I’m sorry.
He’d had no mercy on her, had given no thought to the person she was or to her pleas. He covered his face with his hands. I’m so sorry. His legs buckled. He sank to his knees in the cold, wet snow and sobbed.
Hanna drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, her foot aching to press harder on the accelerator. Although the plows had cleared the roads, a smooth glaze clung to the pavement, making it slick. White clouds of snow drifted across the road like knee-high ghosts.
At this rate she wasn’t going to make it to the station before Micah left. Why hadn’t she asked the sergeant to keep him there? Now she might miss him, and she had no idea where he’d go. He might leave town or leave the state, for all she knew.
She braked for a stop sign but didn’t come to a complete stop before accelerating again. Please, God, get me there in time. The sun emerged from behind the clouds and reflected off the white surface, blinding her with its glare. She squinted and flipped down the visor.
What would she say to him? Would he listen to her? Would he believe she had forgiven him? What if he’d convinced himself he was no good for her? Hadn’t she behaved in such a way the last two days? Hadn’t she treated him like he was nothing? How could she explain that the story of his past had brought understanding and eventually forgiveness? She patted her coat pocket to reassure herself the journal was still there.
Her mind was so preoccupied, she nearly passed the motorcycle before she recognized it. She slowed and looked in her rearview mirror. It was his.
And it was there. Where it had happened. She pulled into an empty lot and got out of the car, jogging carefully back to the cycle. His two bags were stacked on the back, and his helmet lay carelessly on top.
Footprints cut through the deep snow, and she followed them, placing her own feet in the center of each one. Brambles and thickets pulled at her clothing, but she trudged ahead heedlessly. Her veins surged with trepidation at returning to the spot where the attack had happened, but it hardly seemed like the same place. The landscape was different than it had been that night. The air had been dark with shadows, and now it was crisp with light. The ground had been dry and hard, and now it was softened with a blanket of snow.
She walked on, around the trees and scrub, stepping in Micah’s footprints. Her breath came in rapid puffs. The snow beneath her feet crunched softly with each step.
Through a cloud of vaporized breath, she saw him. Kneeling on the soft-packed ground, sitting back on his heels, his head bowed forward. She stopped. Her breath caught, and her heart clamored, urging her onward. Her eyes clung to his back, her footsteps made prints of their own. She could hear him now, whispering words she couldn’t make out in a pleading tone that constricted her heart.
When she drew close, his head jerked toward her. His face was wet and drawn. His red-rimmed eyes looked dazedly at her as if not quite believing she was there.
She opened her mouth to speak and realized she didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t seem to either. His gaze fell to a spot at her feet and slid away to his own hands on his thighs.
Each breath of air snatched the moisture from her mouth. Her heart couldn’t seem to keep up with her lungs. Why had he come here? Why had he gone to the police station to begin with? “Why did you do it?” The words tumbled out before she realized she was speaking.
He looked at her, then away, as if each glance cost him something.
“Why did you turn yourself in?”
He looked the other way, and she could tell he was wiping his face. “It was the right thing to do.”
She stepped closer and pulled the journal from her pocket. For the first time, she worried he would be angry with her for invading his privacy. Guilt and fear prickled her skin, but she held out the journal anyway. “I have something that belongs to you.”
He looked up then. His eyes narrowed, a crease marred his forehead.
“I read it.” She bit the inside of her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He reached out and took the journal.
“I know I shouldn’t have.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” How could she explain what the lessons from his past had taught her? She wanted to make him understand, but she saw in his eyes that he didn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me? About your mom, your childhood?”
He gave a brittle laugh. “I try to forget.”
“It’s part of who you are.”
He studied the snow-crusted ground. “Why are you here?”
His raw, tortured voice drew her. She looked at him kneeling in the wet snow, defeat lining his eyes, anguish etching lines in his face. Ribbons of regret curled tightly in her stomach. Wasn’t she to blame for the way he felt? Hadn’t she treated him with contempt? Hadn’t she wanted him to feel worthless?
Somehow she had to convince him she’d been wrong. And she had the feeling she’d get only one chance. “I came to tell you I forgive you.”
He looked up, and this time he kept his eyes on her. Hope shimmered in his eyes before a shadow fell over them.
She longed to touch him, to hold him. To kiss away every whisper of doubt and self-hatred. “I didn’t understand how someone could be so—how a person could do what you did to me.”
He turned the other way, and she saw his jaw clench.
“You know how I grew up. I had everything a little girl could want—loving parents, a safe home, a Christian upbringing.” She wished she could see his face. The knot in her stomach coiled tighter. “I never even imagined how frightful a childhood could be until I read your journal. It gave me a small glimpse of how awful it must’ve been. It’s no wonder—how could anyone raised under those conditions turn out wholesome and healthy? Your mother’s violence—”
“That’s no excuse.” He pinned her with his stare. “That’s no excuse.” He repeated firmly.
“But it helps me to understand. It helps me to forgive.”
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Your mom didn’t deserve forgiveness, either, but you gave it to her.”
He opened his mouth and shut it again, turning away. But not before she saw hope dawn in his eyes.
She stepped toward him and dropped to her knees in front of him. “God forgave you. And He made you a different person, Micah.” She lifted a hand and caressed the rigid lines of his face. ‘“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.’ Remember?”
He turned his face from her hand and closed his eyes. “I’m still the same man.”
Her heart softened, became pliable mush as she watched him deny himself her touch. She put her hand under his chin and nudged it back until he met her eyes. “What if you saw me walking alone on the roadside tonight? What if you were coming out of the bar again, and there I was. Would you do the same thing?”
“I wouldn’t hurt you for all the world.” The words seemed to grate across his throat. His eyes blazed with fervor. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
The tenderness she felt pulled the corner of her lips upward. “I know that,” she whispered. “I’ve seen the man you are. It’s in everything you do. Everything you say. You’re not the same man you were.” She thought of Gram’s support of Micah and breathed a laugh. “Do you think my own grandmother would take your side if you hadn’t changed?”
Longing filled his eyes. He wanted to believe her—she could see it plainly.
“I thought I’d gotten over this long ago. I didn’t know I hadn’t forgiven you until—until the other night. Gram has been praying all these years, she said, and I hadn’t even realized—” She paused and looked deep into his eyes. “And you—you’ve gone all this time carrying guilt for what you’d done.”
She had been clinging to bitterness, and Micah had been clinging to guilt. God knew they needed to know one another, needed to love one another, for true forgiveness to take place. Maybe that’s why their paths had crossed again. She had thought it an awful set of coinci
dences, but maybe it wasn’t happenstance at all.
Micah took her face in his hands. Remorse brimmed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Hanna,” he rasped.
She turned her face into his palm and planted a kiss on the cool, soft flesh. “You’re forgiven.” With her thumb, she brushed a falling tear from his cheek.
His warm breath ruffled her hair. “It won’t be easy, this relationship,” he said. “We’ll have things to deal with.”
“I know.”
“There’ll be pain and fear and guilt and—”
“Forgiveness,” she added.
“Yes. Forgiveness. It’s a good start.”
THE END
Dear Reader,
When the idea for Mending Places came to me, I pushed it firmly away. I didn’t want to explore the painful issue of rape, and I wondered how I could get my characters to push past the pain enough to forgive. Mostly, I wondered if I could do justice to such a difficult topic. Had God given this story to the wrong author? Still, the story grew in my heart, and after a year of praying, I gave in.
For some, the issues in this book were difficult to read about. My prayer is that the message of forgiveness will offer hope. Hope to those who’ve been harmed and, yes, hope to those who’ve harmed others. The strength to forgive can always be found through Jesus Christ. It will not necessarily come quickly, and sometimes it’s a long journey. If you’ve suffered at someone else’s hand, my hope is that God will help you along the path toward the mending place. He is always there waiting for you.
Denise Hunter
He heals the brokenhearted.
And binds up their wounds.
—Psalm 147:3
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Hanna was violated in a terrible way and faced the difficult task of forgiving. What does it mean to forgive?
2. Years went by before Hanna realized she hadn’t truly forgiven her attacker. Why do you think that was? What finally forced her to recognize her unresolved feelings?
3. Do you think it’s easier to forgive a stranger or a loved one? Why?
4. The Bible says God won’t forgive us if we refuse to forgive others. Why do you think that is?
5. Has someone ever wronged you in a way that felt impossible to forgive? How did you get through it?
6. Micah’s mother was an abusive alcoholic. Often these behaviors continue in cycles from one generation to the next. How did Micah overcome them? Have any negative behaviors been passed down to you? How can you break the cycle?
7. Hanna realized how Micah was treated as a child when she read his journal. Do you think understanding other peoples pasts can enable us to forgive them?
8. When Natalies husband left her for another woman, she couldn’t feel Gods presence. Why do you think that was? Has there ever been a time when you couldn’t feel God’s presence? How did you get past this?
9. As a result of feeling bereft of God’s presence, Natalie began studying God’s Word. What happened as a result?
10. Hanna, Micah, and Natalie each came to a crossroad in this story and had to make decisions that could set them on different paths. Have you ever come to such a crossroad? How can you be sure you make the right decisions?
READ MORE ABOUT THE LANDIN FAMILY! PLEASE TURN THIS PAGE FOR A BONUS EXCERPT FROM
SAVING GRACE
THE SECOND BOOK IN
THE NEW HEIGHTS SERIES BY DENISE HUNTER
COMING MARCH 2005
CHAPTER ONE
“You won’t tell my parents, will you?” she asked.
Natalie Coombs thought the girl across the desk appeared to be eighteen or nineteen. She had a world-weary look in her eyes that Natalie had seen before—deep pools of despair that reminded Natalie of someone else.
“No, everything is confidential.” She extended her hand across the desk. “My name is Natalie.”
“I’m Linn.” She shook Natalie’s hand. Her dark hair hung down on both sides of her face like a curtain. “Can I take a test here?”
“Sure. You’ll just need to fill out a form, then answer some questions first. All right?”
Linn nodded, and Natalie handed her a clipboard with the intake form. “You can have a seat over there.”
Linn settled into the farthest corner chair, and Natalie returned to the desk. She was glad she’d sent this morning’s volunteer, Amanda, upstairs to sort through the batch of baby clothing they’d just received. She had a feeling God had called her to help this girl. Her resemblance to Dana was uncanny, and Natalie prayed things would turn out differently for Linn than they had for Natalie’s first client. Even though a year had passed, Dana’s face still burned like a brand on her heart.
Natalie sneaked a glimpse at Linn. As the girl read the form, she toyed with the collar of her shirt. It looked as if she’d snagged it from the bottom of the pile in a cold dryer. At least she looked older than a lot of girls who walked through the doors. But she was young enough to be scared. And she was scared. Natalie could see it in her eyes. Lord, help me to show her Your love.
The phone rang, and Natalie reached for it. “Crisis Pregnancy Center.”
“Hi, it’s me.”
His voice was a punch in the gut. Keith still took her breath away, just in a different way. She walked into the storage room and shut the door behind her. “I’ve asked you not to call me here.”
“I can’t help it. My plans have changed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Picking up the boys, going camping. I can’t do it this weekend.”
She closed her eyes. She could feel her shoulder and neck muscles tightening. “Don’t do this to them again. You know they—”
“I can’t help it, all right? I have to work. Half my crew deserted me today.”
Well, you’re an expert at desertion, aren’t you? Natalie rubbed her temple. In her mind she could see Taylor and Alex scrounging in their closet for their sleeping bags the night before. She could see them packing their clothes and filling baggies with Cheese Nips and pretzel sticks to take along.
“Will you quit it with the silent treatment? Tell them I’m sorry, all right? I’ll take them next—”
“No way. You call them and tell them. I’m not doing it this time. It had been almost a year since Keith had been released from jail. Inside, Natalie still felt the need to make up the time he’d lost with the boys. Sometimes she wondered if he felt the same way.”
“Would you stop making it sound like I do this every week? I told you I’ve gotta work. Will you cut me some slack here?”
“Call them, Keith. I’ve got to go.” She disconnected before he could argue. She could hear her pulse in her head, and her scalp felt two sizes too small. Maybe she could take the boys camping herself. She thought there was a tent in the basement somewhere.
But it wasn’t the camping they’d looked so forward to; it was their dad’s company. Besides, she wouldn’t know a stake from a pole.
She stretched her neck, tilting her head to the side, feeling the pull of taut muscles. She couldn’t think about Keith right now. There was a girl in the lobby who needed her. She drew in a breath and blew it out, letting her facial muscles relax, then opened the door.
Linn was still in the corner chair. The clipboard rested on her lap, and she stared out the picture window where the words Crisis Pregnancy Center played in reverse. In the distance, Wyoming’s Tetons rose majestically through the summer haze.
“All finished?” Natalie asked.
Linn nodded, then stood and walked toward her. The rubber sole of her shoe was loose at the toe and flipped with each step. Linn handed her the clipboard.
“Great. If you’ll just step into that room there, I’ll be right with you.”
Normally, the volunteer would help the client, but Amanda lacked the experience to counsel with Linn. Anyway, Natalie felt drawn to help the girl.
Natalie called up the stairs. “Amanda … can you come watch the desk again?”
Moments later, the
volunteer bounded down the creaking steps. “Sure.”
Natalie glanced at her watch. Shoot. “Could you do me a favor and call Paula?”
“No problem,” Amanda said.
Natalie jotted down her sister’s cell-phone number. “Tell her something came up, and I have to cancel our lunch plans.”
Amanda began punching the numbers.
“Thanks a bunch.” Natalie grabbed a questionnaire clipboard from her desk and entered the counseling room.
“Now then.” She took a seat on the chair across from the girl. “I’ll need to ask you some questions, and then I’ll get you the pregnancy test. As I said before, all the information you give me is completely confidential, okay?”
“The test is free, right?” She blinked, and a stray hair caught in her lashes and bobbed down, then back up.
“That’s right. There’s no charge.”
Linn looked around the room from chart to chart, as if she was afraid the walls might collapse.
“I know you’re anxious right now, but we’re here to help, Linn, all right?”
She nodded, and Natalie perused her intake form. “You’ve come because you think you’re pregnant. Can you tell me why?”
She shrugged. “I’m late.”
“When was your last period?”
“Seven, eight weeks ago, I think.”
“Are you using any kind of birth control?”
She crossed her arms, cupping her elbows with her hands, the nails short and ragged. “Yes—well, usually.”
“How long have you known the baby’s father?”
She looked away. “Two years.”
Natalie wrote it down. “Are you still seeing him?”
Linn’s lashes fluttered down, and she shook her head.
“Have you ever been pregnant before?”
Her brows drew together. “No.”
“I’m not making any assumptions about you, all right? I have to ask everyone these questions.” When Linn nodded, Natalie continued. “What do you plan to do if you’re pregnant?”
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