August faced each new day with bitterness and trepidation. The highway project kept his hands busy, but his mind continued to be haunted by images of the woman he’d left behind.
He was angry with Beth and with God, but mostly with himself. He knew he’d disappointed Gerald and Phillip by leaving without a word, especially after promising them such a grand day of fishing and storytelling. It grieved him that he was causing them pain. Why did life have to be so difficult?
From time to time, as news trickled in about the progress of the war, August felt his anger rekindled. He should have been one of the troops. If only God would have worked things out for him and heard his prayers. If only God cared.
Every day, August operated machinery, issued orders, and helped to assess progress. While he knew the job demanded his undivided attention, his mind incessantly wandered.
Log bridges were built to cross the multiple rivers and creeks, but the problem of boggy, wet ground made progress slow and uncertain. Riverbanks had to be reinforced to hold the bridges, and while gravel was readily available, the waterlogged land seemed to have an insatiable appetite. Load after load of rock was brought in to stabilize that which refused to be stable.
Danger lurked behind every tree, and each new and unexplored position placed the highway crew in jeopardy. Despite difficulty and hardship, the highway was steadily becoming reality. August wondered what he would do when the road work was completed.
Ralph Greening expected him to stay on and work for the Public Roads Administration. There were plans to make continued road improvements and to see to it that eventually the Alaskan/Canadian Military Highway would be more than a mud trail through the wilderness. But even for the promise of a secure job, August didn’t know if he could live close to Beth and the boys and not be part of their lives. August tried to put such thoughts from his mind as he joined his crew. Rains had slowed progress, and after a two-day dry spell, every man available was out on the road making up time. Testing the ground, August grimaced. It remained spongy from the deluge, and such conditions only added to the danger of the situation.
August climbed aboard a caterpillar tractor and started his shift with great reluctance. His duties seemed meaningless, and his life once again held no purpose. But there were tree stumps to be removed and the road to be graded.
Paying little attention to the twenty-ton machine he maneuvered, August wasn’t aware of how precariously close he had come to the edge of a sheer drop. His mind was too preoccupied to notice the ledge giving way, and by the time he recognized the danger, it was too late. In a mass of rubble and a cloud of diesel smoke, the machine slid down the embankment. All August could do was hold on.
It seemed an eternity of bouncing, pitching, and turning. Then the tractor came to rest on its side, pinning August beneath.
August felt the warmth of his own blood as it gushed from a cut above his left eye. He tried to assess the situation, but his mind was clouded and dull, and his eyes refused to stay open. He struggled to move his arms, but any movement was impossible.
I have to get out of this, August thought. He strained against the weight that pinned him firmly against the ground. He could feel cold, boggy dampness against his back, and he tried to remember if a lake or pond sat near where he’d been grading. His mind offered only hazy memories.
He heard voices overhead and knew his men would come to his aid. It was hard to figure out just where they were and how soon he could expect relief, but just hearing them gave him comfort.
“Why is this happening, God?” August wondered aloud. “Why must I suffer these torments and pains?” As it became a monumental effort just to breathe, August fell silent.
Minutes or maybe hours passed as August faded in and out of consciousness. He thought he heard people working overhead, but the roar in his head made it impossible to know for certain.
“August. August,” a voice called out, and though he couldn’t see the face, August answered.
“I’m here! I’m under here!”
“I know where you are. August, do you trust Me to get you out?”
What a strange question, August thought. Why would anyone ask me that?
“I don’t know who you are,” August replied, “but if you can help to get me out of here, I’d be much obliged.”
“August, do you believe in me?” the voice whispered.
August shook his head. “What are you talking about? Just get me out of this. I’ll believe you, shake your hand, dance a jig, whatever you want. Just get me out from under this thing!”
August knew his words sounded harsh and ungrateful, but this man was beginning to bother him.
“August, you called upon Me. Dost thou believe on the Son of God?”
A tingle ran down August’s spine. Those words were scripture. He remembered them very well. Jesus had asked that question of a blind man.
August’s breath quickened. What was it that the man answered in the Bible? August thought for a moment before quoting John 9:36 in a hesitant voice. “‘Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him?’”
“Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that talketh with thee.” The words paralleled Christ’s reply in the Bible.
August felt a trembling that started in his toes and worked all the way up through his body. The love of a Savior whom he’d so long denied penetrated the darkness and cold that engulfed his body.
Suddenly all the bitterness melted away from August’s heart. In an instant, the blindness of his anger lifted, and he could once again see. He remembered the closeness and comfort that came from being right with God.
“I’ve really made a mess of things, Lord. Forgive me,” August cried out. “Please forgive me.”
August wept tears of repentance as he thought of God’s love. Even though he’d rejected that love, Jesus had reached through the wall of August’s disappointment and denial to be at his side when August needed Him most. What a precious friend!
The presence of Christ at his side never subsided, even as the tractor was lifted from overhead. August struggled to open his eyes, but they felt heavy and weighted down.
“August, August, old buddy, wake up. Wake up!” one of the men called.
August opened his eyes to see the hazy image of several men. Above them the spruce trees parted to reveal a brilliant sky of cobalt blue. August tried to sit up, but firm hands held him down.
“Don’t move, August. You’re hurt pretty bad. We’re going to get you some help. Just hang on.”
August tried to remain conscious, but his mind flooded with blackness, and his body went limp.
“Maybe it’s better this way,” one worker said to another. “I wouldn’t want to be awake when they moved me. Not with the way his body must be broken up inside.” The men agreed as they waited for a stretcher.
Coming out of the darkness was much like surfacing after diving deep into a lake. Fighting against the urge to remain in the dark stillness, August awoke to strange voices and blinding pain. Feeling as though every part of his body was broken, August moaned in agony.
“He’s awake, Doctor,” a young woman’s voice called.
A man peered down at August with a look of concern. “Mr. Eriksson, I’m Dr. Butler. Can you understand me?”
“Yes,” August answered slowly. Even speaking seemed painful.
“Mr. Eriksson, you’ve sustained some injuries. We won’t know the extent of those injuries until our examination is complete. You have a concussion and a deep laceration on your forehead. Other than that, it’s hard to tell. We’ll do what we can to make you comfortable.”
“Where am I?” August asked, knowing that there hadn’t been any hospitals in the area where he had been working.
“Anchorage. They flew you in yesterday.”
“I’ve been unconscious that long?”
“I’m afraid so, but don’t worry. It isn’t at all unusual after sustaining a severe head injury. For now, I’d just like you to rest and let us do our job.”
August gave a slight nod before drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Three days later, August was propped up in bed, trying to absorb a full assessment of his condition.
“You are most fortunate, Mr. Eriksson,” the doctor explained. “Had you landed on a hard surface, you’d most likely be dead. Instead, you landed in wet muskeg, which caused your body to sink beneath the weight of the tractor. When they were able to pull the machinery from you, they discovered that you were beneath the ground’s surface. No one can explain why the tractor didn’t sink right along with you, but perhaps the weight was better distributed. There’s really no way of knowing,” the doctor said as he glanced back and forth from August’s face to the chart he held.
“Some might, in fact, call it a miracle. It took over four hours to free you, and you were unconscious the entire time. Fortunately, you didn’t lose much blood,” Dr. Butler added.
“But I remember being awake. I remember talking to …” August’s voice fell silent.
“I can only go by what the pilot passed on to me from the road crew. However, it would fit with the nature of your injuries. Besides the concussion, you have a broken collarbone on the left side and some relatively minor lacerations elsewhere. We were fearful that you might have sustained several fractured lumbar vertebrae.”
“Several what?” August questioned. Although his sister was a registered nurse, he had never taken the time to learn much more than the basics that kept him alive.
“We thought your back might be broken, but it appears that all is well. I’d say several weeks will right what’s wrong, and you’ll be able to return to your home. I strongly caution against any strenuous labor, however, for at least two or three months.”
“That long?” August asked in a weary voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Eriksson,” the doctor sympathized, “but as I’ve already stated, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“Not lucky,” August said with a weak grin. “God saved me from death, and believe me, I’m grateful.”
“Well then, I expect a good patient who’s obedient to orders,” Dr. Butler answered and turned to leave. “And I happen to agree with you, Mr. Eriksson. You were very blessed.”
August nodded and relaxed as the doctor left. No sooner had he walked through the door than a gray-haired nurse entered the room.
“Good day, Mr. Eriksson,” the pleasant-voiced woman said. “I’m Nurse Roberts. How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, I suppose.”
“Good, good. I’ll need to take your temperature and pulse now,” the woman said as she automatically popped a thermometer in August’s mouth and took his wrist.
The woman reminded August of his mother. She was firm, yet gentle in her touch, and her voice was like a spoken lullaby.
“I’ll bet you’d enjoy some breakfast,” she chattered after marking down his pulse rate. “Well, I have just the thing for you. Eggs, toast, juice, and maybe even some bacon. How about it?” she questioned, removing the thermometer from August’s mouth.
“It sounds wonderful,” August agreed.
“Then I’ll fetch you a tray and be back in a jiffy,” Nurse Roberts announced and hurried from the room.
August contemplated the tight bandaging that held his left arm firmly against his body. He was grateful that it was his left collarbone rather than his right that bore the break. At least he could still use his right hand.
Nurse Roberts came into the room with a steaming tray of food. “Here we are. This ought to make you feel considerably better. You’ll notice that I’ve brought you some coffee as well. Now, can I get you anything else?”
“I appreciate all that you’ve done. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d be most grateful if you’d get me a Bible,” August said, struggling to sit up. “I have some catching up to do.”
“Here, let me help you,” Nurse Roberts said as she put the tray down. She lifted August with ease and even managed to keep from causing him greater pain.
August looked into the soft brown eyes and sighed. He missed his mother.
“Thank you,” August whispered.
“Not at all,” the woman said, and brought the tray to his bed. “Now, you eat everything here, and I’ll be happy to search out a Bible for you.”
August reached out and placed his hand to cover the older woman’s hand. “Would it offend you if I told you that you remind me of my mother?”
The woman broke into a big smile. “Certainly not. Is she nearby? Can I call her for you?”
“She’s dead,” August said thoughtfully. “No, she’s gone, but she’s in heaven. She loved God more than anything or anyone, and I know I’ll see her again.”
“That always makes it easier, doesn’t it,” the woman observed. “Knowing that your loved ones are safe in the arms of Jesus and that you’ll one day see them in heaven—it’s all that gets me through each day when I think of those who have gone before me.”
“You talk as one who knows,” August replied softly.
“I do, son. I do. I lost my husband and children in the influenza epidemic. I decided to train and become a nurse after that. But even after all these years, it hurts to remember them and know that I must wait.” The woman’s voice was barely audible.
August squeezed her hand. “Someone is always left behind. I guess that’s our job.”
The woman smiled and patted August’s hand. “Of course, you’re right. Now, you eat, and I’ll go find you a Bible.”
It wasn’t until the next day that August came to realize the doctor had given him a great deal of pain killer. As the medication wore off, deep, penetrating pain filled August’s body. He struggled to forget it, forcing his mind away from the hospital and to the small rural village where Beth and the boys lived. He tried to imagine Beth at work and the boys at play.
He was grateful when Nurse Roberts brought him more pain medication. While August waited for the drugs to take effect, he leaned back against the pillows and prayed.
“Dear God, I need to be free from this pain. Such pain and misery takes my mind from the hope that I should have in You.” August shifted uncomfortably. “I know I could just as easily be dead or dying—perhaps I really am—but Lord, I want to live. I want to see Beth and the boys, and I want to set things right with them.
“Father, I love Bethany Hogan, and I believe You sent me to her and her children to be a husband and father. I know I’ve doubted Your blessings, but I don’t doubt them any longer. Deliver me, Lord. Deliver me and let me live. Amen.”