Winter of Grace (9 page)

‘Sending us to hell doesn't sound like a very loving thing to do.'

‘God is our father, Bridie. Doesn't your father punish you when you do the wrong thing? How else do you learn?'

‘I don't have a father.'

There was a pause. ‘I'm sorry to hear that, Bridie.'

‘Well,' I said awkwardly. ‘That's okay.' We looked away from each other; Elliot frowned at the crush around the cake and drink table. I said in a rush, ‘Jay seems well.'

Elliot's mouth tightened. ‘He isn't.'

‘What … what's happened?'

‘We just found out. His eye is permanently damaged. He might lose the sight completely.'

‘Oh, God!' Then I realised what I'd said. ‘I mean—'

‘It's okay.' Elliot scowled across the room. ‘That's what I've been saying, too. How could God let this happen? To Jay, of all people.'

‘But he seems so …'

‘Oh, he's amazing. He's very forgiving. Much more forgiving than me.' Elliot gave a savage laugh. His gaze roamed around the basement full of happy, excited, young people who could see perfectly, and he looked as though he hated them all. He said quietly, ‘I could kill those bastards. And I'm angry with God, for letting them do this to him.'

‘Well, that's totally understandable …'

‘The worst thing is, it's my fault. I should have been there taking care of him.' Elliot's voice was low and bitter, and suddenly he looked back at me. ‘I shouldn't be telling you all this. Sorry. That's not why you came here.'

I heard myself say, ‘Maybe it is.'

And then Jay was bumping my elbow with two hot chocolates and some cake on a plate. When I turned back, Elliot had vanished into the crowd.

‘Elliot told me about your eye. I'm really sorry,' I said awkwardly.

He smiled ruefully. ‘Yeah, it's a bummer. But I'm not giving up hope. Everyone's praying for me.'

He said it in such a matter-of-fact way. Prayer and the Bible were just an ordinary part of his life, the way, I dunno, talking about politics was part of mine. I remembered Mish saying that she believed in the power of prayer, even if she wasn't sure there was anyone to listen.

I said, ‘Should I pray for you, too?'

‘Thanks,' said Jay. He touched my hand. ‘That'd mean a lot to me.'

I felt my face burn. ‘I'm … I'm not sure I believe in God, though.'

Jay looked at me, and the rest of the room, all the noise and talk and laughter, seemed to fall away. He said softly, ‘Then what are you doing here, Bridie?'

I whispered, ‘I'm not sure.'

Jay's hand tightened around mine, and he bowed his head.

‘Almighty Father.' It took me a second to realise what he was doing. ‘We thank you for the many gifts you have given us, for good friends and for the grace of your love.' All around us, conversation hushed, people fell silent, heads dropped. I squeezed my eyes shut. Jay continued, quiet, unself-conscious, as if God was standing in the room beside us. ‘Father, we thank you for leading Bridie here to us tonight. She is such a special, wonderful person, and a loving friend. We pray that she opens her heart to your love, that she finds your grace. We pray that she comes to know your love just as surely as we do …'

I should have been embarrassed. I should have felt like an idiot, standing there with a plate of cake in one hand and Jay grasping the other, praying for me, telling a room full of people how special I was.

But strangely, I felt a sense of peace and calm, like a huge, warm, protective hand lowered over us all. And when I raised my head, I saw Elliot, too, with his head bowed and his hands gripped on the back of a chair. His lips were moving.

And for the first time, I was sure there must be
something
there, some power or presence, and that Jay and Elliot knew it, and trusted it, in spite of everything. And it was that conviction that lodged in me that night.

After I got home, I sat by my bedroom window and looked up at the silver moon. For the first time ever in my life, I said silently,
Please
,
God …

It was easier when I closed my eyes. Instantly I felt that same warmth travel down my spine, that sense of waiting stillness. I couldn't pray like Pastor Matt, or even like Jay. So I just said silently,
Please let Jay's eye get better. Please let the war end soon.
Let the soldiers be okay. Please watch over the innocent people.
I paused.
Thank you for Jay and Elliot. Please look after them
both
. And even though I knew they'd hate it, I added,
Please
watch over my mum, and over Stella too. And me
, I added as an afterthought.
Thank you.

That was where my words ran out, so I opened my eyes and looked out into the dark. And I knew that something, someone, somewhere, had been listening to me, and I felt the most wonderful sense of peace.

AS SOON AS I woke up in the morning, I knew there was something exciting that I had to remember – and then it came to me. God was real! God was real, and I was going to get to know Him better. The knowledge lay in my heart, solid and radiant as a pearl. And the answer to a question that I hadn't asked presented itself with crystal certainty: I couldn't keep it a secret from Mum any longer. That was a lie, and it was wrong. I would have to tell her.

It was a Tim-and-Stella morning. As we walked, I waited for Stella to ask me about youth group, but she talked about other things – school stuff, her concert, the latest war news – as if she didn't want to know, as if she was determined to pretend it hadn't happened.

But all the time we were walking under the grey and golden sky, I was aware of a kind of glow inside me. As if God were watching me. What did He see?
Oh, God
, I prayed silently.
Let
me be the best person I can be; let me be perfect, for You.

‘Hello?' said Stella. ‘Are you even listening to me?'

‘Sorry,' I said hastily. But I wasn't listening, not really. Between my conversation with God, and rehearsing the conversation I was going to have with Mum when I got home, I didn't have much attention to spare for Stella.

‘Mum.'

‘Mm?' She didn't even look up from the paper.

‘Mum, I have to tell you,' I took a deep breath, ‘that youth group you didn't want me to go to? I went.'

For a second Mum didn't say anything. She pressed her hands flat on the tabletop. Then she murmured something.

‘Sorry?'

‘I said,
turn it off
.'

Her voice was jerky; I stumbled across the kitchen to switch off the radio, and stayed there, barricading myself behind a chair. There was a long pause. Maybe Mum was counting to ten before she spoke.

‘Are you planning to go again?'

‘You told me I should make some new friends …'

‘Believe me, this is not what I had in mind!'

‘What's the big deal?' I said. ‘What's your
problem
? Just because
you're
a scientist,
I
can't even
think
about religion? Because you don't believe in God, no one else is allowed to? Why shouldn't I explore my spirituality? Mish thinks it's a great idea.'

Mum snorted. ‘Mish
would
.'

Then I remembered. ‘Mish said I should ask you why you're so anti-religion.'

Mum's face went white. ‘Mish should mind her own business.'

Then I lost it. ‘You are such a hypocrite! You can't control where I go. You can't control what friends I make, and you
really
can't control what I believe! Why don't you mind
your
own business?'

I stormed down the corridor and slammed my bedroom door. The lovely serenity of the morning had dissolved, like mist off the river. All that was left was hurt and rage. I tried to think,
Dear God
… But I was too furious to pray.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Go away!' I yelled.

‘Please, Bridie,' came Mum's muffled voice. ‘We need to talk.'

I scuffed my shoes on the floorboards, and then I got up and let her in. I sat on the edge of the bed with my arms folded, staring at the wall.

Mum pulled out my chair and sat down. There was silence.

‘Well?' I said at last. ‘I'm going to be late for school.'

‘You can be late for once,' said Mum. ‘This is more important.'

That scared me; Mum had
never
let me be late for school. I sat up straighter. ‘Well?' I said again, less angry and more curious.

Mum said, ‘I'm going to tell you a story.'

I waited. It took a long time for her to get started.

‘Once upon a time, there was a young woman who lived in Brisbane with her parents.'

‘And her name was Lisa,' I interrupted. I knew Mum was from Brisbane, that was no great revelation.

Mum closed her eyes and ignored me. ‘This young woman and her parents were members of a church, quite a strict church, called the Children of Jesus.'

My mouth fell open. Back in the depths of my mind, large objects began to clunk into place.

‘This young woman had a relationship with a man who didn't belong to the church, and she became pregnant. The Children of Jesus are … strict. The young woman could have been expelled from the church; her parents, too. Her parents were very shocked and angry and upset. But they came up with a plan. They knew a childless couple, members of their church, who wanted to adopt a baby. The parents decided that their daughter should go away into the country and have her baby and – and give it to this couple.'

My mouth still hung open. ‘But you can't
do
that.' My voice squeaked. ‘You can't give away a baby like a … like a puppy!'

‘It's hard to believe,' agreed Mum. Her voice was very steady now, as if she really was telling someone else's story; I couldn't get my head around the fact that she was talking about us, about her and me. ‘It's like something in a book. But the young woman's parents insisted that she had to give up the baby, or they could never forgive her. They said God would never forgive her. And she told them …' Mum looked me in the eye. ‘
I
told them to go to hell.'

I couldn't speak.

‘I said I was going to keep my baby, whatever the consequences. So my parents threw me out of the house. They said someone who had entered so deeply into sin and remained unrepentant could no longer be their daughter.'

‘They wanted to give me away,' I said wonderingly, ‘to strangers; my own grandparents.' I looked at Mum. ‘What did you do? What about …' I hesitated. ‘What about my father?'

Mum laughed bitterly. ‘He didn't want to know. All
I
knew was that I couldn't lose you. I was young and scared. I ran away, here, to a different city. And I held onto you,' said Mum fiercely. ‘And I never let you go.'

I sat frozen. I should have known; I should have guessed. Maybe I hadn't wanted to know. I was always vaguely aware that there was something wrong between Mum and her parents, and that my existence, and my father's non-existence, was probably part of it. But I'd never dreamed that Mum had had to run away to save me. I hadn't known how brave she was, or how cruel and wicked my grandparents had been. It was like a fairytale. I couldn't believe they could just give me away. Like a stray kitten. Useless. Unwanted.

‘You never told me,' I said.

Mum ran her fingers through her hair; she looked shattered, as if she'd stayed up all night. ‘I didn't want you to hate them,' she said wearily.

‘That's why we never see them. It's not because Grandpa's too sick to travel!'

Mum forced a smile. ‘It's not as bad as it was. I took you there to meet them once, do you remember?'

‘When I was five – and you had those massive arguments.'

‘They can't accept that I decided to raise you alone. They can't accept that I don't have a husband. They can't accept that I've left the church, that I don't believe in their God any more, that I don't need Him.'

‘Or them,' I said.

Mum looked surprised. ‘Or them,' she repeated, as if she'd never thought of that before.

I said numbly, ‘So now it's just – Christmas cards.'

‘I did the right thing,' Mum said suddenly. She raised her eyes to me and I saw an expression I'd never seen before, an uncertainty, a vulnerability. It frightened me. Mum was always so sure of herself, so determined, so clear. I always pretended that it bugged me, but deep down I needed her that way. I didn't want to know about Mum's doubts, her mistakes. I had to believe she knew exactly what she was doing. She was my mum; she was all I had; she was the shield that stood between me and the world. I needed her to be stronger than me, wiser, and in control.

‘Of course you did the right thing!' I cried, and so I didn't have to see that vulnerability in her face, I threw myself across the room. I hugged her, and she hugged me back hard. We hardly ever hugged any more. I could tell that she was crying. After a minute she gently but firmly pushed me away. Mum hated anyone to see her being emotional, even me.