The Stranger: A Story of Romance and Intrigue

By Eleanor Lee Gustaw

A near-death tragedy takes a handsome stranger on a long search for his lost love where his quest eventually brings him to a lovely publisher, and back to her old way of life.

There, mystery and intrigue follow police officer detectives, Thea and Gene Ashton, where they discover God’s amazing plan unfolding through the years in an un

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Jul 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949502275

Eleanor Lee Gustaw

The background setting of The Stranger relates to Eleanor's passionate love of Nature where she resides in a small, rural Manitoba town bordered by spacious woods. She acquired a love for reading long before she could read, and writing became second nature at an early age. The lovely poise of characters portrays a fluent thread of life's realism, poetically nurtured to Eleanor's deep intensity of highest excellence in mastering the art of articulative creative scenes signature to her unique style of writing. Loving animals has added a sweet portrait to the story, as well as publishing her first non-fiction book, A Patience Beloved. She's also published several short stories and poems in American Poetry Anthologies and local papers. The Stranger has been a personal triumph, where the power of love, faith, and family brings the scenes to life in unusual ways within the trust in knowing God's love is always present.

Book preview

The Stranger

A Story of Romance and Intrigue

Eleanor Lee Gustaw

Copyright © 2018 by Eleanor Lee Gustaw.

Hardback: 978-1-949502-26-8

Paperback: 978-1-949502-25-1

eBook: 978-1-949502-27-5

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004, 2007. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Ordering Information:

For orders and inquiries, please contact:

1-888-375-9818

www.toplinkpublishing.com

[e-mail]

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

This story is dedicated to the lost era where love

was once held in purest honor

and the heart of the one so beloved

was cherished within that love.

Also, it is dedicated to my heavenly Father, who has given me

the creative gift to write a story of unusual worth.

May it be a blessing

of hope, restoration, forgiveness, and love

to all who turn its pages.

Excerpt

"He shall no longer carry the rose within his hand nor let it droop,

for when I meet him again I shall know him,

this blessed stranger and because of him,

I shall become more."

—Eleanor Lee Gustaw

Contents

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Chapter 1 A Mystique Rose

Chapter 2 Answered Prayer

Chapter 3 Hidden Blessings

Chapter 4 Reminiscent Memories

Chapter 5 Heart’s Cry

Chapter 6 New Beginnings

Chapter 7 Changes

Chapter 8 Undercover Reflections

Chapter 9 A Gift Is Born

Chapter 10 Unexpected Challenges

Chapter 11 Sifting Plans

Chapter 12 Setting the Stage

Chapter 13 Undercover Stooge

Chapter 14 Home

Chapter 15 Simply, Grace

Chapter 16 The Future Is Forged

Chapter 17 Otherwise and More

Chapter 18 Psalm 90:17

Chapter 19 Anointed to Serve

Chapter 20 Not by Chance

Chapter 21 A Stunning Revelation

Chapter 22 Telling the Story

Chapter 23 Where Flowers Bloom

Chapter 24 Architectural Plans

Chapter 25 A Dream Comes True

Chapter 26 A Young Lad’s Dream

Chapter 27 Petals of a Rose

End Note

Acknowledgments

With special thanks to my mother, Bernice Thelma Gustaw, for her patience, love, encouragement, and guidance throughout the writing of this book. You will always be the fragrant rose of love and joy in my life. Thanks for everything you’ve given to my work and heart’s dream. Your help has been invaluable. To my beautiful friend, Miss Marty Cooper of Bossier City, Louisiana, who was the editor of the Jack Lord newsletter, you have been an incredible source of inspiration throughout the years and shall always hold a very special place within my heart.

A very special heart of appreciation to Bill Johnson, Senior Marketing Executive, and the lovely Toplink Publishing company team for everything you have so graciously and richly given toward the work and to the publishing of The Stranger.

To the beauty of who you are, Bill, in guiding me along the way to highest excellence, thanks shall never be enough to express my humblest gratitude in it all. Bill, thank you very much for believing in the prowess of my writing and the gift of delightful conversation we have been privileged to share within the story of The Stranger! It’s been a wonderful journey of honor, and I’m so happy to have met you, and hold the joy of your wondrous presence to everything it’s so deserving of within its pages. Like the enchanting fragrance of the rose, the lilting kindness of your wisdom has been of perfect measure within the worth of gentlest blessing that I shall ever cherish to everything we have passionately shared of The Stranger to all the dreams of my heart in giving me more than enough along this special journey!

To Elle Mayer, Supervisor Fulfillment Department, who has added countless days of joy and peaceful rest in your lovely presence to all the gifts of immeasurable kindness, strength, and patience that has brought beauty to the close of my day! It’s such a pleasure to meet you and share the details that were valuable to the story of the novel!

Special thanks to Tanis Grimolfson, Executive Director of the Riverton & District Friendship Centre Inc., for the beauty of your heart and gracious kindness in loaning me the use of your private office so I could finalize revisions in a quiet setting, and my dear friend, Pamela Fiset, for your loving heart and gentle guidance in further teaching me, no matter when that help was needed. To the staff, thanks so much for your continued kindness in seeing my dream come true!

To those, past and present, who have encouraged and blessed me along the way, many thanks. Together, we have moved mountains!

Author’s Note

This story was based on a very vague dream. Adding to it my own imagination, I created a fictional drama that is unique. The occupation pertaining to that dream became the focal aspect that I developed into a romance.

All characters and incidents relating to context are strictly fictional and penned solely from my imagination. Any similarities of personalities are duly incidental. The only actual scenes experienced include the hummingbird scene, descriptive flowerbeds, partial lake, cedar wax-wing, dove, butterfly, sparrow, and flying lessons scenes. The poems included were written by the author.

Spruce Bay is a real place, but the setting has been fictionalized to suit the story. The cave scene has also been fictionalized. Whip-poor-wills are found farther south in Manitoba, but I have incorporated this bird into the text to suit the ending of the story.

The character name Thea is a Norwegian woman’s name, pronounced Tay-ah. It’s been a favorite of mine ever since I heard it first spoken as a child.

My Search

I looked for you in a rainbow,

but you were not there.

I couldn’t understand my disappointment,

’though pretty the colors were.

I searched for you in the meadow

Amongst the flowers wild;

Their little faces nodded,

Their fragrance, tempting, lulled.

But you were not among them,

Discouraged, on I went;

A trickling brook refreshed me,

renewed the strength I’d spent.

Nothing satisfied my yearning

To find you close at hand -

The starry sky or sunshine bright, the city wide,

the country lights.

Finally, I knelt by my bedside

And I sought for you in a prayer;

Then peace filled each niche of my longing,

And then I found you were there.

Chapter 1

A Mystique Rose

As he softly brushed against my coat sleeve, I momentarily paused and turned to glance behind me. At that instant, he turned as well. I stopped dead in my tracks. The stranger was becoming more familiar to me now. I could not place him anywhere in the shadowy figure of my past or even within my present. Yet, repeatedly, we met at unexpected moments, each time my heart beating a little faster. Although he rarely uttered a single word, his eyes spoke with a gentle tenderness and persuasive aura of sweet kindness, drawing me toward him and compelling me to search my soul anew. The almost vibrant, energized emotions that stirred me to distraught confusion each time we met, strangled my thoughts to the baffling perplexity that held me to its grip, while alluring me closer to his heart. As I looked into his deep, blue eyes, a perfect, almost hallowed peace enveloped my innermost being. Slender and of medium height, he had a sweeping head of lovely, wavy, black hair. The long build of his face accented the high cheekbones, giving them an exaggerated blush of coloring. The fine lines contouring the mouth held a hint of a smile that was put in check with a carefully reserved and controlled expression. I felt something mystical in that face that couldn’t easily be put into words.

It was a rather sultry afternoon. His outfit was casual. Nonetheless, regardless of what he wore, he chose his colors well, today being no exception; his clothes definitively complemented the blue in his eyes. He was attired in a white, short-sleeved shirt, open at the collar, with blue slacks. Casual, yet sophisticated, there was a certain charm and grace, a dignified and authoritative repose, an esthetic beauty that could not be denied. At times, I felt I knew him from a distant past or at least wished I did, somehow. Still, I do not know why, but he somehow frightened me a little. Turning swiftly on my heel, I proceeded on my way through the streets.

Everything was relatively new to me in this little town that I came to live in. There was a rich solitude unto itself here that I could not explain, and even though peace was held within my spirit for the most part, I somehow felt there must have been more in my life. Nothing seemed to jar even the slightest memory as to what that feeling evoked.

I found a darling cottage set back along the river road a few miles from the bustle of the village. A quaint walk, bordered with miniature white daisies and purple petunias, followed around to the back where they were shaded intermittently with sturdy young maples and birches. I loved to awaken to the melodious chirping of the robins and the meadowlarks’ song as they alighted near my window in the early dawn.

The great orange ball of the sun steadily rising was breathtakingly magnificent. Its rays captured the tiny, pebbled brook running east of the cottage. Beneath its painted expanse, stones shimmered through its gurgling trickles like sparkling diamonds.

Toward the turning shade of late afternoon, the sun captured the wild flowers growing around the west bank. But what I enjoyed most was the welcomed cool of evening. Here, the fragrant scents of the night stalks wafted thick with the combined mixture of the nicotinas. Nightly, half a dozen hummingbirds freely fed from their succulent blooms, their wings whirring continuously, arousing in me a new appreciation of the creator of all life. Remarkably, they were not disturbed by my human presence, drinking without fear. They were so tame that one evening, I had the astounding wonder of cupping one within my hand. I marveled at the force of its beating wings and the awesome thrill that triumphed at its beauty.

Wild cowslips sung their praises among buttercup yellows in the empty field adjacent to mine half an acre away, adding to their adorning beauty as they sensually lulled in sleep to the warm summer breezes. I even discovered three groupings of lady’s slippers with their gorgeous pinks announcing their delicate form of being and successfully transplanted them among my flush array of bedding plants in the northwest corner near the maples.

At dusk, the sky was transformed by an orchestra of paling hues as the sun slipped silently behind the great forest of trees surrounding my homestead. Half a mile east, the river dipped and widened, spilling into the lake upon the horizon. The rhythmic lap of the waves solicited sleep, refreshing me in the quiet abode of my own modest home. Nestled in the nearby trees, the doves sang a sonnet of exquisite contentment that added to this incredulous beauty all around me.

In the evenings, I liked to take walks or bike along the lakeshore road where it joined the river road at a crossing. Content and carefree, I kicked off my sandals, walking barefoot, feeling nothing but the sands of the water’s great workings. I found it exuberantly invigorating to be a part of this unusual and beautiful solace I had found at last. The birds became akin to my ritual, gathering with song on the wings of the air. I never tired of their company. Even the nearby hoots of the owls became a refuge chorus in their watch over me. It added to my joy.

On occasion, I’d take along pen and paper and fill the empty pages with the poetry of my soul. I lived out the deep feelings of my firsthand experiences. Most of my life had been filled with happiness, but there was a time that I could no longer remember. Nevertheless, I blew the clouds away. The timelessness here kept me up beyond my bedtime, but with renewed peace in my spirit, sleep came easily. I awakened well and happy to the responsibilities of another day.

I loved my job as chief executive editor for a publishing company. It was everything I’d hoped for, interesting and unique. I didn’t think it opposed high demands because I enjoyed the work where the constant challenges revitalized my inner person, flushing my cheeks a healthy pink as I threw myself so totally into its tasks. It was a coveted position that I prized.

Several weeks later, I saw him again, this stranger, but not on the street as before. No matter how I might have planned it, I could not have been prepared for what was to make spoil of my busy day.

My secretary buzzed my private line. I don’t know what the gentleman might have said to cause her concern, but her usually calm voice sounded strained as she alerted me to his arrival. His quest was a personal one, apparently, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, and I didn’t have opportunity to question her further. Even as she spoke, his firm footsteps echoed as they strengthened until stopping just outside my office. A few moments passed before a gentle knock reached my ears.

Without glancing up from the material I was editing for the following morning’s deadline, I cheerily called, Please come in. Seconds later, the door creaked open.

Good afternoon, I heard the prospective client say in a deep, rich tone. That voice seemed vaguely familiar. I set my pen down and looked up to acknowledge the greeting. But when I saw him, my voice caught in my throat, and I could say nothing. It was the stranger who now stood before me. Paling and in shock, I felt the color draining from my face. I felt trapped; I wanted to escape and run from this man who had plagued me too often with a look in his eyes I could not define. What was his bluff? What were his demands? How dare he! I couldn’t comprehend what he might want of me. Fear cut me like a jagged arrow. Why had he come? Unending questions danced in my head.

I didn’t mean to startle you, he said, apologizing barely above a whisper with unruffled diplomacy. Would you like me to come back a different day? he countered with an unpretentious, concerned kindness. The tender compassion in his voice was so unexpected and sincere that it betrayed an undeniably genuine innocence, taking me completely off guard. I scarcely dared to breathe, for the unspoken language of his beautiful eyes, like starry jewels guarding the night watches, seemed to touch my spirit from the very depth of my being. Even though he had the advantage, I couldn’t help but notice how strikingly handsome he really was. His warmth filled the room, compelling me to believe that his character held a valued worth of incomparable goodness. I owed him the same respective courtesy I would encourage with any client.

As I took in every lovely detail, his presence tugged so at my heart in a way I could not explain. I began to see him, just a little, as a man who held a respective regard to my feelings even though he was fully justified to place every professional demand upon me. Suddenly, a sublimely peaceful aura within that presence of the stranger filled the room in a perfect wholeness I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was like a healing ointment welling within me. An aching, longing joy, yet cautious pain I was afraid to confront, gave me the courage to look fully into that beautiful, perplexed face.

My head was still spinning, my thoughts a tangled mess. I wanted to scream, to cry, to hide. He must have wondered how I had come to hold such a prestigious title of chief executive editor. I was losing control. Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I heard myself reply, No. Yes. I’m sorry. I vainly attempted to recover from my surprise. I didn’t expect you, I emphasized lamely.

Nearly in tears, I momentarily couldn’t go on. He must have perceived my dilemma, sensing the panic in my words, spoken and unspoken, for he simply reached over to the desk, carefully and gently laid down an attaché case, and departed as suddenly as he had come.

It was then I noticed he wore a wedding band with a red and gold design that bore peculiar similarity to my own. What could a married man want with another man’s wife? What was his game? I was beside myself.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I asked my secretary to hold all calls, admitting no one into my office. Greatly agitated by the stranger’s appearance, I worked in limbo. My concentration was severed as I diligently labored to create a perfect draft in preparation for the following day. Repeatedly, my mind raced through the unexpected turn the morning had produced. It cost me another two hours to finalize the project in readying it for the deadline.

Wearily, I arose slowly from my desk, my hands pressed tightly together. For a fearful moment, my mind raced in confusion. It occurred to me then that perhaps the stranger was unaware of the seeming control he held over me. Ruefully, I smiled weakly, making my way to the door where the late afternoon sun greeted me with open arms.

Closing the office, I suddenly remembered about the attaché case he had left in my care. Biting my nails with subdued nervousness, I ran back and retrieved it. I drew the conclusion that it must be, undoubtedly, a manuscript, and I wondered whether he was the writer. I shut the door softly, determined to make this evening immeasurably pleasing without the intrusion on what tomorrow might bring.

Not until I was safely home and had eaten a proper supper did I venture toward the lake. I needed a change of scenery. I found a little nook away from the water’s edge and timidly opened the case with trembling hands. As I gently lifted the manuscript out of its recess, the title prompted immediate interest and a startling curiosity. It read, "A Rookie’s First Love, by a Known Stranger". In that moment, I realized the prolific essence of profound worth as the words arose in my soul. Intrigued, I began to read, devouring all that my thirsting soul could drink. Masterfully penned, one portion greatly fascinated me to the haunting beauty as I read in sheer delight, and the analogy reflecting the author’s feelings.

Our love was never weak; it was a dual togetherness of building strength and stability, blossoming like the tender buds of a flower. Seasoned with endurance, trials, and heartaches, we grew through the spring of its tender, nurturing birth, watered by the first rains of earth’s rejuvenation. Rooted secure, we matured through the blazing summer heat, the interference of cutworms which threatened to uproot our fortress of oneness. And when the harvest of autumn shed its fading leaves to brilliant shades of reds and rustic yellows and oranges, we stood alone where no one could tarnish the purity of our fruit. Laboring through each step, we climbed together, and our flower blossomed profusely, coloring our lives with joy, beauty, and a love nothing could tear us away from. Truly, we were of one spirit, one heart, one love, one everlasting joy.

My spirit drank in each word. I saw him then in my mind’s eye, this stranger I couldn’t shake from the shadow of my life. The fear subsided a little though. The sun was blushing the sky deep reds and pinks and blues, but I had to read a little more; I just had to know what followed.

As the pages flew by, I was stunned by the turn the book took, bringing deep devastation that had once held such wondrous joy, profoundly changing their lives. What happened quickened the very heartbeat of my soul. I couldn’t sleep, disturbed by what had later fallen.

I don’t know what I shall do now. The one I cherish, my rookie and I, we are no longer together. In vain, I search each waking hour for even a glimpse of my beloved in some strange city. But alas, she has disappeared, and my heart begs for her returning. Bruised and broken, I cannot comprehend what sent her away … I am recovered now and love her even still.

Almost choking with tears, I wiped my tear-stained face, reading on:

Come, my beloved Rose, he pleaded. Have you so soon forgotten the treasure we now have? … Beloved one, please return into the waiting arms of my love.

I slapped the page down hard. Stricken with panic and confusion, I slipped the manuscript into the attaché case and ran all the way home, panting in pain, until I could safely catch my breath.

Upon my bed, I stared upward to the ceiling, the flickering light of the lamp burning low, scratching eerie patterns across the walls. My mind went back to the stranger’s unexpected visitation in my office. I couldn’t recall anything of how or when I’d come to be married, and until his appearance, I didn’t even realize the rings were worn upon my hand. In a fit of anguished pain, I tore them off, blindly throwing them into the top drawer of my bureau as I struggled to come to terms with it all, pondering the very core of its root. Hastily, I blew out the lamp, crawling deep beneath the blankets, trembling until sleep came heavy upon my troubled mind.

For the next three weeks, I absorbed myself wholly in my work. But my nights were filled with distraught restlessness. The beauty surrounding me seemed to mock my very being. Determined to personally overlook all the editing and proofing of the stranger’s manuscript, I locked it in my desk whenever I was not at my office. It was a most unorthodox procedure, but I somehow felt it held a hidden, personal meaning for me. I never again took it to the lake.

Days later, I slipped my rings back on my finger, finding them amongst my socks. And I didn’t know why, but I figured better to look married than not, with sudden strength.

When I reached the second-to-last chapter, I broke down at my desk, resting my head on its smooth surface, and cried my eyes out. So moving were the emotions of his characters that it unleashed my professional ability to function at a normal level. Although often touched by the authorship of our clients, this one was irrefutably of a diverse and prolific nature. It brought my own personal life too close for comfort. It tore at my innermost being. I couldn’t put it on a shelf out of my sight, yet it was killing me to stay so near at hand. Inexplicably, my past seemed to call itself into that time, clutching at my soul as I became in character to Rose, entranced by her illustrious beauty, yet torn within her futile anguish as my heart drank in her traumatic experiences.

This is very difficult for me, for I do not perceive how much longer I can be sustained without her endearing presence. Once a police officer, she was revered and respected. All she dreamed of had now come into a wonderful reality until that fateful day in May when our lives would be shattered and disbarred in a way we could not have anticipated or known.

She was the best there ever had been among the female officers, for she not only lived her job, she was her job. Being a police officer thrilled her to the danger and unexpectedness of its unique duties.

She was a Rookie transferred on approval in assisting our short-handed officers six months after she graduated from the academy. She’d been chosen by our chief ranking officer from thirty female graduates, not just for her academic standing at the top of the class, but because she truly was deserving of this position. She held the perfect form to make a difference, albeit with her authoritative credentials, but also as a person with amazing gentleness and kindness. We were impressed with her noble ideals and references and pleased with the decision. She longed for the raw experience of a street beat that would enable her to help the suffering of humankind. Her motive to serve so valiantly and unselfishly was strongly apparent in everything she did. She was exactly what we needed.

I had been with this force for three and a half years when she joined our unit. When wearing high-heeled pumps, her Scandinavian inheritance drew the subtle illusion of height afforded by her slim figure. Her shimmering hair was the color a raven, tempered with beautiful, black curls that loosely fell in lovely, gentle waves, embracing an unmistakable warmth to her spirit. In sharp contrast, her emerald eyes held an intrigue to its own beauty, adding to her captivating charm. Her lips were the fragile hue of a wild rose in its first bud and of such delicate beauty, that I endeared her a rose petal blossom. She had a contagious smile that lit the room with her presence wherever she went, on or off-duty.

No one ever labeled her a Rookie or teasingly bad-mouthed her during her term of initiation. She was like the perfect Eve, created at the beginning of time, where persuasion to a better side of life undeniably embraced a purity measured upon the scale of righteous justice, and respect was equally governed without question at the precinct. Her becoming conduct flattered her ability to perform the variety of duties assigned. We all had to stand back and admire her from afar when she was called to position of disguise, for her outstanding flexibility in performing tasks was well mastered.

Her undercover operation aborted many crimes to both the innocent victim and the criminals who were brought to justice. We don’t know what we ever would have done without her or how we’d managed without her for so long. The versatility and spontaneity were tremendous, following suit to her personality. She didn’t use a condescending air when on her regular street-walk observances, although it sometimes befit her role of manifold disguises. Her balanced self-esteem and confidence was clearly marked with a dash of peppered humor. We were all proud of our Rookie. Without a doubt, she governed each and everyone’s respect; she seemed to have it all neatly under control.

The disguises were wonderful, enhancing a flair of tonic freedom. Still, there was one apparel I liked best. When dressed in full uniform, her attractive appearance captured an evoking dimension of defining authority, producing a stunning effect of charming poise and personable quality that I came to love and appreciate in both woman and officer. She was truly everything in a woman that a man would desire. Her strength and tenderness drew me to her in a new perspective. She wasn’t demanding or pushy, although these traits were respectively exemplified in her work on frequent occasion. And for me, like her, our courtship was of a wholeness I’d never quite experienced before. This was right from the start, as I adored her more and more.

Divinely shy, she captured my soul and spirit as one. A year later, we were betrothed. I had never been so happy! For five wonderful years, she was my wife, my partner, my friend of friends.

One day, while on routine patrol, she encountered a brutal attack involving seven viciously armed teenagers. I had been called to another scene, as happened on rare occasion, where another officer was temporarily assigned to her. Putting in an urgent call for backup, her partner sized up the situation. Despite his long record with the precinct, he lost his nerve and passed out in the car.

I was en route to relieve that officer and within close radius when the call came in, responding immediately. Sirens wailing, my male partner and I came upon an unbelievable scene by the Red River, running east of Winnipeg, along the trails. There wasn’t time to plan strategy; we were forced into the situation without additional backup.

Pigs! You lousy pigs! a kid yelled as we drew our weapons. You ain’t noth’n but dirty pigs! I commanded him to put down his pistol, but swinging it high in the air, he came running toward us like a wild dog, cursing tirades of intermittent incoherency and abusive language.

I raised my gun, aimed, and fired. The bullet took him down as he angrily writhed in wounded pain on the ground. I saw him reach for his gun only inches from his grasp. Before he realized what had transpired, I had kicked it away.

But it wasn’t nearly over. The fire began flying all around us. From the moment we’d arrived on the scene, I hadn’t found one second to divert my eyes from the gunfire in catching a signal or visual from my wife’s location. That wasn’t about to change.

A scraggly, long-haired boy shoved his gun in front of my eyes. Your dead meat, man! he shouted, his words incessantly laced like hot coals of fiery venom. He took me off guard; I don’t know where he’d suddenly come from. Scared, ain’t you, fuzz? he taunted with a shake of his head. My partner was at a better advantage than I, for he was standing a few yards off to my left, screened by a sparse patch of willows. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him stealthily close in on the subject within a range of no less than four feet. He pulled the trigger, but his reflex was a deathly millisecond too late. The kid whizzed about, a desperate madness raging in his eyes, nailing him repeatedly until he was riddled with iron. He fell to the ground like a wooden man and breathed his last. The killer’s eyes suddenly filled with horror, backing away. He glanced at me a final time and then fled into the woods.

I was astounded that he’d spared my life. I couldn’t understand why. At that point, I suddenly began to feel queasy. I knelt beside my partner. He’d been my best friend. My heart was numb.

This was no time to lose it; the lives of myself and my wife depended on my staying cool. As I rose to my feet, my legs felt strangely weak, buckling beneath me. My head began to swim, my eyes blurring as I fought to regain control. I replayed the shoot-out. I’d been hit after all! A bullet had ricocheted off my partner, penetrating my left leg. This could be the only explanation as to why that punk had let me go. I gasped, doubling over with pain. I felt my body fall with a sickening thud.

I began blacking in and out of consciousness. The pretty face of my wife hovered over me, her lovely eyes looking into mine for a moment. I’m going to get those guys, honey, she sobbed, lovingly caressing my face. I started to protest and blacked out again. When I revived, Rose’s partner was beside me. He had regained a balance of cop tenacity. He tried to lift my head into a more comfortable position, but I slumped to the ground. I’ll never forget the horror in his eyes. After radioing for an ambulance, he returned and took off his shirt, using it as a makeshift tourniquet as he diligently wrapped the injured site. He calmed down when he didn’t have to see so much blood.

However, that left only one individual to pursue combat. In a desperate attempt to end this massacre, Rose brandished her fading courage, going directly back into the line of duty. The continual shots kept me out of unconsciousness. Her gun did not stop firing until there were no more bullets.

It seemed forever, but only minutes had elapsed. Ben, Rose’s partner, did everything he was able to. Before long, I heard the distant wailing of the ambulance. Rose came frantically running to my side, recovered my gun, secured position, and single-handedly scored the last of the gang but for two. Five of the youths were seriously wounded, counting the one I’d taken down who died hours later at the hospital; one managed to drive off, and the other escaped. Injury, death, and chaos had taken its toll within seventeen minutes.

As the paramedics were lifting me onto the ambulance, Rose returned, bending over me, weeping hysterically. Her eyes were stained with anguished pain. She grasped my hand in hers and then ran off screaming, My darling, I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t do this.

The bullet had severed one of the arteries, causing a fair amount of blood loss. Within a week, I was well enough to be released, and I returned to active duty three weeks later. I had made it through a cop’s worst nightmare.

In time, the remaining surviving youths were charged with conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, and murder. Not a pretty picture and years without parole to hurt anyone for a very long time. It could never change the outcome of losing my beloved friend David, but at least he would have been glad to know that justice was met partway. Working tirelessly to help humankind, like my Rose, he wanted only the best for everyone and did everything possible as an officer. While I felt for them as they poured out their life stories of parental neglect, abuse, and pain, their behavior didn’t justify trying to take down the law, the very savior of the ones who could have rallied for them and given a better hope for that future they no longer had. As my thoughts drifted to Rose again, had she been here, I knew of no one more capable or willing to have gone to all lengths to bring that hope and love into these young men’s lives.

When I became well enough, I questioned everyone who had known my Rose. She had made no inquiry at the hospital; all her belongings were gone from our home. She had vanished, but no one knew where. I have never seen her since that day.

I grow weary now, searching for the one I cherish. In her, I have lost the greatest love. But I will remain strong, for I love her so. What is bruised apart shall be healed through the wholeness by the gift of love. There is only one Rose for me.

The dialogue stunned me. It turned my stomach upside down and inside out. How dare he suffer so! His love for her would surely kill him. I couldn’t help but pity the stranger who held such foolish conviction to a love well lost beyond the years. Yet, a part of me was transfixed with that love, enthralled to the stoic tenacity that might very well restore that hope he held within his heart for her. His endearing devotion, although fragmented in her absence, was truly unmatched to a beauty of enchanting strength of fortitude. If ever she were to be in his tomorrow, he would surely find a way, I mused.

Pondering all I had read, this young police officer was like a mystique rose whose fragrant aura still lingered strong within his soul. Her incredible stamina had held through her work, except for this horrifically dramatic encounter that had been too close for her heart to bear. As I slipped beneath the covers that night, my heart wept with hers in a way I could not explain, understanding how greatly she had suffered, and for the man who still loved her with such staying passion. I wondered how long the thorns of their pain would keep them apart before the mystique rose would scent their hearts within that wondrous perfume and the joy of their love would fully come back to them again. With a silent prayer, lamenting his deeply traumatic emptiness, my soul drifted off to a restless sleep with meaningless dreams that went nowhere.

Chapter 2

Answered Prayer

Much to my surprise, he didn’t call or drop by to see what had happened with his manuscript. Within the silence of my heart, I held onto the hope that he would come again and that his book would eventually find its way to becoming published. The wonderful aura of such perfect love truly deserved that opportunity. Perhaps, one day, it would meet with his every hope, and love would find her way back to him again. For now, it remained locked in my desk.

Just as my life was settling down, nothing seemed to haunt me more than those eyes that spoke in vivid silence when I saw the stranger’s face before me in my mind.

I wanted a change one evening. I hadn’t been to the lake for the period of the reading of that manuscript and now that it was obviously behind me, I decided it was time to enjoy the wonderful scents of the wildflowers growing inland along the road and the beauty of the birds that aroused a peace within my spirit.

It was a little after seven o’clock, and the air was definitively chilling as I neared the shoreline. Seagulls circled above, screaming in mournful crescendo. In my hurry, I’d grabbed my thin shawl instead of my cloak hanging next to it in the closet, feeling the cold against the shore.

Breathing deeply of the fresh lake air, my spirits lifted, awed by the raw beauty that surrounded me. The trees were of immense height, flanking the road like a forest of unknown depth on either side. Birds, such as the red-winged blackbird, rested on marshy bull-rushes along the deep ditches. Crows joined an unmarked path sky-bound, shared with whooping cranes where their cries rose and fell on the winds, drifting in echoed crescendo over the vast arena. It was a different world here where the scenery was inexplicitly of a diverse expanse, charting a solace unlike the bustle of the town; Willows swaying in whispered sonnet against the heightened winds, contrasts of greens against towering spruces, intermixed with birches, elms, maples, and varieties unknown to me. The open woodland, here and there, displayed a floor of rich flora. It was dotted lavishly with blossoms amid color schemes of white, orange, yellow, and even blue.

Coming to the shore, the feeling of exhilarating spray nipped at my face, biting unrelentingly the nearer I drew. The wind felt pleasantly warm yet cool on my face as I breathed in the night air, feeling