“I want Jen and Tiffany’s killer revealed.”
“He will be.” She held a resolute gaze on her grandson.
“I came here to let you know I’m thinking about going overseas for a little while.”
She nodded and looked at the squirrels darting through the fallen leaves, her eyes marred with cataracts and yet filled with truth. “Are you going over there to accept the Nobel Prize?”
“No. If I go, it would be about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“A professor who works for a university in Jerusalem believes my name is connected to an old document left behind by Isaac Newton. The professor said Newton wrote my name in his papers near the time of his death. And he thinks I can pick up where Newton left off and crack or reveal some things Newton was working on when he died.”
“So this professor believes your name is connected to Newton. That’s interesting…through math, science, prophecy? What was Newton working on?”
“Sounds weird, I know. Apparently, Newton was researching biblical prophecies. More specifically, whether events were or are foretold in the Bible. I’m not sure there is a connection, only that some Israeli professor claims it’s my name in Newton’s notes.”
“I believe some events are God’s providence. He opens them through his prophets. My goodness — let me collect my runaway thoughts. Okay, there were people like Ezekiel, Daniel, Jeremiah, Solomon and others. Jesus gave us prophecy, too. Are you going?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Go, Paul. You’ve been gifted. Go to Jerusalem. Maybe you can help make known God’s plan, if that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“If all is known, or planned in some kind of divine providence, what’s the use? We’d be as insignificant as pawns on some chessboard.”
Mama Davis sipped her tea, choosing her words carefully. “I believe it is all part of a larger picture we won’t fully understand until it’s disclosed to us.” She held her eyes on Marcus and then touched his right hand. “The discovery you made figuring out how to adjust the life spark in a human heart was revealed to you through your gifted talents and some help.”
Marcus smiled. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” He stood to leave, bent down and kissed his grandmother’s cheek.
“Do you have to go now? You’re the only visitor who comes to see me — in person that is.” She winked and smiled wide. “I miss you, Paul.”
“I miss you, too, Mama Davis. I have to get back to let Buddy out.”
She took both of his hands in hers. Marcus could feel her very slow heartbeat.
“Listen to me, grandson. I’m old, and I’ve lived a long life. The older I get, the more I do know that there is a grander picture. I can’t explain that awful thing that happened to Jennifer and Tiffany. But God didn’t cause it.”
“And he didn’t prevent it.”
“But you are still alive. Why? You’ll see, Paul, God will work it into good.”
“Without them, what the hell does that mean, good?”
The old woman was silent for a moment. “You figured out how to fix hearts. It’s my prayer that you’ll figure out how to fix yours, ‘cause your heart is buried in bedrock deeper than the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
“I have to go.” Marcus paused, the rustle of wind growing stronger in the trees.
She nodded and lowered her eyes for a moment, licking her bottom lip. Then she looked up and took in the full measure of her grandson. “I feel that you hold God responsible for the deaths of Tiffany and Jennifer. You will only see what will be revealed to you. When that happens, trust in a higher power — have faith — because it will be returned to you.”
“What are you saying? I don’t believe in—”
“Listen to me, Paul. He wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t do His will on earth.”
A brown leaf fluttered down from a tall oak, settling in Mama Davis’s lap. Marcus looked at it. “What if God’s dead as that leaf?”
“When you go to Jerusalem, if your desire is to prove God is responsible for what happened to Tiffany and Jennifer, you will leave with nothing. But if you open your heart to our Lord’s calling, you will see through the glass stained by evil, see through the dark places.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mama Davis.”
“I think you will in time. Your grandfather used to say the difference between an intelligent person and a wise person is the choices he or she makes for the good of others.”
Marcus leaned in and kissed his grandmother on her forehead. “Goodbye, Mama Davis. I’ll let you know what I decide. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Be careful, Paul. There’s something in my heart that’s whispering disturbing things. I just can’t hear it well enough, yet.”
TWELVE
Under a cloudless, blue October morning sky, Paul Marcus walked to his barn to feed the horses. Buddy stopped for a moment, sniffing tracks a raccoon had left during the night. In the chill of the air, Marcus could smell wood smoke from his neighbor’s chimney a quarter mile away. It was Sunday, and beyond the chirping of a cardinal, he heard bells from the Shiloh Methodist Church in the distance. His mind shifted to the cemetery behind the old church where he had buried his wife and daughter.
Dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt and a denim jacket, Marcus turned his collar up in the cool air, and continued walking through yellow leaves dusted soft white from last night’s frost.
Buddy followed him into the barn where he watered and fed the horses. Within a minute, the sun crept over the valley, the shafts coming horizontal through the open barn doors, illuminating the bales of hay and stalls with a crimson glow.
“Good morning ladies,” Marcus said, opening the stalls. “How’s everybody doing? Ready for some pasture time?” He led the horses to the door. They trotted off, Buddy giving chase for a moment, turning his head back toward Marcus as he ran. “No, Buddy! It’s too early for a game of tag. Let the girls have some quiet Sunday morning time.” Buddy stopped and padded back toward the barn, his eyes bright from the short chase.
Marcus took an ax from the barn and began splitting wood against a round piece of the heart of pine. He split the first log into two parts, tossed them on a woodpile next to the fence, and was raising the ax over his shoulders when Buddy growled. The dog’s keen eyes had picked up movement down at the end of the long drive.
“What’s got your attention, boy?” Marcus looked in the direction. A blue Honda car came up the drive, leaves scattering, acorns popping. A cardinal stopped its morning song and the church bells faded into the background. Marcus could see that a woman was behind the wheel.
Alicia Quincy parked under a large oak near the house and got out of her car. Buddy ran in the direction of the parked car. Marcus walked toward her, ax still in his hands. She smiled and petted Buddy while he sniffed her black jeans. She wore a thick-weave, beige sweater, her dark chestnut hair pinned up, minimal makeup. The crisp air gave a brushstroke of light pink to her high cheekbones. “Good morning,” she said, smiling. “Do you usually greet a woman with an ax?”
Marcus smiled and set the ax against a tree. “I was chopping firewood.”
“I’ve always loved border collies. What’s his name?”
“Buddy.”
Alicia petted Buddy on his neck and shoulders. She looked up at Marcus. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing out here on a Sunday morning.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“I remembered all the years you worked at the agency before going to Hughes to help Tiffany. I know how damn hard you worked. I can’t forget the funerals for Jennifer and Tiffany. Just down the road, I passed the cemetery behind the church and remembered it was a day like this, the leaves changing, winter approaching.”