― Ondjaki
Harvest
I've seen spirits and battled demons and can no longer claim the mantle of arch-materialist. I have no idea what to name it, but the past few weeks have changed me and I'll never be the same.
Now that I've committed to Brooke, it seems everything is falling into place.
And strangely enough, that includes the seasons.
I thought summer would linger into November but while out on my walk I encountered a brisk fall day filled with long shadows and towering clouds with purple bottoms.
Everything seemed to be getting back to normal, contrary to what Otto Baumann's research indicated.
Is it possible he made some miscalculation and the solar storms have abated?
As Hamlet said, that's a consolation devoutly to be wished, hence, highly unlikely... but it would be an outcome with great consequences for the cabal and their credibility before the world body.
What if Baumann was wrong and there was some flaw in his projections? The cabal made predictions about future events based on his assumptions.
If the cabal's prophecies crashed to earth, then their hold on the world community would be loosened―nations would no longer follow their directives if they proved fallible and unreliable.
And those same nations couldn't be blackmailed if the prophecies had no leverage considering that the cabal's hold on the world body was always tenuous, relying on the accuracy of their predictions to manage the emergency.
Talk about hanging a great weight on slender wires―hoping Baumann was wrong. Yes, it was probably a vain aspiration but I clung to it hoping somehow the world powers would come to their senses and deliver us from this evil.
But I needed to let events take their course. I resolved for the moment to push away all depressing thoughts and try to remain cheerful for our planned Thanksgiving.
And at least that part of my wishes went according to plan―the Cliffords arrived just after four and the girls had prepared a culinary repast that did full justice to celebrating the harvest.
The meal featured dishes based around vegetables and fruit that were the products of our labour. There was no turkey to be carved as in a Norman Rockwell vision of Thanksgiving, but there was a delicious lasagne and fresh-baked bread and wine to toast the celebration.
As we sat around the dining room table, I felt as if we had all become an extended family.
"Should we say grace?" Angelica asked.
There was a moment's silence and I naturally looked to Frank to perform the duty, seeing as he was a pastor, but surprisingly he demurred.
"The role of giving thanks falls to the head of the household―and so, I defer to Zach to lead us in prayer."
I watched as both girls turned pale, their eyes huge, uncertain of my reaction. I simply nodded assent and took Brooke's hand and waited until all hands were joined around the table.
We all bowed heads and I spoke aloud for the first time the words that had been in my heart:
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the ground and gives us everything we need and at whose word we all came to be.
"Amen," Frank and Helen replied in unison. I looked up and saw Angelica smiling and Brooke with tears in her eyes.
Then there was a mighty, rushing sound that filled the whole house. Brooke got up from the table and pulled back the curtains. Hailstones were dancing everywhere.
I gave Frank a wry smile."Well, you were right―those certainly are hailstones as you predicted, but they're not big as softballs."
"Showers of blessings," Frank smiled.
I realized our feast was a true thanksgiving―we were spared again―the hail wasn't catastrophic but certainly would have damaged our crop and diminished its yield. We were delivered from another plague.
I wondered if it weren't a sign from heaven that perhaps the worst was over and the tribulation behind us.