In All Deep Places (15 page)

“Get her out?”

“Norah and her brother just lost their father. They really need their mother right now.”

“Oh. I see. I’m very sorry to hear that, I truly am. But you un
derstand Ms. Hickler pled guilty to the charge?”

“Yes,” I said, sighing.

“She may be released early for good behavior. It happens some
times.”

“Sure. Okay.”

“I’m really sorry about the loss of Miss Janvik’s father. She is
seventeen?”

Luke cleared his throat. “Actually, she’s fourteen. Her brother is eight.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. Really it is. But I would think they’d be well cared-for in the States. I am sure Iowa has a program to take care of
kids whose only living parent is in prison.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, you can give Miss Janvik my number if she has any ad
ditional questions.”

I wrote down the number as the man recited it.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Goodbye, then.”

The man clicked off.

I stood at the kitchen counter with the phone in my hands.
The air around me felt heavy. The scribbled-on envelope in my hand felt even heavier. I had no idea how to get this information
to Norah. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be the one to give it
to her. But someone needed to know what I now knew. Someone
with the power to make decisions for Norah and Kieran needed to know where Belinda was and why she was there. I didn’t know who that someone was.

But I did know in whose hands I wanted the envelope to
begin its journey to Norah, if those hands weren’t mine.

I dialed the number for my dad’s office.

I
awoke on Thanksgiving morning with my head turned toward my window. When I opened my eyes
,
the wooden walls of the tree house were the first things I saw. Denied its leafy clothing, the elm that bore my refuge looked naked in the grayness of a Midwest November morning. And the tree house itself looked
exposed and vulnerable. I hadn’t been inside it for weeks. I could see Norah’s and Kieran’s bedroom window beyond the awkwardly pitched tree house roof as I lay in bed. There was no light behind the glass, and the curtains were drawn. I turned
my head, threw back the covers, and got up.

Nell Janvik had returned to her home the previous evening—none of us were entirely sure when. At five, when
dusk was approaching, the house had still been dark. But at seven-
thirty, my mother had noticed a light was on in the living room.
I had seen it, too. Mom had grabbed a parka and headed
for the front door.

“Do you want me to come with you?” my father had asked.

“No,” she’d said as she pulled on her winter boots. “Not yet.”

She hadn’t been gone very long, maybe twenty minutes. When she’d returned, her eyes betrayed that tears had been shed.

“Everything okay?” my dad had said. It was not a well-worded
question, but the three of us knew what he meant.

“She’s so angry.” Mom had pulled off her parka, stepped
out of her boots and had made her way to the kitchen with Dad and I following.

“But she let you in. She let you talk with her,” Dad had said.

“Yes,” Mom had replied, and then she’d sat down at the
kitchen table. “It was the longest stretch of conversation I’ve ever
had with her in the thirteen years we’ve been here. And actually I said very little. She just kept going on and on. I think she mistook
me for God. It was like she was reading off a list of every horrible
thing He’s allowed to happen to her. And it was such a long list.”

Mom had looked up then and noticed I was in the kitchen listening as well. She’d quickly gotten up, walked over to
the stove, and grabbed the teakettle. “I think I’d like some tea.”

“Were Norah and Kieran there?” I had asked.

“No,” his mother had answered, filling the kettle with water
at the sink. She’d said nothing else about it last night. Not to him,
anyway.

I now pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, leaving my pajamas on the floor. When I opened my bedroom door, the savory smell of sautéed sage, onion, and celery greeted me—my mother was preparing the stuffing for the turkey. I descended the
stairs, hands in my pockets, and walked past Ethan, who was lying
on the couch watching a parade on TV. I went into the kitchen.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” my mom said when she saw me.

“Hey,” I said in return. I thought my mom looked tired.

“I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast,” she said. “They’re on
the table.”

“Okay.” I reached into the cupboard for a juice glass, poured
some orange juice, and looked at the cinnamon rolls, their tops glossy with white icing. I didn’t feel in the mood for something
so dreadfully sweet.

“After you eat, can you get a leaf out for the dining-room table?” she continued. “We’ll just need one.”

My grandparents were coming from South Dakota and would be staying through the weekend. Mom had invited the Janviks, too, and it had been looking favorable that they were all going to come. Even Nell and Darrel. But that was before. The Janviks weren’t coming now. None of them.

“I’ll just do it now,” I said, setting the juice glass down and leaving the room.

The morning passed slowly. Ethan and my dad began to watch the first of a string of college football games while waiting for the grandparents. But I had no interest in watching football. Nothing seemed to interest me.

After lunch, I went back upstairs to my room and closed the door. Through the window, my tree house beckoned me. I walked over and stood there for several long minutes, then raised the sash and screen and storm window. A sharply cold November wind blew across my face, and I shut my eyes
.
It was invigorating. I opened my eyes
and looked out at the limb that would take me to my tree house if I dared to climb out onto it.

My mother would most likely ground me.

So what?

I grabbed a hooded jacket off my desk chair and pulled it on over the sweatshirt I was already wearing, pulling the hood over my head. Then I grabbed the blanket off my bed, wadded it up as best I could, and climbed gingerly out onto the limb. The branch felt icy and petrified, and it swayed a bit in the wind. I crept across it slowly, throwing the blanket into the tree house as soon as I was close enough. My hands were numb when I finally climbed inside, and I grabbed the blanket and wrapped myself in it, covering my hands and hunkering down. After a few moments, the icy chill left my fingers and my own body heat began to warm me. The walls kept out most of the wind, and there was only a trace of snow where I sat. It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Once I was warm I leaned back against the wall that faced
Norah’s window and gazed out at the unforgiving November sky.
I wondered what the weather would be like at Darrel’s funeral tomorrow. I wondered if everyone would sit in their cars at the cemetery if the ceremony was accompanied by an icy wind.

I decided I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if a freak, unpredicted
blizzard swooped down on Halcyon tomorrow morning, burying mourners in their cars as they tried to pay their last respects. Bad luck followed the Janvik family. It just did. Or seemed to.

Was it really bad luck?

My youth pastor had told the youth group a few months ago there was no such thing as bad luck. Or good luck. There was no luck to anything or for anyone. Nothing happened by chance, be
cause there is a God who is in control of everything.

If that was true, I thought to myself, if God was in control of everything and nothing happened by chance, and there was no
such thing as luck, then it was God himself who had allowed such
unrelenting misfortune to fall on the Janviks. There was no other way of looking at it. God was either in control or He was not. If He was not, then no wonder life was sometimes a picture of chaos.
If He is in control, though, then what on earth is He doing? This planet is a crazy mess!

“I don’t understand You,” I whispered aloud, but I was afraid to whisper anything else. I was afraid a cosmic hand would
reach down out of heaven, pluck me from the tree house, and fling me to the frozen ground.

I sat there with these troubling thoughts for a long time. I
didn’t hear my father come to my window or see him look out of it.
I was not even aware my father was climbing out of the window and inching his way along the branch until he was nearly in the tree house.

“Dad!” I yelled when I saw him.

“It’s okay, Luke,” Dad said gently. “Can I come in?”

I was completely shocked. My father had never come into the tree house before. Never. And here it was the end of November, twenty degrees with a measurable wind chill, and my father was perched on a tree limb, asking to be let in.

“Yeah. Sure,” I said, dumbfounded.

My father gingerly approached the entrance and crawled inside.

“Here,” I said, unwrapping myself from my blanket and handing it to my dad. “I’ve got on another sweatshirt.”

“Thanks.” My father wrapped the blanket around himself.

The two of us sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Your grandparents are here,” he finally said.

I nodded.

“You’ve been out here doing some thinking?” Dad said, a moment later.

“Yeah.”

“What about?”

I was hesitant to confess to my father that I had been accusing God of being ridiculously unfair. But on the other hand, I desperately wanted reassurance God was still good.

“It just seems like God has been unfair to the Janviks,” I said after a long pause. “Every time I turn around something bad is happening to them. It’s just like Mom said last night. Nell has that huge list of horrible things that have happened to her. It seems like God is against her.”

My father nodded. “It does seem that way,” he said, letting out a sigh that let me know he knew exactly how I felt and it wasn’t a damnable crime.

“So is He? Is He against her?”

Dad looked up at the roof of the tree house, studying it. He waited a few minutes before he began to speak.

“Do you remember when I built this tree house and your mom and I told you there were two rules? Do you remember what they
were?”

“Sure,” I said. “I had to share it with Ethan, and we weren’t
allowed to roughhouse in it.”

“And why weren’t you allowed to roughhouse in it?”

I shrugged. Was my dad playing a trick on me? “Because
Mom was afraid we might fall.”

“And what would happen if you fell?”

“Dad—”

“Just tell me.”

“Well, if I fell, I’d probably get hurt. Might even break some
thing important.”

A grin broke across Dad’s face. “And why would you get hurt? Why is it possible you might break something?”

I smiled now. “Because when people fall from trees they usually get hurt. You know, there’s that thing called gravity.”

“And the frailty of the human body,” Dad added.

“Yeah, that too.”

I knew my father was trying to communicate something to me. I just couldn’t see what it was.

“We live in a world with limitations, Luke,” Dad said. “The body is frail, and the laws of our planet confine us. You know you can’t jump out of this tree house and expect to fly. You know your limitations. You also know, Luke, that God made the world perfect, even perfect in its limitations, but we kind of made a mess of it. So now we live with limitations that can hurt us. Do you see
where I am headed?”

“I… don’t know,” I said. Some of it was making sense. Some
of it wasn’t.

“Part of the reason Nell has known such sadness is she has made bad choices, and so have some of the people she has loved. And of
course some of her sadness is because of things that were beyond her control, things that came up against those limitations.”

“You mean like Kenny getting killed in Vietnam?”

“Yes, like that.”

“So why doesn’t God ease up on her, then?” I asked. “He hasn’t let even half as much bad stuff happen to us as He has to Nell. Or Norah. I don’t see what Norah has ever done to deserve what is happening to her, Dad. She’s not like Nell. And only bad stuff happens to her.”

“Well, I don’t know all that God knows about individual people, Luke. I believe He works in each life in whatever way that will draw that person to Him.”

“Yeah, but Dad—this will just drive them all away from Him!”

Dad nodded. “Tough times will bring that out in people, Luke. It’s in the worst of times that a person will either run to God or turn his back on Him. I think it’s always been that way.”

I was silent for a moment.

“Don’t you ever wonder why, Dad? Don’t you ever wonder
why
it’s that way? Why He made us like that? I mean, why are we even
here
if life is going to be so hard that it turns some people away from God?”

“I’ve wondered those things, too, Luke,” Dad said. “Sometimes I still do. I’m not sure why God made us the way He did. I know we were made in His image, so there’s something about us that is uniquely like Him, but there’s probably much more to it than that. As to why we’re here, well, I think maybe we’re here to learn to love Him. To learn to love God and to want to be with Him. I think we’re here to cultivate our longing for heaven.”

I sighed. “Heaven,” I said, “seems like a long, long way off, Dad.”

“It does. But I think God gives us glimpses of heaven from time to time to help us nurture the desire to want to be there at the end of our lives.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling at that moment that I greatly needed a glimpse of heaven.

“Well, I see glimpses every spring when the earth renews itself. And sometimes I see glimpses in a worship service when I’m
singing about Jesus and all of a sudden I feel like I’m right there in
His arms. And sometimes I see glimpses at dawn after a snowfall, before the plows come through, before the sunlight touches the new snow and only the dying moonlight is falling on it. I see it all
the time.”

I looked away toward the heavy sky. “But those things all seem like, like,
earthly
things to me,” I
said quietly.

“Yes, I suppose they are. I guess it’s like the beauty I can see here on earth is a taste of what’s to come. It’s not the real thing, but it makes me think of the real thing. It makes me
long
for the real thing. And I think that’s what we’re meant to do. We were created
to long for heaven.”