Bridge to Haven

by Francine Rivers

  Tell Abra I love her. I dream about her sometimes. Tell her I’m sorry I’m not writing much. The truth is, I don’t know what to say to her anymore. I live in a world so different from hers, and I don’t want to invite her into it. All she needs to know is I love her. I’m still doing my best to serve God and my country. I’m alive.

  I love you, Dad. Your words are my lifeline. They keep me sane in an insane world.

  Joshua

  Joshua wrote to Abra once from Japan, where he was on R & R. It was the longest letter she had received in months. He said he spent most of the time sleeping while others went out on the town. He’d put in for an extension of his tour of duty because he felt needed.

  Abra wrote back, furious that he was willing to cause everyone so much worry. She listened to the news almost as much as Peter. Talks of truce started in July, but by late August the Communists broke off negotiations and the Battle of Bloody Ridge hit the headlines. Peter thought the Communists were posturing for peace, but really just wanted time to recoup their losses. His concern proved true when fighting intensified, the peace negotiations having allowed time for the enemy to hide supplies in sandbag bunkers in their plan to take all of Korea.

  School started, giving her more to think about than piano lessons and obsessing about Joshua. Penny made the varsity cheerleading squad and spent most afternoons practicing new cheers. When the girls went to see The Day the Earth Stood Still, Abra kept saying, “Klaatu barada nikto!” over and over again because Patricia Neal couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say to save the world from the space robot.

  Meanwhile, the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge raged in Korea. Within weeks, three US divisions attacked Communist forces along sagging boundary lines and successfully drove the enemy back. Communist losses were so heavy, peace talks resumed at Kaesong. Abra didn’t hear a word from Joshua, but she knew things weren’t going well because Pastor Zeke looked gray and gaunt.

  1952

  Peter and Priscilla gave Penny a record player for her sixteenth birthday. Abra got sick of listening to Hank Williams singing “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and Rosemary Clooney’s “Come on-a My House.” In self-defense, she swam alone in the backyard pool. They saw High Noon, and Penny started wearing her hair up like Grace Kelly.

  Abra didn’t expect a birthday celebration, but Peter and Priscilla surprised her by inviting Pastor Zeke, Mitzi, and Mr. Brubaker to join the family for dinner. Mr. Brubaker gave Abra sheet music to the Broadway hit South Pacific. Mitzi had wrapped up her beautiful Spanish shawl. Penny gave her a Kit-Cat Clock. When she opened Pastor Zeke’s present, she found Marianne’s worn Bible wrapped in tissue paper. She opened it and saw Marianne’s neat handwriting in the margins; passages underlined, circled, and starred. When she looked up, she saw hope and moisture in his eyes. She thanked him, but she couldn’t lie and promise she’d read it.

  “And now, our gift.” Priscilla handed Abra a beautifully wrapped present. Removing the ribbons and papers, she found a blue velvet case with satin lining.

  Penny gasped. “Pearls! Oh! Let me see.” She reached for them, but Peter reminded Penny she’d gotten a nice record player. He took the pearls from the case and put them around Abra’s neck, securing the clasp.

  The evening wasn’t even over before Penny asked to borrow them when she went to The Quiet Man with Jack Constantinow, one of the varsity linebackers.

  “Not until I’ve had a chance to wear them.” Abra tried to make the words light, but she resented Penny’s assumption that everything in Abra’s drawers and closet belonged to her, too. When Priscilla brought in the birthday cake and told her to make a wish, Abra wished Joshua home from the war and blew out all the candles.

  Peace talks continued; small battles continued along the Main Line of Resistance. Losses mounted up as the negotiations dragged on.

  Joshua’s letters slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

  CHAPTER 4

  War is hell!

  WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN

  1953

  Sweat ran cold between Joshua’s shoulder blades as he rose and ran with his unit. Breech-loaded field guns boomed behind him, shells exploding. Muzzle-loaded mortars fired shells into enemy battlements, sandbags bursting, fire flashing, men screaming.

  A man went down in front of him. Another was flung backward, arms spread wide like wings. A sobbing soldier tried to haul a buddy to safety. Joshua helped him get over and behind the rocks. “Jacko!” the soldier wailed. “Jacko! Come on, man. Wake up! I told you to keep your head down.”

  Joshua didn’t need to check for a pulse. He snapped off the dog tags, tucked one in his pocket, and set the other between the man’s teeth.

  Joshua pulled the grieving soldier against his chest like a father comforting a child. The man leaned heavily against him, racked with sobs. An explosion hit so close, they were both thrown back. Joshua’s ears rang. He heard shouts and machine-gun fire. Rolling over, he saw the other man unconscious from the blast. He dragged him to safe cover and radioed for assistance. Within minutes two medics came up the hill with a litter.

  The smell of dirt, blood, and sulfur surrounded Joshua. The ground moved every time field guns fired. Something hit the side of his helmet. He felt a hard punch in his side.

  “Preacher!” someone shouted.

  Joshua skidded into the cover of rocks. One man leaned back, pale and panting, while two others fired their guns. Someone was screaming profanity as a machine gun spent dozens of rounds in the space of seconds. Shrugging off his own pack, Joshua peeled off the wounded man’s gear. He wiped moisture from his eyes and opened the man’s jacket and shirt to get to the wound and stop the bleeding.

  “Preacher.” Face covered with dirt and grime, the man’s eyes held relief and confusion.

  Joshua knew him. “Don’t try to talk, Wade. Let’s see what’s what.” He assessed the damage. “Shoulder wound. Missed your lungs. Thank God. You’re going home to your cornfields, my friend.”

  Joshua wiped his face again, and his hand came away covered in blood. He pulled a gauze pad from his supplies and jammed it up inside his helmet. One of the men threw a grenade. The explosion brought a rain of rocks and dirt. “Got ’em! Let’s go!”

  Joshua and Wade were left behind. Joshua tried to radio for help, but he couldn’t get through. The wounded man had passed out. Joshua shifted and drew in a sharp breath. His side burned like fire, moisture seeping into his waistband. Grabbing another gauze pad, he pressed it hard against his side to stanch the flow of blood, using a length of bandage to keep it in place.

  His radio crackled, then fell silent. No one was coming.

  The firing had moved farther away. He might make it down the hill if he went now.

  Joshua pulled Wade up and across his shoulders and staggered to his feet. He headed across the barren, rocky ground, avoiding pits, rocks, and detritus. Dog tags jingled in his pocket. How many had he carried in his pockets since stepping foot on Korean soil?

  He stumbled once and fell to his knees, pain shooting up his legs and back. Wade’s weight bore down on him like a sack of stones. Searing pain spread across his side. God, give me strength! The aid station had to be close. His vision blurred, but he thought he spotted the blacked-out school building and tents.

  Wade’s weight was lifted from him. Joshua hit the ground face-first. Strong arms lifted. He tried to walk, but his toes dragged as two men half carried him. Everything went black.

  “Abra.” Priscilla stood in the bedroom doorway. “Pastor Zeke is downstairs. He wants to talk to you.”

  Abra’s chemistry text and notebook bounced onto the floor as she flew off the bed and raced downstairs. Neither she nor Pastor Zeke had heard anything from Joshua in weeks.

  Pastor Zeke looked pale and drawn. Fear flooded her, anger in its wake. “He’s dead, isn’t he? Joshua’s dead.” Her voice broke. “I knew he’d get killed. I knew it!”

  Pastor Zeke gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “He’
s been wounded. But he’s alive.”

  Abra felt weak with relief. “When can I see him?”

  “He’ll be at Tripler hospital in Hawaii for a while; I don’t know how long. Then he’ll be flown to Travis Air Force Base. He’ll let us know when he arrives.” Half a day’s drive from Haven. She started to cry. She couldn’t stop herself. Pastor Zeke drew her into his arms. “He’s coming home, Abra.”

  She kept her arms at her sides. Pastor Zeke’s hand cupped the back of her head. She had forgotten how the sound of his heartbeat comforted. “Pray the war ends soon, Abra.” Pastor Zeke rested his chin briefly on top of her head before letting her step back. “For Joshua’s sake as well as all the other men in Korea.”

  The relief dissipated. “He’s wounded. They won’t send him back.”

  “We can hope the Army won’t listen to his request.” Pain flickered in Pastor Zeke’s eyes. He’d aged since Joshua left. His dark hair had streaks of gray. He’d lost weight. “It’s in God’s hands.”

  “All you ever talk about is God. You could tell Joshua to stay home and he’d listen to you.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can, but you won’t!”

  “That’s enough, Abra.” Peter spoke firmly. “Go to your room.”

  She ran out the front door instead, racing down the steps. She ran three blocks before the pain in her side made her slow down. Anger pulsed through her and she wanted to aim it at someone. Volunteer to go back? Was Joshua crazy? Did he want to die?

  Gasping for breath, she continued at a fast walk until she reached the town square. She sat on a bench, looking at the patio where Joshua had danced with her. No bands today. Summer was long over. Rain drizzled; dark clouds promised heavier ones coming. Her body cooled and she shivered. Bessie’s would offer shelter.

  Few customers came between breakfast and lunch. The bell jangled over the door as she went in. The dark-haired woman at the counter glanced up in surprise. What was her name? Susan Wells.

  “Can I have a drink, Mrs. Wells?”

  “Call me Susan.” She put crushed ice in a tall glass, filled it with water, and set it in front of Abra. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you all right?”

  “I’m all right. Joshua’s been wounded.” She gulped the water.

  “Pastor Zeke’s son. Nice young man. You’ve been in here with him, haven’t you?”

  “He’s my best friend. Or he was. I don’t know anymore. He hardly writes. He tells Pastor Zeke all the important stuff and just asks me a bunch of stupid questions.” She spoke in mockery. “‘How’s school, Abra? How are you getting on with Penny? Are you doing your homework? Are you going to church?’” She bit her lip to stop the rush of words, afraid tears would follow. Why was she rattling on to a stranger?

  “Maybe he doesn’t tell you some things because he knows you’d worry.”

  “I’m not going to worry about him anymore.” She drank the rest of the water and plunked the glass down on the counter. “I don’t care what he does. He can go to perdition for all I care.”

  “That’s usually what we say when we care a whole lot.” Susan gave a mirthless smile as she refilled the glass. “He’s a medic, isn’t he?”

  Abra slumped onto a stool. “He’s an idiot!”

  “How badly wounded?”

  “Enough that the Army is sending him home, but not enough to keep him from going back again!”

  “Oh.” Susan sighed, staring off into space. “He did look like that sort of young man.”

  “What sort?”

  “The sort that cares more about other people than himself.” She smiled sadly. “Not many men like that around anymore. That’s for sure.”

  Abra covered her face and gulped down a sob.

  Susan took hold of her wrists and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Abra. I’m so, so sorry.” She spoke so close Abra could feel the warmth of her breath. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that you’ve got no say in what other people do with their lives. Everyone makes their own choices, good or bad.”

  “I don’t want him to die.”

  Susan’s hands loosened and lifted away. “All you can do is wait and see what happens.” She put several napkins on the counter in front of Abra.

  Abra took one and blew her nose. “I’m sorry I’m making a fuss.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Abra looked out the window. No drizzle now, just a cold, hard, pelting rain. “Can I stay awhile?”

  “Stay as long as you want.” She put a menu in front of Abra. “You might feel better if you had something to eat.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “My treat.” Susan smiled. “Unless you want a steak.”

  Joshua felt fear bubble up inside him like soda in a shaken can. It made no sense. He was stateside and on a Greyhound bus heading home. Soon after he’d arrived at Travis, he’d tried to volunteer to go back to Korea, but he’d been told he’d have to reenlist. He prayed about it, but instead of feeling peace about returning to the front, he’d felt the strong pull to go home.

  Everything was so quiet, so normal, while inside, he felt anything but. He couldn’t stop thinking about the men still in Korea, still fighting, still dying. He felt like he’d gone through a meat grinder and been spewed out the other side.

  Most of the bus passengers slept. One snored loudly in the back row. Joshua dozed and dreamed he was running up a hill, his lungs burning for air, explosions going off to the right and left of him. He could hear screaming and knew he had to get to the wounded. He made it to the top and looked down into a valley of shadows and death—Americans, Koreans, and Chinese all tangled together. The air was filled with the stench of rotting flesh; the sky was black with circling carrion birds ready to feast. He fell to his knees, weeping, and heard dark laughter.

  A figure came out of the darkness, malevolent and mocking. He spread his wings, triumphant. I’m not done yet. This is just the beginning of what I will accomplish before the last day comes.

  Joshua stood. “You’ve already lost.”

  Ah, but then, so have you. You couldn’t save them all, could you? Only a measly few. This is my domain. I hold the power over life and death.

  “You’re a liar and a murderer. Get away from me!”

  The sneering voice came closer. I see you, Joshua. I see her, too.

  Joshua reached for his throat, but the creature laughed and disappeared.

  Joshua awoke, his heart pounding a war beat. No one stood beside his seat. No one was speaking to him. No incoming mortar shells blowing men to pieces. Just the screech of the bus brakes.

  He leaned back and stared out the window. He didn’t want to close his eyes again. He’d been on American soil for a month, but sleep still brought nightmares of Korea.

  Joshua breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. He cast his mind back, remembering. His muscles relaxed; his mind focused. You called and I answered, Lord.

  He felt warmth and stillness. And I call you again to lay down your burdens. I give peace, Joshua, not as the world gives, but a peace beyond all human comprehension. Abide in Me.

  The Greyhound bus pulled off the main road. Joshua saw Riverfront Park off to the left. His heart drummed with excitement as the bus crossed the bridge to Haven. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, the wheels whispered against the steel and macadam.

  Joshua leaned forward as the Greyhound pulled to a stop on Main Street, across from the town square. Joy burst inside him when he saw Dad standing on the sidewalk, and then a sharp stab of disappointment. He didn’t see Abra.

  “Haven!” the driver called out as he opened the door and went quickly down the steps.

  Joshua rose, straightening his uniform jacket as he made his way off the bus. Dad embraced him firmly. “You’ll see Abra in a few minutes. Peter and Priscilla insisted we come for dinner.” Dad took the duffel bag from his hand and led the way to Mitzi’s roadster parked around the corner.

  Joshua grinned as he sli
d in and closed the door. “Either you haven’t been driving this baby or you just had it washed and polished.”

  Dad laughed as he turned the key. The engine roared to life. “I thought it was a good time to give her a spin.”

  A Welcome Home, Joshua banner was stretched along the white picket fence. He saw cars parked up and down the street. Dread filled him. “What is all this?”

  “I’m sorry. You know what’s waiting for you and you’ll survive it. I tried to tell them to give you a couple of days, but people love you, Son. They want to welcome you home.” The parking space in front of the house had been reserved for them.

  Friends poured out the front door onto the porch to cheer and clap. Joshua barely made it around the car before they swarmed through the gate, surrounding him, hugging him, slapping his back. Priscilla cried and waved others ahead of her. Joshua took in the familiar faces: Mitzi, the Martins, Bessie and Oliver Knox, the Lydicksons. Jack and the crew he’d worked with.

  “Give the man room, folks!” Peter shouted. “Let him get inside the house!”

  And then Joshua saw Abra. His heart leaped when she came through the front door and stood on the porch. She’d grown taller and filled out while he was away. Even with a girlish ponytail, she looked like a young woman and not a girl anymore. Seeing her coming down the steps, he pressed his way between friends and caught her when she threw herself into his arms. “Joshua!” Arms wrapped around his neck, she pressed herself full against him. He drew in a sharp breath, caught off guard by the shock of sensations coursing through his body. She kissed his cheek. “I missed you so much!” Could she hear how hard his heart pounded against hers or feel the heat radiating through him?

  He set her down firmly and stepped back, forcing a laugh. “I missed you, too.” His voice came out tight and hoarse. He wished they were alone so he could talk to her. Her recent letters had been so cautious and cold. He hadn’t known what to expect when he came home—certainly not a welcome like this, not this heat in his belly, nor the racing blood.