One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, Ch 17 by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part Ben destroyed the opium, collapsing the cave roof on himself and Salinger. Both died in the cave-in. “I can’t breathe,” Livvy said, collapsing onto her husband’s shoulder. “I just knew that if Ben wasn’t the first one through the door when you all came back, that he wouldn’t be coming back at all.” +++ The band of three, James, Jones and Billy, returned to Grand Junction where they accepted the livery stable owner’s offer of repurchasing the four horses and tack for half of what they’d paid. The train returning them to Creede arriving in the middle of the night, Billy and Jones went to their rooming houses while James waited for daylight at the train station, his heart aching over the loss of his friend and mentor. The next morning James delivered the sad news where Livvy nearly fell out. “I can’t breathe,” she’d said, collapsing onto her husband’s shoulder. She hiccupped her sobbing, desperate for air. The Reverend James Coley, formerly outlaw Thomas Coleman, the wayward son of a God-fearing, Jesus-loving mother, herself the daughter of a pastor and servant of the Lord, laid his hand on Livvy’s head, praying the Holy Spirit’s presence and love and peace. +++ “Some of you have known Ben Persons far longer than I. Some of you should be up here now, doing a better job of eulogizing than I can.” The Creede pastor, Josh Parnell, officiated Ben’s funeral service on the second day after the troop’s return. “There’s nobody, nothing in this box.” He pointed at the empty casket before him in the packed church, people standing outside leaning into the opened windows. “Just like there’s nothing in the hull that’s left of our dear brother sealed up in that mine up in Mesa. ‘He is not here, for he is risen.’” The preacher quoted from Christ’s resurrection. “Ben Persons is not here.” “Folks, there’s more people outside than inside. There’s a chill in the air, but would you all mind if we moved to the yard out front? Some of you men could set these pews out there.” People’s heads nodded to one another in agreement. Some few moments later the crowd that filled the churchyard and spilled into the street in both directions quieted as the preacher said a short prayer, calling the service to order. He repeated his earlier opening much louder than he had inside the church. From prepared notes, the preacher read a brief history of Ben’s life: his birth date, school graduation, seminary graduation, and the like, including the date of his death. He carefully folded the piece of paper and tucked it into a pocket. The only sounds heard were the muffled coughs and occasional sniffs within the somber community of mourners. “That hardly tells anybody who our Ben Persons was,” the preacher said, finally breaking the stillness. What I’d like just now is for you who have been touched, been life-changed by this young man, to rise to your feet and call out your name. Call it out so’s Ben himself can hear you. You already standing back there raise your hand up and wave to him up in God’s heaven. Go ahead, now. Livvy, I know you’ve been. You start us out.” She did. Miraculously, one after another, somehow knowing how to take turns and not walk on one another, a hundred or more, spoke their names, many of them women who were living their second chances. The last was Billy, his hand clutching the hand of a young lady who had looked past his repulsive appearance to see a pure heart. Quieted, the crowd waiting for the preacher to resume, a sudden squeal and laugh burst from little Benjamin in his father’s arms. The calm was destroyed with joy spreading throughout in waves. “Folks, folks, folks.” The preacher pleaded for quiet with his arms. Finally stilled, he continued. “Some have wondered whether such a man, such a calling could be brought to this end. Some might wonder if the evil Ben Persons died to arrest was worth the cost, worth the price that he, and all of us, have paid. Well, I’m here to tell you that the same might have been said of our Savior, Jesus Christ, taking his last gasp hanging on that cross before the meager crowd on top of that rock, Golgotha. “You’ve heard the names about you. We can’t know how many more would fill the air had Ben, and Billy, and Jones, and the Reverend Coley not done what they did up in Mesa. Ben Persons was our Samson, mightier in his last deed than all of his life before. I’m here to tell you that he filled his calling. I know it. I know it. “Ben Persons, if you can hear me now,” the preacher raised his voice and his head. Speaking to the sky with authority, he declared – “You have saved our sons and daughters from the hideous chains of drug addiction. You have saved our towns of unfathomable dangers and crimes in pursuit of this evil. You have rid this land of the toxicity of one who has exploited our women and our young men. You have fought the good fight. You have finished your course. You have kept the faith.” With that, he stepped down to the casket, laying both his hands on it. “I’ll miss you, Son.” Unrestrained tears washed his face, as Livvy led the congregation in a reverent, yet emotion-filled parade past the empty box. One of them, an unarmed and unrecognized man named Demone Lovelace blinked through tearing eyes the entire service.
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Wayne Fowler
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