Where Trust Lies (9781441265364) (25 page)

Beth said quickly, “Jarrick told me that he's an excellent investigator. Do you think Edward might actually come?” The thought was both comforting and terrifying to Beth. The idea that he might be needed was further proof of the dire nature of the situation
.

“I'm told he would have no jurisdiction,” said Mother, “but that he might be able to investigate privately. We shall see. For now, we will get ourselves through one more day—praying always that this trial will end as abruptly as it began.”

“Oh, yes, Mother. That's what we're praying.”

“Now, please, you must pull yourselves together. I'd like to see you neatly dressed. I'll send Emma to help with your hair. Whatever is to come next, we shall be ready to meet this challenge with dignity, with our faith strong.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh, yes, and there's just one more thing,” she added with a somewhat forced smile. From the inside of her jacket she produced an envelope. “This is for you, Beth.”

The letter was not from Jarrick. “What is it?” she asked, though it was already in her hand and she was staring down at it.

“It looks like it's from the school board. It may be the offer for you to teach.”

“Yes . . . thank you.” Beth set it aside on the top of the dresser for later . . . sometime.

During the long day they took turns distracting JW, keeping him away from Mother's room, where updates were being relayed. Beth cuddled him as often as he would tolerate, until he would push away and complain, “Down, Annie Bet—down.” She knew that the expressions of tenderness were more for her sake than for the baby's.

Father had received the telegram and had sent an answer in return. Edward also replied. Beth chose not to hear either of their telegrams read aloud. She could not bear to know how her father had reacted.

By late afternoon, the officers in the designated room below believed they had discovered a clue, only to dismiss it as erroneous after an hour. Everyone was watching the clock. The money was to be handed over at noon the next day. The instructions claimed that Julie would be returned once the money was safely retrieved by her kidnappers. Monsieur Laurent was busy making the arrangements, though Beth overheard him say he was working to have the deadline extended. Her heart sunk once more.
Extended? But that only makes the wait longer.

Their cruise ship, scheduled to depart during the early evening, had been instructed by the police to remain. Beth could only imagine what the other passengers were discussing and surmising about the situation. She gazed out the window of her room and breathed her never-ending prayer, “Oh, God—my dear sister, keep her, please. Father, she's yours even more than she's ours. Give her courage. Keep her safe . . .”

A storm moved over the city, and the evening was punctuated with flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder, seeming
to match Beth's jumble of thoughts and feelings.
Is
she hidden somewhere near enough to hear the storm rage
? Or has she been taken farther away by now? Is
she sheltered, warm? Oh, where
are
you, Julie?

Mother was rummaging through her luggage, drawing out items and laying them out on the bed. Beth noticed that many were accessories. “What are you doing, Mother?”

“Oh, just sorting,” she murmured.

Beth moved toward the bed and lifted the box containing the new pearl necklace. Under it was Mother's fur stole and several other pieces of jewelry. “What are you doing?” Beth repeated.

Mother sighed, then said, attempting to sound matter-of-fact, “I'm going to give these to Monsieur Laurent. Maybe selling these things could bring in some of the money.”

“Oh, Mother, no.”

“It's all I can think to do,” she said, her voice constricted. “And they're only
things
. They don't matter a single bit.”

“I understand.” Beth resolved to do the same, though her possessions were worth nothing compared to Mother's. She would contribute whatever might have value.

“When will you take them to Monsieur Laurent?”

“In the morning, I suppose.”

“I'm going back to my room,” Beth said. “I'm going to read my Bible for a while. I might try to lie down if I can endure it.”

“That's a good idea, darling. We'll of course call you as soon as we hear anything.”

“Thank you.”

Alone, Beth set aside items she felt might be worth something. She placed them together on the nightstand, but they amounted to very little. Ultimately she lacked the heart to carry them in to Mother and instead drew the Bible out of
her bag. She had not read it this morning, as was her habit—nor could she think of simply proceeding where she had left off. Pulling the chain on the light beside her bed, she curled herself under the coverlet and opened to the first pages of the Psalms, knowing that the poetic truths always offered encouragement in difficult moments. It seemed that almost every Psalm contained a comforting thought. Beth breathed them in, moving from one to another rather quickly.

“For the LORD
knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of
the ungodly shall perish . . . I cried unto the Lord with
my voice, and he heard me out of his holy
hill. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for
the LORD sustained me . . . For thou art not a God
that hath pleasure in wickedness: neither shall evil dwell with
thee. The foolish shall not stand in thy sight: thou
hatest all workers of iniquity . . . God judgeth the righteous, and
God is angry with the wicked every day. If he
turn not, he will whet his sword; he hath bent
his bow, and made it ready.”

Beth was appreciative to know that God at that moment was angry too—but His fury was not ignorant and impotent as was her own. Every detail of what was happening lay uncovered before Him. She clung to the promise that there would come a day of certain judgment, that there would be no place to hide. As she contemplated the words, she wished them rather vehemently upon Nick, upon Penny and Jannis and whoever else might have been involved in the horrendous deed.

She forced the tears away and read on in Psalm 10.
“Why standest thou afar off, O LORD?
Why hidest thou thyself in times of trouble? The wicked
in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be
taken in the devices that they have imagined.”
Never before had these words meant as much to Beth.
“The
wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek
after God: God is not in all
his thoughts.
 . . .
His
mouth is full of cursing and deceit and fraud: under
his tongue is mischief and vanity.”

“That's Nick, Father God,” she whispered aloud. “So much deceit and pride. I doubt a word he ever spoke to us was true.” She wondered how she had been taken in so easily. How had she ever empathized with such a liar?

“Break thou the arm of the wicked and the evil
man: seek out his wickedness till thou find none.”

“Yes, Father. Break his arm—even while he plots against my sister and my family. Make his evil scheme come down on his own head.” But she knew that would not be enough. Beth preferred the sentiment of Psalm 11.
“Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone
, and a horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of
their cup.”

“Oh, yes, Lord. That's what I want. I want him to pay for what he's doing.”

Closing her eyes tightly and squeezing out angry tears, she listened to the sound of the downpour drumming against the windows. “Rain Your wrath on him, Lord—with fire and brimstone.” She shuddered at the passion of her words, and yet the knowledge that there was a great and terrifying God who could exact such justice on everyone involved in Julie's disappearance came as an overwhelming comfort—the only thought in which she could at this moment take refuge.

B
ETH
SLEPT
FITFULLY
,
harassed by nightmares, until she awoke to Mother at her bedside. “We've heard back from them. I knew you'd want to know,” she whispered.

“What did they say?” Beth's stomach flipped sickeningly.

“They won't delay the payment. They want it today.” Mother paused, watching for Beth's response. “We're going to meet together to pray.”

Beth pushed the coverlet aside. “I'm glad you woke me. Give me a minute to tidy up.”

“Of course, Beth.” But instead of hurrying away, Mother reached out for another consoling hug.

She waited as Beth straightened her hair, pinning it again in several places, and smoothed some of the wrinkles from her dress. But instead of turning up the hall toward her room, Mother headed for the elevator.

“Where are we going?” Beth blinked against the bright lights of the hallway.

“There's a small chapel on the second floor. We're meeting there. A local chaplain is going to lead us. It's Sunday today.”

“What time is it?”

“It's almost morning.”

Beth found herself wishing they would be alone together—and even more so when she arrived in the dimly lit room to find strangers already seated, all eyes upon them as they entered. She hesitated. “Who are all these people?” she whispered.

“They've come to pray,” Mother told her. “A few came with the chaplain, and some are from the hotel staff.”

Beth followed Mother to the pew beside Emma and Mrs. Montclair. Beth heard very few of the prayers offered from around the room. She chewed hard on her lip and phrased once more her silent calls for God's wrath. She knew she dared not speak these thoughts aloud. And since she could not honestly declare what was in her heart, she did not participate in the corporate prayer.

Beth stole a glance at Mother, then reached over and took her hand. The words of a verse in Romans came suddenly to her mind. “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
Heavenly Father, don't let evil win.
Help me to trust in Your Great Good instead.

Beth paced from the window of Mother's room to the half-open hallway door and back again. It seemed forever since Monsieur Laurent had promised to return with any new information.

“Do you think they'll give us another day—that they may have reconsidered?” Beth asked the question for the umpteenth time, understanding now the need for additional time to collect the money.

“We'll see.” Mother's answer was patient and composed. “Monsieur Laurent has explained in his note that they must understand—we're in a foreign country, and it all takes time.”

“If only Father were here,” Beth said, repeating aloud the recurring thought.
Why
hasn't something happened yet? Have her kidnappers disappeared with
Julie? Have they broken their word already?
She took a chair next to Mother's and lifted her eyes. “I don't know how you can stay so calm, Mother. I'm ready to jump out of my skin. She's been gone a day and a half already!”

Mother set her teacup on the table next to her chair and sighed, leaning forward to grasp Beth's hand. “I'm not calm, darling. I could very well surrender to my frantic feelings if I allowed myself. But I learned long ago to actively rest my faith in God. It's all I can cling to at times like these. I would be lost without that.”

When has there been
another time like this?
“That's so hard, though, Mother.”

“I know, Beth. And it may not help for me to say this to you just now. It's something so personal that perhaps only God's Spirit can speak it to your heart in His own way. But I try to remember there is no moment in life when we are as able to show our Father how much we
trust
Him as when life throws us the worst. With all I've come to understand about His faithfulness through the years, I'm determined not to falter.”

“When do you mean, Mother?” Beth was incredulous. It seemed that their family had always been happy, well cared for by Father with all the things they needed and wanted.

Tears glistened in Mother's eyes, but she continued with unguarded honesty. “I suppose I began the journey toward learning to trust God long ago . . . when we lost baby William to whooping cough. I thought my broken heart would never heal. And then you were very sick so long after your own bout with the disease. Then also whenever Father was delayed returning home from his travels, and I was tempted each time to give in to the worry that he wouldn't return at
all—that my vain imaginings of what would become of us all would become reality. I chose to believe that God is entirely trustworthy despite my fears.” She added emphatically, “However, I assure you that none of this means I won't do everything in my power to
act
on Julie's behalf.”

Beth lowered her head. “I'm afraid I'm losing hope, Mother.”

Mother's forehead came close enough to rest against Beth's, one hand clasping at the back of her neck to hold them closer still. “You are never without hope, my dear. You have a God who is your hope in an actual Person. So when you are His child, it's one thing you can
never
lack. You may not feel it just now, but don't allow yourself to believe what you
feel
. To lose hope is to move away from God.”

A quick knock at the open door interrupted the moment. Monsieur Laurent strode into the room and wasted no time. “They won't budge on the deadline, but we've gotten the money together. And I did not have to sell any of your possessions, Mrs. Thatcher.” His eyes swept from one to the other. “Now the police still disagree about how it should be handled—if they should allow the bag to be taken from where it is to be delivered, or if they should charge at whoever receives it.”

Mother gasped and scrambled to her feet. “Let them
have
the money! If it gets my daughter back, let them have it all and get away besides. I won't allow an attempt to ambush the thieves to put Julie's life in jeopardy. You tell them that, Monsieur Laurent. You tell them that's my final word.”

“Yes, madame. I will.”

Beth knew she would never be allowed, but she nursed a secret desire to stand nearby when the money was collected
from its designated receptacle down by the docks. To see these thugs who had snatched her sister, an image of their faces as she called for God's holy judgment on them. But she remained in the room and tried to eat a little soup instead. Her mind worked hard to focus, as Mother had described, on the trustworthiness of God, on His great power.
And,
she reminded herself,
Father is on his
way. The money is ready.
“Oh, God,” she recited over and over, “bring Julie back today—this very hour.”

At last footsteps sounded in the hallway. Beth, Margret, and Mother flew toward the door. Monsieur Laurent appeared, uncharacteristically breathless.

“They took the money. But they weren't seen! It seems they cut a false bottom from the crate into which the ransom was to be placed. Somehow they managed to access it from a cellar beneath and get away through the basement—so they were not seen at all!”

Beth was aghast. “They got away?”

He stopped to catch his breath. For a moment Beth could see his age revealed. “Let's not forget it was our expressed agreement to
let
them get away. Our officers had hoped to be able to follow them unseen. However, it appears they have been outwitted.”

“And Julie?” Margret begged.

“There's still no sign. But she was to be released within the hour. There are policemen all around the docks—everyone is looking for your sister. She'll be spotted immediately if and when she is handed back.”

Beth could feel a scream of anguish bubbling up in her throat. She turned away and clutched at the dresser. “Help me trust You,” she begged. “Oh, Father, help us all!”