The Silver Bridge Read Free Page B

she envisioned sins that few others would admit or call to mind: the many things she had not done in the fulfillment of her daily living and the practice of her chosen faith.
    That Monday she had turned on the television set to catch a noon report on the Viet Nam war. There had followed an entertaining program and she had been caught up in it. The young MC of the contest show had reminded her of a relative who had died in an accident—still in sin, though she felt that Jesus would suffer only the most wicked to burn in Hell, and that surely the young, weeping and looking heavenward as they entered those dark and awesome gates, would not be denied one last chance for repentance.
    And she had not prayed for all sinners everywhere: those on drugs, those languishing in prisons, those uncorrupted children of heathen lineage who had never heard even the shortest biblical verse, “Jesus wept.”
    Especially, she had not prayed for those lost souls, who according to the Bible, had not one hope, being damned forever, as had the rich man who begged Lazarus for one drop of water to moisten his tongue.
    “Let me, O Lord, implore you,” she prayed, “to take my own precious life and soul, and place me in that fiery furnace, if but one of those lost souls there might be given a chance once more to bask in the brilliance of Thy golden light, and to experience Thy forgiving and redeeming power.”
    Although she couldn’t understand why even the most wicked should be consigned to eternal suffering, she felt that the ways of God were mysterious and far beyond her mortal powers of understanding.
    But she had forgotten on that day; she had neglected to offer this prayer. And shortly afterward the vision came over her.
    Her prophecies usually came in such visions, but mostly they were less dramatic and not as frightening. Instead it would seem that a quiet voice would speak on such occasions and tell her of events to come.
    This time the vision was different. It began with black clouds billowing toward her. Out of the clouds came lightning and flame. Then the clouds parted, and a huge airplane, its jets screaming, plunged out of them into her view. It was a vast, unearthly plane, with many engines, all spouting fire and fumes. It poised high in the sky and then plunged toward her, and the noise of the jets seemed to mingle with the screams of many passengers.
    Mrs. Thomas felt this was a portent of a forthcoming plane crash, such as she had experienced before the collision of two planes over the Grand Canyon some years previous.
    The plane became amorphous, and changed shape. Now it was a huge, awesome bird that still plunged toward her with terrifying swiftness. Its wings flapped wildly, and the screams of the passengers changed to a wild and unearthly croaking. Its eyes, red and glaring, seemed to hold her in a hypnotic trance. They became larger and larger, with the blackness closing in around them.
    “Those eyes had gripping power over you,” she told her neighbors. “I feared it was going to tear me to pieces.”
    By Wednesday, Nov. 16, Mrs. Thomas had recovered from the initial shock of the vision, but was worried about the events which it must have portended.
    Mrs. Katherine Wamsley, along with Marcella Bennett, both Point Pleasant residents, had come to visit her, and they had cheered her up. Mrs. Bennett brought her new baby, and Mrs. Thomas saw it for the first time. As soon as the mother unwrapped her, the child confirmed Mrs. Thomas’s reputation with children. The baby opened her little eyes and made a gurgling noise, and tried to reach out and touch her large necklace, even though the child was only three months old.
    “There, Baby, Baby, let me hold you,” Mrs. Thomas offered, a warm glow permeating her as she took it from its mother. It burbled pleasantly again.
    “She’s been so cross lately,” Mrs. Bennett told her; “you work wonders with babies.”
    “I like her little pink dress,” Mrs. Wamsley said, “I