Beneath a Southern Sky (31 page)

“No, Nate, please. You mustn’t think that.”

“Daria, I didn’t mean that to sound so martyrlike. It’s just the way things are.”

She started to speak, but he cut her off. “Please, Daria. Let me finish. I know I’m doing the right thing. I won’t sit here and tell you it’s easy. But the right thing isn’t always the easy thing.”

He stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace. He looked into the sky and, at the smudged edge of the street lamp’s glow, he found a cluster of stars. A lump rose in his throat, and he wondered if she remembered their last night together in Colombia. Did a starry sky make her think of him the way it would forever make him think of her? He turned to look at her and saw that she, too, was gazing at the dark southern corner of the sky. Neither of them spoke of it, and yet he felt certain that at that moment, their thoughts were one.

“I’m going to begin making arrangements to return to Timoné as soon as possible, Daria. I’ll stay long enough to do whatever needs to be done to make this all legal. Cole should have a father’s say where Natalie is concerned since I’ll be so far away. I—” He swallowed hard. He didn’t want this to become maudlin. “I want to be a part of Natalie’s life as much as I can from afar. I’d like to write to her, and see her whenever I come home. And please, I want my parents and Betsy to be allowed plenty of time with her. This won’t be easy for them, especially for Mom.”

Daria was weeping openly now, but she nodded her agreement.

“I’ll talk to Dad about the legal end of things. I—”

“Oh, Nate,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry. I do love Cole, Nate. But my decision to marry him was—rash. I wasn’t seeking God’s direction, and now look at the heartache it’s brought us. Oh, Nate, if you only knew how wrong I was. If only I’d sought God the way you have—”

“Don’t, Daria. Don’t make me out to be a saint. You don’t know the things I had to beg forgiveness for before God brought me to this decision. I’m human, Daria. I’ve had my struggles.”

“It doesn’t matter, Nate. You obeyed. You did what was right. I’d give anything to be able to go back and do the same. I’m so sorry, Nate.” It came out in a sob.

He sat down at the table with her, and this time he took both of her hands in his. He bowed his head as she did the same. “O Lord, this has been so hard…so hard. But we know that you can make even this into something good. Please do that now, Father. We’ve both confessed our mistakes. We are sorry, God, for what’s happened, for our part in it. But we know that you are a God of grace. We ask for your grace to us now. Direct us and guide us in the days to come. Help us to make wise decisions. Above all, Father, let us seek your direction as we sort this out. God—” He struggled again for control. “God, please don’t let the tragic things that have happened over the last few weeks leave scars on Natalie or on little Nicole. Heal those wounds by your blood, Father. Let these children grow up strong and whole. Let their hearts always be soft toward you.” He squeezed Daria’s hands, feeling stronger for having prayed.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and whispered two words, but for him those two words held a lifetime of meaning—“Thank you.”

Thirty-Five

N
ate couldn’t help but compare the entourage that left the courtroom to a funeral cortege—the mood was somber, the people were gathered in silent little groupings as they made their way down the hallway that led outside. The judge had ordered that security keep the media outside, so the hallway was quiet. But when the doors that led to the wide courthouse steps opened, a maelstrom of microphones, the nagging shouts of reporters, and the blinding flash of a dozen cameras assaulted the small group.

“Dr. Camfield! Dr. Hunter!” they shouted. “Daria!”

The media overtook them when they were halfway down the wide stairs. Daria leaned heavily on her father; Cole Hunter walked on the other side of her, beside Dennis Chastain. Nate’s own father strode beside him with the confidence of a seasoned lawyer.

Nate ducked his head and, in an irony of solidarity, he and Colson Hunter and Daria, with their loved ones, trudged through the gauntlet together.

“Dr. Camfield!” one reporter shouted above the din. “Is it true that you have decided to give up your rights to your daughter?”

Nate winced at the ugliness of the question. It made him sound uncaring, irresponsible even. Anger rose in him, but he pushed it down, praying desperately that God would give him wisdom in handling this mob, that he would not forget the absolute certainty he had felt about his decision only a few hours earlier.

Suddenly the words he had read again that morning seemed to be printed in the air before him like a divine teleprompter.
Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will
lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life
.

Nate turned and stopped in his tracks. He held up his hand, indicating that he wished to make a statement. “Please,” he said simply.

The clamor of the crowd died to a hushed murmur. Cole and Daria turned as one to the sound of his voice, and Nate saw the cautious expectancy on their faces.

His father put a hand on his arm, whether to warn him or bolster him, he wasn’t sure, but he went on. He looked full into the camera in front of him.
O Lord, let my words be a witness for you
.

He cleared his throat. “As you can imagine, this has been a nightmare for all of us.”

He paused and let his gaze encompass Cole and Daria. It still hurt to look at her. But now—by a strength he knew was far beyond his own—he was being lifted above the hurt, above the sorrow.

In spite of the slight rasp the fire had left in his vocal chords, his voice was strong, and even he could hear that it held more confidence than he felt. “This is not a decision any of us ever dreamed of being faced with,” he told the crowd, “but it was one we were forced to confront nevertheless. Through it all, as we have tried to sort out the questions, as we have sought answers to our dilemma, we have—all three of us—been guided by our deep, shared faith in God and, most of all, by our desire to do what is right, what is best, especially for the children involved.”

The crowd was utterly silent now, entranced by his words. He prayed he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of privacy for the others, but he felt compelled to continue. He stepped closer to the bouquet of microphones being offered him. “Over the past weeks since my return to the States, I have come to know Dr. Colson Hunter. I have seen with my own eyes that he has been a wonderful father to my daughter at a time when I did not even know I had a daughter. I
love
my daughter with all my—”
O God
, he pleaded silently,
let me get through this without breaking down
.

He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked again at the crowd in front of him. “I love my daughter deeply. But I believe that it is in her best interest to remain with the only man she has ever known as her father. My decision reflects my deep love for her.”

Nate took another labored breath and continued. But now he felt lifted up by unseen hands, and the words began to flow from his mouth as though someone else were speaking for him. “We are human—all of us,” he told the crowd, “and as you can imagine, we have each had our moments of anguish, of guilt—of anger. But the world won’t understand how our situation has been resolved without hate, without lashing out at one another, without lawsuits aimed at destroying each other. Listen carefully because I’m going to tell you exactly why.”

He paused and, when the silence reached deafening proportions, he told them in an unwavering voice, “It is because we have placed our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. It is because of our belief that our treasures are stored up in heaven, not here in this fleeting life on earth. That is the reason we are able to see beyond our own selfish desires.”

He looked at Cole and then at Daria, who were each nodding in agreement, looking at him with tears streaming down their faces and with a glow that Nate knew came from the same source that allowed him to speak his next words. He opened his mouth and preached the gospel unashamedly.

“If you can see the peace written on our faces in the midst of this horrible situation, don’t think that it comes from within ourselves. Never. It is peace that only comes from God Almighty through his son, Jesus Christ, a peace that I can testify passes all understanding. It is a peace that comes from a sure knowledge that we have given our wills, our very lives over to Christ. We have put our faith and trust in him alone. And we are filled with the assurance that he can take even tragedy and turn it into something beautiful.”

Nate saw that Cole and Daria were nodding again in agreement, and he suddenly felt drained and empty. Some of the reporters were looking at him as though he’d lost his mind, as though they were recording the ravings of a madman. But among the people gathered on the courthouse steps, Nate saw that many were crying, and a few had even bowed their heads.

When he had finished, he bent his head and started down the stairs.

Colson Hunter cleared his throat and raised his hand in the same way Nate had. Hunter did not speak with the poise and confidence of a preacher, and his voice quavered with emotion, but his words were powerful and meaningful—and a gift that Nate would always treasure.

“Soon enough,” he started, “the news will leak out about what took place in this courthouse today. Although this is an intensely private, personal matter, I think all of us realize that regardless of our wishes, this story
will
be written about and talked about. I think we could all agree that we want the story to come from us, to be told exactly as it is, without any conjecture on the part of the media.”

He looked to Nate and Daria for consent. When they both nodded, he continued. “We are grateful that Judge Garcia was sympathetic to our wishes to avoid what seemed inevitable in this case—the dissolution of one marriage. We were—we
are
all in agreement that divorce is wrong, that it is against everything we believe about the God-given institution of marriage.” His voice broke, and he put his head down, struggling for control. “These are circumstances that, frankly, none of us understand. But we are grateful that the laws of this state have allowed us to avoid the necessity for dissolving that marriage through divorce.”

A buzz began among the crowd, and reporters began jockeying for position again, launching questions. “Will Dr. Hunter get legal custody of the children?” a young reporter shouted above the growing din. “Will you tell Natalie who her birth father is?” another queried.

Nate winced, wondering how to respond to the delicate questions. Beside him, his father tightened his grip on his arm. “May I?” the older man whispered.

Nate nodded, and Jack Camfield stepped in front of him toward the phalanx of microphones. With the sonorous voice of a lawyer, he reiterated the judge’s decision. “Because of the way Kansas law reads, Daria’s marriage to Colson Hunter was recognized as valid by the law even after my son was found alive. In this state the presumption of validity of a subsequent marriage is stronger than and overcomes the presumption of a previous marriage. And as Dr. Hunter said, the judge today affirmed that the first marriage is dissolved under the law without necessity of divorce. The decisions that have been made—and that will be made in the future—are understandably very private and extremely sensitive, and we respectfully request that you honor the privacy of all involved. But we do want to note for the record that there is mutual agreement and deep mutual respect among all parties involved. Obviously there are no easy answers in a case such as this, but it is our desire—and we feel assured—that every decision will first and foremost take the children’s well-being into account.”

Reporters were scribbling furiously, dialing cell phones, tinkering with tape recorders. Jack Camfield held up a hand, and for the first time, his confident demeanor cracked. “I believe that is all we have to say.” As Nate had, he looked to Cole and Daria for affirmation. They both nodded, gratitude in their eyes.

Inexplicably undisturbed by the press, they all continued down the stairs to the parking lot.

Using the keyless entry on his key chain, Jack Camfield unlocked the door to his black Intrepid while they were still several hundred feet from the car. Nate hurried ahead of his father and climbed into the passenger side. The car was an oven, and the strength he had felt moments earlier as he gave his statement to the press—as he testified to God’s hand in unraveling their dilemma—drained from him. He felt as though his bones had turned to liquid. Trembling and overcome with a sadness too deep to be expressed, he put his head in his hands and moaned.

His father climbed into the driver’s seat beside him. Jack Camfield put the keys in the ignition and then dropped his head and began to weep. Nate put a scarred hand on his father’s shoulder. The older man looked up at him with such love in his eyes. And it occurred to Nate that, perhaps for the first time, his earthly father had begun to understand the father-heart of a God who watched his only son suffer an anguish that only the hope of heaven could assuage.

The July sun was blistering, but the Camfields’ yard offered a cool haven with its ancient shade trees and striped canvas awnings. Daria sat on a formal wrought-iron bench, Nicole napping in the infant carrier at her feet, and watched Natalie romp in the sunshine on the grounds’ lush acres of grass.

The back door opened, and Nate came out carrying a tray of drinks. He handed Daria a frosty glass of iced tea and took one himself. Natalie came running when she heard the ice tinkling in their glasses.

“Mommy, I’m thirsty,” she hinted, eyeing the juice box that remained on the tray.

“I brought you some apple juice,” Nate told her, holding out the container. “Does that sound good?”

“Yeah!” she crowed, then cocked her head. “Do I hafta stay here with it?”

Daria looked to Nate.

“Would you like to take it into the garden?” he asked her.

She nodded vigorously and scampered across the lawn, disappearing behind the gate to Vera Camfield’s rose garden.

“Just bring the empty box back,” Daria called after her. “And don’t pick any of Grandma’s flowers!”

“She’s all right,” Nate reassured her. He watched Natalie run across the lawn. “She’s beautiful, Daria. So beautiful.”

Her throat tightened. She didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing.

They sat sipping iced tea, not looking at each other, an uncomfortable silence between them.

“What time does your flight leave?” she asked gently.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s a four-thirty flight. Mom and Dad will be back to pick me up about three.”

“Oh.” They had such a very few minutes left.

Jack and Vera had gone to pick up Nate’s sister, Betsy, who would fly with him to Bogotá. Betsy planned to stay there until Nate arranged passage to Timoné. He was going back. It was where he belonged. She tried not to think about him going alone. She was grateful that Betsy would go with him as far as Bogotá.

They sat in silence for several minutes, and then each spoke the other’s name at the same time.

Nate laughed. “You go first.”

“I just want you to know how sorry I am, Nate. For everything. I’m so grateful to you for all you’ve done.”

He waved her words away. “Don’t, Daria.” He rose and went to stand at the edge of the terrace. “That’s all behind us now,” he said firmly.

She stood up and went to stand beside him. “Is it, Nate? Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive me for leaving you there? For going on without you?” She started to cry.

He reached out and touched her arm. “Daria, there was no way you could have known what was happening to me. I know that now. Nothing you could have done would have brought me home a minute sooner.”

“Maybe not, Nate,” she sniffed, “but if I’d only listened to God, if I hadn’t run ahead of him, it would have saved us all this heartache.”

He only nodded.

At the front of the house they heard the blast of a car horn.