The Unspeakable by Charles L. Calia

to care.
    I watched Marbury closely. He bent over the child, pulled back the blanket, and kissed its forehead. Nothing else. The woman cried and hugged him, and Marbury told her that everything was secure in God’s hands. That she shouldn’t worry. That everything would be the way that God intended. And then he said one other thing that haunts me even now.
    He said, abandon yourself to God.
    Marbury saw me watching him as he came back. He fell into the seat next to me, knowing full well that I had witnessed everything, and he said, “I didn’t know what else to say.”
    â€œYou should have told her to go to a doctor. That child might be sick.”
    â€œSome folks don’t trust doctors.”
    â€œAnd they trust you?”
    â€œThey trust God, Peter. I’m nothing.”
    â€œThis is exactly what I’m talking about. Do this and you won’t last.”
    Marbury peered at me. “Are you telling me that a priest can’t pray?”
    â€œI’m telling you that you can’t heal people.”
    He smiled and gurgled some more. Laughter.
    â€œCon men and road show preachers heal,” I said. “Not priests.”
    I tossed the notes into my briefcase, punctuating my point. Marbury just sat there and stared at me, making me feel uncomfortable. He was right that a priest ought to be able to pray for healing, but I couldn’t admit that. Not now. Not under these circumstances.
    â€œYou set up false expectations, Marbury.”
    â€œI don’t. I never said I could heal. I didn’t even suggest it.”
    â€œThen why would anyone say it of you?”
    Marbury just shrugged. “I guess because of Pennsylvania.”
    I sat down again, for in my rush of anger I had stood up.
    â€œWhat the hell happened to you out there anyway? Tell me.”
    â€œI found God, Peter.”
    â€œGod?”
    â€œIt’s amazing what you can find in a blizzard.”
    Marbury said that the snow was getting worse in Wheelersburg, now a full-fledged emergency. Everything was shut down. There were reports on the radio that the National Guard was being mobilized, though nobody could confirm that. When Marbury looked outside, he couldn’t see how anyone could mobilize in this kind of weather, military or otherwise. The snow was now well over a foot deep and still coming downward. The sky and the ground matched perfectly, absolute whiteout conditions, and nothing moved, exceptfor the power lines that swayed in the wind and threatened only darkness.
    Fears of losing power aside, the hospital readied its emergency procedures. Meals were brought out of storage. Electric generators and batteries were brought up to speed, should they be needed, and special operating rooms set up for any incoming. Somebody called over to the town hall about the snowplow but only got a recording. It was just sitting there anyway, stuck in the snow like every other vehicle, and the hopes of being cleared out anytime soon evaporated after that. They were stuck.
    Marbury pitched in where he could. He spent the evening delivering coffee to the staff, and even did a bit of shoveling. Abigail, the night nurse, saw Marbury working on the loading bay, which had more snow falling from the concrete overhang. He was almost waist deep in it but he tried to shovel it anyway, intent on clearing a route for future emergency vehicles.
    â€œForget it,” said Abigail. “Folks are on their own in this weather. We couldn’t save anyone if we had to, Father. The roads are all closed.”
    Marbury asked her if she heard any updates from the radio.
    â€œIt’s pretty grim. Another foot, maybe more.”
    â€œI’ll never get out of here,” he said.
    â€œYou’ll get out. It just might take a while.”
    Marbury stuffed the shovel into the nearest snowbank and kicked the ice from his feet. No boots. He was cold and it was almost morning, though the sky looked the same old puffy