VII. Those Left Behind

Reverend Hathorne hadn't always been a wandering preacher. Before the War he'd put away a substantial sum from his time as a surgeon. After the War he'd lingered in Europe, collecting and selling antiques; it was a business that had carried him back across the sea in 1927. When the stock market crashed in '29 and the banks followed, most of Hathorne's hard-earned money had been frozen.

The Reverend had taken it as a sign from God that we was needed out of the auction house and back on the streets of America. In the years since, he'd seen horrible things too numerous to count; Hoovervilles tended to be the worst. Every last one of the vagrant communities were a display of those who had less than Hathorne to start with but had lost even more. He did what he could in his travels to mend their wounds and sustain their faith.

This cluster of shacks, tents, and automobiles was no different.

Hathorne preached a sermon from atop a soapbox. Part way through, he was interrupted by a derisive shout from the back of the gathered crowd.

"Preacher, I don't think God gives a damn no more."

Hathorned stopped. "The Lord's love knows no bounds, sir. If you have a grievance with the Lord, speak it and I will fix it."

The man pushed through the crowd. "We been out here for weeks, some o' us for months. We's all been prayin' to God for help and he ain't given us a damn thing. Our babbies are starvin' and our wives are cryin', and still we keep prayin' and prayin' and gettin' nothin'. Then a couple o' days ago, the Doctor comes in through here and he starts tellin' us about how God's given up on us. Then he pulls out his black back and starts dishin' out the healin' we been prayin' for all this time. Doesn't ask nothin', just starts doin' good works. Then you come in here blowin' smoke."

Hathorne's eyebrow rose. "A Doctor, eh? Well, sir, I say, bring me your sick and your wounded. We'll see if it's just smoke that I blow, shall we?"

"Hell, preacher, what you gonna do, bless the nu-monia out of 'em? Even the Doc says he can't help my boy. I don't think no kind words is gonna fix him."

"Bring me this boy." said Hathorne. "And I'll show you how God feels about His children."

"Can't move 'im none." said the man, crossing his arms. "Too sick."

"Then I will go to him. Excuse me, folks. Wait here, I'll need my space."

The man led Hathorne into a shack made from old crates. On the dirt floor, a boy of perhaps thirteen lay shivering in a knot of blankets, his skin glossy with sweat. Hathorne squatted in the dirt beside him.

"Can you hear me, son?" Hathorne asked.

The boy turned his fevered head and nodded slowly.

"Then you're going to fine, son."

The Reverend took the cross off from around his neck and wrapped it around his left palm.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name--"

The boy's father, standing in the doorway, leaned over in surprise when the cross began to glow.

"Thy Kingdom come
Thy Will be done
On Earth as it is in Heaven
Give us this day our daily bread--"

Hathorne touched the cross to the boy's forehead and the youth's limbs when rigid. The glow from the cross increased.

"And forgive us our trespasses
As we forgive those who trespass against us
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil--"

The boy's eyes flew open and white light emanated from them, pillars of white in the gloom of the shack's interior.

"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory
Forever and ever
Amen."

The prayer finished and glowing stopped. The boy went limp and his eyes fluttered open.

"I imagine you're a bit hungry, hm?" said Hathorne, reaching into his coat.

The boy coughed. It was the cough of one clearing his throat. "Yes, sir."

"He wasn't eatin' fer days--" said the father.

Hathorne turned his head to face the father. "That was the sickness. It's passed now, and so his appetite has returned. If you have food, you'd best get him some. I've driven the disease from his body, but simple malnutrition will still be fatal."

Hathorne stood and lowered a hand to the boy. He took it and Hathorne hoisted him to his feet.

"Come along, son." said the Reverend, putting the cross back around his neck. "I think the folks outside would like to get a look at you."