Baptism in Blood(23)

Henry thought about growing up, about walking to Mass along a dusty highway, about shoes with holes in them and a nun who told him that wearing shoes like that to Mass showed disrespect to the Lord.

“They’ve never had much of anything, most of these people,” he told his wife. “They’re always on the verge of losing what little they’ve managed to put aside. They aren’t respected. The regular churches don’t want them. Nobody on earth wants them but us.”

“I wonder if that’s true anymore,” Janet said. “The regular churches don’t seem to be doing very well.”

“It’s hard to do well as a Christian church when you don’t even believe Christ rose from the dead. Do we know about the Harrows, Janet? Have they got a safe place to be?”

“I talked to Lisa Harrow right before the storm started. They were going in to the high school. I was sur­prised she didn’t say they were going up to that camp.”

Henry laughed. “I don’t think even Stephen Harrow would push it that far. I’m sorry you couldn’t find David Sandler, though. Atheist or no atheist. Living out on the beach like that. Remember what happened at Nag’s Head.”

“Oh, I know. But he’s an intelligent man. He must have sense enough to get out of there and onto some high ground. Especially since he doesn’t believe in life after death. He wouldn’t want to be blotted out forever. I’ve got to go,” Janet said. “I’ve got at least another dozen old ladies to see to. And I’ve got to help cook. Sarah Drake says we’ve got a freezer full of spare ribs left over from the Fourth of July picnic, so we’re going to use those.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I only hope there’s enough for everybody. I’ve been thinking all morning that the Mormons have a point. Always keeping enough food on hand to last for a year’s siege. We could use that kind of food around here today.”

“We wouldn’t have had anyplace to keep it.”

Janet patted his arm and pecked at the air near his cheek. She wasn’t tall enough to kiss him without jumping up to reach him.

“I’ve got to go,” she said again. “I’ll talk to you later. Are we going to have a service while all this is going on?”

“I thought I’d wait until it was over. When we know what the extent of the damage is going to be.”

“Good idea.”

Janet kissed the air in the direction of his cheek again and then disappeared. Henry caught sight of her a couple of seconds later, her blond head bobbing among the gray ones, moving vigorously where all other movements were halt. Many of the people Henry saw were just what he had told Janet they were: poor and displaced, the sort of people who never seem to have any luck at all. Some of them, though, were an element that had begun to make even Henry uneasy. He believed without question that all people were called to live in Christ, and that God could perform miracles through the power of His Son. He believed with­out question in the reality of inner conversion, too. No mat­ter how evil a man was, he could be born again and become a new creature. He could put on Christ and be forever after­ward good. The Bible, Henry knew, was true down to the last dot and comma. Christ was really and factually born of a virgin in Bethlehem. He really and factually died on the cross, condemned by Pontius Pilate. He really and factually rose from the dead on the third day. He really and factually had called all men and all women to follow him.

The problem was, some of these people didn’t seem so much interested in following Christ as they were in finding an excuse. They took ideas out of context. The Bible said all homosexuality was an abomination. Henry knew that was true. It was a sinful and disorderly way to live. There was no excuse for it. That wasn’t the same as saying that you should—what?

Henry was an intelligent man, but he hadn’t been well or even extensively educated. He knew that the Devil was up there, at that camp. He knew that was the only way the camp could exist as long as it had without collapsing under the weight of its own evil. He wondered what David Sand­ler thought about it. Just because you were an atheist didn’t mean you were mired in filth and perversion. And it was filth and perversion, dangerous filth and perversion, it was just that he didn’t want anyone to—what, what, what?

There was a roll of thunder across the sky. The rain hit the roof in waves. There were no windows in the tabernacle space itself. The walls were made of painted concrete and were blank. They could have been on a submarine.

Henry made his way across the stage/altar to the doors at the back, where the choir and everybody else came through when they were having services. He went through the choir room with its dressing stalls and its pale blue robes hung on brass wall hooks. He went out another door and into a back hall. Nobody had thought of using these spaces to house people or set up beds. The back hall was absolutely empty.