by Karen Ball
Within minutes the canoe was upright, drained as best it could be, and Aaron and Shannon were back in. They took Jayce’s rod and the fish, then helped him back in the canoe, balancing carefully as he came over the side.
When they reached shore, a beaming Jayce stepped out, dripping wet, and held up his still-wriggling trout for Dan’s inspection.
“It’s a beauty, all right.” He slid his arm around Jayce’s shoulders. “Now follow me, and I’ll show you the best part of all.”
Jayce’s eyes lit up. “What’s that?”
Dan grinned. “Cleaning your catch.”
That night they feasted on freshly caught fish—courtesy of both Jayce and Aaron, who’d proven themselves master anglers—cooked over a campfire. Shannon took a bite of the fish Jayce caught and sighed. “Your fish tastes best of all, Jayce.”
Pleasure lit the boy’s face with a warmth Dan had never seen before. Any doubts he still held about bringing Jayce on this trip vanished like the smoke rising into the sky from their fire.
By the time they’d taken care of cleanup, the sun was kissing the tips of the mountains around them. As the shadows lengthened, Dan went to his tent and pulled a worn cloth-bound book from his duffel. He held the book in his hands, eyes skimming the title. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.
So much of their lives had been turned upside down, but he and the kids managed to hold on to their nightly story time. As they sat together, the kids snuggled up in the crook of his arms, reading those familiar stories seemed to soothe the kids’ grieving spirits.
And Dan’s, too.
As he read, Dan could swear he felt Sarah beside him, could hear her voice reading along with him, could even see her shed a tear when Aslan lay down on the great table, ready to die.
And in those dark, pain-filled days just after Sarah’s funeral, when Dan read the part about Aslan rising again, about him running and leaping in the utter ecstacy of new life, Dan felt the promise deep within. Sarah’s story wasn’t over. It was only interrupted.
Eternity was waiting. They would be together again.
Dan and the kids had just started Prince Caspian, the fourth Chronicles of Narnia book, the weekend before this trip. No matter how many times they went through the series, they never tired of them. How could they? These books—and the characters held within—were the dearest of old friends.
Even so, Dan had decided against taking the books on the camping trip. Sure, they loved the story, but Jayce? What would a kid from Jayce’s background think of these fantastical stories? About a magical wardrobe and a lion that spoke?
Dan shook his head. He could just imagine Jayce’s reaction, and the last thing he wanted was for the boy to hurt Shannon’s, and even Aaron’s, feelings. No, this trip had enough potential emotional land mines already. No point in taking chances that weren’t necessary.
Of course, just because his mind had been made up didn’t mean the issue was settled. Which he found out as he packed his duffel bag for the camping trip. Aaron, who was sitting on his bed watching Dan, put a hand on his arm as he was about to zip the bag shut.
“Hang on, Dad.”
“What?”
“You forgot something.” He hopped off the bed and ran from the room. When he returned, Shannon was with him. She held a book out to Dan. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Trepidation tripped up his chest, drawing it tight. “We read this one already.”
Aaron didn’t hesitate. “I know, but this is the one we need to read on the trip.”
“I thought we’d leave the book home. I don’t want it to get damage—”
“Dad, you have to take it!”
Okay. He’d expected Shannon to object. But this vehement comment from Aaron stunned him. “Why?”
Shannon looked at Aaron, and he nodded. “Go ahead. Tell him.”
“Well, Aaron and I talked about it, and we both have a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“A really, really, really strong feeling.”
“Really strong,” Aaron echoed, and Dan fought back a chuckle.
“Okay, a feeling about what?”
“That we need to read on the trip. And it needs to be this book. For Jayce.”
“For …” Dan took the novel from Shannon, holding it in his hands, letting his fingers trail over the embossed title. Just ask the question. “But guys, what makes you think Jayce will like these stories? What if he thinks they’re stupid?” He looked from one of his children to the other. “How will you react if he makes fun of them?”
Shannon’s response was the last thing Dan expected. She reached up and patted his hand, like a mother patting away a somewhat slow child’s objections. “You’re so silly, Daddy. Jayce will love them. God told me so. Besides—” she took the book from him and gave it to Aaron, who placed it in Dan’s duffel bag—“he needs to know.”
“To know what?”
Aaron answered him. “About Aslan.”
Dan had just stood there, mute. When did these two grow from childish thinking to spiritual maturity—and how on earth did he miss it?
“Move, frog breath!”
“You move! I was here first!”
Thus jolted from his reminiscence, Dan turned to find his “spiritually mature” offspring wrestling for the best position around the campfire.
So maybe they weren’t quite finished with childish thinking, after all.
He was ready to tell the two of them to knock it off, when Jayce stepped between them and sat on the contested log.
Aaron and Shannon both turned to gawk at him. He crossed his arms and stretched his legs out in front of him. “See what happens when you waste your time fighting? You both lose.”
Dan restrained a smile as red bloomed on Aaron’s cheeks. For a moment he thought the two boys were about to have their first fight, then Aaron exhaled and a rueful smile slid across his features. “So what you’re saying is, a log’s a log. Shut up and sit down?”
Jayce nodded. “See there? You’re a lot smarter than you look.” He reached out to smack Aaron’s arm. “Have a seat, dude.” He glanced at Shannon and patted the log on his other side. “You, too, squirt.”
Dan’s brows arched at the tinge of red coloring Shannon’s cheeks. Concern slithered through his chest as he made his way back to the fire. Jayce was a good enough kid in the right setting, but he still had a lot of problems. Dan would rather not have his little girl forming a crush on a kid with so much to overcome.
He joined the kids near the fire and lowered himself onto one of the logs. “You guys ready to read?”
“Absolutely!”
“Read what?” Jayce’s response wasn’t anywhere near as positive as Aaron’s.
Aaron didn’t hesitate. “The best story you’ve ever heard, that’s what.”
Shannon, who’d been hovering, finally settled on the ground between the two boys, leaning against her brother’s leg. “You’ll like it, Jayce.”
Thus reassured, Jayce looked up at Dan and shrugged. “Go for it.”
Dan opened the book. Here goes, Lord.
Dan started reading. “Once there were four children …” At first Dan glanced up every few words, trying to gauge Jayce’s reaction. But soon the story wove around him, and he was too engrossed to remember to worry. As they followed the children’s journey through the wardrobe, Dan was only vaguely aware of the dying daylight around them. It didn’t matter, though. The kids kept feeding fuel to the crackling fire, so it gave off plenty of light for reading.
Not until Dan’s voice began to crack did he stop reading. And the moment he did so, all three of his listeners erupted.
“Hey!”
“Daddy!”
“Aw, c’mon, Mr. Justice. You can’t stop there!”
Dan held up his hands, laughing. “Have mercy, you guys. My voice is about shot.”
“Man!”
There was no missing the disappointment in Jayce’s tone. Dan closed the book with gentle f
irmness. He should have known Shannon would be right. She usually was when it came to reading people. When he looked up from the book, he found her smiling at him, a little gleam in her twinkling eyes. She didn’t need to speak a word for him to get the message.
See? Told you so.
“Okay, you three, let’s put the fire out and get some sack time. Tomorrow’s another day, and—”
“We need a good night’s sleep to do it justice,” his offspring chorused.
Jayce looked from them to Dan then back again. He stood and grabbed the pail of water to douse the fire. “And people think I’m crazy.”
“Nah—” Aaron stirred the soggy ashes with a stick—“they think you’re trouble.” His grin was just visible in the moonlight. “Goes to show how much they know, huh?”
Jayce’s relaxed chuckle was music to Dan’s ears. He watched the kids amble off to their respective tents, soaking in the sound of their happy chatter.
He never would have imaged things would go so well. Aaron’s words echoed in his head: “Goes to show how much they know, huh?”
Dan stood, tucked the book under his arm, and looked up at the star-studded night. “And I guess it goes to show how much I know, too.” Good thing he had the kids. And good thing they’d inherited their mother’s inner eyes, that looked deep into the heart and saw people the way God did.
With faith.
With truth.
And, most important, with love.
Dan unzipped his tent and cast a final glance up at the sky. “Help me see with eyes like that, God. With eyes like Yours.”
As he stepped into the tent, his whispered prayer eased into the night, caught the dancing breeze, and rode it to the heavens.
Shannon pulled her sleeping bag higher over her shoulder, burrowing down inside its warmth. She’d opened one of the tent’s window flaps so she could see the night sky.
It was beautiful.
Mom always used to talk about what an artist God was. And she was right. No one but an artist could have created a sky like that, with so many stars twinkling that it looked like God had spilled silver glitter across the heavens.
She turned her head toward the boys’ tent, listening, but all she heard was the sounds of the night. Was Jayce looking up at the sky, too? Had he ever seen a sky like this before?
Shannon doubted it. From what he’d said on the drive up, he spent most of his time in town. And most of that he was inside. “Easier to stay out of trouble when you stay in your room all the time.” The sound in his voice when he told her that made her heart really, really sad.
But then, lots of things about Jayce made her sad. The way his mom left him. That his dad was in prison and Jayce never got to see him. And then there was that side of Jayce—that quiet, almost scary side. She’d only seen it for a second, when Aaron asked him about his friends. Then Jayce changed the subject. Fast. Aaron didn’t even seem to notice.
But she did.
She saw a lot of things others didn’t see. Especially with Jayce. It was funny, but from the minute she met him, Shannon kind of felt like he … belonged to her. Like she was responsible for him. She didn’t know why, exactly, but that was okay. Jayce needed someone to feel this way about him. Someone to care about him, to pray for him.
To love him like a mother would. Like his mother should have.
Lying there, with God’s stars shining down on her, Shannon knew she was right. Deep down inside, she just knew. God brought Jayce to her. And she would do her best to help him see how really special he was.
But how?
Her fingers went to the pendant hanging around her neck, and she fingered the fine detail of the lion’s head. As she did so, an idea came to her.
She hesitated, then flipped the sleeping bag back and went to kneel beside the window flap. She spread her palm across the screen, looking up at the night sky.
“Mom?” Shannon gripped the pendant with her other hand, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her face. “Mommy?”
The night breeze stirred the trees, filling the darkness with a soft rush of sound.
Shannon drew her knees to her chest, never taking her eyes from the stars. “I wish you were here, Mommy.” She rubbed away the tears stinging her face. “You’d like Jayce so much. You’d make him feel special.” She paused, then lifted the pendant from around her neck and held it in her hand. “Like you always made me feel special.”
The golden lion’s face caught glimmers of moonlight, and Shannon could almost believe it was crying, too. She closed her hand around the pendant and nodded.
“I know what you’d do, Mommy. How you’d show Jayce you loved him, that God loved him.” She turned her face to the sky. “So since you can’t do it, I will. Is that okay?”
She waited, holding her breath, and though no sound came, she felt the answer deep inside.
Warmth. Peace.
And a firm, loving yes.
Shannon crawled back into her sleeping bag. She slipped the pendant under her pillow and lay down.
A yawn took hold of her, and she patted the pillow, smiling. “Night, Mommy. I love you.”
FIFTEEN
“A loving heart is the beginning of all knowledge.”
THOMAS CARLYLE
“My heart has heard you say, ‘Come and talk with me.’
And my heart responds,
LORD, I am coming.’ ”
PSALM 27:8
IT WAS SO QUIET HERE.
Jayce liked that. The quiet. The way you could just sit here, lean back against a tree, close your eyes—and feel like you were all alone. No one to hassle you. No one to tell you what you could and couldn’t do.
No one to threaten. To show how easy it was to get to an old woman alone. To hurt her.
No one to make you do things you didn’t want to do.
He opened his eyes, looking up at the blue, blue sky through the thick branches of the tree. Man, it would be nice to just stay here. Live here.
Free.
Don’t kid yourself. One hour out here alone, and you’d be scrambling to get back to town.
No. He wouldn’t.
Yeah? And when it rains? Snows? What then? You just sit out here and freeze?
He’d find shelter. He wasn’t stupid.
Says who? How smart is giving in? Doing things you say you hate?
Jayce gritted his teeth. I don’t just say I hate them. I do hate them.
But you’re so good at them. Why do you think Marlin keeps coming to you?
Because he wants the rep, but he doesn’t want to risk getting caught. He’s like those jungle dogs … those jackals. He waits for someone else to make the kill, then he moves in and claims the prize. Jayce pushed back against the tree, felt the rough bark digging into his skin. He’s nuthin’ but a coward who won’t do his own dirty work.
A coward? If you’re so brave, let’s see you say that to his face.
Jayce longed to tell Marlin what he thought of him and his crew. What they could do with their threats against his grandmother. And Shelby. But one thing you didn’t do with a scared jackal was back it into a corner.
Not unless you wanted to get torn to shreds.
I know why Marlin comes to you. Because you’re born to the work he gives you. A regular chip off the ol’ block. You know what they say, like father, like so—
Jayce stood, pushing away from the tree. “I’m not like him!”
Coulda fooled me.
He started walking. The dark voice chuckled, a deep rumble in the pit of Jayce’s gut. He clamped his hands over his ears, but it didn’t help. The voice was always there. Taunting.
Hateful.
You only hate me because I speak the truth.
“Shut up!”
“Jayce?”
He spun around—then stopped cold.
Shannon stood there, eyes wide and hesitant as she watched him.
See? Even she knows who you really are. Look at her. The look on her face. Like prey that’s just r
ealized it’s too late to run.
Jayce willed the spiteful voice into silence, forced the churning emotions away.
A gentle touch startled him. He looked down at Shannon’s hand, resting on his sleeve.
“Are you okay?”
Shock ran through him. The voice was wrong. She wasn’t afraid. Not at all. The only thing Jayce saw in her expression was concern.
Caring.
The last of his anger melted in an overwhelming warmth. Looking into this girl’s eyes, the resentment that dogged him couldn’t hold up.
Instead, what he felt was something it took him a while to recognize.
Peace.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He gave her hand an awkward pat, and her quick smile made him glad he’d done so. Then he looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere. “Hey, what are you doing way out here anyway? Where’s Aaron? And your dad?”
“They’re back at the camp. I wanted to talk with you.”
“How’d you know where I was?”
She bit her lip. “Well, I saw you leave after you got your chores done, and … um … I followed you. I lost you for a little while, then I heard your voice. And that’s when I found you again.”
He eyed the woods. “Do you know how to get back to camp?”
“Sure!” She turned and started walking. “It’s this way.”
Relief lightened his step as he fell in beside her. “You like it out here, don’t you?”
“I like it a lot. I mean, living in town was okay. There was always lots to do and stuff. But out here …” She stopped, reaching out to break off the tip of a tree branch. She crushed the needles in her fingers then cupped her hands and inhaled. “Smell that.” She held her cupped hands out to him.
He let the strong fragrance seep into his lungs.
She started walking again. “It just feels and smells so good out here. You know, fresh and new. Like every day is another chance.”
“Another chance for what?”
“Oh, everything!” She lifted her hands, as though to embrace the world. “Life. You know, all of it.” She shrugged, and he watched a hint of pink slip into her cheeks. “I don’t know. Just for being, I guess.”