Five days later a 1933 Ford light delivery truck drove into the driveway and stopped beside the house. A small man with graying hair on his temples got out and went into the house. Once inside, he methodically went from room to room, removing things from drawers and cupboards and putting them into packing boxes. He took only small and strictly personal items, such as clothing, and left nearly everything else untouched. And as he was doing this, he kept on muttering to himself.
“Barbaric forces have once again arisen in the world, forces bent on destroying all that is good and noble and hurtling civilization back into pre-Christian darkness. Gentlemen, to counter this evil and to come to the defense of human freedom and dignity will require the devotion and sacrifice of enlightened men everywhere….
“The cry of all humanity under siege for its very life is summoning you. Your country is summoning you. I am asking you in the name of all that is good and decent, in the name of God, to respond to the call of your country and dedicate yourselves without reservation to the cause of preserving democracy and freedom for our children and our children’s children.
“This is what we are asking of you….”
And at that point the President spelled out in detail what was being asked of the handful of extraordinary human beings sitting across the desk from him.
Steve paused in his packing, sat on his bed, and bowed his head.
“Who would ever have believed that eradicating evil on the face of the earth would come to this?…”
Looking up into her innocent eyes, he stared at her and slowly shook his head. Hands trembling, his breath short and rapid, he took her picture and placed it in a large leather briefcase. Then he took down the framed letter from Irv and Ellie and inserted it into the briefcase beside the photo. He went into the living room and removed the six frames from the wall over the sofa. They just fit into the briefcase next to the other two frames.
Within an hour the truck was packed. On his final inspection of the house, he picked up a sign and a hammer and some nails that were lying on the kitchen table. Then, walking slowly through the house, he stopped at the front door and turned around. Lifting his arms into the air, he said out loud, “Thank you, Cecilia’s Jesus, for giving me this little haven for all these years.” Turning about, he emerged from the front door and with difficulty locked it with a rusty key. He nailed a “SOLD” sign beneath the front window, got into his truck, and disappeared from view for some five years.
Incidentally, I discovered after his death that he had not actually sold the house. He had given it to an elderly couple he had met at church who had fallen on hard times and lost their home.
At this point a dark and impervious veil falls over the life of Stephan Pearson. Rumor had it that he was in the Chicago vicinity for a time. Other rumors put him in Tennessee, and still others located him in the American Southwest. The fact is that for over five years neither former colleagues nor old friends heard a single word from him or received any news of him. Even his widowed mother, whom he had contacted just before disappearing, died in complete ignorance of his whereabouts. He ceased to exist for everyone he had known. The only creditable information about him was what he had shared with his mother. He had told her that he was safe and was involved with the government in the war effort. She had passed that on to Uncle Irv and Aunt Ellie.