Page 110 of The Roads We Follow

As soon as we round the bend on the narrow, two-lane highway, Luella sits up and points at the river. “There it is.”

I follow her finger to the open acres of ponderosa pines and spruce trees just past the edge of town, and suddenly I know where we’re headed even if I don’t know why. I’ve been a camper and cabin leader at Camp Selkirk more times than I can count. And even though their doors of operation closed a few years back due to low funding, it hasn’t kept my dad and brother and me from boating up to it from the other side of the bank to hike and fish. The significance this place has played in my faith journey is incomparable.

Perhaps Luella needs to see this part of her history again, where she and my mother first met. Perhaps that’s why we’re here, to finish off a road trip that began nearly fifty years ago.

So I ignore the closed entry gate at the front and drive to the open one a quarter mile around the back. I hope the Farrow sisters will do the same when they arrive. Some rules are worth breaking for the people you love. And Luella is hardly the only Farrow I’ve fallen for this summer.

32

Raegan

Adele holds up her cell phone near the locked camp gate where we’ve parked the Jeep, searching for a signal, while Hattie and I peer through the trees into the legendary Camp Selkirk. A rush of nostalgia floods my system, even though I’ve never stepped foot on this soil before. Instead, I’m recollecting the vivid descriptions from Lynn’s journals. If I squint hard enough, I can almost make out the river in the background.

“The cell service is too spotty, but Mama’s last location as of thirty minutes ago shows she’s here,” Adele says, pocketing the phone. “Maybe we should keep driving to look for another way in?”

“Or we can hop this gate,” I suggest as I pull myself up and over. I land with anoomph.

Hattie, whose eyes are still puffy and red, moves to follow my lead. “That’s my vote, too.”

Dust plumes up from her feet after she lands.

We both look to Adele, the rule-follower among us.

“Over the gate it is, then.” She might be the oldest, but she’s quite possibly the nimblest. She drops to the other side with ease and brushes off her hands. “Let’s just pray we don’t get taken out by a wild animal before we find them.”

We trudge our way down a trail covered in branches and pine needles toward a large firepit that ignites the images Lynn’s early journal entries created. I’m instantly covered in goosebumps as I think of the nights Mama and Lynn must have spent together, writing songs and talking about their dreams. There are several buildings in view now, and I can hear the river just beyond the sloped tree line.

I can hear something else, too.

Singing.

We follow the sound to the white-steepled chapel, where Mama is sitting inside on the steps of a platform a fraction of the one she performed on last night, shadowed under the large arms of an old wooden cross. Then I see Micah, sitting in the back pew, his gaze ever-watchful and curious as we find each other in this sacred space. It’s all I can do not to run to him first and tell him everything that happened on the road.

But when Mama stands and moves toward us, whatever she sees in our faces causes her stride to falter. Hattie rushes ahead and falls to her knees. Sobs wrack her body all over again as she confesses what Adele and I have already forgiven her for.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” she weeps. “Please forgive me.”

Mama kneels to meet Hattie on the floor, wrapping her arms around her until all my sister’s shame and regret are cried out where they belong: at the foot of a cross.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Mama coos. “How could I ever deny you what I was given so many years ago right here in this chapel?”

Once Hattie has taken several calming breaths in Mama’s arms, Adele and I help them both to their feet again. Mama hugs each of my older sisters first, and then she reaches for me. She holds my face between her palms and speaks with such unbridled love and pride. “Promise me you’ll finish the memoir you started, Raegan.Please. It’s one of the most beautiful tributes I’ve ever read, and I’m not even to the births of my three daughters yet. You brought so many of my memories to life, memories I never want to forget—even the painful ones that have caused me to grow despite myself.”

At first, I’m confused. How had she—

“Micah had the forethought to bring your chapters along with him this morning,” she answers without prompt. “It’s why I have no mascara left on these sad natural lashes. I cried it all off.”

Once again, I find Micah. He dips his chin, and I mouththank youthrough a watery smile.

Mama’s expression remains tender. “I never want you to stop writing. I want to support you in stewarding that gift however I can. Agreed?” I nod as she hugs me. “Good.”

After Mama releases me, she seems to take a moment to collect her thoughts before addressing the three of us.

“This,” Mama says, “this right here is what I was praying would happen between you girls while we were on the road. That you’d learn to fightforeach other and notwitheach other. I was on my knees most of the night, asking God to intervene today so you wouldn’t have to walk the same path I did. I don’t know what all happened on your drive today, but I can clearly see my prayers are being answered.

“As you know, I once had a sister I loved and swore to protect. I never could have imagined a future without her. And yet, somehow I lived thirty years without Lynn.” She pauses. “If I could go back in time, I would have done so many things differently, starting with choosing humility over my pride.” Her gaze scans over each one of us.

Mama steps out of our circle and walks down the altar steps into the sanctuary, taking in the stained-glass windows and running her fingers along the back of the wooden pews.

---