by Robert Elmer
“Four skips,” observed Peter. “Pretty good.”
Henrik grunted again.
“Are you all right, Henrik? You’ve hardly said a word all afternoon since we got back in.”
Henrik heaved a stone far out across the lake. “Your sister almost died out there today, Peter.”
“But she’s fine now. The nurse said there was no need to bother the doctor this afternoon. She just needs to rest, and he can come look at her tomorrow.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that... well, I’ve been thinking all afternoon.”
“About the accident?”
“More than that.”
Peter was silent for a minute, waiting for Henrik to finish.
“So what else?” Peter finally asked.
Henrik sighed and splashed his bare foot in the water. “I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time. And it’s like you’re afraid to talk about it.”
Peter hurled a stone as far out into the lake as he could, and Henrik took another deep breath. “Okay, it’s like this, Peter.” His voice quivered. “I’ve been reading your Bible.”
“My Bible? I don’t—”
“Not your Bible, the one you carry around with you all the time. I mean, the New Testament. Your Bible.”
“Oh.” Peter dug through the pebbles next to him, afraid to look up, afraid to believe what Henrik was saying. But his friend went on.
“And... uh, I don’t know who else to tell, but I read through the whole thing. It’s pretty good.”
“Really?”
Henrik nodded. “It’s not as if I understand every word, but lately, it’s started to make more sense.”
“And you liked it?” Peter asked.
“I told you I liked it. Especially the Jesus parts... where He’s talking.”
Peter finally grinned. “What made you think of all this?”
“I think it was your sister almost drowning today. It could have been you or me that got hit on the head instead of her, you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean.”
They were silent for a few minutes, then Henrik cleared his throat again.
“You’re going to think this is silly....”
“No.”
Henrik sighed. “All right. It’s kind of like what Elise was saying back in my room, before we left Helsingør.”
“What was she saying?”
“That God is trying to get my attention. Well, He got it.”
Henrik hurled a rock so far Peter lost track of how many times it skipped.
“I remember that feeling,” Peter began, “when I...”
“When you what?”
This time Peter hesitated only a moment. “That was the same feeling I had when I decided to follow Jesus two summers ago at my cousins’ farm.”
Henrik chuckled. “Same place we’re going now, huh?”
Peter nodded and threw his own rock out into the lake while Henrik pulled a familiar‑looking faded yellow envelope out of his back pocket. The letter from his grandfather.
“You’ve been carrying that thing around?” asked Peter.
Henrik nodded. “I’m not sure what my dad would have said,” he finally announced with a quiet firmness. “But I want to be like my grandpa.” He tapped the letter in his palm a couple of times for emphasis. “I’m going to... follow Jesus.”
“But, Henrik, you’re—”
“What, I’m Jewish? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Well, no, I mean...”
“So was Jesus, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And so were all the people who wrote the Bible, right?”
“Who told you that?”
“Read it somewhere.”
Peter scratched his head. “Except for one.”
“Okay, except for one. So it all makes sense, Peter. I know who the Messiah is. My dad always talked about the Messiah.”
“I didn’t know Jewish people knew about the Messiah.”
“Are you kidding? We just didn’t know it was Jesus.”
“So what made you change your mind?”
Henrik sighed and shook his head. “The stuff I’ve been reading. My grandpa’s letter. Elise. You.”
“Me?”
“You. Besides, I’ve made up my mind. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I wasn’t sure before now, that’s all. Now I’m sure.”
“You’re sure?” In the back of his mind, Peter somehow still thought it would be him convincing Henrik, not the other way around.
“I’m sure. So what do I do now, Peter?” Henrik held up his hands. “Isn’t this what you wanted to tell me about for the past couple of years, but you never did?”
“Yeah, Henrik.” Peter closed his eyes and nodded, and he had to smile. “You have no idea.”
Twenty minutes later, they could hear singing drifting down through evening shadows from the youth hostel’s dining room. Peter and Henrik still took turns tossing rocks into the water.
“I want to tell your uncle.” Henrik finally spoke. “Maybe I can get baptized, like that Ethiopian guy in the Bible.”
Peter didn’t have a chance to answer as Elise padded across the lawn toward where they were sitting.
“There you are,” she called out. “I was wondering where you two were hiding.”
“Elise!” Peter put his hands on his hips. “What are you doing out here? The nurse said you had to stay in bed until a doctor came tomorrow.”
She cleared her throat. “I think I’m doing a lot better now.”
With her hair brushed back and a smile on her face, Peter almost believed her. It hardly looked as if she had almost drowned earlier that afternoon.
“I really am,” she continued. “Except for the world’s worst headache. But I’d rather have a headache than stay under that canoe.”
“We just thought you were doing some deep‑sea diving,” joked Henrik.
“You can’t make me laugh,” she told them. “It hurts to laugh.”
Peter wiped a hand across his mouth. “Sorry. We’ll be serious from now on.”
Elise giggled and coughed. “I was coming out to find you guys to apologize.”
“Apologize?” asked Henrik. “What for?”
“For wrecking the trip. I heard Uncle Morten say we’re all going to take the train the rest of the way. No more riding bikes.”
Peter wasn’t sure where his uncle was. He glanced back across the lawn at the dining hall, where he could see a crowd of teenagers singing and laughing inside.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Henrik told her.
“Maybe not.” Elise coughed again, this time harder. Peter winced at the sound. “But I still feel bad about it. And there’s something else.”
Elise paced as she spoke, keeping her arms crossed.
“Something else?” Henrik threw another skipper rock.
“Yeah, listen.” She coughed and grimaced, as if it hurt to talk.
Peter put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Elise, you really ought to—”
But the determined look in Elise’s eyes cut him short, and he pulled back his hand in surprise. Even Henrik stopped throwing rocks and stared.
“I just wanted to come down and tell you guys...” Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you for what you did.”
“Thank us for what?” Peter asked, but of course he already knew.
“Peter Andersen, sometimes you make me so mad. You’re not that stupid.” She frowned at her brother.
“It was nothing,” said Henrik, throwing another skipper.
“It was too something,” she corrected him. “I almost drowned. If you two hadn’t been there...”
Henrik sat down on a log by the water’s edge. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “We were just talking about that. Just think of it as a going‑away present.”
“Except you’re the one who’s going a
way, Henrik,” added Peter. “You’re supposed to be the one who gets the present.”
Henrik grinned. “Well, I just did, remember?”
“Right. So are you going to tell Elise, or should I?”
Henrik threw his rock as hard as he could, then he turned to Elise.
“All right, I give up,” he said, sitting down on a log. “Now I have to tell you something.”
Elise nodded and coughed, and this time she couldn’t stop.
“Elise, are you sure you’re all right?” Peter looked at her curiously. She looked pale.
“Elise!” Peter patted her on the back, trying to help, but she could only cough and shake her head.
“I felt pretty good just”—she coughed—”just a few minutes ago. Go ahead, Henrik. What were you saying? I’ll be okay.”
She stopped coughing, but as Henrik began to talk, she sat down hard on the log, wheezing once more.
“Elise, you are not all right,” Peter finally insisted. “I’m taking you back inside.”
“All of a sudden, I can’t catch my breath,” she gasped. Peter reached down to help her up, and her summer blouse was soaking.
“Henrik, run up and get my uncle,” commanded Peter. “It’s like she’s been in a sauna. She’s sweating like crazy.”
While Henrik sprinted up toward the dining hall, Peter put his arm around his sister and helped her up the little slope from the lake.
“Just take it easy, Elise,” he told her. “You should have stayed in bed, like the nurse said.” She felt wobbly under his arm, heavier with each step. Then she started shivering violently.
“I don’t g‑get it,” chattered Elise. “I felt okay right after I got out of the water. Better than I d‑do now.”
“Don’t talk,” Peter told her. “Save your breath.”
Halfway to the dining hall, Elise wobbled and stumbled, then collapsed. Peter tried to hold her up, but he lost his balance and tumbled with her to the cool, wet grass.
“Elise!” he cried, but she didn’t answer.
On his knees, Peter tried to get Elise to sit up, but she was as limp as a rag doll and soaked to the skin. He put his head down close to her face, but he could barely hear her quick, rattling gasps for air. Across the lawn, the singing in the dining hall suddenly stopped, replaced by Henrik’s muffled, excited yells.
“Help!” cried Peter. “We need some help down here!”
13
Waiting Through the Night
The doors to the dining hall flew open, and a herd of teenagers stampeded down the lawn in Peter’s direction.
“Over here!” Peter waved his arms, and in a moment he was surrounded.
“Get her inside!” said one.
“No, we need to get her to the hospital,” argued an older girl.
“Does anyone know where the hospital is?” Peter asked.
Then Uncle Morten’s voice drowned out the rest. “Watch out,” he commanded. “Stand back, kids.”
The crowd pulled back to let Uncle Morten through. He scooped Elise into his arms, turned, and almost sprinted back up the lawn. Peter ran after him, right next to Henrik.
“Where are we going?” Henrik asked as they rushed around the side of the building.
“The hospital,” replied Uncle Morten. “Where we should have gone in the first place.”
“But she seemed okay,” Henrik said. “Even the nurse who came to see her thought so.”
Uncle Morten said nothing, only ran after the caretaker around to the side of the building, where the little man had an old car parked. Peter yanked open the back door, and they slid Elise into the backseat while the caretaker started the engine and Uncle Morten took the passenger side.
“Find Lisbeth and come when you can,” said Uncle Morten, and the old car disappeared in a grinding of gears and a cloud of smoke.
Peter and Henrik stood in the gravel alley behind the dining hall, looking at each other in shock. A few people wandered back into the kitchen, but no one noticed the boys. Finally, Peter made himself move and trotted back to the lawn area.
“Lisbeth!” he yelled, and he saw his aunt step out of a cluster of people and look in all directions.
“Peter?” she asked, worry again showing in her face. “What happened with Elise? Someone said—”
“She just started coughing and couldn’t stop. Then she passed out. Uncle Morten took her to the hospital and told us to come when we could.”
“Poor girl.” Lisbeth bit her lip as Henrik met them coming around the building.
“One of the cooks told me the clinic isn’t far,” Henrik told them. “We can walk there.”
Peter was already partway down the driveway in front of the hostel, and the three of them half jogged, half ran down the road. The night was still warm, but Peter didn’t notice. All he could think of was getting to the hospital.
“Past the park,” puffed Henrik. “The cook said it was past where they tie up the lake steamers, then over a little bridge and up the hill.”
The lake at this end was as narrow as a river, lined with graceful, bushy green willow trees and well‑tended lawns. On the other side, Peter could see the three old lake steamers that took tourists to the observation tower at the far end of the lake, the place they had been trying to get to when the accident... but Peter put it out of his mind.
“Bridge up there,” Henrik said, pointing.
By the way she was breathing, Lisbeth was tiring, but she kept up. “I could just kick myself for letting her tell me she felt all right,” Lisbeth puffed.
Peter slowed down to a walk. “It wasn’t your fault. Everyone thought she was fine. Even the nurse.”
Lisbeth just shook her head. They hurried across the bridge, then climbed a hill to a cluster of square two‑story buildings on a grassy knoll overlooking the lake.
“This is it,” Peter said, running up to a door. The caretaker’s car was parked at an angle in front of the building; both car doors still hung open.
Inside a cramped waiting room and reception area, the caretaker from the youth hostel stood with his arms crossed and a worried look on his red face. No one else was in sight.
“Where’s my sister?” asked Peter as they trooped into the room.
“That way.” The caretaker pointed down a hall. “We tried to find a doctor, but so far the only person on duty was the same nurse you saw this afternoon.”
“You’ve been very kind,” Lisbeth told the man. “Please don’t feel you have to stay.”
He nodded and edged for the door. “I just wanted to make sure you got here okay. I’ll come back to check on how the girl is doing. Let me know if you need anything.”
Henrik and Peter started down the hospital’s main corridor. It was actually more of a clinic than a hospital, with dark, empty rooms and a few examining tables.
“There’s a light on down there.” Peter pointed at the end of the narrow hallway, next to a small waiting room.
“Someone has to be here,” worried Lisbeth, hurrying alongside Peter and Henrik. They stopped at a room with an open door, where they saw Uncle Morten and a nurse bending over Elise, who was lying on an examination table. Peter gasped when he saw his sister’s hand draped over the edge of the linen‑covered table. Her fingers were pale... almost blue.
“Oh, Dr. Lill—” the nurse began when she heard their footsteps at the door. She looked disappointed when she saw it wasn’t the doctor, and returned to taking Elise’s blood pressure. Uncle Morten nodded at the boys as they slipped into the room.
“I wish I were the doctor,” Peter whispered to Henrik as they sidestepped to the corner. The whitewashed room was outfitted with a single tall metal cabinet for medicines and bandages and the examining table, nothing else. And under the bright lights, Elise looked just as pale and deathlike as she had when they first pulled her out of the water earlier that day.
“Is she alive?” squeaked Henrik.
Peter had to admit his sister looked more dead than alive. But she wa
s still wheezing, with short, panting breaths. Her eyes looked dull and lifeless, but they were open. And the nurse bent over her, trying to listen with a stethoscope. Peter held his breath until the nurse straightened up.
“I’ve already called Dr. Lillelund at his home,” she told them. “This is more serious than I thought earlier.”
Uncle Morten looked up at the ceiling and sighed, but he gripped Elise’s hand. Peter had the other.
“You’re going to be okay, sis,” Peter whispered in Elise’s ear. She didn’t move, looking more and more like a corpse. Her fingertips seemed to quiver, something like a science experiment on a frog Peter remembered from school. He didn’t want to think of what had happened to the frog.
Even the smell was the same, a kind of alcohol or preservative that made Peter’s eyes sting. But he gritted his teeth, swallowed, and commanded his stomach to stop turning somersaults.
A few minutes later, the nurse snapped a green rubber face mask over Elise’s mouth and nose.
“We’ll give her some oxygen until the doctor gets here,” the nurse told them. “In the meantime, perhaps you should all wait out in the lobby. It’s just outside the door there.”
Peter shook his head and looked up at his uncle, though he couldn’t see clearly through the tears. “I’m staying right here.”
Elise wheezed and made a kind of whimpering sound when Henrik and Lisbeth left the room. Without a word, they gently pulled the door shut.
“Just until the doctor arrives, then.” Uncle Morten put his hand gently on Peter’s shoulder as they waited. On the table, Elise lay gasping.
Lord, was all Peter could think of to pray. You’re not going to let her die, are you?
He gripped his sister’s cold, blue hand, trying to warm it up with his own. But the life seemed to be draining from her body, and her chest labored for air. Even with the oxygen mask, she was dying.
Peter glanced out into the hallway through the little window in the door and could see that Lisbeth and Henrik were praying, too. Henrik’s head was bowed, and his lips were moving quietly. Lisbeth had her arm around him. Peter wiped his eyes with his shirt‑sleeve and jumped when the door burst open with a bang.
