Tying the Knot (29 page)

“Anne, listen. Obviously you know that I haven’t been the stellar example of holiness. But there are some things about my past that are . . . buried. If I bring them into this relationship, I am afraid . . .” He tightened his jaw and ducked his head, and suddenly Anne sprang to her feet.

She wasn’t the only one hiding scars.

She hopped over the backpack and touched him on his shoulder.

Noah closed his eyes. “I don’t want to tell you.”

Anne’s heart twisted, moved by his wretched expression that so mirrored her own. Gently she rubbed the light stubble of late-afternoon whiskers. “Don’t be afraid. I don’t have to know. But if you want to tell me . . .” Whatever he had to tell her, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? “I’ll understand.” She wondered, if the roles were reversed, would he be saying the same thing to her?

“Let’s sit down.” His tight voice made her frown.

He led her to the backpack, motioned for her to sit, then sat on the floor beside her. He opened his mouth twice before the words finally emerged. “I . . . when I was in the gang, I had a friend, a good friend named Shorty Mac.” His chest rose and fell, and he didn’t look at her. “He was killed—beaten to death—by the Gangster Disciples after he and I tried to boost a car from their turf.”

She fought the horror that rose in her chest. “I’m sorry, Noah.”

He shook his head and stared at his dusty boots. “It was devastating. His mother, she . . . blamed me.” He closed his eyes. “I can still hear her screaming. Telling me I’d killed him.”

She touched his arm. His muscles were bunched, as if he were holding his emotions together.

“I um . . . well, when you join a gang, you become . . . family. Especially for a foster kid, which I was, the gang meant everything to me. I had to avenge his death.” His voice changed, as if he was reliving the moment, the rationale behind his actions. “I didn’t even think twice. I just . . . I was so angry. It fueled me like a drug.” He dug his hands into his hair. “We came up with this plan to take out the Disciples minister and his foot soldiers—”

“Take out?” she whispered.

“Kill.” His jaw clenched. “I had murder in my heart.”

Tears burned her eyes, but she said nothing.

“We . . . uh . . . snuck into their turf. It was supposed to be a drive-by, but I hid out across the street with another Vice Lord soldier. We waited until they came out on the porch and—” his voice stumbled—“well, I was young and stupid and by the grace of God no one was killed.”

“You didn’t shoot.” She heard the relief in her voice.

“Oh no,” he said harshly. “I aimed and shot. And missed.” He groaned. “I shudder every time I hear the screams of fear that filled the night.”

“But you missed.”

He raised his face. His eyes were red. “But I
wanted
to kill them. And that’s just as awful.”

Words left her. She knew how it felt to want to kill someone. She’d wrestled with those very emotions while her attacker’s trial filled the newspapers, every time she saw his face on the news.

“What happened?”

He looked away again, and she saw him flinch. “I froze. The Vice Lords hit the gas, and Jay-Jay, the other shooter, had to grab me, haul me into the car.”

“You got away?”

He shrugged. “No. I mean, yes, in a way. I was so shocked by what I’d done, I felt sick. But an hour later I wanted to return and finish the job . . . so I snuck back.”

“You went back?”

Noah stiffened. “Yeah. Well, the police had swarmed the place. I hadn’t made as clean a getaway as I thought. The Disciple minister saw me, and when the cops noticed me prowling the block, they picked me up. I was carrying.”

“You had a gun on you.”

He nodded. “Stupid. I know. I had five years in prison to come to that conclusion.”

He looked so utterly broken she barely stopped herself from throwing her arms around him. Instead, she took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “So you’re an ex-con.”

The sorrow she saw on his face sent tears down her cheeks. “Amazing what God can do, isn’t it?” Anne smiled when she said it, and then, before he could protest, she leaned close and kissed him. “I would have never guessed. But thanks for trusting me.”

He blinked at her, as if in disbelief. Then he smiled, small and tentative. It made her want to sing. Yes, Noah was exactly the hero she’d asked God for . . . vulnerable and gentle, wounded, yes, but healed. And noble. So noble he’d wanted to spare her the darkest parts of himself.

He put his arms around her and drew her down to the floor next to him. She could feel his heart beating as quickly as hers. He slowly tangled his hand into her hair and leaned his chin on the top of her head. “Never once, as I was doing time, did I imagine this life God had for me. I always thought I’d be nothing more than a street punk, surviving from job to job, hoping to live till my twenty-first birthday. But God has given me this, you—” his voice grew thick—“I know I don’t deserve it.”

Anne didn’t comment. She’d asked God for one thing—safety. Sitting within Noah’s embrace, she knew He’d answered. Not only had He given her this haven of rest but also a man to hold her. A man to keep her safe. A man to make her forget her past and offer her a future.

So what did that mean? That she’d solved an argument with the Almighty?
Where were You, God?
Had He simply bypassed her questions and moved on to healing?

Perhaps. Perhaps her battles were behind her, and peace was ahead. It didn’t seem like enough to simply ignore her ugly history and go forward, but maybe that was exactly how she’d find joy in her faith. Not dwelling on the absence of God in the past, but His obvious presence now. Loving her through the tender, miraculous touch of Noah Standing Bear.

Noah lifted her chin with one gentle finger. A smile, full and joyous, graced his face and lit his gorgeous eyes. “I knew as soon as God got ahold of my heart that I had to spend my life telling the kids on the street about salvation. This camp is a small part of that vision.”

Just sitting near him, seeing the joy of his salvation, made her tingle. Yes, this was the man she’d waited for. A man with a heart, with passion, with a desire to love the lost. She could see herself with him, running this camp. Tucked safely in this nook in the woods, creating a world away from the inner city, a place where kids could escape for the summer. She bought into his dream without him even selling it.

Perhaps she didn’t need to make peace with God over her tragedies in order to enjoy His blessings. She could simply skip over the sordid, painful details and start now.

Wasn’t that exactly why she’d moved to Deep Haven?

“Do you have bigger plans? Do you want to extend the camp, make it year-round?” The thought of cozying up beside him in the lodge before a flickering fire while snow blanketed the lake and pushed drifts against the windowpanes made her warm to her toes. No past . . . only tomorrows. Yes.

“Oh yes, Anne. This is just the beginning. When I take these kids home, I’ll be able to walk with them, to encourage them toward the commitments they made here at camp. I’ll know them, and I’ll stand in the gap between their street life and their new life.”

Anne blinked at him. “Um . . .” An uneasy feeling rippled down her spine.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips, and they felt cool against her warm face. “You have a way with the girls. They like you. They respect you.”

She stiffened, pulled away. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What exactly are you saying?”

His eyes darkened, shadowed by a frown. “I want you to come with me. Work beside me. You’d be great at the job.”

She held up her hand as if to stop the flow of words, the way he was looking at her with such bewilderment. Dread wrapped cold fingers around her chest. “Come with you where?”

“To the Phillips neighborhood.” He held out his hands, as if the answer lay in his palms. “I live in Minneapolis, 2135 Franklin Avenue.” He looked at her, and this time a streak of fear lined his eyes. “I’m a youth pastor. Didn’t you know that? This is only a summertime gig. My full-time ministry is with Christian Fellowship Center in downtown Minneapolis.”

21

Noah watched Anne at dinner with deepening foreboding. A chilly wave had swept over the woman he’d held in his arms earlier this afternoon, turning her frosty and distant.

And it had happened right before his eyes. Anne had pulled away, finished packing her backpack in rigid silence.

He felt as if a part of his chest had been ripped open. He didn’t—couldn’t bear to—think that she’d backed away because of his confession. His history. Hadn’t she said she’d understood? He’d believed the compassion in her eyes.

Perhaps too easily.

He managed to choke down a bite of garlic bread before his throat thickened. Of course his past mattered. An ex-con. Any decent woman in her right mind would run for the hills. He couldn’t blame her for being human. Or smart. But she’d left a gaping, ragged wound right in the center of his chest.

“My tent is packed and raring to go.” Ross sat beside him, his plate piled with spaghetti. “The guys can’t wait.”

“And I guess you’re loading up?” Noah nodded toward Ross’s mountain of food.

“Hey, man, I know what you’re feeding us on the trail—army MREs. Those things are made for prisoners of war, at best.”

“I got a deal. Besides, they’re light to carry and they’ll fill your stomach.”

“Yeah—fill us with gut-rot.” Ross grinned at Katie, who winked at him from across the table.

Noah wondered suddenly, if he’d missed something.

“What route did the park service approve for us?” Katie pushed away her spaghetti and poked her spoon into the cherry Jell-O, grimacing slightly.

“The Rose Lake–Pigeon River route. We’ll have to travel in two groups . . . the guys in one party and the ladies in another, but we’ll take the same course. Up through Bearskin Lake, overnight on Rose, a day climbing and hanging out in Partridge Falls, then over the long portage to Rove, through Waptap and along the border lakes to the Pigeon River.”

Ross had put down his fork. He stared at Noah as if he’d just told them they were about to scale Kilimanjaro. “Noah, I know we mapped this all out months ago, but now that it’s here, I wonder if that’s way too much for these kids. They can barely paddle. Do you think they’re ready for a sixty-mile trip?”

“We have ten days. That’s six miles a day.”

“With kids who freak every time they hear a mosquito buzz by their ear.” Katie leaned forward and purposely kept her voice low. “Are you sure we’re not jumping in over our heads?”

Anne’s warning rang through his skull:
Bad idea. Trouble lurks in the forest, Noah, and these kids are going to find it
. Getting these kids into God’s creation to face their mortality might be exactly what they needed to push them over the edge and help them see their need for a Savior. But was he pushing too hard, too fast? Just because immersion in the wilderness had worked on him didn’t mean it was a sure remedy.

“I think we’ll be fine.” He twirled his fork into his spaghetti, round and round. Katie’s silence amid the chatter of twenty campers spoke volumes. “If we have to, we’ll pull out at South Fowl. I’ll have my cell phone and Dan said he’d pick us up anytime. We’ll be fine.”

Ross raised his eyebrows. “Okay, boss, you know best.”

Noah tried to agree with a smile, but a flint of panic rose and pierced his confidence. Maybe Katie’s and Anne’s words were right on target. He shoved his plate of food away. He looked down the table at Darrin, verbally sparring with George, who sat across from him. Both had rolled up the right arm of their T-shirts. . . .

Anger flared in Noah’s chest. Gang signals . . . People signals. Vice Lord signals. Obviously Darrin had taken Noah’s revelation to heart and given himself permission to follow in Noah’s treacherous footsteps. The food soured in Noah’s stomach. Yeah, he’d been a great leader. Obviously making a gigantic impact in these kids’ lives.

“Excuse me,” he said to Katie, Ross, or whoever cared as they shoveled food into their mouths. “I have to get ready for Soul Talk.” He grabbed his plate and climbed off the bench before his face could betray his gut-wrenching sense of failure. Sliding his plate across the counter to Granny D., he barely heard her offer him a cookie. No, he couldn’t eat another thing. Not with his stomach roiling.

He didn’t even look at Anne as he passed her table. The death of their brief, glorious romance was another wretched testament to his pathetic attempts to escape his upbringing.

He’d been the utmost of fools to believe a man of his background could not only change the hearts and minds of desperate kids, but also win the heart of a lady like Anne. Thankfully, he’d never confessed that they’d met before, that he’d been the catalyst of her nightmares. Never confessed the way he felt about her, the way he couldn’t get through a minute without her fringing his mind. That somehow she’d taken up occupancy in his heart.

This afternoon, as she’d looked him in the eyes and thanked him for pouring out his ugly history, he’d put definition to his feelings that seemed to overwhelm him. He loved her. He loved her for her smile and her laughter. For her courage and her commitment to dreams that weren’t hers. He’d wanted to dive into the fairy tale she’d created for them this afternoon. Wanted to sweep his feisty beauty into his arms and tell her he loved her. And then, as if realization had a thirty-second delay, he saw her eyes change and in them he’d become not Prince Charming . . . but a beast.

He should have known that he hadn’t a prayer of burying his heritage. That reality made him weak with grief.

Down . . . down . . . down he went, in way over his head. And drowning fast.