Out to Canaan by Jan Karon

the Creek—a bedridden mother whom she had faithfullynursed since early childhood, and a brutalizing father suffering the cumulative effects of drugs, alcohol, and regular unemployment.
    Through it all, the toothless, kindhearted Harley Welch had looked after Lace Turner’s welfare, shielding her whenever he could from harm. It was Harley’s truck that Lace had used to transport Dooley’s mother, then another Creek resident, to the hospital last summer.
    He shuddered at the memory of Pauline Barlowe, who, burned horribly by a man known as LM, had not only endured the agony of skin grafting and the loss of an ear, but had to live with the bitter truth that she’d given away four of her five children.
    Though Lace’s father and older brother disappeared last year, no one knew when Cate Turner might return to the Creek, nor what he might do if he found his daughter there.
    He made a right turn into the nearly hidden driveway of the Harper’s rambling mountain lodge. With its weathered shingles, twin stone chimneys, and broad front porch, it was a welcome sight.
    Barnabas leapt out, barking with abandon at the sudden alarm of countless squirrels in the overhead network of trees.
    Thanks be to God, Lace was now in the care of the Harpers and doing surprisingly well at Mitford School. Naturally, she continued to use her native dialect, but she had dazzled them all with her reading skills and quick intelligence. He was even more taken, however, by the extraordinary depth of her character.
    Another Dooley Barlowe, in a sense—with all of Dooley’s hard and thorny spirit, and then some.
    He put the leash on his dog and left him secured to the porch railing, then opened the screen door and called. Olivia rushed down the hall and gave him a hug.
    â€œFather, you’re always there for us.”
    â€œAnd you for us,” he said, hugging back.
    â€œShe’s in her room, packing. I’m sorry to be so . . . so inept . . . .”
    â€œYou’re not inept. You’re trying to raise a teenager and deal with a broken spirit. Let’s pray,” he said. He looked into her violet eyes, which he always found remarkable, and saw her frantic concern.
    He took Olivia’s hands. “Father, this is serious business. Give usyour wisdom, we pray, to do what is just, what is healing, what is needed. Give us discernment, also, by the power of your Holy Spirit, and soften our hearts toward one another and toward you. In Jesus’ name.”
    â€œAmen!” she said.
    â€œShall we talk to her together?”
    â€œI’ve said it all, she’s heard enough from me, I think. Would you . . . ?”
    He found Lace in her room, wearing the filthy hat from her days at the Creek, and zipping up a duffel bag.
    She turned and glared at him. “I knowed you’d come. You cain’t stop me. Harley’s sick and I’m goin’.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter with Harley?”
    â€œPukin’ blood. Blood in ’is dump. Cain’t eat, got bad cramps, and so weak he cain’t git up. But they’s somethin’ worser.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSomebody stoled ’is dogs.”
    â€œWhy is that worse?” He’d try to stall her until he collected his wits.
    â€œHis dogs bein’ gone means anybody could go in there and take th’ money he’s saved back in ’is bed pillers. I’ve got t’ drive ’is truck out, too, or they’ll be stealin’ that.”
    â€œWhat do you think the sickness might be?”
    â€œI ain’t no doctor!” she said, angry.
    â€œIt could be something contagious.”
    â€œSo? Harley done it f’r me time an’ again. I was sick nearly t’ dyin’ an’ he waited on me, even went an’ fed my mam when my pap was gone workin’.”
    She picked up the bag and shoved the hat farther down on her head, and walked to the