Monday Morning Faith (40 page)

The child gazed up. “Jo.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Johanna …”

Uh-oh. I knew that tone of voice.

“What would you say if God is calling me to other places than Papua New Guinea?”

“God … other places?”
Oh, no. He wouldn't do this to me.
Not when I'd worked so hard to accept his will for these villagers.

“My church is opening a new mission front in Greenland.”

Blood left my face. “Greenland.”

He warmed to the subject. “One month, Jo. Come with me one month out of a year.” He started walking, and I fell in step beside him. “Honey, are you aware that Greenland has the world's lowest population density? About 88 percent of its people are Greenlanders — Greenland Eskimos. Then 10 percent are Danish, and 2 percent are United States military. The Danish community is largely Lutheran, but few others know the Savior in a personal way. The breakdown of their native culture has had devastating effects on the continent. Immorality, alcoholism, apathy, mental illness, and poverty are just a few of their problems. The gospel witness there is very weak.”

“Hmm. I suppose travel conditions aren't good and living conditions are harsh …”

“The worst!” He sounded utterly delighted. “Communities along the coasts are isolated, which makes missionary work an even greater challenge.” He engulfed my hand in his own. “We can work together — run a medical clinic — ”

We made our way through the winding jungle path, and I tried to absorb it all. Greenland? What about Papua New Guinea? The jungle?

Flies.

Dirt.

Heat.

I glanced at Poo. Sticky fingers.

Sam's arm slid around my shoulders. “How about it, honey? Can we do it?”

What he meant was could
I
do it? I leaned into him — and grinned. I couldn't help it. Could I do it? Well, hadn't I just discovered that with God all things are possible? My mind was open to his holy nudging …

But
Greenland
?

I laughed. Well. With Sam, why not? Jungles. Greenland. Mars and Pluto! What did it matter, so long as we were together and God was there with us?

“Greenland, huh?” I tugged at Poo's hand. “Sounds like an adventure, doesn't it?”

The child's fingers tightened on mine and she grinned. “Jo!”

Yes, indeed. Jo. Johanna Holland. On her way to Greenland. My steps matched Sam's, and we walked together down the path.

We were together; that was all I needed.

At long last, I was home.

Read a sample chapter from
Lori Copeland's
Now and Always

V
ery few things distracted Katie Addison when she was on a mission, but the sight of three dead horses strewn across the winding road stopped her in her tracks. Her jeep skidded and veered to the right before stopping. Motorists set out flares. The highway patrol began the process of diverting traffic around the gruesome sight.

Putting a tissue over her nose, Katie exited the jeep. Thick smoke covered the area from the fire burning on the ridge below Devils Tower. Wildfire had broken out in the thirteen-hundred-acre park, and crews had been battling it all day. A suffocating haze blanketed the landscape.

Confusion reigned as Katie threaded her way through curious onlookers and fellow travelers who'd stopped to help. Her eyes focused on the black skid marks, and it didn't take a sleuth to see that the overturned truck and stock trailer had veered to the center and jackknifed, blocking most of the road.

Blowout? Deer blocking the road?

The long, white trailer lay on its side in the ditch. The sides were enclosed, and the top was lined with openings for ventilation. The terrified screams of trapped horses, kicking and lunging, trying to break free, sent a shudder up her spine. She'd lived on a ranch all her life, and while she wasn't a vet, she knew almost as much as anybody about animals. She took care of her own — three dogs, three cats, a goat, and an aging Appaloosa. She'd sewn up more than one wire cut by lantern light.

Katie approached Sheriff Ben O'Keefe, who was trying to redirect traffic. “Is the driver hurt?”

“Don't know. An ambulance is on the way.”

Katie strained to see what was going on through the chaos. Men worked to open the truck's passenger side door while others were trying to break into the mangled trailer.

Katie observed the work and then impulsively raced to help, her former mission forgotten.

Working her way around the overturned trailer, Katie tried to peer through the narrow slits in the side wall. It was nearly impossible to count the heaving flesh trapped inside, but she estimated three, maybe four horses down, kicking and struggling to get out. Men worked feverishly to reach the injured animals, but the enclosed trailer defeated their efforts. The back door hung by one hinge, but the divider separating the back compartment from the front was jammed, making it almost impossible to reach the injured. Apparently the dead animals had been thrown out when the trailer jackknifed. Some had been hit by cars, judging from the damaged autos scattered along the roadside. A portly man collapsed against the overturned trailer, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his forehead. The cloud of smoke cast a stifling blanket, hampering rescue efforts.

Katie eased into the back of the overturned carrier, working her way cautiously to the crumpled and jammed divider. Her stomach seized at the sight of tangled limbs and the sound of the injured horses' screams. There had to be a way to free them before they sustained more injury. A bay kicked frantically, lunging against the divider. Blood spurted from a nasty shoulder gash.

“There, boy, take it easy,” Katie crooned, trying to calm the horse.

A shout and the wail of a siren heralded the arrival of emergency vehicles. Katie focused on the arrival of an ambulance, two firetrucks, and a couple of police cars, sirens blaring. Paramedics hit the ground before their vehicle fully stopped, racing to the truck cab. Firemen approached the overturned trailer, openly assessing the bedlam. Katie wanted to scream at them to move faster, but she knew they needed to determine what would be best for the horses' sake. Someone brought a Sawzall. Was it strong enough to slice through the metal trailer? Rescue workers were already using the Jaws of Life to cut through the truck cab and reach the driver pinned inside.

The screech of metal cutting metal sent the horses into a panic. Firemen sliced through twisted metal. Whining saws died away, and Katie eased to maneuver into line to help remove the animals. But a burly captain stepped in front of her.

“Sorry. You need to step back out of the way.”

“I can help. I've doctored animals all my life.”

“You could get hurt in there. If you want to help, you'll stand back and let us work.”

A tall, rawboned woman with short salt-and-pepper hair ran toward them. “I'm a vet.” She was allowed to pass to the scene of action.

A couple of men cautiously approached the trailer. Katie held her breath as they tried to untangle the downed animals. Finally they led the bay out at the end of a rope. One by one, the horses were removed. Frightened, shying at every noise, the trembling animals were led to safety. Two were limping and all were bleeding from numerous wounds. A stock trailer rattled up, restoring alarm. The men leading the horses spoke calmly, guiding them gently forward. One horse couldn't get up. “Broken legs and internal injuries,” someone in the crowd murmured. The vet administered an injection. After a short time the thrashing body went limp, and the horrible sound of an animal in agony was stilled. The carcass was dragged out and loaded on a flatbed trailer.

The woman vet glanced at Katie, her color drained. “Those horses look like someone took a baseball bat to them. It's a shame to allow this to happen in a civilized nation. Someone ought to do something about this disgrace.” A fireman called her, and she moved away to join him.

What disgrace? Accidents happen.

A news reporter held a microphone to the fire chief 's mouth, and Katie shamelessly eavesdropped. “How many horses were saved?”

“Four. At first we thought we only had four in the trailer, but when we got inside, one was down and buried under the weight of the others. Eight horses in all were involved.”

“Are the remaining ones going to be all right?”

“Can't say.” The chief lifted his hat for ventilation. “You'll need to talk to the vet — looked to me like most of them were hurt pretty badly. They got tossed around when the trailer overturned.”

Attendants strapped the truck driver to a body board and loaded him into the ambulance. A stench of oil and spilled gas, of blood and sweat and death, hung over the scene of the accident like a thundercloud mingling with the sharp, stinging scent of smoke.

Devils Tower loomed in the distance. The national monument formation jutted out of the smoky Black Hills landscape, looking almost surreal with the smoke billowing around its base and the flickering flames skirting the ridge. Katie knew several northern plains tribes called it Bears Lodge and considered it a sacred worship site, but it was probably best known for the role it played in the late seventies movie
Close Encounters
. Today the tower, the smoke, and the tragic wreck sent a shiver of apprehension rippling through Katie. She breathed a quick prayer.

Father, be with the driver and with these helpless animals. You can work miracles, and it looks like the victims could sure use one
.

“The driver will be lucky to get out of this alive.”

Katie turned to find Warren Tate beside her. Warren owned the ranch two miles to the south. Except for the seven years he'd recently spent on Wall Street, he'd been a fixture in these parts. Katie and Warren had gone to school together, and known each other most of their lives. Warren had returned from New York a few weeks earlier, but this was the first time Katie had bumped into him. She smiled. “I'd heard you were back. Welcome home!”

The former classmate removed his hat. “Katie.” His eyes skimmed her. “You're looking good.”

“Thank you. So are you.” The latter was an understatement. He looked terrific! Gone was the gangly, acne-prone teenager. In his place stood a self-possessed, darn good-looking man. Rumor had it he'd graduated college summa cum laude. Shortly afterwards, he left the state to make his fortune in New York on the stock exchange.

Warren's gaze focused on the frantic scene. Katie eased closer. “It's so tragic. Does anyone know how it happened?”

He inclined his head toward the distorted wreckage. “The driver hasn't regained consciousness.”

Katie's eyes scanned the highway where the rest of the carcasses were being loaded on the flatbed trailer. “It's a miracle anything survived.”

Warren lifted his Stetson and ran a hand through thick black hair. Katie had to admit that the years had worked to his advantage. He'd bloomed. His odd-colored eyes, a dark green hue, had been a distraction during his youth, but now they enhanced his features. In high school he'd been the bookish sort, not particularly handsome and certainly not part of the in crowd. He hadn't been a partyer. She'd liked that about him, but others called him a geek. Well, world, Warren Tate was anything but a geek now. He was a couple of inches taller than her own six feet, which made it nice to stand beside him. It hadn't been easy in high school when she had towered above him and most boys her age. Her gaze shifted to his ring finger. Empty …

Maybe Warren was like Katie, content to wait until Mrs. Right came along, though rumor also had it he'd been involved in a pretty nasty breakup prior to leaving the Big Apple.

Katie didn't have time to brood about her own lack of social life, much less Warren Tate's. Taking care of Grandpops until he died took time, then establishing the shelter … She glanced at her watch. “Oh, granny's skirts! I was due at the airport fifteen minutes ago!”

Warren turned to look at her. “New guest?”

Katie nodded. Everyone around knew that she took in battered women, but the town kept the information to themselves. Little Bush was a close-knit community, loyal to a fault, and the Addisons had been part of the community as far back as anyone remembered. It wasn't a large community, though it had grown since Katie graduated from high school. A couple of factories had moved in, and a few hometown boys made good, investing time and money into the community. Quite a few mom-and-pop businesses had sprung up, and the chamber of commerce boasted a healthy number of members. The town still had most of the original buildings, reminders that Little Bush was an old town with roots going back a long way. But there was still a hint of wildness, a feel of the frontier that outsiders sometimes found intimidating. If they wanted something more, Sundance and Gillette were a short drive away, and Cody, if you really wanted an outing.

Katie's Grandpops, old man Addison as the locals called him, was a crusty Little Bush councilman before he died six years ago. Paul and Willa Addison, Katie's maternal grandparents, had raised Katie from an infant when their daughter had been shot and killed by her jealous husband.