Water Walker (The Full Story, Episodes 1-4)

by Dekker, Ted

  But none of that had prepared me for the exhilaration that had swept me away in the field with Paul the previous afternoon. I spent the rest of the evening and the following morning walking as if I were on a cloud, heart throbbing with feelings I hardly knew existed.

  Though I tried, I couldn’t hide my excitement from Mother. But she was in quite a good mood herself and thankfully didn’t press beyond a question or two as to why I went about with a smile on my face, humming.

  I felt a little guilty for keeping my love for Paul to myself—after all, I had vowed to tell Mother if I was ever even tempted to be romantic with anyone.

  But I was eighteen now, you see? That gave me certain rights. I was old enough to handle my guilt directly with God and not through my mother. And I didn’t think he minded that I was in love with Paul.

  That’s what it was, right? Love. The thought made me dizzy. And if just a small kiss on my cheek felt like heaven, I wondered what being married to Paul would feel like. Didn’t all girls my age think about marriage? They must, surely, and God had created marriage so he must not mind.

  I couldn’t remember a time when the whole family had been so happy. Bobby was happy because I was happy. Wyatt was happy because Kathryn was happy. Kathryn was happy because Zeke was happy. Zeke was happy because God had blessed us all with a lot of money, or so I figured.

  Mother was in such a good mood, in fact, that when I told her I was going to go for a walk alone during my free time, she only gave me a word of caution to stay clear of any trouble and seemed satisfied with my assurance that I would.

  That was how I ended up on the gravel road for the second day in a row, this time without Bobby, who was occupied with building a miniature fort out of small wood blocks in his room. It was about ten minutes after four and I was a bundle of nerves, mostly good ones.

  Taking that quarter of a mile walk all alone was unnerving, sure—the swamps were on either side and there was no one to warn me of any danger, like an alligator. But again, it was only like stepping out of the boat. I was a water walker now, wasn’t I? That meant facing my fears to reach the shore.

  But this time that shore was Paul and my stomach was full of butterflies. Good butterflies. Wonderful ones that made me lightheaded with exhilaration. It was strange how only a few days ago I had tortured myself for the very thoughts that now excited me so much. It was like a dam had burst and suddenly my life was flooded with newness.

  I imagined the man from my dream would approve, even if he was just a figment of my imagination. Or maybe my true self, speaking some truth into myself.

  The edge of the field came into view and I picked up my pace.

  If the Outlaw could see me now, he would say, “Jika jika jawa, Eden! Look at you go!”

  And what would Mother say? But I already knew the answer to that, didn’t I? She didn’t like . . .

  I saw the big black truck then, sitting out in the middle of the field, and I stopped cold. Zeke’s truck.

  My heart began to pound like a fist. I quickly glanced along the tree line, but didn’t see Paul. Only Zeke, sitting behind the steering wheel, watching me.

  My first thought was to run, because Zeke could only mean trouble. He’d come to punish me.

  But that thought left as soon as it came, because I’d never been the kind to run from anything. I’d learned to face whatever was in front of me—it was better to pay the price than invite even more trouble.

  Besides, who was to say that Zeke being here was trouble? Sure, the man made me cringe because I knew that he was the closest thing to God on earth and God always made me cringe. But maybe Zeke had come to thank me for my blessing.

  That’s what I told myself as I started toward the truck, too afraid to dare think anything else.

  The driver’s door swung open when I was twenty yards from the truck, and I stopped again, feeling totally exposed.

  You shouldn’t have come, Eden. You see what happens when you cross the line?

  There was still no sign of Paul—only Zeke, who slowly climbed out of the truck, dressed in black slacks and a black button-down shirt. He didn’t look at me. He just walked around the crew cab to the back passenger door, and opened it. Then reached in and gave a hard yank.

  Paul stumbled out of the truck, held up by Zeke who gripped his collar. I recognized him by his body and his hair but not by his face because it was swollen and bruised.

  The blood drained from my face and I suddenly felt as though I was going to throw up. Paul’s right eye was swollen, and there was a gash on his cheek, dried shut with blood.

  He’d been beaten. Badly. His father had discovered our secret and had punished him. In the space of one breath, my whole world came crashing down around me because I knew that I had done this to Paul.

  Zeke hauled Paul toward me, still holding him up by his collar as if he was nothing more than one of my straw dolls. He stopped by the front of the truck, eyes now burning a hole through me.

  Paul was staring at the ground with his one good eye.

  “Take a good look, Eden.” Zeke’s voice was calm and cut straight to my heart. “I can’t say that I’m surprised by Paul; he always was a rebellious little turd. But I’m deeply disappointed that you so fall so easily.”

  I felt myself shrinking away to nothing under his glare. Guilt, the kind that made me feel like a worm, wiped away all of the courageous thoughts that had filled me with such happiness just a few minutes earlier. In that moment, I hated myself. It was all my fault. I should have known better.

  Zeke jerked Paul backwards, nearly off his feet.

  “Get back in the truck.”

  Paul stumbled toward the cab, limped around the open door, and disappeared inside. He’d been too afraid to even look at me. I lifted my eyes to take in Zeke’s hard stare as he strode toward me.

  He’s going to do the same to you, Eden. He’s going to punish you and he should.

  Zeke stopped within arm’s reach, towering above me.

  He’s going slap you hard and hurt you bad.

  But as I stared up into his eyes, ready for what I deserved, his face softened. His mouth formed a thin line—a half-smile.

  He lifted his hand and gently brushed my hair back from my face. “You’re a very pretty girl. I wouldn’t think of hurting you.” He paused. “No. No, that wouldn’t do.”

  Zeke lowered his hand.

  “Do you know why I punished Paul?”

  I didn’t think I could talk; my throat was in a knot.

  “Please don’t be rude, Eden. Answer me when I speak to you.”

  I tried to tell him, but had to clear my throat. When I did speak, my voice sounded distant and frail.

  “Because he disobeyed you.”

  “And why is that a problem?”

  “It’s disobeying God.”

  “That’s a good girl. You see? You do know better.” He paced to his right, hands held loosely behind his back. Mine were trembling by my sides. I was already shutting down my mind—I had long ago learned that it was the easiest way to endure what couldn’t be avoided.

  “I give you an inch and you take a mile. Is that how a child of God returns their gratefulness for his blessing?”

  He paced back to his left, eyes back on me.

  “No, I don’t think so. Clearly, you need to be reminded of a few things. The first is that I know everything that happens. Everything. There’s nothing wrong with an innocent kiss, now is there? But breaking a rule isn’t innocent. One rule becomes two and before you know it, you’re burning with the rest of them. But you already know that, don’t you, Eden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir.” He flashed a grin. “You see, already you’re breaking more rules. So let me put this in very simple terms for you. Without me, you would be nothing. I gave you your life back and provided a way for you to bless us all in a very significant way. But with great blessing comes great responsibility. You, of al
l people, know that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I trusted you, Eden. I entrusted you with my son, thinking it would be a nice gift on a day of such blessing, knowing that you would never break the rules. And yet here we stand.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I felt like dropping to my knees and begging his forgiveness.

  “I . . . I won’t do it again. I promise . . .”

  “No, of course you won’t. You won’t see him again until I’ve determined that you know your place.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The thought of not seeing Paul again struck a new fear in my heart.

  “I’ve decided not to tell your mother of your indiscretion. God knows she wouldn’t take it well. So we’ll keep this between us. Consider it my small gift to you, however undeserved.”

  A measure of relief washed through me.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But if you so much as take one misstep in the next thirty days, that changes. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t be so selfish, Eden. Think about the rest of us for a change. You saw what happened to Paul. Think of your mother. Think of me. Think of God.” He eyed me, steadfast. “Think of Bobby.”

  I could not mistake his veiled threat. If I disobeyed, he would hurt Bobby.

  I think something deep in me snapped then, thinking of Zeke laying his hands on Bobby. It was just a subtle shift, but I felt a small part of my guilt turn to anger.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re surrounded on all sides by swamp and alligators—the only way out is by my good grace. Earn it and maybe one day I’ll give it to you. In the meantime, you will be a good little girl and follow your mother to the letter as God has instructed you to do. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zeke looked at me as if trying to decide whether or not he could trust me. Not just a moment or two, but a silent spell that stretched out until I thought he might change his mind and punish me anyway.

  When he spoke, his tone was soft.

  “Have you ever seen one of those pictures of a shepherd carrying a lamb around his neck? A soft white lamb over the shoulders of a strong caretaker in a brightly colored robe.”

  I’d seen one of Jesus like that.

  “Yes.”

  “What most don’t realize is that the shepherd has an errant lamb on his back. One that tried to break out of the flock and in so doing lead others astray. So, if the shepherd is good, he does them all a favor. He breaks the lamb’s leg so that it can’t go astray. That’s why he’s carrying the lamb around his neck.”

  Zeke’s right brow arched.

  “When you get tempted to feel sorry for yourself, think of that lamb, Eden. All that I do, I do in yours and the flock’s best interest. Can you accept that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Consider this your final warning.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew the straw doll that I’d given to Paul, and calmly twisted the head off as I watched. Then he dropped it on the ground, broken and torn.

  “Paul won’t be needing this anymore,” he said.

  And he left me like that, staring after him with my doll at my feet.

  18

  IT TOOK all of my courage to present myself at peace when I got home after seeing Paul beaten at the field that afternoon. I didn’t dare show the slightest concern, because Mother had a hawk-eye for my disposition and would immediately begin digging. So I smiled as best I could, ate supper with the family, and thankfully retired to my room for my evening prayers.

  But inside I was falling apart. Kathryn had never beaten either me or Bobby. She was stern to the bone, don’t get me wrong, but she used words, disciplines and rituals, not her hand, except around my throat to push me under the water each week. Seeing Paul beat up terrified me.

  Alone in my dark room, I wept for him. For me. For us. It felt like God had immediately and forcefully yanked back his blessing, which had been Paul. And why? Because I’d disobeyed. So I lay in bed sobbing silently into my pillow, begging him for forgiveness.

  But there was more than just guilt and sorrow in my heart. I was angry at Zeke.

  He could have put Paul in a closet for a day or something instead of beating his face with his fist. God might do that and more, sure—he sent people to hell, didn’t he? And Zeke was his prophet on earth, sure, so he could be God’s voice. But no matter how much I prayed for forgiveness that first night, I couldn’t get the anger out of my heart.

  Which scared me, because it was the first time I had really struggled with anger.

  And the next day was even worse. I still went about my chores and rituals with a calm face, but inside my anger began to boil.

  So I prayed even harder. I repeated my prayers with more intensity. I took an extra shower that night, with the water extra hot. When Mother asked why, I told her that I wanted to be extra pure because things were different now that I was eighteen. She smiled and told me how proud she was of me.

  The third day after Paul’s beating, my anger finally began to calm down and I knew that God had finally heard my prayers. But as my anger settled, my sorrow for Paul only grew worse, so it was just as hard to put on a brave face around Kathryn.

  The fourth day was Sunday, and I’d never been so eager to be drowned. I asked Mother to make sure she got all the sin out. I was eighteen now.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?” she asked.

  “Yes. I have to be sure.”

  She smiled. “That’s my brave little girl.”

  As she held me under the surface in that dark place of death, I felt the same panic that always came after a couple minutes. But I was surprised by a sudden temptation to just suck in a lungful of water and end it all.

  It’s too much, Eden. You can’t do it. You can’t spend one more day living in this hell!

  The thought roared through me like a ball of the blackest darkness, and with it a terrible rage at the injustice of my situation.

  Mother pulled me up. I gasped and for a split second I was disappointed to be alive. And then Kathryn’s hallelujah wiped the darkness away and I felt gratefulness sweep in to take the darkness away.

  After Mother laid her lash against Bobby’s bared back, she celebrated with more glory than I was accustomed to seeing. She was very happy.

  My happiness, on the other hand, was fleeting. I was relieved to be cleansed, of course—I always was. But within half an hour of my baptism, the sickening sadness that had swallowed me the day before returned. And to make matters worse, my anger was back.

  By nightfall, I could hardly contain my emotions. I wasn’t used to having such a terrible struggle and that fact alone confused me, which added fear to a mix of terrible feelings that refused to be calmed.

  Still, I managed to keep it all inside.

  Until Monday afternoon, that is. On Monday afternoon it all fell apart.

  It started early Monday morning, while I was sleeping. I often had dreams of being Alice, trapped in a hospital with mentally disturbed patients, and in those dreams I’m quite lucid, aware of how insane everyone but me is. It’s a safe place for me, because I can play along as a patient without fearing the consequence because I know that I’m only in a dream. I even help other patients to see things differently.

  But the dream I’d had of the Outlaw named Stephen was different, if only because I’d completely lost any sense that I was in a dream. Every detail had been fully fleshed out without any break in sequence. And when I awoke, I could remember every detail, as if it had really happened.

  Just before waking early Monday morning I had another dream, just as real.

  This time I was in a boat out on the lake and there was a storm brewing. The wind was blowing and foamy waves beat against the boat and I was terrified.

  I’m going to die, I thought. I’m going to drown!

  Then
I heard the distant call and I turned to see a man on the shore. It was Stephen. He was smiling and beckoning me with an outstretched hand. My first thought was, He’s back!

  Then I remembered where I was.

  “Come to me, Eden!” he called, voice distant. “Step out of the boat and walk to me.”

  I looked at the wood hull under my feet and then at the water, surging and slapping against the boat. Then at him, dressed in a black coat, long hair whipped by the wind.

  “Step out of the boat, Eden. Walk to me. Be a water walker. It’s okay, I promise. Step out of the boat and walk to me.”

  I was scared, but I knew that if I didn’t do what he said, the boat would capsize and I would drown. So I slung my feet over the edge of the rocking boat, held my breath to fight back my fear, and, closing my eyes, stepped out onto the water.

  But I didn’t walk.

  I plunged under the surface.

  Flailing hopelessly, I dropped straight down, deep into murky black water that filled my nostrils and ears, cold as ice. It was like a baptism, only this time the water was a bottomless pit and this time I was going to drown, really drown.

  I started to scream and jerked up in bed, soaked in sweat, panting.

  I was alive. It had only been another dream. Thank God. I was safe. But the moment I thought that, a new awareness struck me, as cold as the water I’d dreamed about.

  I was still in the lake, wasn’t I? I was still drowning in the water.

  Not real water in the lake, but here, in the house. My whole life was that troubled sea and I was drowning in it. I didn’t understand why or how, really, but I was. That’s what the dream meant.

  And with that awareness, a simple question dropped into my mind, as if it had come from heaven itself. What if I’m being used? Just that, but for me, asking such a question bordered on blasphemy. I hadn’t dared even think it before.

  While I had dealt with raging emotions all week and embarked on a never-ending struggle to seek forgiveness for my anger, for the first time my mind dared ask that simple, logical question.