by Leigh Bale
“Take it out. It’s yours,” Mac whispered.
Toni set the box on the table, then reached inside with both hands and lifted out an elegant green vase. Scenes of bluebirds and exotic pink flowers were etched along the delicate flutes.
Eric’s vase. The one Mac had picked out for her in Baghdad.
A croaking gasp escaped Toni’s throat. The vase looked perfect. No broken edges. Nothing to indicate it had ever been knocked off the mantel of the fireplace.
“Is it new?” Toni asked.
“No, it’s the same vase, but I had it restored.”
“But how did you repair it?” She touched the fluted edge lightly with her fingertips, as if it might break again.
“I took it to an antique shop that specializes in fine repairs. They fixed it almost good as new.”
Emotion clogged her throat. His thoughtfulness touched her deeply, making it harder to reject him. “It’s beautiful, Mac. Thank you so much.”
He reached out and tilted the vase so she could see inside. The white porcelain showed three thin seams where the vase had been restored. “Notice the outside appears perfect. You can’t even tell it was ever damaged. But inside, you can see where it was broken into three parts.”
Toni lifted the vase, peering closely at the spidery thin veins. “Yes, I see them.”
“The restorationist told me the seams would be stronger than the rest of the vase. At first, I was displeased with the job they did in repairing it,” Mac confessed. “I wanted it perfect again. Nothing else would do. Then I realized the vase has more meaning because we know what it’s been through. Like the vase, our lives were shattered by Eric’s death and the evil men who tried to destroy us.”
Toni nodded, understanding completely, unable to speak through her dry throat.
Mac reached out and took her hand. “For me, this vase represents the Savior and His sacrifice for each of us. His body was bruised and broken, His life shattered for us. His hands and feet were permanently scarred. And yet, through the miracle of God’s love, those wounds healed. They’re still visible, as a reminder of His great sacrifice for us, but His body was restored. Death could not conquer Him.”
Mac brushed at his damp eyes. “The cracks in the vase help me remember your brother and his sacrifice for our country. We will see Eric again. I know this in my heart.”
A lump as big as Kansas settled in Toni’s throat. She couldn’t swallow to save her life. A long swelling silence followed, with only the sounds of her soft crying and the ticks of the clock. So many unspoken words were said in those few moments. The communication of broken hearts and contrite spirits longing for the healing love that only the Savior’s Atonement could bring each of them.
“You’ve regained your faith,” she murmured.
He nodded. “I never really lost it. I was just angry and lost. But now, I’m found. I have you to thank for that.”
His words pierced her heart like a point of steel. She looked up and saw Grams standing in the doorway, her arm wrapped around Cara. The girl’s eyes dripped with tears and she sniffled. They’d also heard Mac’s words.
Dressed in a simple T-shirt, Cara’s bare toes peeked out from beneath the raw hem of her jeans. Gone was the black nail polish, replaced by a creamy pink. Her normally spiked hair lay in soft curls around her shoulders. In place of garish cosmetics, her clean face gleamed with the freshness of youth.
She looked like a sweet, teenage girl again.
Toni beckoned to Cara. The girl didn’t hesitate before she padded across the thick carpet and joined her on the sofa. As Toni wrapped her arms around her sister, she felt overwhelmed by gratitude. She never would have believed it possible, but her family was safe. God had wrought such a miracle in their lives.
“How would you feel about opening a small realtor’s office in Clarkston in the near future?” Mac asked her.
Toni quirked her brows, still hugging Cara. “I…I can’t. I have the shoe store here in Vegas to run.”
Hadn’t he told her he wanted to open a doctor’s office in Clarkston after med school? But that was several years away and had nothing to do with her.
“Ahum, let me make this easier for you, Toni.” Grandma sat in the rocking chair, showing a wide smile. “I called the president of Gorsheim’s Shoes several days ago. I’ve agreed to sell them our store. We’ll make a tidy profit, but you’re now out of a job.”
Toni looked at Mac, startled. “But how did this happen?”
Bernice shrugged. “I realized life was too short to keep living in the past. We have to move forward. It’s time we got out of the shoe business while we’re still ahead.”
Toni shook her head, more than confused. “But in order for me to open a realty office in Clarkston, I would need to move there. And why would I do that unless…?”
Mac came to his feet, his eyes glowing with warmth. “I’ve got one more thing I want to ask, Toni. I guess it’s only fitting that your family is here with you.”
He sank down on one knee. Toni’s heartbeat tripled as he took her hand in his. He dug into his pocket and withdrew a black velvet case. Opening it, he held a ring out to Toni. The diamond winked at her.
“Will you marry me?”
She tried to speak, but words weren’t enough for what she wanted to say. It hadn’t been easy. In fact, there’d been so much pain. But God had brought them through it all.
Overcome by the love flowing through her, Toni nodded. “I love you, Mac. I love you so much. Of course I’ll marry you.”
She found herself wrapped in his strong arms. In the background, she heard Cara’s happy giggles as the girl clapped her hands together.
Tears of joy ran down Grams’ powdered cheeks. “We’re going to have a wedding after all. How wonderful.”
Toni brushed her eyes on her sleeve before Grams and Cara joined her and Mac in a four-way hug. No more words were needed as they huddled together.
A family. Forever.
Toni thought about the comparison Mac had made between the Atonement and her vase. On the outside, she and her family seemed whole. Fully restored from their horrible ordeal. On the inside, each of their scars were still visible. And yet, what she and Mac had suffered together with Cara and Grams now united them in a stronger family unit.
The miracle of God’s redeeming love had healed their broken hearts. Their faith had healed their broken trust.
THE END
*****
Dear Reader:
My son is a sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps. Like all mothers who have a child in the military, I watch the evening news carefully and often fret and pray over the well being of my son and his family.
Every once in awhile, I hear that a member of our military has been killed via friendly fire. My heart goes out to the people and their families impacted by such a tragic occurrence. And I can’t help wondering how they all cope with such heartbreak. How do they forgive and forget and go on with their lives? Perhaps they can forgive, but I doubt they can ever forget.
In BROKEN TRUST, the hero and heroine are struggling with just such a situation. Though the story has a happy ending, I know not all people are so fortunate. But I also know the Atonement of Christ can heal any carelessness, inadequacy and bitterness in our lives. The healing power of the Atonement is not just for you and me, but for all people throughout the world, past and present.
I hope you enjoyed reading BROKEN TRUST and I invite you to visit my website at www.LeighBale.com to learn more about my books.
May you find peace in the Lord’s words!
Leigh Bale
*****
Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Amazon.com
Visit Leigh Bale’s website at www.LeighBale.com
*****
Excerpt from Healing the Forest Ranger, available May 2013
Healing the Forest Ranger
Chapter One
They didn’t know she was watching. Lyndsy Warner crouched low behind an outcropping of rock. Pric
kles of excitement dotted her arms. She held her breath, hoping the wild horses wouldn’t catch her scent and bolt. At least not yet.
Overhead, a hawk spiraled through the azure sky. The late April weather had been unseasonably warm. Tufts of green grass and red paintbrush trembled as the breeze whispered past, carrying the earthy smell of dust and sage.
Letting her camera hang limp from the strap around her neck, Lyn reached up to remove the bronze shield pinned above the right front pocket of her forest ranger’s shirt. A glint from the afternoon sun might give her presence away to the mustangs in the valley below.
After tucking the badge into her pants pocket, Lyn reached for the camera again. Holding it up to her eyes, she adjusted the focus and studied the herd through the lens. Five mustangs, led by a handsome buckskin stallion. The stud’s black mane and tail stood out against his golden coat. The band included three mares and a black foal with a white tail and mane. Not really black, but almost. With just a bit of white on her hind left foot and on her right under flank and in her mane and tail. Not a true pinto, either. Very unique coloring and absolutely stunning. The filly’s spindly legs looked long and strong, a foreshadowing of the beautiful mare she’d become. Wild and free.
Lyn snapped a quick series of pictures, wishing she could share this moment with Kristen, her ten year-old daughter. Like most girls, Kristen loved horses. But these mustangs carried a deeper meaning for Lyn. A reminder of the night her husband died.
The bony ribcages of the horses seemed too lean, an indicator of sparse forage on the range. As the herds increased, there just wasn’t enough for them to eat, not to mention the other wildlife roaming this area, or the beef cattle the ranchers paid the government to graze.
Lyn zoned in on the stallion she’d named Buck. This wasn’t the only herd foraging in Secret Valley. Lyn had named all the stallions roaming the mountains of McClellan National Forest, but not their mares and foals. She didn’t want to become more attached to them than she already was. Especially if she was forced to round up some of them for removal.
A low nicker drew Lyn’s attention to the plateau overhead. A smaller dun stallion stood gazing down upon the tranquil family of mustangs, his cream coloring similar to Buck’s except that tiger stripes circled his front legs. A throwback from prehistoric horses. Probably a bachelor stallion, with no mares of his own. His ears pricked forward with rapt attention and Lyn knew he wanted Buck’s mares. Or at least one of them.
“Don’t do it, buddy. Buck’s a lot bigger and he’ll hurt you if you try to steal one of his girls.” The warm breeze stole Lyn’s whispered warning.
While Buck’s lead mare kept watch, two of the other mares dipped their noses into the murky water of the shallow spring. No vegetation grew here, the banks beaten down and churned to mud by too many tromping hooves. By mid-May, Lyn figured the water would be gone. Dried by the baking sun to nothing but cracked earth. The horses needed this water. Desperately. Without it, they’d have to journey across the mountains to Cherry Creek, a thin stream nine miles away. An arduous trip that would sap their energy, keep them from feeding, and weaken their foals.
Always on the lookout, Buck noticed the bachelor stallion and snorted. He skirted the edge of his band, tossing his proud head and pawing the dirt with one hoof. With his long tail flying high like a flag, he raced toward the plateau, placing himself between the watering hole and the bachelor. Buck wouldn’t give up his mares. Not without a fight.
The dun neighed in challenge, then picked his way down the steep grade. As he reached the valley floor, he lifted his elegant head and arched his muscular neck. A dark dorsal stripe ran down the middle of his back and Lyn decided to name him Stripe.
Absolutely gorgeous.
Buck didn’t think so. He let out a shrill squeal. Ears laid back flat against his head, he raced toward the dun. At first, the two stallions circled one another, snorting and sizing each other up.
Stripe ducked away from Buck and chased after a plump dapple gray mare that looked ready to foal soon. Stripe nudged her rump, urging her forward, trying to whisk her away. Buck intercepted, biting Stripe’s hindquarters. The mare knew who she belonged to and lashed out at Stripe with her hind legs. Buck bared his teeth, the whites of his eyes showing. His black mane whipped across his strong neck like billows of smoke.
Stripe circled back, chasing after the mare. Desperate for a mate. Buck followed, neighing his disapproval. The bachelor stallion was lean and tough, but no match for the more experienced buckskin.
And the battle began.
Both stallions reared. Screaming, biting, slashing each other with their razor-sharp hooves. Again and again, their hooves thudded against each other like iron clubs. Lyn cringed at the horrific noise they made. Survival of the fittest. Their ferocity frightened her on a primitive level. She lowered her camera and stared in shock.
The mares galloped out of the fray, the black foal scurrying to join the safety of her mother. Stripe followed, still trying to separate the dapple gray from the rest of the herd.
Buck intervened with a roar of rage. He kicked. Once. Twice. Bludgeoning Stripe in the head and shoulder. The bachelor stallion staggered and dropped to his front knees. Buck offered no mercy. Rearing, he came down hard on top of Stripe’s head.
Lyn gasped, remembered her camera, and started clicking again. Later on, the unique photos would serve as an amazing record of wild horse behavior.
Stripe screeched in pain. Buck gave the younger stallion just a moment to recover his feet. With a loud grunt, the beaten horse sprinted toward the safety of the mountains. He’d been whipped and gave up the fight for now, but Lyn knew he’d return later for another try. The urge to have a family was as old as time. Something instilled in all God’s creatures. And one day, Stripe, or another stronger stallion, would defeat Buck. But for now, the older stallion had kept his harem intact. In this small corner of the world, he reigned supreme.
Buck trotted around the perimeter of the watering hole, head up and nostrils flared as he watched for the return of the dun. Still wound up. Still angry. Unwilling to accept any nonsense right now.
And that’s when Lyn saw the blood running down Buck’s right front leg. She focused the camera, trying to see the wound more clearly, but no good. She had to get closer.
Moving silently down the hill, she skimmed through snags of PJ’s, short for pinion-junipers. She stayed upwind, hoping to go undetected by the band of horses. As she inhaled the dry desert air, her booted feet sank deep into the sun-baked sand. And that was her first mistake.
She stumbled, twisting her ankle. She stifled the cry rushing up her throat, but her silence made no difference. The agitated stallion lifted his head and looked her way. Still territorial and furious. Still ready to fight.
With a scream of fury, Buck charged.
Lyn’s breath froze in her throat. A bristle of panic raced down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder. No use trying to reach her truck. There wasn’t time.
Instead, she ducked under a thicket of PJ’s and pressed her body back into the prickly trees. Sharp needles scratched her hands and face. Her fear overshadowed the pain. The stallion screamed again, thrashing toward her, ferocious and enraged.
Lyn’s flesh burned with alarm. Her heart beat madly in her chest. She was no match against the horse’s battering hooves. He’d kill her if he could.
Buck reared, hooves waving dangerously near Lyn’s head. She scrunched further back into the crowded trees. The hair of her long pony tail ripped against the pointed branches.
One thought pounded her brain. Kristen. All alone in the world. If Lyn were killed, her little daughter would have no one to love and care for her. No one to keep her safe.
The rearing mustang beat the PJ’s to splinters. Fiercely determined to reach her.
Lyn screamed in helpless anguish. How had this happened? A calm afternoon of checking the watering hole had turned into a life-threatening situation.
Lyn glanced left an
d right, desperate for a safer place to hide until the stallion gave up and left. A thick outcropping of sage and PJ’s jutted from the rocks just to her right. To reach it, she’d have to leave her fragile sanctuary and run for her life.
With a crazed beast hot on her tail.
Bracing her hands beneath her in the dirt, Lyn bent down like a track star. Knowing there was absolutely no way she could outrun this horse. Knowing she might be killed.
Taking a deep breath, she sprinted toward the rocks.
* * *
The wild horses were fighting. Caden Baldwin recognized their screams echoing through the canyon, reaching his ranch a mere six miles outside the town of Stokely, Nevada. Riding Flash, his bay gelding, Cade galloped toward Secret Valley. Maybe he’d get to see his beloved mustangs today. He couldn’t remember a single summer in his childhood when he hadn’t watched the wild horses with his grandfather. It’d been several weeks since they’d crossed Cade’s pasture land and….
A woman’s scream echoed off the rock walls of the ravine like a gunshot. What on earth…?
Cade tapped his heels against his horse’s sides. Flash tore off at a fast run. Someone was in trouble. Someone needed help.
And then the panic set in. So unexpected that it left Cade breathless and choking. He clung to the saddle, overwhelmed by a flashback to the war in Afghanistan. The drumming of the horse’s hooves became the pounding of gunfire and shells exploding all around Cade. Hammering his body with bits of rock, dirt and mortar. The memory of pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth seemed so real. And then a vision of Dallin filled his mind, his best friend’s body limp and bleeding.
Broken.
Cade shook his head, trying to clear his mind. To return to the present. Trying urgently to forget the haunting nightmare. He wasn’t in the Middle East now. He was here in the Nevada desert. God had brought him home.
Safe and sound.
Oblivious of Cade’s moment of crisis, Flash didn’t break stride. Cade sat frozen in the saddle, his body moving with the strong rhythm of the horse. He clenched the reins, his calves tightening around the animal’s sides.