William came at ten o’clock. He brought candy for us both and a book for Heidi, Pride and Prejudice, which, I believe, unintentionally buttered her up. It was she who suggested we spend the day together—that she would enjoy the time alone with her new book. We tried to persuade her to come with us to the river, but she insisted against it. And although she would have been welcome—is always welcome wherever I am—I’ve never loved her more as a sister than I did in the moments I spent alone with William that day.
We walked, as usual, to our favorite spot by the river. William’s horse was tied there, and instead of sitting down on the bank, this time he asked me if I wanted to go on a ride. It was a bit awkward with my dress, but he helped me, and I climbed on—not sidesaddle. He then mounted the horse in front of me, and fixed my arms around his waist.
At first I could not pay attention to my surroundings. I was dizzied by the scent of his shirt, which reminded me of the river, and wood smoke, and pine. It was soft against my cheek, worn. I lay my head against it and breathed it in, wanting to memorize the smell and the texture to keep with me forever, as if trying to capture a dream.
William squeezed my hands. They were clasped together, and fit—the both of them—under one of his. For a moment he rested his hand there, holding the reins with the other. I could feel the rough calluses against my soft fingers. His big hand was like a shelter, a cave, where mine could hide.
We didn’t talk much as we rode. There was no need for words. It was enough to have each other and just to be. He led us along a path that was narrow but seemed timeless as it was carved into the hills. It went along the water for a piece, and I closed my eyes and listened to the flow. William agreed—there is nothing like the sound of running water. It’s peaceful, and at the same time active, busy, alive. He showed me where he camped and caught trout before the river became too swollen and he had to move.
At one point the trail departed from the river and ascended up and up into the hills. We saw deer, rabbits, and squirrels, and all kinds of birds. The trees formed a canopy above our heads, but the day was so bright and sunny that beams of light shone through in shards, glancing off rocks, illuminating specific branches or highlighting patches of lichen: moss green, brown, pale gray-blue.
Finally we reached the place where he has set up camp now and hopes to remain till the end of the summer. He calls it “inspiration point” and made me close my eyes while he tethered the horse and then lifted me down, holding my hand and walking me over to the edge of the ridge at the edge of his camp. “Now you can open,” he said, and I learned why he calls
it inspiration. It is the loveliest place I have ever seen. Rolling hills stretch out before one’s eyes to what seems like infinity. It’s like I imagine the ocean, except the waves are green trees. They reach on and on forever, rising up to meet the blue sky. And snaking down between them all, like a silver ribbon, is the shining White River.
“I wish I could stay here forever.” His words were resolute, a bit sad.
“Can you?”
“No. This place is already taken. The homesteaders who own it have been most generous to let me camp for the summer. They’ve welcomed my help clearing some of the acreage—that’s been my keep.” William kicked at the corner of a rock stuck in the ground. “We’ve become friends, and they are a lovely couple, but they have their own son who will inherit the land.”
“You have a life anyway in Chicago.”
“Yes, and I’m expected back there for the fall term.”
We sat down together on Inspiration Point and talked the day away. William asked me all sorts of questions, from the biggest things to the smallest. “What is your favorite color? What’s your favorite food? What do you remember about Germany? What do you dream of most? What is your father like?”
After a while, I asked him why so many questions.
He said, “I’m a student, remember?”
And I said, “Yes. A student of the Bible.”
“A student is just someone who wants to learn about a subject,” he said. And then he winked at me. “I’d like to become the world’s leading expert on you.”
The sun was nearly setting—which was a beautiful sight—before we took any note of time.
“I’m a terrible host,” William said, running over to his tent and fumbling with a can of biscuits, which he offered me, with some blackberry jam.
“Heidi will be worried.”
We raced back to my aunt and uncle’s house, this time riding the horse all the way up, the back way through the woods, and then the pasture, to the house. The lamp was lit on the back porch, and Heidi sat beside it, reading.
“I’m sorry to have her home so late.”
“And I’m sorry, sister.”
“Well, that makes three of us sorry,” she said, “because I’ve been too caught up in the lives of the Bennett sisters to worry about you.”
We all had a laugh about that. Heidi put on some water to boil for tea, and we sat on the porch together and drank it. As it was dark, we determined that William should sleep in the barn and head back to his camp in the morning.
“Good night to both of you.” William rose. He nodded to Heidi, and then to me, but just as that day I knew he would follow me from the post office, I felt his eyes were saying more than good night.
Heidi and I got ready for bed. All these years of sharing a bed with her have taught me her sleeping habits, so I waited till I knew she was sound asleep. Then, by the light of the moon, I slipped back into my dress and out of our room. The floorboards creaked so that I thought Heidi would wake, but she didn’t.
In a few moments I was on the porch and could see the barn. From somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. A light flickered at the barn door and then diminished. I rushed toward it in the near-darkness, running smack into William, who was dashing out to meet me. He caught me up in his arms and held me in the pale moonlight. His eyes shone and his body was rigid, like a marble statue. Then he kissed me. Not softly, which is the only way I’ve been kissed before, and then only on the cheek by family and friends. No. This was different. I can only describe it in one word: hunger.
Gee, thought Ellie. That was helpful.
* * * * *
The next morning Will was there to pick her up for church. In his layered T-shirts, green and brown, and stonewashed jeans, he looked like a model for J.Crew. Ellie was dressed in a chocolate-colored dress with simple lines that came just below the knee. She wore her hair straight as a board. Gold hoop earrings and a stack of bangle bracelets coordinated with metallic-gold gladiator sandals.
“Good morning.” His smile was fresh and expectant when she opened the door. “You look nice.”
“Thank you. You do too, or I’m sure you would if I were looking.”
Will snorted. “You can look but don’t touch.”
Ellie rolled her eyes but grinned as he held Scarlett’s door open for her. When she climbed in, she stayed on her side.
“Oh, now, that’s just brutal.” Will cocked his head at the empty space between them with sad puppy-dog eyes.
“No. It is necessary. I’m helping you and myself.”
“Well, thanks for nothing.”
“You’re welcome.”
Will started the car and they pulled away from the condo. “Did you sleep well?”
“Pretty well. I stayed up awhile reading my grandmother’s diary.”
“What’s going on with that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Will laughed. “Has she dumped my relative yet for Richie Rich Heinrichs?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“So, what happened?”
“Last night they had their first kiss. It was beautiful and passionate and—”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. I may need to put the diary down for a while. Who knew translating an old lady’s diary could lead someone into temptation?”
“I need to get you a copy of what I was
reading last night. Put me right to sleep.”
“What’s that?”
“The Last of the Mohicans.”
“I thought that was like an American classic. Full of adventure.”
“It is—both—but the good parts are stashed between long, boring descriptions. I hate to not finish it, but I don’t know if I can make it through all of those pages.”
They chatted about literature and movies all the way to the warehouse church. One thing Ellie had to admit was that, without the distraction of getting physical, she and Will were learning more about each other. Just when she thought she knew everything, a new story or random fact from his life would be unearthed. And he never tired of asking her questions.
“Hello there, Ellie, good to see you again.” Sam opened the door for both of them to enter and shook Will’s hand.
“How’s it going, bro?”
“If I were any better, I’d be in heaven.”
“You know it.” Will fake-punched Sam in the arm.
As they made their way inside to find seats, Will explained that he and Sam had an inside joke with that little saying. “There was this old man who used to come here to church, and he would say that every time you saw him. He was one of the greeters. He said it like he meant it, but Sam and I thought it was hilarious. We used to always kid him about it.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s doing better.”
“You mean he died?”
Will unpacked his guitar. “Yeah, several months back. He’s in heaven.”
“Wow.”
“But Sam is carrying on his tradition.”
Ellie scanned the gathering people while Will conferred with someone about the music. The crowd was as diverse as the time before, and Ellie recognized many of the faces. McKenna was there, and the older businesslike couple, as well as the Hispanic family and the woman in the sari. The guy in the wheelchair was making his way to the front. Will stood beside her as the man prayed, opening the time of worship, then climbed onto the stage with his guitar. A team of singers, led by McKenna, lined up beside him. They sang a couple of fast, peppy songs. Then, slowing things down a bit, McKenna led with these words:
“This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me.
This is my daily bread
This is my daily bread
Your very word spoken to me.
And I, I’m desperate for You.
And I, I’m lost without You.”4
For Ellie, it didn’t matter where she was. It didn’t matter what else happened in the service. It didn’t even matter who else was there. A moment of clarity came to her, like a butterfly coming to rest on her shoulder, as she uttered the words from her own spirit: “I’m lost without You.”
It was as if everything about her life—good and bad—every choice she’d made, as well as every circumstance beyond her control, had come together to propel her toward this moment. It all converged. Everything—and nothing—suddenly made sense.
4. “This Is the Air I Breathe,” lyrics by unknown composer, popularized by Michael W. Smith.
Chapter Twenty-three
Dear Audrey,
Do you remember that time in fifth grade when you tried to evangelize Beecher and me? When you had been to some revival meeting and “got saved”? You were so excited you even brought your little Gideon Bible to school the next day. You talked to me about it in class—we were in Mrs. Sigman’s—and then cornered Beecher on the playground. We both thought you were nuts.
Now, however, I’m not so sure you were (at least in that instance). I had an experience this morning in church that was pretty radical. It didn’t happen by the book, which I guess is why I trust it. We were singing (Will was playing guitar), and while I listened to the words, it was like they became my prayer. I can’t explain it, and you know I’m not into being overly spiritual about things. What happened to me can only be described in those terms, however. It was mystical.
The song was about God being as near to us and as vital as the air we breathe, or the food we eat. It dawned on me that I’ve never thought of Him that way. He’s been more of a distant figure, like my real father, I guess (i.e., I know He exists, but I don’t know Him personally). And then there was this line that really got to me. It said, “I’m lost without You.” I started crying. I was completely undone.
By this point you are probably thinking I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, so let me take it another step further. When the song was over, Will came down off the stage and sat by me. He asked me if I was okay, since I was being such a bawl bag. We left the service and walked outside. I told him everything I was feeling, and he said, “Would you like to trust Jesus personally, Ellie? To place everything you are in His hands?”
It was the most natural and easy thing I have ever done. Will and I prayed—in the parking lot! And I can’t even remember what I said. All I know is there’s a peace in my heart that I have never known. I told Will that so many things about my life—things I’ve seen in you, and even missing pieces about him and our relationship—fit together now. And the stuff that doesn’t make sense, well, it’s like I know everything’s going to be okay because I’ve got Jesus with me. It’s so different knowing Him personally than just knowing about Him.
Is this what happened to you in fifth grade, Audrey? No wonder you wanted to share it with me and Beecher. I’m sorry I thought you were nuts.
E.
Elliementary, my dear Watson,
Yes.
Although it’s different for everyone and I sometimes have to laugh at the memory of my experience—the evangelist at that revival had his hair shaved in the shape of a cross, for crying out loud—this is essentially what happened to me in fifth grade. I think of it like you said, and like that other (older) song. “I once was lost—but now am found.”
I am so happy for you.
Your sister now on the deepest level, and BFF—
A.
* * * * *
Ellie moved through the next few days in an atmosphere of wonder. To Will, she described the experience as “a veil being lifted,” as if she had new eyes with which to see the world.
She had always thought of herself as a religious person—after all, she’d been raised to believe in God and to have a moral conscience. The whole relationship-with-Jesus-thing had never made sense to her. She’d assumed it was just a way of expressing one’s religion—an Evangelical quirk. But now it was more. She belonged to Jesus. And He belonged to her.
If anything, this complicated Ellie’s relationship with Will. While before she’d been able to appreciate his faith, and even learn from and be challenged by him, it was still his. Something he owned. She didn’t have to be fully vested. And if it got to be too much for her, as it sometimes had, she could step back—at least emotionally. She could go along if Will needed to pray about something. She could even agree not to kiss if that was his conviction. But before, these were mostly his issues, and he was ultimately responsible.
Not anymore. As her spiritual eyes opened, Ellie saw more clearly the need for purity. It became her own conviction. Ironically, she also understood Will’s heart more completely as well. With his tenacious pursuit of an authentic Christian life he became even more attractive to her. She longed for him even more than she had up to this point, and she sensed he felt the same. She didn’t know where it all was going. But something was going to have to give.
* * * * *
On Wednesday of that week Ellie opened the Heinrichs Haus Tasting Room. “Just a practice run,” she’d explained when she announced it to the cast that morning after play practice, inviting them down to Branson Landing for wine and cheese. Many of them worked the rest of the day in various jobs at The Shepherd of the Hills. She hoped at least a few might come down and see her that evening.
Will met Ellie at her condo at four-thirty. He was freshly showered and casual in jeans, a V-neck T-shirt, and a butt
on-down Oxford that he left untucked. His hair was still a little damp, accentuating its soft waves. Together with Dot, they walked the short distance to the tasting room, which boasted its new signage. Ellie unlocked the door and flipped on the lights—low industrial-style lighting inside and strands of naked bulbs draped in rows across the storefront. After they moved several bistro tables outside, the Heinrichs Haus tasting room looked as charming and inviting as an Italian trattoria.
While Dot snoozed on the mat by the door, Ellie went about preparing different party platters. Arranging buttery crackers, she cut wedges of Brie to go with her champagne and Merlot, and Bucheron for the Chardonnay. For the light reds and whites she had Jarlsberg and Kasseri, and for the dessert wines she would pair Mascarpone. Will lit candles on the small round tables inside and out and selected music for the sound system. Pretty soon Ella Fitzgerald was piping through the speakers.
Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri Page 16