Promise Me This Read Online Free Page B

Annie could not make herself form the words. “Do you think it was not an accident?”
    “I don’t know. Only God and Father know that.” Owen clasped her hands between his palms. “I only know that despondency, even despair, is not the end of the story. I want you to know that too. No matter what pain, what hard things come to us in life—and pain and trouble come to all of us—no matter what dark roads we walk or poor choices we make, it is not the end of the story.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come see.”
    Annie grabbed Owen’s coat from the ground.
    He pulled her to the opposite side of the tomb and spread his coat again, then tugged her down beside him. “Look here, at the picture.” He pointed to the tomb’s relief. “Do you see?”
    “He’s no longer burdened!”
    “No, his load—his guilt and sin—have all been cast aside.”
    “He’s not weary-looking or sad,” Annie said in wonder, tracing the lines of Christian’s burden-free back. “Because he’s reached the cross?”
    “Because he has reached the cross and taken hold of it. See how he grasps it, how he clings to it—a living relationship with the One who bore it! It is all in all to him. He kneels upon the solid rock and is looking up—not down at his burden!”
    “It’s the entire book in a picture—in two pictures!”
    “But there’s so much more in the book. Christian’s long journey is a companion for our life’s journey. Promise me you’ll read it—all of it—then read it again. And write to me of what you think as you read, just as we write of everything.”
    “I promise.” Annie tucked her skirt beneath her feet. “It won’t be the same as having you here, but . . .”
    “But you’ll not be alone. You are loved far better than I can love you, Annie.”
    “Sometimes I need arms,” she whispered, leaning against her brother’s back, willing him to wrap his arms around her.
    Owen drew her round from behind him, and she buried her head in his chest. “Of course you do. We all need arms about us. We shall trust the Lord to watch between us until we meet again. It won’t be long—not a minute longer than I can manage.”

Through the night and the long next day, Michael skittered from pillar to post, from deck to stateroom, and finally climbed into a freezing lifeboat hanging from its davit—anywhere he might dodge the crew and builders’ representatives as they tested, measured, and tested again each small device aboard the wondrous ship, finally put to sea.
    Shy of midnight he started, waking to the shrill whistles of the tugs. Michael knew without seeing that Titanic neared its mooring. The great engines stopped. He’d have to find the right moment to steal ashore.
    By the time pink stained the sky, men worked quickly to close and cover ventilators and louvers, sealing doors.
    “Finished,” exclaimed a voice too nearby.
    “For now, you mean.” A second voice spoke. “We’d best take our tea while they’re coaling her. We’ll be cleaning stem to stern soon as they’ve finished.”
    Michael knew the coaling of a vessel could take hours. He also knew that in the careful cleaning of the fine layer of coal dust it left behind, and in the final inspection, even a lifeboat would be no safe place to hide.
    He did not want to be anywhere near the ship when the stokers finally filed ashore, lest he be caught by his uncle Tom. Dozens of men came and went on a dozen different errands. It was no small feat for Michael to slip from his hiding place and blend into those hastening to and fro. But amid the general bustling, drifting away along the dock was child’s play.
    Chilled to the bone, Michael searched till he found a pub with a back alley. He’d learned long ago that even pubs that bolted their doors did not always bolt their windows. Some did not wash their glasses before closing up late at night. Drops from a dozen glasses could send a warm stream down his throat and build a weak fire in