Chapter 1
It was on a cold January night when the unthinkable,
unpardonable happened.
The evening had gone as usual for Dynah Carey as she
served food at the Stanton Manor House, a retirement home
established for Middleton's city employees. She enjoyed
her work, often talking animatedly with the elderly
patrons who came down from their small apartments for
communal meals in the basement cafeteria. Sally Wentworth
was a great cook and planned a varied menu. The only
complaint Dynah had heard in five months on the job was
how much food there was left over. Most of the people who
lived at the Manor had come through the depression years
and hated to see waste.
The rest of the diners had left for the evening, all but
Mr. Packard, who was taking his time sipping his cup of
decaf. "Your car still in the shop, Dynah?"
"Yes, sir. They're still waiting for a part to come in."
"Thought it was supposed to be fixed yesterday."
"I guess there was some kind of delay," she said with a
shrug. She wasn't worried about it.
"Is that young man of yours going to come pick you up
tonight?" he said, watching Dynah fill the saltshakers.
She smiled at him as she moved on to the next table. "Not
this evening, Mr. Packard. He's teaching a Bible study."
"Maybe Sally can take you home."
"It's not far to the bus stop."
"A mile at least, and a pretty girl like you shouldn't be
out on her own after dark."
"I'm always careful."
"Careful isn't always good enough these days. I've gotten
so I hate reading the newspaper. Time was you could walk
from one end of town to the other without worrying." He
shook his head sadly. "Now the town's gotten so big you
don't know anybody anymore. People coming and going all
the time. You never know who's living next door. Could be
Pollyanna or Son of Sam. Houses spreading all over
tarnation, and no plan to the way it's sprawling. I
remember when I was a boy, we knew everybody. We left our
doors unlocked. Never had to be afraid. I don't know what
the world's coming to these days. Makes me glad I'm almost
to the end of my life. When I was growing up, we used to
sit outside on the front porch and talk. Neighbors would
come by and have lemonade. Those were good times. Now
nobody has time for anything. They don't even build
porches on houses anymore. Everybody's inside watching
television and not saying much of anything to anybody."
Dynah stayed close, responding to the ache of loneliness
she heard in his words and voice. He wasn't whining. He
was grieving. His wife had passed away four months before.
The family had gathered around him long enough for the
memorial service and then scattered across the States
again. His two sons lived on the West Coast, too far away
to make frequent visits. His daughter lived in Indiana but
called him every Sunday. Sundays were good days for Mr.
Packard.
Tonight was Wednesday.
"I miss Trooper," he said quietly. He smiled wistfully. "I
used to call Freda `Trooper.'"
Mr. Packard told Dynah how he had come up with the
nickname just after World War II. He had fought in the
Pacific two years before being blown off a transport. He
landed in a field hospital where he spent another three
months before he was shipped stateside.
"While I was away, Freda had our son and managed a part-
time job. When my father got sick with cancer, she quit
and stepped into his shoes to help my mother run the
family grocery store. My Freda was a home-front soldier."
His expression softened in memory, his eyes glistening
with tears. "So I called her `Trooper' and it stuck."
"We have to close down, Dynah!" Sally said from behind the
counter. She said it loudly enough so that poor Mr.
Packard would hear. Dynah looked at his face and wanted to
weep.
Taking the hint, the old man got up. "Everybody's in a
hurry these days," he said with a glance toward the
kitchen. Then his eyes came to rest on her again."Good
night, Dynah. You be careful out there tonight."
"I will, sir," she said with a fond smile, touching his
shoulder as he passed. "Try not to worry."
Juan Garcia began putting chairs upside down on the
tables. Gathering Mr. Packard's spoon, cup, and saucer,
Dynah watched the old man walk stiffly across the room.
His arthritis was troubling him again.
"I didn't mean to break up your little chat," Sally said
as Dynah put the things into the big industrial dishwasher
and pulled the door down. "Some of these old people could
talk until your hair turned gray." She took her sweater
from the hook on the wall. "They've got no place to go and
nothing to do."
"He misses his wife," Dynah said and thought about
following Mr. Packard's suggestion and asking Sally for a
ride.
"I know. I miss my husband. I miss my kids. You miss your
handsome fiance{'}." She dumped her shoulder bag onto the
counter and shrugged into her sweater and parka. "And as
Scarlett O'Hara always said, `Tomorrow is another day.'"
Picking up her bag, she said a brisk good-night and headed
for the back door.
Sally seemed in such a hurry, Dynah didn't want to impose
upon her. Besides, it wasn't that far to the bus stop, and
there were plenty of streetlights along the way. Getting
her backpack from the storage room, Dynah slipped off her
rubber-soled white shoes and pulled on her snow boots.
Zipping the shoes into the backpack, she said good night
to Juan. Crossing the dining room, she went into the lobby
that opened out onto the back parking lot. Sally had
already turned the lights down for the night. There was
only the soft glow of security lights and the bright
lights behind Dynah where Juan was getting ready to wash
and wax the floors.
Pulling on her parka, Dynah went to the back door.
The idea that she needed to be concerned hadn't ever
crossed her mind before. The Manor wasn't exactly a center
of crime. The worst thing that had happened was someone's
spray painting graffiti on the walls three months ago. The
manager had painted over the bubble letters and numbers by
the next afternoon, and the police increased the number of
times they drove by each evening. The vandals hadn't
returned.
Pushing the door open, Dynah stepped outside. The air was
crisp; the snow from last week's fall was packed hard and
dingy. Her breath puffed white in the stillness. She heard
the lock click behind her and shivered slightly. She
zipped her parka up to her neck and looked around. Maybe
it was Mr. Packard's warning that made her edgy. There was
nothing else to bother her. It was an evening like any
other, no darker, no colder.
There were shadows all around, but nothing unfamiliar or
threatening as she walked down the wheelchair ramp. She
took her usual path through the back parking lot to Maple
Street. It was only a few blocks down to Main, another
eight to Sycamore, and a few more to Sixteenth where she
caught the bus. It only took fifteen minutes to reach her
stop at Henderson. From there it was seven blocks to the
dorm.
Dynah glanced at her wristwatch. Nine-thirty. Janet Wells,
her roommate, would be in the library studying late
tonight. Janet always left things till the last minute and
then aced every exam. Dynah smiled to herself, wishing she
were that fortunate. She had to study all term long to
pull grades high enough to keep her scholarship.
Relaxing as she walked, Dynah enjoyed the clear night. She
had always liked this street with its turn-of-the-century
houses. She could imagine people sitting on their front
porches in the summertime, sipping lemonade just the way
Mr. Packard remembered. Like something out of a movie. It
was a life far removed from the way she had grown up on
Ocean Avenue in San Francisco—and yet similar as well.
Looking back, she realized how she had been protected by
her parents and cloistered in home schooling. In many
ways, she had led an idyllic life with few bumps and
twists in the road. Of course, there had been times when
she had been curious to know what lay beyond the hedges
her parents had planted around her. When she asked, they
explained, and she complied. She loved and respected them
too much to do otherwise.
Her mom and dad had been Christians forever. She couldn't
remember a time when they hadn't been involved in the
church or some community service project. Her mother sang
in the choir and led Sunday morning Bible studies. Dynah
had grown up surrounded by love, protected and guided
every step of the way, right up to the doors of New Life
College. And now it seemed her life would continue that
way, with Ethan Goodson Turner at the reins.
Not that I am complaining, Lord. I am thankful, so
thankful. You have blessed me with the parents I have and
the man I'm going to marry. Everywhere I look, I see your
blessings. The world is a beautiful place, up to the very
stars in the heavens.
Lord, would you please give poor old Mr. Packard a portion
of the hope and joy I feel? He needs you. And Sally, Lord.
She's always fretting about something and always in a
hurry. She has so little joy in her life. And Juan said
tonight one of his children is sick, Father. Pedro, the
little one. Juan can't afford insurance and—
A car passed slowly.
Dynah noticed a Massachusetts plate before the vehicle
sped up. The red taillights were like a pair of red eyes
staring back at her as the station wagon went down the
street, then squealed onto Sycamore. Frowning slightly,
she watched it disappear.
Odd.
Her thoughts wandered again as she walked more slowly past
her favorite house. It was two doors from Sycamore, a big
Victorian with a porch around the front. The lights were
on behind the Nottingham lace curtains. The front door was
heavy mahogany with small leaded panes of glass and
stained glass at the top. The pattern was a sunburst of
golds and yellows.
It would be nice to live on a shady street like this one,
in a big house, complete with a trimmed lawn, a flower
garden in the front, and a yard in the back with a swing
and a sandbox for the children. She smiled at her
dreaming. Ethan would probably be offered a church in a
big city like Los Angeles or Chicago or New York. A man
with his talents for preaching wouldn't end up in a small
college town in the Midwest.
She couldn't believe a young man like Ethan would look
twice at her, let alone fall in love and ask her to marry
him. He said he knew the day he met her that God meant her
to be his wife.
She wouldn't have met him at all if her parents hadn't
insisted she visit New Life College. She had already
decided on a college in California. When they mentioned
NLC, she declined, convinced the cost and distance should
eliminate it. They assured her they had planned for the
first and the second would be good for her. They wanted
her to become more independent, and attending college in
Illinois was a good way to accomplish that. Besides, her
grades were good enough that she could receive
scholarships.
Dynah smiled about it now. Her parents had never been
subtle in what they wanted for her. Her mother had left
pamphlets of a dozen Christian colleges scattered about
the house to tweak her curiosity. Each had been opened to
beautiful, idyllic places with stretches of lawn lined
with manicured gardens. NLC had a quad with six majestic
brick and white-columned buildings, two to the east, two
to the west, one on the north and a church to the south.
But what appealed most to Dynah were the wonderful young,
smiling faces of the students.
There had never been any question that she would end up at
a Christian college. Where better to learn how to serve
the Lord than in an environment centered on Christ? Yet,
the Midwest had seemed so far from home she had dismissed
it.
While completing her final year of work for her high
school diploma, she sent out a dozen applications and
received as many acceptance letters. She narrowed it down
to four possibilities, dismissing all those outside the
state. Her father suggested she and her mother take a trip
to southern California and see the three campuses that
were there. After visiting one in San Jose, she contacted
the others and made appointments with the dean of
admissions to discuss programs and scholarships.
While she was gone, her father had contacted four colleges
he thought "good enough" for his daughter. One was in
Pennsylvania, one in Indiana, and two in Illinois. One
sent a video. Two had students call and talk with her
about the campus, activities, and curriculum. The last was
New Life College. They sent a catalog and an invitation to
come and take a firsthand look at what they had to offer.
She thought it preposterous and a terrible waste of her
parents' money, but her father insisted she go. "You have
to learn to fly sometime."
It was the first time she had gone anywhere without her
parents or a church group. All the arrangements had been
made by the college beforehand, so she had the safety net
of knowing she wouldn't be on her own long. A student
would meet her at the airport and bring her to the campus
where she would spend two days with a personal guide.
Dynah smiled as she remembered her reaction when she first
saw Ethan with a sign bearing her name. She thought he was
the most gorgeous young man she had ever seen. Her mother
had told her the college would probably send a nice young
man to meet her and drive her to the college. She hadn't
expected someone who looked like he belonged in the
movies. She was completely flustered and tongue-tied, but
by the time they were halfway to the campus, he had put
her so much at ease that she had shared her Ocean Avenue
life with him. By the end of the trip, she knew Ethan
didn't just look good, he was good. He was on fire for the
Lord, ambitious for godly service, and filled with ideas
about ministry.
"My father's a pastor, and his father before him," he told
her. "My great-grandfather was a circuit rider for the
gospel. I'm following in their footsteps."
By the time they drove beneath the brick arch to the NLC
campus, she was convinced Ethan Goodson Turner would be
the next Billy Graham.
Upon their arrival at the women's dorm, Ethan introduced
her to Charlotte Hale, a music major from Alabama.
Charlotte was vibrant and full of southern charm and
hospitality. A senior graduating in June, she had already
made plans to go with a mission group to Mexico and
present the gospel in music and drama.
Over the next two days, every minute was taken up seeing
the campus, especially the departments in which Dynah was
most interested: music and education. She heard about
various programs, scholarships, and activities and met
dozens of people. Charlotte seemed to know everyone and
introduced Dynah to them all. She met professors and
students, the deans, the manager of the bookstore, and
even two of the gardeners who kept up the grounds. Dynah
loved every minute of her stay.
On Saturday evening, to her surprise and delight, Ethan
joined them for dinner at the mess hall. She blushed when
he sat down. He lingered until a girl came over and asked
if he was going to an evening Bible study.
"Half the girls on campus wish they could marry him,"
Charlotte had remarked, watching him walk away.
"I'm not surprised," Dynah had said, remembering how
embarrassed she had been for daydreaming about just that
during the drive from the airport.
Charlotte had looked at her then, straight on, and
smiled. "You should come back. He'll be a senior next
year."
She hadn't dissembled. "Are you suggesting I join his
legion of admirers?"
Charlotte laughed. She didn't say anything about Ethan
after that, but it was clear she had done her best to
plant a seed for thought.
They hadn't been back at the dorm fifteen minutes when
Ethan called. He told Dynah he would be picking her up and
taking her back to the airport. She thanked him and said
she would be ready. By morning, Dynah had decided against
coming back to NLC because of Ethan. If she was infatuated
after a few days, she knew she would be head over heels in
love if she saw him every day of the year. And NLC wasn't
so big a campus that she could miss him. No, she didn't
want to become one of the legion, and she held no false
hopes of becoming his choice.
She smiled now, thinking of it, feeling his engagement
ring on her finger with the back of her thumb. She had
been so nervous on the drive back to O'Hare. She had told
Ethan he could drop her off in front of the Delta
terminal, but he had insisted he would accompany her
inside. He parked, took her carry-on, and stayed with her.
When they got inside the terminal, he stood with her in
line as she got her boarding pass. Then he sat with her in
the gate area. She had been so embarrassed, she wanted to
crawl under the seat.
"I know I haven't seen much of the world, Ethan, but I
don't need baby-sitting," she had said, trying to laugh
off his concerns.
"I know that," he said quietly.
"I don't need a bodyguard, either."
He looked at her, and she felt foolish and young, too
young for him. There had been such an intensity in his
eyes that she had blushed.
"Come back to NLC, Dynah."
It had sounded like a command. She smiled. "Do you have to
meet a quota?"
"God wants you here."
He sounded so serious, so certain, she had to ask. "How do
you know?" Surely, if God wanted her at NLC, God would
tell her.
"I just know, Dynah. I knew the minute I saw you."
Looking into his blue eyes, she decided not to dismiss
what he said. In truth, she wanted to believe him. She
wanted to see Ethan Turner again, and the thought that he
wanted the same thing was heady incentive indeed.
"Will you pray about it?"
She nodded, knowing she would be doing little else.
She didn't hear one word from Ethan through spring and
summer, but five minutes after she walked into the
gymnasium for registration that fall, he came up to her
and put his hand on her shoulder as though staking public
claim to her. The first thing he did was introduce her to
Joseph Guilierno, his best friend and roommate.
Joe was a surprise. He didn't appear to fit the NLC mold
but looked more like the many young men she had seen
around San Francisco on excursions with her parents. Tall,
dark-eyed, strongly built, Joe looked street-tough and
older than Ethan. Not so much in years as worldly
experience.
"No wonder," Joe said cryptically and extended his hand.
His fingers curved around hers firmly as he smiled. Three
months later, after she was wearing an engagement ring,
Joe told her that Ethan had come back to their apartment
the day he picked her up at the airport and said he had
met the girl he was going to marry.
"I asked him if he had consulted God, and Ethan said it
was God who put it in his head."
Smiling again now as she had when Joe first told her that,
Dynah reached the corner of Sixteenth. She let her mind
drift along rosy avenues. Ethan had a wonderful future
laid out for them. He would graduate with honors at the
end of the year. Dean Abernathy was very impressed with
his work and was encouraging him to go on for his
master's. The dean had already arranged for Ethan to work
part time at one of the local churches. Dynah would be
able to finish her education as well. Ethan was adamant
that she get her degree, convinced that her studies in
music and youth ministry would be of great use in his
ministry.
She felt so blessed. They would be equally yoked, working
together for the glory of God. What more could she want?
Oh, Lord, you are so good to me. I will do anything for
you. All I am, all I ever hope to be, is from you, Father.
Use me as you will.
A car pulled up alongside her and slowed to her pace. Her
heart jumped as she noticed it looked like the same one
that had passed her on Maple Street. Her nerves tensed as
the window lowered and a disembodied male voice said, "Are
you going to the campus, miss?"
"Yes, I am," she said before she thought better of it.
"I can give you a lift."
"No, thank you."
"I'm going there myself. Visiting my brother.
Unfortunately, I'm lost. First time in town. He lives near
the main gate of the campus."
She relaxed and stepped closer. Leaning down, she
pointed. "Go down a mile to Henderson and turn right. Keep
going, and you'll run right into it. It's a block past the
city park." She couldn't see the man's face.
"If I give you a ride, you could show me."
A strange foreboding gripped her. "No, thank you," she
said politely and took a step back. She didn't want to
offend the man. What excuse could she offer? She looked
toward the bus stop where a woman was sitting and found an
excuse. "I'm meeting a friend."
"Sure. Thanks for the directions," the man said, sounding
far less friendly. The window whirred up. As he drove on
down Sixteenth, she saw the car bore the same
Massachusetts plates. The two red taillights stared back
at her as the car passed the bus stop.
Shivering, she walked on. She recognized the waitress
sitting on the bench. "Hi, Martha. How are you this
evening?"
"So-so. My feet are killing me. Was someone trying to pick
you up back there?"
"Not really. He was lost."
"Yeah, right. That's his story."
"He was looking for the campus."
"I hope you told him where to go."
"I gave him directions."
Martha laughed. "I'm sure you didn't give him the ones I
would've given him."
They talked about their jobs until the bus arrived. Martha
climbed aboard first and moved to her usual place near the
back, where she could read her romance novel
uninterrupted. Dynah took a seat at the front, across from
the driver.
Her first day aboard, she had noticed the pins on the
lapel of Charles's neat uniform jacket. When she asked
what they were, he said he had one to show for each five-
year period he had driven without an accident. After a few
weeks of riding with him, Dynah had gone to a trophy store
and had a plaque made up for him that said, "In honor of
distinguished service to Middleton, Charles Booker
Washington is awarded the title of Driver Emeritus." He
had laughed when he opened it, but it was now proudly
displayed next to the No Smoking sign at the front of the
bus.
"How's things, Charlie?"
He grinned at her as he hit the button to close the
door. "Pretty good now you're aboard. Missed your sunny
smile last night."
"Ethan picked me up."
"He driving a Cadillac yet?"
She laughed. "No, sir. Still has his Buick." She leaned
forward in the seat and rested her arms on the iron
railing.
Charlie nodded. "When he gets a church, he'll get his Cad.
We don't let our preachers drive anything else. Treat 'em
good."
"I noticed." When she had gone to Charlie's church, she
had seen the new maroon Cadillac parked in the "Reserved
for Pastor" space. She had enjoyed herself so much at the
service, she pleaded with Ethan to go back with her. He
had gone once, grudgingly, but had refused to attend with
her again. He said the service was a little "too lively"
for his tastes. He hadn't felt comfortable with the loud
gospel music pouring from the choir, nor with the way the
members of the congregation interjected their remarks
during the pastor's sermon.
"It felt irreverent."
She hadn't shared his discomfort, though the service had
been far from the kind of service to which she was
accustomed. She felt the Spirit moving in that church. The
members celebrated their love for Jesus and for each
other. She had enjoyed the experience. Something about it
had stirred her. The pastor had preached straight from the
Word, and the people made sure he knew his points were
sinking in. However, Dynah didn't argue with Ethan's
assessment. She had learned early that he took his role as
the spiritual head of their relationship to heart. She
also knew he had been brought up in a conservative
denomination who showed their zeal in other ways. His
parents, like her mother and father, were deeply involved
in community action and charities.
She and Charlie talked about all manner of things. He had
been driving a Middleton city bus since before she was
born and had learned a lot about human nature. He didn't
mind sharing what he knew.
Tonight, Mr. Packard was on Dynah's mind.
"I know the Packards," Charlie said. "He and his wife used
to get on the bus every Tuesday and ride it to the end of
the line. Good people. I read she passed on. Too bad. She
was a nice lady."
"Maybe I could tell him you miss seeing him."
"You do that, girl. Maybe I'll drop by and see him myself.
Between the two of us, we might get him out of his
apartment and back among the living." He brought the bus
close to the curb and slowed to a stop at the corner of
Henderson.
"Thanks, Charlie."
"You watch yourself, girl."
"I will."
"Tell Mr. Packard I have a front seat saved for him," he
said and hit the button. The doors swished closed and he
gave her a wave through the glass.
Dynah waved back and watched as the bus pulled away from
the curb. Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, she
started the walk to campus.
Henderson Avenue was a long, pretty street with old-growth
maples and neat brick houses with snow-covered lawns. In
the city park located a block south of the campus was a
small community-center building used by students interning
as youth leaders and teachers. In two years, she would be
working there. The center housed a daily preschool program
in the morning and youth activities through the afternoon
every day of the week except Sunday, when everything in
town shut down for worship services. Only a few
businesses, mostly nationwide chains, stayed open.
As Dynah came abreast of the park, she paused, frowning.
The car with the Massachusetts plates was there, just
across the street, parked beyond a cobblestone driveway
beneath a canopy of winter-bare branches. She peered at
the vehicle, anxious, then noticed with relief that no one
sat in the driver's seat. The man must have found his
brother after all. He had said he lived not far from the
campus.
A twig snapped to the right, and her nerves jumped. She
turned and saw a tall dark shape moving toward her. A man.
Every instinct screamed "Run!" but surprise made her
hesitate—and within a few seconds she knew she had made a
terrible mistake. A couple of seconds. That's all it took
for the man to have a hold on her.
Purdy Whitehall received the call at Middleton Police
Department at 10:37 Wednesday evening, January 8. It had
been a quiet evening with only one complaint, about a
party disturbing the peace. Sergeant Don Ferguson had
reported a few minutes earlier that it was nothing more
than a bunch of baby boomers feeling nostalgic and singing
to Elvis records.
This call was altogether different.
"Someone's screaming in the park," a woman said. "Come
quick, please! Someone's screaming!"
The caller's telephone number came up on Purdy's computer
screen along with the address. Henderson Avenue. Speaking
with a trained calmness, she assured the woman help would
be coming and put her on hold in order to dispatch a squad
car to the location.
Frank Lawson was just pulling up to Ernie's Diner on
Sixteenth for a badly needed coffee break when his radio
crackled with the message. Muttering under his breath, he
rapped the radio sharply and picked up the speaker.
Depressing the button, he identified himself and his car
number. "My radio's having PMS again, Purdy. Repeat the
message."
"There's a disturbance at the park on Henderson Avenue,
Frank. How close are you?"
"Ten blocks. I'm on my way." Putting the speaker back, he
swung the squad car in a sharp U-turn and hit his flashing
red lights. Few cars were on the road at this time of
night, so he didn't use his siren. No use waking people up
if it wasn't necessary.
As he barreled down Sixteenth, he saw a white station
wagon heading west. The red taillights glowed as the car
pulled to the side of the road in obedience to the law.
Frank never passed it. He made a sharp left onto Henderson
Avenue.
Coming to a smooth stop by the park, he grabbed his heavy
flashlight, made a quick call to Purdy, and got out. He
surveyed the park as he came around his squad car. His
heart quickened, the hair on the back of his neck
prickling.
Something was wrong. He was sure of it.
Adrenaline pumping, Frank glanced around and saw lights on
in three houses near the park. A woman came out to stand
on the front porch of one.
"Over there!" She came down the front steps in her
bathrobe. "Over there near the activity center! Please
hurry. Someone's been hurt."
"Go on back in your house, ma'am. We'll take care of it."
Another squad car pulled up, and Frank saw Greg Townsend
get out.
The woman fled up her steps and banged the screen door
behind her, but she remained silhouetted in the doorway
watching, her arms hugged around herself to ward off the
cold.
Greg reached Frank. "See anything?"
"No, but it doesn't feel right. Take the path over there,
and I'll come in from this side."
"Gotcha."
Frank knew every inch of this park like it was his own
backyard. He brought his three small children here to play
every Saturday afternoon so his wife could have a few
hours respite.
There was enough light from the park lamps that he didn't
need to use the flashlight, but he kept it in his left
hand anyway, his right over his gun. He saw evidence of a
struggle in the snow near the sidewalk that ran the length
of Henderson to the NLC campus. A little further in, he
found a backpack. Just beyond it was a torn parka. He
walked along the edge of the pathway cautiously, eyes
sweeping, ears trained for any sound out of the ordinary.
As he neared the activity center, he heard a rustling
sound in the bushes nearby. Something was scrambling
frantically away, like an animal clambering for a hiding
place.
Instinctively he removed the loop from his gun and pulled
it free of his holster. "Police! Come out onto the walkway
where we can see you." He moved slightly, away from the
light, so he wouldn't make himself an easy target.
The rustling stopped, and he heard another sound, soft and
broken. A woman sobbing.
Oh, God. Oh, God, no. Not here. Not where I bring my kids
every week.
Holstering his gun, Frank went to the bushes and drew some
branches back. Training his flashlight, he saw a girl
huddled beneath the canopy of leaves. Flinching back, she
covered her face with her arm. Her blonde hair was tangled
and damp from the snow. Frank noticed the ripped waitress
uniform, the bleeding scratches on her shoulder, the fresh
bloodstains on her skirt.
Anger filled him. "Easy," he said gently. Lowering the
light so it wasn't straight on her, he hunkered down. She
cowered from him. "I'm Sergeant Lawson, miss. I'm here to
help you." He kept talking quietly, trying to give her a
sense of safety.
She raised her head after a few minutes, her blue eyes
wide and dilated. Her lower lip was split and bleeding,
her right eye swollen from a blow. Drawing her knees up,
she sat on the dirty snow and then, covering her head with
her arms, she cried.
Compassion filled Frank, along with a sick rage. Whoever
had done this should pay.
Greg approached from the other side of the park, his
footsteps crunching in the hard snow. The girl's head came
up again, eyes wide and frightened. He could see the pulse
hammering in her throat.
"It's all right," he said, sensitive to her fear. He
straightened and stood aside so she could see Greg. "This
is Officer Townsend, miss. He was just checking the area
to see if anyone's still around." He looked at Greg.
Greg shook his head and looked past him to the young girl
huddled in the covering of bushes. "Rape?"
"I'm afraid so. Better call an ambulance."
"No," the girl said brokenly, covering her face
again. "No, please don't." Her shoulders began to shake
violently.
"You need medical assistance."
"I want to go home."
"You're going to be all right," he said firmly, hunkering
down again, keeping his voice calm and low. "I'm not going
to leave you alone." He glanced up at Greg. "Tell them no
sirens, and lights only when they need them."
"Done," Greg said tightly and strode off toward the west
side of the park where they had left the squad cars.
"Come on out, ma'am. You're safe."
She moved, scooting a little bit closer and then stopping.
Sinking back, she started to cry again, her body bent
over, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rocked
herself slowly, head down.
A lump lodged in Frank's throat. She didn't look more than
eighteen. "Was it someone you knew?" He wished he didn't
have to ask questions, but every minute counted if they
were going to arrest her attacker.
She shook her head slowly.
"What did he look like?"
"I don't know," she stammered. "I never saw his face." She
tried to get up and uttered a gasp of pain. Frank reached
out, but she drew back sharply, clearly not wanting to be
touched. She sank down again, weeping.
"What's your name, miss?"
"Do I have to tell you?"
"I want to help you. I have to know your name to do it."
"Dynah Carey. I live in the dorm. My roommate's expecting
me. Her name's Janet, Janet Wells. It's only two blocks.
Can I go home now? Please?"
"Not yet. You need to go to the hospital first, Miss
Carey. Just stay put. We'll get help for you." He hoped
the ambulance crew had a woman with them.
They didn't. Two men arrived with a gurney. The older man
spoke with the girl and coaxed her out of her hiding
place. Frank stood close by, watching the paramedic
support the shivering girl as she lay down upon the
gurney. They wrapped her in warm blankets, snapped the
belts around her, and wheeled her along the park pathway
to Henderson Avenue. She said nothing and kept her eyes
tightly closed.
Frank's mouth tightened when he saw the ambulance lights
flashing. The woman who had called in the report was
outside on her porch again. So were others all up and down
the street. Windows were illuminated in half a dozen
houses, faces peering through the curtains. Some, bolder
in their curiosity, came out onto their lawns to watch
what was going on. He had hoped to save the girl further
embarrassment.
She was loaded quickly into the ambulance. One of the men
went inside with her and closed the doors behind him. The
other took the driver's seat. They pulled away from the
curb and were on their way to the hospital before Frank
had reached his squad car.
Greg was waiting for him. "We patrolled the other side of
the park but didn't see anyone. No cars parked along this
street or on the other side. Did she give you a
description?"
"She said she never saw his face. I'll talk to her more as
soon as the doctor's examined her."
Dynah couldn't stop shaking. She asked the nurse if she
could shower but was told she would have to wait until
after the doctor had seen her. The nurse helped her
undress and don a white hospital gown. Shivering, Dynah
watched the nurse put her torn, stained waitress uniform,
undergarments, and shredded nylons into a large plastic
bag. Her muddy snow boots were placed in another. Both
bags were given to someone waiting outside the door.
Dynah's teeth chattered, but her chill had nothing to do
with the temperature of the room, which was kept at a
comfortable sixty-eight degrees. The shaking, the terrible
cold, came from inside her. Even the blanket the nurse put
around her did nothing to ward off the chill.
"I'll get you another blanket, Miss Carey," the nurse said
and went out.
Dynah almost protested, afraid to be alone. Clutching the
blanket, she sat on the edge of the examining table,
wondering what she was going to wear home. The silence
increased her anxiety. She wanted desperately to wash. She
yearned to stand beneath a scalding spray, so she could
soap and scrub every inch of her body and wash away what
had happened.
Would she ever be cleansed of it? Could she wash the
horror from her mind and heart? She squeezed her eyes
shut, willing the images in her mind away. She was safe
now. Or was she? Her eyes flew open. She'd thought she was
safe before, but that had been an illusion, ripped away.
Sitting on the examining table in the short, backless
gown, she felt naked and as vulnerable as she had been in
the park. Sick with fear, she looked from one end of the
cubicle to the other for some avenue of escape. She wanted
to go home. Home to her parents. Home to the house on
Ocean Avenue. But what would her parents say? Perhaps
locked in her dorm room, she would feel safer.
Someone rapped on the door, and she jumped. A doctor
entered, the nurse who had taken her clothes just behind
him. "I'm Dr. Kennon, Miss Carey. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she said without thinking. Wasn't that what she
always said in a doctor's office? She grimaced, her eyes
tearing up, and he winced. When she spoke again, she
hardly recognized her own voice. "Could I take a shower,
please? I want to take a shower."
"In a little while." He reached into his pocket and took
out a small tape recorder. Depressing the button, he set
it on the counter to his right. "Now, let's take a look at
that eye first." As he gently tested the bruised flesh and
flashed a small light into her pupil, he told her he was
recording the examination in order to help the police
apprehend her attacker. He asked her if she was
experiencing any dizziness. Some, she said. She was
nauseated.
"Lie down, please."
The nurse assisted her, speaking softly, encouraging her
to follow the doctor's instructions. Dynah trembled even
more violently as he examined her scrapes and asked more
questions. As she answered, she relived the nightmare in
the park, seeing it from every angle. Some of the
questions the doctor asked made her blush with
embarrassment and pale in shame: Was she on birth control?
When was her last menses? He wanted details about what had
happened to her, details she was loathe to remember, let
alone speak aloud.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Everything you're telling us will help the police."
And who would help her?
God, where were you?
When the doctor told her to scoot her bottom to the end of
the table and put her feet in the stirrups, she didn't
understand. The nurse, sensitive to her anguish, tried to
explain as delicately as possible.
"The doctor needs to make sure you're not injured
internally, Miss Carey. And he'll be able to collect a
specimen. For evidence."
"Evidence?" she said.
The doctor explained; revulsion filled her.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Why do I have to go through this?
Haven't I gone through enough already?
"I'm going to be sick." She sat up quickly. The nurse held
a small basin for her and stroked her back, murmuring
words of sympathy. The doctor went out to give her a few
minutes to recompose herself. After a while, the nurse
calmed her down enough to continue, and the doctor came
back.
The nurse's eyes were filled with compassion. "It'll be
over soon, dear. Hold my hand. Squeeze if you want to."
Dynah clutched it tightly, her body tense.
"Breathe, Miss Carey. That's it. Try to relax."
The doctor explained everything he was doing to her and
why, but it didn't help. The physical examination was
extensive, intrusive, and painful. When he finished, he
apologized and then told the nurse to cut her fingernails.
More evidence. The clippings were put in another small
plastic bag and labeled for the police lab. The nurse took
pictures of the abrasions on her shoulder and right hip,
the bruises on her thighs, her throat, and her battered
face.
Spirit crushed, Dynah fell silent.
Dr. Kennon looked at her sadly and said again that he was
sorry.
"You can sit up now," the nurse said gently.
"I'll have admissions get all the paperwork going," Dr.
Kennon said, turning toward the door.
"No!" Dynah said, heart jumping. "I want to go home!"
"I understand your feelings, but—!"
"No, you don't! How could you?" For all his assurances of
wanting to make sure she was all right, she felt degraded.
She had wound down to a strip of black tape on his
recorder, and that would be turned over to the policeman
waiting outside the door. "You don't understand!" She
covered her face and cried.
"I'd like to keep you here overnight, for observation."
"No." It was all she could choke out.
"We would start you immediately on estrogen therapy."
She raised her head. "Estrogen—? Why?"
"In case conception has taken place."
Dynah felt all the warmth drain from her. She stared at
him in horror as full comprehension struck. "I might ... I
might be pregnant?"
"The chances of that are extremely small, but it's better
to take precautions."
If she had conceived, it was already too late.
"There may be some side effects to the estrogen. That's
why I'd like to keep you here for one night, possibly two."
Dynah sat on the edge of the examining table, her eyes
closed tightly. She had attended several pro-life rallies
with Ethan. She knew he was talking about an abortifacient.
"No." She shook her head. "I want to go home. Please."
Dr. Kennon glanced at the nurse, and she moved to his
side. They talked in hushed tones for a moment; then the
doctor left the room. The nurse put the blanket around her
shoulders again. Dynah clutched it tightly.
"I'm sorry you had to go through this, Miss Carey. Dr.
Kennon was only trying to make things easier on you." She
offered her a cup of cool water. "I know how difficult
this is. If you'd rather not take the medication right
now, that's fine. You can take it tomorrow."
Dynah shook her head.
"You've been through enough tonight. You can wait a few
weeks. If you miss your period, you come back and have a
pregnancy test. If it's positive, you can have a menstrual
extraction."
Dynah didn't want to think about what the nurse was
saying. Being raped was horror enough without considering
the possibility she might have become pregnant.
Oh, God, you wouldn't be so cruel. Would you, Lord?
"You can take a shower now, if you'd like."
Down the hall, in a quiet room, Dynah stood beneath a
hard, hot spray of water, scrubbing and scrubbing. Still
feeling dirty, she sank down hopelessly in the corner of
the stall and wept.
God, why? I don't understand. Why did you let this happen
to me? Where were the angels that are supposed to be
protecting me? What did I do to make you angry?
Someone tapped on the door, making her start.
"Are you all right, Miss Carey?"
"I'm fine," Dynah said in a choked voice, huddled beneath
the hot pounding water. "I just need to stay in here for a
little while longer."
"Your roommate brought you a change of clothes."
Dynah pushed herself up. "Janet's here?"
"She just arrived. She's in the waiting room. Officer
Lawson is speaking with her now."
Dynah closed her eyes in relief and leaned her head back
against the wall.
"I'll leave the clothes on the seat for you. Don't feel
rushed, Miss Carey. Take all the time you need. I'll be
right outside the door if you need anything." Dynah sensed
the unspoken message. The nurse would be far enough away
to give her a sense of privacy but not so far she would be
left alone.
Dynah emerged from the shower and dried herself quickly.
She donned the fresh cotton underwear, a lightweight white
turtleneck T-shirt, a pair of faded blue Levi's, and a
cable-knit pale yellow sweater. Even after pulling on the
white woolen socks and gray vinyl zip-up boots, she was
still shivering. She couldn't seem to stop. The dark
violence of the assault gripped her soul and wouldn't let
go.
Looking in the mirror, she saw the reflection of a face
she barely recognized. Raking trembling fingers through
her tangled blonde hair, she tried to make a French braid.
After a few minutes, she gave up. She didn't care how she
looked. She just wanted to leave. She wanted to go back to
her room in the dorm, bury herself beneath a mountain of
heavy blankets, and never come out into the light again.
The nurse ushered Dynah to the waiting room. She saw Joe
first, standing in the middle of the room, his expression
filled with pain and compassion. Janet was sitting on the
couch; Ethan stood near the windows. As she drew near, he
turned and looked at her, his face etched with a terrible
grief and anger. Janet bolted from the sofa and hugged her
tightly. "Oh, Dynah," she said, crying. "Oh, Dynah, Dynah.
Come on, honey. We'll take you home. You'll be OK now."
On the way out, Ethan touched her once, a brief squeeze on
her bruised shoulder. She flinched, and he withdrew
completely, eyes shadowed. She felt his anger and was
frightened and confused by it.
Janet bundled her into the backseat of Joe's Honda. She
kept her arm around Dynah, holding her close. Dynah
glanced up and saw Joe looking at her in the rearview
mirror. His eyes were dark, reflecting her pain.
"There's a blanket back there, Janet," he said quietly,
starting the car. "Keep Dynah warm."
Ethan didn't say anything until Joe pulled out of the
hospital parking lot. "We'll find the guy, Dynah. I swear.
And we'll—"
Joe glanced at him sharply. "That's enough, Ethan."
"It's not enough! It's not enough by half!" Ethan's voice
cracked. He turned. "What'd he look like, Dynah?"
"I don't know." She felt her mouth trembling, but she
couldn't stop it. "I never saw his face. All of a sudden,
he was there, a shape in the darkness. And he grabbed me."
"Leave it alone, Ethan," Joe said firmly. "The police will
handle it."
"Yeah, right. They'll handle it, like they handle
everything else these days." He kept looking at
Dynah. "You must've seen something. Weren't you paying any
attention when you walked up Henderson?"
"Leave her alone!" Janet said, angry now as well. "You act
like it's her fault she got raped!"
"I didn't say that!"
As soon as Joe parked in front of the dormitory, Dynah
pulled away from Janet and fumbled for the door handle.
Joe got out of the car and opened the door for her. He
helped her out. Contrite, Ethan caught up with them at the
front door. "I'm sorry, Dynah. I didn't mean—"
"I just want to go inside." She pushed at the handle and
found the door locked. Curfew had long since passed. Her
heart hammered. The glass door rattled loudly as she
fought to open it.
Joe put his hand over hers. "Easy. The housemother's
coming, Dynah. She'll open the door. You're safe." His
calm, reassuring voice and presence calmed her slightly.
Mrs. Blythe opened the door. She allowed Dynah and Janet
inside. "She'll be all right now, gentlemen. Thank you.
We'll look after her," she said and closed the doors
again. Dynah glanced back at Ethan standing on the other
side of the glass. She was thankful to hear the sound of
the key turning in the lock. Mrs. Blythe turned to her in
concern and put her arm around her. "I thought the
hospital would keep you overnight."
"She wanted to come home," Janet answered for her, a solid
presence on her other side.
"Well, that's all right, I suppose, if you're sure she'll
be all right." She looked at Dynah, assessing her and
grimacing in sympathy.
"I'll be all right," Dynah said, forcing a smile, wanting
to allay the dorm mother's worries. She wanted to stay
here, not in a strange room with strangers to care for her.
"I called the dean. I'll let him know you're here so he
won't go to the hospital in the morning. He'll want to
know how you're doing."
Mortified, Dynah said nothing. How many people knew what
had happened to her?
"He's alerting the student body tomorrow to the danger in
our community," Mrs. Blythe went on. "He assured me your
name wouldn't be mentioned, dear, but it's important for
everyone to be warned until this man is arrested." She
pressed the top button. "Dean Abernathy wants to save you
as much embarrassment as he can." She assessed Dynah's
bruised face again. "I think it would be best if you
stayed in your room for a few days."
"I have classes."
"I'll send word to your instructors that you have a bad
case of the flu. They can send your assignments here. And
Janet can bring you your meals. How does that sound?"
Dynah nodded bleakly as she stepped inside the elevator.
"I'll call your parents in the morning."
Dynah slapped her hand against the door to keep it from
sliding closed. "No! Please, don't do that!"
"But they should know what happened, Dynah."
"There's nothing they can do. You'll just worry them. I
want to forget it happened."
"We'll talk in the morning. You get a good night's sleep
first."
"Promise me, you won't call them."
"Do you think they'd blame the school?"
"They'd be upset. I don't know what they'd do."
"Well, we'll wait and see then."
Janet stood by solicitously while Dynah got ready for bed.
She asked how it all happened, and Dynah told her. She
wanted to talk about everything, to pour out her anguish
and fear, her feelings of shame and degradation, but at
the facts, Janet grimaced in repugnance.
"I'm sorry I asked. We won't talk about it anymore. It's
better you forget it happened." She pulled the blankets up
and tucked them snugly around Dynah. "Put it out of your
head and get some sleep." Bending down, Janet kissed her
forehead. "I wish you'd called me. I would have picked you
up."
Dynah felt a stab of guilt for not having done so. She
should have heeded Mr. Packard's warning. She should have
asked Sally Wentworth for a ride. She should have listened
to Charlie and watched herself. "You said you were going
to study at the library tonight."
"I didn't go. I went out with Chad for coffee instead and
then came back here and studied."
Dynah didn't say anything more. She couldn't speak past
the lump of pain tightening her throat. If only ... if
only ...
"Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes? I
need to wash my face and brush my teeth."
Dynah nodded, forcing a smile as she fought back the tears
that burned so hot.
Janet picked up her pink silk pajamas and her toiletry
kit, then turned out the bedside lamp. Opening the door,
she pressed the switch for the overhead light and sent the
room into darkness. She stood silhouetted against the
light from the corridor. "I won't be long, Dynah. Try to
sleep. Everything will look better tomorrow." She closed
the door behind her.
Turning onto her side, Dynah curled into a fetal ball,
pulled the covers over her head, and sobbed.
The next day, Dynah called Sally Wentworth and quit her
job at Stanton Manor House. Surprised, Sally asked why.
"I'm going to put more time into my studies." She ignored
the feelings of guilt that tugged at her. It was true, in
part. She was going to have lots of work to make up once
she resumed classes.
"If you need more money, I can get you a dollar-an-hour
raise."
"It's not the money, Sally. Really." She knew she would
have to find some kind of job soon. She didn't have the
luxury of not working at all. The scholarship took care of
part of the tuition. Her parents paid the rest, as well as
her dorm fees. However, there were still the expenses of
clothing and books and her car. She had to pay for
insurance and gas and repairs.
If her car had worked last night, maybe ...
"Mr. Packard has been asking for you. He'll miss you, you
know."
"I know," she said, her throat closing up. She thought of
the old man's warning and felt the added burden of not
having heeded it. "I can't help it, Sally. I just can't
come back." She couldn't bring herself to even say she
would come to visit.
"I guess I can understand your feelings. This isn't
exactly a happy job."
"I enjoyed it."
"If that's true, you wouldn't be quitting. Are you sure
there isn't more to it, Dynah? This is awful sudden."
She hesitated, then leaned her forehead against the wall.
She couldn't bring herself to tell Sally the truth. It was
too humiliating. And worse, she couldn't stop thinking
about it. She was afraid, so afraid. Even the thought of
being across town from the campus made her heart race.
Ethan had gotten her car for her this morning, but what if
it broke down again? What if Janet couldn't pick her up?
What if Ethan was too busy? She would have to make that
long walk down Maple to Main and catch the bus. She would
have to walk up Henderson past the park—
No. She shook her head. She couldn't face it.
"I'm sorry, Sally." She was ashamed to quit without
notice. She was sorry to leave Sally and Juan with added
responsibilities. She was sorry Mr. Packard would miss
her. She was sorry about everything.
"Well, I took a chance hiring a student. I should've known
better. I'll have to work overtime until I can find a
replacement. Don't expect a recommendation." There was a
sharp click as Sally hung up.
Over the next few days, Dynah tried to pour herself into
her studies, but she found it difficult. She was so tired,
all she wanted to do was sleep. When she did, she was
tormented by strange, vivid dreams. She couldn't
concentrate.
Officer Lawson called and arranged a follow-up interview
at Middleton's police station. He said he could send a
squad car to pick her up, but Dynah said she would get
there on her own. The last thing she wanted were rumors
starting. Janet said the campus was already buzzing with
the news of someone's being raped in the community park.
Ethan insisted he would drive her. When he picked her up,
he said if anyone saw them at the police station, he had a
plausible reason worked out. They were doing jail
visitation and research. "Let me do the talking," he said.
Neither spoke after that. He seemed preoccupied, grim, and
her own thoughts were rushing headlong toward disaster.
Her stomach churned. It was the first time she had left
the dormitory since that night. Instead of driving out the
east entrance, Ethan took his usual route straight through
the front gate and down Henderson. She kept her eyes
closed until he turned onto Main.
Once at the police station, Ethan waited in the lobby.
Dynah endured an hour of questions about the night of the
rape. She mentioned the white station wagon with the
Massachusetts plates. She couldn't remember any of the
numbers or letters. Officer Lawson kept going back to the
man again and again, gently but persistently prodding for
details about his appearance, voice, anything that might
identify him. Was he tall or short? Heavyset or thin? What
was he wearing? Did he have any kind of an accent?
"All I saw was a dark shape. He didn't say anything. He
just ... grabbed me."
There was nothing conclusive to connect the man driving
the white station wagon with the man who had raped her.
She went home with a splitting headache that kept her
vomiting half the night.
Dynah returned to her classes nine days after the attack.
The first day was torturous. She had always felt
comfortable around people. Now she was nervous with so
many around her. Worse, her friends chose the "incident"
as their primary topic of conversation.
"I wonder who it was."
"Maybe that girl from Maine. Didn't she leave school a few
days ago?"
"I heard she was pregnant."
"I didn't hear that. Really?"
"What if it was her? Could you blame her for leaving? I
wouldn't want to stay here if anything like that happened
to me. Would you?"
"Did they catch him?"
"No. I saw a police car on Henderson yesterday. I think
they're talking to all the neighbors, trying to find
someone who might have seen something."
"It was in the paper yesterday that they're looking for
information about the driver of a white station wagon with
Massachusetts plates."
"My boyfriend doesn't think they'll catch the guy. He's
probably over the border and long gone by now."
"Back in Massachusetts."
"I hope he stays there."
"I hope he has a wreck on the way."
"Doesn't it give you the willies thinking about it? I
mean, can you imagine? I've been going down there every
afternoon to study since I came to NLC. It sure doesn't
have the same feel now, does it?"
"Where are you going, Dynah?"
She blushed, trapped by their curious looks. "To the
student employment office," she said, backing away, her
books clutched against her chest like a shield.
"You already have a job, don't you? At Stanton Manor
House."
"I had to quit."
"I thought they paid pretty well."
"The pay is all right, but it's too far away and was
eating into my study time. I'm going to see about getting
a job here on campus."
Lies, lies. There were so many lies now ...
"There's a job open at the library. I know because I just
quit. Shelving books was a bore."
She got the job, and by the end of the week, she had her
work schedule. She started work on Monday.
To all outward appearances, everything was fine. If she
seemed to smile less, friends just assumed it was because
she was distracted by midterms looming. Wasn't everyone?
But deep within, Dynah knew... . She was shattered and
didn't know how to put herself together again. She lay
sleepless in her dorm room, a nursery rhyme running
through her mind again and again.
Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty-Dumpty together again.
She wanted to talk about her feelings with Ethan, but
every time she tried, he changed the subject. She felt the
distance between them like a yawning chasm, growing as
each week went by. They still studied together in the
library between classes. They still went to dinner on
Friday and the movies on Saturday and to church together
on Sunday. Yet she was left yearning for what had been.
She missed the tenderness and intimacy they had shared.
They had always talked about everything. They still
talked, but not about anything that mattered—not about
what preyed constantly on her mind and heart, not about
whatever was eating away at him.
Tonight, she sat in a small booth in a quiet Italian
restaurant and listened to Ethan talk about his homiletics
class. Over the past hour, he had gone over four different
ideas he was considering for his final presentation. The
waiter had given them menus, returned to take their
orders, delivered Ethan's salad and veal parmesan and her
side order of pasta, and left the check.
"What do you think?" he said finally, finishing the last
of his dinner and looking at her over the edge of his
water glass.
Dynah pushed her pesto around the plate and raised her
head slightly. "What do you think?" she said quietly,
aching inside. She wanted to say, "What is it you really
feel about what happened to me? Do you blame me, Ethan? Do
you think it was my fault I was raped?" She voiced none of
those questions, but he must have seen them in her eyes
because his face hardened.
"Why can't you just forget about it?"
"Can you?"
"I'm trying. I'm trying to forget it ever happened."
His eyes were dark, though whether from anger or pain she
couldn't tell. She knew he wanted to forget about it, but
burying it wasn't helping. She didn't know what would.
"I'd like to forget, too. I would. But I can't. Every
night, I dream about it." She looked down at the red
checkered tablecloth, biting her lip. If she cried, it
would only make things worse for him.
"Maybe you ought to get counseling."
She wondered if he realized how dispassionate he sounded,
how uninvolved. Was this just her problem? Didn't it
concern him as well? He was going to be her husband in a
few months. Shouldn't he care about what she was feeling?
What was he really telling her? She searched his face,
hurt and confused. "Maybe we both need counseling."
"Maybe we need time."
"You're angry."
"Yes. I'm angry. I'd like to kill the guy. I think about
what I'd like to do if I ever got my hands on him. Is that
what you wanted to hear, Dynah? Sits nice with my chosen
vocation, doesn't it? It tears me up every time I think
about what was taken. So if you don't mind, I'd rather not
have this topic as dinner conversation." He tossed his
napkin on the table.
Snatching up the check, he looked at it, dropped it on the
table, dug for his wallet, and extracted a twenty-dollar
bill. "Let's get out of here. It doesn't look like you're
interested in eating anything." He tossed the money on the
table and slid out of the booth.
She didn't say anything on the drive back to campus. What
could she say that would change anything? Ethan didn't
tell her what was wrong, but she felt it. She saw it in
his eyes sometimes, though he tried to hide it from her
and from himself.
She was defiled.
Ethan pulled into a parking space near the dorm and shut
off the engine. Gripping the steering wheel, he sighed
heavily. "I'm sorry, Dynah. I don't like to think about
it, let alone talk about it." He looked at her
bleakly. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything
wrong. We'll just have to live with it."
"Live with it." The words reverberated in her mind. Live
with it. Live with it. We'll have to live with the
monstrous reality of what happened? It will grow like a
living, breathing thing between us, a crouching beast
waiting to devour... .
"Oh, Ethan, I wish you'd hold me and tell me everything
will be all right."
He reached out then and drew her close, but she felt the
difference. His touch was tentative, almost
impersonal. "Will things ever be the way they were?" She
didn't have to look up at him to feel his withdrawal.
"If God wants them to be."
His words were like a blow. Dynah drew back and looked up
at him, stunned. "You think God was punishing me for
something. You think he allowed it to happen because he
wanted to teach me a lesson."
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. We've always agreed
there's a lesson in everything. Look, I don't know why
things like this happen. Why are there wars? Why do people
in Third World countries starve? I can't pretend to
understand the mind of God. All I do know is God has a
reason for everything he does."
Dynah looked at him, sick at heart. Ethan had always been
so certain he knew what God wanted. God wanted her to come
to NLC. God wanted her to be his wife. Had all that
changed?
Turning away, she opened the door abruptly and got out.
"Dynah, wait a minute!" Ethan got out the other
side. "Dynah, don't be like this!"
She ran up the steps and went inside the dorm before he
could close his door and follow. Several girls were just
coming out of the elevator when she reached it and ducked
inside. She punched the button for the third floor.
Thankfully, Janet was out on another date, and she could
be alone to think, to feel. She put her purse on her desk
and sank down, head in her hands.
She remembered the violence of the Old Testament. It was
filled with stories of adversity, slavery, and
deliverance. The Israelites had wandered in the desert.
Even after they ent ered the Promised Land, things hadn't
gone smoothly. There had been wars, death, tragedy. The
people were stubborn and rebellious. Prophets cried out
for repentance. Israel turned away over and over again.
God's people wouldn't listen. They wouldn't trust and
obey. They were stiff-necked and headstrong. And God
punished them in order to turn them back.
Oh, God, I trusted you. I've obeyed.
All men sin and fall short of the glory of God.
She tried to think how she had displeased the Lord. She
loved him. Sometimes she thought she was born adoring him.
As far back as she could remember, Jesus had been real to
her. He was the Bridegroom, the Holy One, her Savior and
Lord. She had been raised to feel secure and safe and
protected in his love. She ha