Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  “Got it.”

  Spencer swung back to the curb where Angie and Marnie now sat, the kids on their laps. Half a dozen neighbors had congregated around them, offering comfort, advice, and a place to stay.

  The upside of living in a small town.

  Spencer squeezed between an elderly couple in the middle of explaining how to get the smell of smoke out of drapes. A lady in a pink bathrobe and flip-flops offered to let Marnie spend the night on her couch.

  “Let’s go back to Angie’s.”

  Angie wiped her sodden face and stood. “What did they say?”

  “Likely an electrical fire caused by old wiring in the laundry room.”

  “Janie’s been spitting up all day. Mikey wet the bed during his nap.” Marnie’s turn to cry. “I put a load of bedding, towels, bibs, and baby clothes in the dryer before I went to bed. It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not.” Angie squatted and hugged her. “Mom, I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

  Marnie’s shoulders slumped. Janie whimpered. “It’s okay, baby. I deserved it and more.”

  The waterworks were unnecessary. A nearby fire hydrant provided all the water the firefighters needed. And too many bystanders stood listening to them air their dirty laundry. “Not here, guys.”

  “Right.” Angie thanked everyone for their kind words, advice, and offers of food and housing. She handed Janie, who had her thumb in her mouth, to Marnie and hoisted Mikey to her hip. “Let’s go home.”

  “Are you sure you want me there?” Marnie stared up at her daughter. “I can stay with my neighbors if you’re worried—”

  “I was crazy with fear. I know you would never hurt the kids.” Angie held out her free hand. “You’ll stay with me until we figure out what to do with your house.”

  She glanced back at Spencer. “Are you coming?”

  He stared at their entwined fingers. His sister’s capacity to forgive and forget was unending. The love—and the peace—on their faces seemed so inviting.

  “Come on, Uncle Spencer.” Kylie slipped her small hand into his. “Let’s go. I’m tired.”

  “Me too. That sounds good.” He let the little child lead him home.

  34

  Libby, Montana

  Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Maybe Juliette could get back in her Ranger parked in front of Pastor Matt’s house in Libby and drive an hour and twenty minutes back to Eureka, no harm done. It had been four days since she told her mother about the assault. Four days of her mother’s troubled gaze following her around the house. Four days of dropped hints. Four days of her dad’s anxious looks. Waiting. Waiting for her to reach out. Her hands were tied as surely as if her attacker had used rope and double knotted it. The memories were like a sock stuffed in her mouth, choking her. Something had to give. She needed the key to open the cell containing her old, soul-searing memories before her inside rotted.

  Don’t be an idiot. Knock.

  She knocked. Nothing happened. Heaving a sigh of relief, she headed back down the ramp painted a stylish cerulean blue. Creaking told her the trailer door had opened. Gritting her teeth, Juliette pivoted. A broad-shouldered, tanned man in a wheelchair smiled up at her. Tim had told her the story about how Pastor Matt lost his legs in Afghanistan, but he hadn’t mentioned that his old friend from Libby High School was an attractive guy with a black crew cut and huge brown eyes that no doubt missed nothing when his youth group kids were thinking about misbehaving.

  “I’m Juliette Knowles.” She stuck her hand out.

  “I know.” He had a firm handshake. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Can we talk?”

  His gaze enveloped hers for several long seconds. His expression wary, he cocked his head. “It’s a nice morning. Let’s sit out at the picnic table.”

  He was smart. A youth pastor never counseled in a room alone.

  She allowed him to pass and followed him out to a rough-hewn picnic table, weathered gray, sitting to the left of his double-wide in the shade of a stand of birch trees. The bench had been removed on one side. He wheeled up to the table, withdrew his Bible from a pouch hanging from one arm, and laid it in front of him.

  Juliette plopped her sweating soda cup on the table and sat. What was she doing here? Besides drowning in a sea of remorse, guilt, and shame. She needed someone to throw her a life preserver. The words stuck in her throat.

  The silence stretched. The breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Such a peaceful sound. Maybe they could sit here and not talk until the lump dissolved in her throat. Until the pain in her gut subsided. Until the sin washed away.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Juliette.” He opened his Bible to the book of Psalms and studied the pages with earnest intent.

  The kindness in his voice undid her.

  She bit her lip and concentrated on the way wispy clouds clothed the sun and then moved on without a backward glance. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m not sure what we’re talking about. It’s obvious you’re in pain.” His eyes dark with unexpected compassion, Matt leaned forward in his chair, his hands splayed across the open Bible. “Tim’s my friend, so I want to be careful about how I handle this.”

  “I didn’t come to see Tim’s friend. I came to see the youth minister.”

  “Okay.” His eyebrows lifted, but his smile offered encouragement. “How can I help?”

  “What I tell you is confidential, right?”

  “I’m not a priest, but I don’t break confidences. Unless you’re about to tell me you plan to hurt yourself or others.”

  “Something happened to me.” To her everlasting mortification, tears welled. She breathed. She’d spent years not crying about this. Why did it suddenly haunt her every breath? “While I was at a youth group retreat at Lake Koocanusa. It was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long ago.” His voice softened. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  He was a man. A man of God. A minister. But still a man.

  What was she thinking coming here? How could she tell him something she couldn’t bear to tell the man she loved?

  They sat in silence again. Cars rolled past on the street. A man stuck his arm out the passenger-side window of a pickup and waved his hello. Matt smiled and saluted.

  Birds chirped. A dog barked. Cicadas serenaded them.

  Life went on.

  It seemed so unfair.

  “I want to know why God let it happen. All this garbage about God’s got this. God is good. God works everything for our good. God has a plan for us. For me.” She stopped and gritted her teeth. I will not cry like a big baby. “Really? I’m not seeing it. Now Tim doesn’t want me because I don’t get it. I don’t get the fairy tale.”

  “I take it you haven’t talked to him about why you have a hard time believing.”

  “How can I? He’ll know what I did . . . that I’m . . .”

  “The truth is you don’t blame God.” He laced his fingers together, his knuckles white, but his tone was ever so gentle. “You blame yourself.”

  “Look at me. I’m all about flaunting it. I didn’t learn anything from my mistake. I was stupid. I had on this bikini. I left the others at night and took a walk with a guy I hardly knew—”

  “I can assure you that I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did.” Matt leaned back and rubbed his hands over both stumps. “But I can tell you this: What happened to you wasn’t your fault. The man who did it. That’s on him. We’re responsible for our actions when we hurt other people. You did nothing to deserve an assault. It doesn’t matter what you were wearing or what error in judgment you made. This guy assaulted you. You’ve let this eat at your self-esteem for years now. You need help changing that pattern of thinking, that monologue in your head. Let’s get you some help with that.”

  The words flowed around Juliette in a steady stream, but the memories ran roughshod over them. His white teeth. The scar on his chin. The rough feel of his un
shaven skin. His smell of spearmint toothpaste. His uneven breathing in her ear. The sound of his voice filled with a sort of victory. The roughness of his hands on her body.

  “I didn’t stop him.”

  “Could you have?”

  The feel of his arm like an iron bar around her neck suffocated her again. The weight of his body anchored her against the ground. Rocks bit into her shoulder blades. She couldn’t get a breath. “No.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine what you went through.” His voice went hoarse. “I’m so sorry, Juliette, for your pain and suffering.”

  The kindness of his words served as that life preserver pulling her back from choppy, storm-whipped waves. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. His gaze meandered to the tree branches wavering in the breeze. “Getting my legs blown off taught me some hard lessons. When God said there will be trouble in our lives, He wasn’t kidding. But He didn’t make it happen. He wasn’t trying to teach me a lesson. We live in a broken world. Sin invades every part of this place. War, violence, abuse, poverty, sickness—it’s a tough gig.”

  “So what good is He?”

  “He’s everything good. He promises to walk through it with us. He cares for us. He loves us. And He will take us home where we’ll have complete healing. We will have joy. No more tears, no more pain. We can cling to Him for grace and mercy.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “You’re on the right track.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re here now, talking to me. You care so much about Tim you were willing to come here and talk to a man you don’t even know about the worst day of your life. That’s some serious love.”

  He was right. She loved Tim Trudeau. She wanted to let go of the past. If only she could figure out how. “What now?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I haven’t liked it so far, so that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Forgiveness. For the guy who did it, which really stinks, I know. Forgive yourself.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’d be surprised how much lighter you’ll feel. Forgiveness sets you free. It takes that burden off your shoulders so you can move on. Forgiving yourself may actually be harder, but if you’re like me, it’s all about baby steps.”

  “You forgave ISIS or whoever it was that blew up your truck?”

  “Yep. More or less.” He laughed, a soft, comforting sound. “In the interest of full disclosure, there are nights when I have to start all over again. But I keep at it. It’s the only way I can move forward. That and the kids. They remind me of what is good in my life.”

  Like Courtney. Like Mercy’s scholars. Like Tim. He wasn’t a kid, but he was the good in her life. “What now?”

  “Talking to me is good, but I honestly hope you’ll consider professional help.”

  “That’s what my mom said.”

  “Your mom is a wise lady. You also need to tell Tim.”

  How would that conversation go? Tim’s face misshapen with horror and distaste? “Not yet. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

  “That would never happen, but you can’t have a true relationship with any man—especially a man like Tim—without sharing every part of your life with him. And Tim is a good, good man. He will help you heal. I think you know that.”

  “I should go.” Before she started bawling. “I need to get back to Eureka.”

  “Would you mind if I pray for you first?”

  She took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “Lord knows I could use all the help I can get.”

  “Yes, He does.”

  She closed her eyes and let the words wash over her.

  35

  Kalispell, Montana

  Life went on. The number of people shopping in the Kalispell Walmart on a Saturday morning a week and a half since the evacuation of West Kootenai proved that. Spencer leaned on the cart, which Angie had rubbed down with an antibacterial wipe and dried with a paper towel at the entrance before allowing him to touch it. They were on a mission to replace the kids’ clothes lost in the fire and get cleaning supplies, disposable diapers, wipes, dog food, and more groceries. For small children her little ones ate like horses. The underlying mission was to get out of the house before they drove each other crazy.

  An insurance adjuster had inspected the house and made his report. Until the check came, they were on hold in Angie’s tiny duplex. His sister wandered through the little girls’ clothing section, picking up first one shirt, then another, and then another from the clearance rack, as if it was the most important decision she would make in her life.

  She held up a white-and-green T-shirt that read Girl Power and featured a superheroine of some kind reading a book. “Do you think this will fit Kylie? She’s growing so fast, it’s hard to keep up.” She squinted and pursed her generous lips. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  He shrugged. “What I know about little girls’ clothes would fit on the head of pin.”

  “You need a wife.”

  “Is Rocky paying child support?”

  “You’re mean.”

  “It’s not my intention to be mean.” He took the T-shirt from her and laid it in the basket. “I’m just asking because if he’s not, you can take him to court. Get a lawyer and go after him.”

  “Jacob had a talk with him. Rocky’s paying. Not enough when you have to feed and clothe three kids, but it’s what he can afford and it’s better than nothing.”

  “Better than nothing isn’t the standard that should be used when it comes to stepping up and taking responsibility for children.”

  Had their father stepped up? It seemed likely since they’d never been homeless and Marnie rarely held a job more than a year at a time.

  “I don’t want to fight with Rocky. It’s not good for the kids.” Angie threw a package of little girl socks in the basket. “I don’t even want to talk to him. I work. Mom watches the kids, which saves me a ton of money. I couldn’t afford to put them in day care. We’re doing fine. Better than we were when he was around, actually.”

  The words came like a blow to his gut. “Was he hurting you?”

  She frowned over a pile of little boy shorts on a table full of end-of-summer sales. “Not the way you mean. But that old saying about sticks and stones is totally wrong. Words hurt. A lot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” She added Hulk pajamas to the basket. Sudden tears brimmed in her eyes. “I never wanted to be a divorce statistic. I prayed to stay married. I talked to Pastor Ruben several times. He prayed with me. I tried to get Rocky to come to counseling with me. He refused. I didn’t want the kids to grow up without a father the way we did.”

  Spencer gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “It really irks me that you can’t catch a break.”

  “I have three great, healthy kids. My mom loves them and cares for them.” She sniffed and smiled. “I have a good job. And a second one that helps pay the bills. And you’re here.”

  “Aww. You’re way too forgiving.”

  “Seventy times seven.”

  Basically Mercy’s take on forgiveness. The women were ganging up on him. “What would Jesus say about a cheating husband?”

  “To the wife? To forgive. To the husband, to go and sin no more.” Her smile turned grim. “But we both know that isn’t going to happen, so I’m getting on with my life, knowing God sees me and knows my circumstances.”

  And teaching her big brother a lesson at the same time. Angie must be sick of making lemonade from the lemons life hurled at her like baseballs thrown by a big-league southpaw pitcher. Yet she always managed a smile.

  Waving the list in her hand, she pointed in the opposite direction and strode past him. “Onward and upward. Diapers and wipes.”

  “Lead the way, Sis. I’d follow you anywhere.”

  Her giggle made him smile.

  He turned the basket around in a less-than-graceful U-turn and followed. Then he saw Mercy.
The last person he expected to see in the middle of the boys’ underwear section at Walmart. He halted. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” he called after Angie.

  She waved and kept going.

  At the sound of his voice, Mercy turned. Her first reaction was to smile. That was good. Followed by a frown. Not so good.

  He left the basket and wound his way through the overstuffed racks. “What are you doing here?”

  Her hands fluttered. Packages of little boy underwear fell to the floor. “Ach.” She disappeared behind the table. Fumbling sounds. More packages slid off the table. “So sorry.”

  Seconds ticked by. He peeked over the table. She bent over, head down, the packages in her arms. Not moving.

  “Mercy?”

  She looked up. Chagrin bloomed in her face. “Here.”

  “I know. Are you getting up? Do you need help?”

  Her flushed face turned a deeper shade of scarlet. Like a beet. Almost purple. “No. Thank you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  He traipsed around the table, leaned on his crutches, and offered her his hand. “Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  Something in her expression registered. Fear. Shame. Embarrassment. The desire to flee. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Not you. Me.”

  “You don’t want to be seen with me?”

  “It’s not that. I’m just clumsy.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  She stood and her gaze strayed around the store. She looked like a hunted rabbit in search of a hiding place the fox couldn’t find.

  “It’s okay. It’s a big store. You tell me where you’re headed next and I’ll go to the other side.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She stuck the packages on the table and grabbed her basket. “I’m almost done.”

  Her basket overflowed with sewing stuff, toilet paper, dish soap, clothes soap, bundles of material, and assorted other household goods. Amish folks didn’t come to a place like Kalispell very often. It was too far. When they did, they stocked up. “How’d you get here? Did you hire a driver?”