At the sound of Michael’s footsteps approaching, Jemimah pressed her face into her sodden sleeve, hoping the darkness would hide her tears.

She knew she should be rejoicing at the multitude of answered prayers -- Beau’s safety and his brand new faith in God, an end to the yowie mystery and proof that she wasn’t losing her mind, even the solution to the saga of the missing cattle -- and no less providential, the unanticipated comfort of Michael Turnbull’s presence. The way he’d gone forward to face what they’d thought was a yowie was nothing short of heroic, placing himself between the creature and her and Beau. More than that, he was treating her as though their friendship was as strong as ever, just as though the disastrous scene with him and his father on his last visit had never happened.

And yet it made her all the more miserably wretched.

God had worked all things out according to His purpose -- but she’d doubted Him, inwardly accusing Him of abandoning her and not keeping His promises. She’d felt bitter and angry about the way He’d treated her instead of entrusting herself to Him.

When the most important test of her faith had come she had failed.

“How’s Beau?”

Michael’s words broke into her thoughts. He was crouching down beside her now, but she dared not turn her head toward him.

“Sleeping,” she whispered, hoping Michael would attribute her inability to speak to a desire not to disturb the boy.

He reached in and gently felt the boy’s cheek. “He’s nice and warm. How about you?”

Until Michael asked, Jemimah hadn’t even realised how very cold she was, or that even her teeth were chattering. She clenched her jaw shut against the rattling. “Fine.”

She nearly jumped when his fingers stroked her cheek with the same tenderness as when he’d touched Beau.

“You feel anything but fine to me,” he said with concern. “I thought my hands were icy -- but you’re even colder than me. I’d better see what I can do about a fire.”

She sat unmoving, barely able to breathe, as he reached past her to the back of the shelter, carefully lifting out a small pile of branches. His touch had started a blazing heat within her, and the cheek he had stroked was still burning.

He was arranging the wood ready for a fire just behind her, the stillness of the bush clearing amplifying every sound. She felt rude with her back toward him, but she couldn’t bear to try to make conversation. If she could only sit quietly in the dark and keep the misery contained inside her, Michael needn’t know what a failure she was.

“Did you hear the arrangements I made on the phone?”

Jemimah nodded.

A moment later she heard him turning around to face her. Of course he wouldn’t have seen her nod.

“Jemimah?”

The concern in his voice was exactly the kind of attention she’d wanted to avoid. She was holding her emotions in check by only the slimmest thread.

“Yes.” It was still only a whisper, and she still hoped he would think she was being quiet for Beau’s sake.

He didn’t move, and in the silence, she could feel him watching her, assessing whether she was okay or not.

Summoning strength she’d feared was all used up, she forced herself to turn around and lift her head to face him and nodded again. “Yes.”

He was still watching her, unconvinced. “They might be an hour or more before they reach us, but the rescue squad is going to come in along the creek and then carry Beau out that way. You’re not still frightened are you? Even though it turned out to be only Bob Gates, it would still have been quite a shock for you.”

She shook her head, willing him to turn his attention back to the wood piled in front of him.

After a moment longer, he did, and Jemimah let out the breath she’d been holding. It took many attempts for him to get the fire to take hold without any dry grass or leaves to use for tinder, and he’d eventually resorted to lighting the receipts from his wallet -- the only paper they had at their disposal -- to get the fire started.

“There! I don’t know how long it will last, but it certainly makes it a lot cheerier, doesn’t it?” He breathed in deeply. “Mmm. That’s worth it for the bushy smell of the smoke alone. Now, if we only had some s’mores.”

The distraction while he’d got the fire going had been just what Jemimah had needed to get herself back under control, and she even managed to smile across at him where he crouched on the other side of the fire. The fire gave only a feeble warmth to the front of her compared to the wet coldness that pressed in on her from every other side, but Michael was right -- the dancing flames seem to push back the suffocating darkness of the night bush.

He stood up and walked back over to the mouth of the cave and checked on Beau, then came and sat beside Jemimah.

“I can’t tell you how touched I was by what Beau said before,” Michael began in a lowered voice, “about having said sorry to God and praying to Him for help. That’s just incredible.”

Jemimah took a shuddering breath, helpless against the misery welling up in her again. It was incredible the way the little boy had responded to hearing about God -- and she’d done everything in her power to stop it.

“You mightn’t be aware -- but his parents are about as anti-religious as they come,” he continued, his every word knocking against the frail floodgates that barely held back Jemimah’s guilt and shame, “and I know he’d never hear the gospel at home. And for him to be talking about God like that ... even if that was the only thing God brought you here for, Jemimah, it’s already more than worthwhile.”

She shook her head in despair at the warm admiration in Michael’s voice -- if only he knew.

“It wasn’t me, Michael. It was Bailey Hart, and I ... and I,” the full force of her self-recrimination threatened to drown her as she put what she’d done into words, “I hushed him. I hushed him, Michael! A six year old boy was telling him the gospel and I made him stop! He was telling his friend about the God he loves and trusts and I stopped him!”

The horror of her confession made her gasp, and she buried her face in her knees and sobbed. She didn’t even care that yet again she was crying in front of Michael Turnbull, because whatever he thought of her couldn’t possibly be half as bad as the truth.

Michael didn’t say anything, but after a couple of minutes she felt the gentle pressure of his hand rubbing the back of her neck. It was the same tender gesture he'd shared with his sister, Gabi, when they’d all had breakfast at her flat in town, and it somehow reassured her that no matter how badly he thought of her now, he hadn’t abandoned her entirely.

“That’s not the whole of it either,” she said, hardly able to speak between her gulping breaths, but feeling like she had to let him know the worst.

“Shhh,” he said gently, pulling out his hanky from his pocket, “slow up, Jem. We’ve got all the time in the world. Okay?”

She nodded her head helplessly, and took the offered hanky. It was still neatly pressed, but damp through from the rain. It was a welcome refuge anyway, and she hid her face in it. She heard Michael get up from beside her, move the few steps to the rock shelter, and then add another couple of sticks to the fire.

“Beau is still sleeping like a baby,” he said as he settled back down beside her. Jemimah nodded, grateful that her outburst hadn’t disturbed the little boy.

“Why not start at the beginning?” Michael prompted gently.

Jemimah crumpled the hanky in her hands. What was the beginning? Was it just when Julie and Shane accused her of abusing her position by pushing her religion on their boys? Or was that already the last straw after the terrible misunderstanding at the Turnbull’s? Was it then that she’d started feeling bitter towards God, that He was letting her down by not answering her prayers and letting her go through so much?

“You mentioned when we were still searching for Beau that you were having problems with the school -- some parents had complained?”

“Yes ... Beau and Kai’s parents,” she said in a whisper, in case there was any chance the boy could overhear. “It started over me giving Kai detention for swearing ... but when they came to confront me over that ... they began to accuse me of ... of being prejudiced against their boys because they weren’t church goers and said ... said I was telling the children if they didn’t go to church they wouldn’t go to heaven. They threatened to complain about me. My principal supported my discipline of Kai over the swearing, but ... she did not believe me that I hadn’t told the boys any of the things they’d accused me of. She’s been -- antagonistic - about my Christianity ever since ...” she stole a sideways glance at Michael then stared back at the fire. “I don’t know how much you heard about ... about what happened ... after I met up with an old friend from school who now works at the Courthouse here?”

Michael didn’t answer for a few moments and then said, “Small town gossip can be cruel.”

“Yes.” Jemimah recognised his typical discretion in his answer, but of course he would have heard the gossip. “Since then Linda, amongst others, has viewed me as ... as a religious extremist. And then the whole yowie thing ... and half the parents waging a silent war against me because of Julie ... and the threat that if there was an official complaint my own principal would not back me up---“

She broke off with a painful sob and then, almost desperately went on, “Michael -- I’ve been so bitter against God! I stopped expecting him to answer my prayers. I’m meant to be giving my testimony of my faith in Christ on Sunday and I’ve been ... I’ve been like that wicked servant in the parable that thought of God as a hard task master and didn’t want to do anything more to promote His cause!”

Jemimah bent her head and cried in shame. Michael sat silently beside her, but when she felt the comforting return of his hand to the back of her neck she managed to go on in a whisper.

“All I have cared about is getting through each day ... proving I was competent. All I have cared about is what people thought of me. And then today ... after all the ANZAC day ceremonies and the barbecue were finally over -- I heard Bailey telling Beau about praying to God. And then I knew ... I knew why his parents were hearing about Christianity from their kids. It had been Bailey all along! And I stopped him! Because all I cared about was me ... not getting into any more trouble!” She was crying bitterly now. “If you had seen Bailey’s face -- he looked crushed. He wanted to tell his friend about Jesus because he didn’t think his own parents would. And I didn’t care. All I wanted was to save myself more trouble. It’s worse than that though ...”

She pressed her hands to her mouth, unable to bear what she was about to say next, but unable to keep it in. “When Julie came to the school tonight, to tell me that Beau was missing ...”

Michael bent his head closer to hear her hoarse whisper as she went on, “My first thought was relief. Relief that she wasn’t there to complain about me, relief that Beau hadn’t told her any more about God ... because he was missing!”

Jemimah was sickened to the core by what she was admitting and beginning to find it hard to breathe.

“How could I, Michael? How could I become like this?”

He was saying something to her now, in soothing tones, but she could not stop.

“And then ... I knew the obvious person to call was Bailey ... because he’d been with Beau ... he might know ... and ... and I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to call because I was afraid of what Marlene would say if Bailey had told her what I’d done. But she didn’t say a word ... because Bailey hadn’t told her ... because I’d made him so ashamed -- ashamed of having shared his faith that he didn’t dare tell his Mum about it!”

She gasped for air, horrified by her own confession. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to be near Michael, to be near herself. Her mind was filled with wild thoughts of running, of running into the dark bush and never finding her way out.

She tried to rise, but as though Michael had sensed her sudden desperation, the gentle pressure on the back of her neck had become a restraining hand.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he stated, not releasing the force on her shoulder until she ceased to strain against it. Shocked by the unexpected firmness of his tone, Jemimah crumpled down onto the ground, her legs curled under her and her face on her knees and cried desolately.

The hand on her shoulder was gentle again, but when Michael spoke his voice was still commanding.

“I want you to listen to me, Jemimah. Are you listening?”

He waited until she nodded.

“I’ve got a lot to say. Will hear me out?”

Again she nodded. She could not stop crying, but his voice was drowning out all other thoughts from her mind. She could do nothing but listen.

“I am going to start with a worst case scenario, okay? That’s why I need you to listen until the end. I’m going to work my way back to what you have told me -- but first I’m going to start with the worst that things could be. I’m not saying it’s what you’ve done okay? I’m just going start there with you.”

She felt him take a deep breath, and then when he went on his voice was softer.

“There was a man who had been with Jesus. He had seen him heal the sick, he had seen him raise the dead, he had seen the Holy Spirit descend on him at his baptism. He had seen him walk on water -- and had walked on water with him. When many others deserted Jesus, this man would not go because he believed that Jesus alone had the words of eternal life -- he believed that he was the Holy One of God. You know who I’m talking about don’t you?”

When Jemimah nodded, but said nothing, he answered for her, “Simon Peter. Simon Peter who promised that all men might fall away, but he would never desert his Lord. Simon Peter, who when warned of his own weakness, boasted that he would never deny his Lord. Simon Peter who did not stay awake when Jesus pleaded with him on the night before his death to watch and pray. Simon Peter who, before the rooster crowed three times, had explicitly and comprehensively denied any knowledge of or relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God three separate times.”

Michael paused and then asked gently, “Are you still with me Jemimah?”

He waited for her nod and went on, “Because nothing you have done, and nothing you could ever do Jemimah, could be worse than that. Okay?”

Jemimah felt the first faint glimmerings of hope breaking through her despair.

“And you know the end of Peter’s story, don’t you? Despite what he had done, despite deliberately denying the Lord he had walked with, eaten with and lived with for three years, Christ came to him and forgave him and restored him. Satan had desired to destroy Peter, but Satan did not prevail because Jesus had prayed for him.”

After a few moments passed in silence, Jemimah raised her face to look up at Michael, the light from the fire flickering across his intense brown eyes and reflecting in unshed tears.

“Do you see, Jem? Nothing could be worse than what Peter did -- and it was not the end of the world. There is always forgiveness for those who trust in Christ.”

If Michael had offered her empty words of comfort, or tried to tell her that what she had done wasn’t really so bad after all -- it could not have helped her. She knew how bad she was -- because the weight of it was crushing her. But he had shown her that, even so, there was hope.

Jemimah squeezed her eyes shut. O Lord, forgive me! Please, forgive me. Will you still forgive me after the way I’ve treated you?

“And that was the worst case scenario, Jem.” Michael’s voice was a soothing balm now. “From what you’ve told me, you’ve stumbled in your weakness while under great pressure, but you’re so very far from any kind of worst case extreme, even if you feel you are nearly there. And if Peter could find forgiveness and restoration in Christ, so can you. If Saul of Tarsus, who persecuted Christians to their deaths and who called himself the chief of sinners could be forgiven by Christ and used so mightily by Christ in his kingdom -- to this very day -- how much more can he forgive and restore you?”

Jemimah was crying again, no longer in despair and desperation but in relief and gratitude. She knew that Michael was right, that she did not have to minimize her sin to find forgiveness -- that Christ’s love and mercy was available. No matter how she felt, she was not irredeemable.

“Do you know what I really think, though?” Michael asked, and Jemimah tried to stop crying so she could listen to him. Although she could hardly bear to hear what he thought of her now that he knew the truth of what she’d done -- and of what she really was -- she was determined to face it. Whatever further pain his disapproval caused her would be the least of what she deserved.