The Ministry’s lounge buzzed with the voices of hundreds of Passionates, as John’s followers called themselves. All eyes were on the man in the simple white tunic, baggy linen trousers and sandals.
Standing in a doorway, Maggie hugged herself against her apprehension and scrutinized her fiancé through the soothing light, astonished that he could be so poised, calm, and appealing. He embraced an attractive brunette and Maggie averted her eyes. Despite her best efforts, John hadn’t touched her in weeks, claiming a need to remain pure while receiving the marks. She hated herself for her jealousy, doubting her earthly lord and master.
Almost five years his senior, Maggie constantly feared that he would soon glimpse the wrinkles sneaking into the corners of her eyes and mouth and feel the firmness disappearing from her skin. Without him, she had nothing. Was nothing. Her only child long gone, she lived for John and his son.
Though she knew it was weak and selfish, her prayers to keep him by her side were more ardent than those for the crippled or even starving children. To a casual observer, John seemed vibrant, exuding self-confidence and trust. Only she recognized the subtle, explosive signs of suffering and fatigue in his movements. He should be resting, she thought, breathing in the smoky, incense-tinged air.
Instead, the Apostle strolled with astonishing ease and self-control among his flock, stopping frequently for a hug, calling each person by their first name, bending to let an awe-struck child touch his fresh wrist bandages.
She was always wary when he was so vulnerable and searched the back of the room for Oscar Lavoie, the Ministry’s head of security. She spied the sandy-haired young man moving smoothly in and out of the throng, his eyes darting about continuously. They eventually found hers and for a second he smiled, before quickly returning to his surveillance duty.
She returned the smile, heartened by the impressive sight of the six-foot-four-inch former FBI specialist who often said he had abandoned the President to protect a saint.
Prior to the arrival of the G-man, as Jimmy affectionately called him, John had twice been the target of an attempted assassination. No assaults had been made on John’s life on Oscar’s watch, and Maggie felt some comfort knowing that the risk was minimal, as all visitors and Passionates were carefully screened and frisked at the entrance. More importantly, she knew that Oscar and his men would die protecting her fiancé. Still, a bullet could come out of nowhere to strike her beloved, so blindingly fast and precise that all the protection in the world would be futile. Something rustled behind her.
Sheila patted Maggie’s arm, her gentle face registering doubt. “I’m sorry, Maggs. It’s just that Phil seemed so adamant that John was quitting.”
Maggie looked into her best friend’s intelligent eyes and waited a heartbeat. How much did she know? Though Sheila had joined the Ministry four years previously, they had been close friends for just over a year.
After a lifetime of dedicating herself to men, Maggie had never had a female friend before and was constantly astounded that this strong, forthright and brilliant woman would find her a worthy confidante and that she actually valued the relationship. She still struggled with the ebbs and flows of such bosom friendship and was terrified of the depths of intimate revelations expected between best friends. When confronted with an emotional issue, she tended to collapse inward.
Maggie struggled to maintain control. “Sshh!” she whispered.
