After the Rains (19 page)

“He’s going to translate the Bible into Timoné?”

“Well, that’s the ultimate goal, but when you’re beginning without so much as an alphabet, there’s a long way to go before that will be a reality. David is just now beginning to speak Timoné well, and since none of the Timoné people are fluent in English, that was an important first step. Now that he has a handle on the mother tongue, he can begin to actually work with some of the native people, getting the tones and inflections just right, and creating an alphabet. That will be a major victory.”

“I never thought about how much was involved in translating something into another language,” Natalie told him.

“I didn’t either, Natalie. I’ve learned a lot from David. I bet he was a great teacher.”

“He was a teacher?”

“Yes. He taught languages at a small college somewhere back East. I forget the name of it now. His background has served him well. The Timoné people accepted him very quickly. I’ve never seen them so eager to learn how to read. Somehow—even before he spoke the language well—he was able to convey his excitement about getting God’s Word into print in Timoné. Pretty amazing when you realize that ‘in print’ has no real meaning for them.”

As her father spoke of his life in South America, Natalie felt drawn into her father’s world in a way she’d never been before. After a few minutes, she
realized with a start that she had almost forgotten his reason for being back in the States.

She looked up from a photograph to find him watching her intently.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Nathan Camfield reached across the tabletop and put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get over how much you’ve changed since I was home last.” He dipped his head slightly. “And how much you look like your mother.”

She smiled, embarrassed by the tinge of longing in his voice, and went back to thumbing through photos. When she’d lingered over the final envelope for a while, she stacked the photos and slid them back into the packet. “Thanks,” she told him. “Those are really good.”

“They did turn out nice,” he agreed. “I guess I should take more pictures. We took so many—your mom and I—when we first got there …” His voice trailed off. Then he simply spoke her name, “Natalie?”

She looked up and met his gaze, and it struck her that he was as nervous as she was.

“Let’s talk about what’s going on with you, okay?” he finally said.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Sixteen

N
atalie swallowed hard. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, your mom told me most of the details, I think,” he said. “What I want to know is how you’re feeling about things. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m okay,” she muttered, staring down at the table.

“Define
okay
.”

She could tell that he was trying hard to put her at ease, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. She looked up at him and suddenly—though he still seemed more like a kind counselor than a father to her—what she saw in his eyes opened a door. There was a kindness there, an acceptance without judgment. There was love. Strangely, she found herself wanting to pour out everything. And maybe it wasn’t so strange. Nathan Camfield would leave in a few days, go back to Colombia halfway across the world. Maybe she could tell him things that she could never tell someone she’d have to face day after day. Maybe somehow he could take her shame and guilt with him when he left.

She took a deep breath. “If you want to know the truth, I honestly don’t know how I’m doing. I— I broke the law … did something totally stupid … and my best friend is dead because of it. I’m not sure how I can ever live with something like that. I feel like it’s—like it’s totally unfair that I’m sitting here in one piece, breathing and living.”

He shook his head slowly. “I guess I can understand how you might feel that way,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have much choice
but
to live with it. Right?”

“I guess. I mean, I’m not going to kill myself or anything.”

“Good,” he said. He cleared his throat. “From what your mom said, it sounds like you’ve done everything you can to make this right—”

“Nothing will ever make this right!” she cried.

He held up a hand. “I know … I know.” His tone became apologetic.
“What I mean is that you’ve asked for forgiveness from everyone involved. And your mom said that they’ve all forgiven you.”

“What choice did they have?”

“Oh, they had a choice, Natalie. Nobody
had
to forgive you.”

“They
didn’t
have a choice—they’re all Christians—all of Sara’s family. They
have
to forgive me.” Jon Dever’s face came to her mind, and she wondered,
had
he forgiven her yet?

“Oh, Nattie …” Her father laughed softly, not unkindly. “It would be nice if forgiveness were that cut-and-dried—even for Christians. But it’s not that easy.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she waited, her gaze trained on the shiny table.

“Do you consider yourself a Christian, Natalie?”

She jerked her head up, taken aback by his question. “Sure. I guess … I mean, I believe in God and everything.”

He waited for more.

“I asked Jesus into my heart, if that’s what you mean,” she told him, “when I was four years old.”

“And is he still there?” He thumped his chest. “In your heart?”

“I guess so.”

“You need to
know
, Nattie. You
can
know for sure, you know.”

“Well, I— I never kicked him out or anything,” she smiled wryly. “And I know the Bible is true and all that stuff. I— I’ve never doubted that.”

Her father smiled back at her. “Then he’s there—in your heart. For sure. God promises he will
never
leave us or forsake us.”

She sighed involuntarily. “Sometimes it seems like it might be easier just not to believe in God at all. Maybe then this stuff wouldn’t bother me so much.”

“Oh, Nattie. Even if you didn’t believe, you’d still have a conscience. It’d be so much worse to have the guilt and not know what to do with it.”

She sat thinking about what he’d said. What
had
she done with her guilt? She’d said she was sorry. But that didn’t bring Sara back.
Sorry
seemed a pretty pathetic penance for the horrible, irreversible thing she’d done.

“I just wish God would have kept this from happening in the first place,” she said now.

“I do too, Nattie. I wish it worked that way. But belonging to God doesn’t mean we won’t ever have troubles. We’re human … We’re all going to make mistakes. And other people are human … They’re going to make mistakes that affect us. But belonging to God means that when we do come up against trouble, he’ll be right there with us, helping us get through. But you have to
let
him help you.”

He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, “You know, my friend David Chambers—the guy you saw in the pictures—had something a little bit like this happen to him when he was younger. He didn’t set out to hurt anyone, but things got out of hand and everything played out differently than he thought it would and—well, it’s a long story, and not really mine to tell—but when it was all said and done, David felt like he had ruined someone’s life. But his testimony now is that the thing that seemed so terrible at the time, ended up being the very thing that brought him to faith in God, brought him ultimately to Timoné. And he’s doing incredible work there now. Making such a difference in our little world.”

He looked down thoughtfully, and when he looked back up at her there was determination in his eyes—and something else. Sadness?

“I want to tell you something, honey.”

The way he called her
honey
made her feel warm inside.

“The hardest thing—” He stopped short, swallowed hard, and pressed his lips together for a moment before starting in again. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done was to give up your mother—and you. I … I didn’t think I could do it. It seemed impossible. And yet, God was more real to me during that time than he’s ever been. It was like—”

“Yeah, but you hadn’t done anything wrong,” she protested. “None of what happened was your fault. You—”

He stopped her with an upraised palm. “Hear me out, okay?”

She nodded, intent on his words.

“When I went back to Colombia, I had to forgive a lot of people for what had happened. And I
did
have a choice. I did. And for a while—not very long, praise God—but for a while I made the wrong choice. I was
hurt and angry and bitter, and I wanted someone to blame for the way my life had turned out. But I came to realize that even if I could blame someone—say I’d decided to lay all the blame on your mom—it wouldn’t change my circumstances. And in fact, all it would do was eat me up inside. When I made the decision to forgive—everyone, even God, for letting things happen the way they did
—I
was the one who was set free. And the most wonderful thing happened then.”

Natalie watched his face, and she could see by the faraway light in his eyes that he was remembering something from the past.

“I started to love all those people in a new way, a way I’d never imagined I could. I realize now that it was God loving them through me.” He shook his head, as though rousing himself back to the present. “Do you understand what this has to do with you?”

She shook her head, confused. “I— I don’t think so …”

“Natalie, you have been given the most precious gift. Not only has God forgiven you, but the people who were hurt because of the accident have chosen to forgive you for the part you played. That’s a rare gift. I’ve been in the position of someone who had to forgive when it was really hard to forgive. And because of that, I know that those people love you more today than they did even before this all happened. When you forgive someone, you kind of make an investment in them.” He looked at her, eyebrows knit as though he wanted to understand
for
her. “Does that make sense?”

She nodded, and tears came to her eyes as she realized how true his words were. She had been forgiven so much.

When he saw that she was crying, his voice softened and he reached out and put a rough hand over hers on the table. “I know that what happened was— Well, you didn’t do it on purpose. You didn’t mean for it to happen. But it’s probably a safe bet to say that you weren’t asking for God’s direction when you went to that party and when you got in that car after you’d been drinking.”

He waited for her acknowledgment, and she nodded, her mind reeling with all he’d given her to think about.

“The result of your actions was something more terrible than you could have ever guessed would happen. It was the same with your mom back when—”

He hesitated for a second, and Natalie could see in his eyes that he was struggling with how much to say.

“She didn’t know I was still alive. She couldn’t have been expected to know that, but—” Again he paused. “I don’t know how much your mother has told you about what happened with us, Natalie—and maybe it’s not my place to tell you this—but Daria told me that she wasn’t asking for God’s direction when she married Cole. And the consequences for that were huge. Not just for her, but for all of us. But what made the difference, Nattie, is that she acknowledged her mistake and started asking what God wanted her to do to make it right. Like you, she apologized. But she went a step further: When people gave her the gift of their forgiveness, she accepted it. She was grateful. And I know—for me at least—it made me glad I’d offered her my forgiveness. It made it easier to complete the process of forgiving—made it easier to resist the temptation to pick up my unforgiveness and carry it around with me again.”

Natalie looked down at the burn-scarred hand that covered hers. There was an odd comfort in knowing that they had all managed to survive in spite of what had happened. She thought of Mom and Daddy and the deep love they shared. She thought of the man sitting across the table from her, and the joy and fulfillment she had seen on his face in the photographs they’d looked at just minutes ago. And for the first time, she could envision a future ahead of her—a future that might even include some moments of happiness and fulfillment. A tiny seed of hope cracked open, and a fragile sprout emerged.

Nate patted her hand, then in one smooth motion pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Well, that’s probably enough of the lecture circuit for me tonight. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds—”

“No. You … you didn’t,” she said, rising and moving toward his side of the table. “I— I needed to hear that. Thank you, Nate— Dad—” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t ever know what I should call you.”

“I liked that last one,” he said.

His hopeful smile made her heart soar. “Okay … Dad.”

Her father pulled her into his arms, and she let the tears flow freely.

With Dennis Chastain leading the way, Daria and Cole passed between the towering columns of the county courthouse and ascended the wide cement steps. Natalie walked between them, her head bowed, shoulders stooped. Daria fought back tears.