Anchored: A Lamp in the Storm

By Valerie Banfield

DECEMBER 1895, near the shoals of Nantucket. When an urgent need trumps a perilous passage, the fare is costlier than anyone imagined.

Crew member Thomas Burton, stationed aboard the lightship Nautican, is no stranger to risk and loss. In the aftermath of a shipwreck, he plucks survivors from the wintry Atlantic waters, only to have them turn his world upside down. When calamity and evil follow the victims ashore, what’s the man to do?

PRESENT DAY, departing Phoenix. When a relocation annihilates plans and promises, and jeopardizes the future, all that remains is his faith.

Dustin Turner braces himself for a miserable senior year at Heritage High, where the social misfit faces affluent teens who own heavy doses of attitude. When he realizes the student body is blind to the lies and deception loitering in the hallways, will Dustin shrink into the shadows or will he take a stand?

When the tempest roars, where lies the safest course?

Approximate length: 369 pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Banfield
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524238285

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Valerie Banfield

ISBN-13: 978-1523679904

ISBN-10: 1523679905

Cover photograph adapted from The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Photography Collection, The New York Public Library. Boston Lightship, Boston, Mass. The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1898 - 1931.

http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47da-8840-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All right reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, entities, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements are the product of the author’s imagination.

Watch therefore,

for you know neither the day nor the hour.

Matthew 25:13

Chapter One

Safeguarded

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DECEMBER, 1895. Thomas Burton squinted, as if a heightened degree of focus could push back the haze hovering over the surface of the choppy expanse. He dared not blink for fear of losing sight of the ship altogether. When a hot white plume and a spray of red and orange specks burst through the low-lying cover and spewed into the clouds, he drew back, sputtering. The sound of the explosion reached his hearing moments later, drawing a lump to his throat and forcing him to gasp for air.

With his eyeglass fastened on the horizon, and the view eerily distorted by the mist, he watched the glow of flames as it licked the fabric of the three sails that led the schooner to its treacherous end. As the fog bell sounded again, Thomas said a silent prayer for those in the distance who would no longer hear its mournful toll.

Mate Alfred Reynolds joined Thomas on deck as a second round of small explosions vaulted into the atmosphere. He tugged the glass from Thomas’ hand, and hefted it to his right eye.

At least it weren’t a passenger liner, Reynolds said. S’pose they were transporting gunpowder along with their other goods.

Looks like a shipment of whale oil. The ring of flames around the vessel is moving outward. Thomas turned his head toward the mate. Any sign of survivors?

Reynolds shifted the glass across the horizon, left to right, up and down. Don’t see anything except fire.

Reynolds handed the glass back to Thomas. If you ask me, we’ve no reason to stay on deck.

I’ll keep watch a while longer, sir.

Too cold for survivors, and you know it. Folks so dimwitted to venture out this time of year, almost serves ’em right.

Thomas turned just long enough to send a disapproving glance to the captain’s second-in-command. I’ll stay, sir.

Suit yourself. You want to keep Bannister company whilst he rings the fog bell, s’up to you. Reynolds leveled his well-worn scowl on Thomas, his loose jowls jostling with his downturned lips. When a wave tossed against the side of the lightship, he shook the spray from his face and headed to the officers’ quarters.

The frigid air amplified the fog bell’s clanging each time the clapper smacked against its iron shell. The familiar sound, delivered relentlessly in two-minute increments, assaulted Thomas’ eardrum with each peal. His body, like those of his mates, was so accustomed to the seafarer’s warning that he could anticipate each resounding gong at precisely the moment it rang into winter’s unforgiving air. At this moment, each time the bell tolled, the hope for survivors diminished.

Captain Roy Garvin bunched the fabric circling his thick neck with one hand and blew his warm breath into his other hand. Anything out there, Burton?

Not that I can see yet, Captain.

Yet? Unless someone was already in the water when the first explosion hit, you won’t find anyone.

Thomas allowed a brief recess from scanning the area between ships. He studied the solemn countenance of the seasoned sailor—the man relegated to the dreaded lightship for the duration of his maritime service. Thomas found fatigue, sorrow, and defeat in every deep line in the old salt’s face.

I know that, sir.

He lifted the eyeglass again, leaned forward, and blinked several times. Captain?

When Thomas heard the Captain turn, his footsteps heavy on the deck boards as he returned to the port side, he offered the glass to him.

"Something out there, ’bout halfway between the wreckage and the Nautican, sir."

Probably barrels of oil. Captain Garvin turned, as if to go.

Beg to disagree, sir. Looks more like a raft, or maybe a small lifeboat. Request permission to lower the lifeboat, sir.

Thomas heard Garvin snort back the first response that rested on his lips. Haven’t you been on ship long enough to lose your optimism? We have better things to do than look at empty waters and worthless debris.

But, what if . . . sir? Thomas respected his captain. He did. But the man would rather pretend no one survived the sunken schooner than to conduct a search that might put his crew in harm’s way. Captain had every right to protect his crew.

Storm’s heading this way. I can feel it.

Then let me head out now. I feel an urgent need to reach the boat, or raft, or whatever it is. Thomas paused before he added, Sir.

Thomas stared hard into the captain’s eyes, even as the mariner drew them into thin slits. Is this one of your prophecy sightings, Burton?

Thomas knew Captain didn’t mean to taunt; the man chose his words carefully and deliberately. How was Thomas to explain himself when he didn’t know why God sometimes nudged him to do something, or say something that originated outside of his own mind? All Thomas knew, God spoke to his heart. Others knew it too. Captain, included.

If God spared someone’s life, and the waves are tossing him about while he holds onto that chunk of wood floating out there, we best retrieve him. God Almighty may have saved someone for a special deed and purpose. I aim to do my part.

Captain released his hold on his coat, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, I won’t send other men out with you. You may go if you have two volunteers. This time, Captain strode to his quarters without leaving room for Thomas to comment.

Thomas ran the eyeglass lens over the dark waters. Where did it go? He closed his eyes, blinked them tightly once, and scoured the horizon again. Nothing. This time, when he closed his eyes, he said, God? If you have a reason for me to lower the boat and turn those oars, You have to show me where You want me to go.

When he looked again, the drifting mass was in plain view, moving closer to the ship.

Thomas scrambled to the galley and shouted, Need two volunteers. Might have survivors. Anyone?

His request earned silence and disinterested faces.

Men, this is why we’re here. To save people from drowning. I need two volunteers.

Thomas caught Andrew Miller’s eyes and fastened on them tighter than the chain holding the lightship’s anchor. Andrew peered over his playing cards and lowered his hand just far enough for Thomas to see him chewing his lower lip. Andrew emitted an annoyed, pfft, and dropped his cards to the table. He slapped Henry Simpson on the shoulder.

Let’s go.

Thomas clapped Andrew on the back as they waited for the crew to lower the lifeboat into the icy waters.

Thanks, Andrew. You too, Henry.

Thomas and Henry strained at the oars while Andrew searched for the floating mass.

You’re crazier than I am, Burton, Andrew hollered.

Then why’d you volunteer? Thomas yelled.

I figure I can either die from boredom, or die in the Atlantic. Ain’t got much to lose, either way.

That’s not true, Thomas answered. We talked about it before.

Yep, and just like before, I ain’t listening to you.

Just row, Burton, Henry said.

I see it. Small lifeboat, Andrew yelled. When a spray of water caught him full in the face, he hunched down. Couple more swells, and we’re on it.

Come alongside, Andrew said. He grabbed the side of the small lifeboat and whistled. Burton, how’d you know ’bout them?

Thomas ignored the man—his most authentic friend among the crew—and scrambled to the other boat. Water in the bottom of the tiny craft swamped Thomas’ legs, almost to his knees.

A dark-haired man, sprawled facedown on the bench, didn’t move when Thomas pulled at his arm. When he flipped him over, the gash across the man’s chest confirmed Thomas’ expectation that they were too late to help him.

Hurry, Burton, Henry said. That boat’s taking on water faster than any of us can bail.

Just as ominous as the rising water were the frigid waves and blasts of cold air. They had little time in which to act.

Thomas picked up the smaller form. Just a lad. Couldn’t be more than eight. His lips were blue, but he had a heartbeat. Thomas hefted the small load to Andrew, who straddled the joined vessels and placed the boy in the center of their lifeboat.

A tarp covered the last figure, and when Thomas pulled back the protective layer, his feet all but fell from under him. A woman? Out here? That wasn’t a passenger ship. Why would a woman travel on a cargo ship in the middle of winter? Why risk it? The lad? He wasn’t a stowaway or a street urchin trying to make his way to America. He had to be this woman’s son. The man likely was her husband.

He leaned over the man’s body, pulled open his coat, and reached into his pocket. A watch. Surely, a means of identification. The woman would have to have it. Otherwise, she might not believe what happened to the man—the man whose body they had to leave in the sinking boat—whose grave was the mighty Atlantic.

When he tried to wrestle the woman’s body upwards, he found she clasped a bundle under her coat. With no time to worry about the belongings she held in her grasp, he picked her up and delivered her to Andrew’s open arms. Andrew’s eyes caught Thomas’ gaze and widened as he studied the limp frame resting in his care.

Let’s go, men, Thomas said.

I’ll row. You minister to them, Andrew said. It’s fitting. Go on.

It’s fitting? Why? Because sometimes God’s voice tugged at Thomas’ soul? Most of the crew mocked him, dubbed him the Sea Preacher. Or, was it fitting because he was the only crew member among the three who had a wife and a family? Thomas felt a pang in his chest, sharper than the wet water clinging to his legs and feet, and deadlier than the waves threatening to take their lifeboat to the ocean floor. He did have a family. Once.

~

Captain Garvin carried the lad to the officers’ quarters and lowered him to Mate Reynolds’ berth. The captain tipped his chin in the direction of his own bed and said, Put her over there. I’ll tend to the boy.

Just as Thomas lowered the sodden woman to the mattress, Reynolds burst into the room. In his hands he clutched a pile of linens, blankets, and clothes. He stared, open-mouthed, from one man to the other.

Th-th-th-that’s my bed, he said.

That it is, Mate, the captain answered. And, the woman is in my bed. Would you rather have me put them in general quarters?

But, sir, the men will be in an uproar if we bunk with them.

Why? Because their captain will see all of their shenanigans? Do you honestly think I don’t know every one of them already? Every bad habit, foul mouth, and deep, dark secret? How much do you think any of us can hide while we rot away on this thing called a lightship?

Thomas unlaced the woman’s narrow shoelaces, but waited for Reynolds to excuse himself before taking the coverings off her feet.

As he spun around and left the officers’ quarters, Reynolds raised his shoulders, set his jaw, and answered with a piqued, Very well, sir.

Thank you, sir, Thomas said.

Why are you thanking me? What else can I do? the captain asked.

You didn’t want me to go out. I know that. I take responsibility for putting everyone in an inconvenient position.

The long drawn-out exhale delivered by the captain caught Thomas by surprise.

I may act like a cranky old salt, Burton, but I treasure life as much as you do. If I’d been certain we had survivors, I would have sent the whole crew to retrieve them. I admit I’m taken aback by your returning with a young lad and his mother, but you don’t need to apologize to anyone.

Thomas pulled the shoes and stockings off the unconscious form. The woman was ghostly pale, but her lips were gaining some color. Her fingers, which he rubbed all the way back to the lightship, were frightfully cold, but frostbite hadn’t gained hold on her, or the boy either.

The boy emitted a weak moan and whispered, Mummy, but eased back into sleep.

When Thomas unbuttoned the woman’s heavy woolen coat, his lungs contracted. He covered his mouth and leaned forward, all the while trying not to retch. He’d broken the most sacred of unwritten nautical statutes when he, unwittingly, brought the woman’s cargo aboard.

Burton, what it is? The captain looked up briefly while he massaged the boy’s feet.

Baby. It’s a baby, Thomas whispered.

Captain Garvin rushed to his feet and walked to the other bed. He clutched his chest and said, A corpse—on board ship? You know what this means. We’re doomed. Doomed.

Captain, surely you don’t believe in superstition.

The captain ignored him. I know I’m hardly a perfect man. I’ve sinned, I’ve been selfish, and I’ve not always been honest, but whatever did I do to deserve this? We’re doomed. This entire crew. This ship.

Captain Garvin’s eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. He put his finger to his lips. We cannot say a word. Not to anyone. Nothing. Do you understand?

Thomas nodded. He touched the plump cheek of the baby. A girl. A small pink bow graced her pale gold hair, which was just long enough to start to curl on the ends. He closed the blue eyes and touched the perfect cherub mouth with his fingertip. Such grief this mother did not yet know.

What will we do with her? Captain Garvin paced across the short length of the room.

Please, sir, we can’t just toss her overboard.

We have to. Superstition aside, we can’t keep her on board.

May I make a suggestion, sir?

By all means, Captain answered quickly.

I have a basket in my quarters, one large enough for the baby. Let me put her in it, and once the sun sets, I can lower her off the side. No one need see me. I’ll take care that the waves carry the child away from the ship.

Captain stopped walking, swallowed hard, and said, Go get the basket. Be quick. And, make certain a wave takes that body out to sea. Should it find a place under this ship, no amount of your praying will save us from the luck that will haunt this vessel.

After he removed the mother’s sodden garments—with as much discretion and respect as he could offer under these conditions—and wrapped her in warm, dry blankets, Thomas lined his basket with a linen towel. Before he lowered his charge into her final earthly home, he clipped the lock of her hair held by the pink bow, unfastened the tiny bracelet gracing her wrist, and folded the remembrances into a piece of paper. As he folded the linen over the tiny form, he whispered, I’m sorry, little one. May the angels watch over you until He comes to take you home.

Chapter Two

Abandoned

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She couldn’t stop shivering, nor could she awaken from the dream. Try as she might, her eyes wouldn’t open, and each effort forced her back into the nightmare. Walter’s voice bellowed again and again, Hurry, Lillie. Fire’s spreading. Grab the children. Hurry.

Lillie’s heart leaped in her chest and her breaths grew ragged. No, it wasn’t a dream. She could not deny the scenes that filled her mind and drenched her body with fear and trembling.

Flames crept forward on the slick deck, now a mixture of water and whale oil. When she couldn’t move forward without the use of both hands, she gathered Ruth into her shawl and slipped the bundled babe into the front of her heavy coat. Smoke billowed, stinging her eyes and burning her throat and nostrils.

Where are you, Walter?

She couldn’t see him, but she felt his hand. A cough interrupted his directive, Come this way.

Ben? Where’s Ben?

I’ve got him. Hurry, Lillie.

Crew members ran past, some tossing buckets of water onto the flames, only to fuel the inferno. The air was hot, the fumes overbearing. When the frantic travelers reached the stern, no one waited at the lifeboat.

It was small, just a dinghy, but the four of them could fit safely inside. Lillie held to the side of the ship, hesitating. Was this vessel a match for the swells rising from the ocean? They were formidable. Deadly.

Quickly, Lillie, get in. Before they try to stop us. Quickly.

Lillie obeyed, but didn’t understand. Why would anyone try to stop them?

Walter worked the ropes holding the lifeboat until its hull skimmed the surface of the unforgiving sea. From her place in the tiny boat, where she cowered with her children, Lillie heard shouting. When she looked up, peering through the black smoky haze, she saw men scuffling with Walter. The ropes holding the lifeboat lifted slightly, tipping the craft at a perilous angle. She grabbed Ben as the movement jostled the terrified boy hard against the hull.

Ben!

More voices, more shouting. The baby wailed and kicked her little feet against Lillie’s ribs. As the ropes released the lifeboat once again, the bow dipped low into the water. Ben’s scream pierced through the chaos at the same time Walter wrestled away from the men and slipped over the side of the schooner. He dangled from his hands momentarily, and fell the great distance to the lifeboat with a thud.

Walter, Lillie screamed.

It seemed like hours, not seconds, before Walter stirred. His fingers clenched, and a ragged breath accompanied the man as he drew himself up to his knees.

The oars, Lillie. Help me reach the oars.

While Walter grappled the oar on one side of the dinghy, Lillie pushed the other toward him. A heavy object glinted at the corner of her eye before hitting the water and spewing gallons of water into the boat. More objects followed.

When she lifted her gaze, with her arm protecting her face, she saw some of the crew heaving barrels over the side of the stricken ship. Whale oil. They were ridding the ship of the flammable cargo. But, did they not see them in the lifeboat? It was as if they aimed the barrels at them.

Walter gasped and panted as he rowed, his efforts slow to move them from harm’s way. When, finally, they reached a safe distance from the schooner, he released the oars and hung his head.

Walter? Why did they try to stop us? Why didn’t they help us? I don’t understand.

He lifted his head enough to meet her blue eyes and mumbled, They wanted the lifeboat.

Of course they wanted a lifeboat. But why not help us first?

Because, Walter said between gasps, this is the only lifeboat.

Lillie caught herself as she fell forward, her lungs unwilling to expand, her heartbeat stalling. What have you done?

I’ve saved my family. That’s what I’ve done.

But, Lillie started to protest.

Listen. Do you hear the bell? Follow the bell. Walter’s heavy eyelids fluttered over his dark brown eyes. An onerous veil of pain rested on his troubled face. I’m sorry, Lillie. I can’t stay with you. I did it for you, for the children. I love you more than life. He glanced toward the heavens and said, God, forgive me.

At the same time Walter pitched forward, one of the oars dislodged from its oarlock and slipped into the waves. An explosion from the ship smothered all trace of Lillie’s horrified cry.

With one hand holding Ben’s small fingers, Lillie made her way to her husband and reached around his chest, trying to pull him up. Her efforts proved futile, and when she pulled her arms from under him, splotches of sticky warm blood covered her palms.

As anguish and dread wrenched their way through Lillie’s soul, Ben tugged at her sleeve.

Mummy?

Her husband. The children. Reality fought a battle, one in which the wife wanted to scream, faint away, and never look toward another dawn; the other contender, the mother, forced to disregard her loss in order to save her children. How cruel. How unfair, this heart-rending dispute.

Mummy? Ben’s thin face, finely chiseled like his father’s, wore a mask of confusion and fear. I’m so cold. Tell Daddy to hurry. Is it far to shore? I’m so cold.

Terror kept Lillie’s heart pumping. Frosty air and relentless spray from the waves delivered incessant messages to her stricken body. Each wave pushed the lifeboat farther away from the ship, diminishing the sound of the ill-fated vessel as well as the panicked voices of the crew.

What was she to do? She had but one oar, and didn’t dare release her hold on her boy.

A massive explosion from the schooner sent debris throughout the atmosphere and engulfed the small lifeboat in a temporary eruption of heat.

Lillie closed her eyes to the mayhem on board the schooner and set her mind on the bell. Walter said to follow the bell. But, how was she to hear it over the chaos churned out by the schooner? And, what purpose would one oar fulfill?

A series of small explosions rocked the air; an eerie silence followed. Nothing reached Lillie’s hearing except the slapping of the waves as swells raised and lowered the lifeboat.

When she looked over her shoulder again, the schooner was gone. Never had she felt so alone. In every direction, her eyes beheld only water.

Mummy?

The voice was small, scared. Somewhere near. Lillie squeezed her eyes before trying to open them again. Ben stood several feet away, a long white nightshirt swamping his small body. She tried to raise herself to her elbows, but failed.

Come, little one. Can you walk to me? she whispered.

Little feet padded to her bedside. I’m cold.

Lillie raised the blanket and Ben slipped in beside her. When his cold hands and feet found their way to her body, she gasped, not just at the touch of Ben’s cold extremities, but at the realization that beneath the layers of blankets, she, too, wore nothing more than a man’s large nightshirt.

She searched the room for Walter. Surely, he was responsible for tending to her and Ben. Where was he? Where was Ruth? The small bed on the other side of the quarters lay empty.

When the room swayed, fear clawed at Lillie’s awareness and took root in her senses. They weren’t on shore. They were still at sea. But who’d taken them aboard? She pulled Ben close, breathing in the relief of her firstborn, safe within her arms. The boy relaxed against her, his small chest expanding and contracting slowly as he slept.

Lillie choked her cries and forced herself to lie still, but she could not hold back, no matter how hard she tried, the stream of tears.

~

Thomas rapped gently on the door before stepping inside. The bright beam of the lightship’s lanterns stole into the room as he opened the door. Before the intense light could disturb his charges, he closed the door. He raised the small lantern he held in his hand and peered at the empty bed. A short-lived panic darted through his body until he saw the lad nestled next to his mother.

The woman stirred at his arrival, raised her arm to shield her eyes from the lantern, and blinked at his face, as if hoping to find someone she recognized. Her pinched mouth and the lines around her eyes assured Thomas she knew some of the news he had to share with her.

You’re awake, he said.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Are you warm?

Again, she nodded.

My name is Thomas Burton. My mates call me the Sea Preacher. I’m also the designated physician, although my aid consists mostly of doses of rum and a rather wanting sense of humor.

Thomas put the lantern on a table and reached out slowly to touch the boy’s forehead.

He’s not got a fever. That’s good. He moved his hand toward the woman, but left it hovering over her forehead. May I?

She nodded. Her brow remained furrowed while his hand measured her temperature.

You’re a little warm, but nothing to worry about. Thomas pulled up a stool and sat beside the bed. What’s your name?

Lillie. Lillie Gibbons.

And, the lad?

Ben.

Thomas nodded his head. Where are you from, Mrs. Gibbons? And, where were you headed?

Please, sir, do you have some water? she asked.

How thoughtless of me. Yes, just a minute. As much as Thomas wanted to delay the conversation they had to have, couldn’t he have thought to offer the woman a drink? Aye, it had been a long time since he’d spent any private time with a female.

After Lillie raised herself up on one elbow, Thomas lifted a small tin cup to her outstretched hand. She took a small sip and a rather large gulp, and handed the cup back to him.

Thank you. She tugged the blanket back up to her throat and pulled her son closer to her side. She looked at the boy, as if making certain he was still asleep before she spoke again.

We hailed from London to Newfoundland some weeks ago, where we met another family who was to travel with us. When the missionary’s wife fell ill, we waited more than a month for her to gain enough strength for the journey. Instead, the family chose to stay behind.

What was so important for you to risk winter passage? A merchant vessel isn’t a fit means to transport a family, Thomas said.

Passenger ships won’t set sail from Newfoundland until springtime. We couldn’t wait. Folks at the mission in Havana need Walter as quickly as he can reach them.

Havana? You booked passage with a merchant ship to take you to Cuba?

Thomas didn’t mean to sound incredulous. He didn’t. But, what ilk of husband and father would put his family in such perilous circumstances? How foolish. Equally unnerving was his realization that the woman spoke of her husband as if she thought he was alive. Didn’t she know?

My husband is a physician. He’s to replace the doctor who passed away earlier this year. Church leaders asked us to come quickly. The people in Havana have a pressing need for his services. We found ourselves on the merchant ship because Walter believed we needed to travel by whatever means were available.

An uncomfortable silence and weight of unspoken words hung between them. Her chin quivered before Thomas could find a response.

Walter knew the people in Havana were desperate to receive him. He thought God would protect our voyage. Her voice caught. He’s dead, isn’t he?

Thomas lowered his gaze. Aye. I’m sorry.

When he looked up, Lillie’s whole body shook. My baby too? She looked as if she held her breath, steeling herself for the mighty pain he was bound to deliver to her heart. The heart that already knew his answer.

I’m sorry.

The moan that filled the room impaled Thomas’ very soul. He knew her pain, knew it would never leave her—not completely.

Thomas, despite his designation as the Sea Preacher, recognized he was incapable of offering relief. When Lillie Gibbons was ready to hear, he’d pull out his worn Bible and speak the words of the One who could salve her sorrow.

Chapter Three

The Furnace

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PRESENT DAY. Dustin Turner fumed while he watched his father slip the shackle into the heavy-duty padlock, although the purpose for the security measure escaped the seventeen-year-old. The miniature trailer attached to their tired SUV by an equally tired rented hitch, held nothing of value. As if to underscore his assessment, Dustin kicked the corner of the trailer as he made his way to the passenger door. He glared at the pathetic quality of their cross-country transportation, turned away from his father’s anxious face, dropped into his seat, and slammed the door. Everything in the stinking trailer was worthless. Just like his life.

As they distanced themselves from the only home he’d ever known, Dustin stared at the majestic view beyond the window. His stomach knotted and tears threatened to fill his eyes. Rock formations, older than man, jutted from the desert floor. When would he ever see a giant saguaro cactus again, or the massive rock archways carved by the wind? No more wanderings into cool caves or trekking through