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  She sat back down and picked up the receiver. “Sorry, Mr. Owens. I was trying to see the river. Mr. Owens? Hello?”

  She tapped the buttons on the phone’s old fashioned console. Nothing. It was dead. No Mr. Owens, no hum, no obnoxious “If you’d like to make your call again…”

  Great. Now what? Christina sat, hands clasped between her knees as she listened to the drenching rain hammering on the tin roof above her. Not much I can do until it stops.

  With no sunshine, the cabin darkened considerably. She shivered in her wet clothes. She reached over to click on the lamp. Click. Click. Nothing. Was the power out? Christina slapped her forehead. No. Never turned on. Like the fridge. Right.

  She grabbed her soaked shoes and eased through the cabin. Old memories aided by split-second bursts of lightning through the windows helped her navigate around the furniture. She still managed to bang her toes twice more before she made it to the small bedroom.

  Why is this cabin out to get my feet? She groped for the little flashlight in the bureau, and prayed the batteries weren’t corroded. A faint stream of light emerged. Now we’re talking. She tapped the side and the light grew stronger.

  Christina tugged open the old bureau drawers one by one in search of clothes left behind by long ago visitors. That’s where she remembered her mother kept them in case another visitor needed them. She decided she qualified. Each drawer gave off a whiff of old varnish and time-aged wood. In the third one she spotted folded cotton. Okay, good.

  Christina fumbled through the folds. She eyed a white T-shirt that read “Don’t Mess with Texas” in faded red and blue print, obviously purchased when the highways displayed the slogan years back to keep the littering down. Later promoted in song by Willie and the Boys, it seemed appropriate enough. Maybe the river would obey the time-honored motto. She grabbed some unisex orange and yellow drawstring surfer shorts in the next drawer, slipped into the bathroom and propped the flashlight in the sink.

  A bang just outside the bathroom window made her jump out of her skin.

  One of the shutters had come unhooked. It flapped in the wind against the cedar planks. She dashed outside around the back of the cabin. The rain stung her cheeks. Her hair clung to her face as she pulled the shutter and re-latched it.

  Back inside, she wiggled out of her drenched blouse and skirt then dried off with an thread-bare avocado green towel. She tried not to think how long it had hung there. It smelled a little sour. Then her heart leapt. There sat an old baby powder tin on top of the commode tank. The holes in the top were etched orange with rust. She blew off the oxidized dust, then rubbed it with the towel. It left sienna and russet splotched streaks that, if it had been on canvas, might have sold for mega bucks as an unknown Jackson Pollock.

  Dowsing herself with the fragrant softness, she melted onto the toilet seat. That helps, even my aching toes.

  She thanked whoever in the past had left it behind. It must have been ages ago. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw baby powder not bottled in plastic. It must have been when Josh was a baby over twenty years ago.

  A sheepish grin pulled at her mouth as an idea began to form. Maybe she could sell it along with the Archie comic books on eBay after all. But, then, she’d have to get approval from Carrie and Carl. And it would take at least a month of emails and texts back and forth to decide whether or not to do it and how much to price it. Decisions were never made quickly on her side of the family when it came to money. She placed the tin back. Too much hassle.

  Then another thought pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. Did God, who is Almighty, Eternal and All Knowing, know she would like to have something comforting like the familiar smell and soothing softness of baby powder right now, right here when she was cold and alone in this old cabin? Had He put it in someone else’s head decades ago to leave it behind so, in the middle of a storm outside which mimicked the one raging inside her heart, she could have one tiny ounce of creature comfort?

  That sounded absurd. But, she thought, God’s supposed to know before we ask and He knew us before we were even knitted in the womb, right? The Psalms said so. Would the Lord of the Universe care that much about her microscopic needs in comparison to everything else He had to handle? They seemed petty compared to the starving children in mud huts or the cancer victims in the wards nauseated from chemo, or the . . . she willed herself to stop thinking of examples before she got really depressed.

  Changing into the dry finds, she crept back to the cot. The wind’s howl became louder and the thunder more constant. Momentary flashes pulsated through the cracks in the cedar door and the shutters in undecipherable Morse code symbols. Rumbles echoed in response over the hills, rattling the glass globe on the ceiling fan above her head. The drumming of rain on the roof deafened her to any other outside noise.

  Please, tell me you are here, Lord. Please tell me the baby powder was a sign. I’m alone in this cabin for the first time in my life—and scared.

  * * *

  Josh returned to the computer department where two months prior, after a year of employment. he’d been promoted to assistant manager. Josh puffed up like a bantam rooster when he received the news until he realized it meant he got all the hassles and blame but none of the glory. Still, it paid for his apartment off campus. And his Mom’s eyes had glistened with pride when . . . his Mom. A maternal nudge told him to try her again. Some residual umbilical cord tug no doubt.

  Nah. His dad’s right. His mom often had her cell in the bowels of her handbag which she slid into her bottom desk drawer at the office. She only carried the phone in case she got a flat tire or something and often didn’t use it for days on end. If he needed money or something, Josh knew to call and leave a voice message at home or email her. Texting was not her style. How many times had he chided her for not checking her cell phone for messages? Each time she’d give him the puppy dog hurt look. The one that melted his resolve just as it did his dad’s. Females. They knew all the tricks.

  It wasn’t worth calling her at work. Her boss didn’t like employees getting personal calls. The only exception to the rule had been when he was younger. Raised a latch-key kid, Josh was required to check in when he got home from school. Allowed two minutes max. “Hi, Mom. I’m fine. No, I won’t let anyone in. See ya in a few. I promise to not play video games until I’ve done my homework.” Same conversation for six years from junior high until he graduated from high school. Thank God those days were gone.

  Mandy cornered him. “Did you get anyone?”

  Josh shook his head. Mandy’s eyes widened.

  “I’ll try later tonight on my dinner break. Maybe by then Mom will be home.”

  “You sure?” She didn’t seem very convinced. Mandy was a wimp when it came to bad weather. She always assumed the worse.

  Josh placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. The cabin’s on a bluff and the water hasn’t reached that high since the early 1900’s when the flood changed the course of the river. I heard all of the stories as a kid. The great ‘hundred year flood, they called it.”

  Mandy grabbed his arm. “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know. It was 1909 or something like that.”

  Josh ignored the chill that hit his shoulder blades. One hundred years ago. He shook off the thought. No way.

  Chapter 12 Boat Bottom

  Christina’s thoughts screamed in her heart, barely audible over the rain. She took off her new glasses and wiped away the raindrops with the Don’t Mess with Texas T-shirt. Sitting semi-yoga style with legs crossed under her, she gathered the quilt around her shoulders, holding the ends tight to her chest. Lord, please still this storm.

  Last Sunday’s reading was the passage about Jesus’ disciples caught in a storm. How fitting. Except they were together in a boat, she in a cabin all alone. To occupy her mind, she played the scene in her head. If she’d been in that boat, which disciple would she have been? Not the disciple to stand and scream out asking where in the world Jesus
was as the storm tossed the boat. Nor would she have been like Peter climbing out to walk over the waves to reach Jesus. Christina decided she’d have been the unnoticed one silently scrunched down in the bow, not out of fear of the storm as much as afraid of upsetting the Master no matter what she did. So she’d do nothing, except maybe pray, right? Like now.

  Suddenly, simultaneously with a streak of lightening, a bolt of clarity made her sit up straight, and stare open mouthed at the cedar notched wall in front of her. It all came into focus, clear as the world through her new glasses.

  She blurted out, “That’s just like me, isn’t it! That’s my life.”

  A small voice deep inside, yet outside of her, whispered. “Yes, when you don’t feel Me nearby, it is.”

  All her life she’d done whatever was needed to keep up appearances and keep things status quo so everyone would think she was good and not gossip about her. A life without risk as she cowered in the bottom of the boat and tried not to rock it, she’d worried about pleasing others. First it was her mother’s society friends, then her parochial girl’s school and college mates, then her coworkers, then church family, the parents of Josh’s crowd, Jeff’s coworkers, her coworkers . . . the list went on and on. She worried if she ever truly pleased Jeff, the man who was supposed to be her soul mate.

  Now, the harshest realization of all dawned on her. Through all that worrying and try to please, her focus had never been on the Master— the one who could calm any storm in her life.

  This revelation gave Christina a momentary wave of vertigo. Her heart clawed at her chest, a heavy pain pushing in. By not trusting in God to handle the reactions of others, her life became like her old ill-made glasses, settled for. Afraid she didn’t deserve better, she convinced herself that putting up with less defined her punishment for not being good enough. Why? Because she always felt less—less pretty, less rich, less qualified, less worthy.

  “But I want to give you joy in abundance, child.” God’s voice tapped on her soul.

  And all this time, she thought she was trying so hard to be good. But her focus remained on herself and not on God. Contrite, she felt herself shrink into a little girl. Alone in the darkened room, she continued the conversation with her Creator.

  She’d always been afraid if she didn’t agree with…oh, whatever it might happen to be, she’d find the alternative too costly, or worse than what she already had. She’d upset people, or tarnish her image in their eyes. That was the reason she had put up with those old glasses. . . and a lot of other things. Her mother’s platitudes echoed one by one in her memory banks.

  Mind your Ps and Qs. Don’t upset anyone or they might gossip about you and ruin your family’s reputation.

  Then another one. Think before you act.

  And another. Never risk upsetting anyone or it will be your fault.

  Or worst of all, what if she found out what she secretly wished for was not really what she was supposed to have in the first place? Another cliché suddenly appeared cross-stitched in her psyche. Be careful what you ask for. It was better not to wish for anything.

  Then the biggest home-spun cliché of all surfaced from the Magic Eight Ball in her brain. Be grateful for what you have.

  She voiced her thoughts upward. “Well. After all, that’s what all good Christians should do and be, right? Grateful for whatever it is You bestow on us?”

  “Do you hear Me?” The small voice tapped once more.

  But, the familiar self-criticizing voice inside her spoke louder. “You have never gotten over the dread of ridicule. How stupid you are. You’re still cowering to the proverbial ‘they’.”

  All these years, she had fooled herself into thinking she had escaped the grip of high society’s gossip and life in a goldfish bowl, as she and Jeff called her mother’s translucent for- all-society-to-ogle lifestyle. Christina believed she had escaped their clutches. She moved away and chose to follow her faith and her heart instead. She’d saved herself for marriage, wed a “commoner” and become a working housewife and mother, a very unpopular choice during the free love 1970’s. Back then she felt like Christ’s warrior against the evils of her generation’s stumble into casual sex and drugs. What fervor she had back then.

  Now, she felt like a sniveling coward. She’d created her own goldfish bowl to fill the void, striving to always keep the waters clean and clear for peering eyes that saw the little gold cross around her neck or the decal on the back windshield of her car. She was no different than her mother. She could now feel her face squished against the side, pushing to get out.

  “The Truth will set you free, child.”

  Had she also shoved her family into that goldfish bowl? Was that why Josh wanted out of the house so fast after high school? She assumed it was because he was an only child and felt the need for independence.

  Surely, Jeff would have said something long before now. Surely, he wouldn’t have put up with it all this time, would he? She asked her inner-self, which suddenly felt like a stranger in the room beside her. In her mind, she saw the look on her husband’s face as she fretted over a Thanksgiving recipe, or wrapped the Christmas presents just so. He’d tell her to chill, that it wasn’t the Queen coming, just her Mom and Dad. She could hear his voice, “Besides, nothing you do will ever be as good as if she did it, right? That’s what you always think. So why try?”

  She threw herself into a fetal position on the cot. Why didn’t I see this before? That old negative inner-self which had been locked inside of her broke free and left on a clap of thunder.

  The still, small voice spoke out. “He who believes in the Son of God shall be free indeed.”

  Christina’s world became fuzzy, similar to the first few minutes it takes to get used to new glasses. She felt as wobbly as a toddler, unsteady in this new concept. Could she really take this leap of faith into a new world of “let go and let God”, as the old bumper stickers they once sold to raise funds for church camp proclaimed?

  “Don’t worry. I’m right here. Leap. I’ll catch you.”

  Christina sat, cross-legged, grasping her knees. She rocked back and forth as her mind tried to wrap around all the voice of God said. The thunder rumbled. She ran her thumbnail over her tongue then tapped it on her front teeth as her thoughts came into focus.

  What a wakeup call.

  Huddled in her Hill Country refuge, the recollection shivered over her. Midlife crisis was a dirty word in her mind, an acceptable excuse to justify a stray into temptations or a self-centered attitude.

  No, she would not agree to let this revelation be only that. This was much bigger. That voice told her so. She knew the voice from long ago, though busyness had filtered it out for a long, long time.

  Yes, she had found Him again, here where she always did, nestled in the Texas Hill Country way from the din of her life. Was that why she felt compelled to drive all this way?

  Christina still did not have a complete answer. But now she knew it wasn’t all Jeff. It wasn’t just the stress at work. It wasn’t hormones. It had to be God tapping on her shoulder. She heard His loving words in the crevices of her mind. Could she really be loved without being good? Had the Lord of the Universe stopped whatever else He was doing, just to calm her and tell her she was loved? Her, of all people. And what had she done to deserve this? Nothing.

  That’s the scariest thought of all. And yet, it was the most comforting.

  She was worn out from thinking. Curling up on the cot, cocooned in the musty quilt, she sank into a deepened warmth and fell asleep. Her new glasses lay beside her, reflecting her finally peaceful face.

  Chapter 13 Shining Armor

  Light shined in her eyes. Christina bolted awake. Sunlight?

  She sat up in bed, astounded by the quietness except for the soft drip of rainwater off the eaves. As her ears tuned in, she heard a squirrel’s chatter somewhere in the distance. A cardinal sang out “Teacher, teacher.” The world seemed back to normal.

  She peered out the side doo
r like Lucy out of the Wardrobe into the ice world of Narnia. Droplets cascaded in slow motion from the branches of the old oaks when a breeze rustled through them. When she stepped out onto the patio, she heard the whooshing as the river rushed to drain the flood and re-establish its banks. Tiptoeing closer to the edge of the wooded bluff, she peered down into the dirty swirls trying to drown the sapling trees bent by the fury. She couldn’t see the dock or the diving board. They were still underwater. Cyprus limbs wobbled back and forth, tussled by the current. Half of the path down to the riverfront remained submerged. An inner tube bobbed, lodged on limb, then broke loose and sailed past with debris of grass, twigs and some child’s brightly colored swim toy trailing behind.

  Christina watched, helpless to change what nature unfolded in front of her. The water table still rose up the sides of the bluff. She had no food or water. She tried to remember the few times her family had been stranded by flash floods, reassured each time that only once in recorded history had it ever seeped into the cabin.

  That was over a hundred years ago, right? She racked her memories. When the flooding stops, how long is it usually before the river recedes? At least a day. Maybe two. And no one knows I am here.

  She dashed around the cabin to her car, hopping on one foot then the next as acorn caps dug into her tender citified feet. When she reached the car, her heels sank into the cool caliche mud. It gushed between her toes. Gross. She shook a foot and splattered the sides of her car with tan globs. Christina opened the door and dove for her cell phone in the belly of her bag. “No bars. Dang.” She stomped her foot and splattered mud onto her calf.

  Her thought process froze. No, she wasn’t going to be angry like that anymore. She was going to trust. It was going to all work out. She shoved the phone into the surfer pants’ pocket and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she heard a slight popping of gravel.