the gospel is being preached, only that it’s being preached.”
Edward ignored her and returned to his task, hovering above the press where he could reach more of its surface.
There was but one thing to do. Act the pest he believed her to be. “I don’t know why God spared you from that camp when He let the others die. Maybe we’ll never know. How can we know the mind of God? But I do know I’m grateful, and so is your mother. I don’t think we could have survived losing you with so many years of our own lives left ahead of us.”
Edward stopped what he was doing. She saw his hands become still, but he kept his back to her. “You worry too much about me.”
“It isn’t worry. It’s sadness. Because I know that nothing . . . neither height nor depth nor any other creature shall be able to separate you from the love of God. . . . And it must sadden Him that you don’t think Him worthy to be trusted anymore.”
Nothing. No response, no interest in her words.
“Have you no fear of God anymore?” She rounded the press so she could see his face but still he didn’t look at her. “Would you like to know what I’m beginning to think? That you’re prideful. You think you can do a better job running things than God can.”
His gaze shot once to hers, but he said nothing, only picked up a tool.
“You’ve backed yourself into a corner where your only company is pride. You haven’t stopped believing in God. Only you’re angry He didn’t answer your prayers to save those other men from the camps. You’re angry He took your father when your mother and Jonah—and you—need him more than you’ve ever needed him in your life.”
Edward dropped whatever tool he’d held and it landed with a clank that made Isa jump. “You’ve spent some time guessing!” His eyes were black, brows trying to hide them in the fiercest frown. “It’s actually worse than that. I believed in God because that’s what my father taught me. He raised me on the pure milk of God’s Word. He believed every bit of it. But do you know what else he believed in? Pacifism! That mankind could solve differences through things like the Hague Convention, not with guns. Spend our national money on social reform; give it to the poor—do anything except spend it on an unnecessary army. We all know now what a fool he was to believe that. Maybe he was a fool to believe the rest, too.”
Isa stared, eyes wide, but didn’t interrupt.
“He was wrong, my father. All those years he lived with the honor and respect of everyone who knew him—and he died like a fool. Shot in the street. And for what? Because somebody thought he was going for a gun? Who knows?” He gave a deep sigh, and Isa saw his hand tremble as it rippled through his hair. “All the things he did, Isa, all the righteous things he did, I tried to emulate. I was the best student at school from the time I wore short pants to the day the Germans burned the university. I was the child who always tried the hardest, helped anyone who needed it, played games fairly. And do you know why?”
“Because that’s what your father taught you?”
“Yes, that’s what my father taught me. But he did it for God’s glory. I did it for my own.”
He sank onto the crate now, so that Isa had to chase around the press again to look at him. Exhaustion wrinkled his eyelids. “You’re right, though. I’m full of pride. Why do you suppose God would want any part of me? Somebody who doesn’t even have enough faith to stand on it without my father right here beside me.”
There was just enough room on the corner of that crate for Isa to sit beside him. “You said it yourself tonight at the dinner table. God pursues us. It’s all in the Bible you won’t read anymore.”
Edward shook his head.
“Oh, it’s okay for God to love the Germans but not to love you?”
He stood, leaning against the wall that, with the press right behind them, wasn’t so far away. Suddenly he lost the frown and smiled. “How did things get so tangled, Isa? I’ve always been the one telling you what to think or do, not the other way around.”
She stood, the pace of her heartbeat multiplying. “I’m all