Where Trust Lies

by Janette Oke

  The water had grown cold before a loud knock sounded at the bedroom door. Beth scrambled out of the tub and threw a thick robe around her shivering body. She opened the door enough to hear but not be seen.

  Monsieur Laurent’s voice was saying, “. . . the note said a ransom is demanded. We’ll inform you as soon as we know more. But this is very good news,” he insisted firmly. “She is alive. He won’t harm her so long as it’s money he seeks. We’re sending another telegram to your father right now. I’m certain he’ll arrive as quickly as is humanly possible.” The door closed behind him.

  Money? Father’s money is the cause of Julie’s . . . abduction? She could barely acknowledge the word. Beth lingered on the cruel irony. The coveting of his money had stolen her sister away. The use of it had brought the police so quickly. And that same money would bring Julie back again. She sat on the edge of the tub, face in her hands. How could Nick do such a thing? Was this “the business” to which he so calmly referred? What kind of man is he?

  But for now it was enough to grasp at one thought among Monsieur Laurent’s report. He won’t harm her. He won’t harm her. He won’t harm her. Beth hurried to dress.

  A tray of food rested on the corner table. The platters appeared not to have been touched. Her sister stood at the window. “Margret, you must eat.”

  “You also.”

  “But you’re with child.”

  Margret turned a tortured face. “I’ll eat if you do.”

  Beth lifted a piece of toast from one of the platters. It felt like sawdust in her mouth. “Where’s Mother?”

  “In the next room. Emma is with her.”

  “Is she sleeping?”

  “I can’t imagine she would be.”

  “And Monsieur Laurent?”

  “I believe he’s below with the policemen.”

  He won’t harm her. He won’t harm her.

  Beth drew a hanky from the dresser drawer and blew her nose. “Did he say how much they wanted?”

  “I didn’t hear.” Margret’s voice grew cold and harsh. She spat out, “I don’t want to know.”

  As they forced themselves to eat, Beth asked, “Where’s JW?”

  “With Miss Bernard.” Margret’s face twisted. “Said I was scaring him—with my crying.”

  “Oh, darling!” Beth reached for Margret, and they clung together on the edge of the bed.

  At a soft knock at the door, a voice asked if they were awake. Beth hurried to open it, and Mother entered—dressed well, her hair as neat as normal. Only her reddened eyes betrayed the deep emotional turmoil through which she was treading.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve eaten. I’ve been worried about you girls.”

  Beth led her across the room, where Mother took a seat on the bed, and Margret asked, “What else have they said, Mother?” Beth drew a tender hand across their mother’s back and lowered herself to sit between the two.

  “Not much,” she replied. “I believe that most of what is currently being discussed is the source of the document we received this morning. It came by courier, so they’ve gone to speak with the company that performed the service.”

  Beth asked, “Have they heard anything more about Penny and Jannis?”

  Mother shook her head. “We shall continue to pray that they might be located soon in order to discover what part, if any, they played, what they might know. . . .”

  “He won’t harm Julie,” Beth repeated aloud, trying to sound confident, “if it’s money he wants.”

  “So it would seem. However, the young man may not be in charge at all. He seems to be working with others—more than just the girls.”

  Beth’s lip began to tremble. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I . . .”

  Immediately she felt arms drawing her close. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Beth. We each make a hundred decisions a day that might bring danger. No one believes that you would ever allow harm to your sister if there were anything you could do to stop it. This is an evil plot perpetrated against us. You instigated nothing.”

  “But I made such poor decisions,” Beth wept, her head on Mother’s shoulder.

  Beth felt a gentle hand stroke her rumpled hair. “Yes, dear. You did choose poorly. And at another time I might have reprimanded you for it. But you are not responsible for the consequences brought on by someone else’s choice. Remember, Father and I allowed Julie to travel west alone when she visited you. This . . . this event could have happened as easily at that time—more easily, in fact.”

  Beth wanted with all her heart to cling to the merciful words. However, it was much more difficult to imagine being able to forgive herself. Perhaps it will be possible once Julie is back safely again. Yes, she will be back, won’t she, Lord?

  Mother continued, “In the same way, we can’t be angry with Julie. She is young and impulsive—but she did not bring this upon herself. And I’ll not allow a word to be spoken against her in my presence.”

  “Of course not, Mother,” Margret and Beth said in unison.

  “What happens next?” Beth managed to ask.

  “I truly don’t know, my darlings.” She released Beth and began straightening the spread carefully as Beth and Margret watched. “We have sent a telegram to Father. I’m told it will take him several days to travel to us here in Boston.”

  “Several?” Margret gasped.

  “Unless he can secure a seat on an aeroplane—I have no idea how long it would take if he’s able to do so. But we can’t know anything until we hear back from him. I am hoping that will happen today.” Mother cleared her throat and began to scrape and stack plates on the tray. “Also, Mrs. Montclair has sent word to Edward. She’s asked him to use whatever connections he is able to see that we receive all possible help.”

  Beth said quickly, “Jarrick told me that he’s an excellent investigator. Do you think Edward might actually come?” The thought was both comforting and terrifying to Beth. The idea that he might be needed was further proof of the dire nature of the situation.

  “I’m told he would have no jurisdiction,” said Mother, “but that he might be able to investigate privately. We shall see. For now, we will get ourselves through one more day—praying always that this trial will end as abruptly as it began.”

  “Oh, yes, Mother. That’s what we’re praying.”

  “Now, please, you must pull yourselves together. I’d like to see you neatly dressed. I’ll send Emma to help with your hair. Whatever is to come next, we shall be ready to meet this challenge with dignity, with our faith strong.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Oh, yes, and there’s just one more thing,” she added with a somewhat forced smile. From the inside of her jacket she produced an envelope. “This is for you, Beth.”

  The letter was not from Jarrick. “What is it?” she asked, though it was already in her hand and she was staring down at it.

  “It looks like it’s from the school board. It may be the offer for you to teach.”

  “Yes . . . thank you.” Beth set it aside on the top of the dresser for later . . . sometime.

  During the long day they took turns distracting JW, keeping him away from Mother’s room, where updates were being relayed. Beth cuddled him as often as he would tolerate, until he would push away and complain, “Down, Annie Bet—down.” She knew that the expressions of tenderness were more for her sake than for the baby’s.

  Father had received the telegram and had sent an answer in return. Edward also replied. Beth chose not to hear either of their telegrams read aloud. She could not bear to know how her father had reacted.

  By late afternoon, the officers in the designated room below believed they had discovered a clue, only to dismiss it as erroneous after an hour. Everyone was watching the clock. The money was to be handed over at noon the next day. The instructions claimed that Julie would be returned once the money was safely retrieved by her kidnappers. Monsieur Laurent was busy making the arrangements, though Beth overheard him say he was working to have the
deadline extended. Her heart sunk once more. Extended? But that only makes the wait longer.

  Their cruise ship, scheduled to depart during the early evening, had been instructed by the police to remain. Beth could only imagine what the other passengers were discussing and surmising about the situation. She gazed out the window of her room and breathed her never-ending prayer, “Oh, God—my dear sister, keep her, please. Father, she’s yours even more than she’s ours. Give her courage. Keep her safe . . .”

  A storm moved over the city, and the evening was punctuated with flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder, seeming to match Beth’s jumble of thoughts and feelings. Is she hidden somewhere near enough to hear the storm rage? Or has she been taken farther away by now? Is she sheltered, warm? Oh, where are you, Julie?

  Mother was rummaging through her luggage, drawing out items and laying them out on the bed. Beth noticed that many were accessories. “What are you doing, Mother?”

  “Oh, just sorting,” she murmured.

  Beth moved toward the bed and lifted the box containing the new pearl necklace. Under it was Mother’s fur stole and several other pieces of jewelry. “What are you doing?” Beth repeated.

  Mother sighed, then said, attempting to sound matter-of-fact, “I’m going to give these to Monsieur Laurent. Maybe selling these things could bring in some of the money.”

  “Oh, Mother, no.”

  “It’s all I can think to do,” she said, her voice constricted. “And they’re only things. They don’t matter a single bit.”

  “I understand.” Beth resolved to do the same, though her possessions were worth nothing compared to Mother’s. She would contribute whatever might have value.

  “When will you take them to Monsieur Laurent?”

  “In the morning, I suppose.”

  “I’m going back to my room,” Beth said. “I’m going to read my Bible for a while. I might try to lie down if I can endure it.”

  “That’s a good idea, darling. We’ll of course call you as soon as we hear anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alone, Beth set aside items she felt might be worth something. She placed them together on the nightstand, but they amounted to very little. Ultimately she lacked the heart to carry them in to Mother and instead drew the Bible out of her bag. She had not read it this morning, as was her habit—nor could she think of simply proceeding where she had left off. Pulling the chain on the light beside her bed, she curled herself under the coverlet and opened to the first pages of the Psalms, knowing that the poetic truths always offered encouragement in difficult moments. It seemed that almost every Psalm contained a comforting thought. Beth breathed them in, moving from one to another rather quickly.

  “For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish . . . I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the LORD sustained me . . . For thou art not a God that hath pleasure in wickedness: neither shall evil dwell with thee. The foolish shall not stand in thy sight: thou hatest all workers of iniquity . . . God judgeth the righteous, and God is angry with the wicked every day. If he turn not, he will whet his sword; he hath bent his bow, and made it ready.”

  Beth was appreciative to know that God at that moment was angry too—but His fury was not ignorant and impotent as was her own. Every detail of what was happening lay uncovered before Him. She clung to the promise that there would come a day of certain judgment, that there would be no place to hide. As she contemplated the words, she wished them rather vehemently upon Nick, upon Penny and Jannis and whoever else might have been involved in the horrendous deed.

  She forced the tears away and read on in Psalm 10. “Why standest thou afar off, O LORD? Why hidest thou thyself in times of trouble? The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined.” Never before had these words meant as much to Beth. “The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts. . . . His mouth is full of cursing and deceit and fraud: under his tongue is mischief and vanity.”

  “That’s Nick, Father God,” she whispered aloud. “So much deceit and pride. I doubt a word he ever spoke to us was true.” She wondered how she had been taken in so easily. How had she ever empathized with such a liar?

  “Break thou the arm of the wicked and the evil man: seek out his wickedness till thou find none.”

  “Yes, Father. Break his arm—even while he plots against my sister and my family. Make his evil scheme come down on his own head.” But she knew that would not be enough. Beth preferred the sentiment of Psalm 11. “Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and a horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.”

  “Oh, yes, Lord. That’s what I want. I want him to pay for what he’s doing.”

  Closing her eyes tightly and squeezing out angry tears, she listened to the sound of the downpour drumming against the windows. “Rain Your wrath on him, Lord—with fire and brimstone.” She shuddered at the passion of her words, and yet the knowledge that there was a great and terrifying God who could exact such justice on everyone involved in Julie’s disappearance came as an overwhelming comfort—the only thought in which she could at this moment take refuge.

  Chapter

  26

  BETH SLEPT FITFULLY, harassed by nightmares, until she awoke to Mother at her bedside. “We’ve heard back from them. I knew you’d want to know,” she whispered.

  “What did they say?” Beth’s stomach flipped sickeningly.

  “They won’t delay the payment. They want it today.” Mother paused, watching for Beth’s response. “We’re going to meet together to pray.”

  Beth pushed the coverlet aside. “I’m glad you woke me. Give me a minute to tidy up.”

  “Of course, Beth.” But instead of hurrying away, Mother reached out for another consoling hug.

  She waited as Beth straightened her hair, pinning it again in several places, and smoothed some of the wrinkles from her dress. But instead of turning up the hall toward her room, Mother headed for the elevator.

  “Where are we going?” Beth blinked against the bright lights of the hallway.

  “There’s a small chapel on the second floor. We’re meeting there. A local chaplain is going to lead us. It’s Sunday today.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost morning.”

  Beth found herself wishing they would be alone together—and even more so when she arrived in the dimly lit room to find strangers already seated, all eyes upon them as they entered. She hesitated. “Who are all these people?” she whispered.

  “They’ve come to pray,” Mother told her. “A few came with the chaplain, and some are from the hotel staff.”

  Beth followed Mother to the pew beside Emma and Mrs. Montclair. Beth heard very few of the prayers offered from around the room. She chewed hard on her lip and phrased once more her silent calls for God’s wrath. She knew she dared not speak these thoughts aloud. And since she could not honestly declare what was in her heart, she did not participate in the corporate prayer.

  Beth stole a glance at Mother, then reached over and took her hand. The words of a verse in Romans came suddenly to her mind. “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” Heavenly Father, don’t let evil win. Help me to trust in Your Great Good instead.

  Beth paced from the window of Mother’s room to the half-open hallway door and back again. It seemed forever since Monsieur Laurent had promised to return with any new information.

  “Do you think they’ll give us another day—that they may have reconsidered?” Beth asked the question for the umpteenth time, understanding now the need for additional time to collect the money.

  “We’ll see.” Mother’s answer was patient and composed. “Monsieur Laurent has explained in his note that they must understand—we’re in a foreign country, and it all takes time.”
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br />   “If only Father were here,” Beth said, repeating aloud the recurring thought. Why hasn’t something happened yet? Have her kidnappers disappeared with Julie? Have they broken their word already? She took a chair next to Mother’s and lifted her eyes. “I don’t know how you can stay so calm, Mother. I’m ready to jump out of my skin. She’s been gone a day and a half already!”

  Mother set her teacup on the table next to her chair and sighed, leaning forward to grasp Beth’s hand. “I’m not calm, darling. I could very well surrender to my frantic feelings if I allowed myself. But I learned long ago to actively rest my faith in God. It’s all I can cling to at times like these. I would be lost without that.”

  When has there been another time like this? “That’s so hard, though, Mother.”

  “I know, Beth. And it may not help for me to say this to you just now. It’s something so personal that perhaps only God’s Spirit can speak it to your heart in His own way. But I try to remember there is no moment in life when we are as able to show our Father how much we trust Him as when life throws us the worst. With all I’ve come to understand about His faithfulness through the years, I’m determined not to falter.”

  “When do you mean, Mother?” Beth was incredulous. It seemed that their family had always been happy, well cared for by Father with all the things they needed and wanted.

  Tears glistened in Mother’s eyes, but she continued with unguarded honesty. “I suppose I began the journey toward learning to trust God long ago . . . when we lost baby William to whooping cough. I thought my broken heart would never heal. And then you were very sick so long after your own bout with the disease. Then also whenever Father was delayed returning home from his travels, and I was tempted each time to give in to the worry that he wouldn’t return at all—that my vain imaginings of what would become of us all would become reality. I chose to believe that God is entirely trustworthy despite my fears.” She added emphatically, “However, I assure you that none of this means I won’t do everything in my power to act on Julie’s behalf.”