An Ancient Race

Sunbury, 832 ADI

The little old woman stood staring at a bush, remembering the world before. In the world that had perished long ago, if she had found herself far from home and in need of a bathroom, she would have been frustrated and angry with herself. She might have been able to find a business with a public restroom, but most of the time, those were for ‘Customers Only.’ She may have been lucky enough to find a patch of woods—and desperate enough to use it—but usually she'd find herself rushing home in mounting discomfort, punished once again for her run-on thoughts and endless wandering. She was feeling frustrated and angry with herself now, but it wasn’t because she needed a bathroom.

Her gaze shifted from the bush to the house beyond. It looked similar to all the other houses on the block: flowers, a pretty fence… and a garden. There was always a garden. She would have liked to stand awhile to admire the view. It might distract her from her current state of mind—but the pressure was increasing. She shuffled up the ornate front walkway, slowly climbed the steps, and opened the front door. “Hello!” she called.

Two little Chinese boys came running from somewhere inside. Pushing and tumbling over each other, they raced into the front hallway and came to a skidding halt. “Can I help you?” said the first boy.

“Can I help you?” parrotted the other.

“Hey! It’s my turn!” said the first boy, pushing his brother aside.

“Boys,” said a female voice from within the house.

“He’s doing it again, Mama!" whined the first boy. "I want to help! It’s my turn!”

A wrestling match ensued and the second boy shrieked, “I want to hold the door! It’s my turn!” He twisted around and pinned his brother against the wall.

“A-hem.” The old woman cleared her throat. “Would one of you be so kind as to point me to the nearest bathroom?” Both boys, still locked in battle, stopped long enough to point to a door in the hallway. Then one took the other to the floor and put him in a headlock.

A few minutes later, the white-haired woman came out of the bathroom and found herself alone. She stood for a moment, looking toward the front door. She wanted to just duck out and be on her way. She didn’t want to talk to anybody—and she certainly didn’t want to meet anybody new. So she turned and took a quiet step, then another, and another—then she stopped and heaved a sigh. “Okay,” she muttered to herself, then turned and followed the hallway to a spacious kitchen in the back of the house. Here she found a petite Chinese woman, kneading a large batch of dough on a low table. The voices of the two boys could now be heard coming from the back yard. They were still at it, now bickering over who got to brush the pony first.

“Hello," the old woman spoke. “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”

The petite woman looked up and smiled. “God is good!” she replied. She pounded on the dough and turned it on the table. “Would you like a cookie?” She pointed. “Just out of the oven. And you’re welcome to stay for supper if you like. I’m Suzemmie, by the way.” She wiped her floury hands on her apron, strode over to her new friend, and held out a hand.

The old woman took the hand and shook it politely. “Thank you, but I’ve wandered too far today and I’m supposed to watch one of my greats.”

Suzemmie held the old woman’s hand warmly in both of hers. “What’s your name, dear? You haven’t told me your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She shook her head in apology. “Cilla. Cilla Bonilake.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Cilla. If you can’t stay, at least take a few cookies.” She gestured to the counter.

Cilla looked at the cookies and began to say something, but stopped.

“Is there something wrong, dear?” Suzemmie looked concerned. “Would you like to rest a bit?”

“No!” Cilla said, a bit more sharply than she had intended. “I- I mean, no thank you.”

“Are- you sure?”

A piercing shriek came from the back yard, startling them both.

“Excuse me,” said Suzemmie, with a look of apology. She walked over to the back door and opened it. “Boys! Boys! Matthew! Come here!” Turning back to Cilla she said, “Please, Cilla. Take some cookies.”

Cilla walked over to the counter, picked up a napkin and four cookies, then stood and watched the scene in the doorway.

The little boy appeared. Suzemmie reached out, took his chin in her hand, and tipped his face upward. “Look at me,” she said sternly. “If you treat your brother with love, he will be more likely to treat you well.”

“But he hit me first!”

“That doesn’t mean you should hit him back. You know that. If he does something wrong, come tell me or Dad. We’ll deal with him. What do God’s words say to do if someone is mean to you?”

The boy hung his head. “Do not repay evil for evil,” he said, forlornly.

“That’s right. We are told to love even our enemies. Now go back out there and apologize to Cole, then tell him to come talk to me.” Suzemmie ducked her head back into the kitchen. “Are you sure you can’t visit a little while, Cilla?”

“Thank you, but no, I need to get back to watch my great.” Cilla held up the cookies. “We will enjoy these.”

“I hope you will, dear; it is the least I can offer. Maybe another day you will come and visit awhile.”

Cole appeared in the doorway and Suzemmie bent down to look him in the eye. “I need to talk with you, young man.” She straightened again and looked at Cilla. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Cilla Bonilake. Bless and be blessed!” She waved.

“Yes,” Cilla said mechanically, “bless and be blessed.”

Ambling back home again, Cilla’s thoughts turned back to what she’d been thinking about before her bathroom break, and it wasn’t long before she started muttering to herself. “I’d rather go on to the next world than continue being useless in this one. I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sit around! Them telling me it’s okay to slow down and take it easy… I can't. I wasn't raised that way. I feel so lazy when I sit around, doing nothing."

Upon hearing herself mutter these words, a memory surfaced in Cilla's mind, a memory that she had not thought about in many decades, perhaps even centuries. She remembered standing on the back steps of her childhood home. She was around six or seven years old, it was springtime, or maybe summer, and her father was working on a project in the back yard. Just then, her brother came walking up the driveway with a new friend. She couldn't remember who the friend was, or what her father was working on, but she remembered well the conversation that occurred. 

Her father walked to the steps, cheerfully met the new friend, and then asked the three kids to help him with his project. At this, the friend said, nonchalantly, “I don’t feel like it.” Cilla remembered clearly that she had been shocked at the manner in which the boy had addressed her father. But what happened next was even more clear in her mind. Her father stated loudly, “If you don’t want to help, then you can just go home! Go home!” He pointed at the road and almost roared, “WE DON’T NEED NO LAZY KIDS AROUND HERE!”

As the memory replayed in her mind, Cilla recognized that because of this and other instances where her father's intolerance for laziness was displayed, she had come to believe that working was of the utmost importance. And since she had grown up in a time when the evil ones were still being heard, she had come to believe that if she wasn't working all the time, she would be rejected, sent away, banished. She knew this was an irrational belief, but the idea was still stuck in her spirit. She liked keeping busy, but now that she wasn't able to do as much, the old fear had reemerged, causing her to feel useless, bored, and a little afraid.

When she reached the end of her road, she was still muttering to herself. “I know it's irrational. I know I won't be sent away, but I don’t want to sit around, go for aimless walks, take naps…” She knew that she ought to ask God for help, but she didn’t want to. I have prayed and prayed and I am still tired, still not able to do what I used to. This getting old business is getting old. She stopped on the corner and tried to shift gears. Happy thoughts, Cilla. No use going home all grumpy…

She gave herself a little shake and looked up at the street sign. It read: PEARLS COURT. The original sign had been found in the rubble, or so she had heard, but that one was long gone. No one knew who Pearl was, or why a street would be called a court, but the name had stuck. She rested against the post for a moment and tried to adjust her attitude. It didn't work. So she looked out at the yard in front of her—her yard. The house beyond was, by far, the largest house she had ever lived in. Five thousand square feet of open spaces. It needed to be that big to house their growing family: twenty-four members with another on the way. 

The spacious front yard was divided into two distinct sections. The right half was a play area for the kids. She had spent many an hour playing with the children there, but now it was just a reminder of her lack of energy and desire to play. The left side was a vegetable garden where fledgling sprouts were poking their little heads out of the earth. This was another reminder of things she could no longer do. In front of the immense brick front of the house was a row of trees dressed in pink, white, and purple blossoms. Now here was something she could do, sit and look out the window at pretty blossoms blowing in the wind. But she didn't want to do that.

Cilla heaved another sigh and looked at the front walkway. From the road to the front door was a long stretch of wide steps that went on for an eternity. Just looking at them made her more tired, so she decided to go around to the garage—where there were only seven steps.

When she reached the side door, she paused to look out at the large back yard where two cows and a tired old horse stood grazing. At the far end under an ancient metal structure was Bunny’s house. It was like a dog’s house, only bigger. She looked around for Bunny but saw only the new calf sleeping in the grass nearby. Then she spotted the end of Bunny's tail sticking out from behind his house. Apparently, he was napping against the sunny side. The metal structure above Bunny’s house reached high into the sky. It had been carefully preserved and was now being used as a decoration. Beautiful colored bottles and wind chimes hung from every level. It was quite different from the rusted grey tower that had once held up heavy wires that brought electricity to people. Things were simpler now; there was no need for wires.

In the garage, Cilla noticed that the animals’ stalls had been carefully cleaned out and fresh hay had been spread. She would try to remember to compliment ten-year-old Johnny on a job well done; it was his first week on stall duty and he had been concerned about being a blessing because he was new to the task.

She shuffled across the garage-turned-stables floor and looked up the seven steps. Though she hadn’t felt sick since the old world, she got tired out so easily now. She mounted the steps slowly, pausing on each step. When she opened the door that led into the pantry hallway next to the kitchen, she could hear voices—well, mostly one voice, the voice of eight-year-old Liam. Unless the freckle-faced boy was asleep, he was either reading or talking. Cilla paused in the doorway to listen.

“No. In the book, it said, ‘zzzoom’ not ‘vroom.’”

“Maybe different cars made different sounds.” That was seventeen-year-old Frances, a sweet girl with long wavy brown hair. “In the book I saw, it said, ‘vroom’ or maybe it was ‘va-room.’”

“Va-room. Va-roooom!” That was six-year-old Mabel. Her favorite thing was learning new words. “I like that word. Vroom. Vaa-rooom. Va-va-va-room…”

“I like it too, Mabel,” interrupted Liam, “but it’s ‘zzzoom’ not ‘vroom.’ Anyway, I was saying, the race cars went around the trek super fast…”

“Track,” Cilla said quietly to herself.

She gently closed the door and walked softly through the kitchen entryway where two large pantry closets were decorated with mason jars filled with every kind of fruit and vegetable. They used fresh whenever they could, but it was wise to have lots of backup because guests were frequent. And if ever they were running low on food, they would send some family members out to join other families. There was always a surplus of food somewhere, and ‘Bless and be blessed’ was proven true day in and day out.

Cilla tiptoed out into the large kitchen and placed the cookies on the island next to a platter of fresh bread. Beyond the island was a large open area which served as both a dining area and living room, but the long table where the family usually ate was empty. The voices were coming from the small dining room just off the kitchen. Only twelve could eat comfortably at the table in there, so she wondered where everyone was. Then she remembered, tonight was the monthly Twilight Outreach meeting at the town hall. More than half the family was there, including all the adults. That was why she needed to get back, to help keep an eye on the youngest, little Mabel.

“... No, I don’t think so,” Liam was saying. “Every twelve laps, or whatever, I can’t remember how many, he’d pull into a pit stop and then a bunch of guys would run to the car and…”

“What’s a pistoff?” That was little Mabel again.

“What?” The boy stopped. “No! A pit stop, cause it was like, down lower or something, like in a pit.”

“Ohhh. Pa-IT stop. PIT stop.”

“Yeah, pit stop. Then the book said, ‘Now it’s time for Bobby to 'gas up’ and there was a picture of the car with a tube sticking out of it, giving it electricity, I guess. And all the tires were being taken off by guys in red and yellow suits, same color as the car, then new ones were put on.”

“Why?” asked Frances.

“Why what?”

“Why put on new tires?”

“I don’t know, cause maybe… Maybe they wore out or something. Anyway, they put on new tires and the book said, ‘Lickity split, off he goes!’”

“Lickity split!” said Mabel. “I like that! Lickity split! Lickity spa-LIT! Vvvrooom. Vaaa-roooom!”

“Zoom. It’s zzzoom, Mabel.”

“Did the book have a date on it? Do you know what year it was written?” Frances asked.

“Nineteen-something. I don’t remember. But I do remember that it said, ‘zzzoom’ not vroom.’

Cilla smiled to herself. Though it was long ago, in another lifetime, she could still remember the sound that race cars made as they sped by. Her father had once taken her to a racetrack. But she knew if she tried to explain the sound, they wouldn’t get it. You either knew it or you didn’t. They didn’t.

Cilla gently pulled out one of the stools, sat at the island, and quietly took a roll and buttered it. She wasn’t interested in joining a lively supper conversation, but she knew she would be spotted if she tried to sneak past to her bedroom. Now that she was seated, she could see a few family members in the big mirror on the dining room wall, so she decided to sit awhile and observe. 

“But, Liam, why?” That was Johnny. He was the thinker of the family. He rarely talked but when he did, he always had something interesting to say. “Why did the car stop?”

Liam was now ‘zooming’ around an imaginary track with his hands, showing how cars would pass each other.

“Liam?”

“Yeah, Johnny?” Liam kept moving his hands.

“If the car stopped and everyone else kept going, he would lose the race. He’d get way behind.”

Liam stopped his hand motions and cocked his head. “You’re right, but think about it. If he didn’t stop, you know, for electricity, he’d run out, because it wasn’t in the air. Then he’d really get behind, see?”

Also maybe a tire would wear out and pop.” That was Frances again. “BANG!” She clapped her hands together.

"Bang!" Mabel parroted.

Cilla could see Liam and Johnny in the mirror. Johnny was looking at his brother with a confused expression, and Liam said, “You’re right, Johnny. He would get behind if he stopped. But if he wants to win, he has to stop. See? But everyone has to stop. If they don’t, they’ll run out of electricity, and the book said he needed to ‘gas up’ so his car wouldn’t ‘sputter putter, stop.’”

“Sputter, putter, STOP!” said Mabel.

“But you are super smart to think of that, Johnny,” Frances added, smiling at her brother. “No one else thought of that." 

Johnny grinned, happy to be appreciated.

Cilla heard the front door open and a moment later a chorus of voices from the dining room yelled, “Hi, Sophie!” Sophie was a new neighbor they had invited to dinner several days ago. “Come have a seat!”

“Thank you,” Sophie said quietly. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, you’re not late at all,” said Frances.

“Come sit next to us,” said Liam. “Here’s a seat! Can I introduce everyone?

“Yes, you may, Liam,” answered Frances.

“I’m Liam and this is Johnny,” he said, pointing. Then there’s Kelilah, or Lilah for short, Iris, Hadassah, Gregory, or just Greg, Francis, Mabel, and then Frances.” He turned and smiled at Sophie.

“Two Frances?”

“Yes, I mean no, well, they are the same but different. Franc-es and Franc-is. See," he said, pointing, "a girl and a boy. Usually, we just call them Girl-Fran and Boy-Fran. Girl-Fran is my sister and Boy-Fran’s my cousin. He didn't want to go to the Outreach meeting.”
“Well, those are very interesting names,” said Sophie.

“We have more. Mom wanted to name us each for a letter. We have Aianna, Bella, Cordalla, Denton, and Elisheva, Ella for short. Those ones are all married and don’t live here anymore. Here, we have Frances, Greg, Hadassah, Iris, Johnny, Kelilah, me, and Mabel. A to M. See? If we ever get to Z, it will be Zemirah, or Zachary if it's a boy. And my aunt and uncle named all their kids F names, cause their names are Forest and Faith. They have Freda…”

“That’s enough, Liam. Let’s not overwhelm our guest,” said Frances.

“It’s okay," said Sophie. "I like hearing different names. I don’t have any brothers or sisters with those names. I do have a Fran, but his name is Francisco.”

At that moment, little Mabel emerged through the doorway to the kitchen and headed for the back porch door. “Francisco! That’s fun to say. Fran-cis-co. Fran-CIS-co! Lickity split, vaaa-roooom!” She pushed through the door and ran across the porch toward the back yard. 

A moment later, Frances appeared. Upon seeing Cilla, she stopped in her tracks and put her hand to her heart. “Gramma C! You startled me! How long have you been out here?”

“Not long. Mabel just went out back.”

“I know. She went to get her spoon.”

“Her spoon?”

“Yeah, Ferran whittled a spoon for her earlier. She just remembered it. She wants to try it out on her stew. Are you feeling any better after your long walk?”

“Nope, still feeling worthless.”

Frances sat down next to her gramma and gave her a steady look. “Have you asked God for help?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Why?”

“The last time I did that I ended up halfway around the world for a month. I’m just tired, Frannie. And bored. Getting old is getting old. You know?” She paused and looked at Frances. “I just can’t stop feeling worthless.”

“Aww, Gramma. You’re not worthless! We love just having you around. You don’t have to DO anything.” 

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Frances was quiet for a moment. “You know, out of all my grammas, and I have a lot of them, as you know, out of all my grammas, you are my favorite favorite.”

 “You tell everyone they’re your favorite.”

“I know—but with you, I mean it a little extra.”

Cilla gave a weak smile.

“You know, Gramma C, if you notice the gifts that God created for us, you might find joy. Name some gifts. Write them down. Rainbows on soap bubbles, the softness of a flower petal, friends! It always works for me. God dwells in the praises of his people, you know. You taught me that. Remember?”

Cilla sighed. “I did. I remember.”

Frances hugged her gramma gently. “Okay, well, you go on in and sit down. I’ll bring you some stew, okay? Fiona made it, it’s really good.”

“I would like to eat in my room, if that is okay. I don’t feel like talking.”

“Alright. Okay, Gramma. I’ll bring you some…”

Suddenly, someone burst in through the front door. “Hey, guys!” He was out of breath. “I just—saw Mabel—on Bunny.” He paused, breathing heavily. “They went—flying past my house. She was screaming. I don’t know—if she was scared or having fun—but I thought I should let you know.”

At once, everyone came pouring out of the dining room, some grabbing jackets, others putting on their shoes in the pantry hallway. Within a minute, Cilla was alone. She would have liked to join the chase, but she was far too tired, so she shuffled over to the stove, ladled out some stew, and sat back down at the island.

It wasn’t unusual for little Mabel to get into trouble. That was why she needed extra eyes on her. Part of the problem was that she was a beautiful child. Perhaps too beautiful. With bright blue eyes, medium brown skin, and long silky waves of sun-kissed hair, she often caused people in town to pause in admiration. Cilla remembered the reaction of one stranger who was passing through town one day. He didn’t speak to Mabel’s parents, or to Mabel, he just smiled up at the sky, turned his palms upward, and said, “Nice work, God!”

Because of her beauty, she was a bit too indulged. They were all guilty of it; it was hard to say no to those sky-blue eyes and her carefully perfected sad-puppy face.

Cilla suddenly became aware that she was sleeping—but she had no idea where. She was bent forward and her cheek was resting against something hard. She opened her eyes and sat upright. She had fallen asleep at the kitchen island. That was a first. Then she remembered what had happened. She looked up at the clock. It was 7:12 pm. About an hour had passed. Did anyone come home with Mabel?

“Hullo! Is anyone home?”

No one answered.

Cilla walked to the front door and opened it. Some of the neighbors were gathered in the street near her mailbox. One of the men saw her and leaped up the wide steps two at a time. “Cilla,” he said, “we don't know why the teachers aren't showing up, so we thought it would be a good idea to organize some search parties. Someone said they saw Mabel and Bunny near the Reclamation border, still running fast. But they could be anywhere by now. Do you want to join us?”

“I—I don’t think I should. Someone needs to stay here in case they come back, right?”

“Good point. Yes. Okay, well, we'll check back periodically to see if they come back.”

“Thank you, Maurice," Cilla said, patting her neighbor on the arm. "I’m sure they’ll be back soon. Bunny knows who feeds him.”

Cilla watched Maurice leap back down the steps then turned and stepped back into the hallway. She looked at the half-eaten food on the large table in the dining room. “Bunny knows who feeds him,” she said again. Then, out of old habit, she said, “Lord, give me strength. Please bring Mabel home. Please let them find her." She thought a moment, then added, "I am so sorry that I didn't watch her closely. I should have followed her out back instead of stewing in my troubles, complaining to poor Frances again. Please forgive me, Father, please help me do better next time."

With that, an image suddenly flashed in Cilla’s mind. It was the face of the man who had given them Bunny, an old friend, a missionary who was currently living in Twilight. Immediately, she was certain that Bunny had gone back to visit the man who had rescued him.

She turned to the doorway and looked out, but the search parties were gone. She looked up and down the street. They were nowhere in sight. It didn’t take her long to decide, because Twilight could be a dangerous place. She walked back through the house, and with renewed energy, made her way out through the garage. The old horse was waiting just outside the side door—like she knew she would be needed. “Well, Tiger, I guess it's just you and me. The two of us tired old girls can be useful after all. Let’s go get Mabel.”

Cilla’s journey through Reclamation and into Twilight was uneventful, mostly because a dear friend, a teacher named Jotham, had appeared at the border and escorted them. Jotham was one of her favorite teachers. He had helped her out many times throughout the years.

“Thank you, Jotham,” Cilla said when they reached their destination. I really do appreciate you, sir.”

“You are most welcome, Cilla. I appreciate you as well."

Cilla was about to say goodbye when a question occurred to her. "Jotham. May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Why didn't you show up sooner? Why make everyone wait?"

"I wondered if you were going to ask me that," he said with a quiet chuckle. “You see, some of us talked about it, and of course, I wanted to help, but God knew that the moment needed to be your own. There is so much He wants you to know—so much peace He wants to give you. Perfect love does not require your performance or your exhaustion, Cilla. You’re allowed to slow down a little. I want you to remember—for those of us who love you, your presence is more than enough. You are enough. There is nothing you need to earn. Will you trust me on that? Will you try to slow down and rest, and be okay with it?”

Cilla studied her friend for a moment, then muttered, "I'll try."

 "Wonderful. Your trust is a gift, and I treasure it." He gave her a wide grin. "I'll be going now. If you need help making your way back, you know what to do. Any of us would be happy to accompany you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let the others know you are safe and that they can expect you tomorrow.”

“Yes, thank you again.”

Jotham nodded, turned, and disappeared into the darkness.

Cilla sat for a few moments and pondered the words Jotham had shared, then slowly dismounted and led Tiger to a nearby barn. Lantern light was emanating from within. Stepping into the barn, Cilla could see Bunny lounging in one of the stalls. He was snoring. “I'll bet you’re tired, big guy,” Cilla said quietly, “that was quite the stunt you pulled.”

Just then, a friendly dark-skinned face appeared above the top board of the next stall. “Well, as I live and breathe! I expected someone to show, but I didn’t expect to see you.” He came out of the stall and walked toward Cilla. His white hair and beard looked a bit ragged, but he still carried himself straight and true. He had been quite handsome as a younger man but the centuries had taken a toll on him. In the old world, he had been an entertainer, a well-known and very talented actor. He flashed a wide, gap-toothed grin at Cilla as he approached. “Let me look at you, old friend!” he said. “I see you are still as lovely as ever.”

Cilla rolled her eyes. “Oh, get out, Oscar.”

“Here, let me take your horse,” he said. He led Tiger to a nearby stall. “How long has it been since I last saw you, Cil? A hundred years at least. That’s too long.” He gave the horse some water and some hay, put a little more hay in Bunny's feed trough, and then walked over and wrapped his arms around Cilla in a warm embrace.

“I can’t remember when I last saw you," said Cilla, returning the embrace. "Time keeps going by faster.”

He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “I was at your seven-cent birthday party. I think that was the last time I saw you. How long ago was that?”

Cilla thought a moment. “That was 670, I think. Yes, that's right. I was thirty when the Day of the Lord started, so my seven-cent was in 670.”

“Well, whatever it was, it’s been too long.” He turned and beckoned her to the door. “Come on into the house, Cil. I fed Mabel and she went right to sleep. She and Bunny were pretty worn out when they arrived.”

“I imagine they were. That was quite a stunt they pulled.”

“Yes it was,” Oscar said. He started walking toward the house then suddenly turned and gave Cilla a curious look. “I do have one question for you.”

"Yes. What is it?”

“Why on earth would you name a lion Bunny?”

Cilla gave a little snort. “Mabel did that.”

“She did, did she.”

“She loves naming the animals, or renaming them, and we let her.” Cilla shook her head. “Our cows are named Kitty and Moose.”

“No way.” He smiled.

“Uh-huh. That horse back there is called Tiger, and she has a stuffed bear named Teddy Dog, instead of Teddy Bear. I think that’s all." She thought a moment. "No wait, she got a hamster the other day. Oh, what did she call it? Oh, yeah, she called it Milli."

Oscar looked puzzled. "Well, that one sounds normal."

"It's short for millipede."

"Oh!" The old man put his head back and laughed.

The two friends continued on toward the house and Oscar, still chuckling, spoke up again. "You know, when I told Mabel my name, she must have repeated it twenty times. 'Oscaaar. Os-CAR. Ozzz-KERRR.'" She's quite a kid.

Cilla shook her head. "You have no idea." 

They walked in silence for a moment, then Cilla added, "What does the name Oscar mean anyway?"

Oscar turned, gave a thoughtful look, then said, "I have no idea. All I know is that the nickname stuck."

"Right, that's right," Cilla said, "I had forgotten it was a nickname, because of all those Oscars you won."

The old man chuckled. "Yeah, back in the old world, a million years ago, in ancient times." He paused, then asked, "Do you know what Cilla means?"

"I do. It's short for Pricilla—which means ancient."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. It's bad enough that my name means ancient, but now I'm starting to feel that way. And I hate it."

Oscar gave his friend a soothing look. "I know what you mean, Cil," he said softly, "but take heart, it won't be forever."

Inside Oscar’s house was cozy, it was just a small station where missionaries took turns living for a few months to a year. There was a small kitchen and living area, and two bedrooms in the back. Just one story, not much to look at, but it was homey. Mabel lay sleeping on a little bed in the corner.

“Come on in and have a seat,” Oscar said in a low tone. “Did you eat supper?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I eat?”

“Not at all.”

Oscar went to the stove, picked up some pot holders, and took a ceramic dish out of the oven. He spooned out some casserole, then sat down at the table. After bowing his head in thanks, he looked up and said, “Remember when food was scarce?”

“I do. Thankfully it didn’t last too long.”

“Three years is a long time,” said Oscar, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it wasn't that long for me.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now, you joined our group late.”

Cilla nodded. “Before I met you and the others, I was holed up with some of my family, way out in the country, and we had a lot of provisions. We stayed in hiding but we tried to help anyone who came by. I think since we blessed others with the little we had, God continued to bless us with enough.”

“Bless and be blessed.”

“Yes, it does seem to work that way.”

“Well, Cil, you had it better than I did. We had very little food for a couple of years. Then when you and the others joined us, it was even less. 'Give us this day, our daily bread' took on new meaning. Thank God those days were shortened. There wouldn’t have been anyone left alive if they hadn’t been—just like it said in the Bible. And you know, I think you and I are the only ones left of our group. Us and maybe Harold. The rest, I know, have already passed.”

“Is that so. I wasn't sure who…"

“Gramma C?” That was little Mabel. Their talking had awakened her. She was standing next to the little bed, rubbing her eyes.

Cilla turned in her chair and beckoned the child to come to her.

The little girl padded across the floor and climbed up onto Cilla’s lap. She looked at her gramma with big eyes and said, “I went out to get my spoon—but then I saw Bunny.” She hung her head.

“Go on,” said Cilla.

“I wanted to see,” she said slowly, “I wanted to see if Bunny would make a sound.” She looked up at her gramma with big sad eyes.

Cilla looked at Oscar and gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“I wanted to know if he made a sound when he went fast. But he didn’t vroom, he just breathed more.”

Cilla laughed and hugged Mabel in a gentle squeeze.

Oscar just looked more puzzled.

“Liam was telling her about a book he found that was about race cars,” she told him.

“Ahhh,” he nodded.

“Dear, little one,” she said to Mabel, “I can see why you might think that. But animals don’t make that sound. You see, race cars used to make that sound, but not because they were going fast… Well…” She thought a moment. “It was because they were going fast, but it was also because they had engines that made a humming noise.”

Mabel’s eyebrows knit together. “—What?”

“The engine hummed loudly and when it came from far away and then passed and went far away the other way it made a noise like, ‘Vvvvrrroooom!”

Mabel squinted. “Why?”

Cilla looked over at Oscar. He shook his head knowingly.

“It just did, sweetie. Now go climb back in bed and go to sleep. We’ll bring Bunny back tomorrow. We’ll talk more about it on our way, okay?”

“Yes, Gramma C.” Mabel climbed off her gramma’s lap, padded back to the bed, and climbed in.

Cilla and Oscar talked in hushed tones for a while.

“You know something, Oscar,” Cilla said, “I learned something today. I’ve actually learned this many times, but I needed a reminder. When I go without praying, I start to feel dead inside. Today when I prayed that Mabel would be found, I felt renewed. It only took a moment. I don’t always get such a recharge as I did today, but I guess today, I needed the reminder.”

“I suppose we all need to be reminded sometime. I know it’s true for me. I know I can't do anything to make God love me more; he loves me completely already, but I do have to spend time with him to feel right. Even just a quick visit helps me feel refueled. Otherwise, I get worn out, run down, spiritually and physically.

Mabel mumbled something from her bed in the corner.

“What did she say,” Oscar whispered.

“Like a race car,” Mabel said, a little more loudly.

Oscar and Cilla exchanged a look.

“Like a race car who runs out…” She trailed off. Then suddenly she rolled over and faced the adults. “If you don’t stop to get electricity, you’ll sputter, putter, STOP!”

“Or pop a tire,” Cilla added, smiling.

“Bang!” Mabel clapped her hands.

"Shhh. It's time to go to sleep, Mabel," said Cilla.

“But that's fun to say,” Mabel said, pouting. She rolled over and faced the wall again. Cilla and Oscar could hear her talking softly to herself. “Sputter. Putter. Stop! Baaang.”

“Go to sleep, Mabel.”

“Fran-cis-co…”

At lunchtime the next day, the entire family was sitting at the big table in the big room, all twenty-four of them, with one on the way. There was much chatter going on, some talking about the Twilight Outreach meeting, many talking about Mabel and Bunny’s adventure, and Liam talking about race cars to those who had been absent the night before. He was trying to explain how fast the cars went when two strangers walked into the room, a man and a woman.

Most of the family kept talking, but Liam and Mabel jumped up to greet the newcomers.

“What can we do for you?” said Liam.

“What can we do for you?” parrotted Mabel.

“Mabel, let me talk,” said Liam. He looked up at the strangers. “I’m Liam and this is Mabel. Can I introduce you to everyone? You want to stay for lunch?”

“Thank you, but no," the man answered. "We only have a minute. Would you be so kind as to fill these up for us?” He held out two water bottles. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Yes, sir, we can do that right now,” Liam said. He took the bottles and held one of them out to Mabel. “How about you take this one and go fill it up at the little kitchen downstairs? I’ll fill this one up here. That way we’ll get it done twice as fast. I'll race ya!”

Mabel took the bottle and started toward the basement door. “Coming right up! You can't beat me!” She threw the door open and scampered down the stairs. "Lickity split—ZZZOOOM!”

Liam raised his arms in triumph and danced his way to the kitchen sink.

All the while, Cilla just sat back and watched as the younger people started to clear the table. She sat and listened to all the conversations going on, about what was planned for the afternoon, about who was going where, who had which chores…

She gazed through the adjacent room's windows (which overlooked the front yard) at a tree laden with pink blossoms—and watched as the delicate petals tumbled sideways in the wind.

She sat.

And she watched.

And she was okay with it.

THE END

Also from Joanie Hileman