Water Walker: Episodes 1-4 Part 40

"I would like to stay here with my mother and father, if that's okay. We have a lot to catch up on."

Olivia exchanged a look with Mother, who smiled proudly.

"Well, sweetheart, I think that's very kind of you. But there may be some complications-"

"I don't want her to go to prison. Wyatt either. I don't think prison will be a good place for them."

"I understand. But we have laws for a reason. The courts can't just overlook a charge in view of a full admission of guilt."

"What charge?" I asked.

"The kidnapping charges."

"I don't want to press any charges."

That made her blink.

"You were underage, sweetheart. And, it's the state the presses charges in these cases."

"I don't think either the orphanage or John and Louise would want you to press charges," I said. "And I don't want you to either."

"They do want me to."

"But they can change their minds. And so can you, right?"

"Well . . . yes. . . But . . ."

"Then please change your mind. Then we won't have a problem."

"Maybe, but that's a.s.suming quite a bit, sweetheart."

"a.s.suming you'll drown is why you drown," I said. But I immediately knew that she wouldn't understand that, so I put things more in her way of understanding.

"I'd like to a.s.sume you and they will hear the heart of a daughter who wants to spend some more time with her mother before she goes off into the world. I'm sure you can all understand."

"That's very loving of you, Eden, but that's not the way we do things under the law."

I thought about that for a second and then looked at Mother, who was watching me with fascination. Strange how all of my grievances against her were no more, as if they'd never been.

I turned back to Olivia.

"Don't you think I've suffered enough already?"

"Yes, of course. I . . ."

"Then why are you trying to put me back into a prison, just when I've found my way to freedom?"

She blinked. "I'm not, dear. I'm only . . ."

"By putting my mother in prison, you only tempt me to think that she offended me, which might put me in my own prison, don't you see? I've let that go. We've had enough offense and punishment in this family to last a lifetime. Please, don't try to make us suffer any more."

She stared at me in silence, and I think the truth of my words finally connected with her because her face slowly softened. In truth, only I had the key to any prison in my mind, but I didn't want to see my mother suffer.

My mother was beaming proudly. There was no way I could let her go to prison. It seemed absurd to me.

I smiled at her. "I'm going to find Bobby."

I left them sitting in silence and made my way toward the lake to look for Bobby.

Funny how the swamps looked so different to me the last two days. I had lived in fear of them-they were a part of my prison. But now I saw that it was my fear of the swamps, not the actual swamps, that had fortified that prison. There's always something to fear if you think fear will keep you safe. Fire. Swamps. Alligators . . .

Water.

I'm here to say that you can't make the troubled waters of life go away by defending yourself against them. You can only walk over those troubled waters if you offer peace to them and leave the safety of your boat.

Or so it was once written, and I have found Jesus' teaching to be true.

I was walking on the ground without shoes-the first time I'd done so since coming to Louisiana, and I must say, the gra.s.s felt glorious under my feet. I wore a tank top, another first outside, and the sun was caressing my skin like a warm, loving hand.

Even the insects in the swamp were singing for joy at my rebirth.

All of this had so distracted me as I made my way down to the lake that at first I didn't even notice there was a man squatting beside Bobby on the sh.o.r.e ahead.

I pulled up and felt my heart rise into my throat. I had been expecting Stephen, rehearsing every vivid detail of his visits in my dreams, but seeing him in the flesh without warning took me completely off guard.

Their backs were to me-they hadn't seen me yet. Stephen had a small flat stone in his hand as did Bobby, who was c.o.c.king his arm to throw it.

"Like this?" He gave it a hurl and it skipped once before diving under the surface.

"Perfect!" Stephen said. "Just like that! Now try two skips. Just a little lower to the water."

He handed Bobby the stone in his hand, and Bobby c.o.c.ked his arm in his own ungainly way, and hurled the stone with all of his might.

This time the flat stone sailed low, skipped once, twice, then three times before plopping into the water.

Bobby bounced up and down, arms in the air, hooting his great accomplishment while Stephen chuckled.

"What did I tell you, boy? Each throw is perfect because . . ."

Bobby finished: "Because practice is perfect!"

Stephen gave him a soft punch in his shoulder. "That's right. There's no trying, there's only doing, and each doing is . . ."

Again Bobby finished: "Its own perfect."

They gave each other a high five. "That's right," Stephen said.

I wondered how long he'd been here, waxing philosophical with Bobby. Even in this I loved the Outlaw, I thought. He treated Bobby with no less affection than he did me, taking time for him when he could just as easily have come straight to the house. How he'd come upon Bobby, I didn't know, but it didn't matter. I was glad he had.

I started down the path and got halfway to them before Bobby turned.

His face lit up. "Eden!"

"Hi, Bobby."

Stephen stood, hooked one thumb over his belt, and faced me wearing a gentle grin.

"Watch this, Eden!" Bobby scrambled around searching for a smooth stone. "Watch this!"

Outlaw winked at me.

I smiled wide, face flushed.

"Watch this!" Bobby said a third time, scooping up a stone. He whirled and threw it without aiming. In that split second I knew that the stone could take any number of paths, one of which was sailing true, skipping off the surface, not once but many times all the way to the far side. And I knew, in that instant, that its path could be determined by a choice.

I wasn't sure exactly how, logically, but I knew without a shred of doubt that it could.

The stone skipped twice and plunged beneath the surface.

"See?" Bobby cried. "I can make stones fly."

"Yes, Bobby," I said, walking up to them, eyes on Outlaw now. "Yes you can."

Stephen stepped up to meet me, never breaking his gaze. He stopped a pace from me and for a few moments we stood still, as if acclimating to our roles on this sh.o.r.e in the flesh for the first time.

The wind seemed to stall, the lake stilled, the crickets thought to be silent for the magical moment pa.s.sing between two who know more than they.

Outlaw offered me both of his hands in invitation. "Eden," he said.

I placed both of my hands on his, palm to palm. "h.e.l.lo, Stephen. It's good to see you."

He lifted my right hand and kissed my knuckles. "The pleasure is all mine," he said, flas.h.i.+ng an intoxicating grin. "I've waited a very long time to meet you. We have so much to talk about."

"So much," I said, grinning.

"And you have such a beautiful costume."

I heard myself giggle once-a tiny, girlish offering of delight. But I couldn't help it. I felt as if I was floating in his presence.

"I was raised in a monastery?" I asked.

"Yes. It was called Project Showdown. Along with thirty-five other orphans. Only a few remember. All of you are truly special. In time, I will draw the rest."

My mind spun with questions.

"Where did you come from?"

"I grew up in a jungle, far away. That's where I became Outlaw. It's all in a book, I'll share it with you soon."

"That's where you learned to walk on water?"

"Yes."

"Which jungle?"

He gave my hands a gentle squeeze. "All in good time."

Then Stephen Carter, the Outlaw, took me into his arms and held me close. "I am so proud of you," he whispered, and kissed my hair. "So very, very proud, my precious Eden."

A lump rose in my throat. "Thank you," I said.

Tears filled my eyes, unbidden. I wasn't sure why I suddenly felt such overwhelming emotion. I wasn't even sure how to define them. I can only say that my tears came from a very deep well, and I seemed to have no power over them.

My shoulders began to shake. I pressed my face into his shoulder, weeping silently and with growing intensity beyond my control.

"The angels kneel in honor to one as beautiful as you, my dear."

With those words, I lost myself completely. Why? Because I'm human. Beyond that I don't know.

"The world weeps with grat.i.tude."

All that I can say is that a lifetime of suppressed relief and longing and joy and sorrow and love and peace, all rolled into one unspoken emotion, bubbled out of me.

It felt like a new kind of baptism.

"Welcome home, my dear water walker," he whispered in my ear. "Welcome home."

And I was. There, in his arms. There, in Louisiana. There, on the earth, in a girl named Eden . . .

I was home.

Acknowledgments.

A ma.s.sive shout-out to my friend and long-time partner in awakening, Kevin Kaiser. Together we take a journey through life, together we concoct wild scenarios that find their way into these stories, and together we imagine and commune with the tribe of Outlaws who gather in the world of story both on paper and in cybers.p.a.ce.

I can't adequately convey my grat.i.tude for your partners.h.i.+p and bottomless creativity, so I'll just go with thank you. The Outlaw Chronicles would not be what they are without you. Neither would my life.

About the Author.

TED DEKKER is the Top 10 New York Times best-selling author of more than forty novels. The son of missionaries, he was raised among the headhunter tribes of Indonesia and there learned the transformative power of storytelling. Today, he's known as one of the world's most prolific and thought-provoking authors, and has won numerous awards, including being named among the Top 50 best thriller writers of all time on NPR.