it required actions that seemed to fly in the face of common sense? These objections could be overcome by Christian will. It was a simple enough choice—to believe, or not believe. She need only set her mind to it, and the thing might well come to pass as Morgan predicted. She must allow him his chance. God’s presence on the earth should not be whittled away by human doubt, certainly not that of Sylvie Kindred.
She climbed back onto the wagon. “We will continue, but we will drink whenever we please. God will provide.”
“He will,” Morgan assured her, and himself. He flicked the reins, and his family moved deeper into the barren, broken land ahead.
On the third day they drank the last of their water. Unused to animal husbandry, conscious of his responsibility to God’s dumb creatures, Morgan had allowed the mules far more water than was necessary for their continued health. They were in prime condition, while the Kindreds were already suffering the onset of dehydration. All had thudding headaches, and found the simple business of staying on the wagon increasingly difficult.
Morgan guided his team along the path of least resistance, followed winding gulches to their confluence with weather-eroded ravines, turning back often when his chosen route terminated in a box canyon or impassable crevasse. This was a wilderness of suitably biblical harshness, unrelenting in its heat, its aridity, unforgiving of foolishness. Morgan had bought no maps, no compass; he relied solely on God’s favor in completing the enterprise begun in Dinnsville. They must persevere until the designated place, that unique spot in the midst of nothingness, was chanced upon. It could be over the next rise, around the bend of a narrow dry wash, or days distant, somewhere in the shimmering air ahead, or behind, or to the left or right. It made little difference; all places were under God, all equally accessible to the faithful.
Morgan saw now what he should have seen much earlier. The first communication from God—the instruction to select Drew from among the orphans—had been easy to follow, but this search for a particular location in the desert was a task of far greater consequence, hence it could be achieved only after much suffering had been endured by the Kindreds. Morgan had been chosen as conduit between heaven and earth, but his family would pay a stiff price for the privilege.
It saddened Morgan that they must feel the pain that should be his alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought them along, but the thought of journeying to find the desert place on his own simply had not occurred to him; Morgan wanted his loved ones to share the joy of discovery. He suspected also that Drew, having been delivered into his hands by God, had some crucial role to play, once the place was found. Morgan’s instincts told him there was ethereal linkage involved, its significance as yet beyond his understanding.
And so they kept on, Morgan encouraging his wife and son with campfire readings from the book of Exodus. On the fifth day he released the mules from their harness, determined not to further their suffering. The mules made use of their freedom to follow their noses; less than an hour’s amble from the Kindreds they located a trickling spring and drank deeply, then began to nibble at the ground-hugging succulents round about.
Sylvie collapsed not far from the useless wagon. “Now we die,” she announced through cracked lips, her throat a tube of dust. Her hair hung in limp horsetails from her bonnet; her hands were coarsened by the sun, the nails packed with fine desert grime.
“No …,” Morgan croaked.
“Drew will die first,” insisted Sylvie. “The young have less resistance.”
“We are almost there. I would not have released the mules …”
“Almost dead, yes.”
Drew leaned against his mother and passed out, as if to prove her correct. Morgan nudged at his son, and Sylvie pushed him away. “Leave him! Let him pass away in
She climbed back onto the wagon. “We will continue, but we will drink whenever we please. God will provide.”
“He will,” Morgan assured her, and himself. He flicked the reins, and his family moved deeper into the barren, broken land ahead.
On the third day they drank the last of their water. Unused to animal husbandry, conscious of his responsibility to God’s dumb creatures, Morgan had allowed the mules far more water than was necessary for their continued health. They were in prime condition, while the Kindreds were already suffering the onset of dehydration. All had thudding headaches, and found the simple business of staying on the wagon increasingly difficult.
Morgan guided his team along the path of least resistance, followed winding gulches to their confluence with weather-eroded ravines, turning back often when his chosen route terminated in a box canyon or impassable crevasse. This was a wilderness of suitably biblical harshness, unrelenting in its heat, its aridity, unforgiving of foolishness. Morgan had bought no maps, no compass; he relied solely on God’s favor in completing the enterprise begun in Dinnsville. They must persevere until the designated place, that unique spot in the midst of nothingness, was chanced upon. It could be over the next rise, around the bend of a narrow dry wash, or days distant, somewhere in the shimmering air ahead, or behind, or to the left or right. It made little difference; all places were under God, all equally accessible to the faithful.
Morgan saw now what he should have seen much earlier. The first communication from God—the instruction to select Drew from among the orphans—had been easy to follow, but this search for a particular location in the desert was a task of far greater consequence, hence it could be achieved only after much suffering had been endured by the Kindreds. Morgan had been chosen as conduit between heaven and earth, but his family would pay a stiff price for the privilege.
It saddened Morgan that they must feel the pain that should be his alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought them along, but the thought of journeying to find the desert place on his own simply had not occurred to him; Morgan wanted his loved ones to share the joy of discovery. He suspected also that Drew, having been delivered into his hands by God, had some crucial role to play, once the place was found. Morgan’s instincts told him there was ethereal linkage involved, its significance as yet beyond his understanding.
And so they kept on, Morgan encouraging his wife and son with campfire readings from the book of Exodus. On the fifth day he released the mules from their harness, determined not to further their suffering. The mules made use of their freedom to follow their noses; less than an hour’s amble from the Kindreds they located a trickling spring and drank deeply, then began to nibble at the ground-hugging succulents round about.
Sylvie collapsed not far from the useless wagon. “Now we die,” she announced through cracked lips, her throat a tube of dust. Her hair hung in limp horsetails from her bonnet; her hands were coarsened by the sun, the nails packed with fine desert grime.
“No …,” Morgan croaked.
“Drew will die first,” insisted Sylvie. “The young have less resistance.”
“We are almost there. I would not have released the mules …”
“Almost dead, yes.”
Drew leaned against his mother and passed out, as if to prove her correct. Morgan nudged at his son, and Sylvie pushed him away. “Leave him! Let him pass away in
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