Hill of Grace by Stephen Orr Page A

remember this?’
    But William didn’t reply, moving his glass into a puddle of spilt port and turning it by the stem. ‘God spoke to me,’ he said.
    Joshua looked up. ‘He speaks to all of us, William.’
    â€˜No, not in that sense . . . real words. He whispered my name.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜Hill of Grace. I was picking for Henschke. I had my basket half full. I noticed a lily and bent down and then I heard . . . William .’
    Joshua put his hands in his lap and shrugged, unsure of a reply.
    â€˜Did he have a deep voice?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Was it everywhere, or just the . . . lily?’
    â€˜The lily didn’t talk.’
    â€˜Did it say William, or Wilhelm?’
    â€˜Joshua.’
    William threw back the rest of his port. ‘I can’t remember the words exactly, but I looked up . . .’ He was looking for the words to explain but they were far beyond his grasp.
    â€˜So, what did he say?’ Joshua urged, sitting forward, unsure if he should grin, or hail William as some sort of prophet. Surely if God was going to pick a messenger . . . still, William was a reliable man, and messengers had to be reliable.
    â€˜I can’t remember,’ William continued, ‘but it was something about spreading the message.’
    â€˜The message?’
    â€˜Christ’s return.’
    â€˜It was that clear?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Joshua’s eyes drifted off into the rafters. ‘Like Ussher?’
    â€˜No, that was different. He was loopy.’
    William was referring to the Calvinist Bishop who, Henry had explained to them one Sunday, had made a study of the Bible and come up with the very day and time God had created the earth: twelve o’clock, Sunday the twentieth of October, 4004 BC. His chronology had even extended to the day of Noah’s flood, 1659 years later. This is what Lutheranism had saved them from, Henry explained. Dark Ages religion. The dates so misunderstood they’d even graced the margins of the King James’ Bible. But what were dates, he’d concluded? Pure guesswork. This wasn’t in the spirit of the Bible. The Bible was about two things: grace and love. And William was inclined to agree, referring to it at the following week’s Bible study as Ussher’s arrogance.
    But this was a different thing altogether. He’d imagined Ussher, in his purple robes, sitting in his chambers dictating dates to feeble minded lackeys. His revelation was about the knowable, something written in every verse and rhyme of Revelations.
    Joshua sat back in his chair and breathed deeply. ‘And that was all?’
    William tapped his finger on the table. ‘He didn’t give me instructions.’
    â€˜But what did you make of it?’
    â€˜That there’s more I can do . . .’
    Joshua shook his head. He still didn’t know what to make of it. ‘Well . . . there’d be no point him coming to me.’
    William shrugged. ‘So?’
    â€˜Henry says he speaks to all of us. Maybe to you his words just . . . clarified.’
    â€˜Maybe?’
    â€˜I’m sure they did.’
    â€˜I swear. These were real words, spoken by a real voice.’ And with that he sat back and breathed deeply. ‘I swear.’
    â€˜If that’s what you tell me, William, I believe you. Maybe he wants everybody to have the opportunity – ’
    â€˜Exactly!’
    But William was still only a little more convinced himself. Joshua had rationalised the news with a less than ecstatic response. If William was going to convince others he’d have to convince Joshua first.
    Joshua’s revelation was nowhere near as profound as William’s or as poetic as John’s. The voice of God didn’t speak to him and, as with most people, there was nothing new about the thoughts which passed through his head: his magnolia in full flower, the lemon scent of Bon Ami washing