Daniel Keohane - Margaret's Ark

Holly fumbled her way through the rest of the order, including the supplies in the cart - all of which were barcode scanned with shaking hands. She looked more relaxed as the credit card reader screeched and whined and the slip printed out.

Margaret signed it, paying no attention to the sale total. What did it matter at this point, except to threaten her credit limit? The girl behind the counter said, almost as reflex, “They should deliver the lumber tomorrow, sometime between eight and noon. I'm sorry I can't be more specific.”

The girl’s nervousness had the inverse affect on Margaret. She felt a sudden calm as she aimed the shopping cart towards the front of the store. She hesitated, then whispered, “There's room for you. Please, come join me. I could use the help.”

Holly grew more pale and actually swayed for a moment. She muttered something Margaret didn't catch, something about clay, then looked away.

Margaret left, not wanting to seem pushy. As she worked her way outside and searched for her car, the scene played itself over. The girl hadn't laughed, nor made her feel like a nut. On the contrary, Margaret couldn't help but think she believed in what she’d been told, or not told in this particular case.

This small belief filled her with... comfort? Maybe a simple hope that she might not end up alone in all of this. She wondered if she'd see this girl named Holly again. If not at the store when she returned, then maybe on the town common.

Maybe.

You're insane .

Maybe .

* * *

Boston’s Faneuil Hall marketplace swam before him as Jack stood on the sidewalk and spoke the Lord's words. Most people kept a safe distance, eating their sandwiches and talking amongst themselves.

“Mothers will cling to their babies and howl for mercy. One will scream ‘Take me but spare my child’. She will watch her innocent one disappear under the waves. In weakness and despair, she will know the ultimate horror, then fall herself into suffocating darkness.”

The words were not his own. Perhaps he knew them once, when he lived a normal life and his brain worked as it should, but not now. Jack moved awkwardly in a small circle atop a short, two-foot wall. God's power surged through him as he preached. He fed off this power, needing nothing but the blessed manna from heaven – on the power of His words. Words which Jack spewed forth to those feigning disinterest in what he said.

He stumbled. “I will...” The world swayed again. He saw the sky. No! Seeing the sky meant he was falling. He couldn't fall. Time was short. He jerked his head down, saw the ground moving. He thrust out one long skinny leg and caught himself.

Had someone giggled? No matter. He was still standing, could still proclaim . Only that mattered. Sweat trickled down his back under the multiple layers of clothes. It had been warm today. Others around him still wore their winter coats but unzipped, fluttering in the breeze. Summer weather would come early this year. Spring would never come again.

“I will stand here when the deluge comes. God has lavished such gifts upon the Earth, and all - “

“Jack.” An arm on his shoulder. Jack pulled away.

“- you people have done is fattened yourselves on his graces. Now -”

“Jack!”

The arm spun him around. He almost fell off the wall again, half-expecting to see the angel Michael standing before him. He didn’t. The man was shorter than Jack, but wore the dark blue jacket and cap of the Boston Police Department.

“Good morning, Officer. Please, I'm in the middle of my sermon.”

Mitch Leary shook his head. “Jack, I've asked you a half-dozen times to stay away from here.”

“God has asked me - “

“God's not responsible for keeping scary people away from the lunch crowd. Now come on.” He pulled the preacher off the wall and onto the sidewalk. Jack resisted and tried to regain his footing.

“You don’t understand. We're running out of time.”

“ You're going to jail, Preacher.”

Jack froze. Jail . No, he had a duty.

Officer Leary saw the look on the preacher's face and sighed. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, he led him away from the crowd. They stopped at a round ticket kiosk, still closed on weekdays this early in the tourist season.

“Listen, buddy, I don't want you in jail. But if you don't knock this off, especially in such a public place, I'm going to have to take you in.” He stopped and eyed him warily. “Unless, that's what you're shooting for. Free meals and all.”

Jack felt his face flush. Already he felt time slipping away and this man thought he was doing it for charity? He tried to hide his anger, but the policeman saw it nonetheless. Leary raised a hand defensively.

“All right. I apologize. You're on a mission from God, right?”

“That's correct.”

Leary whispered, “Stay away from Fanueil Hall, that's all. There are plenty of other places. Try the Wharf over there.” He gestured past the twin rows of buildings that made up the marketplace. Jack knew he was implying Long Wharf on the other side of Atlantic Avenue. A long brick-lined park running along the inner reaches of Boston Harbor.

He whispered, “But they already kicked me out of there. You'll kick me out of there, too. I have to preach, and you can't lock me up. We only have a short time left.”

“When was the last time you ate, Jack?”

The change in subject made him pause a moment. “Ate? I don't know. This morning, I think.”

“What'd you eat?”

“I don't remember. I think someone gave me part of a muffin.”

“Part of a muffin,” the policeman muttered. “Here, take this.” He shoved something into Jack's hand and folded his hand closed over it. When the preacher tried to see what it was, Leary squeezed his fingers.

“Don't look, just take it and buy yourself something decent to eat. Maybe get a toothbrush. There's also a slip with the address of a shelter just around the corner. They can get you cleaned up. Just don’t buy any booze with it.”

Jack straightened. “I don't drink. I promise you that.” Already he felt an excitement at the prospect of finding the shelter again. God had provided. Had it really been just around the corner all this time?

Leary smiled. “Good. That's good.” He looked down for a minute, and whispered, “God's good that way, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing. I've seen a lot of people in trouble, and they come out of it when they -” he made the two fingers of each hand into quotation marks - “find God.” He laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and led him along the outskirts of the marketplace, towards the waterfront. “Whatever it takes, right?”

“It's the only way.” Jack’s own voice sounded foreign to him. He was seeing something special in this officer, something long buried, and had the urge to begin preaching. Never mind the threat of jail. He was a messenger of God.

But he didn't preach. A quick peek in his hand revealed a ten-dollar bill. Ten dollars would buy a nice meal, maybe two if he found someplace cheap. His stomach turned in anticipation. This felt wrong. He shouldn't be eating, except what God granted he should have. But here he was, walking the length of the market with a man who could easily arrest him but instead was talking of God and giving him money for food.

For whoever does right by my brethren so he does to me . Something like that. The officer was talking, but Jack couldn't hear. He was too hungry.

They walked along the sidewalk skirting the traffic moving on Atlantic Avenue and underground into the expressway tunnel. Across the way the waterfront park was nearly deserted. Though April promised warmer days ahead, the constant breeze off the inlet made staying for any length of time daunting.