Tomorrow's Sun (41 page)

“She didn’t report it.”

“No. Of course not. She didn’t know if you were even going to live and you lost the baby and—”

“You knew? And you still…”

“Still what? Still love you?” Sierra’s grip tightened. “I was angry at first. Depressed and hopeless, screaming at God, asking ‘Why?’ And then He showed me that ‘Why?’ is a stupid question we have no business asking. If anyone should have screamed ‘Why?’ it was Jesus. But He didn’t. He trusted His Father and look what happened.”

“But you’re not Jesus. You were a child with a beautiful future stretching ahead and—”

“Stop.” Sierra’s command was tinged with irritation. “I’m still going to have a beautiful future. Sure, there’s a lot I’ll miss. Life is hard this way, but what I’m not going to do is”—she slammed her hand on the bench—“I’m not going to be a slave to this! I’m not going to go through life like I’ve got chains around me. God could have stopped you from taking Ecstasy. He could have stopped me from putting on my skis. I don’t know why He didn’t. I’ll never know why. What I have to do is let Him guide me, just the way I took your arm going down the stairs. And He’s doing it. I can still dance, Em! I have a wonderful family and friends and now I have a boyfriend. I’m blind, but I’m not locked in a little room like this with no way out.” She pulled her hand away. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

The words stung. Emily closed her arms over her chest.

“Can I pray for you, Em?”

She wanted to say no, wanted to run from the black room. But she said nothing. And Sierra prayed.

“Lord, we know it is never Your will to keep us in darkness. You are the One who leads us into the light of Your love and mercy and forgiveness. Emily knows You have forgiven her. Help her to embrace that truth with every cell of her being. Grant her the courage to step out of the dark and walk in the freedom of Your light.”

October 23, 1852

“Can you swim, Isaiah?”

“No, sir.”

Liam stared at the tightly curled black hair of the man who sat on the bench with his head bowed. “Are you well enough to run if you need to?”

Isaiah nodded, lifting his face to the lantern Hannah held above him. “Do you know what a gazelle is, Mr. Liam?” His voice undulated in a way not common to the runaways they’d met thus far.

“I have read of them.”

“There were many where I grew up. When I was a boy, my father called me Gazelle. He said I bounded through the woods like an animal with winged feet.” His smile failed to touch sad eyes. “I am older and sorrow has taken strength from me, but in here”—he thumped his chest with a large, open hand—“I am still a young gazelle.”

Liam nodded and returned his smile. “I hope you will not need to run tonight, but it is a comfort to know you have wings on your feet.”

Hannah’s father put a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “You need to be off now. My daughter and I will pray for you throughout the night and in the days to come. Godspeed.”

A single tear slid down Isaiah’s cheek, reflecting the flickering lantern flame. “I’d be grateful if you would lift a prayer for my wife.”

“Of course.”

Hannah raised the lamp. The halo of light widened. She looked up at Liam, eyes shimmering. “Isaiah’s wife is still on the plantation, expecting their first child.”

Lord God
. Liam shook his head. He couldn’t imagine leaving Hannah in that condition. “That must be so hard.” His words were weak, inadequate.

“She is blessed to be a cook. She works in the house, not in the fields. But if she bears a son…” Isaiah stared between Liam and Hannah, his eyes on some point far beyond the cellar walls. He didn’t need to say more. Liam had learned enough to know a man-child would be sent to work in the fields when he was barely old enough to walk.

Liam picked up the bag of food Hannah had prepared. His elbow touched hers. His arms burned with the desire to hold her, to kiss away the fear that chiseled grooves between her eyes. Instead he put one hand on the ladder and nodded toward the lantern. Reluctance tightening her face, she blew it out.

Blanketed by darkness, he climbed the ladder and slid the stone aside. Leaning down, he offered his hand to Isaiah, ushering him into a starless night.

B
ranches tapped against the attic window, picking up tempo as the wind increased. Gray clouds roiled above the river. Emily sat down on the church pew. Reaching up, she directed the light from her secondhand floor lamp onto the cross. She hadn’t once touched the Bible, but now it nested on the folded quilt. Jake had moved it, probably read it. Curiosity had tempted her often. How old was it? Had it belonged to Hannah? Nana Grace? Was there an inscription or favorite passages underlined? Maybe even a family tree with answers they’d been seeking. But she hadn’t opened it. Hadn’t touched it. Maybe now was the time.

Tiny raised bumps textured the cover. Water spots dotted the faded red edges of the pages. Tears? The book crackled when she opened it to the first page. T
HE
H
OLY
B
IBLE
C
ONTAINING THE
O
LD
& N
EW
T
ESTAMENTS
P
RESENTED
T
O
F
RANKLIN AND
G
RACE
O
STERMANN ON THEIR 15TH ANNIVERSARY
—J
UNE
4, 1956. W
ITH ALL OUR LOVE
, M
OM AND
D
AD

She turned to the copyright page. R
EVISED
S
TANDARD
V
ERSION
. T
RANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL TONGUES BEING THE VERSION SET FORTH
A.D. 1611. R
EVISED
A.D. 1881–1883
AND
A
.D
. 1901 C
OMPARED WITH THE MOST ANCIENT AUTHORITIES AND REVISED
A.D. 1952

Closing the Bible, she stared at the faded gold imprint. H
OLY
B
IBLE
. Grace and her husband read from this. Hannah and her parents may have sat in church in this same pew, reading the same words from an older printing. She fingered the end of a red satin ribbon sticking out of the bottom and opened to the marked page. She began reading on the left, at Psalm 139.
“Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence…
“She read silently, but stopped suddenly at the eleventh verse. She read the next two verses to herself then whispered them aloud.

“If I say, ‘Let only darkness cover me, and the light about me be night,’ even the darkness is not dark to thee, the night is bright as the day; for darkness is as light with thee.”

“Oh God…” Those were the only words that formed for several tear-filled moments. “Forgive me for thinking I could hide from You.”

She blinked to clear her vision and tears spilled onto the page. “For thou didst form my inward parts, thou didst knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Her chest heaved. Her breath shuddered. A picture flashed in her memory. A red Bible. Susan had taken it out of the bedside table at the Denver resort and used it to flatten a coffee-stained receipt. As she did that, Emily tucked her Live Strong shirt into ski pants and fastened suspenders with fingers that wouldn’t cooperate.
God, if only You’d made me read this then. I would have thought about the baby, thought about the danger
.

It wasn’t true. The stark horror of the truth doubled her over. She was going to be sick or faint. She set the Bible on the pew and slid to her knees, head bent to the floor.
God, forgive me. I
did
think
.

She saw the hand held out to her as clearly as if she were back in the hotel room, pouring her heart out to people she’d known less than a week. She saw the little blue pill on the palm of the hand.
Take this and forget about the jerk
. She took it.
Maybe it will make this all go away
.

Her fingers curled on the gray linoleum. Her breathing was too fast, too shallow. Her lips tingled. She couldn’t remember what to do to stop it.
God, I was so hurt, so lost. I wanted the pain to go away for a little while
. When Sierra asked her to go skiing, she thought the Ecstasy had worn off. Her heart rate had slowed and she thought she was clearheaded. She hugged Susan before she left the room. Something she never did. She hugged Sierra when they met in the hall. It seemed so natural.

On the lift, the breeze on her face felt like bubbles. The snow sparkled like tiny Fourth-of-July sparklers dotting the hill. Snow-covered trees seemed soft and fluffy, as if she could stretch across their tops and feel weightless. She’d grabbed Sierra’s hand just before they reached the top of the mountain. “I’m not mad at Keith anymore. I’m going to call him and tell him I forgive him.”

Sierra knew about the breakup, but not the pregnancy. No one knew but Keith. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

They hopped off the lift. “Of course it’s a good idea. It’s a wonderful idea. I forgive him. Who could stay mad on a day like this?” Her last words before pushing off were, “Look at the sun on the snow. It’s a beautiful day and life is beautiful!”

Emily stared at the cross. She didn’t know who’d put it there, or why, in a house otherwise stripped bare, someone had chosen to leave this sanctuary as it was. Maybe Cara’s parents had hoped this place would draw their children back to the Lord. Maybe Nana Grace had requested it never be disturbed. Whatever the reason, Emily knew that God had orchestrated this moment, this place of refuge, for her.

Six months ago, she’d planned her death. She’d written letters to her parents, her sister, and Sierra. She’d sat on a dock at the Clinch Park Marina in Traverse Bay, alone on a cold, moonless night, and emptied sleeping pills and pain meds into her hand. Two hours passed. Her body grew numb to the cold as she watched her breath crystallize over the pale yellow ovals and pink-and-blue capsules. But just as she raised her hand to her mouth, the northern sky lit with streaks of green and tinges of purple that shimmered and danced over the water.

She’d known then that God had put her in that place at that time to witness His handiwork and choose life. And she knew now that He’d put her in this place to make another decision.
“Emily knows You have forgiven her. Help her to embrace that truth with every cell of her being. Grant her the courage to step out of the dark and walk in the freedom of Your light.”
She stared at the cross. “I don’t know how.”

Trust Me
.

Not words, not voice. The message embossed her spirit. She knelt by the bench. Her mouth formed the lines of the psalm.
“I praise thee, for thou art fearful and wonderful. Wonderful are thy works! Thou knowest me right well; my frame was not hidden from thee, when I was being made in secret, intricately wrought in the depths of the earth.”
The words swam.
“Thy eyes beheld my unformed substance; in thy book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

There were no days formed for her child.

Not this side of heaven.

She could spend the rest of her life in shame and regret—in darkness—or she could choose to trust.

And step into the Light.