Chapter Thirty

“To her timely and heroic work, more than to that of any other human being, are the people of the Conemaugh Valley indebted.”

~ Editorial written about Clara Barton and her Red Cross

With the last train whistle and the puff-and-chug of the engine, Annamae was gone. She’d swept in and out of his life as quickly as the water out of the dam. She’d sent a note by courier, letting him know she was returning to Washington. Heart protesting, he’d sprinted to the train station to change her mind, but as he saw her board the railcar, sluggish and dejected, a force stronger than himself stopped him in his tracks.

The invisible hand holding him in place was firm. Absolute.

God couldn’t have spoken more clearly.

If there was one thing Monty had learned about the Almighty, it was that His timing was perfect. He wanted Monty to let her go.

But Monty hadn’t wanted to let her go. He’d wanted to jump onto that train, beg her forgiveness, and kiss her senseless. Impatience had never gained him a thing, however. If God was going to work this out for his good, he didn’t want to ruin it by plowing ahead in his own power.

Annamae needed to go home. Losing her battle against the club, meeting his uncle Henry face-to-face, and discovering that the man she courted didn’t spawn from the humble beginnings she believed he had dealt cruelly with her pride. She needed time to heal. To discover what God had created her to do and strengthen her walk with Him.

Monty needed to do the same. One must never grow complacent in their position but should desire and strive to grow taller in Christ. Since his arrival in Johnstown, he thought he’d been doing that by settling into the person most akin to his core instead of what society expected him to become. Through the flood, Annamae, and Uncle Henry, God had shown Monty how blind he was in his thinking. His congregation didn’t know him. Not really. They only knew the parts Monty had wanted them to know.

His first attempt to lead a congregation had failed.

He’d also failed his first attempt to convince a woman he was worth marrying.

WASHINGTON, D.C. TUESDAY, AUGUST 6

Annamae yawned as she unlocked her apartment door. The hallway was empty this early in the morning, the building silent. Seclusion had never felt this unbearable before. It was her companion anyway, waiting for her in the stale air of her room.

She curled her nose at the dust that greeted her as she padded inside and set down her bags. The light revealed every item neatly in its place, just as she’d left them. The chaos of Johnstown had her craving reticence in those first few weeks. Now, she wished for the sound of a streetcar bell, the clop of horse hooves, or a mouse scurrying in the wall—anything to distract her from her loneliness.

Her bed squeaked as she sat upon it. “What now, God?” she whispered.

Not only did she not have her former life intact, but she didn’t have the one she’d imagined with Monty either.

Shoes and all, she curled in a ball on top of her covers and grieved over all she’d lost.