserve it. Peter is dead. Helen is dead. Diana is heartbroken. Had I not come, none of those deaths would have occurred. Perhaps New Hope would have simply gone on the way it had before—bothered by Athens, but not destroyed. I do not feel like a hero.
“May I suggest,” John says, stepping forward, “that we gather together to give thanks? I have been working on something. If you would all follow me . . .”
John turns toward an old building in the center of town. It has a tall, sharp cone on its roof and it appears as little used as the music room.
I catch up to John and ask him what this place is.
“A church, Thalli.” John smiles up at the old building. “And I will be the pastor.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I cannot stop thinking about Alex. Even as John shows us the church, as he preaches what he calls sermons to the people, I think about Alex. I listen but I do not hear. Every story reminds me of Alex. I keep picturing him in his room, lying in bed with the covers over his head, crying softly. I do not want him to suffer through this alone. But if I went back, I would create more problems for him. The Athenians surely are angry with New Hope, blaming us for the king’s assassination. I would inflame that anger. It’s best for Alex that I remain here, to wait for him. But I have to battle within myself to do that.
The church is beautiful. I do not know how John was able to restore the interior of this building, but every window is clean, the floor shines, and the seats he calls “pews” are oiled and welcoming, if not terribly comfortable. In the front of the church is a raised platform. John stands there and speaks to all who will listen from the Designer’s book—a copy he found here. He reads from the psalm he gave me. I pray those words for Alex, that he will find still waters, that his soul would be restored, that he will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
John concludes and Rhen motions for me to follow her. We walk out of the building toward the orange groves near Dallas and Nicole’s home.
“I am worried about John.”
“What?” John is happier than I have ever seen him.
“He is not well,” Rhen says. “I can tell. He worked too hard on the church. We would have helped. But he told no one.”
“I imagine he enjoyed the solitude.” I look back at the church. “His communion with the Designer, as he says.”
“Perhaps, but he is old, Thalli. Very old. His body cannot do all he wants it to do.”
“We’ll have to make him slow down, then.”
“We can try.” Rhen shakes her head. “But the people here have a saying, ‘Easier said than done.’ ”
I laugh. Rhen seems happier too. Her cheeks have color in them and her hair is down.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I realize I have stopped and am staring at my friend. “You are beautiful.”
Rhen lowers her eyes, her cheeks turning even more pink.
Realization hits me. “I’m not the first person to tell you that, am I?”
Rhen looks ahead, bites her lip. Rhen and Berk will be a good team—like Kristie and Carey. They can be leaders here in New Hope. “It’s all right.”
“It is all right.” Rhen says this like it’s the first time she has thought it. And it very likely is. My logical friend has always been normal by State standards. Feeling something for Berk is new for her—it would have been unthinkable a few months ago.
“He’s a wonderful young man.” I am surprised at myself—saying this and meaning it, not choking on the words, not fighting anger or sadness. My time in Athens, with Alex, has changed me in more ways than I realized.
“You hardly know him well enough to make that assessment.”
I raise my eyebrows, my calm beginning to dissolve. “I know him better than you may think.”
Rhen leans her head to the side—her contemplative posture. “I did not know. Dallas told me you only spoke a few times.”
“Dallas?”
Rhen’s smile is bright. “Yes. Who did you think I was speaking of?”
I am momentarily stunned. Rhen and Dallas? I think of that young man, his relaxed manner and attitude. When he visited Peter after the house caught fire, Dallas was lighthearted. So different from Rhen’s calm and focused personality. Rhen is waiting for me to respond, but the answer to that question comes limping through the groves.
“Thalli.” Berk is out of breath, still not completely recovered from his injury. “Can I speak to you?”
Rhen looks from Berk to me, her smile fading. I must be communicating displeasure because Berk’s face mirrors Rhen’s.
“I will go.” Rhen says this as she is walking, her feet barely making any sound as she makes her way quickly through the grove toward the house.
“I apologize.” Berk is standing across from me, his hands at his sides, his eyes searching mine. “This has been difficult. More difficult than I imagined.”
“You do not need to apologize.” I feel almost as if I am talking to a stranger. But Berk is not a stranger. He is the same as he has always been: kind, diligent, controlled. He stayed behind, helped New Hope the same way he helped the State, the same way he helped me. No, Berk is not a stranger.
But I am. I am not the same person I was when we left the State. I am not the same person I was when I left New Hope for Athens. I have changed. But Berk has not. He takes a step closer to me, and I know he does not see that change.
We remain silent. I study the grass at my feet, unsure of what to say. This distance I felt between us is getting wider. I could reach out my hand and touch his hand. I could take one step forward and hold him, lay my head against his chest, and listen to his heartbeat, will the feelings that were always there to resurface. And maybe they will. Maybe I have felt so many emotions over the past weeks that I am spent. There are no emotions left to feel.
“Thalli!” Nicole is running from the direction I just came. She is out of breath, her dark hair damp with perspiration.
I forget Berk for a moment, forget the uncomfortable thoughts invading my mind, and simply smile. I have missed this girl. I reach out to hug her, but the look in her eyes stops me. “It’s Mr. John. He’s sick. Get Rhen and Dallas. Hurry!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I am running as fast as I can. Nicole said that John is by the lake. Baptizing, she said. I don’t have time to think about what she means because all I can think of is what she said. John is sick. I think of my podmate Asta. She was sick—the Scientists annihilated her because of it. Rhen was sick too, but she got better. I do not know what other kinds of sicknesses there are. John is old, but he is so happy here in this village, with his church. Those things should bring him health, not sickness.
I am almost at the lake. I see a crowd of people, but I do not see John. Voices are quiet; no one moves. I push myself harder, run faster. I break thro
ugh the crowd and fall to my knees. John is lying on the grass, his face pale, his lips a frightening blue. But he is not frightened.
“I see it.” John is whispering, looking into the distance.
“What, John?” I look into the sky, following the path of John’s eyes. There are no clouds. The sky is a beautiful blue, and birds are circling above us.
“Heaven.”
I am worried. I look at Rhen and Berk, and they are moving toward John. Rhen bends down on the other side of John. She takes his face in her hands. “John, you’re not well.”
“I am very well.” John is still smiling, still looking. “It is time.”
My heart constricts. I am not ready to say good-bye to John. I need him. New Hope needs him. “What do we do, Rhen?”
“Don’t do anything.” John lifts his hand up. I place my hand in his and he squeezes lightly. “He allowed me to see the earth again, to see the sun again. He allowed me to be in a church, to hold his Word in my hands. And he allowed me to see you, following him, growing in him. And now he is allowing me to go home.”
I can see the life leaving John. I will it back, but he is so content, so peaceful. It would be cruel to beg him to stay.
“I just wish I could see James.” John’s voice sounds so far away. “That I could talk to him one more time. I would tell him I forgive him. I love him.”
“We need to get him back to the medical center.” Rhen motions for Berk and Dallas to help.
“No, please.” John waves the boys away. “Let me stay here, by the water, outside. I spent far too much of my life indoors. Let me end my life outdoors.”
I want to argue, but the facts are glaring. John is dying. But this death is not violent, not bloody like Helen’s and Peter’s. John is ready, excited. He has longed for this. Rhen and I hold his hands. His face remains toward the sun, his feet touching the water.
“ ‘I have fought the good fight.’ ” John repeats words he read earlier in church. Words Paul the apostle wrote before his death.
We all gather around John, watching him watch something in the air we cannot see. But he reaches for it, smiles in greeting. He turns to me, his eyes shining. “We will meet again, my dear.”
“I know.” I wipe a tear from my eye as John turns his face back to the sky.
And then, with a sigh of joy, John is gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
I play “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” in the front of the church where John stood just the day before. We gathered here for a celebration of John’s life. This is what John would have wanted. Not a gathering to grieve, but one of hope. Berk requested I play this.
This is the song that started everything, that led me to the Designer. I heard him in the music. Now I hear him so much more. John told me the words that went with this song, words about drinking from deathless springs. John is doing that right now.
It is hard to grasp that John was just here, and now he is in heaven, with the Designer. I recall that his bride, Amy, walked down the aisle to this song. He cried when he told me that memory, but they were tears of joy. John helped me see the Designer in so much. He helped me to see that music was his language, and that it communicates so much more than words alone. If I had a father, I would have wanted him to be just like John.
When I finish playing, I keep the violin under my chin. I do not want to stop. I do not want this song to end, do not want to acknowledge that this life has ended.
When I finally put the violin down, I see the church filled with people whose lives John touched.
One after another comes to the front with stories of ways John helped them. People I have not met speak of how John came into their homes, talked with them, genuinely cared about their pasts, their dreams, their families. He spoke to each one about the Designer, wanting them to know this God he loved.
The room is silent after several stories, then Gerald walks to the front. This man who had been so angry in that first meeting, wanting to send Diana back, wary of the four of us, is broken, tears streaming into his beard.
“I’ve never been an easy man.” He faces the congregation. I am sitting behind him, watching his head move as he speaks. “But John didn’t care about that. He wasn’t a bit angry with me for how I talked or what I said about him and his friends. I’ve never met a soul like him. He walked into my house one day, and I was sure he was gonna start getting onto me, telling me what I should do. But he didn’t do that. He walked around my house, looked at my pictures, and asked me about my wife and my kids. We shared stories about life before the War. We talked about music we liked and TV shows we watched. And after about an hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Gerald, you don’t have a thing to be angry about. You are a blessed man. You should be thanking the Designer every day for what he’s given you instead of complaining about what you don’t have or what you don’t like.’ I wanted to get mad at him for that, but he was just too nice to get mad at, ya know?”
The people smile and nod their agreement. I do too.
“We talked for a while longer,” Gerald continues. “About all sorts of things. And then he left. But he came back almost every day. I’ve never known a man like him. He made me want to be a better person.”
Murmurs of agreement flow from the crowd.
“I know he is happy to be with his Savior.” Gerald nods. “He talked to me about heaven a lot. He sure was excited about that place. I think if he could say anything right now, it would be that we should all be excited for him.” Gerald lowers his head and walks off.
I think of John visiting all these people, talking with them and caring for them. The same way he did for me and Rhen and Berk. I think of how I was in Athens trying to help bring peace to New Hope and how John was doing the same here.
The service ends, and we all follow Gerald’s horse-drawn truck to the pond where we first saw New Hope. The pond where John dove in to swim and praised the Designer. The men of the city dug a hole just a few feet from the pond. Others have made what they call a casket to house his body, and that is lowered into the hole, then dirt piled on top.
I remain after the others have left. Berk is on my left, Rhen on my right. We do not speak, but neither do we cry. John is finally, truly home.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Alex is here.
He arrived hours after we buried John. Carey and Kristie gathered the people into the church, and we all listen as Alex outlines his plans for peace between the two pockets of survivors. Peace, for the first time in their history.
My mind is full of so many thoughts; my heart is full of so many emotions. I think of John. He is dead. That knowledge brings a feeling far different than what I felt when Helen and Peter died. My heart is not as heavy.
Rhen said that we are not feeling sorry for him—he is where he has long wanted to be. We are feeling sorry for ourselves, for the hole in our lives that he leaves. It is a hole that will never be completely filled. Nor do I want it to be. I do not ever want to forget John, who he was, what he taught me, how he cared for all of us with his gentle, humble way, his faith in the goodness of the Designer. I will carry all he taught me deep within my soul for the rest of my life.
“I do not wish to rule New Hope,” Alex says.
I look up at him and another emotion pushes forward, causing my heart to beat faster. The last time I saw him he was battling shock and grief. Today he seems burdened, still, by what seems to be a combined weight of duty and sorrow. He is speaking to everyone, but his gaze locks on mine. “I wish for us to work together. We can unite or remain separate. Whichever you wish. But Athens will no longer make demands of New Hope.”
I glance around. The people of New Hope are wary, doubtful. And they have reason to be. Athens has been a violent enemy for most of their lives. This transition will not be easy.
“I have spoken to the leader of our army,” Alex continues. “He is aware I am here to make peace. I want to work with your leaders to establish trade rules. I will come here or you may send th
em to Athens. They are welcome there—you are all welcome there. I hope to learn from your agricultural expertise. You have lived more peaceably than Athens. I want to follow that model. We have been at war far too long.”
The people murmur, but no one speaks. I am sure their silence is a result of the somber mood carried over from John’s funeral. Could even that timing be from the Designer? We were all here earlier, remembering John, recounting his kindness and love. Those memories hang in the air now. It seems dishonoring to John’s memory to even consider arguing or being unkind.
Carey stands beside Alex. “Thank you for coming. Our village, I know, wants nothing more than to live in safety and in peace.”
Carey dismisses the people after making plans to reconvene in three days. Alex stays rooted to his spot as many of the villagers come to him, offering him a handshake or a word of thanks. I remain seated, watching, praying, hoping.
When the last villager leaves, Berk touches my arm. I barely noticed him beside me. His gaze darts to Alex, who is also looking at me, then back again. “Thalli, when you were in Athens, with Alex—”
I shake my head. “Nothing happened.”
Berk looks at Alex again. “You’re not the same as you were when you left.”
“Of course I’m not the same.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I watched innocent people die because of me. I saw a whole city drugged. I almost died. You almost died. I will never be the same.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I know what he means, what he is asking. But I cannot discuss it with him. Not now. We both turn as Alex walks toward us.
“Thalli, may I speak with you?” He looks at Berk. “Alone.”
Berk stiffens beside me. “She needs to rest. It has been a long day.”
“I am fine.” I raise my eyebrows at Berk and then turn to Alex. “Of course I will speak with you.”
