Chapter Three
Slater Dobbs laid down his hammer, stretched, and sat down on a keg of nails to roll a cigarette. September already. "Summer's almost gone; winter's comin' on," he whistled. Not that he'd be going anywhere. This job was the kind of work that he enjoyed doing, when he enjoyed working. Mostly, however, he enjoyed fishing and hunting in the back woods.
With all the game native to this part of Europe steadily drifting into the forests inside the Ring of Fire, and no game wardens to chase him off, he just didn't know what kind of animal he might come home with on any given day. But while the competition was up, a lot of folks didn't have the passion for hunting like him. The backwoods folks always had poached to fill the pot; now it was just a bit easier to get away with it. Hunting could be profitable if you knew a farmer. Hell, you could get paid just to watch his fields and fill your game bag at the same time!
Still, he'd promised his wife Phyllis that he'd stick with this job for Brother Enriquez until it was finished. Getting on the wrong side of Phyllis was never a good idea. Cracking a grin, he thought, When Mamma's happy, everybody's happy. But when Mamma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy! And that Phyllis never let you get away without knowing when she was not happy!
Even working with the Kraut preacher wasn't as bad as Slater had feared. Just because these down-time Germans aren't as advanced as us West Virginian's, it doesn't mean that they're stupid. His buddies down at the 250 Club wouldn't agree with him on that, but what were you going to do? It was way too late now to build a wall around the Ring of Fire and kick them out. Might as well just deal with the damn Krauts. They weren't all bad.
The Kraut preacher took a swig of water before getting back into reading his Bible. Slater thought he was a good sort. Slater lit his cigarette and called out, "Preacher, wanna cigarette? Nothing in the Bible agin smoking, is there?"
Fischer smiled. "No, thank you, Brother Dobbs. Nothing in the Bible against smoking. I just don't know how it might make my pickled cabbage taste."
For a moment Slater didn't know what to think, then seeing Fischer's grin, he realized he'd been poked fun at and started laughing himself. "All right, Preacher. I promise I won't call you a Kraut any more. That's a good 'un!"
The construction job they were on was for the silo manufacturing plant in the new industrial park on the Saale River just outside the Ring of Fire. Slater and Fischer were assigned to finish the punch-outs of the rafter supports that would be holding the new crane rails. Every bent nail left behind by the building crew had to be reinforced by two nails from the punch-out team. Every structural piece of wood had to be braced and supported by an additional piece of wood below it. When they weren't placed exactly to specifications, Fischer and Slater had to carefully remove and place the offending support back in the right spot or refit them entirely.
It was later that afternoon when the miracle happened.
A cross-tie Fischer was working on slipped out of position, pinning Slater's hand in a painful squeeze. He climbed over to lift it, then grabbed Slater's wrist with one hand and examined the damaged hand. Three of Slater's fingers were bent the wrong way in more than one place. Several felt like they might be broken. The pain hadn't hit yet, but from the color of the nails Slater was sure to lose more than the use of his hand for a long time, if it could be fixed at all. Slater swallowed back a scream as Fischer handled his mangled hand.
Below them, Slater heard someone call, "Mr. Enriquez! Where are you? I need you now!" The voice came up clearly to them, even though Slater couldn't move his attention away from the throbbing of his hand, which was just announcing the abuse he was seeing. For some reason he could only think, Boy, is Phyllis going to be pissed at me.
"Over here! Hi, Lieutenant Ivarsson. What can Kelly Construction do for the Swedish Yellow Regiment today?" Pete smiled as he looked up from his blueprints, down below on the job floor.
Slater felt Fischer tighten his grip on the injured hand and grab hold further up his arm with his other hand. Bones and ligaments popped. Slater inhaled deeply, shocked by the suddenness of it. He looked up into Fischer's face and saw Fischer's deep blue eyes turning steely and his complexion darkening, making the long scar on his forehead almost glow.
Below the conversation continued, with Ivarsson forcefully demanding, "I have to have you back at the barracks now. The windows, they still stick."
"Lieutenant, I told you before. Those new double-hung windows we installed in your barracks needed to be given some time to cure in place before we come back to adjust them. You weren't supposed to fool with them yet," Pete answered.
Ivarsson scowled. "What good are windows you cannot open or close? We have twelve barracks and one staff house with no functioning windows. Thank God, the barns have no need of windows! I told you. I want real windows that swing open and closed like proper windows."
"That decision was made by your superiors long before we started the contract to build your barracks. Listen, I can't pull a man off of the job we have here, but at the end of the day, I'll send someone over to close them back up. Give them two weeks to cure in place, and if you and your men still don't like them, I'll swap them out for some 'proper' windows." Pete offered his hand to the forceful young lieutenant, and asked, "Fair enough?"
Clearly Ivaarson had expected to come out away from this exchange with nothing short of victory, but since his superior officers had made the decision to install those god-awful, American, double hung, sliding windows, he had no choice but to accept the contractor's counteroffer. "Fair enough. However, this time it is two weeks. And two weeks consist of fourteen days, Enriquez. Two weeks! Did they train you up-time contractors to say 'two weeks' when you meant 'later sometime' or 'when I feel like it'?"
With that, Ivaarson spun about and marched out.
Slater had lost track of the conversation going on below, even though the anger in the officer's voice kept echoing somewhere in the back of his skull. He was astonished and engrossed by the sounds coming out of the mouth of Fischer, who was still gripping Slater's injured hand and arm with what felt like a vise.
Slater forgot about his hand as he watched the change in Fischer's face. My God! This man is speaking in tongues! Fischer's eyes snapped back up to his at that moment, however they still had a far off focus.
Just as Ivarsson walked out of the building, Fischer seemed to relax and let loose of Slater's hand. The steely eyes returned to a glowing, caring blue once again. Slater felt the blood rush back into his hand. Only then did he remember the ugly state his fingers had been in only moments before. Slater held the hand up to his face and turned and flexed it. "God be praised, Preacher, you healed it. You healed my hand!"
Fischer blinked, looking tired and confused, then nodded as he sat down on the nearest crossbeam.
"Pete! Get up here! Reverend Fischer has performed a miracle! He's healed my hand!" Slater shouted, all the while flexing and turning his hand before him as if he'd never seen it before.
Slater wasn't a simple man, nor was he highly educated, but he was faithful. Phyllis made sure of that, too, and here he'd witnessed a man speak in tongues and heal him. Had anyone else told him the story, he would have dismissed it. He flexed his hand again. He'd still lose a few nails, but his fingers weren't even swollen and didn't throb anymore. "I'll be . . . " He'd been touched by God through this man and saved again.
The telling couldn't wait till the next meeting. "Pete! Pete!"
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John Chalker secured the flap of his church tent after his visitors left and made his way to the small tent that someone in his congregation set up for him to use as a private space to pray, study and sleep. He hoped the new church could be finished before winter set in.
He stoked the coals in the new iron fireplace he'd recently received, and sat down in his rocking chair. He then turned up the kerosene lantern for some light and laid his Bible on his lap over his knitted blanket. For some time he just sat rocking and thinking. As far as he could see, the future of the entire Pentecostal movement in this new time depended on his next decision.
He had heard the testimony of Slater Dobbs and examined the hand that had been crushed in the accident yet miraculously cured leaving no evidence of any harm. He'd listened attentively to Pete Enriquez as he told of the condition in which he had found Brother Fischer when Pete had climbed up into the rafters after hearing Slater yell.
He'd spent so much time with Fischer over the last few months that he had come to feel like he knew the man had a good heart and a legitimate calling to serve the Lord. Back up-time, Chalker had known many excellent Pentecostal ministers who had come to the anointment after years of struggling to let go and let the Holy Spirit take control of their lives. That it should come upon Fischer in such a crisis was not an uncommon event.
Chalker had looked into Fischer's eyes as he told what had happened in those rafters from his point of view. It certainly sounded consistent with the presence of the Holy Spirit. Chalker saw no attempt to bluff or to state anything beyond what Fischer knew had happened up until the moment that 'The Other' had taken over his actions.
"The Other?" Chalker had asked as Fischer poured out his memory of what had happened in the rafters.
"Yes, Reverend. When I find myself in a dangerous situation, I feel like some other power, other self, takes control of my body and protects me. It used to be that I would lose consciousness when it happened, but lately, it's still me. I have control, but it's like I become an observer to the actions this Other takes. I seem to feel the image of flames just out of my sight and then something takes me over and guides me."
Even Fischer's description of the experience reminded Chalker in so many ways of his early days of feeling the Tongues of Fire take control of his life and work Its way using him as Its tool.
"Oh, touch my lips with fire divine, Here I am, send me. The dross consume, the gold refine. Here I am, send me!" The old song came out of Chalker's memory.
Chalker trusted that the Lord would provide a young minister to continue His work and to spread His word. Clearly Fischer had been called to the ministry before the Ring of Fire to the best religion available to him to do God's bidding in this place and time. Equally clearly, something had drawn Fischer to this very tent and this very doctrine for a reason. The only question was: was this event the anointment of Fischer by the Holy Spirit or was it something else?
Chalker continued to rock as he pondered that question. Finally, opening his Bible to the Book of Acts, he read, "One must be ordained to be a witness with us of his resurrection. And they appointed two, Joseph called Barsabas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which knowest the hearts of all men, shew whether of these two thou hast chosen, that he may take part of this ministry and apostleship, from which Judas by transgression fell, that he might go to his own place. And they gave forth their lots; and the lot fell upon Matthias; and he was numbered with the eleven apostles."
They cast lots. They tossed the dice, thought Chalker. On a matter of the greatest importance, they basically flipped a coin.
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