Bridge to Haven

by Francine Rivers

  “Do you trust me?”

  She looked at him, studying his face. “Yes.” She took a shaky breath. “How did you ever find this place?”

  He knew delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to make things any easier for her. “Jack told me about it. He and Reka come out a couple times a year.” He stood and held out his hands. Hers were cold. “The owner is an architect. He lives in San Francisco and doesn’t get up here very often. So he rents the place out. There’s a nice stretch of beach right across the street. You’ll see it in the morning. We can take a walk whenever we want.”

  He drew her close, felt her body trembling. “It’s okay, Abra.” He spoke gently, his lips against her hair. “We’re going to take our time tonight.” Her heightened breathing against his throat aroused him. He brushed a few curls back from her temple. “We’re in no hurry.” This wasn’t going to be a drag race down a backcountry road, but the Indianapolis 500.

  “Oh, Joshua.” Her tone implied she knew better than he what to expect of this night.

  He lifted her chin. “I love you.” He kissed her the way he’d longed to do for weeks. She tasted like heaven, and he savored her. “I cherish you.” He took his time and felt her body relaxing, growing warm. She moved closer, and desire rose in him like a fire. He drew back a little, banking it. She gave a soft sigh, eyes closed. He unbuttoned her wool jacket and smoothed it back off her shoulders, then sucked in his breath sharply when she tried to unbuckle his belt. “No.” He captured her hands and drew them up over his shoulders. If she started touching him below the waist, it would all be over. “I want us to get to know each other.”

  “We already know each other, Joshua.”

  “I know your mind and heart, Abra. I want to know your body, what you need, what pleases you.” Her eyes flickered with surprise and grew moist. “I want to undress you. Are you ready for me to do that?”

  Abra gathered her courage and nodded because she couldn’t trust her voice to answer. Her skin burned under his fingers’ touch. He removed each layer, like layers of wrapping paper hiding a precious gift marked Fragile: Handle with care. He removed everything but his mother’s cross necklace, and then looked at her in wonder. When his gentle hands moved down over her, she shivered.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.” Was that throaty voice hers? Abra felt a sense of wonder, an inner assurance.

  Cast all your fears away, beloved. Everything was going to be different with Joshua.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His hands moved over her body. “So soft.”

  She drew in her breath as currents of warmth and sensation swept through her. When he smiled at her, she smiled at him. He took her hands and put them flat against his chest. She could feel the strong, fast beat of his heart. “Your turn.”

  Following his lead, she took her time. He trembled, too. When he stood naked, she ran her hand over the scar on his side. Leaning in, she kissed it. Michelangelo’s David could not compare to her husband.

  When they both stood face-to-face, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, she felt no shame, but only a sweet, urgent expectation opening like a flower inside her. He was so perfect, so strong, so beautiful, and she loved him so much her heart ached.

  She caught her breath at his strength when he swept her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing and carried her into the bedroom. She reminded herself how well she knew him. This was the boy she’d played with, the teen who’d teased her, the friend who’d driven her around town and treated her to hamburgers, fries, and chocolate milk shakes. This was Joshua, the man she loved. Joshua, the husband who was about to become her lover. He placed her on the bed.

  She touched his face as he leaned down over her, loving the planes, the light stubble of beard, his lips slightly parted, the warmth and sweetness of his breath. She gave a soft laugh and then gasped as he stretched out beside her—rough against smooth; hard muscle against soft curves. She felt herself retreat, and knew he felt it, too.

  “What do you need, Abra? What do you want?” He spoke gently, his eyes tender. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know.” She’d never been asked before, and she didn’t know what it would take for her to shed the niggling fear that kept trying to ruin this. “Joshua.” She said his name to remind herself. “Oh, Joshua, I’m sorry.”

  He put his fingertips against her lips and smiled tenderly. “We’ll figure it out.”

  And miraculously, he did. The coldness melted, and her body filled with voluptuous sensations. When Joshua finally slipped his hand beneath her head and drew her into the marital embrace, she was ready. A symphony began inside her when she looked into his eyes so tender and pleasure-saturated, as she touched his face.

  The surf pounded. She heard drums beating, the tempo quickening. The tension went deep, stretched taut, and then raised her up higher and higher until harmonious chords broke into exaltation. Suspended, she felt the exquisite resolution, the drifting like a leaf fluttering downward softly back and forth until it rested, spent, on earth.

  Joshua shifted his weight. “And God came up with this idea.” He gave a throaty laugh, nuzzling her neck as he rolled over, holding her on top of him. His hands ran down her back in a sweeping caress. “How do you feel?”

  Abra sighed and rested her head against her husband’s chest. “Born again.” Languorous and drowsy, she tucked herself close. “I think I could sleep for a week now.”

  “Then it’s time we went to bed.” Joshua rose and took her by the hand. He led her up the stairs to the observatory, where he’d made a bed of sheets and blankets.

  “I wondered how we’d stay warm.”

  “Did you? Look up.”

  Nestled in each other’s arms, they slept beneath the canopy of stars.

  Zeke waited a few days before he dropped by Joshua and Abra’s home to see how they were doing. He heard the faint sounds of someone who knew how to play a piano very well. Mitzi had surprised Abra with the gift of her piano, delivered and tuned while the newlyweds were on their honeymoon. Sounded like Abra was already putting it to good use.

  “Dad!” Joshua opened the front door. “Come on in. You haven’t been over since we got back from our honeymoon.”

  “I wanted to give you a little time alone.”

  Abra came to hug him.

  “I heard you playing. A piece I haven’t heard before.”

  “Just something I’ve been working on.” She asked him to sit and make himself comfortable. He took one end of the sofa, Joshua the other, while Abra perched on the arm beside her husband. His son looked happy and relaxed, Abra radiant. Zeke had never doubted Joshua and Abra would do well together. As they talked of ordinary things, he watched their interaction—a brush of fingers, a quick glance, an adoring look. They had used their honeymoon wisely. The faint shadow of doubt had left Abra’s eyes. They were clear now, sparkling, full of joy. She knew she was loved and could now love fully in return. The promise of what could be was being fulfilled.

  “I brought you something.” He handed the gift to Abra and watched her unwrap Marianne’s Bible. Would she remember she had returned it to him with instructions to save it for Joshua’s wife?

  Abra held it against her chest and smiled at him through shimmering tears of gratitude. “I’ll cherish it.” He saw she remembered everything, especially that her sins had been put as far away from her as the east is from the west.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nearer, still nearer, close to Thy heart,

  Draw me, my Savior, so precious Thou art;

  Fold me, O fold me close to Thy breast,

  Shelter me safe in that “Haven of Rest.”

  LEILA MORRIS

  JOSHUA AWAKENED when Abra moaned. She moved restlessly beneath the covers, as though in a struggle. She talked, but not distinctly enough for him to understand. He moved closer, touching her bare shoulder. “Abra.” She startled awake, panting. He rubbed her arm. “You were having a bad dream, honey.” Her breathing slowed and then she
started to cry.

  “Tell me.” He stroked her hair.

  She gulped. “I almost saw her face.”

  When she curled on her side, Joshua curved his body around hers in comfort. He rubbed the top of her head with his chin. “Whose face?”

  “My mother’s.” She shuddered a sigh.

  Joshua felt her breathing ease. He was tired, but if she wanted to talk, he’d listen.

  “I used to dream about the bridge and I’d be lying on the gravel, helpless and cold. I could see Dad up on the walkway, looking down at me, but I couldn’t cry out.”

  Joshua drew her closer. “He found you and brought you home.” He’d loved her the first time he saw her. He shifted his body, giving her room, and propped his head up on his hand. “Dad didn’t want to give you up.”

  “I know.”

  “We wouldn’t be married now if he hadn’t.”

  “I know.” She turned onto her side and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. “I’m glad he gave me to Peter and Priscilla.”

  “Mom and Dad.”

  “Yes.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Mom and Dad.”

  Abra woke up early without much memory of the nightmare and no desire to think about it. She’d gone to Dr. Rubenstein a week ago for a pregnancy test. Maybe it was keeping a secret from Joshua that made the nightmare come back. She hadn’t mentioned anything because she didn’t want to get Joshua’s hopes up. She had taken the life of her first child, and she wasn’t sure whether God would give her a second chance.

  She slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to awaken Joshua. She went into the bathroom, closed the door quietly, and turned on the shower. God had forgiven her. So had Joshua and so many others. Someday she’d meet her child in heaven. She wasn’t going to think about the past. She wasn’t going to wonder where she’d come from.

  She dried off, dressed, and brushed her hair. It had grown out to her shoulders, as red as it had ever been. She looked like herself again.

  She made coffee and turned up the heater so the house would be warm when she awakened Joshua. Drawing the covers off, she admired her husband’s body. He was fearfully and wonderfully made. She knelt on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss him.

  “Time to get up.” His eyes were sleep hazy. She kissed him again, lingering this time. He made a sound of pleasure and said she tasted like toothpaste. When he tried to pull her into bed, she pushed his hands away. “Ah, ah, ah . . .” She moved out of reach.

  “You started it.” He gave her a lazy grin and patted the mattress. “Come back to bed.”

  “It’s Monday morning. You’re going to be late for work.”

  Peering at the clock on the side table, he groaned.

  “You can always come home for lunch.” Laughing, she headed for the kitchen. “I’ll have breakfast on the table by the time you’re ready.”

  They prayed and ate together. He asked what she planned to do with her day. She’d be practicing piano and working on the music she was trying to write. Ian Brubaker would be over later in the afternoon to advise her. Other than that, she had plenty to do in the house and garden.

  Joshua gave her a lingering kiss at the door to the garage. “I’ll see you at noon.”

  Abra spent an hour reading Marianne’s Bible, then cleaned the kitchen, made the bed, started a load of wash. She debated going outside, afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear the telephone or get to it in time. But she had work to do in the garden. She had just opened the glass door when the telephone rang. She ran for it, catching it before the second ring.

  “Have you been sitting by the telephone for the last week?” Dr. Rubenstein chuckled.

  “Yes or no?”

  “The rabbit test said yes. You’re pregnant. I’m handing you over to Colleen. She’ll set up an appointment for you to come in for a complete checkup. We’ll figure out the due date.”

  “Thank you! Thank you!”

  He laughed. “Don’t thank me. Thank Joshua.” Colleen came on the line and asked if she’d like to come in on Wednesday.

  Abra danced around the living room. “Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, Jesus!” She wanted to call Joshua and tell him to come home right now, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to tell him the news over the telephone, and he’d think something was wrong if she said she needed him right away. It was ten thirty. She could wait an hour and a half. Couldn’t she?

  The doorbell rang.

  Door-to-door salesmen had been coming by all week. She’d already turned down a vacuum, a selection of Fuller brushes, and Avon cosmetics. She opened the door and gave a start of surprise.

  “Susan!” She’d never come by for a visit. “It’s nice to see you.” Remembering her manners, Abra pushed the screen door open. “Come in, please.”

  Susan hesitated for a second before crossing the threshold. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  “It’s a perfect time, actually.” The joy over the baby just kept bubbling up inside her. A baby! She was going to have a baby! “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, iced tea?”

  “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  Abra turned in the kitchen doorway and came back. “Are you sure? It’s no bother.”

  She saw the discomfort now, and felt an odd sense of impending doom. “Please. Sit. Be comfortable.”

  Susan sat on the edge of the sofa. She was trembling.

  Abra couldn’t imagine why the woman was so nervous. They’d talked many times when she was a high school girl hanging out at the diner. In fact, Susan had helped her make up her mind about Joshua. A thought popped into Abra’s head. “Did you come to talk about Dad? Everyone knows how much time he spends with you.” No wonder she was nervous. Rumors were rampant. She hoped she could put Susan at ease.

  “Everyone has the wrong idea about us.” Susan shook her head. “He’s been the best and only real friend I’ve ever had.” She swallowed hard, looking at Abra, and then looking away. “He wanted me to come, but I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Do what?” Abra leaned closer. Susan became more ashen with every second that passed. Her mouth trembled and her hands clasped so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

  Susan shifted on the sofa so she was facing Abra. From the expression on her face, she might have been facing a firing squad. “I’m your mother.”

  A chill spread over Abra’s body. “What?” She couldn’t have heard right.

  “I’m your mother.” Susan repeated it in a matter-of-fact tone, though her eyes betrayed fear. Bowing her head, she rushed on. “There’s no excuse for what I did to you.”

  Abra stood and retreated, heart pounding hard. Her mother? All her life, she had wondered about the woman who had given birth to her under the bridge and left her to die.

  But you didn’t die, did you? the still, small voice whispered inside her.

  Abra put a shaking hand to her forehead, trying to think. Susan Wells? She’d always liked her. How could she have done such a thing?

  Do not judge others . . .

  Abra clenched her fists. How dare she come into this house? Why today, of all days? I was so happy . . . She stopped, remembering why.

  The standard you use in judging is the standard by which you will be judged.

  The telephone rang.

  Susan jerked at the sound. “I’m sorry, Abra. I’m so very, very sorry.” She put her hands on the edge of the sofa and started to rise. “That’s all I came to say.”

  “It’s not enough!” Abra looked at the telephone and then at Susan. “You’re not leaving. You’re staying right there.” She pointed at the sofa as the telephone rang again and again, demanding to be answered. “You came and you’re not going until you tell me why!”

  The telephone kept ringing.

  “You can’t drop an atomic bomb on me and then just walk out the door! I won’t let you!”

  Susan sank, shoulders hunched. When the telephone finally stopped, the room echoed silence.


  Minutes passed. Abra clenched her fists and fought not to cry. When she finally had reasonable control, she spoke, her voice constricted with hurt. “Just tell me why?”

  Susan didn’t raise her head. “I’ve asked myself that question a million times. Anger. Fear. Shame.” Her hands clutched her knees. “Guilt.”

  “And you thought leaving a newborn baby under a bridge would make things better?” As soon as the words came out, Abra felt a sharp pang of guilt and heard the whisper in her mind again. What right had she to judge? Hadn’t she done worse? She put shaking hands to her head.

  “I’m sorry, Abra. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have, but it’s too late now. Isn’t it?” Abra felt like she was choking. She heard the screech of tires down the street. She glared at Susan through tear-filled eyes. “Why did you have to bring up the past?” She thought of Franklin and all his arguments against having a baby. She thought of riding through the night with him. She remembered the woman waiting in the back room of a shack in the coastal hills. She choked on a sob, and the look on Susan’s face mirrored what she felt.

  The front door opened.

  Joshua hurried in, worried something had happened to Abra. He’d had a bad feeling all morning and called home, but she didn’t answer the phone. He saw her standing in the living room, distraught, and knew something was wrong. He didn’t even notice that there was someone else in the room until he had reached Abra’s side.

  “Susan?” He looked from her to Abra again. “What’s going on?”

  Abra pointed an accusing finger. “She’s my mother.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

  Blushing, shaking, Susan stood. “I’m sorry.” All the color receded. “I’ll go. This was a mistake.”

  Abra took a step toward her and spoke in a fury of hurt. “You mean I was a mistake.”

  “No.” Tears welled and spilled down Susan’s pale cheeks. “No!”

  Joshua could feel the enemy in the room with them right now, and the enemy wasn’t Susan Wells. He saw Abra’s pain and anger, her confusion, and he saw Susan’s fear and misery. She was clearly ready to run, and if she did, Joshua knew she’d never look back. She’d just keep running, alone, into the wilderness.