by Camille Eide
Shaking his head, Joe stood, fists clenched. “I gave it everything I had, including my heart,” he muttered. Aware of the looks from the crew, he clamped his lips, but the frustration continued to build. What more do You want from me?
Joe unclenched his fists and stared into his gloved hands, seeing not the rough leather, but the faces of Sue and the kids. A verse he’d committed to memory as a teenager came to mind.
I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.
Joe closed his eyes, but it did nothing to keep the certainty from settling in.
God wanted him to finish what he’d started.
* * *
“This cannot be happening.” Sue put the phone down and leaned on the kitchen counter, plastering her hands over her face.
Brandi had slipped away from a Child Protection Services worker and was now missing. CPS and law enforcement were searching for the girl and promised to keep Sue posted, but so far, no one had a clue where Brandi was.
Sue headed to the bedroom Jasmine now shared with Daisy and Sonja on the main floor while she recovered from her injuries. She peeked in at the sleeping girl and breathed a sigh of relief.
If Jasmine hated being in the same house as Sue, it didn’t show on her face.
Sue watched the girl for a minute, then went to her office, collapsed into a chair, and closed her eyes. Thankfully, both Linda and Karla were available and had returned to the ranch, one blessed source of relief. But sleepless nights and a total loss of appetite were taking their toll on Sue’s strength, both mentally and physically. At least she’d given Bertie a day off—that was one thing she’d managed to do right.
But there was a growing list titled All the Things Sue Should Have Done Differently. She should have been paying closer attention to Brandi’s warning signs. She should have tried harder to form a bond with her. Should have known what was going on. That negligence may now be costing the girl her safety, her health, even her life.
She also should have listened to Joe’s side of the story. She should have considered all the facts before making a judgment. Should have listened to her heart, which would have told her that Joe wasn’t capable of such a vicious attack.
After several days of searching, Sue had finally located the oil rig in Louisiana where Joe was working. She left him messages, but he didn’t return her calls.
She couldn’t blame him. If Joe had not done what Brandi—and Sue—had accused him of, then he had to be feeling angry, hurt, and humiliated.
The ache that camped around her heart tightened.
And while she was listing regrets, there were also things she should have said to Joe, things she would never be able to say now. Questions she could never ask, like how had Joe met God in this very place, the God he sang to so beautifully in that chapel on the hill.
She ached to hear those songs now.
Sue grabbed a jacket, slipped outside, and headed up the hill.
Such continuous quiet. Even when the ground wasn’t frozen and covered with snow, Juniper Valley was an endless sea of calm, unlike any place she’d ever known. It was the only place she’d ever felt grounded. The deep stillness here made the city types antsy, but something about the quiet whispered to Sue’s very core. Soon enough, her time here would end and she would return to the city. Alone. Being alone was all she’d known, but now it felt like a harsh prison sentence, one she’d imposed on herself.
She slipped inside the chapel and shuffled down the center aisle. Thankfully, no visible trace of the incident remained, the scene long since investigated and cleaned.
But echoes of Joe’s rich voice raised in song lingered in the room, pressed on her spirit.
She eyed the corner where she’d clung to him in panicked relief, where he’d kissed her. So tender and full of—
Stop it.
Her gaze landed on the wooden bench where Joe had sat across from her and told her about God’s love for her with such conviction. She went to the front of the chapel and stared up at the wooden cross.
Light poured in from the narrow side windows, warming her face and hair.
“I’ve hurt people,” she whispered. “I damaged Joe’s reputation. I betrayed him.” Just like others have done. She waited for a sign of some kind, a whisper of agreement.
None came.
“He said he loved me and I—” Threw it in his face. Someone finally loves me, and this is what he gets.
Tears trailed down her cheeks.
She lowered herself to the nearest bench and wiped her face with both hands. “I was so blind. I wish I could go back to that night and tell him—” That I love him too.
But Joe certainly didn’t want to hear that now. Too little, too late. Far too late.
There was nothing she could do.
Her tears kept falling. She looked up at the cross again.
Perhaps there was one thing she could do.
“God, if You can hear me, could You somehow help Joe get past all the hurt I’ve caused him? Can You do that? And can You please help Brandi turn up safe? Help her and Jasmine and all the kids grow up safe, strong, and confident? For their sake, not mine. I’m afraid I’ve messed up too much.”
Perfect love casts out fear.
But what was perfect love? Was there really such a thing? She’d never even known passable love, much less perfect. Joe said God loved her. How was that even possible? How did that work, exactly? What did it involve?
What do You want from me? And will it hurt? She wasn’t sure if she hoped more for silence or an audible answer. She closed her eyes. I’m listening.
A strange, sweet warmth stole over her. Strange but good. More than a sensation or a gust of wind, but like an actual Presence. It washed over her, saturating her inside and out. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt or experienced. Not visible, but almost touchable, like a thickening calm enveloping her.
And not creepy. Just … there.
“Okay, so You really are there. What do You want from me? Am I supposed to give up control? Live under someone else’s thumb? I’ve already been there. It crushed me, stole my spirit.”
Panic bloomed in her chest, urging her to jump up and run back to the house. But to what? Emptiness? Being forever driven by fear?
Perfect love casts out fear.
Sue rose slowly and waited for the panic to escalate, but it didn’t. All she felt was a giant soothing calm, a gentle beckoning. “What do You want?” she whispered to the cross. But somehow, she already knew.
Your heart.
“Why?”
The huge calm continued to spread through her like warm honey, completely saturating her like a sponge. Wrapping her in safety, surrounding her in peace. Like arms. Gentle, giant arms.
“Okay. I don’t know if it’s what You want, but okay,” she whispered. “I give up. All my mistakes, all my irrational fears, all the stupid things I’ve ever done—”
Yes, all of that. And your broken heart, every last shattered piece. I want to make it whole.
Something broke inside her. Sue crumpled to her knees.
For minutes that felt like an eternity, she lay sprawled across the rough wooden bench, her heart pouring out wordlessly. But as tears flowed out, peace seeped in—first a trickle, then a stream that spread through her, filling every guarded cavity, every bereft place. It felt like—
Love.
Really?
Yes.
A flicker of hope sparked in her heart—the hope she’d refused to entertain for so long. Hope that took every last bit of courage she had. “Will You help me?” she whispered.
Yes.
Wiping her face, Sue glanced around the darkening room.
Something in the corner caught her eye.
She went closer and pulled the old sign into the light. My Father’s House. She read the smaller words at the bottom. It was a Bible verse painted i
n crimson.
Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; He sets the prisoners free and gives them joy. Psalm 68: 5-6
As she read the words My Father’s House again, a simple truth dawned.
Her heart and her home were one and the same. She had absolutely nothing left to lose.
Sue dragged the sign out of the chapel and started down the trail toward the house, but the thing was a lot heavier than it looked. She stopped and pulled out her phone. “Hey, Linda, could you have Edgar get the ladder, and ask Chaz to grab the power drill and some heavy-duty screws? I need a couple kids to meet me out front. Thanks.” She resumed dragging the sign.
God wanted her heart?
Then he would have it. Every bit of it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joe closed his Bible, stuffed it in his duffel, then hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and waited for the transport to shore. The first two weeks had passed in a fog, each day blending into the next until he couldn’t remember how long he’d been on the sea with nothing on the horizon but water, clouds, and more water.
Being offshore where the work was hard and mindless and the pace steady had a way of forcing a guy to think. Trouble was, all he could think about were the things he wanted to forget.
Sue’s disgust for him had been clear, her heart untouchable, her fears too deep. But even so—God help him—his idiot heart still wasn’t getting the message.
It’s ripping my heart out, but I need to let them go. Help me, Father.
After he checked into a room for his two-week off-shift, Joe called his attorney. Steve Weston was a valuable resource with his corporation and real estate expertise. Steve had called a few times since Joe had arrived at the Gulf, but he hadn’t been in any mood to think about the Juniper Valley property.
Now, after some time and prayer, Joe was ready to move on. Cut his losses. And his ties.
“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked now.
“Yeah. Go ahead, just like we planned.”
Joe ended the call and stared at the phone.
I don’t know about this, God. But Your way, not mine.
Joe hadn’t checked his La Pine listings in a few weeks. Two acres had sold and competitive offers were coming in on four more. He spent some time browsing the web for comparable listings and market value changes. Another search brought up his name on the Juniper Valley Chamber of Commerce. He laughed under his breath. He sounded like some kind of high roller. He scrolled through the local news until one article caught his eye. Frowning, he zoomed in on the picture, then zoomed in some more.
Odd. It was an old picture of Juniper Ranch, from back in the day when the My Father’s House sign still hung above the entryway.
He checked the date on the photo.
Very odd. The picture had been taken less than a week ago. This was a current photo.
Who put that sign on the ranch? And why? He needed to find out without anyone knowing he was the one asking. Joe redialed Steve’s number, drumming his fingers until his lawyer picked up.
* * *
As Jasmine arranged flatware on the sideboard, Sue watched the girl manage her crutches, struck again by a prickling sense of guilt.
Sue hadn’t broached the subject of Jasmine’s anger or her riding off on the motorcycle, because Jasmine had returned to her old self since coming back to the ranch. The girl needed time to heal physically.
Maybe Sue should just try to quietly hang on to whatever was left of their friendship for the time they had left. She headed back to the kitchen but then stopped.
Why not talk about it? January was already half gone. Time was precious and fleeting. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? No better time for mending rifts than the present.
“Jasmine,” she said softly. “Can we talk?”
Jasmine nodded and followed her to the den. Sue offered to help her get comfortable on the couch, but Jasmine shook her head. “I not need help, Miss Susan. I take care of myself.” She held herself up straight, like a tiny adult. “I have to take care of myself when I leave here.”
Sue’s heart clenched. “Jasmine, in the hospital, you told me you left on the motorcycle because you were angry. First, I have to say that was a dangerous way to deal with anger.”
Jasmine turned to Sue with a look of disbelief.
“But before you say anything, I also need to apologize. It’s my fault you were hurt. I’m so sorry for teaching you that riding off angry was okay and for … a lot of things. You were absolutely right, Jas.” An ache lodged in her throat. “I have been a terrible mom.”
The girl’s lashes lowered against her reddening cheeks.
“And I also want to apologize for what I did the day Papa Joe left. You were right about that too. I should’ve listened to him, but I didn’t. I said things I never should have. I wish I could go back to that day and change things.”
“You do?”
Sue nodded, unable to speak. Oh, honey, you have no idea.
Jasmine met Sue’s gaze. “But you just doing your job. To protect kids.”
“No. Joe deserved to be heard. I was afraid and stupid.”
Jasmine examined her painted fingertips. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I am sorry too. For what I say to you. You are good mom. Very good.”
Tears welled in Sue’s eyes, and she slipped an arm around the girl. “You deserve better.”
Jasmine leaned against her. “Papa Joe say Papa God will always take care of him,” she said, words slow and pensive. “So maybe Papa Joe is okay wherever he at now.”
Sue smiled. “I hope so.” That’s what I ask Him for. Every day.
Jasmine looked up, her eyes glistening. “But I still miss him.”
“Me too.” Sue missed his silly grin, the way he interacted with the kids and made each one feel special, the way his eyes met hers from across a room. She missed his smell. His quiet strength. His gentleness—
“I wish Papa Joe come back.” A tear trailed down Jasmine’s cheek. “I love him.”
“So do I,” Sue whispered.
Jasmine studied her carefully, then put an arm around Sue and rocked her gently, shushing and making soothing sounds.
The idea of the girl trying to comfort Sue made her laugh and cry at the same time.
“Miss Susan, okay if I call you Mama Sue?”
Sue nodded, unable to speak. It would only be for a little while, but she didn’t care.
“Or maybe just Mama?”
Smiling through her tears, Sue whispered, “I’d like that.”
Jasmine pressed herself close to Sue’s side.
Sue wrapped both arms around the girl and hugged her gently. Father, how will I ever be able to let go when April comes?
* * *
Later that afternoon, Bertie burst into the kitchen with the office phone in hand.
“Call for you, Sue. An attorney.” The twist of her mouth told Sue exactly what Bertie thought of lawyers.
Sue put down the cookie dough recipe she’d been trying to decipher and took the phone. “This is Susan Quinn.”
“Hello, this is Steve Weston, attorney representing Montgomery Enterprises.”
Probably calling to say what she feared, that the rent-free deal was too good to be true. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling on behalf of my client. We would like to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“My client is no longer interested in basing a facility in Juniper Valley. We understand you’ve successfully operated a group home there and might perhaps like to continue. If that’s the case, my client is offering to sell the property back to you.”
Sue’s heart sank. She hoped he would say she could continue on as a renter, something she might actually be able to afford. But purchase? Not hardly.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have that kind of—”
“For the price of one dollar.”
“—money because I don’t—” Sue gasped. “What?”
“We are offering to sell the entire property back to you for one dollar.”
Great, a prankster. She should have asked for credentials first. “Funny, Mr. Weston. Or whatever your name is.” Sue punched off the call.
Nut job. And just plain mean. Did people really have nothing better to do with their time than make prank—
The phone rang.
Sue read the unknown number and answered. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re—”
“Please, don’t hang up. Ms. Quinn, this is a legitimate offer. I can fax it to you right now if you’ll allow me.”
“Your one-dollar offer.”
“That’s right.”
Think, Sooz. What kind of gimmick is this? “Well, the obvious question is why, but this is so ridiculous that I can’t even—”
“There is one condition.”
Ah. The catch. “And what’s that?”
“Montgomery Enterprises would like to retain the sign that is now hanging above the main building’s entrance. The sign that reads My Father’s House.”
The sign? Sue’s brain felt like cold oatmeal. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I can buy the property for one dollar, but only if I give up the sign?”
“Yes.” She could almost hear him checking his watch. “That’s the deal.”
Why on earth would the owner give the property away for nothing and insist on having that sign? Nothing about this made sense—if it was even legit.
“Can I think about the offer and call you back?”
“Of course. I’ll give you my number.”
She copied the number, then set the phone on the island and mowed fingers through her hair. For her, that sign was more than a piece of plywood. She’d hung it on the house as a tangible sign of her surrender, her decision to give God her heart and accept things His way. It didn’t matter that the place didn’t technically belong to her. As long as she was still here, her heart was here also. Everything she had and nearly everyone she loved in the world were covered beneath the banner of those words.