64: The man in the black knit cap ushered his two visitors inside and offered to take their coats. The boy removed his and handed the coat to him. The girl did not. She didn’t so much as lower the zipper.
He smiled at them both. “I was about to make hot chocolate. Why don’t you join me? Nothing better on a cold day than a cup of hot chocolate. Let’s get comfortable in the kitchen, and you can tell me all about your cause.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned from them and proceeded down the short hallway to the kitchen. The boy followed him, the girl behind them both. It was her footfalls he listened to, the hesitancy in her step. Her boots had hard soles.
In the kitchen he pulled two chairs out from the table. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. This will just take a minute.”
“You’re very kind,” the boy said.
From the corner of his eye, the man in the black knit cap watched the boy pull out the chair a little farther for the girl. She gave him a look and sat down. A soft thank-you from her lips.
“Please tell me, what are your names?”
He retrieved a deep copper pot from the cabinet above the stove, poured in some milk, and set the pot atop the gas burner. The blue flame licked across the bottom.
“My name is Wesley Hartzler, and this is my friend Kati Quigley,” the boy told him, setting some reading materials on the table before folding his hands.
The Watchtower and Awake!
“Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“Are you familiar?” the girl said. Her hands were on the table too, but she still wore thick gloves, her fingers a blur of nervous motion.
Her voice was sweet. It held the ring of a crystal bell.
He retrieved a large wooden spoon from the drawer at his left and began to stir the milk. “I am familiar with God’s word in many forms. I have to say, though, when Witnesses come calling, they’re usually much older than the two of you.”
“We’re sixteen, sir. Plenty old enough to spread the word,” the boy said.
“Wesley, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I couldn’t help but agree. There is so much to be learned from today’s youth, and you are so often disregarded.”
He fetched three mugs, located the tin of Godiva hot cocoa mix he kept above the stove, and scooped a large helping into each mug. When the milk began to simmer, he poured equal portions into each mug, then added a drop of vanilla. “My mother used to make cocoa like this, with vanilla, and even after all these years I haven’t been able to shake the habit. Vanilla adds just a bit of mystery, a hint at something special.”
He placed a mug in front of each visitor and returned to the table, cradling the third. He sat and smiled at them both. “I imagine spreading the word is a difficult task in today’s world. So many people are lost. It must be frustrating.”
“What religion do you follow? Mr . . . .” Kati Quigley asked. She removed her gloves and wrapped her fingers around the mug. He noted that she did not drink.
“You may call me Paul.” He smiled at her and sipped his cocoa.
“Like the apostle,” Wesley said, before drinking from his own mug.
“Just like the apostle.” He wiped his lips on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I suppose I’m a bit of a searcher when it comes to religion. I’ve pulled a little from here, and some from there. I’ve found that discovery can be just as enlightening as scripture.”
“Our hall is less than a mile from here. You should join us. We have open meetings every Saturday beginning at eight in the evening, and they only go for an hour or so. I’m sure everyone would love to hear your views.” Wesley took another drink of his cocoa. A drop of chocolate stuck to the corner of his mouth. “This is delicious.”
At his side, Kati jumped, narrowing her eyes at him.
Had he kicked her under the table?
Wesley went on. “After the meeting, there is usually cake and refreshments. Maybe you can share your hot chocolate recipe.”
“That sounds like a splendid time.”
Kati raised her mug to her lips. He watched her sniff at the steaming beverage. She took a short, hesitant sip. “Mmm, this is wonderful.” She placed the mug back on the table in front of her, turning it several times before dropping her hands into her lap.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Do you have a family, Paul?” Kati said.
“I have a daughter your age. She can be a little shy too.”
“Oh, I’m not shy.”
“No?”
Kati shook her head, sampling the hot chocolate again. He couldn’t tell if she was really drinking or only raising the mug to her lips in an attempt to appear like she was drinking.
“Kati can be very talkative once she gets to know you,” Wesley chimed in.
“Where is your daughter? Is she home?” Kati’s eyes darted over the small kitchen.
“She’s resting, upstairs. She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”
“Is there a Mrs. Paul?”
The man in the black knit cap lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid we lost her when my daughter was born. There were . . . complications.”
“God works—”
He waved a hand at her. “I’m very familiar with his mysterious ways.”
“These are trials. He’s testing you. Testing your faith,” Wesley said.
“That may very well be true, but it makes such things no less painful. Have either of you ever lost someone you care about? Someone who means the world to you?”
Wesley and Kati exchanged a glance, then shook their heads.
“You’re both so young. Let’s hope you don’t have to experience such things for a very long time. Let’s hope God has no reason to zero in on either of you. If he does, hopefully you’ll catch him on a good day.”
“Every day is a good day with the Lord in it,” Wesley said.
“Yes . . . I suppose it is.”
“Will you bring your daughter to the Kingdom Hall?” Kati asked.
He smiled at her. “I’m sure she would like nothing more than to attend.”
Wesley finished off his hot chocolate and made a bit of a show of setting the empty mug back on the table. “Well, Paul. I think it’s time we get going. We have many others we would like to touch today.” He slid one of the pamphlets across the table. “The address of our hall is on the back. Like I said, not very far from here at all. We’d love to see you. You and your daughter.”
The man in the black knit cap finished his hot chocolate and scratched at the wound on the side of his head. A slight throbbing began behind it again. “Tell me, Wesley, what do Jehovah’s Witnesses believe happens to the soul after death?”
Wesley had begun to rise from his chair. He glanced over at Kati, then sat back down. “Well, we believe the soul dies with the body as punishment for sins committed by Adam and Eve.”
“So, no heaven? No hell?”
“Oh, there is a heaven, but God only permitted the souls of 144,000 to join him there, to rule under Christ, to help create a heaven upon earth.”
“What becomes of the rest of us, then?”
Kati crossed her arms. “According to Genesis 3:19, God said, ‘You will return to the ground, for out of it you were taken. For dust you are and dust you will return.’ ”
“So, no hope then.” He gestured around the room. “All this, and we are nothing more than dirt. All those we love, nothing but food for worms and trees.” He heard an anger brewing in his voice and stomped it back down. “I suppose we should strive to be one of the righteous so we can hope to become one of the 144,000, then.”
Wesley edged the pamphlet closer to him. “Joining us, spreading the word, that offers the best hope. It is never too late.”
The man in the black knit cap wrapped his fingers around his empty mug. “Oh, I don’t know. For some of us, it just may be.”
With a wide swing, he brought the mug up and bashed it into the side of Wesley’s head. The ceramic cracked with the impact, and the little loop handle dangled from his index finger for a second before falling to table. Wesley toppled sideways and crashed to the floor, his chair dropping with him.
Kati took a moment to process what had just happened, her eyes wide and fixed on the boy on the floor at her side. She watched like someone engrossed in a television program, her brain unwilling to accept what she had just seen.
The man in the black knit cap took this moment of hesitancy to leap up, his fingers seizing the collar of her coat.
Kati swatted at his arm, breaking his hold, and threw the remains of her hot chocolate in his face before spinning away and running back down the hallway toward the front door.
The liquid burned his eyes, the soft flesh beneath them. He didn’t care. He didn’t feel it. He scrambled over the chair and chased after her. “Kati! Sweetie? Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to leave the table before you’re excused?”
She reached the front door and tugged at the knob, fumbled with the deadbolt.
He had the key in his pocket.
She banged on the door with both fists. She screamed. He could barely hear her. Her cries were muffled, underwater cries. Kati turned, her back against the door. “Please . . .”
He reached for his wound. His fingers came away wet with fresh blood. He imagined the blood seeping down through newly turned dirt in some forgotten graveyard.
“Please don’t . . .”
Her head made a satisfying clunk as he slammed it against the hardwood door, his fingertips leaving bloody streaks on her forehead.