He let out a loud laugh. “I didn’t realize you’d made that a habit, Miss Anniston.” He rubbed a hand over his hair and turned the back of his head toward Emma Grace. “How do I look? Is my hair combed?”
Emma Grace enjoyed watching the two of them spar.
“Oh, pshaw.” Ruth huffed and gave Frank a look any good schoolteacher would be jealous of. “You do like to goad me on.”
“I’m always up to the challenge.” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them. “Well? Are you too good for the likes of us?”
“I’m perfectly content where I am, thank you very much.” Back ramrod straight, she folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin.
It all made Emma Grace laugh some more. “You two are incorrigible. How long have you known each other?”
Frank gave a wide grin. “She’s had to endure my antics for at least a year.”
“Two,” Ruth corrected. It looked as if she had to really work to not crack a smile.
“Forgive me. Two.” Frank gave an even more dramatic expression as he pronounced the word. “When I discovered we’d both been assigned to the El Tovar, well, that just made it all the sweeter. She’s always correct, you know.”
Emma Grace put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
Frank laughed with her and then handed her the book that he’d been holding. “I know you’ve been hurt and that you’re searching for answers. But I want to be your friend. So, as a friend, I didn’t want to preach at you, but Ruth approached me this morning after our service and said you might need to hear about these verses on fear. And since Spurgeon is a much better theologian than myself, I thought it’d be best to just lend it to you so you can read it for yourself. You’re a big girl, capable of making your own decisions.” He got up to stand. “Take care of it. It’s one of my most prized possessions.”
“All right. I will.” She pulled the book to her chest.
“There’s a bookmark in there to show you Psalm fifty-six. I talked about verses three and four this morning.”
“Thank you.” She looked at the spine. The Treasury of David by C. H. Spurgeon. Volume III.
“Would you care to join me for a walk, Miss Anniston?” His voice was kind and teasing.
“I’d be delighted.” Ruth laughed. “Oh, won’t the rumors fly now. We’ll be back in a little bit, Emma Grace.”
“All right,” she called after the two. How interesting that they left her in peace. No lectures. No smooth words trying to convince her of something. Nothing. Just a book.
She turned the volume over in her hands. The gold lettering reminded her of all the books neatly displayed in the library at home. Her father collected nice editions not to read but to keep on the shelves to impress people. Even though this book was a lovely edition, she could tell it had been read a good deal. Pored over.
Getting to her feet, she decided to go back to the bench and sit, not wanting to take any risk of dropping the precious book over the edge of the canyon. It had been kind for Frank to leave it with her.
She opened the book to where he’d placed a satiny bookmark. In pencil, there was a line underneath verse three and verse four.
Out of respect for her friends, she lifted her face to the sky. All right, God. I asked You to hear me. Now I guess I need help understanding. If You’re really there.
She began to read.
Verse 3. What time I am afraid. David was no braggart, he does not claim never to be afraid. . . .
Marking the spot with her finger, Emma Grace puzzled over it. And then she read it again. For some reason, she’d thought that everything she’d heard from the sermons of her youth didn’t talk about anyone being flawed, afraid, or sinners. Christians were expected to be perfect and thus show the world that they were perfect. But David—King David—was afraid? It gave her a sense of comfort.
She read on.
We are men, and therefore liable to overthrow; we are feeble, and therefore unable to prevent it; we are sinful men, and therefore deserving it, and for all these reasons we are afraid. But the condition of the psalmist’s mind was complex—he feared, but that fear did not fill the whole area of his mind, for he adds, I will trust in thee. It is possible, then, for fear and faith to occupy the mind at the same moment. . . . It is a blessed fear which drives us to trust.
She left her finger on the page and closed the book. “It is a blessed fear which drives us to trust.” She spoke the words to the wind. “God, I don’t know how to trust. I shut that door a long time ago. But I do want courage. I don’t want to live in fear.”
It came naturally to be talking to God. Even though she wasn’t convinced He was listening. Was she doing it right? She opened the book back up and another sentence jumped off the page.
To trust when there is no cause for fear, is but the name of faith, but to be reliant upon God when occasions for alarm are abundant and pressing, is the conquering faith of God’s elect.
If she remembered the stories from Sunday school as a child, David—before he was king—had been best friends with the king’s son. And when that king found out that David was to succeed him, he tried to kill David. Sitting here now, Emma Grace realized that David must have been not only afraid but also hurt. And he probably didn’t trust easily either, not after that.
What a difference in Mr. Spurgeon’s writings from the words that had been yelled from the pulpit in her youth. It was a connection she’d never felt before. If the Bible was really like what Mr. Spurgeon wrote about, she found herself wanting to read more. But she didn’t have a Bible of her own. Not anymore.
The verse Ruth shared with her repeated in her mind. I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. Could it really be that simple?
All right, God. I don’t know what to think, but I can’t ignore You. I asked You to hear me. I’m really trying to seek You. So now, I’m going to ask for deliverance from my fears too. I know I’m not good enough to deserve Your favor, but I’m tired of trying to do it on my own.
The afternoon sun was warm on his face as Ray strolled over to the Hopi House. Even though the inside was closed on Sundays, many of the Hopi people were outside showcasing their crafts to the guests.
As he rounded the corner to the north side of the building, he was surprised to see Emma Grace seated on the ground with several Hopi children, while another woman looked over her shoulder.
“No, no, no.” The woman’s black braids swung back and forth as she picked up Emma Grace’s project. “Over, under, around, and then through.” Her fingers moved with precision.
Emma Grace’s forehead had a deep V etched in it. “Hmmm. It seems I’m always forgetting one of those steps. One of these days, I’m going to be able to keep up with Sunki.” She smiled down at a little girl beside her.
“I’m afraid that will take much practice.”
Ray couldn’t help but chuckle and then all eyes turned to him. “My apologies, Miss Edwards.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but her smile was still there. “Maybe you need to show us how quickly you would pick up on this art.” The challenge in her words was wrapped in laughter.
Two of the little Hopi girls waved him over.
How could he resist? As he stepped over to them, he realized he was the only gentleman around. But what did it matter? The children coaxed him to sit, and without giving it another thought, he plopped himself onto the ground with them. “Where do I begin?”
The Hopi woman pointed to herself. “I’m Chuma. I will teach you.”
Emma Grace raised her eyebrows. “Good luck.” She held up what appeared to be the start of a small basket. “You don’t want to know how long it has taken me to get this far.”
Ray rubbed his hands together. “I’m excited to learn.”
“It’s much harder than it looks.” Miss Edwards was back at it, her focus narrowed on the reeds in her hands.
Chuma came over beside him and sat down. “This”—she demonstrated—“is how to we
ave.” Her fingers flew so fast that all he could do was blink. “See?”
“Oh, I see very well.” He raised his eyebrows. “But I do believe you might need to show me that one more time. Slower. Much slower.”
Laughter floated around him as the Hopi children covered their mouths with their hands.
Miss Edwards’ little friend Sunki leaned toward him. “Chuma teases you.”
He looked up at the Hopi woman, and she winked at him. “I am sorry Mr. . . . ?
“Watkins. But please, just call me Ray.”
“Mr. Ray.” She smiled broadly at him, showing a missing tooth on the bottom. “I like to tease. I will go slower. Now watch.”
Twenty minutes later, he’d watched over and over again as she demonstrated. But to his great frustration, he hadn’t been able to get any of the reeds to do what he wanted.
He looked over at Emma Grace. Her face was serious. Studious. She hadn’t made a lot of progress since he sat down, but it was a lot better than what he was doing. Leaning closer to her, he whispered, “How long did it take you to get that far?”
She blew out a breath and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “This is probably my fourth or fifth try. This one is less crooked than the others, so I’m determined to at least finish it.” With a glance to the materials in his hands, she smiled. “I see you’re struggling to get it started.”
“That, Miss Edwards, is an understatement.” He offered up his meager handful of reeds.
“Oh no. It’s a badge of honor once you get it going, I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.” Merriment twinkled in her eyes.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely.” She nodded at the girls in the circle around them. “You should have seen how many times I’ve been outdone by a five-year-old. It’s your turn.”
As if on cue, the smallest girl of the bunch stood up and sidled up next to him. Shaking her head, she giggled. “You need help.”
“Apparently so.” He laughed along with her.
Two little chubby hands took his and directed his fingers to hold the reeds between. Then the little girl deftly wove together the bottom of a small basket. It took her barely a minute. “You do it now.”
His heart cinched when the little girl stood up and patted his shoulder. Taking her place back with the others, she didn’t even look back. Ray watched them interact with one another and continue weaving. Marveling at the creation in his hands, he realized he better finish it. Or at least attempt to. But that might take a year.
“They’re beautiful people, aren’t they?” Emma Grace’s words were hushed, and she never lifted her eyes from her own work.
“Yes, they are.”
11
For the first time in days, sleep had come last night uninterrupted. If anything was a sign that God had heard her prayers, it was that. At least, that’s what Emma Grace told herself. The past five years of her life had been lived in a prison of her own making. Always running. Always looking over her shoulder. Never being . . . Emma Grace.
Well, that was going to change. Whether she would feel this brave tomorrow was doubtful, but today she could embrace it. At least for a few hours.
She smiled as she pulled her hair back into a snug knot. Today was a new day. A glorious day. She was going down into the canyon.
A knock on her door pulled her from her musings. She opened it a crack. “Good morning, Ruth.”
“Aren’t you chipper today. Looking forward to your day off, I see.” The smile on her friend’s face warmed her. Then Ruth leaned forward and gave her a brief hug. “I’ve been praying for you.” It had been a long time since anyone had hugged her. A real hug. Full of caring and camaraderie.
“Thanks.” Emma Grace reached for her glasses and put them on to try and cover up the emotions that had stirred within her. “I definitely feel different. I want to get rid of this fear I’ve been carrying around for so long. I’m tired of it.”
“I imagine you are.”
“But it’s so very real. I admit I keep saying that verse over and over in my head. If God is there, I have a feeling He’s going to get tired of me real soon.” She gave her friend an awkward grin.
“Not at all. He never tires of any of us.” Ruth shook her head and made a silly face. “If He did, He would have given up on me a long time ago.”
“I highly doubt that. You’re the epitome of a good person.”
Ruth doubled over with laughter. “That’s only because you’ve never seen my ornery side. Or my fiery temper. Besides, being a good person has nothing to do with it. If it did, then we all fail. Jesus didn’t come to be the sacrifice for us all because we were good. He came because we aren’t good. Not one of us. But He loves us anyway.”
That was odd. Everything she’d ever heard preached was about being good. Doing good works. Measuring up. Good good good.
“You look confused.” Ruth patted her arm.
“What you just said goes against everything I’ve heard preached about religion and God. I have a lot of questions.”
Ruth glanced over at the clock. “Look, you need to meet up with the others, and I need to get to work. We can chat more about it tonight over tea. How does that sound?”
She gave a nod. “Thanks. My gratitude for all you’ve done for me has been sorely lacking in words. But know that in my heart it’s there.” Emma Grace grabbed Ruth’s hand. “I needed a friend. And you’ve been there. The fact that I actually feel happy this morning—even with all that’s going on—is incredible to me. I don’t know whether it’s because of our conversation, reading the book that Frank left with me, or even my feeble attempts at chatting with God, but my outlook is different. I’m ready to live. Actually live.”
“Go have fun today, Emma Grace. Enjoy the canyon. But you might be needing this.” She reached out the door and lifted a basket. “I talked to Frank and he had a couple of others in the kitchen put together a nice picnic for all of you. So he’ll have that in his pack, but I got up early this morning to prepare one of my mother’s special treats. She called them pumpkin cakes.” She grinned. “Chef was good enough to let me have use of one of the ovens. Now, you’ll want to transfer it into a pack because you won’t want to carry a basket down the trail, but the guys should have one with them.”
“How thoughtful! Thank you.” The delight on Ruth’s face when she was the one who’d sacrificed sleep and time warmed her heart.
“You’re welcome. Now go. Have fun.” Ruth waved and scurried down the hall.
As she locked her door, she couldn’t help but smile. She had led such a lonely life for the past few years. Now, everything had changed.
“Good morning.” Caroline’s voice brought her attention up.
“Good morning to you. Are you ready?”
She lifted her arms at her sides and put them back down as she grimaced. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Emma Grace hooked elbows with her as they headed upstairs. “I’ll be right there the whole time, so if you need to hold on to me, you do that. All right?”
“I’ll be fine. If I want to conquer this fear of heights, I’ve got to face it head-on, right?” Caroline let out a nervous giggle.
She nodded, not letting on that the words struck her like an arrow in her gut. As they walked out of the hotel, Emma Grace realized that the younger waitress had struck the nail on the proverbial head. If she truly wanted to conquer her fear, she should be facing it . . . shouldn’t she? How would she go about doing that? Was she brave enough?
“Anyway, I had to change my apron twice yesterday. I couldn’t believe that two different men spilled their coffee on me.” Caroline’s light chatter drifted into the chilly morning air. She tugged on Emma Grace’s arm. “Have you even heard a word I’ve said?”
“Of course!” She looked at her friend. “Well, maybe not all of it. I’m sorry. My thoughts ran away with me for a moment.”
“That’s all right. We work such long hours that there’s ofte
n not enough time for our own thoughts or to talk with each other. It’s nice to have a day off.”
“I agree.”
“I tend to prattle on about anything and everything. My mom is always telling me so. I don’t want to make a fool of myself with the rest of the party, so will you do me a favor and poke me or nudge me if I start talking too much?”
“Of course.” With a smile, she looked at the young woman. Her bright yellow dress was lively—just like its wearer. “You look so cheery in that color.”
“Thank you, Emma Grace.” Caroline beamed a smile back. “While we’re on the subject, I was wondering why you don’t wear much color. You would look wonderful in a blush shade of pink, don’t you think?”
“Um, no. I’m not fond of pink.” The subject needed to be changed. Fast. “You haven’t told me anything about your family. Do you have any siblings?”
Caroline’s face lit up. “I have a little brother. We all dote on him.” Her smile dimmed a bit. “But he’s been sick.”
“I’m so sorry. Where do they live?”
“Back in Kansas.”
“Is it hard to be away from them?” Family dynamics were such a conundrum for her. Over the years, she’d heard plenty of Harvey Girls speak lovingly about their families, and it always fascinated her.
“It is. But I can help by bringing in a good income.” Caroline sent her a smile. “What about you?”
“Look, here’s the trail.” Emma Grace pushed aside the question and pointed up ahead. Perhaps it would keep Caroline distracted from her question.
Mr. Watkins and Mr. Henderson stood by a building that looked as if it were perched on the very edge of the canyon and could slide in at any moment. On the left side of the house, hanging over a well-used path, was a sign reading Bright Angel Toll Road. It was attached to the building with a post on the other side, making an “entry” to the trail.
Emma Grace read aloud a smaller sign on top of the post, “‘Footmen will please stay on trail except when passing animals.’”
“As if I would want to get off the trail for any reason! Heavens, how adventurous can people be?” Caroline’s brows rose so high, they almost touched her hairline.
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