Waiting for Morning

by Karen Kingsbury

  The cross towered above her, the beams as thick around as her waist.

  She stared up and imagined the Lord looking down at her, forgiving her for walking away. And finally, in that moment, the sorrow was more than she could take. She wrapped her arms around the cross and wept, loud, inconsolable cries for forgiveness. Slowly, humbled by the weight of her sin against God, her arms slid down the rough, wooden beam until she lay in a heap at the foot of the cross.

  Jesus had not stopped loving her when Tom and Alicia were killed. Life took place on the enemy’s ground. And the enemy would always allow drunk driving and senseless murder and evildoers like Brian Wesley.

  But there was more to the battle, and for a season Hannah had forgotten. Yes, this world was Satan’s domain, but God had already won the war. The enemy was no longer a threat to Tom and Alicia, for they were celebrating in the very presence of the living God. Tom and Alicia had only been on loan in a place that was never meant to last forever.

  Our citizenship is in heaven. … The words were a physical comfort to Hannah as one after another Scriptures filled her mind. She was only passing through, a foreigner in a strange land. Like all who followed Christ, whether she walked this planet eight years or eighty, it was only a journey. She wouldn’t ever really be home until she reached heaven’s doorsteps.

  She wept then, remembering the times she had rejected Jenny this past year and how she had allowed the girl to stumble through the most difficult time in her life with neither her support nor God’s.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry, Father. Please, don’t punish her for my sin …”

  When her weeping finally eased, she prayed—and it was as if she’d never stopped, as though there’d never been a distance between her and God.

  She was restored. By God’s grace and mercy, she’d been restored.

  Lord, I’m sorry. I don’t deserve her. But please, if it be your will, please … please let her live. She sniffed loudly and ran her fingers underneath her eyes. Come, Holy Spirit. Please come to me. And whatever happens, Father … Thy will be done.…

  Suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to read Scripture. She let go of the cross and rose to her feet, then made her way into one of the pews and opened a Bible. She fanned past the Old Testament, through Matthew and the gospels and on into Revelation.

  What did one read after being away from Scripture for an entire year? Lamentations. It was as though Carol Cummins was sitting beside her, whispering in her ear. Read Lamentations.

  Nodding, she flipped back into the Old Testament until she found the book written by the prophet Jeremiah. All year Hannah had resisted Carol’s advice to read this book. Now she devoured the words.

  Her eyes filled with tears once more when she reached the second chapter. “The Lord is like an enemy … my eyes fail from weeping, I am in torment within, my heart poured out on the ground because my people are destroyed … you summoned against me terrors on every side … he has turned his hand against me again and again … he has made my skin and my flesh grow old …

  Hannah thought of how her eyes had changed, how her features had grown hard and sour, how even the guilty verdict had not brought her peace. She bowed her head.

  “I can’t take anymore, God … Please … let her live.”

  “Hannah.”

  The voice came from behind her, and Hannah spun around, wiping at her tears.

  “Matt … what is it?” She grabbed the Bible and moved to meet him in the aisle.

  He took her hands in his. “It’s okay. It’s Jenny.” His eyes shone with joy, and Hannah’s heart leapt. “She’s awake, Hannah. She’s calling for you.”

  “Oh, dear God, thank you!” Hannah hung her head and cried. How was it possible for one person to produce so many tears?

  Matt pulled her close and stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Hannah. Come on … Jenny’s waiting.”

  She nodded, her face against his shirt. Then, the Bible still clutched to her heart, she walked with Matt back to her daughter.

  Jenny looked tired but alert, and Hannah rushed to her side, gently setting the Bible down near the girl’s feet. “Jenny, honey, are you all right?”

  Matt stood on the other side of the bed, his voice kind and concerned. “She hasn’t said much. Just ‘Mom.’ Dr. Cleary said that was normal.”

  Hannah lowered her face so it was closer to Jenny’s. “Oh, Jenny, I’m so sorry, honey. I’ve been awful … it’s all my fault.”

  Jenny swallowed and cleared her throat. “No.”

  “Honey, don’t try to talk. You need your rest.” Hannah stared into her daughter’s eyes and smoothed a wisp of bangs back off her forehead. “I love you, Jenny. Things are going to be different. I’m so sorry. I want us—”

  “Mom …” Jenny’s voice was hoarse. “Not your fault …”

  Hannah wanted to tell Jenny to rest, to sleep, but she could see the girl had more to say.

  “I wanted … to be with Daddy … and Alicia.”

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.” She rested her head on Jenny’s chest, holding the girl close. “I’m so sorry, honey …”

  They stayed that way a long time, until finally Hannah straightened and once again stroked Jenny’s blond bangs. “I understand, sweetheart, really. We’ll get help. For both of us. Things are going to be different.”

  Jenny nodded and her eyelids lowered. “At the end … I prayed. I wanted to live, Mom. Really. I love you.”

  Hannah wrapped her arms around the girl and held her close, whispering into her hair. “Thank God … thank God you’re alive.”

  Jenny’s eyes opened again, and her gaze was questioning. “God?”

  Across the room Matt grinned at Hannah. “God?”

  Hannah’s eyes glistened with old and new tears. “Thank God Almighty. I told you things were going to be different.”

  Jenny’s eyes filled with light, as if God, himself, had breathed new life in them. “Mr. Bronzan says you won.”

  Hannah looked deep into her daughter’s eyes. “Not really. Not ’til about an hour ago.”

  Jenny nodded. “I’m glad he’s guilty.” She glanced at Matt and then back to Hannah. “I’d like to go to the sentencing … if that’s okay with you.”

  Hannah felt her heart soar. Not because Jenny wanted to attend the sentencing, but because the girl was alive. And because after all that had happened, her daughter still loved her.

  Two hours later, Matt had gone home and Jenny was sleeping. Dr. Cleary had evaluated Jenny and determined that her recovery had been utterly miraculous. Judging by her vocabulary and clarity of thought, the girl was in the process of making a complete recovery.

  It was late, nearly ten o’clock, and the nurses had prepared a reclining chair where Hannah could spend the night. Now, with the lights dim and the hum of machinery confirming the fact that Jenny was alive and well, Hannah returned to Lamentations.

  Chapter 3 showed the prophet’s change of heart. He was no longer lashing out at God, accusing him. She read, curious—and suddenly her eyes stumbled onto something that made her catch her breath.

  “I remember my affliction … and my soul is downcast within me.… Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:… Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.… They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

  It was her hymn. She’d known it came from the Bible, but until now she hadn’t realized where. No wonder God had placed this book on Carol’s heart, knowing that therein lay the words to Hannah’s favorite song.

  The melody ran through Hannah’s mind, and she wept anew. Jenny was here, alive and well. They had their entire future ahead of them, and Brian Wesley was about to spend the rest of his life in prison. Indeed, God’s compassion would never fail her, his mercies were new every morning. Especially today.

  Hannah found even more hope at the end of the third chapter: “You have seen, O LORD, the wrong done to me. Uphold my cause!… Pay them back what
they deserve, O LORD, for what their hands have done.…”

  Hannah closed her eyes. God loved her and forgave her. He was going to help her. Brian Wesley was the enemy, the one who had wronged her. Now God would uphold her cause and see that Brian Wesley paid.

  She closed the Bible and stared at the ceiling. She could hardly wait for the sentencing.

  Thirty-three

  You have seen, O LORD, the wrong done to me.

  Uphold my cause!… Pay them back what they deserve,

  O LORD … And may your curse be on them!

  LAMENTATIONS 3:59,64–65

  It happened on the twenty-second straight night of dreaming about the accident.

  At four-thirty in the morning, hours before the sentencing of Brian Wesley, Sgt. Miller finally remembered.

  The moment he did, the sergeant’s mind was released from what had seemed to be a holy vice grip. Like a modern-day Jonah, he had a message to relay to Hannah Ryan—and the sooner he did so, the sooner he could get on with his life.

  He climbed out of bed, showered, and found his place at the dining room table. He wrote the note quickly, making sure to capture every detail.

  Then, for the first time in three weeks, he drank his morning coffee in peace.

  The cameras were back in full force for the sentencing.

  History had been made in the state of California, as evidenced by the articles and editorials that had filled the newspapers every day since the verdict. The facts were in place. Now it was time to capture the feelings.

  Hannah and Jenny sat in the first row beside Carol Cummins. Hannah surveyed the front of the courtroom, watching for Brian Wesley. Fourteen months had passed since he had mowed down her family, taken Tom and Alicia from her—finally she would look in his face and tell him how she felt about his actions that day. Her scrapbook sat in a bag at her feet.

  From what she’d read in Lamentations, Hannah was sure God would fight this battle for her. She had a right to her anger. If the prophet Jeremiah could rail against a wrongdoer without showing forgiveness, then so could she.

  Jenny slipped her hand into Hannah’s and squeezed. “Love you, Mom.”

  Hannah’s eyes locked onto Jenny’s, and she pulled her daughter close, gently kissing the side of her head. “Love you, too, sweetheart. Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

  Jenny nodded and shifted uncomfortably. “I know. I wanted to.”

  Hannah hugged her again and remembered earlier that morning. They had awakened at six o’clock, dressed in shorts and T-shirts, and headed for the middle school track where they walked three miles. It was a routine they’d started when Jenny got home from the hospital, and Hannah treasured every step they took together. That morning, Jenny talked about the collision and finally admitted to Hannah that she felt guilty.

  “Alicia had so much going for her, Mom,” Jenny said as they powered around the track. “It should have been me who died.”

  “The truth is … you both should have died.” Hannah was breathless, but she wanted to make a point. “Jenny … the only reason you lived … is because God has great plans for you. You’re a miracle, honey.”

  They walked in silence for a length, and then Jenny surprised her. “It’s good to hear you talking about God again.”

  Back at home, they shared breakfast and spoke little about the hearing. Hannah could sense Jenny’s uneasiness, and several times she assured her daughter that she didn’t have to go. Hannah could hardly believe she had berated Jenny so badly for not attending the earlier hearings. It was one of many areas the Lord had shed light on since Jenny’s suicide attempt. Hannah would be grateful as long as she drew breath for this second chance with her daughter.

  Judge Horowitz entered the courtroom, drawing Hannah’s attention back. She sat up straighter and wondered again why she still didn’t feel complete peace. She frowned. She could understand why the verdict hadn’t brought her peace … but neither had her restored relationship with the Lord.

  She felt a gentle prodding. Hannah, listen to me …

  She recognized his voice, the same sweet calling she’d relied on all her life before the accident. What is it, Lord? What else can I do?

  Maybe God wanted her to listen closely to the hearing. Maybe after Brian was sentenced she would finally realize that perfect peace—the peace that passes understanding.

  After all, this was her chance to face Brian Wesley before the court. She would tell him about Tom and Alicia. Then, when he was hauled off to prison fully aware of how much he’d taken from her … then she would have peace. Wasn’t that the message of Lamentations?

  Jenny glanced over and smiled weakly. “It’s almost time.”

  Hannah’s eyes locked onto the back of Brian Wesley’s head. “It’s something I have to do.” She turned to Jenny. “You understand, right?”

  Jenny hesitated, and Hannah saw how much she’d aged in the past year. She was not the carefree girl she had been when they pulled out of the driveway that summer day so long ago. Brian Wesley had taken that, too.

  “Yes, Mom. I understand. I’ll be praying for you.”

  The judge banged his gavel twice. “Come to order.” He hesitated a moment, glancing at the docket before him. “We will proceed with the sentencing of Brian Wesley, who has been found guilty of the crime of first-degree murder in the deaths of Tom and Alicia Ryan.

  “First, I want to state for the record that I have received a pre-sentence probation report on the defendant. Because of his history of alcoholism and driving under the influence, the probation department is recommending the maximum sentence, to be served concurrently with alcohol rehabilitation. The department advises that at such a time as Mr. Wesley should be deemed cured of his alcoholism—”the judge raised his eyebrows skeptically, then cleared his throat and continued—“At that time the department suggests Mr. Wesley should be released at the soonest, most reasonable opportunity.”

  Hannah tried to make sense of that and glanced at Matt. His eyes told her it was okay, and that was enough.

  “Also, I have a letter from—” the judge sorted through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for—“the defendant’s ex-wife. She asked that I read it for the record and I will do so now.”

  He held the sheet and read:

  “ ‘Dear Judge, My name is Carla, and I was married to Brian Wesley for many years. I am raising his son. I saw Brian drink a lot in our marriage, but he never raised a hand to me or our boy. He was not a bad man, even though he drank. I know what he done is wrong and he should be punished. But I would appreciate it if you would be kind and give him the least many years in prison as you can. Things are over between us. Little Brian won’t never know his Daddy.’ ”

  Hannah watched Brian hang his head. She huffed lightly and angry thoughts fought for position. Good. Grieve. I hope the boy forgets you ever existed. You deserve every moment of heartache.

  She couldn’t wait to tell him so.

  Hannah, listen to me.…

  What? I don’t understand, Lord. I’m listening as hard as I can.

  The judge finished reading and paused. “Under the California Victim’s Rights Act, I will now allow any victims who are present to speak.”

  Matt rose to his feet. “Mrs. Hannah Ryan would like an opportunity, your honor.”

  “Very well, let the record reflect that Mrs. Ryan, a victim, will be speaking next.”

  Hannah wanted to ask the Lord for strength, but it felt strange. She frowned at the odd feeling and instead squeezed Jenny’s hand and met Carol’s eyes. Then she reached for the scrapbook, headed for the witness stand, and took her seat.

  She stared at Brian and realized it was the first time she’d seen his face during the proceedings. Her eyes narrowed, and she saw Brian struggle beneath her gaze. A movement caught her eye, and she saw Matt cross his arms and study something on the floor.

  Hannah adjusted the microphone and stared at three pages of typed notes. Her anger was so intense it mi
ght well have been a visible shield about her.

  Careful, Hannah. The warning seemed strangely out of place, and she ignored it.

  She drew a thin breath. Her hands trembled, and she steadied the letter before her. “More than a year ago my husband, Tom, and my two daughters, Alicia and Jenny … left home for their annual camping trip. It was something they did every year at the end of summer. They were coming home on that August day when—”

  Suddenly a sob lodged in Hannah’s throat, and she lifted her eyes to meet Brian’s. For a moment all she wanted to do was spit at him or slap him or knock him down. She wanted to hurt him physically the way he’d hurt her. She caught a tear on her fingertip and continued. “They were coming home when you killed them. You didn’t care about who they were or where they were going when you killed them. So now I’ll tell you who they were. Because I think you need to know.

  “Tom was …” This was harder than she’d thought. She gulped and swiped at more tears. “He was the love of my life. We grew up side by side and thought we’d be … together forever.” Hannah glanced up; Brian was staring at his hands.

  “Look at me!” She leaned forward, clutching the stand. She wanted to cross the distance between them and—and—

  Her heart pounded as she recognized the truth. Her anger was about to explode into a fit of rage. She had to gain control, to say these things with dignity. She released a single breath and relaxed back into her seat, regaining composure as quickly as she had lost it. When she spoke again the anger was there, but it was contained once more. “I asked you to look at me, Mr. Wesley. You owe me at least that.”

  When he met her eyes, she paused, then flipped through her scrapbook and held up a photo of Tom. She spoke, not in a voice of sorrow, but of seething, carefully managed fury. The tears came in streams now, and she gave up fighting them. “Tom was all I ever wanted in a man. He was … he was my best friend.”