"I'm not sure what he's talking about," Harry said as he picked his teeth with a toothpick. "Some kind of religious mumbo jumbo." He threw the toothpick in a trash bin and felt for his phone. "I've got to send this to Eddie." He recorded thirty seconds as the preacher calmly talked with a couple. "Although, he's not a very exciting crazy preacher."

"You don't see his kind much these days," Will said. "My old man used to poke fun at them. He would get people laughing so much that he said it made him feel like Larry the Cable Guy. Man, the stories he told about those crazy preachers. They would shout and holler that the world was ending, and everyone is going to Hell and crazy crap. Where did this preacher come from? The eighties?"

"Stan said he showed up yesterday. Got a permit to use the Capitol green for religious awareness or something like that," Harry answered while moving his rake, attempting to look busy.

"Great. If a crowd shows up, that's more work for us."

"Seriously, Will? Do you think a crowd will show up for this nut?"

Will laughed, "I gotcha. Well, if he won't give us more work, perhaps he'll get us out of mowing the Green today. If he stays long enough."

"Haven't thought of that. At least that crazy preacher would be good for something."

Will saw a little girl walking towards them. "Quiet, Harry. I think someone is listening."

"Why are you calling that man crazy?" The girl was around ten with pigtails, wearing a blue and white summer dress, and her left arm in a sling.

Will put on his tourist face, "We weren't talking about him, little girl. We were talking about someone we used to know."

"Who?" The girl stood without blinking.

"You wouldn't know him. He was an uncle of mine but died a long time ago," Will looked to Harry for some assistance, but Harry just laughed and walked back to the maintenance cart.

"Sweetie! Come here," the girl's mom called as she walked closer. "I'm sorry, sir, if she was a bother."

"No bother, ma'am, but I better be getting back to work. You all have a nice day." Will gave Harry a face that promised revenge, but Harry looked innocent.

"Mom, could we talk to that man?" The girl pointed to the preacher.

"I suppose so, but why?"

"So he can pray for my arm to heal. I really miss my treehouse."

"I know, sweetie. Well, I guess it couldn't hurt."

The preacher sat on a camping chair with three boxes of books beside him. He looked friendly, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with a white cross on it.

"Hello, how can I help you all?" The preacher asked.

The mom saw the cross and tried to sound more religious than she was, "I'm glad you are out here doing the Lord's work. We believe in Jesus too. We just wanted to ask if you could pray for God to heal my daughter's arm?"

"I want to play in my treehouse. I really miss it. It's my favorite place." The girl gave the preacher a pleading look that could only come from an innocent child.

The preacher reached into his box and pulled out a book with a bearded cartoon man wearing a brown robe on the front cover. "This is one of my favorite books. This Gospel of John was made for little girls like you."

The girl took it reluctantly and said thank you. "But what about my arm?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Tomorrow, when you wake up, your arm will be all better, and you can play in your treehouse if it's okay with your mom."

The girl squealed and quickly hugged the preacher, "Thank you so much." She looked around the Green until she saw her dad reading a plaque of a Civil War statue. She laughed and ran to him, yelling Dad the entire way.

"How dare you," the mom said.

"Sorry?" The preacher never changed his friendly demeanor.

"You gave her false hope. What should I say when she can't climb her treehouse tomorrow? What kind of Christian are you?"

"I'm not giving false hope. Her arm will be healed."

The mom looked at him with disgust, "You're crazy! I just wanted you to pray." She stormed away.

The preacher ended the day with a few more conversations. When the sun was about to set, he folded his chair, unfolded a compact dolly, loaded the boxes, and walked off. No one knew where he spent the night, but he was back in the same spot the next day.

The Mississippi Capitol Maintenance crew was out early decorating for fall with pumpkins and bales of hay. Harry and Will asked for the Green, hoping to hear something crazy they could tell at the bar for some laughs. Working near the preacher, they both noticed his arm was in a makeshift sling made from rope.

"Hey, preacher. What's wrong with your arm?" Will asked.

"My collarbone is broken."

"When did you do that? I didn't see you in a sling yesterday."

The preacher paused, thought for a while, and then changed the subject, "I saw you yesterday. You were raking leaves and laughing."

"Uh, yeah. That was me."

"I love people who like to laugh. You know it adds years to your life."

"You don't say." Will knew what the preacher was doing but let it go. If he doesn't want to say, that's his business.

Harry joined in, "What are you selling?' He nodded to the boxes full of books.

"I'm giving one of my favorite books to anyone who wants one."

"Why? What's in it for you?"

"When you love something, you naturally want to share it with others. Would you like one?"

"No. I'd never read it."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

"Sure, preacher," Harry smirked, and then Will and Harry returned to work decorating the Green.

A man approached the preacher like one on a mission. "I overheard someone calling you a preacher. Is it true?" He was in his fifties, a little overweight, with long black and gray hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"It is. What's your name?"

"Pete."

"Good to meet you, Pete. What can I do for you?"

"I'm not religious, but I've come to the end of my rope. You see, my eyelids droop. I used to not notice, but now they droop so low that everything is fuzzy, and reading is out of the question."

"What would you like me to do?"

"If you could put in a good word with the big man upstairs, I would be really grateful. It's frustrating to technically have good eyesight, but the curtains won't open. You know what I mean? If he could raise them a little, that would be awesome."

"Your eyelids will be normal when you wake tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh? Not right now?"

"You can't rush miracles," the preacher said with a small laugh. "Here's a Gospel of John. Perhaps it could be the first book you read after your eyelids are healed."

"Yeah. You bet," the man stuffed the small book in his back pocket. "I knew it would be a waste of time," he mumbled when he got out of earshot.

Another day passed, and the preacher retired to his unknown spot. The next morning, Harry and Will brought a breakfast sandwich for the preacher before clocking in.

"Hey, Preacher. Have you had breakfast?" Will asked.

"I haven't yet."

"Here," Will handed him the sandwich. "We never saw you eat yesterday, and we pretty much kept an eye on you all day."

"I was so busy. It must have slipped my mind."

"I see," Will said without believing it slipped his mind. "Well, we'll stop by around lunch and remind you to eat. How does that sound?"

"That would be wonderful," the preacher grinned and looked at them with the kindest eyes either had ever seen.

"Okay, we'll see you then."

Harry and Will returned to the grounds office inside the basement of the Capitol building.

"Did you see his eyelids?" Will asked as he opened his locker to grab his coveralls.

Harry was already in deep thought about those eyelids, "Yeah. I'm sure they weren't that way yesterday."

"First his collarbone, now his eyelids. Do you think he's a junkie?"

"Maybe. But no tracks on his arms, and he doesn't look like one," Harry pulled a toothpick from his pocket and began to pick his teeth. "But his injuries are odd."

"He might be sleeping on the wrong street and getting roughed up by the local bums?"

"Yeah, but his eyes aren't puffy or swollen, just not working. It's bizarre."

"You know. I like him. He's not like those crazy preachers I heard about from my dad," Will said as he pulled on his coveralls and zipped up.

Harry threw his toothpick in the trash and thought for a while. He stretched and then stood. "We better get moving before the boss wonders where we are."

They both tried to find jobs within sight of the preacher. They noticed more people talking with him today. He laughed with some, looked concerned with others, and even teared up while praying for a few. At lunchtime, Will took him a ham and cheese sandwich with a styrofoam cup of chicken soup and chatted. The preacher's kindness and happiness were infectious. It stirred memories of a simpler time before mistrust and skepticism. While he talked, the world seemed brighter. Before Will went to bed that night, he thought, Why am I feeling this way? But he didn't have an answer.

Will and Harry brought a sausage biscuit the following day but were taken aback when they saw the preacher.

"What happened to you, Preacher?" Will kneeled down to look straight at him. More injuries were added to yesterday's: half of his mouth was dropping like he had a stroke, one hand was bent and shriveled, and his leg was wrapped tightly with a scarf.

"Who's doing this? We'll call the police," Harry said.

"No, no. It's not like that. Nobody did this," he mumbled, barely legible. "I'll be fine in a few days."

"That's enough. We're taking you to the hospital," Will got on his phone.

Fifteen minutes later, an ambulance took the preacher to the emergency room. After work, Harry and Will came to check on him. The doctor updated them on the preacher's condition. "Did you tell the paramedics these conditions occurred overnight?" They both said yes. "I don't know what to say, but these conditions did not happen recently. They are old. Some of them are months old." Puzzled, they stopped by the preacher's room before leaving. They saw him sleeping, his arm in a proper sling, and his leg in a cast. They didn't want to wake him, so they told the nurse on call they'd stop by the next day.

Both Harry and Will couldn't stop thinking about what they saw. The following day, before clocking in, they sat at the break table.

"The little girl? Was her left arm in a sling?" Will asked.

"No. Wait. Yeah. It was her left," Harry answered. "Why?"

"Preacher's left arm was in a sling the day after talking with that girl."

"Yeah. What are you getting at?"

"It's just I've been thinking hard, and I remember seeing people with the same conditions talking with the preacher yesterday. The man in the wheelchair who obviously suffered a stroke. The woman on crutches, with her right leg in a cast."

"What are you suggesting, Will? And it better not be what it sounds like."

"I'm not saying. It's just really weird that he has all of their problems."

"You're right. Perhaps he has some psychosomatic problem?" Harry was uncomfortable. "Enough of this. Let's get to work."

The day dragged on for Will. He kept looking towards the preacher's spot whenever he was around the Green. His thoughts kept jumping from the preacher to the people, from their ills to the preacher's ills. He had questions for the preacher but was afraid of the answers.

Will was the only one to go to the hospital. Harry gave an excuse, and Will understood. When he got to the preacher's floor, he knew something wasn't right. The on-call nurse spotted him and hastened to him.

"Are you the man who brought the preacher?"

"Yes."

"We tried to find you. Something happened to him. We don't know how we missed it, but he is dying."

"What? Dying? Of his injuries?"

"No. He has stage four pancreatic cancer. He won't make it through the night. Was he close to you?"

"Well, no. Not really."

"Do you know if he has any family nearby?"

"I don't know anything about him except that he's a kind man who hands out books."

"Well, if you want to see him, he's awake."

Will entered the preacher's room and saw a gaunt, old-looking man lying in bed. He was barely recognizable.

"Hi, Will," the preacher gave an odd-looking smile with his deformed face.

"Hey, Preacher."

"Judging by your look, I must look horrible," he laughed.

"You do," Will laughed too. "You really do." They both remained silent momentarily as Will struggled to grasp what he was seeing. "How did this happen?"

"You already know."

"I don't."

"Then would it surprise you to hear I talked with a man next door who had pancreatic cancer?"

"No. That doesn't surprise me."

"Healing has a price. Not for the healed, but for the healer."

"Why? Why would you go through all this for strangers?"

"They are not strangers to me. I'm glad to go through this for them."

"How do you know them?"

"We all have one thing in common: God loves us. When you find something in common with someone, doesn't it make you feel like you know them?"

"I guess."

"If my life can give others a better life, then I've lived well."

"That doesn't make sense. You suffer so others don't have to. How is that a good life?"

"I've known many parents who would gladly take their child's cancer. In a way, that's what I'm doing, and I'm glad I can."

"How are you doing it? It's impossible."

"Impossible? That's not a word where I come from," the preacher said, then clinched in pain.

"You alright?"

"Yes, but it's almost time to pay the cost." The preacher winced in pain. "I'm not sad that I'm about to die."

"If you can heal others, why can't you heal yourself?"

"If I did, the injuries and diseases will return to those healed. This is the only way. I will pay the cost. It's why I came to Jackson." He gasped and struggled to breathe. His eyes closed, and his head relaxed into his pillow.

"Preacher?"

"Sorry, Will. It's almost over. I feel death coming." His breathing was labored, and his eyes remained shut.

"Preacher? I don't understand. Why?" Will began to tear up. "Why give your life for these people?"

Without opening his eyes, he narrowly got out a few words before he breathed his last breath, "Because of love."

"Preacher?" Will gently shook him, then felt for a pulse. "Preacher?" He bent over, trying to hear breathing, but heard none. He called for the nurse and got out of the way as they took readings, confirming his death.

After answering a few questions from the hospital, he drove home. Thoughts about miracles, pain, life, and God swirled together. How could a man he's only known for a few days make such an impact? He tried to get the preacher out of his mind. It was just a coincidence. That's all. He didn't really heal those people by taking their pains.

The next day at the Capitol, he went to the Green just to sit, but several people were standing around when he arrived. He recognized a few of them: the little girl, the man in the wheelchair, and the woman with the broken leg. They were all healthy. Nothing wrong.

Will quickly sat before he fell. He was lightheaded. The preacher healed them by taking their sicknesses. He paid the cost. He knew it was impossible but couldn't deny what he saw. He bolstered himself to go and talk with them.

"Excuse me, everyone," Will said. "Why are you all here?"

The little girl's mother answered, "We've been talking and found out that the preacher healed all of us. We want to thank him."

"He died last night."

The crowd was shocked, and some began to tear up.

Will continued, "I didn't know him well, but I believe he's in a better place. He told me he was delighted he could help you all." Will smiled. "The truth is, he healed me too, and I didn't even know I needed healing." Tears welled up. "I was cynical towards preachers, and thought life was about getting. Now I know it's about giving."

They stayed for hours talking about their conversations with the preacher, their doubts, and their shock when they found they were healed. They finally began to go their separate ways. Will was the last one. He thought of the preacher's boxes of books. I can't heal, but I'll make sure your books get passed out. He looked up and smiled.