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Juliette sat down at her computer. Still no email from her daughter. Kennedy was scheduled to take her last final today. Had she studied enough? Would she still have time to pack her things for the long flight back to Yanji?
The house would be a lot quieter than Kennedy was used to. They didn’t have any refugees living there anymore. The Chinese police were getting suspicious and had interviewed her husband on two different occasions. Juliette and Roger both agreed they needed to take some time away from such a dangerous ministry.
It was getting dark. Juliette glanced at the clock. Roger would be home soon. She would have to get dinner going before too long. After ten years relying on hired help to do all the meal prep and cooking for her, Juliette was glad to have the kitchen back to herself after their housekeeper left last fall. She took a sip of tea and thought about calling Roger to ask him what he’d like to eat. The two of them had a Scrabble game in the upstairs den left over from last night. Juliette would never admit it to her husband, but she had sneaked a peek at an online dictionary and had a twenty-four point move all mapped out.
The doorbell rang. She refreshed her browser one last time to make sure Kennedy hadn’t emailed her in the past ten seconds, and then she headed to the entryway. She peered through the peep hole, threw back the lock, and flung the door open with a gasp. “What in the world ...?” She couldn’t believe how much weight Hannah had lost in only half a year. She was so frail it felt like her bones might break if Juliette even hugged her.
A hundred questions whizzed through her mind as she ushered the child in. Why had she returned? What happened back in North Korea? There was so much she wanted to ask, but the poor girl looked shell-shocked. No, worse than shell-shocked. Shell-shocked, starving, and feverish all at the same time. Juliette led her to the couch and covered her up with a blanket. Her feet were bare, the skin cracked open. She wondered when Hannah lost the nice hiking boots they gave her. “Let’s get you warmed up, darling. I have some tea right here.”
Hannah winced as she drank, but within seconds the entire mug was empty.
“My goodness, pumpkin, when was the last time you ate? No, don’t answer that. I’ll fix you up something right away. We have some bread rolls and salad in the fridge. Do you want more tea, too?”
A few minutes later, dinner plans completely forgotten, Juliette sat across from Hannah and put her hand on the girl’s knee. “We’ll get you more to eat in just a bit. You better let your poor stomach rest a little first.” Juliette dabbed at her face with her sleeve. It wasn’t hot outside, but the house sure had been sweltering lately. She would have to ask Roger to look at the furnace one of these days when he had the time. “You’ve been through a lot, sweetie. But I want you to know I’m so, so happy to see you.” Part of Juliette was scared to learn everything Hannah had gone through. The poor thing was as thin as those pictures of Holocaust survivors. How could Juliette ever forgive herself for sending the poor child off alone?
Hannah mumbled something — the first words she had spoken since she arrived — and then put her hand to her mouth. Juliette thought she was about to throw up. She scurried to grab a bowl. “Are you feeling ill, sweetheart? Did you eat too much?”
Hannah stared straight past Juliette’s shoulders. “Simon’s dead.”
Without a word, Juliette wrapped Hannah up in her arms and held the trembling child until Roger came home half an hour later.
***
Hannah glanced up from the garden bench when she heard the sliding door open. Mrs. Stern propped the tray on her hip and sauntered outside with a smile. “Ready for tea, angel?”
Hannah took the mug. After two weeks back at the Sterns’, her palate still hadn’t reacquired the taste for honey with her tea.
“It’s a beautiful day.” Mrs. Stern reached down to pluck a weed and then sat down next to Hannah on the bench. “Maybe you’d like to take a nap in the hammock this afternoon.”
“No.” She hadn’t meant to snap. She offered Mrs. Stern an apologetic half-smile. “I mean, I still get a little chilled outside.”
Mrs. Stern fanned herself with her hand. “Wish I could say the same thing. I’m burning up these days.” She pointed to the Bible on Hannah’s lap. “What are you reading?”
“Isaiah.” She shut the book. How long ago had she and Simon discussed those same passages right here on this bench? She thought going back to the Sterns would make things easier, but there were so many memories in this place, mocking reminders of what she would never share with him again. She didn’t know where else to go, but she couldn’t stay here. Not with his ghost plaguing her every hour of the day. It was bad enough she couldn’t sleep without seeing his blood flowing like a stream on the wooden platform.
Mrs. Stern stood up hastily. “I almost forgot. I made us some cookies.” She waddled inside and came back out with a whole tray. “Chocolate chip. Help yourself.”
Hannah took one and nodded her thanks without nibbling it. Didn’t Mrs. Stern understand she just wanted to be alone? The days were so long, and she was so tired. Whenever she shut her eyes, she relived Simon’s murder all over again. When she woke up in the morning, she felt the wet stickiness of his blood on her clothes. Other times, her mind replayed the smell of burnt flesh and made Hannah so nauseated she lost her appetite for the whole day.
She stared at the hammock. It had taken her several weeks to stumble up to the border, and even then she would have never made it to Yanji if a journalist hadn’t bought her the bus ticket. It was days after she first arrived before Hannah could tell Mrs. Stern that Simon was killed by an executioner. She didn’t mention he died saving her life. She didn’t talk about Mal-Chin, either. As far as Mrs. Stern knew, Hannah had escaped during a prison uprising all by herself.
Last week, Mrs. Stern gave her a journal. She said it might help if Hannah wrote down her experiences, but the hundreds of crisp, unblemished pages intimidated her so much she never even opened it. She knew the Sterns were worried about her. She often heard them late at night talking. She couldn’t make out the words but recognized the strain and worry in their voices. A few times they asked Hannah what she wanted to do next. They brought up South Korea or the United States, but the conversations left her so exhausted it took several days for her to recover enough strength just to get out of bed. Eventually, they stopped talking about the future, at least in front of Hannah. All Mrs. Stern seemed capable of conversing about lately was the weather or her frequent hot flashes.
“I’ll have to ask Mr. Stern to fix the air conditioning before summer hits us,” Mrs. Stern announced. A gentle breeze wafted by and rocked the empty hammock. “You really don’t feel hot?”
Around the corner, they heard the gate close shut. Mrs. Stern frowned. “I wonder who that is. Roger’s up in the den.” She stood up and strained her neck. “Maybe you should go inside, sweetie,” she whispered, “just to be safe.”
“Hello?”
Hannah jumped off the bench. Suddenly dizzy, she reached out to steady herself on Mrs. Stern’s shoulder. Mrs. Stern grasped her by the wrist. “Honey, are you all right? You look like ...”
“Mr. Stern?” The voice was closer now. Hannah heard him as he rounded the last bend into the garden. Her breath escaped her as soon as he came into view. His arm was wrapped in a sling, and he walked with his back hunched over. He stopped when he saw her. Dirt and blood caked onto his skin so it looked almost black. She tried to whisper his name, but her throat failed her. He was so frail. If she ran to him, she might knock him over. She felt her limbs trembling, but they refused to move toward him.
“Simon?” Mrs. Stern asked. Her voice squeaked once. “Is that really you?”
A sob from deep inside Hannah’s gut came roaring to the surface. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and she sank back down onto the bench. He called her name and closed the distance between them in just a few short strides. He knelt in front of her and buried his head in her lap. “Hannah.” He sobbed her name over and over, covering her hands with his kisses and tears. She stroked his matted hair with trembling fingers.
“You’re alive?” she squeaked.
He was laughing and crying at the same time. “Barely.”
The sliding door opened. “I thought I heard someone calling. Is everything ...” Mr. Stern stopped in the doorway. “Simon? We thought ...”
Simon wiped his face dry, smudging dirt on his cheeks, and stood up. “Mr. Stern.” His voice squeaked. “Mr. Stern,” he tried again. “You’re a missionary.”
“Yes. But do you care to tell us how you ...”
Simon squeezed Hannah’s hand so hard it felt like he might break all her bones. “That makes you a minister then, right?” Hannah choked back something that was as much a laugh as a sob.
“I guess so,” Mr. Stern answered tentatively, “but why does...”
Mrs. Stern stood up. “Hold on. It looks like the boy hasn’t eaten in weeks. Let me get him a snack, and then you can ask him your questions.”
“Not yet.” Simon tugged on Hannah’s hand and pulled her up to stand next to him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she felt his hip bone jutting out his side.
“You’re about to fall over, darling,” Mrs. Stern insisted. “At least let me go in and fix you up ...”
“Juliette,” her husband interrupted, “I think this young man was about to say something.”
“Well, he should at least have a cookie.” She held the platter up to Simon’s nose, but he ignored it.
“Mr. Stern, I have a favor to ask you.”
Hannah noticed the smile in Mr. Stern’s eyes. “Anything. But first, you tell me how you’re standing here talking to us. Because I know for sure the Bible teaches there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Simon was smiling too. “Fine, then. But you’ll only get the short version for now. And no questions. Not until later.”
“Deal.”
Hannah wondered how Simon’s skinny legs could even hold up his weight. She was terrified to let go for fear he might blow away with the wind and be lost again. “I was injured in a prison uprising. Hannah maybe told you that much.”
“She said it was an execution.” Mrs. Stern was still holding the cookie plate out. “Said you were shot.”
“True.” Hannah wondered if she could ever grow tired of listening to his voice. “Well, during the riot, one of the prisoners ...” He looked at Hannah. “The one with the missing fingers. You remember him, right? He dragged me to safety. Kept me hidden. Got my bleeding to stop. Found a way for us to escape through a chink in the fence.”
Mr. Stern crossed his arms. “That’s all you’re going to tell us, then?”
“I still think the boy should at least have a few cookies,” Mrs. Stern muttered.
“I’ll take a cookie soon, I promise.” Simon grinned at Mrs. Stern, but she didn’t remove the plate until he actually picked one up. “But before I eat or answer questions or do anything else, I have a favor to ask Mr. Stern. A big one.”
“And what kind of favor would that be?”
“I came a long way,” Simon explained. “A lot of miles. A lot of sleepless nights. And it wasn’t for Mrs. Stern’s cookies. Even though I’m sure they taste great,” he added at her look of disapproval.
“Well if it wasn’t for dessert, why did you come back here, Brother?” Mr. Stern was smiling just as wide as he had when his daughter graduated high school last year.
Simon took both of Hannah’s hands in his own. “I came back for an amazing young woman. A woman whose heart for the lost and compassion for the hurting brings me to my knees in shame. I lost her before, and I don’t intend on ever losing her again.” Hannah stared into his eyes. They were shining with life. With promise. With love. Simon cleared his throat, and a grin spread across his scarred, grimy face. “The reason I came back was to make this girl my bride.” Off to the side, Mrs. Stern gave a little chirp that sounded halfway like a squeal and halfway like a puppy whining. Simon brought his cheek to Hannah’s. “If she’ll have me, of course.”
Hannah nestled her face into the spot between his chin and his uninjured shoulder. It was all bones now, but she knew with rest and Mrs. Stern’s cooking, it would grow to be as soft and inviting as she always imagined.
“I prayed I’d find you here,” Simon whispered. “On my way back, I had so many nightmares. I’d show up here, and you’d be gone. But then I decided that if that happened, I’d just keep looking for you until I died from exhaustion. I don’t ever want to say good-bye to you again.”
Hannah ran her hands across his face, his cheeks, his hair. “There are no good-byes in the kingdom of heaven.”
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?” Simon asked.
She hid her face in his chest and nodded.
Mrs. Stern sniffled noisily. Mr. Stern cleared his throat. “Well then, friends, who’s ready for a wedding?”