Out of the Ashes Page 9

  After her traumatic time in the cave, Katherine had changed. The power she’d felt as the darkness released her, she would never forget. There was so much she still didn’t understand, but Grandmother had taken several hours each day to teach her about God’s Word and to pray with her. Gone were the hiking expeditions and the things to take Katherine’s mind off the past. The older woman admitted she’d used all that time to break the shell around her granddaughter. It wasn’t until her grandmother’s words in the cave that Katherine truly believed and understood in the power of prayer. As Grandmother had prayed for her there, and then again that night, Katherine knew.

  God was there. He’d always been there.

  Even in her darkest and worst moments. He was always there. Oh, how she ached to have known Him sooner. God had never been important to her father and mother. They were focused on politics and knowing the right people. Her father wanted to change the world, but he’d somehow overlooked the need to change his soul. And then there was Randall. Proudly proclaiming himself to be an atheist not long after they were married. He believed he was god over all his domain, and that included Katherine.

  Had she only known the truth . . . understood then what she now knew, perhaps she could have done something to help soften Randall. Perhaps if she’d gone into her marriage with love and kindness, things would have been different. She wasn’t sure. Even if in her dark moments she didn’t believe he deserved a second chance—God did. Grandmother said the worst and foulest sinner could be forgiven by God.

  But this wasn’t about Randall. She couldn’t allow it to be. Ever again. He was gone and no longer had the power to hurt her . . . unless she let him. And after all she’d come through, Katherine was no longer willing to let him have that power.

  That first night, Grandmother had read to her about a man named Saul whom God drastically changed. He became Paul—a completely different person.

  Katherine believed she had the same chance. Because she’d felt His power. She didn’t have to understand it. She didn’t have to understand everything the Bible said, but she knew she was a sinner and that Jesus had died for her.

  Grandmother had told her that putting one’s faith in God was not the difficult thing so many people made it out to be. She remembered their conversation just hours earlier.

  “Katherine, it neither requires cathedrals nor schooling—it’s a matter of heart. God cares not for the outward appearance, but He’s looking deep into your heart.”

  “But what if your heart is shattered into a million pieces?” Katherine pushed.

  Grandmother’s smile had warmed her heart. “That’s when God can do His very best work. That’s when He can remold your heart to be exactly as He would have it be. Filled with love for Him.”

  Katherine looked out on San Francisco and felt peace wash over her. She had thought her heart long dead, but God brought it back to life. He had collected the pieces, just as He had her tears. Not merely restoring what had been there before. No. He made something completely new. Something whole. Something good.

  MAY 23—THE CURRY HOTEL

  Alaska in May was a sight to behold. Snow covered the tops of the mountains still, but the wild flowers were bursting out of the ground with the long days of sunlight. Jean-Michel’s daily routine began with exercises in his room and then a long walk to the Railroad Roundhouse and back. Strength was returning to his leg. And it wasn’t just being hopeful. He could feel it.

  After the night when his leg gave out from under him on the stairs, he took precautions to not sit for too long and allow it to get stiff after all the exercises. The best medicine was to keep it moving and use different muscles. And there was plenty of opportunity to keep him occupied here.

  Collette hadn’t been quite the challenge as before, although he still had his hands full. Was he this difficult as a nineteen-year-old? He hoped not, but maybe it was just because his sister had always been so sheltered.

  The thoughts that plagued him the most were of Maria Harrison and her granddaughter. So far, he hadn’t seen them and had no idea when they would arrive. But the anticipation kept him going and gave him motivation to get his leg as strong as possible. Maybe they weren’t planning to arrive until June.

  That only gave him a few more days.

  Days to think about what he would say and how Katherine would respond.

  “Hello there!” John Ivanoff waved from beyond the Roundhouse and walked toward him. “I see you’re out for your morning stroll.”

  “That I am.” Jean-Michel’s heart lifted a little. These men he’d met at the Curry Hotel were encouraging and uplifting. Hardworking and knowledgeable. “It helps the leg every day.” Even though he was a guest—and a wealthy one at that—he wanted to spend more time with John and his son-in-law, Allan. They were . . . different . . . than most men he’d known. Their kind spirit seemed genuine—like Father’s. Perhaps they too were men of God.

  “You injured it in battle?” John reached his side.

  “Oui. I’m sorry, yes.” Jean-Michel cleared his throat. “I was shot during the Druze Revolt in Syria.”

  “Don’t apologize to me, Mr. Langelier. Your English is magnificent, and if it weren’t for your accent, I would hardly know it wasn’t your native tongue.” John reached out to shake his hand. “I’m very sorry about your injury.”

  Jean-Michel hated to offer his own hand. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want the conversation to end. Somehow he craved what he’d seen in these men. He’d watched their conversations and their interactions. And even though they were always polite, they didn’t spend too much time in what the Americans called chitchat with him. Probably because they were staff and he was a guest.

  So how could he break the barrier?

  He offered his hand in return.

  John shook it. “Well, I need to go prepare for the trips we have planned for today.”

  That was his answer. “Mr. Ivanoff?”

  John turned back around. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you think I’d be able to go on a few of these trips?” He didn’t give the man a chance to give a negative response. “What do I need to do to schedule one with you?”

  The man’s smile was genuine in return. “Of course. Why don’t we meet in the manager’s office after lunch?”

  Jean-Michel nodded. “Thank you.” Watching John walk back to the hotel, Jean-Michel began to form a plan. If he could spend some more time with these men, maybe he could find some answers to the thoughts that plagued him. It would also be good to get Collette out and about.

  His cane snagged a rock as he turned around, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t bother him. He realized it was a small sacrifice to pay to be rid of war and death. As he took in his surroundings, he wanted to stay here. The fresh, clean air. The simpler life. The distance away from every bad memory.

  He’d like nothing more than to stay hidden in Curry, but there was Collette to think about. She expected to return to France after the summer and then what? Would she settle down—perhaps marry? As he recalled, she didn’t even have a beau. Father had never allowed her to be courted.

  Then there was his own future. What was he to do with his life? He’d sold the factory, and because there was plenty of money he’d not given any real thought to doing anything at all . . . after being injured. How could he tell his little sister he no longer wished to return . . . home?

  The bullet hole in his leg gave a sudden ache, but he refused to allow the spark of hopefulness to diminish.

  He glanced heavenward and noted the clouds that were moving in. That’s how it felt in his spirit. One moment there was a bit of open blue sky and the next the clouds blocked out the sun and poured rain down on him.

  All around him was such beauty and tranquility. Why couldn’t his soul have such peace?

  MAY 25

  The hike up Deadhorse Hill was invigorating, even if his leg was on fire. Jean-Michel stopped a moment to catch his breath and look
ed over at Collette. In her white gown, she practically glowed in the sunlight, and the smile on her face proved she was enjoying it. Even if the laundry would have a fun time removing the grass stains from the hem of her dress. It made him feel a moment of guilt. Collette had begged him for some of the shorter fashions, but he’d wanted her to be modest and fully covered. Perhaps if he allowed her to shorten her skirts, the grass wouldn’t be an issue. He shook his head and started the rest of the climb. There was so much he didn’t understand or know how to handle. He wished that instead of leaving him a letter, his father might have written him a book.

  Their little entourage consisted of him, Collette, John Ivanoff, Allan Brennan, and a young man named Thomas. The latter seemed around Collette’s age, but Jean-Michel had to give him credit—he hadn’t even once tried to flirt with his sister. Always professional and helpful, Thomas seemed the epitome of a gentleman in American terms.

  John and Allan led the way with Thomas bringing up the rear. Pointing out flowers, caribou—which a lot of the guests called reindeer—and other significant points of interest, the men made the hike most enjoyable. Even the strenuous parts.

  At the top of the hill, Allan began unpacking a sack that contained their picnic lunch. He motioned for all of them to sit, and there were several large rocks placed in a circle where they could rest.

  John and Allan sat next to each other with Thomas to Allan’s left. Jean-Michel sat between Thomas and Collette, who was seated on John’s right. They made a nice little circle and passed the food around.

  “Collette.” John smiled at her. “Your brother tells me this is your first time to America.”

  “Oui. Yes, it is.”

  “And what do you think of our great country?” John passed her the jug of lemonade and a cup.

  “It is magnificent. And so much bigger than our homeland of France.” She sipped from her cup as the wind blew at her hair, and she swiped strands out of her face.

  Allan nodded and chuckled. “That’s very true. I’ve been to France—during the Great War—and it’s about as big as a couple of states, isn’t it?”

  She set her cup down and waved her hands. “My goodness, yes! When we had to take the train across the country, I didn’t think we would ever make it to the other side.”

  All the men laughed at her dramatics.

  Collette turned to Thomas. “I hear you are quite the expert on flowers now. Mr. Ivanoff said I could ask you my questions.”

  “Certainly, miss.” Thomas cleared his throat.

  Collette pulled a few flowers out of her pocket—she must have picked them on the way up—and started drilling Thomas with questions about each.

  Jean-Michel allowed himself to relax. At least she wasn’t flirting.

  John and Allan fell into an easy conversation, and Jean-Michel just watched. And listened. The two seemed close and appeared to have great respect for one another. Both extremely intelligent but with humble attitudes. These were the kind of men Jean-Michel wished he knew. They weren’t the kind of men he’d known back in France. Or in the army.

  Everything at home was based on money, power, position. At least from the perspective he’d had. If he hadn’t lost Katherine, would he have gotten sucked into the same mindset? The thought made him cringe, and he looked down at his leg. Was his mindset any better now?

  The only man he’d ever wanted to be like was his father. But his father had been a wealthy and very powerful man. Under it all, though, Jean-Michel knew his father loved him. Never cruel, always fair, Pierre Langelier was a man of honor.

  Jean-Michel had wanted to be that too. Until his world fell apart.

  He had the wealth, and along with it came the power—if he wanted it. But would he ever have the peace of mind—the passion for living that his father had?

  He looked over to his sister. So innocent and full of life. Was it a mistake to bring her here? She’d wanted a trip, but Alaska was a choice that was purely selfish on his part. After wrestling with the idea of seeing Katherine again—of doing whatever he could to help her find a reason to live—Jean-Michel had chosen the location in hopes that it might also give him a reason to go on.

  Thomas shook his head and laughed at something she said. She pushed another flower at him.

  While Collette didn’t seem to be running out of questions—or flowers—the two guides appeared relaxed and comfortable as they sat on the boulders and conversed.

  Jean-Michel continued to watch their easy conversation. Like a father and son and very good friends.

  Allan’s face turned sober and he turned toward John as he spoke.

  Jean-Michel couldn’t pick out all the words, but he heard “baby” and “worry,” and then the last phrase drifted over to him on the wind. “How will I know if I’m going to be a good father?”

  The wind shifted and all Jean-Michel could hear was Collette and Thomas. And while their conversation was very educational, Jean-Michel wasn’t interested in fire weed and arctic lupine.

  When Collette paused for a moment, another word drifted over to him.

  “Peace.”

  The conversations blended together again as the wind blew—the long tundra grass moved and swayed and swished along with it—and Jean-Michel wished he knew what they were talking about. Because peace was something he didn’t have.

  In fact, as soon as he thought of peace, his mind went in the opposite direction. Images of war, burning buildings, and his friends. Dead. Even though he’d never seen what happened to them, the images of their faces were still burned in his memory.

  “Jean-Michel.” Collette’s hand touched his shoulder.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there lost in the dark images, but the others were standing.

  Thomas offered to take his lunch items and stored them in his bag. He led the way down the hill and Collette followed.

  As Jean-Michel stepped in behind her, he heard John talk to Allan in a low tone.

  “Give it to God, son. He’s the God of peace that ‘passeth all understanding’ and ‘shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.’”

  The words hit him in the chest and made him take a deeper breath. Peace that passeth all understanding? Was this what his father knew?

  Whatever it was, Jean-Michel was perplexed. He didn’t deserve it, he knew. But what would it be like to have such peace?

  Collette awoke to the sound of moaning. She sat up in bed momentarily disoriented. What was that noise? She’d been warned about the wild animals all around them. Was this one of the bears she’d heard about? She hugged her arms to her body. Mr. Brennan and Mr. Ivanoff said that bears were good climbers. Had one climbed up the side of the hotel? Could they get in through her window?

  Then the sound of someone crying out filtered through her closed door. It sounded like Jean-Michel. Perhaps he had fallen.

  She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. The bathroom doors were both open, so she hurried through to the other side. There was very little light, but she could make out her brother thrashing in his bed.

  “Non! Help them. For the love of all that is good . . . help them!”

  Collette had never seen him like this. Father once mentioned that her brother had endured some difficulties while in the army, but he never gave her any details. She knew Jean-Michel hadn’t returned with the lighthearted spirit he’d once had, but she attributed that to his wound. But this was something entirely different.

  “Don’t. Don’t let them burn!”

  She shook her head. Don’t let them burn?

  Longing only to ease his misery, Collette sat down on the bed and took hold of his hand. “Jean-Michel. Jean-Michel. I am here. You are safe.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “You must go to them. You must.”

  She drew his hand to her cheek. “It’s all right, Jean-Michel. It’s all right.” Tears came to her eyes, but she brushed them away. She had to be strong. She could clearly see that her brother was a broken
man, wounded far deeper than she ever knew.

  He thrashed and moaned but didn’t wake up, and Collette had no idea if it was better to let him work through the nightmare or startle him by forcing him to wake up. No one had prepared her for such a thing, and so she merely held his hand and stayed at his side until the misery passed.

  Once he stopped crying out and settled into a more restful sleep, Collette let go of his hand and got to her feet. She walked back to her room, trying to reason through what had just happened. What had her poor brother seen that should leave such horrible nightmares? On their trip here she’d slept soundly each night and couldn’t remember ever hearing Jean-Michel having such terrors in his sleep.

  She walked to the window and pushed back the drapes. It was already getting light outside, even though it was still quite early. She knew from what Thomas had said that the daylight would last longer and longer into the night and then the sun would rise earlier and earlier. What a very strange land. Strange and beautiful and deadly.

  Thomas also told her about the dangers of going out too far from the hotel without someone carrying a weapon—someone who knew their way around. Collette thought perhaps he was just exaggerating, but Mr. Ivanoff had assured her it was true.

  “But you mustn’t let worries over what might be steal the joy of what is,” Mr. Ivanoff told her. “Life is full of both beauty and danger, and we must give attention to both, but we should never let worry steal our focus. Otherwise, we see neither the beauty nor the danger and suffer because of it.”

  Perhaps in facing danger, her brother had lost the ability to see the beauty—to know the peace and joy life could afford. And in being sheltered from the dangers and sorrows of life, perhaps Collette had lost her ability to feel compassion and mercy for those who suffered.

  Well, maybe she hadn’t lost it—after all, she felt deep sorrow for Jean-Michel. Still, her sympathy would do little to help him heal. Tears came again, and this time she didn’t even attempt to hold them back.