Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (20 page)

Ben walked out of the studio and made a beeline to the rental car, then paused. Great. Which car did he have this week? Oh, right. The black Bentley GTC convertible. He walked over to the car and got in, then pulled out of the studio parking lot and drove toward his favorite destination in these parts: the Santa Monica Pier. Roy had taken Ben car shopping a few times, but it seemed foolish to spend money on something like that. His old truck in Montana did just fine. After a while he'd convinced Roy of that. Now if he could just convince Roy to stop renting these fancy cars. Roy, of course, said that one never knew who'd be snapping a photo and when, and Ben needed to
look
like a success to
be
successful. He'd tried to tell Roy his greatest success was who he was inside because of God, but his manager only nodded and smiled, like he always did when Ben tried to share his faith.

He turned the car west onto Sunset Boulevard, heading to Palm Avenue. Thankfully, he'd escaped the studio before rush hour. He could feel the tension slipping away as he drove. Maybe he should go sit on the sand to watch the sunset, pen and paper in hand.

Roy got Ben a smart phone, but most of the time Ben forgot the thing back in the hotel room. There was something about writing his thoughts in one of the cheap, lined notebooks he picked up. He wrote letters to folks back up in Montana, and a few more letters that would never be mailed. He also made sure to write his weekly letter to a young man or woman who was getting in trouble with alcohol. That was his mission today.

Twenty-five minutes later, Ben parked at the pier. It being a weekday, the parking lot was almost empty. Only a few people walked their dogs on the sand. One young couple sat in jeans and sweatshirts and shared a picnic lunch. There was a slight breeze, but he wouldn't call it cold. The sun hung in the sky over the horizon and streams of light rippled in from the distant waters. He strode toward the water and picked a random place to sit.

In the front cover of his notebook he'd written the name of the kid he needed to write this week.

"Jordan Marie Dyson," he mumbled under his breath. Above Jordan's name ten others were listed. Since Ben had been released from prison five years ago he had a dozen notebooks like these. He always made sure to pray for the names listed in the front covers. Maybe in eternity he'd find out how his prayers made a difference.

But right now, his thoughts were on Jordan, whoever she was.

Dear Jordan,

You may be wondering why you're getting this letter from someone you don't know. I'm writing you because I got your name from my parole officer. You see, about six years ago I did something very stupid. A good friend and I had been drinking a lot. He passed out and instead of realizing the trouble he was in, I laughed at him and went to bed. Unfortunately the next morning I woke up and he was dead.

Ben paused, and kicked off his shoes. He pushed his toes deep into the cool sand. He closed his eyes and pictured that awful moment. A heaviness settled on his chest and a tremor moved through his gut. He'd never forget the feeling of picking up Jason's cold hand, searching for a pulse in his wrist. When he didn't find one, horror jabbed a knife into his heart.

Ben picked up his pen again.

For a long time after Jason's death I thought I deserved bad things. I felt as if experiencing any happiness would be like throwing rocks at Jason's grave, but over the years God has shown me the best thing I can do for my friend is to share the memories about his life. And try to reach out to young people like yourself so they don't have to learn the hard way like I did.

In the Bible, Psalm 147 talks about God healing the brokenhearted and bandaging up their wounds. What I didn't realize until about a year after Jason's death is that I was brokenhearted long before he died. I'd pretty much decided that life wasn't fair and I was hurt God didn't do more to give me a fair shake. I buried my disappointment and anger with booze, but once I turned my life over to God, and realized that He'd be with me in good times and in bad, well things started looking brighter.

It's not that everything changed and became perfect overnight. In fact, I'm going through a tough time right now because a woman I hoped to marry some day is in love with another person. Yet, even when life doesn't turn out how I wish it would, God is with me. I can feel Him, just as I can feel the sun on my face. And I want you to know that I'm not telling you this because I'm court-ordered to do so (even though I am).

Instead, I'm sharing my heart because even though I don't know you, I believe in you. I also know that it is not just by chance that your name was sent to me. God has been trying to speak to you. Maybe you should just pause for a while and think about all the different ways He has. Also, pause and think about what He wants to say. My guess is that it's something like: "I love you, Jordan. I have good plans for you."

Ben ended the letter as he always did, sharing how it was possible to have a personal relationship with Christ and writing out a simple prayer she could pray. When he finished, he tore the letter out and placed it in an envelope, addressed it, and sealed it. Then, holding it with two hands, he lifted it up, with the setting sun and the rippling waves as a backdrop, and prayed over it. He prayed that God would prepare Jordan's heart for the words to come. He prayed for the other names in his notebook. Prayed that the words he'd sent to them in the past weeks would resurrect when they needed them most.

A new thought stirred as he prayed. For so long his name hadn't meant anything. He'd just been some guy from Montana writing these letters. But now—with his songs on the radio and his face in tabloid magazines—maybe getting a letter from him would matter more.

He smiled. Wouldn't that be just like God to make him a star so one kid would pay closer attention to the words he had to share?

Ben tucked the letter into his back jean pocket and considered writing another letter. What would Marianna do if he wrote to tell her he'd be in Indiana in the coming weeks? He shook his head and stood. No, he wouldn't do that to her. She had made a decision and had chosen Aaron. If he felt God telling him to fight for Marianna he would, but he didn't feel that. Instead, he knew he needed to wait and to pray.

He put his shoes back on, rose, and headed back to his rental car. There were millions of people in L.A., but Ben had never felt more alone as he drove back to the hotel. He just had to trust that what he'd written to Jordan was true—that God would heal the brokenhearted. And as far as Ben was concerned, he was at the top of that list.

Ten days later Ben found himself in Cleveland, not that the town looked any different from any other place he'd been. They drove in at night and spent all day at the venue. To him all cities looked the same—a sea of smiling faces, mostly women.

He leaned closer to the microphone. "It's said the best songs are those that stir emotions for the musician. Music is more than chords and tempos. It's more than lyrics. Half of every song is created with my fingertips on the guitar and with my voice. The other half focuses on the heart."

"You can have my heart!" A girl near the front row shouted.

He winked at her then continued without missing a beat. "The singer must believe the words he sings to make it a beautiful song."

A man in the front row cleared his throat and the woman next to him chuckled as if understanding a private joke. A woman in row five rose and hurried out of the room.

"Stick to singing,"
Roy had told him over and over.
"That's what they pay to see."

But if he had to be on the road, at least he could do God's work.

Ben's gut tightened and he spoke faster. They'd come to hear a song, but he couldn't let them leave without knowing his faith, his heart. "This song is important to me, because it makes me think of someone I care for. I don't have her in my life. I doubt I ever will, but God has given me the peace to walk away from her. Of course"—he chuckled—"I'd rather have her, but sometimes what we get seems like second best, especially when it has to do with matters of the heart."

A collective "oh" rose from the women in the audience, and Ben imagined numerous women elbowing the guy they'd come with as if saying, "You should be thankful."

And with that he started playing the song that the world loved, but that broke his heart nearly every time he sang it.

"Entered my cabin, all warm from the fire,

Muscles were achin', worn out n' tired

From hard work like granddaddy did—

Ever' day of his life."

Looking out in the crowd Ben saw many beautiful women, but none seemed as beautiful to him as the memory he had of Marianna. He took a breath and continued on.

"Got my cabin deep in the woods

But need somethin' more to call it all good

To fill the aching hole in my life—

Cuz every warm cabin

Needs a good wife

You're nothing alone, you're everything together

Aches all fade when someone helps you weather

the hard times,

Come fill my heart, come fill my life—

Every warm cabin

Needs a good wife

My granddaddy told me, "If you wanna be whole,

Son, find a good woman who fills up your soul.

Whose smile brings sunshine, whose laughter rings true—

'Cuz son, life ain't nothin' 'til you do."

Then came the day I looked in your eyes,

I knew granddad's words were heartfelt and wise.

Your smile, your laughter proved my grandad knew

A thing or two about life.

Your gray eyes a'dreamin', your smile so warm

could melt all the ice from the cold winter's storm,

And by the March thaw, my soul came to life

When I asked gray-eyed girl to be called my wife.

You settled my heart, you warmed up my life

The day you agreed to be called my wife.

You said:

We're nothing alone, We're everything together

Aches all fade when someone helps you weather

The hard times,

I'll enter your heart, I'll enter your life