by Janette Oke
“I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how very sorry I am. I’m sure he’s feeling pretty miserable too. But he was willing to be honest with me, Father. Painfully honest—even at such a difficult time, and that’s so very important to me. I’m grateful for that.”
Before the sun was up, a sharp knock at the door brought Beth upright on the bed. She listened as Emma opened it, spilling hallway light across the floor. Beth squinted and raised a hand to shield her eyes.
“Beth?” Father called past Emma. “You’re needed. Please come now.”
Already dressed in yesterday’s clothing, she hurried after Father. He was knocking on Margret’s door and urging them to come.
Gathering in Mother’s room, Beth waited impatiently for Margret and John to arrive, dressing gowns thrown around their shoulders. Father entered and took a position in the center, drawing Mother close against his side.
“There was a telephone call received early this morning,” he explained, “at the front desk of the hotel. An officer was on hand, monitoring for just such calls.”
Beth and Margret gasped in unison, “What did they say?”
Father drew a slow breath. “It was apparently from the young man, the one who befriended Julie, though he did not identify himself by name.”
Beth was afraid to breathe. She could feel herself begin to shiver. Nick.
“He admitted that he had been part of the kidnapping—had conspired with the two girls from the beginning to deliver Julie over to men from the Philadelphia area.”
“Why, Father? Why Julie?”
“They were looking for an easy target, I would presume—a young woman of means who seemed . . . unprotected.” The look in his eye pierced Beth’s heart. Father is blaming himself, sorrowful that he wasn’t present.
Beth thought about Julie’s behavior, and even her own. How easily she had become a target. The first day in the marketplace was merely Nick’s effort to identify prospects. Maybe the pills given early on had been simply a test for blind trust and naïveté, or some kind of medication that didn’t work like they had planned. And Julie’s lavish generosity no doubt increased their desire for more . . . the stolen binoculars merely another attempt to profit from their friendship.
Beth would probably never know, never have an opportunity to ask the many questions. But in her heart she acknowledged that her own gullibility, along with Julie’s, had left them both terribly vulnerable. It was a crushing realization.
Father’s voice broke into Beth’s thoughts. “He said it was his understanding that Julie would have been returned as soon as the money was received. That before they even left New England to go their separate ways, he had been told she would be safely home again. He also implicated the other girls, to whom he admitted he had been introduced specifically for this ‘job.’” Beth could hear Mother’s gasp.
“He did give us some good information too,” Father pressed on resolutely. “He claimed that she has been moved—farther away—by the others involved. That she has been taken in a milk truck to another state.”
“Oh!” Mother’s moan was echoed around the room. Father took her arm and led her to a chair.
“But the young man said he could provide a description of where they likely were taking our Julie,” Father continued. “He said he couldn’t be certain, but expected he was correct.”
Beth begged, “He told the police where she is?”
“It’s possible that he did. They’ve sent cars and telephoned the area police force. They should all be converging on the farmhouse shortly.”
“She’s at a farm?”
“We’re hopeful. It’s the best lead they’ve had to date.”
What prompted Nick to make the call? Could he have regretted his previous actions? Might he have remembered the conversation we had? Beth’s mind hummed with questions as she waited for Father to continue. Instead of any further report, he closed his eyes and began to pray aloud for God’s intervention at this moment. Beth surrendered to the tears, now of some hope, streaming down her cheeks.
Knowing that the police would soon be in place at this farmhouse, knowing that they would either discover and regain Julie or that she would not be found at all made time grind nearly to a halt. Beth stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. One hour passed, then two. It was unusual, but moving, to see Mother on Father’s lap, her head against his shoulder. Beth was next to them in the second chair. Jarrick and Monsieur Laurent had also been summoned from sleep. They waited together on the far side of the room. Beth determined she would talk to Jarrick soon—but at this moment she could only join the prayers for Julie. Margret and John were huddled together in the corner.
As each hour passed it seemed less and less likely there might be a positive outcome. Was Julie gone forever? . . . a standoff surrounding the house . . . a gun battle raging? . . . Edward with them, pistol at the ready . . . But if her captors were killed, who would be left to tell where Julie was? Beth’s mind was a lurid spiral of haunting, clashing images. There seemed to be so little possibility that a peaceful end would ensue.
Father had prayed, “Thy will be done.” Beth repeated the words over and over again. “Your will, God. Your will. I choose to trust Your will. Help me trust You even in this—most especially in this.”
The telephone’s ring sounded through the room. Father reached for it and lifted it to his ear. “Yes, this is William Thatcher.” A pause. “I see.” Another pause. Beth clenched her hands in agitation, fingernails digging into her palms. Father managed a quick nod toward Mother. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
He set the receiver back into its cradle, calling out, “They’ve found her. She’s alive. Safe. Praise God!”
Chapter
32
A GREAT DEAL OF COMMOTION surrounded the family as they gathered belongings and loaded them into taxis for the train station. As swiftly as they had organized things after the telephone call, it did not feel nearly fast enough to Beth. Julie had been taken to a hospital in a small town in New York State near the farmhouse where she had been discovered. Beth and her family had been instructed to come right away, resulting in a joyful, frantic scurry of activity. Underneath it all, Beth could not shake the dread of what they might find. “I will fear no evil,” she prayed. “I will fear no evil. Oh, God, I just want to hold my sister again.”
Monsieur Laurent was sending the family ahead, taking care of any remaining details himself. Jarrick chose to remain behind to offer any assistance he could in the process. Beth wondered if he might be also extricating himself so that the family could have this time without his presence—a stranger still to most of them. The Montclairs were planning to return to Toronto, along with Emma and Lise.
Beth could not board the train quickly enough. She hastened into her seat, making room for Margret and John on the bench. Only the baby seemed unaffected by all the fuss and anticipation.
Julie is alive, but will she be well? And what about the emotional healing? That could take many months. . . .
JW pounded on the glass window, waving bye-bye to the strangers standing on the platform below. He tried his new greeting, “bah-zhur,” on whoever would listen.
Turning her eyes to the window as they pulled out, Beth watched the station disappear and eventually the telephone posts flashing past, lulling her eyes shut. She was only next aware when the conductor called out a stop and Mother patted her arm.
“Beth, we’re arriving. You’ve slept the whole way.”
Beth sat upright and scanned the little compartment, grateful to see all the familiar faces together. Only Julie was absent from among them—Julie and Jarrick both, she thought.
“I know you needed the rest, darling, but you managed to miss lunch,” her mother told her.
“That’s fine. I’m not hungry.”
“No, dear, but you’ll waste away to nothing if you don’t begin to eat more.”
Beth smiled at Mother’s familiar little lecture. It was such a relief to feel thin
gs already beginning to return to normal. Father had been right. Mother’s fussing was just her way to give love.
Edward was waiting on the platform as they descended the steps. “She’s feeling much better already!” he announced. “Of course, she’s very anxious to see all of you.”
Two waiting taxicabs whisked them to the hospital, taking only moments to cross the small town. Beth fell in step with the family following a white-clad nurse, heels squeaking with every step through a series of hallways to Julie’s room.
Mother disappeared through the door first. Beth could hear Julie cry out, “Oh, Mother! You’re here!”
There were lots of tears and a tangle of arms around their daughter and sister. No one asked questions or remarked about recent events. There would be plenty of time later for discussion. It was sufficient for now just to surround Julie’s bed together and fervently thank God.
The next morning, while their parents spoke with the doctor, Beth helped Julie dress in the clothes they had brought. Beth struggled, her fingers clumsy and inept as she lifted the slip over Julie’s head to draw her bandaged arm through the straps, pretending not to notice the cruel bruises on Julie’s other wrist. What happened to our precious sister? Beth was too frightened of the answer to pose a question—any question.
“I’m fine, really,” Julie murmured at last, her voice tightening as she whispered, “There’s nothing wrong with me, Bethie—not anything I won’t recover from.”
Beth’s face crumpled a little, though she tried to speak calmly. “Did they hurt you?”
Before answering, she could tell Julie was also working to compose herself. “I’m not nearly as bad off as I expected to be.” She paused again, a sorrowful expression in her eyes. “The men . . . well, they were rather rough. I think the big bald one probably had no difficulty being cruel. But the smaller one kept reminding him that I was their ‘bread and butter’—and if they ever wanted to pay off their debts, they’d have to deliver me undamaged.”
The words were grisly and contemptible. Beth lifted her handkerchief to dab at the tears on Julie’s face. What can I say—is there any comfort to offer? “You’re safe now, darling. We’ll never let you go again.” But the words rang hollow.
“I should have listened to you, Bethie.” Her words were barely audible.
“You’re not to blame. It was those criminals . . . and Nick. Where was he while all this was going on?”
Julie lowered herself onto the bed, reaching down gingerly to pull on her stockings as she spoke. The action seemed to help her words come more easily. “He was responsible—that’s certain—even if the whole thing wasn’t his idea.” She cleared her throat. It looked to Beth that there were things she needed to speak aloud . . . to someone. “From what I’ve figured out, he was the one who orchestrated the details of my abduction, and it seems by doing so in the way he did, he somewhat double-crossed Penny and Jannis. The whole thing was supposed to have happened in Bar Harbor, but he came up with the second plan in Boston to deliver me over without them. So they didn’t receive any of the money they’d been expecting.”
Beth shuddered, glad the girls had not profited from their part in the scheme.
Julie sniffled, keeping her hands busy with dressing, her eyes avoiding Beth’s. “The cab driver was one of the men involved. I knew almost immediately when, of course, we never went to the museum. Nick took me directly to a warehouse.”
“Oh, Julie! Weren’t you frightened?”
“Terrified—at almost every moment. But then I managed to pray. I’ve never prayed so much in my life! It helped a lot. Even though I haven’t paid all that much attention to God, He seems to have been paying attention to me,” she said, her smile a bit crooked.
“Did they feed you—care for you at all?”
“A little.” She smiled sheepishly. “Nothing much. But I refused most of what they offered anyway. I was terribly frightened that they might give me drugs of some kind, slip something into my food. I’d have never thought of it except I kept wondering about those pills Jannis gave to you.”
Beth shook her head. “I can’t imagine that Nick could be so pitiless—that he could have known you as he did, then been such a brute.”
Julie paused and studied her hands pensively. “You’re not going to want to hear this, Bethie, but he’s not as bad as you think.”
“Oh, Julie!”
“He was very sorry for his actions . . . by the end.” Her face lifted, the words sounding like the rasping of sandpaper. “From what I heard, he’d dug himself into a very deep hole, had worked for these men before, stealing things that he passed along to other criminals to sell. Somehow he justified it all because of being expelled from college.” She shook her head slowly. “He’s never gotten over that perceived slight against his character. I suppose growing up in a family that felt his mother had shamed them all didn’t help.” She wiped at her eyes in frustration. “I don’t know—he clearly has no moral compass. He has a very different sense of right and wrong. He spoke to me on a couple of occasions and actually tried to justify what he had done.”
“Oh, no, he couldn’t!”
“I suppose in a way, his twisted sense of justice led him to rationalize most of his actions, as if it were fair for him to take what he should have had anyway, that life should recompense him for the future he had been cheated out of. And then sometimes he would stop talking and just stare at me—tied there to a wooden pallet—and I could read on his face his inner turmoil. There were tears in his eyes. He was a very broken man . . . at the end.” She paused, venturing a glance up at Beth, her tears beginning again. At last she whispered, “I told him I forgave him, Bethie.”
Beth gasped and covered her mouth. How did Julie do it? How had she said such words to the one who had endangered her . . . and while she was still in peril? Beth lifted Julie’s blouse from the bed and shook out the wrinkles, giving herself a moment to regain her composure. Then Beth slid the sleeve carefully over her sister’s injured wrist and pulled the blouse into position so Julie could slip the unwrapped arm through the other side. Finally she said, “I’m . . . I’m so proud of you, darling. And I think God is too.”
Julie began the slow process of buttoning the blouse. “I’m glad I said it just then. Later, it seems Nick was sorry enough to turn his partners in—and I can’t imagine they’ll forgive him for that. But,” Julie forced herself to choke out, “I’m not the same person anymore, Bethie. I feel so much older . . . kind of used up. It’s almost worse now that it’s over. I don’t know if I will ever trust anyone again like I did Nick—and Jannis and Penny. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able.”
Beth’s arms encircled her sister, clung to her. “You weren’t wrong to care about them, Julie. You don’t know what God might be doing, might still be doing because of your friendship with them. It might be some time before you can be so open and free, but I do believe He’ll help you to trust again. And as for Nick, I can only imagine he’ll be forever changed by this—by knowing you and hearing your forgiveness.”
At last Julie was fully dressed. Beth tried to produce a smile for her sister’s benefit. “You look very nice.”
Julie leaned forward against Beth’s shoulder, her mouth close to Beth’s ear before she whispered, “I was very nearly gone forever—I can barely speak of it, and don’t tell Mother. They were going to send me south somewhere, and I doubt you would have heard of me again.”
Beth tightened her hold. “No, Julie, no. If I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that their evil plans could never have prevailed against a God who loves and keeps you.”
“Amen,” Julie whispered, but she was trembling in Beth’s arms.
Beth rubbed at her aching head. With all that had occurred, she hadn’t noticed the familiar dull throbbing. She was seated in a corner of the train station, watching her family assembled around her. For a moment she considered asking Mother for an aspirin, but decided against initiating the usual series of questions about h
ow she was feeling. They would likely all sleep on the train anyway.
Father had secured sleeping compartments. What was even better, the train was an express, meaning they would arrive in Toronto by morning and be safely at home soon enough.
Beth raised her eyes to scan the small waiting room. There was little evidence of what had so recently transpired. It was almost as if the past few days were being deliberately set aside—for the moment at least. Mother and Margret were seated, sipping hot tea. Father and John were speaking quietly together.
She thought briefly about Victoria, already home with her mother, and wondered if she had been able to encourage the girl at all. Beth did know her own sisters much better now. She was certain that goal had been achieved—though not as she had intended. And Mother . . . Beth would never feel about her quite the same way again. She had seen such reserves of strength, such dogged faith. She smiled as she realized how fully she wanted to carry on those characteristics and values.
Silhouetted against the large station windows, JW was chattering and giggling, leaping from his papa’s arms into those of Monsieur Laurent, delighted with all the attention. Even Jarrick had joined the small cluster of men around him, laughing at the toddler’s attempts at speaking French. JW and Monsieur Laurent were fast friends now. Beth hoped the man would be able to keep in touch with the family in the years to come, that her nephew might be a kind of grandson whom Monsieur Laurent hadn’t previously known.
Margret rested an arm around Julie’s shoulders as they went through the box of photographs, reminding each other of the happier memories of their travels. Father crossed the room and laid a hand on Beth’s shoulder. “You aren’t looking at the photographs with your sisters. You might enjoy sharing them together.”
