Hannah had assumed the primary cooking duties in their house shortly after her mom’s passing. No one asked her to—at least, not directly. Hannah’s mother had implored on her death bed for her daughter to “take care of her boys”, a plea which continued to echo in Hannah’s mind. Once the casseroles brought over after the funeral by concerned church folk dried up, no one made food. So twelve-year-old Hannah, who’d been tutored on kitchen duties by her mother, filled the vacuum.
The bubbling pancake batter signaled Hannah to flip over the circles, which were now golden brown. Perfect. While the pancakes finished cooking, Hannah scooped the finished eggs into a ceramic bowl and plated the crisp bacon. Most breakfasts didn’t involve quite so much fanfare. On this occasion, Hannah’s father, the Reverend Caleb Wilson, had been out late the night before at a town meeting. She figured the extra calories would help perk him up.
“Breakfast is ready!” Hannah called as she set the table.
Some days, this extra level of responsibility irked Hannah, particularly so when her brother Samuel acted as though it was his divine right to be fed by women. Most days, however, Hannah delighted in fulfilling her god-given duties to her family.
In a moment, her father shuffled into the room, wearing his plaid pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. A layer of thick stubble covered his face. Usually by this point in the morning, Caleb Wilson had showered, shaved, dressed, and spent a few hours praying. Not today.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, kissing Hannah on the head while she finished setting the table. His eyes roamed to the plethora of dishes before them. “Wow. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
Hannah smiled. “I know last night was a hard night.”
Caleb Wilson nodded. “And they’re not going to get any easier,” he mumbled ominously.
Hannah’s smiled curved into a frown. Must be the meeting hadn’t gone well. Hannah had wanted to attend, but her father didn’t allow her, citing the potential ugliness of the meeting. By the time he arrived home, well after 10 pm as the storm raged outside, he had no interest in discussing what happened.
“Should we wait for your brother?” Caleb asked, tucking a napkin into his long-sleeved flannel shirt.
“I don’t know.”
Samuel Wilson had only been home on break for a week. Thus far, he’d been slow to appear in the morning, if he appeared for breakfast at all. Today, however, Samuel bounded down the stairs with an unprecedented level of energy.
“Did you hear what happened?” Samuel asked, struggling to contain his excitement.
“After you catch your breath, why don’t you tell us. But first, let me bless the food.”
Caleb Wilson bowed his head and reached out his hands. Hannah took one and Samuel took the other.
“Gracious Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day. We thank You for another day to love and serve you. We thank you for this food and ask that it nourish our bodies so we may serve you better. And we ask that you bless Hannah’s hands that prepared it. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”
Caleb opened his eyes and released his children’s hands. “So, what were you so excited to tell us before, Samuel?” he asked as he scooped some pancakes and eggs onto his plate.
Samuel’s mouth was now full of bacon, which prevented him from disclosing the news. Hannah watched her brother as he chewed. Samuel Wilson, who possessed his father’s height but not his girth, was named for the Old Testament prophet and judge. Hannah’s namesake was Samuel’s mother in the Bible, a fact Hannah always found somewhat interesting, though she couldn’t say why. Unfortunately, the bible didn’t offer many good brother and sister name tandems. Most of the sisters in the bible—through her study, at least—tended to get raped. Sometimes by their brothers.
“So, last night, Jake got called into an accident scene after the meeting,” Samuel started.
Hannah’s face turned a shade red at the mention of the name. Jake Ankiel was a member of their church and a friend of Samuel’s. He also happened to have eyes for Hannah, an unmistakable fact that manifested itself every time the two occupied the same room.
“Turns out, it was Matt McDonald’s car—you know, the atheist? A tree must have been struck by lightning and this huge limb fell on his car.”
Caleb Wilson put his fork down and sat up straight. “Is he okay?”
Samuel shook his head. “No, he died!” he said as if this was the best part of the story.
Their father watched him but said nothing. He closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head. When he reopened his eyes, they were sober.
“Let death take my enemies by surprise, let them go down alive to their grave,” Samuel said, quoting a scripture verse that Hannah recognized but couldn’t place as he refilled his plate with bacon.
“We should not delight in the death of wicked men,” Caleb rebuked his son. “Especially since God doesn’t.”
“But this has the hand of God written all over it,” Samuel protested. “He was an atheist, standing against God’s work the very night he died.”
“The hand of God?” Caleb repeated, staring down his son. “The hand of God is on everything in this world. From the rising of the sun to its setting at night, God is sovereign over everything that happens in this world. Even your mother’s cancer,” he murmured.
Mentioning their mother’s prolonged illness and death brought a temporary quiet at the table. Hannah, who’d played the role of stunned spectator for the duration of the conversation, took the interlude to process what the death of Matt McDonald meant. His name had become synonymous with adversary in the weeks leading up to the town hall meeting about the Ten Commandments monument. The name carried other associations for Hannah.
“But he deserved what happened to him,” Samuel said finally, breaking the silence.
Caleb nodded slowly and rhythmically. “Yes, he did deserve to die. But so do I. And so do you. We have all sinned. We have all fallen short of the glory of God. And the wages of sin—death—should be due to all of us. The only thing that separates us from Matthew McDonald is the mercy of God.”
Their father’s short but impactful theological treatise ushered in another interlude of silence. It was Hannah who interrupted the quiet this time.
“Isn’t Matt McDonald Curt’s father?” Hannah asked, drawing her father’s and brother’s gazes.
Her father nodded. “I don’t know his son’s name, but I do know that Mr. McDonald had a son in your grade.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Curt,” Hannah said.
Samuel, who’d been subdued by his father’s various rebukes, jumped back into the conversation.
“That’s the other part of the story. McDonald’s son was in the car, too.”
Hannah stifled a gasp. “Is he okay?”
Samuel almost smiled. “Barely a scratch.”
Caleb Wilson turned back toward Hannah. “Do you know the young man?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not well.”
In fact, she couldn’t ever remember speaking to Curt. Their high school had nearly two hundred people per grade, assuring that you couldn’t know all of your classmates. Besides, Hannah had been homeschooled all the way through middle school, limiting the number of peers she knew even further. Her one run-in with Curt involved a situation at the school not unlike the Ten Commandments controversy. This one involved flyers that the Christian club in school hung in response to a planned Gay Pride day event.
“He seems very sure of himself. Very…” Hannah searched for a word to capture her feelings.
“Arrogant,” Samuel finished. “All atheists are arrogant. I don’t even think you can be an atheist without being arrogant.”
Hannah didn’t contest Samuel’s phrasing though wondered if it was accurate. Curt hadn’t said anything to her. But he stood in back of his friends as they mocked Hannah and the rest of her Christian friends, a small smirk beneath his wavy brown hair that threatened to cover his forehead. Nevertheless, Hannah knew what it w
as like to lose a parent. She stared at the pancakes on her plate, absorbing the syrup while growing cold. She’d lost her appetite.
Caleb Wilson pursed his lips and shook his head. “That young man has received an incredible act of mercy from God. A second chance to live his life. But I fear he’ll never see it that way.” Their father exhaled. “We’ll pay our respects when they announce the wake. We have to be a testimony to God’s mercy through this ordeal.”
Hannah poked at her food while contemplating how the McDonalds might receive the Wilsons showing up at the wake or funeral. Perhaps they would interpret the visit as an act of compassion. More likely, they’d already made up their minds about who Caleb Wilson and his congregation were. Just as the Wilsons saw McDonald and his atheist and secular friends as enemies, the reverse held true, too. But such a gesture was something. Maybe Hannah—through kindness and grace—could do something to change Curt’s mind about Christians.
3
The Wake
“Hey, there you are,” said a soft female voice from behind Curt.
He turned to see his friend Kate, dressed in the color of the day. Her shoulder-length black hair framed her round and compassionate face nicely.
“People were looking for you. How are you holding up?”
Curt scanned the funeral home. All around, people were assembled in small groups, speaking in hushed voices. Half the people Curt barely recognized. A number of the mourners hailed from his father’s law firm. Another significant portion was family or some of his father’s friends. A social man, Matt McDonald had accumulated a lot of casual acquaintances that took on a greater sense of intimacy due to his gregarious nature.
“I’m fine,” Curt said before his eyes landed on his mother.
Elizabeth McDonald held court in the center of the room, standing in front of the mahogany coffin where his father’s lifeless body lay. The tall and slender woman with shoulder-length brown hair wore a black dress and a gray shawl, her hands folded demurely at her waist. All who paid their respects were given a serene expression and gracious words in return from her.
Curt struggled to maintain that level of graciousness. When people stepped up to him and told him how great his father was or how sorry they were, the words felt distant, as though they were being said to someone else and not him. In the days after the accident, Curt had cycled through a lot of different feelings: guilt, sadness, anger. Right now, he simply felt numb, a mere spectator to the events of his life.
“Hey, I wanted to say how much your dad meant to me,” Kate said, meeting his eyes. “When I came out, it was rough. Knowing that someone like your dad had my back and was looking out for people in my situation...it made me feel safe. Accepted. I’m always going to remember him for that.”
Curt nodded. “Thank you.”
Once again, the words ricocheted off him. Nothing felt right. Curt had a feeling that was because his father wasn’t there anymore. He wondered if this would ever feel like his life again.
A third person joined their mini conversation on the margins of the mourners. Justin Grant, five years Curt’s senior, stepped over to them and nodded at him.
“You okay, brother?”
Justin was not Curt’s brother. At least not technically. But he was close. A little shorter than Curt, the young man a year removed from college wore his dark hair cropped close to his head. Justin had lived with the McDonalds for a time after his own religious family had disowned him. Granted, they disputed Justin’s claim that they kicked him out. Whatever the case, the situation had been toxic enough that Justin opted to finish the last summer before he left for college living with Matt and his family. Justin joined their family meals. Curt’s father counseled their guest on the best steps to take toward his future.
Justin draped his arm around Curt’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re going to get through this, okay?” His own voice sounded doubtful. Curt nodded in reply.
Both of them happened to look to the door, where another contingent of people had arrived. Curt recognized the man in front from the town hall meeting: Caleb Wilson, the pontificating preacher.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Justin asked, releasing Curt from his hold. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go take care of them.”
Justin stepped away in the Wilson’s direction. Curt remained by Kate a moment longer before following his de facto brother. Kate grabbed his wrist lightly.
“Hey, maybe you should stay away from them,” she said, her voice filled with foreboding.
“No, it’s fine,” Curt said.
Kate relinquished her grasp. By the time he reached the new arrivals, Justin had already confronted them.
“We came here to pay our respects,” the reverend said with a somber expression.
“Yeah, but it’s never so simple with you people, is it?” Justin asked, his body tense. “There’s always some kind of subtext.”
Curt looked beyond the reverend. Next in line, was Samuel Wilson. The tall college kid was two years older than Curt, meaning the two knew very little of one another. If not for their fathers’ recent sparring sessions over the Ten Commandments monument, Curt wouldn’t have known him at all. Behind Samuel Wilson stood his sister Hannah. Curt locked eyes with the blonde, who watched him with a sympathetic expression before dropping her gaze to the ground.
“You guys like to appear righteous and like you’re being the bigger man, but deep down, you’re pretty happy with what happened to Matt, aren’t you? What was it that you said about the judgment of God at the town hall meeting?” Justin asked.
Out of either of them, Justin had the most firsthand information about the Wilsons and their flock. Years ago, Justin had been part of the church. Until he deconverted. After that, he became the church’s personal evangelistic project. When Justin made it clear he wasn’t buying their attempts at saving his rebellious soul, they essentially cut him out of their lives.
“That’s not why we’re here,” Caleb Wilson insisted. “But if our presence here is offensive, we’ll leave. We don’t wish to cause the family any more pain.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said a strong maternal voice from behind.
Unbeknownst to both Curt and Justin, Elizabeth McDonald had joined the fray. She gave the Wilsons the same compact smile every other mourner got. She reached out her hand to Caleb Wilson.
“Thank you for coming.”
He took her hand and shook it lightly. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I know your husband and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I did greatly respect him. If there’s anything that I or my congregation can do to ease your suffering, please let us know.”
Justin turned away and made a scoffing sound that he barely attempted to conceal. Both Elizabeth and Caleb ignored him.
Elizabeth McDonald smiled and nodded. “Thank you for being here. It means a lot to us.”
Wilson nodded in reply. “We’ll take our leave now. I hope you’re able to find peace in the coming days. We will pray for you.”
“Thank you,” she replied, even though Curt knew his mother didn’t believe in the power of prayer.
Caleb Wilson filed out first. His son followed suit, handing a folded up note to Justin before exiting. That left Hannah, who returned her gaze to Curt. She stood frozen in place, seemingly unaware that her family had already departed. The young woman appeared as though she had something to say, but the words never came. Hannah folded her hands and spun around, her black skirt twirling as she rotated toward the door. Curt watched her leave.
With the newcomers now gone, Elizabeth McDonald placed her hand on Curt’s cheek, smiled sadly, and then returned to her position in front of her husband’s casket. Kate had also snuck up behind Justin and Curt. She craned her neck as if trying to make sure the Wilsons had definitely left and they were safe again.
“What did Samuel Wilson give you?” she asked Justin.
He looked down at his hand and unfolded the piece of paper. “2 Samuel 22:15,” he read
aloud. “It’s a bible verse.”
“What does the verse say?” asked Kate.
“I don’t know. I need a bible.” Justin surveyed the room. “There has to be a bible around here somewhere.”
“Maybe it’s not worth looking up,” Kate said, her eyes wary.
While Caleb Wilson and his daughter had appeared sympathetic, Samuel’s expression more closely resembled restrained glee.
“Maybe the funeral home director has a bible,” Justin said, ignoring Kate.
As Justin walked off, Kate nudged Curt’s shoulder. “Look who’s here now,” she said, pointing toward the door.
Alexis Montgomery had just entered the funeral home. The tall and comely brunette wore a black dress that showed off her long legs. A few months ago, Curt would’ve greeted her arrival with enthusiasm. These days, encounters with her engendered mixed feelings at best, if not a concentration of bitterness.
“Your ex looks good,” Kate said, stating the obvious.
Alexis met Curt’s stare and smiled back, giving a small wave in his direction. An outburst from the edge of the room interrupted their reunion.
“Son of a bitch!” Justin exclaimed.
All eyes turned to him as he slammed an open bible shut and jumped to his feet. He rushed toward the door until Elizabeth McDonald intercepted him by placing both her hands on his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.
“I told you what those people were like!” he said, struggling to get free of her grasp.
Curt’s mom tightened her grip on his shoulders. “Whatever they said or did, Matt wouldn’t want you to reciprocate. You know that.”
The words and physical pressure seemed to calm Justin. At the very least, he ceased his struggle to get free. It helped that Curt’s mom remained the picture of composure. The torrent of tears that had cascaded down her cheeks the last few days in the privacy of her own home had metamorphosed into the grace and strength that propped her up during the wake.
Across the Western Sky Page 2
