As the silence between them lengthened, Jemimah raised her head and looked at Michael, indicating she was ready to listen.

“I did say I was going to start with the worst case scenario and work my way back to you,” he said with a gentle smile. “What I see is that you’ve been through an incredibly difficult time, you’re stressed and frightened and exhausted -- and right now everything seems far, far worse to you than it really is. I’m sure that even by tomorrow morning, with just the help of a decent sleep and the relief of having Beau safely found and your ordeal over the yowie finally over, you’ll see things much more in proportion --”

“But none of that changes truth of what I’ve done! Even if I feel better it won’t make it less bad!”

“Look -- you’ve struggled with your faith under quite a trial. But you are being incredibly hard on yourself. You were hurt because you felt like God had abandoned you and let you down, and now you feel ashamed because you’ve seen He is faithful, and you just hadn’t waited and trusted long enough. Honestly, I can’t imagine any Christian who hasn’t learned that lesson.

You were frightened of the ramifications of Beau being told about Christianity against his parent’s wishes and reacted in the spur of the moment, and regretted it ever since. You might have not wanted to call Bailey, but you did it because you knew it was the right thing to do. And no matter whether you felt relief that you weren’t in more trouble from Julie, which seems a perfectly understandable reaction to me, you never, ever wished harm on Beau -- but without hesitation faced very real fears to find him.”

Jemimah shook her head in disagreement. He didn’t understand. Perhaps he only wanted to think the best of her, but she knew it wasn’t true.

“I know you can’t see it like that yet,” Michael continued gently, adding the last of the sticks to the fire, “and that’s why I started with Simon Peter and Saul of Tarsus. Because no matter how bad you think things are, even tonight at your lowest, you can trust in God’s forgiveness and restoration. Christ’s merit, not ours. Do you believe that?”

“I know God can forgive me - has forgiven me - but I did not know,” Jemimah struggled against the choking misery to even form the words, “how bad I was... I never imagined I could be like that ... think like that. That’s what ... horrifies me.”

Michael held her gaze for several long moments before he spoke. “But Jesus knew. Perhaps, in love he let you see it. In love he let you see how much you need him.”

Jemimah nodded, his face blurring as fresh tears overspilled her eyes. “Thank you,” she breathed out shakily. “Thank you. I can hold on to that ... that thought that God allowed all this ... in love. Not just to crush me.”

She wiped Michael’s damp hanky across her face, and pulled her knees up against her chest, resting her chin on them and watching as the fire began to lick at the newly added sticks.

“Since I came here,” she began, her voice so constricted she wondered if Michael could even hear her, “everything kept getting harder and harder ... I couldn’t understand why God would do this to me. I thought I had been faithfully following him ... that I’d been obedient and tried my best and---“

“And God kept piling on and piling on trials and misery until you couldn’t keep it up anymore? Till you couldn’t be the good Christian you thought you were?”

“Yes ... that’s exactly how it feels. But why, Michael? Why would God make it so hard for me to follow him?”

“I’ve got a roundabout way of trying to answer that. But by now, you wouldn’t expect a short answer from me about anything, would you?”

Jemimah smiled at the humour in Michael’s voice and shook her head.

He chuckled. “Well, there’s a hymn I love that sums up it up perfectly. It’s by John Newton. Everyone knows his most famous hymn, ‘Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me’, but he wrote another one I find even more helpful. I’ll sing it to you, if you don’t mind. Like I said, we’ve got plenty of time on our hands.”

She nodded, and Michael began to sing, his rich voice beautiful and perfect in the cold night air.

I asked the Lord that I might grow

In faith, and love, and every grace;

Might more of his salvation know,

And seek more earnestly his face.

'Twas he who taught me thus to pray;

And he, I trust, has answered prayer:

But it has been in such a way

As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favoured hour,

At once he'd grant me my request;

And, by his love's constraining power,

Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel

The hidden evils of my heart,

And let the angry powers of hell

Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more, with his own hand he seemed

Intent to aggravate my woe;

Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,

Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this? I trembling cried;

Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?

'Tis in this way, the Lord replied,

I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I employ

From self and pride to set thee free,

To break thy schemes of worldly joy,

That thou mayst seek thy all in me.”

For a few minutes after he finished, Jemimah sat in silence, staring at the flickering flames of blue and orange as the words sunk in. She felt utterly humbled and very, very grateful that after everything she’d done, Michael still wanted to encourage her.

“Thank you for ... for sharing that,” she whispered finally, still staring at the fire. “It sounds so much like what I’ve been going through. Seeing the hidden evils of my heart. But ... it doesn’t feel like God’s making me grow at all. I wish I knew that was true.”

She heard him draw in a long breath before he answered. “One of the things I love about hymns is that they were often written in the crucible of painful experience. Great hymns like these are a living theology tried and tested by struggling saints who have found God true and the Scriptures faithful. I think, on top of what you know of God’s promises in the Bible, that you can trust John Newton’s testimony that God does indeed use our trials and suffering to make us grow. Maybe you can even find it reassuring to look at your struggles in the light of the knowledge that God is working on you.”

She nodded, then tilted her head to look up at him. “Michael, would you ... if you didn’t mind, would you sing it again?”

He smiled widely. “Absolutely. I don’t mind at all.”

Jemimah listened to the words again, even more carefully this time. She already knew that she wanted to memorise it, so that she never, ever let herself feel abandoned by God again, and could remind herself that he would always be working for her good, even if she went through hard times like what she’d experienced that year.

“There’s a part of a verse,” she began, a little shyly, after Michael had sung the final verse, “I don’t think I understood.”

“Not the ‘blasted my gourds’ bit?”

His anticipation of her question surprised the first laugh from her in a long time. “Yes. That was the part.”

Michael grinned. “That’s another nod to the poetry of the King James Version of the Bible. It’s a reference to Jonah, when he sat up on the hill overlooking Ninevah, despairing over God’s relenting in his judgement against the city. He felt so miserable that he wanted to die, so God made a vine -- the King James uses the word ‘gourd’ which describes a pumpkin-like vine, to grow above him and give him shade. You’ll remember that contented him for a little while, until God sent a caterpillar to eat that vine, so that it shrivelled and died. So Newton’s simple line, ‘Blasted my gourds and laid me low’ brings to bear the whole context of Jonah’s experience onto the hymn. Jonah had found a material comfort, the gourd vine, which seemed to make his life bearable even while he was in disagreement with God -- but God blasted his gourds, took away Jonah’s worldly comfort, so that he would be forced to see how wrong his priorities were and to find his comfort in God.”

“Wow. That makes me want to go and read Jonah in the King James just to see that reference to the gourd.”

“Good. I think it’s a shame how few Christians these days are familiar with the text of the King James. Honestly, with English having changed so much and with arguably better translations available I wouldn’t suggest a young Christian use the KJV for their study time but, apart from its poetic beauty, knowing its language helps us get the most from centuries of Christian teaching, from the Puritans to Charles Spurgeon. And you’d be amazed at how many of our hymns are full of Scripture you wouldn’t recognise unless you’re familiar with the wording of the KJV.”

Michael chuckled, shaking his head self-deprecatingly, “I’m really sounding like an English teacher now, aren’t I? And I haven't even got started on its influence on our culture as one of the foundational texts of the Western Canon."

“No - it’s ... it’s really nice listening to you, and I like the idea of reading all the way through the King James Bible.” Jemimah was deeply grateful for the distraction from her own miseries, and to have a new project to think about. She’d always thought the KJV would be too hard to understand, but she could compare it with her usual Bible if there was anything she couldn’t figure out.

“And I want to memorise that hymn, too. How do you do that, Michael, to be able to memorise hymns like that, and all the scriptures you seem to just know?”

He shrugged, and reached out with a stick to stir the dying fire. “I do put time into it, but quite honestly, memorising poetry is something that has always come fairly easily to me. That’s why I find the hymns easier than scripture, though I wish I did do better with memorising more of the Bible.”

He stopped speaking, and tilted his head as though listening intently.

“No, I think it was just a bird,” he said, a moment later, “I thought it might have been the rescue party.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Wow. It’s much later than I thought. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ring the sergeant and check on their progress.”

Jemimah watched him walk away to the centre of the clearing, but her thoughts were far from his conversation with the sergeant. Somehow, because of Michael’s understanding and help, she’d come through the dark waters she’d been sure would drown her.

Her heart still felt bruised and weary, like she’d washed up battered and waterlogged on an unfamiliar shore, but she now had hope. Not only was she reassured that God was still with her, but also that He hadn’t abandoned her to the depths in the first place. It was horrible to have to discover what was really in her heart, but she now saw why God had to show it to her.

Beau stirred, and Jemimah scooted over closer to him. She reassured him when his eyes briefly opened, and watched as he drifted back into sleep. She leant back against the large boulder, once again with her knees pulled up against her chest, and her cheek resting on her folded arms as she watched over the small boy.

She could barely feel the cold now, only a numb exhaustion as she felt her eyes close, too. It was hard to rouse herself when Michael returned a few minutes later.

“They aren’t far now. Sgt Beaven suggested I wait at the creek and guide them back here so they don’t miss us -- but will you be alright? I don’t like leaving you.”

Jemimah lifted her head up and smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

Michael bent down to check on Beau. “Do you think he’s okay, sleeping this long?”

“He woke before. While you were on the phone. He was fine.” She couldn’t stop herself from yawning. “He’s only little ... and he’s been up since before the Dawn Service.”

As have I, Jemimah thought as she let her head drop back down on her arms.

“Okay, then. But just shout if you need me -- alright, Jem? Hope I won’t be too long.”

Jemimah’s eyes closed in warm contentment.

He had called her Jem. She hadn’t imagined it after all.

It sounded so special the way he said it. Like a gem.

Like she was something precious to him.

She smiled to herself, half-aware her thoughts were drifting into foolish places, but no longer able -- or willing - to call them back. Then Michael was gently shaking her shoulder and saying her name. She didn’t want to wake up, but knew vaguely that she had to.

Bright lights flashed across her eyes through her closed eyelids, and she heard the voices of other men behind Michael. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling a muted sense of relief at the sight of the bright yellow uniforms of the SES crew.

Everything would be okay now.

Michael was directing them to Beau, then gently explaining what was going on to the now awake child. Jemimah was trying to follow his words ... a ride in the special basket ... see your mum soon ... very brave young man.

Somehow she managed to shuffle out of the way and find a spot beyond the painful light. Michael was handling everything, she thought, gratefully drifting back to sleep.

And then, yet again, his voice saying her name.

It was darker now, the lights facing away from her.

The rock shelter was empty, and two men were lifting a long metal basket.

“Beau?”

“He’s good -- they’re ready to carry him out.” Michael reached out his hand toward her. “Are you ready? We’ll be home soon.”

Jemimah felt his hand grip hers, strong and reassuring as he helped her to her feet. It seemed hard to walk, harder than it should have been.

“Are you okay, Jem?”

“Just ... tired.”

Surely she’d be able to walk more easily as soon as she woke up properly.

Strong lights lit the track ahead and behind, and cheerful voices echoed through the scrub. They paused briefly while Michael showed Sgt Beavan Bob Gates’ hidden cattle pen. Then on again, down a slight slope to the creek.

Suddenly Jemimah realised how very thirsty she was, and crouched down to scoop up a handful of water.

“Jemimah! Stop!”

Michael’s rebuke made her jump guilty.

“Sorry. Will be quick. Just thirsty,” she managed to say, thinking he was worried she’d hold them up.

“No, no, no! Stop -- don’t drink that!” Michael caught her hands in his and lifted her back onto her feet. “You can’t drink that, that’s where the cattle have been. You’d get sick.”

“Oh.”

Something clicked in the far recesses of her brain, but she couldn’t recognise what it was. She was too busy trying to get moving again.

“Jemimah -- did you drink from the creek when you were lost the last time?”

She nodded.

“Have you been sick?”

She nodded again. “Very.”

Michael groaned in frustration, and Jemimah thought she must have exasperated him.

“I’m sorry ... I didn’t know.”

“No, no -- I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m just so sorry that you’ve been sick on top of everything else, too. Did you go to the doctor?”

Jemimah shook her head. “I thought ... it was just all the worry.”

“Are you still sick?”

“It’s not as bad if I don’t eat much ...”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Jemimah found it hard to remember. She certainly didn’t risk eating before the Dawn Service or the Anzac Day march. “Some bread. At lunch.”

She heard Michael sigh deeply. “No wonder you feeling as rotten as you do. I’m just sorry no-one thought to suggest a doctor. I honestly can’t imagine you could drink from that creek without picking up either parasites or a bacterial infection. At least that’s one more problem that can be solved for you. Anyway, that’s for tomorrow.”

He called out to the men ahead, “Hey guys, do you happen to have any water with you?” and within moments two bottles were passed back to them.

After what Michael had been telling her about creek water, there was something pure and reassuring about the bottled water -- but she couldn’t open the tamper-proof lid. Just when she could feel tears of frustration stinging her eyes, Michael reached across and opened it for her.

She gratefully took two or three sips before her stomach began to churn, and she tried to replace the lid. After several failed attempts she held it out to Michael, apologetically asking for his help.

“Let me know when you’d like more,” he said.

Jemimah didn’t answer -- it was taking all her concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other. While they were following the creek, unlike when she’d attempted it alone and actually walked in the creek, they were staying to the dry bank beside the creek. The uneven slope was becoming more and more difficult to navigate, and when she started to stumble, Michael reached out and took her hand and drew her close.

“Are you okay, Jem?”

She nodded. Yes, she was more than okay now. Michael’s hand was firm and strong and he kept her close.

She knew, somewhere deep inside, it was only practical help that he’d offered her, but it felt like the most wonderful gift in the world. It didn’t matter that she could barely think or see where to go, she was safe beside Michael. Slowly she slid back into half-sleep and dreams, her feet moving without any conscious thought on her part.

How long it took to walk out to the road, she never knew -- at once it seemed to have taken forever and no time at all. All she knew was that she was standing by the fence, dazzled by spotlights and headlights and watching as Beau was transferred from the rescue basket and onto the ambulance stretcher. Michael was no longer by her side.

“Miss Parker?” she heard the plaintive voice and moved towards the ambulance. As she bent down to him, two little arms came up around her neck in a hug. She kissed his forehead, and as she straightened up became aware of the Julie Noakes on the opposite side of the stretcher.

Well, she had been on the opposite side of the stretcher, Jemimah thought distractedly, stunned to be suddenly grasped by her in a huge hug and find her face wet with tears.

Julie was crying, and thanking Jemimah.

“You are an angel!” she was saying. “Such an angel. And after the awful things I’ve done to you -- I am so sorry. Thank you, thank you so much for finding my baby.”

Jemimah found she was crying too, but didn’t really know why. She was relieved when Julie turned back to her son, and then joined him in the back of the ambulance. The doors were shut and Jemimah watched it drive off with a sense that everything was done now. There was no more to do.

Then men in reflective yellow overalls where gathered around a pile of gear at the back of an SES vehicle, but Jemimah moved towards Sgt Beavan’s vehicle behind it. Exhaustion was closing in on her, and she could fight against it no longer. It took several attempts to get the back door of his vehicle open, but somehow Jemimah eventually managed it.

Feeling as though it took the last mite of energy she possessed she crawled inside and curled up on the back seat, and surrendered to oblivion.