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The clear North Dakota sky hales a crisp, glowing blue. A majestic, brilliant, cobalt blue that holds a faint, lonely contrast of a subtle white featherlike cloud, stretching across its barren emptiness for as far as the eyes can see—like outstretched wings gliding upon a prayer. The sad wings of destiny that miracles come from; in the small town of Havana, prayers and miracles are held in the highest esteem.
The plains of Havana are vast, open layers of browns, greens, and gold prairies, sharing the farmlands that roll across the countryside, farm after farm, family after family. Each farm passed on from one generation to the next. Family, farming and church—the only thing these last pioneer settlers have ever known, or ever cared to know.
Steven Wheaton stands strong, wiping off the forming beads of sweat from his forehead. He keeps his handkerchief in his hand as he stands out in the baking mid-afternoon sun, sure he’ll be using it again. Steven wears his Sunday church clothes, accompanied by his best pair of dark leather boots. He’s a tall man, peering above the rest of the crowd that has come to gather on this hot North Dakota day. His wavy blonde hair reflects sharp beams of light with every nod and turn of his head. His vibrant blue eyes focus slowly past the back of everyone’s heads, looking up to the front of the crowd.
“I sure as hell don’t see her anywhere, Tom,” he says, turning to his younger brother standing next to him, his brows holding his frustration as he now takes out a tin of Skoal. He puts a pinch in his lip, still clutching the handkerchief in his hand as he puts the Skoal back into his pocket.
“Thought you told Karen you were gonna quit chewing?” Asks Tom.
“Well,” his brows rise, “I guess I’ll have to go to confession next week.” His head gives a slight shutter, as his eyes go back to scanning through the crowd. “Just concentrate on the important things right now, would ya, like my wife and where the hell she is.”
“Sorry.” Tom pauses. “I know it ain’t been easy for ya...ever since Karen’s diabetes. You’ve just been a little stressed out lately. You know she’s ‘round here somewhere and you know she’s just fine,” he says, placing his hand on Steven’s shoulder.
“I know,” Steven looks back. “Sorry. But it ain’t just Karen’s diabetes got me so edgy lately.
“Let me guess. Preacher, right?”
“Damn right that Preacher, Tom. Ever since Karen joined his church…she’s just changed, that’s all. I’m tellin’ ya, I’m regrettin’ the day Pastor Ryan McDonald ever set foot into this county. He’s bad news, boy.”
“That why you had me come over here with ya after Saint Christopher’s parish got over?”
“Yeah. Just need some family here with me. I hate comin’ over here to this Pastor Ryan’s, Church of Resurrection.” Steven’s tone changes to sarcasm.
“I know what ya mean.” Tom’s nodding head agrees. “Look at all these folks. What, are they crazy?” His tone lowers, as his eyes caution to the crowd. “I mean, these are people we’ve known most our entire lives, Steven. They actually think this fool sumbitch is gonna make it rain?”
“I don’t know,” his head shakes. “Don’t know if they’re as crazy as that fool, or just curious to see what he’s gonna do. Whatever it is, he’s sure got’em showin’ up. We left ‘lot of these people after Father Francis got done with his sermon. Seems like half of Saint Christopher’s parish is here.”
“I know what ya mean. I ain’t believin’ my eyes neither.”
“I s’pose though,” Steven continues, “bad as this drought’s hit this county…all the crops it’s already ruined, everyone’s been prayin’ for some kind of miracle. Pretty easy to get their hopes up ‘bout anything right now. ‘Specially some damn fool promise of rain.”
“Sounds to me like it’s just another way of takin’ advantage of people.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure. Seems to me that’s all he’s ‘bout,” his eyes still scanning, almost racing through the crowd. “Damn, it’s hot.” Even more frustrated. Still using his handkerchief on his forehead. “So,” Steven adds, “what did ma say ‘bout all this?”
“’Bout what? All this?” Tom gestures to the crowd. “Or us comin’ over to all this? Or better yet, how ‘bout Karen goin’ to this here, Church of Resurrection now? Whattaya think ma had to say ‘bout all this.” His brows rise to the obvious.
“Yeah.” Steven holds on a pause. “And Anne-Marie?” His eyes shift down to Tom.
“Oh, you know my wife, she holds her tongue. She didn’t mind goin’ ‘head with the boys while I come over here with ya.” His eyes meet with Steven’s. “She had ‘nough to keep her busy, helpin’ ma with Sunday supper and all. And ‘fore ya ask ‘bout our little brother...well, you seen Spider haulin’ ass soon as we all got out of St. Christopher’s. Only thing he gives a shit ‘bout is his self, and that damn computer of his. Probably already on the net by now.”
“Hey, here we go.” Steven nudges Tom in the side, noticing some of the Preacher’s closest followers now coming out of the church.
There’s a long, solid line of people, as the Pastor now steps out into the open. He wears a new suit with polished shoes. His dyed brown hair is combed back, tucked above his ears. With his slender body taking long strides, he makes his way across the dirt parking lot.
His home rests next to the church on the same property. In an open field on the other side of the church, is where the Pastor had set a stage on the back of a flatbed truck. A microphone stands by itself, as a set of tall speakers sit on each side of it. Huge banners cover the front of the stage, staked to the ground, reading, THE CHURCH OF RESURRECTION.
He steadily makes his way over, holding a bible in one hand and a crucifix in the other. His wife, Mary, and two young boys, Joshua and Jonas, follow behind with the Pastor’s arrogant chin held high, carrying his confidence.
Karen steps out from behind Mary and his sons. She wears a long, flowered dress that hangs down to her shins. Her low-heeled shoes keep a steady march, as her straight, blonde hair falls down to her shoulders. Her pale, white skin glistens in the sun, while her petite, shapely frame holds a soft, gentle face; a reflection that contains her innocence held within her pure, emerald green eyes. She embraces a bible against her chest, clutching it with both of her hands. She holds a confidence in her stare that even Steven can recognize from where he’s standing. A proud confidence that shows exactly how she feels. A feeling of belonging to something, something that really matters. Karen missed that feeling and Steven has known that for quite some time now.
“There she is. See her?” Gesturing to Tom.
“Oh yeah.” Tom raises his brows. “What she doin’? She gonna be goin’ up on that stage with’em?”
“I don’t know.” Steven keeps an anxious tone. “Let’s go see what this is ‘bout. Come on,” he says, tugging on Tom’s sleeve.
They work their way up front, standing now just a few people away from the edge of the stage. The rest of the congregation steps in with the crowd as Steven’s eyes hold on Karen. His vigilance a certain cry, holding his worries. His heart a hollow carving, etched into his soul. She is everything he has ever wanted. She is a part of him. Now more than ever she needs him. Whether she realizes it or not, they need each other and whatever Karen is missing in her life, Steven knows she can never find it with the Preacher.
Karen looks up. Her eyes meet with the crowd as Pastor Ryan makes his way up the steps to the stage. The crowd grows silent, with all eyes now upon him. All except for Steven, who still holds his cautions on Karen. His anxiety consumes him, as Karen also makes her way up on the stage, now standing with Mary and his sons behind the Pastor. Two other gentlemen stand on each side of him, both wearing suits. Their hands now joining each other’s, making a half-circle around the Pastor.
As Steven watches her, it’s as if he doesn’t even recognize her up there, for this isn’t Karen. She’s too shy and timid for something like this. That is, until the day the Pastor showed up at their farm. He was new to the area, going around introducing himself. Recruiting what he surely hoped would be followers, for without a congregation there would be no collection plates, no money. Steven knew what he was up to from the very start. He didn’t like him back then, and he grew to despise him even more now.
“What the hell they doin’?” Asks Tom, leaning into Steven’s ear.
“I don’t know.” His words come slowly. “But I don’t like it. I do know that.” His eyes harden, looking back up to the stage.
Steven keeps all vigilance on Karen; for nothing else matters to him at this point as he stands in curiosity, but mostly in disbelief. She devotes most of her free time to the Preacher’s congregation. He didn’t understand why she went to the Preacher for guidance. Why she looks up to such a man. It’s obvious to Steven what he was all about. More important, it’s obvious to Steven that whatever Karen is looking for, whatever she is missing, she can’t find it with him.
“Brothers and Sisters,” the Pastor begins. “Let me start by saying, God has recognized your sacrifices. Your strength and courage for coming here today.” His hands rise above his head. “We are all his children. Lambs looking for his guidance.” His hands shake vigorously. “It is I who shall lead you to the promise land. Guide you, all of you through these uncertain times in our lives.”
“Amen, Pastor!” A voice shouts from the crowd.
“And amen to you, Brother.” The Pastor quickly returns to his sermon. “For it is I who speaks for God! I am his voice and eyes, and I am his reason.”
Steven and Tom look to each other with their brows rising up to their foreheads. Their eyes in question, each giving a slight shake of their heads as the Pastor continues.
“You ask yourselves, what have we done to deserve this? Why God has chosen to make us suffer in this way? Our crops, our livestock, our entire way of life at the beggin’ mercy of his divine forgiveness. It is true we are all sinners. We all look to the Almighty for his guidance, and you ask, why has he chosen not to lead us now? Where are his footprints in the sand? Yet, we all know God has not forgotten us. It is through these troubled times God has chosen to carry us.”
“Amen!” Again the voice shouts.
“That guy’s gotta be a plant,” whispers Tom.
“It wouldn’t surprise me none.” Steven shows his disgust.
“Amen is right, Brother!” The Pastor again responds, still holding his arms above his head, his hands still clutching his bible and crucifix. “Yes, Brothers and Sisters, as I look around you I can see your pain, your uncertainties and clouded perceptions. And you ask why we are here today?”
“He’s got that right.” Steven snickers, looking to Tom, who raises a smile.
“Well, it is I who can give you these answers! It is I who can give you this guidance!” Shaking his arms even harder, flashing his bible to the crowd, he continues, “It’s all in here, Brothers and Sisters. Everything we strive for. Everything we hold sacred. Let not the Devil lead us to temptation, but let God save us from Satan’s evil. Can I get an Amen, Brothers and Sisters!” His shouts demand.
“Amen!” Comes a loud, uniform reply.
“Hallelujah!” The Pastor answers back. His tone holds firm, his look holds confident. “I can see it on everyone’s faces. The questions that lay heavy on your minds. Your eyes show your worries and the land shows your pain. You ask yourselves, when will God shower us with his forgiveness? When will the good Lord blanket us with his forever-loving divinity? When will the great and powerful Almighty unleash his rivers of joy? When will it rain?”
Then he had said it, the words he knew they all crave. Leading them all to this climax, sure to get the response he desires. A master at the game and the meek shall deliver. His own misleading flock and the Pastor would use them as he needs. He uses the power of his words to forsake what is reality, his own distortions to collect his power. Unleash his fury in a way they could embrace it, preying on their souls to awaken to his cumbersome. He knew they would look to someone, something, anything to get them through this, and they will believe in anything as long as it is hope.
“Well, I say to you, Brothers and Sisters,” the Pastor continues, keeping his head held high, his claims held firm. “When’s the rain gonna stop!”
“Huh?” Steven and Tom both mutter, looking to each other.
“That’s right, Brothers and Sisters. I say to the good Lord, when are these tears that shower us, gonna leave us? When will these flooding rivers of pain be cast away from our frail, sanctioned lives you hold so dearly in all your glory?” His eyes look up to the sky. His tone keeps strong, as his message keeps clear. Knowing he had them with every word he portrays. Seeing his visions ahead and all he depletes. He is their irony and he will also make sure he will be their savior. “Yes, Brothers and Sisters,” the Pastor’s words keep coming. “I ask, do you believe? Do you believe in the Almighty, Jesus Christ himself? Do you believe in me? Praise is to Jesus!”
“We believe, Pastor!”
“Praise is to Jesus, Pastor!”
“We believe in you, Pastor!” Their shouts keep coming. Like desperate pleas from a forsaken prayer.
“Then I say to you, Brothers and Sisters.” His words shower them in a blanket of delusions. “This is a test! A search of our souls! For I have spoken to God, and God has answered me. He worries over your burdens! He cries and suffers over your pain! He asks, why? Why now in your darkest hour do you question him? Follow his divine guidance! Let his blanket of divinity cover us with kindness! Can you do this, Brothers and Sisters? Can you spread the word of God?”
“We can do it, Pastor!”
“Praise is to you, Pastor Ryan!” Their cries echo like a showering embrace, searching the depths of their souls for a rescue.
“You buyin’ any of this?” Steven turns to Tom, still showing his disgust.
“I don’t know,” Tom’s head slightly tilts. “He’s pretty good. I’m expectin’ someone to hand him an Oscar any minute now.”
“You got that right. I’m just glad I wore my boots. Stay above all the shit he’s shoveling out.”
“Yes, Brothers and Sisters, you must spread the word of God!” The Pastor’s words keep flowing. Knowing that he has them and all they believe. “For if there is just one non-believer among us, the rain will never come. You must convey the truth of God all across our county. Cast down the nonbelievers and let them know that it is they who are holding us back. Can you do that, Brothers and Sisters?”
“Amen!” They echo.
“Dear Lord, I ask you to give us your guidance,” the Pastor continues, holding his crucifix high up into the air, as if talking directly to it. “Shower us with your merciful devotion and give us the rain we so richly deserve. For I say, step up, nonbelievers! Step up and be heard! Let me guide you away from the gates of delirium. Let me take you to the heavens of God’s loving embrace. Let me lead you to the valley of the Lord! Then, and only then, can your souls truly be saved! Hallelujah, praise is to God!”
“Praise is to you, Pastor!” Spontaneous voices come crying in the air.
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