Mending Places (39 page)

Hanna settled back in bed, and feeling flushed, she pushed back the covers. Eagerly, she picked up the journal. There were only four pages remaining.

Dear Mom,

I know you’ll never read this, but this is for me, not for you. I need to get past the anger and bitterness I feel toward you, and to do that, I know I have to forgive you.

I learned something new in group tonight. I learned that forgiving you doesn’t mean what you did was okay. Because it wasn’t, Mom. It was inexcusable. But I will no longer hold you responsible.

Only lately have I begun to understand how your choices influenced the person I became. And I wonder what your childhood was like. I wonder if your choices, your behavior, was a direct result of your parents choices. It’s like an ugly heirloom that gets passed from generation to generation. Nobody wants it, but it gets passed on anyway.

Well, Mom, I’m throwing it away. With God’s help it’s stopping with me. I grieve the mistakes I’ve already made. I can no more undo them than you can. But maybe if I forgive you I can find it within me to forgive myself for I hurt someone too.

I forgive you, Mom.

Please, God. Be with the one I hurt. Help her to find peace and healing. Help me to find forgiveness.

Hanna wiped her eyes with the soggy tissue and looked at the date in the corner of the page. June eighth. He’d written it after he’d started at Higher Grounds but before they’d begun dating. He had been praying for her even before he knew who she was.

Forgive him.

The words were whispered into her heart. Her breath caught and held, and she knew it was a critical moment. She had carried the animosity in her heart for eight years, and it was time to let it go. With her body trembling and her blood surging, she turned loose of the door. She flung it open and asked God for a measure of grace to sustain her. The moment hung suspended like a bubble, floating with iridescent beauty. God communed with her quietly there in the stillness of the night and assured her His grace would be sufficient. She could forgive Micah with God’s help.

Hanna’s eyes flitted over the last few pages. The last entry was September twelfth, two days before Devon’s assault. She read avidly the words he’d written about their relationship. At the end of the entry, she caught her breath.

I can deny it to myself no more. I love her. Dear God, I love her so much my heart is near exploding with the exquisite joy and fear I feel. It must radiate from my eyes when I look at her, and she must surely guess. But soon I’ll put words to my feelings, and she will know.

Hanna’s stomach clenched pleasantly, the way it used to whenever Micah was near. She longed to hear the words from his lips. She longed to say them in return. His desperate prayer for forgiveness surged to mind. He needed to know. He needed to know he was forgiven.

She twisted in bed, putting her feet on the floor. Only then did she realize it was two forty-five. She slumped in disappointment. Everything in her wanted to go to him, bang on his door, wake him up, and tell him. But common sense took hold. It was the middle of the night, for goodness’ sakes. She lay down and cradled the journal to her chest. Morning would come soon enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
 

It seemed only moments later that she woke to the warm sun peeking through the drapes. Water dripped from the eaves outside, a sure sign the warmer temperatures were melting the roof snow.

The awareness of last night’s decision had not left her even during sleep. She slipped from beneath the covers, feeling at peace about the choice she’d made.

In her eagerness to see Micah, she skipped her shower and simply washed her face and combed her hair. After brushing her teeth and dressing in jeans and a sweater, she grabbed the journal and walked toward Micah’s room. Renewed hope put a spring in her steps, and soon she stood face to face with the wooden door.

She tapped lightly, then glanced at her watch. It was not yet eight o’clock, and she hoped he was awake. Tendrils of apprehension wove through her body, centering in her stomach where they knotted uneasily. Silence filled the hallway, and she strained to hear sounds of movement behind the door.

Maybe he was still in bed. Or in the shower, or shaving, like last time. Had it been just yesterday that she’d walked in and caught him unaware? It seemed like weeks ago, so much had changed in her heart. She knocked firmly and crossed her trembling arms, hugging her waist.

Nervous energy danced in her feet. Where was he? Was he avoiding her? She couldn’t blame him.

“Micah?” She called loud enough for him to hear behind the doors.

Silence met her beckoning. Where could he be?

The snow—he’s probably clearing the drive. She turned and scurried down the hall and into the lodge. Once there, she pulled aside the drapes and peered out. Her ears perked for the sound of the blower, but she heard nothing.

A clatter of pots and pans came from the kitchen. She followed the sounds, hoping to see Micah, but when she swung the louvered doors open, Gram was setting a pan on the stove.

“Good morning,” Gram said.

“Morning. Have you seen Micah?”

Her grandmother raised her brows. “No … why?”

Hanna wondered at the stilted caution in Gram’s voice. “I need to talk to him, but he’s not in his room. I can’t imagine where—”

“Oh my.” Gram’s wrinkled fingers covered her lips.

Trepidation poured like hot wax through her veins. “What is it?”

“Oh my. Oh dear.” Gram’s hand slid up to cover half her face as her eyes closed.

Hanna forced a note of patience in her voice. “Gram? What’s wrong?”

She opened her eyes, revealing sad regret. “Oh, Hanna, last night he was packing—he must’ve left earlier this morning—I tried to—”

Chills of dread pumped through her veins. “Why didn’t you—” She stopped the accusation and breathed deeply.

“I didn’t want to meddle. I didn’t think you’d want—” Her eyes glazed over.

Hanna felt a stab of remorse and took Gram’s hand. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. Do you know where he was going?”

Gram shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. I asked, but he wouldn’t say.”

Hanna’s gaze darted helplessly around the cubicle. She had to find him. But how? She didn’t know any of his friends.

His foster father. She rushed to the office, leaving Gram to follow, and unlocked the door. She searched through the filing cabinet for the paper he’d scrawled on when he’d first arrived. That’s when she remembered.
She’d tossed it out when she’d searched through her files. Her fingers stilled over the file tabs.

“What is it, child?”

She shut the drawer in a slow, decisive move. “I thought I had his foster father’s number in his file, but I don’t. Wait a minute. Natalie knows Jim. She’s seeing him for counseling.” Hanna punched in Nat’s number, and her sister answered the phone. Natalie had Jim’s work number, but he wouldn’t be in the office when the roads were barely passable. She called the number anyway, but it was just as she figured. Despair settled over her like a lead blanket. If Micah didn’t want to be found, he’d make sure he couldn’t be tracked. She met her grandmother’s gaze. “How am I going to find him?”

Micah walked up the steps to the building’s glass door. His feet felt heavy, as if weighted with sand. His fingers curled around the New Testament in the pocket of his coat, giving him a dash of comfort.

He walked with deliberate steps to the front desk. The man was filling out a form and continued doing so for what seemed like minutes. His thin salt-and-pepper hair swept across his scalp in a poor attempt to disguise a bald spot.

Finally he looked up. “Can I help you?”

Micah cleared his suddenly dry throat. His gut tightened in a hard knot, sending tremors of fear through his system. “My name is Micah Gallagher. I’d like to turn myself in for a crime I committed eight years ago.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
 

“I was going to tell him I forgive him, Gram,” Hanna said.

Gram drew her into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry. Oh, why didn’t I tell you last night? All this could’ve been avoided.”

“It’s not your fault. The way I’ve acted the last two days, it’s no wonder you thought I wouldn’t care. I did want him to leave.”

Gram pulled back. “We’ll find him somehow.”

She didn’t know how. For the past two hours, she’d searched the files of her mind for ideas and had come up empty.

The phone rang, and Gram answered. It had been ringing steadily all morning with former guests who wanted to ski Teton Pass and potential guests who had seen their magazine ad. She should feel pleased that Higher Grounds was going to survive, but her sorrow at losing Micah coated everything with despair.

Her heart felt like it was in pieces. Micah was gone, and he didn’t even know that she loved him. He thought she despised him. A heavy weight settled inside her, and she blinked back tears. She walked to the window and squinted at the glaring, white world. That was the worst of it. He was out there somewhere thinking he was beyond forgiveness. She’d read it in his eyes, in his posture over the past two days. And she’d let him think it. She’d wanted him to think it.

She swallowed around the achy lump in her throat. What would he do? Where would he go? She remembered she owed him three paychecks, and regret swelled within her. She closed her eyes. Why did it
take so long to see the truth? To see that he’d changed? Why had it taken the horror of his past to shove her into the place of forgiving? It had been eight years ago. He hadn’t even known her. He’d been drunk. He’d been abused. Who’s to say that she wouldn’t have done something just as despicable if her circumstances had mirrored his?

She, who’d been raised in a loving, Christian family. How could she even fathom the effects of an abusive childhood? Who was she to be the judge and jury of his actions? God was the only One qualified to do that, and He had forgiven Micah.

“Why did it take me so long?” she muttered to herself.

“To forgive?”

Hanna jumped. She hadn’t heard Gram’s approach. She nodded, aching in the marrow of her bones. “I thought I was over it years ago. I thought I had forgiven my attacker.”

Gram shook her head. “I’ve been praying all these years that God would bring you to a place of forgiveness and peace.”

How had Gram known when she hadn’t known herself?
Well, I guess your prayers were answered. In an awful, harrowing way,
she added silently.
Please, Father, help me find Micah or bring him back to us.

The phone trilled in the distance. Gram went to answer it.

“Hanna, it’s for you. It’s a Sergeant Whitco from the police station,” Gram whispered.

Hanna sighed. Now that the snow had cleared, they must want her to fill out a formal complaint against Devon. She didn’t feel like dealing with it right now.

She took the phone from Gram. “This is Hanna Landin.”

The sergeant introduced himself. “Ms. Landin, you filled out a formal complaint about eight years ago against a man who assaulted you. Do you remember that?”

Her attention blurred at the unexpected topic, then snapped into focus. Every nerve in her body tingled with awareness. “Yes—I mean—yes, I remember.”