Lord, I’m seeing a new side of Your love—of how You relentlessly pushed on and pursued me. Only I didn’t even know I was lost, so I kept marching farther and farther away. This time, it’s You and me together—looking for Della—both body and soul. I want it all, God. I want her in my arms. I want You in her heart. . . .
Then he saw it: a stack of rocks in the center of the narrow creek. They’d been carefully arranged from large to small to form a stack several inches high—something that wouldn’t have happened in nature. She’d left him a signal! Plowing ahead, Brandon sloshed through the icy water and stared at that stack then scanned banks. One bore deep grooves and left-sided footprints. Della’s hurt. But she’s nearby!
“Della!” he shouted as he headed up the bank and followed the marked earth. His goggles illuminated a lump. Della. Only she didn’t move or make a sound.
Nineteen
Della!”
She jarred awake to something crashing into her make-shift shelter. Della screamed then shrieked even louder when she saw the monster. Clutching her flashlight, she clobbered him.
“Hey! Della!”
She froze.
“Babe—”
“Brandon!” She dropped the flashlight and grabbed for him, trying to assure herself she hadn’t gone crazy. He was here. Holding her. “You came. It’s really you.”
“You bet it is.”
“What are you wearing?”
He yanked off the weird lenses and blinked. “Night vision goggles.” He pressed her back down.
“You scared me half silly.” She lay back and stared up at him as he pressed fingers to the side of her neck. “My pulse is about three hundred from that scare.”
“I noticed.” His tone held wry humor. He proceeded to take stock of her.
“If you dare touch my leg, I’m going to start banging you with the flashlight again.”
“Which leg?”
“Right.”
Brandon sat back on his heels and shed his pack. It made a loud thump on the earth, and Della wondered just how much gear he’d been toting. He’d done it for her. What did that mean, though?
“Shhh, Babe. Don’t cry. It’ll be all right.” He leaned over her and rubbed his whiskery jaw against her cheek.
Della hadn’t realized she’d started to cry. The sandpapery feel of his jaw testified to his masculinity, to the fact that he was here—strong and capable. She didn’t have to be strong anymore. Until now, she’d convinced herself to be courageous, but the strain of it finally took its toll. Once the tears started to fall, she couldn’t stop them.
Cupping her hand over her mouth, she tried to tamp back the sobs. Brandon had come for her—but only as a friend. They’d never been closer, but they’d never been further apart.
Grim determination painted his features and colored his voice. “I’m going to take a look at your leg.”
If he wanted to think pain prompted this reaction, Della decided that would be okay. At least it would help her save face later. Being offered nothing more than friendship by the man she loved caused her far more pain than her hurt leg.
He rested his forehead against hers. His warm breath whispered across her face. “You lie still.”
She wanted him to kiss her, to promise everything would be okay, but he didn’t. He pulled away and passed his flashlight up and down over her until he figured out how she’d wrapped herself in the sleeping bag. The man was all business. Methodical. Careful. Swift.
The cold night air hit her, but he quickly tucked the sleeping bag back around all but her right leg. He blew on his hands, rubbed them together for a second to warm them, then began at her ankle.
She’d started to regain a little composure. Della wiped away her tears and rasped, “It’s my knee.”
“Okay.” He ignored her and continued to examine her from ankle upward prodding at her with all the compassion of a Sherman tank. Then he started to unknot the bandana she’d tied around her knee.
“Aaghh—no—no—no!” She’d bolted into a sitting position without realizing it. Waves of pain caused her to hit his hands away.
“All right, Babe. It’s all right.” He held her by the shoulders and eased her to lie back down again. Tugging the sleeping bag back up to warm her, he grated, “I’m sorry. It’s real sore. I know.”
“Don’t—”
“I’m not going to touch your knee. I’m checking above it.”
The next several minutes turned into a blur of agony. She heard his voice, but whatever he said didn’t make any sense. All Della wanted was for him to stop. Finally, he scooted upward and cupped her cheeks.
“I’ve immobilized it. I can’t tell whether you’ve just wrenched it, cracked the kneecap, or torn ligaments. It’s too swollen to guess. The pulses are strong——that’s a good thing, Babe. Really good.”
Through her tear-glazed vision, in the muted beam of the flashlight, his remorse came through. Della bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.
Nothing escaped him. His lips thinned. “I don’t have anything to give you for pain.”
“I’m okay if I stay warm and don’t move.”
“Come morning, I’ll signal for help. I can carry you to a clearing not far from here, and we’ll airlift you out.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re starting to shiver.”
The man wouldn’t give up. He ripped open a foil-like survival blanket and tore back her sleeping bag.
“Brandon!”
“You’ll build up heat again in a sec.” He spread the survival blanket over her, tucked the sleeping bag around her shoulders again, and then brushed strands of hair away from her face.
She gave him her bravest smile. “It’s not so bad now.”
A smile chased across his face, but he remained intense. “Hungry? Thirsty?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. My canteen’s about a third full, and I still have a piece of jerky left.”
“You brought jerky?”
She nodded. No use reminding him of how he taught her to bring high protein, lightweight food. That was all over. . .in the past.
“How about some cocoa?”
“I don’t have any.”
His chuckle sounded rough. “I didn’t expect you to have anything at all left to eat or drink. I’ve got rations in my pack—even cocoa.”
“Oh, that sounds good.”
A can of Sterno, and the man turned into a gourmet. The unmistakable aroma of cocoa filled the night air. He held up her head and shoulders and poured a cup of the rich, warm drink down her throat. “Better?”“The best.”
She watched as he looked around and tied up the fishing line he’d broken when he ripped down her shelter. She’d knotted fishing line to her towel and strung it between shrubs then tied the torn-open trash bag over it. Crumpled pages from a book and pine needles stuffed between the towel and bag acted as insulation to help keep her cooler during the day and warmer at night—a trick he’d told her about. Approval colored his voice. “You did a good job establishing a base camp.”
“I had a great teacher.” She looked at him. “When I got going on this trip and Chet did things differently, I thought there were probably other ways to do the chores; but everything went wrong. Some things, there’s just one right way, isn’t there?”
“Yeah.” He studied her at length. “Are you just talking about camping?”
“No.” She sighed. “I had a mother bring in the flower girl a few days ago. Because her daughter is a redhead, she didn’t ever dress her in pink because she’d gotten the notion that it wouldn’t look right. By the time she left, she said the truth was in front of her, but she’d refused to see it.”
Brandon didn’t say a thing.
Della closed her eyes. “What if I’ve been wrong? What if you’re right? That there’s only one right way to live? That I’m not good enough for God? I’ve been lying here for days now, and I can’t get away from it. I figured it out. You couldn’t compromise because we couldn’t be a team with both of
us going off in different directions. But I didn’t want to change for you.”
“It’s not a decision you make based on someone else. You have to do it for yourself.”
She nodded. “I figured that out, too.”
He started making more cocoa. Deft, purposeful movements, and silence reigned. “Here.”
“No, Brandon. You drink that one. In fact, you need to get in your sleeping bag, too. It’s cold out tonight—colder than the other nights.”
She tried to scoot closer to him, but the effort hurt.
“Hang on, Babe.” He opened his own sleeping bag and draped it around her. “Better?”
“I’m warm enough.”
“Ahhh.” Brandon sat cross-legged and reached under the sleeping bags to hold her hand. “So what have you been thinking?”
“All my life, I’ve tried to be good enough—to be what Daddy and my brothers wanted me to be. To please teachers and customers and, well, to be perfect. Not that I ever managed all of those things, but I tried. Then I met you, and you showed me I didn’t have to do anything to make you like me—you just took me as I was. You gave me a chance to try stuff and encouraged me even when I was lousy at batting or running or camping. For you, I didn’t have to be perfect. I was good enough—just me.”
She couldn’t stop the flow of words once she started. “Then, suddenly, you told me I wasn’t perfect. I had to change. If I didn’t change, I wasn’t good enough for you anymore.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but Della was afraid if she let him, she’d lose her nerve.
“But I’ve been lying here thinking. God doesn’t expect me to be perfect, does He? To Him, I’m already a disaster. All the things I’ve done wrong, all that stuff—He already knows it. The bottom line is, He’ll still take me, right?”
“God loves you, Della. He knows everything about you, and it breaks His heart to have the distance sin created between you. He gave His Son just so you could be forgiven.”
“So what you’re saying is, I blew it a thousand million billion times, and He still wants me.”
“Yeah.”
“But what do I have to give Him for that? Jesus died for my sins, and I can’t do anything to repay my debt.”
“The debt’s been cancelled—but you have to accept that fact. The cost is that you have to be sold out to God. You get a new life—a different life. I still blow it, but He forgives me, and I try to do better.”
“What about all the rules and stuff?”
“I always thought there were a lot of rules for Christians. Now that I am one, I’m discovering there really aren’t many. I’m to live in obedience to the Bible and to the directions I feel God leads me. The Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments pretty much cover it all”—he paused—“except for what happened between us.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “You were right though. If we’d gotten married, I wouldn’t have stayed happy. In my heart of hearts, I’d sense you wanted more from me, that I disappointed you.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m glad you understand that. It nearly killed me, hurting you like that.”
“It’s torn me apart.”
Twenty
Brandon didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Agony pulled his features taut.
Della winced as she reached to reassure him. “I never want to live through that kind of pain again. At first, I blamed you. I blamed God. Then I had to admit that I made a choice.”
He sat so still, so somber. Della wasn’t sure he understood what she was saying, but she strove to order her thoughts so they’d make sense.
“I decided, being stuck out here with nothing to do but think, that I’m like that little redhead’s mom—the truth was right in front of me, but I hadn’t accepted it. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Della, are you saying to want to commit your life to Christ?”
She nodded.
“It’s not just so you and I—”
“No.” She squeezed his hand. “I couldn’t live a lie.”
“Oh, Babe, I prayed so hard for you to open your heart to Jesus.”
“What do I do?”
“We pray. You confess to God that you’ve sinned and know Jesus is the price to rescue you from sin. You ask Him into your heart. It’s that simple.”
“I can’t figure out why He wants me, but I’m glad He does.”
“It’s a special kind of love—a love worth finding. We have to search our souls and make the decision, but I promise you, Della, you won’t be sorry.”
“Well, here goes everything.” She laid her head back, switched off the flashlight, and stared up at the stars. “I like the idea of looking up at the heavens to say my first prayer.”
Brandon rubbed his thumb across her palm in agreement.
“Dear God, it’s me. Della. Oh. You know that. You know everything. Then You know what I’m doing here. I’ve tried to live right, but I blow it. I can’t do it on my own, and there’s no way I can earn my way into heaven. I’m offering a trade here—my old life for a new one. You’ll have to work on me with this new life, because I’m bound to mess up on things. But I’ll do my best to follow what You ask of me. I’ll even go to church and read the Bible and all that stuff because—well, not because it’s a rule, but because I’m grateful and love You. Amen.”
“I’ve never heard sweeter words in my whole life, Babe.”
❧
She wasn’t hypothermic or dehydrated, and though her knee hurt, the circulation to her lower leg was fine. Brandon knew he didn’t need to transport her out tonight. If he did, he’d have to carry her several miles—something he wouldn’t mind in the least. He had hold of her and wasn’t about to ever let go. Though a new Christian, he knew the gift God had bestowed upon him tonight was a rare and precious thing. A man couldn’t want more than the woman he loved to find the Lord. But trekking out would pose too much of a strain on Della. The terrain was too uneven, and though he’d take every precaution to plot out the smoothest course and carry her with every scrap of devotion he felt, she wouldn’t be able to endure much jarring. If he waited until morning, he’d be able to carry her to a nearby clearing, signal, and airlift her smoothly.
The strength of the pulses in her foot and ankle gave much-needed reassurance, because from just above the knee down, she was a bruised, battered wreck. Trying to get the cocoa into her made sense—warm fluids, sugar—they’d help in case she was shocky. Only she wasn’t. Despite her pain, she stayed uncannily calm. His woman had gumption.
Brandon flicked on the flashlight. “Babe, about getting you out of here. . .”
She shook her head and yawned. “I’m glad you said we’d wait ’til tomorrow. I don’t want to be a sissy or anything, but my leg hurts a lot more at night when it’s cold.”
“No one in his right mind would call you a sissy. You’re a gutsy woman. I’m proud of you.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’ve got to be getting cold, and I’m roasting under two of these sleeping bags.”
“Hang on a few minutes.” He took the small pan of water he’d left over the Sterno and soaked it up with a pair of Handi Wipes. “Wash up. You’ll relax and sleep better.”
She started scrubbing at her face. “Do I look that bad?”
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“I haven’t,” she asserted as she washed her jaw and throat, “shampooed my hair in a week. I’m filthy.”
“To God, you’re pure as snow. To me, you’re lovely.”
“You’re nice to say those things. Really, you are. But I feel atrocious.” She whisked the cloth over her forearms and hands, then grimaced at how dirty the wipe had become. Brandon silently took it and gave her the other one. Just like a fastidious kitten, she set about washing her face again. “I ran out of my sun block lotion two days ago, and vain as it sounds, I really didn’t want anymore freckles.”
“I’m wild about your freckles. They make me want to kiss
you silly.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
Brandon leaned forward then pulled back. “Sweetheart, I love you. Before I found Jesus, I knew you were the woman I wanted for my wife—and I gotta tell you, I’ve had a ring about burning a hole in my pocket. . .because I had to have faith that you’d find your way to the Lord. His love is worth finding, Della. I want my love for you to be worth it, too. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, yes. Please, yes! I love you so much, Brandon.”
He leaned to one side and yanked his wallet from his back pocket. Inside nested the ring he’d chosen for her. “I’m putting this on your finger and allowing myself one last kiss.” He smiled. “But then, no kisses until the wedding. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re going to dally for months planning an extravaganza, and I don’t want to wait anymore. All I want is you and me, blessed by God, being husband and wife.”
The ring fit just right. Their lips fit just right, too. A kiss never held so much promise and love. Brandon finally pulled away, crawled into his sleeping bag, and had her use his chest as a pillow. She settled in with a sigh.
“Brandon?”
“Yeah, Babe?”
“I already know what tux I want you to wear.”
“Good.”
“And I already know my favorite music. Do you have any songs you like a lot?”
“I’m not picky. But I do want you to carry white flowers. Roses.”
“Could we compromise? Valentine brides always carry red roses.”
“By compromise, do you mean you’ll carry pink ones, or a combination of red and white?” He chuckled. Of all the times he’d lain out under the stars, most had been consumed with the tension of a mission. He’d never imagined he’d spend time worrying about the color of flowers.
“Either.”
“Red and white,” he decided. “I’ll talk Nathan into letting us have a reception at The Spindles. How does that sound?”
“I’d love that!”
“Great. So all the big decisions are made. We can get this done soon.”
“My gown—”
He groaned. “Oh, no. Linda’s mom said it took five months for her gown. You can’t do that to me. I’ll go insane.”
Love Worth Finding Page 13
