Page 79 of Doyle

“What do you think happened?” she said.

He still held her hand, the other steadying the flashlight. “I think Ethan got greedy and activated his stupid laser machine?—”

“And brought down the entire mountain? C’mon?—”

He stopped then and stared at her, his jaw tight against the dim light, his eyes sparking. “Small things make big impact. We don’t know the fragile points in this mountain or how his laser machine might have broken them. It feels like an impossibility, but our choices matter even if they feel small. So yes, it’s entirely possible that Ethan brought down the mountain.” He turned, kept walking. “At the end of the day, however, it’s not Ethan’s hand but God’s that directs the way of the world, so...”

Was he saying that it was God’s fault? She had nothing to say to that as she followed him.

Except, a question dogged her. “If it is God’s hand that brought down the mountain... I mean, how can we trust a God who brings disaster?”

He glanced over at her. Stopped again. “We see God in the here and now and judge his actions against our perspective. It’s like us walking into the middle of surgery and calling the doctor barbaric. We can’t possibly see the entire picture. So we either turn away, angry and confused... or we trust and wait.” He swallowed, his gaze almost fierce in hers. “We believe that God is good, and that He has a plan.”

The words sank into her, found her bones.

“That’s what you’ve been doing,” she said quietly. “Trusting and waiting.”

He drew in a long breath. “And holding on.” He gave her a grim smile. “Because I believe in hope and truth and love. Even when it feels impossible.”

Andoh,she wanted to kiss him again, to bring those words, that perspective, into her life, her heart. To hold on and believe, too, that God was good.

That he hadn’t forgotten her.

But before she could step up, give in to the urge, Doyle added, “And I’m sort of waiting for a little clarity on what to do next.”

She refused to let the answers in her heart find root as he turned and continued to lead them out of the darkness.

But she hung on, all the same.

The tunnel turned and descended, and she braced her hands on his shoulders, walking behind him as they worked their way down the passageway. The thunder hammered against the bowels of the cave.

“The tide must be up,” he said as the ground leveled out, and ahead, just like before, the cave opened to the edge of the cliff. Light broke the darkness at the edge of the rock, and she joined him, staring out into the night.

Stars drifted over the ocean, pinpricks against waves, and it seemed the wind had picked up, because the waves dashed themselves against the rocks with violence.

“The water is up over the tunnel.” He’d flashed the light below, into the swirl of rock. Then across to the jutting of more rock barely protruding from the water.

“What now?”

He let go of her hand and scanned the water.

As she stood next to him, the scent of the ocean cleared away the last of the sulfur stench.

After a bit, he leaned out and grabbed the metal line that ran from the entrance down to the top of the tunnel. Rusty and fraying, it seemed almost melted into the rock. “If they used this to lower goods down, they probably had a box or chest to carry everything.”

“And a pulley to move it up and down?” She pointed to a tumble of rock that half buried a small alcove. He moved his light to it. Rusted machinery, a broken hoist, in parts under the rubble.

“Now we know why they stopped using it,” Doyle said. He leaned over the edge. “That’s rough water down there.”

“But it’s only about sixty feet down. If we wait until the tide goes out, it’s a much higher fall.”

“Who’s falling?” He pulled off his pack and set it on the ground next to the Maglite. Then he pulled out a first aid kit.

So that’s what he’d been doing while she changed clothes back at the monastery. He’d also changed clothes but had been waiting with the pack and headlamp when she met him at the base of the trail. Now, he pulled out gauze and an ACE bandage and scissors from the kit. He cut the bandage in half. “Hold out your hands.”

Huh?But she did as she was told, and he wrapped the cloth around one hand, then the other, cutting and tying it. “For a while, after Juliet died, I volunteered with Beacon of Compassion International, an organization that helps after hurricanes and tornadoes and other disasters. I wasn’t a doctor, but they let me assist, and I learned a few foxhole tricks.” He then took out the gauze rolls and did the same with his hands. She helped tie the ends together.

He picked up his pack—a heavy pack, canvas with leather straps, the kind a Sherpa might use—and stretched the straps out to their full length. Then he unclipped them from their O-rings and crossed them.

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