

The Light In The Darkness Series ~ Book 4

A Tale Of True Love

Alexa Stewart

Bryne Press

Published by Byrne Press at Smashwords

© 2014 by Alexa Stewart. All rights reserved.

First Edition

Bryne Press is solely responsible for cover design and layout, along with support for publishing. As such, the ultimate design, editing, content, editorial accuracy, and views expressed or implied in this work are those of the author. No royalties/fees will be provided by Bryne Press at any time.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the prior permission of the copyright holder, except as provided by USA copyright law.

This publication is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

Unless otherwise noted, all Scriptures are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™

ISBN 13: 978-1-4675-3470-3  
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2014944704

Dedicated to my mother, Roberta, who shows great love, forbearance, gentleness, kindness, goodness and self-control to us all, but especially and foremost, has taught us self-sacrifice ~ which is True Love, God's kind of love.

Contents

Brandon Creek

The Old Parsonage

Members Only

Love Affected

Gift Of The Givers

Hidden Pain

Finding Henry

Fire

Going Back

Risking It All

Together At Last

Annual Hunt

Hunting Elk

The Encounter

Missing

Seeking The Truth

Exposure And Loss

Moving On

Author's Note

Other Books

Brandon Creek

WHAT MAKES A family uproot their lives and leave everything they know to serve God? Is it love, devotion, faith? Most likely all of these things and more. It must be, to venture out into the unknown and to live only on trust, while gaining eternal treasures from the Lord.

Tom and Marty Madison, with their two young boys, Tyler and Samuel were doing just that. They were moving to the wilderness, to the small and insignificant town of Brandon Creek, Idaho, far from their family, friends and in a place where they knew no one.

Hours from the nearest town, in a high mountain valley across the state line from the Grand Teton National Park, in Wyoming. This small settlement of roughly 700 souls resided among the tall trees of the forests, in God's country.

It was now early June and as their SUV towed a small trailer, with all their worldly belongings, from Idaho State Highway 26 onto Elk Run, a cloud of dust rose from the graveled county road, revealing their progression through the countryside.

Marty studied her map as Tom followed her instructions. The two had grown up together, married out of high school, and were now blessed with two wonderful and active sons.

Tyler age seven, fair haired and blue eyed like his father, was named after Tom's father. Samuel age five, was the spitting image of Matthew, Marty's little brother who had died at the age of three - so young and so long ago.

Even before their married life, the young couple had dreams of serving the Lord as missionaries somewhere in the world. And shortly after their union, the Lord lead them to the organization of Village Missions, a group of devout Christians whose sole purpose was to glorify Jesus Christ by developing spiritually vital churches in the rural areas of North America.

This young couple was appalled to learn that this region registered no spiritual growth at all, and that these small communities were becoming the most ignored mission field in the world.

For every church that opened their doors, three were closing. Tom and Marty desired to see this trend change and felt God's calling to do so.

The young couple, after extensive testing and interviews, was accepted into the Village Missions community, and worked hard to be prepared for service anywhere God would lead them.

Soon, His call came for Brandon Creek. To an old Methodist church that had changed hands more than once, since the town's founding in 1806. Sixteen families were currently using the building for Sunday service, with volunteers preaching each Sabbath.

Since the loss of their last pastor, ten years ago, the congregation had been seeking God for a new one. But their funds were insufficient to hire one. They sorely missed and needed a Man Of God - to baptize, marry, bury, and preside over their spiritual needs, to guide them by God's grace, and to encourage them in their daily living.

Then they discovered Village Missions. They found this ministry would pay the pastor's wages from tithes given by the organization's sustainable churches and donations from devoted Christians all over the world. One of the few stipulations was that Village Missions (VM) would choose who to send, after much prayer and discussion.

Requesting an interview, most of the small congregation was satisfied with the answers given by the VM district representative. Unfortunately, it wasn't a unanimous decision. A few prominent members objected to not being able to choose for themselves their own pastor. They argued that the church should be able to choose someone that fit their needs. But what they really wanted was someone to control and direct, a man that was willing to be led, instead of leading. They had deemed themselves the spiritual leaders of the church, and not the man appointed by God to be the shepherd.

Relying on their faith in themselves and not trusting God, they resisted the change. Though they argued and postured, this time their influence did not prevail. And before long the young family from Village Missions was making their way into the Idaho wilderness.

Tom knew he was ready to preach. He had felt the hand of God and His voice guiding him all of his life. He knew this was his destiny and God would see him through whatever was to come, although he couldn't help feeling anxious with the newness and responsibility of it all.

Their vehicle rumbled on, traveling past fields of wildflowers, wetlands full of shimmering water with beaver dams, and woodlands full of birch, willow and cotton wood. Time lingered and eventually Tom turned their car onto Forest Canyon Road.

The vehicle left the low lands and climbed into a cool, clean, majestic forest – fragrant with pine. The razor sharp peaks of the mountains drew ever closer, while the trail of dust behind continued to rise into the summer sky.

Thundering over a wooden bridge they crossed Mad Dog Creek, then traveled by a cattle ranch with the name Wade Ranch carved into a sign spanning the entrance to a dirt road that vanished into the rough country beyond.

The road narrowed, climbed, turned left, then right in a gentle switchback up the ridge, eventually crossing a stoic wooden structure over the deep gully of Black Bear Creek, which fell in white water rapids and waterfalls into the valley below.

The travelers eventually emerged from the edge of the forest and entered a vast valley, wide and long. On their left the car passed an old farm house and barn, weathered, gray, empty, and crumbling into ruin from years of neglect as it sat back in a field of wild grass and shrubbery at the base of Elk Horn Ridge. On the other side of the valley rose Eagle's Crest, stabbing its craggy, granite fingers into the summer sky.

Several columns of smoke rose lazily among the forested ridges, possibly from campfires or cabin chimneys. Passing a few more farms, ranches and an isolated house or two, they finally came to Brandon Creek itself.

This small town was spread out thinly among the trees and fields at the end of the long valley and nestled at the base of Mount Hope, a lofty, unconquerable edifice of cliffs and crumbling stone that rose above everything around it.

Tom pulled into the gas station with a faded sign of a flying red horse over an old weathered building of peeling paint and dirty windows.

Stretching as he got out of the car, he noticed a handwritten note on the pump Pay Inside First.

He smiled and walked toward the front door of the old building. There was a sign taped to the window with duct tape stating that this was Hitch's Chevron.

Next door he noted Petrie's Auto Repair on an old sign over a faded red building, with a rusty metal roof in need of patching.

The smell of oil, gas and dust mingled with the age of the building and met him as he walked through the door, the light from the summer sun trying to create sunbeams through the grimy windows. The floor creaked as he walked in the direction of a tall, lanky, man in his forties, lounging behind the counter.

"Need gas?" asked the gangly proprietor with dirty teeth and a warm smile.

"Yes. Fill it up, please."

"Sure. Just visit'n?" Fred Hitch asked curiously as he stood and walked outside with Tom.

"No. I'm the new pastor at the old Methodist church," Tom replied with a warm smile.

"No kidding? Ya gonna try living here then, huh?" the tall man asked with a smirk. "It's a hard place to stay in, with all the bad weather and notin' to do around here."

As they neared the car, Fred looked inside friendly like and exclaimed, "Two little'ns huh. Guess they'll be goin' ta school down the road. Got about thirty kids in there, most times. Couple more shouldn't hurt. Gonna be hard during the winter months, though. Ya might wanna stay in Idaho Falls 'til the snows melts in the spring," he snickered.

"My wife's planning on home schooling the boys," Tom informed him, not fazed by his sarcasm, "...and any other children that might like to come."

"No foolin'? Gee, that'd be great for Molly. She's the only school teacher we got, an she could sure use a few less kids in there. Some of the kids around here don't even bother goin', unless the authorities start pokin'."

"Well, we'd be happy to talk it over with anyone who's interested," Tom informed him.

"Took almost a full tank, it did," Fred informed the new pastor.

Tom looked surprised at the price. "Sure is expensive up here," he commented as he handed over his credit card.

"Yep... It's hard gett'n the gas company to haul it all the way out here. Gone through so many carriers, we keep changing the name on the sign in the window every few years or so. Hope we can keep it up, though. If this station goes, the whole town would probably just fold up and die. But, so far they're still comin'," Fred informed him beaming.

As Tom thanked him, he looked up and noticed Mitzy's Café across the street in a wide one story building with a wooden walkway in front. It looked like it had a tavern on the left side of the eatery. Neon signs were lit and blinking, advertising the different types of beer available. Next to the building a dirt road took off, running up into the mountains somewhere. On the other side of the building was Suzie's Antique Emporium.

Fred noticed Tom's gaze and teased, "Good place to eat, cuz' it's the only place to eat for miles, unless ya can afford the new lodge up on Grizzly Bluff."

With a thoughtful look, the gas station owner added philosophically, "And the bars around here serve a good sandwich, now and again. But I guess that's no place for kids. But, maybe you and the missus can pick something up, if ya can get waited on. They's always hoppin', especially on the weekends, when the men comes in from the fields and forests and the hard life they live around here - can't worry about money when ya kin forget it with booze."

"Then there's the hunters coming through here all the time - always lookin' for a trophy and the like. Some of them shoot anything that's not nailed down. Bad when they mix boozin' with shootin' too. Not a good combination. Kinda combustible, if ya ask me. Someone's always gettin' hurt - even a few dead once in a while, dumb suckers," he said expressively.

"That's too bad," Tom responded, thinking what a hard life it must be around here, trying to make a living in the middle of nowhere. "Do you know the way to Jed Conner's house? I've got directions, but they seem a little vague and I don't see any street signs."

"No need for signs around here. Anyone can tell ya where somebody is. For Jed, ya go on down this lovely dirt road here, past the school house and take the next dirt road to your left. That's supposed to be Conner's Lane, but the sign got knocked down some winters back and it's never been put back up. Jed's house is the second on your left. Can't miss it. It's the big, old, two-story, white thing, built by his granddad - one of the founders of this here great town," Fred smiled happily.

Abruptly, a shocked look came over the tall man's face, "You ain't gonna stay with the Conners?"

"No," Tom smiled at the comical look on the man's face. "He's got the key to the parsonage."

"The parsonage huh? Thought that old place wouldn't be fit for a dog. It's been fallin' apart for years... got a leaky roof, some broken windows, and been boarded up for... let's see now, yeah, it'd be about ten years now. Ever since that pastor disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Tom asked, startled.

"Yeah, big scandal in those days. Some say he got killed and is buried in the cellar. Others say he ran off with Braxton Conner's wife. Sad affair either way, if you ask me. Not scared of ghosts, are ya?" he snickered.

"Of course not," Tom smiled weakly, not sure he liked the insinuations he was hearing about the previous pastor.

"Well, ya gotta live somewheres, now don't ya," he smiled cheerfully. "Ya watch out for Jed Conner, though... not exactly the most friendliest person in town. He took it hard when his sister-in-law left the same day as that preacher. I won't be surprised if he holds a grudge against the poor man. In fact, the whole family's got a sore tooth about it. But, I suppose if you don't mention it, you'd be okay."

"Thanks for the gas," Tom said, not commenting on the situation and got back into the car.

Swell, Tom thought in frustration, nothing like walking into the history of a predecessor that's tainted.

They pulled out of the station and drove slowly down the dusty road looking at the quaint old town that was to be their new home. The buildings were of an ancient age, most in need of paint, some repair, and in want of lawns and flower gardens. Homes were sparsely spread out in fields and plots of land, while patches of pine trees grew in the vicinity, and the land rose to meet the mountains nearby. Tom was unable to see any real plan or design for the town.

Down the road on their left, they passed the one-room school house. "Looks like it used to be the grange hall," Tom said as he detected Mountain Beaver Grange in old washed-out letters over the doorway, while a newer sign mounted next to the front steps read Brandon Creek School House.

Across the street stood a large, old, gray, wooden building with the name Brandon Creek Mercantile on a large sign hanging from the roof. A US Post Office sign was mounted next to the double glass doors with "Founded in 1806" painted on the wall above it. A wooden sidewalk spanned the width of the building, just like Mitzy's place. It reminded Tom of the buildings in the old western movies he loved so much as a kid, and smiled when he realized that is probably what this town was back then.

Further down the road, out in a big field, stood a two-story log building with neon signs in the windows, surrounded by cars and pickups. The sign on the rooftop flashed Dead Moose Bar & Grill. Across the street on the left, a dirt road took off and disappeared into the forest beyond. They could see a large, two-story, white house near the corner.

"I think that's Jed Conner's house," Tom commented as he turned down the road and drove the car and trailer toward the house with the large wrap-around porch. "Be right back."

Climbing the stairs, he stood at the front door and knocked intermittently for a time. He was just about to give up and leave when Jed Conner opened the door. He seemed irritated and unfriendly. The man was in his forties, short and stocky. He had the look of the Welsh about him, or maybe American Indian with his olive skin, black hair and piercing eyes.

"Come for the key have ya?" the man stated flatly, his manner unwelcoming.

How'd he know who I am? We haven't even said hello.

"Yes," Tom replied, surprised by the man's attitude.

Jed silently held it out.

"Thank you," Tom said as he took the key, trying to sound friendly.

"The place isn't fit to live in. Don't blame anyone if you're uncomfortable, and there certainly isn't any money to fix the place up, so you're on your own."

"I think we'll be fine..." Tom started to say.

"I'm late for work. Gotta go," Jed interrupted coldly.

"Thank you for the key, Mr. Conner. Will I see you Sunday?"

"I'll be there," Jed threatened as he abruptly closed the door.

Tom stood on the front porch for a second, dumbfounded by the brief encounter with one of his church members. The whole transaction couldn't have taken more than a minute or so.

Shaking his head, he descended the stairs and got back into the car.

Maybe he's just in a hurry to get to work, or he's had a fight with someone. Let it go... Give it time.

"Now, if we can get this rig turned around without getting stuck, we'll try to find the house," Tom stated, starting the car.

Driving up the hill, he looked for a big enough space to accomplish the maneuver. Cottages and rustic log cabins, snuggled among the pines passed, some with porches of their own holding an old fashioned swing, or a chair or two for visiting during the cool of the summer evenings.

Eventually they found themselves back down the hill and on the main road again. Looking ahead, they couldn't miss Mount Hope, that majestic, mass of granite rising high into the heavens, with its peaks poking through the dense, dark forest that descended down into the edge of town, encroaching into the community and surrounding it before thinning out into the valley behind them.

"The instructions say to turn right onto Valley Chapel Road, right next to this place," Marty informed her driver, as she pointed to the Bar and Grill.

The boys, being anxious to get out and explore their new home, were leaning out the windows, talking excitedly.

"Sit down and put your seatbelts back on, immediately," Marty scolded them.

As they obeyed, they all watched as fields and pine tree clusters passed, while behind them the ever present dust followed.

Nothing seemed to be out here, but God's good earth and the summer sun.

Presently, the church with its white steeple came into view, standing vibrant against the dark green of the forest beyond it, while the gray of the mountains rose to block the sky.

Tom pulled onto the dirt shoulder, stopping to look at it from a distance.

It was a fine looking one-story building with a foyer in front, the bell tower overhead, and a golden cross at the top. He could just see the left side of the building where three large sashed windows kept watch under a steep roof, with a large overhang - a real country church.

It sat beautifully in this wilderness, with a grove of fruit trees in back. A picket fence surrounding a graveyard, with head stones and a gate giving access into the resting place of the dead was to the right, with a neat parking lot in-between. A church tended by loving hands, devoted servants, and the children of the Living God.

It looks well cared for, he realized.

Swinging his gaze to the left of the church, he spotted the parsonage set way back on a large parcel of land among the inevitable pines. It looked peaceful and homey until a closer look revealed the shabbiness and poor condition of the place.

He could see the roof had been newly repaired, it's tan color prominent on the old black surface and the house was in dire need of paint.

Far behind the house he could see an old barbed wire fence built with various size posts, leaning this way and that, propped up in places, confining a large herd of cattle that grazed near the base of the mountain.

Unexpectedly, images of the people who had once lived at the parsonage materialized. He could see them settling here, clearing the land, building their home, and the house of worship. He could imagine the hopes and dreams they might have had. He wondered about those who had come after them, and what events had transpired to bring this house into its present state of ruin.

The missing pastor came to mind, and he couldn't help wonder what type of legacy the man had left behind. Tom knew the man's life had affected this house, the church, and the small town of Brandon Creek, but how much and to what extent, he couldn't guess.

For a decade this place had remained abandoned, leaving it a derelict, ravaged by time.

Now they were here, ready to start again. What changes he'd be able to bring, he didn't know. But he hoped his presence would make a good difference and bring honor to the God he loved.

Tom realized Ghosts do indeed live here, of a sort. But to what extent does the past endure to taint the present? Will I be able to start fresh, or must I deal with the past? I guess I'll know in time.

"Looks like the house needs a lot of work," he commented softly, then turned to his wife and asked, "Shall we go see our new home?"

The boys excitedly agreed with their father's suggestion, while Marty's eyes glittered with her excitement and anticipation of the venture awaiting them, "Yes, let's."

Tom pulled onto the road again, and presently turned left onto Parson's Lane. Then he turned right, onto the old driveway that was littered with years of pine needles. Driving over the soft carpet, under the shade of the tall trees, they neared the old house.

As they got closer, the home's deplorable state alarmed him. The front porch sagged and the raw color of new wood on the old steps stuck out vividly among the gray of the aging stairs, while a few windows gleamed in the sun among the dirty ones, newly replaced. The back porch was collapsing and separating itself from the house, blackberry bushes encroached too close, and the yard was shabby and overrun. He wondered just what lay ahead for them in this place.

Parking, they all got out. Marty stretching her stiff muscles after her long trip, while the boys started rushing to exploring the place.

"Tyler! Sam! Come back here! I don't want you running off right now. This place doesn't look that safe," Marty shouted at them. "Help me get our things into the house first. Then we'll talk about your exploring."

The boys reluctantly returned. There were so many things to see, so many things to do. They couldn't wait to explore.

Tom walked up the steps to the front door, noticed some of the stairs were soft and spongy, while the boards creaked in protest to the weight of unaccustomed use.

Putting the suitcases down, he fished into his pocket for the key and unlocked the door. As he pushed it wide, it creaked as it swung open.

The first thing he noticed was the darkness of the old living room. Then the smell of a house that had been left unheated for a long time assailed him, with its musty aroma and the feeling of dampness in the air.

Marty came up beside him and peered into the timeworn living room. An old couch and chair dressed in slipcovers, an end table with a reading lamp, and a large throw rug in the middle of the floor were the furnishings.

Playfully rolling her eyes, she sighed and entered the house. Going to the windows, she pulled back the curtains to allow the summer sun into the cheerless room. Then she tried to open the windows, one after another, but they wouldn't budge.

"Looks like there's plenty of things for your 'honey do list'," she told him warmly.

Tom smiled in agreement. He knew she would accept anything the Lord provided and never complain, but this place was going to provide everyone with the opportunity to acquire patience and thanksgiving. It was going to take a lot of elbow grease and heart to make this house into a home. But if anyone could do it, it was his best friend and wife.

Soon, the family was exploring the house, opening doors, and inspecting the home that God had provided.

The Old Parsonage

MARTY VENTURED TOWARD the kitchen, walking through the dining room, vacant except for a beautifully built-in hutch. The doors to the cupboards above the oak countertop were inlayed with beveled glass, while rows of drawers lined up below the counter.

Everything was grungy, dusty, and in need of a good cleaning. An old lamp hung from the ceiling in the middle of the dining room, with cobwebs floating softy on the air currents as she passed.

She found the kitchen dirty, in need of scrubbing, the cupboards empty, the old windows without coverings, and the back door to the porch padlocked.

Tom and the boys ventured down the short hallway on their right where they found three doors. The first door on the right opened into a narrow bedroom. It was empty. The second door, on the left, revealed an old bathroom with a pedestal sink, clawfoot tub, and shower head, minus the shower curtain. The paint was pealing in this room, water stains marred the ceiling, and the little octagon tiles on the floor needed to be glued back down in some areas. The last door, at the end of the passage, opened into a bare and unadorned bedroom.

The rooms were of moderate size and would do just fine, if only they had some furniture.

Tom was wondering what in the world they were going to sleep on, when a loud knock on the open front door startled him.

"Hello, anyone here?" a voice called into the house.

Marty responded by coming from the kitchen, while Tom appeared in the hallway as the boys ran past him to see what was going on.

"Hello, may I help you?" Pastor Tom asked.

"Hi. I'm Netti Meriwether," a woman of about fifty, tall, slender and with a pixy face announced, warmly extending her hand. "My husband Ed is the head elder at the church. You must be Pastor Tom Madison," she beamed, shaking his hand sincerely, "and this is Alma Craddick, and Cindy Spencer, and that coming up the road is Dora Comstock. We're from the church and have come to help you clean and move in," she said with a fun loving laugh, as she stood in the middle of the living room with her bucket of cleaning supplies.

"We wanted to have this all done before you got here," she explained. "But to tell you the truth, we've been working our hearts out with repairs on the old place. With patching the roof, fixing the leaking plumbing and replacing broken windows, we just plumb ran out of time and money. But we can offer you our help now and see that you have a place to sleep tonight, God willing," she concluded enthusiastically.

Alma timidly entered the house with her vacuum, while Cindy and Dora followed with their own supplies.

"Just give us about an hour or so and our men will be here with some of the furniture that's been in storage and some found among us. We'll get you moved in and settled," Netti said cheerfully.

Marty and Tom smiled gratefully, as they shook hands and introduced their children.

Netti and Marty set about tackling the kitchen, while Alma volunteered to clean the bathroom, and Cindy started cleaning the windows. Dora offered to keep the boys occupied, as Tom busied himself with repairs.

Their friendly chatter made the work go quickly and soon the old place was clean and ready for their things. Netti used her cell phone to call her husband Ed, who showed up within a short time with his volunteers.

"I wish we could have painted all the rooms for you before bringing in the furniture. That would've helped with the musty smell in this place, but we just didn't have the funds to get it done," Nettie told Marty apologetically. "And with all of us working with only the evenings and weekends free, we just ran out of time."

"We understand. Please don't worry about it. We'll get it all done eventually. The most important thing is a place to sleep tonight, right?"

Netti smiled at Marty's buoyancy and recognized a kindred spirit in the pastor's wife. She just knew they were going to be great friends. They set about scrubbing down the kitchen counters and cupboards, happily talking away. The stove and old refrigerator were next, before sweeping and mopping of the kitchen floor.

As the two women stood in the dining room, surveying their hard work, when Netti suggested, "We don't have furniture for this room yet, but maybe we can use it for storing your boxes and things... just until you can find a place to put everything."

"That's a great idea," Marty responded.

Then the men came in carrying in a large, well built, farm table with miss-matched chairs.

"Over here Ed, put the table and chairs in the kitchen over by the windows. There's plenty of light and room for them in there," Netti commanded excitedly. Then, in afterthought she asked, "You do want to eat in the kitchen most times, don't you Marty?"

Marty smiled warmly, nodding at her new friend, "Absolutely. That's just the place for it."

Netti beamed as the men placed the chairs around the table, close to the windows overlooking the old back porch that was trying to leave the house.

Alma had climbed up a ladder and was leaning over the kitchen sink that had a window overlooking the side of the house. Hanging up some heavy lace curtains, she spoke timidly, "I found a big, old, lace bedspread I wasn't using and made you some curtains. I hope you don't mind."

Marty expressed her gratitude for the lovely hangings, as she unpacked her coffee maker and cups. "They're beautiful, Alma. Thank you, so much."

Alma blushed with pride and happiness.

A fresh pot of coffee was started and the aroma filled the kitchen with its pungent aroma of home, friendship and comfort.

The timeworn dwelling was transforming into a home.

Ed Meriwether was now standing next to Pastor Tom in the living room, telling him about Hank Fairchild who had made the wardrobes the men were bringing in and putting into the bedrooms.

"They're stunning," Tom expressed his admiration.

"Yeah, Hank came from Pennsylvania and grew up Amish, before leaving his community and moving out here to Idaho. He now attends our little church, and has a God given gift for working with wood."

Next, the beds were set up. Though the mattresses were old, they were clean, dry and soft. Linens and blankets had been found among the congregation and donated. Quickly the beds made, ready to be slept in.

The rest of Alma's bedspread went over the windows in Tom and Marty's room, while a beautiful donated quilt was put on their bed. Tom was able to get the window open in their room and he opened it all the way, allowing the soft breeze to enter.

Lamps went into the bedrooms and the clothing was put away in the golden, oiled wardrobes standing against the walls. Miss-matched dressers were installed in each room, a welcome asset for storing more clothes.

Soon, all the women were in the kitchen chatting away, unpacking boxes, and getting the kitchen up and running. What little food the Madisons had went into the old fridge in the corner.

As they were finishing, Ed explained to his new pastor, "I know there's still a lot to do yet, but at least you'll have a place to sleep tonight, and the roof won't leak... at least I hope it doesn't," he said smiling. "Just make a list of anything you need, or those things that need to be fixed and we'll try to see that it gets done. God willing, we'll have you completely settled in and quite nicely by the time winter comes."

"I have no doubt, Ed. But I'd be happy to spend some of my time working on the place too. I'm quite handy with a saw and hammer. I used to help my adopted grandfather each summer during the school break, building houses from scratch for someone in need."

"No kidding? That'd be great. It sure would be nice to have someone around here who knows what they're doing. But I'm also looking forward to all of us getting our hands dirty, so to speak, getting this old house back into shape. It's been so sad having it just sit here, vacant and unused for so long. We're all looking forward to this place becoming useful again."

Walking over to the door in-between the dining room and hallway, Tom tried to open it, but it was locked. "What's this door for, Ed? Isn't this the coat closet?"

"Nope, that goes up to the attic. There are more rooms up there, but they're in bad shape, and a lot of mold from the leaking roof. We thought it should be locked up for now, until we can find the funds and time to work on it. It's a mess. Do you want us to unlock it?"

"No, not at all... Probably best to keep it locked, so the boys won't get into trouble up there, if you know what I mean," Tom said, knowing his sons.

"There's a door off the kitchen that's locked, as well," Ed added. "It goes down into the root cellar. It's just a small room, with a dirt floor and stone walls, used for cold storage. I don't think it was even used by the last family that lived here."

"Don't worry about it. We're fine with the amount of space we have," Tom told his elder, happily.

Walking around, Tom was pleased with the change in the place and with the amount of work that had been accomplished in such a short time.

His future was looking brighter now, and he was truly becoming fond of the kind and thoughtful folks that God had placed in his life.

Around 5:00 that evening, Esther Murdock, a sweet, elderly pillar of the church came by with a casserole, piping hot, to feed the small family, along with a loaf of homemade bread, and a fresh salad. Just in time too, because everything was about done.

Ed Meriwether greeted Esther, and after she had placed the meal in the kitchen, he gathered everyone in the living room.

"Well, I think that's about all for now. Thank you so much for your help and making this old place into a real home for our new pastor and his family. Let's thank the Lord for this day and for the Madisons."

Bowing their heads, Ed led a prayer of thanksgiving to God for His answers to prayer, and asked the Lord to bless this home, the young family, and the service of his servant, Pastor Tom Madison, the Man of God who had come to live among them.

Then as quickly as they had come, they were gone. The young family was abruptly left alone in their new home. The silence was noticeable.

Standing in the middle of the room, they admired the transformation that had taken place. Now, they could settle in for a peaceful evening and be ready to start a new life in the morning.

After dinner, the boys played with their toy trucks on the living room floor, while Tom and Marty sat on the couch talking about their day.

"What a wonderful group of people, coming to help us that way," Marty commented, happy and content with the day's work. "All hard workers and so friendly. What a blessing this has been."

"Absolutely. It's been a good day," Tom smiled.

Within a short while, exhaustion overtook them and everyone went to bed, weary from the long trip and the excitement of the day.

The boys went to their room where a large bed and a smaller one had been erected. Tyler jumped into the large one, while Sam bounced up and down on the little one in the corner.

After settling the children down and tucking them in for the night, Marty sat listening to their prayers.

"Goodnight boys," she said softly as she left the door open, just a crack, and went to her room.

The sun was sinking deeply below the mighty peaks outside, while the crystal, clear, brilliant, and uncountable stars filled the cold, black night.

Peace descended over the parsonage as the family slept serenely and quietly in the house the Lord had provided.

* * * *

The next morning, Marty was up with the sun. Opening her eyes to the strangeness of the old place and the unfamiliar room, she got up quietly, determined to get used to this new life.

Taking her things into the clean but timeworn bathroom, she prepared for the day.

In the kitchen, she quietly put the coffee on, then sat at the kitchen table with her Bible. Like she did every morning, no matter where she was, she studied God's Word, praying and talking with Him about the things on her heart. This practice always endowed her with spiritual strength and growth she needed for a good Christian life.

Presently, she heard the shower running.

Tom's up.

Ending her prayers, after thanking the Lord for His love and provision, she went into the boy's room.

Leaning over Tyler she spoke affectionately, shaking him gently, speaking softly to him, "Good morning son. Time to get up. Your dad's almost done. Would you get Sam up and help him to get ready, please?"

Moaning a little, Tyler said sleepily, "Sure Mom."

Marty went over to Sam and gently brushed his hair from his face as she kissed him on his forehead. "Time to get up son," she said lovingly.

Sam moaned. "If you don't wake up, your brother will be all over you," she warned.

"K... Mom," he mumbled.

Marty smiled, got up and paused by the door. She noticed Tyler still sleeping. "Tyler you need to get up!"

Abruptly he sat up, waking and rubbing his eyes, "I'm up."

Marty chuckled at his reaction and left to start breakfast.

Suddenly Tyler realized where he was, saw Sam still sleeping and jumped on the child's bed, pulling the covers off his little brother.

Marty could hear the complaining from Sam quite clearly.

"Don't tease your brother, Tyler. Just help him get dressed," Marty yelled.

"Tyler, help your brother and don't pester him!" Tom commanded firmly, as he came out of the bedroom on his way to breakfast.

In the kitchen, he kissed his wife and settled himself at the table with a hot cup of coffee. They could hear the boys splashing and playing in the bathroom, probably making more of a mess than cleaning themselves up. Marty continued to make toast and set the table.

Tyler and Sam quickly dressed, as both of them were eager to explore everything they could in this new world of theirs. They teased and jostled each other as they ran to the table, anxious to get breakfast over with, so they could go out and explore.

Pouring the last of the milk onto cold cereal, Marty turned to Tom and asked, "I need to get some groceries, get our mail started out here, and start the phone service. How's our budget looking?"

"It's going to be tight for a while. Everything's so expensive here, and if we do have to go into Idaho Falls for the things we can't find out here, or afford, that's going to strain our budget even more. Idaho Falls is over a hundred miles from here," he said with a frown on his face.

"I wonder what the other families do?"

"Here, take this," he offered as he handed her some money from his wallet.

"Thanks. I'll check out the store in town and see what I can do. I'll just get a few things. What are you going to do today?"

"Ed Meriwether and I are meeting at the church in about an hour. He's going to show me around. I think I'll be home for lunch, but I'll call you if I can't make it."

"Do you want to take the boys, or shall I?" she asked.

"I wanna go with Dad," Tyler specified, as Sam chimed in, agreeing with his big brother. Tyler knew they could explore, while their father was preoccupied with other things.

"No, not this time boys," Tom said affectionately, knowing he would have his hands full if they went with him. "Stay with your mother today and mind her. I don't want you wandering off. This place is new to all of us and I can't be worrying about either of you right now."

"All right, Dad," Tyler responded, disappointed with the decision. Sam sat quietly watching his brother's reaction to see how he should respond. He looked up to Tyler and wanted to be just like him.

"Do you want me to drop you off at the church on my way into town?" Marty offered.

"No. It's a beautiful day and I can cross over the fields to the church. The walk will do me good. I'll call you later though, if I need assistance," he said, teasing a little.

"That reminds me," Marty said as she got out her cell phone, turning it on. "I'm getting just one bar. We may have problems communicating out here."

"I don't plan on going anywhere. But if I do and I can't reach you, I'll leave a note here on the table."

"That'll work," she said satisfied, as she took the keys from Tom and kissed him fondly goodbye. Then turning to the boys she told them to get into the car, wished Tom a good day, and drove down the dusty road toward the store.

Within minutes, she had pulled into the parking lot in front of the ancient mercantile and parked her car near a few others in the dirt. Taking what little money they had, she went inside, grabbed a shopping cart and began to explore the place.

She could see the post office to the left of the entrance, while in back she discovered a butcher shop that sold beef, pork, moose, elk and other assorted meats that might have been recently supplied by the locals they trusted. Sometimes even grouse, wild turkey and goose were available, depending on the season.

The old floors of the building creaked as she rolled the cart down the wooden aisles, roaming between the ancient shelving that held some bakery items, candy, pet foods, canned and bottled goods of all types, boxes of assorted cereals, crackers, and cleaning supplies. In the back, she found a cold section selling milk, juice, and frozen items.

She noticed an area at the side of the store selling fishing gear and hunting equipment. A small assortment of fruits and vegetables were available near the front, but not as fresh as one would want. In fact, almost everything was wilted, overripe, on the verge of being stale, and very expensive. Marty sighed, certain this new life was going to have its challenges.

After making her small purchases, she stopped by the post office. The boys sat obediently on the bench against the wall nearby with the groceries, as she went to the window and introduced herself to the postal employee behind the counter. The woman was a matronly lady, with sandy gray hair, and sparkling green eyes.

"Hi, my name's Marty Madison. We just moved into the parsonage next to the Brandon Creek Community Church, on Parsons Lane. I'd like to start mail service out there, if we can."

"How do you do, Mrs. Madison, I'm Fannie McBride. Welcome to Brandon Creek. But I'm afraid we can't deliver your mail out there. It's not an established mail stop anymore. We could request it to become one, but it'd take months to get it approved, if it ever did. It's a lot of red tape and since the carrier gets paid by the stops they make, I'm pretty sure the department doesn't want to add on the cost of delivering there again. Money's tight, you know."

"I see," Marty responded, disappointed.

"I'd recommend using a post office box, like the church does. You can sign up for one of your own, or see if the big one the church uses would be acceptable. The boxes are just through that door," she pointed toward a room next to the bench the boys sat on. Marty could see the mail boxes through the window of the door.

"I think we'll take a box of our own, for now," she responded.

After signing the papers and getting the key to their new box, Fannie asked, "You know, I handle the phone service requests here too. Would you like to activate your phone?"

"Yes, certainly. The cell phone service here is spotty, we've noticed."

"Don't I know it!" Fannie said, smiling in agreement.

"Is there a place in town to get our laundry done? We don't have a washer or dryer at the house. It used to be on the back porch, but that's not usable anymore."

"We do have a Laundromat behind the Dead Moose Bar & Grill, but I wouldn't go in there, if I were you. It's old, grungy, and some of the patrons from the bar sleep it off in there. I'd rather suggest Crystal Davenport. She's a nice, hardworking lady with three young kids to support. Her husband was killed at the mill a few years back and she could use the money. She takes in laundry for some of the locals around here and she's reasonable. Here, I'll give you her number."

"That'd be great. Thanks," Marty responded, thinking how fast their expenses were adding up, out here in God's country.

"How about a place to buy clothes, or tools for the yard?" Marty inquired.

"Afraid not. The nearest place for that kind of thing is back down in Idaho Falls. There's really nothing much out here," Fannie told her.

"Oh," the pastor's wife sounded frustrated. It looks like they'd have to travel to Idaho Falls after all, and more often than she would have liked.

"I understand that Netti Meriwether goes into the city once a month for a few families. They pool their funds and save on gas that way. It seems to be working for them."

"I like that idea! I'll have a talk with her. How about a bakery?" Marty asked not liking the expiration date on the bread she'd just bought.

"Nope, none here. We sure could use one though," Fannie said wistfully.

"What is in town?" asked the newest resident.

Fannie stood for a second, thinking, "Let's see... There's the gas station... I guess you saw that as you came into town, and the auto repair shop next door. They sell and repair farm equipment, as well at taking care of the vehicles around here. I think you can order some hardware from them, but you'd have to ask Davon Petrie, the owner, or his son Cal."

"Then there's Mitzy's place. It's not the best food, but it's hot. She and her husband Fritz run the bar next door, as well as the restaurant. Then there's Suzie Anderson's place on the other end of the building. She just loves antiques and is such a sweetie. And the energy that woman has... it just doesn't quit... reminds me of the Energizer Bunny," Fannie said with a giggle.

"There are two more bars in town, as well. The Dead Moose Bar & Grill, next door to this place, and the Big Brown Bear Bar, the 4B's we call it, just outside of town on your way to the new lodge at Hidden Lake. Both are very busy places and the bane to our peace and happiness here. You should see it when the outsiders come, the hunters especially. They tear through this town as if it's a right and with no regard for others. But, I don't know of a town that doesn't have at least one of those places."

"There's Molly Webster. She runs the school across the street from here, over at the old grange hall. We have so many students, we probably should have another teacher, but we just can't afford it. So Molly does the best she can."

"Old Franklin Conner owns a lot of this town, at least his family does. He has the new Grizzly Bluff Lodge, about a half hour out of town, up on Mount Hope, overlooking Hidden Lake. He also owns this store and the Inland Lumber Mill over on Calamity Point. His family's been here for generations and they own a lot of land, while employing most of the folks around here. Braxton Conner, his oldest, is the head butcher in the back there," she said as she nodded toward the back of the store. "Jed Conner, and his wife Megs, run the Dead Moose Bar and Grill. Franklin's youngest, Stanton, is one of the county sheriffs out here. His wife Jean and kids go to your church, I think. In fact, I think most of the Conner's go there. Have since I've known them, anyway."

"The Homeland Bank is just down the street some. Ed Meriwether runs that, while Doc Bishop's office is across the street and up the hill from the bank on Stag Bone Lane. They converted the house next door into a clinic, where Bess Compton works as his nurse and midwife. That's just about most of the businesses in town, I can think of."

"Oh, I forgot the town hall. We have a mayor by the name of Penny Wright. She works hard keeping the peace around here and the town alive. Well-liked by most and she's been at it for about twelve years now. Her office is at the fire station, at the end of the road out there, near Rattlers Run. That's the road you take up to the lodge, if you're interested."

"Wow, the town sounds interesting. I wish there was more out here, though. Thanks for the information... Mrs. McBride?"

"Nah, just Fannie," the woman offered, smiling.

The two women chatted a little more before Marty said goodbye and left for home.

Somehow, knowing everything Fanny had shared with her made it easier to understand their new home. As she drove back to the house, she thought about the needs she had.

I sure wish we had a bakery here, somewhere. I wonder if anyone would be interested in forming a baking club and selling the products in town, or even bartering... There's certainly a need, but would there be enough interest?

And a vegetable garden would be great too, if there's a long enough growing season up here. I'd sure like to avoid buying that stuff sold in the store. I wonder if a community garden could be started, or if one's even needed. Surely most people have tried supplementing the cost of living out here, by doing some of these things themselves? I'll have a talk with Tom and see what he thinks. I'd be happy to organize something, if he thinks it's a good idea.

At home, Marty tried to open the windows again to air out the house, it was so stuffy. But, since they still wouldn't budge, she left the front door open and proceeded to put things on the kitchen counter.

The windows overlooking the decrepit back porch functioned, but they had no screening. She slid them open anyway and warned the boys to not climb in there, it was too dangerous. The ever present breeze that seemed to be an intrinsic part of the mountains flowed into the room.

"Mom, can we go outside and play?" Tyler asked.

"Help me put these things away first. Then, as soon as lunch is over, you can play around the house. I don't want you going anywhere else, especially not near that pasture out back. It's too dangerous with the cattle in there," she told them firmly. "There's more than one bull in that herd and they all have large horns!"

She could see the pasture clearly from the back of the house. It was a long walk for the boys, but she knew them too well. With their curiosity and love of animals, it would be a powerful draw for them. Besides, she could see the reflections of water, even from here, and she suspected a creek flowed through the land back there.

The boys quickly helped put things away, while Marty made tuna sandwiches and poured the boys cold glasses of milk. Sitting at the kitchen table, Sam swung his legs back and forth, talking with his mouth full as his brother suggested playing in the dirt pile he'd found near the front porch. It'd be perfect for making roads and a town out there.

Marty smiled, agreeing to his request. With lunch over, she wrapped up Tom's sandwich and put it in the fridge.

"Stay around the house, Tyler and keep an eye on Sam," Marty yelled at the boys as they flew out the front door and down the steps to the small hill, toy trucks in hand, ready to construct their roads.

Washing the dishes at the sink, she watch them playing beside the house through the kitchen window. Sam used a small shovel like it was a crane, lifting the dirt and dumping it into his truck.

A knock at the front door pulled her attention away as she went to answer it. It was Netti Meriwether.

"Hi, Mrs. Madison... thought I'd come by and visit, if you've got the time. See if you need anything."

"Please call me Marty and do come in. Would you like some iced tea?"

"Sounds great."

Marty suggested, "Let's take a couple of chairs out to the front porch. We can get some fresh air and visit, while I watch the boys."

"Sure, let me help," Netti offered as she took the chairs outside, while Marty followed with the iced tea.

"Are you finding everything you need in town?" Netti asked, knowing how hard it was to live so far out in the wilderness.

"It's difficult up here, isn't it?"

As they rested on the chairs, conversing and sipping their drinks, the mountain air flowed gently around them, cooling them some. The summer sun warmed the trees around them, releasing the pine fragrance into the air, and the two women enjoyed their time together as they watched the children play. They discussed the virtues of a bakery, how to obtain fresh fruits and vegetables, and Netti's monthly trips down into civilization.

Presently, Marty noticed Tom walking up the dusty driveway, a fine mist of sweat glistening on his face.

"Warm, beautiful day, isn't it?" he stated cheerfully as he climbed the stairs and joined them. "Hello, Mrs. Meriwether."

"Your sandwich is in the fridge," his wife informed him.

"Thanks," he acknowledged with a smile, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hi Pastor Tom. Sorry I have to go," Netti said as she stood up. "Got to pick up a few things... and I'm sure my Ed probably looking for his lunch."

"Thanks for dropping by Netti," Marty said warmly.

"Be sure to get back to me with your list before Thursday, if you can. Mat Jensen and Dakota Benson are coming along to help tote and carry. They always help me every month... such good boys. We won't be going down below again for another month after this Thursday."

"I'll do that, and thanks so much for adding us to your list, Netti. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not... Not at all. Glad to help. It's something I feel led to do anyway. And it helps all of us in doing so."

Getting into her car, she waved goodbye and left a fine cloud of dust as she drove off.

Marty joined Tom inside and told him all about her day, the things she had learned and how Netti was going to help them get supplies, way out here in the middle of nowhere.

Members Only

THE NIGHT HAD turned cold, like it often does high in the mountains in early summer. Tom and Marty were asleep with their bedroom window wide open. It felt good to snuggle under the warm quilt, as the fresh scented breeze stirred in their room. The stars were out again by the millions, while the full moon glowed in all its brilliance, giving its silver light to the world below. The earth seemed right with God and his creation out here, somehow.

They awoke suddenly from a peaceful sleep to pounding on the front door.

"Who's that at this hour?" asked Marty.

"No idea," Tom responded, grabbing his bathrobe.

Turning on the porch light, he opened the door to see a young man in his early twenties with dark hair and hazel eyes. He was close to tears as he asked, "Are you the new pastor?"

"Yes, I'm Tom Madison. Come in."

The young man stepped inside and shook the pastor's hand. "I'm Kyle McKenna. Doc told us you had just arrived in town and I'm sorry to bother you so late, but it's my dad. He's dying and he wants to see you in the worst way." With grief in his voice, from the imminent loss of his father, he asked, "Will you come?"

"Give me a second to put something on," Tom said without hesitation as he turned to see Marty standing in the hallway.

Giving her a hug, he darted into the bedroom and quickly changed.

"I'll be back when I can," he told her as he returned, taking the car keys she had ready for him. With another hug and kiss for his wife, he turned to Kyle.

"I'll be praying for everyone," she said softly.

"Kyle, I'll take our car and follow you. No sense in you coming back here."

The young man nodded and left to get into his truck. Kyle's old, red, '62 Chevy pulled out onto the road and headed back into town with Pastor Tom following.

Just before Mitzy's Cafe, the truck tail lights came on and the vehicle turned left onto Eagle's Crest Drive, heading out of town and toward the peaks. The dirt road climbed and turned, making its way through the rough, mountainous terrain. Tom lost count of the many turns and roads they had taken. Understandably he was concerned about finding his way back, but focused on keeping the back of the truck in sight.

Finally, Kyle pulled up to a large log cabin in a clearing in the woods. Almost every room glowed from the lights within, giving the clearing and forest surrounding it a warm glow in the moonlight. A dark green Jeep Cherokee was parked by the front door.

Kyle jumped out and ran back to the pastor's car, "Just park next to Doc's Jeep, Pastor. I'll put my rig away and join you inside," the boy said, choking back some of this grief.

The pastor complied and walked to the front door and knocked. Standing under the porch light that was illuminating the way for anyone who might need it that night, he waited. The door was opened by a woman in her forty's.

"Hello, I'm Pastor Tom Madison."

"Lynn McKenna, Pastor. Thanks for coming," she said stoically. "My husband's in our bedroom."

Turning, the woman led the way to a cozy room in the back. On a big, old, brass bed with a patchwork quilt, lay an ashen and pale man in his fifty's. A large, middle aged man, taking his pulse, looked up as Tom entered the room.

"You must be the new pastor. Glad you could come," the doctor said with some relief. "I'm Dr. Larry Bishop and this here is Vincent McKenna, best hunting guide and lumberjack Bonneville County has ever had."

"How are you doing Vincent?" Tom asked, taking the chair next to the bed.

"I'm so glad you could come," the ailing man said weakly, his breathing slow and shallow. "It's a comfort to have you here."

For the next hour or so, Vincent's family, doctor and the new young pastor stayed by his side. Tom learned that Vince was a devout Christian, a man who loved God and the world his Lord had created, and was secure in his faith of a life to come. Pastor Tom read from the small Bible he always carried, reading verses to comfort, to encourage, and to ease the passing of a soul from this life into the next.

Shortly before dawn, Vincent took his last breath and passed away, quietly... leaving behind those that loved him and would miss him profoundly.

Pastor Tom offered comfort to the survivors and asked if there was anything they needed.

"Would it be possible to hold Vince's services at the church, Pastor?" Lynn asked in a husky voice, as tears swam in her eyes, "where all his family and friends can attend? He loved that church so. We all did, before that mess with Pastor Andrew drove us away. Vince and I grew up there, married there, and baptized our boy in the same spot where we were christened."

There's that problem with the previous pastor again. How sad that the situation drove them from the church. I wonder how deep this issue goes in this community?

Tom replied compassionately, "I don't see why we can't use the church. That's what it's for."

Lynn looked pleased. "Good. I was afraid there might be a problem since we aren't members anymore. Would you mind officiating at the service?"

"Certainly not, I'd be happy to," Pastor Tom responded.

"Oh, thank you. I just didn't know what I was going to do, way out here, if we couldn't use the church. I'm so grateful that you're here. You'll never know how much this means to us," she continued, relief visible on her face.

"The church is for anyone who wants to come," Tom told her kindly, but felt a vague concern. "I'll see about the arrangements right away and get back to you with the details Mrs. McKenna."

Lynn thanked him gratefully, shaking his hand as she said goodbye, then returned to her husband's bedside.

Kyle walked out with Pastor Tom to the front door, holding back his grief.

"Goodbye Pastor and thank you for coming," he said softly as he gently closed the door behind him.

Tom got into his car thinking, What would make a devout couple leave a church? What happened? And how do I get home?

Then he realized, This is my first death as a pastor. I hope I never get used to it or the grief and loss that goes with it. But, I'm glad they believe in life after death with our Lord, and have the faith in a God of love waiting for him. May I always be able to give that hope to those who need it.

The door opened and the doctor came out into the predawn light. Walking over to Tom's car he asked, "I'm going down the mountain to get things ready for Vince. Would you like to follow me out?"

With relief visible on his face, the new man to the mountains responded, "Thank you. I suspect it'll take me some time to get used to the area."

"It took me years and there's still some area's I don't know very well," the doctor told him, "very dangerous at night if you don't know where you're going."

Tom followed the doctor down the mountain as the stars faded into the soft light of early morning. It would stay that way for hours until the sun rose above the mountain tops in its full brightness.

Walking into his new home, he changed and got into bed for a few hours of sleep.

* * * *

When he awoke around ten, Tom dressed and joined Marty in the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee, kissed her on the cheek and asked, "Where're the boys?"

"Outside, continuing the freeway they started yesterday," she said with a smile of pleasure at the industrious duo. "How did it go last night?" she asked, sipping her second cup of coffee, as he seated himself across from her at the table.

"Vincent McKenna passed away last night. Had cancer, I understand. Nice people, the McKenna's. Wish I had the time to get to know him better before he passed. Lynn seems very nice too. She wants me to run the service at the church, but she's concerned she can't, because they aren't members any more. They left the church after the last pastor disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Marty said in astonishment. "How? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I guess I haven't told you about that, have I? With everything that's been going on, I just forgot."

"Well, tell me now," she suggested.

"I don't know much about it. Fred Hitch told me some of it when we first got here. It seems it happened about ten years ago, and got into the news. The previous pastor and a local woman disappeared on the same day. It was assumed they left town together, I guess. I've also noticed that's about the same time this house was left vacant."

"Oh," Marty said sadly. "It's a shame when a man leaves his family for another woman, but when it's a man of the cloth, the spiritual damage is devastating."

"Sweetheart, don't be too ready to condemn the man. I haven't heard anything conclusive that he did or didn't leave with her. The only fact that I can confirm, is that they disappeared on the same day."

"Oh... It's so easy to assume, isn't it."

"Yes, and assumptions can leave their own collateral damage."

"Shouldn't we find out more about it?" she wondered.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it would be best if we just leave things as they are. Start new, without any prejudices," he said, trying to decide the best course. "But, on the other hand, it seems to be still affecting the people in this town. I may have to address it after all. I'm not sure what to do yet. Anyway, I need to reach Ed Meriwether this morning and see if the church is available this weekend for the McKenna's service."

"Do you think Mrs. McKenna would like my help?" asked Marty.

"That's a good idea sweetheart. I'm sure she would appreciate it. Let me get ahold of Ed, and then Dr. Bishop. I need directions on how to get back out to their place. It's way out on Eagle's Crest, somewhere. I certainly don't want you getting lost in that terrain. Maybe Kyle won't mind coming into town to get you. Either way, we need to call Mrs. McKenna and talk it over with her. I have their phone number here," he said as he pulled out a piece of paper from his Bible.

"I'll call Netti and see if she'd mind getting the ladies together to help with the service," Marty suggested.

"Why don't you wait until I get some more information on what, where, when and how?" he suggested, smiling at his wife's generous heart and eagerness to serve.

Because their house phone wasn't hooked up yet, he took out his cell. Walking outside in the hopes of getting a stronger signal, he noticed he had acquired another bar, hopefully enough of a signal to make his call. He dial the number Ed had given him for his office at the Homeland Bank.

Marty had followed him outside and had gone down the stairs, joining the boys in an effort to keep them occupied while Tom made his call. She sat in the dust playing with them, while listening to his conversation.

"Hello, Ed?"

"Good morning Pastor Tom. How'd you sleep last night?" he asked happily.

"Not very well, I'm afraid. I was called to the McKenna's home last night, where Vincent McKenna passed away."

"Vince gone? So, the cancer finally got him," the banker said sadly. "How's Lynn and Kyle holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess. Mrs. McKenna would like to hold his service at the church. Do you know if there's a scheduling conflict for this weekend?"

Silence came from the phone, and then Ed explained, "Well, Pastor, we have a policy that only church members can use the building. And I do know of a few prominent members who would object to an exception, I'm afraid."

"But why?" Tom asked, surprised. "Churches are meant for the community, an opportunity to show God's love."

"That's not how our board sees it. Would you like to talk about it? I can meet you at the church, where we can talk more privately," the elder suggested.

"Absolutely, I think we need to. When can you get away?"

"I haven't anything pressing right now. I'll be there in in a few minutes, would that work for you?"

"Fine, I'll meet you there," Tom said, crushed in his spirit with the news.

"What's going on?" Marty asked when he got off the phone.

"The church board has a policy that only church members can use the church, and the McKennas don't belong anymore," he said shaking his head, still not able to believe it.

"You're kidding," Marty said in surprise. "Where's the love and compassion for others? How are we to show the love of God, if we exclude those who need it?"

"You don't have to convince me, sweetheart," Tom said with a smile, giving her a hug. "I'm meeting Ed at the church. I'd better get going."

"Can I do anything?" Marty inquired.

"Pray for us, will you?"

"You don't need to ask it," Marty said kindly, knowing he was upset.

"I know, but we mustn't leave any stone unturned in this. I have a bad feeling we have a spiritual war on our hands and I need the wisdom of Solomon and God's grace to face it. I just had to ask."

"I understand. I'm willing and capable of a lot of prayer," she said stoically, with a smile.

Tom beamed lovingly at his wife. "That's my girl," he said affectionately. "I'm going to walk and talk with God."

As he descended the steps, he slowly walked down the driveway toward the road, wondering what he was walking into.

Arriving at the church, he saw Ed's car in the parking lot. Climbing the five steps to the double doors, he found the right door was unlocked and entered the vestibule. The smell of the old building reached him with the aroma of age, beeswax and polish on the hard wood surfaces.

Coat racks and shelving lined both sides of the small foyer. Over the front door was a transom window, letting in the natural light. A pull rope for the bell in the tower over the small room was strapped in place around a couple of wooden pegs in the corner, ready for use on a Sunday morning.

Tom went through the next set of double doors into the sanctuary and strolled along the aisle of the empty room, passing the pews that held God's people whenever the building was in use. Rays of sunlight were streaming into the room from the three sashed windows on his right, with matching windows on the left.

He walked toward the raised platform in the front of the room, with a large wooden cross hanging in the center of the front wall. An upright piano was pushed up against the wall to the left with an American and Idaho State flag hanging nearby, while on the right of the stage stood the pulpit and a few chairs. Right next to the pulpit, in the corner below the stage, was a door that opened into the back of the church.

In the short hallway, the first door on the left was the pastor's office, then came a restrooms, and finally the hall ended in a small kitchen and eating area, out in the back.

Pastor Tom found Ed in the office. "Come on in Pastor and have a seat," offered the elder.

Tom sat down with some apprehension, sure that he couldn't agree with the policy of the church and wondering how he was going to handle it.

Be gentle, kind, patient and loving, he told himself. The fruits of the Spirit are eternal and important to God. Take this slowly, but I must know what's going on.

"All right Ed, please tell me why we have to deny the McKenna's the use of this church," Tom tried to say it kindly, but it came out more forcefully than he would have liked.

"Well, I guess I'll just come out and say it. We have a few people here who've been at the church all their lives, and their support is extensive. They feel the church facilities should not be used for outsiders, but kept for members of this church... those who pay to keep this church going. And since these people pay a large portion of the tithes here, we could lose them and risk closing the church," he said. "What can I say?"

"So, you're telling me that they own the church," Tom said softly, trying not to get upset.

"In a way they do," Ed responded.

Tom stood up and paced, trying to think. Turning to Ed he said, "I know this isn't what our Lord would desire Ed, nor is it what he has asked us to do. I'm not comfortable with this situation as it stands. Would it be possible to get an emergency meeting with the congregation set up for tonight, so we can discuss this with them?"

"That's not necessary, is it? It's really inconvenient and with such a short notice and all. I'm not sure everyone can come," Ed faltered.

Tom stood stoically as he said very firmly and with passion, "No one owns a church, Ed. Only God. People are dying all over the world to keep their churches free of control. I know this isn't China, nor Russia, or anywhere else in the world where people are dying for their faith, but I will tell you this, no government, group, or person of any class should be allowed to dictate how Christians are to worship, and serve our God. We should be abiding by what our Lord teaches in His Word and not by some man's idea of how it should be done."

Ed's face turned pale.

Tom tried to soften his tone, but he was resolute. "Ed, this needs to be discussed and now, before we do harm to the McKenna's, our community and our standing before God. I abide by what He teaches in His Word." Tom leaned on the desk with both hands and looked the elder in the eyes. "Show me in the Scriptures where we have to deny access to God's house, unless it's paid for." Rising, he continued, "Ed, I know of no place in scripture that denies access to God and this building... even to the unworthy, if they should choose to come."

Ed sat speechless in the pastor's chair.

"Where is the faith of this congregation?" Tom continued, trying to help the elder see how wrong this situation was. "Is it in man and his money? Or is it in the Lord of the Universe, who gives us life and provides for all our needs? My God is totally capable of taking care of this church and anything else He deems worthy."

Ed finally said, softly, "I know you're right, Pastor, but what can we do?"

Tom sat down again and gently suggested, "Let's get as many of our people here in the church tonight as can come. I'd like us to be of the same mind and heart in this matter, so we can move forward in unity and compassion." He looked at Ed, wanting the man's support, "I know I'm new here, Ed. But God's Word is neither new, nor changing, or inappropriate for today. We have to decide what we are going to do, and soon."

"The whole church? Not just the elders?" Ed asked, concerned.

"Yes, the whole church. I understand that only the members can vote, but everyone should have a right to say something. And I don't think this is the time for just the elders either. All of us have a vested interest in the future of this church and the direction we should be going with it. Please ask everyone to be in prayer until we can meet tonight. Tell them that it's important that they come, say at 8:00 tonight. I want to give everyone time to get here."

"I'll get right on it," Ed said, but the fear on his face was evident. "I want you to know that whatever happens tonight, Pastor Tom, I know you're right. But, Franklin Conner, who used to be head elder here before his time was taken up with his new lodge, is one of those people who will stand against you. He has been a member here for most of his life, and runs this church with an iron will. He is one of those big supporters I told you about, and pays the wages of a lot of people in this town. A lot of his money is in my bank from his lumber mill, the town store, and the lodge up at the lake. He has power over a lot of people, including me," Ed told him with anxiety. "And what makes it worse is that he believes he's right and feels he knows what God wants."

Pastor Tom looked at Ed with compassion and sympathy, realizing the man's position. He understood now that he was in a situation that could bring harm to many families that fell under the influence of Franklin Conner, if the man decided to use his power.

I pray he won't. Please Lord, help us. Help me walk through this in your Will. So many can be hurt and I'm so new. But, I can't allow harm to continue. I shouldn't be doing this alone, I'll need advice... I'll contact our district representative, Craig Hoffman and ask his advice and prayer. I need an experienced man of God, one who has been through this type of thing before.

Tom said softly, "It's never easy when you are taking a stand for the Lord against the interests of man. Sometimes we can compromise, if God gives us the grace and wisdom to do it. But, when is it ever wise to change the Word of God, by adding or taking away from it? Or hide His light behind the feelings of others? We are to put His light on the hill and let it shine forth in the darkness, and right now it's not showing at all. Where is the love for others God has asked us to show? Where's the mercy, compassion and kindness we are supposed to illustrate? What am I to do, Ed? I can't compromise His Word and I know this situation is all wrong. How can we fix it and not hurt the McKennas in the process?"

"I don't know, Pastor Tom. But I can see now the urgency of this meeting tonight. Should I tell them what it's all about?"

"Why don't you just say a very urgent matter has come up, and we need every available member and attendee to come?" Tom suggested. "I'll explain it all tonight."

"Okay. I'm so sorry this had to happen before you had a chance to preach a sermon."

"I think I'll be preaching one tonight, and a very important one at that," Tom said softly.

Ed nodded in agreement, then added, "I had no idea anything was wrong, until you said something... it's like I've been blind. I'll definitely be in prayer. I know we have to fix this. I just hope we don't have to close the church to stop the harm."

"Me too," Tom agreed. "But remember, even if the church does close, 'Where two or more are gathered in My name, there will I be also', our Lord has said. Never stop worshiping Ed. Never stop learning, serving, or praying, no matter how small the group. We all lose if any one of us quits or loses our way... the light of truth dims a little when that happens."

Ed smiled, trying to find the courage to stand up for what he knew was right. "We sure need you, Pastor Tom. I hope God will make a way for you to stay."

"Let's see what God has in mind," Tom offered. "And let's ask Him now to help us. And it wouldn't hurt to be in prayer for Franklin Conner, either. God can do great things with prayer. I think He's just waiting to be asked. I know He loves hearing from us."

Tom bowed his head and led the prayer, "Dear, loving Lord, we stand before you, broken and humble men who desire to serve you in all things. Please help those who oppose your teachings to see the truth, and turn to you. Help us to be gentle, kind and forgiving, as you are toward them and all whom you love. Please mend the harm that's been done. Help us to be caring for others, where hard hearts have prevailed, provide the means to soften them and show us the way with your truth. Grant us your wisdom and understanding. They are such precious treasures in this life. We ask this in the wonderful name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen."

As the men walked through the church, Tom told Ed, "I'm going to contact my district representative at Village Missions and ask for advice and prayer. I know my position in this matter is correct, but I want the guidance and advice of someone who has more mileage in the service of God, than I do."

Locking the church, they shook hands, and Ed got into his car and drove away. Pastor Tom walked solemnly home.

Marty was waiting for him. She could tell he was deeply troubled and when they had the boys playing in their room, they sat in the kitchen and he told her everything.

"I didn't go too far, did I? There wasn't any choice, was there?" he asked, trying to second guess his decision.

Marty was thoughtful, loving him and wanting to comfort him, but also knowing he would want the truth from her.

"What else could you do?" she responded.

"I could have taken it slower, keep things status quo for now."

"Could you, Tom? What would He say about it?" she asked, knowing what God's answer would be.

"It's not always easy, is it?" he said, understanding that the right thing to do was to obey God.

"Tom, if you had taken your time, more harm could have transpired. A lot of time has already passed, driving some, maybe many from the church because it was closed to members only. Time has a way of putting out the light of God and the truth becomes obscure, if you don't act and stop bad things from happening. It has to stop now, doesn't it? We can only be obedient servants," she added.

Tom smiled at his wonderful wife, his heart full of gratitude for the wonderful help-mate the Lord had provided.

"I'd better call Craig and let him know what's going on," Tom commented sadly, resigned to whatever was to come.

The phone call to his district representative was a long and hard one. But in the end, he was told to continue with what he had started, that indeed he was right to fight a closed church, but ultimately it was the decision of the people of the church that would count. Craig would pray for them and hoped that God's Will would prevail.

That night almost everyone came, including Franklin Conner, his son Jed and his wife Megan, and their children. Franklin's oldest son had stopped attending long ago, but his youngest son attended when he could. Stanton Conner was on duty that night, working for the County Sheriff's office. However, his wife Jean and their children came, sitting next to Franklin.

Pastor Tom was introduced to the congregation by Ed Meriwether and the meeting began. The compassionate man of God explained the situation to them and his concern with the church policy of members only. He cited scripture and talked of the love of God. He talked eloquently, thoughtfully, and kindly.

Then he opened the meeting to the congregation and entertained questions. He expected and got the old head elder's point of view. Franklin Conner stated emphatically that the church was for those who built it with their sweat and tears... that it belonged to those who had put their time and money into the facility and not to outsiders. Who was going to protect the church and its assets, if they let just anyone use it? Some agreed with Franklin, while others agreed with the pastor and sides were taken.

Pastor Tom stressed that this was not a vote for one side or the other, but a place to stand on God's Word and an opportunity for this church to make a difference in the small town and community that they lived in.

Ultimately, it was agreed and voted upon to open the church doors to all who needed the facility and to show the light of God's love in helping others in need. Pastor Tom vowed to oversee each event and with the elder's help, make sure that the church was well cared for.

Franklin Conner was silent after the vote. Pastor Tom was not able to tell how well the man had taken the opposition to his wishes. He prayed that Franklin Conner and the others would be willing to accept the desires of the majority and that peace would prevail. But deep in his heart, he knew that retribution was a real possibility, as well.

Tomorrow and the days to come would expose the true outcome of this night's decision.

* * * *

That night, the Conner family gathered at Franklin's home. With most of his family present, the patriarch stated, "Who does this pastor think he is? He been here for just over forty-eight hours and he's telling us how to run our church. He doesn't even know this town and the people in it! I do, and I'm not about to let just anyone use that church. We've been functioning just fine before he got here and it'll be just fine when he's gone!"

Jean Conner sat silently, as her father-in-law ranted, knowing how his opinions were the only ones that mattered in this family and in this town.

It had taken her a long time to help her husband stand up to his father and to voice his own opinions when they merited it. But it came at great cost and he rarely defied him.

She knew the new pastor was right. She had grown up in a wonderful, friendly church, with open doors that preached the Word of God to all those who would listen, and helped the needy wherever they were found. But she also knew her father-in-law.

She realized He's not going to accept the will of the congregation while he believes he's right. But, I wonder to what extent he'd go to get his way?

Franklin Conner was pacing the room, working off steam, but his next words chilled Jean's heart.

"Years ago, I got rid of one pastor! Seems like it's time to get rid of another!"

Love Affected

FIVE DAYS LATER, the morning of Vincent's funeral, dawned with a promise of a brilliant and beautiful June day. A carpet of wildflowers spread its kaleidoscope of color over the valley, its gorgeous fingers of pigment dispersing up into the hills. Some of the peaks held onto their winter snows... crisp, clean and white, decorating the jagged granite heights.

A large herd of elk crossed the valley floor, the males magnificent in their crowns of antlers, as the herd bull watched for danger. As they wandered through the fields, browsing near town, they seemed to be coming near to say goodbye to a very special person, before bolting, leaping and bounding into the forests beyond.

As the sun cleared the peaks, a cloud of dust rose into the sky from the travelers converging on the small hamlet.

The country church was overwhelmed with the volume of mourners gathered in the valley that day for Vincent McKenna.

How do you say goodbye to someone who took the time to influence the lives of those around him, and in a way that made a difference? Someone who had loved you, led you, and influenced your life in a way that only a gifted teacher can bestow.

Vincent had spent his life guiding, teaching and forming the hunter and the man. Taking wayward boys and men into his care, he showed them the way to a good life. He taught them to be men of honor - one's who took care of the land, leaving no footprint of their passing. No life was wasted, no person worthless. He taught them how to see everything through God's eyes and to love the land and His creation, and to honor the life that was hunted, when taken.

Never had he taken anyone on a trophy hunt, nor allowed alcohol on a trip. It wasn't in his character to kill for sport, or to risk lives when out in the wilderness, and people respected him for it.

What a legacy he had left behind. Those he had touched and guided now came to honor his passing. Teens came with their friends, and boys who had grown into manhood returned to the small town with their families. Old men who had hunted with him for decades made their way to his side.

Vincent McKenna was loved and the memory of him would live on for decades to come, both in the mountains he treasured, and in the way of life he imparted to those who were willing to learn.

The overflow of mourners, who couldn't get inside the small church, were given chairs quickly obtained from the school house and nearby homes. Or they sat on their car hoods, or in vehicles with their doors open, and even on the ground under the shade of the trees. Most of Brandon Creek came that day.

The small microphone pack Pastor Tom had brought was hooked up to speakers and the voices of those giving tribute carried on the summer air.

The most poignant speech was Pastor Tom's. Though he hadn't known Vincent, he had come to know his character through his wife, son, and friends.

It brought back vivid memories of his own father, in the wilds of Africa and the legacy he had imparted to his son. Tom was taught to love God first, and then to love the land and the ways of the wilderness.

From his own life experience, he had been taught how precious the gift of life was, and how quickly it can be taken.

Tom bonded with Vincent's memory and related to the man's love of God, and the obligation each of us has to care for the earth, in our Maker's name.

At the end of the service, Pastor Tom offered everyone the opportunity to worship the Maker of this earth, the Creator of the universe, and an altar call was given. Many renewed their faith, while others found it for the first time.

After the service, the crowds mingled, visiting with friends, while others made new ones, but all gave their sympathies to the McKenna family.

Lynn stood stoically, with her son by her side, thanking all who came.

Coffee and cookies were offered by the ladies of the church. Some had gone home during the service to grab more sweets from their freezers, while others ran down to the store to buy more coffee for the large, unexpected crowd.

In due time, one by one, or in small groups, they dispersed, going home.

Marty and the women of the church were cleaning up in the kitchen and putting things away, when she turned to them and thanked them for giving such a wonderful memory to the McKenna family.

"It was our pleasure. We're glad we got to do it," Netti said wholeheartedly, while the others agreed.

"It was a wonderful service, wasn't it," Esther said with satisfaction.

Finished, the ladies returned to the sanctuary and said goodbye. Esther went up to Lynn and gave her a big hug.

"I sure miss you," she said warmly, affectionately. "Do you think you'll ever come back?"

Lynn's face fell, "I don't know. We'll see. But, thank you so much for doing this for us."

"You're more than welcome," Netti said, also hugging her. "Please take care of yourself. If you need anything, anything at all, call me."

"Thank you, I will."

As the ladies left the church, the McKenna family was left alone with the pastor and his wife. Kyle stood up and joined his mother, as Lynn turned to Pastor Tom and Marty saying, "Thank you so much for what you've done. I know I've said this before, but I'm glad you're here. You're going to be a great help to the people of this town."

Pastor Tom hesitated, but felt led to ask, "Lynn, do you have a moment? I'd like to ask you something, but I'm not sure how to phrase it."

Taking a second he continued, "I certainly don't want to stir up the past. In fact, I'd like to go on, leaving it alone. But I can see residual effects still hurting some people in this town about the previous pastor, and I'm in the dark about what happened. You told me once that your family left because of it. Would you be willing to tell me something about it?"

Lynn stood silently thinking.

Kyle stated, "Let's go Mom. Its old news and it's not going to help anything by bringing it all up again."

She turned to him, "I know Kyle, but I think the Madison's need to know. They should know what forces are, or were at work in this town, and be prepared for it, if it should start again."

Kyle rolled his eyes unhappily and sat down heavily in the chair, folding his arms over his chest.

As Lynn seated herself, she began, "It's been about ten years now since Pastor Andrew disappeared. I was church secretary then and had worked closely with him and the church board. His wife and I were best friends. Our two families blended together and our boys became close. Vince and I loved them all, as if they were members of our own family."

"Pastor Andrew had been here for a long time, teaching God's Word and especially God's love for others. He taught us to be patient with each other, to be sympathetic and understanding. He was a soft spoken, gentle man, and a good teacher. But he ruffled the feathers of several elders in this church... whose hearts were not so soft, kind, merciful, or forgiving."

"One elder in particular wanted us to come into church with a reverent attitude, with no talking, and to sit solemnly, piously, preparing our hearts to worship God."

"But, Pastor Andrew said that though we needed to be respectful of God's house, it was also essential to develop friendships, fellowship, and love among us, and doing that before service wasn't a bad thing."

"He also added that we should be as compassionate and loving toward those who came, as we could. It was our mission to grow in the fruits of the Spirit, as God has called us to. We needed to be forgiving, when small things cropped up. To love and work for peace when we could, and strive to live in the joy of the Lord, to be patient and kind, doing good wherever possible."

"One of the things he tried to teach us, was that if we couldn't love one another, then everything we did, were doing, or going to do for the church, was worthless. He told us we could work all of our lives in church, serving God and striving to do good, but if love was missing in what we did, it meant nothing to God. 1 Corinthians 13:1-3 tells us that if we talk like angels, or have the gift of prophecy, and have all the wisdom and knowledge of the ages, and even the faith to move mountains, but lack love, all of it means nothing to God. Even if we give all we possess to the poor and give over our bodies to hardships, if love is missing, it's all worthless. It's as though it never happened. That's a hard concept to grasp, but it is so true. Love covers a multitude of sins, and if our Lord is merciful and loving, shouldn't we be?"

"But, his words didn't penetrate the pious, hard hearts and deaf ears of some of our elders. It only made them angry and they looked down on him. Their vanity and self-righteousness only blinded them to the truth. And because they felt they knew more than him, they placed themselves over our dear pastor. They determined they were the leaders and not the man chosen by God. They judged him lacking in obedience and wisdom. They even judged him incompetent to preach on his own, and demanded that he give them his sermons each week, to be approved by them."

"It's my belief they should have supported him... helped him. They should have had his back in the spiritual warfare that was going on, and not let the petty things that were swirling about this church live. But, they didn't."

Lynn sat sadly, the pain of betrayal to her friend and his family evident on her face as she continued.

"During that time, one of the women in our church was having marital problems. Sheila was a lovely, beautiful woman, whose husband abused her. But because her father-in-law was the head elder of this church, he was able to persuade her not to say anything and cause embarrassment to the family, in front of everyone. He told her he would take care of it."

"But, he didn't. Everyone saw the bruises, and her fear and pain was evident. Pastor Andrew's compassionate nature couldn't help but get involved. He felt it was the loving thing to do. And as her pastor, he counselled her for long hours, and even tried to talk with her husband, but his efforts fell on deaf ears. Months went by and nothing seemed to change."

"Then one day, the head elder and Pastor Andrew got into words over it, or I should say the elder tore into the pastor. I heard his voice coming from the pastor's office, loudly. He said that Pastor Andrew needed to mind his own business, and take care of the good people of this church. Sheila was a liar... spreading poison around the town about his son, and it wasn't up to Pastor Andrew or anyone else to take on another's problems."

"I could hear Pastor Andrew's voice, but not his words. He never raised his voice at his attacker, but whatever he said, it didn't make any difference. The elder wouldn't listen."

"Suddenly the door opened and the man stormed out. I heard our pastor say something about bearing one another's burdens, fulfilling the law of Christ and that we needed to right the wrongs, wherever we could. It was our duty to be a light in this world, and not to be like the world, no matter the cost, and to stand up for what was right. But the elder had stopped listening and left the church fuming."

"Then, only a few weeks after the fight, Sheila and Pastor Andrew were gone. No word... no note... just the two of them vanishing. Speculations swirled everywhere. Rumors of them being alone during their counseling sessions and whispers of an affair flourished. It became general consensus that our pastor was a man after all and had given up his life of faith for another woman."

"Peggy, his wife, was frantic of course when he didn't come home. She tried to find him, but she had no idea where he'd gone. And as the hours passed, her anxiety grew. Those hours brought increasing grief and when the Conner's informed her that Sheila was missing, as well, she became distraught as they accused her husband of running off with her."

"Many of us searched for both of them for weeks, some of us for months after the disappearance. But no trace was ever found. The only thing we knew for sure was that they were missing, along with Braxton Conner's family car."

"What hurt Vince and I the most, was that the head elder fed these rumors and chose to believe it himself. He had determined that we didn't need another pastor and had the parsonage closed up, after telling Peggy she had to leave, just months after her husband went missing. Yet no proof ever existed that he had gone away with Sheila."

"Peggy, crushed, heartbroken, and exhausted from the ordeal, took their children and moved back to Vermont to live with her parents, miles and miles from Brandon Creek and the anguish she'd endured here. The last time I talked with her, she still believed that something had happened to him out here, somewhere in the mountains, alone."

"We couldn't stay after that. We knew too much about what'd happened. Though most of the congregation didn't know the particulars, like we did, we watched as the rumors were destroying all the good work he had done. We just couldn't bear it."

"Now you know as much as I do, and I want you to know that to this day I still think something awful happened to him. Maybe if some of us hadn't believed the accusations swirling around him, there would have been a lot more of us out there searching for him, maybe finding him," Lynn said unhappily. "Does it help you to know?"

Pastor Tom took a deep breath and softly said, "I think so." He was filled with sadness by the lack of love, and kindness displayed in this sad story. "I think I can guess who the head elder was, but I'd rather not assume. Would you mind telling me who it was?"

"Franklin Conner!" Kyle answered in anger, before his mother could reply.

"Kyle!" she scolded him. "You know your father and I have tried to teach you not to hold onto your hurt and anger over this, to forgive..."

Kyle stood and walked away crossly, as her sentence trailed off.

"...It's for your own good!" she called after him.

Turning to Pastor Tom and Marty she apologized, the exhaustion showing in her whole body, "Please forgive him. He lost his best friend in all of this and the Conner family hasn't exactly been kind to us. Their children made it hard for Kyle when they were in school together."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you for sharing this with us, Lynn. I hope and pray God grants me the wisdom and understanding to work with this situation and bring healing to this community and to your family. You're welcome here anytime you wish to come and I think you know you have friends here. Be assured that we will be in prayer about this," Tom told her, "and call on us anytime, day or night, if you need anything or if you'd just like to talk," he offered as they got up and followed Kyle out of the church.

Lynn expressed her concern, "Don't let Franklin or any of the Conners bully you. They can be so self-righteous about themselves and so blind to the harm they do. I'll continue to pray for them, because I know it's good for me to do so. But, I'm worried about Kyle. He takes things so hard and he's going to miss his dad more than he can know right now. Pray for us, will you?"

"Of course we will," Marty spoke up gently.

The Madisons stood by the church doors, as Lynn descended the stairs and walked toward the truck, where her son sat behind the wheel, scowling as he waited for her.

She opened the driver's door and said, "Please let me drive, son. You're too upset right now."

"I'm alright, Mom," he said defiantly.

"I love you Kyle, but right now I'd like to drive, please?"

Kyle glared at his mother for a second, then his face softened with his love for her. "All right Mom," he said resolutely as he got out.

She grabbed him and hugged him tightly saying, "I love you son."

A soft smile flickered over his face as he got into the passenger side.

Tom and Marty watched them drive away.

"I hope she returns to the church someday," Marty said softly.

"Me too," he said giving her a hug. Locking the church, he then yelled, "Tyler! Sam! Where are you? Time to go."

The boys came running from behind the church, dirty, with large grins on their dusty faces and the family walked home.

Tom speculated, I wonder if Franklin Conner is aware of the damage he's done? Is he aware of how hard his heart is? Probably not. Controlling people only look at things from their point of view, acting on what they want, and not looking out for others in compassion, kindness, and IN LOVE. And that is not the character of God. He never controls us. He just leads us in love. And love is affected if we don't learn to live in God's love.

Gift Of The Givers

A FEW DAYS after the funeral, Tom and Marty decided to inspect the attic. They found a narrow hall and four rooms of different sizes. The larger one seemed to have been used for an office. They decided to keep it for Tom's study, and remove the rest of the walls so they could use the attic for a school room. But there was so much work to be done and no money to do it.

The house already needed a new roof, the electrical was in want of repair from the mice and raccoons that had gotten in, and the walls were moldy from the leaking roof over the many years of neglect. All the sheetrock needed to come out and the remaining wood scrubbed down. The tasks seemed daunting.

The pastor and elders discussed it at their next meeting. Franklin Conner was totally against any of it, sighting the lack of funds. But it was decided, in the end, to see what resources God might provide through His people. After the next Sunday service, the list was read to those who had stayed. They were curious to see what they had among them to fix some of the problems.

They were elated, amazed and gave God the glory, when through the coming days they found they were able to provide almost everything required.

Hank Fairchild had offered several huge, old growth cedar logs. All he needed was help to cut and split them up. It was done the next weekend, with jovial laughter and hard work.

A group of men volunteered to replace the roof and within two weekends and some nightly work, the old roof was removed down to the rafters, lattice work installed, and a brand new, beautiful, cedar roof covered the old house, giving it protection and security for years to come.

Extra wiring was obtained from Jeff Wade, Ross Spencer, and Morris Craddick. Jeff had just built a new barn and had some wiring left over, while Ross got wiring from his in-laws, and Morris provided some from his work shop out back. It was just enough to rewire the upstairs and make it safe.

An old, gray, dilapidated barn on Harley Comstock's parent's place needed to come down, so a barbecue was organized for the first day, with potlucks spontaneously happening afterwards. Even some folks not going to the church got involved, joining in the fun and hard work of salvaging the materials from the old place.

Within three days, all the work was done. The old, rusty nails were pulled and thrown away, while the good wood was eventually transported over to the parsonage, and a big bond fire took care of the unusable. Happy, tired and friendly voices echoed in the valley that evening, as they sat near the fire, talking, sharing, and developing new friendships.

A work party descended on the old parsonage removing the sheetrock and moldy insulation from the attic, once the roof had been completed. Big, strong beams from the old barn were installed, so three of the rooms could be removed and an open space was built for the class room and play area.

Even the back porch was rebuilt, while the front porch was jacked up and repaired, with a new set of stairs. All the windows in the house had been taken out, stripped of paint, reframed where necessary and reinstalled after a fresh coat of paint. They opened nicely now, and screens were installed in all the openings.

A bake and rummage sale was organized and the proceeds went to buy paint.

The entire interior was painted in just one weekend, with most of the families from church helping to move furniture, make meals, and paint. The laughter and voices of good people drifted out into the summer air.

Several weekends later, ladders were brought out and set up against the house, as people returned to paint the exterior. Again, there were so many. It was like a party, instead of hard work.

Soon the parsonage gleamed, like the beautiful church next door, and the congregation of Brandon Creek was happy. The house was now sound, restored and a real home, something everyone could be proud of. God was good and the hearts of most were thriving under the love and teachings of Pastor Tom.

New families started attending the old country church and the congregation grew. One of these families was Crystal Davenport and her three children.

Slowly healing from the loneliness and loss of her young husband, so early in life, she was grateful to God for the upright man who was teaching her to love again, and the good woman that was his wife.

The single mother of three realized what a wonderful friend the Lord had provided in Marty. The pastor's wife was someone she could talk to and confide in. The whole Madison family was helping her. She wasn't alone anymore and how precious was that? She marveled at the joy in her heart that had replaced the misery she felt before their coming. Had it really only been a few months since they met?

Crystal recalled the first day she met Marty. She was working hard, slaving over the loads of laundry which provided for her family, when the phone rang.

* * * *

"Hello," Crystal answered, her voice filled with fatigue from standing on her feet for most of the day. She wiped the sweat from her face with her apron. The heat from the hot iron and summer day outside was oppressive.

"Mrs. Davenport? This is Marty Madison. We've just moved into town and I have need of your laundry service. Fannie McBride gave me your number, down at the post office. Would you be able to take us on?"

Crystal sighed. So much to do, so little earned. What choice do I have?

Wearily she answered, "Of course Mrs. Madison, how many in your family?"

"There's my husband, our two boys and myself."

Good, only four. At least they aren't the size of the McGowan's family of ten.

"When do you want to start?"

"Yesterday would have been best," Marty joked, "but you tell me when to drop it off and I'll be there."

"I can work on your things in a couple of days. I can put you in with the Siples and Browns. They're both small families. Would every Thursday work for you?"

"Sounds great."

"If you can drop off your things the day before, I'd really appreciate it. It helps not to have too many piles of laundry stacked up around here."

"I understand. I'll be sure to drop off our things the day before. What time would you like me to come?"

"Anytime on the previous day will do."

"Perfect. I'll see you tomorrow then, and thank you for helping us with our laundry Mrs. Davenport."

"You're welcome Mrs. Madison. See you tomorrow."

Hanging up, she returned to her work and the drudgery her life had become.

* * * *

The very next day Marty was at the Davenport front door. Setting down two large bags of laundry, in desperate need of cleaning, she rang the doorbell.

A very thin woman in her late twenties, stood at the door in a plain gray dress, with faded pink flowers. Her drab brown hair was pulled back into a twist, flipped up, and secured with a large clasp. Some wisps of hair fell onto her unadorned face and into her eyes, revealing dark circles beneath them and the sadness within.

Trying to smile, the woman shook Marty's hand, "Hello, you must be Mrs. Madison. Do come in."

"Thank you Mrs. Davenport."

"Everyone calls me Crystal," she answered, quickly grabbing one of the bags and leading the way through her home and into the kitchen. Marty noticed the messy condition of the house. It was dusty, cluttered with toys, and had clothing, books and papers scattered about.

In the kitchen Marty saw an ironing board set up in the corner, next to a large aluminum kitchen table with a Formica top. Stacked with clean, folded laundry, the table was surrounded by chairs with plastic seats and backs, some with the clean, folded overflow.

Just behind it were two rows of rods, supported from the ceiling and mounted from wall to wall. One high and one low, a two tiered affair, where she hung the finished clothes in groups, according to the families she was serving.

The laundry room was just off the back with the door propped open. Marty could hear both machines working hard, one with the soft slosh, slosh of washing, while the other generated the gentle hum of drying, both in concert to industrious toil.

No wonder her house looks the way it does. She's buried in here with tons of laundry to get done, Marty realized with compassion.

Crystal invited her to sit at the kitchen table, after she had cleared a spot for her, wanting the company. She never had the time to get out and the loneliness of her life was overwhelming at times.

"Would you like some coffee?" the woman of the house asked.

"Sure, just black please."

After serving the coffee, Crystal returned to her ironing as they talked. She learned that Marty's husband was the new pastor at the old Methodist Church down the road.

And Marty learned about her three children. There was Agnes, "Aggie" for short. She was eight, just a year older than Tyler. Then Quintin, the only son and six years old, while her youngest, Missy, had just turned four.

"Aggie takes care of Missy and Quint for me. I don't know what I'd do without her. I can't be in two places at once and if I'm taking care of Missy or Quint, Aggie is working on the laundry or making dinner for me. She's such a treasure."

Crystal continued, "It grieves me that she can't go out and play like other children. But what can I do? We have to keep going this way, so we can stay here. We have no other place to go, and my husband Gordon, who tried so hard to provide for us, wasn't prepared to leave us so early in life. There wasn't any insurance, you see."

"We'd be homeless, if it wasn't for his boss Mr. Conner. When Gordon was killed at the mill, Franklin Conner came to me and assured me we could stay here as long as we wanted to, rent free. I think he felt guilty about Gordon's death, you see. It was machinery failure that took his life."

"But with his income gone, the money I make here doesn't go very far. It's quickly gone to pay the electric bill and to buy what food we can afford. It's not very much, but we get by. My Aggie's upstairs now, watching the children."

"You said Missy is four? What are you going to do with her when the older children go back to school in a few months, if you don't mind my asking?" Marty wondered.

Crystal looked searchingly at the pastor's wife, trying to decide if she should say anything. Something in the caring look she got from this woman helped her to trust.

She spoke honestly, "Aggie doesn't go to school anymore. She has to stay here to take care of her sister and brother. I don't have any choice. We don't have the money for a sitter, so she must do it. She has missed two years now, ever since her daddy died. I'm scared for her and for myself if the authorities say anything. But I just can't think of any other way."

Marty looked surprised.

"Quintin used to go," Crystal continued. "But he was always getting into trouble there without his sister. Some of the boys picked on him and he stopped going. Once I found out he was hiding, instead of going to school, I just kept him home. It was easier, and Molly their teacher understands. She has so many students to watch over. But she warned me it's only a matter of time before the authorities make trouble for us. What can I do? We're so close to being homeless now."

Marty thought quietly for a second. Crystal was nervous waiting for her to say something.

Smiling a second later, Marty suggested, "Crystal, I've always homeschooled our boys and I'm doing it again this year at the parsonage. Tom and I have already discussed having a few more children come to class. What do you think about allowing all of your children to come to our house for school? We'll include Missy too. She can learn with the others. There's no reason she can't start a little early. It's no burden to us and I'd love to help you out, if you'll let me."

Crystal was stunned, the iron in her hand suspended over her work.

All of them in school together, and with such a nice person to watch over them? I can't believe it! How wonderful is this? But how much will it cost? I don't have the money to do this! I can't afford it and I can't let her pay for it.

"I don't see how I can pay for it, Mrs. Madison," she came to the point quickly, sadly.

"You won't have to. What do you think about bartering, Mrs. Davenport? My taking care of the children during the school term, while you take care of our laundry, no charge to either of us."

"I'm not sure it's equitable, Mrs. Madison. You'd have to feed them, wouldn't you? And all the school supplies, and such, let alone all your time, I don't think that it's fair."

"Nonsense," Marty said happily. "God will supply all our needs. And three more little ones isn't going to put us in the poor house. We'll make do and I'm sure there will be enough to go around. Please... let's try. I feel so good about this."

Crystal sighed happily and smiled. "Okay, if you really want to."

"Oh, I do. I really do," Marty smiled joyfully. She was going to have her hands full with five children, but she was looking forward to getting the Davenport children back into school where they belonged, and helping this woman out as well.

"Can I meet them?"

"Sure."

Walking across the kitchen she opened a door and called upstairs, "Aggie?... Aggie, answer me."

"Yes, mama?" a soft voice answered from above.

"Come down here and bring Quint and Missy with you. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Okay," Marty heard the child's reply.

Muffled noises came from above and soon the thundering of running down the stairs could be heard.

First to burst into the kitchen was Quintin, with a reddish golden mop of hair hiding his eyes and freckles littering his face.

Curious blue eyes and a big smile beamed from him as he announced, "Hi. I'm Quintin."

Marty extended her hand, smiling at the friendly child. "How do you do Quintin? I'm Marty," she said liking the boy right away.

Pulling out a chair, he sat next to her all outgoing and curious. "I kin count to a zillion. Wanna see?"

"Not now, Quint," his mother said firmly.

He resisted counting, when he saw his sisters quietly entered the room.

The oldest girl had the same coloring as her brother, only without the freckles. Her eyes were green, instead of blue and she seemed tall for her age. But, maybe that was because she was so thin, like her mother. They all seemed to be underfed.

Aggie stood near her mother holding onto the little girl. Missy was more like her mother with soft brown hair and big, expressive eyes. She leaned into her sister, looking shyly at the lady in her home.

"Hello, girls," Marty said, trying to make them feel at ease.

"This nice lady is Mrs. Madison. She just moved here to Brandon Creek and is living at the old parsonage," Crystal told her children.

Aggie's eyes got large in alarm and Quintin squealed with delight, "Where the ghosts live!"

"Now children, I've told you before, there are no such things as ghosts," Crystal said in exasperation.

Aggie looked at her mother, not convinced at all and Quintin asked, "Can I go over and see?"

Missy hid her face at her sister's side.

"Enough Quint! Children! You must stop this wild imagination of yours," she said firmly. "This kind lady has offered to teach you at her home, with her two sons this year. And I don't want this ghosts stuff interfering. Don't you want to go to school? Don't you want to get out of here during the day?"

Aggie's look of alarm turned to indecision, while Quintin exclaimed, "Cool! School in that old house! What's their names?"

"Who? My sons?" Marty asked.

"Yeah."

"Tyler is my eldest, he's seven and Sam is five, just a year younger than you are."

"Can I meet them? Can we go now?"

"Not now son, but soon. We'll try and get over there to meet them as soon as I can get away."

"But we never go anywhere. We're always here working," he said sadly.

Aggie's mother turned to her and asked, "What about you dear? Don't you want to go back to school? Mrs. Madison said that Missy can go too, and you'll all be there learning and having fun together?"

"We even have recess every day and you can go out and play with the boys after lunch," Marty offered.

Aggie's eyes brightened with the thought. The idea of playing brought excitement to her hard life, but she knew she'd been out of school for far too long. She replied softly, "I don't know how to read."

"Don't worry about that Aggie. I have some beautiful books you can borrow, and you'll be reading just fine by the end of the school year. You'll be able to help your mother buy groceries and keep a budget with the math I'll teach you. And if you help me with your brother and sister, I'll let you pick one thing, a special subject just your very own, that I'll teach you," Marty offered.

Aggie smiled, thinking, I'd love to play the piano again. Then a shadow passed over her face, as she sadly explained, "Daddy was teaching me to play the piano. But we don't have one anymore."

Marty's eyes brightened, "We have one at the church and I can teach you there. I know how to play!"

A smile of hope glowed on the young girl's face, and a light that had gone out rekindled in her eyes. She was excited for the first time in a very long time, as she told her mama, "Yes please. I'd like to go to school at Mrs. Madison's house."

Marty left a while later with images of cheerful children and their mother chattering away excitedly about their future. The hardworking woman joyfully went back to her tasks now and the happiness in the house was electrifying. It affected all those who were present.

Marty realized, as she drove home, how good it was to give. How very good it was indeed. She was so happy she was humming an old hymn of praise and glory to the God she loved.

The very next week, early in the morning Marty had dropped off her laundry and gotten permission to take the Davenport children home with her for a sleepover with the boys. She thought it would be fun for the children to get away and play with Tyler and Sam before school started in a few months. She would bring them back the next day, after dinner, when she came to collect her things. She knew it might benefit Crystal too, with the children gone for a while.

The sleepover had worked out so well, with the children having such a marvelous time, they did it every week for the rest of the summer. The children loved getting away, camping and playing, as children do. And the memories they were making would last them a life time.

She told Crystal how well the children were getting along, at least as well as can be expected between children of different temperaments. The boys were competitive, loved to rough-house, and fought every now and again. The two sisters were content to watch or go play by themselves.

For the sleepover nights, Tom and Marty had set up a tent in the back yard for the boys, while the girls used the boy's beds in the house, until the girls shyly complained they wanted to be outside too. Putting two recliner mattresses on the front porch, they moved the girls out there.

Aggie and Missy loved listening to the sounds of the night. Sometimes, after midnight, the coyotes would start calling to one another. Some were far away, while others answered close by with their eerie, haunting cries.

With the stars twinkling overhead, the crickets chirping in the dark summer night, while the frogs were softly croaking down by the creek, the girls fell asleep, content and happy.

It was a good time for the Davenport children and they blossomed.

Hidden Pain

ONE MORNING THAT summer, Tom decided to work on his new study alone. The walls outside of the old office were already gone, along with most of the sheetrock and insulation. A large debris pile had formed outside.

Jeff Wade had volunteered to rewire the upstairs and was busy working on an outlet.

As Tom walked into the office, he noticed the wallpaper over a half wall of wainscoting was coming off in places.

Examining the wall closely, he noticed a board near the corner was loose. Attempting to fix it, he found it wasn't nailed in at all and pulled it out, exposing the cavity behind it. He could see the insulation was moldy and dirty with soot. But near the bottom, the corner of a book caught his eye.

As he pulled it out he noticed the hard cover was dusty, slightly deformed in a curved shape and moldy. The pages inside were wrinkled from the damp and cold.

It was a hand written journal of some sort, probably from someone who had lived there and had hidden it in the wall for some reason... maybe a child or teenager.

Flipping through the pages he soon realized it had belonged to the man who had disappeared from this house, Pastor Andrew.

Curiosity prompted him to take a closer look.

Taking it downstairs, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table to read some of it.

Maybe this holds some clues as to what happened to him.

"What have you got there?" Marty asked as she came into the kitchen with some groceries.

"I believe its Pastor Andrew's journal," Tom replied.

"No kidding! Really? Where did you find it? What does it say?"

"I haven't had time to read it yet. I just found it hidden in a wall in the office upstairs. I was about to read the last entry and see if there might be some clues to his disappearance."

Marty stood still in expectation. As he opened the book, the pages crackled from their deplorable state and a musty smell drifted through the room.

On the last page, Tom read aloud:

"September 26. Today has been a really hard day. Braxton came by the church, threatening and posturing about Sheila. No matter what I say, he doesn't believe me that I love my wife and have no interest in Sheila. Not in the way he means. I tried to tell him we were working to save his marriage, but he won't listen. I'm not sure where this is going to end up."

"And I can't seem to get anywhere with Franklin, either. He's telling me that I'm not wanted here anymore, that a lot of our people are unhappy with me, that they don't need me here. No matter what I do, it's not good enough. I'm so discouraged and the problems seem so daunting. The constant criticism is getting to me."

"Maybe my sermons aren't the best, but they're from my heart and what I believe the Lord is asking me to teach. I don't know how much more I can take. But what can I do? If I'm doing God's Will, I should stick it out, continuing to teach as God directs me. But, what if it's time for us to move on and He wants us to serve at another church where we can be more effective?"

"Sometimes, Lord, I wish you'd just send me a letter, telling me what to do! I think I'll take a walk and talk it out with Him".

"Gosh," Marty commented as Tom stopped and looked up.

"That's his last entry. And this verifies what Mrs. McKenna told us. That she and Peggy both thought he had gone for a walk when he disappeared. I don't think he would have written this and then hid it in the wall, if he was running off with Braxton's wife, would he? If it was hidden, don't you think he'd be writing down his true feelings?"

"I would think so. That makes sense," Marty said thinking how sad this situation was. "It's strange that it happened so long ago, and yet the effects of it are still being felt today."

"Yes, felt today, but not as strongly as it must have been then. I wonder if we should help put this thing to rest," Tom thought out loud. "At least if I can find Peggy, I can send her this journal. It might bring her some comfort."

"Don't you think you better read it first, to be sure there's nothing in it to hurt her or his family?"

"I feel so funny reading this man's private thoughts. But maybe you're right. I'd like to be sure before I sent this to her."

Tom spent the rest of the day reading the words of a man who had started the journal in an effort to cope with the strain of condemnation from his head elder, and others from the church in lesser ways.

Petty grievance had arisen and the complaints taken to the church board, such as children fussing in church, disrupting the service. Some were even complaining about his wife not entertaining enough at the parsonage or holding Bible studies.

Tom learned about the man's shame, at the anger he felt toward the board members who were taking these petty things to heart, and how he had defended his wife telling them how hard it was for any woman to keep a home going for a family, let alone the strain of constantly entertaining and the hard work involved with it.

But, the church board wouldn't listen. They took to heart the reproach they were hearing from their head elder and added their own petty grievances, making the pastor's life miserable, for several years according to the dates in the journal.

Tom shook his head in disbelief, yet he knew man was a fallen creature without God's leading, even in church.

He stopped reading. The sadness was cutting deep, because he now believed that Pastor Andrew had suffered needlessly.

It should never have happened. Yet it had, and by those who had the power to stop it. But, not only did they fail to protect him, they added to his pain with their own hardness of heart and minor grievances. Where was their forgiveness, mercy, compassion, kindness, and love that they're supposed to show as children of God... for the man their Lord had placed in their lives to guide them?

Isn't it the roll of the board to protect the church against spiritual damage? Shouldn't they have protected him from this pettiness?

God has asked us to bear His fruits in our lives, such as peace, patience, kindness, goodness, joy, faithfulness and self-control, but most of all LOVE. Shouldn't we be showing these things to one another, when the petty things arise, and to do good where we can?

These grievances aren't the sins in 1 Corinthians 5:11, where if brother or sister has committed sexual immorality, is greedy, or worships other things besides God, lies about others, is a drunkard, or swindler, that it is required to remove them from the church, in the hope that they will repent. If he had committed any of these sins, then they would have been justified in what they did. But he hadn't.

And then he vanished. How? Why? And what caused such a negative legacy to be left behind from such a good man. One who had loved them and served them? What happened to him?

And these people were still in this church, and it seems their pettiness is starting up again. At least Franklin Conner is complaining. How do I handle this? I'm no better than this Man Of God who went before me. Lord, grant me the wisdom, love and understanding I need. Please, Lord. Amen.

Tom sighed as he continued to read the journal. He wanted to get this ordeal over with, because it was an ordeal to him. None of this should have ever happened and he realized that was starting up all over again, against him.

* * * *

As time went by, the happiness in the church relieved some of Pastor Tom's concerns about his presence there. The people were united in kindness, working hard at the parsonage, and helping his family adjust to their new home.

He continued to teach God's love, as his predecessor had done, because it was an important thing to learn. He stressed that God's love was not like the love we see on television, or read about in romantic novels. It wasn't about us, but about those around us.

He told the congregation, "God's love isn't directed toward Himself, but focused on us. In fact, He loves us so much that He took Himself out of His comfort zone and experienced sin, the thing He truly hates, to save us. He willingly suffered the Cross. He loves us that much."

"Shouldn't we show the same kind of love? Shouldn't our love be putting others first? Looking out for their needs and not thinking of ourselves and how it makes us feel? It is a hard thing to grasp, let alone put into practice, but that is what we are called to do. That is what 'True Love' is."

Most of his people took to heart his teaching, with God's spirit speaking to them, encouraging them.

They valued their new minister, as a pearl beyond price, strove to make him happy and to provide for his family.

As the summer progressed, Tom watched Franklin Conner continue to use his place of power to influence those around him. He was relieved when the influential man didn't use his control to threaten anyone, or to make the lives of those working for him miserable.

But, the patronizing attitude and constant critical spirit from the man was exhausting. Tom had never been in prayer so much and so fervently, as he was during this time.

Some in the community listened to the prominent man, who loved his place of honor and prestige. In fact, it was this love of his image that kept him from actually tarnishing it by firing someone, or removing his money from the town bank, to get his way.

He was after all a man of God, in his own opinion, and knew what was best. He would continue to influence the people of this community for their own good, biding his time, just like he had done before.

Currently, he was using his sway to pressure the head elder and board members with his grievances and voicing his dissatisfaction with the inexperienced, young preacher. In his opinion, the sermons weren't good enough and even inappropriate at times. He demanded that they obtain a copy of the sermon for each week and have them approved, just like before.

But the head elder and most of the board stood stoically beside their pastor and Pastor Tom was allowed the freedom to teach from God's influence, and not man's.

* * * *

About this time in Fort Meade, Florida, an attractive, lonely woman sat on her porch, rocking and holding a worn photo of herself, with two little girls.

How many times had she looked at this photo, trying to remember? So many times, she had lost count. Tears of frustration and uncertainty ran down her face as she strained to remember who the little girls were.

She was there in the snapshot smiling, happy with her arms around the children who were bright with delight.

Are they mine? Are they my children? I know these girls, but how? Why can't I remember!

From what she'd been told, she had been rescued from a fiery automobile crash, across the country in Idaho about ten years ago.

She didn't remember the accident. She couldn't recall anything about it.

They told her she had run a red light, causing a tanker to t-bone her car on the passenger side, shoving her across the intersection. The driver of the gas truck was able to climb down from his cab as flames from his engine spread.

With a broken arm and collar bone, he tried to put the fire out with his fire extinguisher, but he was too injured to be effective. As the fire spread to her car, she was rescued by an off-duty fireman and other brave souls, as they scrambled to get her out and away from the volatile situation.

Sirens screamed, as the first responders arrived, with an ambulance arriving seconds later. By then her car was fully involved and exploded into a ball of flame when the fire reached her gas tank. The acrid smell of smoke rose into the clear blue sky, chocking those nearby.

The fireman cleared the area and fought the fire valiantly. When it was determined they couldn't save the tanker, they withdrew to a safe distance and fought it in a defensive mode, trying to keep the surrounding area from going up.

Too soon it erupted into a mass of flame and smoke, melting the accident scene into a molten mass of metal and asphalt.

With her head seriously injured, by the un-giving surface of her car, she had spent months in the hospital in a coma. Only a photo of herself and the two children had been found on her person.

This was all she had left of her past life, a life taken from her in fire and smoke a long time ago.

For months she had hung onto life, dying twice and being resuscitated by the medical staff. She spent years, four of them, learning to walk, talk and function as a human being again.

And in all that time, no one had come forward to claim her, no one missed her. She couldn't remember anything and her missing life ate at her.

Was she married? There wasn't a ring found. Where were her friends and family? What had her life been like? Had she been happy? Or was the life she had worse than the one she was now living? She had no idea and she longed to know.

Once out of her coma, she was moved to the Fairwinds Care and Rehab Center in Idaho Falls, where she struggled day after day to get better.

Marie Hollenbeck was one of her nurses and by her side through it all, caring for her physically, as well as spiritually - a good Christian woman, large, soft, with graying hair, and kind, gentle eyes.

Marie was alone in this world and filled her loneliness with this lost woman, encouraging her, reading to her, and becoming her friend and confidant.

Upon Marie's retirement, she invited her friend to come live at her home in Fort Meade, far away from the nursing home and the life she was living.

With her hope gone of ever being found, after almost six years, she traveled with Marie to the southernmost state in the US, down an old country road, near the old Army base of Fort Meade, in the middle of the sunshine state.

Slowly rocking in the shade of the porch, the woman ached for identity. The woman with no past wiped the tears from her face, sighed and went into the house, walking with a permanent limp and leaning on her ever present cane.

Finding Henry

SEPTEMBER WAS COMING quickly and the children would be in school after the Labor Day weekend.

The nights were now warm, the hot days smelled of pine pitch, dust, and ripe fruit from the nearby orchards.

August was the time for family barbeques, community dances, and picnics. The Madisons were having fun getting to know the people in their small town.

Tom and Marty found a swimming hole nearby, where a sturdy rope was hung from the branch of an ancient maple, stretching its strong arm across the slow moving creek, in a deep spot where the water course turned a corner on its way downstream.

The family spent as much time there as they could, playing, swimming and picnicking. Tyler and Sam amused themselves there almost every day, while the Davenport children joined them on the sleepover days.

The five children would walk down the road, pass by the old Rockland farm, the three oaks, and then over the embankment to their swimming hole.

Aggie was in charge when an adult wasn't there, because the child was the oldest and most mature. The young girl didn't mind, because she was having so much fun. She was outside, doing what children do and enjoying the summer. The best one she'd ever had.

She enjoyed leaning up against the big, old, tree near the water, resting in its shade. She watched the boys throw rocks and play or swing from the rope screaming and hollering, before falling into the cold water below.

Aggie at times would wade with Missy, or go deeper teaching her sister to swim. She was always careful with her near the water, being too young to be on her own. But, because Missy was shy, the little one rarely left her big sister's side and was content to play in the dust beside her. Or sometimes she'd bring Jetney, her rag doll and played.

One day, the children were lying about drying in the sun after a swim. Some with their eyes closed, while others watched the soft white clouds floating in the blue sky. They were still and quiet. So much so, that a small, black dog came down to the water to drink. It was so skinny, you could see its ribs, and it looked around in fear.

Sam was the first to see it, "Look, a dog!"

At the sound of Sam's voice the dog vanished into the woods before the others became aware of what he had said.

"A dog! Where?" Tyler asked excitedly.

"Over there! I saw it over there," Sam continued to point.

The children called and called, trying to coax the dog to come out, but nothing happened. The forest remained silent and seemingly empty.

Sam worried about the dog. He was determined to find it, so the next day the brothers went back with a bit of food and waited quietly, hoping the dog was still there.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Sam whispered.

"I don't know. If he's there, he may be too scared to come out. Where did you see him exactly?"

Sam pointed, indicating the other side of the creek.

Tyler looked, trying to decide what to do. "What if I go over and put a piece of food on the ground where you saw him? He might come out if I leave it there and come back here. We'd have to sit here real quiet."

"Let me do it!" Sam insisted, his voice getting loud. "I saw him. I know where he was."

"Hush. Not so loud. Besides, it's too far for you to go by yourself," Tyler whispered.

"No it's not. I kin do it! I'm a good swimmer. I can walk almost all the way, anyway. It's only deep under the tree," Sam insisted.

"Okay. Keep quiet, you'll scare him off!" Tyler gave in, trying to keep his little brother from getting too excited.

Tyler gave him a big piece of the sandwich and whispered, "Be careful and I'll be right here if you need help."

As Sam got up, Tyler advised him softly, "Now, don't move too fast. Go slow, gentle, like you would want someone to do if you were in the woods, scared and hungry."

Sam nodded in agreement. He walked softly and gently toward the water, entering it so gradually, he hardly made a ripple. Eventually the water was up to his chest. As he held the food over his head with one hand, he dog paddled across the deep part, until his feet touched the soft mud on the other side. Slowly he got out and sat on the bank for just a moment, looking around.

Peeking from the bushes, Sam saw the poor dog. His heart leaped with excitement.

"Hello boy," he said softly, gently. "Come on... Come here... I've brought you something to eat," he said kindhearted, as he stretched out his hand.

Patiently he sat, talking tenderly.

The nose of the dog worked hard, smelling the offering in the boy's hand. Slowly it came out, while Sam coaxed it with a loving voice.

Cautiously the dog came and tentatively took the food from the boy's hand and gulped it down in one swallow.

Sam was afraid the dog was going to run away now. He had nothing else to offer. But, instead the dog looked for more, wagging its tail.

"Here boy," Sam asked, patting his leg, and it did. Sam was elated. He stroked the poor dog gently, lovingly and the dog responded by licking his hand and his face in gratitude, while Sam giggled.

"Sam! See if he'll follow you. Swim back over here," Tyler called.

"I'm afraid to. I don't want to leave him."

"I've got more food over here. Come and get it then, and bring it back to him."

Sam caressed the dog a few more times, then got up slowly and went back into the creek.

As Sam started to swim away, the dog whined and cried running back and forth on the bank, not wanting to be left behind. And he wasn't going to be. In he jumped and swam after the boy.

By the time Sam reached the other side, the dog was right beside him and soon both boys were feeding him and petting the hungry dog.

"Now what'll we do?" Tyler wondered, as they got up to go home. "Do you think he'll follow us? We don't have anything to tie him up with."

"He don't need to be tied up. He'll come. Watch," Sam said as he started down the path.

"Come on Henry, let's go home," Sam called to the dog.

"Henry? Where'd you get that name?" Tyler asked.

"That's his name. He told me," Sam said with a big smile.

Tyler rolled his eyes at his brother's silliness, but was smiling happily, for Henry was right beside them wagging his tail.

Marty was relaxing on the porch taking a break from her housework in the summer heat, sipping an iced tea, when she noticed the boys walking down the driveway through the pine needles and dust with a dog.

As they got closer, she could see the deplorable state of the poor thing. Her heart went out to it, as the boys broke into a run and the dog ran alongside of them, barking.

"Mom, look what we found! It's the dog I saw yesterday! Can we keep him? Can he stay?" Sam asked beseechingly.

Marty smiled, caressing the dog, "Well see. We have to make sure the owner isn't looking for him, first. But, if no one claims him and it's all right with your Dad, it's okay with me."

The boys cheered as Henry barked and jumped around excitedly.

Marty went into the kitchen, warmed up some gravy, and drenched a piece of toast with it. Tyler got a bowl of water, while Sam took the meal his mother had prepared and both boys put Henry's banquet on the front porch.

All of them watched as the dog wolfed down his meal in a couple of gulps, wagging his tail the whole time.

Sam sat down on the front stoop, while Henry put his nose under his arm looking for more attention. Sam happily complied.

Later that day, Tom came home to find his wife in her rocker, and the boys reading on the porch, instead of playing with their toys, or going down to the creek. Then he saw the dog curled up by Sam's feet.

It looked up, wagging its tail, as a small woof came from deep inside. He wasn't sure this person was part of his new family.

Both boys tried to tell their dad all about the dog, all at once. Henry just sat, his tail thumping on the wooden floor.

"Like your mother said, if no one claims him, then I guess he can stay," Tom told them with a large smile. "Come on. Henry needs a bath if he's going to spend the night in your room."

The boys yelped excitedly, ran to get some old towels and hook up the garden hose.

"Are you going to use our shampoo on the dog?" Marty asked, laughing.

"Yep. If it's good enough for us, it's good enough for him," Tom stated.

"Just be sure to rinse it off well," Marty commented smiling, as she picked up the car keys and her purse. "I'm going to the store for some real dog food for the poor thing. Henry may as well eat well while he's here."

And with that, Marty ventured toward the old mercantile, while Tom and the kids bathed Henry. The black dog shook, shivered and wagged his tail, not sure what to make of all this fuss.

From that day on, Henry became a member of the family. He was a good dog. His only vice being his determination to see that the squirrels stayed up in the trees where they belonged.

Though he loved all the members of his new family, Sam remained his favorite and Henry stayed by the boy's side wherever he went. Tyler didn't mind. The dog loved to play with him as well, whenever he wanted him to.

Henry had finally found a home, and a good one at that.

* * * *

Suddenly summer was over and it was time to go back to school.

It took a week for the children to settle down, to focus and get their homework done. The sun was still bright and hot outside, the weather still good for swimming, and the school room was a new experience for all of them.

The men of the church had just finished it. The old, wide, barn boards were installed on the walls and white washed.

Hank Fairchild had made a blackboard and hung it up in the room, as well as making a small set of bookshelves for Marty's use.

An old oak desk was donated along with a swivel chair, and a large table and chairs were found for the children. Marty went from child to child, helping them with their lessons.

Henry curled up on his blanket in the corner, content to be nearby. He was a great incentive for the children to settle down and work, because Marty sternly warned them that if they didn't, Henry would be tied up on the porch until after school.

At the Davenport home, on school days, Crystal got her children up, helped them wash, and dressed them in their clean clothes, before serving their meager breakfast.

Then Aggie, Quint and Missy would walk the two miles to the parsonage.

It was hard on Missy at first, because she was so small. But she soon got strong enough to make the trip every day for lessons. She loved learning and looking at all the colorful books. And the lunches at Mrs. Madison's house were so good, and then there was Henry to play with.

Tom and Marty had discussed picking the children up when the weather was bad. And when Marty mentioned it to Crystal, she was surprised at her rejection to the idea.

"I'd rather you didn't. The children have to learn to fend for themselves. It'll help them in life, if they can learn to be as independent as possible. Only if the weather is really bad, will I allow them to ride to school."

But, on Wednesdays when Marty came by early to drop off her laundry, she convinced Crystal to let her give the children a ride.

"After all," she told her, "it's good for the children to learn to accept blessings from those that care about them, as well."

On that day each week, she would set aside the normal lessons to teach the girls how to cook, or sew, while Tom tried to be there for the boys and had them help him stack firewood for the wood burning stove in the living room, or he would find something to fix, mend, or repair. There was always something to do and the boys worked beside the man who was nurturing them and guiding them in life.

As time passed, they settled into a routine that was normal, happy and productive.

Aggie learned to read quickly, and Marty found herself scrambling to find books for the child. Contacting her mother Ann back at the estate, she requested books, any good books that she could send to her for the library she wanted to start.

Before long, Aggie was taking the books home and after helping her mother, she would curl up on the couch or in her room and read. She read wonderful stories of faraway places, adventures and dramas. She just loved the books and couldn't get enough of the stories they held.

Quintin did his homework, like Tyler and Sam, but the boys weren't that interested in improving their minds. They wanted to play, build things, and explore.

Missy learned her ABC's readily, and could count to one hundred, sort of. She loved the picture and coloring books, though she sometimes found it hard to remember which ones she could draw in.

By and by, daylight diminished as the season changed and fall drew near. Jackets, hats and gloves were found, while winter clothing was brought out from storage. Everyone was looking forward to the holidays.

Snow was falling again on the mountain peaks, while glacial breezes blew softly off the snows on high, making the days colder and the nights freezing.

Standing on the porch one day, bundled up, Marty watched her breath floating in the air. Fall had come and the trees were turning a vibrant yellow, gold, and red among the strong greens of the forest.

She realized the children would soon be taking their recess indoors and she thought about the games and activities they could do inside.

Tom and Ed were talking about elk hunting and putting some welcomed meat into the freezer. A lot of the men in town did this every year, providing for their families.

"Most of the time, we'll hunt deer nearby. But once a year, a few of us go elk hunting over by Mount McDougal in Wyoming. If you can get one, the meat will last you for a whole year. We've got a campsite over there that we use all the time," Ed explained. "It's hard to get to, but worth it. The game is abundant in there and the success rate is high."

"My father took me game hunting in Africa, to supplement our food supply too," Tom told him. "He taught me how to handle a gun at an early age and we would practice shooting at the farm. But I've never killed anything. I'd help him clean his kill and pack it out, but I don't know what it would be like to actually shoot something. I must admit I'm apprehensive about it. Would you be willing to teach me what you know?"

"Absolutely. We'll practice out back. That way I can see what you know and fill in the blanks for you, probably the safest way to handle it."

"What's the hunting like here?" Tom wondered.

"Physically, very demanding, especially up there where you can walk for miles... up and down ridges, through gullies full of brush and never see anything. You'll have to be careful what you shoot at and be sure to stay with one of us who's done this before. You don't want to get lost out there. If you don't know what you're doing, you might not come back at all," Ed warned sternly. "You'll probably stay with me and I'll help you dress your kill and haul it out. Not an easy task most of the time. How do you feel about shooting an elk?"

"A little anxious, but I hope I can do it and do it well. If I'm going, there's no reason to be squeamish about it. I need to feed my family just as much as the next man and I want to do my part."

Ed smiled, liking the man's attitude. "I'll loan you a rifle and you can practice with it. You can learn to clean it and take care of it, as well. That's part of the experience. And you'd better start doing a lot of walking, and lifting some weights, if you want to be fit enough for the hunt. The more you're in condition, the better."

Weeks before the trip, in the evenings before the sun went down, Pastor Tom practiced shooting in Ed's back yard after walking the four miles to his place with his old hiking boots. When he was done, he'd walk home, using his flashlight, if he'd stayed too long.

Ed made sure to sight-in his rifles so the cross-hairs on the scope lined up with the flight of the bullets according to their range.

The experience of using a gun quickly came back to the pastor... the holding of his breath, squeezing the trigger, after sighting his mark through the scope, and then the kick from the explosion as the bullet left the gun.

I wonder what's it going to be like to actually kill something? Will I make a mistake and hit something I'm not supposed to? What if I wound it and it suffers, running off where I can't find it? Ed told me to take my time, to be sure of my shot. There will always be another time, he told me, if it's not right. But he also said not to take too long, the chance could be gone in a flash, as well.

Tom sighed, Just don't make a fool of yourself.

The trip was planned for mid-October, before the heavy snows. The men began getting out their sleeping bags, checking and cleaning their equipment, getting everything ready to go.

The excitement of getting away, out into the wilderness for a week was growing on the young pastor. To be among his new friends, to walk in God's creation, and to put his skills as a hunter to the test, was intoxicating.

Tom checked over his list several times, as Marty made sure he had everything.

Fire

IN FLORIDA, THE end of September was still hot and oppressive. During the afternoon siesta, when everyone rested until the cool of the evening, Marie and the woman slept with the windows wide open, allowing what soft breeze was there to flow through the house. Unexpectedly a fire erupted in the laundry room from the active dryer.

As the thick smoke rose filling the house with its acrid, deadly smell, the woman's sleep became disturbed with dreams of being trapped, unable to get out as the flames growing ever larger, coming closer. Waking in fear, she realized she had been dreaming, but there was smoke in her room. She felt confused.

Smoke? Where's it coming from? Looking outside she realized the smoke was in the house.

Fear gripped her hard as she screamed, "Fire!" and hobbled to wake Marie up, shaking the woman who cared for her. Marie grabbed her cell phone as they both ran through the heavy smoke, coughing.

Marie continued outside, but the woman froze... transfixed by the flames licking at the laundry room walls. She stared at the dancing light, the hot, burning flames. Flashes of memory stirred of a time trapped in a burning car, of death, and then of a man... a man she had been running from, one who had meant to kill her.

Suddenly she knew who she was, as her past life flooded back. Coughing and with tears running down her sooty face, she ran from the home as the fire engines came screaming down the dusty road.

Marie grabbed her, pulling her away from the house, away from the danger and toward the old oak tree near the road.

The firemen quickly donned their masks and vanished into the smoke filled home, their hoses pulled along behind them. Before long the fire was out and the laundry room lay in ruins, but the house had been saved.

Outside, near the ancient oak tree with its wide trunk and gnarled limbs, the woman's heart pounded as the memories continued to flooded back, along with old terrors.

She turned to her friend and said softly, "I know who I am, Marie. I remember! My name is Sheila Conner and on the day of the accident, I was running for my life, trying to get to the police. I needed their protection and help getting the girls out. My husband was going to kill me and I knew he meant it... that look of hate and determination in his eyes," she said as tears fell and old hurts resumed.

Abruptly she recalled the snapshot and all the years of wondering, "The girls are mine, the ones in that photo. Their names are Jodi and Candice... my sweet, sweet girls."

Then a look of shock replaced her joy. "That was ten years ago! What's happened to them? I've got to find out!"

Grief and regret welled up in her heart as she cried for the lost years and her inability to help her children. It was breaking her heart.

"Is there someone you can call?" Marie asked, understanding too well that this woman was probably going to leave her now... to go back to the life she'd lost.

Sheila tried to think. "I could call Bess. She's my best friend in Brandon Creek. Yes... that's the town we grew up in. She'll be able to tell me about the girls. Oh, I hope they're alright."

The sun was setting by the time the firemen left and the women were allowed back into the house.

"I'll start cleaning up this mess, while you go make your phone call," her friend offered.

Sheila had a look of hope, but fear prevented her from moving, "When I call, it will open a portal to my old life. One I'm not sure I'm ready to open. He's probably still there, you know. But, I have to know about the girls, don't I?"

"Yes, call your friend," Marie told her gently.

Picking up the phone, Sheila requested the phone number of the Brandon Creek Clinic.

Bess should still be working. But, what if she isn't there anymore? What if she's married and has moved away? It's been so long... No... She has to be there, she's got to be there!

With her heart beating fast and her fear rising of the unknown, and the real possibility she was exposing herself to danger, she dialed the number.

It rang three times, the seconds dragged on... extending the time in her mind. Sheila wondered if Bess was gone, not at work, wasn't going to answer.

"Brandon Creek Clinic," a professional voice spoke into the phone.

Sheila's heart fluttered, then she asked softly, "Bess?"

"Yes?"

"It's Sheila, Sheila Conner."

Silence came from the other end of the phone.

"It's a long story, Bess. There was a bad accident and my memory was erased, until recently. I'll tell you all about it sometime, but I'm calling about the girls, I need to know if my children are all right? How are they? What happened to them?"

"Sheila, is it really you?" the voice on the other end sounded incredulous. "I thought he'd killed you and Pastor Andrew."

"Pastor Andrew!" Sheila's heart quivered in dread. "What about Pastor Andrew? Isn't he there?"

"Oh Sheila, he disappeared the same day as you did. Most think he went away with you, but I never thought so. I've always believed that Braxton had killed you both. I'm so glad I was wrong, at least about you."

"The children! What did he do to the girls?" Sheila asked, terrified.

"They're fine, Sheila. They're just fine. Stanton and his wife Jean have them."

"Stanton? Stanton's married?"

Bess softly laughed, "Yes, he came home a few years after you disappeared, with a wife and two little ones. Where are you?"

"In Florida," Sheila told her.

"Florida! Good heaven's girl, Could you have gone any further from here?"

"I'm with a friend... But Bess, I want to come home, to see the girls, to tell them what happened and that I love them. I never meant to leave them and so much time has passed!" she said, choking on her pain.

"Sheila, you can't," her friend said firmly. "It's too dangerous. Nothing has changed. You don't know what he's been like since you left. Stanton was able to get the girls away from him, and he's finally resigned to it. But I'm afraid of what he might do if you came back, how he'd react..."

Suddenly she spoke quickly, lowering her voice. "I hear a car door. I think someone's coming. We can't talk about this now. Not in this small town where it might get back to him. Give me your number and I'll call you as soon as I get off work, in about an hour or so... Hello, Mr. Townsend. I'll be right with you," Bess said, as the elderly man walked into the clinic.

"Bess, if this phone number gets into the wrong hands..."

"Yes, of course I understand. I'll see to it Mrs. Smith," her friend stressed the new name she was giving Sheila.

Sheila smiled. Her friend was going to help her and keep her safe. "Call me when you can, and be sure you're alone... Oh, I know you will be... it's just that I'm so scared, even now, thinking of what Braxton might do to me, or the girls."

"I understand. I'll be sure to take care of it, Mrs. Smith," Bess continued in a professional tone.

"Oh, how I've missed you! Call me. I'll be here, waiting," Sheila said as she gave her best friend the link to her life so far away and hung up.

Sheila saw Marie waiting. She realized that here was another good friend. One who had given so much to help her and could still be counted on to do so.

"At least the girls are alive and well," Sheila informed her with relief in her voice. "They're living with my husband's youngest brother, Stanton and his wife. Even though Bess told me they're fine, I'm going home. I have to see them, to know they really are all right. Jodie must be sixteen by now and Candice fifteen. Oh, why didn't I take them with me? Why didn't I work out a way of getting them out of there?"

"They probably would have died in that accident, if you had," Marie told her gently.

Sheila was shocked by the idea, but nodded her head in agreement, saying softly, "Yes, trapped in that burning car... At least they're safe and not with their father."

Sheila continued to share her past with her friend, remembering, "I knew he was upset that day. But I didn't realize how badly until I peeked around the corner of the kitchen and saw him loading his gun, cussing and cursing, vowing he was going to end this once and for all. It was about 4 o'clock in the morning. He'd received a phone call, hours earlier, but I didn't know who it was or what it was about. It started him drinking and stewing all night. I'd never seen him like that before. I heard him muttering to himself. He thought I was having an affair with Pastor Andrew!"

Then Sheila looked at her friend, telling her, "I can't believe that good, kind man is gone, Marie! Bess told me he disappeared the same day I did. I have a horrible feeling that Braxton had something to do with it. I'm so scared of him. I knew he meant to end it that day and that I couldn't reason with him."

"Even before that night, he wouldn't ever listen. He was insanely jealous... with any man that looked at me. He just wouldn't believe I had been faithful all those years. I never gave him any cause to be jealous. But he was... brutally so!"

"There was that Christmas night he almost killed Stanton, his own brother, raving and drunk, accusing the poor boy of being with me behind his back, when it just wasn't so. It's a miracle Stanton lived, and I didn't get out of it unscathed either. He passed out before he was done with me."

"I'm afraid... afraid of what he might do if he catches me, Marie, even after all this time. He told me once about a dog he had as a child, one that he loved and that had loved him. But his father found the dog inconvenient and didn't want to keep it anymore, so he had it put down. It broke Braxton's heart. Years later, Braxton took his revenge by poisoning his father's dog. It frightened me how coldly he told me, smiling with his triumph and revenge."

"He wasn't always that cruel. He was quite nice and fun loving in the beginning, before his jealously changed him in horrible ways. Once, he lost his temper so badly, I ended up in the hospital, viciously hurt. He threatened to harm the girls if I said anything to anyone."

"Is that why you didn't go to the police?" Marie asked, shocked by the brutality of the man.

"Yes. He was proud of his girls. He had never harmed either of them, wasn't threatened by them, but I couldn't take the chance that he wouldn't hurt them if he felt pushed. His pride and control over us was all he cared about. I tried so hard to please him, to keep us safe and provide a happy home, but I was always terrified of upsetting him," Sheila said as the old fears started to grow.

"That morning I knew he was out of control. I quickly ran to our bedroom, dressed, grabbed my favorite photo of the girls, my purse, and jumped into our car, heading out of town and down out of the mountains."

"I was so tired of the fear, so tired of hurting, and so desperate to find a way out."

"I knew I couldn't stay in Brandon Creek. He'd have hurt anyone I took shelter with. It was a long way to the nearest city, where I could get to the police and help. I'd been crying most of the way. That's probably why I went through that red light. I'm just so glad no one was killed. You know the rest," she finished.

"Do you think he could have changed after all this time?" Marie asked.

"He was a bully then, and he most certainly must be one now. When you've become that cruel, that mean, you can't ever be anything else, can you?"

"I believe you can change, with God's help, with His love and His forgiveness. He reaches down, deep inside a person and takes out the ugliness and disease of sin, providing His healing love, if you want it. It's done all the time and even for those who are that bad, if they truly allow Him into their hearts and seek His forgiveness," Marie said with all her faith.

"That would be wonderful. But I could never trust him again. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course... anyone who has suffered as you have has a right to be afraid. It would take a great God indeed to bring about such a change in either of you. And I believe He is that great. Just give Him and time a chance to make it right."

Sheila nodded, then firmly vowed, "I'm scared to go back, Marie. But, I didn't willingly abandon my girls then and I won't do it now. I'll die before I'm separated from them again."

"Let see what your friend Bess has to say when she calls. We'll think of a way you can see them."

Going Back

AS MARIE PREPARED something for them to eat, she prayed for her friend, asking God for His wisdom and protection.

Sheila waited for Bess, thinking about the different scenarios she could employ to see her children. All had their problems.

I could ask Bess to contact Stanton, let him know what happened to me and have him bring the girls to me. But, is that safe? What if he tells someone and it gets back to Braxton?

Maybe I could return home disguised? I know I've changed these last ten years, but probably not enough. I'd have to change my hair color from blonde to a dark brown or black and wear those brown contact lenses I have from the costume party. With my hair cut short, no one's going to recognize me, I hope. I could stay with Bess, just for a couple of days or so. Just long enough to see the girls. But if I stayed in Brandon Creek, someone might recognize me. His whole family's there.

It's so dangerous! What am I going to do? What if something goes wrong?

She eventually tired of worrying and resigned herself to whatever was to come. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was going back. Nothing was going to keep her from her children.

The ring of the phone startled her from her thoughts. Quickly she answered, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Smith?"

Sheila was caught off guard for a second by the strange name, then realized that her friend was either joking or she was still being cautious.

"Hello, Bess. It's so good to hear your voice. You're alone aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not comfortable talking openly about this, not even here at the house. I don't know why. It's just that I've always felt watched, even after all this time. I'd feel better if I could come and see you, to tell you about the last ten years and talk to you about the best way to see the girls. I thought I'd tell Dr. Bishop I need a few days off to see a Helen Smith, a sick friend from college and that I would only be gone over the weekend. Exactly where are you?"

"I'm in Fort Meade. Are you sure you want to come all this way? I could meet you in Idaho Falls. We could talk there," Sheila offered.

"No, don't come here yet. Let me talk to you first. When I thought he had killed you both, there was nothing I could do because both of you had vanished. There was no evidence of a crime, according to the police. But Sheila, Pastor Andrew is still missing. Who knows what happened to the man. And we'd be foolish not to be careful."

Sheila shivered at the thought of her pastor and friend meeting a violent end.

Bess continued, "I thought he was just making a show, pretending to be upset when you disappeared. But, now I know he wasn't. He went crazy, going door to door looking for you. He drove the pastor's wife crazy, demanding the whereabouts of her husband. She had to get a restraining order issued against him for a while, before she left town."

"Peggy's gone?"

"Yes. And Braxton stalked me for months. I'd see his car hidden, watching more often than I care to count. Gosh, it frightens me now to know he was serious! He might have hurt me to find you if he thought for a second I really knew!"

"I know we have to be careful, but nothing's going to stop me from seeing Jodi and Candice. They need me. I know they do," Sheila told her friend.

"Don't talk about it now, not on the phone. I'll make all the arrangements and call you back as soon as I can. Don't worry. I'll be there as quickly as I can. We can talk then."

"All right, I'll meet you at the airport. Just tell me when."

"Please don't," her friend said cautiously, seriously. "I'll rent a car and meet you wherever you say. I just want to be sure I'm not followed. He's settled down now, doesn't drink as much, but his silence is so eerie. It's like he's watching, waiting, and biding his time. He's back in his butcher shop enjoying what he does too much. It gives me the creeps to watch him. No, I'm not taking any chances. He might follow if he knew I was leaving, or he might get someone else to do it. I just want to be careful. I know he's not over it! He'll never be over it. He's not the type."

"I know... I know only too well," Sheila said, her heart beating with the old fear she had lived with for all those years. It was coming back, like water from a fire hose. But she wouldn't stop! She wouldn't back out, not now.

Bess suggested, "You decide on a place you want to meet and let me know when I call back. Make it a public place, and I'll walk around until we find each other. Okay?"

"All right," Sheila agreed, her heart fearful from the peril she felt awaited her out there, but she wanted this over with and her children back.

How's this going to turn out? I hope I'm not endangering the girls or anyone else. But I can't leave it this way, I just can't.

* * * *

Thirty-six hours later, Bess was in Florida. Even though it was morning, the summer air was hot and muggy. She began to sweat seconds after she stepped out of the air-conditioned airport on her way to the rental car. As she threw her overnight bag into the back, she surveyed her surroundings, looking for something out of place, a person watching her. But everything seemed normal.

Getting into the driver's seat, she started the car and let the air conditioner run, eventually cooling the car off as she looked at the map she had just bought.

Looking about her surroundings one more time, she didn't see anything out of place. Returning to her map, she studied the highways and roads to Fort Meade.

She was to meet Sheila at the Old Fort Meade School House Museum, on the corner of Tecumseh Avenue and Main Street, an hour before closing. They had agreed that Bess would stay there for twenty minutes or so, while Sheila watched from a distance. Once she felt sure Bess hadn't been followed, she'd contact her.

Entering the address into the GPS on the dashboard, the nurse from Brandon Creek pulled out of the parking lot, drove through the security gates and out onto the roads of Florida. She had begun her long, overland journey to a small town in the middle of the state and her dear friend.

As she drove, Bess watched the traffic behind her intently. After about an hour on the road, she realized a black sedan had been with her for quite a while. Watching it with growing concern, mile after mile, she wondered if she should find a restaurant to stop at and see if the car followed, somewhere she could find people and a phone. Suddenly the car used its blinker and exited the freeway.

Sighing in relief, she scolded herself. I'm getting paranoid. But, I have good reason to be with Braxton involved in all of this.

That afternoon, she drove into the old military town of Fort Meade. Still alert to her surroundings, she saw nothing to concern her, yet she still felt on edge.

Watching the GPS closely now, for every instruction, she drove through town and soon found herself in the old school parking lot. Turning the car off, she sat there looking at the architecture of the old, large, white, three-story building with blue trim. It had a wraparound porch with rocking chairs, benches and a porch swing, inviting visitors to rest, southern style.

She was early. Getting out, locking the car, she strolled casually around the grounds, eventually sauntered into the museum and walked from one exhibit to the next.

Nonchalantly, she glanced around looking for someone who might be watching her. Then she started looking for Sheila. As she did so, her anxiety increased, knowing what they both could lose, if something should go wrong. She hadn't come all this way to bring harm to her friend, or to go home without seeing her.

About a half dozen people were exploring the old school house along with some children. They were looking at the history of the place as the adult voices mingling with the sound of children's laughter and questions.

A man and his wife talked about an exhibit, which Bess pretended to be interested in, when a tall, thin, woman with short black hair, styled in a bob, came up and stood beside her. Bess glanced at her, but not recognizing her, continued to look around cautiously.

Unexpectedly the woman whispered, "Bess follow me. My car's out back."

Startled, Bess looked directly at the woman next to her.

This isn't Sheila! It's nothing like her.

Then the woman in a normal voice asked, "Aren't you Bess Compton? You remember me, don't you, Helen Smith from school?"

Bess stared at her old friend, so surprised at her transformation. Recovering quickly she answered, "Helen! How are you?"

The two women talked casually, as Sheila led the way to her car as both looked around for trouble. Everything was as it should be.

Once in the car, the two looked at each other for a second, then hugged, so glad to be together after all this time.

"Why don't you get into your car and follow me, Bess? I don't want to come back into town, if I can help it. I'll be sure not to lose you."

"I can't believe it's you!" Bess said shocked.

"I told you that I wanted to disguise myself," Sheila smiled, having done it the day before.

"You do look different, but once you say something, the expression in your eyes, the way you smile, it'll expose you. You won't be able to hide very well in Brandon Creek, you know. Just about everyone knows you there."

"I know. Let's talk about it at the house," she responded looking around again, disappointed in her friend's reaction.

* * * *

At the small home, down a country road Marie and Bess met. They liked each other right away. Marie offered coffee, remained in the background, and listened with interest to the future plans of her friend.

First, Sheila wanted to know all about her girls.

"If anyone was going to take the girls from Braxton, I thought it would be his father, Franklin. How is it that Stanton has the girls?"

Bess smiled, "As you know, he was away serving in Afghanistan before you left. He met his wife at Fort Bragg during that time and finished his tour of duty as an MP. When he returned to Brandon Creek, he got a job with the county sheriff's office and brought his two small children with him."

"It wasn't very long after that, we learned the condition of your daughters. They were underweight, out of school, and scared to death of their father, and life in general. Their grandfather had tried to take them, but Braxton objected and caused trouble, getting drunk too often and causing fights in the family."

"Jean and Stanton feared he was punishing the girls because of you," Bess told her friend, knowing this information might cut her deeply.

And it did. Tears came to Sheila's eyes and she grieved for her girls.

"How did Stanton get them away from him then? Do you know?" the devastated mother asked.

"Yes. Jean told me one day when I was over there helping. I was working closely with them in those days, with the girls' medical and emotional needs. One day Jean confided in me, telling me how Stanton had found Braxton driving drunk and arrested him. His brother didn't take kindly to Stanton arresting him, and they fought. But this time Stanton wasn't a boy, but a man trained in combat and law enforcement. He took Braxton down and to jail."

"And when Stanton got him alone in his cell, he told him he was going to throw the book at him. And when he got out, he would dog his every step, every chance he got, making his life miserable, exposing him to the town and everyone he knew, unless he relinquished his rights to the girls."

"Braxton just smiled and coldly threatened to kill them instead. Stanton told him to go ahead, and he would see to it that he got executed for it. Braxton then threatened to kill his little brother some dark lonely night, and to watch out that something didn't happen to his beautiful wife and children. 'Go ahead. And everyone, but everyone will know who to go after,' was Stanton's reply."

"Jean told me that Braxton postured, fumed and threatened, but that's all he did. Evidently he was uneasy with Stanton's threats, and did nothing. We wondered if he liked his freedom, more than getting his way. But he was mad and angry with the situation."

"After his release, Stanton kept his promise and watched him closely, arresting him several times for drunk driving and disorderly conduct. Not long after that, Braxton suddenly surrendered the girls and they were adopted by Stanton and Jean as soon as the paperwork could be completed."

"Braxton brooded for a while, getting good and drunk. Eventually he went back to work at the butcher shop, to all appearances normal. But his family, those of us who were close to him knew he was nothing to fool with. We felt he was bidding his time and that something was going to give eventually."

"The girls avoid him and are happy with their uncle and aunt, flourishing in that good home."

"Do they talk about me? Have you heard anything?" Sheila wondered, yearning to connect with her girls.

"No. They've never said anything about you that I know of Sheila. I'm sorry. But they probably wouldn't dare, in light of the years they spent with their dad, don't you think?" her friend suggested sadly.

Sheila nodded her head in agreement, while weeping for all that could have been, but wasn't.

Then Sheila shared her past with Bess. Starting from the time she fled so early that morning, so long ago. She told of the fear and the drive down the mountain, the tears she shed with the images of the girls still sleeping in their bedroom on the other side of the house, in a place she couldn't get to if she was going to escape. Of her fearfully taking Braxton's money out of his wallet and out of his desk where she knew he kept it, knowing full well what he'd do to her, if he caught her. Then she told how she had taken her wedding ring off and thrown it into the glove compartment. She did it in defiance of him and to help her resolve to end this once and for all. She spoke of the accident and her years of recovery with Marie's help, and finally of the fire and the return of her memory.

"Now, I must go home. It's time," she said firmly.

"Are you sure you want to do this? I could tell the girls I found you. Tell them all about you. Or I could give them a letter from you, if you want. There are other ways besides going back," her friend said, concerned.

"Yes. Part of me wants to stay here, safe. But I can't. I left them once, though unintentionally, and it still hurt them... badly, until Stanton and Jean. No, I won't let fear keep me from them. No matter what I'm going to see them, to hug them if they'll let me, to tell them I'm sorry and that I love them. Then we'll see what happens. No, I'm going home... with you, if you'll have me."

"I'll have you. I know you'd do the same for me. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared," her friend stated honestly. "I think with the way you've changed your appearance and your limp, it's good enough to fool most people from a distance. But I don't want them to get too close to you, and you can't talk to anyone. Your voice might give you away. I'll tell anyone who asks that you're my friend from college, Helen Smith and I'm taking care of you for a short time, while you rest and recover. You'll have to stay inside, and I think I'll wrap up your throat so you won't have to talk. We'll have to be so careful," she concluded, uneasy.

"It'll only be for a few days. I'll go to work with you at the clinic, and you can get the girls to come over for a school checkup, or something like that. I just need a little time with them. Then you can take me back to Idaho Falls and I'll return here. Whatever happens, I won't stay to cause trouble."

She wants to come back here! Marie realized with joy. Thank you, Lord. But please keep her safe and be with her girls.

That night the friends went to bed, after discussing all their concerns and issues. Although exhausted from the ordeal they were dealing with, they slept fitfully through the night.

Nightmares filled Sheila's dreams. She was running for her life in a shopping mall, going through one door, then another, entering rooms or long halls, never finding her way outside, always trapped inside. She so desperately wanted to get out... out into the open, but she couldn't find her way. She was trapped.

Risking It All

SHEILA AND BESS felt tired by the time their plane landed at Fanning Field, near Idaho Falls. The emotional strain of going back into a volatile situation prevented them from relaxing.

Bess unlocked her car in the parking lot and the friends got in. "It's not too late to back out. I could take you to a hotel, bring the girls to you."

Sheila looked at her searchingly, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Going back was so hard, very hard.

"No," she said. "The safest thing is to keep things as normal as possible. Anything out of the ordinary might spark his attention. I can't think of any reason the girls would have to come here, alone."

"What if we told Stanton? He could bring them without suspicion."

"Yes, and he could also refuse to let me see them, couldn't he?"

"But why, you're their mother?"

"To protect them? Or maybe Jean wouldn't want them to see me. She's been raising them for a long time. I don't know. I just don't want to take any chances of not being able to see them. I couldn't bear it," the girl's mother said sadly.

"All right Sheila. I'm with you no matter what happens. It's just that I wish I wasn't so fearful about this."

"Me too," Sheila said as she searched her friend's face.

Bess smiled and reached over to squeeze her arm reassuringly. Then she started the car and drove toward their destiny in the small town out in the mountains.

They had timed their trip to arrive at Bess's home late in the evening.

As they neared Brandon Creek, Sheila's heart rate increased with the anticipation of seeing her girls after all this time, and the unknown... of what was to come.

Entering the town that night, in the dark with only the headlights illuminating the way, the old town seemed spooky and uninviting to her. It didn't seem like the place she had known most of her life at all, but alien, strange and dangerous. They drove on hoping not to be seen, noticed, or discovered.

Turning down Stag Bone Lane Sheila asked her friend, "Are we stopping by the clinic?"

"No. I bought a house nearby. It was easier to get to work and convenient for Dr. Bishop," Bess explained.

"What about your folk's place on Elk Horn Ridge? Did you sell it?"

"No. It's rented to the McGowan's oldest, Ernest and his wife Constance. They needed a big place with their six kids and the farm was big enough for all of them. He's working the place, as well as working at the mill. They're good tenants and I'm content to leave the place in their capable hands. I bought Macy Hennacy's old place, just a couple of doors down from the clinic about six years ago. It's just the right size for one person. Mom and Pop's place was too big for me, really. I was just rattling around out there on the ridge."

Bess was turning into the driveway of an old, two story brick home, built soon after the town's founding by the banker and founder of the Homeland Bank. It was one of the nicest homes in the township. Modest in size, it made up for its small stature with the quality of the finishes. The craftsmanship of the wood work was elegant, with lovely hardwood floors, wood paneling and built-ins, along with ornate plaster trim throughout. Beautiful French doors and muntin windows allowed an abundance of light into the home.

Sheila could see right away why Bess had bought the place. It was so much like her, elegant and stately while warm and friendly.

There was a standalone garage set back next to the house.

Bess pulled up and stepped out of the car. As she looked around, she quickly opening the garage door and pulled the car inside. Swiftly she shut the garage door, letting it down softly, careful not to let it bang.

With a full moon outside, its light softly illuminating the interior of the garage through the side window, at least enough to see by, she reached into the backseat for the suitcases in the dim light.

"Why don't you put the lights on?" Sheila asked.

"It might draw too much attention to us," her friend answered, whispering.

"Bess, we have to act natural. It might look funny if we don't."

Sighing, Bess walked over and turned on the lights.

Sheila's right. We have to act naturally. After all, I am bringing a friend home to stay with me. Why am I trying to hide it? This isn't starting out too well, is it?

Using her cane, Sheila followed her friend out of the garage, over the walkway and through the kitchen door, once Bess had unlocked it.

In the kitchen Bess asked, "Do you want to stay up and talk for a while, or go to bed?"

"I'm ready for bed," Sheila responded, trying to remain calm. She felt so exposed. All the big windows in this house were meant to let the natural light in, but instead they were exposing her to the outside world. At least that's what it felt like. She wanted to run to the windows and close all the curtains.

"Since you don't do stairs well, I'm putting you in the spare room on this floor. It was Mrs. Hennacy's room in the end," Bess said, regretting the words as soon as she said them.

The fact that the old woman had died in that room, naturally, didn't alter the fact that death wasn't a subject that either of them wanted to talk about right now.

"I'll be upstairs, the first room on the left if you need me," she continued as she led Sheila down the hall.

Bess closed the curtains in the room, making Sheila feel safer, hidden for a while. She also turned on the bedside lamp, as she watched her friend flop down, tired, worried and apprehensive.

"I hope you can get some sleep. We'll find a way to get the girls to the clinic tomorrow, or the next day. We both want this to be over as quickly as possible."

Sheila nodded in agreement. "Night, Bess. God is with us. I know He is."

Bess smiled and closed the door quietly.

She had seen the hand of God act before in cases that shouldn't have ended the way they did. She wanted to believe in a benevolent God, who cared about everyone. But she just couldn't make that commitment when she had also seen so much suffering, sickness and death as well.

Yet, the miracles had happened and there wasn't any other explanation, but God. And she prayed that He would intercede in this situation and keep them all safe.

After going about the house locking up and turning off the lights, she wearily went upstairs to bed. It had been such a long day, and she knew longer days were to come. She couldn't believe it had been less than a week since she had learned of Sheila's existence and now she was here. Here in Brandon Creek, with unfinished events stirring, after all this time.

Sheila slept fitfully, sweating, tossing and turning. She was drowning, being pushed down by powerful waves in a violent storm. She couldn't breathe! She couldn't find her way to the surface. There was nothing to hang onto, nothing but the liquid expanse of water and no way out.

* * * *

The next morning, Sheila woke to a dark, unfamiliar room. It took her a moment to realize where she was.

Looking at the bedside clock near the lamp, she realized it was 9:00 in the morning.

Where's Bess? Why didn't she wake me?

Quickly, she hobbled to the bedroom door, opened it quietly and listened. Nothing. Everything was still. After dressing, she went to the kitchen.

On the table was a note to Helen Smith. Smiling, she picked it up and read:

Helen, gone to work. Knew you needed the rest. I'll drop by around lunch, to see how you're doing. Help yourself to anything in the house. We'll talk when I get home, Bess.

A couple of hours later, Bess came home to find her friend in the living room peeking through the blinds she had closed, watching the world outside where she didn't dare to go.

They had lunch in the kitchen, and discussed how to get the girls to the clinic. But like before, nothing materialized that wouldn't be obvious.

"Maybe it doesn't matter," Sheila said. "As soon as I see and talk to them, you can take me out of here. Braxton can guess all he wants, but I'll be gone and away from here."

"Yes... But I'll still be here, and so will the girls. What are we to do?" Bess reminded her.

"Oh Bess, I haven't thought this through enough, have I. What am I to do? I should never have come! What am I doing here? I couldn't bear it if something should happen to any of you," she said, expressing the strain she felt.

Firmly Bess said, "I've got to get back to the clinic. We'll have to decide something tonight. And whatever it is, we've got to get it done as quickly as possible. That much I know."

Giving her friend a hug she said, "Don't worry, if you can. And don't answer the phone, or the door. Here's the phone number of the clinic, if you should need to reach me in an emergency," she said as she wrote the number down on the back of her earlier note. "I'll be home around five."

And with that, Bess was gone, leaving Sheila to lock the door behind her.

The rest of the day was torture. Every noise was investigated, especially if it came from outside.

Late in the afternoon, Sheila fell asleep, exhausted from the restless night and the emotional strain of staying in this place alone, the time dragging, and trying to think of ways to solve her problem.

Bess found her sound asleep on the couch.

Preparation of dinner broke the monotony of the day and the women chatted, talking about the past and things they shared in common. But Sheila was feeling the pressure of her presence in a place she was beginning to believe she shouldn't be in.

They were eating dinner peacefully, talking, when they were startled by a forceful knock at the front door. Bess and Sheila looked at each other.

Bess got up to see who it was. Looking through the peephole, the person at the door looked like Stanton in his policeman's uniform.

Bess's heart jumped with the shock. Opening the door, she asked, "Why, Stanton, what are you doing here?"

"May I come in? I'd like to talk to you," he said firmly.

Bess hesitated, Sheila was in the house. What was she supposed to do? But it would look suspicious if she refused to let him in and she couldn't think of a reason to keep him out.

She'll stay hidden. But why is he here?

"Sure," she said as she stepped aside. "Would you like to sit down?" she offered, pointing to the couch and shutting the door.

"Bess, I'll come to the point," he said standing next to her. "Is Sheila here?"

Bess was shocked by the question, the directness of it and it frightened her. How could he possibly assume such a thing?

"Sheila? What are you talking about? Why would she be here, after all this time?" she questioned, her heart pounding with fear of discovery.

"I need to know, Bess. It would be very foolish of her to come back here, after all this time, and endanger all of us."

"What makes you think she's here?"

"First, Mrs. Bartlett called me today to tell me she saw the spitting image of Sheila, in short black hair, closing the blinds in this house, And then when I talked with Dr. Bishop, he told me you have a sick friend staying with you. It doesn't take much imagination to put it all together. You were her best friend, Bess. You're the first person she'd come to if she needed help. What is she doing here? Is she crazy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Bess said, trying to evade what was coming, her body tingling with apprehension. "Helen Smith is staying with me, a friend from college." It sounded so weak, such a lie.

It was all falling apart and exposure was imminent.

"Bess, I'm not here to hurt her, but to get her out of here. She can't stay!" he said firmly.

Bess was silent. What could she say?

"Why is she here?" he demanded again.

"To see my children," Sheila said walking into the room with her cane. "I won't leave without at least seeing them, Stanton!" she said firmly, stoically, and with resolve.

Stanton looked her up and down, and then his face softened. He could see what the last ten years had done to her. "So, you've gotten your memory back, have you?" he said quietly.

Both Bess and Sheila were shocked that he knew she'd lost it.

He continued, "Yes, I know what happened to you. I've been keeping an eye on you for years."

Sheila could no longer stand and collapsed into the nearest chair. Bess went over and stood by her friend.

"You have to leave. If I can find out so easily that you're here, so can my brother!" Stanton warned sternly.

"Stanton... I'm not leaving, not yet. And if you think I don't know the danger I'm in, then you were blind all those years I was with Braxton. I'm terrified. But, I didn't abandon my girls willingly then, and I won't do it now. Yes, I have my memory back... all of it. And I still won't leave them. Not without letting them know how much I love and miss them," she said as tears swam in her eyes, and the grief of her long separation making her desperate.

Stanton understood only too well. He had come to love the girls as his own, and he could imagine just how much she meant it.

Taking a seat on the couch he asked, "Well, what can I do to help you, then? We have to resolve this quickly if I'm going to keep all of us safe."

"Can I see them, please?" she begged.

"Of course. And it's not as bad as you think, either. The girls know all about you. I've told them as much as I could, over the years, and they want to keep you as safe as I do."

"They know all about me? How?"

"When you first disappeared, Braxton was unable to find you, because your car and everything about you had been destroyed in that fire. He checked the hotels, airports and bus terminals... everything except the hospitals for some reason. I guess it never occurred to him that something could have happened to you. So you weren't discovered."

"And by the time I came on the scene, a few years later, you were in the nursing home without any memory of who you were. I found you there and when I talked with you, I realized you had no memory of us, of Brandon Creek, or anything from your past. You were safe, but unable to handle the situation here or protect the girls. I talked with Dr. Cranston, the man in charge of your case, and he told me the extent of your injuries, that it was unlikely that you would ever remember your past. It wasn't impossible, but very unlikely that your memory would ever return."

"That's when I went back, determined to get the girls away from my brother. And I did, Sheila. Jean and I love them as if they were our own. And I believe they're happy with us. But I also know they miss you and need you, as any child needs their own mother. But, you weren't able to be their mother. You didn't even know them, or remember the situation with your husband."

"Then I learned that your nurse and friend, Marie, was taking you to Florida to live with her. Content that you were still safe, I had a detective friend of mine check on you once in a while. I kept track of you that way. And then suddenly today, I get a call from Mrs. Sally Bartlett next door, and before I know it, I'm taking emergency leave from work and driving frantically over here to find out what's going on before something happens... something that we might all regret."

The women sat in stunned silence, trying to take it in.

"Now, I've got to figure a way to resolve this and get you out of here."

"Now, WE have to find a way to resolve it," Sheila corrected him.

Stanton smiled, "Yes, we... I get it. But, it's been so long since you were a part of life around here. I'm glad you have your memory back and I want you to see the girls. But we'll have to think this through... and tonight!"

Together At Last

"PACK YOUR THINGS and get into the cruiser, Sheila. I'm taking you home to see the girls and talk this over with Jean right now. We can decide later where this is going to take us," Stanton said.

"But is that safe? What if Braxton sees me?" she worried.

"He's never been over to our place, even to see the girls. And I haven't seen my father or Jed at our place for a long time. It's possible, but not very likely, especially this time of night. And it would look funny for me to come back here again. The neighbors will probably talk as it is. I don't have very many reasons to come over here," he explained.

"Can Bess come?" Sheila asked, wanting her friend by her side.

"Do you think that's wise? We don't know how this is going to play out and I'd feel better if she was out of this."

Bess spoke up, "But, I could take my medical bag and appear as if I'm going on a call with you," she said, wanting to go, to see the outcome. It was better than staying here and wondering. She had enough of not knowing ten years ago. "And I could help with the girls, if they need me."

Sheila looked hopefully at Stanton as he replied, "It's up to you, Bess. You know the risk, as well as I. But, if we're going let's get it done, and right now," he said sternly. "And Sheila, take out those contacts. I want your vision clear and responsive tonight."

Bess ran to get her things, while Sheila went to her room to do the same. Having just arrived she had barely unpacked. Taking out her contacts, she put them in their case and threw them into her purse. Then she tossed her things back into her suitcase, closing it. Looking around the room to make sure she had everything, she turned off the light, and returned to the living room where she found Bess waiting.

"I'll take your bag," her friend offered. "It might look better if I was carrying it, along with my medical bag."

"I want you both to walk normally out to the squad car and get in," Stanton informed them. "Bess, I want you in front with me. Sheila, I'm putting you in the back. Just sit in the corner. You won't be easily seen back there. Got it?"

Sheila acknowledged with a nod, her heart pounding. Everything was moving so fast and the anticipation of seeing her girls made her tingle all over.

The porch light was on as the three left the house. Bess quickly locked her front door, as Stanton escorted the tall, thin woman, with the cane to the back of his cruiser.

Bess quickly ran to the car, giving Stanton the small suitcase. As he put it in the trunk, the nurse jumped into the passenger seat. To anyone looking, it might seem like an emergency call.

Starting the powerful car, the policeman backed it out onto the street and took off, the engine humming. Within a few minutes they were out of town and on the ridge. Not far from town, the vehicle slowed as it pulled up to a modest home, with a large yard and a wonderful vista of the valley below. Sheila watched Stanton push a garage door opener, soon the car was inside and secure.

She asked, unsure, "Do you want me to stay here until you can talk with Jean and the girls?"

"Not necessary," was his reply. "Jean and the girls will be surprised. That's to be expected. But Jean wouldn't want me to pussy foot around and spare her in this. She'll tell us how she feels, when the time comes and be honest about it. That's how she is. But, she has always told me that she wished you could be a part of the girl's lives, and now you will be. The only thing I don't know is how."

Walking through the kitchen door, from the attached garage, Stanton called, "Jean... I'm home and we have company."

A beautiful, petite woman with long, dark, slightly graying hair falling to her shoulders, walked into the kitchen with a large, friendly smile, and gave her husband a hug, kissing him fondly on the cheek as she commented, "I thought you were working tonight."

Stanton smiled warmly at this wife, as he put his arm around her, "Something's come up."

"Hi, Bess," she said warmly as she noticed her standing in the kitchen. Then she saw the other woman.

In burst the girls, tall, beautiful and full of life. "Uncle Stan!" they chimed. As they hugged him, they too stopped and looked at the woman standing near Bess.

Abruptly, Jodi the oldest turned pale as she stared at the woman. The eyes, her face, old memories were stirring.

"Girls, I've brought a visitor," Stanton began.

"Mom?... Mom!" Jodi cried, ecstatic with the discovery, running into the arms of the woman whose tears were flowing.

Candice stood shocked, then looked at her uncle for answers, then back at Jodi and the woman holding her. As the woman looked up, her eyes full of love and affection for her as well, she too remembered the woman who had tried to protect them so long ago and had vanished so mysteriously from her life.

Candice didn't say anything, but flew to her. She had missed her so much, had wanted her for so long and now she was here, for real, in their home. The three held onto each other, not believing it was real, but so grateful it was.

Bess had tears in her eyes. She was so happy for her friend.

"Surprised?" Stanton whispered into Jean's ear as she watched the drama unfolding. "Where are the boys?"

Jean said softly, "They're playing with the Nintendo. I thought you said she had lost her memory!"

Stanton smiled lovingly at his wife, "Yes, until a few days ago."

"But, what about Braxton? Does he know?" she asked worried.

"Not yet, and if I can help it, not ever," he said firmly. "But that's not likely is it? The whole town will know before morning if Sally Bartlett has anything to say about it."

"Sally! Good grief... the town gossip. How does she know?"

"She saw Sheila at the window today and called me. We need to sit down and discuss what's best for the girls, and their mother. Whatever happens, her location must never be revealed. It would be the end of her," he said as he looked his wife in the eyes, watching her reaction. He kissed her gently on her forehead when the worry lines started to appear.

"She'll be all right, we'll see to that," he continued to talk to her softly.

"I know. But, you can't expect me to be happy about all of this, can you?"

"Can't I? If we love them, it's not about how we feel, but what's best for them, isn't it?" he said lovingly.

Jean huffed, knowing he was right, but she loved the girls so. She had been planning on helping Candice with her first prom and Jodi with her second, a month later. There had been years of caring for them, both in sickness and health, heartache and love, and ever growing, maturing. How could she not have her heart torn?

"Let's sit down and decide what to do," he said decisively, as they all gathered around the kitchen table. Jean made coffee and the discussions began.

That night they shared some of their life stories and chatted about the possibilities. It was finally given over to the girls to decide what they wanted to do. They were old enough to decide their fate.

The girls knew their mother couldn't stay, and now that she was here, they couldn't be parted from her. They knew it and their uncle and aunt could see it too.

The girls looked at their Aunt Jean, unable to voice their request. They loved her too much to hurt her. How could they ask?

But Jean also knew them well. Well enough to know what they needed and desired the most, and also understanding that it was hard for them to ask.

"If you think that we won't miss you, or that we don't love you, then you don't know anything. But I can see what needs to be done. You need to be with your mother, and if you're going, it has to be now, before anything can interfere or go wrong," she said tearfully.

Jodi and Candice ran to her, hugging her.

"Now run to your rooms, take only the things you can carry in one suitcase. They're on the top shelf in the hall closet. If we can, we'll send you the rest of your things later. Go on! Get it done."

The girls ran out of the room to pack.

"How will we keep in touch?" Sheila asked. "I want to be able to let the girls keep in touch."

"It's not wise to do too much of it, Sheila. We both know that letters, phone calls, all forms of communications can be traced," Stanton stated.

Jean buried her face in her hands, weeping with the realization that she may not be able to see or hear from the girls for a very long time. Stanton put his arms around his wife, as she leaned into him for his strength.

Then a thought occurred to him. "Here, let me give you the mailing address of my office. You can reach us there and it would be a safer place to receive any contacts from you. I'll be sure to destroy any reference to your location and I can bring the rest here. Just be sure in all your correspondence not to mention anything about your location or places nearby. Be sure to tell the girls. Can you do that for us?"

"Of course," Sheila replied, realizing how cut off they were going to be, and regretting the necessity of it.

"You'll have to keep Bess out of this too," he continued sadly as he looked at Sheila's friend. "You can send her a letter, once in a while. And I'll see that she gets it, minus the envelope. But we need to be cautious that your location remains a secret among us."

They all agreed.

"It won't be long before the girls are of age. They can come back and see you then," Sheila offered.

"No!" Stanton said firmly. "They mustn't do that! Unless something happens to my brother, you need to stay out of his reach, all of you. Maybe we can take a vacation to a nearby state, and you can join us there. That's doable, I think. At least we can look forward to that," he said, grieving from the loss of the girls he had grown to love and protect.

"Thank you both for stepping in and helping my children," Sheila said emotionally. "If it wasn't for you... " she left the rest unsaid.

The girls walked in with their suitcases, with their cousins close behind.

"What's going on Dad?" Adam, their oldest son asked.

"Yeah, Dad. What's up? Jodi said they're leaving?" Marcus, his youngest son added.

"Boys, this is your Aunt Sheila. Say hello," he commanded.

When the boy had complied, he added, "Now say goodbye to the girls. They're leaving to live with their mother. You know the situation with Uncle Braxton, so there's nothing more to be said, just that the girls are going to live with her, as they should, and we may not see them for a very long time."

"But Mom's been their mother!" Adam protested.

"Adam! That's enough. This is hard enough without you adding to it. The decision has been made and for the best in my opinion. You would want to be with your mother, if it was you in their shoes, wouldn't you?"

Adam and Marcus agreed, but it was hard to say goodbye after growing up together.

"Where are you going?" asked Marcus.

"You must never find out!" Stanton said decisively. "If your uncle ever found them... you don't want him to, do you?"

Both boys shook their heads no. They could see the old fear in the girl's eyes returning, and it bothered them.

"I'm so sorry. I wish it wasn't this way. I wish we could stay," Sheila said sadly, with tears in her eyes.

"We understand. Those of us who know where you're going won't tell a soul. We'll keep you safe. And you girls must never discuss us, or anything about Brandon Creek and your life here to anyone, promise?" he continued.

The girls nodded in agreement, the grief of separation visible on their faces, as their mother came close to comfort them.

"Keep your life with your mother separate from this one, and you should be all right. God willing, we'll get to see each other again someday."

"What about school tomorrow?" Candice asked. "What about our friends. And Steve! You'll have to tell Steve I can't go to the dance with him. What will you tell everyone?"

"We'll tell them the truth. That you've gone to live with your mother," Stanton said firmly.

"Won't that make Braxton mad?" Sheila asked in fear.

"Probably, but there's nothing he can do about it," he replied, his jaw fixed, his anger rising. Then he relented, and you could see him trying to relax. Resolutely he remarked, "Let's leave it all in God's hands, shall we? He's done a pretty good job up to now, hasn't He?"

"Speaking of God," Sheila said, "I forgot about Pastor Andrew in all of this. Has anything ever been found out about what happened to him?"

"No! And that's why we aren't going to take any chances with you or the girls!" Stanton said inflexibly, still believing that his brother had something to do with the man's disappearance.

Silence filled the room as everyone thought about the Godly man who had loved them, and now was gone.

"Let's get going. I'm taking them down to the airport and putting them on the next plane out of here," Stanton said, knowing the longer he put this off, the harder it was going to be. And the quicker Sheila was out of here, the safer they all would be.

"Can we go with you to the airport?" asked Adam, not prepared for the quick separation that was taking place.

"I think it best that you stay here. There's not enough room in the car for everyone, and I'm nervous with Braxton out there, somewhere. No. You stay here," their father decided.

"I'll stay with the boys," Jean suggested as tears of parting started.

"I think you should go with us Bess," Stanton suggested. "I'll drop you off when we get back."

"Of course," she replied.

The girls tearfully said goodbye to their Aunt Jean, embracing her one more time. Then giving their cousins a quick hug, they picked up their suitcases and followed their mother out to the family car.

Realizing they were leaving this loving home for a very long time, maybe forever was hard, very hard. Facing an unknown future by going to a place they didn't know and living among people that were strangers to them was daunting. But they would be with their mother, and that's all they cared about. They wanted to be with her, no matter what.

* * * *

At the airport boarding gate, Bess turned to Sheila and said, "So much has happened in such a short time. Send me a letter or two, will you please? I don't want to lose you again."

Hugging her friend, she wondered if she would ever see her again.

The girls hugged their uncle extra hard, and then turned to follow their mother, carrying their suitcases. Giving the stewardess their boarding passes, they turned to wave goodbye one more time, before the small family disappeared into the jet bridge and their new life so far away.

Stanton and Bess stood at the windows of the airport, waiting for the doors to close. Soon the large airliner was secure and pulling away from the terminal with its engines revving. Ten minutes later it soared into the air. They were gone, on their way and together at last.

Around three in the morning, Stanton returned home. Jean was waiting up for him. "Did everything go okay?"

"Yes. Sheila and the girls are on their way home, far from here and Bess is home safe too."

"It's going to be so strange around here without them," she said sadly. "I had no time to prepare for this."

"Yes, I know. Gone... but not ever from our hearts, nor from our love. It's because we love them that we could do this," he said with grief in his voice. "Are the boys in bed?"

"Yes. We stayed up for quite a while talking. I think they understand. But, it's not going to be easy, is it?"

Stanton shook his head no, as his eyes misted.

Jean hugged him and they went to bed, to face the next day as it unfolded, but knowing the girls and Sheila were safe for now.

* * * *

The next day, Stanton went over to the butcher shop to talk to his brother. He knew he needed to get this over with, before his brother heard the news from someone else and it got out of hand.

Walking through the store, across the old wooden floors of the mercantile, he saw his brother behind the counter, selling Mr. Crenshaw some meat. When he was done, Braxton looked up to see his brother standing there in his policeman's uniform.

"Need some meat, little brother?" Braxton asked with a sarcastic smirk.

"Before you hear it from anyone, I'm here to tell you that Sheila was here and she's left with the girls. They're gone now and better off with their mother," Stanton stated.

Braxton's antagonistic look turned off like a switch, his face emotionless. He asked coldly, "Where is she?"

"Don't even go there. No one's going to tell you a thing and endanger her or the girls."

"She's my wife!"

"You lost that privilege long ago when you crushed her spirit, terrified her and drove her away. You couldn't even earn the love of your own children. The girls were and still are terrified of you and you know it."

Braxton was ashen, quiet, and sullen.

Stanton didn't know what his brother was going to do about this, but he knew he had one more thing to say, "What ever happened to Pastor Andrew, Braxton? He certainly didn't go away with Sheila. What happened to that kind, good man of God that tried to help you both? Where is he?"

Braxton actually turned pale. "How am I supposed to know!" he blurted out, alarmed at the question. "What makes you think I had anything to do with his disappearance?"

"Only that you wanted them both dead on the day Sheila fled for her life, that's all. She escaped. But evidently he didn't. Where is he big brother? Where did you put his body?"

"I think you'd better leave," Braxton stated, shaken and scared for the first time in his life. The look on his young brother's face said it all. His brother actually thought that he was capable of killing someone.

But wasn't he? Hadn't he tried to kill his wife? Braxton's heart trembled with the realization of what he had become. He needed to get out of here, to think, to get out in the mountains where he felt whole and complete.

Annual Hunt

A FEW DAYS later at the Meriwether home, after Ed had gotten off of work, he and Pastor Tom were in the kitchen talking about the upcoming trip, almost a week away. They were waiting for the rest of the hunting party to arrive.

Within the next half hour, the rest of the men had arrived and were serving themselves coffee or taking a soda from the kitchen counter and joining them at the table. During the discussion of what to take, who's rig it was going in, and who was going with whom, the phone rang. Ed got up and answered it.

"Hello."

"Hi Ed, its Braxton. Are you going elk hunting this season?"

"Yeah, we're finalizing our plans now."

"Who's going?" Braxton asked.

"Pastor Tom Madison, Fred Hitch, Ross Spencer, Harley Comstock, and myself."

"Mind if I come along?" Braxton probed. "I need to get away for a while and get myself an elk."

"Got a tag?"

"Sure. Get one every year."

How could he answer? Braxton and his brother Jed used to go with them all the time, until his marriage with Sheila had fallen apart and she disappeared on him. This was the first time Braxton had showed any interest in going again and he wasn't sure what to say.

He missed his old friend, but he had changed. Braxton's drinking had gotten out of hand for a while. He seemed to be handling it better now. At least, if he was drinking a lot, it wasn't as noticeable as it had been. But you never knew with him and Ed didn't want to deal with his drinking and his temper on such a long trip away from home.

"Brax... It's been so long. I'd love to have you come, but there won't be any alcohol allowed on this trip. Are you okay with that?"

Braxton seemed to hold his breath, then he responded somewhat coldly, "No problem... doesn't bother me one way or the other."

Ed wondered, but he felt God prompting him to accept and reach out to this man.

"Good. Love to have you," Ed told him as he gave him the time and place to meet.

Then he continued, "Fred was going to squeeze in with one of us. Would you mind taking him in your rig?"

"Sure, why not? Anything else?" he asked, apparently perturbed.

"We're using Ross's old tent again. It'll hold all of us, as you know, but it sure would be nice if you could bring your wood stove. It's bigger than his and we can keep the coffee hot on it."

"Sure," Braxton agreed, not sure he wanted to go after all. This trip was starting to bring back too many memories of what he wanted to forget.

But, he could always keep to himself, once he was out there. He just wanted to get away, back into the hills and hunt.

"Does Jed want to go?" Ed asked.

"Nah, he's helping Dad with the lodge this season."

"Okay, Brax. See you in a couple of days then."

When Ed hung up, he told the group that Braxton was coming.

It was received with curiosity from Pastor Tom who had never met the man in Pastor Andrew's journal, and the source of some of his pain.

Ross and Harley acknowledged his joining the group with a chorus of "sure", but their faces betrayed their worry.

While Fred was only too happy to have a ride and was content with whatever life threw his way. That was his nature.

"It's a good time to exercise the fruits of the Spirit, men," Ed suggested to the group.

Smiling, the men agreed and started talking about their trip again.

Only Fred looked puzzled.

What are they talking about? What fruit?

* * * *

On the day of the trip, they were up before the sun, gathered at Ed's place for a hot breakfast supplied by his wife Netti.

Braxton was standoffish, at first. But as the sharing of hunting stories started to circulate, he began to relax. Within time, he felt accepted in the group and the excitement of the trip began to affect him.

With a good meal under their belts and hot mugs of coffee in their hands, the men climbed into their rigs and started off.

It was a long trip, taking most of the day over a route they took every year. They followed the county roads out of the state, the dust rising until they reached Highway 26 in Wyoming where they joined the freeway east, winding among the mountains following the Snake River, south of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Then, about two hours into the trip they took an exit off the freeway and headed to Jensen's cut off. It was on private property with a security gate, barring passage to those without a key. Ed took his out and opened the gate, locking it securely behind them, once they were through.

Traveling through the ranch, they turned onto Bull Hollow and drove through the thick forest. Once in a while, grand vistas revealed mountains covered in snow and beautiful valleys below, as the road climbed and scaled the terrain.

Coming at last to Forest Route 10125, they traveled south for another hour, passing meadows among the thick timber, as their 4x4 rigs continued kicking up the dust.

They were headed toward an old campsite they liked to use, when they could get to it. It lay at the end of an old, unmarked, service road they knew well. The elk were plentiful in there, among the brush and ravines of Mount McDougal, where large open meadows provided easy grazing for the herds.

"It should be about another half hour," Ed told Pastor Tom as they turned down the last road on their trip, bumping and jostling over the rough terrain.

Several times they encountered washouts, which they were able to get over with their 4x4's, after tossing rocks and dirt into the deepest of the ruts. Several fallen trees were encountered lying across the road from past storms. Cutting them up quickly, they rolled them out of the way, having no room in the trucks for firewood, and continued on. The road finally dissolved into a large clearing. A forest of tall, giant trees surrounded the camp site, creating a wind break and protection from any unexpected weather.

Though arriving later than they had planned, they had plenty of time to set up camp. Getting out the huge white tent, the men put it up and got a fire going in the wood stove inside the tent, its black chimney poking through the roof as the smoke rose lazily into the late afternoon sky.

Cots were setup, sleeping bags thrown on top, while some of the men added large wool blankets for additional warmth and protection.

An aluminum table was set up inside, alongside a couple of Coleman stoves. Lanterns were placed nearby, while ice chests were brought in with their food and cold drinks, along with large jugs of clean water for drinking. A stream flowed nearby for washing.

A clothes line was strung up inside the tent for wet things. They knew they would have plenty of things to dry after walking in the snow higher up, or wading through small creeks and wetlands looking for their prey.

Aluminum chairs with canvas seats and backs were set up outside, for now, around the old, fire pit. Harley and Ross brought out the kindling box from the pickup and set it next to the old firewood stack, left from the previous year.

A short search obtained more wood, which was cut and stacked on the old pile. The pit was prepared and set ablaze. Before long, a large fire roared consuming the logs greedily, its flame licking the sky and warming the men.

As the sun set for the day, the men gathered around the campfire, sipping coffee or drinking pop and talked of past hunting trips. The wind sang softly in the trees, while the aroma of the fire awoke a sense of wellbeing and contentment, from being outdoors and in God's country.

They watched the flames flicking skyward as sparks and smoke swirled in a dance of its own, rising into the evening air.

"So, I understand this is your first time hunting Pastor Tom," Harley remarked.

"Well, not exactly. I went hunting with my dad when I was young. But this is my first attempt at it in this country, and as an adult. Not sure if being older will make any difference," Tom replied smiling.

"Where'd ya hunt before?" Fred asked curious.

"We lived in Africa at the time."

"Africa! No kidden... with lions, tigers, and bears, oh my?" Fred teased.

"Yep. Hunted Thomson's Gazelles mostly," Tom told them.

"Cool," Fred expressed his delight. "Did your dad ever get Buck Fever?"

"What's that?" asked Pastor Tom.

"That's when the hunter gets so excited and nervous that he can rarely hit anything," he explained, snickering. "Their mind and body fall to pieces at the sight of a buck and they may wound it, not hitting anything vital."

"I don't think my dad ever suffered from it. He was a good shot and was always careful when he hunted," Tom explained.

Harley brightened with a story.

"I'll never forget the time I was hunting out in Montana, near the Little Powder River, with a new hunter. I'll call him Chet to protect his identity," Harley grinned wisely.

"The scheduled hunt was actually over. It was early Saturday morning and everyone had left, except for Chet and me. We had the rig all packed and ready to go, but Chet wanted one last chance at filling his tag. Who couldn't blame him?"

"Anyway, I didn't mind staying for just a bit. We had an hour before dawn, which is the best time to hunt. So I gave him one more chance and dropped him off at the northwest corner of the ranch and told him I'd wait for him back at the pickup."

"We agreed to an hour hunt, so we could catch up with the others for breakfast."

"The time came and went, but still no Chet. I was thinking he'd be back any moment, when the sound of three rifle shots went off out in the distance."

"Oh boy, he's shooting, I said to myself. I quickly jumped the nearby fence and ran toward where I thought the shots had come from. After about a half mile, I came upon Chet's backpack and orange safety vest lying on the ground, but he was nowhere to be seen. That's odd, I thought to myself. He must be marking a spot."

"Continuing on, I soon found him on the backside of a saddle between two ridges. Chet was on the east side of the draw, searching. Oh no, I mumbled. He's lost it!"

"Meeting up with him, he pointed in the direction the buck had gone. He told me it couldn't have gone far. It was severely wounded. We spread out looking for it along the fence line. I expected to see it lying dead close by. Yet, there was nothing."

"Within a couple of minutes, Chet spotted it on the hillside across from the fence, bedded down at the bottom of the hill. Well, at least we'd found it I told myself."

"I grabbed my rangefinder and ranged the buck at 203 yards. There was open ground between us and the buck, so getting closer would be hard without spooking it."

"But, since we weren't that far away and within shooting distance, I told Chet to use the barbwire fence as a rest. He knelt down on his knees and placed his rifle against the fence post, along the barbwire. I grabbed my binoculars and anxiously watched the buck, waiting for Chet to take his shot."

"As the shot rang out, I was viewing through my binoculars and saw it clearly... the first shot was low, hitting the ground right below the buck's belly. The impact of the bullet spraying dirt up into its face as it lay there."

"The buck didn't even flinch! I couldn't believe it! It must be hurt really bad, I thought. Looking over at Chet, I could see he was already preparing to take another shot. This time it went high and over the buck's back, dirt flying everywhere. Still the animal didn't move. It must be dying. It's not going anywhere. So, we decided to get closer so Chet could put it out of its misery."

"Climbing the fence we cautiously walked toward the buck. Once we were within thirty yards of it, we stopped and I told Chet to finish it."

"Before he could get his sights settled on the buck, without warning, it jumped up and took off! The right hind leg flopping sideways as it ran, broken at the joint. What a sight. Boy were we surprised," Harley laughed.

"Chet reacted quickly as he regained his composure and shots sounded off rapidly. He was blasting away at the fleeing buck. It was wild. Bullets were flying and the buck was madly running through the sagebrush. After the barrage of bullets, it ran about another fifty yards and dove headfirst into a patch of tall sagebrush! Good, he's finally got it, I told myself!"

"As quickly as we could, we ran to the sage patch and there we found the buck lying on its side. For some reason, I had an odd feeling that the buck wasn't dead. I told Chet so and told him to put another round into it. How many bullets you got left, I asked him. He said he had only two. Well, I told him you've got enough to get the job done."

"We were about fifteen feet away from it by this time, when Chet took aim and shot. To my disbelief, he missed. I don't know if he missed because he was out of breath from all the running or the excitement was getting to him. All I knew was there was only one bullet left and this would be the last chance. I didn't have any with me, because I wasn't hunting. I had bagged my deer the day before."

"At this point I had a strong urge to shoot the buck myself. I started to ask for the rifle so I could finish the buck off, but then I realized that if I killed it, Chet would never have felt he did it by himself. This would be a tainted hunt for him, so to speak. So, I knew Chet had to do it on his own."

"Suddenly the buck raised it head and stood up again. With the last bullet in the chamber, Chet raised his rifle and shot. Down it finally went and for the last time."

"We went over and examined it and found several of the antler tines freshly shot off. We put all the puzzle pieces together and realized that Chet's barrage of shots had hit it in the knee, once in the hind quarter, grazed it two times across the belly and taken off three of its antlers. That's what knocked the buck silly and out cold for a short while, so he could finally finish the job."

"Chet had gone to the last morning of the hunt, to the very last minute, to the last chance to fill his tag, to the very last of his bullets, before finally taking down that buck. That's a first hunt for the storybooks!"

The men were now openly laughing at the follies of the new hunter, all except Pastor Tom, who thought it wasn't so funny.

What a gruesome story. I hope I'm a better shot then that.

"I sure hope my first shot, will be the only shot," he said firmly, concerned that he wouldn't waste the life of an animal he was hunting, nor take the chance of it running off and suffering.

"That's the best way to look at it Pastor," Ed said. "It's better to make sure of your shot, than miss and cause such turmoil. But, in the heat of the hunt it's not always that easy."

The men agreed and continued to share their hunting experiences.

Fred lit the cook stove and started dinner. After a good meal and friendly chatter around the fire, the men bedded down for the night to get a good night's sleep, before starting very early the next morning.

Hunting Elk

WAKING BEFORE DAWN, the men found fresh snow on the ground, their breath drifting on the morning air.

Dressed warmly in camouflaged hunting clothes, with bright orange safety vests and hats, they ate a hearty breakfast, drank hot coffee and made sure they had everything they needed for their quest.

The discussion that morning, in the dark before the dawn, was where they were going to hunt and with whom.

"I'm going to hunt alone, Ed," Braxton informed him.

"That's not a very good idea, Brax. What if you get into trouble out there? You should have someone with you."

"Nah, I'll be okay. I really want to be alone for a while," he replied as he picked up his gear and started off, using his flashlight. "See ya later today. I'll be back for dinner," he stated as he disappeared into the dark woods.

Harley and Ross took Fred with them as they started off for the north ridge, while Ed and Pastor Tom went east, toward the steep slopes of Dead Horse Ridge on Mount McDougal.

Walking through the forest in the dark was different, but not hard. Using their flashlights, Pastor Tom just watched where he was going and followed Ed.

They climbed for a while, working their way toward the top, always listening, looking for signs of fresh tracks in the snow patches, or dirt that had been newly moved, it being darker in color than the dirt around it.

As the night started to fade with the stars dimming and the pale light from the coming sun starting to illuminate the world around them, they neared their destination.

Turning off their flashlights, they stooped low, then crawled making their way to a boulder surrounded by brush for cover. They had made it to the top of the ridge before the sun.

Using their binoculars, "glassing" Ed called it, they looked for game below. The sky turned pink between the dark purple of the mountains in the distance and the cloud cover overhead, snow showers were expected for today.

Each man looked forward to getting out into God's country and experiencing the great outdoors. Pastor Tom wasn't an exception.

He loved the smell of the fresh air, the bite of the wind on his face, and the beauty all around him. He felt on top of the world as he viewed the great vistas of forests, valleys, ravines, and rivers below him. He watched as whips of clouds formed, emerging, rising and floating along the steep terrain.

It's so quiet out here.

Then in the distance, the sound of wild geese honking, floated on the air.

Romans 1:20 came to him, For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.

Tears of joy reflected in his eyes from the glory of God and his love for his Lord.

Wiping his eyes, he focused on the task at hand. Even if he didn't bag his elk on this trip, it was worth all the time he could put in, out here where God made Himself known to those who would look.

Hours later, with his feet sore and cold, he continued to follow his teacher and guide, but no elk. They had seen moose and even a few mule deer, but no elk.

"Let's go back to camp for a hot lunch and a big cup of coffee," Ed suggested as he noticed his friend's limping getting worse. "Sorry your boots are hurting you. Looks like your hiking boots aren't meant for this type of terrain. Good boots are very important when your feet are so vital out here. You'd better let me take a look at them when we get back into camp."

I bet it's over five miles back to the camp, Tom rationalized. Boy, I could injure my hand, arm or shoulder and make it back just fine, but if anything goes wrong with the feet, you're in trouble! You sure can't get very far on bad feet!

Every step he took was becoming more painful for him. He tried to keep up with Ed, but he couldn't walk very fast because of the pain. He tried to walk slowly, but that didn't help either.

You might as well get this over with and keep up, he told himself, walking faster.

He climbed over logs, wanting to stop and rest, but that would only delay his return to camp. He didn't want to be a burden on his first hunting trip with his friends.

They continued to descend steep terrain and then climbed back up onto the next ridge. It was a lengthy trek back to camp. By the end, Pastor Tom was taking short decisive steps, hobbling in searing pain all the way to a chair near the fire pit.

When the boots were taken off, his feet revealed blisters that had broken and some were even rubbed so raw they were bleeding.

"Gee Pastor Tom, that's the worst crop of blisters I've ever seen. I think you better sit out today and probably a couple more, just to give your feet a chance to heal. Did you bring any other shoes?"

"Just a pair of sneakers Marty tossed in as an afterthought, just in case my feet got wet," he said smiling, grateful now that he had them. But, he also knew no matter what he put on his feet, even soft, fluffy slippers... it was going to be painful to walk.

Ed got out the first-aid kit, the large one they always brought with them, and applied antibacterial salve, then wrapped Tom's feet in gauze and went into the tent for an extra pair of wool socks and a blanket. He put the socks on the poor man's feet and wrapped his legs in the blanket, after propping them up on a cooler he had drug over.

Stacking more wood into the pit, it soon was radiating heat, warmth, and comfort from the fire, as the smoke swirled around with its acrid smell in a gentle breeze.

Tom and Ed ate lunch by the fire. The hot coffee tasted wonderful. Ed talked about some of his past trips and the follies they all had experienced at one time or another.

"Are you going back out?" Tom asked.

"No. Not right now. The best time to hunt elk is in the early morning hours or a couple hours before dark, when they're out grazing. They'll be bedded down by now and well hidden. They normally aren't seen in the light of day, at least not during hunting season. I'll see about going out with one of the others tonight."

"I wish I wasn't holding you up," Tom expressed his concern.

"Told you before, things like this have happened to all of us. I'll get your sneakers," Ed commented as he got up and went into the tent.

"They're in the bottom of my backpack," Tom called after him.

Returning with the shoes, Ed knelt down and gently put the shoes on Pastor Tom's feet, after pulling out the shoelaces in an effort to make them as big as possible. They fit over the bandaged feet just fine. But, it was the walking in them that was going to be difficult.

Voices carried on the air as Tom and Ed looked up to see Harley and Fred emerging from the woods supporting Braxton between them. Ross followed with the hunting gear.

"What happened?" Pastor Tom asked, noticing Braxton was hopping on his left leg between his rescuers.

"Fell off a log covered in some ice and snow, wrenched my leg as it got caught in-between it and another tree. Didn't even get to do nothing, but just lay there trapped for hours, wondering what I was going to do," the man said in anger, frustrated. He was helped to a chair.

"Couldn't even use my gun to summon help," he complained. "It fell a few feet from me. If it wasn't for these guys spotting me and coming over to find out why I was just lying there, I'd be there right now!"

"God has a way of taking care of the foolish," Ed told his friend.

Braxton just glared at him.

"Better let me look at it," Ed suggested, knelling down.

The injured man remained still as Ed pulled up his pant leg. He could see the swelling and discoloration in full swing.

"Gonna have to cut this boot off, Brax, to get a better look. Once out, it's going to swell up like a balloon."

"You're not going to cut these boots! They cost me a fortune!"

"Something might be broken. Pulling off your boot is only going to do more damage."

"I don't care. It's not broken anyway. It's just a bad sprain," Braxton said, cursing some.

Ed untied his laces and pulled them out of the boot, spreading it apart as much as he could. He paused to get his nerve up to pull the boot off.

"Oh here, let me do it!" Braxton stated and leaned down to pull it off, but the pain was too much that he fell back in the chair, cringing in agony.

"Hold onto his leg Fred, while I try and get this off," Ed said.

With some effort and a lot of crying out in pain and profanity from the man who wanted to be left alone, the boot finally came off.

Fred brought over a bucket full of creek water, while Harley adding ice from the food chest. As Braxton's foot was immersed, he took in a sharp breath from the sting of the icy water.

After a while, Ed removed his foot from the frigid water and inspected it closely. He moved it around, assessing its mobility and function.

"I can't guarantee you haven't broken this Brax. I can take you into Jackson Hole and have it x-rayed," he suggested.

"No. It'll be okay if I stay off of it, even if it's broken, which I don't think it is," he said. "I just wish I could have got some hunting in. You sure you don't have anything in camp stiff to drink?"

"We're sure."

"Not even a beer?"

"Nope."

Frustrated Braxton sat with a frown on his face, angry with himself, angry with life in general, and angry he had even come.

The men discussed breaking camp and getting Brax to a doctor and Tom home, where his feet could heal better, but Tom didn't want them to stop hunting on his account. Everyone had taken time off from work, spent good money for supplies, tags, ammunition, and had looked forward to this trip all year. Besides, they really needed the meat to help out at home.

Braxton refused to go to the hospital and wouldn't say one way or the other about breaking camp. This trip hadn't worked out at all and he remained sullen.

Harley went to his truck and opened the driver's door, pulling the back of his bench seat forward, looking down into his ropes, come-a-long and tools he stored on the floor back there. Sure enough, the old metal crutch was there. He had put it in there for just this type of emergency.

Digging it out from under his stuff, he offered it to Braxton.

"So you can get around a little better on your own," he told the angry man.

"Thanks," Braxton said as he took it.

The men decided to stay, at least until the next morning when they could re-evaluate the situation. That would give them the opportunity to go back out again tonight, maybe filling a least one tag.

The weather remained overcast, cold and gray, but no snow fell.

* * * *

That afternoon, the men relaxed around the fire talking and sharing more hunting stories, a favorite pastime.

Ed shared a time when he and his friends Brian and Rusty had been hunting up on Harrington Mountain.

"Rusty and I had several opportunities to get a good buck that day, but nothing seemed to mesh and they all had gotten away."

"After hiking for most of the day, we met up with Brian back at the pickup. The bolt mechanism on his rifle wasn't working properly, so he couldn't use his gun anymore. Good thing he didn't see anything... it would've driven him mad!"

The men nodded, agreeing whole heartedly, relating to Ed's story.

"Instead of heading back to camp, we decided to venture on for an evening hunt. So, we drove out onto one of the Forest Service roads, located on the west side of Slug Creek."

"Slug Creek, huh? What a name!" snickered Fred. "What kinda name is that?"

"I don't know," smiled Ed agreeing. "When I first saw that name on the topographical map, it made me wonder too. How in the world do some places get named? Was this area infested so badly with those slow moving, slimy creatures that they had to name the creek after them? Or did some poor soul get into a fight and get 'slugged' so hard that he fell into the creek and drown?"

All the men were smiling, while Fred continued to snicker.

"Anyway, back to my story. Late into the evening we noticed several deer off the logging roads, but nothing with antlers. As the evening light diminished, signaling the end of another hunting day, we resigned ourselves to the fact we would have to quit and try again the next day for those elusive bucks. Unloading our rifles, we put the bullets into our pockets as we climbed into the truck and started off for camp, about 15 miles away. The dirt road led us out of the trees and onto the crest of an open ridge, mostly covered with dry, golden field grass."

"We were almost off the mountain, with only a mile to go before the main road, when I looked at my watch and noticed that there was only a few minutes left of legal hunting time. Suddenly Brain hit the brakes and we came to a sliding halt."

"In one swift moment, everything changed for us. 'There's a buck!' he said as all three of us spotted it at the same time. It must have come up from below. The first thing I noticed was the spread of the antlers, which were as wide as his ears, a descent buck. Not huge, but a buck that we wouldn't want to pass up. It froze in place, starring at us as it stood in a broadside position and only seventy-five yards in front of the rig."

"With my heart beating with excitement and without any hesitation, I anxiously tried to hurry and get out of the truck. Reaching down to find the passenger door handle, I couldn't find it. The three of us were squished in the front seat so tight, my right leg was in the way. With my fingers searching frantically, I tried to feel anything that resembled a door handle. I felt blindly every curve and edge of the side panel, reading it like Braille, with the precious moments ticking away. Finally, I found it and bailed out. Rusty was right behind me."

"Because Brian's gun wasn't working, he stayed in the truck and watched from behind the steering wheel."

"Once out of the truck, I reached into my pocket, grabbed two bullets and chambered the ammo. Rusty threw one round into his gun. I swiftly stepped ahead of the pickup, knelt down and drew the crosshairs of my rifle scope on the vital area of the buck."

"Be calm, I told myself. Hold it right behind the shoulder, hold it... steady. I was mentally saying to myself don't mess this up. I now had perfect aim and my rifle was steady as a rock. This is it. It's time to squeeze the trigger. Gently I squeezed... nothing. A little harder... HARDER! NO!!! My gun won't fire. What's wrong with my rifle now? 'Shoot him!' I told Rusty. 'My rifle's messed up'."

"I looked down at my gun and saw that the safety was on. I couldn't believe it! But to my surprise, Rusty didn't fire his rifle either. Incredibly, his safety was on too! We weren't used to hunting right out of the truck."

"Brian was watching all of this from inside the truck and he was in disbelief. Here was this buck standing there broadside, a super easy shot and we weren't shooting or doing anything. 'Shoot, shoot! Why aren't you guys SHOOTING!' he's yelling at us."

"You can't expect a buck to hang around forever and he didn't. By the time Rusty and I had our safeties off, the buck was leaping over the edge and heading out of sight."

"Not wavering, we both ran over to the edge and saw the buck at full speed going further and further down the side toward the bottom!"

"It's amazing how thoughts can come into one's mind when the moment is full of intense action and excitement. The first thing I thought of was NOT AGAIN! Visions ran through my mind of the night before, when I missed that four-point. Another one's getting away, I despondently thought. I can't let this happen again!"

"Not giving up, my eyes and aim were tracking the buck again. As the buck was half way down the hill, I took another shot. But, my bullet hit the only tree in the open hillside as the buck darted behind it. Rusty fired and missed, as well."

"Reaching into his pocket, Rusty pulled out another bullet to load into his gun. Without taking his eyes off his target, he tried to chamber it... but something was wrong. The bullet wouldn't go in. Rusty was fumbling around so much, he had to relent and take his eyes off the buck to look down to see what the problem was. To his bewilderment, he was trying to put an Alkaline AA Battery into his rifle. Rusty was now completely and totally done. It was mentally over for him. He was wasted. What a shocking revelation."

"After running full speed all the way to the bottom, now about 200 yards away, the buck stopped momentarily in the dark shadows of the forest below. He took one last look at us, as he glanced over his back, probably snickering and then disappeared into the trees. Not a very good day of hunting, I can tell you."

"With each hunting experience, there is always something to learn. Even though Rusty was an expert hunter, he quickly learned not to put his batteries in with his bullets, and we both learned to make sure our safety was off when we needed our guns the most," Ed concluded.

The men had enjoyed that story immensely, especially Fred.

Some of men went into the tent to rest until the evening hunt, including Pastor Tom. His first day had been exhausting and he wanted to put his feet up.

Braxton limped around on the crutch and then sat in his truck, brooding.

The Encounter

AFTER DINNER THAT evening, about two hours before dark, the men left to hunt again.

Braxton was resting by the fire pit as Pastor Tom joined him, offering him a cup of coffee and trying not to spill it as he gingerly limped over to the chair next to the man with the crutch.

Sitting there in silence for a while, they watched the flames growing bright as the sun began to sink below the mountains, each man lost in his own thoughts.

One was reflecting on how bad his life had turned out and wondering how it could have been different, while the other thought about the journal he had read, speculating about the man next to him and if it was possible to help him.

Breaking the silence Braxton turned to Pastor Tom and asked, "Are you happy with your life, Pastor?"

Tom, surprised by the abruptness of the question answered honestly, "Yes. I can say that I am. How about you? Are you happy?"

Braxton sat there looking into the fire, brooding, so unhappy and hurt by life, so lost. Then he said softly, almost inaudibly, "Not like I wanted to be."

Pastor Tom sat there trying to decide what to do. He asked for wisdom and discernment from God. He decided to see if he could help, to step over that line of social safety and risk ridicule and contempt to help another... in love, if he could.

"Braxton, do you want to talk about what's bothering you? I'd like to help if I can."

"What makes you think there's anything wrong," he asked defensively.

"Isn't there?"

"How could you understand unhappiness, loss or bitterness?" the man said in pain. "Have you ever lost anything that you loved?"

Tom sat quietly, remembering long ago of another time and place with those that he had loved very much.

He said softly, looking into the flames, "When I was seven, I lived on a farm in Kenya with my parents. I had a wonderful father, good, strong, and honest... a man of character and faith. My mother was very loving and affectionate, always laughing even when life was hard, and a good strong Christian woman as well. Then the war came to our place in the form of angry, merciless men. In the kitchen they shot my father down, ransacked and burned our place, and killed my mother somewhere down the road, horribly... at least that's what I was told by the woman who found her body and rescued us."

Tom turned to Braxton, "I know what it's like to lose someone so close, so dear, that the loss will remain with me the rest of my life," he said hurting, missing his mother and father still.

Braxton's face changed as he witnessed the tears in the pastor's eyes. Then Tom continued, "But I also possess a deeper love, a true love for the God who made me and keeps me until my time to leave this earth. Then I'll be with those I love again."

Braxton could see the deep loss this man was feeling, yet he also could see a peace in the man, one he didn't understand. He craved that peace, that contentment in life. But how could he have it? His bitterness wasn't easily moved.

"And you can love a God who allowed your parents to be killed in such a horrible way? How can you sit there and tell me you love Him, when He permitted that to happen?"

"God didn't do it, Braxton. It was the evil in man that did it. They chose to hate. They chose to kill. They chose a path of their own choosing and not God's. His way is the way of love, peace, kindness and light. If we all lived His way, my parents would still be alive, we would all have the love we so deeply desire, and the happiness that eludes a lot of us."

"You don't know what I've been through," Braxton expressed, hurting.

"I know some of it. At least what is written down in Pastor Andrew's journal."

"Journal! What journal?" Braxton was shocked and suddenly afraid of exposure, of what might be written there.

"I believe Pastor Andrew started that journal as a way of coping with the pain he was feeling from those around him, by those that were trying to control him. He had the journal hidden in the wall of his study, not meaning for anyone to see it, I'm sure. It was a tool he used for working out his problems. I only found it this summer when we were working on the office."

"You had no right to read it, did you?" Braxton stated accusingly, hurt, indignant.

"He's been gone for ten years, Braxton, under mysterious circumstances. It was necessary to read it to understand what might have happened to him."

Braxton glared at the fire, wanting to leave... to get out of there, to escape.

"Braxton, won't you let me help you?"

The man remained silent.

"I do understand the pain of loss. Almost everyone has suffered that type of pain, in one way or another. But, some of us seek to control others, to provide ourselves with comfort, security and safety as a result."

"It's been my experience that controlling people, even those who think they are doing good, to those who cross the line and physically demand obedience from others, have one thing in common. They create resentment and even fear in those they love. Love is never returned. And because control causes emotional damage and even harm, their relationships suffer, and even cease to exist."

"Are you saying that parents shouldn't control their children?" he responded crossly to the young preacher.

"No. When you teach a child you guide them, not control them. And sometimes you have to discipline them to protect them, but it's always done in love. And it should be done in God's true love and not with the worldly love that most of us know, from our own selfish viewpoints."

Pastor Tom paraphrased from his heart, 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, "If you wish to love, you must be patient and kind. You must never be jealous of another, or boastful and proud, hurting those around you. You can never put someone down, nor seeks to satisfy your own needs over those of another. If you truly love, you won't get angry easily, nor keep a mental list of the wrongs done. God's love doesn't delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects. It always trusts. It always perseveres. Love never fails."

Braxton cringed, his heart breaking from the images of his past. He tried to hide his grief, as he furiously wiped away the tears.

He could see clearly how he had destroyed his marriage with his jealous rages, his beatings of Sheila and the fear she returned to him, instead of the love he wanted. He hadn't been patient or kind. His relationship with her, or with anyone, had always been about him and how he had been treated. He didn't care about any of them, just about himself. And the list of wrongs he kept in his heart was such a long list. He had even resorted to revenge, hurting those who hurt him when he had the chance, to pay back the wrongs done.

Pastor Tom said softly, "There's only one thing in this life that really matters Braxton, and that's letting God save us. We need to open our hearts to His True Love and let Him cleans us from the sin that is destroying us, each day we live without Him. Evil eats away at us, corrupting us, hardening our hearts to the point of death. And with the full weight of our sin attached to us, it follows us to the grave, unless we repent."

"Only He can save us from that fate," he continued, "and all we have to do is accept Him into our hearts and let His wonderful, loving Spirit teach us His ways, His righteousness, and His True Love."

Braxton moaned, covering his face with his hands to hide his emotions. But his grief was too much and it showed.

Unexpectedly, all the fight went out of the man. He didn't want to resist anymore. He didn't want the life he was living. He was so lonely, so tired, so hurt.

Are you there God? he asked quietly to himself, wanting Him to be real, wanting Him to come into his heart, wanting Him to save him. And as he opened his heart to the possibility, a warm, loving, feeling of light and love made him tingle all over. It made his heart light, releasing him from the heavy weight of sin. He felt the love of his Creator and the Master of Life, as the Son of God walked into his heart and filled him with His living water.

Pastor Tom could see the change in the man next to him and silently rejoiced, knowing that another soul had been saved from the chasm of death.

God's servant listened to the man as he told him about the sins of his past, and witnessed the freedom the man was feeling after becoming one of God's many sons. The minister sat next to this new, born again child and prayed for him.

They talked for a long time and Pastor Tom counseled him, helping him find his way in this new world, preparing him for the journey ahead, learning the new ways of God.

* * * *

When the hunters returned to camp that evening, they chatted excitedly about the two elk they had taken, until they saw the change in Braxton and learned about his conversion.

That night there was great joy in the hearts of all the men at camp, apart from Fred.

He was happy too, because everyone else was happy, but he didn't understand this God thing and it made him uneasy.

As he reclined in his chair, he listened to the men share their stories about finding God, observed the change in Braxton - the man he had known all his life, expressing himself with a softer countenance, a kinder and happier face - he still couldn't believe the change in the man. It almost scared him, the new Braxton.

They decided to stay the whole week and by the end, the men all had their tags filled, except Tom and Braxton.

Yet that didn't matter. It had been such a wonderful experience. One beyond what anyone could have imagined or hoped for.

Ed planned on sharing his meat with Tom's family, while Braxton had obtained a gift far greater and more precious than the elk he had sought.

The men returned brothers, in the true sense of the word, except for Fred. And there would always be hope for him if he chose to seek the miracle that had taken place in God's country, for himself.

Missing

IT WAS LATE in the afternoon when the hunters returned to Brandon Creek, arriving at Ed's home to transfer their things into their own vehicles. They were tired, dirty and looking forward to getting home, cleaning up and relaxing for the rest of the day.

Netti came out of the house with a drawn, worried look on her face.

She rushed to Ed, hugging him and whispered, "Sam's missing, Ed! Tom's little boy has been missing since yesterday evening sometime. The whole town's been out looking for him since early this morning," she said with the fear in her voice as it reflected in her eyes. "I knew you were coming home today, that we couldn't reach you by phone. I didn't want you rushing to get here... Tom has to be told..." she said, her voice breaking, fading.

Ed's face turned pale with the thought of the child outside somewhere, overnight. It was cold up here this time of year, with the snow line dropping daily. "Did they check the root cellar, everywhere in the house, the church?" he asked, hoping the child was inside somewhere.

She nodded, "Those were the first places we looked."

"Who's in charge?"

"Stanton. He's familiar with the area and he's got the state police and volunteers combing the woods and the creek behind the parsonage. A few of us started looking for the boy yesterday, when he didn't come home for dinner. By evening the whole congregation and anyone we could talk to was searching for him."

Images of the boy laying hurt somewhere and the real possibility of dying from hypothermia crowded his mind, his heart breaking for the Madison family.

Abruptly, a county sheriff's cruiser pulled into his yard and out stepped Officer Stanton. It looked like Ed wouldn't have to tell Tom after all.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, curious, as they watched the officer approach the young minister.

"Pastor Tom, got a minute?" Stanton asked.

"Sure," Tom answered, wondering what this was all about. "How are you?" he asked, shaking the officer's hand.

Stanton's face remained professional, but he quickly surmised that Tom hadn't been told about his son yet.

"I'm sorry Pastor Madison, but your youngest son, Sam has been missing since yesterday afternoon. We have a large group of volunteers and police combing the area right now looking for him."

Tom's face fell. He couldn't believe it.

Sam? Gone? Out in the cold... all night?

His fear quickly rose and then it was replaced with God's peace as he willfully accepted it.

If he believed in the sovereignty of God and His Will - if his faith was real - then he must use it to get through this. God had seen him through many hard and difficult times in the past. If He was Lord, and He was to the young minister of Brandon Creek, then whatever His Will might be, would be accepted. But that didn't stop Tom from praying for his son, or asking for God's mercy.

"Your wife's at the parsonage with Tyler. I told her to stay there and wait for you. We knew you'd be here soon. I've just checked in with all the group leaders, over the walkie-talkies, and so far there still isn't any sign of Sam or Henry."

"Henry's with him?"

"Yes, we think so. And if the dog's with Sam, there's a chance he survived the night," Stanton offered a ray of hope.

Tom quickly jumped into his car and drove home.

Braxton touched his brother's arm and Stanton jerked away, indignant that his adversary should touch him.

He could see his brother was on a crutch and had hurt himself. But before him stood a softer version of his defiant and angry brother, and it surprised him.

Braxton asked, "Stanton, what can I do to help? Where do you want me to search?"

Stanton wasn't sure what to think. He didn't trust the man and said, "You're in no condition to go anywhere, brother. Besides, why should you want to help anyone? You've never helped before. You better just stay out of this."

Braxton showed the pain he was feeling, for all the years of making those he wanted to love, fear and detest him. He said softly, pleading, "Please let me help."

Stanton had never seen him this way before. He looked vulnerable, open, sincere.

"What's going on, Braxton? What's gotten into you?"

"The Lord, I guess," he said smiling a large, genuine smile.

Stanton was shocked.

Braxton laughed, a happy, joyful laugh of delight, "Yep, asked Him into my life out there and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Stanton looked at him closely, looking for treachery, but couldn't see any. He was looking at a man who seemed to be free from all his anger and pain.

"No foolin?" Stanton asked.

"No foolin."

Stanton couldn't bring himself to hug his brother, after all that had gone on between them. But he shook his hand and said, "I hope the best for you. I really do."

Braxton smiled and repeated, "What can I do?"

"I'm not sure, but I really would like you to stay safe and not wander around on that bad foot."

"I won't go far, just near their house. I'll take it easy, but I've got to look Stan. I want to help."

"Stan huh," his brother smiled warmly. "You haven't called me that since we were kids."

Braxton smiled, "It's about time, don't you think?"

"Sure," Stanton smiled and then added, "Gotta go. I'll talk with you later when this is over."

"Wait!" Braxton suddenly said. Looking unsure at his brother he asked, "Can we pray about this together?"

Again Stanton was surprised, but pleased as the two men bowed their heads, saying a prayer for finding the small child lost out there somewhere.

Stanton was touched by the tenderness in his brother. He hoped it was real and drove away with a lighter heart, reflecting on the changes he saw. Then he realized that he might be able to see his girls again, sooner than later. Maybe they could even have a father they could trust and love. Only God knew and time would reveal the truth. He would be guarded in case of deceit, but he gladly gave a prayer of thanksgiving for his brother's new faith and left to find Sam.

* * * *

As Tom got out of the car, Marty came running down the stairs and into his arms trying not to cry. He tried to comfort her as she poured out all she knew about the last twenty-four hours.

She had kept Sam after school yesterday to finish his chore of stacking the firewood, which he had neglected to do. The other children had gone on ahead to the fort near the swimming hole to play. As soon as he was done, about twenty minutes later, she had let him go.

It wasn't until the Davenport children had gone home, and Tyler came in for dinner that they discovered he was missing.

"I called and called for him. I whistled for Henry, but they didn't come. We checked the fort and swimming hole, along the creek, and the old Rockland farm, passed the three oaks, and into the forest. I even tried to go into the pasture with that huge bull, but it wouldn't let me. A couple of the Hennacys got on their ATV's and ran the herd into another pasture that had been checked and a lot of us walked the whole field before dark, looking for him. But we found nothing. Oh Tom, it was so cold last night!" Marty cried, as she grieved for her son and remembered the loss of her young brother, so long ago. How could she endure it again? She let her tears fall, she couldn't help it. Tom held her, praying.

* * * *

Fred dropped Braxton off near the old Rockland place, neighboring the parsonage. Then he drove away to join Ed and the rest of the hunting group who were looking near the creek, and searching north.

Somehow, Braxton was drawn to look at the old place. He had played there as a child and knew it well.

As Braxton neared the uninhabited homestead, he thought, This old place was derelict when I was a boy. Anything could happen here... a floor could give way, or something could fall and hit the boy. It should have been torn down long ago.

Hobbling on his crutch, he listened for sound, any sound. He put his skill as a hunter to use and looked for any fresh disturbance to the place... a broken board, any fresh earth, footprints.

Peering inside, he walked where he could, the old floors creaking as he limped around, calling for Sam, whistling for Henry. Bushes and plants were growing into the openings where windows and doors once existed. A wall and part of the roof in the back had collapsed, opening the room to the sky above. The damage looked old, with moss and small plants growing on the ruins of the room.

For about an hour he examined the place quite methodically. He even found the old root cellar, partially obscured by blackberry bushes. Nothing. Not wanting to give up, he limped out to the back of the place, tired and sore, but determined to find the child if he could.

Looking out at the Hennacy's property which ran near the base of the mountain, the cattle seemed content, while the bull seemed undisturbed as he grazed. Nothing seemed out of place.

He was about to give up when he spotted fresh dirt. Not a lot of it, at first, just a small patch of it near some blackberry bushes. Interested, he hobbled over to take a better look.

Near the base of the blackberry bushes, he noticed some old boards lying cockeyed across a fairly large hole in the ground, about four feet wide.

Braxton's heart beat hard. It's the old well!

As he neared, the ground started to give way and he stopped cold. He could see there had been a fresh collapse already.

"Sam? Sam are you there?" he called near the hole, frustrated that he couldn't get closer to look in. Sam didn't answer, but he could hear whining coming from the depths.

"Good boy! Stay!" Braxton commanded, fearful the dog would upset whatever was happening down there.

Did Sam die in the fall? Is he badly injured? Is he even there? It could be just the dog, but whatever it is, it's a clue and I need to get help here and right now!

Braxton looked around for anyone nearby and spotted Ed and the guys in the distance, walking among the cattle out on the Hennacy's place. They appeared to be following a branch of the creek.

"Help! Over here! Help!" he yelled as loud as he could, putting his fingers together and giving out a shrill whistle.

Ed thought he heard something and looked up to see Braxton waving his crutch, yelling.

Abruptly, the men started to run. Time seemed sluggish as they ran across the field toward the fence. Leaping it and breathing hard, they continued to sprint the rest of the way towards the man frantically waving.

"I've found the dog, I think! The boy might be down there with him," he yelled as they got closer. "Stay back! Don't get too close! The ground's not stable here. Someone's got to get a ladder, rope and other things. Call the fire department. Get someone here quick!" he stated trying to remain calm.

Ed used the walkie-talkie he'd been given. "Stanton, can you hear me? This is Ed. We think we found the boy!"

The static sound of Stanton's voice responded, "Where?"

"At the old Rockland place. There's been a slide into the old abandoned well out here, some broken boards. We can hear a dog down there, but no response from Sam."

"We're on our way."

Soon, sounds of the emergency responders grew louder as the vehicles quickly descended on the old farmstead. The fire truck was quickly followed by the police cruiser as they drove over the fields and into the back of the rundown building, where the men were standing.

At the parsonage the Madison's could see Harley Comstock running. "We think we found him... he's down an abandoned well. Follow me!" he cried as he turned and lead the way.

Marty placed her hands over her mouth in dread, and then they both followed at a run, soon arriving at the now crowded site.

A long ladder had been set over the hole while Michael Hagerty, a volunteer and paramedic suited up in a harness and carefully crawled over the rungs, trying not to dislodge any more dirt and rocks.

Using his flashlight he looked into the deep hole beneath him, spotting the boy, "I see him! He's down there lying on some broken boards about fifty feet down. I don't know how deep this thing is. Just a sec... someone give me a rock, about the size of a baseball."

Taking the rock he turned back and said, "Quiet! Keep still for a moment..." then he counted the seconds after dropping the rock. The crowd waited silently, listening to the stone sounding its way to the bottom, falling, until it stopped.

Mike told the crowd, "Looks like there's another hundred feet or so below him. The boards are jammed against a rock outcropping at a forty-five degree angle, but I don't know how securely. Once you lower me down, I need someone up here on the ladder to watch my descent. They need to judge the distance and be sure I don't run into those boards and knock them loose."

A group of resolute men grabbed the rope attached to Mike, while he readied himself. Lying on his stomach, he carefully swung himself over the ladder and the men let out the rope, allowing him to descend into the dark, damp hole.

With his flashlight, he tried to keep an eye on the child, but he was swinging uncontrollably and swirled around helplessly at the end of the rope as he descended, dangling far from the bottom.

Getting closer, he worried the dog might dislodge everything if it should suddenly move before he could reach the boy.

Henry was still lying next to Sam, his tail thumping, dislodging some of the soil and rocks that had come down with them and making a deadly tinkling noise as it slid off the boards and into the depths below.

I've got to get to the boy first. The dog's going to have to wait.

Mike's heart broke for the poor beast, should he fall into the depths below, but he had to rescue Sam.

How can you ask a dog to lay still? he wondered as he got close. They can't understand the dangers.

But Henry didn't get up when Mike reached them. It was as if the dog knew they were in danger. He just licked the rescuers hand as the paramedic felt for the boy's pulse, trying to ascertain his injuries, and without losing him to the depths below.

Sam was unconscious, but alive. He had a weak pulse and his temperature was low, too low. Carefully lifting the boy into his arms and securing him, the rescuer yelled to be pulled up.

Henry stood up barking, as Sam was taken from him. More dirt fell, dangerously.

Once Mike reached the top and the boy was taken from him, he asked to be lowered again to rescue the dog.

Down he went, the men still working hard to hold his weight. With his flashlight he spotted the dog still on that precarious platform, barking and whining.

Mike spoke calmly, to reassure the dog, hoping he could get there in time, but the boards suddenly gave way and down went Henry into the dark with a loud clatter to the bottom.

Mike's heart sank, sickened by the site of the faithful dog dropping out of sight.

"Henry! Here boy? Henry!" he called, hoping the dog had survived the fall. Silence, then a soft whimper was heard.

"Lower me! Get me down there! I think the dog's still alive!"

Down he went further into the pitch black depths of the old well, as the damp smell of the earth and the bone chilling cold grew stronger, and the light from above diminished. The sound of dripping water grew louder as he tried to see from the small ray of light he held in his hand.

Looking down his heart stopped as he spotted the dog. Henry was alive alright, but he wasn't alone. There was a body with him - one that had been there for a very long time.

Seeking The Truth

PULLED OUT OF the well, with the dog in his arms, Mike gave the dog to Bess. The dog had cuts and abrasions, but seemed to be relatively fine, considering what he'd been through. Probably bruised some, but it was hard to tell with all that fur.

Tyler hugged him, as Henry licked his face.

"How's the boy," Mike asked the nurse.

"They've taken him over to the clinic. Doc Bishop's with him. The air ambulance has already left Idaho Falls and will be here any minute. Tyler stayed with me until you could get Henry out."

Bess knelt down and examined the dog more thoroughly, feeling his extremities. Henry yelped when she examined his hind quarter.

"I think we'd better take him to the vet and have him checked out to be sure nothing's broken. Let's get to the clinic so I can talk with your parents, Tyler."

At the clinic, Bess arrived holding Henry, with Tyler beside her. She could see Marty sitting anxiously in the reception area, while Tom paced the floor.

"As you can see we got him out, but I think I should take him over to Doc Fleming, the vet over by the mill. He seems to be favoring his back hind leg and hip. How's Sam?" she asked as she put the dog down.

"We're waiting to hear. Doc's with him now," Tom answered trying not to worry.

Tyler held onto Henry's collar, caressing him and keeping him safe, while he worried about his brother.

Bess told the anxious family, "I'll go in and see if I can give Doc a hand. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She gave Marty a squeeze on her shoulder before stepping into the examination room.

About fifteen minutes later she returned to tell them Sam's temperature was stabilizing.

"He's suffering from hypothermia, a good bump on the head, multiple cuts and bruises, and a broken arm. The arm's been set, his cuts medicated and Doc has his cold, damp clothes off, while his body core and head are wrapped up warm and dry. He's conscious, but disoriented still, which is normal until his temperature comes back to where it belongs. I just gave him some hot chocolate to warm him up on the inside. They'll examine him better at the hospital, put his arm in a cast, and check him out for a concussion."

"Can I see him?" Marty asked, anxious to see her boy.

"Sure. Doc said you could go right in. The helicopter will be here in about five minutes and we need to get him prepped and airborne as soon as possible. One of you can ride with him to the hospital."

Marty looked at Tom pleadingly.

"You go ahead. Tyler and I will follow in the car. We'll see you later tonight."

Bess explained, "I'm going to leave with Henry now and get him looked at. Doc Fleming is waiting for me. I'll keep an eye on him for you and be sure he's taken care of until you get back."

"Thanks Bess. That's a great help. And thank you Henry," Tom said as he stroked the dog, grateful for his presence in their lives.

Before they knew it, the thumping sound of the helicopter was heard as it descended onto a field close by the clinic.

Sam was placed in the aid car as Marty and Tom hugged, saying their temporary goodbyes. Then she got into the vehicle, which took them quickly to the waiting chopper.

Within minutes it was airborne, transporting them to get help for the injured child.

Tom followed in the family car, driving the long distance to civilization, while praying and thanking God that he had been found and alive.

As Sam rested in his hospital bed that night, recovering from his injuries, everyone knew the boy was lucky to be alive.

They learned he had fallen into the well chasing Henry. If it hadn't been for the grace of God, and the dog keeping him warm, the outcome could have been very different.

Marty and Tom could now look forward to their son returning home, to play with his brother and friends very soon, and they were so grateful to God for his love and mercy.

* * * *

When Mike climbed out of the well with Henry and handed him over to the nurse, the rescuer had then walked over to Stanton.

With a look of dismay on his face, he spoke to him softly, "There's a body down there, Officer Conner. It's been down there for a long time."

A chill ran through the policeman. He could guess who it was. Looking over at his brother, he couldn't hide his distress as he realized that his brother would have to face what he had done so long ago, no matter what happiness he had just found.

Braxton wondered at the strange look on his face and hobbled over, asking, "What is it, Stan? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Stanton remained silent as Braxton tried to read him, looking into his eyes. Suddenly, out of nowhere he guessed and it frightened him.

No, it can't be, he reasoned. He hasn't said anything! You're nuts!

He wanted to ask if someone was down there, if it was the missing pastor, but he was frightened to put it into words, to make it real.

Abruptly, Stanton did make it real by saying, "There's a body down there Brax. I think we both know who it is and it's got to be dealt with."

Braxton couldn't say a thing. He quietly turned and went to find Fred, asking him to take him home.

Braxton stared out the window of the rig, thinking, Found after all this time... It was probably an accident. But who's going to believe it? No one wants to believe it! Everyone's going to think I killed him. I was crazy mad that day. But the worst of it is... I don't know what I did. I just can't remember. I was so drunk and angry.

As the truck rumbled down the road, he grew afraid of what was to come and tried to remember.

Stanton felt too close to the situation and with a conflict of interest possible, he talked with his chief and the case was handed over to the State Patrol for investigation.

Stringing up the yellow crime tape around the old well, the forensic investigators descended, taking pictures, and documenting what little evidence remained, which wasn't much after all that time.

They risked their own lives in the unstable well, determined to document the facts.

Eventually the remains were removed and the victim was transported to the county coroner for positive identification and the official coroner's report, stating the cause of death.

It was indeed Pastor Andrew Brown and it appeared that he had died from either the blunt force trauma to the back of his head, or his broken neck. Either would have been fatal. Both could have been received from an accidental fall into the well.

Local and state newspapers picked up the story and Brandon Creek was in the news again.

His cold case was reopened and a team of investigators went over the evidence, reading all the old depositions, taking new ones and reconstructing the scene of Sam's accident.

By retrieving all the wood from the well, the criminologists were able to reconstruct the wooden cover from the current event. But there wasn't any debris from a previous incident, and there should have been.

There should have been something lying around and under the body of the pastor who had tried to teach God's love.

Was the previous cover missing for some reason? Interviewing the town residents, it was determined there had always been a cover over that well and no one had ever seen it without one. Too many witnesses could testify to that fact.

So, what happened to it? The plausible explanation was that someone had removed it and replaced it after hiding his body down there, someone who knew about his presence in the well and had hid that fact from the police.

Abruptly, the case transformed into a homicide investigation. All physical evidence was sent off to the state crime lab for evaluation.

* * * *

The focus of the investigation had now turned to Braxton Conner. He became the prime suspect.

Old statements indicated that he had been drinking heavily that day, looking for Pastor Andrew, threatening to kill him, his jealous rage finally getting the best of him.

Ultimately, Sheila's husband and tormentor was picked up and brought in for questioning.

That afternoon, Braxton tried to answer their questions, to explain what he could remember.

He felt his old personality returning, as his stress mounted. His answers becoming defensive as old resentments resumed.

Closing his eyes, he resisted, not wanting to go back to the way he had been. He prayed for strength.

Visions of being handcuffed, taken to jail, placed in a small cell as the sound of the iron door loudly clanking shut behind him, locking him up for many years to come, tormented him.

He told them honestly, "I can remember being angry, threatening everyone, and determined to hurt them as they hurt me. I know I went door to door demanding the whereabouts of Pastor Andrew, or Sheila. But I can't remember finding either of them. I really can't! I was so wasted."

He cringed at the memories that he could find, of vowing to kill them both... and meaning it then.

But did I do it? I can't remember. All that drinking, those days, weeks, even months are all a blur.

In the end, without physical evidence, the police released him, warning him not to leave town.

As he walked out of the station, he knew he needed advice and counsel. He'd talk to his father's lawyer soon, but right now, he wanted to talk to Tom, the man he felt who understood him and was becoming his friend.

At the pastor's home they talked for long hours, praying and seeking God. Pastor Tom placed his hand on the man's shoulder, as Braxton unburdened himself of his past, weeping in regret for what he'd done, and wanting to make things right.

Please Lord, not now. Not when my life has changed for the better and I've found you, he thought. But, it's too late, isn't it? Oh, why can't I remember! I need to know what I did!

He knew justice was coming, but did he have the strength to face it?

In the end, he could do nothing but trust in God. So, Braxton let go of trying to remember and resigned himself to his fate.

* * * *

During this time, Braxton's father had also become a suspect.

Jean Conner had told the police about the comment her father-in-law had made, in her presence, about taking care of one pastor and now it was time to take care of another. What did he mean by that?

She couldn't tell them, but she secretly feared he could have harmed the man, if he felt pushed.

In the interrogation room, Officer McNamara was questioning the influential man from Brandon Creek.

"Is your name Franklin William Conner?" he asked, for the record.

"Yes," Franklin stated, irritated and upset he was even there. How dare they bring him in for questioning! He was a wealthy and righteous man!

The officer verified his personal information, including his address and then started his questioning.

"I understand that you recently threatened to get rid of Pastor Tom Madison, just like you had done to Pastor Andrew Brown. Is that true?"

Franklin's face turned red with anger.

"When was I supposed to have threatened him or anyone else for that matter?" he stated defiantly.

"We have an eyewitness that heard you specifically threaten him just days after he had gotten here. Do you deny it?"

Franklin tried to remember, then suddenly he recalled the night of the vote to open the church against his wishes. He had made that statement in his own home, among his family.

Who dared to expose my private comments to the police? Braxton and Stanton weren't there and Jed and his wife won't ever say anything, would they? Was it Jean or maybe one of the grandchildren? Why would any of them do it and get me into trouble?

He was furious.

"Well, Mr. Conner?"

"It was just a remark of frustration and anger. It meant nothing!" he said indignantly.

"Pastor Andrew was murdered Mr. Conner. That's not 'Nothing'," the policeman responded seriously.

Franklin shrugged. "Murdered? Don't be ridiculous. The man probably tripped over his big feet and fell down the well himself!"

"That's not what the facts indicate. What did you mean when you said you had gotten rid of him?"

"I told you - nothing!"

"Mr. Conner, this is a serious matter and I would cooperate if I were you. We have a journal written by Pastor Andrew Brown himself, which clearly states your harassment of him. He wrote about your belittling of him and your efforts to drive him from the church. Do you deny any of this?"

Franklin's insolent attitude grew cold as he became seriously worried about the implications that were forming. He had pressured the man to leave, yes. But that was his duty.

"As head elder, at the time, it was my duty to protect the church. I was only doing what I needed to," he said warily.

Officer McNamara read off some of the hurtful and petty things he had done. Hearing the officer read it out loud and in the man's own words, made him sound so malicious and manipulating.

"It seems to me, you could have just asked him to leave. Why the persecution? What happened, Mr. Conner? Did you have an argument with him? Push him? Injure him accidently?"

"No! Never! I've never hurt anyone."

"Haven't you?"

Images of the men at his mill who had gotten injured came to mind, specifically Gordon Davenport. He had been killed by a faulty machine that should have been replaced. But those were accidents. He hadn't intentionally hurt anyone, yet he felt guilty.

"We have a witness who will testify that you had a fierce argument with the dead man, yelling at him about your daughter-in-law, Sheila Conner. Telling him to mind his own business, and then just two weeks later he vanished. Did you confront him again? Get angry enough to do something about it?"

Franklin's heart quivered. It sounded so plausible. He responded shaken, "No. I never fought with the man. When he disappeared, like everyone else, I really thought he'd run away with my daughter-in-law. She's the type! She's nothing but trouble."

"We're talking about you and Pastor Brown, Mr. Conner. Where were you on the 26th of September that year? Can your account for your whereabouts?"

"Good grief man, that was over ten years ago!" he said upset by the questions that were coming. "How am I supposed to remember what I was doing back then?"

The officer paused and then said coldly, "You'd better find a way to remember. Unless you can come up with an alibi for your time that day, you are a major suspect in this case. You have a history of harassing the man, of fighting with him. You have more than one motive to harm him, opportunity and the means to do it."

Franklin was stunned.

They really think I could have done this, he realized and there was nothing he could say to change it. He had done everything he was accused of, except harm the man he wanted gone from the church. What could he say?

For the first time, jail seemed a real possibility. "I want to talk to my lawyer."

Officer McNamara placed the phone in front of the business man without saying a word.

Franklin took his notebook from his inside breast pocket and looked up the number. With trembling hands he dialed his attorney.

When the phone call was over, Officer McNamara said, "We aren't holding you for now. This is all circumstantial evidence. But don't leave town for any reason. We'll want to talk to you and your lawyer the next time, Mr. Conner."

Franklin left the station, devastated, worried about his future and how this might affect his image.

Why couldn't that man just leave quietly, as he should have done?

* * * *

While all this was going on, Peggy Brown and her children quietly returned to Brandon Creek to bury her husband in the graveyard near the church.

Rain fell softly that day as they stood beside the grave site, the soil piled high next to his resting place. The small family was wrapped up warm against the cold, using umbrellas to protect themselves from the elements, but nothing could shield them from the pain of separation and the manner of his death.

Peggy Brown didn't want anyone there, just her children, Pastor Tom and Marty, and her best friend Lynn McKenna with her son Kyle.

There were people in this town that had caused his death, needlessly, and she couldn't bear their presence. She knew she'd have to work hard to forgive them. She'd have to, if she wanted the pain to end and healing to begin. She had been justified in her faith in the man she loved. He had been faithful to her and all that he stood for. And now the truth was starting to emerge.

What good did it do him to love them! she thought in bitterness and pain. Then she regretted thinking it. She remembered his teaching and God's Words... Love protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Tears fell and she allowed God to comfort her.

* * * *

Tensions ran high in town now that Pastor Brown had been found. Who would be arrested? Rumors were flying from person to person, speculating on who had done it and why.

Braxton quit going to work for many reasons. The scrutiny from his peers was unbearable. From those who knew he was guilty, to those who were snickering behind his back about his new found religion, thinking he was putting on an act when he wasn't.

But, the real reason was that for the last ten years he had taken sick pleasure in butchering whatever came his way, mixing his job with his emotions of anger and resentment. He couldn't face any more of it.

Pastor Tom was looking into getting him a job at the Salvation Army, down in Idaho Falls. When this all died down, he hope to find a place where he could learn to help others less fortunate then himself and to learn to give rather than to take, learning about God's true love.

Bess called Sheila, telling her about the finding of the man in the well, the prime suspects, and the rumors running rampant about town.

Then she mentioned Braxton.

"By the way, I've heard that Braxton got saved and turned his life over to God on that hunting trip he just took."

"What? Are you serious! Is he trying a different tactic?"

"I don't know. Stanton and Jean believe him. And he does seem different to me, more vulnerable and scared. He seems to be really trying to be kind and helpful. If he was faking it, he wouldn't do it that way, would he?"

"Not him. He'd die before shown any kind of weakness. Has he really changed, do you think?"

"Honestly, I don't know. They buried Pastor Andrew last week in a small, private ceremony. I couldn't help but put flowers on his grave yesterday. He seems so lonely there somehow and I miss him. It's so sad."

The women talked on, speculating on the situation in town and the impact it was going to have on those who lived there. They knew changes were coming. Everyone in town could feel it. The atmosphere was ripe with it.

Exposure And Loss

OFFICER NICK MCNAMARA was in his office, at his desk, reading the lab report he'd just received on the Pastor Andrew Brown case. He was surprised by the results.

They had found several latent finger prints on the lenses of the pastor's wire rim glasses and they didn't belong to the man who had died. They belonged to a person that was related to both suspects, but wasn't under suspicion until now.

The prints had survived all these years on the hard surface of the glass. In fact, prints had been known to last for over 40 years, depending on the substance on the hands, and the conditions of the find.

The report stated that it was an exact match to Jed Conner. Was he the last person to see the pastor alive? With his prints on the glasses, he must have been the one to put the pastor's body in the well.

If he hadn't killed him, he knew who did.

Inquiries were started. What was the motive? Did he hide the body for his brother, or maybe his father? Several agents were assigned to tail him and to watch his activities.

In subsequent weeks, one of the agents reported seeing Jed at the bar serve from an unlabeled bottle to those who knew how to ask for it. It was kept hidden under the bar. He was even seen selling jugs at the back door of the business. The agent made himself chummy with one of the patrons, and was able to obtain a drink. It tasted like high-proof distilled spirits... moonshine. Was this a motive? How long had he been serving it? Was he making it? Where was the still?

Another agent, disguised as a hunter, tailed the suspect using his own rig one evening, out into the back woods, keeping his distance.

He watched the man drive into the thick forest, over roads rarely used, to a bar gate with No Trespassing and No Hunting signs hanging from it. Unlocking it, Jed drove on after locking it again, vanishing into the woods over the overgrown, weedy, and untidy road.

Cautiously the agent parked his rig further down the road, out of sight and then followed the suspect on foot.

As the agent walked in, listening for sound, he wondered how far the road went as he looked around for cover if the suspect should appear. He eventually came to a small clearing, near a long abandoned mine. In the mining shack nearby, smoke rose from an old black stove pipe sticking through the wooden roof. Jed's rig was parked next to the door.

The agent looked around for concealment and a good vantage point to watch from. Once there, he took photos and documented the man's every move.

Before long, evening had descended and the agent cautiously drew closer to the shack. Standing hidden nearby, he pulled up his collar to keep warm as he watched the light leaking around the old curtains in the small window next to the door.

Abruptly the door opened, flooding the area with light as Jed emerged with two large jugs and put them into the back of his rig under a tarp. The agent took photos. Jed went back in for more. They had found the still and Jed was the supplier. The agent left quickly, satisfied with the evidence he had gotten.

Within a short time the police were ready. It was time to bring the suspect in. This was it. Would they be able to get a confession from of him?

Jed acted the innocent as he was brought in, not sure why he was there. But you could see he was guarded and the tension showed in his jaw muscles as they flexed.

Seated at the same table, across from the same officer his father had seen, Franklin Conner's his son refused to make eye contact, looking down at the table's surface.

"Is your name Jedidiah Horace Conner?" Officer McNamara asked starting the recorded interview.

"Yes," the man answered sullenly.

As before, he verified his personal information, including his address and family connections.

"How well did you know Pastor Andrew Brown?"

"He was just the pastor at our church, years ago."

"Did you like the man?"

"What difference does that make?" he asked, irritated.

"Answer the question."

"I didn't care about him one way or the other," was Jed's reply.

"Were you ever angry with him? Did you ever fight with the man?"

"No! Of course not!"

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Conner?"

"I run the Dead Moose Bar & Grill."

"According to our records, you barely have enough money to keep that place open."

"So what? It's a hard life out here. Everyone struggles to get by."

"Then how do you explain the new cars you've purchased over the years, one every two years or so. And the expensive clothes your wife wears, along with the trips you've taken. We have copies of receipts here of expensive jewelry that you've purchased. Where did you get the money?"

Jed's jaw twitched several times, then he stated, "My dad helps us out once in a while. There's nothing mysterious about that."

"Are you sure you don't have an extra form of income, Jed? You know we'll ask your father to confirm all of this."

"What do you mean? What extra income?"

Officer McNamara's voice went cold, "From the still you've hidden in the mountains," he said dramatically as he threw the photos of Jed stocking his truck with the illegal liquor. "Do you deny making hard liquor for distribution?"

Jed went pale, his jaw fixed, his hands clinched in fear. What could he say? He was caught.

Nick McNamara's voice went colder, if possible, "Is this why you killed Pastor Brown?"

Jed finally looked up at the man in shock.

"You're crazy! I haven't killed anyone!"

"Then explain to me how your fingerprints got on his glasses the day he died!" demanded the officer as he placed the photo of the glasses down in front of Jed.

Jed's heart stopped.

The glasses! You fool! You stupid idiot! Why didn't you wipe them off before tossing them in the well?

Sweating and ringing his hands, he tried to think of a reason, but none would come to him that would free him from the involvement in the man's death.

Why couldn't they stay hidden with the body in the depths of the earth? After all this time! I thought I'd never see them again. Why did that kid have to fall in there?

Jed was visibly trembling now, his breathing rapid, his heart pounding as he looked at the photo of the glasses. They stood witness to his desperate deed so long ago.

"What happened, Jed? Did Pastor Brown stumble onto your still and you had to take care of him? Keep him from talking? Did you strike him over the head?"

"No! No... it was an accident! I though he saw me over at the Rockland place, coming out of the root cellar with some jugs. I saw him walking away, and I felt sure he'd seen me. When I confronted him, he said he didn't know what I was talking about. Told me he was deep in thought. I called him a liar and he tried to talk to me. But I was afraid of what he'd do. I was yelling at him and the man was trying to talk to me. I just pushed him... just pushed and he tripped and fell, hitting his head on a rock among the blackberries. I didn't mean to kill him. I had just opened the bar and we were struggling. I had learned to make the stuff in the Army. It was an accident, pure and simple," he cried in panic.

"But you did push him, Jed, causing his death by assault. That's manslaughter in this state. And hiding the body only adds to your crimes, including the years of illegal distribution of hard liquor and tax evasion. The Feds are working on a case against you as we speak. I think you'd better get a hold of a lawyer."

Jed covered his face, trying to hide from the events that were crashing down on him, crushing him. Retribution for what he had done was coming and he feared to face it.

He hadn't been doing anything really bad. It had been an accident. He didn't mean for the man to die, but he had.

Jed could see everything he cared about slipping away from him. He wondered what Megs was going to say, and the children? What was going to happen to them? What was going to happen to his business? He sat there, realizing he had lost it all and would probably spend the rest of his life in prison. How could he face it? Grief started to overwhelm him.

After booking him, Officer McNamara told the guards to post a watch. They didn't want him committing suicide on them.

* * * *

The news spread through the town like wild fire. Jed Conner had been accused of killing Pastor Brown and running a still. Many in town knew about the illegal whiskey. They had bought it from him themselves, but killing the minister? Why do it? People shook their heads, saying what a waste it was.

When the news reached Franklin Conner, he couldn't believe it.

"Confessed! What do you mean he's confessed?" Reaching for his phone, Franklin immediately called his attorney, demanding that he rush over to the jail and see that his boy got the best defense possible.

What are people going to think?

Later that day his lawyer notified him that Jed had refused to see him and had accepted a court appointed attorney instead.

"There's nothing I can do for him, Franklin. He has to agree to my representing him. And he's refused twice, so far."

"I'll take care of it. Wait for my call," the prominent man stated as he hung up and drove over to the county jail.

When he was able to talk to his son, through a reinforced glass wall, he demanded, "What's the idea Jed? To refuse an experienced lawyer, for one appointed by the court is stupid! Are you crazy? They'll throw the book at you. What made you confess? I want you to see my lawyer right now. I'll take care of the cost."

Jed exploded, "Now you're willing to pay for it, when it's too late!" he yelled, standing in anger as his chair fell over.

The guard warned Jed to behave. Jed picked up his chair and sat down heavily, pouting, scared and mad.

He continued, not looking at his dad, "I don't want anything from you! Nothing! Where were you when I needed you years ago? When we were struggling? I needed help then, so I wouldn't end up here, like this... now!"

Franklin was visibly shaken. "How can you blame me for this? Are you telling me that my refusal to loan you money, so you'd have to stand on your own feet and be a man, is the cause of all this?"

"Yeah, I'm a man now. And I'll take my punishment like a man, but without you! How can you sit there and tell me it all was for my own good. It wasn't! We couldn't make our bills, we couldn't eat, the children needed clothes. What did you expect me to do? I told you we needed to sell everything and find a job in the city. But, no... you insisted we stay here, helping you with the mill, or the lodge. It was all for you and nothing for us! All my life you've told me how to live, according to your rules. But, did you ever think about us, even once? Did you ever love any of us? Have you ever loved me, Dad?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I love you," he answered, confused.

Why should I have to say it? He should know how I feel, without having to say it! he thought angrily.

"You never showed your love. You never said it, and you certainly never helped when it was important. I've been on my own since Mom died. You were always too busy for any of us. The only time I had you in my life was at church, and that was with your righteous, pious attitude... always telling someone what to do. When did you ever show any of us that you loved us?"

"I've provided for you boys and your mother," he stated, becoming uncomfortable.

"Everything you ever did was for yourself. You're cold, Dad... ice cold. There was never any love in anything you did. None! Pastor Brown had more love, more compassion, and kindness in his little finger, than you ever will in your entire body. He was merciful, kind, patient and forgiving. When were you ever anything like that? Give me one example, just one."

Franklin remained silent, trying to think.

"You're such a hypocrite! You believe yourself to be a righteous man of God, yet when a good, kind man stands up to you, you persecute him. The only thing he ever did wrong was not to agree with you. What a sin!"

Franklin was crushed by his son's tirade.

"I'm done. You've got nothing I want. This conversation is over and I don't want to see or hear from you again."

"You don't mean that Jed?"

Jed got up and walked out of the room, never looking back or talking with his father again.

The bond of love wasn't there to bridge the abyss that existed between them.

Franklin had lost his son, in bitterness and pain. He was shaken by the experience and walked out of the jail trying to think, wondering if he had indeed been wrong.

* * * *

After getting home, Franklin got a phone call a few hours later. It was Braxton.

"Dad, I'm putting my house up for sale and leaving town. I just wanted to let you know."

"Don't be silly Braxton. I need you at the butcher shop. It's time you went back to work."

"I'm not going back to the store, Dad. Not now, not ever. I'm done with that."

"What do you mean you're done with it? You can't leave me in the lurch like this. With your brother going to jail, his business on the rocks, and Megs and the kids struggling with all of this, I don't need this right now, Braxton. You need to go back to work and take care of your responsibilities."

Silence emanated from the phone.

"I'm telling you this once, and only once. I'm leaving town and I won't be back. You no longer have a say in how I live, who I marry, where I work, and what I'm to do with my life. I'm choosing my own destiny and moving on with my life, and living by God's way, not yours."

Franklin was cut to the quick by his remarks. He responded, "God's way? What do you mean by God's way? I've always followed the laws of God."

"You might have followed God's laws, but without the love necessary to make it live. You have no love for anyone but yourself. Real love means that you think about others first, that you're kind, patient, and forgiving. When have you given up your wishes for those of ours? When have you ever been kind, or patient, or forgiving? Give me one example, Dad."

Franklin was hurting now, with echoes of Jed's conversation still ringing in his head. This was the second time today that he'd been accused of not being able to love.

"I'm leaving Dad. I'm going to work at learning to love and in God's way. To help others and not myself, and to serve in this world, by doing good. I'll write you sometime and let you know how I'm doing. Goodbye Dad."

"Braxton, you can't leave like this!"

The click on the phone cut at his heart, as his oldest son hung up on him, walking away from his control and maybe his life as well.

Franklin leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, stinging from the loss of both boys.

What did I do to deserve this?

The image of Pastor Andrew Brown's face came to him. In this man's face he saw love. Love for him, for all those he taught, always being gentle, quiet, kind and patient and with a devotion he couldn't understand.

I'm not a failure, am I? How could this turn out so wrong? I did all the right things, didn't I? I raised my sons in the ways of God, by his laws. I put my whole life, money, time and effort into that church.

Franklin wrestled with his conscious. He finally determined that he had done nothing wrong. It was his boys fault, making the decisions they had. They'd come to their senses and come back to him one of these days.

After all, he was an influential man in this town and a strong religious man. That was the most important thing, wasn't it?

Franklin picked up the phone and called Stanton.

"Hello?" his youngest son answered.

"Stanton, Dad here. Have you heard about Jed and Braxton?"

"I'm not sure what you mean? I know Jed's probably going to prison for the rest of his life and Braxton's leaving town. Is that it?"

"Yes, partly... But both of them just accused me of not loving them. That's not true. I love all you boys."

Stanton paused, wondering what to say.

"Your love isn't the right type of love Dad."

"What do you mean... right type of love? Either you're loved, or you're not!"

"No Dad. There's man's love, which is selfish and self-centered, and then there is True Love, God's love. One brings harm and pain, while the other gives life and happiness."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he said in anger and frustration.

"I know you don't. But someday, maybe you will."

"With your brothers unavailable, I need you to help out at the lodge."

"Sorry Dad, but I have a life of my own, a family of my own and a full time job. I don't have any extra time to give you. You'll have to find your help somewhere else."

"Stanton..."

"You heard me Dad. The answer is no."

Franklin was silent.

"Gotta go, Dad. See you in church Sunday, unless I get called into work. Maybe you can come over for dinner, sometime. I'll check with Jean. Talk to you later." And with that Franklin's youngest son hung up.

Franklin sat in his chair and closed his eyes as tears of separation and failure slid down his face. He sat there well into the evening, in a dark house, lonely and a broken man.

Moving On

TIME PASSED AND Brandon Creek settled back into a small, sleepy town again, high in the mountains of God's country where most worked hard for a living.

Franklin Conner never quite got over the pain he felt from the loss of his two boys. His youngest was kind to him, but Stanton lived his life separately from his father's. Franklin was alone and he felt it. He stopped working, allowing the managers to run his store, the lodge, and the mill. He didn't return to church either, ashamed of what his life had become, so unsure of himself and all that he stood for.

Jed Conner was convicted of manslaughter for the accidental killing of Pastor Andrew Brown. Though the minister would have forgiven him, if he had lived, society did not and he was sentenced to twelve years.

Waiting for him, when his sentence was over, was the Federal penalty for selling hard liquor without a license and tax evasion. The feds weren't lenient and he was sentenced to an additional thirty-five years in a Federal pen, without the possibility of parole. Jed would be in his eighties when he got out, if he was good.

Megs sold the Dead Moose Bar and Grill, the family home near the corner, and moved her family away. Not being able to wait for her husband for forty-seven years, she filed for divorce and moved on with her life. She tried to raise her sons the best she knew how and struggled to keep them out of trouble. It wasn't easy when the boys came from a broken home and true love was lacking from the men in their lives.

Braxton had moved into the housing facilities of the Salvation Army in Idaho Falls, going to the church service every Sunday and never drinking again. He served in the kitchen there and at the store, raising money for the homeless shelters and aiding the elderly.

But, it was in the women's shelters where he did the most good. He saw firsthand the results of other men, just like himself ,who had abused and destroyed their families, creating fear and pain in their insatiable desire to control others. He was understanding, patient, and kind, working hard to keep the facility running and helping where he could. And when he had the opportunity, he'd council the men who would listen.

During his volunteer work at the prisons, it didn't take very much imagination for him to realize he could have ended up there. It could have been him behind bars, instead of Jed. He was grateful to be free and the fulfilment of helping others was liberating. He felt complete and happy in helping others and would spend the rest of his life in service there.

He took the time, months later, to write a letter to Sheila and the girls, giving it to his brother Stan to mail. In it he wrote:

Dear Sheila, Jodi and Candice, I want you to know how deeply and profoundly I regret the harm and pain I have caused you. I never meant for any of you to fear me. I understand I have destroyed your trust in me and I don't ever expect to see any of you again.

However, if you ever found the courage to see me, God willing, I'd welcome it with all of my heart. I really do love you, all of you, and pray for you. Please move on with your life as I am. And if you ever needed anything, if it's in my power to grant it, all you had to do is get ahold of Stan. He'll always know where I am and how I'm doing. Yours in Christ, your Dad and husband, Braxton.

Crystal Davenport received a large financial settlement from Franklin Conner. He told her it was the right thing to do. He also gave her the house, mortgage free, and the small family was able to do more things together now that she had the time and money. She gave up doing laundry for a living and Pastor Tom and Marty installed a used washer and dryer on their back porch.

The Davenport children continued to go to school at the parsonage and thrived under the love and attention of the minister's wife. Aggie learned to play the piano quite well, and she soon was playing the instrument during the Sunday services.

Lynn and Kyle McKenna returned to the church and grew spiritually under Pastor Tom's teaching. Old friends welcomed them warmly, while new friends were added, making a rich tapestry of friendships for the small family.

Kyle and Stacy Hennacy fell in love. The young couple was to wed in the spring and the congregation was looking forward to adding one more family to its number.

Bess Compton called Sheila every week to catch up with her life in the Sunshine State. Now that Braxton wasn't in town, she had no problem writing her friend, calling her, or flying down whenever she pleased. She grew comfortable with the idea that Sheila's husband had indeed changed. What a miracle it was in itself to see such a hard man completely change. Within that year, she started to attend the little country church herself, which was making such a difference in their small town.

* * * *

One afternoon, almost a year to the day they had arrived, Tom and Marty were rocking on the new swing they had just installed on their front porch. The sun was warm, the breeze full of the scent of pine and the bees were busy gathering nectar. The sound of a woodpecker finding bugs echoed out there in the woods.

"Franklin Conner came by the office to talk with me today," Tom shared with his wife.

"Really? What did he want?"

"I think this last year has been hard on him, especially the last six months. He's lonely and lost. We talked for quite a while. I think he's ready to listen now to what God has to say about love. His heart seems to be open to it at least."

"Will he ever change?" Marty asked.

"Only God knows," Tom answered, "I hope so, for his sake."

As they rocked back and forth, his arm around her and enjoying the beauty of their world, he added, "I wish I could convince people not to manipulate others to do their bidding. It doesn't matter if it's requiring people to attend Bible Study, or prayer meetings, or raising your child this way, or that. It's so destructive. It only causes resentment and harm. Even if they think they're doing that person some good. Without God's love, it becomes commanding, judgmental and heartless. We need to avoid telling anyone what to do, unless it's done in God's True Love and wisdom. Our Lord is totally capable of directing his children without our interference and we need to allow Him to do so and let Him work within, as He sees fit. After all He knows best."

"Is there an easy way to know that you really love others in the right way?" Marty asked.

Tom thought for a moment, then smiled, "I think I'd use the fire test. If you're willing to go into a fire to save them, risking your own life and knowing you might die, then you're loving them God's way, aren't you."

Marty nodded her head in agreement. There were those she would definitely risk her life for, but others she would not, if she was honest with herself. Even though she would want to, her love wasn't strong enough to do it for everyone. She'd have to work on that.

Tom continued, "A sign of a mature Christian is producing the Fruits of His Spirit, having a heart for serving God among our fellow man, and dedicating themselves to prayer, and lots of it. We must always strive to learn God's way of loving, which doesn't come naturally to us, because we live in a sinful world. As His children, we need to let go and let God. The world won't come to an end, if we don't get our way. We must trust Him. And with all those we know and those that come into our lives, we should strive to love them by being patient, kind, and not envious or proud. We must let them walk with God, and not dishonor them, nor seek our needs over theirs, but meet those needs. We must avoid anger, and keep no records of wrongs. As God loves, so should we. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails. And neither should we, if we wish to be his children."

"Every Christian should strive to love, and with God's love, not our own. That is the ultimate and highest goal for every Christian... to love in True Love."

Author's Note

Over my long years, I have seen so many in our churches directing without love, not allowing God to work. Our churches should be a place of love and peace, and not of control and disapproval. There will be times when others seek our advice and help, and we should gladly give it, but be sure to do so in God's love.

May God grant you the wisdom to see His truth, the desire to study Him through His Word, and may you reach the ultimate stage of maturity in Christ, by loving as He does.

~ ~ ~ ~

1 Peter 4:8 "Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."

Romans 13:10 "Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law."

1 Corinthians 13:1-3 "If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."

1 John 3:16 "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters."

1 John 4:7 "Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God."

Other Books

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