Reunion

by Karen Ball

  “Looks like about fifteen or twenty all together,” Luke said. “I guess they’re wanting to learn about these animals as much as the rest of us.”

  Taylor smiled at him, grateful he was still with them, still a part of their lives. The change in him had been dramatic. Luke had helped them in every facet of working with the wolves. He’d become invaluable to Connor during the education and management process. It was as though he’d traded one passion—his hatred for the wolves—for another—understanding them.

  “Well, I hope everyone fits in the clearing.” Ryan walked toward a group of ten or so people who were gathered in a circle, chattering excitedly. “This way, folks.” They turned to follow him to the newly created path that led into the woods.

  “I sure hope Sikis and the gang decide to cooperate tonight.” Taylor watched as more cars pulled up.

  “They howled last night, so the chances are good that they’re still in the area. But even if they aren’t, Brad’s got a great program set up to show everyone.” Connor wrapped his arm around Taylor’s shoulders and squeezed.

  “Thanks in large part to the slides made from your pictures,” Taylor’s mom said with a proud smile.

  Taylor slipped her arm around his waist, looking up at him with eyes that also shone with pride. “They are wonderful photos, Con.”

  He smiled. “I had some wonderful subjects. By the way, Harry sends his regrets, but he couldn’t make it on such short notice.”

  “That’s too bad, especially since this public howl was his idea,” Taylor’s father said.

  “Aye, but it was our hard work that brought it to life,” commented a deep voice from behind them.

  They all turned to greet Gavin.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to get here on time.”

  At Taylor’s scolding, he gave her a peck on the cheek. “I wouldn’t miss it. Not after all the effort we put into this.”

  The details for the howl actually had been worked out fairly quickly. Connor and Brad had set up a “howling area” about a quarter mile from Reunion, in a clearing in the woods, and Luke and the Camus clan had prepared flyers to post. Gavin had taken charge of contacting local resorts to let them know what they were planning. Then there was nothing left to do but wait.

  Finally, one warm evening in June, they heard the wolves howling. The next day the posters were put up and anyone who’d agreed to advertise was notified.

  Public Wolf Howl! the signs proclaimed, directing anyone who was interested to meet at Galloway Glen.

  “Well, I’d say our work has paid off.” Connor reached out to shake hands with Gavin.

  “And so it should.” Gavin grinned at them.

  Connor’s strong arm encircled Taylor’s shoulders again, and she leaned against him happily. “Well, looks as though we’re going to be the stragglers,” he said. Taylor followed his gaze to where the last few visitors were hurrying down the path.

  “Let’s go see if your friends will honor us with their presence.” Gavin led the way.

  They reached the clearing and joined the group crowded onto the log benches. Over fifty people listened with avid interest as Brad explained the history of wolves and their interaction with mankind. In the growing darkness, the slides of Sikis and his pack projected onto a large screen in front of the group almost seemed to come to life. Then Brad brought out a beautiful, light gray pelt. With sadness in his eyes and voice, he told Nokomis’s story.

  “There are those who consider wolves one of mankind’s greatest enemies.” Brad handed the pelt to a somber-faced woman. “I tend to think ignorance is far more dangerous. Nokomis was a creature of great beauty and grace, and her legacy will live on in her pups.”

  “What happened to them?” The woman brushed tears from her eyes.

  Brad’s smile was broad. “They’re being raised by a biologist.”

  “Tell me they’re not going to a zoo!” a man groaned from the back, and Brad joined the group’s laughter. “Not at all. They’ll be brought back here and reintroduced to the pack next month. And with any luck, in a few years they’ll be having pups of their own.” Brad glanced at Connor. “Now it’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for.”

  Connor came forward to explain how to imitate the wolves’ howls. “Keep in mind that they change pitch several times in one howl, and they don’t howl on the same note. If you want to sound like a wolf, forget everything you learned in choir.” Chuckles met this instruction. “Discord is the name of the game. I’ll start out. If the wolves respond, you’re welcome to join in, a few at a time. Remember, there are quite a few of us here, so be sure to give everyone a chance.”

  A hush fell over the clearing as Connor turned to face Reunion, cupped his hands to his mouth, exhaled twice, then leaned back and howled. Whispers swept through the crowd, and a few young girls giggled in nervous excitement. Taylor felt a wave of joy as she watched Connor give a second howl, his voice lifting in a haunting imitation of Sikis and his pack.

  Please, let them hear the wolves’ song … the song you gave them.

  Shivers raced up and down her spine when a lone wolf responded, lifting his voice in a rich and sonorous cry, filled with unutterable longing. Quick tears sprang to Taylor’s eyes as a second wolf voice joined the first, and the wondrous music of nature filled the air around them.

  Connor turned, his gaze seeking and finding her even in the darkness. She moved forward to stand beside him, grinning as she watched Brad help a young boy with his enthusiastic howl. Others joined in—some cautious, some joyous—and Taylor was moved by the eagerness she saw in their faces.

  The sounds rose and soared through the night, rising and falling, echoing over and over, incredibly wild. Incredibly beautiful.

  “I think the whole pack is there,” she whispered.

  “They’re playing our song.” Connor pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  “A song of reunion.” Happiness filled her heart. “To celebrate their return to Wyoming.”

  “And your return to me.” He reached out to tuck her against his side.

  Taylor snuggled close, exhaling a long breath, and looking at her parents, who now stood beside her. When her gaze met her mother’s, a warm glow of pure joy flowed through her.

  “ ‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me,’ ” Taylor whispered.

  “ ‘He delivered me from all my fears,’ ” her mother went on in a low voice, her eyes shining.

  “ ‘The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them,’ ” her father added softly.

  “ ‘Taste and see that the Lord is good’ ”—they turned in surprise to stare at Connor, and his smile broadened as they finished together in quiet chorus—“ ‘blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him lack nothing.’ ”

  “Amen,” Taylor breathed. Then she turned her face to the sky and let the songs of the night and the wonder of Reunion wash over her.

  Amen.

  Dear Reader,

  There’s a lot I could say, about the wolves, about writing, about the wondrous adventure of faith. But first I want to thank you for sharing your time with me, and Taylor, and Connor, and the wolves. Writing this book was an adventure and a blessing. I hope reading it was as well.

  Reunion is a microcosm of the loves in my life: animals, writing, the Lord, and my family. As a minister’s daughter, I grew up in a household filled with laughter, nurture, and day-to-day examples of following Christ. And I found that it’s okay to be an individual, to step outside of the molds and find out who God created you to be. Well, who He created me to be is someone who loves Him, who loves my family, and who loves animals. Wild, domesticated, big or small, it doesn’t matter. There’s something about animals that gets to me, deep inside. My parents, God bless them, nurtured that part of who I am with tolerance and wisdom. They endured years of me bringing home creeping, crawling, and slithering things to be nurtured and enjoyed. And then, when I deci
ded I wanted to be a writer, they encouraged me in that insanity as well. Which is why this book is dedicated to them. I am who I am because of their love and nurture. So when the opportunity came for me to write a book, it only made sense to focus on animals and family and True Love.

  If there’s any message I’d like you to get from Reunion, it’s that life is precious, love is a gift, and there’s a world of delights around us every day. All we need to do is open ourselves to the wonders God has for us and find out who He made us to be.

  Here’s to you, then. May God delight you today.

  Write to Karen Ball:

  c/o Palisades

  Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

  P.O. Box 1720

  Sisters, OR 97759

  THE SUMMER STORM LIT UP THE NIGHT SKY IN A JAGGED DISPLAY of energy, lightning bouncing, streaking, fragmenting between towering thunderheads. Sara Walsh ignored the storm as best she could, determined not to let it interrupt her train of thought. The desk lamp as well as the overhead light were on in her office as she tried to prevent any shadows from forming. What she was writing was disturbing enough.

  The six-year-old boy had been found. Dead.

  Writing longhand on a yellow legal pad of paper, she shaped the twenty-ninth chapter of her mystery novel. Despite the dark specificity of the scene, the flow of words never faltered.

  The child had died within hours of his abduction. His family, the Oklahoma law enforcement community, even his kidnapper, did not realize it. Sara did not pull back from writing the scene even though she knew it would leave a bitter taste of defeat in the mind of the reader. The impact was necessary for the rest of the book.

  She frowned, crossed out the last sentence, added a new detail, then went on with her description of the farmer who had found the boy.

  Thunder cracked directly overhead. Sara flinched. Her office suite on the thirty-fourth floor put her close enough to the storm she could hear the air sizzle in the split second before the boom. She would like to be in the basement parking garage right now instead of her office.

  She had been writing since eight that morning. A glance at the clock on her desk showed it was almost eight in the evening. The push to finish a story always took over as she reached the final chapters. This tenth book was no exception.

  Twelve hours. No wonder her back muscles were stiff. She had taken a brief break for lunch while she reviewed the mail Judy had prioritized for her. The rest of her day had been spent working on the book. She arched her back and rubbed at the knot.

  This was the most difficult chapter in the book to write. It was better to get it done in one long, sustained effort. Death always squeezed her heart.

  Had her brother been in town, he would have insisted she wrap it up and come home. Her life was restricted enough as it was. He refused to let her spend all her time at the office. He would come lean against the doorjamb of her office and give her that look along with his predictable lecture telling her all she should be doing: Putter around the house, cook, mess with the roses, do something other than sit behind that desk.

  Sara smiled. She did so enjoy taking advantage of Dave’s occasional absences.

  Dave’s flight back to Chicago from the FBI academy at Quantico had been delayed due to the storm front. When he had called her from the airport, he had cautioned her he might not be home until eleven.

  It wasn’t a problem, she had assured him, everything was fine. Code words. Spoken every day. So much a part of their language now that she spoke them instinctively. “Everything is fine”—all clear; “I’m fine”—I’ve got company; “I’m doing fine”—I’m in danger. She had lived the dance a long time. The tight security around her life was necessary. It was overpowering, obnoxious, annoying … and comforting.

  Sara turned in the black leather chair and looked at the display of lightning. The rain ran down the panes of thick glass. The skyline of downtown Chicago glimmered back at her through the rain.

  With every book, another fact, another detail, another intense emotion, broke through from her own past. She could literally feel the dry dirt under her hand, feel the oppressive darkness. Reliving what had happened to her twenty-five years ago was terrifying. Necessary, but terrifying.

  She sat lost in thought for several minutes, idly walking her pen through her fingers. Her adversary was out there somewhere, still alive, still hunting her. Had he made the association to Chicago yet? After all these years, she was still constantly moving, still working to stay one step ahead of the threat. Her family knew only too well his threat was real.

  The man would kill her. Had long ago killed her sister. The threat didn’t get more basic than that. She had to trust others and ultimately God for her security. There were days her faith wavered under the intense weight of simply enduring that stress. She was learning, slowly, by necessity, how to roll with events, to trust God’s ultimate sovereignty.

  The notepad beside her was filled with doodled sketches of faces. One of these days her mind was finally going to stop blocking the one image she longed to sketch. She knew she had seen the man. Whatever the cost, whatever the consequences of trying to remember, they were worth paying in order to try to bring justice for her and her sister.

  Sara let out a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t force the image to appear no matter how much she longed to do so. She was the only one who still believed it was possible for her to remember it. The police, the FBI, the doctors, had given up hope years ago.

  She fingered a worn photo of her sister Kim that sat by a white rose on her desk. She didn’t care what the others thought. Until the killer was caught, she would never give up hope.

  God was just. She held on to that knowledge and the hope that the day of justice would eventually arrive. Until it did, she carried a guilt inside that remained wrapped around her heart. In losing her twin she had literally lost part of herself.

  Turning her attention back to her desk, she debated for a moment if she wanted to do any more work that night. She didn’t.

  When it had begun to rain, she had turned off her computer, not willing to risk possible damage from a building electrical surge should lightning hit a transformer or even the building itself; something that happened with some frequency during such severe storms.

  As she put her folder away, the framed picture on the corner of her desk caught her attention; it evoked a smile. Her best friend was getting married. Sara was happy for her, but also envious. The need to break free of the security blanket rose and fell with time. She could feel the sense of rebellion rising again. Ellen had freedom and a life. She was getting married to a wonderful man. Sara longed to one day have that same choice. Without freedom, it wasn’t possible, and that reality hurt. A dream was being sacrificed with every passing day.

  As she stepped into the outer office, the room lights automatically turned on. Sara reached back and turned off the interior office lights.

  Her suite was in the east tower of the business complex. Rising forty-five stories, the two recently built towers added to the already impressive downtown skyline. Sara liked the modern building and the shopping available on the ground floor. She struggled with the elevator ride to the thirty-fourth floor each day, for she did not like closed-in spaces, but she considered the view worth the price.

  The elevator that responded tonight came from two floors below. There were two connecting walkways between the east and west towers, one on the sixth floor and another in the lobby. She chose the sixth floor concourse tonight, walking through it to the west tower with a confident but fast pace.

  She was alone in the wide corridor. Travis sometimes accompanied her, but she had waved off his company tonight and told him to go get dinner. If she needed him, she would page him.

  The click of her heels echoed off the marble floor. There was parking under each tower, but if she parked under the tower where she worked, she would be forced to pull out onto a one-way street no matter which exit she took. It was a pattern someone could observe and predi
ct. Changing her route and time of day across one of the two corridors was a better compromise. She could hopefully see the danger coming.

  Adam Black dropped the pen he held onto the white legal pad of paper and got up to walk over to the window, watching the lightning storm flare around the building. He felt like that inside. Storming, churning.

  He had lost more than his dad—he had lost his confidant, his best friend. Trying to cope with the grief by drowning himself in work was only adding to the turmoil.

  The passage in Mark chapter 4 of the storm-tossed sea and Jesus asleep in the boat crossed his mind and drew a smile. What had Jesus said? “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” Appropriate for tonight.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. All of his current exclusive commercial contracts expired in three months time. A feeding frenzy was forming—which ones would he be willing to renew, which new ones would he consider, what kind of money would it cost for people to get exclusive use of his name and image?

  The tentative dollar figures being passed by his brother-in-law Jordan were astronomical in size.

  The stack of proposals had been winnowed down, but the remaining pile still threatened to slide onto the floor.

  All he needed to do was make a decision.

  He couldn’t remember needing God’s guidance more than he did now.

  Five years of his life. The decisions he made would set his schedule for the next five years of his life.

  Was it that he didn’t want to make a decision or that he didn’t want to be tied down?

  Adam knew the root of the problem had little to do with the work and everything to do with the state of his life. Grief marred his focus, certainly. It was hard to define what he wanted to accomplish. But he was also restless. He had been doing basically the same thing for three years: keeping his image in the public eye and building his business. It had become routine. He hated routine.

  His dad would have laughed and told him when the work stopped being fun, it was time to find a new line of work.