The Messenger of Magnolia Street Read Online Free

beneath the earth, opening their eyes to the other world above them. They are still formulating loose cognitive threads, attempting to touch something just beyond their reach. Trice almost palms the pictures, almost puts them in her pocket, where she’ll pull them out later over dinner. Then Old Blue enters the District of Columbia, and Trice opens her hand and pulls the directions from her purse. The images begin to fall away and the silver threads of truth dissipate as if they were never there.
    Later That Day
    Now God is working on another piece of this unfolding puzzle. He is standing in the capitol offices of Senator Honeywell, arms folded, looking over Nehemiah’s shoulder.
    How can God be riding up Highway 131 in the back of Old Blue, enjoying the new blooms on the dogwoods and simultaneously walking around Nehemiah’s desk? Omnipresence. An astounding actuality.
    Presently, Nehemiah is discussing appropriation committees and timing. His world is full of negotiations. Compromises. Anticipating everyone’s next move. That means seeing through walls. And that means a lot of things.
    God leans over Nehemiah, and in a low voice whispers, “ Shibbo leth,” then he sits down on the other side of the desk. Nehemiah appears not to hear, but yet, watch this, he begins to sketch an oak tree in the border of his calendar. You can feel it, can’t you? The something happening. The rush of oak leaves in the wind. The sudden sway of its outer branches. Interesting the way that things can surface. Things thought to be long forgotten. See now, Nehemiah sketches the trunk, the branches, a few leaves, before he ends the conversation. Then he looks at the sketch rather strangely because he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Can you see him? Sitting at his desk wondering where that tree came from? It’s a residue from when he was as much the center of Shibboleth as it was of him. But that was a long time ago. Twelve years, to be exact, since Billy dropped him off in Washington. With first a handshake, then a teary-eyed bear cub of a hug. A lot has happened since then. A man has grown into the skin of what was once mostly boy. Nehemiah has been polished, developed not a roughness but a determined seriousness. And has earned a reputation asa man who will get things done the right way. And, oh yes, there is a right way.
    Other than his sketching, it has been an ordinary day. All regular business, nothing unforeseen or unplanned to shatter his created life. Did I mention Nehemiah’s suit? It’s exquisitely tailored.
    Exquisitely. He is polished perfection, that’s what I’m thinking. He doesn’t look the least bit like a duck out of water. The fact is, he looks born and bred for what he’s doing. But tonight, well, tonight change is about.
    Nehemiah turns the corner, and now he is almost home. See the brownstone, the one there with the great green ivy climbing the front brick? He is whistling quietly beneath his breath, which is delightful, considering he doesn’t whistle. But God does, and right now God is walking next to him, keeping step and time. They are whistling a brand-new tune, something God just invented. A tune about hidden treasures and things long forgotten. A tune that carries the smell of ages past and of ages yet to come.
    Nehemiah spies Old Blue, a dinosaur from another place and time, illegally parked and taking up most of the street. He pauses, considers this apparition, then fights the urge to drop his briefcase and run toward it. Instead, he walks as slowly as he possibly can to the driver’s window, where Billy is asleep. Trice is leaning against the passenger door biting her nails. She has been watching him walk toward her. She has been waiting for Nehemiah for a very long time.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” It’s a simple question that introduces an explosion of activity from inside the truck. Billy erupts with a stream of choice curse