All people spend their lives scratching for food, but they never seem to have enough.” –Ecclesiastes 6:7 (NLT)
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“Finegan! What are you doing up out bed? exclaimed Doc, flabbergasted upon seeing the two men come through the door.
There was a big smile on Finegan, or Copper’s face as Rev. Chapman helped him walk over to the table. “What’s the matter, Doc?” asked the Preacher, “Don’t you believe in miracles?”
There was a mixture of anger and frustration on Doc’s face as he pulled out a chair for Finegan to sit on. “Sit down, and now please tell me, Preacher, what gives you the right to bring one of my patients out? One who is confined to his bed!”
Rev. Chapman was just beaming as he helped Finegan to the chair. “Easy Doc, don’t get yourself all ruffled. Doc, Miles, Molly, I was you to meet a new brother in the Lord. This here is a new believer, Boyd “Copper” Finegan, formerly of New York.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Molly.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” huffed Doc as he began to look his patient over.
“Why don’t you all sit down, and we’ll tell you what happened,” suggested the Parson, as he pulled out a chair for Molly to sit. “It’s not all that spectacular and yet it is. Anytime someone comes to the saving knowledge of the Lord it is a spectacular event, but why should we be surprised?”
I hadn’t said a word, I was just listening and watching. Watching Copper, or Finegan’s expression, and watching Doc begin to hover around him looking him over carefully.
“You know, walking over here could have killed you!” snapped Doc, finally beginning to settle down. His gaze went to the Preacher, “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Doc, it was my fault. After we prayed, and I accepted the Lord as my Savior, the preacher here touched my stomach, and put his other hand on my head. Something hit me, no, more like something was jerked from me. I told the Rev. Chapman that I wanted to get up and walk. He found my clothes, and we walked on over here knowing that you all would be here,” explained Finegan, touching his stomach and then looking at Doc.
“Honestly, doctor, I feel fine, just a little weak,” then he turned his attention to me. “And Marshal, I want you to know I’m not holding any animosities towards you,” and he reached out his hand.
As I shook it, the Preacher asked, “Are there any charges against Brother Boyd?”
“Uh, as far as I’m concerned Mr. Slocum is doing well, and unless Deputy Ramos wants to press charges, I reckon his time recuperating should cover his jail sentence.”
“Wonderful! Say, Doc, could Brother Boyd stay at your place for a couple of days until I find him a place to live? He was crawling into the stables at night,” the Preacher paused, then added, “He’s rather down and out right now.”
Doc was still looking at Finegan, then all of a sudden he poked where I had hit him with the Greener. He flinched some, but it didn’t seem to hurt him. “Doc!” yelled the Parson, “what are you doing?”
Doc scratched the side of his face, then went back to his chair and sat down. “I won’t question the good Lord, and I do believe in miracles, even though I am somewhat skeptical at times. Yes, yes, let him stay,” he scratched his face again. “At least that way I can keep an eye on him.”
The Preacher was beaming. Finegan spoke up, “I’ve heard about your Thanksgiving festivities, I’d be proud if I could be of help.”
It got quiet, then I spoke out, “No one can say that the Lord don’t work in mysterious ways…”