What people are saying about …
Bridge to a Distant Star
“I can forgive Carolyn Williford for making me care so much about her characters only because she restores my faith in the possibility of miracles. Hold on as you read, because she’ll take you right off that bridge with her.”
Nancy Rue, author of The Reluctant Prophet trilogy
“Compelling characters wrestle with heart-rending conflicts and disappointments, unaware of the incredible disaster ahead. With a tragedy ripped from the headlines, Carolyn Williford weaves a story of love, loss, and hope.”
Ginger Garrett, author of Wolves Among Us and Chosen: The Lost Diaries of Queen Esther
“Carolyn Williford’s Bridge to a Distant Star is a tragic tale of redemption as lives interweave toward one fatal moment. Filled with the stuff of real life, yet infused with faith and hope.”
Traci DePree, author of Into the Wilderness
“Carolyn Williford’s abilities at character development and storytelling and understanding of evangelical Christianity come together in this compelling novel. Rooted in an actual event, she brings the reader into the lives of three diverse families, each wrestling with issues of life and faith. You will care about her characters and gain insight into authentic Christian faith and the true to life struggles we all may face. Carolyn’s down-to-earth style and insightful observations will have you thinking about this story long after you have finished this book.”
Perry G. Downs, professor of Educational Ministries, Trinity Evangelical Divinity School
BRIDGE TO A DISTANT STAR
Published by David C Cook
4050 Lee Vance View
Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.
David C Cook Distribution Canada
55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5
David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications
Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England
The graphic circle C logo
is a registered trademark of David C Cook.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,
no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form
without written permission from the publisher.
The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc™. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
LCCN 2010942525
ISBN 978-1-4347-6703-5
eISBN 978-0-7814-0625-3
© 2011 Carolyn Williford
The Team: Don Pape, Nicci Jordan Hubert, Amy Kiechlin Konyndyk, Sarah Schultz, Renada Arens, and Karen Athen
Cover Design and Digital Illustration: Gearbox Studios
Cover Photos: Veer PHP3075584
123RF 4495136
Photos.com 87834995; 87765569; 87803509
First Edition 2011
For you, Sweetheart
Come what may.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Beginnings
Deny Yourself
Pick Up Your Cross
Follow Me
Endings
Afterwords
A Conversation with Carolyn Williford
Acknowledgments
This novel would still be a veritable mess of a file in my computer if not for the help and encouragement of several people. So I am delighted to put my sincere thanks in print to:
Steve Laube—my agent, who believed in my ability to write fiction, and started encouraging me to finish this book—how many years ago? Would you believe six?
Polly Lott and Joann Gay—both patient and loving friends who suffered through way too many rough manuscripts.
Don Pape—who also believed in me, and had the great sense to marry Ruth.
Numerous friends and family (one of those is you, Sharon!)—who pray for me on a regular basis, and would frequently prod, “How’s the book coming?” Your gifts of friendship are invaluable.
My parents—whom I can count on to love and pray for me, no matter what. I cherish you both.
Bob—since he’s my absolute favorite Big Brother.
Tucker, Abby, Tyler, and Nate—simply because you’re the four most wonderful grandchildren in the world, produced by the four most amazing parents, Robb and Tricia, and Jay and Rachael.
Nicci Jordan Hubert—my editor, who put up with my whining, complaining, grouching, and arguing and yet still hung in there with me, vastly improving this story.
Craig—my love, my best friend and confidant, my partner in ministry. I love living life with you, Sweetheart.
Though my story is based on the actual, tragic collapse of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge on May 9, 1980, all details concerning time, characters, and incidents are purely fictional. My prayer is that all affected by this horrendous accident have found healing in their hearts, minds, and souls.
Then Jesus said to his disciples,
“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself
and take up his cross and follow me.”
Matthew 16:24
Beginnings
A Friday morning in May 2009
The heavy fog moved toward him like fists pushing against the window. Using a frayed handkerchief, the solitary man reached up to wipe a mist-covered spot. Large, heavily muscled, he was an imposing figure accustomed to giving orders, commanding men and ships at will. But as he leaned forward, squinting jet-black eyes to peer out into the gloom of that dawn, he was aware that there would be no submission from the fickle weather, no acquiescence to his hope for an easier route ahead. The toothpick he absentmindedly chewed switched from one side of his bushy-mustached mouth to the other. And then he slumped backward in frustration, sighing heavily. Captain Ray Luis was a great believer in signs and omens. In his estimation, this beastly morning was a harbinger of nothing good.
Though inside the pilothouse and out of the wretched weather, Captain Luis felt the dampness envelop him like a soggy blanket. Usually the view out the window toward the waves filled him with a sense of pride; holding the well-worn, smooth wheel of the ship in his calloused hands could still produce a thrill. But on that particular morning, none of the familiar pleasures would lift his spirits. In good weather, he would trust no other crew member to be at the helm for the formidable journey up the Tampa Bay channel; in this weather, the responsibility of the job weighed on him—and him alone—even more.
Intently peering through the fogged windows, Luis tried to estimate the visibility ahead, shaking his head at his infernal bad luck. Reaching up to rub tired eyes and then scratch his chin, he felt the stubble of a three-day growth of beard. He’d taken all the necessary precautions before heading up the bay. Even so he reminded himself that his freighter, the Wilder Wanderer, was now without cargo and therefore significantly lighter; as a result, she would ride higher in the water, more at the mercy of wind and waves.
The bridge that worried him just ahead was the over five-mile-long Sunshine Skyway, a marvel of engineering—and beauty—that spanned the bay from St. Petersburg to Bradenton. The golden cables, designed to gently arch upward, proclaimed the elegance of her design, beckoning all who passed over or beneath to savor the symme
try. But wise captains weren’t naive to her siren’s song; they knew her spell was merely a facade, and a dangerous one at that. Beneath the beauty lay treachery for the unwary.
The stark reality was this: Every ship’s captain faced a critical test of his skills by maneuvering through the passage, which measured 864 feet wide and 150 feet tall. On each side of the channel stood bridge piers made of steel and concrete; these structures supported the roadway above, providing a safe journey for people in the cars, trucks, and buses that crossed the bridge, going about their daily lives. All of them traveled blind to any potential emergency or danger from below. Unknowingly, they placed their trust not only in the worthiness of the superstructure itself, but also in the hands of every pilot who steered his ship under the bridge. Today their lives rested in the hands of Captain Luis.
Clutching the wheel of the Wild One—as he affectionately called the ship—Luis continued his search for the all-important buoys that marked the safe channel under the bridge. Any divergence from that channel was extremely dangerous; no captain wanted to entertain the possibility of that disaster. He felt his ship’s over two-hundred-foot-long hull begin to pull slightly against his steering. He tensed his jaw in concentration and nudged the wheel more to the left.
When the thunder roared into the darkness, it caught Captain Luis off guard; his head jerked backward in unexpected alarm. The flash of lightning that immediately followed announced the storm was directly overhead. He cursed and then braced himself for the next assault that he feared was inevitable: a gust of fierce wind. It came just as he’d expected, forcing the ship directly into the path of the bridge’s supports.
Grabbing the intercom mike, he shouted for his man in charge at the bow of the ship. “Jaurez! How bad is it up there?”
The garbled voice of Jaurez answered almost immediately. “Captain, they ain’t no seeing in this!” Another crack of thunder with its accompanying lightning struck, and Jaurez mumbled under his breath. “Cursed channel! I swear it’s haunted! Couldn’t see a blessed thing before, and now it’s even worse. Want us t’ drop anchor and sit her out?” Jaurez and four other men were huddled beneath heavy slickers.
“No! Can’t take the chance of being pushed into those piers.” All the captain’s past experience came into play, and he made a quick decision. “I’m cutting her speed to five miles per hour. Gives us a chance to see where we’re heading in this muck. And let me know soon’s you spot those buoys!”
Suddenly the winds increased again, approaching tropical-storm speeds of seventy miles per hour. The Wild One groaned and creaked in response. Feeling the first rise of panic, Luis glanced over at his radar just in time to see it blink out. For a few moments, he simply stared at the blank screen, uncomprehending. Just as he reached over to give it a useless rap, he heard Jaurez’s shout over the intercom: “Captain! There’s a buoy; we’re passing it port side! We’re headin’ right down the middle of the channel!”
Luis kept his voice calm and radioed back, “Set tight, Jaurez. I’m thinkin’ you’re right. We’ll take it easy … steer on through. But keep a close watch, you hear?”
“Yes, sir! I’ll be mighty glad when …”
But Juarez’s voice was lost in another reverberating thunderclap. Lightning followed, illuminating the seductive lines of the Skyway. That quick revelation also showed Captain Luis that the perspectives were off. This isn’t right! Luis gasped, opening his eyes and mouth wide in sudden shock. We’re not in the channel, not at all! In that horrific instant, Luis realized that the buoy they just passed must’ve been the one marking the right side of the channel. He froze as the realization shot like a knife through his gut: The Wild One was headed right toward one of the bridge’s supports.
Grabbing the intercom with shaking hands, Luis shouted, “Jaurez! Hard to port! Let go the anchor! Ram the engines, full astern!” In a frantic effort to prevent the catastrophe, he attempted to stop the giant ship before she hit the bridge. But another show of lightning proved the futility of his efforts. The concrete pier loomed over the Wild One.
There was no stopping the inevitable. They were going to ram it.
“Cap’n!” was all he heard from Jaurez before the ship’s bow and the concrete of the bridge met in a rage of violence. The first loud boom! was immediately followed by the howling of grinding steel, and the great ship groaned, as though she were personally injured. Splintering, wrenched roadway released overhead, and great blocks of concrete and warped, twisted steel plunged into the water and onto the deck of the ship.
The collision had thrown Captain Luis nearly off his feet, though he grabbed the wheel at the last moment to brace himself. He took one brief moment to pray, God, oh please!—may the road overhead be clear! Gathering courage to face whatever awaited, he ran out to the bow of his doomed ship.
On the road above, no one suspected that a dire rending had just occurred. If any felt the slight movement of the roadway, they assumed that strong winds were the culprit. The drivers merely adjusted for the pull, intending to continue on safely.
On the deck of his fated ship, Captain Luis froze at the desolation unfolding before him. He watched in terror as huge pieces of roadway dropped into the violently churning waves of black, murky water. But he and every member of the crew recoiled in horror when, all eyes compelled to follow the surreal scene before them, they watched a bus, a Mercedes, and a van launch out into a void of nothingness.
And plunge into the depths of the Tampa Bay.
Book One
Deny Yourself
April 2009
Suburb of St. Petersburg, Florida
“Emilie, face it. You’ve run out of E’s,” Maureen needled her friend. “We’ve been through all of this before.”
By habit, Maureen’s gaze drifted toward the window to study the bluebird house in the backyard. The Roberts’ home was typical of the coastal section of Florida: stucco topped by a terra-cotta roof, a sprawling ranch with St. Augustine grass precisely trimmed, flowering bushes and fruit trees dotting the yard. The early arrival of spring this year had been conducive to lush growth, and the bushes and plants were already threatening to overwhelm their prescribed boundaries.
Her attention distracted again, Maureen moved to the sliding glass doors overlooking the pool. It had been cleaned yesterday, and the feel of its soothing water, now marked and variegated with alternating lines of shadow and light glistening in the sun, beckoned to her. Glancing upward through the slats of the screened pergola, however, she caught a glimpse of ominous clouds in the distance.
“I know, I know,” Emilie was saying, “But Ellie’s off to first grade in the fall—”
“And she’s your baby and you can’t stand the idea of being alone,” Maureen interrupted. “Listen to me. It has to stop sometime, Emilie. You can’t continue having another baby every time a child goes off to school.”
“But Emma’s a junior. She’ll leave for college in a little over a year.”
“Emma’s ready, you know that. A great student. Responsible. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to have more time for yourself?—squeezed in between caring for Eddie, Ethan, and Ellie. Not to mention your husband, or even Eunice the wonder dog.”
“Listen, I’m being serious now. Ed agrees with me.”
“Really?”
Emilie cleared her throat. “He even said the number seven is a biblical number.”
“You already have seven if you count the dog.”
“Maureen, I said I’m being serious. I think God really wants us to do this.”
Maureen sighed. Again sensing the weariness that had recently settled over her like a fog, she leaned against the sliding glass door, enjoying the coolness against her fair skin. Tall and willowy in build and movement, she had the usual coloring of an auburn redhead: freckles sprinkled liberally across light skin, with a concentration on her face, mostly across
nose and cheeks. Which gave her a delightful eternally youthful and slightly mischievous look. What wasn’t typical, however, were the hazel eyes flecked with darker accents. Rarely did anyone glance at Maureen without noticing those lovely eyes, and ultimately feeling drawn to look more deeply into them. Maureen’s eyes promised a beauty and depth that few could resist. “I’m sorry, Em. I guess there’s no question then. I mean, if Ed’s on board and you’re both sure that’s what God wants …”
“Right. Although lately, Mo, there’s been … well, somewhat of a dis—”
A slammed door and raised voices interrupted the conversation. “Mom. Aubrey’s been in my room again and messed with my stuff.” Maureen winced as she heard each of Colleen’s words escalate in intensity.
“Emilie, I’m so sorry. But I have to go.”
“Sounds rather umm … testy over there.” Emilie chuckled, probably relishing the fact that the squabbles were currently at someone else’s home.
“Collie has Rabbit.” Aubrey’s wail reached a fevered pitch that matched her older sister’s, and Maureen’s shoulders tensed in response. “Rabbit is missing and I had to finded him and …”
“Your dumb rabbit better not be in my room!” Colleen shouted.
“Rabbit is not dumb.”
“Is so.” Colleen pulled her features into a dramatic scowl. Aimed it like a weapon at her sister. “It’s dirty and falling apart and smelly and …”
Willing calm, Maureen gracefully asked, “Girls, can you take this conversation into the family room, please? I need to say a quick good-bye to Mrs. Esteban and then I’ll be right with you.” Neither daughter budged, alternating glares at each other and Maureen. She pointedly turned her back on both of them.
Bobo, the family’s pint-sized Yorkshire terrier, took that moment to come to Maureen, scratching at her calf and yapping, demanding to be let out. “All right, Bobo. Emilie, you still there? I’m so sorry. Honestly, why does everything have to … happen in …” She opened the door to the backyard, then nudged Bobo out with her foot. Never thrilled about walking on grass, he required a little encouragement. Glancing at Colleen and Aubrey, Maureen made a hasty decision to follow Bobo out, firmly closing the door behind her. The humidity was immediately oppressive, but less so than the tension she’d escaped in the kitchen. “Where was I? Why does everything happen when you’re attempting to talk on the phone?”
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