Winter of Grace (18 page)

The woman sat down beside me, still with her arm round me. She nodded in the direction of the urn and mouthed
Tea?
I smiled gratefully, groping in my pocket for a hanky. She brought me a steaming mug of hot, sweet tea and I gulped it, feeling its warmth spread through my chilled body. The man reading from the Bible shot a glance in my direction and gave me a half-smile, which I was too embarrassed to return. I stared down at my mug. I couldn't imagine what these people must think of me. But at the same time, it was so calm and peaceful and friendly that I knew it didn't matter.

‘Let us pray,' said the man at the front, and with everyone else, I bowed my head. For a few moments we prayed in silence, and the circle of strangers held me safe, in a warm, breathing silence that was a kind of love.

Then the bearded man said, ‘We thank you, Lord, for bringing us together in your presence to worship you today, whether we are joyful or in distress. We welcome old friends and unexpected visitors, and we pray for your blessing on us all.'

Then there was silence again. And it struck me that Elliot was half right about God being a poem. Because it seemed to me that God was somewhere else, too – in the spaces between the words, in the silences. And wherever a group of people gathered to be with Him, there He was. And I was glad to be here, with Him, and with them.

The middle-aged woman smiled at me. ‘Biscuit?' she said.

I HEARD THEM COMING long before I saw them.

Spring had officially started a week ago, but it was still freezing there on the beach, before sunrise, with the icy breeze blowing off the sea. I was warm enough inside my parka, but my face and ears tingled with cold. I hoped Mish had persuaded Stella to rug up properly. Maybe not: I could hear Stella's voice raised in complaint, as their feet thudded down the wooden steps.

‘I'm
cold
. This was a dumb idea. What's wrong with walking by the river? Then we could have brought Tim. Let's go and get a coffee. I'm
freezing
.'

I stood up, hands jammed into my pockets. The morning star hung bright in the navy blue sky, and a crack of light had appeared between the dark blocks of sea and sky, wedging them apart.

Two shadowy figures were silhouetted on the walkway, one in a striped beanie, one in a parka with a furry hood. ‘But look, Stella. Isn't it beautiful?' I heard Mish say.

‘I guess,' said Stella grudgingly, and sent the curtain of her hair flick, flick, back over her shoulders. Then she saw me.

She stopped dead, staring, not sure in the dim light if it was really me. Mish prodded her onward, and slowly they descended the remaining steps and tramped across the sand to the clump of rocks where I stood.

‘Hi,' I said.

‘You knew she'd be here!' Stella said to Mish.

‘Well, der,' said Mish. ‘Hi, Bridie.'

‘Mum's waiting in the car.' I gestured back to the top of the cliff. ‘She's got coffee.'

‘Ooh, good.' Mish rubbed her hands. ‘See you later, girls.'

‘
Mum
!' said Stella.

Mish turned back. ‘Haven't you two got things to talk about?'

Stella kicked at a rock. ‘This is a conspiracy. I should have
known
.'

‘Oh, shut up, Stell,' I said. ‘Sit down and watch the sunrise.'

I lowered myself back onto my rock, and after a minute Stella arranged herself gingerly on a rock nearby, jiggling her knees in the cold. We both stared out to sea as the waves crashed and hissed onto the sand.

The line of light along the horizon grew wider, deepening into gold, and the inky blue of the sky gradually faded, the colour receding before the sun. A dazzling spot appeared on the horizon, too bright to look at. The flecks of faraway cloud were tinted pink and gold and amethyst. It was so bright we had to shield our eyes. When we looked again, the sun was up, a ball of white fire tossed into the air and hanging there, breathing gold all over the world.

I let out a deep breath.

‘Yeah, well,' said Stella. ‘That was pretty nice. But it doesn't prove there's a God.'

‘Jeez, Stella,' I said. ‘Can't you talk about anything but God?

Get over it!'

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Then we sat in silence for a while, watching the sun rise higher, and the waves run up and back across the golden sand.

‘Dad reckons we're going to get a flood of refugees from the war soon,' Stella said.

‘Yeah?'

‘His refugee group's looking for volunteers to teach English and stuff, help get people settled in. I said he could sign me up.' Stella gave me a sideways glance. ‘Don't suppose you want to, too?'

‘
Yeah
,' I said. ‘I'd love to help – to do something real.'

‘More useful than marching,' said Stella.

‘Marching's important, too.' I hesitated, then said, ‘There's this group called the Quakers, they were at the rally too. Did you see them? I've been checking them out. They're pacifists from way back. They fought for the abolition of slavery and women's rights, even back in the seventeenth century. They're really big on social justice. Greenpeace and Oxfam and Amnesty International were all started by Quakers.'

‘Wow,' said Stella. ‘They sound cool.'

‘There's a catch,' I said.

‘Oh,' said Stella. ‘Don't tell me. They're Christians, right?'

‘Right. Elliot told me about them.'

‘
Oh
,' said Stella significantly. ‘Are you going to be Quakers together?'

‘I haven't seen Elliot for ages,' I said uncomfortably. ‘And I haven't even been to a Quaker Meeting yet. They do sound cool, though. They're really into the whole equality thing. In the olden days they were always in trouble because they wouldn't take their hats off or bow, even to the King. And they won't swear oaths, because they think you should tell the truth all the time, not just when you swear to.'

‘They sound all right,' said Stella, ‘you know, for God-botherers.' She slid off her rock onto the sand and wriggled her bum into a hollow. ‘You going to stay up there on the moral high ground or come down in the dirt with me?'

I slid down beside her. ‘I thought you were the one on the moral high ground.'

‘Me? Nuh.' Stella looked away. ‘I'm just scared, that's all.'

It was a shock to hear her say it out loud. I shaded my eyes from the sun so I could see her face. ‘Really?'

Stella rested her cheek on her knee. She dug her fingers into the sand and mumbled, ‘I thought you'd skip off with your shiny new friends and you wouldn't need me any more.'

‘If you hadn't gone to St Marg's—' ‘I never wanted to go to St Marg's!'

‘I know! But I'm just saying. You did go, and I missed you. I had a – an opening for some new friends, and Jay and Elliot and Northside came along.'

Stella sniffed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘Yeah, well, that's a pretty lame excuse for
abandoning
me.'

‘I
didn't
.'

‘Well, it felt like it. Okay, maybe you didn't, but I was scared you would, all right? I thought you'd change. I thought you'd turn into a different person. I thought you'd get all stupid and judgemental and prejudiced, and only believe what other people told you to believe and never think about anything for yourself.'

‘And have I turned into that person?'

Stella chucked a pebble across the sand. ‘Not
yet
.'

‘I think it's been the opposite. I think I've asked more questions and thought more about things this winter than I ever have in my life!'

Stella didn't say anything; she drew lines on the sand with her finger.

‘Maybe some of the people at the evolution forum only believed what Randall Martinez told them to believe.'

‘Maybe,' mumbled Stella.

‘Anyway,' I said. ‘It wasn't just about finding new friends.

I was looking for something. I still am looking for something.'

‘Yeah? What?'

‘I dunno.' I felt embarrassed, but I made myself say it anyway. ‘Grace?'

‘I don't know what that means,' said Stella.

‘I don't either,' I confessed. ‘Not technically. But I know it when I feel it.'

‘So you have found it?'

‘Yeah, I think so. A couple of times.'

‘What does it feel like?'

I was quiet for a moment before I answered. ‘Well, I felt it when we were all singing our hearts out at Northside. And at Nana's funeral. And when I prayed with the people at the little church on the corner – I've been going there sometimes. And just now, watching the sun come up, the beauty of it all …' There was one other time: when Elliot and I had trusted each other in the half-dark with our questions, and with our uncertainties, but I couldn't share that with Stella. She wouldn't understand. So I said, ‘It's being grateful – and joyous – and feeling so small, but part of something magnificent. And when other people are there, too, sharing it, it's like you bring God into the room with you, just by being together – oh, I can't explain.'

‘Lucky you,' said Stella.

‘You're laughing at me.'

‘No, I'm not.' Stella brushed the sand off her hands. ‘Listen, Bridie, we have to stop being scared of what the other's going to say. So what if we have an argument? It's not the end of the world if we think differently. You believe in God. I don't. So what? Let's fight about it. Maybe you'll change my mind. You won't
break
if I disagree with you, neither will I.
We
won't break.'

‘Won't we?'

The wind whipped Stella's hair across her face. ‘No, we won't,' she said quietly. ‘Not now. Okay?'

‘Okay,' I said.

Stella gave a shaky laugh. ‘Check us out. Demanding world peace, and the two of us fall apart over … over …'

‘Philosophical differences?'

‘Yeah.'

‘It does sound pretty lame when you put it like that,' I admitted.

Stella traced a long winding S in the sand, and I added a bulbous B beside it. Stella drew squiggles all around our initials.

‘I was talking to a woman at the little church,' I said. ‘And she said doubt is good. She said all faith is built on doubt. That's how you start to believe in the first place, from a little seed of doubt, and that's how you keep your faith strong, by asking the hard questions, by doubting. And that's why I need you, Stell, because you're so good at asking the hard questions. You stop me being lazy, you make me keep thinking.'

‘And that's good, is it?'

‘Yeah, that's good.'

‘I was thinking I might come back to school next year,' said Stella, still absorbed in the patterns in the sand.

‘Seriously? What do Mish and Paul say?'

‘Well, they're not exactly rapt. But I've had a crap year at St Marg's. I reckon I can talk them round.'

‘Cool. But even if you can't, there's always uni.'

‘Yeah, there's always uni. So are you going to call Elliot? Come on, Bridie, don't be a wuss. He can take you to the Quakers. Or you could take him to your little church. Mum says she's going to become a Buddhist, you could try that. Or maybe you and Elliot could start your own church, now
that's
an idea.'

I laughed. ‘Has anyone ever told you you're bossy, Stella Kincaid?'

‘No, never. What
are
you talking about?'

There was a pause. ‘Mum and I might be going to Brisbane this summer,' I said.

Stella's eyebrows flew up. ‘To see your grandparents?'

‘Yeah. Mum rang them after – after Nana's funeral. She says she's been angry for so long, and she doesn't want to be angry forever. And they're getting old. They wanted us to come for Christmas, but Mum says she's not ready for that yet, so we'll probably go in January.'

‘Wow,' said Stella. ‘Hardcore. How do you feel about that?'

‘I'm not sure.' I was quiet for a moment. ‘Mum might have stopped being angry, but I've only just started, know what I mean? I'm a bit scared. But I guess I'll go.'

‘It'll be weird, for sure. But you never know, it might turn into a summer of love.'

I snorted. ‘You think?'

I hoped it might be a summer of forgiveness, or a summer of understanding, or at least a summer of trying to understand – a season to follow my winter of grace.

Stella stood up and brushed her hands on her jeans. ‘I'm still freezing. Want to see if Lisa and Mish have left us any coffee?'

‘Those two? No way. But we could make them buy us one.'

‘Hey, I'm holding out for a breakfast with the lot. I'm
starving
.' And Stella began to jog back across the sand toward the steps to the carpark.

I lingered on the beach. I'd follow Stella in a minute; because I wanted to, not because I had to. Another thing I'd learned this winter was that I didn't have to rely on other people to tell me what to believe or do or think. I could listen to the voice inside me and decide for myself. It wasn't always easy to hear; and whether I called it God, or the Light, or my conscience, or whatever, didn't really matter. And whether I found it at Northside, or St John's, or at the little weatherboard church, or with the Quakers or the Buddhists, or all alone on the beach didn't matter either. At least now I knew how to listen.