CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Walter's niece, Carol married a local boy named Stan Lee, but had no children for several years after her marriage. Her father, Walter's brother, Brindle, died when Carol was young. Carol went to church with her father while he still lived, and continued attending after his death, more as a matter of habit than of conviction. Her mother had no strong ties to the church, and Carol stopped going as she grew older, though she harbored no bad feelings toward either her family or the church. She still visited her Aunt LuAnn and Uncle Walter from time to time, and counted Miriam as a friend. She had a prominent place on our prayer list for years, right after Henry and Clint.

Unlike Henry, Clint got married several years after he moved to Beckley. He didn't invite anyone to the wedding, and we found out about it several months after it happened. Carol occasionally ran into both Henry and Clint in one of the malls or downtown. Beckley was a small city, and hiding wasn't easy if you planned to go out in public at all. The attitude of both their sons hurt Walter and LuAnn deeply, but they continued to pray for them, and to hope they would return to the fold. Miriam was also concerned for her brothers, but believed as I said that both would come back to the Lord one day. I had my doubts, despite my words of reassurance, but shared them with no one but Emily.

By car, Beckley was only about forty-five minutes from Camp Town, down U. S. 19, and over the famous New River Gorge Bridge. For the Camp's, though, it had become another world, a hot bed of Satanic activity, and a symbol of all the wrong things in the world. I didn't think it had really gone quite that far, compared to what I had seen in Cleveland, but the Camp's had never visited Cleveland. To them, the big city life had lured their son away, and they could not forgive or forget that.

As to our own branch of the Camp's, the change in their daily lives came gradually, rather than all at once as with Clint. The local band of outlaws lost out in a turf battle with Boss Richards, who had been chased out of her old turf by a stronger band down river. The raids on farms and private homes increased after the new gang moved in, and we heard more and more stories of people being murdered in their sleep, or granaries being looted and livestock slaughtered for meat. A few of the Camp's started giving up, and moving away to some place like Beckley or Charleston. The families who stayed behind felt isolated and threatened. Miriam, Walter and I constantly encouraged them to trust God and look to Him for protection, but most didn't seem to hear. Each Sunday in church, we looked around to see who might be missing, and all too often we saw yet another empty space in the pews. Some of the outlying farmland gave way to weeds and tall grass, perfect hiding places for marauding bandits. Walter and some of the others began burning these fields regularly, just so they couldn't be used against the family.

Our own house sat in an isolated spot. To get to Walter's house took only about ten minutes on foot, but trees surrounded our little clearing, and we could see none of the other houses from ours. This didn't bother us, but it did worry Walter. At his insistence we kept a large hound around for protection. Horse, as we called him, sprang from an uncertain ancestry, evidently a mixture of blue tick, fox hound, and German shepherd. Regardless of his pedigree, we loved him dearly, and he filled a large void in our family life. After all, our other children lived hundreds of miles away. Horse loved us without reservation, and with no demands beyond large helpings of food, a warm place to sleep, and an occasional pat on the head. We gave him a lot more than that, and he gave us more in return than we ever expected.

The prayer meeting in our living room started more by accident than design. Miriam wanted me to continue her instruction in the finer points of the office of prophet. She came to our house, because we had more privacy there. As a natural part of her visits, we had a time of prayer at the end. We kept track of answered prayers, and discovered just how consistent and amazing the Lord's response could be. One time, Miriam invited one of the other girls in the family to come with her, because she had a special prayer concern. The Lord responded in such a mighty and sovereign way that others began coming. Within a few months, we hosted fifteen or twenty people in our home every Friday evening. These meetings lasted for almost ten years

One dark evening, on a winter's Friday, the prayer meeting lasted longer than usual. A sense of gloom and depression hung over our living room, and no amount of praying or praising could chase it away. Finally, after we spent a long while knocking at the gates of heaven, Miriam spoke up.

"I'm supposed to say something. The Lord won't let me rest until I do. I kept telling myself it wasn't really from the Lord, but it really is. It concerns you, Hank, and you, Sister Emily. The Lord says to you, 'Your work among this flock is finished. I have anointed and prepared one to take your place. You must return to your home. The one who persecuted you lies near death. You must seek him out, and pray for him, that he may recover. He will yet serve me in mighty ways.”

I sat speechless, almost numb. Even after thirteen years, the memory of what Max had put me through still festered, a wound that wouldn't heal. I told the Lord and myself over and over that I had forgiven him, but I knew better. The last thing I wanted was to play a part in his healing; with him dead, I could go back to my home and family.

No one needed to tell me that those thoughts were wrong; I knew that very well. I knew also that what Miriam said did come from the Lord; the Holy Spirit confirmed it inside me. Despite all that, I didn’t want to help Max Trundle. Surely other Christians there in Pike County could pray for him. Lamar Leighton was Max's father-in-law, and a great man of faith. I argued with the Lord; why not send him?

Because he needs to receive it from you, came the immediate answer. I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to speak; everybody looked at me expectantly. "I know that what my sister just shared is straight from the Throne. But – I must confess that, after all of these years, I still harbor a lot of resentment against Max. I've tried to let go of it over and over, but it keeps coming back. I will be obedient to what the Lord has called me to do, but pray for me that I can forgive, as well."

We broke up not long afterward, amidst tears and promises; tears that we must go, promises to pray for each other always. Emily continued to cry after everyone left. A spirit of gloom and depression replaced the spirit of heaviness we had felt earlier. We considered Camp Town our home, and the Camp's were our family. As much as we still loved our family and brethren in Misty Valley, we both had grown away from them over the years. With no visits, no phone contact, and only infrequent letters, we had no part in the intimate details of their daily lives, or they in ours. Patrick was a boy when we left him; now he had grown into a man past thirty. Even little Felicia, whom I had never seen, would soon face the joys and trials of her teenage years.

We said our good-byes, our last good-byes, early the next morning. Walter hurried away after giving us both a tight hug, embarrassed that we might see him cry. The women had no such inhibitions; I hadn't heard such a wailing since the day Moab Bloomington was saved. Milo, as usual, said little, but even his calm face showed the stress of the moment. Though the numbers had fallen since we arrived twelve years before, the Camp's still made a respectable gathering. We had to hurry through many of the farewells, because the Lord had given me a sense of urgency. By nine o'clock we were on the road, looking back one last time toward Walter's home.

Most of our material possessions we left in our house, with instructions to the Camp's to use them as they saw fit. The house still belonged to Walter, technically to the church, even though we considered it ours for as long as we lived in it. Horse sprawled out on the back seat, amidst plastic bags and boxes; we couldn't bear the thought of leaving him, too. He grew restless from time to time, but tolerated the trip very well. Horse always had a knack of knowing what we expected of him, and rising to the challenge.

We decided to risk taking the direct route, which meant taking Route 60 to Chelyan, crossing the river, and going cross country until we hit U. S. 119 South. Before we reached Gauley Mountain, we cam upon a white van, which slowed to match our speed. Concerned for a moment, I got the strong feeling that we had nothing to fear from the van and whoever drove it. It matched our every turn, anticipating us. When I finally took the time to read the license plate, I laughed out loud, startling Emily out of her nap and causing Horse to bark in response.

"What? What is it?"

"That white van up in front of us, dear heart. We've been behind it now for over an hour, but the Lord assured me it was okay. Look at the license plate."

"Uh – IMSNTME – unusual combination of letters, but – oh! I AM SENT ME! That has to be what it means. Hankie, darling, I do believe we have an escort."

"And I do believe you are right, Emily dearest."

After that we just enjoyed the trip, deserted houses and all. Once this had been a major thoroughfare; this day, admittedly a Saturday, we saw next to no one. When the van didn't make the turn toward Bentown, we kept going as well. It led us directly to Williamson, West Virginia, and on south toward Pikeville. Misty Valley and our home coming would have to wait a while longer. Several miles beyond Pikeville, we turned off onto an unfamiliar road; Max undoubtedly lived there; years before he had bought a house in Pikeville itself.

Just before we reached a driveway leading to a large, rambling house, the van gave us a right blinker signal, and we understood we had reached our destination. After slowing to make sure we turned, the van drove on out of sight. We never saw it again, nor expected to. To my astonishment, as we drove up to the house, Max sat on the front porch beside Louise. Had the Lord not told me he lay near death? For one awful moment I really believed we had been deceived. Then I saw his face.

He had lost most of his weight; his clothes hung on his big frame loosely, as if draped over a skeleton. He had his eyes closed; his face had the look of a death mask, chalky white and lifeless. He lay against Louise, his chest heaving in a vain effort to suck life out of the empty air. All of the years of hatred and resentment washed away from me; here sat a man in desperate need of the Lord's help. The idea I had wanted to refuse stabbed at my conscience like a dagger.

Louise raised her free arm to greet us as we climbed out of the car, but she could not rise to greet us. She looked worn and haggard as well, her usually immaculate hair now in disarray. Tears streamed down her cheeks as we walked up on the porch, and she made no attempt to wipe them away from her reddened eyes. When she spoke, her voice came out in a hoarse whisper we had to strain to hear.

"The Lord told me someone would come, but I didn't believe Him. Max regained consciousness this morning for a while, and told me to bring him outside to die. He's lost so much weight Gloria and I had no trouble lifting him from his bed and bringing him out here. He lost consciousness again before we made it out here."

"What is it, Louise? What's killing him?"

"Cancer, the disease man conquered," she answered, with a hard, bitter laugh. "It's a new strain, and they have no cure for it yet. They wanted to send Max off to a research hospital to study him, but he refused; said he wanted to die at home. Six moths ago, he looked as healthy as a bull; now he's little more than a bag of bones."

The time for talk had passed; if the Lord wanted to do anything through me, it had to happen now. I stepped in front of Max, no longer the man who had tried to destroy my life. I laid my hands on his head, and began to pray; I felt Emily's hands rest on my shoulders.

I don't remember the words I said, because they didn't come from me. The Lord took hold of my hands and my tongue, and for the next hour, He spoke and worked through me. Louise told me later that she saw color return to Max's face almost immediately. My voice dropped a full octave, and much of what came out sounded like grunts and groans, but each sound held meaning. Max's chest stopped heaving, and he took deep, regular breaths. Life returned to his body, and to his spirit.

When I came out of my trance, I looked down just as Max opened his eyes. He smiled.

"I saw the Lord standing where you are, and when I opened my eyes again, He had left and you came. I saw Death and Hell, but I heard the Lord call my name. I turned around and saw a light, and walked toward it. The Lord waited for me where the light shone, and here I am. Why did you come, Hankie? You didn't have to, after what I did to you, but I'm glad you did. In spite of all I've done over the years, far away from the Lord, I always felt guilty for what I did to you. Will you forgive me?"

In response, I gave him a hug, and whispered, "Yes!" in a choked voice. After I released him, he turned to his wife. "And you, Honey, can you ever forgive me all the years of Hell I put you through?"

Louise smiled through her tears, which she reached to wipe away. "I've been at your side all these years, and I'm not leaving you now. I forgave you every wrong before you ever came back home to die. You won't get rid of me, Max Trundle, until one of us dies."

We helped Max back into the house. Even though he remained weak, he was ravenously hungry. He had hardly touched solid food in months, and his mending body craved it. Louise gave him soup and crackers to start with, concerned that his stomach might rebel against more solid fare. She worried needlessly; he gulped down the soup, crackers crumbled inside, in thirty seconds flat, and demanded more food. Over the next several hours, he consumed an astounding quantity of it, and his stomach spoke not a word of protest.

Louise managed to feed us, too, and even rounded up something for poor Horse, who waited patiently in the car while we humans dithered at the house. When we let him out, he raced for the nearest tree to relieve himself; he had astounding bladder control for a dog. Afterward, he tried to persuade us to let him in the house, and went off to sulk when we refused. After Louise fed him, his mood improved, but he let us know he still resented being left alone in this strange place. I couldn't help but laugh at the forlorn face he lifted to me as I patted his head. He didn't argue the point any more, but Horse was one unhappy camper.

Gloria had turned fifteen the month before, but she obviously considered herself mature beyond her years. She had her father's large frame, and little of her mother's grace. I knew I shouldn't judge someone on first impressions, or fifth impressions, for that matter, but something about the girl rubbed me the wrong way. Her lips formed a permanent pout, and her face, a frown. I told myself that it all came from an unhappy childhood, but that was more of an excuse than a reason. I felt guilty for the thought as soon as it formed, and turned my mind toward other things.

We stayed with Max and Louise for a week, as he rapidly regained his strength. By the time we left, he took walks around the yard, with the assistance of Louise or Gloria. I felt another load lifted from me, one I didn't even realize I carried all of those years. For the very first time, I shared with Emily all the details of my life as Mark Mantill, all the dark secrets I had hidden away before. She reacted with horror, but not with the revulsion I feared. If I had just stopped to think to whom I was talking, and the kind of person I knew her to be, I should never have been reluctant to say those things to begin with. I had always feared she would reject me if she knew everything. Satan wove that lie so cleverly into my mind years before that I almost never unraveled it.

Since we had to pass through Pikeville on the way back to Misty Valley, we decided to stop by Maple Street to visit Marvin and Martha. Louise assured is the two of them were very much alive, pursuing their ministry as vigorously as always. We had heard only second-hand news about them over the years, so we wanted very much to see them again.

We chose a Sunday morning to drive the short distance to Pikeville. Shortly before ten o'clock, we parked our car by the side of the street, some distance from Marvin's church. We walked in just as Sunday school started. Marvin stood behind a portable stand, opening his mouth to speak just as we came through the door. His mouth stayed open, and a look of utter astonishment crossed his weathered face. He threw both hands up in the air, shouted, "Praise the Lord," and knocked the stand over in his haste to get to us.

"Oh, my, my, my! Thank you Jesus! I never thought I'd see the two of you again. Come up here; let me introduce you to the flock."

He grabbed one of my arms, and one of Emily's, and all but dragged us to the front of the sanctuary. "Brethren, these are two of my dearest friends in all of the world. I've spoken about them often over the years – what's it been, Hank? Fourteen? Fifteen? I didn't think they'd ever be coming back this way. I heard they had escaped somewhere, after that trumped up charge against Hank, but no one would tell me where they went. They were afraid someone might force me to tell. This is Hank Crandall, who founded Misty Valley Academy, and his lovely wife, my dear Sister Emily. Come on up here, Martha, and say hello."

We had Sunday school under Marvin's instruction, and then a lively, long worship service. Marvin's people didn't mind shouting and crying and laughing and running about like crazy people, if that's what the Lord moved them to do. Compared to that worship service, church with the Camp family seemed a tame affair. We got into the spirit of it all, and skipped around the aisles, shouting, "Praise God! Thank you, Jesus! Yes, Lord" at the top of our lungs. The people sang, and testified, and prayed, and sang some more, and finally let Marvin preach. His sermon lasted a good hour, but we didn't notice it until after we left and checked the time. We didn't care then, and we certainly didn't care while the service was going on.

After the meeting, Marvin introduced us to several members of the congregation. One intense young man and his doting wife really impressed me. George Alfred owned a flower shop over in town; he had been a Christian since attending one of Lamar Leighton's revivals as a boy. My heart leapt within me as soon as I heard his name; the Lord had great things in store for this one. Betsey, his wife, found the Lord in a Sunday school class Max Trundle taught before he fell away. She wasn't a pretty woman, and she could stand to lose a bit of weight, but she had a bright, pure spirit about her.

We had Sunday lunch with Marvin and Martha, though we ate closer to dinner time. The short time we had together hardly allowed us to cover thirteen years of missing memories. We could do little more than promise to get together again soon. Before the sun's light left the evening sky, we got back in my old car and drove toward Misty Valley.

Chapter 17