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Hours later, she raced the sun, hoping to get back from the hardware store before nightfall. As she parked her car in her driveway, she realized with dread that she hadn’t left any lights on in the house. Why, oh why hadn’t she gotten the lock first and then transferred her items into the office?
“Don’t be afraid.”Amos’s advice returned to her. “Remember evil feeds on fear.”
Drawing a deep breath, Grace summoned her inner warrior, and pushed out of the car. Clutching her recent purchase in one hand, she marched up to the porch with bravado and let herself inside. A chill skittered over her skin.Not this again. Fear sank its claws into her. The only way to battle it that she could think of was to recite Psalm 23.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd.’” She stepped inside, locking the door behind her, and marched across her living room. “‘I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures—’”Hah.She pictured the Amazon jungle. “‘He leads me beside the still waters.’” A vision of the roiling Orinoco River gave way to the still-as-glass inlet on which Amos lived. “‘He restores my soul.’”
She found herself in her kitchen, back against the counter. “‘He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’” The fear pulling her skin tight seemed to be subsiding. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—’” Her voice cut off abruptly. She lifted her hands, remembering the dead weight of her stillborn, his perfect features, completely lifeless.
Grief crested in her, rising like an unexpected tsunami. It stole her breath. She bent toward her hands, then pressed them to her abdomen, where she had carried her son with so much anticipation, never once imagining that she would have to bury him before their eyes even met. Sinking into the cold kitchen tiles, she sobbed as loss reclaimed her. Mateo’s sweet face rose to replace the mental image of her baby, and her sobs seemed to tear the very lining from her lungs.
The being was forgotten. Minutes later, her sobs came less frequently. Grace clambered to her feet for a paper towel and mopped her wet face.
“‘I will fear no evil.’” The line where she’d left off had been tolling in her head like a distant church bell. She said the words out loud, not fully believing them. She did fear evil. She feared going back into the jungle to fetch her child. “‘For You are with me.’”
That was what Faith had said. “Even in the valley—especially in the valley—God is there with you.”
“‘Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’” She pictured Jesus as a shepherd, gazing down at her kindly. If only she could believe it was true, then this upcoming mission to rescue Mateo wouldn’t seem so terrifying.
“All it takes is a mustard seed of faith, just the smallest drop of hope.” This time it was Amos’s voice sounding in her head.
Grace wiped her runny nose with the paper towel, sniffed, and peered around, sensing the atmosphere in her condo. The ambiance was strangely peaceful. So was the feeling quilting her heart. Apparently, a good, hard cry was what she needed. Or could it be that tiny seed of hope had sprouted roots to hold the crumbling soil of her soul together?
CHAPTER11
Grace struggled with the bulging, rolling suitcase as she alternately pushed, pulled, and lugged it down the path to Amos’s pier, while carrying a backpack with Mateo’s dossier in it. She had spent the entire day cleaning her condo for the renters, who had, fortunately, loved it and signed her homemade contract that very afternoon. Now it was suppertime. Given Amos’s early wakeup the next morning, he would be going to bed soon.
Reaching the pier, Grace paused to admire the peach-colored sky reflected on the still surface of the water. The scent rising off the burnished marsh grass reminded her of the mineral scent of the Orinoco River.
As she started forward, the wheels on her suitcase made a great rumbling noise as they rolled over the planks. She cringed to think what the owners of the big house would assume if they noticed her. It had to look like she was moving in with Amos.
I’m here for Simon,she reminded herself and kept right on going. But was that really true? Once she left for Venezuela on Thursday, Amos would have to drop Simon off at daycare, anyway.
Guilt pinched the tops of Grace’s shoulders. Ultimately, she wasn’t much of a solution for Amos as she was a problem.
He appeared at that exact moment, crossing his gangplank to intercept her. A peculiar mix of emotions assailed Grace—first resentment for separating her from Mateo, then, more recently, for forcing her to steer his boat. That feeling gave way to gratitude for the way he’d dealt with her post-traumatic stress, as the soldier had not returned, not even in her dreams.
On top of that, she now saw Amos as a good and caring father, which counted for a lot in her book. But she wasn’t falling for him, as she was done with romance. She certainly wasn’t moving in with him.
All the same, her heart pattered as he neared her. He wore long jeans today and a light gray T-shirt that matched the silver streak on top of his head, not to mention his warm gaze.
“You sure you packed enough?”
Harassment was clearly his primary mode of communication. “Thanks, I’d love your help.”
Her overly sweet smile prompted a self-directed smirk as he took the suitcase from her, brushing her arm in the process and causing her insides to vault with awareness.
“Welcome aboard.” He gestured with his head for her to precede him. “Any sign of your unwanted visitor?”
“No. Thank you.” The less she thought about it, the better.
“Anytime.”
As Grace crossed the gangplank, a welcoming aroma greeted her. “Is that popcorn?”
“Aye. We’re about to start a movie, and I could use your input on which is appropriate.”
“Sure.”
