…The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; 2 Samuel 22:2
When Julia woke up, pain shot through her. She groaned and tried to turn. Something tugged her back onto the bed, and a pinching feeling caused her to stop moving. She blinked her eyes open. Light wafted in from a bedroom window, and the bed felt narrow, like it was for a smaller person.
“You’re sleeping on my bed,” a female voice said.
Julia tried to turn to the other side, ignoring the pain shooting up her arm and leg. What hurt so bad?
“You should stop moving,” the stranger said again.
Curious as to whom it was, Julia peeled her eyelids open again, and the same sunlight warmed her face. As she recalled what she last remembered, her heart beat faster. She gripped the sides of the bed and tried to rise when pain throbbed through her head enough to send her back down.
“Mrs. Black! Mrs. Black! The girl is awake! Hurry,” the same female spoke again. Obviously, someone either as young as or younger than Julia was. She remembered the woman at the mailbox. Was the girl her daughter?
Soon, a large figure loomed over her, but she couldn’t make out her face clearly. Or was it her vision swimming? “My whole body hurts,” Julia groaned out. “Water.”
The woman touched her forehead. “It seems the fever broke. Praise God. I was going to call the hospital if it didn’t cool by this evening.”
Her voice sounded familiar. Julia tried to place where she’d heard it, but everything felt fuzzy to her mind.
“Abel, bring me some drinking water,” the woman said.
Soon, she felt a soft tap. “Sip a little. You haven’t eaten in two days, so please take it slow.”
She did, and the water strained itself through her tight throat. But she took a few more sips before pain overwhelmed her again. “Th–thank you. Where am I?”
Someone began saying something, but her mind clouded as sleep tugged her into oblivion.
Julia felt stronger when she woke up again. She could see clearly for one—more than enough to make out the woman pacing the room and the glow of a setting sun. She must’ve moved loudly because the woman stopped and faced her. “Thank God you’re awake. The pharmacist was going to get you to the hospital. How are you feeling?” The woman placed dark-brown hands on her curvy hips. As she approached, the kindness in her eyes made Julia’s heart slow its wild pace.
She was safe. Safe enough to ask. “Am I in the same place I fell?”
The woman smiled and unfurled her arms, drawing close to the bed and peering in her face. “You remember. Good.” She straightened. “What else do you remember?”
Julia spouted a few things, stopping at her escape, unsure of who else was listening.
“How long did you walk? Minutes or hours?”
“Hours.” How much could she safely say? “The pain has reduced.” She held her breath, hoping the woman wouldn’t make an issue of the change of topic.
Her eyes narrowing, the woman observed her and went along. “You have been on strong pain relievers for at least three days. I’m sure that has helped.”
Julia’s gaze fell to the white bandage around her leg. “The bike that hit me.”
“Was that what caused the leg injury?”
She nodded. “I wasn’t paying attention, and neither was he. I couldn’t let him take me to the hospital. Sorry for falling into your property. I will be on my way as soon as I can walk.”
The woman straightened and chuckled. “That will likely not happen for a couple more weeks, if not months. Your leg is more injured than your arm. Though I’m told the healing will be fast, the recovery and your ability to walk again will take time.”
Julia’s throat felt dry. “I–I need to leave. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“In danger with whom?”
As her heartbeat sped up, she darted her gaze away. “I–I want to rest now.”
The woman stared at her for a long time, so long Julia was sure she had a lot to say. But she simply walked away.
Julia buried her head into the pillow, and tears soaked the white foam. She wanted to say thank you. To appreciate the woman’s kindness, without putting herself in danger.
How did she tell her she had barely escaped with her life and she couldn’t go home nor contact her family or she might get them killed?
How did she make this sweet soul of a woman know she was grateful and yet couldn’t tell her about herself?
What would happen if she told her everything?
Sobs shook her shoulders.
Never in her life had she felt so conflicted. So alone. So surrounded by decisions and unable to make any.
If this nice woman made a decision that put them in danger, Julia couldn’t run. She was injured. She was stuck. She could die. She swallowed hard and reached a tough decision. She would be courteous and respectful. She would express her gratitude. But she’d stave off questions about herself until she absolutely could not.
Then she should be strong enough to walk—and leave.
The aroma of food sailed into her nostrils, and she sniffed it in. Her belly responded with a growl. The food aroma had first drawn her attention here. Then the accident had happened. And here she was.
Sighing, she touched her arm. It answered with a deep throb, and she winced. She glanced at her leg. The one with the bandages on it. They’d put a homemade cast on it for her. Hunger growled her belly again.
Should she ask for food?
Would she get food without answering questions?
She lay on her back, and a tear streamed down the side of her face.
At home, she hadn’t needed to think of what to say to get food. Mom always made sure she had food. She was loved and free and didn’t appreciate it, rather she’d focused on things she didn’t have—her mom’s full attention, her mom’s complete trust and respect. Here she was, alone, hunted, and hungry. And she had to think twice before asking for food.
The strong aroma of a homemade meal reached her again, and her belly growled. The place was quiet, so she assumed it was her and the woman alone in the house. What was the name the girl had called her? She scrambled her brain to remember. “Mrs. Black, may I have some food?”
“Of course, sweetie. You can,” Mrs. Black answered from the adjacent room. “I’ll have someone bring you some Christmas Day leftovers. I think that’s what they’re heating up in the kitchen.”
Julia inhaled deeply. “What day is it?”
“Two days after Christmas. Why?”
“I turned eighteen on Christmas Eve.” And for the first time, her mom wasn’t there. Mrs. Black’s “happy birthday” served as a painful reminder of her family’s absence. The pain that pierced through her heart was more than the one assailing her body. Pain caused by love she didn’t appreciate and no longer had access to. Lord Jesus, I’m sorry for everything I took for granted. All of it. And all the times I was jealous of my mom’s focus on Your church. Her walk toward gratitude began now. Thank You, God, for saving my life. “Thank you, Mrs. Black, for rescuing me. And for treating me and housing me. I’m very grateful.”
The woman’s face hovered over hers with a smile that could thaw ice. “I’m thanking God you didn’t die on me, sweetie. This aging heart can only take so much shock. It’s Jesus you should thank. He led you to safety. Do you know Jesus?”
“I’m not sure. And you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me, child.”
Julia swallowed hard. It was going to be a long story—after she ate. A very long one.