Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  He grabbed a napkin from the island, sopped up tears, and blew his nose in a loud honk. “I came in here to tell you there’s someone asking for you out front.”

  She didn’t have many friends in Eureka. She’d just dropped Mercy off at Nana’s. Poor Mercy who tried so hard to be a good friend. “I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now.”

  “I think you’ll want to talk to him. If you don’t, I imagine he’ll sit out there all night.”

  Tim.

  Taking her time, Juliette stepped into the guest bathroom in the hall, washed her face, brushed her teeth, fixed her makeup, and combed her hair. A face she barely recognized stared back at her from the mirror. Dark circles clung around her eyes and faint lines had begun to form around her mouth. She sucked in air and squared her shoulders. “You can do this.”

  She pinched her cheeks to bring the pink back and added a dab of red gloss to her lips. “Here we go.”

  Tim leaned against his truck, his back to the house. She let the screen door slam. He turned. No smile. No greeting. He simply waited. She marched down the steps and stopped with the truck bed between them. “Long time no see.”

  “It’s been a few days.” He shoved his cowboy hat back on his head and leaned both arms on the truck. He pointed at two fishing poles and a cooler. “You interested in doing some fishing?”

  She studied his face and then the sky behind him.

  The first time he suggested they do something together had involved fishing in the Kootenai River with some of his deputy friends. She caught six trout to his two. They fried a whole mess of fish over a campfire and served them with roasted corn on the cob, buttered Texas toast, watermelon, ice-cold diet Pepsi, store-bought chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, and lots of laughter.

  His friends were nice and grown up. After a while, she and Tim crept away. They hung their bare feet in the cold water, listened to the coyotes howl, and told whopper fish stories. Then he took her home and dropped her off at the front door with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  In her lengthy book, the best first date ever—even if he wouldn’t admit it was a date. “Sure.”

  “Get in.”

  The first five or six miles were spent catching up on the evacs in Libby, his mom’s crazy antics, and her foray into teaching at an Amish school.

  He shoved the sun visor down and adjusted it against the early evening sun. “So nothing else going on?”

  “Just waiting for the all-clear so we can get back to Kootenai. We want to see what we can salvage, start removing the debris. Dad is going to rent an RV—”

  “I meant with you.”

  The sharp tone was so unlike him.

  “What’s going on? What made you decide to talk to me today after breaking up with me at the Front Street Grill?”

  He turned onto Highway 37 toward Rexford. “Have you been to Libby lately?”

  Sudden fury and a sense of betrayal burned through Juliette. “He had no right to tell you. He said he would keep our conversation in confidence.”

  “Matt didn’t tell me. Dan Whitely drove by and saw him talking to a pretty woman with long blonde hair. Didn’t recognize her.”

  The man who waved. Of course he knew Tim. “Is there some law against that?”

  “No, but I’ve spent the better part of the last few days trying to imagine why my . . . why you would be talking to my good friend Matt. And why you didn’t tell me about it. He refused to talk about it at all.”

  “Maybe it’s none of your business. You bailed on me, remember?”

  “You took a job in Billings. You bailed on me.” He groaned and pounded on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  The kindest, gentlest man in the world was beating up his truck because of her. “I don’t want to fight either. By the way, I’m not taking the job in Billings. I haven’t called them yet, but I plan to.”

  “Tell me it isn’t because of me.” He glanced her way and back at the windshield. “I don’t want to be that guy who stands in the way of a woman’s happiness.”

  “You really think a job shilling toothpaste or eyeliner will make me happy? It isn’t about you.” She sought the words with care. “I need to stick close to home right now, close to my family.”

  He pulled onto the road that split tiny Rexford and passed the store. People waved. Juliette rolled her window down and waved back. Inhaling the scent of pine and fresh dirt, she kept her gaze on the turquoise lake that sparkled in the distance.

  Neither of them spoke again until he eased onto the dirt road that led to Rexford Bench. The campground was busy, but he managed to find a parking space away from a family gathering that looked like a massive reunion.

  He got out without a word. Juliette did the same. He grabbed the ice chest. She took the fishing rods. The silence continued as they walked the path that led to a rocky outlet nestled among towering ponderosa pines where they could see the hoodoo sandstone formations in the distance. One of Juliette’s favorite spots. An osprey floated, dipped, and dove, hunting for kokanee. With any luck they’d see a bald eagle fishing for its supper.

  Juliette picked the biggest boulder close to the water that lapped in a soothing rhythm against the shore. Her heartbeat slowed. The knots in her stomach loosened. “This is perfect.”

  “There’s a tub of night crawlers in the cooler.” His expression still somber, Tim took one of the rods. “Whoever catches the first fish, the other one has to do the cleaning.”

  “Even better.”

  No banter today. No tales of forty-pound catfish.

  Not every moment of life could sparkle and shine.

  Sometimes all a person needed was the comfort of a close friend’s presence.

  She loaded her hook with a squirming earthworm and let it sail. The smell of earth, fresh water, and rotting leaves engulfed her. The breeze touched her face. She leaned into the sun and let the rays warm the cold, dark corners of her mind.

  Her legs turned to mush under her. She dropped the rod and knelt. The story clamored for release. Her throat was too clogged with tears to speak.

  Tim dropped his rod and scrambled over the rocks to her. “You know there’s nothing you can’t tell me, Jules, nothing.” He plopped down next to her and folded her against his chest. “No matter what happened to you, I will always, always love you. Nothing you did in the past will make a difference. That’s a promise. You can take it to the bank.”

  Razor-sharp pain cut a jagged line in her stomach. She doubled over and clutched her gut. “I was raped when I was fifteen at a youth group retreat right here at Lake Koocanusa. My friends were eating hot dogs and s’mores while I was being assaulted in the forest.”

  The words leaped into the air and fell to their death in the deep, clear water.

  Gone. Over. Done.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible this must have been and still is for you. I want to take it away somehow. I feel like I just got stabbed in the gut.” Tim’s hand stroked her hair. She raised her head. His hands were gentle when they moved to stroke her cheek, but ferocious storm clouds gathered in his eyes and hardened the lines around his mouth. “I hate this.”

  “Just don’t be mad at me.” Her voice quivered. She fought to control it. “I couldn’t stand it if you were mad at me.”

  His expression softened. He took her hands in his and squeezed. “Why would I be mad at you?”

  “Because it was my fault. I was stupid and I did exactly what you said I do. I flirted.”

  He flinched. “I didn’t know this happened. I would never blame you for this.”

  “There’s something wrong with me.”

  “I love you just the way you are.”

  He put his arm around her. They didn’t move. The sun and the water and the chorus of frogs croaking worked their healing balm.

  “I’ve felt so guilty about it for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

  “I’m no expert.” He cleared his throat and kissed th
e top of her hair. “But I know it’s not your fault. You have nothing to feel guilty about. I wish I knew how to make it better. I feel so inadequate.”

  “You don’t have to do anything.” His presence and his touch were enough in this moment. Knowing he would support her meant she could get through the next moment and the one after it. “Just knowing you’re here helps.”

  An eagle made his appearance. His enormous wings spread wide, he soared high above the lake, searching, hunting, mingling his beauty with the blue sky that provided a spectacular backdrop to his regal aerial performance. Tim pointed. Juliette nodded. Then she told him her story.

  His face turned to stone. His fists balled. His breathing turned harsh. Juliette leaned into his chest and listened to his heart race. Still, he didn’t speak.

  She straightened and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “Well?”

  “I hate that this happened to you.” His voice was hoarse. “I hate that you carried it around all these years. That you bore the memories alone. I hate that you waited so long to tell me.”

  “I was afraid of losing you.”

  “Then you don’t know me.”

  “I know you are the nicest, kindest, sweetest man alive.”

  “Not right now, I’m not. Right now, I want to hit something.”

  “Could you maybe just hold me first?”

  “I can do that.” His voice broke. “For as long as you need. Forever.”

  * * *

  Fury could be clean. It could burn away the dregs of hurt and pain. Or it could be corrosive. Tim’s boiled up in his chest until his bones and sinew hurt. His hands ached from balling them in fists. The desire to hit something—preferably the man who assaulted Juliette—enveloped him.

  What kind of man did that make him? Returning violence for violence?

  He groaned. Juliette stirred. The shaking had finally abated, but her face and his shirt were sodden with tears. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I give you such a hard time about not being a believer and this happens and I discover my faith is more about lip service than actually walking the walk.”

  “I don’t believe that. You’re the best Christian man I know, besides Daddy.”

  “I want to find the guy and kill him.”

  “I’ve had the same fantasy many times.” Juliette’s laugh was bitter. “What would your friend Dr. King say about that?”

  “I reckon the reverend would say God will forgive us our humanness. Then he’d go on to remind us of his hard-and-fast rules on nonviolence. He’d say to fight evil, not the evildoer. He’d say the evildoer is a victim too.”

  “That doesn’t give me much comfort.” She dug a tissue from her jeans pocket and blew her nose. “I can’t see a guy who takes advantage of a situation like that at a church youth retreat as a victim. I don’t think I want to.”

  “Me neither. But Dr. King says we not only refuse to shoot our opponent, but also refuse to hate him. The center of his philosophy was brotherly love. The power of God working within us. The most powerful weapon we have is love.”

  “So I’m supposed to love the man who sexually assaulted me?” Her snort turned into a sob. “I can barely think of him at all, let alone forgive him.”

  “It’s a tall order.” Tim tightened his arms around her. The desire to hold her so close that no one could ever hurt her again washed over him. He couldn’t get close enough. To share her skin, her hurt, her pain—only then would he be close enough. “I know I’m not there.”

  “And you wonder why I have trouble with God.”

  “There are days when He’s not happy with me either, I promise.”

  “Matt says the only way to heal is to forgive him.”

  “I hate it when he’s right.” Tim tried for a laugh, but it came out strangled and sad. “God forgives us His Son’s death. I can’t imagine how that felt.” He worked to keep his emotions at bay. “Dr. King says the aftermath of violence that isn’t forgiven is bitterness.”

  “Is that why my stomach hurts all the time?”

  Tim kissed her forehead and snuggled her closer. “I think so. We’ll work on soothing your heart and your stomach.”

  “You promise? I can’t bear to think of facing this without you.”

  The entreaty in her voice lit fires Tim hadn’t known existed in his heart. “I promise.”

  The water lapping the shore filled the silence. Tim closed his eyes. Juliette’s body relaxed against his chest. Healing floated on the quiet.

  “Tim.”

  “I’m here.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  What came next was up to God.

  37

  Eureka, Montana

  Having some place to simply be in a small town like Eureka could be challenging. A guy could only spend so much time in Walmart eating sub sandwiches with interesting Amish women. Spencer slid from his truck, grabbed his crutches from the back, and swung across the parking lot toward the church. The Type 2 Incident Command Team had a public information officer staffing the location. Media stopped by, as did citizens wanting to know the latest. It gave him an excuse to get out of the house. Three adults and three kids in a three-bedroom duplex with one bathroom and a miniscule backyard resulted in its share of squabbles.

  And frowns laden with questions. He still hadn’t given his mother an answer regarding the wedding. Nor had he met the groom.

  She seemed to labor under the illusion that Spencer planned to stay in Eureka. He did not, would not, could not. He sounded like a children’s book. He would not eat green eggs and ham and he would not stay in Eureka.

  Hence the trips to Walmart, the grocery store, and the park. Next up, taking the kids on their first fishing trip.

  But not today.

  Many of the Kootenai refugees needed an escape too. Jonah Yoder, Caleb Hostetler—who didn’t look any friendlier than he had that night of the fiasco with the scooter—and Noah Duncan, the Amish bishop, stood around gabbing and drinking coffee.

  No Mercy. She wouldn’t be here. She had to teach. Maybe she needed an assistant. He shut that thought down. Why did he always gravitate toward the unavailable women? Images of her wary smile and uncertainty at the Walmart ran circles in his head as he approached the PIO, Jeremy Johnson. His presence in her life caused her nothing but trouble.

  She reminded him of someone.

  Shaking off the commentary on an endless loop in his head, he shook Jeremy’s hand and asked the same question on everyone’s mind. “Is it contained?”

  “We’re throwing everything we’ve got at it.” Jeremy grimaced. He was a fresh-faced new college graduate who still had pimples on his nose and a feathery mustache that might have been drawn on with a black pen. “We’re constructing a containment line as wide as a football field to protect the remaining structures in Kootenai, but it’s still dangerous in there. They’re concerned the fire might circle back around.”

  Still.

  “How much longer—?”

  Jeremy’s phone rang. He held up a hand and palmed the phone to his ear. He mostly listened, and as he did, his smile disappeared. He disconnected and stared at his slick leather loafers.

  “Are you okay? Did something happen?” Spencer glanced around for a chair. The guy needed to sit. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just bad news, man.” He sighed and the professional, all-business PR persona made a ragged appearance. “Do you know a jumper named Chase Wilson?”

  “Sure I do. He’s the newbie on my team.” Spencer stopped. The familiar, ugly suspicion that life was about to deal him another blow made his stomach drop. “Why? How do you know Chase?”

  “I don’t.” Jeremy’s shoulders hunched. He ducked his head. “We just got word. Your team jumped into the Gibralter Fire yesterday. He was digging the containment line when a tree fell on him.”

  Chase’s incessant foot tapping and leg wiggling had been stilled by a ponderosa pin
e or a stately Douglas fir.

  The newbie would no longer prepare the coffee or experiment with Spam sushi.

  “He was just getting started.” The stilted words were stupid.

  “Yeah, Boss said he was twenty-four.”

  It had only been a week since a hotshot crew member was killed in the Florence Fire in Lolo National Forest south of Missoula. He was part of an elite firefighting crew trained to fight wildfires at close range with hand tools. “He knew the risks.” More stupid words. “He loved what he was doing.”

  He didn’t love packing the chutes or repairing them on a sewing machine at the base. He called it women’s work, which only made Spencer and the other guys give him more “women’s” work to do.

  His coffee tasted like burnt plaster.

  Spencer pivoted on his crutches. The room stifled him. His lungs begged for air. Weaving between clusters of volunteers sorting clothes and groups of citizens digesting the latest news, he headed for the door.

  Tim Trudeau followed him out. “Hey, Spencer, I just heard the news. I’m truly sorry.”

  “I appreciate that.” He kept moving.

  “Spencer, wait.”

  “I really have to go.”

  “Some of us are talking about having a memorial service to honor the firefighters who’ve given their lives battling these fires.” Tim chopped short his long strides to stay even with Spencer’s uneven pace. “We were thinking it might help the folks who are grieving over their lost homes too. It gives people some perspective on what it takes to get through this.”

  It was a nice idea, but why tell Spencer? “Sure. Makes sense.”

  “We thought we’d do it tomorrow. At the high school. It’s neutral territory. No denomination.”

  “I’ll be there.” Even if he couldn’t understand any of it. Send guys out there to fight an out-of-control inferno and then let a tree crush them. “Angie will be here later. Just let her know what time.”

  “Would you be willing to say something?”

  “I don’t do public speaking.” His heart did that uncomfortable double whammy against his breastbone. “Get someone else.”

  “Wilson was your buddy. You jump. You know the risks and the rewards. The folks could use your leadership right now.”