Whispers from Yesterday (22 page)

“I’ve been happy too,” Karen whispered.

She remembered the day she’d been released from the desire to take her own life. It wasn’t that things had become suddenly easier. It wasn’t that her fortunes had been restored. No, there had simply been a lifting of oppression.

She recalled the way Billy’s hand felt whenever it had slipped into hers. Dear, darling Billy. He loved Dusty and Sophia’s God too. But he was young and moldable. He hadn’t suffered life’s many disappointments yet. As soon as that thought passed through her mind, she knew it was a lie. Billy had suffered, but he’d also overcome.

“Miracles. They all believe in miracles. But
I
don’t. I
can’t.”
She opened her eyes, glancing toward the diaries on the table. The story within them painted a picture of Sophia as an angry, bitter young woman, bitter because Mikkel had loved Esther and not her. Karen’s mother had described Sophia in much the same way. Yet, that wasn’t the woman Karen knew. Maybe it
was
a miracle.

She looked up at the water-stained ceiling. “So tell me,” she said softly. “Just where does a person have to go to get a miracle?”

Monday, September 4, 1939

Dear Diary,

England and France have declared war on Germany after the invasion of Poland. Mikkel says he should have sent me back to America months ago. But Grandfather Fritz insists Denmark will be all right. This nation remained neutral during the Great War, and he says the king will keep them so again. He says Mikkel worries needlessly. The Germans will leave us alone.

I pray Grandfather is right.

Esther

Saturday, October 28, 1939

Why God? Why? Why must I suffer? Why am I unable to give Mikkel a son or a daughter? Why did I miscarry before I could even share my secret hope with Mikkel, that I was at last pregnant again?

Christmas Day, 1939

Dear Diary,

Grandfather is ill. We had just returned from our Christmas morning service when he collapsed. Mikkel carried him to his room while I called for the doctor, and we waited long and agonizing minutes until he arrived.

The doctor says it is old age and we should not expect Grandfather to live more than another four to six months, although it is possible he will linger beyond that.

The vibrant old man I have known since coming to Denmark—the man who revealed to me his beloved Copenhagen, who took me for long walks down old streets and showed me the Citadel and the Royal Theatre and the university and the Botanical and Tivoli Gardens, and who loved me as if I were his own granddaughter—is dying.

It is too much, God. Too much. Must You take away everyone I love from me? My sister. My daughter. My unborn child. And now Grandfather Fritz. What lesson is this I must learn? Why? Why? Why? Am I like Job? Must I be stripped of everything?

Esther

TWENTY

A week passed.

“Do you suppose Miss Karen’s all right?” Billy asked at supper one night.

“She’s in God’s hands,” Sophia answered. The boy nodded. “Then she’s all right.”

Listening, Dusty thought it was no wonder Christ said they were to have faith like a little child’s. He would do well to follow Billy’s example.

Another week went by.

Dusty called in a few favors from his contacts at both the county and state level and obtained permission for Patty to remain at the Golden T during her pregnancy. Perhaps longer if circumstances didn’t change with her father.

“You and I can do our homework together,” Dusty told Patty after they’d decided to homeschool her. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she answered, showing more animation than she had since her arrival at the ranch.

The final week of the youth camp’s season was upon them, and everyone began to feel the regret of approaching separation. It was like this every year for Dusty. He poured all his efforts into helping his boys cope with whatever they had to face in their families, their homes, their communities, and then he hated to send them back to those same situations.

Some would write to him now and then. A few would even come for a visit. Most would simply disappear from his life, remembered in his prayers but never seen nor heard from again.

Much like Karen.

He’d foolishly thought the pain of her absence would lessen with time. It hadn’t happened. At least not yet.

It was tradition for everyone at the Golden T to spend a full day at the Western Idaho State Fair before the boys left the ranch. This year was no different.

“Can I push your wheelchair first?” Billy asked Sophia as Dusty parked the van in the packed lot.

“If you’d like.” She glanced at Dusty. “Renting that contraption is a foolish waste of money. You could have left me on a bench in the shade. I enjoy watching people. I would’ve been fine.”

“Don’t be silly. We
want
you with us. Don’t we?”

A chorus of yeses resounded from the back of the van.

It didn’t take long for everyone to disembark. Soon Sophia was seated in the wheelchair and being pushed by Billy toward the main gates. Patty stayed close to the elderly woman’s side. The girl had bonded with Sophia, but Dusty suspected she missed Karen almost as much as he did.

One day. It’d be nice to go through one day without thinking of her.

He purchased their admission tickets. Then he gave them his standard speech about watching the time, and they decided on a meeting place. Monies were doled out. There was less than originally hoped for, thanks to Karen.

But he didn’t want to think of that either. God had provided. What more could he want?

He checked his wristwatch. “Okay, it’s one o’clock now. Everybody plan to meet by the fountain”—he pointed toward it—“at three-thirty. And don’t be late.”

The three boys took off. Patty didn’t budge.

“Aren’t you going, dear?” Sophia asked.

The girl shook her head. “I’d rather stay with you, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

Patty looked toward the carnival grounds. “I can’t go on the rides anyway since I’m pregnant.”

Dusty had known his share of adults who didn’t face their responsibilities as well as this girl faced hers.

“Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulders at the same time she gripped the handles of the wheelchair. “Let’s find something to eat. I’ve got money burning a hole in my pocket and hunger burning a hole in my stomach.”

The fair had been in full swing for six days, and Karen had spent every one of them in her employer’s booth on food row. Now, she knew more about dipping ice cream than she’d imagined there was to know.

On this Thursday afternoon, the August sun beat relentlessly down on the roadway outside the booth; mirages wavered above the blacktopped surface. To make matters worse, crying children, shouting mothers, and loud rock music blaring from speakers in the carnival combined into an ear-shattering cacophony.

And Karen put up with it all for minimum wage.

She leaned over the freezer compartment, grateful for the blast of cold air that hit her face as she scooped chocolate-chip ice cream into a cone. It momentarily eased the pounding in her head.

“Here you go. That’ll be a dollar seventy-five.” She handed the cone to a small boy as his mother placed seven quarters on the stainless steel counter.

“Karen?”

She glanced over her shoulder at Toby, the owner’s teenaged son. “Hmm?”

“I’m going for some chocolate syrup. Need me to bring anything else?”

“No. I don’t think so.” “Okay. Back in ten.”

She watched Toby leave through the rear of the booth. The kid reminded her a little of Hal Junker.
I wonder where Junkman is now.

The thought caused a twinge of pain, and she quickly blanked it out. If she thought about Junkman, then she would think about the other boys. If she thought about the other boys, then she would think about Sophia. And then she would think about Dusty. She couldn’t handle that.

She turned toward the counter again—

And there he stood, as if in answer to her thoughts.

She saw her own surprise mirrored in Dusty’s eyes.

“Karen.”

Her mouth went dry.

“How are you?” he asked softly.

She swallowed, then moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I … I’m fine.”

“I thought you’d gone back to California.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I’m still here.” She wiped her damp palms on her apron.

“Have you seen the boys?” “They’re here?”

“Yes.” His dark, expressive eyes searched hers. There was no condemnation in them. Only tenderness. “Sophia’s here too. She’s with Patty.”

“With Patty.”

“Patty’s staying with us through the winter.” He paused a moment, then said, “She misses you. Everyone does.”

It took all her resolve not to say she missed them, too, to keep from bursting into tears and rushing into his arms.

“Come home, Karen.”

Home … Was the Golden T her home? Did she want it to be? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure. She was confused. She shook her head. “I can’t.” “Sure you can.”

She stared into the freezer compartment, unable to look at him any longer. “No.” Oh, why did Toby have to be gone from the booth? If only she could turn and walk away. This was too hard. It was much too hard.

Dusty reached across the counter and took hold of her arm. She stared at his hand. The summer sun had bronzed his skin. There were tiny scars on several knuckles. It was a large, strong hand, and yet, like everything else about Dusty, it was gentle.

“Come home, Karen.”

Blinded by tears, she took a step backward, out of his reach, then turned her back toward him. “I don’t know where home is,” she confessed in a strangled voice.

“Sure you do. You know. In your heart, you know. Home is with the people you love, with the people who love you.”

“I don’t belong with—” She stopped abruptly. She’d almost said she didn’t belong with him. But she couldn’t say it. Those words would reveal too much. Finally, she said, “I don’t belong at the Golden T.”

“You’re running away. Just like I did. Just like your grandmother did. Just like Hal did. But you can’t outrun God, Karen. I’m living proof of that. You’ll find Him waiting for you wherever you go. So you might as well stop running.”

“I can’t come back. Don’t ask me to.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Please don’t ask me to.”

He sighed. “All right. I won’t ask.” There was a lengthy pause, then he added, “But I’ll be praying for you. I won’t stop doing that.”

No, don’t stop praying for me, Dusty. Please don’t stop.

She blinked away hot tears, set her jaw, clenched her hands into fists. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. No matter what else happened, she wasn’t going to let him see her tears.

It took awhile, but once she’d regained a measure of control, she turned around.

Too late. Dusty was gone.

Sunday, December 31, 1939

Dear Diary,

It is not “Why is this happening to me?” that I should be asking of God. It is “How can I draw closer to You, Lord? How can I take this experience, my own suffering and loss, and use it to minister to others?”

I felt God stirring my heart this morning while Mikkel was preaching. It wasn’t anything he said specifically. It was purely of the Holy Spirit, speaking quietly to me, reassuring me, comforting me. Suddenly, I felt a peace I have not felt for a long, long time. I let go of the hurt I was clinging to. I do not know how else to describe it. I simply let go and told the Lord that whatever happened, I was His. I will worship Him. I will serve Him. No matter what, I will praise Him for all of my days. I will go where He wants me to go. I will do what He wants me to do.

And in that moment, I knew I would find God’s will for my life, that I would not live in vain, and that my descendants would be able to say, “Esther Christiansen was a woman of God, a woman who loved Jesus and who taught others to love the Lord as well.”