Page 77 of Shadowing You

He helped her out of her wet clothes and onto the mattress, then pulled the blanket over her. Her eyes closed the moment she was horizontal.

After hanging their jackets on hooks by the door, where they would have a better shot of getting dry, he changed into dry socks, then crawled in beside his wife. The cot was narrow, but he didn’t mind. Between the blanket and his body heat, Mei Lin should be warm.

Her breathing was already steady.

He lay still in the lamplight and listened.

The mountain was quiet. Wet leaves dripped. Somewhere far off, an owl hooted. There were no engine sounds, no voices, no boots.

Either the place would be safe, or it wouldn’t. Either way, they didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He wrapped an arm around Mei Lin’s waist and nestled her close, inhaling the scents of rain and sweat. Faintly, beneath that, he inhaled the wife he’d thought he’d lost—and could still lose.

Father. The word came on a long, slow exhale. Protect her. Hide us. I don’t have Michael in my ear directing my steps. I don’t have my father giving me advice. I have no idea what to do next. I’m at the end of myself. Please, Lord, guide us. Whatever happens, keep Mei Lin safe and get her out of China.

Ethan reached behind him, extinguished the lamp, and let the darkness close over them.

I need to sleep, so wake me if there’s trouble.

All he could do was trust God to protect them until morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sunlight had slipped past the iron bars and laid a stripe of gold across the quilt.

Mei Lin was alone on the cot, but she remembered Ethan beside her in the dark, the weight of his arm across her waist, the steady cadence of his breath against her hair.

Thank You for bringing us here. Thank You for my husband.

She sat up, every muscle protesting—her back, her legs, her feet. Even her hands ached at the joints.

Ethan’s pack sat against the wall, unzipped. She crossed the room and pulled out the leggings and oversized top she’d worn yesterday morning. They weren’t fresh from the laundry, but they weren’t that dirty, and she was running out of options.

The uniform pants, still damp from the trek through the woods, hung by the door. She dug out the pouch containing the evidence, zipped it into her coat pocket, then put the coat on and opened the door, letting in a sigh of cold mountain air. The world outside bore no resemblance to the one they’d stumbled through the night before. The mist was gone, and the trees rose high above her, dark green against the bluest sky she’d seen in years.

Through the forest, she spied what she was looking for—a small stone outhouse. She made it there and back without falling, which wouldn’t have been an achievement on a normal day but felt like something to celebrate today.

Where was her husband? Surely, he hadn’t left.

She rounded the cabin to the back, then froze to take in the sight. The land fell away in folds of green, layer upon layer, until the farthest peaks paled to gray.

She inhaled a fresh breath, praising God for her life and her freedom, and for the man sitting on a rough plank bench, his elbows on his knees, his coat zipped to his chin. He was staring at the vista, his mouth moving silently. He was either talking to himself or talking to God—maybe a little of both.

He turned as she approached and was on his feet and moving before she could speak, his arms coming around her carefully, as if she were made of paper and might tear.

“Hey, gorgeous.” His voice was warm against her hair.

Gorgeous? She didn’t need a mirror to know he was either lying or losing his eyesight. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his coat.

He backed away to meet her eyes. “How do you feel?”

A flippant fine wouldn’t do, so she paused to consider the question.

The answer surprised her. She’d been awake for less than ten minutes and already needed to rest.

He must’ve read her answer. “Come on.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the cabin. “Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?”

Inside, he closed the door, and she realized… “It’s warm.”