Crossroads: Book Three of the Shepherd Chronicles

By Gary Friedman

David Hynes is torn between continuing on the path created for him by a mysterious messenger or supporting a grieving family and starting a life with his beloved, Peggy. After deciding to move forward on his journey, David strikes out once again to bring his message to those that have lost their way. With his flock growing, David finds his way from national politics and battles with terrorists to rescuing an elderly man from a fate that does not belong to him. Along his path, he discovers the greater depth of his mission and a new mentor to guide his way. His mysterious messenger takes on a new form as David begins to define his future. Through it all, David proves that one man can make a difference not just for himself, but for every life he touches, while encouraging all of us to do the same. In the conclusion to the Shepherd Chronicles trilogy, one man continues an inspirational quest to take the focus off himself and make a difference. Please visit the author’s web site

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483482309

Book preview

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1

And Then I Said …

ONE TABLE LAMP IS LIT, its three-way bulb at the lowest wattage. The dimness leaves the perimeter of the room in darkness. Despite the hour, with the midday sun beating down on the exterior of the vinyl-sided home, all the curtains and blinds in the house are drawn closed. Why? Because that’s what you do when you’ve lost a loved one.

Next to the lamp sits a recliner. Every other piece of furniture in the house has been replaced at least once in my lifetime, some more than once, except this recliner. And its wear is obvious. In all its time in our home, it has had but one occupant, my dad, Tom Hynes. Of course, every once in a while, our family dogs might have snuck their way onto the cushions, but as soon as my father entered the room, they would run as far away as they could … and as fast as possible.

This day, my father’s recliner is being occupied in a different manner. Not by a person but a thing. At first glance, it is nothing more than a stick, but there is nothing ordinary about it. It is gnarled and natural, never processed or turned. The shaft is straight and long, over six feet, with a large hook at the top. It’s almost like the crown of a question mark. In its day, which was thousands of years ago, it was known as a shepherd’s staff. A walking stick.

This walking stick is resting diagonally across my father’s chair with its tip on the ground and its large hook lying against the head rest. The light from the lamp illuminates the stick as if that were its purpose for being. You would think that two-thousand-year-old wood sticks would simply absorb the light shined upon them, but not this stick. This stick revels in the attention of the light, virtually glowing. It reflects the light beams back across the room, onto the ceiling, and across my face, highlighting the slow, steady flow of tears that course along my features, dripping onto onto my white shirt and dark tie.

And who are you? you ask.

My name is David. I am the guy on one knee in front of Tom Hynes’ recliner with one hand on the shepherd’s staff and the other resting on the hand that is resting on my shoulder. I will get back to that hand in a minute.

The glowing stick is mine. Well, it’s kind of mine. It was given to me several weeks ago. I’m just not sure if it was given to me or if it’s on loan to me as long as I continue on the path laid out before me. I found out the frailty of this stick’s existence just a couple of days earlier when I had the temerity to step off that path long enough to watch this ancient wonder turn into a puddle at my feet and then disappear for what I thought was forever. But it reappeared on this day, at this moment, on my father’s recliner.

Confused yet? Hang on. It only gets worse. You see, the shepherd’s staff was left for me by a messenger. The messenger sought me out because of a promise I had made to serve God if he saved me from a death that was hovering only seconds away. I was told I was being held to my promise to serve. I was to go out and find the lost sheep and bring them back to their path.

Despite how well I accomplished my tasks and the amazing depths I went to in order to keep my promise, and despite the pride my family and friends had in me, I messed up. When word came to me of my father’s death, I lost sight of who I am and what I had accomplished. I blamed God for taking away my father, my hero, without even a chance to say good-bye. I didn’t just step off my path. I jumped off the proverbial cliff. I lost my faith, my vision and with them, my heart. I destroyed the walking stick without any thought of how many times it had served me, how many times it had saved my life.

This morning, while sitting alone next to Dad’s casket, I asked him to help me one last time. I wanted him to tell me that all wasn’t lost and to tell me what to do next. I told him I knew he couldn’t sit up and offer up an answer, but I asked him to show me some sign, to shine some light on the path before me.

Now you know how this walking stick got on my father’s recliner, with the glow of a single light bulb announcing its arrival. It is a sign meant for me, one that renews my hope and my faith in what I’m supposed to do next. A sign that I’m not alone in my mission and that the navigator that had been by my side from the start still believes in me, still guides me. The tears are a mixed sign. They represent the sadness that my hero, my father, Tom Hynes is gone, mixed with the joy that he heard my voice one more time in a moment of need … just like he always had. I am overwhelmed with the relief that my mission is still mine to define.

Oh yeah. The hand on my shoulder. It is attached to the loving arm of Peggy … my Peg. She had been waiting for me in the car while I dropped off the keys to my father’s Explorer at the house. When I didn’t come right back out, she got concerned that I had succumbed to the emotions that had been chasing me for days. She stepped into the kitchen, glanced into the family room and found me on my knee. She had been with me when I destroyed the shepherd’s staff. To see it now, illuminated before me … on my father’s chair no less … was no small miracle. Let’s just say the tears falling to the ground were not just mine.

When I felt her hand rest on my shoulder, I could feel a warmth radiate from her touch and travel through my whole being. I knew at that moment that what we had together was meant to be and that we could survive any obstacle that came our way. When I felt her touch, I should have risen, turned, taken her in my arms and held her close. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want anything about this slice in time to end. Not Peg’s touch, not the glow of the walking stick, not the connection to the sign that my father left for me and the sense that he is still with me, and not the presence of the messenger that wouldn’t give up on me, whether I deserve it all or not. I want to freeze this moment in time, have it bronzed, and carry it with me where ever I go.

I bow my head one last time, close my eyes, whisper one quiet thank-you, turn to the love of my life, and gently kiss away her tears. I pull her close and quietly whisper in her ear, Everything is going to be okay. Dad is at peace, is where he wants to be, and still has my back. Mom, Jeannie, and Hannah will all be fine. My mission is still ahead of me, and I have you.

I love you, Mr. Hynes, she whispers back.

And my love is something you will never be without, no matter what! I reply. I kiss her gently on the lips and hug her one more time. We have a reception to get to. I am sure people will start missing us.

Are you going to take the walking stick with us?

No, I’m going to leave it right there. I want Mom and the girls to see what I saw. It would be nice for them to share in the moment.

Then let’s head over to the church and get through the rest of this day, she replies softly. Your mom is going to want you by her side, you know. Maybe later on we’ll get some alone time. We have a lot to talk about, you and me.

I squeeze her hand just a little tighter and smile. We turn and head back into the kitchen, where I open the door leading to the garage. Peggy steps through first while I stop in the doorway and look back toward the family room. I can still see the top of the recliner over the breakfast bar, and for an instant, I can see my father’s face smiling back at me from his favorite chair. As the vision fades, in its place is the top of the shepherd’s staff resting against the pillow.

I smile back at the fading vision and give it a nod.

Good-bye, Dad.

If only I could hear his response one last time, one last handshake, one last hug in his massive marine arms. If only …

All memories now, but all very real, very alive. The ones that will never be more than a heartbeat away. I spent years running away from him, disappointing him. Never again. His last month on this earth was one engulfed in pride; pride in me and a faith that I would never let him or our family down.

Frozen in place, I do it one more time. I make a promise. With Peggy as my witness, watching me from the middle of the garage, I utter the words that I hold in the utmost respect. "Dad, I promise. I will never let you down again. Not you, not Mom or the girls and certainly not Peg. You believed in me when very few did, so I need to tell you, I will always be the man you believed me to be. I will always be accountable to the faith you had in me.

Be at peace, Dad. I’m back!

I promise."

2

Seventh Wonder

POTHOLES! THE CURSE OF WINTER’S cold and the result of salt, spread across the roads to keep the winter ice at bay. Potholes have their own circle of life. The seeds of their existence are planted in the winter, fed by truckloads of salt, and erupting to life in the spring thaw. The holes are filled by road crews in the heat of the summer to start the cycle again. The weak link is the work crews. They always manage to miss a few holes, leaving them for the residents of Western New York to rediscover while tooling along the highway. The result is the rattling of the car’s frame, shaking out the rust and testing the life of the tires that potholes meet along the way.

It is such a pothole that awakens me from a day dream as I drive along the I-190 at sixty-five miles per hour. It’s a perfect Saturday morning in August in Buffalo. I am behind the wheel of my father’s black Explorer. Mom had been talking about giving me Dad’s SUV. Her plan was for Jeannie to give her car to Hannah and for me to give the insurance money I received for the drowning of my faithful red Jeep Wrangler to Jeannie so she could buy a new car, leaving me with the Explorer. It’s big and roomy and nothing like my cozy Jeep. I suppose I can get used to it. Maybe the larger size would make me more visible to the trucks that seem to keep running into me. At least I hope so.

On the other side of the center console, curled up in the passenger seat, rests Peggy. She has the window open, causing her shoulder length blonde hair to blow gently toward the back seat. Her head is tilted as she gazes ahead, seemingly lost in the same daydream that had just left me, her blue eyes staring through the windshield. How is it possible to fall in love again each and every time I have the good fortune of being in her company? Each time I fall, it feels a little deeper and a little more intense than the last time. Her empty sandals are on the floor mat in front of her and her bare feet are tucked underneath her tanned legs. Suddenly aware of my eyes on her, she turns toward me, her blue eyes smiling right through my heart.

What are you looking at, Mister, she coos.

My future, I reply, bringing an even bigger smile to her face.

You sure know how to work a girl, she laughs.

Trust me, it’s no work at all. Purely pleasure.

She reaches for my hand across the console and caresses it softly. Trusting you is the easiest thing I have to do each day. Her gaze goes back to the windshield. I really appreciate having a day like this together, just us. There has been so much going on with all the work on getting your mom’s house in order, helping her settle the estate, spending time with your sisters. We don’t get many days like this, Davey.

I know, gorgeous. I will definitely try harder to find time for just us. I think a day like this, walking around the Falls is just what the doctor ordered.

The lucky folks of Western New York are never more than a few minutes away from a romantic getaway. Just a couple of miles from my home in Tonawanda is the spectacular Niagara Falls. Yes, a summer’s day like this will attract thousands of tourists around the clock but the state park is big enough to make it seem like your own. Especially the hideaways on Three Sisters Islands, just across a walking bridge from Goat Island. It’s been our favorite place since our first date back in high school. It was where we shared our first kiss.

As we drive up the north Grand Island bridge, crossing the Niagara River, the mist from the Falls is visible off to our left. The traffic is surprisingly light. With check-out times at most of the hotels set at 11am, the tourists are not yet on the road in force. At the base of the bridge, we circle around to the Niagara Scenic Parkway which follows along the shore of the river, heading toward the rapids above the Falls. The panoramic view keeps our attention to the left. That’s a good thing since to the right is row after row of factories that came to Niagara Falls with the promise of cheap electricity. I understand the attraction of cheap electricity but couldn’t they have built this industry away from the stunning view of the Niagara River as it rushes toward the Falls? I have always believed it is a crying shame that the blight of industry has to be the first thing the tourists get to see when they arrive in the city. It’s certainly not like this on the Canadian side of the river.

Once in the city, we take an exit that will lead to the small bridge that will carry us to Goat Island. We grab the first spot we see in the parking lot at the upriver end of the island, reach for our water bottles and begin our slow stroll, hand in hand. Did I mention the weather is perfect? Probably seventy-five degrees, cloudless sky, still air. I only wish all the Buffalo detractors could be walking with us. Yes, winters can be a challenge here but they are a small price to pay for the ideal summers we enjoy. The winter just helps us appreciate the other three seasons all the more. Besides, they also serve to make people around here the strongest, most giving and resilient population you will find anywhere. So much for the Chamber of Commerce section of my story.

Peg slides her hand out of mine and hooks it under my arm, pulling me closer, leaning her head against my shoulder. Her deep sigh has contentment written all over it. Oh, Davey. I never thought we would have a morning like this again. So much has challenged us the past couple of years. That we have survived it together sometimes feels like a miracle.

Yes it does, Peg, I reply. I know I’ve been a pain but I am so glad you waited for me to grow up. I always believed that the last chapter of our story hadn’t been written and we would find our way back to each other. I won’t live long enough to be able to say thank you as many times as you deserve.

Thank me for what?

For being you, for understanding, for being patient and trusting me enough to let me find my way. She squeezes my arm a little tighter, pulling me even closer in the process.

Davey, have you thought at all about what’s next for us? Where we might go from here?

To be honest, Peg, I’ve thought about little else over the last month since my father passed away. I mean, most people set up the goals for their life by what drives them most passionately. At that level, I know I want to spent all of my life with you by my side. In terms of doing what, I have no idea. I don’t believe my journey as the Shepherd is anywhere near over, but nothing that has happened to me has been my plan. It’s more like me giving up control over my life, letting the other powers that carry me do their thing, putting me in the right place to do the most good. The only problem with that is, how do I plan my own life? How do I provide for you or for the family we both want? At some point, I have to make some choices. I do know Jacob and the restaurant business will always be an option for me but it’s not something I am passionate about anymore.

Darlin, Peggy begins, I have no doubt you will be able to provide for us when that time comes. I just want you to understand that I don’t want you to stop being who you’ve become for me. I could never look at myself in the mirror if I thought I was the cause of the end of what has become your mission. I think you keep being called upon because you are so amazing at what you do and that someway, somehow, you will be rewarded for your actions, and that we will be just fine financially. You still have some money saved up from your time in Jacob’s clubs and your dad’s life insurance provided you with a bit of a nest egg. We will be fine. You have to finish out what you have started, either as a life’s work or to its appropriate end.

I see you have been thinking about this too.

Non-stop.

You’re amazing, Lady.

I just want you to be happy. If that means you go off alone on the next leg of your journey or if we go off together, whatever. You have my support. You have my never-ending love. Time will supply all the answers we need.

I love you too, Peg. We are a team and together we can figure it out. I have no doubt.

With that, we grow silent, walking arm in arm, taking in all nature has to offer. Occasionally, our paths cross with that of other couples enjoying the sunshine or families of all sizes, ages and nationalities spending their vacations together, making memories that will last them a lifetime. Joggers at both ends of the spectrum on their exercise plan, either fly past us or wheeze along, hoping the pain goes away.

We follow along the road until we reach the bridge that leads us to Three Sisters Islands. No vehicles, not even any roads. Clean, maintained as it has always been, almost untouched. The paths take us out into the middle of the Niagara River with the gentle edges of the Falls’ rapids percolating around us on all sides. Nature unchanged. Close enough to the water that you can stick your toes in if no one is looking and know that every drop of water spread out before you will, in just a few short seconds, be pouring over the edge of Niagara Falls to the waiting Lower Niagara River below. A vision so compelling that it draws millions upon millions of visitors a year.

Peggy takes me by the hand and leads me around the edge of the walking bridge to a small inlet under the bridge, alone with the dozen or so ducks that use the cove as their hideaway. As we approach the water’s edge, Peggy spins me around and wraps her arms around me. Do you remember this spot? she asks.

Of course I do. It’s where you awkwardly dragged me into our first kiss, kicking and screaming.

You didn’t fight it very long.

You were very convincing.

There was no kicking or screaming this time. Her body in my arms has become so familiar, so comforting. She remains the only woman I have ever known and the only one I desire to know. This kiss, like all the others since that first venture, is passionate, loving and carrying the hope that it will never end. I hold her as tight as one human being can hold another without breaking them.

We start our slow stroll along the edge of the water. Obviously, romance is in the air. Couples everywhere are taking advantage of the moment that nature has provided. We smile and nod as we pass them, happy to be a part of the love fest. We come upon a clump of trees along the edge that forces us inland to get around them. As we climb the small rise, we circle the trees and head back to the water’s edge.

Ahead of us, near the shore, is another couple, probably in their mid-forties, facing each other toe to toe but about a foot apart. She is of medium height and weight with long, straight brown hair falling half way down her back. She is wearing cutoff jeans, sandals and a Buffalo Sabres t-shirt, partially covered by her tightly crossed arms. She appears rigid and coiled like a rattler ready to strike. Her brown eyes are framed by a face that is free of emotion, staring intently at her companion.

He looks far less comfortable, shifting from foot to foot, staring down at those feet as if they are his only friends. His hands are fixed firmly in his pockets of his jeans that meet his well-worn Adidas running shoes. He is wearing a plain grey t-shirt and black hoodie, open in the front with the zipper only slightly connected. Tipped back on his tousled red hair is a faded Boston Red Sox baseball cap, a brave choice in Yankee country. He is the only one talking as he glances up quickly every few seconds to see if his words are being heard.

We continue to stroll closer, contemplating circling around them at a distance to avoid listening in. He continues to talk as she continues to grow stiffer.

Some actions meet expectations, following along some predetermined script. Other actions seem to come out of nowhere in a moment where the word surprise doesn’t seem to do it justice. This is one of those moments. Somehow, my observations miss her hands closing into a tight ball. Without warning and without a wind up, the club of a hand at the end of her left arm begins to swing a circle that ends just under the right eye of her companion. It isn’t a powerful landing by most standards but it is precise, with impeccable timing. Her target’s knees stiffen as his head jerks backwards, followed immediately by the rest of his torso. His level of consciousness is debatable. As he flies backwards, the Red Sox hat takes off like a pilot’s seat being ejected from a jet fighter before destruction. Once it reaches its peak altitude, the hat floats downward, carried by the soft breeze and lands gently upon the rapids, making a right turn and heads to the crest of the Falls and then down to the rocks below.

Peg and I are frozen in place, shocked by what we are witnessing. Only twenty or so feet away, we have a ring-side seat to the main event before us. Close enough to see the satisfied grin begin to form on the champion’s face. Close enough to hear the prone challenger start to catch his breath. As he shakes off the cobwebs, he starts to rise to his feet, still directly in front of his companion. This time we are close enough to see his body shaking in anger, close enough to see the fists form, close enough to see him set his feet to maximize the power behind his swing.

Without a signal, and without even looking at each other, Peggy and I both pounce, closing the twenty-foot gap quickly, side by side, The Lone Ranger and Tonto, Batman and Robin with a little bit of Laurel and Hardy mixed in. I wrap my arms around the male half, locking his fists at his side. My