Chapter 22
Tom Hopkins loved his work as an orderly at St. Luke's Hospital. He felt a deep commitment to his patients. Whenever he lost one in death, he felt sorrow as if he had just lost a family member. But still he would go on, determined to make a difference in another's life. Tom didn't believe he had the intelligence to become a doctor and Dr. Matthew Samuels often agreed, usually after Tom revealed his belief in God.
"A scientific man bases his life on facts, not myths," the doctor would snort each time Tom mentioned the Lord. "I have never seen God."
"I'aint never seen air, yet I keep on breathing sir," Hopkins said. "You gotta believe before you can see."
"I can't reason with you, young man. You're totally irrational. I have patients to attend to."
Matthew Samuels would never admit it but he envied the young orderly's faith. If only he could have that type of peace. The only peace he could find was in a bottle. Tom, for his part, never stopped praying for Samuels to see the light.
In the early hours of Christmas morning, Tom made his rounds, hoping to bring some joy to the hurting.
A police officer was positioned in the hallway, guarding Frederick Cooper. Frederick's wife kept vigil by his bedside. Despite valiant efforts, the doctor could not stop Cooper's bleeding. Each time he stopped the flow, it started again. Finally, he realized it was too late and he gave orders to make him as comfortable as possible.
At 1:45, Erma called to the policeman guarding the door. Tears were streaming down her cheeks unnoticed and dropping off her chin.
"My husband wishes to speak to you, officer," she said sobbing, struggling to gain composure.
As they approached the bed, Frederick Cooper looked up at them with eyes that were surprisingly alert and clear.
"I wish to make a confession, young man," he said to the officer.
Startled, the policeman just stared, then nodded.
"Please hurry. I don't have much time."
Pulling a notepad and stubby pencil from his shirt pocket, he licked the tip.
"Yes sir?"
Licking his lips, Frederick said, "For several years, twenty-one in fact, Shane O'Malley and I have been embezzling from my bank and Market Street Church. The lifestyle we enjoy is because of money taken from these institutions."
"Were your families involved sir?" the officer asked.
"No," Frederick answered quickly, grimacing, yet his voice was strong and clear.
"What about the minister, Reverend Wakefield?"
Cooper smiled weakly.
"No. He is not involved. Under the gun, he strung Shane along to make him think he was interested. When he was about to be shot, Wakefield jumped Shane. He's a very brave man. Is he hurt badly?" Cooper asked, coughing up blood.
Erma gently wiped his lips with a lace handkerchief, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Yes sir, he may not make it." the officer said bluntly.
Completing some notes, he asked "Who shot you, sir?"
"Shane O'Malley shot me and I suppose I'm dying."
Erma stifled a sob.
"But I'm not the first person he's killed."
The officer stopped writing and looked up at him. His face showed utter astonishment. Finishing his statement, Frederick closed his eyes. He was so tired, so very tired.
Stepping into the hallway, the officer called to the other policeman half dozing down the hall.
"Bob!"
The man remained in his seat, not hearing his name called.
"Bob!" the officer called out louder.
Then he noticed the red stain on the other officer's uniform. Running down the hallway, he put a hand on his shoulder; the man fell to the floor dead. A noise came from inside the room. Cocking his revolver, the officer entered Adam's room. On the bed, Adam struggled for breath, a pillow covering his face. Snatching the pillow, the policeman threw it to the floor. Rushing to open the window, he leaned out. A shadowy figure ran from the hospital.
"Halt! Stop, or I'll shoot!"
Shane increased his speed, fully expecting a bullet to hit him in the back. The officer fired and the bullet struck a corner of the building, sending a shower of brick. Struck in the back by the flying fragments, Shane winced but dared not stop.
Retuning to Frederick Cooper, the policeman found he had passed away. Erma lay across her husband's body, sobbing.
Pressed into service, Tom Hopkins sat by Adam's bedside, holding a rifle. A commotion in the hallway brought him to his feet. A beautiful young woman and a tall black man peered in at him, their clothing covered in ice and snow.
"May I help you?" Hopkins asked, laying down his gun. He sensed these people were not a threat to the minister.
The girl did not answer but moved with purpose toward the bed, tears frozen on her cheeks.
"We are friends of Reverend Wakefield," James replied, nodding to the orderly by way of explanation. He removed the scarf covering his face and crusted ice and snow fell off of James clothing.
Tom nodded, then moved back to give them some room. He could sense they were genuinely concerned about this man of God.
Removing her gloves, Victoria grasped Adam's hand. It felt so limp, so cold. James moved quietly to the corner of the room.
"Adam. Oh Adam," Victoria said soothingly, running a shaky hand over his hair. Leaning over, she placed a gentle kiss on his silent lips.
She turned to the orderly. "He didn't shoot anyone. You're guarding the wrong person," she said firmly.
"We know that now, ma'am. The police are after the real killer, a man named O'Malley. I'm here to protect the reverend," he said gently.
Victoria could sense that Tom was a kind man. She breathed a prayer of thanks for his help.
"What can I do? How can I help him?" she asked.
"Best thing you can do for him is to pray." Tom answered.
"Of course, but isn't there something else?"
"Well, Dr. Samuels says they can't, but I think people in his condition can hear when we speak to them."
"What should I say?" Victoria asked, suddenly aware of what he was saying. Her green eyes shone in the light of the room, her face hopeful.
"Tell him you love him. Read to him from the Bible. Here, use mine. Just don't tell Dr. Samuels," Tom said smiling.
It started as a pinpoint of light. Then it became stronger until it filled every space of Adam's being. With the light came a wonderful peace. A thrill struck Adam's soul like a lightning bolt. Something was happening; the light did not dim yet from within it a central figure appeared.
Instantly, Adam was on his knees. The outline became clearer. Behind the figure, he saw clearly a crowd of people. At the front of the assembly, he could make out his father, his grandmother and grandfather. In addition, there were some of the members of his church from Apple Valley. He recognized them as ones who had died. Beside his father, Pastor Ashmore was waving at him.
"I'm home," his heart sang. "Thank you Lord, I'm home!"
The light began to fade as he heard a voice like the rushing of many waters.
The figure said, "You must go back, my child; there is much to be done."
A great sorrow filled Adam's heart. On every side of him flowed a river of fire, its flames running like water, licking at his legs and upper body. He f
elt no sensation of burning, only the current pulled at him. He heard the voice again, comforting him. He recognized it as Isaiah 43:2.
'When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.'
As this voice faded, another one called out.
"Adam, come back. I love you."
At six o'clock, Tom Hopkins charmed the kitchen staff out of a pot of coffee and three cups. As Victoria, James, and Hopkins sipped the strong, hot liquid they thanked the Lord that Adam was still alive.
Victoria ventured the question that had lingered on her mind for hours.
"He's made it through the night, do you think he will recover?" she asked, her eyes pleading.
Setting down his cup, Tom felt Adam's pulse.
"His heart is strong. I believe he has a good chance," he said confidently.
"How many times have I told you not to give a medical opinion?" The voice came from a middle-aged gray-haired man striding into the room, his white smock flapping in the breeze he created.
"Miss Winters, Mr. Colburn, this is Dr. Samuels. He's really a good guy, but he's much better after his first cup of coffee," Tom explained smiling. He filled a mug and held it out to the doctor.
Samuels took a big gulp of the steaming liquid.
"He's right, you know. I'm not much good until I pour down some of the eye opener they serve around here."
Victoria and James both smiled their greetings and stood back.
In two swallows, the doctor emptied the cup and set it on the bedside table. "I'm afraid it's going to take more than Bible reading and prayer to save your friend, miss." Samuels said bluntly as he bent over Adam, opening his eyelids and checking the pupils.
To his amazement, he saw the minister's eyes flicker. 'He can't be waking up, there's too much damage,' he said to himself. But even as he watched, Adam opened his eyes. They showed pain and confusion but Victoria thought they were the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.
"Adam, can you hear me?" she asked as she leaned over him, her voice hopeful.
"Yes," Adam said weakly. "I'm through the river."
"Amazing, simply amazing!" Samuels said, shaking his head, "He should be dead."
"You were asleep," Victoria said in a soothing voice.
"No."
"Oh yes, young man, you were quite out of it." Dr. Samuels assured him.
"No, I was in Heaven," Adam said, his face taking on a glow Samuels only saw on a few of his dying patients.
"It was glorious."
"Did you see the Lord?" Hopkins asked anxiously, his face brightening.
"Yes. He said he had much work for me to do." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, drifting into a peaceful sleep.
RIVER OF FIRE