Until the Dawn (37 page)

It was amazing how fast Pieter recovered. Quentin sat on the front steps of the mansion, watching his son play with the assortment of frogs and toads he’d captured. With the resilience of youth, Pieter was down on all fours, scrambling to keep up with the frogs as they continually tried to escape into the overgrown grass a few yards away. Only last night, Pieter had gasped for breath with a face tinged blue from lack of oxygen. Now he chattered to his frogs and tried to coax them to race one another.

Quentin watched with a wistful smile. Had he ever been that young? It was hard to remember past the darkness of the past decade, but what a blessing to relive it through Pieter’s eyes.

The door behind him opened, and the heavy tread of a man’s footsteps sounded across the porch. It was Professor Sorenson, looking unaccountably nervous as he stepped to the ground and turned to face Quentin.

“I’d like permission to stop studying the oysters,” the professor said. It was the last thing Quentin expected to hear.

“Why?” he demanded. “Has my grandfather been harassing you?” Nickolaas seemed more impatient than ever to destroy
the house, and whittling down Quentin’s team was well within his arsenal of tricks. Two of his biologists had left over the superstitious nonsense about Sophie’s cooking, and he couldn’t afford to lose any more.

“I have found no obvious explanation for the health of the oysters or the lilies,” Professor Sorenson said. “We’ve compared water, soil, and plant samples against those elsewhere in the river and can see no difference. Someday we may have better equipment to examine the internal workings of a cell, but for now, I can find nothing unique about the physical properties in the cove. Water temperature, salinity, and speed of the currents are no different, either. I’d like the chance to look farther afield.”

“What do you mean?”

Professor Sorenson gestured toward the gates at the front of the property. “I’d like to show you.”

Quentin pushed himself to his feet, and Pieter sprang up, as well. “Can I come, too?” he asked.

The boy’s hopeful voice flooded Quentin with a sense of happiness. It had been years since Pieter had eagerly followed him around, and he held Pieter’s hand as the three of them set off toward the front gates.

A piece of him was curious about what Professor Sorenson wanted to show him, but mostly he was enjoying the newfound rapport with his son, listening to the boy talk about frogs and mud crabs. This was how things were supposed to be—a father and son enjoying each other’s company on an ordinary summer day.

It was a long walk down the path, and as they drew closer to the front gates, the surrounding stone columns seemed to grow larger and more imposing. It was surely just an optical illusion. Oddly, the gates seemed to serve no purpose, for they were always open. Anyone could come and go at will.

The professor gestured to the stone columns. “The mortar
is in perfect condition,” he said. “Emil told me he’s never done anything to repair the entranceway over the years, and I should think it would show more signs of age. These old stone gates are just another example of the unusual prosperity at this estate.”

Quentin shrugged. “I’ve traveled all over Europe and seen buildings much older. A well-built structure can endure for millennia.”

“How about that old box with the Algonquin text in it? Don’t you find it curious that a piece of paper, buried in a wooden box, could be in pristine condition after hundreds of years?”

“What are you suggesting?” Quentin asked.

“It’s an enigma,” Professor Sorenson replied. “It seems everywhere we look at Dierenpark there is unusual abundance and prosperity.”

“Maybe it’s magic,” Pieter said, and for once Quentin did not stifle the boy. He turned to Professor Sorenson, waiting for him to provide some hypothesis or logical explanation.

Crinkles fanned out from the man’s eyes as he smiled down at Pieter. “There is far more to this world than meets the eye,” he said warmly. “For all my love of science, I believe there is still room for divine providence. If God could create the solar system and set all the planets spinning into perpetual motion, who’s to say he wouldn’t spare a little of that ingenuity for a special place here at Dierenpark?”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Professor Sorenson looked back at the large entrance gates, scanning them with near reverence in his gaze. “It seems to me that Dierenpark has all the qualities of a utopia. A promised land. Eden, if you will. I’d like permission to begin studying the grounds outside of the river. It seems everywhere I look there are new things of beauty and wonder.”

Professor Sorenson would be useless if sent back to the river while his heart was elsewhere. This would mean they would be
reduced to only three biologists in the river, and one of them, Professor Byron, was still a puppy barely old enough to be out of the schoolhouse.

Quentin felt he had no choice but to grant the professor’s request. Professor Sorenson beamed when Quentin gave his consent, and he bounded back toward the house, his long strides eating up the ground in his eagerness to begin his new project. It would be nice to be able to follow with such energy, but Quentin’s leg already was beginning to protest the long walk here, and he nodded to the bench near a pear tree just inside the gates.

“Let’s have a sit, shall we?” He exhaled in relief as the weight lifted from his leg. He gingerly stretched it out, breathing deeply as the pressure receded.

“Maybe Dierenpark is the Garden of Eden,” Pieter said as he joined him on the bench. “I’ve already read that part in the Bible, and it says there was a tree of life in the garden and things never got old. Maybe that’s why the lilies don’t die and the oysters live so long.”

“Maybe,” Quentin said noncommittally. He wouldn’t make that kind of metaphorical leap, but he couldn’t entirely dismiss it, either. He looked at Pieter, careful to keep any hint of judgment from his voice. “Do you believe what you are reading in the Bible, then?”

Pieter shrugged. “When I knocked over the beehives and the bees were swarming all over me, I prayed to Jesus for help and then you were there. I think Jesus sent you.”

Quentin rubbed the flesh above his knee, wincing at the pain. He didn’t want to belittle Pieter’s childlike faith, but his name didn’t even belong in the same sentence as a man like Jesus.

“I only did what any father would do,” he said, rubbing his leg, which was beginning to ache more and more.

“But you did it without a cane!” Pieter said in amazement.
“I’ve never seen you walk without a cane before, but you picked me up and carried me out of there without any help at all.”

Quentin stilled. In the frantic chaos of that afternoon, he’d never realized he had dropped his cane, but he must have, for he’d scooped up Pieter in both arms and carried him to safety. Normally, he couldn’t take five steps without a cane, so how had he managed that? Could it have been merely a rush of panic or extra oxygen in his blood that had fueled his ability to walk? Perhaps not.

“Well,” he said quietly, “maybe God really was with us that day.”

A movement caught his attention, and he glimpsed Sophie headed toward the herb garden on the far side of the house. She had a basket slung over one arm and leaned over to clip a sprig of rosemary. There was a timelessness to the image, a simple beauty that cut straight to his heart. This woman had opened his eyes to so much.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God
.

He was experiencing the world differently since coming here. Part of it had been a conscious effort to begin seeing the world through the purity of Sophie’s eyes, but it was more than that. All his life, he’d prided himself on clear-eyed rationalism. It was a cocksure arrogance that drove him to reject anything outside his realm of understanding. And that had been closed-minded of him.

Sophie had helped open his eyes. He still didn’t know what to believe, but she’d taught him that there was more to the world than what could be seen and touched. Clearing his mind of the veil of cynicism, he was learning to see with his heart, and he sensed there was something, or someone, just beyond what he could see. And that someone was waiting for him to come. Beckoning.

The thought was frightening in its immensity. He wasn’t
a good person like Sophie. He had never been pure of heart and was unworthy of walking through that gate into whatever glory lay beyond.

But Pieter was. Pieter was pure and innocent and still had a chance. The more time Pieter spent with Sophie, absorbing her wholesome optimism, the better chance his son had to grow up straight and honorable.

“Look, there’s a turtle!” Pieter burst out. The boy sprang over a clump of hyssop shrubs to scoop it up, holding it above his head in triumph. “Can I go show it to Professor Byron? Please?”

“Run along.” How blessed he was to have this boy in his life. Each day Pieter was blossoming with new interests and curiosities. It was Sophie’s doing that Quentin hadn’t suffocated the nascent stirrings of faith in his son. She’d given Pieter the freedom to experience the world in a new and different way. With his trusting nature, it had been easy for Pieter to follow Sophie’s lead.

Quentin rubbed his chest, the hollow emptiness beginning to ache. How odd that the pain of unbelief had never bothered him until he began to believe.

In these past weeks, he’d had glimpses into a bright and shining world. It had been during those moments when he’d sensed something greater just beyond what he could experience. He wanted to be reunited with something in the universe from which he’d been severed long ago. There
was
more to the world than what he could see or touch. He had a soul that was awakening and alive and that was searching for meaning, for transcendence.

As he sat on that bench with sunlight pouring down on him, a sense of well-being unlike any he had ever known flooded through him. It was a stab of joy, a bittersweet longing that was pointing him toward something—or maybe someone—outside of himself. He closed his eyes to listen for the golden
echo, knowing there was a gate he needed to walk through. That gate had always been there, but he’d never opened it to explore what was on the other side.

He didn’t deserve whatever it was. He was a small and hard man who deserved none of it—but still the gate was open, beckoning.

He wished he could kneel, but his ruined leg made it impossible. The best he could do was clasp his hands and bow his head. He struggled to find the words, but they came straight from his heart.

God . . . I don’t know
where I am going or where you are leading me. I can’t see the road ahead of me or
how it will end. I don’t know what you
want of me. I’m not even sure you exist . . . but I will keep my mind open to the signals
you send. I haven’t been very good about that, but I can do better. I want to know you. I want to believe.

What else was one supposed to say in a prayer? His was clumsy and short, but he must have done something right, for the sensation of contentment remained. He wondered how long this feeling would last. He didn’t have much experience with happiness.

Sophie would probably tell him not to seek out storm clouds on a sunny day, and she was right. Sophie had been right about a lot of things, and he was grateful he finally had the wisdom to accept it.

As he walked back to the house, he was surprised to see the pastor who’d arrived last night sitting amid the archaeologists, dutifully sifting dirt through a screen at the bottom of a shallow box. Sophie was with him, leaning over the box to pick out remnants of an old Delft platter coming up from the shifting soil.

She smiled when she saw him, loping over to him, her face as bright as the day.

“Dr. Weir has returned to the village, but we are hoping Pastor Mattisen can stay for a few days. He loves history and wants to help us learn more about Dierenpark. Can he stay?”

Quentin glanced over at the thin, elderly man who showed remarkable energy as he sifted the screen box. They were short on men after the departure of the four professors this morning. Besides, Sophie was so eager for his consent, and he liked doing nice things for her. When he nodded, the smile she gave him made his sense of well-being even stronger.

After dinner, Quentin wanted time alone with Sophie, but finding a bit of privacy was a challenge with so many people at the estate. A handful of the professors had gone down to the river for an evening smoke, but there were a few still nursing cups of tea at the dining table. The bodyguards were scattered throughout the ground floor, and Pieter played checkers with Professor Byron in the main parlor. Sophie joked with Marten as they rinsed the evening dishes.

“Let’s go down to the Spanish cannon,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

“I should stay and finish cleaning up,” she replied.

“Let Marten do it. He’s been living here free of charge.” It sounded a little blunt, but everyone else in this household was working, and Marten’s sole purpose seemed to be luring Sophie back into his world.

And that was unbearable. The attraction Quentin felt for Sophie was growing by the hour, especially since this afternoon when he’d accepted she was probably right about some kind of higher power. He couldn’t allow his attraction for her to keep growing if he had no chance of winning her, and it was time to find out what she was thinking.