The man’s eyes bugged out, his breath rasped. Noah pushed harder. Where were the cops?
“Noah, look out!” Was that Anne? His every muscle zeroed in on pinning the doctor to the floor. Arm across his neck. Knee in his gut.
“You!” Dr. Jefferies grunted, as if recognizing Noah for the first time.
A pistol knifed into Noah’s ribs. Noah pressed harder, praying for precious time. The doctor’s eyes dimmed. Rolled. His body stiffened.
The gun reported. In a blast of white fire, pain speared through Noah’s body.
“No!” Anne screamed as he fell into blackness.
“Noah, don’t you die on me.”
Noah clawed through a blanket of heat, to sheer bone-spearing pain. Anne? Darkness pressed him down.
Voices punched at the swaddle of agony.
“BP’s ninety over fifty and dropping.”
“IV line established.”
Hands on him. Cold. Fear like shackles, pulling him into a black place. He fought it.
“I see an exit wound.”
“Please, Noah, stay with me!”
A hand in his. Warm. Tight. He focused his energy on squeezing it.
Light in his eyes, flickering.
“He needs surgery—now.”
Pressures, lead weight on his chest. Pushing. Suffocating. I can’t breathe! Rasping.
The cocoon of darkness enfolded him. Help! Help me, Lord!
A sweet melody, like a swath of sunshine through a cloudy sky. “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows and sea-billows roll; whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say . . .”
Pain, tentacles stinging every nerve. A moan—his voice? The song. Cling to the song. Yes. It is well, it is well with my soul.
Falling.
Soft arms. “Anne?”
Peace.
Well.
“Can I get you another cup of tea?”
Anne raised her head from where she’d buried it under her arms. Mona crouched before her, her eyes ringed with a compassion that made Anne want to dissolve in a puddle of fresh tears. “Yes, thank you.” She might as well add another gallon of the spicy liquid to her stomach—pure caffeine and heaps of prayer were the only things keeping her glued together while waiting for Noah to pull through surgery.
He had to pull through. She wasn’t going to lose him when everything in her heart told her that he was her future.
Pools of lamplight pushed the midnight shadows into the edges of the waiting room. A summer rainstorm fogged the dark windowpanes, sending a thread of chill into the tiled room.
Please, Lord.
Across the waiting room, Pastor Dan and Joe Michaels stood in a tight huddle. Praying? Good. They all needed to barrage heaven.
She’d read the solemn, grim expression from Dr. Simpson seconds before he’d whisked Noah away, tracking Noah’s blood down the hall in deathly shoe prints.
Please, Lord.
The man had jumped in front of a gun for her. Again. She loved him so much it hurt. She didn’t care if he’d done it out of pity. Didn’t care if all he’d been trying to do was keep her in the hub of his ministry. It was time to go toe-to-toe with her fears—all of them—and beat them to a pulp.
She loved Noah Standing Bear. The second Noah was out of surgery, she would grab him by the lapels and shake the truth out of him. He loved her—she knew it. It had only taken her name on his lips as he faded into unconsciousness for her to realize it. Only taken the repeat performance of his diving on her assailant and taking a bullet this time for it to take root in her heart.
But what if Noah . . . died? Her throat thickened. New tears welled, coursed down her face. Then his work wouldn’t have been in vain. Suddenly, the thought of moving to the armpit of Minneapolis to minister to the dregs of society sounded like a glorious, God-filled future. For the first time Anne knew exactly why her father had packed up his family and moved them next door to pimps and drug lords—because his joy of salvation overflowed and nothing could stop him from sharing it with the most needy. If she didn’t go, who would?
She’d pick up Noah’s cross—her cross—and continue. If being with Noah, a man who grabbed hope with both hands, had taught her anything, it was to face fear and prejudice with the life-giving truth of grace. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that the girl her father had raised knew better than anyone how to stand up to gangbangers with sass and street smarts.
Oh yeah, she was going to take that job offer.
Regardless of what the next hour held.
Unfortunately, as she’d held Noah’s hand and stared at his pain-twisted face, she hadn’t uttered one hint of that glorious intent. Not “Noah, I love you!” Not “I’m not afraid of you!” Not even “I want to work beside you, to love you until eternity.”
No, those words had lodged in her chest, stymied by the urge to sing. Softly. She and Noah needed the words of the hymn more than they needed emotional declarations that might never come to fruition.
Please, Lord.
So she had sung the hymn that told her God had brought her full circle. Answered her prayers. Given her, finally, her deep haven of peace and safety—in Him.
Please, Lord, I can’t lose Noah now. Not when she wanted, more than life and breath, to partner with him for the lost kids on the street. To hold him when tragedy hit them broadside, to dance with him when kids like Darrin chose life.
The door at the end of the hall creaked open.
Everyone froze.
Anne’s heartbeats reeled out, one at a time, in rhythm with the heavy footsteps of Dr. Simpson. He clutched his surgeon’s cap, his head down, shoulders horribly slumped.
Behind him plodded Sandra.
She was crying.
28
The hiss wheedled through the cotton of darkness, snaring him, bringing him forward, through the shadows.
Light. Explosions of color and warmth. Noah forced his eyes open and blinked.
Stark white ceiling. Blinds, half turned to allow sunlight to stripe the pink walls. An IV bag dangling above him and sweet, cold oxygen rushing into his nose.
Anne, asleep at his knees. Oh, thank You, Lord!
Her chestnut hair stuck up in a fuzzy helmet around her head. In relaxed slumber her freckled face looked amazingly young, innocent. Utterly beautiful. He wished with every aching cell in his body that they had a future together.
His mouth felt dry, his tongue gummy. His chest burned as if someone had plunged an ax through it. When he took a breath, fire seared his lungs. A moan escaped and, to his dismay, Anne stirred. He held his breath, which made his eyes tear.
Her eyes blinked open. Then she stared at him, a slight smile on her lips, her amazing hazel green eyes searching his face as if hoping to find a treasure there.
He grinned.
“Noah.” His name on her lips—verbal sunshine to his cold heart. “You had me worried.”
He reached out to her, wincing at the burn from the IV taped to his hand. She took his hand with both of hers, rubbed it with her soft fingers. “You’re going to be okay.”
“What happened?” His voice sounded like sandpaper.
She grabbed a drink, held the straw to his lips. He drank greedily, then felt nauseous.
“You . . . died.” Tears trailed down her cheeks, telling him exactly how horrible it had been. “You were shot. In the ribs. The bullet missed your aorta but it hit one of your lungs.”
No wonder he felt like an elephant had stomped on his chest.
“You had surgery, and during it your lung collapsed, and your heart . . . it stopped.” She took a deep breath, and he noticed the way she fought for composure. “But Dr. Simpson restarted it, and Sandra prayed . . . and . . . and . . .” She kissed his hand, and this time the smile came easily, filling his broken chest with delight.
“Did they get him?” He had sketchy memories of Dr. Jefferies, manic, a gun in his hand. He didn’t linger too long on the image of the scum doctor forcing Anne down the
hall at gunpoint.
“Yes. He crumbled fast and confessed. Evidently, he’s the point man for some drug ring, flushing prescription drugs onto the street. Chief Sam worked a trail back to Duluth, and they’re looking at connections in Minneapolis.” She smiled ruefully. “I guess you can’t escape the snare of sin, even in Deep Haven.”
He nodded. “Good thing God is there to cut us free.”
Anne ran a hand down his cheek, and his heart confirmed, indeed, that it worked just fine. “Noah, you saved my life.” The look in her eyes turned very, very warm. Tender. “You’re my hero.”
He looked away, unable to face the love he saw in her eyes, knowing that in about three seconds he was going to have to tell her it was over. Then Katie’s words filtered through his foggy memory. Anne’s a smart woman. Let her decide what she wants to do. If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.
Didn’t Anne deserve to know that she filled his life with sunshine and song? That she made him feel like a man of character, a hero? She was so pure and kind it made him long to be next to her so it would rub off. She made him a better man simply by smiling in his general direction, and he loved her so much it made the gaping hole in his chest feel like a scratch.
Maybe, just maybe, if God could take a man with a past and give him a future, He could give them hope also. Noah found Anne’s gaze and held it, hoping she could see the emotions written in his eyes.
He opened his mouth, willing his feelings to spill out.
She spoke first. “That’s twice you’ve been in the right place at the right time. It seems like God is using you to protect me.”
Those words burrowed deep, fertilized courage. “I hope so. Because I promised Dr. Simpson that nothing would happen to you under my watch.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, a shadow across it.
No, that didn’t come out right. He touched her chin. “But it was my pleasure. I’d do anything for the woman . . . I love.”
She stared at him, and the joy on her face made him want to spring from the bed and dance. “You love me?”
“From the moment you walked into my life a year ago. You’ve never left my thoughts. You’re such a gift to me, Anne.”
She looked away, and for a second, he thought he saw her flinch.
He tugged at her chin and added earnestness to his voice. “No, not because you helped me this summer. Because you’re kind and thoughtful and wise. You make me want to be a hero. For you.”
She bit her lip, her eyes landing everywhere but his face.
“When I’m with you, I don’t feel like a man with an ugly past. I feel whole and hopeful, like my entire future is golden.”
She finally looked at him. A single tear trailed down her cheek. He gently wiped it away and said, “But we still have a problem.”
Her face darkened with a trace of worry. She glanced to his wounds.
“No, not that. You said you were afraid of me.” He felt grateful for the painkillers flushing his system, numbing him, hopefully, from her brutal answer. “Is that true?”
She shrugged, and a sly smile tweaked her lips. “Well, maybe a little. I’m deathly afraid that I might die from the way my heart is racing, or the fact that I can’t seem to breathe if you aren’t in the room. I think I have a life-threatening condition.”
Now he was the one having trouble breathing.
Her expression turned serious, the EMT who fought death with her bare hands. “Noah, when I look at you, I don’t see a gangster. I see a man with a heart after God. A man who has been transformed. I see a man with whom I’d like to work. As long as you’ll let me.”
He blinked at her. “In ministry? In Minneapolis?”
She nodded. “In Minneapolis or wherever God sends us. Maybe even back to Deep Haven next summer. Give Wilderness Challenge another good run.” Her eyes lit up when she said it. Then her expression turned solemn again. “I learned something this summer. I can’t escape trouble. Not really. Life is hard. But God is good, and His grace is sufficient for every situation. He is big enough to carry me through any tragedy if I trust Him. And I can find true joy in my faith because of God’s faithfulness. Wilderness Challenge did exactly the thing you hoped—it pushed me to the end of myself, and I fell right into the arms of the Keeper of my soul.”
A spark of mischief glinted in her eyes when she continued. “And, by the way, I’m not the only one who found salvation. Darrin ‘hooked up’ with Christ, as you would say. We had an enlightening conversation yesterday about his fears and your past. He saw the light in the darkness, so to speak.” Tears clung to her lashes, and it moved him deeply. “I’d say your camp was a roaring success.”
Anne bit her lip, as if trying to hold in all the emotions that played on her lovely face. Noah rubbed his thumb along her lower lip, dying to kiss her. Instead, he found the words he’d been yearning to say for a month. “I love you, Anne.”
Her gaze turned so tender he felt as if he might turn into a pile of Granny D.’s oatmeal, a messy glob of emotions. Suddenly Anne took a deep breath, and her words came out in a flood of fervent passion. “I’ve loved you since that moment last year when God used you to keep me from drowning in despair.” She touched his cheek. “Only God could design my dream man from my deepest fears and needs. A man who understands my sorrows, who can share my happiness. A man who will risk his life to protect me. Noah, you’re the man I want.”
Want. Present tense. He could feel a goofy smile taking over his cheeks, lighting his eyes. “You sang to me, didn’t you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It was the only thing I could think of at the moment.”
“You have a beautiful voice.”
“Liar.” She blushed and he relished it.
“So, when you say you’re moving to Minneapolis—” his chest tightened, but he pushed words through—“do you think you’d consider . . . I mean . . . what do you think about . . . Anne Standing Bear?”
Her breath caught; her eyes became luminous. A smile tugged at her mouth. “There’s a certain ring to it. Let’s see what God has in store.”
Somehow he found his voice. “I think that’s another one of your brilliant ideas.”
“Kiss me, Noah.” Anne leaned close, her face expectant.
He thought his heart might combust from mind-blowing joy. God, You did this! You brought this woman into my life, not once, but twice. You let me protect her and love her. You gave me the partner I needed—in life, in love, in ministry. Now our future belongs in Your very capable hands.
“Anything for you, my sweet thundercloud.” He grinned, then drew her closer, kissing her. He poured out his love for her in his touch, gentle yet brimming with promise. She tasted as sweet as the morning, as delicious as hope. He savored it, hating when she pulled away. “Or maybe I should call you my sunshine.”
She laughed, a giggle of delight. Then she touched her forehead to his, her eyes glistening, her fragrance pouring over him like an embrace. “I came here looking for peace. I never thought that God would help me find it in the arms of a born-again gangbanger with a heart for the inner city.”
“I have a feeling He’s just getting started.”
Anne sighed, an audible swell of contentment that filled even his chest. “So you did keep me on staff to make all your dreams come true.”
“What?” He frowned at her, confused by her quirky smile and her delicately raised eyebrow.
She ran her fingers lightly over his face. “Just a hunch I had.” She kissed him again, softly, perfectly. He had to agree.
When she pulled away, he laced his fingers into her silky, chestnut hair. “Are you sure about this, Anne? I know what you’ve been through—”
She stopped his words with a kiss that made him nearly forget his name let alone his fears. “Noah . . . don’t forget. It is well with my soul,” she murmured against his lips.
Noah’s heart swelled. “Oh yeah,” he whispered. When she looked at him, he saw a wonder in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since the
first day they’d met, when he’d tried to tell her—through his touch, his song, his eyes—that she could trust him.
And, finally, her response told him she’d read him perfectly.
A Note from the Author
On March 1, 2002, at 1:00 P.M., three men broke into our high-rise apartment in Russia and brutally attacked me and my children. By the grace of God, our lives were spared and we were not terribly injured—physically. But the masked attackers had left deep spiritual and emotional wounds. We were sent to a trauma center for counseling for a month, then returned to Russia, our field of service, to complete our missionary term. Four months later, burned-out and spiritually empty, we packed our bags and returned to America for our scheduled one-year home service.
I had no plans to return. Secretly, I harbored deep in my heart a resolve to never again set foot in Russia, with its many dangers. I had done eight hard years of service there and felt that I had given the best part of myself to a country that didn’t care. And no one—not even God—was going to change my mind. Yes, He’d spared my life, but I had serious doubts I could ever trust Him again.
But God knew better. Not only is He gentle, but He understands and can handle my pain and my questions. I dove into the Psalms, finding hope in David’s cries to the Lord and healing in his praise to the Almighty in the darkest hours. I observed God’s goodness to me, providing for my needs in the past—and present—and I allowed myself to be embraced by the body of Christ, who loved us well. Finally, as time and distance began to heal me, I was able to look behind and see God’s grace embracing me every moment of the difficult journey. He reminded me that He would meet me in my future with the same abundance of grace.
I wrote Anne and Noah’s story while struggling through the dark night of the soul. Amazingly, many times I felt as though the words that appeared on the page were more for me than for Anne. I journeyed with Anne until I, too, could see God embracing me in the darkest hour. Her victory is mine.
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