The Harvest Read online

  The

  Harvest

  John David Krygelski

  Starsys Publishing Company

  Dedications:

  To Jean…my compass, my friend, my intellectual mate, my own personal devil’s advocate when it was needed, my sounding board, my protector, and my love. Her wisdom, insights, and humor are woven throughout this story. I hope this didn’t embarrass you.

  To Michael Earl Nolan, a special thank you for giving me my first glimpse of Elohim.

  To Karin, my amazing daughter “Doc”…the other published author in the family. To Sara, my daughter…a wonderful, dedicated mother. To Michael…my artist, my friend, my son.

  Acknowledgments:

  I would like to thank Colleen, whose encouragement, support, and advice meant so much to me as I put together this book.

  And, as always, “a tip of the hat and a wink of the eye” to my sons-in-law, David and Jeff, my precious granddaughters, Jeannie Belle and Mally Paige, my dear friend Rachel, and to Rocky, my visiting angel.

  The Harvest

  http://READTHEHARVEST.COM

  Copyright © 2007 by John David Krygelski. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art: Original oil painting Copyright © 2009 by Michael Nolan

  Art Direction: Michael Nolan – www.michaelnolanart.com

  Editor: Jean Nolan Krygelski

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  * * *

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Published by Starsys Publishing Company

  WWW.STARSYSPUBLISHING.COM

  526 N Alvernon Way

  Tucson, Arizona 85711

  * * *

  ISBN 10: 0982662254

  ISBN 13: 9780982662250

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010902518

  * * *

  Date of First Publication: April 2010

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Other books by John David Krygelski

  Coming soon

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The late summer wildflowers were in bloom along the Potomac. Honey bees frantically performed their duties to the hive and to nature, dashing from flower to flower, gathering nectar from each, accumulating pollen as an accidental by-product of their efforts, mindlessly disseminating it to the others as they worked.

  The mosquitos buzzed about, searching for an unwitting host to provide their next feast. Flies, deceived by the dappled sparkle of sunlight on the rippling veneer of the water, were captured as they grazed the surface, floating helplessly and struggling to somehow escape. Freshwater fish, lazily roaming the river, sensed as much as saw the flutterings of the insects above and swam rapidly upward, snapping open their mouths and swallowing the unlucky flies.

  Out of season, a dull, brown cocoon, attached to the branch of an apple tree, crackled slightly and shivered. The motion detached it from the bark, and it fell to the ground. After a moment of stillness, the cocoon recommenced its flipping, writhing movement on the wild grass, tiny splits appearing in its walls. A shard burst outward, surrendering to the pressure building within. Then a second segment followed. Then a third.

  If a scientist or an amateur naturalist had happened by the river bank, and if his or her eye had been caught by the movements of the cocoon, it would have been a surprise to see, not the crushed and bundled sight of a butterfly completing its metamorphosis and effectuating its escape, but something else.

  As the last of the husk fell away, exposing its contents to the sunlight, the small bundle started to grow, as if thriving on the energy from the rays. As it grew, it took shape…expanding ever more, until reaching its full size. The process complete, the form remained huddled on the grass. Prompted by no sound, alerted by no approaching threat, its eyes suddenly jerked open, exposing irises as blue as sapphires, encircled by whites as pure as a cottony cloud.

  The eyes darted about, surveying the immediate area, as the body unfolded and straightened, revealing the form not of an infant fresh from birth but of a man, fully grown and crowned with whitish-gray hair. The stranger stood and slowly turned, thirstily drinking in the vista before him, seeing wonders in a view overlooked by the others who passed this way.

  Having twice completed a full rotation, the man walked steadily to the bank of the river and stepped into the slowly flowing water.

  Chapter One

  “As all of you know, the current debate centered on religion is fierce. The liberal, or ‘modern,’ segments of society, composed of scientists, social progressives, and a broad spectrum of other secularists, believe that religion is nothing more than another superstition…another comforting tale told around the primal campfire to calm the young and the ignorant. They believe that religion once filled a void of ignorance. They believe that all of the questions once answered by religion can now be answered by science and that religion has now become irrelevant, superfluous and, in fact, dangerous – dangerous because it does not encourage the kind of questioning and open-mindedness which scientific inquiry requires to flourish. They believe that it is this close-minded, dogmatic nature of the religious which hampers many things. Stem cell research is an example. Although the secular maintain that it has the potential to produce amazing cures, it is opposed by the religious because it can encourage abortion. The religious also prevent society from freely pursuing other lifestyle choices in addition to abortion, such as homosexuality and polygamy. The secular can find no scientific study to indicate that abortion is bad. They can find no studies which show that either homosexuality or polygamy is bad.

  “The religious are intense in their opposition to this current trend. They now find themselves in a country founded, at least partially, on the need for religious freedom and wisely structured to separate church and state, a country which now seems to be moving away from freedom of religion and moving toward freedom from religion. They once enjoyed a daily invocation in every classroom. Daily prayer is now a violation of federal law. They enjoyed an open celebration of their holidays. Today the public display of a nativity on government property is illegal. Yes, they do believe religion filled a void and, to some degree, they agree it was a void of ignorance. Their own churches and universities performed some of the best scientific work in our past. However, they also believe there are many thing
s which cannot be proved empirically…there are many truths which can only be taken on faith. It is their faith – or morality – which tells them that creating an industry which would encourage and reward women for the production of fetuses is wrong. They agree that there is no scientific study which proves abortion is bad, because all studies exclude the impact of the procedure on the fetus. And it is their belief that homosexuality and polygamy are immoral. Unfortunately, there is not yet a way to scientifically quantify morality.”

  Reese Johnson paused, allowing the class to absorb some of the concepts. His course, “Religion Under Assault” was, to put it mildly, successful. There were at least three hundred students in the hall, with probably another fifty faculty, parents, and media present. This was his first year at the University of Arizona, indeed his first day. He had not yet had time to decide if he missed Harvard. It was certainly hotter here and not nearly as green. But the university president had promised him an environment where he would have the freedom to teach this course as he wished, teach it without the constraints placed upon him by his previous employer. His disgust over the reality of supposed academic freedom still simmered.

  “Throughout this course we will attempt to temper both sides of this argument. We will try to share with all of you the history of religion, not as a dry summation of dates, people, and places, but rather as the way religion fit into key turning points in our past, monumental events which directly impacted our current society. They are events with which you are already familiar, and yet, I promise that you are not familiar with the part religion played in those events. I daresay many of them would not have occurred at all without this influence, and yet, it is rarely taught. But the past is only part of the story. Granted, it will possibly give you an appreciation you might not have had before. It may even soften some of you in this room who are totally immersed in your antipathy for all things religious. However, the past will not address the central issue of this course, which is what value religion has today. Why do we need it? Whom does it help? Why do those of us who do not believe have to put up with it? And, most critically, why is it so important to the secular community that religion be eradicated?”

  Reese paused a moment again, trying to read the faces. There were several who obviously fit into the last category he described. He could tell by their pinched looks and slightly purple coloring. There were also many believers in the crowd. They were all smiles. Their case was finally going to be made.

  “Any questions at this point?” Reese deliberately picked the most pinched and most purple face which went with a quickly raised hand.

  “Professor Johnson.”

  Reese could tell by the smug look what direction this question would take.

  “Do you plan on addressing the IQS of the religious, compared to the secular?” A ripple of barely muted laughter worked its way through the crowd. The student, still standing, turned to look over his shoulder at the audience, his smile broadening.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. ….”

  “Dubois, Jack Dubois.”

  “Mr. Dubois, I do intend to address that. Now is as good a time as any. May I ask yours?” Reese’s eyes locked on the youngster, watching the smug smile slip away, watching the color slowly drain from his face. “Mr. Dubois?”

  Clearing his throat loudly, the student answered, “I don’t know. I’ve never taken the test.” He visibly relaxed, starting to feel that he had wriggled off the hook.

  “Easily arranged, Mr. Dubois. I’ll set it up for tomorrow. In the meantime, I guess we can make do with your SAT score, which was?”

  The young Dubois had lost all traces of his excitement-induced purple complexion and was rapidly losing his normal coloring. Still, he did not speak.

  “Do you not remember your score?” Reese asked in mock curiosity. “I could have my assistant” – he motioned to Stu Carroll, the postdoc standing off to the left of the hall – “contact the dean’s office? Of course, I’d forgotten we need your permission to obtain that information.

  “Stu,” he said, turning to the standing assistant, “a permission slip? We have one, don’t we?”

  Smiling, the postdoc answered, “Just happen to, yes, sir.”

  “Could you bring one to Mr. Dubois?” Pulling a paper from his open backpack, Stu Carroll started across the front of the lecture hall.

  “It’s 1120!” The score was nearly shouted by Dubois, looking every bit the broken man. Another round of laughter, less subdued, filled the room. Waiting for the laughter to die down and not quite ready to give up, Dubois turned and, addressing the class loudly, proclaimed, “I was drunk that whole week.” With that final explanation, he dropped heavily back into his seat.

  Struggling to repress a smirk, Reese turned his attention away from Jack Dubois and returned it to the entire room. “Any other questions?” Substantially fewer hands were raised this time. Taking his time, Reese looked over his choices, noticing a girl three rows back with brown, kinky hair which looked as though it had not been washed in two weeks and was pulled tightly back, no makeup, a camouflage green T-shirt and khaki cargo pants. He could not see her feet but assumed the mandatory brown sandals were there. Pointing, he said “Yes?”

  She stood up ramrod straight, eyes clear and voice confident. “Megan Mislin, Mr. Johnson. My IQ is 144. My SAT was 1590.”

  “Excellent, Ms. Mislin. And by the way, it’s Professor Johnson. Your question?”

  “Professor Johnson. My question is the obvious one. What is…?”

  “My IQ?”

  “Yes…sir.” Only the slightest disgust showed in her voice as she spoke the last word.

  “Well, you’re not the first to ask. At the risk of sounding coy, I’d rather not say.”

  “Oh?” she said, slightly triumphantly.

  “Instead, I’d rather make it an assignment. That information is available without a tremendous amount of research. Of course, anymore, a tremendous amount of research is having to do anything more than typing a phrase into a search engine. Those of you who are curious, or feel it is important to know that particular fact about me, can find it.”

  From the midst of the hall came a muffled “Shit!”

  Glancing in that direction, Reese could see it had originated from a student with a laptop and, obviously, a wireless connection. “It appears someone has already found the answer. Am I correct?”

  A scruffy boy, looking barely old enough to be a freshman, answered, “I sure did.”

  “There,” said Reese, “see…that was easy enough. Ms. Mislin, since you’re still standing, I assume you still have a question?”

  Twisting around to face the student with the laptop, she said, “Well?”

  Clearing his throat and looking back down at his screen, the boy finally answered, “207.”

  Jamming her hands on her hips and turning to face the front, Mislin barked, “That’s bull…that’s BS,” looking accusatorily at Reese.

  Rather than answering her, Reese motioned to the source of the information. “Please stand up. What is your name?”

  “Louis Frazier.”

  “Mr. Frazier, Ms. Mislin seems to be questioning your fact. Can you back it up?”

  Louis did not enjoy addressing a crowd this size. Still holding his laptop, higher now, he turned to directly face his doubter. “Well…uh. Well, I Googled the professor, and a Mayo Clinic paper came up on him. His school tested him in seventh grade and came up with” – he looked back at the screen – “210. They were kind of blown away, so they retested him, and the second score was 206.” Pausing again as he read from the article, he continued, “The school counselor’s wife worked in the psychology department at the Mayo Clinic. The counselor took Professor Johnson there, and they had one of their staff psychologists test him. That score was 207, so it was the one they used.”