They made camp for three days and began going through each structure together, Jonathan telling them what to look for. In the houses there were cans of food and many pens and pencils and all sorts of interesting items which they couldn’t carry with them. In the church there was nothing, except one bible, which after some thought Jonathan reluctantly packed away. In the store there were shelves, though most of them bare, as if someone had hastily collected armloads of goods and then left. But there was a locked closet behind the counter and when they broke the hasp they found a bonanza of supplies, a testament to an age of prosperity.
Jonathan immediately spotted the boxes of ammunition and two rifles. He grabbed these and also a box of pens and several blank ledgers. Paul came across various tools, large and small, and a set of carving knives in a case which he wouldn’t part with. Simon found a compass which he wanted to keep and Mary discovered a sewing kit, and more excitedly, cloth sheets still packaged with floral patterns and rainbow colors unfaded. They spent the day going through every item here, listening to Jonathan describe the old ways in detail. Their packs would now be full to the brim. Each had their treasure, and gifts for the others, as Jonathan had to remind them in their new-found loot.
By now they had been six months on the road and were tired of travel. Back on the highway they borrowed the first carriage they came across and were driven long stages to White Seat. From there Jonathan made only one more detour, this time alone on horseback, to the spot he’d waylaid the bicycle messenger a quarter century before. Without difficulty he located the rock by the road and then trudged through the thicket to the same spot in the woods where he’d long ago tied the poor soul to a tree.
The scene had long played an eerie role in his imagination, and he was surprised to find it much like the grim vision of his nightmares. Around the trunk of the tree hung the rotting cords and below them lay the scattered bones of his victim. Time had not erased the crime. He touched the dirt and with his fingers, still wondering how long the man might have endured before his sad end. Then he looked for his pistol. He found its hiding place easily, loosed it from its bundle of cloth and slipped it into his belt as smoothly as if it were only a moment ago that he had taken it out.
The last thing he did was to dig a small hole, collect the scattered bones and cover them. He left the spot quickly, without looking back. It was as if he’d been an intruder into some dark corner of his own psyche and it was not a place to linger. He rode back to White Seat and his companions and without further ado they boarded a ship for White Sans, and after a two week wait they were able to catch a tanker bound for White Syd, and a smaller tanker from there. During these this whole span they kept to themselves, in their cabins or rooms, tight lipped to the rest of the world. They had to forgo their new custom of reading, and even interesting talk, as they were hardly ever out of the hearing of strangers.
When they did reach their hometown they were greatly relieved and as glad to be back as their friends were to see them. For several days they were feasted and celebrated as heroes. The great seals and diplomas that Jonathan had brought home made a grand impression in such a small place. He insisted that most of these be left here, in the altar of the temple beside his bible, to commemorate this starting point.
Even though his followers were eager to rejoin their companions at the sanctuary and share the real news of the trip, Jonathan insisted that they stay longer. He wanted to show the proper respect to the priests and townsfolk, and not rush off after so long an absence. But more than anything he wanted to spend a few quiet days with the old priest, who was now bedridden and close to death.
While he was away this old man had stayed many months at the sanctuary, more looked after than looking over his three wards. But he was carried back to town when his health declined. Jonathan found him pale, short of breath, and unable to rise without help from his bed. But like a faithful trustee he tried in whispered words to give Jonathan a report of the progress they’d made in his absence. Jonathan hushed his friend and thanked him for his care and told him of the diplomas he’d received and of the bright future for his school.
"I would like to see the shrine in its full prosperity," said the old man, "but I know I will not. It’s a favor that I am allowed to see you again. If it were still the custom, I would wish to be buried there, but I know I cannot. I must be burned in the public square before the eyes of my people. There’s one thing I must say, the priest who will succeed me is not your friend and I fear he will do mischief to you if he can."
He spoke these words with great difficulty and many pauses. Jonathan thanked him for the warning and told him not to worry.
"I have my charters," he said, "and I can have my privacy too. They shall not visit us if they intend mischief. I’ll cover the path."
But even while saying this two priests were at the door and peeking in, suspicious of every moment he passed with the old man. This determined Jonathan to leave right away. But he stayed another hour, sending away the intruders with an evil glance. He wanted to thank the old man for all he’d done; for saving his life in an hour of despair, not intentionally but through a kindness even better than that. He took the old man's hand up in his own and felt the most feeble pulse. He shuddered at the near approach. The old man smiled faintly while Jonathan smiled back and with unheeded words promised to build him a memorial at the shrine. It was the smile that counted. The old man lay peaceful in his bed.
Jonathan stepped out and gathered his three disciples that evening without explanations, with only their bags and a single burro for their return trip. Before the priests could collect he was gone and walking through a darkness which no one else dared look upon, with his small flock and a single torch.
Along the way he kicked over all the rocks he’d set up to mark the path. From the last hilltop he looked back upon the sleepy town and knew that the next sunrise would bring them a day of mourning for the loss of the only leader they’d ever known, with no one able to fill his shoes. "The world is full of changes, soon to come,” he thought. "Let all those pray, who don't know what to do."
Jonathan then bid his three companions take one last look at a town they’d never see again as it was. They wondered at this uneasily, except Simon, who gleaned his meaning. They all knew the old priest was about to pass away. They rested there the night. In the morning they continued, Jonathan taking care to erase all traces of the path. They arrived a day later and were glad to find Peter and Sarah and Eve with a campfire burning and a large meal cooking, as if expecting their return.
This was a happy reunion. The young ones excitedly shared their gifts and tales. After dinner Jonathan told his troop of a new plan, the state of matrimony he’d conceived for them. They would have one more small cabin to build, and then the three couples would each enter their new homes to begin a new life, which they’d learn to appreciate in time.
They turned to their designated partners and stared in mute awe, along a table unused to such silence. Paul and Mary were distinctly smiling, and Peter and Sarah faintly so. But Simon and Eve stood agape, utterly confounded by this unexpected, dictatorial decision. One could imagine them blushing under their thick coatings of white ointment. Eve was several inches taller than Simon and except for being his closest competitor in the art of calligraphy, unlike him in manners.
Paul spoke up for the group and thanked Jonathan for his consideration, while the others more or less reluctantly chimed in.
"Well it’s food for thought," he said as he rose from the table. "Now get some sleep, we have lots of work to begin in the morning."
