The Heaven Trilogy (78 page)

“No. I'm sorry, Ivena, I had forgotten.”

“Well,
I
have not forgotten my daughter.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Ivena turned to face the pool outside. “She could be her, you know. Blond hair, blue eyes, so frail. Like a child.”

So, Ivena had seen her own child in Helen. “I am so sorry, Ivena. I wasn't thinking about—”

“You are not remembering so well these days, Janjic. You speak of it all the time, to so many men all puffed up in their white shirts, feeling so important. But do you
remember?”
She turned to him. “Do you remember what it
felt
like to see Nadia die?”

He stared at her, blinking. “But Helen is not Nadia.”

“No, she isn't. But then she is, isn't she? It's why you wrote your book, isn't it? So that others could feel Father Micheal's and Nadia's love the way you felt it twenty years ago? So that they could show that love, not for Nadia or Father Micheal, but for others. For people desperately needing a touch from God. For street girls like Helen. Isn't that why you wrote your book? Or have you forgotten that as well?”

“Don't patronize me, Ivena. I may not have lost my daughter, but I did lose my innocence and five years of my life. I was there as well.”

“Then perhaps your memory isn't so sharp. Is Helen really so different from my Nadia?”

“Of course she is! Nadia sacrificed her life, like a lamb. She was pure and holy and she embraced death for the love of Christ. Helen . . . Helen doesn't know the
meaning
of sacrifice.”

“No. But what about you, Janjic? You couldn't stop the slaying of my child, but can you stop the destruction of this child?”

Jan stood to his feet. “I tried to stop the slaying of Nadia. You shouldn't rub that in my face! You have no right to heap this burden on my head. It's one thing to suggest I look into my heart for the love of Christ, but it's another thing to suggest I lay down my life for every vagrant who crosses my door.”

“And you have no right to assume that just because it is I who
speak
the truth, it is also I who
make
that truth. I can't change the fact that you were at the village when my daughter was killed, no more than I can change the fact that it was
you
who showed up on my doorstep yesterday with a stray girl who was in desperate need. So I'm simply telling you, we all know about the love of Nadia—the whole world knows about the love of Nadia; you have written of it well. But what about the love of Jan?”

He wanted to tear into her; to tell her to hold her tongue. She was consumed with this resurgent focus on love. And now, because he'd made the mistake of bringing Helen to her, she had in her hands a tangible example of that love. He collapsed on the overstuffed chair and stared out at the swimming pool without seeing it. “You think that lowly of my capacity to love?”

She sighed. “I don't know what I think, Janjic. I'm simply struck by a deep desire to help Helen. Because she reminds me of Nadia? Perhaps. Because we spent a day and a night together and I grew to like the child? Yes. But also because she's desperate for love, yet she does not even know it. What good is our love if we do not
use
it?”

She was right. So very right! This wasn't some vagrant who'd waltzed across his doorstep. Helen was a woman; a grown Nadia, suffering and lost.

Ivena spoke quietly now. “You felt something, Janjic. Both times in my house with her you felt some things. Tell me what you saw.”

The request took him off balance. Thinking of it now, his objections over the past hours seemed absurd. He had felt God's heart for Helen, hadn't he? And if Ivena knew how clearly . . .

He sighed. “I told you, it was strange.”

“Yes, you did. So then, tell me what strange looks like.”

“Sorrow. I looked at her and I felt the pain of sorrow. And I heard crying. White light and weeping.” Yes indeed, she would tell him straight now. And he deserved it. He shook his head. “It was so vivid at the time. Goodness.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “So, you feel this breath of God on your heart and still you argue with me about whether Helen needs our help?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, she was right about that too, wasn't she? And yet he didn't necessarily
want
to feel the breath of God when it came to Helen.

“Why do you resist?” she asked.

“Maybe the idea of playing nursemaid to this street girl scares me.”

“Scares you? And what you saw in her presence does not scare you?”

“Yes, Ivena. It all scares me! I'm not saying it's right, I'm simply telling you how I feel. I have a full plate already and I don't need a tramp camping out on my doorstep right now. I have a trip to New York in a couple days, I have wedding details to work out with Karen; I have the movie—”

“Oh yes, the movie. I had forgotten. How silly of me! You have a movie to make about what love really looks like. God forbid you take time out to try loving a poor soul yourself.”

She is right, you know.

“Ivena!”

“No, you are right. It all makes perfect sense now. Christ has already died for the world's pain; there is no need for the rest of us to suffer unduly. A small girl here, perhaps. A priest there. But certainly not we who live in our fancy palaces here in God's backyard.”

She is right! She is so right
.

“Ivena, stop it!”

They sat in silence again. It was a thing with them; they either spoke with meaning or they did not speak.

“You know, Janjic, there are very few who have witnessed the unconditional love Father Micheal taught in the years before his death. He spoke of it often, about the hope of glory as if it were a thing he could actually taste.” She smiled reflectively. “He would speak and we would listen, imagining what it would be like, wanting to go there. American Christians may not have hope for anything beyond what they can put their fingers around in this life, but we hoped for the
afterlife,
I tell you. ‘
When you have a desperate love for God
,' Father Micheal would say,
‘the comforts of this world feel like paper flowers. They are easily put aside. If you really have God's love.'”
She paused. “Have you thought about our discussion the other day, Janjic?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I have.”

“Perhaps God brings people like young Helen into our lives to teach us something of his love.”

Jan leaned back and closed his eyes. “You're right.” He rubbed his face with his hands. How could he have been so callous?
Has my heart grown so callous? God, have mercy on me.
“I had the dream again last night. Same thing. If you're right and the dream's somehow of God, I wouldn't be upset if he would speed up his clock just a little.”

But Ivena wasn't listening. “Father Micheal taught Nadia well, you know,” Ivena said, her voice distant. “Sometimes I think he taught her too well.”

Her mouth quivered to a frown despite her best efforts to stay strong. He slipped from his chair and knelt beside her. She began to cry and he placed his arm around her shoulders. “No, Ivena. Not too well.”

It happened very rarely, this free flow of sorrows, and neither tried to stop it. Tears slid from Ivena's clenched eyes and quickly ran in streams. Jan pulled her to his chest and let her cry, choking on his own emotion. “Shhh, it's okay. She waits for you, Ivena,” he said. “Shhhh.”

For several long minutes they held each other like that and then Jan brought her a drink of water and sat in his own seat again. She sniffed and commented about how soft she was getting in her old age and he insisted that her tender heart had nothing to do with age.

“So then,” he said after some time. “If it's true that God has brought Helen into our lives to teach us of his love, who's taken her
out
of our lives?”

“She has taken herself out,” Ivena responded.

“And how do you propose we find her?”

“We don't. If it is indeed God's will, he will lead her back to us.”

Jan nodded. “You know, for all of my complaining about her, I must say that I did enjoy her company. She was something, wasn't she?”

“Yes. Just watch yourself, my young Serb. You are, after all, engaged to be married.”

Jan blushed. “Don't be ridiculous!”

“If
I
suspected a
pitter
in your heart, do you think she did not?”

“Please. Not everyone's as thorough a romantic as you!”

“Me? A romantic? Ha! Not too many would accuse me of that.”

“That's because few know you as well as I, dear.”

“I'm not judging, Janjic. I'm only telling you what I see.”

“And maybe it's why I'm not so eager to have Helen walk back into our lives,” he said plainly. “I'm at a delicate stage of my life, you know. I have responsibilities; I have a ministry; I'm going to be married. All of this love talk is making me dizzy.”

“Never mind the responsibilities Roald and the other church leaders place on you. Just guard your love for Christ and your other affections will follow.”

He nodded. “You're truly a romantic at heart, aren't you, Ivena? All this talk of love is your cup of tea.”

“And yours, my dear. And yours.”

JAN PARKED the Cadillac and rode the elevator to the eighth floor at nine the following morning. He was back in crisp form—a starched white shirt, trim black slacks, and a narrow black satin tie.

Nicki chirped a bright-eyed
Good morning!
and brought him coffee. He should get his own coffee, he thought. Drive his own car, get his own coffee, and love as Christ had loved. What would Karen say to that?

Karen came in half an hour later, wearing a bright blue dress and a brilliant smile. “Good morning, Jan.” She leaned against his doorframe and folded her arms. “You sleep well?”

“I slept well.” The glint in her eyes brought a surge of adrenaline to his blood.

“Good. I did too. So, I hear you're driving yourself these days.”

“Yes.”

“You really think that's a good idea?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and smiled. “Okay.” But he knew she didn't really mean okay.

They held each other's gaze for a full second before she slipped out of his sight toward her own office.

What was it with the heart? What madness that a simple look from a woman could prove so distracting? Jan cleared his throat. He had a decent stack of calls to return, but suddenly the thought of making them seemed so utterly mundane that he pushed them aside and stood from the desk. He could return to them later. He needed to talk to Karen.

Jan walked into her office and sat across from her.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Well now. What's on your mind?”

That feeling swept through him again. A few words from her and his stomach was floating. “So, we leave for New York tomorrow. Everything's set?”

“It's all set up. But you know that from our meeting yesterday.”

“Yes. I also know that with you things happen so quickly that I can't rest on yesterday's news,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Nothing has changed. We fly at nine, meet Roald in New York at one, and sign the deal the following day. God willing.”

“Yes, God willing.”

They talked then of details already covered, but worth another pass considering the gravity of the deal they were about to sign. They also talked wedding plans. It would be a Christmas wedding—they had decided that much last night. A big wedding with a thousand guests. She would plan it, of course. She'd been born to plan this wedding. It would have to be in a park—a Southern belle affair—with enough glamour to attract national coverage. She thought she might be able to talk Billy Graham into doing the honors.

Jan finally excused himself to make some calls, he said. By the stack of messages on her own desk, Karen needed to make many more calls than he.

She came into his office late morning with some updates. Delmont Pictures was definitely on track, she said. They wanted to launch a fresh round of book interviews within the month, with a broader audience.

“So how does it feel, Jan?” Karen asked with a smile.

“How does what feel?”

“Please, don't pretend you don't know. You're going to become a star, my dearest.”

He grinned slightly. “Oh? And here I thought I was already a star.”

“Not like this, you aren't. Strap in, Jan, because you're going to be a household name. Just don't forget that your lovely wife played a part in it when they're scrambling for your autograph.”

He laughed. “Ha!
My
autograph? Never. Even if they wanted it, I would have to sign Father Micheal's name. Or Nadia's.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “You'll see. We're entering brand-new territory here. I don't think you have a clue.”

“Maybe. But we can never forget the price paid.”

And paid for what, Jan? Your wealth and honor?

He looked away from her, sobered by the thought.

“What is it, Jan?”

“Do you ever wonder if the story has changed people, Karen? I mean really
changed
them?”

“Of course it has! Don't be ridiculous, it's changed thousands of lives.”

“And how?”

She paused. “Jan, I know what you're thinking, and it's the prerogative of every artist to want to know that his work has somehow made a difference in the world. But believe me, your work, like none other I've known, has made an impact on the hearts of men. I came here because I believed in the book, and I've known from the beginning that it was the right choice.”

He nodded. “Yes. And I'm not saying you're wrong, but tell me how it has changed a man's heart. Tell me about
one
man.”

Karen eased around the desk and sat in the guest chair next to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jan, look at me.”