Every Good Gift Read online

  In the ambulance, he felt the needle in his arm. Then everything around him slowly faded away.

  “Hey, there’s my favorite nephew,” the familiar sound of his uncle’s voice sounded gently in his ears as Adam came to.

  “Hey, Uncle Ben. I’m your only nephew by the way,” he said with a smile. His voice sounded croaky but at least he could speak. The neck brace was gone and so was the pain in his hands. He raised his hands to inspect them.

  “Now, now, don’t move too much or you’ll have that shoulder pop out of place again in no time. It looks like you should be able to go home later today. By the Lord’s grace, your arm isn’t broken. In fact, apart from popping your arm from its socket, and the burns on your hands, you don’t have a single broken bone or injury in your entire body. A miracle if you ask me. You should be back on that surfboard of yours in no time.”

  Adam smiled. The surfboard was probably halfway to the Atlantic by now. He turned to take in the empty space on the other side of his bed before his eyes searched the rest of the hospital room hoping to find his wife and daughter.

  “Where are Ruth and Abigail?”

  “The nurse said they are being taken care of and that the doctor would speak to us as soon as you woke up. They’ve been in and out of the room all day so I reckon they’ll be here to check up on you again any minute.”

  Adam stared at the sling that supported his left arm.

  “Are they okay?”

  “I have no idea, Adam. They were taken into surgery as soon as they arrived at the hospital yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yes, apparently you’ve been lights out since they drove you off. I took the first flight out of Tampa the moment I heard the news last night. Danny and the rest of the team have been taking care of things at The Lighthouse so don’t you worry about a thing. We’re all here for you.”

  His attention wasn’t on the mission. Truth be told, it was the furthest from his mind. Of course his work was important to him, but right now, all Adam could think about and longed for was to see his beautiful wife's and daughter’s smiles.

  As if silently summoned, a nurse entered the room. Two steps behind her, a man wearing blue scrubs followed her in and stopped to read the clipboard at the foot of the bed, his stethoscope draped around his neck. Realizing it was the doctor, Ben jumped to his feet and started to nervously thread the brim of his yellowed Panama hat between his fat forefingers and thumbs. Sensing the pensive looks, the surgeon placed the chart back in its place, locked his fingers together in front of his abdomen, and stared down into Adam’s searching eyes.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Bowden.” He paused and then swallowed. “I’m sorry, Adam. We did everything we could for them. It was too late. There was nothing we could do. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  No! This isn’t happening! It can’t be!

  The doctor added something about smoke inhalation and the impact from the blast. His voice trailed off before his eyes met Ben’s and then he quietly turned and left the room, the nurse behind him.

  It’s not real. This is a dream, a nightmare. Tell me this isn’t real!

  While the doctor’s doom-filled words still echoed in his ears, Adam could barely breathe. From beneath the invisible elephant that seemed to push down on his chest, a similarly unseen fist had thrust itself between his ribs and ripped his heart out without permission.

  Give it back! It’s not yours to take!

  Every emotion possessed by man flooded through his numb body all at once. Disbelief, anger, pain, nothing made sense. He wanted to cry, but he had no tears. Just an empty void where his heart had been.

  “I’m so deeply sorry, Adam.” His uncle’s saddened voice cut through the silent room as he slumped into the chair beside the bed. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

  Adam ignored his uncle’s empty words. He flung the sheet back and swung his legs over the side of the bed while simultaneously ripping the oxygen mask from his mouth.

  “Where are you going?” Ben was on his feet again.

  “I don’t believe him. I want to see them. He’s making a mistake. Ruth and Abby are not dead. He’s got the wrong family.”

  Adam was halfway to the door already, clasping the open hospital gown on his rear with his bandaged hand.

  “Adam, calm down. I don’t think you should be out of bed just yet.”

  Ben trailed after him, the ball of his hat now gripped underneath an outstretched hand next to his side, his walking stick, meant to aid his bad knee, dragging behind him on the floor.

  “Adam! Wait. Let me call the doctor.” Ben struggled to keep up the pace.

  But Adam ignored his uncle’s plea as he hastily made his way toward the nurses’ station at the far end of the hallway.

  “Sir, you should be back in bed. You haven’t been—”

  “Where is he? The doctor that was just here. Where did he go?”

  “Sir, you need to calm down, please.”

  Adam didn’t wait and continued past the nurses’ station to the big double doors marked ‘Theater.’

  “Dr. Bowden, this is an urgent call. Please come to Ward three. Dr. Bowden, please come to Ward three. ” The intercom sounded overhead.

  Adam’s fingers closed around the door handle. It was locked. He yanked it back and forth before turning to look for a release button on the wall next to it.

  “Adam, stop! Please. They’ve called the doctor. You need to stay calm.” Ben was out of breath. In his seventies already and walking with a limp in his left leg he couldn’t keep up with his thirty-two-year-old nephew’s urgent pace.

  Adam stopped. The morgue. He turned and headed for the elevator, pushing past his uncle.

  “Now where are you going?”

  “They’re not dead, Uncle Ben. I’m telling you.”

  He jabbed his index finger on the down arrow several times before he stepped back and glanced at the illuminated floor numbers overhead.

  “He’s got the wrong family and I’ll prove it. If they’re dead they’ll be in the morgue. I carried both of them out of that fire. They’re alive.” Adam slammed at the button with the flat part of his hand when the doors took too long to open.

  “Mr. Cross, Adam,” the doctor suddenly spoke behind him.

  “Where are my wife and daughter? I want to see them. They’re not dead. Do you hear me? You have the wrong family. My wife, her name is Ruth. Ruth Cross. And my little girl, she’s seven. Her name is Abigail. She has long, curly blonde hair, like my wife’s. They were taken to Lady Grace hospital.” Adam’s eyes searched for any name signs to confirm his bizarre theory that he had to have been brought to a different hospital.

  “Adam, this is Lady Grace. Please, let’s calm down first. I’ll take you to see them,” the doctor said calmly.

  His words were exactly what Adam wanted to hear.

  “So they are alive. I knew it. You made a mistake. That’s fine, Doctor. We all make mistakes. Just take me to see them, please. I’m calm, I promise. I just want to talk to my wife and my little girl.”

  Adam caught the silent exchange between the doctor and his uncle just before Ben started rolling his hat’s brim between his fingers again.

  Lord, please let them be wrong. They don’t believe me. They think I’m crazy. Let it be a mistake.

  A nurse behind him held out an open robe and signaled for Adam to slip it on over his exposed derriere. He nodded, conveying his gratitude. He’d forgotten all about the gaping hole exposing his tan line.

  “Please, follow me.”

  The doctor led them back down the hallway, past the nurses’ station before he turned left down another corridor.

  Adam followed with his uncle huffing and puffing close behind. The doctor paused at an elevator and scanned his ID card that he had pulled out from somewhere underneath his blue theater shirt. The door instantly opened. Adam’s bare feet stepped onto the textured, steel floor with its multitude rhombus patterns that had him look down, skimmi
ng over his bandaged big toe. Amongst the hundreds of small patterns that stretched out beneath his feet, his eyes instantly picked out one of the patterns that was missing one of its sides. A manufacturing flaw.

  “Adam, you’re going to need to brace yourself. As a pastor, I’m sure you’ve seen many that have passed, but it’s different when they’re your own.”

  They’re not dead.

  The ping sound above his head signaled the door was about to open. In the back of his mind, a gentle voice whispered. My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. He knew the voice. It was God’s. And he knew the scripture too. It was the very one he had used at Natalie Johnson’s vigil before she lost her long battle with breast cancer and had left a grieving husband and three young children behind. But this wasn’t a vigil or a funeral. It wasn’t the same. Was it?

  He followed the doctor into a big open area and was told to wait in a small, narrow room with two chairs that stood along one wall. Moments later the doctor returned and ushered them into an adjoining room that, much to his surprise, didn’t smell anything like a place where they opened up dead bodies. It didn’t smell of death. Just strong cleaning liquids. He had never been inside a mortuary before.

  A man wearing a green hospital mask and matching gown that was tied at the back walked toward them. Carrying a large clipboard he beckoned for them to join him next to a wall of tightly packed silver doors. Adam had seen these on television. They looked exactly like the ones on CSI. His throat suddenly felt dry at the thought that Ruth and Abby might be in there. No, they weren’t. They’re not dead.

  The coroner paused, casting a cautious eye at the doctor before he opened first one drawer, then a second next to it. Suddenly Adam’s heart was back, thudding like a Nutcracker soldier’s drum against his chest. Again he heard the same voice. My grace is sufficient for thee… At that moment, before the sheets were even pulled away, he knew what was to come. He knew he was about to see the lifeless faces of his beautiful wife and daughter. If this was God’s grace he didn’t want it. He could take it back.

  And as Pastor Adam Cross wrestled with God and his unsolicited free gift of grace, he stared down at the pale, lifeless faces of his loving wife and sweet baby girl.

  Chapter Three

  The mood at The Lighthouse was somber, as was to be expected. Most of the dozen missionaries had either been frequent visitors over the years or had remained there indefinitely and so Adam, Ruth and Abigail were like family to them. They had formed an emergency team to gather some supplies and clothing almost as soon as they were rushed off to hospital since everything Adam possessed had been lost in the fire. A few community members had offered their time and services to fix up and paint a derelict chalet that had been vacant and out of use for some time—as a temporary measure for the three of them to come back to.

  There had been no news from the hospital yet and so they faithfully set about preparing for their return. But Elsbeth’s episodes of crying didn’t help any of them.

  “Adam doesn’t need this right now, Elsbeth. Pull yourself together. We need to be strong for them. I’m certain they’ll be back soon and this chalet is nowhere near ready.” Daniel’s tone was stern.

  It wasn’t his usual character but as the mission’s elder, the moment had called for it. In all this time serving together, he’d never seen Elsbeth quite like this. She’d always been the mission’s rock, the unshaken faith warrior who kept everyone rooted in their faith. Yet today, Elsbeth Porter was a ball of tightly woven yarn that had just come undone and lay frayed and scattered all over the floor.

  He had always suspected that she had run from something or someone way back when she first arrived at The Lighthouse and then never left. But she’d never spoken about it, even though the two of them shared a closer than normal relationship. The kind of closeness usual between siblings or bosom friends, not couples.

  Daniel paused over the mint-green comforter he had just spread out over the double bed when a message on his phone bleeped. It was from Ben. As his eyes skimmed over the short sentence that delivered the tragic news, he instantly fell to his knees next to the bed and stared into a dead space between the pillows.

  “Danny?” Elsbeth nudged.

  “Ruthie and Abby didn’t make it. Adam’s fine.”

  The words instantly sent Elsbeth into hysteric crying where it soon left her hyperventilating and unable to breathe.

  Daniel rushed to where she had fallen back against the empty wardrobe where she’d been filling it with donated clothing. She buried her face behind her bony hands, looking tired and much more fragile than usual. Of average height, she’d always been thin, even though she could pack away food like there was no tomorrow. Even her ordinarily perfect bun in the nape of her neck suddenly looked disheveled. Daniel pulled her head against his shoulder. At about five foot six, it lined up perfectly with his five-eleven athletic frame.

  “It’s okay, Beth. It’ll be okay.” Daniel struggled to believe his own words. But they stood there for a while, consoling each other until it was time to let the others know.

  “Take a deep breath, Elsbeth. You’re going to have to calm down now before we tell the others.”

  “I’m sorry, Danny, I’m trying. Really I am. It’s just, well, Adam’s been like a son to us, you know? I feel like this is a twisted game of déjà vu. As if the clock has turned back and we’re all right there again after that horrible incident twenty years ago. It’s all just too much.”

  Daniel knew what she meant. He had thought it too.

  “I know, Beth. None of us needs to be reminded of what happened. But just as we got him and all of us through that terrible time, we’ll do it again. With God as our center. We’re going to fully rely on God to help us, and especially Adam, through this horrific tragedy.”

  He peeled a still sobbing Elsbeth from his shoulder and held her at arm’s-length, bending down until his hazel eyes made contact with hers.

  “Take heart, my dear Beth. Just like Jesus tells us to do in John 16:33. He has overcome the world, and while we don’t quite understand why he allows the suffering of this world, we know he uses it to build and strengthen our faith in him. One day we will look back and see God’s hand in all of this. Let’s praise his name and thank him instead. Adam was spared and, as certain as I am standing here, I know it will all work itself out.”

  And just like that, Daniel Reed did what he had always managed to do with anyone he came in contact with; he brought Elsbeth Porter to a place of peace.

  It seemed life had brought Adam Cross full circle. There he was, broken, without purpose and alone, in the very place it had all begun. Sitting there alone in the dark chapel, staring at the image of Christ’s tortured body pinned to a cross behind the very pulpit he’d been standing on every day for the past ten years, he had never felt more lost or alone. Empty words of jumbled prayers swirled in his head, none of which made any sense, not that it came as any surprise. He hadn’t prayed since the day of the fire. Not once. Not even a quick conversation with God. He couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt empty. And lost. He hadn’t cried either. Not even when they pulled the sheets back and he saw them lying there, drenched in a cloud of chemicals instead of their sweet, feminine scent.

  He glanced across the medium-sized chapel with its modest chairs and empty flower vases. In less than five hours the chapel’s seats would be taken up by the townspeople mourning and paying their respects to—he couldn’t even say their names. Not even in his head. Anger bubbled up and made him clench his jaw. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Was God playing a cruel joke on him? He stared at the anguished face of Christ reminding him of his own suffering on the cross. There was a time he felt Christ’s pain, his suffering. But right now, he felt nothing. He was numb inside. His soul was dead. It had died in that fire along with them.

  * * *

  “I couldn’t sleep either.” Elsbeth’s gentle voice
surprised him when she took a seat in the row of chairs behind him.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t going to come in, but… how are you doing?” Elsbeth clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It’s a silly question. Don’t mind me. I’ll go sit over there.”

  She got up and started winding her way through the rows of chairs across to the opposite side of the chapel.

  “I don’t know if I can get through this,” Adam whispered with no emotion in his voice.

  His near-silent words stopped her dead in her tracks between two rows of chairs. Frozen on the spot she drew a deep breath before she turned to take a seat next to him. She didn’t say a word. She had none. Instead, she drew him in a motherly embrace just like she had done since the day he came to live on the island. A role she happily stepped into and had never once regretted. She loved Adam with all her heart as if he were her own son.

  “I know. It’s okay. We’ll find a way to get through this together.”

  Adam pulled back from her and stared into his lap. He didn’t want to be consoled. He didn’t want to feel anything.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  His words hit a familiar place that had been buried deep inside Elsbeth Porter’s soul. She’d been in that place before, a very, very long time ago.

  “You might not want to now, but you will again. You just need time.”

  They didn’t speak after that. The two of them just sat there side by side in the quiet, dark chapel until the sun’s first rays burst through the tiny row of windows that ran along the top of the east-facing wall and illuminated the sad eyes on Jesus’ face—as if to once again draw their attention to the one who took upon himself the worst suffering of all so they could be set free. Except, he wasn’t free. And neither was Elsbeth.

  * * *

  The funeral was small and intimate with just their Lighthouse ‘family’ and a dozen of the town’s locals who they’d come to know over the years. As with all the other small towns that were sprawled out along the US East Coast, the residents of Turtle Cove had all known each other.