Coldwater Revival: A Novel (25 page)

Thirty-three

I surged through the rift, rising from yesteryear’s memories as from the depths of the sea. As I lifted to the surface, I opened my eyes and looked around. That’s when I saw the cave and the quilt, and knew I was at my journey’s end. As my breathing quieted and my heartbeat tapered, I wondered if the trip had been worth the struggle. I thought not, for guilt rested as heavily on my heart now as it did before.

I paused, allowing my heart catch-up time. It remained behind, you see, dallying in the open fields of yesterday, rather than returning to the here and now. It tarried there because of Caleb’s words:
You won’t never let nothing bad happen to us, Emma Grace. You love us too much.
I’d carry Caleb’s sweet words of trust with me forever, and remember my unworthiness each time they came to mind. Even now his voice echoed across the mountains of time, making mockery of the forgiveness I sought. Oh, that his childlike prattle would fade and take my bittersweet memories with it.

The barren cave appeared inhospitable. Unwonted. Having absorbed my most troubling secrets, did it now wish to expel me from its quarters?

I slipped my shoes on my feet and tied the lacings, shook the quilt, and restrung it. Best I leave the past where it belonged. After all—memories were but shadows of the past. Leaving 1928 behind, I stepped through the cave and entered the autumnal coolness of 1933.

The storm had departed the area, leaving only a soft rustling in the trees and warm sunshine to cover the ground. The rampage was over. Or was it? While I had cast about in my sea of reveries, another tempest blew across my heart. One I hadn’t weathered well. Though my journey was supposed to end in peace—peace was still just a wish. A wish I could not yet hold or claim as my own. ’Twas a sad and solitary feeling.

As I walked away from the cave, I felt weary and naked, for the trip had peeled away the layers of my heart like dry onionskin. A few tardy raindrops plopped from the overhang, and the sun peeked between strings of clouds. Two-Toe Creek had settled some, but still bubbled like a kettle of water at full boil.

Gavin.
My heart stuttered at the thought of my fiancé. Certain now that I loved the youth by the sea, I didn’t know what to do about the young man who thought to marry me. Did Gavin pace the floor of my house even now, wondering where his intended had whiled away the afternoon? Or had he already gathered a posse to track down my whereabouts?

I stumbled headfirst into a shaft of sunlight that warmed my chilled body, if not my spirit. Unwilling to trudge home with such a weighty heart, I tracked damp ground, stopping beneath a live oak whose branches still bore the leaves of early fall. I found an arid patch of earth and sat down. I leaned my back against a tree and let my tears flow. I dared not stop them.

After I’d cried myself dry, I closed my eyes, for my excursion had tired me out like an old hound dog after a chase. I forced my eyes open seconds later at the snapping of a twig. Nevertheless, drowsiness and gravity had their way with me. My eyelids drifted closed.

I knew I was but an onlooker in this radiant kingdom: this realm where light existed in its purest form. I found the light incomprehensible, for it moved and changed shapes, glowing in ways I had never imagined. Drawn to its core, the light encompassed my thoughts, my soul, my being. I was part of it, yet separate. A bystander, blessed to enjoy but not partake. I stretched my hand toward the brightness, feeling nothing but air. It mattered not that I could not hold the light. ’Twas enough that I could see it.

A thought came. How had I come to be in this place? Moreover—could I abide in its beauty forever?

It was then I noticed a band of roving lights, halos, really, but of vertical confluence. They bounced and rolled, disappearing altogether. Their overwhelming brilliance claimed my breath. Circles reappeared, shifting constantly, changing forms. My mind could not define the hues that expanded and contracted within the shining abundance.

One bundle of lights snagged my attention and my affection. The assemblage mingled together before popping apart like kernels of corn. Or fireworks, exploding into a dazzle of incandescence. In a breath’s time, they rejoined, tangling and disconnecting repeatedly. Poignancy filled my heart, for the lights reminded me of a passel of high-spirited children.

An unknown force compelled me forward, drawing me nearer the circle of lights. ’Twas then I discerned shapes within the halos—humanlike, but not of earthly origin. I gazed at the spectacular sight of young boys, luminous sparks igniting their halos as they frolicked in coltish delight. My heart paused in wonderment, for the children romped and tussled together as in a game. Perhaps it was only child’s play, but the winsomeness of it stilled my heart. Once more I moved ahead, closer now to a lad of exceptional beauty. So familiar, yet … could it possibly be …? Yes, oh yes. It was Micah. My precious Micah.

His smile beamed as I remembered, yet transcendent in a way I had not witnessed before. I longed to pull him into my arms, but he existed apart from me, in a world quite unlike my own. I knew the two worlds could never meet.

Music surrounded me, exquisite harmony; tones unacquainted with earthly ears. I listened with care as Micah’s laughter trilled out a lively melody. I called to him, but he seemed not to notice my presence. Had he heard my cries and listened to my plea for forgiveness, my joy would have been unimaginable. But, as was often the case in life, Micah gave my words no heed at all.

In the midst of these lesser lights, a greater Light appeared, shining as the noonday sun. I watched, spellbound, as the Light accelerated and halted near the children. Micah turned, his eyes feasting on the Light. I, too, turned toward the Light, my heart pounding at the sight of Jesus. He smiled at my brother as though the two shared sacred love. The Savior. I could no more take my gaze from him than I could turn away from Micah. His love spilled over Micah, and dribbled onto me. With unworldly quickness Micah bolted into the Savior’s arms, leaned his head against his shoulder, and snuggled in close. What an incredible sight, this binding of the lesser light to the greater Light, the two becoming one. My eyes burned with intensity, for I could not fill them quickly enough with the wondrous sight before me.

Micah giggled at something Jesus said. Then his face sobered as he studied the Savior. My brother leaned in, clasping Jesus’ face between his hands, holding it tightly as he talked to his friend. Jesus smiled and nodded. Micah burst into melodious laughter, jumped from the arms that held him, and rejoined the other children.

I saw a light in the distance. It raced toward me, magnifying and multiplying to Morning Star brightness. Then a golden curve yawned across the chasm that separated us, washing me with waves of love and forgiveness. I didn’t know how long the cleansing lasted. I knew only that when it was done, my heart was as light and airy as a baby’s sigh.

Without benefit of words or signals, Jesus whispered in my heart, revealing what Micah had asked him: My brother wanted the Savior to promise that he could live with Jesus forever—and beyond.

Content to remain on the sidelines, I bowed my knees in adoration and gazed upon the Savior. Celestial beings flowed around his Presence. Perhaps they celebrated the never-ending blessedness of his companionship. I wanted nothing more than to join them.

I startled awake, hearing a lion’s heartbeat roaring in my ears. Tears coursed my face, rolling moist and salty against my lips. For once, they flowed from gladness and joy, not from the stockpile of guilt in my heart. In sleep, my knees had shifted to the ground. I changed positions, sitting on a patch of grass as though in a daze.

“Emma Grace? Emma Grace … where are ye, girl?”

I thought I heard someone call my name. Unwilling to release the lingering vision of Micah and Jesus, I ignored the interruption.
But, what if it was the Savior calling me? Or Tate, making his way to my side.
I glanced in the direction of the voice. What I saw sent my heart racing around the track again. A tall form stood at the tree’s edge, silhouetted by bright sunbursts.

“Tate … is that you?” My hand trembled as it stretched toward the masculine shadow.

“Emma Grace, where’n the world have ye been?” Gavin stooped, ducking his head beneath low branches. He knelt beside me, his voice tight and scornful. “Did ye think to wait out the storm beneath a tree, ye silly lass? Of all the stupid, foolish … Ye could’ve been struck by lightning, or scattered to kingdom come by the big blow. What’s wrong with ye, girl? Are ye daft, er something?”

I stared at Gavin, disbelieving what my eyes beheld. Reality descended then, landing in my heart, felling me with the blunt edge of a headsman’s ax.
Why couldn’t you be Tate?

Gavin lifted me to my feet and smothered me in an embrace. As he rocked the tight knot of our togetherness, he whispered in my ear.

“I thought I’d lost ye, sweet girl. Don’t ever scare me like that again. Ye hear what I’m saying?” He stopped the swaying and stared wild-eyed at me. “Why’d ye run off like that, in the middle of a hurricane?”

“Hurricane? Surely it wasn’t a hurricane. I’ve been through storms much worse than this. A hundred times worse.”
If you could look in my heart, Gavin, you’d know what I say is true.

“Sure, and a hurricane it was—down the coastline way. Swept inland, too, all the way to Coldwater and beyond. Radio said a tornado hit over in Fayetteville. That’s not so far away, ye ken.” Gavin held me at arm’s length, studying my face. His eyes narrowed and clouded over like a troubled sea. “Just exactly where were ye durin’ the storm? Can ye be answering me that?”

My thoughts whirled, causing my tongue to forget its useful purpose. All I could think about was the hurricane—hitting the Gulf Coast.
Were Granny and Tate safe? Did they make it through the storm all right?

“Emma Gra—”

“I was in a cave. Well, not a cave, exactly. More like a hollowed-out space in the cliffs. Remember that cave over by the chutes, where the creek makes that little twist and …” Gavin released my arms, crossing his own as a disgruntled police officer might do. My rambling must have rubbed his patience raw. Giving it no heed, I resumed my long-winded explanation. “Elo and I used to hole up there during thunderstorms. So when the sky turned ugly, I headed for the cave. The wind practically blew me there on its own. But I was never in any danger.”

When Gavin flattened me to his chest again, breathing became my highest priority. I pushed free and gathered my jacket from the ground. “Mama’s probably worried sick about me. I’m going home … set her mind at rest.”

“Look, sweetheart …”

I faced Gavin, holding my hand palm-up, halting his attempt to snag me in another love-tangle.

“Best I do a bit of explaining to Mama and Papa. Besides, I want to talk to them about some things. Alone.”

Gavin shifted his weight to one leg and recrossed his arms. His eyes held a squint—the sort that crinkled the skin around his eyes when he had an urge to laugh—or spit fire.

“And just what
things
are ye referring to, lass?”

“I’ll … I’ll tell you all about it, Gavin. It’s just that … well … Look—come by this evening and we’ll talk. Okay?” I turned my back before Gavin could grill me further, or talk me into walking home with him. I needed to be alone. To think things through. I didn’t need him by my side, imposing his persuasive nature upon me. He had filled our courtship with the adroitness of inducement. Things always swung in his direction, and if they didn’t, he garnished his words with sufficient fervor to make sure I quietly acquiesced. ’Twas a good feeling to know those days were over.

As I walked the puddled path home, I threw Gavin no glances over my shoulder. I could read his expressive face like the bold type on a newspaper. Right now, it most likely twisted into a fierce scowl, or the snarl of a tiger trapped in a cage.

I glanced around our dinner table. Now that The Ollys were married and gone, it appeared lopsided and lonely. In addition, there was the empty place where Micah sat, which no one could fill.

Supper was almost over. The boys scraped bread crusts against already-spotless plates, and chugged down remaining droplets of milk from their glasses. I hoped my brothers would hear me out before they upped and left the premises. Unclear as to where I should begin, I cleared my throat, snagging the family’s attention. I asked the boys to remain a while longer. I needed to tell them something. I read in their uncommon watchfulness this question: What words would make their tarrying worthwhile? One set of eyes seemed particularly disinclined to stick around; Elo’s glare warning me to get on with the night’s business.

“I wanted to share some things that happened at the creek today.” I hesitated, wondering how to bring up old hurts without inflicting new pain. The family stared at me, unblinking eyes urging me to get to the point.

“What happened, Sis? Did the storm blow some sense into your head?” Caleb pumped his arms like a hero from the funny pages and snickered at his sharp-wittedness, then cast a sideways glance at Elo, hoping to find approval in his hero’s eyes. At least, that’s how it appeared to me.