Joshua's Mission

by Vannetta Chapman

  Simon caught four more trout and a catfish, which he threw back because it was on the smallish side. By the time they packed up to leave the jetty, they had a total catch of ten. “That’s good. Our limit is ten each, so there’s no problem if we’re stopped.”

  “Why would we be stopped?”

  Simon shrugged. “Some people try to fish commercially, and you need a special permit for that. Who needs more than ten fish?”

  “Gut point.”

  Simon stopped at the fish cleaning station and showed him the quickest way to clean the trout.

  “How do you cook it?” Joshua asked.

  “Salt, pepper, and lemon in a pan with a little oil. You’re going to love it.”

  They made their way back to the car that Simon shared with the rest of his group. When they reached the trailers, Joshua thanked him. “I’ll have some great stories to tell when I get back home.”

  “You will, and when you get a hankering for more trout, maybe you’ll come back to the job site.”

  Together they carried the cooler inside and then bagged and stored the fish in the refrigerator. Joshua walked Simon back out and thanked him again for the evening. He intended to head up to his room and to bed. It appeared Alton wasn’t home yet, but it didn’t bother him as much as it would have earlier. That was what four hours of fishing could do for a man—help him forget his troubles.

  He noticed a light on the girls’ patio and walked that way. Becca was sitting outside alone, reading her novel.

  “Can’t do that inside?”

  She looked up in surprise. “I didn’t hear you walk up.”

  “Quiet as a cat, that’s what I am.”

  Becca closed her book and waved him over. “Come tell me about your fishing.”

  So he did. As he described himself standing in the surf, glancing around for man-of-wars and reeling in the trout, she pulled out her notebook.

  “You’re going to write about it?”

  “I’m keeping a sort of journal for my mamm. Maybe she can draw or paint something I’ve seen.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you.”

  Becca shrugged. “I wish she could have come. I found out my parents met on a mission trip. I think I understand her better now that I’ve been here.”

  “I was thinking along the same lines tonight. Maybe I understand my bruder a little better. Coastal fishing was a whole new experience for me. It was exciting, and that made me wonder if Alton feels the same way when he’s surfing.”

  “Probably.”

  “I only wish—” Joshua shook his head. This was no time to bring up his regrets about Alton’s behavior.

  They spent the next hour talking about their families, their homes back in Cody’s Creek, and the work they were doing in Port Aransas. He finally glanced at his watch and was surprised to see it was nearly eleven. “I’d never stay up this late at home,” he admitted.

  “At home you’re up well before dawn.”

  “True. Here we sleep in until at least six thirty.”

  Joshua suddenly realized he wanted to kiss Becca. They had both stood, and she’d opened the door so that he could walk through the house rather than vaulting over the patio railing.

  When he paused next to her, she looked at him, her eyes widening, and then she looked away.

  Did she want him to kiss her? Did she care about him the way he was beginning to care about her?

  He stepped closer, put his hand under her chin, and lifted her face to his. And just as he was about to press his lips to hers, a truck pulled up out front, bass pumping, music blaring, Alton laughing.

  The moment between them dissolved. Becca sighed, and Joshua followed her into the house and out the front door.

  Suddenly there was something he wanted much more than the trout in the zippered baggies in his refrigerator. He wanted more time alone with Becca. He walked upstairs, following his brother, who was laughing and describing his latest surfing attempts. As he half listened, Joshua vowed to himself that the next time he had an opportunity to kiss Becca, he would ignore anything else and follow his heart.

  CHAPTER 37

  Charlie had looked forward to the Wednesday luncheon all week. On Wednesdays one client shared their story with the volunteers. Although Charlie wasn’t technically a client—his home still hadn’t been rebuilt—he looked forward to the chance to tell what had happened to him on that fateful day. He felt like the main character in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner—a lyrical ballad he had taught to many high school classes. It was the longest poem Samuel Taylor Coleridge had written. Though it had been penned in 1797, Charlie took solace in the fact that much of man’s troubles and triumphs remained the same—which in turn reminded him of the book of Ecclesiastes.

  “ ‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens,’ ” he quoted. There was no need to look up the passage from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. He’d memorized it long ago. “ ‘A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build.’ ”

  Though physically he continued to struggle with the pain in his shoulder and arthritis throughout his body, Charlie’s voice remained strong. As in those days when he was a teacher, his tone and emphasis captured his listeners’ attention.

  “No doubt you’ve heard those words before, but they sound different sitting among piles of lumber and roof shingles.”

  “Too many roof shingles,” Alton muttered, though a smile belied his tone.

  Alton had been carting stacks of shingles up and down ladders for more than two days. He actually seemed content, and his occasional petulant look had vanished. In short, he was a good volunteer and had been invaluable around the work site. Though he continued to fight with his brother about his evening activities—Charlie had heard some of the arguments himself—he was quite dedicated to the work they were doing, at least between the hours of eight and five.

  “And too much gumbo,” Jim added.

  Their lunch had been provided by the family who would own the house next to Alice’s. The giant pot of seafood gumbo and pans of corn bread were their way of thanking the workers.

  “It’s good that you’re tired and full,” Charlie said. “That means I have a captive audience.”

  Laughter spread through the group like the breeze that cooled the day. Charlie thought they were a fine team, numbering eleven, when you included Jim and himself. Quitz turned once, twice, and then three times before she plopped to the ground at Charlie’s feet.

  “Quitz has heard this before,” Charlie joked, but then his tone became serious. “And she’s an important part of this story. If you don’t believe that God can use animals… you may reconsider the idea after I share my experience.”

  He had their attention now. He described the week before Orion landed, how few believed tragedy could strike them, how some had even placed bets on when or if the storm would arrive. “That seems incredibly naive now, but you have to remember that prior to Orion, only two major storms had hit the island in the last forty-five years.

  “I wasn’t here for Allen in 1980. I evacuated like everyone else. Three people died, and there was more than six hundred and fifty million dollars in damages.” He paused long enough to let the numbers sink in. “I was here for Celia. The island took a direct hit from her in 1970. Those days completely changed the path of my life. Or I should say, God changed the path of my life on that day.”

  Becca scooted closer to Joshua, who squeezed her hand. It reminded Charlie of those early days with Madelyn. His heart still ached at the loss of her, but he enjoyed seeing young love—even when those involved didn’t realize what had happened to them yet.

  “My wife, Madelyn, and I were new to the island when Celia wrought her destruction—winds steady at 160 miles per hour, gusts up to 180. Tragically, 13 souls were lost and the damage exceeded 500 million.” His mind stretched back to August 1970, and it was as if he cou
ld see the way the island had been then.

  “We hardly knew anyone, and we certainly didn’t understand the ferociousness with which nature can attack an area.” He glanced over their heads, at the street and the area beyond. “There were fewer people living on the island then, but after the storm… after it had nearly destroyed our lives, we understood what it meant to be a neighbor to one another. There was no choice but to depend on the man or woman standing next to you. We cleaned up debris for one another, cooked for one another, even lived with one another. FEMA had no urban disaster trailers back then.”

  More laughter, but now they were watching him intently.

  “Those times were difficult, but we pulled together as a community. From that storm were born friendships I couldn’t have begun to imagine. I was a young man—only twenty-two years old, and I was pretty sure I could handle things on my own. Celia taught me to accept the grace and help of others. God… well, He taught me that I’m safe in His hands, even when my life is turned upside down.”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  “I think I knew that Orion posed a threat. I remember walking with Quitz on the beach just days before the storm hit. I recall thinking back over something my wife used to say—that life moves on. Maybe I was thinking that it had already moved on for me. But there was Alice, and the kids… ” He waved toward their house, which would be ready to live in before this work crew returned to their homes.

  “I made sure that Alice and Shelley and C.J. were safe, that they had a place to go farther inland. And I planned to leave too, but there were a few other folks, some stubborn old-timers, who I needed to check on.” He told them of finding Moose Davis and of the man’s diminished mental abilities. He described how they had been forced to swim over to the community center when Moose’s house broke apart.

  “The water was cold, but the rain had suddenly stopped. We were in the eye of the storm. I looked up… looked up and saw starlight.” His voice faded as his eyes sought the sky. Finally, he cleared his throat and continued. “We knew it was risky to try to swim to the community center, but in truth we shouldn’t even have still been here on the island. At that point, I think we understood our chances of survival were slim. Moose told me that we would live together or die together, and that sounded all right with me. There are worse things than dying with a friend in a place you love. When I faced death though, it awoke something in me. Suddenly, I wanted to live. I wanted to watch Quitz grow old and to see Alice’s grandchildren into adulthood.”

  Tears stung his eyes. He brushed them away unashamedly. It didn’t matter if these people saw how he felt. What mattered was that he shared with them the truth that God had impressed upon his heart.

  “We’d found some old boogie boards up in the attic, and when the roof tore off and the walls began to come apart, we jumped. The water was moving faster than I imagined. At one point the board slipped from my hands, but Quitz snagged my shirt sleeve and pulled me back up.” He held up his hands as if to ward off any argument. “I know. That sounds impossible, but she did. She was riding that board like a world-class surfer, and she snatched at my sleeve and tugged with all her might. It was enough to pull me back toward the board, and then I was able to grab hold.”

  He described how he’d hit the building, how that had dislocated his shoulder. He told them about the other people they met in the community center. “Besides me and Moose, there was Lamar Johnson—you may have met him when he stopped by yesterday. Also a young family—Dale and Angela Northcutt and their little three-year-old daughter, Sophia Claire. And Kurt Jameson—a good man who still works here in Port A.”

  “Did they all make it?” Sarah asked. Her eyes were wide, and she’d leaned forward during the telling of his story. “The little girl… did she make it?”

  “She did. Sophia Claire and her family decided to move permanently to Corpus.”

  “And we know Lamar is still here,” Alton said.

  “He is.”

  “What of Moose?” Joshua asked.

  “My friend Moose, he made it through the storm… though, as you may know, twenty-four did not. We heard some of those people that night as we sheltered in the community center. We tried… we tried to save the ones we saw floating by, but… it wasn’t possible.” This was always the hard part for Charlie, but he also knew that it was the important part. He needed them to understand that God had indeed had a plan, even when parts of it still made no sense to him.

  “Moose developed pneumonia, and his system was already compromised from the dementia that he’d tried to hide from everyone. I don’t blame him for that. Moose was a good man, but as I mentioned, he was stubborn. He was hospitalized in Corpus and died eight days later. He isn’t one of those included in the death toll of Orion, but he may as well have been.”

  “You miss him,” Becca murmured.

  “I do. And I’ve spent many a night wondering why he died—why other good people died—and why I lived.” He cleared his throat, reached down, and patted the top of Quitz’s head. “There were seven of us huddled there that night. We needed each other. It took all of us to find supplies, to protect the child, to set up a barrier around us for when the windows blew in. It took each of us praying and caring for the one to his left and the one to his right.”

  He thought of Sophia Claire and the picture he’d received of her recently. She was a beautiful girl and would now grow into a lovely young woman. Alice and her grandchildren would be able to return to their home.

  “My story, like the others you will hear, is one of survival. As my wife said, life moves on, but we know and believe that God is by our side regardless. I don’t know why God Almighty chose me that night, but I believe He did. Same as I believe He chose you to come here and help. We’re all an integral part of His mighty plan, even Quitz.”

  He stepped aside and sat in the chair next to his dog. There was a smattering of applause, and one by one each person came by and thanked him for sharing his story. When Becca stopped in front of him, tears shining in her eyes, she leaned forward and hugged him. Softly, she said, “Thank you, Charlie. I needed to hear that.”

  Which was pretty much all Charlie could ask of his life and his story, that it would serve to guide someone else. That it would restore and bolster their faith, even when they were facing terrible storms.

  CHAPTER 38

  Later that day Becca and Joshua took a walk out to the beach. They had discovered it was easy to catch a ride with one of the workers as they left the job site. All they needed to take with them was a blanket to place on top of the sand, sunscreen, a bag for Becca’s growing seashell collection, and dinner. For their ride home, they could catch the city bus that stopped at the fishing pier on the hour.

  Becca had found that her skin blistered instead of tanning. She definitely didn’t like the bright-red-lobster look, and she’d listened to Nancy’s warnings about skin cancer. Though her dress covered most of her legs, Becca worked the sunscreen into her arms as soon as they arrived and every hour afterward.

  “Your freckles like the Texas sun,” Joshua teased.

  Becca felt along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, as if her fingertips could press the freckles back into place.

  “Nein. I like them.” Joshua grabbed her hand, uncurled her fingers, and placed on her palm a large portion of a sand dollar.

  “Oh! It’s the biggest piece yet. When did you find it?”

  “Earlier, while you were playing in the surf.”

  “I was looking for shells.” She gave him her most serious look but then burst out laughing. “All right. I was enjoying the water splashing over my feet.”

  “Like a child.” He lay back on the blanket, tilting his hat over his eyes to block out the late afternoon sun.

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Being childlike? Nein. It’s a gut thing. Remember your daddi preaching on it last month?”

  “ ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the chi
ldren of God.’ ”

  “Ya. You’re like that.”

  “I’m a peacemaker?”

  She thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he said, “Maybe.”

  “Maybe I need to be, considering the way you and Alton argue.”

  “Let’s not ruin the evening talking about it.”

  Becca studied the sand dollar, running her fingers around the edge and then across the middle. “Shelley colored a picture for me. Alice brought it by today when she stopped to talk to Jim. The picture is of a sand dollar, and beside it was printed the legend of the sand dollar.”

  “Legend?” Joshua yawned, and Becca poked him in the ribs.

  “Pay attention and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Oh, ya. I’m awake.” He raised up on one elbow and blinked his eyes several times.

  Becca laughed and turned her attention back to the sand dollar in her hand.

  “There are four holes.”

  “I only see three.”

  “But you can see where the fourth would be. Three of the holes represent the nails that held Christ on the cross.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And this larger hole near the top represents the Roman spear that pierced His side.”

  “Shelley did this in school?”

  “Apparently they had several coloring sheets that portrayed different legends pertaining to the sea. She picked the sand dollar because her nana likes them.”

  Joshua traced his forefinger down the inside of her hand, from her wrist to the center of her palm where he drew a circle. Funny how such a thing could cause her heart to beat faster.

  “There’s more.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Becca pointed to the center of the shell. “On this side we have the Easter lily, and at its center is a star.”

  “Like in the Nativity story.”

  “Yes. And on the other side—” She turned over the sand dollar. “This is the Christmas poinsettia.”

  “It’s a gut story,” Joshua said.

  “The legend says that if you find a whole one and break it open, you will release five white doves that spread God’s gut will and peace.”