The Secret Key

Falls Church 1035 ADI

I sneak through the living room, lit only by the window that provides a view of the porch. Shadows dance in the vines encircling one of the dark oak porch columns. The muffled voices of my mom and dad grow distinct.

Dad isn't happy. 

"I don't have a choice, Harmony. I have to do this."

 "Why?" she cries. The fear in my mother's voice is unsettling. I've never heard such a sound come out of her. "I don't understand," her words plead as though my father is slipping from her grasp. I peek through the thin, white curtains that hang down the side of the window, obscuring my view of the porch. Dad is facing the door. He has his work clothes on. But it is the middle of the night.

There is movement in the neighbor's window. My parents' argument is on display for Old Kathrine's pleasure. She enjoys the drama—even stirs it up herself if she can get away with it.

I hear my mother's voice again, but I don't see her. She is hidden behind one of the two potted plants flanking the entrance to our home. "Why go all the way into Twilight?" she says. "Stay here. We can do this together."

He shifts a large leather backpack on his shoulder and scowls. "Haven't you given enough, Harmony?" My throat constricts. Something’s wrong. He's never spoken to Mom like this before. "You lost your standing in the city's heart to come out here and be with me."

"Stop that," she says. "That's foolish and you know it. Those who live in the Heart are no better than those who live here."

"Why are you always so quick to say that?"

"Because it's true."

"It has nothing to do with how good they are." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. "They are nobility." The words drip with sarcasm. "They get the best of everything, including the admiration of the humble masses—the poor people born to be this." He beats his chest.

"Is that so bad?" she says. "I happen to love who you are."

"How?" he says. "I'm a gambler, I'm a liar, and if it were possible, I'd also be a thief."

"No," she says. "You're a good man who loves his family. You're the man who built that fence for Kathrine, though she doesn't deserve the least of our kindness. That is who you are. That is the man I married. We don't need to live in the Heart. We can be noble right here."

"I can't do this anymore," he says.

"Do what?"

"I can't play this game with you." He takes a step back. Tension grips my throat. Is he leaving? He wouldn't…

Would he?

My mother breaks slightly. "It isn't a game." 

I shift in place, ready to go out and break this up, but I freeze as she moves into view. She puts her hands on my father's chest. "You don't need to go into Twilight to face the darkness. There is plenty of darkness to be found here in the city."

He takes her hands into his. "You don't get it, Harmony. I am the darkness."

My mother's hands slide out of his as he backs away for a second time.

They stand, staring at each other in the dim light of the porch, the night stars silently observing them from their black abode, and Old Kathrine peeking out of the curtains of her dark bedroom window. How much will the teachers allow her to tell? How much gossip is acceptable?

My attention returns to my father. "You're not safe with me," he says. His dark hair and brows draw in the shadows of the night. "When I return, it will be different—I'll be different." He looks up at the night sky for a moment as though receiving the judgment of the stars. When he is satisfied that they have given all of the condemnation that is in them, he turns and starts down the stairs.

My mind screams at me. Don't just watch. Stop him! But I can't find my legs—or breath to fill my lungs.

"Brant, wait." Dad turns and looks back. I lean in and stare with intensity. Can my mother convince him to stay? She searches for the words. "I—won't be here when you come back."

I can't believe my ears. Why would she say that? Is it just another attempt to make him stay? She would never make us leave our home, would she?

"I know," he says. "I'm the only thing that ever held you here."

"That's not true," her voice is almost too low to hear. 

He lifts a hand. "Stop. Just stop. You think I didn't hear? Do you think I don't know what the pillow in the basement is for?"

"Brant, please."

"I heard you, Harmony, weeping bitter tears into it, hating your life here with me. You've never been happy." He shakes his head. "You belong with them. You always have."

She stoops as though hit in the gut. "I didn't know, Brant. I'm so sorry."

Dad sighs. "Go home, Harmony ... Just go home."

"Brant," my mother's voice squeaks, "you are my home."

"I wish it were true. But you're as fake as they are. You belong with them. Goodbye, Harmony." Dad hikes the backpack up and settles it onto his back as he turns and walks across the lawn. I push away from the window, run to the front door, and swing it open. Mom wipes her face discreetly and hides it from me as I come up behind her. The boards of the porch squeak in protest underneath my bare feet.

Dad heard the door. I know he did. But he doesn't stop. He keeps walking, and he doesn't look back. I want to call out to him, but I have no voice. I stand, frozen in place, horrified that the teachers would allow this. 

"Why?" I whisper.

Mom composes herself and puts an arm around me. "Your father believes many things that are not true."

"And what about you?" I ask, pulling free of her arm. "You think we'll be better in the heart of the city?"

"Esman. That is uncalled for."

"You're just like him," I say. "You both belong in Twilight."

In the moment, I believe it.

Her brows lift. "Esman, that's quite enough."

I don't stay for the lecture. I swing the front door open as hard as I can and head up to my room. She doesn't stop me. I'm sure she is acutely aware that the neighbors are watching, particularly Old Kathrine. That is always her concern. What "they" think. She says we should be an example to them. 

Some example we are.

I slam my bedroom door as hard as I can and kick my wooden wastepaper basket for good measure. It is not all I want to do. I want to shove the things off my dresser, pull it away from the wall, drive it down onto the floor, and let it shatter to pieces. But I have to fix whatever I break. 

Outside my door, I hear my mother's voice as she comes up the stairs. "It's fine," she says. "Everyone can go back to bed."

My sister's voice is just on the other side of the wall. "Is he okay?"

"Yes," says Mother, "He's okay. Go back to bed, Olivia."

"But I—"

"Please, Olivia. Go back to bed."

After a short pause, I hear my sister's door close, then there's a knock on mine. I plop down on my bed. Mom knocks again. "Esman, honey. We need to talk this through."

"I don't want to talk."

"Open the door, please."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mom."

"I'm coming in and we're going to talk about this," she says. The door clicks and swings in. Mom's face appears. Her cheeks shine from the moisture left by her tears, and her brown hair is a mess. I don't think I've ever seen her look a mess. It is unsettling. She comes in and quietly closes the door behind her, for the sake of the family. I'm sure I woke them all. I'm also sure I'll get an earful about it tomorrow from my grandmother and Great Gran. "Esman," my mother says, looking at me with her sad eyes. "Do you think I want this?"

"I don't know what you want," I say, squirming slightly.

"I've done everything possible to keep your father here. What else can I do?"

I stare at the floor.

"Your father is troubled by many things. He believes there are answers out there in the rubble and ruins of the ancient world. He thinks that facing the darkness will change him." She crouches down and puts her hands on my knee. "I tried to explain that there is plenty of darkness here. He can just go over to Old Kathrine's house."

I give a brief smile but force it to go away. "Did you mean it?" I say.

"Mean what?"

"That we're going to go live in the heart of the city?"

She rubs my knee. "We don't have to figure everything out in one night."

"I don't want to go. They have so many rules."

"Rules aren't rules if…"

"I know, Mom. Rules aren't rules if you want to follow them. But what if I don't?"

"Then, there's grace."

"Yes. But for how long? When I turn eighteen, they'll give me the talk and that will be it. They'll know I don't belong. I can't hide it from them."

"You could belong, Honey. Is it so hard to do what is right?"

I glare. "Yes, Mom. It's hard. I can barely take care of my own needs, never mind having to worry about someone else who can't pull their weight."

"That's how your father puts it. But that is not how it is. No one is asking you to pull the weight of another, just to understand the value of doing so. I believe you can learn this in the Heart. There are too many bad influences out here. You're not strong enough to resist them yet."

"I'm not going, Mom. You and Olivia can go without me. I'll stay here with Dad's family."

"I want you with me, Esman. I'm not going without you."

I stand, forcing her hands off my knee. "I'm not going, Mom."

I hear her rise behind me, but I don't turn. "Well," she says, "that is a conversation for another day. Tonight, let's pray for your father and get a good night's rest. It is the best we can do."

I listen as she shuts the door quietly behind her. The floorboards creak as she walks down the hallway to her room. I'm not sure how long I stand, staring first at the wall and then for a long time out the window, but eventually, I lie down on my bed.

I don't pray.

I close my eyes to sleep, but sleep is a greased watermelon. Every horrible thought comes at me at once. I imagine leaving my friends and having to make new friends in a new school; my mother's family home with its twenty bedrooms filled with people I hardly know; and all of the new rules I'll have to follow. I imagine how quickly the teachers will learn that I don't belong and then apply pressure to change me—which will force them to ask me to leave. The thought of the disgrace twists my guts. It is better to never go at all. Out here, no one knows if I could live in the Heart or not. They don't know that I am just like my father.

I imagine all the work of moving our belongings out of every nook and cranny of our home and I calculate how many cart trips it will take in and out of the city center. I imagine my father going out into that dreadful place called Twilight, facing dangerous animals, and humans that are even more dangerous. I imagine the teachers watching him in their silent shadows, doing nothing to stop him. All these imaginings move about like fools dancing to a song they don't know.

I'm interrupted by a gentle knock. It's Olivia, tapping on the hatch to the crawl space between our rooms. The crawl space was made for pets a long time ago but it was later sealed with vent caps when the adjoining rooms were turned into bedrooms for me and my sister. When we were young, we replaced the vent caps with special hatches that open and close, so we could sneak back and forth. Mother knows. We're sure of it, though she hasn't said so directly. We think she let us hide it from her. We're not sure why. But we haven't used it for over a year. We kinda outgrew it.

Olivia knocks again and whispers. "Esman .... Esman!"

I roll out of bed and flick the latches that hold the wooden hatch in place. It lays down, and she crawls over it.

"What are you doing?" I say. "Aren't you a bit old to be crawling through the wall?"

"You're only as old as you feel." She grins.

I scrunch my face in response.

"I didn't want to have Mom tell me not to come in to see you and then do it against her will so I figured, this'll work. What's up with you? Mom shut me down when I asked."

"You don't know what happened?" I say.

She looks at me blankly.

"Dad left." 

Her face tightens but she doesn't respond.

"He went into Twilight."

Olivia looks like she's trying to piece together what I'm saying.

"You know how long he's wanted to bring us into the Heart, and that the teachers won't let him. I guess he thinks Twilight will change him—make him a better person."

Her eyes drift downward and she stares at the floor. What's going on in her head? Why isn't she saying anything?

"Mom and Dad both seem determined to make us go into the Heart. Well, it doesn't matter what happens to Dad in Twilight; he got what he wanted.

Her eyes flick up. "What do you mean he got what he wanted?"

Finally, a response. "Yeah. We're moving," I say, spitting the last word out.

"Moving? You're kidding?"

"We're going into the Heart, without Dad."

"When?"

"Mom didn't say. She told Dad that she won't be here when he gets back, so it will probably happen fast."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would she move us?"

"She thinks I'm going to follow in Dad's footsteps and resist the teachers."

She scans me up and down. "Well, she's not wrong."

"You're no better."

She smirks.

"Well, it doesn't matter," I say, shifting away.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? No, you're not," she says, giving me a shove.

"I'm not going to the Heart. I'm not going to suffer the disgrace of being asked to leave when I age out."

"So ... You think Twilight is better?"

"No," I scowl. "I'm not going there either. Are you crazy?"

"Well, where are you going?"

"I'll probably head south and eventually go to the ocean."

"You can't do that. You can't just leave me here to age out on my own."

"Then, come with me. We can both go."

"This is not how it's done, Esman. If we go against the blessing, we'll end up like ... like ..."

"Old Kathrine?"

"Yeah! Old Kathrine. Do you want to be like that? Waking up every day in pain? Your flesh all droopy? Knowing that your end is fire?"

"In two years, I'll be of age, and I can ask for grace. Others have done it. I'll come back then."

"Don't be dumb. You won't last a week by yourself."

"I'm not going to the Heart, Olivia. I'm not doing it." 

"Then, let's go get Dad and convince him to come back."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, and your ocean idea is so brilliant."

"It's better than going into Twilight. Besides, we don't even know where he went. We'd never find him."

An odd expression flashes on her face briefly, and is gone. Her eyes turn down.

"What was that?"

She looks up. "What?"

"Do you know something? Do you know where Dad went?"

She squirms.

"You know, don't you?"

"I was going to tell you, but things happened fast."

I shake my head. "I don't believe this. Did you know he was going to leave? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to. I didn't even really know what I'd stumbled onto." She fishes in her jacket pocket and pulls out a coin. "A couple of days ago, I found this."

I take it and examine it. It isn't like the coins we use to buy and sell. It has several gears embossed on its face, in a pattern that doesn't make sense. The gears don't quite line up. "What is this?" I ask, holding it out.

"Look," she says, grabbing it and showing the top where the reeded edge of the coin turns into tiny bumps. She rubs a finger across them and the coin starts to click.

I lean in. "Is there something inside?"

"Yes," she says. "I think there are actual gears in there. I think this is a machine of some kind."

"Like a clock?"

"Yeah. But encased in a minted coin."

"That's strange."

"I found it in the pocket of Dad's journal. One of the pages had a rough drawing of the coin. It said, 'device opens the lock.'"

I take the coin and examine it more closely. "Where did he get it?"

"It was crafted in Twilight."

"By who?"

"Dad's journal says Luna."

"Lunar? Like—the moon?"

"No," she says. "Luna. I think it's a person."

I turn the coin in my fingers. "No human could craft this. A clock machine inside a minted coin? This has to be angel tech."

"Maybe Luna is an angel," she says.

"That doesn't sound like an angel name."

"Yeah. I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine."

"So, is this thing a compass or something? You said you know how to find Dad."

"I told you. It's a key—you know, for a lock."

"A lock on what? What kind of lock uses a coin?"

"I think it opens the trunk I found hidden in a cubby in the attic."

"What cubby? I've explored every inch of that attic."

Her face hardens. "It's hidden. Dad has been keeping secrets. Really big ones. Probably for as long as we've been alive. You need to read his journal."

I hold out my hand.

She looks at it and blinks. "It's not here, dummy."

"Where is it?"

"It was in his workshop, hidden in a secret pocket inside his backpack," she says, "He probably took it with him."

"How long have you been snooping in Dad's stuff?"

She shrugs.

"How did he keep this secret from the teachers? Or did he? Do you think they know? Did they allow this?" I see the dark silhouette of my dad in my mind, walking across the lawn, heading off in the direction of Twilight, and no teacher standing in his way to stop him. "I don't understand the teachers. Why would they let him leave? Why would they let him keep secret things?"

"I don't like it either, Esman, but that's just how it is."

"Okay. So—what's in the trunk?"

"I don't know," she says, plucking the coin out of my palm. "I only had one chance to open it, but Dad came home early. We could go look."

"What? Now?"

"Yeah." She starts to crawl back into the passageway. I grip her arm to stop her.

"First of all, Grandpa Ben will hear us. Second, why waste time getting into that trunk? Let's just go after Dad. You said you know where he went."

"We need to get into the trunk."

"Why?"

"Because he took the location with him. It was written in the journal. But I think we'll find something in the trunk that will help me remember the way."

She strains against my grip. "Cut it out. Stop being such a coward."

I release her arm and she scurries into the crawl space.

I follow. 

When we get into her room, she quickly goes to the door and peeks out. When she's confident that the way is clear, she looks at me with wild, excited eyes and a mischievous grin. "Come on. Let's go."

We enter the open hallway that overlooks the foyer and walk down the hall, past our grandparents' door, and up the circular stairs that lead to the third-floor family room. We stop at the top of the stairs and peek into the family room. A few bulbs dimly light the space. "It's clear," she says, looking down through the frame of the circular metal stairs before going up and through the family room. Reluctantly, I continue to follow. 

We go all the way to the other side to the door that leads to the attic stairs. Grandpa Ben's door is off to the left. Closed. We pause behind a bookcase in the middle of the room to conceal ourselves a few feet from the door.

Olivia starts to move forward but I grip her wrist. She looks at me.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I whisper.

She smiles and whispers back. "Are you afraid of Grandpa Ben?"

"Like you're not," I say, with vinegar.

"What is the worst he'll do? Tell us to go back to bed?"

"We're digging into things we shouldn't, and we should have an adult with us to do this. We are breaking the rules, and you know Grandpa Ben is really intense about following the rules."

"It's not a sin to move about at night in your own home, Esman—or to open a trunk in your own attic. Grandpa Ben will be fine." She pulls free, runs over to the attic door, opens it, and slips in.

I stand, staring, listening, my heart pounding in my chest. A moment later, the attic door opens a sliver and Olivia's hand appears. She beckons me with two quick jerks of her fingers.

Fine!

I run across, watching Grandpa Ben's door as I go. The attic door opens to receive me. We ascend the stairs. Olivia pulls a bulb out of her pocket, twists the base, and light fills the attic. "Come on," she says, moving through organized piles of things collected by Dad's family for centuries. "It's over here," she says, illuminating a spot on the wall and digging at it with her fingers.

A board creaks behind us and we both spin around. Looming in the darkness is Grandpa Ben, leaning on his staff.

How? Was he already up here?

Olivia blurts out, "We can explain."

Grandpa raises a finger to his lips and drops his hand back down slowly. There is no measurement for the amount of trouble we're in. I should have never listened to Olivia. I should have just left.

"Come," says Grandpa Ben. It's not a question or an invitation. It's a command. He points at one of the four cushioned seats in the center of the attic. "Sit." 

We do as we're told.

Grandpa Ben paces, tapping his staff on the floor. "You are unwise to dig into what your father has learned. Your father's secrets are best kept secret. But you will not receive wisdom—of that I am certain. Therefore, it falls upon me to educate you."

Nothing could be further from the truth. I would gladly receive wisdom. It is far better than the sting of correction.

"You know the scriptures. Nothing is hidden from you. What does it say in Revelation 20?"

Olivia says, "What part?"

His eyes lock onto hers. "What happens after the thousand years?" 

"Satan is released," she says.

"Do you believe it?"

Olivia shrugs.

"I believe it," I say, hoping to win a bit of lenience should correction follow this lecture.

"We are coming to the end, soon. This Earth will pass away. Those born into this generation will begin to reject the word of the Lord that comes out of the City of Truth because God has drawn back the rod of iron. The teachers no longer rule as they once did." He leans on his staff and looks at me. "What does Proverbs 22:15 say, Esman?"

It takes me a moment, but I recall it from my memory verses. "Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child," I say, "but the rod of correction will drive it far from him." As the words come out, I realize the implication for me and Olivia, and I shiver.

"This is a foolish generation, and you two are caught up in its folly—following after your father who has gone headlong into the darkness. I was there at the beginning when humanity crawled out of the Earth. I saw the teachers when they first came to us. They walked among us with a power greater than the angels. They have not weakened, as some whisper. It is important for you two to understand this fact because your father believes he found the truth when all he did was uncover the greatest lie ever told. How do you combat a lie, Esman?"

I shake my head, and no words come out of my open mouth.

"By shining the light." As he says this, he brings a bulb out of his pocket, adding more light to the space. He walks over to where Olivia had been digging at the wall. A panel slides and a dark cavity appears. "Come drag this thing out into the light where all lies should be dragged."

We rush over, pull the old leather trunk from its hiding place, and slide it out into the light.

"You want to see what your father has found? Let's do it together."

Olivia and I look at each other. Her hand pushes into her jacket pocket and she pulls the coin out. "I'm guessing this goes here," she says, pointing at a circular indentation with a thin piece of metal hanging over it. She doesn't wait for confirmation. She slides the coin in, and it is held in place. Immediately, it begins to click. One by one, louder clicks emanate from the chest—then it is quiet.

Olivia lifts the lid and shines her light into the chest. It contains three items: a chest plate of white and gold trimmed armor, a sheathed blade, and a letter sealed with wax. I take the blade and Olivia takes the letter. She looks up at Grandpa, Ben.

He nods.

As she breaks the seal on the letter, I slide the blade part way out of its sheath. It is like nothing I've ever seen. The metal is etched with strange writing, each glyph catching the light and smoldering in its socket. Not even Samson could craft a blade like this. I look at Olivia. "What does the letter say?"

"I don't know. I can't read it." She tilts it so I can see. The writing on the aged paper is the same as that on the blade. Similar glyphs are also on the neckline of the chest plate.

We both look at Grandpa Ben.

"These belong to an angel. They appear to be a gift to your father. A time is coming when a multitude will wear this armor and carry these blades. They were forbidden for us to have, even a decade ago, but not now."

I nervously sheath the blade and put it back into the trunk. "The teachers know that my father has these?" I ask, astonished.

"I am pleased that you have respect for the gravity of what you've found here, Esman. Many have lost their fear of God and of the teachers. The loss of fear is the beginning of folly."

Olivia puts the letter on top of the chest plate. "How does any of this help us?"

Grandpa takes a step back. "It doesn't. It only reveals what your father has gotten himself into. You can't use any of this to help him find his way back—or to find your way to him."

The grimace on Olivia's face speaks volumes. She didn't expect this. She hoped to find something that would help her remember what she saw in Dad's journal. Is she still convinced that we have to go into Twilight and get him? I'm relieved that we hit a wall. I didn't want to go into that horrible place.

Grandpa Ben uses his staff to close the trunk.

"Retrieve the coin, Esman, and hand it to me."

I look and see an obvious button. "This?" I ask.

Grandpa nods.

I push it and the coin is ejected from its slot. Soft clicking emanates from the socket and a few louder clicks follow. When the trunk is sealed, Grandpa Ben uses his staff to push it back into the cubby. After closing the sliding panel behind it, he turns and holds his hand out toward me. I give him the coin and he slides it into his pants pocket. He looks at Olivia, back at me, and then gazes off into the murky and cluttered attic. His eyes are distant as he sighs deeply. "You've never met your aunt," he says.

Olivia and I look at each other, confused.

"Your aunt, Rosie," he says. "She died long before you were born. But she has visited me through the years. She's a teacher now, you know."

I try hard to keep my jaw from going slack.

"My sister tells me many things, things I'm not allowed to tell you. But I can say this, my sweet children, your father is speaking with fallen angels and there is little chance that you can convince him to return home." His brows tighten. "Not yet, anyway. I want you two to go with your mother into the heart of the city. I want you to take this trunk with you, and when the time is right, I'll help you go and bring him home to us." His old eyes tear up; the moisture reflects the dim light of the two bulbs. "Will you do this for me?"

I nod quickly. Olivia does not. She looks at him with a defiant face. Does she not believe him? Will she still go into Twilight?

Grandpa Ben nods slowly. "So be it," he says. Then, he turns and walks away. There is no correction, only an offer of help—an offer my sister is unwilling to receive. We silently watch him until he disappears down the stairs.

After we hear the sound of the attic door closing, I say, "Now what?"

"Now we go with Mom."

"You're going?"

"Yes. But I'm not waiting to go get Dad."

"But Grandpa—"

"I'm not waiting, Esman."

Not another word is spoken. We silently return to our rooms. I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, exhaustion overtakes me and I sink down into a dreamless void.

The light of the early morning sun wakes me, and the neighbor's rooster helps. I roll out of bed and look out the window at our small crop field. The haunted night and the revelation of my father's choice to go into Twilight cling to me, but I no longer dread my mother's decision to bring us into the city's heart. I trust Grandpa Ben and I trust that he's getting some inside information from my aunt. I hope I get to meet her. It never occurred to me that the teachers could be related to us. In a way, it is reassuring. It makes them seem a little less mysterious.

I look down at the chicken coop. Olivia is already out there doing her job, pushing through as she always does. She turns on the water spigot and looks up as though she can sense me watching her. She holds her gaze, and her face sours slightly. 

Yeah. I know. I'm comin'.

I change out of the clothes I slept in and go down and outside to do my chores, avoiding Great Gran's attention as I pass by the kitchen. In the field, I select twelve fresh avocados from the trees and place them in the wicker basket I use each morning. 

We all have our tasks. Olivia gets the eggs. I get the avocados. Mom gets the tomatoes. Gramma Stone collects a jar of something pickled from the cellar. Aunt Shawna trades choice vegetables from the garden with our neighbor for fresh milk. Grandpa Michael has the hardest job; he takes care of the lambs and must pray over them and slaughter them to bring the meat to the table. I don't ever want to do that job. I'll stick to gathering the things that grow—and catching the occasional fish.

On my way back inside, I stop in my tracks. Grandpa Ben is standing in the doorway, leaning on his staff. I don't know why I expect him to be stern, I agreed to his terms, but I'm still shaken by his presence. His face warms and a crooked smile causes one cheek to tighten. "It's a new day, Esman. Don't look so worried."

I understand his implication. Mercy is renewed each morning. My fingers loosen their grasp on the basket. "Thanks," I say. "I was kinda worried about facing everyone at breakfast."

"Your family loves you. They just want you to be okay."

"I know."

"And don't worry about your sister. She may be older—and stronger…" he pauses to let the second part sink in. It is good that he does this because I am more than willing to ignore the point. "But she won't go if you don't. You are her heart. It has always been this way. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Good. When the time is right—and it will be soon—you two will go to find your father with the blessing of the teachers, but for now, let's enjoy this beautiful day. It isn't all gloom, you know."

I look out over our community: the homes nestled in greenery, gardens bursting with life. People gather food and chat in their yards, children play, and birds flutter overhead. It is a good day. Grandpa Ben is right.

The darkness can wait.

Heb 13:16 "But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.”

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• Share the synopsis for the story with a friend.

As we work together, this resource will grow.