The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,16
lifesaving first aid? “You were so brave.”
Clay shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special.”
“You fought him. You attacked him. You weren’t even scared.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to die.”
Leah’s mouth hung open. “But he had a knife.”
“That’s not how I’m going to die—” He sliced the word in half, his eyes wide and shocked.
What a curious thing to say. “What do you mean?”
Clay mashed his lips together and shook his head.
“Do you know?” Leah said. “No one knows how he’ll die. Right?”
“It’s not something . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around. “I don’t tell people. They’d think I’m crazy.”
Leah held her breath watching his discomfort. “I would never think that.”
His gaze returned to her, questioning and unsure and somehow vulnerable, as if he needed the faith of just one soul.
“I believe you,” she said.
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “You ever have a dream that you’re about to die? And you wake in a cold sweat?”
“Like when you’re falling. Yes.”
“Well, I have a dream like that about once a week, every time the same.” He spoke quietly but firmly. “Only in this dream, I do die. When I wake up, I feel complete peace.”
“Oh my.” She’d never heard of such a thing.
“I’m in battle, in a foxhole, and I have to throw a grenade into a pillbox.” Clay made a small throwing motion. “There’s a machine gun inside, and I can see the bullets coming nearer. I feel one hit, and I go down. My buddies storm the pillbox, then all goes black and quiet. And I know—I know without a doubt that’s how I’ll die. That’s why I joined the Rangers.”
“Aren’t you . . . shouldn’t you be trying to avoid it?”
He smiled as if amused. “You’d think so. It’s hard to explain, but I know the dream came from the Lord. I want it to come true.”
For his sake, she wanted to understand, but how could she?
“I was in a pit.” Clay studied the cap he held between his knees. “My brothers stole my future. I told you that. Wyatt stole my college money, and Adler stole the girl I’d planned to marry.”
“Oh dear.” He hadn’t mentioned the girlfriend before.
“That was only the start of it. My life was a pit. I was miserable. Then God gave me this dream and showed me the way out. Never once has it bothered me. It always brings peace, even joy.”
And peace radiated from his face.
“I know I’ll die for a good cause.” His eyes shone with . . . anticipation? “Then I’ll be with Jesus, so what’s to fear? ‘To die is gain.’”
“Philippians,” Leah whispered, but she didn’t quote the first part of the verse, the part Clay seemed to have forgotten—“To live is Christ.”
Clay gave her a sheepish smile. “Thanks for trying to understand. My parents don’t. They think I’m fatalistic because I’ve lost so much. But that isn’t it. Not at all.”
“No. I can see that.” She saw a man embracing a purpose. What a shame that the purpose was to die.
“I haven’t told any of the fellows.” He fiddled with his cap and glanced around the ward. “The Army might deem me mentally unfit and boot me out.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Then he laughed. “Say, I promise I didn’t come to talk about death and dying. I came to cheer you up.”
She laughed a little, but pain zinged through her wounds.
“Maybe I shouldn’t cheer you up after all.” He made a comical face.
“Just having company cheers me up. The pain isn’t as bothersome as the boredom. I can’t hold a book, but the Red Cross lady read to me today, which was lovely.”
Clay’s brow creased. “Your arms.”
Leah wiggled the fingers in both hands, determined to regain strength. “Yes, but she promised to read to me tomorrow. Stories are the best medicine, don’t you think?”
“Distraction does help control pain.”
“It’s more than that. Stories lift you.” Leah closed her eyes to savor the memory. “When Mr. and Mrs. Jones left me in Des Moines, I was very sick and very sad. But a volunteer—we called her Granny Norris—she read to us in the sick ward. She read Heidi and Pollyanna and The Secret Garden, tales of orphans and invalids who learned to be cheerful, to seek good, and to prevail. I learned to do the same.”
“Even now.” Only the hint of a question colored his deep voice.
“Even now. I don’t have to look hard to find the good. You stopped