The Still of Night (13 page)
Did that matter? It was for Kelsey’s sake. Sighing, she opened the Bible a third time, not looking for some supernatural answer now, but just comfort. She flipped to the Psalms, number forty:
I waited patiently
for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord
.
Peace settled inside her. She loved the psalms. This one seemed especially encouraging. Maybe God had a purpose, even if she couldn’t see it. Right now she was sure of nothing. It was too late to call about retesting. But in the morning, she would ask her questions. And if there was no other way, she would find Morgan.
Morgan secured the pack onto Todd’s back, tightened the left strap, and patted the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Why do I have to carry it?” Todd stepped away from the car toward the trailhead. He’d hit Morgan up that morning to do something, though he didn’t seem overwhelmed with the prospect of hiking the national park trail.
“Because I’m the guide.”
“So?”
Morgan gripped the walking stick he’d picked up at one of the tourist shops in Juniper Falls. Normally he didn’t darken their doors, but he couldn’t resist the stand of natural sticks, gnarly but sanded smooth, and got one for himself and Todd.
“Just imagine I’m Gandalf and you’re Frodo.”
“I’d rather be Strider.”
The night before, Todd’s face had been more animated than Morgan would have guessed when they’d gone to see the
Lord of the
Rings
movie that had finally made it to Juniper Falls’s single-screen theater. Surprisingly, Todd had never seen any of them, and the impact it had on the kid was remarkable. Todd had responded powerfully, and Morgan sensed a longing for something truly heroic.
“Well, if you’re Strider, you’d better step it up.” Morgan set the pace along the narrow trail where he’d taken Noelle on their first hike together. It had a fabulous view at the top.
“Why do we have to hike?” Todd trudged, a sour look on his face.
“Expands the lungs, opens the mind.”
Todd used a profane phrase that translated “Who cares?”
Morgan shrugged. “You should. You want to be scrawny all your life?”
“You’re not exactly Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“Don’t want to be. Buff shoulders don’t fit well in a suit. But I’m fit and strong, and that’s what matters.”
Todd swore again.
It would be a long hike if Todd meant to argue with every word. Just fifteen short hours ago, the movie night had been magical, and not only on the screen. Todd had lit up like the wizard’s wand, let down his guard, and conversed. This outing was not proving as promising.
“So what is it you like about Strider?”
Todd made his voice powerful. “Let’s go hunt some orc.”
Morgan smiled. “Aha.”
“And when he hacked that one orc’s head off. That was really cool.”
At least the kid was talking instead of swearing. “What about when he healed Frodo with the herbs?”
Todd scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah. When the elf girl came?” Obviously not as memorable a scene. But Todd seemed to have snapped out of his funk. “And when he fought off the black riders! Their screams were awesome.”
Morgan quirked an eyebrow as he walked. “Like to have them on your trail?”
“No way.” Todd glanced back down the slope. “But if they were …” He gripped his walking stick like a cudgel and swung. “Back! Back before I knock your heads off!”
Morgan laughed. At the moment he hardly believed this was the kid he’d caught carving profanity into Rick’s post. “But they don’t have heads.”
“Well, they sort of do. Strider lit them on fire.”
“That’s true. Must have a sort of body, though they’re neither alive nor dead.” There had been some days Morgan felt that way himself, and it was a toss-up which outcome he’d prefer. But not since Todd had called him on it two days ago.
“They should have made you Strider.”
“Me?”
“You have black hair and blue eyes. And you look more Striderish.”
Morgan cocked his head. “And so you think I look foul and feel fair? ‘All that is gold does not glitter, not all who wander are lost’?”
Todd screwed up his face. “What?”
“Oh, that’s from the book. They left it out of the movie.” He started climbing again. “When they first saw him, the hobbits were skeptical of the ranger. But Frodo’s heart could tell Strider was trustworthy, even though he looked like a rogue.”
“A what?”
“Bad dude.”
Todd grinned, the first yet. “Rogue. What else did they leave out?”
“A lot.” Morgan rounded a bend in the trail. “No way to catch it all in a movie. Even three hours long. You ought to read the books.”
Todd hacked a bush with his walking stick. “Don’t have ’em.”
Morgan planted his stick and turned. “We’ll have to see about that.”
“I don’t like to read anyway.”
“Don’t like to read! Then you’ve never found the right books.”
“I can’t do it good, okay? I’m stupid—so what?”
Morgan eyed him. If that was true, no wonder the kid couldn’t succeed in school. “You’re not stupid, Todd.” Anything but. The kid was more cunning than most grown-ups. “Does Stan know?”
“Just get off it.”
Morgan started on. They had reached a steep section and puffed upward without speaking, then stopped for a water break. The sun overhead gave everything a sharp-edged brilliance. Morgan pulled two water bottles from the pack on Todd’s back. He chugged his and urged Todd to do the same, though he resisted. “Gotta stay hydrated. Need a snack, or should we move on?”
Todd kicked the dirt. “I don’t care.”
“We’ll snack at the top, then.” Morgan put their half-empty bottlesinto the pack, still secured on Todd’s back, and slid the ties shut. “Come on.”
Todd rolled his eyes but followed. They climbed until they reached the summit, then stood and gazed out at the rippling range and golden hills. Not so long ago Morgan had stood there with Noelle, tried to make her trust him, tried to break the shell that trapped her in. He’d failed.
Todd pulled himself up tall. “Which way is Mordor?”
Wiping his face with his forearm, Morgan looked out across the scene and imagined the ruined, tortured land of fiery darkness. A slow breath escaped his lungs with a sudden sense of futility. “Mordor is wherever you make it, Todd.”
D
ear Kelsey: My three-year-old, Annie, thinks she sees angels when she has her treatments. Is it possible?
Kelsey’s fingers went to the keyboard.
Dear Susan,
Yes, I believe your daughter sees angels. Jesus said, “See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.” Annie’s too little to understand what’s happening to her. But Jesus knows exactly what she needs. He loves her so much. Why couldn’t He show her the angels watching over her? I was taught how to visualize my comfort, but I don’t find it hard at all to believe that Annie can truly
see
hers. Especially if it helps her not to be afraid.Jesus loves you and so do I. Kelsey
Kelsey rested her fingers on the keyboard and read over what she’d said. And though she hadn’t written it, sometimes her army had become so real she might truly see them, as well. Annie was only three, and her cancer was acute myelocytic leukemia, the one with the lowest cure rate. Kelsey’s eyes teared. Maybe Jesus was showing her heaven so she wouldn’t be afraid to go.
Swiping her eyes clear, she read the next question and started her answer.
Dear Micah,
Choosing to be part of a study could help others in the future. I like to think we’ve been chosen for a purpose. Though it seems like just our bad luck, what if our whole reason for being sick is to help all the other kids later on? If no one takes part in the studies, how can the doctors find a way to win? But your parents are afraid, too. They’re hurting as much as you are. Pray for help to make the right choice. And trust Jesus.
He loves you and so do I. Kelsey
In spite of the bad news about Jill’s bone marrow not matching, she’d had a good day. Her friends had come over after school to play Taboo. Mom made her favorite oatmeal no-bakes and Rice Krispies treats. The good thing about being sick was she could eat anything she wanted. At least during the times between chemotherapy when her stomach wasn’t upset and everything didn’t taste like dirt. But she guessed even if she weren’t sick, she had the kind of body that would not get fat easily.
Like Jill’s.
She got up and peeked down the hall stairs. Mom and Dad’s voices murmured below, but it would be a while before they came up to bed.
She crept to the study and closed the door softly behind her. The walls on three sides were lined with bookcases, and the closet held boxes of photos and old schoolwork and all kinds of stuff. The big desk in the middle was piled so high the ancient typewriter was buried. Stacks of papers climbed from the floor up the sides of the desk almost to its top. Where would she start?
Jill looked in the phone book, almost hoping the name would not be there. But as her finger scanned the Spencer listings to Hank, her mouth went dry. Who would answer the phone? And could she bring such news to them on the telephone? It was better face to face. She noted the address, still off Wilmington Road.
Jill closed her eyes, accessing her determination as she once had before a race. She had called Cinda last night with the possibility of finding Morgan. She had to know if that was an avenue they would consider before she risked the heartache it would involve. She had tried not to sound too positive because she had no idea how it would turn out. But both Cinda and Roger had grasped the possibility. Cinda had almost let her off the hook, too, offering to contact Morgan herself. But Jill had said no.
Cinda could have no idea how painful it would be to go to Morgan with the truth. She knew nothing of the lies, the deception, only that it might be difficult to contact him. Jill sighed. The responsibility was hers. She would face Morgan. But she must find him first, and shooting a note off to his P. O. box was not the way to do it. What sort of man had a P. O. box for an address? Maybe he traveled. By his snazzy suit, he appeared to have the money for it. Whatever the case, she had her starting point.
Closing the book, she grabbed up her keys. Protocol said to call the Spencers first and set up a time. But that meant talking to them without explaining the situation, or explaining it all over the phone, and she already knew she would bumble that. No, she would take her chances.
She drove across town and out into the country, past regiments of cornstalks on either side. The Spencer farm was one of the nicest properties out there, and Jill had loved seeing the horses Hank raised, though she had a healthy fear of riding them. Morgan never pushed. He wasn’t a horseman like his father and Rick. Thinking of Rick made her consider the rest of the family: Morgan’s mother, Celia, and four little girls.
Not little now, she realized. Therese must be grown, maybe gone. Stephanie, too? She couldn’t remember their exact ages. There was a sizable gap between Rick, two years younger than Morgan, and Therese, the oldest sister. What had she been, five or six? Jill pulled into the long lane that led up to the low gray ranch-style house. It was well kept and hardly looked any different, except that the trees and shrubs had grown some. The white trim was neatly painted and the door was now a slate blue, updating it but still not changing the sedate country appearance.
She pulled up in the gravel circle, heart pumping. Would they know her? Probably all too well.
Lord, give me strength
. She climbed out, walked to the door, and debated between the brass knocker and the bell.
Before she could do either, the door opened and a fresh-faced girl with the Spencer blues looked smartly at her. “Hello.”
Jill studied the face, trying to imagine one of Morgan’s cherubic sisters in this lanky adolescent frame. She dug for the baby’s name. “Tiffany?”
“Nope. She’s out blading.”
Hadn’t Tiffany been the baby? “Then you’re …”
“Tara. Can I help you?”
Yes, Tara was the baby. Tiffany had been a toddler. “I was wondering if your parents were home.”
“Yep.Come on in.”
Jill walked into the house where she’d eaten family dinners while Morgan was alternately amused and annoyed by the little girls and Rick quietly appraising, and Celia … It would be easier to face Hank. He’d always been so warm and accepting.
“Mom, there’s someone here.” Tara’s voice had a buoyant ring, and Jill realized with a pang she was close to Kelsey’s age, though healthy and much taller. “She’s in the study. Just a minute.”
Jill almost considered telling her not to bother, that she’d talk to her father. But then, what would she tell Hank? You remember that baby my father told you I’d aborted? The things he hollered about your son and your own moral values? Well, guess what …
Celia came down the hall, dressed in a blue-print housedress and sandals. Her hair was more gray than brown, but her eyes were the deep chocolaty tone Jill recalled. Tara was on her heels, eager and nosey as any adolescent girl.
“Yes?” Celia’s tone was reserved and polite; then she stopped and stared. “Jill?”
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.” She should have called.
Celia stood a long moment not speaking.
Tara looked from one to the other of them curiously, then with a Morganesque wave of her hand, said, “Why don’t we all sit down.”
Celia turned to her daughter with a faint smile. “You go out, Tara. I’ll talk with Jill alone.”
Tara looked both surprised and disappointed, but she turned with a dramatic sigh and walked away.
“Come in, please.” Celia led Jill into the living room, bathed in the diffused sunlight of hazy clouds and foliage. “Do you want some tea?”