Someday, God willing, there would be no walls between them.
The buildings lining Main Street of movie town looked weatherworn, the street dusty and unpaved. The crew had gone on to earn gold elsewhere, making it a ghost town on the cusp of rediscovery. Abra walked ahead of Joshua. She stepped up onto the boardwalk and pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon.
The bar had a brass rail and an ornate mirror mounted on the wall. She started up the stairs. Joshua came through the doors. “Careful. The railing above is breakaway.”
She looked over and gave a breathless laugh. “It won’t be a star that makes the fall. It’ll be a stunt double.” She tried a door. It didn’t open.
“It’s all for show. Nothing but air on the other side.”
“Impressive work. A brand-new ghost town.” She came downstairs. She looked around. All it needed were props and actors to make it feel real. “Franklin wanted me to audition for this movie. I’d have played the part of a dance hall girl with a heart of gold. He said it would be the next step to making me a star.” She ran her hands over the bar and came away dusty. “He had such dreams for Lena.”
“I imagine you could go back to Hollywood.”
“Why?”
“Sounds like you miss it.”
Did she? She had enjoyed wearing beautiful clothes, having heads turn when she walked into a restaurant or party, but the price had been too high. She had to lose herself. It had always felt like an alien environment to her, one where she could never be comfortable. Whenever the cameras rolled, she felt like a fraud, just waiting for a director to ask what she thought she was doing on the set. She had watched other actresses work, admiring their skill and the love they had for the work. She had tried to fit in, but she hated standing in front of cameras with those lenses like eyes that could see into her very soul.
“I tried to be Lena Scott, but Abra Matthews kept fighting to get out.”
“Did you make any friends?”
“I can think of two who might have become friends, but I didn’t let them get close enough.” It seemed to be a pattern in her life. Joshua didn’t press. They went back outside and walked along the boardwalk.
She felt the tension grow between them. “Now that the town is finished, you’ll be leaving soon.”
“I paid my bill at the motel. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
The news took her breath away. “So soon?”
He gave her a wry look. “Not all that soon, Abra.”
“No. I guess not.” He’d been warning her for days the job was coming to an end, and so was his time with her in Agua Dulce.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” His tone was gentle now, interested, but not pressing. He was a good actor, too.
Two pickup trucks towing trailers had driven past the diner this morning. The film company would arrive soon, bringing props and costumes. A catering service would be handling meals. Bea’s motel had been fine for a few carpenters, but better accommodations had been arranged for the actors. Bea said she could have the room until the end of the week, and then Abra would have to start paying.
Had she done as Franklin wanted, Abra might have been the star of Desert Rose, living in a fancy trailer between takes in that saloon Joshua had built. Instead, she had three simple, decent dresses, a pair of sandals and white tennis shoes, and a zippered tote bag. Her last paycheck and the tips from the diner would be enough for a bus ticket, meals, and a couple of days in a cheap motel in Las Vegas.
“I’ll figure it out, Joshua.” She touched his arm. She owed him so much. “I’m not your problem.”
She’d run away from home to find home. She’d traveled with a devil who led her to dry water holes and a barren wasteland filled with desert beasts of prey. Stop at the crossroads and look around, a soft voice whispered. Ask for the old, godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your soul.
She’d heard the same message in Haven and had said, “No, that’s not the road I want.” Now she knew the road she had thought would lead to freedom had only led to despair.
Her mind told her what had been wrong could never be made right. What had been missing could never be recovered. But her heart hoped.
She could make a good living on her own. All she had to do was resurrect Lena Scott and find some enterprising club owner willing to hire her to play piano in his bar. Lilith Stark had taught her how scandal could be good for business. Newspaper reporters would come flocking. Dylan would come knocking.
Lena Scott or Abra Matthews? Which do you want to be?
Live a lie or live in the truth. It all came down to that.
She couldn’t pretend God wasn’t interested in her anymore. Who but God could have put Joshua in Agua Dulce and then brought her to him? “I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see. . . .” The hymns kept coming back, quatrains singing inside her head. Whose prayers had God been answering? Hers or Joshua’s?
Pastor Zeke, Priscilla, Peter, and Mitzi had all talked about God’s mercy. She’d never really listened. Maybe it was time to seek Him. She wanted to come out of the shadows into the open and let God burn away all the bad in her, the selfishness, the conceit, the pride. But it was a frightening prospect. God might send her somewhere else she didn’t want to go. I wonder if God will send me to Africa. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud until Joshua looked at her.
“Africa? Why would He do that?”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “Isn’t that where God sends people who give their lives to Him?”
He stopped, his eyes filling with a sudden brightness. “Is that what you want? To give your life to God?”
She didn’t want to give him false hope. “I don’t know, Joshua.” She kept walking. “I still have—” she tried to think of the right word—“reservations.”
“Even people with rock-solid faith struggle at times, Abra.”
“You never did.”
He gave a short laugh. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a monumental battle with Him for quite a while now.”
“You?”
“Yeah. Me. He let me have my way long enough to know it wouldn’t work. But I exhausted myself in trying.”
“When was that?”
He gave her a droll look. “When I went looking for you the first time. And the second.” He lifted his head, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “And now, when I’m going to leave you behind.”
Again, that hard thrust to her heart. She slipped her arm through his and put her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a trial to you. I’ll go back to Haven someday. I just don’t think I’m ready right now.” She’d write first, test the waters, and see if Peter and Priscilla wanted to see her. Then, maybe . . .
I have not given you a spirit of fear and timidity.
She could scarcely remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been afraid.
Joshua slowed. “You’ll never get things right until you go back to where they went wrong.”
She removed her arm from his. Go back. Take the blame. Face the shame. She would have to be Abra Matthews, with all her flaws and frailties, all her failures, her history laid bare. She would be held accountable for the suffering she’d caused others. She had always felt exposed in front of cameras. In Haven, there would be no place to hide. Everyone knew her story: the unwanted baby abandoned under the bridge, then passed from one family to another.
I knit you together in your mother’s womb. You are mine.
She felt a quickening inside her, and it frightened her. It would be easier and less painful to ride a bus to Las Vegas. She could become Lena Scott again, a girl no one ever really knew, least of all poor Franklin. Make up a new life as you go. An enticing thought.
At what cost, Abra?
She had never counted the cost before. Joshua said God had a plan for her life. Maybe she should wait for that instead of going her own way. All the plans she’d made for herself up to now had led to devastati
on.
Words tumbled through her mind—long-forgotten words she’d heard or read. “I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence!” The writer hadn’t wanted to get away. He’d wanted to get close. “As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God.”
Where was she most likely to find Him? Anywhere. Everywhere.
Another hymn melody came, lyrics slipping through her mind. “Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish, come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel. Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish: Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.”
She blinked and let out a soft breath. Why did all those old hymns Mitzi had taught her come back so clearly now? They tormented her with promises that felt just out of reach, just beyond her grasping fingertips.
“Ready to go back?”
Abra glanced up and saw the shadows beneath Joshua’s eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well either, and he would need to get a good night’s sleep before the long drive north to Haven. He didn’t ask if she wanted to drive. She would’ve said no if he had.
The air had turned cool, the North Star appearing in the heavens. He didn’t take her hand as they walked back to the truck. She wished it were a more companionable silence.
“I won’t say good-bye, Joshua.”
When he didn’t respond, she wondered if he’d heard her.
“I’ll write to you. I promise.”
He drove, eyes straight ahead, unspeaking. He didn’t look angry or sad. He looked resolved.
A few lights were still on inside the diner. Clarice and Rudy sat in a booth, talking. She knew they had a decision to make, too. Would they close down or try to keep the place going one more year?
Joshua made a wide turn and aimed the truck at the parking space in front of his room. He set the parking brake, turned off the engine, and removed the keys. He didn’t move and the silence pressed down on her.
She felt the heat of tears building, but held them back. Would he try one last time to talk her into going home? Did he think her a fool? Hadn’t she always been just that?
She didn’t know he was holding his breath until he exhaled sharply. “Well, I guess this is it.”
It sounded like the end. “I guess it is.”
He turned to her then. “It’s your life, Abra.” He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek before he turned and kissed her palm. “I wish you nothing but the best.” He let her go and opened the truck door.
Shaken, Abra got out quickly. She stood, arms crossed against the cold, looking at him from across the orange hood, confused by the sensations his kiss had wrought. He kept walking. “Will I see you in the morning before you leave?” She stepped onto the walkway. Moths fluttered around the light.
Joshua unlocked his door and pushed it open. “Depends on what time you get up.” He went in without looking back. The door made a sharp click as it closed behind him.
Abra stood for a while, staring at that closed door, getting a taste of what life would be like if she never saw Joshua again.
After a few hours of tossing and turning, Joshua gave up trying to sleep. If he waited until morning and saw Abra again, he might end up driving her to Las Vegas. And then what? Stay? Keep tabs on her? Drive himself crazy? Better if he started the long drive home now, even if it was still an hour before dawn.
He’d refilled the tank and checked the oil before taking Abra out to see the movie town. He’d wanted her to understand the job was done and he was leaving. He’d hoped—prayed—she would change her mind and come home with him. If she had, he was ready to roll. Well, she hadn’t.
Let go, Joshua. He’d done it before. He’d do it again, no matter how much it hurt. For however long it took.
Joshua showered, dressed, stuffed the last of his things into his duffel bag, and zipped it. He put his wallet in his pocket and picked up his keys. Dumping his duffel bag in the back, he yanked open the driver’s side door.
“Joshua?” Abra stood on the walkway, holding the handles of her tote bag with both hands. “Can I hitch a ride?”
“Depends. Where do you want to go?”
“Home.”
CHAPTER 18
So he returned home to his father.
And while he was still a long way off,
his father saw him coming.
THE STORY OF THE PRODIGAL SON
IT WAS LATE that night before they left the main highway and headed by country roads across rolling hills and ranchlands, past sloughs and into high hills, vineyards, and apple orchards. Abra closed her eyes. “It smells like home.” Cooling earth, growing crops, grass, and clean air.
They had driven all day and through the evening, with occasional stops for meals and coffee. They had been slowed by an accident around suppertime. Joshua was bone tired. Had he been alone, he would have pulled off the road to sleep for a couple of hours, but with Abra beside him, he kept going. Her fear increased hourly. It did no good to tell her she wouldn’t be led to a public scaffold.
They reached the turnoff to Haven in the wee hours of morning, the full moon reflecting off the river, the trusses of the bridge to Haven rising ahead.
“Stop,” Abra breathed, then louder in a tone of panic. “Stop!”
Adrenaline poured into his system and Joshua jammed on the brakes, skidding. “What?”
“He’s there.”
A man stood by the railing in the middle of the bridge.
Joshua relaxed. “It’s my dad. He must be on his morning prayer walk.” His father stepped off the walkway into the open beneath the canopy of trusses. He looked straight at them. Joshua lifted his foot off the brake and the truck rolled forward.
Abra drew in her breath. “Wait.”
“He’s seen us, Abra.”
“I know.” She pushed her door open and slowly got out of the truck.
Joshua got out and came around to take her hand. “It’s going to be all right. Trust me.” They hadn’t gone more than a few feet onto the bridge when Dad met them. Joshua let go of her.
“Abra.” Eyes glistening, Dad cupped Abra’s face. “You’re home.” He kissed her forehead before enfolding her in his arms. Joshua heard Dad’s muffled voice. All the tension went out of Abra and she wept.
Knowing they needed this time alone, Joshua headed back to the truck. He got into the driver’s seat and rested his forearms on the steering wheel, watching the two people he loved most in the world. Dad released Abra and the two stood close. Abra was talking fast, looking up at him, then down. Dad was leaning toward her so their foreheads almost touched. Dad made no attempt to stop the stream of words that came out of broken pride. When she stopped talking, he ran his hand over her hair and said something to her. Abra stepped forward and clung to him.
Joshua started the truck and pulled up alongside them. “It’s been a long night, Dad.”
Dad put his arm around Abra’s shoulders and kept her at his side. “Thanks for bringing her home, Son.” He looked twenty years younger.
Abra’s face was awash with tears and relief as she mouthed, Thank you.
“Do you two want a ride back to the house?”
“We’re going to take a walk.”
Joshua knew where Dad would take her, and that he couldn’t interfere. “See you later, then.” He drove across the bridge, glancing in the rearview mirror before he turned right. Dad and Abra were walking hand in hand.
Abra felt weak with relief as she fell into step with Pastor Zeke. She’d poured out her confession and seen no condemnation in his eyes. When he ran his hand over her hair, she remembered how he’d done the same thing when she was a little girl. She felt overwhelmed with emotions, not the least of which was the question, if he’d loved her so much all this time, why couldn’t he have found a way to keep her? She was afraid to ask the real question that had tormented her since the day he left her in Peter and Priscilla’s care.
They walked in companionable silence, her hand engulfed in his, until
she realized where he was taking her. Maple Avenue. She pulled away and stopped. “They won’t want to see me.”
“Oh, but they do.”
“It’s too early.” She meant too soon.
He was at the corner and could see down the street. “The light’s on in the kitchen.” He held out his hand.
Abra surrendered. Her heart knocked when they reached the white picket fence. Pastor Zeke opened the gate and waited for her to enter. Fighting tears of panic, she took a deep breath and followed his lead. He walked with her up the stairs, but let her ring the doorbell.
Priscilla, in bathrobe and slippers, opened the door. She looked from Pastor Zeke to her. “Abra?” she barely whispered, aghast. Then her face flooded with relief. “Abra!” She was on the front porch in one step, reaching out, then withdrawing. Flustered, she burst into tears and ran back into the house. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and cried out, “Peter! Come quick!”
Abra heard the sound of hurried footsteps upstairs, and then Peter came down, wearing pajamas and a hastily thrown-on robe. He looked ten years older. The lines of worry smoothed and he uttered a choked “Thank God.”
“I’m sorry for the things I said and didn’t say. I . . .”
Peter marched forward and hugged her so hard she could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He pressed his chin onto the top of her head and withdrew, but didn’t let go. He held her firmly by the arms, his head down, his eyes capturing hers. “It’s about time.” Abra saw anger and pain, relief and love. He let go of her and held out his hand to Pastor Zeke. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Come on in. We can all talk in the living room.”
“I’d better get home.” Pastor Zeke stepped back, leaving her again. “I have a full workday ahead of me.” He lifted his hand, stepped out the front door, and closed it behind him.
Priscilla wiped away happy tears. “You look so tired, Abra.”
“We drove straight through.”
Priscilla lifted her hand to touch Abra’s cheek and then lowered it. Abra remembered all the times she’d withdrawn from Priscilla and the hurt she’d seen in her eyes. She stepped closer and took Priscilla’s hand and put it against her cheek, then closed her eyes.