3

A plump, blonde nurse wearing floral scrubs entered City Hospital’s emergency waiting room. “Mr. Hiebert?”

Trevor jumped to his feet. “That’s me. I mean, us.”

His dad rose more slowly, worry creasing his brow. “How is she?”

The woman smiled, a smooth, professional assurance. “Mrs. Hiebert is back from radiology, and she’s asking for you.” She directed a pointed look at Trevor. “You’re her son?”

“Yes.”

“OK, both of you follow me, please.” She pushed through the heavy doors and glanced back at them. “Her arm is broken, so we’ll get a cast on it right away. And the doctor has ordered a few more tests, so we need to keep her here for a day or two.” She stopped at a curtained cubicle, and pulled the fabric aside.

His mom lay on the narrow cot, her lined face awfully pale and her right arm wrapped.

“Laureen.” His dad leaned down and kissed her brow, cradling her face between his rough hands.

The tender look that passed between his parents brought a lump to Trevor’s throat. He moved to the other side of the bed. “Hey, Mom. How are you feeling?”

“Silly and frustrated.” She lifted her head, closed her eyes, and lay flat again. “Still dizzy.”

The nurse stepped forward. “I can raise the head of the bed for you, Mrs. Hiebert.” She pushed a button. “Tell me if your dizziness gets worse.”

“There, that’s enough. Now I can see my men. Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re welcome.” The nurse looked at his dad. “After we get the cast on her arm, we’ll bring her back here. It could take some time to get a bed upstairs.”

“We’ll wait.” Trevor sank onto the chair. His mother’s hand patted his head and brushed a stray lock off his forehead. He looked at the woman he owed his life.

“Not the homecoming I’d planned.” Her smile twisted. “Kind of messed things up, didn’t I?”

“What happened, Mom? Dad said he came in from the barn and found you on the kitchen floor, out cold.”

His dad sat in the other chair.

“I’m not really sure, son.” She closed her eyes for a moment, her brow creased. “I’d climbed up on the step stool to get my fancy cake plate from the top shelf. I’d made your favorite chocolate cake. It’s probably still on the counter. All of a sudden the room spun, and the next thing I knew, your dad was yelling into the phone for an ambulance. Must have fallen on my arm somehow. At least it was my right one, thank God.”

Yeah, right. Thank the One who could have kept her from falling but didn’t. He admired his parents’ faith, but it didn’t make sense to him. He took her free hand between his much larger ones and kissed her fingertips. “Good thing you’re a lefty, like me.”

Laureen pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Like mother, like son.”

“And you’re tough. You’ll be back to normal in no time. Right?” His throat tightened.

“Humph.” Franklin’s cough alerted Trevor.

He caught the warning look in his father’s eyes and raised his eyebrows.

A male orderly stepped into the cubicle. “We’re ready to take Mrs. Hiebert for her cast, then we’ll move her upstairs. A bed opened up, and she’ll be in room 322. Visiting hours ended at eight, but you can come back any time after two tomorrow afternoon.”

Trevor glanced at his watch. It was after ten, and he’d been up since five. No wonder exhaustion threatened to buckle his knees. His dad looked old and beaten. “Hey, Dad, let’s get you home. I’ll drive.”

Franklin nodded, leaned over, and kissed his wife tenderly. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart. God knows what He’s doing.”

Trevor stifled a snort. If this was how God treated people who’d loved and served Him all their lives, he wanted nothing to do with Him. He’d brave almost anything for his parents, but he drew the line at trusting God. He’d seen too much evil to believe in a loving God.

The drive to the farm was silent until they took the exit onto Highway 16. Questions built up tension, but his dad’s eyes were closed, and Trevor didn’t want to disturb him. A vehicle with its lights on high beam came toward them, nearly blinding Trevor. “Dang it!” He flashed his lights as he strained to see past the spots dancing in his vision.

His dad jolted upright.

“Sorry, Dad. Some jerk had his lights on high beam.”

“Guess I dozed off.” He looked out the window. “Almost home. You staying the night?”

“Sure, I can do that. It’s late, and we’re both beat.”

“Good. Because this changes things, and we need to talk. But not now. Can’t think straight. In the morning.”

~*~

Hayley shut the closet doors in her basement room and sank onto the bed. The rod in her leg seemed to pulse with each heartbeat, so she manually lifted her leg onto the quilted bedcover and leaned against the headboard. She focused on each breath, just as she’d been taught. In through the nose, out through the mouth, deep and slow.

Her eyes popped open. She’d forgotten to call her parents, and she’d promised. She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven-thirty, Saskatchewan time, so nearly one-thirty back home. Better to send a message than to disturb their sleep—or maybe their social life. Were they happy to be rid of her and her troubles? Probably, and she couldn’t blame them. She had interfered with their busy lives for too long. No wonder they’d supported her decision to come back to Saskatoon.

She rolled over, ignoring the throb of pain in her leg. A quick text message: Got here OK. Good enough. They could relax and enjoy life again, get back to normal. A deep sigh escaped, and Hayley recognized it as self-pity. She clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. She was finished feeling sorry for herself. Well, working on it, anyway.

“The past is over, the future is God’s.” Her voice faded on the last word. She’d told Dr. Freemont she believed in God. But what did that mean? Her therapist encouraged her belief in a higher power, and she’d urged Hayley to find answers to the questions she’d raised about God. Questions Dr. Freemont couldn’t answer. Like how God could possibly care about her when she couldn’t stand herself. How could she ever forgive herself and move on? She hoped Pastor Dave and Lydia could lead her to the truth. She’d come here to find out if God cared enough to forgive her. Because if He didn’t, life wasn’t worth living.

Hayley pulled her sweater over her head and pushed her jeans onto the floor. If only she could remove her guilt as easily. She’d been carrying her burden for fourteen months, and nothing she’d tried could get rid of it. The weight had only grown.

As she reached to turn off the bedside lamp, Hayley noticed a framed picture on the nightstand. A watercolour sunrise was overlaid with a verse. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13

She whispered the words as her finger traced them. Then once more, “the God of hope.” The God she’d always pictured was a stern judge, ready to punish, to crush. And she deserved punishment. So who was the God of hope?

One more thought hit as the light clicked off. Had Lydia put it there for her? How had she known how desperately hope was needed?

~*~

Sunlight peeked around the pulled blinds, stirring Hayley to open her eyes. Unfamiliar surroundings disoriented her, and her gaze swept the room. Maple desk and shelves, pale blue walls, dark wood floors, and sheer white curtains over blinds on a shallow window. Not her room. Her heart began to race. Where was she? Another hospital or rehab clinic? Memory returned in bits and pieces. Nila’s room—no, not any more. Nila and Will had married two and a half years ago. This was Dave and Lydia’s house

Hayley leaned against the headboard, waiting for her pulse to settle. The last time she’d been in this home, this was still Nila’s room. She’d ignored warnings about Nila’s ex-boyfriend, who’d beaten her and nearly killed Nila. The distressing memories brought even more guilt. Hayley accepted its pressure as it settled in with her constant remorse.

Nila had forgiven her and they’d promised to keep in touch after Hayley went back to Toronto to heal. But that promise had been broken. Not by Nila.

Hayley hung her head, tears leaking in spite of her effort to keep them at bay. Her self-absorption had ruined everything. Time fast-forwarded to the last eighteen months and her deepest pain. If only she hadn’t been taken in by Blake Horner’s smooth words and flattering advances. He’d offered the attention she’d always craved. Now when she remembered his kisses, they left a bitter taste. Hayley wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

She’d had such high hopes, first when her dad offered her the clerk position at his accounting firm, and then when she’d met Blake from the law firm upstairs. Had her father known he was married? Was that why Blake had made her keep their relationship a secret? It didn’t matter now.

She grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wiped her face. “The past is gone, the future is God’s.” Whatever future she had and whatever punishment God sentenced her to, she would accept. She’d certainly earned it.

The tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee wafted down the stairs. Hayley shoved aside the bedcovers and her memories, slipped into her housecoat, and climbed the stairs to begin this new phase of her life. The words on the bedside picture danced in her mind: “The God of hope.” The words made her heart feel lighter. She’d always been afraid of God the judge. But the God of hope? She’d like to meet Him.

~*~

Trevor grabbed a brown ironstone mug from the cupboard, filled it with coffee, and joined his dad at the table. Dad’s eyes were closed. Must be praying. Trevor patted Roscoe—by his dad’s side, as usual—and was rewarded with a thump of the Border Collie’s tail.

Dad’s lined face lifted, and his dark brown eyes met Trevor’s. “Hey, son.”

“Morning, Dad. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Dad closed his Bible, and his mouth quirked upwards. “Just finished. How’d you sleep?”

Trevor took a sip of the hot, black brew. “Had to call Carlos about Mom, told him I wouldn’t be in to work until later today if at all. Took a while, but I finally got some sleep. Chores done?”

“Not yet. Needed some coffee and encouragement first. Just have to check the cows, clean the troughs. You know the routine.”

“I do, but it’s been a while. Are my lined boots still around?”

“Should be in the back closet.” His father leaned back and folded his arms over his stomach. “There’s no rush. Want some breakfast first?”

“Not really. My gut’s doing flip-flops.”

“Mine, too. Been thinking about our situation—and yours.” Franklin clasped his hands on the table and looked Trevor in the eye. “She didn’t want to worry you, but your mom’s had dizzy spells for a while.”

Trevor set his mug down with a thump, echoing the plunging sensation in his heart. “How long, and how bad?”

“A few months. And not too bad until yesterday. I caught her grabbing hold of furniture or leaning against a wall a few times, but she waved me off and said she was fine. Said she was just getting old.”

“That sounds like Mom.” Trevor wiped a splash of coffee with his sleeve. “What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing. She wouldn’t go.”

Trevor leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bristly chin. He hadn’t had time to shave for two days, and it itched. “So these dizzy spells were part of the ‘slowing down’ you told me about? Your reason for wanting to move to the city?”

“Yeah. Part of it.” He shifted on his chair. “We are getting old, son, even though it’s hard to admit. I’m seventy-two and your mom is seventy-three. Even with the fields rented, this home quarter is still a lot of work. We can’t keep up any longer. And now with this…” Dad looked out the window toward the barn.

“I’m torn, Dad. I’d do anything for you guys, but I don’t know if I can pass up the chance at my dream job.”

His dad’s question was silent, just a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, I got the job offer.” His words tumbled out. “Better pay and a lot more freedom to design and build custom bikes. They’ll even pay my moving expenses.”

Franklin grinned. “Good for you. You’ve worked hard toward your goal.” His grin faded to a soft smile. “Remember your first motorbike? I didn’t know if it would ever run, but that box of bike parts turned out to be something special.”

Years fled, and Trevor could feel the warmth of the summer sun on his bare, fourteen-year-old back. His habitual surly attitude had melted when Franklin Hiebert showed him the bike frame and cardboard box full of motorcycle components. His fingers itched to get started, but he had much to learn. Franklin’s patience as he taught Trevor how to reassemble the ancient bike broke through his resistance. Until then, he’d survived by distrusting and fighting authority. Piece by piece, the project had forged a bond, a father/son relationship, something he’d never known could exist.

Trevor blinked away unexpected dampness. “That’s what got me into motorcycles, reassembling that old Indian. You and me, working together. I still have it, you know. You and Mom gave me more than I can ever repay. Like building that bike. It gave me a goal.” He shook his head, his smile gone. “How can I choose between my past and my future?”

“Rotten timing, eh?” Franklin got up and refilled his coffee mug. “We don’t want to pressure you, son. The job in Toronto sounds too good to pass up, and we’d never ask you to give up your dreams. We’ll figure out something, even sell this place if you don’t want it, but we’d prefer to keep it in the family.” He sat down with a sigh, coffee mug cradled in his hands.

Family. The term brought a surge of emotion Trevor couldn’t name. Gratitude? Wonder? Maybe both. He looked at his father, the man who had changed his life, maybe even saved it. Deep lines etched Franklin’s face, his once-dark, thick hair had become white and wispy, and the joints on his hands were swollen with arthritis. Trevor leaned back in his chair. Where had the time gone? When had his vibrant parents turned into old people?

“You know I love this place.” Trevor gazed into the depths of his empty cup. “But now, with this chance in Toronto...” He clasped his hands as though in prayer and grimaced. “Tell me what to do, Dad. I can’t figure it out.”

A sparkle glimmered in his father’s eyes. “That’s what I was praying about. I might have a solution. Let’s get those chores out of the way first, though.”

~*~

Trevor zipped up his work coat, then bent over and tugged on his felt-lined rubber boots.

“Ready?” Franklin opened the back door against the wind, and with Roscoe at his heels, strode toward the barn.

Trevor had to hurry to keep up.

For someone who was slowing down, Dad moved pretty fast. But his shoulders weren’t as straight as they used to be. His age was beginning to show.

They walked past the empty chicken coop and pen. His mother had quit raising chickens a couple years ago. She used to keep six hens for laying and raised fifty or more chicks for meat. His parents always took pride in raising as much of their own food as possible. Maybe she really was slowing down.

The first time he’d helped his mom collect eggs, he’d dropped one when the hen pecked his hand. He’d been terrified, sure Laureen would yell at him or worse. But she’d laughed, her blue eyes sparkling, and told him it happened to everyone, and that he’d learn to avoid the beaks. Then when they’d gotten back into the house, her tender touch had shaken his damaged soul to the core as she’d cleaned and bandaged his hand.

“Coming?” Franklin opened the gate to the barnyard. But the morning seemed to be one for memories. They used to run at least forty cows with their calves. He gazed around the five-acre holding pen. Ten? No, twelve cows stood or lay on the frost-covered ground as several calves romped nearby. Trevor grinned as a couple calves kicked up their heels and head-butted each other. He’d done some head-butting of his own when he’d realized his adoptive home included hard manual labor.

They used to break open several bales of hay each morning for the cattle, but Franklin had switched to round bales last year. No more hands-on stacking or spreading bales. Trevor remembered how his muscles ached after a long day of haying. It had been a good ache, the kind earned by a job well done. Yes, the farm was a lot of work, but it was good work. He couldn’t imagine letting strangers take it over.

Trevor clenched his jaw and followed his father as he checked cows, most with a brown and white calf close to her side. How had his father managed all these births? It used to be a team effort, especially when a cow had difficulties. Who would help now? Who would care about these animals if he took the Toronto job?

Franklin’s voice interrupted his musings. “Look at that heifer. She bred a little late, and now her udder’s starting to fill. She’ll probably need help.” He whistled softly. “Roscoe, get me that one.” He nodded toward the cow, and Roscoe ducked behind her and maneuvered the bulky, stubborn animal toward the barn.

Trevor ran ahead, opened the barn doors wide, and unlatched one of the stalls. Straw barely covered the floor, so he grabbed a pitchfork and spread several inches of bedding straw into what would be a birthing pen. He finished just as the small cow, with Roscoe still at her heels, lumbered into the barn. Within moments, she was safely enclosed in the stall.

“Good job, Trev. If you’d get her some hay, I’ll fill the water bucket.”

Dad bent over in the doorway with his hands on his knees. Was he panting? And why was his face so red? His dad whistled, and Roscoe raced to him and sat at his feet. Franklin rubbed the dog’s ears. “Good boy.”

Trevor’s breath whooshed out in relief. False alarm, Dad was fine. Even if his face seemed redder than usual.

Dad straightened and joined Trevor at the stall. “Could be a few days, but I’ll have to keep an eye on her. You know these first-timers.”

Trevor’s mind raced. With his mom out of commission, who would help his dad with the calving? And the rest of the chores? She’d filled in whenever Trevor couldn’t be there. Which was most of the time, lately. Conflicting responsibilities bowed his head, until he felt his dad’s gnarled hand on his shoulder.

“One way or another, God will work it out. Don’t worry.” Dad walked over to the spigot and filled a bucket for the cow, humming an old hymn Trevor used to know.

They finished the chores in silence, but Trevor wrestled with his desire to help his parents and the opportunity he’d been offered. It would take him two provinces away. His father had promised to tell him something. It had better include a time-warping miracle.