The Forgiving Hour (38 page)

Dakota had a favorite spot on this stretch of the river, a place hidden behind tall cottonwoods and dense underbrush, a place where he couldn’t be seen and where he didn’t have to see others. He thought of it as his private oasis. He’d come here many times in the past to pray and meditate.

And so he’d come today to seek answers. He’d wallowed in misery and self-pity for five days. He didn’t want to remain in that place of sorrow any longer. He needed to hear his heavenly Father’s voice again. He needed to know what to do, where to go, how to cope.

Taking a deep breath, he gazed at the beauty of God’s creation that surrounded him and suddenly remembered the first time he’d seen it. He’d been with his dad, both of them carrying fishing poles. He couldn’t have been more than six years old at the time. He remembered the two of them laughing as his dad put his favorite fishing hat on Dakota’s head.

Strange that he’d forgotten that day until now.

“How come you had to have an affair?” he asked his long-absent earthly father.

Sunlight glinted off the surface of the water. A dog barked in the distance. A hawk soared against a crystal blue sky.

“And why did it have to be with Sara?”

A trout jumped. The breeze whispered.

“She was only nineteen. You used her, and you betrayed Mom. Why’d you have to do it?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the engagement ring. The marquise diamond captured the brilliance of midday and nearly blinded him with its reflection.

“I miss her so much.”

A pause. A heartbeat.

“I
love
her so much.”

Sara with his father.

He closed his hand around the ring, squeezing tightly.

“Why?”

He could hardly remember what his dad had looked like. The only photo he owned of Dave Porter had been tucked away for years, first in a bottom drawer, then in a box of old keepsakes out in the garage. He hadn’t looked at it in ages, not since the last time he’d moved.

No, he couldn’t remember what his dad had looked like. Could Sara remember?

“Why, Dad?”

Sara with his father. Sara kissing his father. Sara in bed with his father.

“Why’d you have to do it? Why’d you have to cheat on Mom? Now you’re dead. It’s just like you ran out on us all over again. You’re gone, and look at all the pain you left the rest of us to deal with.” He knocked the heel of his athletic shoe against the dark, hard-packed soil, pounding it in an expression of frustration, anger, and pain. When he stopped, he added, “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you care what you were doing to others? Why’d you have to be so selfish? Why’d you have to misuse Mom and Sara the way you did?”

He didn’t know the answers, of course, because he’d never known his dad. Not really. He hadn’t had the chance to.

“You’re gone, but the hurt remains. Hurt always lasts, doesn’t it? It takes on a life of its own, and it lasts and lasts.”

No, Dakota. It’s My love that lasts. All else will pass away, but not My love, beloved. Not My love.

Hearing that familiar Voice in his heart, he released a sigh. For days now, God had felt far away, remote, inaccessible. Dakota had tried to pray, but ever since Sara revealed why she couldn’t marry him, he’d felt all those prayers bouncing right back to him.

Abba, I don’t know how to handle this.

I will be your comfort.

“Jesus,” he whispered, the name a prayer all its own. “Take this from me, because I can’t bear it.” He pressed his fist — the ring still clutched within — against his forehead. “It hurts.”

He sat in silence for a long time after that, listening to the soothing song of the river, to the gentle whisper of the cottonwood leaves, waiting for the pain to ease.

The sanctuary at Sunrise Fellowship was cool and dim; the only light filtered through stained-glass windows. The building was totally silent, seemingly deserted.

Except for Sara.

She paused midway up the center aisle and stared at the huge oak cross that hung on the wall above the pulpit. It was draped with a purple robe and crowned with a circlet of thorns. She dropped her gaze, feeling unworthy to look upon the symbol of Christ’s sacrificial love.

With slow steps, she proceeded to the prayer altar. She knelt on the carpeted step and leaned her arms on the wooden banister, bowing her head and clasping her hands. There were no words, no expressions for what she was feeling. The most she could do was whisper, “Forgive me … I’m so sorry … Forgive me …”

God was silent, as He’d been all week, as she expected Him to remain. After all, she was only reaping the harvest of what she’d sown. This was her justly deserved punishment.

Grace …

The single word seemed almost audible. She opened her eyes and looked behind her, halfway expecting to find the pastor standing there. But she was still alone in the sanctuary.

Turning her head, she stared upward at the cross.
Forgive me.

There was only silence.

“I thought I’d find you here,” John said.

Dakota looked over his shoulder and watched as his friend pushed aside the dense growth to make his way toward the riverbank. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

With a shrug, John answered, “Nobody else seems to be working today. You’re not. Your mom’s not.” He sank down beside Dakota. “Something’s going on, and I figured you might need an ear. I’m willing to listen.”

“I needed to think and pray before I could talk about it with anybody.”

John nodded, his expression neutral. He wasn’t the sort to press.

“Sara broke our engagement last weekend.”

That caused a slight widening of John’s eyes. Nothing more.

“The reason has to do with both Mom and Sara. And me, too, in a way. I can’t tell you the whole story. It would be betraying a confidence if I did.”

“That’s okay. God already knows the details.”

“Yeah.” He picked up a rock and tossed it as far as he could. It landed just short of the other bank, water splashing high, ripples circling the surface.

John placed a hand on Dakota’s shoulder.

Dakota wasn’t surprised by the comfort he gained from it. His friend had been at his side in more than one crisis in his lifetime. John didn’t judge or try to find immediate answers. He was a quiet and steady presence. Just what Dakota needed at the moment.

“It looks really hopeless, John. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find a solution.”

His friend’s grip tightened.

“But while I’ve been sitting here, I got the feeling it isn’t over yet. The Lord’s doing a work of some kind. I just don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe you don’t need to know. At least not yet.”

In God’s time,
Dakota thought, knowing that was one of the things he’d learned that afternoon beside the river. He was supposed to wait upon the Lord. He was supposed to take his hands off the situation and not try to fix it himself. He was being called to love Sara and his mother and to pray for God’s will to be done in their lives as well as in his own. That might not mean what he wanted it to mean. It might mean Sara left his life forever.

But losing her wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted everything to be the way it was before. He wanted things to miraculously be all right.

He wanted Sara never to have had that affair with his father.

The raw ache in his chest flared anew.

Could he have been wrong about her being the woman the Lord intended for him? Perhaps. How could he love her, knowing what he now knew?

God’s voice in his heart was undeniably clear.
Though your sins are as scarlet, they will be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they will be like wool.

He’d once told Sara the same thing. He’d told her that Jesus’ blood had washed her clean from her past. Had he meant it? Did he believe it? Would he have said it if he’d known about her past?

“Dakota?”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe what’s happening here isn’t what you think. Maybe God’s taking something bad and turning it into something beautiful.”

He looked up at the sky.
Turning this mess into something beautiful.
“That would take a miracle.”

“But God’s in the miracle business, Dakota.”

THIRTY-NINE

For Claire, the days passed with agonizing slowness.

Dakota was the dutiful son, checking on her daily, seeing to her needs, driving her to her doctor’s appointment, and picking up her medication at the drugstore. Yet even when with her, he wasn’t really with her, and she knew why. Not that he explained anything to her. He didn’t so much as mention Sara’s name. But Claire knew she must have confessed everything; the younger woman had made good on her promise that she wouldn’t marry him.

Claire should have felt victorious. She should have felt vindicated. She didn’t. Not when she looked at Dakota and saw his misery. Not when bitterness overtook and consumed her like a putrefying wound.

She recognized, reluctantly, that she was still shaking her fist at the Almighty, just as she’d done on the day her son had brought
that woman
into her home. On that afternoon, her fist shaking had been a physical act. Now she was doing it in her heart. And perhaps that was worse. Even though she hadn’t been a Christian long, she knew this wasn’t what God the Father had called her to feel and to be. Yet knowing it and doing something about it were totally different things.

The doorbell rang just as Claire hung up the telephone, a call from Alana, checking on Claire’s physical well-being. She considered ignoring whoever was at the door. Dakota had been by this morning, so she knew it wasn’t him, and she didn’t want to deal with a salesman or some kid trying to raise money for a school or church project. She didn’t want to deal with life. Period.

The second time the bell rang, she knew this person wasn’t going away without being told to.

Moving a bit stiffly, her muscles aching, she walked to the front door and jerked it open with obvious irritation, an angry send-off perched on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it the instant she saw him.

“Hello.” Kevin’s smile was warm, his gaze concerned. “I was in town on business. Jack told me about your accident. I thought you might need …” With a shrug, he let the explanation drift into silence.

Confusion raged in her chest. She was glad to see him. More glad than she’d thought possible. More glad than she wanted to be. At the same time, she wished he weren’t here. Instinctively, she knew his mere presence would shine a light on the dark things in her heart. She didn’t want them exposed.

He raised an eyebrow. “May I come in?”

Send him away.

“Please.”

She stepped back, holding the door open wide. “Of course. I didn’t mean to be rude.” With her good arm, she motioned toward the sofa. “Would you like some coffee? I can make decaf. Or I’ve got a few diet sodas in the fridge.”

“No. I’m fine. Thanks.” He sat on the sofa, leaving room beside him.

She took the chair instead.

“You’ve got a lovely home,” he said as his gaze roamed over the room. When he met her eyes again, he added, “It’s just the sort of place I’d imagined you in. Warm. Inviting.”

She acknowledged his compliment with a tip of her head.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his expression serious. “I told you a lie. I didn’t come to Boise on business. That was only an excuse. I came to see you.”

“Why?” There was a challenge in her question.

“Because you’re in trouble.”

She stiffened. “In trouble? Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?”

“You told me so yourself. On the telephone.”

“Well, it was a poor choice of words then. I just had a little car accident, got a bump on the head, a few bruises, and this broken arm.”

“Claire … be honest with me.”

“Have you come all this way to call me a liar?”

His gaze was penetrating and unwavering.

She got up, feeling a need to put distance between them. He saw too much already.

“Don’t run away,” he said softly.

“You presume too much.” Anger was her only defense. “I’m not running away from you.”