12

Too numb to cry, I returned the meatloaf to Lillian Pryor and stayed in bed for two days. During that time, I heard no voices, received no messages, ate little, slept as much as the flashbacks to the bus bombing and Bill’s murder would allow, and celebrated not at all when Tsunami and the boys were apprehended with their hands in the till of a coffee shop they did not own.

What’s there to celebrate, Ruthie? Five lives ruined and I’m not yet sure about mine.

Some people told me I needed a good priest, so on Monday afternoon I went to see Chase Lafferty at The Antique Trunk.

I gave him the condensed version of my out-of-control life, and he introduced me to Cavalier, a wooden musketeer of sorts, a three-foot marionette uncracked and still in possession of most of its vivid original paint.

“Old Lady Estelle came through,” said Chase. “The rocking horse, circa 1887. Wasn’t here two hours before it sold to the Four Seasons Hotel for a Christmas display. They paid top dollar too, so I’m closing the shop next week and heading up to the lake cabin. Sun, trout long as your forearm, and steak on the grill is what a commission like that will buy.”

“Sounds nice.” I ran an appreciative hand over Cavalier’s shiny epaulettes and golden belt buckle. He wore a pair of wooden boots of particularly fine workmanship. “He’d be perfect for the mission’s charity raffle,” I said. “Would you take $400 for him and $250 for the box of toy trains, the dollhouse, and the miniature pirate ship? I’m itching to get some real toys into the hands of our Safari kids.”

“Hmm.” Chase “hmmed” five times more before dancing Cavalier onto a glass display case filled with rare first editions of books I’ve never heard of. How many people have ever read The Keelhauling of Frederick Rochard?

Chase huffed on Cavalier’s finely carved face, complete with rosy cheeks and goatee, and polished the already highly shined countenance with a shirtsleeve. “What would you say to $500 for our young adventurer here and $350 for the rest? I could get a lot more if I sold the pieces individually, of course, but I know you will find them good homes.”

I did my share of hemming and hawing and contemplating the ceiling before saying, “I could go $450 for Mr. C and $300 for the rest. Charity, my good Lafferty, charity.”

“Done.” We both did well in the deal, although Ruthie was the best haggler. She’d bat her lovely peepers, and before Chase knew what happened, he’d come down thirty percent and thrown in the lamp belonging to Aladdin himself.

Time stood still and the elephant in the room shifted weight. “I’m sorry about your friend,” Chase said. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

At least he hadn’t said he knew how I felt. “Am I? When I ignore these—these promptings and things turn out for the worst, I’m unhappy. And when I listen and act on them and things turn out for the best, I’m unhappy. I feel manipulated like this wooden puppet I just bought. For it to come to life requires strings to be yanked. My strings are being yanked but I don’t want to be anyone’s Pinocchio. How can I willingly go with the program before I know what’s being required of me? And will others die while God and I argue?” My voice had steadily risen. The shop door opened, I finished with a near shout, and the last question reverberated in the air.

The middle-aged customer in the khaki shorts and light blue windbreaker looked torn between whether to release the doorknob and stay or cut his losses and flee. He rolled the dice and stayed.

Chase helped him select an antique turquoise brooch for a sister’s thirtieth birthday present.

I took the time to calm down.

The sale made, Chase went to put away the brooches not taken and the customer again placed his hand on the doorknob.

This time, the choice was between leaving without another word or doing what he did. He turned toward me and said in a loud, clear voice, “Jesus didn’t heal everyone who was sick. He did not raise everyone who died. He does not save all who are born. Cherish those He has given you and be ready when He calls.” And then, as if shaking off a trance, he said, “Excuse me,” and left.

Chase and I stood rooted to our spots.

Be ready. I seriously wondered if we should seek cover from flying glass.

“Coffee?” Chase set two paper hot cups on the counter, poured one cup, poised the pot over the second, and waited.

“Pour,” I said.

He shook hardly at all.

The coffee was extra stiff and stilled my entrails. “So what say you, wise one? Am I cracking up?” I backed away from the glass display to heft a nineteenth-century cannonball.

Chase popped a presumably twenty-first-century pistachio nut into his mouth and proffered the bag.

I declined.

“Depends. You’re not interested in being a Cavalier with strings attached, who looks commanding but can only do his master’s bidding. That’s why the Pinocchio story enthralls us. We want to be real boys and girls, free to make bad choices as well as good. But to do that, all strings to the master must be severed. That prospect frightens us, as it should. Evil likes to get its hands on those who think they are the masters of their own souls.”

A cannonball in each hand, I felt anything but free. I felt weighed down.

Chase’s expression said, “Please do not attempt to juggle them in my little shop of breakables.”

“What you seek, what ultimately I think we all seek, is best expressed by a sweet-water spring.” Chase continued. “The everlasting water of life flows from God through us, and people should be refreshed and sustained by their encounters with us. Think of it, James. God wants you to give the living waters of life to others as you and Ruth did together. He has given you an opening into heaven, a glimpse into the seen and the unseen.”

I put down the cannonballs and picked up a sand dollar. “Is this an ancient sand dollar?”

“No.” Chase smiled. “It’s just a sand dollar. Kids who rarely get out of the city sometimes just want a piece of the wild places. So I keep sea stars and agates and driftwood around, simple objects that can sweep them away on imaginary discoveries.”

I thought about that. “So what went wrong? Why is God waving red flags at me? Why did Bill die on my watch?” I gestured toward the door. “What was Brooch Man’s point?”

“Brooch Man?”

“Yeah, sorry. A habit of riding the bus. I give riders names based on what I know about them or their habits.”

“I see.” Chase studied me. “I don’t know all of it, but you admit to being more detached from the divine since Ruth’s death. Maybe heaven’s saying, ‘James Carter, you and Ruth were one flesh for a long time and for a good reason. What would Ruth do? What would you and Ruth do together? Keep doing that.’”

“And an innocent man had to die because of my spiritual struggle?” My voice cracked. “Bill didn’t deserve that.”

Chase placed a couple of fashionably dressed satin dolls in the box with the trains I had purchased. He added a box of interlocking wooden logs, a kaleidoscope, and three wooden biplanes from the First World War.

“Bill was no innocent man,” said Chase. “None of us are. You didn’t make Bill and those young toughs enemies. God worked in Bill’s life same as everyone’s. I think that’s what your Brooch Man meant. Jesus healed and resurrected and saved to serve His Father’s higher purpose. Moses and Noah, Sara and Esther, Paul and the disciples—some pretty outrageous events occurred in all their lives while doing what they were created to do. Each was intended for a specific purpose. It was God’s great pleasure to show them how to partner with Him to fulfill that purpose. So instead of getting down on God or yourself, honor Bill’s memory by staying open to how you can be a more compassionate man.”

I fingered an old windup toy in the likeness of a mouse wearing red shorts and white gloves.

With a nod of his head, Chase indicated I should add it to the box.

“Do you get messages from God?”

Chase didn’t answer my question immediately. He tapped the glass countertop with fingertips in unison, as if playing “Chopsticks.” “Nothing like what you’ve been getting,” he said at length. “It stands to reason if we’re not cookie-cutter people, then He wouldn’t handle us in cookie-cutter fashion. We get to know Him and His ways best we can, then He speaks to us in ways and means tailored to us and our circumstances. Maybe God is interested in sharpening your attention span. More coffee?”

I shook my head and went to the front window to look out at the waning Seattle afternoon. “You free for dinner, Chase? I think I can get the meatloaf back from Lillian Pryor.”

He threw my cup into a varnished pinewood magazine rack now outfitted with a plastic bag for trash. He started to pour himself more coffee, thought better of it, and returned the pot to its heated base. “Sure, I’m free, but you’ve got to let me bring the bread. The bakery on the corner makes the best focaccia bread with cheese. Just the thing for twice-borrowed meatloaf.”

“Deal.” It was the second transaction I could feel good about today.