Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (26 page)

I know you're busy with concerts and stuff so don't feel you have to write me back, but if you do I included the address to my dorm. Thanks again for writing. It means a lot. And I'm gonna have to tell my mom she was wrong. You're not cool because of your music. You're cool because you took the time to write to a guy like me.

Thanks again,

James

Ben wiped away the tears he hadn't realized he'd been crying and sank down onto his knees, next to his travel bed.

"Thank You, God." He not only thanked God for this kid's salvation—which was something to rejoice about—but also for letting him know he was making a difference.

He pulled out his notebook and looked over a list of kids' names he'd written letters to since he'd been on the road. He knew now that his job was to just keep sending the letters. It was up to God to impact the people He chose, wherever and whenever He chose.

"God be with them. Be with Roni, and Claire, and Dean, David, Eric, Kennisha. Let them know You love them. Let them know that when they turn to You that You'll have good plans for them, even when it feels like they're on a bus headed to who knows where . . ."

E
ven with the bright lights on him Ben saw the older man. He looked familiar, like someone Ben used to know. He nodded at Ben and waved. It wasn't the wild wave of a fan but a soft wave of familiarity.
Do I know this guy?

Ben tried to keep his mind on his music, but at the same time he wracked his brain trying to remember where he'd met the man. Maybe a former teacher or coach from school?

No, he would have remembered that.

As the concert started to wind down, the energy in the room grew. The letter from James had renewed him, his passion. Reminded him that sharing God's truth changed lives. He looked past the bright lights and scanned the crowd. God had given him a platform, a message, for a purpose.

The cheers from the crowd increased. Everyone waited for the song he was most well-known for. But before he sang about the warm cabin and the man who needed a wife, Ben set down his guitar and approached the mic.

"You know behind every song there's a story. When I first started this tour I would talk about the young woman I fell in love with in the mountains of Montana. I shared how my house seemed emptier after I met her because she wasn't in it, and everyone like that story." He wiped at the smile on his face. "It was a good tearjerker. Seems people love to cry." Laughter carried across the audience.

"But that was just part of the story. See, there's a reason I ended up in Montana." Then Ben told about how he'd been caught up in the wrong kinds of things and how good people he cared about were hurt.

And killed.

"I was a broken man after that. My stupidity had caused another's death. When I went up to Montana I found peace there, but I didn't know why. It was during that time I started reading my Bible. I started getting to know some of the good folks that called West Kootenai home, and they invited me to church.

"Sittin' on that pew I heard about a Dude who knew everything I'd ever done—everything—and loved me anyway. Not only that, He didn't want me to carry the pain of those mistakes any longer. In fact, He gave His life so I wouldn't have to."

"Preach it, brother!" someone called from the back.

Ben smiled. "I prayed a simple prayer that first Sunday. I told Jesus He could have my life if He'd take my sin with it. The amazing thing was He gave me more back—peace, joy, love, Himself."

Claps erupted around the auditorium.

"And that, my friends, is the backdrop for this song. I'm still praying for a good wife, but until then I have peace knowing God is by my side. With each mile my tour bus drives I find myself surrendering more and more to Him—to God's will and God's way." As the claps grew louder, Ben picked up his guitar and started playing the song that everyone had been waiting for.

"Every warm cabin needs a good wife," he sang.

After the show, Ben wasn't surprised to see the older guy from the audience standing outside his dressing room as he exited.

"Hey, Ben." The guy patted Ben's back.

Who was this man? "Hey yourself."

"So I see that Roy sucked you in again. Put you on the road." The man chuckled.

Ben stood straighter. Now he knew they'd met before, but where?

The man extended his hand.

Ben took it, shook, and then released it. "I'm sorry. I know that I know you but . . ."

The man laughed and ran his hand through his graying hair. "I'm sorry. I think we only met once, years ago. The first time you were on tour. I'm Denny Fairweather."

"Denny." Ben slapped his leg. "Of course. The songwriter. I should have known. I think I used two or three of your songs on my first CD. And I have two of your songs on this new one. No wonder you were smiling so big as I sang them. Wow." Ben studied the man's eyes and saw something there. It wasn't just the finding of a long lost friend. He saw a peace that he recognized. "It's so good to see you!"

Denny nodded. "Yeah, I feel the same. It was a great crowd, lots of energy. And they seemed to like my songs, which is a plus."

Ben studied the man. He looked like an average guy you'd find standing in front of you at the grocery store line. Well, except for the fact that his talent for writing music was legendary—at least to Ben.

Ben squeezed the older guy's shoulder. "Want to head out and get some coffee? I'd love to catch up."

Denny's face brightened. "Sure. I'd consider it an honor."

Ben chuckled. "Well, that makes two of us then. And since you're more familiar with the area, I'll let you lead the way."

They went to a little diner not far from the civic center where the concert had been held. It was the kind of diner that had been around fifty years and nothing had changed. The booth had red vinyl seats and chrome accents. There were a few people scattered around the booths, and from the way they all chatted back and forth, it appeared they were regulars. As Ben looked at the menu offerings: meatloaf, Reuben sandwiches, BLTs, he guessed they hadn't changed the menu in fifty years either.

It felt strange to be here with the man whose songs he sang as his own. The guys from the band had gone out with a group of women—true groupies. Ben's heart grew sad at the thought.

"So, have you been on the road long?" Denny took a sip of coffee.

Ben nodded. "I think this is my twenty-fifth show and I have, uh, about two dozen more."

"So, it's the midpoint."

"Yeah."

"And after that, are you going back to record more songs?"

"That's the plan. I'm supposed to be writing them as we go along, but too often I'm distracted. I like looking outside the bus window and seeing parts of the world I've never seen before." He didn't tell Denny that as he looked out the window he often thought of Indiana. They were only a few states away. He was closer to Marianna than he'd been in a long time. He took another bite of his pie. "Of course, my hope is that you'll come up with some new stuff and save my skin."

Denny chuckled. "Oh, I have a few more songs up my sleeve. I was hoping Roy would request some more. In fact that's the reason I came. It always helps me write better when I get to know the singer I'm writing for. So tell me, Ben, about that song. The one about the cabin. Were you writing about someone special? You never really said anything about her tonight."

"Yeah. I thought she was someone pretty special. I don't know what she thought about me. I hoped for a while that she liked me, but it never went anywhere."

"Do you think it will someday?"

"No, no it won't. We're too different. She moved away from where we both used to live, and I don't even know if I'll see her again." Pain pierced Ben's heart as he said those words.

He paused for a moment and tried to figure out what else to say—how to explain Marianna without mentioning that she was Amish. Marianna wasn't beautiful in comparison to supermodels or movie stars. She didn't wear fitted and stylish clothes. Her hair didn't fall in soft waves around her shoulders. But there was something about her he couldn't forget. Her gentle spirit, her inner beauty, her heart for God . . .

And her smile.

"She's just a simple woman—simple on the outside, but inside anything but," he finally said. "She has a sense of humor and loves to help people. She's an amazing cook . . ." He let his voice trail off.

Denny cocked an eyebrow. "So I have to ask. Why are you here talking with me instead of in that cabin of yours with her?"

Ben took a bite of his pie. "Well, mostly because she chose a different path. A different man. She left . . . and well, I didn't like sitting around there waiting and hoping that she'll come back."

Denny tapped his fork against the table, as if bothered by Ben's words. "And you didn't go after her?"

"No." Ben shook his head. "I've been praying about it . . . and well, I'm waiting for God to let me know when—if—the time is ever right."

"Maybe that's why I'm here." Denny grinned. "To prod you on."

"Are you saying that God sent you to tell me that?"

Denny shrugged. "Well, I haven't heard a loud voice from heaven, but I did feel a nudging to come and meet you. I liked what you shared tonight about what God did with your life. I have a similar story. In fact, I used to tour too. I played in that civic center many a times."

Ben studied the man's face. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he knew he needed to pay attention. "So why aren't you still on the road? Your music is good. Really good. And your voice is too. I've heard the demos."

"God gave me a talent. I'll confess that. The thing is that just because I'm a singer doesn't mean I need a stage. He's shown me a different way."

Ben's throat tightened. Could that be possible for him? To find a place to settle? To not have to struggle with the traveling, the band, the women? Could he have a family and a home and still write and sing for God...and let God show him how to use his songs from there?

Goose bumps rose on his arms.
God, is this message from You? If it is, I want it
. . .
I want what You have for me. I'm ready for it. Ready to surrender all
.

"I want to hear more." Ben finished off his pie and then motioned to the waitress to bring him another piece. "I wanted to hear how God led you to songwriting, Denny. I gotta hear how you do it . . . how your songs make a difference without you being on stage."

"Sure. Of course."

Ben folded his hands and placed them on the table, wishing he could calm his pounding heart. "I also want to talk to you more about Marianna . . . you're the only one I've told her name to. I want to know if you think I should go to her . . . because suddenly something inside tells me it's time. Now's the time."

Ben's heartbeat quickened as his cab approached the civic center. Denny's house was in the opposite direction and he still had a long drive tonight. Ben told Denny he didn't mind catching his own ride. Ben smiled and his head bobbed along to the jazz music the taxi driver played on the radio. In fact from the way he felt inside—the new hope he had—he almost could have walked on air back to the bus.