With bare feet gripping the tile flooring, he dashed to the kitchen and skidded to a stop at the pantry door. He opened it wide and ran back to the kitchen table where he gripped the slats of the wooden chair closest to the walk-in pantry. He leaned his weight into moving the heavy piece of furniture into the closet-sized space and climbed to stand on the seat.
Meg had sent him an image of what he was looking for. His worried eyes scanned the items searching for the blue and white bag until he found it. On tiptoes he reached for the sack just out of reach. With a frustrated huff, he jumped down off the chair and moved it closer to the shelf he needed. This time he grasped the heavy bag with his pudgy fingers. Grunting with effort, he scooted it to the edge of the shelf and yanked. The sack teetered on the edge for a moment before tumbling through Danny’s outstretched arms and thumping to the floor.
Danny followed the bag, shoving the chair out of his way and used both arms to carry its weight. Running back across the house, he left a trail of white granules as they leaked from a tear. He didn’t stop running until he reached his parents’ oversized, garden bathtub. With a grunt he tossed in the sack of salt and scrambled in after it to set the stopper in place. With two hands he turned the cold knob on full blast, then repeated the act with the hot water knob. The sound of the water crashing into the tub was loud enough to drown out Theo’s voice calling to him from down the hall.
Theo had finished his plans with Nate and came across the trail of salt. Confusion was replaced by icy fear when he heard the water roar to life.
Rounding the corner, he saw a completely clothed Danny sloshing back and forth the length of the tub, deep in concentration. Theo yanked the faucets off and strained to keep the panic from his voice. “Danny? Danny! What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?”
Barely contained tears finally burst from the little boy’s tormented eyes as he looked up from his work of mixing the salt into the water.
“She said it was the only way. She promised she would do everything she could to help stop the fighting but there would be a price to pay...”
“Who? Meg? Did Meg say this to you?” Theo reached into the water to hold the boy’s shoulders.
Danny looked confused for a moment before shaking his head no.
“It was an angel.”
76 Creed’s Lament
Creed refused to let go of Meg.
He’d kept up a stream of conversation the entire, rough ride back to the ranch.
“Meg! Stay with me,” he smoothed her wild curls from tangling with her long lashes. “You listen to me, Meg Winter!” his tear-filled blue eyes searched her silent face. “You are not allowed to lay your life down for everybody else. You can’t do that to your family. You can’t do that to me!” His voice hitched painfully as he leaned down to kiss her closed eyes.
“You crazy, stubborn girl! You think it’s your life and you can do with it what you please, but it’s not true! Your life is not yours to give! You belong to the people who love you!”
Thick, salty teardrops falling from Creed’s bloodshot eyes left clean streaks down her bloody face. “Don’t you understand? You think your sacrifice only hurts you? It doesn’t work that way! You are connected to all of us—to me.” He brushed his lips against hers and felt his heart pinch painfully in his chest.
“I need you! Are you listening to me, Meggie! I need you here with me! Nothing is worth your life! Nothing, damn it!” The others in the vehicle winced at the raw pain in Creed’s words.
“How could you be so selfish and selfless at the same time? You promised, Meg! You promised you’d stay with me.”
“Please, God. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”
Margo watched her daughter, looking so frail and small in Creed’s thick arms and kept flashing back to images of Meg as a little girl. Standing in a dirt stained, pink T-shirt and torn blue jeans as a six-year-old. Her little arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. A look of sheer determination in her precious, furrowed brow. Then another image of her traipsing across the yard, the setting sunlight dancing between her wild curls. A sling shot in one hand and a bouquet of dandelions in the other. Her laughter bubbling from her belly as she and her brothers shared a secret between them—mischief dancing in her sparkling dark eyes as she grinned.
Margo had busied herself removing Meg’s tightly-laced boots as the truck barreled toward home. Reverently, she slipped off her daughter’s socks revealing light pink polish on dainty toes. The contrast between her sensitive, girlish charm buried beneath a warrior’s armor just made Margo sob harder.
Please, God, she cried in quiet anguish.
This world needs her. I need her. Please.
In all her studies of God’s word, though she’d spent years memorizing verses—in that moment when she held her daughter’s cold bare feet—no words felt worthy enough. Every memorized prayer vanished from her mind, leaving only a mother’s desperate plea.