by Tricia Goyer
“So a scene is something you can see?” Christopher nodded, jotting down notes.
Charlotte rinsed out her glass coffee carafe then filled it with clean water and poured it into the back of the coffeemaker. Then she approached Christopher and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“More than that, it needs a little mystery—something that makes us curious, so that we’ll want to keep reading until the end.”
“But it’s sort of like a mystery, isn’t it? I said that farming is exciting.” Disappointment filled Christopher’s face. His eyes widened, and his lips turned down in a slight frown. “I’m writing nonfiction, right, which means it has to be true …”
“Oh, there’re all types of true things that are exciting. Like the mystery of the missing vegetables last fall. Or the tornado that hit the farm.”
“Oh, I get it. Those were true stories that were really exciting.”
“All stories need something like that to grab the reader’s attention. Also, they need conflict, which is a fancy word for ‘problem.’”
“The tornado was a conflict.” Christopher scratched his chin.
Charlotte chuckled. “You can say that again.”
“And what else? What else does a story need?”
“Well, characters who we want to get to know. And a good ending. Maybe you can think about some of the really exciting things that have happened lately.”
“Like winning the pie contest?”
“Sure.” Charlotte pointed her finger into the air. “Like that. And you’re right when you told us life on the farm is exciting, but you need to show us. Take us on one of those adventures you always seem to be a part of.”
Christopher shrugged. “I guess …” He scratched his head. “But there hasn’t been anything exciting lately around here …”
What exciting thing hasn’t happened? Charlotte shook her head. At least things were calming down, and last night was proof. She smiled at the memory.
SAM STRAINED HIS EYES as he peered out onto the blinding snow. Although it was before noon, the snow made it seem like it was much later. So much for the stupid weather report. Is this what they call clear?
His hands gripped the steering wheel as he focused on keeping his little car on the road.
The weather was far worse than he imagined it would be, and his heart pounded in his chest every time the strong wind pushed against the vehicle. He wished he had a car made for the weather—something like his grandfather’s truck. There was nothing he could do about that now.
Sam was on his way to find his father, Kevin Slater. He was committed, and there was no turning back.
From the map he’d printed out from the Internet the drive to Golden, Colorado, had seemed simple. Get on the interstate, head west, take a few turns, and he would be there.
In fact, the whole project to find his dad had seemed to fall into place. Once Sam had found his dad’s name on the Internet and had realized that he was only an eight-hour drive away, it seemed obvious that he had to go. He couldn’t rest knowing his dad was out there—so close.
Yet for a while Sam doubted he could pull it off, especially with his car acting up, threatening to ruin all his plans. Then when his Uncle Pete got the right part and fixed the car earlier in the week, everything again seemed like it would be okay. Even his grandma’s willingness to let him stay the night at Paul’s house had worked into his plan. It had given Sam time to leave unnoticed. It had allowed him a head start before anyone could come looking for him—not that they could find him anyway. Sam was certain that when his grandparents discovered he was missing that they’d check San Diego first. He was the only one who knew his dad was in Golden.
Before sunrise I can be there. I’ll be able to see my dad after all this time.
Sam glanced at his gas gauge and realized it was getting close to empty. He saw a sign for a small town up ahead, and took the next exit.
The road heading into town wasn’t as plowed as the highway. His car started sliding in the snow, drifting back and forth, forcing Sam to concentrate to stay on the road—not that he could see his lane. He had to guess. The only hint he wasn’t driving into the ditch was the narrow tracks left by the vehicles that had gone before him.
“C’mon. Stay on the road.” He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, trying to spend some of the anxiety building in his chest.
Slowly, carefully, he drove his car into the gas station. He sighed deeply, feeling the tension ease from his body. He climbed out of the car, and the cold air hit him, causing a shiver his spine.
Sam’s hands shook as he picked up the nozzle and turned to fill his gas tank. It was then that he looked down, and his heart sank. No! Please don’t tell me that …
The back tire was flat. Completely flat. And judging by the chunks of rubber missing, it was obvious he’d been driving that way for a while.
No wonder the car had been acting so erratic. No wonder it had been so hard to stay on the road.
Anger built in Sam’s chest, and he pounded on the car. “Piece of junk!” he shouted. “I can’t believe this piece of junk.”
The gas station attendant ambled out. The tall, thin man wore a black parka. He strode over to Sam with small, quick steps.
“I got a flat tire. Is there anywhere around here I can get it fixed?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe on Monday, but not tonight. Not anytime this weekend.”
“Ah, man,” Sam mumbled under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding. Are you sure there isn’t anyone you can call?”
“You not from around here?” The man walked around the car and eyed the tire.
“Nope.”
“Where you from?”
“Harding.” Sam lied.
“Where you headed?”
“Uh, Denver.” He lied again, but he justified it by telling himself that both places were close enough to the truth to be partially true.
“Denver’s a long way. Too far to walk.” The man chuckled.
“Gee, thanks.” Sam rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. “Man, I have to get to Gold—Denver. This weekend.”
“Well.” The man stroked his chin, ignoring the snow that blew in his face. “There is an interstate bus that stops here, right at my gas station. It goes to Los Angeles, but I’m pretty sure it stops in Denver. It won’t be around for a couple of hours, but you can wait inside.”
“What should I do with my car?”
The man eyed Sam. “If you promise to come back sometime next week, I suppose you can park it out back.”
Sam knew he couldn’t make any promises. He had no idea what would happen when he found his dad. If things went well, he hoped not to come back to Nebraska for a long time. If at all. And if things went bad … well, he didn’t want to think about that.
“I guess I don’t have a choice. It won’t wreck it to drive it back there, will it?”
“Well, you can’t leave it here, now can you?”
“No.” Sam climbed inside and started his engine, then as slowly as he could he drove it around and parked it in back.
Sam hated the idea of leaving his car, but he hated the idea of not finding his dad even more. Sam parked the car, grabbed his things, and then headed toward the door of the small station, realizing he didn’t even know the name of the town. Where am I? He looked around. Just another no-good place in a no-good state.
As his feet crunched on the snow he suddenly felt very far from home, and very alone.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte straightened up the house, growing excited over the thought of having her whole family together for an evening meal. It had seemed like ages since she’d seen Jennifer and Madison, and she smiled, imagining them running around the house, chasing Lightning and filling the house with giggles.
Tired of writing, Christopher had put away his notebook, and had instead decided to make Lightning a spaceship out of cardboard. He had cardboard, scissors, and duct tape scattered all over the floor next to
the corn-burning stove. The warmest part of the house.
Even though she’d never thought she’d be actively parenting again, it seemed right to have the kids around, filling up the house with their interesting antics. Even though the world outside the windows was cold and dreary, the presence of her grandchildren was like filling the inside with sunshine.
Charlotte put a pan of wheat bread in the oven, knowing she’d need it for sandwiches after church the next day. Then she looked down the road, expecting Melody to be arriving any minute with Ashley.
After Emily’s promise that she’d get all her chores done faster and better with Ashley’s help, and with Melody agreeing to give her daughter a ride out to the farm, a sleepover had been finalized.
A few minutes later, Charlotte saw Melody’s car slowly moving toward the house. Emily must have been watching from the upstairs window, because as soon as the car pulled up and stopped, Emily jogged down the stairs, sidling up to her grandmother at the window.
With her red curls bouncing, Ashley leapt from the front seat of her mom’s car and swung a bright yellow duffle bag over her shoulder. Then she gave her mother a wave good-bye.
From the window, Charlotte motioned for Melody to come inside, but Melody didn’t glance up. Instead, she offered a quick wave to Ashley and slowly turned the car around and headed back to town.
Emily opened the front door for her friend. “Hurry! It’s freezing.”
Ashley raced inside, nearly tripping on the pile of shoes by the door. “Wow, it’s really cold out there. I mean C-O-L-D, cold.” She quickly took off her jacket and hung it up.
“Where’s your mom off to in such a hurry?” Charlotte asked. “I was hoping she’d come in and say hello. I wanted to gush about the wonderful meal she made for my surprise Valentine’s dinner. I’m hoping Bob will make it a tradition.”
Ashley giggled, “Yeah, but if it was a tradition it couldn’t be a surprise, now could it?” Ashley dropped her duffle to the floor. “And, yeah, sorry my mom was in such a hurry. She and my dad are going out tonight. She was so busy cooking for everyone else last night they didn’t get to do anything special.”
“Well, good for them.” Charlotte said, noticing the scent of her bread wafting up from the oven. “Are they going up to Harding?”
Ashley shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” She walked over to the Crock-Pot of beef stew that Charlotte had started. “But wherever they go for dinner won’t be as yummy as what we’re going to have here. I just love your stew.”
“Thanks, nothing special. We were going to have spaghetti, but Bill and his family are coming for dinner last minute too. It was easier throwing it together than making another trip to town for something special. And my beef stew has always been one of Bill’s favorites.”
And the stew is almost gourmet if I serve it in my favorite china bowls, Charlotte thought with a smile. She went to give the stew a stir.
In addition to being gourmet, her cooking was also mostly organic—with Charlotte growing their vegetables and using their own farm-raised beef. All of the cooking magazines she’d read lately mentioned organic food and its benefits. She never realized how healthy she’d been over the years. Not by choice, but by the nature of living on the farm. If not a hundred percent organic, then at least it was free-range. Charlotte chuckled to herself as she put away the freshly laundered hand towels into the drawer.
“So, are Bill, Anna, and the girls coming over tonight?” Ashley asked.
“Yep. It’ll be a full house—”
“Cool. Okay.” Emily interrupted, making it clear she’d shared her friend’s attention long enough.
“Let us know if you need help setting the table or something later,” added Ashley. Then they both turned to head upstairs to Emily’s room.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Charlotte straightened her apron.
“Chores,” Emily moaned.
“Don’t worry.” Ashley grabbed the jacket that she’d just hung up. “We can get ’em done lickety-split.”
Emily bundled herself too, and then they clung together as they headed outside, as if anchoring themselves would keep them from blowing away.
Charlotte smiled as she watched them go. She wished she had a friend to talk to as she did her chores. Instead, she hummed some of her favorite “oldie” tunes to herself as she finished the laundry, mopped the kitchen floor, and even cleaned out all the questionable items in the back of the fridge.
As Charlotte was finishing, she noticed Christopher was back at the table, again hard at work on his story. Toby curled at his feet. The house was quiet without the sound of the older teens or Bob’s television blaring. Bob and Pete had gone to town to pick up some supplies, which she knew was their way of saying they needed to get out of the house and have some time to chat with friends at the tractor supply store. She’d noticed their anxiety as of late. It had been a long winter, and it didn’t seem like it was letting up any time soon.
This happened every February—Bob would go from reading, to watching television, to checking on the animals as if he was bored and was just filling the time until spring arrived and he could be back outside again. But on days like today, spring seemed like a distant dream. Charlotte stared out at the barn and sighed, noticing the sky darkening, threatening a heavy snowfall.
She wondered how soon Pete and Bob would be back. She hated the thought of them driving the country roads in a storm. There were too many places to get stuck, and too few people that passed that way.
Charlotte also wondered if she should call Sam at Paul’s house. She hadn’t heard from him, which must mean he was enjoying himself. Still, his car wasn’t equipped for even the slightest snow flurry.
“Okay, Grandma. How ‘bout this?” Christopher interrupted her thoughts.
“Is it a new story?” Charlotte asked.
“Yup. One you can see—in your mind, that is.” Christopher tapped his temple with his fingertip.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, I’m ready. Give it to me.” Charlotte pulled out the chair and sat down next to Christopher. She folded the dishtowel she was carrying and placed it on her lap.
Christopher smiled as he started to read. “I walked outside. Everything was white. On the farm there are always a lot of animal footprints on the snow. This was my first winter on the farm, and it was a mystery to me what animal the footprints came from. My favorite game is to find footprints and then guess who they belong to.” Christopher put down the paper. “That’s the start, and then I’m going to describe them so the reader has to guess too.”
“Very good. I like it. This story makes me interested right from the beginning.”
Christopher’s face brightened. “Good. I’ll tell about the chicken and horse prints.” He laughed to himself. “And then remember that time that Uncle Pete tried to trick me by rolling snowballs down the small hill by the creek? He told me the markings were the prints from a lumpy snake that had just eaten one of the chickens.”
“Did he do that? I didn’t hear about it, but it sounds like something Uncle Pete would do.” Charlotte laughed. “It seems like you enjoy writing, Christopher.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sort of.” He glanced up at her with a big grin. “Especially if you can get money for it.”
“Do you know your mother liked to write too? It was one of her favorite subjects. I think it was in the fifth or sixth grade when she first started writing in a journal. She carried that thing around everywhere, jotting down notes.”
Christopher nodded, and his eyes turned to the window. But Charlotte could tell his mind wasn’t on the view outside. From his distant gaze she could tell he was thinking back, remembering his mom.
Charlotte’s fingertips played with the fringed edge of the dishtowel as she tried to consider what to say.
“My mom liked telling stories too—not just writing them. Sometimes we’d go sit on the roof of our apartment building and she’d tell me stories.”
; “Oh, things about the people she met at work?”
Christopher giggled. “No, stories about made-up people— like ones who flew around the world in a hot air balloon or ones who invented shoes that could bounce you to the moon.”
“Fiction.” Charlotte nodded.
“Funny,” Christopher said. “She—”
The door opened, and Emily and Ashley blew in.
“Okay, Grandma, all done.” Emily puffed on her cold hands and then slipped off her jacket.
“Yep, all done,” Ashley said, bouncing up and down as if trying to get warm.
“We’re headin’ upstairs to study,” Ashley said with a smile, glancing in Emily’s direction. From their shared looks Charlotte could tell that homework was the last thing on their minds.
“Sounds good to me. Enjoy your, uh, studying, girls.”
Then with the girls upstairs, her own chores done, and Christopher engrossed in his story, Charlotte sat down with her Bible. Even though she’d already spent time this morning with a cup of coffee, reading God’s Word, Charlotte felt drawn to it again.
The truth was, Sam’s recent birthday had made her think about Denise and everything around Sam’s birth. Even though Denise’s pregnancy had been a shock, she’d always considered Sam a special gift. It was during her waiting for her first grandchild to be born that Charlotte had found special meaning in Psalm 139. Opening the Bible on her lap, she turned to it again, reading over the message about God knowing each of us before our births, knitting us together in our mother’s womb, and thinking good thoughts of us. Reading those words again warmed her even more than the corn burner. God had good plans for her grandchildren—plans that were still unfolding. Plans that she was finally settling into.
Help me, Lord, to remind these kids of this—that you knew them and created them. That you have good plans for them.
She opened her eyes and her gaze fell on Christopher.
Unaware that his grandmother was snatching a moment of her day to spend time with God, he turned to her. “Is it time for lunch yet?”
