Chapter 15

It was a clear plastic pen, except for the lettering on the side and apparent piece of wadded up paper stuffed around the ink tube which the old man had never bothered to removed. But the mere sight of it made him hungry for blueberry pancakes, for the cabin resort that the Graves Bed and Breakfast monogram on the pen represented was famous for its hotcakes, eggs and sausage griddled over an open fire, served at sunrise sharp.  Although the cozy rustic accommodations and peaceful secluded countryside were more relaxing than a drugstore sedative, the old man got little sleep in the bed anticipating the breakfast the last time he came and hoped to return in time for another generous helping.

But when he stopped for gas pre-sunrise in the nearby town he learned he would likely never taste the famous blueberry pancakes again.


"The whole place burned down a year ago,"said the station clerk,"Barn's still there...and one very sad atheist."


"Who's that?


"Milton Graves-the owner. Buried his wife and child on the property,"said the clerk.

"That is very disheartening to hear."


"Not to mention what it does to your stomach. But I can offer you donuts and coffee."


"No thanks-you say he's still up there?"


"Never left since."


In dawn's early light, the old man went on his way, down the long country road that winded around the mountain just beyond the town until he ended up at a barn and a large pile of wood and rubble where the bed and breakfast once stood. After knocking on the barn door for some time and getting no response, he found some deep muddy tire tracks near the burned ruins that he followed over a blind hill behind the property. They led him to an overturned tractor peaking out of a large debris-filled hole at the foot of the mountaintop.

As the old man climbed his way down he could see the thin torso and peach colored head and beard of a seemingly lifeless middle-aged man, his legs trapped under the massive machine.


"Sir!" he called to the man,"are you alive? Milton!"


There was no response.


As if on cue, a ray of sunshine peaking over the mountaintop spotlighted the stranded man's face and his eyes began twitching their way open. His parched lips soon followed as he saw a blurry human figure over him.

"No...I w..wish,"he cried in a scratchy faint voice,"Can't die and  I can't get out."


"Well I'm here to help!"said the old man,"with the latter." I don't know how!

The old man assessed the situation, for he did not want to worsen it: The man's legs were apparently caught under the bucket of the front end loader.


"Is anything broken?" asked the old man.


"Just me...and the tractor."

"I mean any bones?"


"Legs, maybe. But I can't hardly feel them to know."


Confident there was little risk of further injury the old man tried to budge the bucket. "How long have you been down here?"

"This is the third day. Hydraulics have locked it up, unless you can start it that bucket ain't goin' nowhere."


After failed attempts at starting the engine, the old man said,"I'll call 911. Can I use your phone?"


"Be my guest-you'll just have to find it in the rubble.


"Then I'll drive into town-"


"Nearest firetruck's an hour south a here. If we had local services God knows, I wouldn't be here in the first place...and I'd still have a wife and child. I take that back, God don't know nothin' 'cuz there ain't one."

"I don't nor does He agree with you. But I am sorry to hear about your loss. Perhaps you should give Him one more chance."


The old man examined the arm of the tractor.


"No I've given him too many chances and he blew it. Blew up in my face every time.."


"That gives me an idea: You said hydraulics-isn't this the oil supply line?"asked the old man pointing to a rubber tube.

"Yeah-you'll need somethin' pretty sharp to puncture it though-"


"A pen, perhaps?"said the old man pulling out the pen from his jacket..."By the way this belongs to you. May I borrow it a little longer?"

With consent, the old man stabbed the supply line. Oil squirted onto the face of the trapped man as the loss in pressure nudged the bucket just enough to allow the victim to be pulled out from under it.


"Thank you-I think,"said Milton.


Although the old man helped him significantly, surprisingly, the mud had absorbed enough of the impact to keep the man's legs from breaking and the two made it back to the barn.


"You sure you don't want me to drive you to the hospital?"asked the old man.


"And be trapped again? No-I just need water...and food. I know it's a bit past sunrise, but would you care to join me for some blueberry pancakes and eggs?"


Inside the barn which had been converted into a meager living space,  the old man observed the only picture on the wall-a fire stained family portrait. He recognized the dark-haired, olive skinned, woman as the cook from his previous visit and the child shared her mother's beauty. "You have a beautiful family,"he remarked.

"Had,"Milton corrected,"nothing was left when the place burned down. No letters, no keepsakes, nothin'. That picture is all I have left."

With little more conversation, the two enjoyed a hearty Milton Graves Bed and Breakfast feast cooked over an open fire tasting just as good as the old man remembered.


But as he had a mushy maple syrup-soaked bite of cake still in his mouth–that he would much rather devote his tongue to tasting–the old man felt words come that he could not hold back,"Milton, I appreciate the heavenly meal, but I must tell you whether you believe it or not: God does exist."


"Would be easier to swallow if my wife and child still existed,"said Milton scraping his tin plate.


"They do. And someday you will see them again."

"Oh yeah?...What proof have ya got?" 

"Two thousand years ago a man was buried in a tomb. And on the third day, he rose from the grave with the promise that all will rise one day."

"But that was two thousand years ago. What proof do I have now?"


The old man pulled the pen out of his coat and handed it to Milton."It is this,"he replied,"this pen I came to return."

"A pen?! It's just an old-"began Milton. Then upon closer examination he recognized it as something more meaningful. "Where did you get this?"he said standing and rolling it thru his fingers,"We kept these at the front desk for guests to sign in with...we got so busy Leana and I would put little love notes inside them from time to-" 

Milton paused and swallowed hard as he pried off the plastic cap and pulled out the paper and read...


Dear Love,
I feel impressed to tell you that I have been praying very hard for a miracle that will convince you to believe in God. And I know God will answer my prayer. I love you with all my heart.
Leana

Milton collapsed in his chair and looked at the old man with tears smearing his oil-soaked face and cried,"Okay, okay, dear God, I believe...Oh Lord! Will I really ever see them again?"

"Yes, Milton, as He rose from the pit of death and sent me to raise you from a pit, so will we all be raised from the dead."

"Jesus...Christ?"

"Yes and His name is also The Resurrection."

"Thank you, sir, for...well...stealing this pen."

"Thank God,"said the old man handing another note to Milton,"and here is my address if you ever re-open for business." 

And with that, the old man went on his way...