The Wonder of You (36 page)

Roark turned to John. “How could I let her go? I love her.”

“Yes,” John said. “You said that. We know.”

Okay. Okay then.

Amelia’s eye opened again. “I saw . . . a bear . . . and . . . cubs.”

“Yes, I know. We saw the pictures.” Downloading her amazing shots of the bear and her two cubs eating, along with the scenic panorama of Twin Pine Lake, the close-ups of the still-ripening berries on the bushes, and the night sky overhead, had given him something to do to keep the crazy at bay.

He didn’t know much about editing
 
—didn’t need to because she’d caught it all with such clarity that he’d simply uploaded them to the Capture America site.

And then, because he had to, he’d written something about her accident. About how a person dedicated to the things she loves will go all out, sacrifice herself, her life, for what she believes in. How Amelia was that kind of person and how he admired her.

He asked people to pray for her. It seemed silly, really, to ask strangers to pray for a person they didn’t know, but he asked anyway.

Ingrid gave Amelia a drink of water through a straw, and she settled back into the pillow.

“Roark?”

“Yes?”

“God was there, in the ravine.”

“Yes, of course He was. He helped me find you.”

“He did?”

“Well, yeah. You were lost to us, and . . .” He licked his dry lips, glanced at Ingrid, back down. “We prayed.
I
prayed. And God brought you back to us.”

It felt awkward to say those words, but even as he released them, the truth of them settled inside.

God, in His goodness, had given him back Amelia. And Roark would keep his vow.
Anything for You, Lord. Anything.

“Yeah, but He was with me all night,” Amelia said, her gaze almost fierce. “I could hear Him singing to me.”

A strange emotion rose through Roark. A tingle. A stirring of anticipation, almost.

“I realized . . . ,” she said and lifted her hand. He caught it. “I know what God wants from us. I know why He keeps putting us together.”

Roark did too. Because he couldn’t imagine a life without her. She made him better and stronger. She made him believe in himself. That he was a good man. That someday he could bear good fruit.

“I think God wants us to be missionaries.”

Silence.

Roark swallowed. Not moving.

“See, it came to me that I’ve been wanting to do this my whole life. I love photography, and maybe I’m supposed to do that too
 
—I don’t know. But I grew up on missionary stories and the stir of adventure and the desire to do something epic
 
—it’s all part of His calling. When I finally realized that this call was what I’ve been afraid to say yes to, that all I have to do is point my eyes at Jesus and focus on Him, it all came together. I saw the picture. I think God is calling you too, Roark. And I think you know that.”

She seemed stronger now, her grip on his hand unbreakable.

“I think your whole life you’ve wanted to be a missionary. That’s why you were so happy in Uganda. But you’re afraid to let God down. And I think deep down you’re afraid to walk away from all you have, only to fail.”

No. Oh, Lord, not this. Anything but this.

“But you didn’t let God down. You can still say yes to Him.”

He closed his mouth, his breath coming out in a wisp. “Right. Of course.” His words lacked conviction, so he tried again. “You get better, and we’ll . . . we have so much left to do.” He used her words because he didn’t know what else to say. “Just get better.”

“I will, Roark.” Her eyes gleamed. “And then we’ll go do amazing things. You and me, for God.”

He felt as though a hand had closed around his lungs, his heart.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.” He kissed her forehead.

Amelia closed her eyes and faded into sleep, her breathing steady. Ingrid wiped a tear off her cheek and looked at Roark.

“Excuse me,” he said. He pushed past them out into the hall, his breathing ragged.

Pressing a hand to the wall, he leaned against it, bracing himself. A
missionary
. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the cool plaster.

In a way, it made sense. In fact, if he were to step back and take a good look, maybe that’s why he’d been so attracted to Amelia. Because she reminded him of his mother or his father or maybe even himself. That desire, that longing, the hunger and thirst for more, to do something significant. And her family brought him back to the days when he’d had a family too.

But why a missionary? Of all things, a
missionary
? Of course, God would require of him the one thing he couldn’t give.

Behind him, the door opened and closed. Then he heard a voice. Deep, resounding. John.

“Roark, you all right?”

Roark stepped back from the wall. “I’m more than all right. I feared she wouldn’t wake.”

John nodded. “Yeah, me too. But there’s more, isn’t there? Something that she said.”

Roark looked at him, considering. “I can’t be a missionary, John. I just can’t be.” He shook his head. “I know what she asked, and I know what I said. I know what I promised God, but I can’t believe God would ask that of me. Yes, I’ll do anything for Amelia, and for God too, but . . . but not this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My own father, who loved God, let Him down. Let the worries of the world pull him away from his calling . . .”

“Why is this so hard, Roark?”

Roark closed his eyes, turned away. “Because my uncle is right. I’ve lived most of my life with wealth and opportunity, with the power to do anything I want. Now God wants me to leave that all behind and trust Him. To go out into the unknown and follow Him. It’s a blind sort of faith.” He shook his head. “It’s one thing to surrender my position at the company and exchange it for what you have here. The richness, the family, the life. But to abandon the world I know for a world that could be disastrous . . . it’s too much to ask.”

“I see.” John went quiet behind him for a moment. “So the problem is, you’re willing to trust God if He agrees to your parameters and as long as He obeys the rules. Is that what you’re saying?”

His words fell on Roark, stung.

John sighed. “God wants you to obey Him not because of what you get in exchange, but simply because He asked. To give up everything simply for the wonder of knowing Him, experiencing Him, believing in Him. The wonder of chasing after Him and abandoning all for Him.”

Roark swallowed because he had nothing.

“When you came after Amelia, you didn’t know if she was going to say yes. She could have turned right around and said, ‘No, never, get away from me.’”

Roark closed his eyes. “In fact, she did.”

“And yet you pressed on. You refused to give up because you believed in Amelia and her love for you. You believed that love was worth pursuing. It was not a fling for you, and it was not a fling for her, as she has told me. Yet you’re treating your relationship with God like a fling. As if it means nothing to Him and nothing to you. As if you can walk away from each other. But God doesn’t operate that way. When He sent Jesus to pay for your sins, He was all in. And when you turn to Him for salvation from death, He isn’t just offering you a onetime moment, but a lifetime of joy. Of peace. Of hope. You don’t have to see the future to trust in God’s goodness, in His love for you. You simply need to turn around and take a good look at what He’s already done. Then you can let the wonder of His love for you draw you to Him.”

He wanted to hear John’s words, but . . . “I’ve spent a lot of time running from God.”

“In all that running, what have you learned about Him?”

What had he learned? He’d learned that God wouldn’t let him go. That whether he was in Australia or Tasmania or on the streets of Prague, God would pursue him all the way, including giving him a woman who saw beyond his hurt
 
—and even his wealth
 
—to his heart.

“I guess, that He doesn’t seem willing to give up.”

“And why would God not want to pursue you? Why would He not be concerned about a child who so desperately wants to love Him but is afraid?” He walked past Roark to the window, where the sun had risen high into a cloudless sky, then turned back.
“You’re a part of our family, and you can bet we’re not going to let you go either.”

“Neither am I.”

Roark stilled at the voice behind him, turned. It couldn’t be.

There in the hallway stood his uncle Donovan. Tall, balding, a little rounder than he had been two years ago. He wore a simple jacket, a pair of jeans
 
—pressed, of course
 
—and trainers. Dressing down, apparently, for his trip across the ocean.

“What are you doing here?”

As Donovan came up to him, Roark saw warmth in his uncle’s eyes that he’d forgotten. “I was worried about you,” he said. He put his arms around Roark. “Son.”

Roark closed his eyes. Let himself embrace his uncle.
Son.
He’d been Donovan’s son longer than he’d been his own father’s, and he should probably face that. Donovan had been a good man, a good father for him.

“Thank you for coming,” Roark said and backed away. He looked at John. “This is my uncle.”

John shook Donovan’s hand. “Glad to meet you.” He wore a funny smile as he disappeared into Amelia’s room.

“You’re . . . here,” Roark said.

“Of course I’m here.”

And it settled upon Roark that yes, Uncle Donovan had always been here. He’d shown up in the hospital after his family died, been there for his rowing events and rugby matches, and had picked him up for every break, attended his graduations. He’d believed in Roark enough to give him a job he didn’t deserve and let him roam the planet for two years, wallowing in his grief and anger.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Roark said suddenly. “I’m so sorry. I should have come home
 
—”

“It’s okay, Roark. I understand. You have the same wandering spirit as your father; I know this about you.”

“I don’t believe I’ll be joining the ranks of
 
—”

“Yes, I know you’re not coming back. But there’s something that you probably need to know also.” Donovan took a breath. “I’ve been holding out on you.”

Roark frowned.

“I overheard you talking; you probably don’t realize that being a missionary is in your blood, just like your father.”

“My father turned away from missions.”

“No, he didn’t. Not at all. I should have told you about that.” Donovan shook his head. “I was greedy, and I wanted you for myself. But when God gave you to me to take care of, I should have realized that He would want you back. Your heart is your father’s heart. Your inheritance is your father’s inheritance
 
—a love for God. I should have never turned you down when you wanted to stay in Uganda. And for that, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand.”

“As much as I’ve hoped for the day when you would take the helm of Constantine Worldwide, it seems that is not your destiny. Instead, perhaps, you should finish what your father started. Yes, your father returned from the mission field because he needed medical assistance for your mother. But he also had his priorities in the right place. He was in the middle of setting up the charitable arm of Constantine Worldwide. In every country where we have a hotel, your father wanted to fund an orphanage. It was his brainchild, his baby, and his unfinished dream.”

“My father wanted to start a charitable organization?”

“He did. Set it up, but it’s not running. And now it’s funded with millions of euros, sitting there, waiting for the right person
with the right priorities to distribute it.” Donovan met his eyes. “It’s time for you to go out and do what you were destined to do.”

Roark had no words. But he turned away before the rush of emotions could catch up with him. “Would you like to meet Amelia?”

“I’m not leaving until I do. I have to meet this woman who so captured my nephew’s heart.”

Roark put his arm around Donovan. “Your son’s heart.”

Donovan smiled. “Quite right.”

“A
RE YOU SURE YOU’RE READY?
Absolutely sure?”

Her mother couldn’t help it
 
—Amelia knew that, so she tempered her response to something soft, gentle. Outside, leaves tumbled across the parking lot of the Duluth airport, people rushing in with carry-ons and roller bags.

“More than ready, Mom. I’ll be fine. My ankle and wrist are healed; my ribs are golden. I’m 100 percent.” And that was mostly true, except for the occasional ache when she stepped wrong or reached out too fast.

“I’m not talking about your health, honey,” Ingrid said, holding Amelia’s boarding pass, her passport. “I’m talking about in here
 
—” she touched her heart
 
—“and here.” She pointed to her head. “I don’t want your nightmares to follow you to Uganda.”

“I’m not sure that can be helped, but yeah, I’m fine, Mom.”
She still woke sometimes in a cold sweat, the night sinking into her pores like it had in the ravine. But every time, she countered it with the song, the one that refused to leave. And the voice in her head, softly singing.

“And Roark?”

Probably that was the heart part Ingrid worried about. For a second, yes, his absence could dig a spear into Amelia’s chest. But she managed a smile. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need Roark for this trip.” Or any trip. Not if she kept her focus on her true Savior.

Ingrid gave her a small, sad smile and reached out, pulled her close. “I’ll miss you so much it takes my breath away.”

Amelia curled her arms around her mother’s shoulders, breathing in the soft flannel of her jacket, the warmth of home. “It’s only for three months. I’ll be back before Christmas.”

“You’d better.” This from Darek, who walked up behind them, Tiger skipping alongside. “Sorry I’m late
 
—we had a McDonald’s stop.”

The evidence dribbled down Tiger’s jacket in splotches of creamy-white ice cream. Yulia followed, still working on her cone, Grace holding her hand.

Amelia greeted her sister with a one-armed hug. “How’s Max?”

“Training camp with Jace, and Eden says hi by the way.”

“You all didn’t even have to come
 
—I’m perfectly able to get on an airplane without the entire contingent of Christiansens showing up.”

Except the entire contingent
couldn’t
quite show up, and her words obviously left a mark on Ingrid, who swallowed, looked away. Casper had called only a week ago, on his way to Seattle to check in with a former teammate of Owen’s, having had no luck so far in locating their missing brother.

Amelia shot a glance at her father, on the phone over by the Charles Lindbergh statue in the lobby. She didn’t want to go through security without a last hug.

“The Gundersons do have e-mail. And Skype. I promise to check in.” Amelia picked up her carry-on, tugged it over her shoulder. A key chain imprinted with the Deep Haven city logo dangled from the side.

“That’s a nice memento,” Grace said. “Taking something from home.”

“Seth gave it to me when he stopped by last night,” Amelia said, shaking her head at Grace’s raised eyebrow. “It’s not like that. He knows it’s over. He’s just . . . Well, this distance will be good for him. He might be able to move on.”

Poor man had initially taken her choice like a prizefighter, refusing to go down for the count despite the fact that Roark had practically set up camp beside her hospital bed for two weeks, and then rented a cabin at Evergreen for the summer, helping her recuperate. Or maybe just reassuring himself that she’d live.

A month ago he’d kissed her, promised to return, and flown back to Brussels.

She tried not to let it bother her, the fact that he’d dipped out of her life again. Yes, she received e-mails from him
 
—chitchat about life in Brussels as he set up the charity organization his father had started, but . . . nothing about their future. And when Barb had reached out to her with an invitation to visit, take promotional pictures of their orphanage, he’d turned suddenly silent.

Which, of course, told her everything. But she didn’t need Roark to hold her hand, to make her feel brave.

She could have an adventure all on her own, her hand gripped in the Lord’s.

Seth had noted Roark’s absence, but Amelia had closed the book on the past, and his visit yesterday, while she was packing, seemed to resonate with good-bye.

“I can’t wait for you anymore, Red,” he’d said, sitting on the picnic table on the deck, holding an amber maple leaf between his fingers.

“I know.” She also knew his words, solemn and sad, were spoken more for himself than for her. “And you shouldn’t. I’m not coming back to stay.” Or for as far ahead as she could see.

He nodded, looked out over the lake. Ran the meat of his hand across his cheek. Then gave a small smile.

His smiles had always had the power to sweep the common sense from her brain, lure her into his arms. But not today. She wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned against the railing, a good distance between them.

“We had fun, didn’t we?” he said.

She nodded, her throat just a little tight. “Too much fun.”

That brought a chuckle from him, probably flipping through the memories. Then he got up, walked over, and kissed her forehead. “You’ll always be my girl.”

“I know.”

He caught her hand and squeezed. “Watch out for the snakes.” He left the key chain in her hand and walked away.

Leaving her alone with the wind in the pines, the rustle of the autumn leaves, the loons calling over the water.

She shot another glance at her father, then at the airport clock.

“How long is your layover in Amsterdam?” Ingrid asked.

“A couple hours. Not long enough to see the city, sadly.”

To her great relief, her father hung up, headed over. But his expression silenced them.

“That was Kyle Hueston,” John said, putting a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “Amelia, the Deep Haven sheriff’s office has finally identified the body you found in the ravine.”

She hadn’t exactly found it but
 
—

“It’s Monte Riggs. Monte’s grandfather reported him missing a few months ago, but they had to send the body down to Minneapolis, and it took them this long to confirm the remains.”

The silence continued as Ingrid’s eyes widened, as Darek stared at his father.

Monte . . . “Wait, wasn’t that the guy Raina was dating before she and Casper got back together? Didn’t he and Casper have a fistfight?” Amelia said.

“Yeah,” John said. “And not just once; apparently they had words at the VFW right before he went missing. There are eyewitnesses who claim Casper threatened the guy, that they exchanged blows.”

“He was a jerk,” Darek said.

“Darek!”

“Sorry, Mom, but it’s true. Whatever Casper said to him, he had it coming.”

“What was the cause of death?” Grace said, glancing at Yulia, then at Tiger, who was walking in a circle, putting his feet exactly in the tile squares.

“Not sure. Kyle says there is evidence of head trauma. But it could be exposure. There wasn’t much left of him.”

“How’d he get in the ravine?” Darek asked.

John blew out a breath. “Well, that’s the problem. The police seem to think Casper might have had something to do with it.”

A beat; then, from Ingrid, “Are they saying . . . that Monte was
murdere
d
?”

“And Casper is the prime suspect,” John said.

“Oh, that’s ludicrous,” Grace said. “Casper wouldn’t hurt . . . anyone . . .”

Except, landing in Amelia’s brain was the very vivid scene of Casper tackling Owen only a year ago at Jace and Eden’s wedding. And then the story of his brawl with Monte seven months later.

She read the same memories on the faces of her family in the silence that followed.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Ingrid said. “And when Casper gets back, he’ll clear it up.”

John nodded, his mouth a grim line. “In the meantime, Amelia is off to Uganda.”

Smiles, although forced. She hated to leave this way. “Maybe I shouldn’t go
 
—”

“Are you kidding me?” John stepped up, lifted her chin. “You can’t say no to this opportunity. The Gundersons are thrilled to have you come and help with the orphanage. It’s the perfect way to spend your prize money, and frankly, it’s time. I’m tired of you watching
Doctor Who
reruns.” He winked at her, then drew her into a hug. Kissed the top of her head. “As long as you don’t run off any ravines or get lost in any dark alleys.”

Because, well, Roark wasn’t around to find her, was he? But she pushed that thought away. “I’ll leave the dark alleys to Vivie. She’s the one in New York.” Amelia had gifted her trip to New York to Vivie, a one-way ticket back to her dreams. “But I promise to be careful, Daddy,” Amelia said, kissing his leathery cheek.

Her family waited until she passed through security and gave them one last wave on the other side.

Uganda.
The word held mystery and promise, a realization of the awakening she’d discovered that night in the ravine. Yes, it was
only a three-month trip to start, but she’d had to leave while she still had a firm grip on her courage.

She hunkered down in her seat, watched a movie on her iPad, then slept as the plane traveled over the ocean. When they touched down in Amsterdam, she unfolded herself from the seat, stretched.

By the time she made it through passport control into the airport, she’d woken fully. She found a bathroom, freshened up, and gave herself a good once-over. Amelia Christiansen, world traveler. Missionary. Adventurer. Brave, or trying to be. Barely a scar remained from where she’d hit her head in the ravine, and her hair had grown out, almost to the middle of her back. She let it hang loose, tightened the belt on her black trench coat, and slung her backpack over her shoulder before heading into the concourse.

She snapped a few pictures of the airport hustle, bought a latte, wishing Roark had made it for her, and found her gate as her section was boarding.

Next stop, Entebbe International Airport.

She had just pulled out her neck pillow, earbuds, and iPad when a flight attendant leaned over to her seat. “Ma’am, I’m sorry; there’s been a mistake.”

What? No mistake
 
—she was supposed to be here
 
—

“You’re in the wrong seat.”

Amelia pulled out her boarding pass, checked it. “It says 23A.”

The flight attendant nodded. “You’ve been moved.”

Shoot. She’d wanted the window seat, had picked the exit row so she could stretch out. But she tucked her earbuds and iPad away, grabbed her carry-on and neck pillow, and eased out of the row. “Excuse me,” she said to her former row-mate.

The flight attendant headed to the front of the section, then, surprisingly, into first class. She indicated a window seat.

“Here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The woman smiled, her teeth bright against her dark face, nothing of guile in her expression.

“All right.” Amelia slid into her spot.

“Would you like a beverage?”

“Uh, sure. Water.”

The woman left, and Amelia tucked her bag under the seat, pulled out her accessories.

A hand reached over, holding a bottled water, and she took it, looked up to thank
 
—

She stilled, her heart coming to a full stop in her chest as Roark St. John smiled down at her. He was dressed like a billionaire, in a crisp blue suit, white shirt, teal tie. A silver watch glinted on his wrist. Clean shaven, he’d also gotten a haircut, his curls shorter but still tempting.

And his eyes. The richest blue, twinkling, a warmth in them that slid over her, through her. Those eyes she recognized. The mischief of her playboy from Europe, the strength of the lumberjack from Deep Haven.

“Is this seat taken?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t
 
—”

“It is now.” He slid in next to her, still smiling. And oh, he smelled good, a hint of cherrywood and spice. He motioned to the flight attendant.

“Mr. St. John?”

“A Coke, please?”

“Right away.”

“What are you doing here?” Amelia said.

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” He turned to her, the full-wattage grin burning away her shock.

Really, what could she say? “Over the moon.”

“That’s my girl.” He leaned forward, caught her chin with his smooth fingers, and kissed her. Sweetly, just enough to restart her heart. “Wow, I missed you,” he said as he backed away. “I’m so sorry I haven’t written these past few weeks. I’ve been working nearly every moment getting Compassion Constantine up and running before I left.”

“Your father’s project.”

“My project now. And as it works out, we have a new hotel opening in Entebbe.”

“So you’re . . . working on the hotel.” She couldn’t help the slightest deflation. She’d hoped . . . But no, she could do this without Roark.

“Not exactly.” He loosened his tie as the flight attendant returned with his Coke. “We’re helping fund an orphanage there, and I’m going to lend a hand. I’m teaching some classes, adding a roof to a building. Might even play some football.”