Boo (43 page)

Her father stood behind her, but there was no answer. “I’m going around to the other side, find a way to see in,” he said. “You keep trying the door.”

Ainsley knocked and pounded, but there was no answer, and her father returned with the news that, as far as he could tell, no one was there. Butch said there were no footprints in the snow. Ainsley leaned against the door and moaned. “This is horrible. Where is he?” She turned to her father, her eyes beckoning a positive answer from him. But he could only shake his head. She grabbed his arm. “We have to find him.”

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that Wolfe Boone was lost in the storm, and before they knew it, many volunteers had arrived at the community center, dressed for a blizzard, ready to search for Wolfe. Her father and Butch were shouting instructions to everyone, but Ainsley sat in the back of the Hummer, her stomach cramped with worry, praying for Wolfe’s well-being. The snow was still falling hard. Where should they search? Maybe he had decided not to go home. Maybe he was at a restaurant. The possibilities were endless, so Ainsley tried not to focus on anything but prayer. But it was not an easy task. She also felt guilty—guilty for believing, even for a second, that Wolfe had killed Thief. It pained her to think of what he must have been feeling when he left the house. All she wanted to do was hold him and tell him she loved him. And ask him to forgive her.

Her father was still giving out instructions on where to search for Wolfe, but by the strain in his voice, she knew he was worried too. It was unsafe for anyone to be out in this storm, and these were untrained searchers. Time was running out. If he was out there somewhere, he wouldn’t last long. It was freezing, and night would soon fall. Worry seized her stomach again.

Then an idea struck her. She jumped up from her chair, ran up to her father at the podium, and said, “Dad! I have an idea!”

“What, honey?”

The crowd hushed, and she said, “I know who can find Wolfe.”

“Easy … easy … okay, down … good dogs …” Sheriff Parker bent to their level, holding out his hands as the two shepherds barked anxiously.
Butch had skillfully picked the front door lock in order to get the dogs.

“This one is Bunny, that’s Goose,” Ainsley said, and just the sound of her voice calmed the dogs. The barking turned to worried whines. “They know something’s wrong.”

“Shepherds are smart. I think we need to get our volunteers in the forest, behind the dogs.” He said that to Deputy Kinard, who nodded and then quickly left his side. “He must’ve cut through the forest.” She watched her dad shake his head at the thought. “Poor guy.”

“They’ll find him if he’s out there,” Ainsley said, rubbing their necks. She looked at them. “You’ll find him, right?”

They both barked enthusiastically. After five minutes, the volunteers were ready to be led by the dogs, and Sheriff Parker put both of them on leashes. “Kinard. Bledsoe. You two are strong. You’ll have the leashes. Keep the dogs under control. We don’t want to lose them. And let’s just send out a few volunteers behind you. We don’t need the whole town in this forest, or we could have a disaster on our hands.” He looked at Butch. “Lead ’em, son.”

Kinard and Bledsoe took the dogs, restraining them as best they could as they scrambled down the back steps of the house. Butch marched forward like a soldier off to war. His father followed them, looking back once. Ainsley waved and prayed,
Please, God, help us find Wolfe
.

It was spring, and thousands of flowers dotted the field where they were married. Reverend Peck was there, and others: Oliver, Melb, Martin, Butch, the mayor. The sheriff. The sky was as blue as it had ever been, not a cloud to be seen, and a slight breeze tickled their necks as they held hands and listened to Reverend Peck talk about love. He talked a lot about God’s love and how a man and a wife should mimic it. His heart swelled with each passing word. It was a dream come true.

A dream. Dreaming.

Wolfe raised his head and opened his eyes. He was in the snow. He managed to move his arm, but he couldn’t feel the rest of his body. He tried to roll over but couldn’t. It was hard to breathe, and he was conscious enough to know he was in trouble. He didn’t know how long he’d been out in the storm, but he felt snow on his back. He groaned and let his head fall back into the snow, thankful he had enough feeling in his cheek that the cold actually stung a little.

He closed his eyes, wondering what he would dream of next. Goose and Bunny. He smiled a little, listening to their barking as he greeted them at the door. He sat down with them in front of the fireplace and rubbed their tummies. Those dogs were going to miss him. He prayed they would find a good home. There was so much to pray for, so little time, so little strength …

He heard their barks again and tried to push the sad thoughts of where they might end up out of his mind. No use worrying. There was nothing he could do. Barking again. He opened his eyes, hoping the dream would go away. But with his eyes open, the barking came again, and again, until finally Wolfe realized he wasn’t dreaming. He heard men’s voices, shouts, more voices, and then barking again.

“Here,” Wolfe whispered. His vocals cords refused his mental command to shout. “Here …”

If he could just sit up, he might actually be able to see someone, or let someone see him. But he was covered in snow, hardly able to move or speak. How would they find him?

He could tell the dogs were only a few yards away, and he tried again. “Here. Goose. Bunny. Here.” He was merely mouthing the words, though, and his strength was ebbing quickly. His head hit the snow, and his eyes closed involuntarily. “Here …”

Then his face felt warm. Very warm. And wet. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he knew it was them. Licking his cheek and whining. He felt strong hands on his body rolling him over, and then everything went black.

The hospital room was quiet and serene. Ainsley sat perfectly still, watching for any movement, but there was nothing. Her throat ached with fear; her heart beat with expectation.

“We found him!”
She played those words over and over in her head. It had come over the radio of one of the deputies as she paced the floors of his home, waiting. He was alive when they found him, but the doctors at the hospital were cautious.

“Give it some time,” one had told her. “He was out there a long while.”

She covered her mouth as more tears drained from her eyes. Though he was being warmed with heating blankets, his hands were still cold. He looked peaceful, though, and she tried to concentrate on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, squeezing his hand, hoping to see his eyes open. “I’m so sorry all this happened. This was supposed to be a wonderful day for you. Now it’s awful. The worst day of your life. All because I didn’t believe you. I didn’t stand up for you. It’s my fault.” She cried harder, then gathered herself, looking him over, waiting for movement. There was nothing.

“Wolfe,” she said, “I love you. And all this time, the whole time I’ve gotten to know you, I guess I’ve been a self-righteous pig. Yes, that’s right. A pig. I always thought of how much I could teach you, how much I would show you about the faith. In a way, you becoming a Christian was for me like payback. I thought of it as a sort of revenge … the man that destroyed my town became a Christian. But I don’t think that’s what happened at all. In fact,
you’re
the one who taught me things. You’re the one that showed me what true faith is. I guess I made it complicated. But you made it simple. I made it a standard. But you made it life. And now—” She choked on her words and squeezed his hand, but he didn’t squeeze back.

If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Reverend Peck would’ve started dancing on the platform. Still, he couldn’t help but marvel at the crowd that now packed his tiny church. In weather that wasn’t fit for a dog, treacherous weather in fact, the small town of Skary had gathered to pray. He couldn’t remember his church ever being this full. On a sunny day in June, hardly anyone would show up. Most of the time, more people showed up for weddings or funerals than for a Sunday morning service. And the four times a year when he promoted a Saturday of prayer for people to sign up and come pray, he usually filled most of the time slots himself.

What had happened to his little town? He looked into the faces of compassion, love, concern, mercy. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. Some were already bowing their heads in prayer. Others were in silent pondering. All for a man many of them hardly knew. He had a deep feeling that they weren’t there to pray for Wolfe Boone, horror novelist. They were there to pray for Wolfe Boone, resident of Skary and brother in Christ.

Sheriff Parker, his uniform damp from the search, stood silently with the crowd, his arms folded in front of him. The mayor, Butch, and Marlee sat on the third row, clinging to each other and waiting for the reverend’s lead. Oliver, Melb, Martin, and even his new acquaintance Alfred Tennison, were all there in his church.

He’d imagined all the things he would say if he ever got to preach in front of a large crowd. He loved to watch the Billy Graham crusades, imagine himself on the stage with George Beverly Shea, singing the hymns, preaching the Word, praying over the lost. This wasn’t a stadium full of people, but by Skary standards, it could be considered a packed house. He smiled as he looked out across the crowd and saw people he’d prayed for over the years, those who’d stopped going to church for one reason or another. All of them, standing side by side, ready to give rather than receive, ready to pray for a man who desperately needed a touch from God.

The already quiet crowd became motionless as Reverend Peck
assumed his position behind the lectern. He held his Bible tightly in one hand and steadied himself with the other. He prayed for God to speak through him and to answer the prayers of the people that had gathered. And then he said, “ ‘Where two or more are gathered, I am in your midst.’ Those are the words of Jesus. He is here. Waiting for us to pray to Him for Wolfe.”

And so Reverend Peck led the congregation in a prayer for Wolfe. When he paused, someone else picked up the prayer. One after another, people offered their prayers to God, and Reverend Peck was touched by each one. There was so much depth and feeling and sincerity that he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that not only was the Lord listening to the prayers, but He was in them, speaking through the people as they obediently stood in the church and prayed for someone in need.