Embracing Change

by Debbie Roome

  “Not at all. It’s the greatest love story in the world—the story of how Jesus died for us and paid the price for our sin.”

  Sarah was quiet for a moment. “Why does God let bad things happen if He’s so loving?”

  “We live in a world that’s damaged and contaminated by sin, Sarah. God doesn’t send sickness and suffering, but if we allow Him to, He can turn those negative things into positives.”

  “I’ve never heard that before. I mean I’ve seldom been to church but I thought sickness and pain were a punishment from God.”

  “Not at all. James 1:17 says: ‘Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.’”

  Sarah thought for a while before changing the subject. “Do you think the girls have made a decision yet?”

  Joel pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Want me to find out?”

  Chapter Twelve

  A small spring of hope is stirring in my heart. I have a job and a place to stay.

  From the journal of Sarah Johnson

  Tuesday 22nd April

  It feels like you’ve been here forever.” Jade pushed back from the table and smiled at Sarah. “You fit in so well.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a better place to live.”

  Trisha joined the conversation. “It’s been great getting to know you—and I’d love to visit Africa some day. It sounds so wild and different to New Zealand.”

  “It is,” Sarah agreed, “but while I miss it, I feel much safer here.”

  “I can understand that after looking at your photos.” Jade started stacking the dirty plates. “Your houses look like forts, with those high walls and electric gates.”

  “Even then, you’re not safe. Many break-ins occur at night, and they don’t just take your stuff. They wake you up and demand your bank cards and PIN numbers and any weapons you have in the house. Even if you comply, they often beat you up or shoot you anyway.”

  Mandy shuddered. “Sounds awful.”

  “Is that the time?” Jade dumped the dishes by the sink. “I’ve been asked to attend a school play and do a write-up on it.” She looked across at Mandy. “Any chance you can swap kitchen duties with me?”

  “Sorry, I’ve got a dance class in fifteen minutes.”

  “Trisha?”

  Black curls bounced as she swallowed the last of her apple juice. “I would, but I’m meeting Melanie at the mall. We’re going to watch a chick flick.”

  Sarah started clearing the remaining items on the table. “I’m home tonight. I’ll do it for you.”

  “You’re a honey.” Jade gave her a quick hug as she headed to her room. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  The house quietened as the girls left, and Sarah was alone with her thoughts. It was three weeks since she’d moved in, and already she felt at home. Joel and Jade had taken her to the recycled furniture depot, and for less than $100 she found a bed and mattress, a bedside pedestal, a desk and chair, and a light-wood chest of drawers. The bed linen, pillows and table lamp she bought new.

  The girls shared household duties and Sarah slipped into their routine with little trouble. Her days were filled with work, and when the weather was fine, she would take an hour to sit in the summer house and write in her journal. In the evenings, she watched a bit of television or chatted with the girls. She got on well with Jade and sometimes they went for a stroll, kicking piles of leaves and laughing as they shared stories from their day.

  While she could see she was making progress, the pain was still there, stuffed under layers of busyness, and if she was by herself it bubbled up. She often drove to the Waimakiriri River on the outskirts of the city, and sat staring into turquoise braids. Are you here, Luke? Have your ashes drifted this far, or are they spread across the mountains and plains? Maybe some have reached the sea, or even washed up on this bank. She felt close to him there and occasionally took a few blossoms from the garden and scattered petals on the water, watching them swirl and bounce as the currents bore them off to the ocean.

  Joel walked in just as Sarah was washing the last of the dishes, the plates sliding through soapy water like shells in a foamy sea. He took a tea towel and started drying up. “How’s your day been?”

  “Good, thanks. I’ve almost finished the Kaikoura brochure I’ve been working on. Would you like to see it?”

  “Love to.”

  Sarah slipped the last dishes from the water and handed them to Joel, watching his hands as he dried up, firm and strong with square-tipped fingers and short nails. She thought back to how those hands had held hers and infused strength and comfort when she’d been sick.

  “Where’re the girls tonight?”

  “Mandy’s got a dance class, Jade’s working and Trisha’s gone to see a movie.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Go and sit and I’ll make some coffee.”

  Joel dropped into a comfortable chair and flipped through the television channels before turning it off again.

  “Anything interesting on?” Sarah asked from the kitchen.

  “Just the usual stuff.” He made a space on the table as Sarah came over carrying two mugs of coffee. “Looks so creamy.”

  “The art is in frothing up the milk.”

  “You’re obviously an expert.”

  Sarah laughed. “I worked in a coffee shop when I was a student.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Feels like a lifetime.”

  Joel took a deep swallow from his mug. “Perfect.” He patted the seat next to him. “Come and tell me about work.”

  She sat down. “The job’s working out really well. I pop into the town office once a week and communicate by e-mail the rest of the time.”

  “Is it all brochure work?”

  “Pretty much. They’re working on South Island at the moment. I’m doing the east coast while others are covering the west coast and interior.” She put her mug down. “I’ll get the latest draft for you to look at.”

  Joel took the papers from her a minute later and examined them carefully. “You’re very good at what you do.”

  “It’s a team effort. They have writers who visit the area and delve into the history and visit the popular tourist sites. Some of them double up as photographers, but otherwise a photographer will accompany them. I’m given the text and photos and follow a prescribed formula so the brochures all have the same look.”

  Joel nodded. “I’ve done photographic work for tourism projects. It’s interesting to see the next stage in the process.”

  Sarah pointed to the front of the brochure. “The information is all laid out in boxes which pick up on the colours in the photos. I love matching them up and getting the best effect possible.”

  Joel studied the brochure a little longer and when he looked up, Sarah saw uncertainty written in his features. That’s unusual. He’s normally so casual and confident.

  “I came here to ask you something.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” What in the world can it be?

  “I’ve been asked to do a photographic feature on the ferry that runs between Picton and Wellington. It’s a wonderful trip and very scenic ... ”

  “And …?”

  “I have tickets for two with all expenses paid. I wondered if you’d like to come along.” He paused. “It involves an overnight stay but we’d obviously have separate motel rooms … I thought you’d enjoy it and we’ll pass through Kaikoura and all the small towns you’ve been working on ... ”

  You’re nervous, Sarah thought. You’re not sure how I’m going to respond. “When are you going—and how long is the ferry trip?”

  The tickets are open for any day in the next fortnight—I’ll be watching the weather forecasts as I’ll need a clear calm day. It takes three hours to cross to North Island, and the drive from here to Picton is about five hours.”

  Sarah rested her chin in her hands, looking thoughtful but already knowing what her reply was going t
o be. “I think I’d enjoy that. Thank you for asking me.”

  The atmosphere relaxed as Joel smiled, regaining his normal easy-going attitude. “Sweet as. I’ve brought a couple of maps to show you the routes and places we’ll be passing through. I’ll get them from the car.” He pushed himself out of the chair.

  Sarah felt a wiggle of excitement inside her; a more positive feeling than she’d experienced in months.

  Joel arrived back with a handful of maps. “You look far away.”

  “I was just thinking about stuff. The thought of doing something different feels really good.”

  Joel smoothed out a map of the South Island. “Here’s Christchurch, and this is State Highway 1 that we’ll follow, up here.” He traced the road with his finger. “See how it runs slightly inland until just before Kaikoura? The scenery beyond there is amazing.” He sat back, excitement in his voice. “We’ll stop and look at the seal colonies—and there’re two tunnels cut straight through the rock. And the salt pans—they’re very unusual; and there’s dozens of vineyards, and of course, thousands of sheep.”

  His enthusiasm was contagious and Sarah pointed out the areas she’d been working on. “Kaikoura as you know, and Amberley and Cheviot, as well as some of the coastal reserves. Most of the places are small but they still attract droves of tourists. It’ll be great to actually see them.”

  An hour later, Joel picked up the maps. “I’ve got an early morning job tomorrow so I’d better get going.”

  Sarah walked him to the door. “Thanks for the invitation, Joel. I really appreciate it.”

  Her own tiredness had dissipated but she retired to her room anyway. Something had been nagging at her all week and Joel’s visit had been the final push she needed. Locking the door, she sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand under the light of the bedside lamp. Her engagement ring was beautiful; a simple band with a solitaire diamond in a swirl of gold. It sparkled as she moved her fingers, and sent tiny prisms of light dancing across the wall. Slowly, carefully she eased it off, feeling loss with every twist, every movement, a thousand memories stirring within.

  “I love you, Sarah. I want to spend my life with you. Please say you’ll marry me?” Luke had proposed on a Saturday afternoon while walking through Johannesburg Botanical Gardens. It was a perfect day, warm with a light breeze that ruffled the lake, sending lacy ripples across its surface.

  Oblivious of passers-by, Sarah melted into his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Definitely yes!” He slipped the ring onto her finger and the moment was frozen in time forever; preserved in Sarah’s memories like a fiery diamond preserved in the dark ground. It was as though she could still hear children laughing in the distance; still see the dragon fly skipping the surface of the lake, its body a quivering flash of violet; still feel the warmth of Luke’s skin.

  “I’m so sorry, Luke,” she whispered now as she slipped the ring into its box, a circle of golden fire against rich red velvet. “I really wish that things had turned out differently, that you were here with me. I’m going on a trip next week with Joel. I think you’d have liked him. The thing is, it will just be the two of us and it’s not right if I’m wearing an engagement ring; if I give the impression that we’re a couple.” Slowly, carefully, she closed the lid, her finger empty, heart bereft as tears slid down her cheeks.

  She slept that night with the velvet box cradled against her chest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I can’t wait to see the Marlborough Sounds. Photographs show them as emerald hills swelling from a sapphire sea, sprinkled with sunny diamonds. Perhaps that’s significant, somehow, for me.

  From the journal of Sarah Johnson

  Saturday 3rd May

  Sarah pulled back the lounge curtain and gazed across the garden, washed of colour by the milky grey light of the street lamp. Outside, frost stiffened grass into spikes and inside, condensation trickled down the window. It was nearly 6 a.m. and she thought she heard Joel. Sure enough, he pulled his lanky frame from the car and headed up the driveway, his breath soft puffs of mist that hung for a second before dissolving into icy air. Grabbing her bags, she went to open the front door.

  His face broke into a grin. “Good morning, Lady Sarah. You chariot awaits.”

  “Why thank you, Sir Joel.” A giggle escaped as he picked up her case and pretended to stagger.

  “Are you sure you’ve only packed for one night?”

  The streets were quiet and soon they were out of Christchurch, the road winding like a grey velvet ribbon towards silhouetted mountains and the first flush of dawn. They were both quiet and Sarah wondered what Joel was thinking about.

  “We’ll stop in Amberley to pick up some coffee,” he said eventually. “It’s just a few minutes from here.”

  Shortly afterwards, he pulled into a service station. The air was greasy with fumes and bacon but the coffee smelt good, and came with a swirl of cream and a sprinkling of chocolate.

  “Would you like a snack? I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’m going to get something …”

  Sarah ran her eyes across the display of food. “Those date and bran muffins look good.”

  Joel selected a lamb and mint pie, and paid for their purchases.

  “Are we going to eat here or in the car?” Sarah asked, hoping for the car. The tables in the dining area were scattered with crumbs and dirty plates.

  Joel followed her eyes. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on.”

  He reversed the car from the parking bay and turned back in the direction they had come. “We’re going to take a short detour, but you’ll love it.”

  Ghostly trees closed in on the road and the car shuddered as it hit a section of rippled tarmac. A few minutes later he pulled into a sandy parking area. “This is it.”

  “The beach?”

  “Yep. Grab your breakfast.”

  Sarah followed him out of the car into air salty and fresh with spray. The sea was hidden behind a bank of sand dunes and scrub and she scrambled over them, trying not to spill her coffee while watching out for knobby roots and grabbing branches. The air was frigid and her breath came in short bursts of steam.

  “Almost there,” Joel encouraged.

  Sarah stopped as she caught her first glimpse of the ocean. Cold smooth sand lay before her and half moons of foam and aqua reflected clouds tinged with apricot rims. She was silent for a long while, absorbing the incredible beauty.

  Joel touched her elbow. “Your coffee’s going cold. Come and sit on the rocks with me.”

  She followed him across the sand, noticing how their footprints disturbed the perfection, left a trace of who they were. The rocks were damp and icy and Joel spread out a plastic mat for her to sit on. “Awesome isn’t it?”

  Sarah nodded, swallowing mouthfuls of lukewarm coffee and eating as the stain of light changed from peach to red to golden. Each shade rippled across the sea, and reflections turned it into a liquid masterpiece. For the first time in months, Sarah wished she had her paints and a blank canvas with her. That she could come down here morning after morning and blend gold and amber, honey and lemon, and capture a glimpse of this winter kaleidoscope of beauty.

  Conversation blossomed as they returned to the car and started on the journey north. Joel pointed out landmarks and gave the background of each little town they passed through, and Sarah shared what she had learned through her job, and time slipped by.

  They’d been on the road for another hour when Sarah saw her: a portly woman on the side of the road, kneeling by a simple white cross. Her arm supported a mass of winter blossoms in pearl, lilac and gold, and a glass jar sat at the foot of the cross. She looked up and for a second her eyes locked with Sarah’s, a brief interchange, the touching of fragments of life.

  “Did you see that?” she asked, turning her head to Joel. “The cross, I mean. And the woman with the flowers. We do that in South Africa too. I wonder what happened back there?”

  “Did you leave a cross for Luke?” Joel asked carefully.


  Sarah stared out the window. “No. I believe his friends did, but I never went back there. Some people said I should, but I couldn’t do it. Not then anyway. I might now if I had a chance.”

  Joel looked across at her, a silent invitation to continue but she decided not to. Not yet, not now.

  They lapsed back into silence until the road left green hills and fluffy sheep to overlook the Pacific Ocean. The sky had cleared and although the air was chilled, the sun was warm through the filter of the windshield.

  “Kaikoura is just ahead,” Joel told her. “It’s about halfway between Christchurch and Picton. We’ll stop at one of the seal colonies for a quick look.”

  A few minutes later they were picking their way across flat slabs of grey rock, creased and crinkled by the perpetual motion of waves and wind. Seagulls strutted before them, pecking and searching rock pools for morsels to dine on.

  “There’s one!” cried Sarah, pointing to a shiny seal sliding from a rock into the surf.

  “Look carefully and you’ll see plenty over there.” Joel pointed to some rugged boulders to their right.

  Sarah adjusted her gaze and sure enough, a dozen or so seals came into focus, sleek and fat, lolling across the rocks, some dragging themselves along by their flippers. Joel caught her hand. “Let’s go a little closer.” He helped her over a swiftly flowing rivulet that sucked and sloshed as the waves crashed and receded against the rocks. Sarah held on firmly, relishing the contact; the firm touch of a man.

  It was noon when they drove into Picton, and her mind was full of the journey; the surging ocean, the salt pans stretched red and grey against green hills, and vineyards in soldier rows with shields of white netting. Picton was beautiful too; a little town nestled between glossy hills. Joel drove slowly, allowing Sarah time to take in the homes clustered in hollows, and the harbour which extended as part of the valley.

  “This is where my work starts,” he said. “I’ll be photographing each stage of the process, and taking notes as well. But the first thing we need to do is check in our bags.” He pulled the luggage out of the car and led the way into the terminal, where he confirmed their bookings. Sarah had never seen him in his professional capacity, and admired his easy manner with staff as he requested permission to photograph them and jotted details down in a large notebook.