Page 54 of Once a Hero

A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.

Beatrice knew she had to move forward. Looking back for a moment had caused her to grieve again, but looking forward, there was much work to be done yet.

“What are you going to do with us?” Beatrice asked.

“We’ll have the cup of tea you wanted.” Molyneux’s voice was cheerful. “After we bury Jake Kessler, also known as Grady Northcutt when he was in my employ.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jake prayed for Beatrice, who had been gone a long time. He had no idea where they had taken her. They had left him tied to the chair, gaping wounds on one thigh and multiple cuts on the other. What were they trying to do to him?

He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Joe? Jim? John Doe then.

Oswald he remembered, because the was in charge of the entire battalion that sneaked into Mendenhall Retreat some three years prior. Oswald was ex-military who ran his own mercenary militia.

Molyneux paid them well.

Still, they had abandoned the fishing vessel like everyone else when the storm came and capsized the boat, leaving Jake to die.

Beatrice had come to his aid then. At least he believed she had been the anonymous caller.

Today, she had once again rescued him from certain death. What kind of a woman would put her own life on the line for a stranger?

Perhaps they were not strangers any longer.

They were on the same side now.

Together.

God brought us together.

He had heard what Beatrice said. What did she mean by that? She blushed at some unexpected suggestion.

If he had previously thought of her as potentially Molyneux’s adopted daughter, tonight confirmed it. Something she said to Oswald.

She’s been looking for me for twenty-five years.

She purposely put herself on the railroad track for Molyneux to run over. Why?

Jake wiggled his wrists to see if he could loosen the rope a bit, but the movement caused him to pull some muscles—what was left of them—in his legs, and he cried out in pain.

He wondered if he’d ever walk again with all his leg muscles so messed up.

Already, titanium rods held his legs together.

He closed his eyes to wait for the pain to subside. “Please, God.”

Then he remembered his Savior on the cross, carrying on His shoulder the sins of the world. Feet and hands pierced, Jesus Christ died on the cross for him.

For me.

What unbearable pain did Jesus suffer at the cross?

At the cross, at the cross…

The old hymn penned by Isaac Watts in the eighteenth century returned to his mind. He could see himself in church as a little boy with his four brothers and one sister, singing this song with his parents.

At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light,

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