sign or indication that what she was asking of Himâor surrendering to Himâwas real.
No, the conflicts between Nel, her mom, and religion arose because Nel hadnât been as outwardly devout or involved with faith as Catherine had hoped. Nel knew it was difficult enough for her mom that Jakob didnât say or do much of anything where church was concerned. If Nel attended, it had been because of Catherine getting her there. Sometimes Jakob joined them, sometimes he didnât. And if pressed, heâd often say, âMy faith is personal. I do it in my own way.â
As she stuffed the rest of her favorite possessions into a suitcase alongside her mother, she supposed she was more like Jakob than Catherine in regard to her faith. Words from verses swam through her mind out of order, no longer strung together on plastic bracelets from Vacation Bible School or underlined with fluorescent highlighter in The Way , the old Bible her Young Life leader had given her. Like sheâd told Catherine, maybe sheâd find more of God and find more meaning to her faith in the desert, surrounded by mountains and open sky.
Nel set her last suitcase on the floor of the foyer. The old, flower-power design had seen her through many junior high and high school slumber parties. She and her mother embraced, and in the end it was Nelâs arms that slackened first, Nelâs legs that stepped toward the threshold.
Catherine had reached out and straightened Nelâs glasses, then patted her cheeks.
âTell Dad Iâll be back.â
âHeâll be upset you didnât say good-bye in person.â
âI wonât be able to leave if I do.â
Catherine held the end of one of her tennis-sweater sleeves to her trembling mouth and leaned against the front door as if trying to steady herself as she watched Nel stuff the suitcase in the car.
And so, without saying good-bye to Jakob, Nel drove south along the lake that chilly spring day, with the top of her red VW Beetle down and the heat on full blast. She drove past blueberry fields, some of them smoking and blackened from controlled burns that would help them produce bigger yields. Miles of road later, as she approached the Indiana border, she began to sing along with the radio to âI Will Follow Himâ by Little Peggy March. Then she pushed an eight-track tape into the console and sang every Peter, Paul, and Mary song ever made. Gusts of wind beat her long black hair against her face. Part of her wished she could go back to days when the lake house had seemed like a mansion, when warm summer winds had caressed her arms like a cashmere sweater, and homemade sundresses Mama made out of seersucker had hung just above her knees, when she hadnât minded the tickle of grass in her ears as she lay flat, limbs spread wide in the thick of the yard, and stared at clouds floating past. Happiness had lingered in those days before shame had swallowed her up.
CHAPTER 6
Billy Esposito tried, still, to make small talk as they rattled their way through first a storm door and then the sticky side door of Jakobâs house, his voice too loud against the hushed hollowness inside.
The kid must hate silence, Jakob thought as a pang of uneasiness filled him.
Catherine would know what to say to Nel.
He almost turned his head to look for a reassuring phantom of his wife, the pain of her absence jolting him again. This must be what an amputee feels. Jakob recalled stories heâd heard from veteran friends, then later, friends whoâd lost limbs due to diabetes, who described how they could still feel a foot or a leg, a hand or an arm even after it had been severed. That the nonexistent appendage itched and burned and ached as if it were still there. Worse, sometimes, than if it were still there. After all, an itch on something that didnât exist couldnât be scratched.
Heâd been beyond lucky to marry Catherine, and his thoughts drifted to
No, the conflicts between Nel, her mom, and religion arose because Nel hadnât been as outwardly devout or involved with faith as Catherine had hoped. Nel knew it was difficult enough for her mom that Jakob didnât say or do much of anything where church was concerned. If Nel attended, it had been because of Catherine getting her there. Sometimes Jakob joined them, sometimes he didnât. And if pressed, heâd often say, âMy faith is personal. I do it in my own way.â
As she stuffed the rest of her favorite possessions into a suitcase alongside her mother, she supposed she was more like Jakob than Catherine in regard to her faith. Words from verses swam through her mind out of order, no longer strung together on plastic bracelets from Vacation Bible School or underlined with fluorescent highlighter in The Way , the old Bible her Young Life leader had given her. Like sheâd told Catherine, maybe sheâd find more of God and find more meaning to her faith in the desert, surrounded by mountains and open sky.
Nel set her last suitcase on the floor of the foyer. The old, flower-power design had seen her through many junior high and high school slumber parties. She and her mother embraced, and in the end it was Nelâs arms that slackened first, Nelâs legs that stepped toward the threshold.
Catherine had reached out and straightened Nelâs glasses, then patted her cheeks.
âTell Dad Iâll be back.â
âHeâll be upset you didnât say good-bye in person.â
âI wonât be able to leave if I do.â
Catherine held the end of one of her tennis-sweater sleeves to her trembling mouth and leaned against the front door as if trying to steady herself as she watched Nel stuff the suitcase in the car.
And so, without saying good-bye to Jakob, Nel drove south along the lake that chilly spring day, with the top of her red VW Beetle down and the heat on full blast. She drove past blueberry fields, some of them smoking and blackened from controlled burns that would help them produce bigger yields. Miles of road later, as she approached the Indiana border, she began to sing along with the radio to âI Will Follow Himâ by Little Peggy March. Then she pushed an eight-track tape into the console and sang every Peter, Paul, and Mary song ever made. Gusts of wind beat her long black hair against her face. Part of her wished she could go back to days when the lake house had seemed like a mansion, when warm summer winds had caressed her arms like a cashmere sweater, and homemade sundresses Mama made out of seersucker had hung just above her knees, when she hadnât minded the tickle of grass in her ears as she lay flat, limbs spread wide in the thick of the yard, and stared at clouds floating past. Happiness had lingered in those days before shame had swallowed her up.
CHAPTER 6
Billy Esposito tried, still, to make small talk as they rattled their way through first a storm door and then the sticky side door of Jakobâs house, his voice too loud against the hushed hollowness inside.
The kid must hate silence, Jakob thought as a pang of uneasiness filled him.
Catherine would know what to say to Nel.
He almost turned his head to look for a reassuring phantom of his wife, the pain of her absence jolting him again. This must be what an amputee feels. Jakob recalled stories heâd heard from veteran friends, then later, friends whoâd lost limbs due to diabetes, who described how they could still feel a foot or a leg, a hand or an arm even after it had been severed. That the nonexistent appendage itched and burned and ached as if it were still there. Worse, sometimes, than if it were still there. After all, an itch on something that didnât exist couldnât be scratched.
Heâd been beyond lucky to marry Catherine, and his thoughts drifted to
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