God Has Spoken by Theresa A. Campbell Page A

holy and mighty name I pray. Amen.”
    Aunt Madge held onto the bed and pulled herself up off her knees. Feeling tired and drained, she went and sat on a small three-legged stool by the window, staring out into the black night, her mind consumed with Tiny.
    â€œSo where in Kingston is Tiny going?” a church sister had asked Aunt Madge earlier that day in the market.
    â€œKingston? What are you talking about?” Aunt Madge responded as she weighed out the yam for the woman.
    â€œI just seen Tiny take off on a bus heading for Kingston.”
    The yam fell from Aunt Madge’s hand. “What? You must be mistaken,” Aunt Madge replied nervously as she searched the woman’s eyes, pleadingly. “Tiny is home getting her rest.”
    â€œNo, ma’am. I know Tiny since she was a baby, and it was her on that bus.” The woman saw the shocked look on Aunt Madge’s face and realized she didn’t know about Tiny’s little trip. “Sister Madge, I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”
    Aunt Madge felt her feet wobble. Worry etched across her face as she quickly lowered herself onto the stool by her stall. Where was Tiny going in Kingston? Who was she going to? Was she coming back?
    â€œAre you okay?” the woman asked Aunt Madge with concern. “Can I get you anything?”
    Aunt Madge shook her head and shakily rose to her feet. Without a word, she grabbed another piece of yam off the stall and handed it to the woman, waving away the money she held out to her.
    As if in daze, Aunt Madge cleared off her little stall, packing away everything in the big straw basket. Rapidly blinking away the tears, she hoisted the heavy basket on her head before walking away from the market in distress.
    Shortly thereafter, Aunt Madge arrived home. Leaving the basket at the top of the steps, she hurried inside the house. She still held some hope that her church sister was wrong. After all, it had been said that everyone has a double somewhere out there.
    â€œTiny! Tiny!” Aunt Madge shouted, down on all four looking under the beds. “Where are you, Tiny?” she cried as she looked behind the doors. “Baby, are you in here?” she said as she searched in the bathroom. But the house was empty.
    Still not giving up, Aunt Madge ran back outside. Dashing into the kitchen, she looked around anxiously. No sign of Tiny.
    Dear God, maybe she went back to the river, Aunt Madge thought. A lump the size of a baseball rose in her throat. Coughing and wheezing, Aunt Madge bent over, sucking deep breaths into her lungs as she struggled to breathe. Composing herself, she headed for the river.
    â€œPlease, God. Don’t let Tiny do anything foolish,” Aunt Madge prayed as she slipped and slid down the rough trail, grabbing at the tall grass on either side of her to prevent a fall. Walking quickly through the field, fear oozing through every pore, she headed toward the sound of running water.
    The hot Jamaican sun kissed her face as she stood at the edge of the river. Using her hand to shield her eyes, Aunt Madge peered across the water where the huge, tall rock loomed into the sky, unoccupied. It looked as if Tiny had indeed left for Kingston. But although her mind was confirming the obvious, Aunt Madge’s heart refused to accept it.
    â€œTiny! Baby, where are you?” Aunt Madge chanted as she walked the riverbed. Looking behind trees, in deep ravines, around big rocks, in tall grass along the riverbank, she searched for Tiny. Traveling east, west, north, south, mile after mile, Aunt Madge combed the surrounding area. But no sign of Tiny.
    A little over an hour later, totally exhausted, Aunt Madge slumped down on a rock, her aching, swollen feet stretched out in front of her. She now knew in her heart that Tiny had really left. It was then that the floodgates opened. Aunt Madge rested her throbbing head in her hands resting in her lap and bawled. Deep, wrenching sobs