Outside, they positioned themselves by the bench and looked toward the chapel.
“Sit there.”Michael motioned Scottie to the bench.“There was a swing here once because the bench is at the same angle as the swing.The door, the portico, all the same.”
“I see you found Wenthelen’s portrait.It was her favorite.”
Scottie whirled around to see a man coming out of the woods wearing a long, woolen anorak, a broadbrim hat over sleek, white hair that flowed into his high collar.His eyes were bright.A kaleidoscope of color.
Where had he come from?She tried to speak but the moment his gaze met hers, she was both captivated and free, seen and yet hidden.
“She’d be happy it was you, Scottie,” he said, stopping a few feet from where she sat.He nodded to Michael.“Mr.Cross.”
“Sir—” Michael was a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide, his body frozen.The color drained from his high cheeks.Slowly he deflated to his knees.
“You climbed the steep mountainous pathway to get here,” the Man said.
“We, we, um, heard…um…” Scottie couldn’t form a coherent sentence, and her legs shimmied like an old Ford Rambler.“You’re Him,” she managed.“The legend.The mysterious Emmanuel.”
“Not a legend.Not a mystery.But I am He.Emmanuel.”His words, His smile, everything about Him purchased her heart, her thoughts, her emotions.“I’m glad you came,” He said.“The Eye of God has been watching you for a long time, but I wanted to meet you face-to-face.”
An awkwardeekescaped her lips.
“Carry on,” He said.“What you’re doing up here is good.”
Emmanuel placed His hand on Michael’s head and whispered something Scottie could not hear.Slowly Michael sank to his knees as Emmanuel headed out the way He came, pausing on the edge of the woods to look back at Scottie, His vibrant eyes invited her to follow.
She tried to move, tried to say something, but she was caught in the swirl of His presence.How long she stood there, she could not say—an eternity or a minute.They were the same to her.When the power of His presence began to release her, she gave Him her answer.
“I will,” she called to the trees before kneeling knelt next to Michael.He moved as if coming from a deep sleep.“Are you all right?”she said.
“Don’t…” he muttered, his hand grasping hers.“Leave me be.”
Chapter Nineteen
Michael
He was on the ground, looking up at Scottie, needing a moment to find his bearings.Could he move?He flexed his arms, then pushed to his feet, shaking the mist from his thoughts.
“How long was I like that?”
“Not sure.I was transfixed myself, but we’ve been out here an hour.”She collected their rucksacks.
“I must sit.”He took a sloppy step before falling against Scottie.“My legs are wobbly.”
“I got you.”She roped his arm around her shoulder and cinched hers about his waist.Settling him on the bench, she handed over his water bottle.“He said what we’re doing was good.”
“Wh-who said?”Michael flipped the top of his water bottle and drank deep, feeling as if he’d emerged from a rabbit hole.
“Emmanuel.You don’t remember?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”He patted his chest.Something felt different.
“When He walked out of the woods, you said ‘Sir’ then froze.You melted to your knees when He touched you.”
“Did He touch my head?”
“Yes, and whispered something to you.I couldn’t hear it.”
Again Michael patted his chest.Something was missing— He glanced at Scottie.“Did I say something to you?”
