* * *
For the first time, Dove went into a restaurant with them. His aura brought immediate recognition. People stared. The hostess told Lor Lu to seat themselves however he pleased, and a couple of minutes later came to Dove’s table with menus and a coffee pot. She seemed unawed by him, and after she’d poured, spoke to Dove, her voice brassy and cheerful. “You’re Mr. Aran, ain’t you?”
“I am. And you are Mrs. Wallace.”
Surprised, she looked down at her name plate. Edith was all it said. She laughed. “That’s pretty good. If you’re not the McCoy, you’re close enough. I’ll bet you eat though. Jesus even sweated. Did you know that?”
He beamed. “Oh yes.”
“Were you him?”
“No I wasn’t. A person is chosen who was born and raised in the time. Jesus’ parents were Mary and Joseph. Mine were Maryam and Howard.”
“Well that’s interesting! Maryam and Howard! I’ll tell my grandkids that, when I have some. I’ll tell them you told me yourself.” She spoke more quietly then. “Amy’s supposed to be your waitress. She’s nice, but when she saw who you were, she almost peed her pants. No way would she come over here. So I’ll be your waitress.”
She left them to decide their orders. When she’d gone, a fiftyish woman came hesitantly to his table. “Excuse me, uh, sir. Mr. Aran. I hate to bother you at your mealtime, but my husband’s got prostate cancer.” She gestured toward a booth. “The doctors want to operate, but he won’t let them, and—can you . . . ?”
“Bring him to me,” Dove said, and a minute later she returned with her husband.
“Do you want to be healed?”
“Yessir.”
“Do you believe you can be healed?”
The man eyed the golden-auraed Dove worriedly. “Uh, I sure do hope so. Seems to me you might could.”
“Well then—” Dove grinned, a grin brighter than even Ngunda Aran’s had been. His aura flared to enwrap those around him, and it was not frightening at all. “By your trust in coming to me,” he said, “and through the loving power of God, you are healed.”
The man’s eyes widened, then he stood, seemingly dazed, before starting back to his booth, his wife murmuring to him that he hadn’t thanked the man. He seemed not to hear. Dove smiled after them before turning his attention to his coffee. Lee noticed that when Dove’s aura had flared, so had Lor Lu’s, and the others had strengthened enough that she could see them too. Even Duke wore one around his head and upper torso. She looked down at her arms, wondering if people could see hers.
* * *
Duke Cochran wasn’t paying attention to auras. His mind was examining a question: After taking the I-55 bridge, and hiding by the woods part of the night, why were they sitting in this restaurant for breakfast? It was bound to take the better part of an hour, and their bus could be seen from the highway.
* * *
Edith Wallace returned shortly, took their orders and left. Several tables away, Jenny Buckels had given her order too, and was sipping her coffee when a voice called her name. She knew at once who it was: Steven! She’d gotten to her feet before she saw her father a few feet behind him; he seemed shrunken and hesitant.
Beaming, Steven strode to her, their father following. “It’s too good to believe,” he said. “I’d left the freeway to get breakfast before I noticed the bus.” He glanced over his shoulder at their father, who hung back; Jenny sensed his grief.
“Mom died,” Steven said, “and Dad’s had second thoughts. He asked if I could find you, and I learned from the, uh, Ranch that you were with the tour. We started too late to catch—Mr. Aran’s Tennessee appearances, but I thought if we got to Little Rock in time . . .”
He straightened and looked around, his eyes moving to Dove and Lor Lu, with their conspicuous auras. “I never imagined,” he said.
Edmund Buckels did not look around. His discomfort was palpable.
“Why don’t you and Dad get a table or booth,” Jenny said, “and I’ll join you there.” She glanced at Dove; he was smiling broadly at her.