J. S. B. Morse - Now and at the Hour of Our Death

NOW and at

the HOUR of

our DEATH

JSB MORSE

Now and at the Hour of Our Death

www.code-interactive.com/publishing

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2013 by Joseph Morse

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by New Classic Books, an imprint of Code Publishing.

For distribution opportunities, please contact publishing@code-interactive.com.

ISBN 1-60020-054-0

978-1-60020-054-0

First Edition

for Gina Maria

who showed me belief

Miraculous wine will intoxicate, miraculous conception will lead to pregnancy, inspired books will suffer all the ordinary processes of textual corruption, miraculous bread will be digested. The divine art of miracle is not an art of suspending the pattern to which events conform

but of feeding new events into that pattern.

-CS Lewis in Miracles

PART I

PERICARDIAL

On the seventh of October, 2012, the Feast of the Holy Rosary, a group of believers were gathered in the so-called United Hearts field at an ecumenical shrine in Lorain County, Ohio. They were to listen to a message by the organizers and to witness a promised miracle, though they did not know what to expect in the way of the miracle. At three oclock p.m., an organizer began reading a message over a PA system to the rain-soaked crowd of hundreds. The message was political in nature and gave weight to the upcoming national election.

Three minutes into the message, after the speaker said, You must not have hatred in your hearts, the onlookers began to cry out in surprised awe and point upward. They saw a cloud that resembled an illustrated heart forming in front of the sun. Moments later, onlookers were surprised to see what looked like another heart-shaped cloud formed in front of the sun, linked to the other by wisps of cloud. Together, they appeared to be united hearts.

This event mirrored a more dramatic celestial event witnessed by an estimated 100,000 people on October 13, 1917 in Ftima, Portugal. The crowd had gathered in order to experience a miracle predicted by three young shepherd children from the area. The children stated that the Mother of God would reveal herself to those present at high noon on that day.

According to many witnesses, dark clouds broke after a period of rain, and the sun appeared as an opaque, spinning disc in the sky. It was said to be significantly duller than normal, and to cast multicolored lights across the landscape, the people, and the surrounding clouds. The sun was then reported to have careened toward the earth in a zigzag pattern, frightening those who saw it as a sign of the end of the world. According to historian Joo de Marchi, witnesses reported that their previously wet clothes became suddenly and completely dry, as well as the wet and muddy ground that had been previously soaked because of the rain that had been falling.

Several accounts from various witnesses, including secular journalists and a professor of natural sciences from the local university, reported the same spectacle, which has been dubbed the Miracle of the Sun and accepted as a miracle by the Catholic Church. De Marchi reported that the witnesses, included believers and non-believers, pious old ladies and scoffing young men. Hundreds, from these mixed categories, have given formal testimony. Reports do vary; impressions are in minor details confused, but none to our knowledge has directly denied the visible prodigy of the sun.

When asked why the miracle would happen, the three shepherd children reported, So that all may believe.

Maybe Ill be a martyr.

The thought came in a flash like so many similar thoughts had, but instead of flitting away, it persisted. Throughout her seventeen years, Mary Credence had always known she was destined for something great. It wasnt a drive or an urgent will to do something monumental and substantial that she harbored, just a peaceful confidence that she would. Whether it was becoming the first female President of the United States, doing missionary work like Mother Teresa, or consecrating herself to God, she always had some different vision of greatness for herself. But at the most unlikely of timesas she was heading back to her parents Easter ball with her sistergreatness appeared to her as martyrdom.

Mary subconsciously brought her fingers to the dime-sized sterling silver medal that hung on a dainty chain around her neck. The medal contained the impression of a young woman carrying a sword complemented by the words Saint Joan of Arc Pray for Us encircling the small likeness.

Saint Joan of Arc was great , Mary thought, and she was only a few years older when she was martyred . To Mary, being martyredburned at the stakefor your beliefs was the most profound form of devotion and certainly a path to greatness.

Marys far-off look of lofty yearning annoyed her sister. Oh, my god, Hannah complained in a nasally tone. Are you, like, daydreaming of going to church or something?

Mary shook herself out of her reverie and turned to her sister. What? No. Of course, she couldnt just tell her sister what she was thinking, there in the upstairs hallway with hundreds of friends and socialites a floor below them. Aspirations of martyrdom werent the type of things Hannah would have understood. No doubt she would have thought her little sister was losing her ever-loving mind.

Hannah stared at her sister as the two walked slowly through the upstairs hall toward the homes back staircase. Mary was perfectly composed without a single wave of golden hair misplaced or a visible imperfection on her fair skin. She wore no makeup aside from a swipe of mascara and a light rose lip balm, but her face glowed with a natural radiance that was impossible to ignore. She had always been fashionable, helped by a never-ending wardrobe provided by her father, and that night was no exception. Sheer scalloped lace trimmings around her neckline held up her stunning yellow Empire-waist dress, which would have looked immodest on a more voluptuous woman but which was fitting on Marys slender figure.

So, like, can you maybe grow a zit every once in awhile for these parties? Hannah sneered.

Mary tried to decipher the compliment but couldnt.

I mean, youre never going to hook up with any of these guys, so you should, like, grow zits so none of them fall into your little trap. Hannah laughed off the comment so as to not sound too antagonistic.

What are you talking about?.

Right, you dont tease boys, I forgot, Hannah snapped.

I dont tease! Mary shot back.

Yeah, right, tell that to whats his face.

Who?

Your little boyfriend, Ethan.

Hes not my boyfriend! Mary contested.

Did he know that when yall went to the spring dance together?

Yes. I made it perfectly clear that we were just going as friends.

Sure, whatever, Hannah said with a shrug.

Hannah exhaled audibly through her nose and looked down as the two stopped at the top of the stairs, which curved down to the kitchen. Hannah and Marys parents parties usually consisted of clients and other important people, but that years celebration included an influx of dignitaries and donors involved with their fathers United States senatorial campaign. Those guests stayed in the front of the house and the great room. However, most of the young people and the sisters friends congregated in the kitchen. Sounds of cheering guests, clinking glasses, and boisterous laughing floated up from the party, filling the air under the vaulted ceilings.