Alden flashed a wry smile. “Sometimes it’s hard to see we need to make it personal.”
Tony nodded.“That makes all this so much worse. If I hadn’t been too stubborn to try faith earlier, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Lorna shook her head, fast, as if to dodge his words. “It’s not your fault!”
Tony focused on his untouched drink. “I’m not blaming myself—now—but you need to hear this. If I’d shared her faith, supported her prayers, we’d have gone together to the meeting. And we wouldn’t have stopped at the store.”
He risked a glance at them. They sat close together on the couch, taking a comfort he might never have again. He read compassion in their faces, not anger.
“Don’t go there, Tony. What-ifs can drive you mad.” Lorna got up and straightened the nearest lampshade. “Believe me, I know. What if I’d phoned Susan at work that last day? What if I’d gone for a visit?”
Alden caught her hand and pulled her back to the couch. “So the police have no leads?”
“Nothing strong. Where’s he going to go from here? It has to be a boat or a private airfield. They’re sure he’s got help. But the highway checkpoints missed him, and now they could be anywhere.”
Tony’s gut twisted. “I didn’t want to ask Pastor Linton, but you know Ruth’s been kind of obsessed about Silver since he was caught. You don’t think she’d have gone willingly, do you? To preach to him, or to save the cashier?”
Lorna tipped her head to one side and studied him. “She was praying for him, but she’s not crazy. She knew what he’d done.”
Alden put his arm around her. “Tony, do you think she did?”
“I hope not.”
Alden raised one eyebrow. “What did her friend say? The one who was with her.”
“Nothing. But Ruth might have thought it was her chance to convert him.”
“Did she grab chances to convert you?”
“She’s never pushed it, but I knew she prayed for me.” Tony’s eyes filled.
Lorna nodded. “Well then, you matter more to Ruth than he does, and you’re not dangerous. If she didn’t pressure you, she’s hardly likely to run after him.”
“She seemed uncomfortable talking to me about her faith, like if she knew the right words, she could convince me. Her message was clear enough, but I wasn’t ready to hear it.”
“Then why would she risk preaching to Harry Silver?”
“I suppose. But why would God let her walk into his path?”
Alden swallowed a mouthful of cola. “We’ve all been asking that one, Tony.”
Lorna’s fingernails tapped a rhythm against the side of her glass. “I can’t just sit and wait. Do you need laundry done or anything?”
“I did it yesterday.”
“Can I make supper?”
“One of Ruth’s friends is bringing a casserole later. But I could use some things from the store. I haven’t wanted to go out and face all the questions and sympathy.”
Lorna brightened. “Just give me a list.”
Tony retrieved his wallet from the bedroom. Back in the den he picked up the notepad and pen Ruth kept beside her chair. Milk, bread, coffee... what was that fourth thing he’d wanted? While he waited for it to come back to him, he caught Alden’s eye. “Are you going too, or do you want to see the table I’m making for Ruth?”
~~~
The afternoon stretched into early evening, as if the cottage floated in a time bubble. Ruth’s joy at Tony’s words of faith had quieted, deepened, as she reflected and prayed. Here in the living room, in the cozy glow of the reading lamp, with Harry unconscious, she felt oddly secure.
Secure, but antsy to get out of here. If only he’d roll onto his stomach or turn face-in to the seat back so she could grab his phone. What she wouldn’t give to be able to call 9-1-1 right now!
Harry was pretty out of it, but if she tried to roll him over, or stuck her hand under him for the phone, he’d feel it. He wouldn’t need a lot of strength to grab her. What if she kept a knife in one hand, to defend herself? What if he turns it on me?
Better not to risk it. He was zero threat lying there, and she could sneak out at dusk when his henchmen couldn’t see her.
Ruth used the broom-crutch to hobble around the room. Now when she put her other foot down it didn’t feel like she’d stepped on a live power line, but the pain still made her grit her teeth.
Doing this a few minutes every hour seemed to help her knee. Move, ice. Move, ice. Boring. While she iced, all she had to read was her Bible. She’d found a stack of x-rated magazines, but nothing else. And satellite or no, she hadn’t found anything to hold her interest on television.
She’d found Christian programming on one of the TV music channels and left it on low. The lyrics helped her stay calm, and maybe they’d filter into Harry’s sleep.
It wasn’t a natural sleep. She’d watched his agitation grow in the past few minutes.
Ruth glanced at her watch again. She wanted out of here tonight, if this foolish knee would let her. It wouldn’t be dark until late, but if she left any earlier, the web cams would pick her up. Denny frightened her more than Harry right now.
What would she do when she finally reached the intersecting road? She still didn’t know which direction led to the highway. Harry planned to meet a boat. There must be a way to shore from here. Could she find it? Would it be safe in the dark? With a wonky knee and a crutch?
Harry cried out, and she stiffened. He rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, fists clenched and eyes screwed shut. Too near the edge of the couch—if he kept thrashing, he’d fall off. If it didn’t knock him out, it might jolt him awake.
Ruth left the rocking chair and pushed the coffee table up to the couch as a barrier. She shifted her grip on the broom handle so it could be a weapon in a pinch, and leaned her whole weight against the table to hold it in place. “Can you hear me? Lie still.”
His eyes opened, blank and unfocused. Pain, or maybe anger, contorted his features and the cords in his neck stood out as he strained to sit up. Sweat beaded his forehead. God, keep him weak.
“Mom!” He struggled, chest heaving and eyes wild, then wilted against his pillow and lay still. “Why did she die?” His voice broke.
“I’m so sorry.” Ruth’s eyes misted. How old had he been when he’d faced this?
His eyelids drifted shut and after a minute his breathing deepened. Ruth draped the afghan across his shoulders and stood looking down at him. What tragedy lurked in his past? How had he fallen this far? Funny, for all the concern God had given her for Harry’s lost soul, she’d never thought about this before.
She’d assumed his choices were deliberate, conceived in an evil heart, but he must have been innocent once. She pictured a dark-haired baby boy, with chubby fists and wide blue eyes. What happened?
Ruth circled behind the couch and leaned over him. Holding her breath, she rested a tentative palm on his chest. The other hand kept a firm grip on the broom. When Harry didn’t stir, she began to pray in a low voice, bringing his past, present and future to her God. “Father, You know the whole picture. Thank You for Your mercy, that You care enough to redeem this man the world has written off. You’re the only One who can reach him.”
She straightened, fists tight as if to ward off the doubt, and circled the room to keep working her knee. What difference could one woman’s prayers make?
First, one person’s prayers could make a difference. Second, she wasn’t praying alone. Tony, Lorna and Alden, her friends from church... they’d be praying too, out of love for her, if not concern for Harry.
She studied Harry’s face. Even his fever-chapped lips were pale, but the grey tinge was fading from his skin. His eyes darted beneath the lids as if he still fought whatever demons lurked in his sleep. “Oh, Father, save us both.”
Ruth hobbled back to the rocking chair and replaced the bag of peas on her knee. She flipped channels on the television, searching for something to keep her
awake. A strained grunt came from the couch.
She stiffened, nearly dropping the remote, and thumbed the off button. Go back to sleep.
Harry scrubbed both hands over his face, fingers rasping against the day-old whiskers, and groaned, peering at her through swollen eyelids. His eyes closed again.
Ruth rocked slowly. When she’d been afraid he was dying, she’d watched for a chance to speak to him about Jesus. Now that he was out of danger, couldn’t he stay asleep until she got away? God could send him someone else in prison.
The ropes Chris had bound her with—why hadn’t she tied Harry up when he was fully out? Now it might wake him faster, and she’d be near enough for him to grab her. Lord, I need this knee to get better fast.
When she glanced back at Harry, his blue eyes pinned her, focused, aware... dangerous. She sucked a mouthful of air. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was barely audible. “What happened to me? Where am I? And who are you?” He tried to get up, but fell back onto the couch, panting, his face slick with perspiration.
He didn’t remember. Ruth moved her hand closer to the broom handle, just in case, but kept it out of sight. No point letting him know she was hurt. “My name is Ruth. You’ve had food poisoning or something. You ate some sandwiches that were past their sell-by date.”
He grimaced and swore.
Ruth forced a smile. She hoped it wasn’t as wobbly as it felt. “You spoke about your mother while you were unconscious. You must have been very young when she died. I’m sorry.”
“She didn’t have to die. Meddling, interfering Christians—they should have left her alone.”
“Excuse me?” The news reports said Harry’s parents were dead, but there’d been no mention of a tragedy.
Harry’s glare sharpened. “I remember you now. Let me tell you something—your God either doesn’t care or doesn’t have the power to look after the people who trust Him. You’ll find that out before much longer.”
Ruth’s blood chilled, and she swallowed hard at the hatred in his voice. “Was it just coincidence you got sick when you did?”
His eyes lost focus and drifted shut. She grabbed the broom and bag of peas and fast-hobbled for the kitchen, hoping he’d missed the tremor in her voice. The bag went back in the freezer. And she’d keep her foot on the floor. He didn’t need to know she couldn’t run fast.
She twitched a curtain aside and peered out the window. Almost twilight. Harry still looked near death, but who knew how strong his hatred could make him? “Father, make my knee strong enough and help me know when to go—don’t let him get his strength back. If You want me to speak of You first, I need Your words.”
She shoved her feet back into the tight rubber boots, and slid a knife from the block on the counter. Just in case.
Thinking of Harry’s rules at breakfast yesterday morning, she took grim delight in returning to the living room with a fresh cup of tea. Let him try to forbid her a hot drink now. And if he made a move at her, he’d wear this one.
She laid the broom on the floor and set the knife on the seat beside her, sharp side turned away. Out of his sight, within easy reach of her hand.
His eyes were still closed, but was he asleep again, or faking? Keeping her good foot firmly planted on the floor, she rocked gently, watching the wisps of steam spiral upwards from her drink like half-seen spirits. The room was silent except for the soft ticking of the clock, the occasional creak of her chair and Harry’s grating breaths.
Suddenly Harry grunted and raised himself on one elbow. Pain still tightened his face, but his narrowed eyes glittered. “What day is it?”
She frowned, then remembered. Of course. The boat. “It’s Friday. Evening.”
“Friday.” He stared at her, a new question chasing the relief from his face. “What are you doing here?”
Her pulse skipped. “How... how much do you remember?”
“Everything. Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?”
Fear clutched Ruth’s throat. Would it show in her voice? “I did. Your cleanup crew brought me back.”
A muscle flickered in Harry’s jaw. “What?”
“Three guys in another cottage. They’re watching this one on a webcam.”
His head jerked and he stared around the room. “Where?”
“They’re watching the outside. You’ve been so sick, it was safer in here than out there.”
“Choose your poison, sweetheart. While you still can.”
Ruth braced both feet against the floor, ignoring the warning pain in her knee. One hand hovered near the broom, the other found the knife handle. She didn’t have to be fast, just faster than him. If he tried to lunge at her after lying down so long, the change would make him dizzy.
Harry’s head fell back against his pillow. His thin lips curled. “You’ve been looking forward to it, haven’t you? Women like you are nuts. Probably been fantasizing about this for years, and you couldn’t walk away. Well, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be able to satisfy you once this headache eases.”
Pressing her lips together, Ruth stared back at him through narrowed eyes until she trusted herself to speak calmly. She reached for the book on the table beside her and riffled its pages, searching for the verse that had jumped out at her when she first started praying for Harry. She’d asked God to send someone to warn him. I didn’t mean me, Lord, but please guide my words.
Somewhere in Ezekiel... Her eye caught the familiar text in the third chapter, verse 18. She glanced at Harry. Tony hadn’t been convinced by her words, and he loved her enough to listen.
She sat straighter in the rocker. “Since you’re awake, I guess there’s another reason I’m here. This is what God says: ‘When I say to a wicked person, “You will surely die,” and you do not warn them or speak out to dissuade them from their evil ways in order to save their life, that wicked person will die for their sin, and I will hold you accountable for their blood.’”
She looked up from the page. “The passage goes on to say that if the wicked person, in this case you, doesn’t repent, he will still die in his sins. But the watchman—or watchwoman—will have absolved herself of guilt.”
“You don’t have to worry about warning me,” Harry snapped. “I’ve heard it all before. I’m sure there’s a special place reserved for me—an extra hot corner in hell.”
One hand on the knife, the other clutching her Bible, Ruth leaned forward in the rocking chair, remembering the flames in her dream. Literal or figurative, her throat clogged. “Harry, you don’t have to go there.”
He muttered a curse.
Ruth shook her head. Father, help him hear this. “God loves you, and heaven is truly where He wants you to be. Jesus died on the cross to pay for your sins. All of them. He’ll forgive you if you’ll only turn and accept Him.”
She held his gaze. “Only a fool would insist on paying the penalty when it’s already been paid for him.”
~~~
Harry stared at the ceiling. Silently, and not for the first time, he cursed the luck that had brought this woman into his path. He was the one in control here, and she should be cowering in fear. Instead, she was taking care of him. Worse than that, she was preaching at him. He felt off-balance, as if he’d been pulled into a hallucination or a bad movie.
Her words set alarm bells clamouring in his mind. He couldn’t understand her. She seemed to believe what she said. As if God were interested in what happened here, or actually cared about him.
His mother had felt the same way after she became a Christian—that God wanted to be a part of their daily lives. And look where it took her. He remembered pleading with her to make peace with his father and give up her faith. She’d taken him by the shoulders. “Look at me, son, and listen. You mustn’t ask that—ever.”
Searching his face, she added more gently, “My precious Harry, if somebody asked me to stop loving you, would I do it?”
He shuffled his feet. “No.”
; “You’re right. Neither will I stop loving Jesus. He’s as real as you are.”
Harry wasn’t so sure. He tried another tack. “Then pretend you don’t love Him anymore. Jesus will understand, and Dad will be happy.”
Mom let out a long sigh. “That would be lying, wouldn’t it?” She drew a deep breath. “You’re too young to have to face this. I love your father very much, but what he says about Jesus is wrong.”
Harry swallowed hard. “Then maybe we should move out.” His voice trembled as he spoke. “Anything so you won’t get hurt anymore.”
Mom held him close. Heavy tears fell into his hair. “Oh, Harry, I don’t know. My friends from Bible study say I should leave, but I couldn’t go without you and Carol. And it’s not Dad’s fault I’ve changed. I can’t take his children away from him. I wish he could see the truth, that Jesus loves him, too.”
Harry squirmed in her embrace. She was holding him so tightly it was hard to breathe.
“I don’t think Jesus loves you, Mom. If He did, He’d make Dad stop.” The words were out before he could stop them.
He expected his mother to be angry. She loosened her hold to dry her eyes, and whispered, “Oh, but He does love me, Harry. Jesus puts His arms around me so I can be brave. If not, I couldn’t make it.”
Harry pulled free from her arms and ran for the door. He could barely see through his tears, but he had to get away. “It’s all a lie,” he’d shouted over his shoulder. “God either doesn’t love you, or He can’t help after all.”
Loneliness choked him now, surprising and almost overwhelming in its intensity. His mother had been his refuge. Her love, and even her faith, had given him security. The void she left had never been filled, not in all his years of trying.
Chapter 21
Ruth sat in the rocking chair, watching Harry. He lay on his back on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, the lower half of his face rigid as granite. If he was thinking about what she’d said, they weren’t happy thoughts.
Trouble his heart, Lord. And keep him on that couch until I can go.
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