Valley of promises, p.17
Valley of Promises, page 17
Will and the child, Drew, the man, and boy were dragged from the river. Like muddied carcasses they lay in the rain and mud, not moving.
Laurel ran to her father and kneeled beside him. “Daddy?” There was no reply. “Daddy!”
Will opened his eyes. Looking at the youngster in his arms, he loosened his hold. It was a little girl. Her clothes were nearly ripped off her body. She whimpered softly.
Jessie picked her up. “Now. Now. Everything is all right.” She sat down and rocked the child, holding her close.
“Are you all right, Daddy?” Luke asked.
Will nodded and sat up, panting for breath.
Luke hugged his father. “I thought you were going to die.”
The man Drew had hauled in sat up and pulled his drenched boy close, then claimed the little girl. Sitting in the mud, he held his children and stared at the river, his face grim.
“We've got to get all of you to the clinic,” Jessie said. “Right now.”
Drew looked at the grieving man. “I wish we could have saved them all.” They limped to the truck and managed to climb onto the open tailgate where they sat shivering.
Laurel stared at the last place she'd seen Adam. He'd given his life trying to save a child. Choking back sobs, her tears mingled with rain on her cheeks.
Jessie stood beside her, an arm around Laurel's dripping wet shoulders.
“Do you think they might still be alive?”
“They're in the Lord's hands,” Jessie said. “He'll see to them.”
Chapter Nineteen
BUNDLED IN A WOOL BLANKET, LAUREL SAT ON THE CLINIC BENCH HOLDING a cup of coffee between her hands. Her shivering had stopped, but inside she felt empty and cold. She kept seeing Adam and the others disappear into the muddy water.
“Sugar, you all right?” Will asked, sitting beside his daughter and placing an arm around her.
Shaking her head no, Laurel leaned against her father. Burying her face against his chest, she allowed tears to flow, but the ache inside didn't subside.
Suddenly, the roar of a truck and hollering came from outside. A moment later a soaking-wet Ray Townsend pushed open the door and stepped in. A woman hung limply in his arms. “I need a doctor. Where's the doctor?”
Another man carrying a child wrapped in a blanket followed Ray. It looked like a little girl.
Laurel's heart caught in her throat. Were these the people who'd fallen into the river? What about Adam? Was he alive? She let her blanket fall to the floor and ran to the door. Two men stepped inside with Adam draped between them. “Is he alive?” Laurel asked.
“Yeah, but just barely,” one man answered.
A nurse appeared. “Bring him back here.” Taking short, quick steps, she led them to an examining room. Laurel followed. “Get him on the table,” the nurse said.
The men laid Adam down, then stepped back. The one who'd spoken earlier said, “We found the lot of them tumbling down the river. We barely got them. If it weren't for Ray, this one would have been done in for sure. But Ray wouldn't give up—not ‘til he dragged him to shore.” He stared at Adam. “Sure hope he appreciates what Ray did for him.” With that he walked out of the room, the other man close behind.
Laurel leaned over the table. “Adam? Adam, can you hear me?” He looked awful; his skin had a pale blue tinge, and his breaths were shallow.
The nurse stripped off his wet clothes and bundled him in warm blankets. “He's real cold. We need to warm him.” She looked at Laurel. “You his wife?”
“No, a friend. Can't the doctor see him?” Laurel asked.
“He's with the little girl. She's badly hurt.”
Adam moaned. His eyes blinked.
“Well, why don't you get your friend some coffee?” the nurse said.
Laurel sat on the front step of the tent, reflecting on the past few days. The rain had stopped, and sunshine filtered through puffy clouds, making mirrors out of puddles. She smiled. God truly was in control. The day the bridge had collapsed, she'd believed Adam and the others had perished. Who would have thought someone down river, especially Ray Townsend, would have been there to help them. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered.
If not for Mr. Townsend, Adam would have died. Two other men had pulled out the woman and child, but Ray was the one who'd gone after Adam. The incident had shown her the man had another side. The day after the accident, Laurel went to Mr. Townsend to thank him. He didn't want her thanks and acted as if what he'd done was nothing out of the ordinary.
Laurel's mind wandered to Adam. She could see his handsome, boyish face, his easy manner, the way he stood, the way he moved. His appealing, confusing blend of toughness and sensitivity puzzled her. She didn't understand the man or the way she felt whenever he was near. She didn't want to care about him. It was foolish. He was nothing like her, and soon he'd be leaving the valley. Though she fought it, Laurel wanted to be with Adam, to talk to him, to share her dreams and aspirations.
“Let's go,” Brian said, walking out of the tent waving a fishing pole. “Justin, you said you'd go fishing.” Brian looked at Laurel. “He promised. Make him go.”
With a sigh, Laurel stood and walked into the tent. “Justin?”
“I don't wanna go. I don't feel good.” Justin crawled onto his bed and lay down.
“You look all right to me,” Brian said.
“Well, I'm not.” Justin pulled a coverlet over himself and closed his eyes.
Laurel crossed the room and looked down at her brother. “What's wrong?”
“I think I'm sick. I have a headache and my throat hurts.”
Laurel rested her hand on his forehead. It felt hot. She studied his face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes looked too bright. “I'll get Mama.” She walked outside where Jean was hanging clothes. “I think Justin's sick.”
Jean clipped a pair of blue jeans onto the line, then lifted overalls out of the basket.
“He said he's got a sore throat and a headache. He feels hot.”
“I'll be right there.” After hanging up the overalls, Jean hurried inside. “Well, let's take a look at you.” She leaned over Justin. “Open your mouth.”
Justin did as he was told. Laurel could see her mother tense.
Jean lifted his shirt, exposing a bright red rash. “Laurel, get your father,” she said, her voice tight. Gently she pulled Justin's shirt down, then tucked the blanket under his chin. “Do you hurt anywhere?” Laurel hadn't moved. Jean looked at her. “Laurel, get your father,” she said sternly.
Laurel hurried outside. She knew something was wrong. “Daddy,” Laurel called. In mid-swing, Will didn't look up. “Daddy, Justin's sick. Mama wants you.”
The blade cut through a chunk of birch, splitting the wood in two. “He's sick?” Will rested the axe against a wood slab. “What's wrong?” he asked, striding toward the tent door.
“I think he has a fever. And he's got a rash.”
Will stepped inside. “Justin's sick?”
Jean intercepted him in the middle of the room. Her hands on his arms, she whispered, “I think he's got scarlet fever! We've got to get him to the doctor!”
“Why do you think that?” Will asked, his voice tight.
“He has a rash, a red sore throat, and a high fever.” Jean returned to Justin's bedside. “Honey, show Daddy your tummy.” Justin pulled up his shirt.
Will nodded. “Looks like scarlet fever, all right.”
“Is that bad?” Brian asked, leaning on the bed.
“No. We'll take him to the doctor, and he'll fix him right up.” He looked at Jean. “Good thing we've got a doctor now.”
“Laurel, I'll need you to stay with Susie and Brian,” Jean said.
Laurel nodded. “Where's Luke?”
“He's off with Alex again,” Brian said petulantly. “He's always with Alex. He never plays with me anymore.” He looked up at his mother. “Can I go to the doctor's with you?”
Jean kneeled in front of her son. “We need you to stay and help with Susie.”
Brian stuck out his lower lip. “Can I find Luke?”
“No,” Will said, bundling Justin in a blanket and lifting him. “You stay here. We won't be gone long.” He walked to the door. “Drew was home a few minutes ago. I'm sure he'll drive us.”
Jean kissed Brian and Susie. “We won't be long,” she promised, then followed Will outside.
Laurel refilled the basin with cool water and walked back to Justin's bedside. Dipping a washcloth into the water, she wrung it out and gently sponged the boy's face. Justin was getting worse. Why? she asked herself. The doctor had said most children rebound from scarlet fever. He had prescribed aspirin and keeping Justin quiet, but that hadn't helped.
Two days before, his elbows, ankles, and wrists had begun to swell, his fever raged, and the rash had changed, now looking more like bruises. Sometimes delirious, Justin thrashed about calling for his mother or others.
The doctor sadly explained that he'd developed rheumatic fever, a severe complication of scarlet fever. He'd been to see Justin nearly every day, but nothing seemed to help. This morning Dr. Donovan left shaking his head. There was nothing he could do.
The rocking chair creaked as Jean rose slowly so not to waken Susie. She lay the little girl in her crib, then crossed to Justin's bedside. “Is he any better?”
Laurel shook her head no, cringing inwardly at the anguish in her mother's eyes.
“I'll sit with him,” Jean said.
Brian placed his hands on his brother's mattress, then rested his chin on his hands. “Mama, how long until Justin's better?”
“We don't know, soon maybe.” Jean sounded weary. She smiled gently at her young son. “God knows. We must trust him.”
Brian nodded, her answer seeming to satisfy him. “I hope it's soon so we can go fishing. Justin likes to fish.” He sighed. “I miss Daddy and Luke. When are they coming home?”
“Just as soon as we're all healthy and the doctor lifts the quarantine.”
“I don't like it when everyone's sick.” Brian ambled to the toy box. He took out a wooden truck and half-heartedly pushed it across the floor.
“Mama, he's not going to die, is he?” Laurel whispered.
Jean didn't answer. She gazed at Justin, her eyes filling with tears. Finally she said softly, “It's God's choice. Justin belongs to him, not us.”
Laurel walked into the kitchen, picked up the kettle, and poured a cup of tea. “Do you want some?”
“No. I think I've had enough to last me a lifetime.” She rewet the cloth and tenderly laid it across Justin's forehead.
All that night Jean didn't leave his side. Laurel sat in the rocking chair, falling in and out of sleep. Her brother's breaths became shallower and more labored. At one point Jean looked at Laurel and said, “He's fading. He's going to leave us.” She covered her face with a handkerchief and cried softly.
Laurel looked on, not knowing what to do. She gazed at her brother. Please, Justin, live. Please.
“Laurel, get your father,” Jean said, her voice trembling. “Quarantine or not, he needs to be here.”
Norma cradled Jean against her shoulder. “Sometimes God takes our babies home to him. It's not for us to understand why.”
“Justin was such a sweet, gentle boy,” Jean sobbed.
Brian clung to his mother's skirt. “Mama, is Justin in heaven?”
Jean bent and scooped up her youngest son. She held him tight, then kissed his cheek. “Yes. Justin is in heaven. He's not hurting anymore.”
“But if he's in heaven, how come we buried him?”
“We buried his body,” Will said sorrowfully “His spirit, the part of him that made him Justin, is in heaven.”
“I didn't want him to leave. I want to go fishing.” Tears spilled onto Brian's cheeks.
“I know, sweetheart.” Jean softly kissed his cheek. “One day, when you get to heaven, you can go fishing together again.”
“We can? You think there's good fishing in heaven?”
“I'm sure of it.”
Brian wiggled out of his mother's arms and ran outside.
Jean stepped into her husband's embrace and sobbed against his wool shirt. “We should never have come to this valley.”
Will smoothed her hair. “It's not this place that killed Justin. Sickness is part of the world.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “Justin loved it here.”
Laurel couldn't listen anymore. Blindly she pushed through the door. The sun was warm and bright, people came and went, a butterfly danced through wild flowers, a car passed. The world seemed normal. How could that be?
She started to run, but her skirt caught at her legs. Hitching it up above her knees, she ran. She didn't know where she was going; she just ran. After a time her legs ached and her lungs burned, but it felt good. She kept running. The thought, We should never have come—We should never have come—We should never have come, tumbled through her mind in rhythm to her pounding heart.
Laurel finally stopped in front of their property. The house stood like a skeleton. Framed and roofed, it had no walls. It would be finished soon. But Justin would never live there. He'd loved this place. Every day he had come here with his father and brothers, helping carry lumber and tools. He'd even pounded a few nails.
Laurel walked up the driveway and wandered through the garden. The cabbage already had large tight heads. They were nearly ready to cut. Carrottops stood tall and leafy. Laurel bent and pulled one. A slender orange root pulled free of the dirt. She dusted it clean, smiling as she remembered how Justin always loved to eat carrots right out of the ground, still warm and fresh.
Laurel took a bite. It was sweet and tender.
She ambled on to the house. Stepping through the doorway, she entered the open structure. This will be nice, she thought, walking through the framed-in rooms. The air smelled of fresh-cut lumber, and her steps echoed as she walked across the kitchen floor. Looking at the plumbing already set in the wall, it seemed amazing that indoor plumbing existed in this wilderness.
Stepping out the back door, she stood on the porch. Her eyes roamed over open meadows and forests, then traveled to mountains that looked as if they'd literally been thrust up from the valley floor. Taking a deep breath, she felt the peace, its stillness. Quiet spread through her. God must certainly be in this place.
Her eyes went to the creek that bordered their land. Brian and Justin had fished there, played tag in the open fields, and sat among the grasses talking about their dreams—little boy dreams, but important nonetheless. Tears blurred her vision. Justin loved living here.
Suddenly, Laurel couldn't imagine living anywhere else. The mountains, open fields, and forests felt like home. The mountains no longer made her feel closed in but instead gave her a sense of protection. And she realized she didn't want to leave. She belonged here.
She strode to the side of the house where her apple seedling still sat in a pot. Since arriving she'd lovingly tended it but hadn't wanted to put it in the ground. Now it was time. And she knew just where it belonged.
Grabbing a shovel, she lifted the seedling and headed toward the creek. She could feel Justin's presence as if he were walking beside her. At the creek she could see him skipping along the bank. She stopped just above the pool where the boys had fished and swam.
Setting down the tiny tree, she dug into the fertile soil. When the hole was large enough, she removed the tree from its pot, loosened the root ball, and set it gently in the hollowed-out earth. She scooped dirt around the seedling and pressed it down firmly.
When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and looked at the little tree. “One day when you're all grown up, you'll bear fruit.” Tears filled her eyes. “And I'll remember how Justin loved it here.”
Finally she stood, brushed dirt from her legs and skirt, and looked out over the farm. Closing her eyes, she soaked in the sensations all around—the warmth of the sun, the smell of fresh dug earth, the aroma of wildflowers, and the breeze that tickled her bare arms. This was home.
With a shuddering breath, she said, “I'm sorry you weren't able to stay, Justin. I'll miss you.”
Chapter Twenty
LAUREL KICKED A ROCK, SENDING IT INTO THE DITCH, THEN SHUFFLED THE lunch basket into her left hand. Looking at her mother and baby sister, she said, “Susie's getting so big. She looks more like a little girl and less like a baby.”
“I know. She's nearly a year.” Jean kissed Susie's cheek. She scanned berry bushes growing alongside the road. “The berries are nearly ready. Looks like there'll be plenty for picking.”
Laurel looked at the smooth, round blackberries. “They don't look anything like the blackberries back home.”
“They're supposed to be good for pies and jellies. Come January, they'll be a wonderful reminder of summer.” Jean's expression turned sad. “Justin loved berry pie.” Her voice broke.
Laurel rested an arm around her mother's waist and gave her a sideways hug. “I miss him too. Sometimes I can almost see him running through the field, or I think I hear his voice. It's hard to believe he's gone.” She scanned the meadows on both sides of the road. Brilliant pink paintbrush, tufts of squirrel tail, navy-blue monkshood, and clusters of white aster grew among deep grasses. Her eyes followed the driveway, coming to rest on their home. “I wish Justin could see the house now.” She bent and picked a daisy growing alongside the ditch. “After lunch let's pick a bouquet and take it to his grave.”
Jean nodded, brushing away tears. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Turning off the road, they walked up the drive. Pounding and sawing noises came from inside the house. “It's nearly finished.” Holding the basket in front of her, Laurel gazed at the cabin. “It's nice. I like it.”
“Your father's already fretting about getting the barn up. Winter's not far off.” She glanced at the mountains. “We'll need a barn soon. But he's got to get a paddock built right away. I'm sure we'll get a cow or two in the drawing this weekend.”
