The Witness

The
Witness
Abe C. Abeyta

2
Dedicated to the memory of
Frances Ann McMahon.
11/18/1939 – 7/6/2018
‘A love everlasting’

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Chapter One
“Ye shall receive power after the Holy Ghost
has come upon you: And ye shall be witnesses
unto me.”
ACTS I: 8
The call was for a medic and the response
was quick. Medical teams moved swiftly and
prepared for still another classic in their neverending
mission of treating the wounded. The rain
continued and the terrain had now become a sea of
mud. Along the length of a bunker, soldiers in
ankle deep water tended to minor wounds and
rested their exhausted bodies.
“Jesus guys, I feel like I just ran twenty
miles.”

The soldier turned and waited for a response and
then feeling somewhat ignored irately muttered.
“In the god damn mud!”
4
The soldier puzzled by the silence, threw his arms
up and quietly sat down. His face also showed fatigue
and the understood concern for the uncertain conditions
that lay ahead. All was quiet. Not one word broke the
silence and the men rested; this bunker was their
sanctuary, their retreat from the war, their security, at
least for the moment.
It was so long in planning, so long in coming and
now it was here, the invasion of Normandy. Though
hampered by weather conditions and miscalculations,
the Allies without recourse took the beaches at the
expense of countless casualties. It was a campaign
never to be forgotten and many would be remembered
as a sacrifice in their final endeavor.
The shaking of the soldier’s body was visibly
evident as he tried desperately to hide it from the others.

5
“I’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered, as
he removed his helmet and attempted to dry tears
with his wet sleeve.
“Oh God!” He cried. “Please help me.”
His hands covered his face as he lowered his
head to his knees. The chaplain, a tall man, his
dark hair streaked with gray, tended to a mortally
wounded soldier. After prayer and a final blessing,
the Chaplain rose and nodded to the Medics
tending the boy. He turned and walked down into
the bunker approaching the grief-stricken boy.
“It’s Ok, Carl; you’re not too old to cry. It
helps to think about home and loved ones.”
The Chaplain placed his hand on the boy’s
shoulder, removed his glasses and sat cautiously,
on a wet muddy mound next to him. Carl’s hands
still covered his face as he cried out.

6
“Please help me Padre, please!”
The Chaplain removed Carl’s hands from his face
and looked deep into his eyes. He felt Carl relax with
some sense of security as the rain ran freely from his
face.
“There’s something special about the Padre,”
thought Carl. “He seems to understand the war and the
fear that every soldier feels and harbors. And he always
seems to be there when you need him.”
Whatever it was, Carl was sure glad he was there.
He smiled and softly slapped the chaplain on the
shoulder.
“Thanks Padre, but I just don’t know what to do
anymore.”
Carl leaned back against the bunker-wall as the
rain ran freely down his face.

7
“I guess not knowing whether I live or die,
you know ... not knowing, just not knowing. It’s
so hard, Padre.”
His body shook and his hands tightened into
fists.
“You know what I mean, Padre?”
The chaplain nodded and with a look of
concern, draped a rain-poncho about the two men.
“Let me tell you a little story, Carl.”
Carl watched the chaplain reach deep into his
pack and retrieve a black leather-bound book; the
inscription on its cover was worn with age.
“From the Bible, Padre?”
The Chaplain looked up at Carl, thought for a
moment, and then quickly, flipped through the
pages and retrieved an envelope.

“Actually Carl, it’s a letter I received from a soldier
that was wounded and sent home. The boy lives on a
small farm in Iowa.”
8
Carl made a futile attempt to dry the inside of his
helmet with a wet cloth then put it back on.
“Yeah, I know about Iowa, Padre, its farm country
- lots of corn, gravel roads and tractors.”
The padre smiled in agreement and began.
“Of course, the boy tells me about his home and
family, Carl. But this is what I want to share with you.
“Padre, he writes, he calls me Padre too, Carl.”
Carl felt the stress drain from his body and he felt
much better as he listened in the security of the Padre.
“The talk we had before I was wounded has always
been an inspiration to me, especially when we discussed the
story of Christ, his predetermined suffering and death. I

9
guess what really opened my eyes was the denial by
his apostles. Peter the foundation of his church, the
rock, as he was called, Judas, the symbol of betrayal
and Thomas, who had to see before he believed. Not
one hand was raised to defend him; even his own
people chose the mode of his punishment; crucifixion.
What were his crimes?”
“They were nothing more than preaching love
and compassion. And this may sound a little corny,
Padre, but I understand the reasoning of his disciples,
when they denied him. I understand why, Jesus didn’t
judge them. You see, Padre, he didn’t punish them
because he understood the human emotion, ‘fear.’
Even Jesus, fulfilling his father’s sacrifice, showed this
emotion when he spoke; Take this cup from me” and
“Father, why have you forsaken me?” So, you see,
Padre, I have been able to accept the overwhelming
fear that I harbored when I was there, at the front lines.
The driving desire to run was so intense! That is, until
I talked to you.”
“I, since then, have found that fear is not a crime,
nor is it something to be ashamed of. It is merely a

human emotion, a state of mind that triggers the body to
invoke a condition of survival, self-preservation. This state
of survival compels us to seek refuge and as you know,
Padre, if we search long enough, we’ll discover that there is
no refuge more secure, nor any state more self preserving,
than ‘in the grace’ of being touched by the hand of God.
You gave me that, Padre. Thank you.”
10
Carl’s eyes widened as he drank from his canteen.
His loss for words was evident as he nodded and raised his
eyebrows in a gesture of approval. His body trembled as he
took a deep breath, found his voice and awkwardly asked.
“Wha . . . what’s the soldier’s name Padre? Did he
ever run?”
The Chaplain lit his pipe and placed the letter back
in his book.
“His name is, William, but we called him, Willie.
Yeah Carl, he ran. He was wounded carrying a
wounded man back to safety. He ultimately saved his
life, Carl.”

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“Was he really afraid, Padre?”
The Padre, with his back turned, placed his
bible deep into his backpack and drew slowly from
his pipe.
“Yeah Carl, he was afraid, but you know,”
the Padre waved his hand towards the soldiers
sitting in the bunker,
“I don’t think there’s a man here that isn’t. So
don’t feel like your alone, Carl.” The Padre lifted
his arms and slowly lowered them.
“We’re all human and like Willie said,” the
Padre lifted his hand and pointed up into the sky.
“Your refuge is with him, in His Sanctuary.”
The letter gave Carl a different perspective to
the war, but he also knew that his fear was real and

at times overwhelming. He would often toy with the
idea that it was a premonition. A warning, he thought,
of his approaching death. Whether it was or not, he
knew that he was not alone and his life was, indeed, in
the hands of God.
“Thanks Padre, I do feel better. Boy oh boy,
Padre! I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
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The Chaplain, removing his pipe from his lips,
smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
The men turned towards the Chaplain and smiled;
obviously touched by the letter.
“There is still something about the Padre,” thought
Carl as he watched him climb out of the bunker. He
sure has a lot of pull with the man upstairs.”
The silence was broken as shells began
bombarding enemy lines. The men knew that once the
shelling stopped they would move out. The anticipation
was nerve wracking as they waited for the inevitable -

13
the order that would place their lives in the realm
of uncertainty.
The Chaplain also waited as he prepared a
letter. A difficult letter for the soldier he had been
tending. He stared at the fallen hero; they were all
special to him. He leaned forward and touched his
forehead. With his head bowed, he whispered a
final blessing then waved the sign of the cross over
the still body.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he wrote;
“I’m sorry about the loss of your son. I knew Mat;
he was a wonderful boy and a very brave soldier.”
The chaplain wondered about his calling, his
role in life, after that infamous attack on Pearl
Harbor. He remembered the falling bombs, the
merciless strafing of a country not at war. He
thought about the women and children, who were
victims of the early morning attack, asking for a
reason in their final thoughts. He saw the
destruction of the great battle ships in the harbor.

14
He heard the cries of the dying men, sealed
forever, in their watery tombs. He had accepted his
death, for there was no escape from the twisted metal
and flooded compartments that most certainly appeared
to be their ultimate entombment.
Then he remembered the light, so terrifying at first
and then the awareness of being ushered into a world of
peace that was suddenly followed by the physical relief
of being pulled out of the oil slick, burning water. He
had not and would never regret his decision to enter the
Seminary and its consequential role. For this, he
thought, was the threshold to his fulfillment of a
promise – a very dear and special promise that he would
honor forever…

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Chapter Two
Life on the farm for the Padre was a frequent
recollection, a nostalgic history of his beginning
and the awakening of his future. He wondered
about being so far away from his beloved home.
He thought of the mountains, plainly visible in the
western horizon. The scent of the pine trees so
definite and fresh and he thought about his mother
and father and his brother, Fred, whom he had not
seen for years. He thought about the commitment,
a promise he made after the miracle. It had been a
miracle of that he was certain. There was no doubt
in his mind that he was living proof of Divine
Intervention. It was an experience that would
forever bind him to the cloth as one of the many
faithful.
The heat index was unbearably high and
would continue for the foreseeable future. Andy
walked quickly up the wooden stairs and on the

boardwalk to Jake’s General Store. The store was well
stocked, as one could easily see that if Jake didn’t have
it, it didn’t exist.
“Hi Andy, what can I do for you?” Andy paused
for moment, wiped his face with a white handkerchief
and followed to the back of his neck.
“Hi Jake,” he replied, as he leaned over the counter
and pointed at a brown metal case.
“Give me one of those drinks, will you Jake?”
“Yeah, sure Andy,” said Jake and reached down
into the case, picked out a bottle, wiped it with a red
cloth and handed it to Andy. The bottle was warm but
it was wet and it tasted good.
“Thanks Jake,” said Andy and tipped the soft drink
high in the air and swallowed several times. The trip to
Jake’s store was always a treat. He enjoyed talking to
Jake, and actually it was a way to hear the latest news.
But basically, Jake was friendly and really cared about
people. Jake was always there whenever he was
needed.
16

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Andy knew that Jake was one of the Market
Crash victims of the most devastating economic
disasters this country had ever seen. His family
had lived comfortably in New York until that
black October in 29’ when they were devastated
with the loss of everything. Jake was in finance by
profession and his financial loss would have made
most people think twice about going on. And Jake
was no exception for Andy heard that he had made
several trips to an open window on the tenth floor
of that New York skyscraper.
But as he was about to jump, a bright light
ushered him back into a state of survival. This
light, Andy heard, was accompanied by a peace
that could only be equated to life beyond our
physical domain. Consequently, Jake scraped up
every penny he could, packed up and headed west.
His objective, however, seemed to be not of
finance but of helping the less fortunate, the
victims of the times. His store, Andy thought, was
merely a pulpit that projected his help to the heart
of the down and out. It seemed that during a crisis,
the quality of humanity came through.

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Like landlords overlooking rent payments until
they themselves faced destitution; Grocers extending
credit when they knew they would never be repaid.
Families all over the nation developed a stronger tie in
their struggle to survive, which was very often, the
reason for their survival. Jake, a stout man, was the
heart of the community. He was an excellent example,
of the best of humanity and Andy certainly believed it.
“Doesn’t look too good for any kind of crop this
year, does it, Jake?”
Jake placed a matchstick in his mouth and sponged
sweat from his forehead.
“It’s not going to be a good summer, Andy. Folks
don’t have jobs and the rains don’t come, nothing but
wind and dust. Why just this morning some folks were
talking about dust clouds they saw were actually huge
swarms of grasshoppers. Anyway, there won’t be a
crop this year. There’s nothing in the fields but blowing
dust. The top soil we had is probably heading towards
the Midwest somewhere.”

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Jake placed his handkerchief back into his
pocket and looked up at Andy.
“How’s your mom and dad, Andy?”
“Oh just fine, Jake, there’s a little
disagreement about how to manage the farm but
Mom always wins out. She seems to have more
savy about management. I guess it comes from
her being raised on a farm, you know the farm we
live on - well it was Grandma’s and Grandpa’s
place before Mom inherited it”
“Yeah, I know Andy; your Grandparents
were awfully nice folks. I knew them well and
liked them too.”
“I miss them a whole lot,” said Andy and
tipped the bottle high in the air and finished the last
of his drink.
“Dad’s gonna need some of these nails,” he
said, holding a nail high in the air.

“And some more of that rope.”
“Get what your dad needs, Andy and what ever
else you need. Your dad still working on that well?”
“Yeah, Jake, he’s still working on it, still thinks
there’s water there. We’re down about twenty feet and
give it another ten. Sure hope we find it ‘cause it would
sure break his heart if we fail. And you know the farm
has been in Mom’s family over a hundred years so you
know how she feels. It would probably kill her.”
“You know Andy?” Jake’s eyes widened and his
hands waved, as he spoke.
“You have to believe in what your doing otherwise
why even bother doing it. Your Dad surely believes
there’s water there and I’m with him.”
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But Andy knew there was no water down there, at
least that’s what he believed.
“Jesus,” he thought.
“The rivers are drying up and we’ve been digging
through soil that hasn’t seen water for thousands of
years.”

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But he respected his father’s will and would
do anything for him. Even dig that damn hole to
hell if he had to.
“Somebody better find water or this town will
dry up like an old steer bone. You know the
Browns left yesterday?”
“Yeah Jake, their son Billy and I were pretty
good friends. We were in the same class. I
understood they were going to California, hoping
to get some work on some of those fruit farms, you
know, picking.”
Jake shook his head and sponged the sweat
from his brow, then placed another matchstick in
his mouth.
“That’s a long trip for a family of six. Hope
they make it all right. Sure are nice folks.”
Jake shook his head as he continued to write
Andy’s purchases on a tab of paper.

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“Is that gonna do it, Andy?”
“Yeah, Jake, put it on the account, will you? By
the way, how much do we owe you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Andy, haven’t tallied it up yet.
We’ll talk about that when your dad hits that
underground river he’s looking for.”
Andy thanked Jake and left, closing the door
behind him. He knew full well that Jake, in all
probability, wouldn’t receive a red cent for most of his
goods. And Jake knew it.
Andy mumbled Obscenities about the hot weather
and looked around in fear of being overheard. The dust
clouds were visible in the distance. At times they were
so thick that they actually blocked the sunlight,
sometimes for hours. But the cacti looked good even
though other vegetation fell victim to the never-ending
drought.

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Even the rolling hills were barren, not a hint
of green except for the occasional cactus in the
distance. Andy sometimes thought, the drought
was a punishment brought upon the people - by
God. And it was a necessary wrath for all their
transgressions. But Andy always took the Lords
side. He, not for once, believed that God was
responsible for all this evil. Not when his own son
was the messenger of goodwill, love and
forgiveness.
Andy remembered the good days, before the
drought - even before the depression. He
remembered the days when his grandparents ran
the farm. There were green fields, healthy cattle
and other stock running free on the range. Then
there was the goat he played with, that eventually
became his pet. And of course, there was
‘Skippy,’ the black and white shepherd that helped
at roundup time and kept stray cattle out of
mischief. Andy loved to watch him work. Even
Andy’s pet goat got an occasional workout.

That dog could do anything but talk, Andy
recalled. But ‘Pinto, the black and white paint, was
Andy’s most precious possession. The horse was a gift
from his grandparents of whom he thought dearly. He
had beautiful memories of the time he spent with them,
they were wonderful and he would never forget them.
It was after their passing that Andy’s mother inherited
the farm. And then with his father losing his job, we
subsequently became farmers.
“And believe me,” murmured Andy. “Dad was
not a farmer and didn’t expect he would ever be.”
24
His mother on the other hand seemed to have a
knack for organization and held everything together.
Pinto snorted and began a slow run as he recognized the
farm and Andy’s father working in the yard.
Andy opened his eyes and stared for some time at
the darkened ceiling before his father called out.
“Ok, Andy, it’s almost daylight, let’s get working
on that well!”

25
“OK Dad,” Andy muttered, as he yawned
and fought desperately to find some rational
bearings.
Andy pulled his clothes on, walked slowly
towards the kitchen and washed his hands and face
in a basin seated in the sink.
His mother, as always, had the breakfast
biscuits waiting and smiled at Andy as he
approached the kitchen table. Andy’s Father
talked freely during breakfast, pausing briefly for a
sip at his hot coffee. He talked about the well and
his high expectations in finding the water that had
eluded them for so long.
Andy’s mother quietly listened and
frequently left the table to prod Andy’s brother
Fred, who seemed to be having trouble getting out
of bed. Fred, a sandy-headed boy, was three years
younger than Andy and really enjoyed the farm,
once his chores were done, of course. Fred could
never quite understand why his chores could not
be done, later in the day, instead of at daybreak.

“Think we can do the ten feet today, Dad?” Asked
Andy.
26
“Well I don’t know, Andy. If we can get past that
slate level, I think maybe we can.”
“I wish I could help too,” muttered Fred, while
slurping on a bowl of oatmeal.
“Now Fred, you know you can’t go near that well,
understand?”
“I know Dad, but I sure would like to help.”
“Just do your chores and help Mom, Ok?”
“Ok, Dad,” agreed Fred with a disappointed look
on his face.
Andy was quite concerned and wondered what
they would they do if they didn’t find water? His

27
mother had been so supporting and very hopeful in
saving the farm. After all it had been in the family
for a hundred years. It would be shear heartbreak
for her if they failed.
“I just wish,” whispered Andy, “that
somehow we could find water, regardless of what
I thought earlier.”
Andy followed his dad to the well and
stopped when his mother shouted.
” Be careful!”
Andy looked back and saw the smile on his
mother’s face and a tear rolled down his cheek.
“Jesus.” Prayed Andy and looked up into the
sky. “Please help us find water. I’ll do anything. I
promise to live my life for you. I place my life into
your hands to do with as you see fit. Please Jesus!
Please!”

Andy dried his tears as they approached the hole
in the ground that, he prayed, would produce water.
28
The work was slow and very difficult, as they
pressed on. The soil in the bucket was still dry and there
was absolutely no sign of water.
The buckets were getting heavier and heavier as
they continued their search for that life sustaining liquid,
the elixir that would make the difference between life
and death.”
“Check that last bucket again, Andy!”
“OK, Dad!” Andy quickly ran to the opening of
the well.
“What’s the matter, Dad?”
“Check the soil in that last bucket you hauled up, I
think it’s wet.”
Andy’s eyes opened wide and his heart pounded
as he ran back to the mound where he had been
dumping the dirt. He fell to his knees and cautiously

29
ran his fingers through the soil. His eyes closed
and tears streamed down his cheeks. “Thank
God,” he whispered, “thank God.
“Yes, Dad it’s wet,” he screamed, “it’s wet!”
He quickly ran back to the well and before
Andy could say anything, he saw the smile on his
father’s face. The water was already rising in the
well as Andy’s father, quickly, climbed out and
stared for a moment, at the most beautiful view
one could imagine, the merciful liquid, the
difference between adversity and hope that ever
precious - ‘water.’

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Chapter Three
The Padre smiled as he placed his bible back into
his backpack. His thoughts were of a well that had been
excavated with the tools of faith. He thought of his
mother and father and of course his brother Fred. How
happy they were and “Jake was right,” he murmured
while lighting his pipe.
“We did find that underground river.”
The war was finally over but not until the Padre
had been witness to countless atrocities, including
inhuman practices of mass murder and ethnic cleansing.
He saw the remains of thousands that would eventually
become millions who were, simply, of a certain class
and a targeted religious orientation. The hate and
prejudices evidenced by the war crimes were alive and
well in mainstream America. And it became quite
evident that the war of racism, hate and ignorance was
far from over. The Padre would witness the slaying of

31
the President of the United States, John F Kennedy
and his brother Robert. He would also witness the
murder of a great civil rights leader, Martin Luther
King Jr. Eventually the violence would recede and
humanity would once again be known as a moral
civilization.
The Padre walked slowly up an incline
leading to an old iron gate. He pushed it open and
looked up at the thousands of white markers that
filled the large field in what looked like neverending
rows. He walked among them for some
distance then stopped and kneeled beside two that
were side by side and the Padre wept. He spoke in
a low whisper while drying the tears that rolled
down his cheeks.
“Carl . . . Matt,” he said while facing the
markers.
“You’re both safe now.” “You’re in His
grace, in His sanctuary. I don’t know what I
would’ve done without you guys,” he added and

smiled as he remembered the soldiers in a bunker on a
very rainy day.
32
The Padre raised his head with arms outstretched.
“I’m weary, Lord,” he said.
“And I’m tired.”
The Padre brought his arms down and crossed
them at his chest.
“Through the years,” he continued. “I’ve served
you in a way that you have chosen for me. I’ve seen
many things that have come and gone. I’ve seen the
violence and greed in man as well as the kindness and
love in the hearts of others. While there are some that
live with hate and corruption, there are many that live
honorably and with great concern for one another.”
“I believe that man has a chance, a very good
chance in learning to live together as well as practicing
the goodness and love that you spoke of in your sermon

33
on the mount. Give them a chance Lord, and you
will see that the ‘just of humanity’ will overcome
the incursion of corruption and greed. Now, I have
become weary and feel that my time is near.”
“What? You say you’re what, Andy? You
want to give up? First you and your dad find an
underground river. Then you voluntarily commit
your life to the Lord and before you’re finished
with the job, you say you’re tired? Aww c’mon,
Andy. I can’t buy that.”
The Padre turned and was overwhelmed with
shock and surprise when he recognized the man.
“Jake! How did you get here? And what are
you saying? How did you know?
“Well let’s just say that I’m part of the team
and have been for a long time. Like maybe since
that black day in October of 29, when I lost all the
material gods that I truly worshiped and God
forgave me, I truly worshiped them. As you know

by now, I would’ve given my life for a buck and I did.”
The Padre studied Jake and thought he looked a
little older but he definitely was the same Jake that ran
the General Store down home.
“You mean when you lost everything?”
34
“Yeah, Andy, when I lost everything, including
my soul. That is until I was given a chance to make
everything right for myself.”
“You mean for the Lord, don’t you Jake?”
“I thought so at the time but it wasn’t until later in
my role as - ‘Everyone’s Shoulder’ that I realized that
the Lord has a way of helping us when we do his will.
You know what I mean, Andy?”
“Yeah. You mean like when we help people in
need and just being there for them,” replied Andy, as
they began a slow walk through the many markers.

35
“Right Andy, being there with a helping hand
that makes a difference in their lives. Well
anyway Andy, that’s when I discovered that what
we do for the Lord is, in reality, what we do for
ourselves.”
Jake stopped then turned and leaned against
the old wrought iron gate that was standing open.
“Well you certainly helped a lot of people,
down home, that were completely devastated by
the drought, including my family. And Jake, you
never worried about getting paid for your products.
You always seemed to care about everyone else.
Even at the expense of your own livelihood.”
“But Andy, that’s just it. You surely
remember helping a child that had suffered a cut or
had fallen and scraped their knee? Do you
remember what you saw in their eyes when you
helped them? Do you remember that gracious
look of ‘it’s alright now,’ the look that said thank

you and most of all, the sparkle in the eyes of
gratification?
36
Well, I saw that look many times, Andy. And I
wouldn’t trade it for anything. Yes, it was the Lord’s
way and what Jesus talked about in his testament to
humanity, but the reward that I received was so
wonderful and so self-fulfilling that I’m sure it will be
with me through eternity. No Andy I wouldn’t have
missed it for the world and I thank God that I didn’t.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, Jake. You sure
have done a lot for people, and I always said you used
your store as a pulpit. And you always reached out for
the down and out. Even through the drought you
helped the town by supplying feed for the farmers and
kept the local folks in food. That was a wonderful thing
to do.”
“Now don’t be patting me on the back just yet
Andy. Who do you suppose supplied the water for all
those water tanks? Who do you suppose kept all the
stock in water through that long hot spell? Your dad

37
that’s who, yes sir and it came from your Dad’s
well. That underground river, remember?
Hmm?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” smiled Andy. “Right
from that underground river, we dug up. Yeah,”
he remembered with a big smile.”
“That underground river, on our little farm,
that started it all.”
Andy and Jake walked through the
cemetery and observed countless markers of the
violent sacrifices of war. They questioned the
justification of such an undertaking and agreed that
war would never be justified, not ever in a morally
civilized world.
“Well Andy what do you think, are you still
weary and do you, in spite of everything, want to
go home? Now before you answer, Andy,
remember that there are more than fifty ‘just’
people out there that might need you to represent

them in their argument against a revelations prophesy of
an apocalypse”
38
Andy stared at Jake and was shocked that he
hadn’t thought about what had happened to Sodom and
Gomorrah because of their wickedness and immorality.
And it had certainly been his job as the ‘Witness to
oversee not only the evils of man but of the righteous as
well.
“You’re right Jake; I still have a job to do. There
are people out there that can’t be ignored. They are the
good people of this world and they certainly should
have a voice and Jake; I’m going to be that voice.”
Jake smiled and walked over to Andy and shook
his hand.
“Yeah Andy, you’ll be their voice, a wonderful
voice and Witness to their continued efforts in
encouraging the teachings of our man, Jesus.”
“How about you Jake, what are you going to do?”

39
“Well, Andy, I’ll probably go on helping
people. Some folks can sure use an angel now and
then,” laughed Jake.
“Can you imagine me as an angel, Andy?”
Andy shook his head, walked up to Jake and
slapped him on the shoulder.
“Its funny Jake but now that you’ve
mentioned it, all the time when we were at home?
Everyone and I mean everyone that I ever talked
to, honestly thought, and believed that ‘you were
an angel.”
“And ye shall be witnesses unto me.”
Written by Abe C Abeyta ‘Conde’
No part of this Narrative may be reproduced by any means
without written permission from the Author and/or publisher,
except for brief passages for purpose of review.

The Witness
40
He had not and would never regret his
decision to enter the Seminary and its
consequential role. For this, he thought,
was the threshold to his fulfillment
of a promise – a very dear and special
promise that he would honor forever...
- About the Author –
Abe was born in the
southwest and through
his many travels has
not lost his love of the
area, as can be read
in his much-loved
books and short
stories.