The Gatherers by Marla Fair – Chapter eleven
oooooooooo
Charles blinked his eyes.
Nope. Not dreaming.
The sun was shining, glinting off a dusting of snow on the ground, and he was nose to nose with a bunny.
The little rabbit tilted its head. It wriggled its soft nose and snorted, and then bounded off of his chest in a single leap.
"Chala tells me you're awake!" a cheerful voice exclaimed.
The farmer felt anything but cheerful. "If that's what you call it," he moaned.
"Come now! The sun is bright and the air is crisp and clean. There's blood pumping through your veins and your heart is beating!"
And his head was thumping just like little Chala's foot.
"I don't mean to complain," he replied.
"Yes, you do. People are funny like that. They have every reason for being happy, but they choose to be sad."
"I'm not sad," the farmer groused. "I'm in pain."
Jonathan had been busy doing something he couldn't see from the position where he lay. Now, the broadly-built man turned to look at him.
"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you are."
Charles shifted, and it was then he realized why he wasn't cold. He'd wondered about that, since more snow had fallen and he could see his breath when he spoke. He winced as he shifted his arm so he could lift the woolen blanket that covered him.
How did you say 'good morning' in fox, he wondered?
"Gila was worried about you getting cold."
One eyebrow peaked toward the curls on his forehead. "Well, that was right nice of Gila."
Jonathan came toward him carrying a bowl. It was only then Charles realized the other man had been cooking. Now that he thought about it, he could smell the broth – and it smelled good! The burly man took hold of the small round seat he'd noticed the night before and pulled it up beside where he lay. The Good Samaritan placed the bowl on a stump table located near the wall of the lean-to, and then looked at him.
"Gila is very nice. He's a fine companion."
"How's he get along with Chala?" he asked, eyeing the rabbit that was nosing the soup in the bowl.
"Splendidly!"
"Oh? Ain't that a little…unusual?"
Jonathan held out his hands. Gila nuzzled one while Chala – reluctantly leaving the soup – pressed her furry head up against the other. "The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them," the other man quoted.
Charles wondered momentarily if he had died and gone to Heaven.
That, or he was in the company of a madman.
The farmer shifted and tried to sit up, but gasped and halted. His hand went to his ribs and he coughed. Once again, Jonathan's large hands encircled his middle, lending him the strength he needed. The rest of the way up was easier and soon he was propped up and holding a bowl of soup. To his chagrin, he found he trembled so hard from exhaustion that he couldn't feed himself.
The other man paused to look at him after serving the fourth spoonful. "You're very willful," he said with a shake of his head.
Charles frowned. "Who me?"
"Yes. You."
"Because I don't like bein' spoon-fed like a baby?"
Chala snorted something.
"Yes," Jonathan agreed. "And proud."
He blinked. "You don't mince words, do you?"
The other man shrugged. "I find they make a very poor broth."
"So I'm stubborn and proud. Anything else?"
The change in Jonathan's demeanor was the difference between night and day. "In pain. Oh dear, so much pain."
That was something he could finally agree with!
"I fell off a cliff."
There was a pause. "The pain I speak of did not come from your fall. It's here." The burly man placed a callused hand on his chest, and then touched his forehead. "And here."
"What are you talkin' about?" Charles demanded.
Jonathan put the bowl down. He sat back and stared at him for several heartbeats before speaking. "First, answer my question."
"WHAT question?!"
"Do you have a son?"
The word was a knife blade to his heart. Charles gritted his teeth and forced the answer between them.
"Not anymore."
"He died."
"Yes, he died! Are you satisfied?"
Those cool blue eyes pinned him. "Are you?"
"What does that mean?!" More than anything else the wounded man wanted to leap up and escape this madness. But he couldn't. Fatigue was already threatening to overcome him. "Why would a man be satisfied that his son died?"
"Are you satisfied that you did all youcould to prevent it?"
In an instant he was there – behind a closed door, listening to the doctor tell him that Freddie had breathed his last. He had to be strong for Caroline. At the time, he was. As he quoted the words, he meant them – 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over…Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.'
That's where Freddie was, in the House of the Lord.
Forever.
"I should have realized earlier that he was sick," he admitted at last. "If I had – if I'd gotten him to the hospital sooner…."
"Just like you should have realized the safety was not on your gun? Or that you shouldn't have insisted on taking Laura hunting?"
Charles was fading, but those words penetrated the fog. He stared at the man seated before him. He licked his lips. ""Who…?" Who are you?"
Jonathan rose. As he did, his sturdy frame blocked out the sun.
"I told you before. I'm your friend."
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Charles woke to the sound of singing. It was a wordless tune, but it spoke to him just the same.
His dreams had been filled with all his failures – the tornado, the lost crops, his inability to give his wife and children the things they needed – the shame of having to ask for credit. He'd relived the grief and guilt of the awful day when Freddie died, and then moved on to shame and anger at his own stupidity for getting shot and the fear of what would have happened to his child if he died. These things piled up, one after another – like bricks in a sack – until he was bent and broken as an old man.
Then he heard that song. In the depths of his despair, it came like a new morning – offering a fresh chance.
All he had to do was let go of the sack.
The weary farmer opened his eyes. The sun was at a slant, so he knew he'd slept half the day away. He shifted and then froze and looked under the covers. When he found he was alone in his bedding, with no small creature to crush, he placed his arms behind his back and shifted his body up. It hurt, but not so much as before.
"You're mending."
Charles accepted the bowl of soup Jonathan handed him. This time he was able to take the first few spoonfuls himself. After that, he accepted help without complaint.
When he was done, he thanked the other man and then added, "You gave yourself away last night. I know who you are now."
Jonathan had been turned away. His bushy eyebrows peaked as he turned back. "Oh?"
The farmer nodded. "You're the man who helped Laura when she ran away after her brother died."
"Am I? And how can you be sure?"
"You knew her name. And you knew about Freddie and the accident." He paused. "Besides that, she described the man to me on the way home."
"And I fit the description?"
"Yes." Funny thing was he fit it to a 'T'. Same clothes and everything. "Lucky for me, you happened to be in the area."
"Lucky, yes…."
"How come? I mean, Laura told me you called the mountain 'Jonathan's mountain'. That's your home, right?"
"One of them." The other man smiled. "I have many."
"Do you trap?" Charles asked, thinking that would account for the travel.
Jonathan surprised him by laughing. "I would say, rather, that I make it a habit to open traps."
"That how you met Chala and Gila?"
The burly man nodded. "Yes. Freeing God's creatures is one of many things I do."
Charles shifted again and, again, accepted help. When he was firmly propped against a boulder, he let out a sigh. "I need to return to my family."
"You will. When it's time."
He scowled. "You're awful sure of yourself."
"No. No, I'm not. I'm sure of God." Jonathan paused. "Are you sure of God, Charles?"
He knew what a good, solid Christian man should answer, so he was surprised when he said, "I don't know."
"Honesty, a good beginning. Now, another question, no less difficult to answer. Do you know why you are unsure?"
God had been with him his whole life. Charles couldn't remember a time when he didn't believe. And yet, as he grew older, it seemed that God somehow became more distant – like a spectator, instead of a participant in his life. He could remember, as a boy, hearing God's voice and feeling a closeness to the Almighty that was hard to explain. When he became a man – as the disappointments piled up one upon the other – that voice faded. There was no answer, only an infuriating silence. Confronted by that silence, his anger grew. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel that way.
Which made him feel that way even more.
"You have not failed, only faltered," Jonathan said, as if reading his mind, "and what is faltering but a moment to pause and regroup?"
"My wife would call it backsliding," he groused.
Jonathan leaned back. "How do your children learn? By getting everything right the first time, or by failing?" When he said nothing, the other man went on. "Any good father sees failure as a chance for growth. If an earthly father understands this, how can your Heavenly One not?"
Charles remained silent.
"Have there not been times when you have allowed your child to fail just so they can grow?"
Laura had told him of this man's uncanny insight and wisdom. He hadn't known whether to believe her or not. Maybe it was just a dream she had while she was lost.
Was he dreaming?
It was then it hit him – like a slap in the face.
Charles actually gasped. "You're… You're the man in the cloak!"
Again, Jonathan's thick eyebrows lifted. This time with puzzlement. "The man in the cloak?"
He'd never seen his face, but he remembered the voice and the sheer size of the man, as well as the glimpse of those wise, ice-blue eyes.
"In my dream, I mean…." Charles hesitated. "When I fell, I had a dream. I was a…boy again. It was after my baptism. I met a man in the woods and he –"
Jonathan held a hand up, signaling for silence.
Chala was squealing.
'What is it?' the farmer mouthed.
The other man put a finger to his lips and rose. As he stepped out of the lean-to a ray of dying light struck him and, for a second, Charles saw, not the man who had rescued him – a thick-set older man with grizzled hair and a kindly wrinkled face – but someone else entirely: a tall shining figure, cloaked in strength and power.
"A warning," Jonathan said, and was gone.
oooooooooo
He couldn't believe what he was doing. If Laura or Mary had done it, they would have felt his hand on their backsides.
He was risking his life for a bunny.
Charles let out a sigh. He'd managed to crawl out of the lean-to and risen to his feet. The resulting dizziness had sent him stumbling to one side until his hand encountered a sturdy tree-trunk. He was using it as a prop right now, waiting for the stars before his eyes to return to the night sky where they belonged.
He had no watch, so he couldn't be certain how much time had elapsed since Jonathan had left, but he thought it was about fifteen minutes – give or take fourteen. His head was a little fuzzy and thinking straight didn't come any easier than walkin' it. He was weak, but not as weak as he had expected and – miraculously – though his ribs ached like the Dickens, he couldn't find any breaks by feelin' them. Now, how he'd tumbled over a cliff edge and fallen several hundred feet to its bottom without killin' himself – let alone without breaking anything – he had no idea.
But he wasn't going to ask any questions.
Twice now since Jonathan had left, Chala had squealed. He'd been around enough rabbits to know that meant one of several things – she was afraid, she was in danger, or she was trying to warn someone else of danger. And even though Jonathan seemed to think the little bunny was as smart as Miss Beadle, the farmer tended to believe a rabbit was a rabbit. More than likely there was a predator in the area that was hunting her. What puzzled him was the fact that the other man was nowhere to be found. He'd figured that was the point of the big man leavin' – rescuin' his little friend. Jonathan didn't seem to be the kind of man who would desert someone in need. Maybe he was on the trail of whatever had frightened the little critter. Charles snorted. He kind of hoped so.
Even if it was just a baby Hoot Owl, he sure wasn't in any shape to take it on!
"Chala?" Charles called, feeling a bit foolish. "Hey, girl. Are you close?" When there was no reply, he called again. "Chala?"
This time there was a definite squeak.
Rabbits were funny things, with a language all their own. They could tell you when they were happy by purring, or scared, by squealing. When they sneezed, it was hilarious! He'd had a number of them when he was a boy, and the girls a few. They could be nasty if they wanted to, but most of the time they were downright endearing.
Even more so once you'd taken a nap with one!
Charles pushed off the tree and moved toward the noise. "Chala? Hey! Come on. Where are you?"
There was another squeak. Just in front of him the tall grasses shuddered, as if something had moved suddenly into or out of them.
'Now, I've got you!' he thought and took a step forward.
Unfortunately, what he found wasn't a bunny, it was a hawk.
A five-foot-ten, one-hundred-and-fifty pound Indian named Hawk.
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to be continued…..