Until I Found You (10 page)

“Thanks, Leona.” Dody patted her hand in return. “Marriage has never been easy, but sometimes I think it’s harder now than it was for us.”

“It’s not just harder,” Kate insisted. “It’s practically impossible. Most couples have two careers. Look at Joel and me. We didn’t talk about marriage because of our work, and as things turned out, his career took him to New York. I wasn’t about to follow him.”

Oh, how Leona wanted to speak! Of course Kate didn’t follow Joel. She didn’t love him, and he didn’t love her. They
were part of a generation that focused on their own needs, their own happiness. Where was the concern for each other? For the marriage, children, even the future of the human species? Human beings could learn a thing or two from condors that stayed together for life and raised their chicks.

“What do you think, Leona?” Dody asked. “Was marriage easier for us?”

How could she nod yes or no to a question about a relationship every bit as complicated as the human body? Maybe more complicated, because a marriage had two brains and two hearts. Exasperated, she flung her hands in the air.

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” Kate remarked. “It’s all so complex.”

Yes, but
not for the condors.

While Kate and Dody jabbered, glancing at Leona and framing their comments to include her, she thought about Alex, their marriage, and the faith that had kept them together for forty-seven years. Marriage wasn’t impossible—not with a strong faith. Not all of Leona’s stories were pretty, but they all needed to be told, especially the one about an awful day in 1966.

When they arrived home, Dody left and Kate fixed a light supper. Leona claimed exhaustion and went to bed early, but she couldn’t sleep. With thoughts of Kate and the condors giving her fresh energy, and maybe God blessing her with a special strength, she placed the journal in her lap and began to write . . .

Dear Kate,

This story is intensely personal, which is why I haven’t shared it with anyone, not even Dody, though she’d understand. I’m telling you now because you need to know that your grandfather and I didn’t have a storybook
marriage. We struggled in the way of all couples, and there was a time when the struggle swamped me. I lost my faith and nearly my husband. I wasn’t just mad at God; I turned my back on Him completely. Why would He give me the desire for children and take away the ability to have them? I believed God was cruel, and I wanted nothing to do with Him.

Everything changed on a summer day in 1966. It was Saturday, and your grandfather wanted to take yet another drive in the area that’s now Meadows. He was as obsessed with photographing condors as I was with having a baby, and the odds for both of us were about the same—one in a million. Only about twenty birds remained in the wild at that time, and I had visited five different doctors with the same discouraging reports. Your grandfather wanted to adopt; I didn’t. Nothing mattered to me anymore, not even our marriage.

That Saturday morning, when I refused to get up for breakfast, Alex yanked the covers off the bed. “Get dressed, Lee. I’ve had enough of this moping. We’re taking a drive.”

I didn’t want to go. What was the point? I couldn’t laugh or even smile. Without children our house was too quiet. My friends were all mothers. I tried to embrace being an aunt to my brother’s children, but jealousy ate me alive.

The first two years of infertility weren’t so bad. We believed in the God who gave Isaac to Sarah and Abraham. Surely He would bless us with children of our own. But month after month, we faced the same disappointment. Bitterness grew in my heart until it choked out my love for my husband. I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, Kate, but what happens in the bedroom matters. All species
procreate, but human beings share a God-ordained intimacy that humbles and elevates us at the same time. That intimacy binds a man and woman like nothing else can. It builds a bridge; but it can’t do its work when a husband and wife are sleeping in separate rooms.

The week before that Saturday morning was particularly bad. Our wedding anniversary had just marked another year of failure. I didn’t want to go for a drive that morning, but I lacked the energy to argue. Silent, I slouched in the seat of the Chevy Impala, and we headed north on the Old Ridge Route. As Alex drove, I pretended to nap. He hummed an old song, “His Eye Is on the Sparrow,” over and over, until I wanted to scream at him to stop. Finally we reached San Miguel Canyon. The highway wasn’t built then, but a dirt road ran along the bottom.

After several bumpy miles, Alex stopped the car. “Let’s take a walk.”

“Leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“Come on, Lee,” he said, coaxing me. “We need to stretch.”

“No.”

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

He snatched up his Nikon and left. I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t. Did I still love my husband? In that moment, it seemed that I didn’t.

Full of bitterness, I watched Alex raise his camera to the sky and followed his aim as a giant bird glided into the canyon. He snapped pictures one after the other until the condor flew away. I, too, was riveted—both by the bird and my husband’s joy. And my own anger. His dream had just come true. But what about mine? Where was God? Didn’t He care?

When Alex came back to the car, he was a man on fire. “Did you see that, Lee? Did you see it?”

Sometimes joy is contagious; other times it’s a slap to blistered skin. I tried to smile for him but couldn’t.

He stretched his arm across the seat, almost hugging me but not quite. “Let’s go a little farther.”

Before I could protest, he started the car. Five hours later we reached Santa Barbara and the hotel where we had spent our wedding night. Alex checked us into one of the cottages, not the same one, but the rooms were identical.

I complained that I didn’t have a nightgown.

He told me I didn’t need one.

He wanted me, I could see it in his eyes. But I didn’t want him. I didn’t want anyone or anything except a baby. “Forget it. There’s no point.”

“The point, Lee, is that I want to make love to my wife. I don’t care if we can’t have children. Why fight what we can’t change? We can adopt—”

“No!”

How dare he deny my feelings! He had a career, a vision, a dream come true in today’s photographs. My dreams were dead. Breathless, I spat the words no wife should ever say in anger. “I hate my life! I want a divorce.”

Your oh-so-gentle grandfather gripped my arms and pinned me in place. Nose to nose, he stared into my eyes. “Why? Because we can’t have children?”

I tried to nod, but I could only stare at my feet.

Alex’s grip tightened with vise-like precision. “Is that all I am to you, Lee? Someone who can give you babies?”

How could he think such a thing? I’d failed him. God had failed us both. The years of anguish congealed into a lump of sour bile. It clogged my throat and pushed
tears into my eyes. Finally, I looked at him. “Of course not! I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”

“Then show me.”

The setting sun glared through the window. It filled the room with orange light, and for the first time ever I made love to my husband with every thought on him and not a single thought on conception and my own dreams. That night I surrendered completely to both my husband and to God, and I learned something that guides me to this day: Life and death are in God’s hands, not ours.

I wish I could say Peter was conceived in that union, but he wasn’t. It took three more months, and my period was six weeks late before I realized I was pregnant. By then, your grandfather’s career was skyrocketing, and we belonged to a thriving church.

When Peter was born, flowers arrived at the hospital by the dozens, each bouquet a reminder of the miracle of life. I loved being a mother. I’ll tell you about those days the next time. It’s my favorite part of the story, but I’m tired now and need my rest.

Yawning, Leona put the journal away in her nightstand. With her head full of memories, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

S
weaty and itchy with sawdust
,
Nick pounded yet another nail into the railing of the deck that hung over the canyon in front of his house. The flooring, posts, and cap rails were in place, leaving him to cut and hammer the balusters that transformed the deck from an open-air platform to a corral. It was a fitting place for a man trapped by a promise he didn’t want to keep.

Three days had passed since he kissed Kate, and he still didn’t know what to do about it. Common sense told him to ask forgiveness for breaking his pledge, but God knew the truth—Nick wasn’t the least bit sorry. Kneeling at the edge of the deck, with only the half-finished railing between his body and a forty-foot drop, he nailed another slat into place. The pounding jarred his teeth as the sun sank below the ridge, stealing the last rays of light and chilling the air. After one last smack of the hammer, he shoved wearily to his feet and stared across the canyon to Leona’s house a mile away.

Kate was probably cooking dinner and dreaming up ideas for Sutton Advertising. If the kiss perplexed her, she was keeping those feelings to herself. Yesterday they had put the
paper to bed, Maggie teaching them both the routine. Nick enjoyed every minute and had decided to make an offer on the business, one that would provide flexibility for everyone, including himself. This morning he’d sent queries to ten different agents including the woman Ted recommended, but selling a book was both a slow process and a gamble. It was just plain wise to plan for the future. The
Clarion
would never be a big money-maker, but it seemed to be financially stable, and he loved the work.

He lugged the toolbox to the garage, then toted an armload of firewood into the house. A sandwich would suffice for dinner, then maybe he’d watch a movie or read. He was about to fetch kindling when his phone jangled with Sam’s ringtone.

“What’s up?” Nick said to his brother.

“I need a favor.”

“Sure.”

“Gayle’s putting together a collage of family photos.” Sam’s wife loved scrapbooking. “She wants a new one of you.”

Nick’s most recent picture was on the memory card in his camera—a photograph Marcus snapped of him with Kate in Tin Canyon, his arm draped casually around her shoulders and their heads tipped toward each other. Nick had looked at the photograph several times, felt guilty for kissing her, and had come close to pressing Delete. But what kind of silliness was that? It was just a picture and just a kiss she’d probably forgotten.

Sam’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m just . . . thinking.”

“Did I get you at a bad time?”

“No. This is fine.” Except pictures of Kate played in his mind—Kate at the condor launch site. Kate in the office, sharing French fries with him, and reveling in the challenge
of a tight deadline. The scenes flashed in his mind, each one more vivid than the last, filling him with a longing for her company. Maybe she’d like to come over and watch a movie. He probably had a chick flick here somewhere . . .
No
.

“Nick?”

“Sorry. I got distracted.”

“Where are you?”

“At home.” He opened the pantry, saw one slice of stale bread and muttered to himself.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

No! I’m fed up and frustrated.
He wanted answers about Kate and his pledge, so why was he hesitating to confide in Sam? His brother knew him better than anyone else. If anyone could understand, it was Sam. “I met someone,” Nick admitted. “Her name’s Kate. She’s amazing.” Complete transparency, he told himself. “I broke that promise I made.”

“Which promise?”

“No dating.” Visiting the launch site wasn’t a date, but it felt like one.

“So?”

“What to do you mean
so
? You know the plan. No dating for a year. I made a promise and I broke it.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Not really.” He shut the pantry door. “I’m questioning why I made the stupid promise in the first place.”

“Well, why did you?”

He thought for a moment. “I needed to draw a line between the past and the present, the old and the new.”

“You did that.” Sam’s tone lightened to friendly chiding. “When we talked six months ago, I suggested you wait a year before making any big decisions. No dating was your idea. I’m not saying to throw caution to the wind, but maybe God has another plan.”

“Like what?”
Join a monastery. Leave tonight for China.
He settled for wandering out to the deck and standing at the unfinished railing.

“You’ve been using the promise to protect yourself. Instead of hiding behind it, why not use it as a shield to safeguard Kate? The rules for dating have changed, and not for the better. It’s just my opinion, but with date rape, drugs, and strangers meeting online, women are more vulnerable than ever before. Half the marriages end in divorce. Single moms have a hard time, and so do single dads. There’s abortion and disease, and we haven’t even touched on the emotional costs. People call that kind of lifestyle serial monogamy. It’s more like serial heartbreak, if you ask me.”

“I worry about her,” Nick said more to himself than to Sam. “She’s a lot like I used to be. I’m not sure she considers herself a Christian.”

“So be her friend. But Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. She needs to fall in love with the Lord before she falls in love with you. Because if she falls for you first, God help her. You’ll let her down, and she’ll have nowhere to go.”

Great. More waiting.
Nick wanted to bang his head against the wall. “So there’s still a line, but a different one.”

“That’s my take on it, but there’s more. Make sure Kate knows where you stand. Confusion is your enemy here—even more than temptation. She deserves to know what to expect from you. It’s how you build trust.”

With that bit of advice, Nick saw his next step plainly. He had to tell Kate his story. Before she could understand the man he tried to be, she needed to know the man he’d been. As soon as he finished with Sam, he’d call her. “Thanks,” he said to his brother. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Sounds good. Don’t forget to send the picture to Gayle.”

When they hung up, Nick looked across the canyon to Leona’s house. He was planning what to say to Kate when he smelled smoke—not the pleasant aroma of well-seasoned pine, but the oily stench from a dirty chimney. Chimney fires happened every year around this time. Someone built a fire without having last year’s creosote scrubbed away, and the oily residue ignited in the pipe. On full alert, he peered into the canyon until he spotted a plume of black smoke coming from a house on the cul-de-sac directly below him.

Bang!

A fireball shot into the sky. Blood racing, he hurried inside and called the fire station. Captain McAllister answered on the first ring. “There’s a fire on Tulip Lane,” Nick reported as he strode to the truck. “It looks like the chimney caught.”

“On our way.”

Nick peeled out of the driveway and headed to the fire, both to offer help and to cover the news story. As he steered on to the cul-de-sac, the headlights swept across the front of a two-story house with a gambrel roof made of thousands of dry shingles. Chemically treated or not, they were old and a fire hazard. The electricity still worked, but smoke was billowing through the open door and the tiny cracks between the windows and walls. He parked in the driveway of a vacant cabin across the street, grabbed the flashlight in his glove box, and jogged toward the house.

“Help me!” a woman cried in the dark.

Nick aimed the light and saw Colton’s mom with her two youngest children clutching her side. Her fingers were splayed over the little girl’s blond head, pressing her close to shield her eyes. The boy, maybe six or so, gaped at Nick with heartbreaking helplessness.

“Nick!” she shouted. “Help me, please. Colton’s still inside. He’s trying to get the dog.”

Nick knew better than to walk into a burning building. The situation was best left to the professionals, but there was no time to spare. Any minute the chimney could fail. Flames could erupt in the attic and ignite the insulation, or they’d spread to the roof and the shingles would catch. Captain McAllister would read him the riot act for what he was about to do, but there was no way Nick could wait for the fire fighters while a boy tried to save his dog.

“What part of the house is he in?” he asked Mindy.

“Second floor. Front bedroom.”

Nick’s long strides ate up the driveway. When he reached the door, he covered his mouth and nose with his elbow and stepped into a black hole of heat, reeking smoke, and the scream of the smoke detector. Through the haze he saw the woodburning stove and the chimney pipe glowing orange. He had minutes to find Colton, maybe seconds, before the metal pipe collapsed and the fire spread through the house.

He took the stairs two at a time. “Colton! Where are you?”

“Over here!”

Nick barreled into a small bedroom cluttered with laundry, electronics, and trash. A bunk bed was pushed against the wall, wedged in place by a desk and a chest of drawers. Colton was on his belly, reaching under the bottom bunk and straining with all his might.

“Sadie’s under the bed!” he shouted over the smoke alarm.

Nick shut the door to keep the smoke out and the dog in. “Let’s lift the bed.”

As Colton scrambled to his feet, Nick set the flashlight on the dresser and shoved the desk out of the way. Together they maneuvered the heavy bed frame away from the wall, coughing and gagging as they worked. Sadie, a tiny pathetic thing, lay in a shivering ball of terror. While Colton snatched her into his arms, Nick grabbed the flashlight, checked the
door for heat, and opened it slowly. Smoke poured through the crack, but there was no sign of fire. “Let’s go,” he said, taking the lead.

Halfway down the stairs, the electricity went out, and they were plunged into darkness. Cursing, Colton stopped in midstep.

Nick beamed the flashlight into the swirling smoke. “We’re fine. Go ahead of me.”

Colton squeezed past him, his arms tight around Sadie and his face knotted with determination. Flames rumbled in the attic near the stove, a dark harmony to the dying siren of the fire truck coming up the street and the ceaseless shriek of the smoke detector. Hacking in the rancid cloud, they hurried to Mindy and the two kids. With the youngest child now on her hip, she pulled Colton into a one-armed hug and wept.

The fire crew passed them with the hose, but flames were already gobbling a patch of the roof. The trees were several feet away, but one spark on a dry pine could mean devastation for all of Meadows. Charged with adrenaline, Nick took pictures with his phone as the fire crew hosed down the roof. The first flames hissed to silence, but orange tentacles burst through the roof five feet away.

He snapped picture after picture, coughing in the smoke and braving the heat to get as close as he dared until a wall tumbled inward and sparks flew everywhere. The fire fighters waged war with their hoses, but a second wall fell and the house imploded on itself. In a fiery plume of smoke, ash, and embers, Colton and his family lost everything except their lives.

A crowd had gathered in the driveway. He didn’t pay much attention until someone approached him from behind.

“Nick?”

Turning, he saw Kate holding a camera. “News travels fast,” he said to her.

“I heard the call on the scanner.” She glanced at the remains of the house, charred black and glowing with embers. “What happened?”

“Chimney fire.”

Behind her, Mindy and the kids were surrounded by neighbors offering hugs and blankets. They would be all right, but Kate’s expression remained grim as she took in the smoking ruins. “They lost everything.”

“It could have been worse. The family’s safe.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “The trees could have caught fire. It could have spread to other houses—”

“It didn’t,” he said quietly. “But it was a close call. Do you want to write the story or should I?”

“Would you mind?” She shivered in the chilly air, or maybe from the knowledge of how close this family and Meadows had come to unspeakable tragedy.

“I’d be glad to.” Nick glanced at Colton, who was approaching with Sadie on the end of an impromptu leash made of rope. They’d become friends, thanks to the story Nick wrote about the graffiti incident. Instead of painting the men’s room an atrocious color, the teenager had surprised everyone with a Manga-style cartoon of bears fighting wolves. If he’d meant it as a joke, the notion had backfired. The mural showed amazing talent and was the talk of the town.

“Hey,” Colton said to Nick. “Thanks for what you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. You saved Sadie.”

“No, you did.” Nick offered his hand in congratulations, then indicated Kate. “This is Kate Darby. She runs the paper.”

She held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Colton. I
know this is a rough time, but do you think your mom’s up for an interview?”

“Probably. She likes to talk when she’s upset.”