“Depending on someone else—anyoneelse—is insane.”
Sudden doubt squeezed her heart. What if Mr. Theodore didn’t arrive in time?
Her breaths shortened. Fragmented into shards that snagged in her chest. What if Mr. Forrester shot at Grand the way he’d shot at the creditor’s henchmen? Shivers skittered up and down her arms. Her neck. Her spine. She couldn’t live with that loss. She couldn’t bear it.
Nor could she wait a moment longer.
Planting her boots on the floor, Clara hefted the chair upon her hunched back, straining against the ropes with all her might and bashing the chair against the table with all her main. Willing something to work. Something to break. Something to—
She lost her balance and fell on her side with a clatter.
A derisive sigh on the other side of the door mocked her pain. “Pitiful.”
Mr. Forrester was right. She was pitiful. For now she was not only bound, she was exhausted and winded and lying prone on the dirt-strewn floor. Rough wood grated against her cheek. She sighed, skittering clumps of soil across the planks to collect against the wall at the left of the door. She stared at the shadowy pile of dirt. Body aching. Eyelids heavy.
Until a glint of light caught her attention.
Clara lifted her gaze, and a silvery glimmer winked at her through a knothole in the lower portion of the wall. Maiden Moonlight must be in her full splendor. Perhaps with the comfort of her company, she might not feel so woefully alone. She maneuvered closer to the wall, ignoring the pain in her limbs as she dragged the chair along, and peered into the knothole as though it were the eyepiece of a telescope.
A sob caught in her throat. Maiden Moonlight had brought along an old friend. The North Star. Ever shining, ever steadfast, Polaris illumined the heavenly expanse with its inextinguishable promise, the one she’d clung to in childhoodand tossed aside once grown. Even on the darkest of nights, even on the most perilous of journeys, there was a sovereign Lord who would lead her home—if she would only rely on the guidance of His light.
Dependence wasn’t insanity. It was the posture of faith.
Clara blinked away a mist of tears. “Lord, forgive my stubbornness. I ... I can’t do this alone. I need help. I need you.” The tears broke free then, unbidden and unseen in the darkness, as she clung to that pinprick of moonlight.I need you.The three little words unlocked a forgotten memory—or rather, a melody. One that had been sung to her on dark nights long ago when she could not sleep by a lilting voice both comforting and dearly missed.Granny.What were the words to her favorite song?
She licked her dry lips and tried to find them. “‘I need Thy p-presence ... every passing hour. What but Thy grace can f-foil the tempter’s ... power? Who, like Thyself, my guide and s-strength can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with ... me.’”
“Abide with Me.” That was the song. Clara attempted to clear her throat and started the hymn from the beginning, her voice weak and tremulous. “‘Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.’”
As the song poured from her soul, Clara could almost hear Granny’s harmonies and feel the warmth of her touch on her brow. Shooing away terrors, wiping away tears. Humble, wrinkled hands ministering with the love of holy, scarred ones. “‘Thou on my head in early youth didst smile, And though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee. On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.’”
Though her body remained physically weary, each verse infused her heart with new strength. Though her handsremained bound, a thin veil of unexplainable peace enveloped her mind. Though no one was nigh, a blessed assurance that she was not alone settled in her spirit. “‘I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.’”
Clara gazed at the stars twinkling through the knothole as tears washed the grit from her face. “‘Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord—’”
The door whooshed open and slammed against the wall.
Illuminated by moonlight, Mr. Forrester’s boots stomped into Clara’s line of vision, and she froze. Grabbing the back of the chair, he hoisted her upward and righted the chair legs on the floor with a jarring thud. Backlit by silver, Mr. Forrester was but a shadowed silhouette, menacing and unreadable. She held her breath. What was he going to do?
“I’ll untie your bonds if you’ll stop singing. D-deal?” His voice broke as if unnerved.
She nodded. “Deal.”
As Mr. Forrester moved to loosen the bonds, Clara detected a tremor in his hands as he fumbled with the ropes in the dark. Was he shaken by the song’s meaning, or by the memory of the woman who’d treated him like a grandson? The ropes around her arms fell, and she gingerly moved her stiff limbs, rubbing feeling back into her fingers as they pricked and tingled.
After untying the ropes around her legs, Mr. Forrester rose and stood in the shed doorway. “There’s water in that can under the table. I’ll bring you something to eat in the morning. But you must stay silent and stay put.” With that, he left and shut out the moon’s light.
Clara heaved a ragged sigh.Thank you, merciful Lord.Sinkingfrom the chair onto the floor, she felt about in the shadows and found the tin watering can and drank her fill. Her limbs were weak, stiff, and sore. Though she wished to flee, she couldn’t overpower an armed man and make a run for it in this state. Nor was she confident she could navigate her surroundings in the dark of night. It seemed wisest to stay put and silent as she was bid. At least long enough for her to recover her strength.
Pouring some of the cool water on her hands, Clara splashed it on her face, washing away tears and dust. She reached for the extra handkerchief in her pocket, and her fingers brushed against the journal from Grand. After drying her face, she returned the handkerchief to her pocket and pulled out the journal. She made her way back to the knothole and, slumping against the wall, held Grand’s last clue up to the moonlight.
Dear Little Stargazer,
As our journey draws to an end, there are a few things remaining to be said.
I know you fear losing control of your family and the flurry of circumstances that ever swirl about us, but heed my words, dear heart. You cannot lose what you never had. Control has been, and always will be, the sole property of our sovereign God. It is impossible for Him to lose it, and it can never be stolen from Him. He is now and forever more in control of our lives, and we are now and forever more held in His scarred hands, utterly dependent on His endless grace and matchless love.
Rest assured that the weight of the world is not on your shoulders, but on His. God is in control of the flurry of circumstances around us, and though you may not see evidence of it yet, He is surely working all things together for our ultimate good. He is our strength and a faithful refuge,a very present and well-proved help in trouble. He delivers in His time. He heals in His way. And not a single one of His good promises fails.
