Tying the Knot (16 page)

Thankfully, his male staffers—especially the lead counselors, Ross and Bucko—were good sports. The two college students had histories working with kids, and Bucko, in particular, hailed from such a rough home life, Noah had flinched when he’d heard the big man’s testimony. Noah and Bucko Jones were walking proof that Jesus Christ saved not only their eternal souls but their existence on earth. Only the Savior’s grace could pull a couple of former homeboys out of depravity and give them purpose and hope. Bucko and kids like him were the reason Noah dove back into that darkness. The joy written on their faces was worth the wave of memories and the frustration of seeing so many lost.

Ross Springer sprawled on his cot, his hands laced behind his head, earphones pumping out P.O.D. The kid, raised in a suburban upper-class slice of Minneapolis, had his heart in the right place. When interviewed, Ross unveiled a history of white-collar drug use that made Noah realize the problem wasn’t isolated to the inner city. Despite his high, tight crew cut and prom-king smile, Ross knew the fears that churned in the hearts of today’s youth.

Both new staffers had come straight out of Bethel College’s child psychology program. Noah knew God had delivered them into his hands. They had to be God-sent . . . they were working for free.

The two female head staffers, along with Noah’s favorite cook, had also arrived, hauling twice as much gear as the fellas. Noah had billeted them in the cook’s shack, a winterized building with a stove and five bunks. He hoped the bats he’d chased out earlier in the week hadn’t returned to roost or he’d have mutiny on his hands.

He knew the shack had some rough edges, but he hadn’t expected the ladies to toss out the lumpy mattresses that he’d dug up from the Salvation Army and demand cots. Admittedly, the prison-striped mattresses smelled like they’d been infested with mice, but he had been thinking of their comfort. And he thought it had been totally unnecessary for them to fling open all the windows, sweep down the walls, and spray the place with Lysol, as if it would kill the decades of bacon grease and fish oil saturating the walls. But who could explain women?

He counted his blessings, however. His cook, Granny Darlene, had surfaced from his home church congregation, volunteering her summer to scramble eggs, boil hot dogs, and bake cookies. Fifty years young, with her own grandchildren already out of diapers, she had a burden for the kids Noah hoped to reach. She’d lost two sons to the scourge of the gangs, and Noah knew that if anyone even hinted at trouble, Granny D. would scalp them alive. He had stopped short of calling her their resident bouncer, but with her dark, solid hands that had held her own family together for two decades and grit that would stop a train, Granny D. was not to be messed with or the kid would be sorry.

Noah’s female head staffers, Katie and Melinda, had warrior spirits dedicated to diving into the wasteland of desecrated lives and cultivating hope. He’d been grateful they had seen through his ragged exterior to the vision he’d painted for them. It also helped that they studied with Ross and Bucko.

Although Noah felt he had more enthusiasm than brains, God had seen his fears and equipped him with a staff that knew how to minister to hurting kids. And in another week, the junior counselors—teenagers who’d proven they could outmaneuver the pull of the streets by the grace of God—would arrive with the campers. Two pairs of eyes for every five bodies. Noah had planned for every contingency. Now he prayed that Anne would show up and give Wilderness Challenge a fighting chance to save lives.

“Going to church, Noah?” Bucko thumped into the cabin, a soggy towel around his neck. He’d shaved his hair down to the scalp and was carrying the red bandana he’d been wearing when he arrived at camp.

Noah had nixed the bandana right off—the last thing he needed was Vice Lord gang colors fanning the flames of turf possession in the backwoods. So poor Bucko had to wear a dish towel Noah had scrounged up from the kitchen, but the way Bucko tied it into four knots and slopped it on his head like a candy wrapper, Noah had no doubt the guy would turn the rag into a fashion statement by the end of the summer. Besides, the stained white rag made Bucko’s smile glitter against his dark skin and added an element of “wicked cool” that Noah knew Bucko would work to his advantage.

“Yep. I’m heading down to Grace Church,” Noah answered.

It hurt too much to speculate if Anne would be attending. In hopes of expunging that thought from his mind, he unbuttoned the dress shirt and reached for a clean white oxford. He’d dress for the Lord today, not to impress the congregation. Regardless of how the other believers, and especially Anne, saw him, Noah knew he was a signed, sealed, and delivered member of the family of God and he’d show up dressed to appear for his Savior.

He tied his work boots, now considerably scuffed, and grabbed his leather coat. “Ross, you want a ride into town?”

Ross lifted one side of his earphones. “Nope. Gonna sit here and read a bit of Romans today. Thanks though, boss.”

Bucko toweled off his head, then pulled on a T-shirt. He looked every inch the fitness addict, another small bonus for Noah—campers would think twice about going a round if they knew Bucko and his biceps were there to enforce camp rules.

Yes, God had equipped Wilderness Challenge for the task. At least He’d equipped the staffers. Noah squelched a spurt of inadequacy. He glanced again in the mirror, as if it would reflect a better image the second time around.

He grimaced at the crooked nose, a souvenir of L’il Lee’s right hook; a tiny nick on his chin, a brush-with-death reminder; and the round scar high on his cheekbone. If anything reminded him of his youthful stupidity, it was the memory of diving headfirst into a hedgerow while escaping a gang of angry Gangster Disciples. It probably served him right for trying to boost a pair of wheels from under the Disciples’ noses. In truth, he’d deserved worse.

But the late-night memory of Shorty Mac’s screams seemed punishment enough. The Disciples had cornered Shorty and him at the end of an alley, and without L’il Lee’s diving tackle, which drove Rock Man into the bushes, he’d have joined Shorty for eternity. But God had spared him. Spared his life and later saved his soul. Despite Rock Man’s attempts to avenge his fallen VL brother.

Noah closed his eyes and fought the voices from the past.

Surely, if God could use a fisherman to build a church, the Almighty could use an ex-con to touch the lives of a few teenagers.

At least Noah hoped so.

He drove down Gunflint Trail, listening to his fears dissipate in the sound of the motor, in the rush of the wind through the fingers of pine and birch trees. Lake Superior sprawled like a sapphire before him, and the smell of fish and froth drew him into town. It wasn’t hard to lose himself and everything he’d been in the lush serenity of Deep Haven.

He arrived at Grace Church and noticed a row of Lincolns, a Lexus, and two Mercedes in the parking lot—most likely snowbirds up from their Florida condos to spend the summer in deep-woods elegance. He tucked his jacket and his dark glasses inside the seat, grabbed his Bible, and headed for the church. The chords of “Holy, Holy, Holy” strained out, drawing him in like an embrace.

The fragrance of a spring lilac bouquet perfumed the lobby. He received a bulletin from Bruce Schultz and snuck into the back. The tiny paneled sanctuary brimmed with worshipers singing with gusto. Noah crept up the aisle, seeking an open space.

He felt a pinch on his elbow—Joe Michaels had him by the shirtsleeve. The guy grinned, his smile welcoming, and nodded toward his row. Noah slipped in beside him and smiled at Joe’s wife, Mona. What a lucky guy. Noah felt a spurt of jealousy that Joe didn’t have a past to push at him, keeping him from feeling firmly rooted in grace. Joe handed Noah his hymnal, then tucked his arm around his wife. The gesture erased the twinge in Noah’s chest and settled upon him a feeling of fellowship. Deep Haven had healing potential, not only for the kids at Wilderness Challenge.

The congregation finished the hymn and sat. Pastor Dan climbed the platform and began greetings, but his words suddenly blurred in Noah’s ears.

Anne Lundstrom had made it to church. She sat two rows in front of Noah, hair groomed to perfection, neck straight and slender. Noah imagined he could even smell that subtle floral fragrance she’d worn on Wednesday, the day he’d stomped all over her feelings.

She’d apparently recovered. She sat safely ensconced in the possessive embrace of a well-groomed and obviously smitten Dr. Jefferies.

“I still can’t believe I slept through the emergency, Anne.” Dr. Jefferies turned to her the second Pastor Dan finished the benediction and repeated the litany of apologies he’d started on Friday. He’d scooted in next to her before the service and made a point of apologizing for nearly costing a child his life. He’d leaned over and whispered during the offertory, “I hope you’ve forgiven me.”

“Of course.” If there had been more room in the pew, perhaps she could have put some distance between him and his overkill penitence. He certainly didn’t have to put his arm around her. The last thing she needed was to have the entire congregation think she and the new town doctor were on more than acquaintance terms.

She was trying hard to forgive him for being slouched on his desk, zonked out like he’d run a marathon. She supposed she owed him mercy, especially after she had helped the two old men decimate his office door trying to get to his car keys. And Dr. Jefferies did work horrific hours—most doctors in small towns put in shifts that turned their eyes bloodshot. He looked worse for wear this morning, despite his tidy blue suit, woven silk, geometric tie, and shiny wing tips, as if he was at the Ordway Concert Hall in Minneapolis rather than a country church service.

But the way he smiled at her, genuinely, with contrition in those dark eyes . . . well, yes, perhaps she could pardon him for being pushed to exhaustion. It wasn’t so awful to be seen in the company of the most eligible bachelor in town either. He did cut a dashing pose, and he smelled like riches and elegance. Just the kind of man she wanted beside her, right?

“Anne, so glad to see you!” Sandra reached over from a pew in back of her. The ER nurse looked delightfully casual today in a seventies top with puffy sleeves and a peasant skirt. Anne had a feeling the woman had ferreted the shirt out of her teenage collection and probably had no idea the look had returned to the height of fashion. “Would you like to join Mona and me for lunch?” She nodded to Mona Michaels and her gorgeous husband chatting with . . .

Noah. Anne stared at him, unable to wrench her eyes off the man, furious that her heart had started a full-fledged gallop in her chest. She gritted her teeth. He appeared heartbreakingly handsome this morning—his hair tousled, his smile as bright as it had been the morning she’d shown up for work at Wilderness Challenge. Her stomach had done a small flip that morning, and now it betrayed her in another wild somersault. He had cleaned up—the white oxford and black jeans didn’t do him justice, but they made him seem just on this edge of refined. Antonio Banderas with honey eyes.

“Anne? Lunch?” Sandra studied her, eyebrows raised. She tracked Anne’s gaze and smiled. “You know Noah?”

Anne wondered later if she had nodded. She might have, because Sandra’s smile turned sly. “I’ll ask them to invite him too.”

“No, please. Thanks, though.” Anne gathered up her Bible, her bulletin. “I actually have plans. Sorry, Sandra.” Hadn’t Edith invited her over? Certainly Bertha would need her company after a morning cooped up in the cabin.

“Yes, she’s having lunch with me.” Dr. Jefferies’ arm looped through hers. “I owe her after she saved my skin on Friday.” His gesture turned Anne’s mouth to cotton. “She’s quite the trauma nurse. Spotted a diabetic coma right off.”

He obviously had no idea how thankful she’d been to have her guess confirmed at Deep Haven Municipal. Justin and his mother had been sent by ambulance to Duluth hours later.

“I’m not surprised, Doctor.” Sandra’s face betrayed surprise, however, and her smile had disappeared. “I hear Anne was an EMT in Minneapolis. So I’m sure she knows how to keep her wits about her.” She looked at Anne as if sending her some sort of cryptic message.

Anne opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Dr. Jefferies had her by the elbow. “Good to see you, Sandra.” He fairly pulled Anne out of the pew. “By the way,” he said softly, “you were amazing, you know. I’m hoping we can keep you.”

A blush started at her toes, and she couldn’t speak, even if she could have found the words. By the time she gathered her thoughts, Dr. Jefferies had guided her to the back of the sanctuary and into the line to meet Pastor Dan.

“You must be an old pro at emergencies if you were an EMT in Minneapolis. Things can get pretty dicey down there, I heard.” Dr. Jefferies settled his hand territorially on the small of her back.

Anne nodded, not wanting to relive those dicey moments.

“I did an ER shift during my internship in Duluth. Rough stuff.” He shook his head. “Can’t help but think that if more people went to church, we wouldn’t see them in the ER.”