Single Scarlet Thread, Chapters 24 and 25
The shepherd left the 99 to find the 1 sheep. (Luke 15.)
When I married Richard, this city girl became a farmer’s wife. One icy morning when the sun was yet to rise, I woke up and his side of the bed was empty. I wrapped myself in layers and went outside. The cows were in the enclosure, but Richard was nowhere to be found. I trudged through the mud and thick fescue to the back of the pasture, where I found him. He knelt beside a cow that was trying to give birth. He turned, nodding at my presence, but quickly went back to the mother cow. He worked with her for the next several moments, helping the calf, which had a leg bent back, to give birth safely. There were 100+ other cows waiting. Work to do. And yet he went after the one missing cow. He knew her name. He knew she was due at any time. He refused to let her be alone or abandoned in her need.
For me, that was a visual of Luke 15, where Jesus describes the character of God.
God leaves the 99 to find the 1.
It’s not that the shepherd doesn’t care for the 99, but when the 1 is in trouble he goes through the mud, in the dark, to come alongside. He goes as far as he needs until he finds the 1. That’s the beauty of our Heavenly Father and his love for each of us.
We might believe that we (or someone we love) has gone so far that there is no way back, but it’s not about how far we’ve gone, but how far God goes to find us, or to find that one you love.
In today’s chapters, it reflects God as the pursuer. There is no place so dark, so far, so deep that he will not go — for he is the Shepherd and he loves each of us.
If you need to catch up on past chapters, you can find those here. If you want to read the first book in The Legacy Series, Generous Orchid, you can find that in the archives as well OR you can find the complete novel on Amazon.
Thank you for joining me on this adventure. I love to hear from you, and thank you for sharing this with a friend who might love gritty, clean faith-filled fiction.
I treasure you!
“Put the boy down.”
The child crumpled in a ball as his father dropped him to face the teacher.
Two men passed by on horses, the animals prancing nervously in the thick of the crowd.
The father roared and lunged toward the teacher. The horse spooked, rearing, his hooves pawing the air and crashing down upon him. The rider tried to gain control, but each step of the dance twisted the body underfoot. “Get back!” the rider shouted as he whipped his horse, sending the horse into further panic.
The teacher grabbed the precious box off of the ground and thrust it into the woman’s hands.
‘Run!” he shouted.
Single Scarlet Thread, Chapter 24
Grandpa Tom was settled in the guest room with his favorite blanket, worn and soft from a hundred washings. A low snore rumbled from his room. All that was left to unpack were fragile items, and he had given permission to sort through what was left.
Stephen cut through thick duct tape with scissors, and ripped a cardboard box open. He reached in and gently pulled out a stack of carefully wrapped items. He studied a framed photo. “I feel like I’m diving into history,” he said.
Julie took it from him reverently. “Wow.” She studied the photograph, faded by time. She was drawn to the curly-headed child with light eyes dressed in traditional white robes. Gentleness marked young Tom, even as a boy. He stood beside a tall, large-boned man whose arms were wrapped around a dark-haired woman. He was handsome with light hair, with what appeared to be silver or gray around his temples. He was dressed in dungarees and a thick plaid shirt, like a farmer. Intelligence graced his features. She looked from the photo to Stephen. “Wow, he looks like you.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.”
She held the picture to the light, noting the woman by his side. Her hair was thick and wavy. Her eyes appeared to be chocolate brown. She smiled up at her husband, all the while holding their boy close to her body. It was clear there was a bond, a tight-knit family. She had a hint of mirth around her lips, as if she had just shared something witty. Though she had height, she was nearly dwarfed by the larger man.
“That is my great-grandfather, Joseph, and my great-grandmother, Annabelle.”
“He must be 6 and a half feet tall!”
“I guess that’s where I got my height. He was said to be so tall he was imposing.” He took a breath. “But he was also described as a gentle giant.”
Julie smiled. “Again, like you.” She pointed to the other adult in the photo. “Who is she?” She ran her finger over the petite Chinese woman’s face. Though Annabelle was pretty, this woman was stunning. Her features were fine, as if sketched by an artist. While the others smiled in the photo, she appeared reticent. A young boy stood just behind her rich robes. He also had fine features. “I wonder if that’s her child. I would assume so,” she said.
“We’ll have to ask Grandpa Tom if he knows who they are.” Stephen held out another photo. “They didn’t have many pictures back then, even though film was more accessible to ordinary people in the late 1800s. Many times traveling photographers captured pictures from town to town. Most were more formal than this, but I love these — they capture a glimpse of what life was like then. It also gives me an idea of why Grandpa Tom has always loved China so much.”
Julie took the last photo. The glass was cracked, the frame fragile. Inside, it contained another picture of Stephen’s great-grandparents. This time, however, a thin boy, around the age of 8 or 9 stood with them. He had a cowlick in front and a smile that looked like he could play a trick on you and get away with it. Annabelle was a little thicker in this picture — that must have been be due to the swaddled child she held close to her chest. Joseph had a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if instructing him to stay in place. They stood in front of a small thatch-roofed house. Thick bushes and trees and rugged mountains framed the scene. A blush of dust clung to the hem of the woman’s long skirt. “Who is the child in this picture?” she asked.
“That was Grandpa Tom’s older brother, William. Unfortunately, he died in the plague. This must have been taken the year they moved to Tientsin. Annabelle was pregnant with Grandpa Tom on the voyage over. He looks newborn in this photo.”
Julie pondered what it would be like to lose your child in an unfamiliar country with no family nearby. Her heart nearly broke for the woman whose smile she could see in the face of her own husband. “How old was Grandpa Tom when they returned to the states?”
“About 8, I think. He and my great-grandmother came by ship, believing that Joseph had died. They didn’t realize until weeks later that he was alive.”
“What happened?”
“He was stoned by some locals after an incident. A merchant picked his broken body off the street. His plan was to burn or bury his body with dignity, but he discovered that Great-grandpa Joseph was alive — barely. He cared for him for weeks and hid him to keep him safe. Annabelle was on her way back home, completely devastated, unaware that he was alive. Eventually he found his way back to her and Grandpa Tom.”
“How come I’ve never heard this story?”
“I don’t think that Grandpa Tom feels comfortable talking about it, though I used to hear he and Grandma Molly discussing it occasionally when we were supposed to be asleep. I think, though he was grateful that his dad returned home, he struggled in other ways. He was born in China and was bilingual, and it felt like home. The customs of Covington, Kentucky were as foreign to him as Tientsin was to my great-grandparents when they first arrived.”
Julie sat cross-legged on the carpet, the last remnants of Grandpa Tom’s life around her. She reached over and tapped Stephen on the leg. “Did I tell you what Jacob said tonight?”
He shook his head no.
“He said that he and Lori broke up.”
Stephen looked up in surprise. “Really? I’m surprised he talked about that with you. Did he know that we met her?”
“I told him. He was a little shocked by that.” She paused. “It gets stranger, though. He said that Lori is a friend of Brent Trenton. . .”
Stephen cocked his head, as if trying to absorb this new information. “From the wreck?”
“Yes. And he believes that Lori might be involved in the night that he was attacked.”
He let that sit between them for several seconds, finally asking, “How is that possible?”
Julie stood up, arching her back, cramped from sitting on the floor. “I think there’s more to it.” It was something that weighed heavy on her — not knowing what was true. She had connected with the young woman, and already had a soft spot for her. It was hard to connect the eager young woman with bruised face and broken arm of her son, but there was more. As Stephen rubbed her lower back gently, she asked the question she had been asking herself all night. “I don’t believe Ethan slipped in the tub, do you?”
Stephen looked confused. “What are you saying?”
“I just think there’s been too many strange coincidences.” She looked away for a second, wondering if she sounded crazy. “I asked Jacob if he and Ethan were still in danger and he said no, not anymore, but I wonder. . .”
Stephen grabbed an empty cardboard box and broke it down, setting it on the coffee table. He seemed stunned. “If we think someone is bent on revenge, we should go to the police. Are you sure he said he wasn’t in danger anymore?”
Julie nodded. “He seemed to believe that things were all right now. He looked tired, and a little heartbroken, but otherwise okay — or at least I hope so.”
Stephen sat in the recliner and pushed his hands through his hair. The night had been so light and normal that they both were able to take a deep breath for once. Julie wondered if she should have brought it up, but refused to keep her husband in the dark. “When I met Lori, I was sure she was in love with him. I’m praying for Jacob, but I’m also praying for her.”
“Should we talk to him?”
She shook her head no. When she tried to talk further with Jacob, he had clammed up. She watched as Stephen picked up the last box. He pulled out a heavily wrapped package. He unfolded the wrapping to reveal an antique Chinese dragonware teapot. The body was a dragon with golden scales and a red belly. The handle was his tail. The lid was topped by a gold dragon head, it’s mouth open as if breathing fire.
“I remember seeing that in Molly’s buffet,” Julie said. “It’s beautiful.” She ran her hand over the red porcelain underside of the teapot. She walked to the kitchen and pulled out a soft cloth and ran it over the teapot. She yawned, a deep but sweet ache in her bones after a long, good and a bit confusing day.
Stephen glanced at his watch. “It’s late and Grandpa Tom will be up with the sun. We should probably go to bed — unless you want to talk more.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Julie reached for her his hand. “I loved having him here,” she said. “And I think Jacob was truly glad to see Grandpa Tom. It felt like old times.” She slipped into her husband’s arms; the soft lingering smell of his woodsy aftershave was comforting. Though the night had produced more questions than answers, she still felt blessed: Her son sat at her table. The old man sleeping in the guest room was an unexpected gift. The man beside her was her best friend and love.
She almost held her breath at the sweetness of it all.
Stephen brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll start a bookshelf project this weekend. That way Grandpa Tom can look at all these things as much as he wants.”
“For as long as he can. . .” Julie whispered, turning off the light as they headed toward their bedroom, hand-in-hand.
Chapter 25
Jacob deftly turned the wheel and pulled in front of the apartment building.
“Do you want to come in?” Joseph asked.
Jacob walked past a tall fence with several boards missing. Joseph waved his hand at the gate, one side hanging like a sad scarecrow. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said. The key stuck in the lock as he fumbled with it. Inside, books were piled everywhere. Papers and notebooks stacked in neat piles. A Bible lay open on the arm of a chair. The apartment smelled faintly like mold.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
Joseph pointed to the beige couch. “You’re standing in my combination bedroom, living room, study, kitchen,” he said, a grin lighting his face. “It’s all I can afford, but it works.”
“We do have something in common then.” Jacob pointed to the couch. “I can’t wait to get my own bed one day.”
Joseph moved a stack of books off of the couch and Jacob took a seat. A framed photo sat on the end table. In the photo, a handsome brown-skinned man stood proudly with his arm around a woman. Young Joseph nestled between them. He was a mixture of his parents. His father looked solemn, even as Joseph gave a hundred-watt smile. His mother was slender, about the same height as her husband. She had long, chestnut hair that cascaded almost to her waist. Her green eyes were mischievous.
“You look like your mom,” he said. “Except . .”
“Except for the Chinese half?”
Jacob laughed. “Yeah, except for that.” He looked at the picture again. “He seems . . .” He struggled to find the right word. “. . . formal, I guess.”
“He is.” Joseph sat his stocker apron on the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room. “I always wanted a dad that would play ball like other fathers, but that wasn’t his style. But my mom is the total opposite. She’s good for my dad.” Jacob looked up as Joseph explained. “When you see the two of them together, it makes sense. My mother knows how to laugh, and even on occasion how to make my father laugh. She understands him. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a really good man.”
Jacob nodded. “Every family is different, right?”
Joseph shrugged. “My father is reserved, but I love him a lot. He’s always been there for me.”
Joseph leaned forward, putting his fingers in a “T.” “When I first met Ethan, I was jealous. I thought he had everything I didn’t. The best bike. Nice clothes. His dad traveled a lot, so he had a nanny who made him his favorite foods. All he had to do was to ask for what he wanted, and it showed up.”
“And?”
“I realized that he didn’t have what I had. His mom left when he was a kid. His dad was in the picture, but not not really. His father thought money and a nice house and nice things were enough.” Jacob put his hands behind his neck and groaned. “My mom and dad used to gross me out when I was a kid because they held hands and kissed each other goodbye in front of people. Mom was a lot younger than the other mothers, but she took me and Ethan hiking, fishing—that kind of thing. I used to think Ethan was in love with my mom because he talked about her so much.”
Joseph grinned. “I used to watch other fathers and wish my dad was different, but we resolved our issues. I saw things more clearly once I was older.”
“Sometimes you sound like an old man,” Jacob said. “No wonder my parents liked you so much. They probably think you’re a good influence.” He shivered in the cold apartment.
Joseph fiddled with the thermostat. “I keep the temperature down when I’m gone. This place takes a lot to get warm and the electric bill can be a killer.” The heater kicked on, wheezing like an asthmatic. He walked the short distance to the kitchen and came back with a cold can of soda.
“Tell me more about your family.”
“My mother’s a professor, but also a student. She wants to get a law degree and specialize in immigration law. Immigration is an issue that’s important for my family.” Joseph grinned, his smile reminding Jacob of the woman in the picture. “My great-grandfather died when my grandfather was young, so my great-grandmother brought him to the states. When they arrived, they lived in poverty and faced a lot of prejudice. She worked hard, but her efforts brought in little, barely enough to feed them. That changed when a group of people who cared about immigration law and justice helped them. My mom was really influenced by their story and wants to make a difference.”
“Cool.” Jacob walked around the room, noticing an ancient box with a faded scarlet ribbon sitting in a place of honor on a rickety bookshelf.
When he touched it, the hair on his arms rose.
Jacob.
