The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  Jack’s lips twitched again, this time into a knowing smile. Obviously, he saw right through her shift to general theory gambit. “Sure, that’s an accurate description of the Christian faith, in its simplest and most basic form.” He pointed a crispy, raw green bean at her. “A question for you: Do simple and basic relationships satisfy you?”

  It was her turn to smile at how neatly he’d turned her question. “Not really.”

  “Well, there’s part of your answer. Another question: Do you accept less from yourself than you know you’re capable of?”

  That question bothered her, stirred the depths again, but his honesty required her to meet it with her own. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But never for long. Eventually, I reach a point where I have to reconcile. There’s always a reckoning.”

  “Exactly. A point where you have to pay the piper.” He blinked at her, his face so perfectly innocent, she was wildly impressed. “So to speak.”

  Piper grinned. “Have you been waiting all day to use that?”

  “Yep.”

  She laughed, and crunched into her own vegetables. “Well played, Jumpin’ Jack. Well played.”

  They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence. When she had finished eating, Piper stood up and stretched, taking the time to work out the unfamiliar kinks brought on by hours spent on a motorcycle.

  If they decided not to stay in Limon, they would ride just a little longer tomorrow, and perhaps longer the next day. Both Martin and Ethan had cautioned them against a “sprint” mentality. It wouldn’t serve them to rush headlong into danger. Better to take longer and feel their way along, letting their intuition – a concept nobody scoffed at anymore – guide them safely. With that in mind, she walked to the top of the hill they were camped on to see if she could perceive anything about where they were headed tomorrow.

  The town was a distant smudge on the prairie, a suggestion of straight lines against the soft curves of the rolling plains. She settled cross-legged on the ground and opened up her senses. She didn’t see any smoke, and she was too far away to make out individual bond lines, but the little town was suffused with a glow that told her people were there, working and living together. She should have thought to grab her binoculars.

  Moments later, Jack joined her, settling down beside her and handing her the binoculars she’d just been wishing for. “Can you see anything from here?”

  She took the binoculars from him, wondering if she should be freaked out, and decided not to be for the time being. “Just a subtle light. What about you?”

  “Not much, but a faint sense of community. Bonds forged in hardship. They’ll have each other’s backs, and they’ll be suspicious of outsiders.”

  “Which is smart. I’ll be suspicious if they welcome us with open arms.” Piper lifted the binoculars and scanned the town. There, a thin trail of smoke, and another a short distance away. Probably cooking fires. “Unless they’ve posted warnings or we feel something off, we stick to the plan: Leave the bikes outside of town and walk in, let them see we’re armed, but put out our best ‘not a threat’ vibes. As long as they don’t shoot first and ask questions later, we should be okay.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Jack leaned back on his elbows and crossed his ankles. Down at the bottom of the hill, Rosemary slid out of the tall grass bordering the camp, a limp rabbit in her jaws, and curled up next to Ed to consume it. She was almost as efficient a hunter as little Persephone, and though Ed didn’t have the same depth of connection as Naomi did with her dogs – he claimed not to have any intuitive skills at all – the bond between man and dog was obvious. Owen finished whatever he’d been doing with the bikes, and like Ed, reclined on his sleeping bag to rest before his watch.

  Piper nodded in their direction. “So. Ed has been open about the fact that he hasn’t changed like the rest of us, but what about Owen? Any idea what’s going on with him?”

  Jack’s face closed behind that neutral mask he was so good at slipping on. “No idea, but he probably wouldn’t confide in me.” He glanced at her and smiled tightly, with just a hint of razor’s edge. “We’ve never been best buddies.”

  She returned the tight smile. “I’ll bet not.” She knew she was pushing, but couldn’t think of a reason not to. “Can I ask a personal question?”

  Jack eyed her for a long moment. “If I say ‘no,’ you’ll just circle back to it later. So fire away.”

  “Was the baby Layla lost yours?”

  She catalogued and analyzed his physical response. A sharp intake of breath through his nose. Widened eyes. Dilated pupils. And pain. All over his face and bleeding off him in waves. She was pretty sure she knew his answer before he gave it.

  “No, the baby wasn’t mine. Is that what people think?” He closed his eyes and held up his hand. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter what people thought, of her or of me.” He opened his eyes again, and this time, Piper didn’t have any problem reading what he was feeling. “Too far, Piper. That was too far.”

  “I apologize.” But was she really sorry? She honestly wasn’t sure. “I could promise it won’t happen again, but I can’t leave a mystery alone.”

  “It’s not a mystery. It’s my private life. It’s also my past.” His eyes locked on hers, and for the very first time, she felt the power at his disposal. “Leave it alone.”

  His command rendered her reluctant to speak, reluctant to ask any more questions. Reluctant, but not incapable. “Holy shit,” she breathed, when she was able. “So that’s what people were talking about. What all can you do with that, do you know? I heard you can make people do things, but how far does it go? How long do the effects last? Can you make someone do something that’s in conflict with their core values? Can you -”

  “Piper. Stop.” He didn’t put any power behind his words this time, but the weariness in his voice made her comply. “I can appreciate your endless curiosity, I really can. I’m interested in what makes people tick, too, and the changes in humanity fascinate me. But I can’t answer all your questions, and there are ones I won’t answer. I have hurt others with what I can do. I hurt myself, betrayed my own core beliefs.” He pinned her with his gaze again. “So unless you’re ready to bare your soul about everything you’ve been through, unless you’re ready to trade the dark truths you’ve learned about yourself for my ugly secrets, you need to respect the boundaries and leave it alone when I say to.”

  Now she was sorry, truly. The ache of remorse in the center of her chest surprised her with its intensity. The bond-line between them coalesced into what looked like a solid cylinder of white light, though she had no earthly idea why.

  “I apologize,” she repeated, holding his gaze. “And this time I mean it.”

  “Well, then, this time I accept.” He looked away, and she felt him withdraw from the connection between them. It both relieved and frightened her. His voice, when he spoke, was deliberately light. “I’ll make you a deal, Piper. If we find ourselves hanging upside down over a pit of lava with no way out, and no hope of survival, I’ll tell all.”

  She responded in kind. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Jack. It’s good to know you won’t let me die curious.”

  He waited a few beats, then shifted them farther away from the topic. “You’ve got third watch?”

  “Dead of night,” Piper confirmed. They both knew the schedule forward and backwards, but the words helped rebuild the buffer between them. “One of the short shifts. I relieve Owen, and you relieve me, is that right?”

  “Yep. I get to see the sun come up.” He stood. “Speaking of, I’m going to try to settle in, get some sleep. Martin said it would be tough, the first couple of nights.”

  “Jack.” She held up the binoculars. “How did you know I wanted these?”

  He shrugged. “Just knew. Does it bother you?”

  Piper looked away. “I’m not sure yet.”

  Jack gave her a brotherly pat on the shoulder then headed back down the hill towards their cam
p, whistling as he went. It took Piper a moment to recognize the tune, and when she did, she couldn’t stop a crack of surprised laughter. She sang along with his cheerful whistle as she followed him down the hill.

  “Little ditty, about Jack and Diane…”

  FOUR: Jack: On the eastern plains of Colorado

  Waves, grey and huge, rolling against a sky filled with battered black clouds. Jack felt the pitch of a boat under his feet, felt the burn of wet rope against his palms, turned to see flames, painfully bright against all the grey and black. Too close, too close, had to get farther away –

  “Jack.”

  He sat bolt upright, holding his breath until his surging mind and darting eyes could orient him. The prairie. Near Limon. Deep in the night, the only illumination a waxing crescent moon in a sky glorious with stars.

  Piper’s voice again, from a few feet away. “You’re okay. It was just a nightmare.”

  “Just a nightmare,” Jack repeated hoarsely. “Just a dream.” And not even a bad one. They were all unsettling, so detailed and real, but he hadn’t even died in this one. He released the breath he’d been holding, and took the time to draw several more calming breaths before he spoke again. “Is it my watch?”

  “Not quite – you’ve got 15 minutes to go. Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

  “No.” He unzipped his sleeping bag, checked his boots, and slid his feet into them. Ed slept on, Rosemary curled up next to him, but Owen’s eyes were open, sparkling faintly in the scant moonlight. Jack stood. “I’ll be right back. Then you can get some rest.”

  He moved well away from their camp to relieve himself, shivering as the soft but steady wind cooled the sweat on his body. Before they had embarked on this journey, he and Piper had taken an exploratory camping trip, checking out the area north of Woodland Park, the town of Deckers and the surrounding resort camping areas. In the five nights they’d been out, they had become familiar with each other’s sleeping patterns, including the signs of encroaching nightmares.

  It had bothered him at first, a vulnerability he wouldn’t have chosen to share, but Piper’s piteous whimpers had quickly relieved him of his pride. His dreams were harbingers, warnings of danger to come. He was certain of this. Piper’s disquiet rose from the abuse her body and mind had suffered, from her damaged heart. She was so tough when awake, so capable and formidable. It hurt his heart to hear her secret pain.

  He picked his way through the tall grass back to camp, shrugging into a jacket as Piper slipped away for a moment of privacy. When she returned, she curled up in her sleeping bag, snugging the mummy bag around her head. She didn’t ask about his dream, and he wouldn’t ask about hers when he had to rouse her out of it. He walked the perimeter of their camp twice, then settled down on the campstool they had set up on the rise above their sleeping area, watching over her sleep with a protectiveness he knew she would reject if her eyes were open.

  He didn’t understand yet what Piper was to him, or might be in the future. He had dreamed of her, had recognized her the moment their eyes met, but all that told him was that she would have significance, that she would have a role in his future. Nothing romantic or sexual had stirred between them, though a friendship was unfolding, something he very much enjoyed. They had similar senses of humor, similar interests in people and what motivated them. He enjoyed talking to her, admired her grit, and was glad to have her as one of his companions on this journey. For now, their relationship was all he wanted it to be.

  Besides, given what Piper had survived, she might not ever want a romantic relationship, much less be capable of a healthy one. He didn’t know all the details – he didn’t think anyone did, not even Naomi – but he knew enough. Her ordeal hadn’t broken her, but it had twisted her, body, mind and soul. She made him think of the troubled kids he had known, with a veneer of anger defending the deep, deep hurt. She took refuge in being strong and in control, just as Gracie hid behind her intellectual capabilities. He felt a vast tenderness for both of them.

  And there was Layla, still in his heart. He sensed her sometimes, a soft brush of air, her distinctive scent, the faintest echo of her laughter. Jack glanced at Owen, wondering if she visited him, too – her lover, father of her child. He had asked Verity about it once, and she had confirmed it. Layla did visit now and again. Something left she was still “invested in,” in Verity-speak. A task she wanted to see completed. Layla’s visits were both comfort and torture. Most of the time, her absence was a raw hollow inside him.

  The night was holy with stillness, pure, a perfect time to open his heart to God. What the future would hold for Christianity he couldn’t begin to guess, but he felt like he’d lived through fire and come home. Layla’s death had broken him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. For the first time in his life, he had understood the gaping hollowness of loss. Jack had looked around at his community with eyes that could finally see and had been completely humbled. These people had survived the deaths of lovers and children, of parents, spouses and best friends. And they had persevered. Their strength was astonishing.

  He had also recognized some truths about himself, truths that still made him wince in discomfort, even here in the dark, alone with this spectacular sky and the wind rolling soft waves in the prairie grass. He lifted his face to the stars and marveled again, as he always would, that God could love such a flawed and un-lovely man.

  As badly as he had treated Layla, he had treated his own sister worse. He knew, now, that Verity had been right. He’d failed the lesson the first time God had given it, when Cara had needed him. He’d failed again when Layla could have been both teacher and lover. Now he had a chance to come full circle, to re-unite with his sister and be the brother he always should have been. To be the man God had intended him to be.

  Jack watched over his companions through the dark hours, walking the perimeter occasionally, standing to shift from foot to foot when he got too cold or too sleepy. Shortly before dawn, Piper twitched violently in her sleeping bag, then went still. Jack held his breath, hoping she would settle, but her legs started to thrash, and she started moaning softly, an anguished, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He moved to crouch beside her, resting his hand firmly on her shoulder.

  “Piper. Wake up. You’re safe.”

  He moved back smoothly when she shot upright, a dance they’d already done too many times. Both Owen and Ed started awake, and Rosemary whined. Jack held a palm out, letting them both know it was okay. Ed settled back down, murmuring soothingly to his dog, but Owen stayed as he was, raised on an elbow to watch, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

  Piper’s breathing was ragged. She fought her way free of her sleeping bag, then scrambled a few feet away. Jack heard her retch, a pattern he’d learned to expect when she sobbed her regret in her sleep. He kept his distance, letting her finish in as much privacy as he could give her, getting a bottle of water and a soft cloth from the pack on his bike. He handed both to her when she returned. She accepted them wordlessly, and he walked the perimeter again while she swished out her mouth and wiped her face. She had laid back down when he returned, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Owen, too, was still awake, lying on his back with his head resting on his stacked hands, staring at the stars above. Jack dragged the campstool closer and sat down.

  “How long ‘til dawn?” Piper’s voice was husky, but she had regained control.

  “About an hour, maybe less.” He knew she didn’t want to go back to sleep, but she needed to. She had only been asleep a few hours. He started talking. “Did I ever tell you how I came to be named ‘Jack?’”

  He actually felt her smile in the dark. “You didn’t.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, then.” He settled back, crossing his legs at the ankle, and pitched his voice to entertain and soothe. “My mother was probably the biggest fan of Little House on the Prairie of all time, both the books and the TV series. Michael Landon made her swoon, which was why my father put his foot down, emphatically, when
she wanted to name me ‘Michael.’ He put the kibosh on ‘Charles’ as well, so they agreed on ‘Jack,’ which, if you will remember, was the name of the dog.”

  Piper shook with soft laughter in the dark, and he smiled. He could feel the tension easing out of her, the loosening of muscles that would permit her to return to sleep. He glanced at Owen, and to his surprise, could see the lighter white of the man’s teeth in the dark as he grinned. Jack went on.

  “When my little sister came along, she started at the top with ‘Caroline.’ She always hoped to add a Mary, Laura, Carrie and maybe even a Grace, but it wasn’t meant to be. Cara and I were it for them.”

  “My mom wanted a big family, too, but she kept miscarrying after me.” Piper’s voice was starting to sound sleepy. “Macy was a surprise tag-along. We loved her so much. She was such a gift.”

  “We felt the same way about Cara. Dad told me Mom lost three babies between us, and he was ready to call it quits. She begged him for one more try, and they had Cara. I was nine. I couldn’t believe how much I loved her.”

  His throat closed and he stopped speaking, surprised both by the memory and by the power of it. How could he have forgotten? Baby sister, so cute, so little and silly. And here was Piper, never to see her baby sister again. He cleared his throat and went on.

  “We never called her ‘Caroline’ – well, my mom did when she was mad – but she was always ‘Cara’ or ‘Care-bear’ or ‘the baby,’ which she hated. She started going by a different name when she ran away, and, when I saw her years later, she said she’d had it legally changed.” He made himself relax the sneer that had twisted his face. “Cassandra something-or-other. She didn’t want us to find her. She was only sixteen when she took off. She kept it as a stage name, for her work as a psychic. I hated the name and everything it represented, so I refused to use it.”

  “That’s interesting – like the Cassandra of Greek mythology?”