by Tricia Goyer
Ginny chuckled. Mostly because she’d like to see that happen. She tried to imagine John Travolta’s jet—which Danny borrowed on occasion—landing on the small airstrip at Gustavus. “Okay, well, I really don’t have any place to go. Call me when you have it all figured out.”
“Sure, sweetheart. Love ya.”
She said a quick good-bye, frustrated. The excitement of being part of the Grammys was diminished by Danny’s attitude. Her stomach clenched, and she felt as if she was going to lose her breakfast. Was this why she’d run off to Glacier Bay? She hadn’t even signed the contract yet, and Danny already wanted to control her every move.
She strode to the window and crossed her arms over her chest. Was there any way to get a message to Brett? Just to have someone to talk to. Someone who would actually listen to her before offering an opinion. Or barking a demand. Could she leave without seeing him, without getting the advice she longed for?
But how should she find him? Could she hire someone? Would they even know where to look?
“Ginny?” She turned toward Grandma’s voice. The old woman staggered toward the living room. Her face was pale and her hands shaky. She placed a hand over her heart and slumped onto the couch.
“Grandma Ethel.” Ginny rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
“My heart…pal–pitations.” Grandma’s head tilted forward. Her eyes fluttered closed.
I’ve killed her. It’s all the drama. I’ve been here less than one day and I’ve killed Brett’s grandmother!
Ginny situated her on the couch, laying the fur shawl over her, then rushed to the phone. She needed to call someone—anyone—for help.
What did people do for emergencies around here? She scanned the phone list. There. The number for a medical clinic. Her hand trembled as she dialed the number.
From the living room, Grandma moaned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? At least it meant she was breathing. Ginny scanned her memory, trying to remember CPR from a babysitting class she took in junior high. She could perform it if she had to.
Let’s hope I don’t have to.
The phone rang and rang. Finally on the sixth ring an answering machine picked up. “Hello, this is the Gustavus Medical Clinic. We are open the second Tuesday of every month. Please call back at that time.” The machine hung up. The second Tuesday wasn’t until next week. What did people do if there was an emergency the other twenty-nine days of the month?
911?
“Do they even have 911 here?” she cried out to the phone, as if it could answer.
“Ginny,” Grandma’s raspy voice called to her. Ginny rushed to her side. “Two houses down…Jared used to be…” She clutched her chest again. “EMT.”
“Two houses down. Got it.” Ginny looked at her high-heeled boots. She’d packed so foolishly. Where had she thought she was going? Black rubber boots sat by the front door. She took hers off and slipped them on. They were a little tight, but they’d work. She rushed outside. Had Grandma meant two houses to the left or to the right? The house to the left was closer, so she hurried that direction. The first house was a small log cabin that looked empty. At the second house, a dog’s bark split the air.
“Please don’t bite me,” she mumbled under her breath as she rushed up to the gate. The dog stayed on the porch and continued barking. There was no movement from inside. She took a deep breath, gathering up the nerve to bravely move past the dog and knock on the door, when it opened. A barefoot, very pregnant young woman took a step out. A dark-haired toddler peeked around her.
“Is Jared here?” Ginny called to her. “I need his help. It’s an emergency.”
The woman cocked an eyebrow and looked at her warily. “He’s still sleeping. Worked late last night.”
“Can you wake him? It’s Ethel—two houses down—she’s having chest pains. I don’t know where to go for help.”
“Ethel?” Shock registered on the woman’s face. “He’ll be right there.”
Ginny nodded and then hurried down the muddy road. Her rubber boots stuck in the mud with each step. An ache of worry filled her chest. She glanced out at the bay and the mountains that stretched toward the horizon. Brett, where are you? I need you. Then, for the first time since she’d arrived, she thought of someone else who could help.
“God, I know I’ve been doing my own thing lately—and I’m sorry about that,” she spoke into the fresh, crisp air that smelled of pine trees and ocean breeze as she ran back to the house. “But if You could help, even a little, I could use it here. Please let this not be serious with Grandma Ethel, please, oh please.”
Ginny rushed up the porch steps, taking only a few seconds to kick off the boots. She darted into the living room. Grandma Ethel still lay slumped on the couch, but now a bit of pink tinged her pale cheeks. Her breathing seemed more regular.
Ginny rushed over and sank to her knees, grabbing up Grandma Ethel’s hand. “Grandma?”
The older woman’s eyes flew open. She squinted slightly as if the room was too bright.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better some. I thought for sure my Maker was callin’. I—”
The front door opened, and a young guy—Jared, she assumed—rushed into the room. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and he looked like one of the wrestlers her foster brother used to watch on TV.
Ginny quickly scooted out of the way. Jared carried a small medical bag with him. He checked Grandma Ethel’s pulse and blood pressure, looked at her pupils, and then sat back.
“Her pulse is okay now, but my guess is that she had an episode.”
“An episode?”
“It happened about six months ago too. Brett flew her to Juneau, and after two days of testing, they guessed that she had a minor heart attack. They told her to eat right and rest. And they adjusted her blood pressure pills, but there wasn’t anything more they could do.”
“Do you think that’s what this is?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, but all they did was send her home on bed rest, making sure someone was there to watch over her twenty-four-seven. Brett stayed for the most part. They didn’t even want her up fixing her own meals.” He focused on Ginny, as if realizing for the first time that he didn’t recognize her. “Speaking of Brett, where is he?”
“Out kayaking, camping. He should be back soon. I’m not really sure—”
“Sometimes those guys stay out later than they say they will. It’s hard to come back to civilization after being in beauty like that. Could be a few days. Could be a week.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. Didn’t Grandma say just yesterday that Brett kept his word and was always back when he said he would be?
Yes, but he was supposed to be back yesterday, and that didn’t happen.
Grandma Ethel reached over and took Ginny’s hand. “I need you to stay with me. Please. I’m afraid of you going.” Her lower lip quivered. Tears rimmed her red eyes. Grandma Ethel tightened her grip.
“Yes, of course.” Ginny nodded. “Of course I’ll stay.” How could she not? Grandma needed her. If she left and anything happened to this sweet old woman, she’d never forgive herself.
Brett would never forgive her, either.
Chapter Ten
.......................
Brett sat at the edge of the shore watching a black oystercatcher on the beach, where it was nestled between two rocks. It was Brett’s favorite bird, with its shiny black feathers, bright straw-like bill, and orange eyes. The bird stirred slightly, and to Brett’s amazement, two hatch-lings popped out from underneath. Their fluffy feathers were gray- and black-speckled like the rocky shore, and their beaks were still gray. The mother oystercatcher’s partner drilled his long beak into the sand of the shore, pulling up mussels and carrying them to his family. When lunch was done, the mother oystercatcher bathed herself in the water of the bay. Her chicks copied her, dipping their heads and tossing the water over their backs.
Brett blew out a contented sigh and broke off another pi
ece of granola bar. That was what he liked most about being out here—seeing the simple events in God’s creation that happened all day, every day, while people went about their busy lives, unaware. Sometimes he’d thought about that when he’d been stuck in a Southern California traffic jam. There could be smog, noise, and taillights for as far as he could see, but he’d think about an oystercatcher nesting, a rock where barking walrus lounged, or a brown bear fishing for salmon, and everything would seem right in the world again.
The family of oystercatchers moved down the shore, and Brett’s eyes regularly scanned the water’s edge. The creek was a mile up the shoreline. He was far enough from the salmon running upstream that he hoped the bears wouldn’t bother him. Sometimes they got a little curious and came sniffing around. He had to trust that God kept him out here for a reason. One that didn’t involve being mauled.
He looked down at his supplies, which he had already repacked, and the campsite he’d set up perfectly. He chuckled. It looked as if he was planning on staying a month rather than just overnight.
Brett lit the small campfire he’d prepared and added a few more sticks as it grew. The fire danced before him, but his mind wasn’t on that. Instead, a to-do list trailed through his thoughts. There were folks back home who needed his help, counted on him. There were roofs to patch, flights to Juneau to provide, and mostly his grandma to keep an eye on. A heaviness pressed on his shoulders every time he left her, and he wished she’d take up his parents’ offer to stay at their guest cottage in Seattle. At least she’d have someone close at all times, especially after the recent scare with her heart.
Yet he wasn’t doing any of those things. He was here, waiting. Exactly what he was supposed to be doing. Still, he didn’t understand why. He’d read his pocket Bible, and the Scriptures had stirred his heart, but he’d expected more—maybe an audible voice to explain God’s plan for his future. That would make sense. Sitting, just sitting and waiting, didn’t.
Keeping himself busy came naturally to him. Helping those in his community did too. Sitting made him nervous, and it had gotten worse over the last couple of years. Maybe it was because it was during the still, quiet moments that Ginny entered his thoughts. He didn’t want to think of her, but he couldn’t help it. An invisible tether connected them over the miles.
He scooted closer to the fire, stirring it with his stick. He guessed that his memories had been stronger recently after recognizing Ginny’s voice playing over the radio in the Fireweed Coffee Shop.
Over the satellite radio, Ginny had sung about dancing in the ocean waves and being afraid to plunge deep. Brett didn’t have to listen to all the words to understand Ginny wasn’t talking about the water but rather her soul. Listening to Ginny’s songs was like reading her journal. She pretended to write about other people, with pains and joys all their own, but he knew her too well to believe that. Every word of her songs came from a reservoir deep within. Deep waters he’d barely dipped his toes into before she ran away.
Lord, be with her.
What bothered him most was not understanding what had gone wrong. Within six months of their first meeting, they had both known they wanted something more than friendship. On a mission trip to Uganda, they had found themselves in pace with each other. They were drawn to the street children who danced around them, hanging on their arms and kissing their hands.
Tears had filled Ginny’s eyes their second night there, and when they returned to the mission compound, passion filled her face. He knew the words that were going to come next—longed for her to say them. “Wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing to move here? To care for these kids?”
Brett had fallen in love with Ginny at that moment. They’d returned home, and he’d known two things: that he was going to marry her, and that they’d dedicate their lives to the street children, giving up everything to serve the least fortunate.
And now? What had happened to those dreams?
He glanced at the gentle waves lapping the shore, thinking about his proposal. He smiled and lowered his head, thinking of the moment she’d said yes.
Ginny had embraced the idea—their marriage, their future—but as their wedding day had loomed closer, things had changed. She started going to more auditions. She worked with a guy at their college who had a small studio in his garage and recorded some songs. Brett encouraged her efforts—knew God had given her that talent for a reason—but he didn’t understand the new dreams she was forming that didn’t include him.
The day after they got their wedding invitations, she came to him, moving with confident strides across campus, and told him she was dropping her classes because she had gotten a regular singing gig in LA. It wasn’t a recording contract, and it wouldn’t make her famous overnight, but it was a start. Even now his stomach ached like he’d been sucker punched.
The more he’d tried to talk to Ginny about her plans, the more she’d pulled away, until one day she packed up everything and headed for LA. At that moment he’d no longer been concerned about caring for needy children in Uganda. He had to escape to mend his broken heart. He returned to Glacier Bay.
Brett rose and walked along the shore, then headed up the hillside. Over the top of the ridge he could see the Fairweather mountain range. He needed this. Needed to be reminded of God’s creative order. Needed to realize that if God cared enough to create such beauty in this distant place where few experienced it, maybe He would create something beautiful out of Brett’s life too.
Brett quickened his steps, as if the answer was on the other side of the ridge. A loud rumbling caused him to stop in his tracks. He knew that sound—a bear lumbering up the hill. He reached for the Mora knife on his side, but he knew that if the bear chose to attack, he had no hope.
The noise grew louder. The bear had to be fewer than twenty feet away over the top of the hill.
The wind blew against his face. He closed his eyes, praying it would stay away. Praying the breeze wouldn’t shift and alert the bear.
His heart pounded. Everything became clear—what he wanted most. He couldn’t die without talking to Ginny again, without letting her know that he hadn’t forgotten their love.
He’d never forget.
His eyes popped open.
Go.
The voice filled his thoughts, but it didn’t stem from fear. He had a sensing the bear would stay on its part of the ridge, away from him.
Instead, Brett knew the command to go was a release. He could return to Gustavus. And from there…maybe, just maybe, he’d get up the nerve to follow the next directive scrolling through his mind.
Find Ginny.
For some reason, he needed to tell her that sometimes the hardest things in life make us strong. And that love—true love—would always be there, even if she chose to run.
* * * * *
June 15, 1928
Dear Ellie,
I know our conversation last night hurt you. You have been a wonderful governess for our children, and if it were up to me, we would keep you under our employ for years to come. This would be the children’s wishes as well. But Mrs. Standard carries our mortgage, and if she wishes for you to go, even though it breaks my heart, Mr. Davis says I must submit.
I am enclosing your final paycheck along with a little extra to help. With your skills, experience, and kind heart, I am sure you will find another situation quickly. Please use me as a reference.
Mrs. Joan Davis
Ginny had decided to grab a few minutes to read while Grandma rested. Poor Ellie. Couldn’t catch a break. The loss of her wealth, her grandfather’s health, her true love, and now…her job? Ellie’s struggles gave Ginny courage to face her own—especially when she told Danny that she needed to stay a little longer after all.
June 19, 1928
Ellie Bell,
Our friend Nurse Schroeder—that most gracious German woman with the arms of steel—is writing this for me. Praise the Lord she can understand my rickety old speech. She does say it’s getting better e
very day, and I believe her!
(Nurse S.: Don’t know why he call me gracious. I am meanest, strictest, most efficient nurse here.)
It is always a joy to see you, even when your green eyes are darkened with concern. Yet you’re no longer my little Ellie Bell who needs a mere tickle to replace rain clouds with sunshine. A broken heart does not heal so easily. Nor does the fear of an unknown future. But if I may, let me share an old man’s wisdom.
I’ve seen much in my day. My arms that used to lift you over rushing rivers now hang weakly. (The one barely moves at all, wicked thing.) Yet, in all my experiences, my Lord Jesus never failed me. He’s with me now just the same as He was when I headed the company among men who would gladly watch me fall. He never left me when your mama and papa died, Ellie, though I thought He had. No, He was ever my rock, though I couldn’t always see Him.
Now, I must tell you about the half stone I gave you the other day. You’re probably thinking I lost my marbles, giving you a broken piece of rock. Not to worry—I have my reasons. I’ll never forget the glorious November morning when your mother plucked that stone from the Merced River that flows through Yosemite. El Capitan seemed to smile down at us from its post over the grass and trees.
Your mother, Millie, was about five. I’d say she spent an hour dipping her hands into the icy cold water searching for the right stone. Then, suddenly, she found it. After wiping it on her skirt, towheaded little Millie placed the cool, smooth rock in my hand with all the solemnity she could muster.
“Your name means rock, so I found you a ‘Peter,’” she said simply. Her green eyes smiled, and her lips puckered, sort of like yours do when you’re extra proud of yourself.
I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. “This is a fine ‘Peter,’ Mill, very fine.”
As I moved it toward my pocket, your uncle Elliot splashed water, and the carefully chosen rock slipped from my hand and broke in half on another sharp stone. Your mama gave Elliot a strong whack on the arm.
