Clara pursed her lips.Lord, give me wisdom to outwit this dragon.She softened her tone to one of meek submission. “Please, Rupert. I’m of no use to you if I starve to death.”
There was a minute of silence, followed by a monotone reply. “Fine. If it’ll keep you from pestering me all night.”
Were her ears hoodwinked by hope, or was Mr. Forrester actually leaving? She dropped to look through the knothole again. Mr. Forrester was indeed stomping away from the potting shed. This could be her chance! Ten seconds ticked by. Mr. Forrester disappeared from her limited line of sight. Twenty seconds. Her heart raced, urging her feet to do the same with every beat, but she needed to be certain he was well out of hearing. She glanced at the tantalizingly unguarded door. Forty seconds. One minute. That would have to do.
Clara snatched the rusted gardening trowel from the nearby table and thrust the blade into the doorjamb, stabbing downward upon the latch and willing the old mechanism to break. As she bore down, the blade snapped off the trowel. Botheration!
Palms chafing, she tossed aside the rough wooden handle. She took a step back and steeled herself to use her shoulder as a battering ram.One, two, slam. Pain burst through her shoulder, but the door remained unmoved. Come on. She twisted the latch and steeled herself to ram into the door again.One, two, slam.
Stars, that hurt! And the pain was for nothing. The door held fast.
No amount of striving was going to set her free. Clara sighed. Had she not learned as much last night when she’d been unable to break her bonds? Yet, here she was once again, trying to do everything by her own might and main. Thoughshe’d determined to cling to the truth she’d found, she’d let it slip right through her fingers.
Backing away from the door, she came to rest upon the chair.It’s not up to me to deliver myself. It’s not up to me toprotect my family. Our help comes from the Lord, justlike Grand said. He is our strength and a faithfulrefuge, a very present and well-proved help in trouble.
Humming the tune to Granny’s hymn, Clara transferred her focus from the confines of the shed to the place where her help came from—the One who abided with her. Peace tucked itself within her spirit. Like a hot brick placed at the end of her bed in winter, it warmed with a soothing comfort she never wished to leave. She closed her eyes and imagined the night sky, wishing she could chart every aspect of the Creator who’d fashioned it with words, simultaneously disappointed and delighted that such a feat was beyond her capabilities. Her pen could never convey the height, depth, and breadth of the Omnipotent One any more than the four corners of a page could contain Him. Yet she suddenly longed to try. Not to prove her skills, but to come to know Him through the use of them. The God who held the globe in the palm of His scarred hand couldn’t be mapped, but He could be known. More amazing still, God—in all His splendor—wanted to be known by her. In all her smallness. In all her need.
Now, that was insane.
Clara laughed, fully cognizant of how odd it made her look, but caring not a whit. Whenever she was freed from this potting shed, she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life exploring the world for glimpses of its Maker and seeking encounters with His presence.
The rattle of a doorknob severed her reverie.
Had Mr. Forrester returned so soon? Clara moved to peer through the knothole and spotted a pair of boots in the grass. One fashioned of leather and the other of metal.
CHAPTER
35
Impossible. Clara blinked away what was surely a hallucination and peered again through the knothole in the wall. One leather boot and one metal boot remained before the door, plain as day. It had to be him, and yet ... it couldn’t be. Her trail of tools spiraled the Grande Île. How could Theodore have known to leave the island and search the park?
He delivers in His time.The words from Grand’s final clue reverberated through Clara’s weary soul, shooing disbelief and stoking her waning hope. “Theodore?”
“Thank God!” Mr. Theodore’s exclamation sent her giddy heart staggering into her ribs. “Stand clear, Clara. I’m going to break down the door.”
She took refuge at the back of the shed. “All clear.”
A bronze boot crashed through the door amid a hail of splinters. A second kick propelled the door inward, and Mr. Theodore strode over the debris-strewn threshold, muscles taut and fists primed to slay the yellow-bellied dragon. His brow furrowed as though he feared he’d come too late, butthe moment their eyes connected, the creases vanished and that dear lopsided grin softened his utterly masculine profile.
Clara’s heart skipped a beat and tripped over three more. For years she’d thought it necessary to save herself, lest her family be burdened, but being found, being rescued awakened an exhilaration beyond reckoning. She wanted to leap, to dance, to fly, but all she could muster was a wave, equal parts timid and awkward.
Mr. Theodore closed the distance between them in two strides and ever so gently swept a loose tendril from her face, his calloused fingers brushing across her temple. His deep voice wavered. “Did he hurt you?”
She leaned into the warmth of his palm. “No. I am well, truly.” But that could change if Mr. Forrester happened upon them. She seized Mr. Theodore’s hand and pulled him out of the potting shed and into the amber glow of evening. “We must be away from here. Mr. Forrester might return at any moment.”
“Good.” Mr. Theodore’s grin sparked a gleam in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to having a lively chat with the scoundrel.”
“I think that’s a chat we’d best forgo, seeing as the scoundrel is armed with a pistol.”
All jest evaporated from Mr. Theodore’s countenance. “Let’s continue this reunion elsewhere, shall we?” He took off at a sprint, and she followed suit, running a few paces behind as he led the way. Head pivoting back and forth, he appeared to survey the surrounding trees as though looking for someone. “The men will be so relieved to see you.”
The men? What was he—
Something slammed Clara from behind, and she hit the ground with great force. She gasped, sprawled facedown in the grass. Pinned down by something heavy.
“I warned you, Clara.” Mr. Forrester’s voice was hot against her ear, his words blackened with rage and despair. “I warned you not to try me.”
Her lungs forgot how to breathe.God above, don’t leave me now.
