Prologue

Lakewood, Colorado, 1870

The route to Pastor Everett Burns’ house was merely a brisk, five-minute walk from Cora Williams’ home in Lakewood, a fact for which she was thankful, since she had been spending nearly every day tending to him since he had fallen ill weeks ago. On this occasion, however, she had taken a more scenic route, trekking through a meadow that ran between their homes.

She had gathered an assortment of wildflowers—Colorado Columbines, Fireweed, and Golden Banner. She arranged them into a bouquet so that the sky blue, lavender, and bright yellow hues were all mixed together. Cora smiled as she admired her work; this decorative composition of foliage was sure to bring life to Pastor Burns’ drab and sullen sick room.

Pastor Burns himself brought life to the town of Lakewood through his infectious faith and captivating sermons he delivered every Sunday. As a young girl, Cora would often stay in church after service was over to talk with Pastor Burns about the Scripture readings or just about God in general.

“What do you think Heaven is like?” she remembered asking him one time, when she was about ten years old. Everyone else had already left the church, and she would follow Pastor Burns out the door and walk with him in the direction of his house, where she could see his son, Roy, sitting on the swing, twisting the rope until it couldn’t go any further, and then letting go so he would spin around in a fast circle. Just watching him do that made Cora dizzy, but she wasn’t worried about him. She had a reason for her question, something that had been on her heart for a while.

“Well, Cora, no one knows for certain what Heaven will be like, because no one who has been has ever been able to return and report back. But we do have some clues from the Scriptures. We will be free from all the earthly woes—sadness, worry, fear, hurt, anger. We will be happy and at peace in God’s presence all the time.”

“Do you think I will be able to meet my mother when I get to Heaven?” Cora remembered that it had taken a lot of courage to ask this question because she was afraid that the answer she was hoping for wasn’t the answer she would be given.

But Pastor Burns put his hand on her shoulder, bent down to face her, and said, “Absolutely. I believe your mother is up there waiting for you right now, and one day—a long, long time from now, mind you—when you get to Heaven, it will be a joyous reunion indeed. And the best part will be that time doesn’t work the same way in Heaven, so for your mother, it will be like no time has passed at all.”

Cora’s heart had warmed at his answer, and she gave him a big hug before scurrying on home. Pastor Burns was always so patient and willing to answer any question she had about matters of faith, never giving any indication that her inquiries were foolish or impossible to answer. This was a stark contrast to her own father, who was so dedicated to his work as the town sheriff that he rarely had time to listen to Cora’s musings. Cora felt like most of the time, he considered her a nuisance. And anytime she tried to ask questions about her mother, who tragically died mere minutes after Cora’s birth, he would shut down entirely.

Ultimately, Sheriff Thomas Williams seemed to lack confidence in his abilities to raise a daughter in the absence of her mother, and the pain of losing Cora’s mother so suddenly made him disinclined to ever speak of her. Sheriff Williams was not cruel to Cora. He always provided for her needs, ensuring she had food in her belly and a safe place to rest her head at night. Seldom did he say a harsh word to her, but Cora would almost prefer if he did, rather than the stoic silence he usually kept as he maintained an emotional distance.

Perhaps that was why Pastor Burns was so special to Cora: he had stepped in to fill this missing piece to her life, the fatherly guidance that every young girl craved and needed, and for that, Cora would be eternally grateful.

As Cora approached the door to Pastor Burns’ house, a knowing shiver traveled up her spine, as if a divine presence was placing a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder, preparing her for what she would discover when stepping through the threshold. She remembered what the pastor had said in one of his sermons about God sending his angels to watch and guide people during life’s most difficult moments—and to accompany them to His Kingdom at the hour of their deaths.

But Cora was not ready for the angels to come to this house. She was not ready to lose Pastor Burns, who had been a constant in her life for so long.

Cora entered the pastor’s home without knocking, as had become her routine through these past two weeks of tending to him in his illness. Even though Dr. Davenport came three times a day to check his vitals and administer medication, Cora had taken it upon herself to come as often as possible to ensure the pastor was comfortable and not alone, as Roy was his only child, and he had left home years ago without looking back.

Cora would eat breakfast with her father and come home to eat supper with him and do her evening devotionals before bed, but throughout the day, while her father was at work, she was by the pastor’s side, keeping his home tidy, reading him passages from the Bible until he fell asleep, or telling him lighthearted stories. On days when he was the weakest, she would help him shift positions so he wouldn’t get bed sores, which she read could be devastating, and often fatal, for sickly, bedridden patients.

However, she had a feeling that this visit would be different, that she would find the pastor in a much more dire situation than she last left him, that there would be no need for position changes, and that the mood would not be right for jovial storytelling. She wasn’t sure if this inclination came from God, or if it was mere human intuition, or perhaps some combination of the two. Nevertheless, she knew she had to mentally and emotionally brace herself for the worst possible scenario.

“Lord, please guide me and give me strength to be what Pastor Burns needs today, especially if his condition has worsened. Please help me to put aside my emotions and how hard this might be for me,” she prayed in earnest as she stepped through the door.

“Pastor Burns!” Cora alerted the pastor of her presence, pausing in the living area of the house before she entering his bedroom. She set the flowers down upon the foyer table so that her long, nimble fingers were free to fashion her honey-blonde hair into a braid over one shoulder. She feared that he would need immediate attention before the doctor could arrive, and she did not want her long hair to get in the way of any assistance he might need from her.

The pastor did not verbally respond to her introduction, but a deep, guttural moan sounded from the bedroom. Cora’s stomach churned and her heart lurched, as the sound that came from the pastor sounded more like a wounded animal than human. There was no denying that the circumstances had worsened.

She retrieved the wildflowers from the foyer table and entered his room. It was a small room with cream-colored walls and minimal décor, a four-poster bed where the pastor lay taking up most of the space. Although there wasn’t much else by way of furniture—only a small dresser, a wardrobe containing his nice clothes that he preached in on Sundays, a bedside table, and a wooden chair beside the bed. Cora had been diligent in dusting and tidying the room to ensure that the pastor had an orderly and peaceful place to rest. She was also quite familiar with the wooden chair, as it was where she sat for hours each day lately.

“I’m here, Pastor Burns. I will get you all cleaned up and comfortable, don’t you worry,” Cora said, forcing her face to not betray her emotions. Although she expected when she walked in that the illness had progressed, she hadn’t prepared herself for his appearance. His face was frail and gaunt, and his eyes were hollow. His skin had devolved to a pale yellow, evidence of the disease ravaging his body.

She placed the flowers in a vase by the bedside table, offering a splash of color to the otherwise bland room, and pushed open the window, craning her neck outside in search of someone to help. Providentially, the church gardener was coming around the corner of the house at that moment.

“Lionel!” Cora called, recognizing the fellow, as he had worked for years on the church. “Quickly, go get Dr. Davenport!”

“What’s wrong, is it the pastor? Is he getting worse?” Lionel demanded, worry etched across his features. Cora was perturbed that he was wasting time asking questions when her tone of voice clearly conveyed all the information he would need to know.

“There’s no time for all of your questions! Just go get the doctor, now!” Cora demanded. Lionel looked at her with an expression of shock to be given such frantic demands by a woman younger than him, but the urgency in her tone clearly left no room for argument. He dropped his spade and ran down the dirt path in the direction of Dr. Davenport’s clinic.

Meanwhile, Pastor Burns let out another unearthly groan of pain. She sat on the bedside chair and took his hand, which was cold and clammy.

“Hurts… everything… it hurts…” Pastor Burns choked out, and Cora could tell that every singular word was a monumental task that seemed to take from him the little strength he had remaining. Cora’s heart ached to see him this way. His once-square jaw now seemed to sag, and his blue eyes no longer held their sparkle, the twinkle in his eyes when he discussed both simple and complex theological matters. When Cora pictured Pastor Burns in her head, she didn’t see him like this. She only remembered his tall stature commanding a gentle authority from behind the pulpit. She had always associated his charcoal-gray hair with the kind of distinguished wisdom that came from age; now even that had paled and thinned, adding decades to his age.

“Shhh… please don’t speak, Pastor. You need to preserve your energy. Lionel is goin’ to get Dr. Davenport, and I know he will be here quickly like he always is. Perhaps he can give you something to relieve you of your pain, and then we will get you on the mend once more,” Cora reassured him, hoping her voice did not betray the uncertainty and fear that had settled in her heart.

She knew that he needed her to be strong for him, just as he was strong for her so many times throughout her childhood. When she was feeling lost, alone, or confused, and her father could not be bothered to offer comfort or fatherly advice, Pastor Burns filled that role in her life, becoming the voice of strength and reason that she needed. Now, it was her turn to do the same for him.

Pastor Burns’ head moved back and forth against his pillow; even this simple gesture meant to indicate disagreement looked to be an arduous task.

“It’s… my time… and… Roy…” Each word came out strangled, as if he had to ration his energy for only the words most essential for conveying his message.

It boiled Cora’s blood on behalf of Pastor Burns that one of those words extracting precious energy from his body was the name of the traitorous son who had left his father, the Lakewood community, and God.

A complicated blend of sadness and anger surged through Cora, as she knew Roy Burns was not deserving of what was left of his father’s energy. He should be here by his father’s bedside, offering him words of comfort and prayer and preparing to fill his father’s shoes and take his place as the new leader of the church. Instead, he was who knew where—for he had not even left behind a letter telling his father where he was going—and engaging in who knew what kind of ungodly behavior.

Before he left, Roy was always making mischief around Lakewood and causing extra work for her father, the sheriff. It would not surprise Cora one bit if at this very moment he was intoxicated in some gambling hall while his own father lay dying. She knew she had to distract the pastor from any thoughts of his prodigal son.

“Oh God, our heavenly Father, have pity on Your children in great bodily weakness,” she prayed, imitating the words that the pastor himself used at the bedside of her favorite friend from childhood, who had died of infection at only twelve years old, a defining moment still etched in her memory. “May Your dear Son and the angels of Heaven accept Pastor Burns, comfort him with the Word of your goodness, and stay with him through eternity.”

As she prayed, the pastor limply held her hand, and his moans of pain, though still audible, began to taper. Before she could utter the final “Amen,” Doctor Davenport entered the room.

“Oh, thank God you are here!” Cora jumped to her feet. “There must be something you can do for him?” The desperation in her voice was evident, her eyes pleading as she held on to the smallest thread of hope.

Doctor Davenport, a squat, pot-bellied man with tiny round glasses that made his eyes look bigger than they were, set his bag at the end of the bed and began to examine Pastor Burns. After several moments, he somberly reached into his bag, pulling out a small vial. “I have seen this time and time again with this illness, and I regret to say that Pastor Burns is near the end now. The best I can do for him now is make his last hours comfortable.”

His somber eyes lingered on the pastor, and Cora knew that he took no pleasure in reporting this news. Pastor Burns was beloved throughout Lakewood, and the loss would be palpably felt among everyone in town.

The doctor pulled out a small dropper and placed it gently inside Pastor Burns’ parted lips, squeezing out the liquid. The pastor’s Adam’s apple moved up and down, struggling but eventually indicating that he had swallowed the substance. Within minutes, the groans ceased, and he slipped into what looked to be a peaceful slumber.

“The laudanum will keep his pain at bay. I will leave another vial here in case it wears off in the night but…” Dr. Davenport paused long enough to take a deep breath in before delivering his final assessment, “but I don’t expect he will make it to the morning.”

The doctor gave Cora a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, retrieved his bag, and exited the room, leaving Cora alone with the man who she loved as if he were her own father. Cora’s vision began to blur through the unspent tears taking residence in her eyes, but she tried not to let it show, knowing she needed to be strong for Pastor Burns in his last hours.

Blinking rapidly to usher them back inside, she kissed him on the forehead, whispered a promise in his ear not to leave his side, and then settled on the bedside chair, her long legs pulled up to her chest.

She did not realize she had fallen asleep on the chair beside the bed, still in the same curled position, until she woke up several hours later, stirred from sleep by the low moaning coming from Pastor Burns. It was late in the evening now, the sunlight fading to dusk. She remembered the second vial of laudanum the doctor had left, and she started to reach for it until the name that came from his mouth told her that these were not moans of physical pain, but of a deep sadness.

“Roy… you have to bring Roy home,” Pastor Burns said, his voice less strained now that his pain was medicinally managed.

Cora moved her chair closer to his bedside and grabbed his hand. “Roy left Lakewood years ago, Pastor,” she gently reminded him, believing him to be delirious in his dying state. But the pastor was surprisingly lucid, more alert than he had been for some time now, and he continued with insistence.

“Me and my boy. We never saw eye to eye, but I never stopped loving him with my whole being.” Tears filled his yellowed eyes as he spoke. “You will understand one day, when God blesses you with children. Even when they deviate from your hopes for them, choose a path for themselves that’s different than what you had in mind, you don’t stop loving them. And you never stop worrying about them, because they never stop being a part of your entire being.”

Every word that Pastor Burns spoke was clear and articulate. It was almost if he were back behind the pulpit instead of speaking from his deathbed. Cora remembered reading from a book many years ago that sometimes, just before the body gave way to death, the person may experience a sudden moment of clarity and lucidity. Grief caused Cora to tremble as she realized that she was currently witnessing this exact phenomenon, but she willed herself steady, acknowledging the need for a dying man to speak his peace before leaving the world.

“Roy was a good boy—and he’s still a good boy. Whatever he’s doing now, he’s doing it with his whole heart. A father just knows. The truth is, I was too hard on him. I was raising him by myself after his mother packed up and disappeared on us when he was still small. I put a lot of pressure on him, tried to make him conform to who I wanted him to be. He tried to show me who he was and what he wanted out of this world, but I didn’t listen. If I would have just accepted him for who he was, he might not have left.”

“You can’t talk like that, Pastor,” Cora said, recognizing that he was getting more upset and tiring himself the more he talked about Roy. “You were a great father. Roy left because he was selfish and didn’t appreciate how good of a father he had in you. You are not to blame, and you must not say these things.” Cora was speaking quickly now, desperate for the pastor to hear the truth in her words. She would not allow Pastor Burns to die thinking that he was a failure. Her face flushed and her body trembled with anger at Roy for causing his father as much anxiety on his deathbed as he caused him in his life.

“It’s true that we were both imperfect people, but I can’t absolve myself of all wrongdoing. That would be a mark of pride, and the Lord says that pride goeth before the fall.”

Cora nodded submissively. She did not want to argue with the pastor, but she also maintained her opinion about his good-for-nothing son. Although she never formed a close acquaintanceship with Roy, she remembered his antics—schoolyard fights, pulling reckless pranks around town, and, near the end before he left town, skipping out on church services entirely. His father had been counting on him to one day take over Lakewood Church when he got too old, but Roy had completely disregarded his wishes, insisting on living a life that was the opposite of what his father wanted for him. Then, one day, he just up and left without a word to his father about where he was going.

For months after Roy left, Pastor Burns was visibly burdened with grief, his tall stature hunched, the passion in his sermons noticeably muted. She thought about the emotionally distant relationship she had with her own father, who was not nearly as attentive to her as Pastor Burns had been to Roy, and she concluded then that Roy did not deserve a man as good as Pastor Burns to be his father.

He had thrown away the blessing from God that was a dedicated father. She was not alone in these thoughts. Many people in Lakewood had offered words of comfort to Pastor Burns when weeks went by without a word from Roy, and she was thankful at least that he had the community on his side.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter who is to blame. What is important is that we bring Roy home. I need you to promise me that you will do that, Cora. You must make sure that he receives everything that I left for him. This house and this land is rightfully his. And you must make sure that the people of Lakewood accept him once he is home. Just like the parable in Luke’s Gospel, when the prodigal son returns home.” Although Pastor Burns still spoke clearly, the lucidity not yet fading, Cora could tell through his breathless speech patterns that he was beginning to grow faint.

Cora struggled to form the words necessary to tell Pastor Burns that she could fulfill his request. She understood that what he was asking would be a huge undertaking, and given her own grudge she held against Roy, she was not sure she would be able to accomplish what he was asking her to do. Not only would she have to locate him—she had heard that he was living in another town ten miles away, but she couldn’t be certain—she would also have to convince him to return to the home he chose to leave behind and convince the community to forgive him. How could she do that when she wasn’t sure that she herself could forgive him for the way he had hurt his father?

But she also knew that she could not let Pastor Burns down. He was the one who had guided her in the sinners’ prayer to accept Jesus into her heart and who, shortly after, baptized her in the creek just outside the church when she was eight years old. He was the one who taught her everything she knew about God and was the reason she was a woman of faith to this day. He was her rock and the reason that her faith was still strong. She would not let him down.

“I promise, Pastor Burns,” Cora said, forcing confidence into her voice. “I will find Roy, and I will bring him home.”

Appeased by her acknowledgment of his dying wish, Pastor Burns relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. Cora continued to sit by his bed, holding his hand and praying Psalm 23 over and over again: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

Within the hour, his breathing patterns became more irregular before ceasing completely. Cora was still reciting “…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me,” when his soul finally departed his body.

Cora sat alone in the room for some time thereafter before alerting anyone of his passing. She allowed grief to wash over her until it transformed into the peace that his soul was with God, and that he was no longer in pain.

Her only lingering worry when she finally departed his house, leaving his body in the care of the undertaker, was whether she had made her beloved pastor a promise that she couldn’t possibly fulfill.