Free When Heaven Weeps by Ted Dekker Page A

his heart swell in his chest. He looked at the women and silently pleaded for them to remain quiet, yet he doubted his dismay showed—his muscles had lost most of their control.
    Do not renounce our Lord! Don’t you dare speak out for me! You cannot take this from me!
    He tried to speak, but only a faint groan came out. That and a string of saliva, which dripped to his chest. He moved his eyes to Ivena. Don’t let them, Ivena. I beg you!
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you? You can’t hear? I said one of you! Surely you have a sinner in your pretty little town, willing to speak out to save your precious priest’s miserable neck! Speak!”
    Bright light filled Michael’s mind, blinding him to the cemetery.
    The field! But something had changed. Silence!
    Absolute silence.
    The man had stopped, thirty meters off, legs planted in the flowers, hands on his hips, dressed in a robe like a monk. Above his head the light still streaked in from the horizon. And silence.
    Michael blinked. What . . .
    Sing O son of Zion; Shout O child of mine
    Rejoice with all your heart and soul and mind
    The man’s words echoed over the field.
    Child of mine! Michael’s lips twitched to a slight grin. Rejoice with all . . .
    The man suddenly threw his arms out to either side lifted his head to the sky and sang.
    Every tear you cried dried in the palm of my hand
    Every lonely hour was by my side
    Every loved one lost, every river crossed
    Every moment, every hour was pointing to this day
    Longing for this day . . .
    For you are finally home
    Michael felt as though he might faint for the sheer power of the melody. He wanted to run to the man. He wanted to throw out his own arms and tilt his head back and wail the same song from the bottom of his chest. A few notes dribbled past Michael’s lips, uncontrolled. La da da da la . . .
    A faint giggling sound came from his left. He turned.
    She was skipping toward him in long bounds. Michael caught his breath. He could not see her face because the girl’s chin was tilted back so that she stared at the sky. She leaped through the air, landing barefoot on the white petals every ten yards, her fists pumping with each footfall. Her pink dress fluttered in the wind.
    She was echoing the man’s melody now, not like Michael had done, but perfectly in tune and then in harmony.
    Father Michael knew then that this girl hurtling toward him was Nadia. And in her wake followed a thousand others, bubbling with a laughter that swelled with the music.
    The song swallowed him whole now. They were all singing it, led by the man. It was impossible to discern the laughter from the music—they were one and the same.
    Nadia lowered her head and shot him a piercing stare as she flew by. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously, as though daring him to give chase.
    But there was a difference about Nadia. Something so startling that Michael’s heart skipped a beat.
    Nadia was beautiful!
    She looked exactly as she had before her death. Same freckles, same pigtails, same plump facial features. But in this reality he found that those freckles and that thick face and all that had made her homely before, now looked . . .
    Beautiful. Nearly intoxicating. His own perspective had changed!
    He took an involuntary step forward, dumbfounded. And he knew in that moment that his pity for both Nadia’s appearance and her death had been badly misplaced.
    Nadia was beautiful all along. Physically beautiful. And her death held its own beauty as well.
    Oh death, where is thy sting?
    For the first time his eyes saw her as she truly was. Before, his sight had been masked by a preoccupation for the reality that now seemed foolish and distant by comparison. Like mud pies next to delicious mounds of ice cream.
    A wind rushed by, filled with the laughter of a thousand souls. The white flower petals swirled in their wake. Michael couldn’t hold back his chuckles now. They shook his