Jemimah’s heart rate began to increase as the familiar scenery at the outskirts of Jacaranda Plains township flickered past the car windows.

It had been a comfortable trip home from Narrabri -- she’d collected her medicine while Angie and Leanne had brought the car round, pulling up in front of the pharmacy so that Jemimah could climb straight into the back seat. She’d found herself almost dozing in the comfortable seat, nestled beside several bags of Angie’s earlier purchases.

Angie had also found time to pick up a new CD that was now playing through the car stereo system, the ‘A Capella Psalmody’ from Michael’s player having been relegated to the glove box. For Angie’s sake, Jemimah hoped she remembered to remove the new disc before Michael started up the car for church in the morning.

She was glad the music relieved the need for conversation other than occasional comments between Angie and Leanne on various tracks. She was still more exhausted -- and more daunted by what lay ahead -- than she wanted to admit even to herself.

At least meeting up with Michael for the keys held no dread for her. While Leanne and Angie, or anyone else in the church had no idea what she was really like and naturally treated her the way they always had -- Michael did know what she’d done, what she was like - yet he’d made it clear this morning that his friendship was as genuine towards her as ever. The thought of the way he’d called her Jem on his way out that morning made her feel warm through all over again.

“What are you smiling at, Mimie?” Angie called from the front seat, glancing over her shoulder as she turned into the main street.

Jemimah quickly blinked away the image of Michael’s smiling eyes, though she could still feel the heat in her cheeks.

“Just imagining the scene when your family piles into this car tomorrow morning if your music is still set at this volume!” she teased.

“Hah!” Angie shot back, but Jemimah noticed her turn the volume most of the way down before pulling up in front of the school.

“Thank you so very much for taking us, Angie -- I really appreciate it,” Jemimah leaned forward to briefly put her hand on Angie’s shoulder. It hadn’t been what she’d planned, but without Angie’s help the morning would never have happened.

“Nah, it was good fun,” Angie brushed off her thanks then grinned, “anyway, don’t thank me, it was Michael’s fuel!”

That thought was still on Jemimah’s mind after she’d wished Leanne a happy last day of thirteen and waved as they drove off. Angie had just been making a joke, but Jemimah regretted that the fuel had never crossed her mind -- if it had she would certainly have had it refilled when they’d come back into town. It looked like there would no end to the debt she owed Michael Turnbull, and no conceivable likelihood she could ever begin to repay him. She could only hope that God would grant her the opportunity to be as generous to others as Michael and his family had been to her.

She walked in through the school gates, breathing in the crisp air and fresh aroma of damp leaves and grass. The school yard was littered with branches and leaves from yesterday’s storm, but the sun was bravely reasserting itself in the sky, and the whole school grounds seemed friendlier than they had for many long weeks.

What a relief to know there was nothing to fear in the dark shadows of the bush or to dread what might be conjured up in the dark corners of her mind. And what a relief to no longer have to be on her guard against the accusing eyes of parents and the threat of complaints to the department.

She rounded the corner of the wooden school building to see Michael reading in the sunshine on the bench outside the staff room. He looked up at almost the same moment, putting his book aside and smiling as he rose to his feet.

“I think you’re looking better already,” he said, quickly closing the gap between them. “Did everything go alright?”

Jemimah nodded, feeling the familiar blush beginning to rise up her neck. “Yes, thank you. It all worked out very well.” She looked down, embarrassed, but felt as though she owed him more after arranging it all for her. “The doctor thinks your diagnosis about the creek water is right. I’m very grateful you got me in to see her. She’s given me a script -- I should be back to normal in no time.”

“Good, good!” The warmth in his voice made her raise her eyes to his face, the proprietorial pleasure in his expression sending the heat up into her cheeks.

“And you?” she asked, keen to take the attention from herself. “Did everything go alright with the cows -- the cattle?”

“Yes -- great! A few hairy moments, but we got them all loaded up in the end.” The smile crinkling the corners of Michael’s eyes made her suspect he was enjoying the recollection of those hairy moments, and she wished she had the confidence to ask about them.

“And I got the keys to your classroom.” He pulled a small key ring from his pocket, but instead of handing them to her as she expected, he led the way up the steps onto her classroom verandah and unlocked the door.

Very aware of how much of his time she’d already taken up, Jemimah slipped through the open door into the semi-dark classroom and went straight across to her desk, aiming to gather her things as quickly as possible. Just as she scooped up her handbag and her basket, however, the fluorescent lights flickered on above her, filling the room with light.

“Wow. Your room looks great.” Michael stood in the doorway, turning slowly as he surveyed the artwork displayed around the wall. Jemimah rested her basket on her desk as she waited and looked at the room with fresh eyes.

Those Anzac Day posters which she had never intended to do -- and had resented so very, very deeply with their hundreds and hundreds of rolled up and glued balls of crepe paper -- did look good. All the extra work of the past few weeks that had seemed so burdensome and had held no satisfaction for her was all there to be seen. The achievement wall-charts she’d filled in through tears, the neat piles of books, the craftwork lined up along the shelves, the carefully written words on the boards ... none of the anguish was visible, just the beautiful results.

She let out a slow breath. These past, horrible weeks -- none of it had been wasted. While she’d just been trying to survive, to prove herself competent, God had used it to create an impressive display of the children’s work -- and of her work -- but she hadn’t even seen it until Michael had.

And it wasn’t just the classroom, she realised. Those sports afternoons where so many students hadn’t come in sports uniform and had spent the time marching instead had paid off too -- the kids had been perfect during the Anzac march, and a number of people had commented. And the children had enjoyed it because they were well-drilled and confident and proud of their participation. And the children’s reading: she’d worked so hard to make sure none of them suffered because of their parent’s boycott that she’d seen them make great strides in their progress. But she’d never seen it through the dense fog of misery.

But this was what the parents and the community had seen yesterday afternoon while the room was open for inspection, something far more than she would ever have planned. What a gift from God.

It was utterly undeserved -- and utterly humbling.

She’d only made all that extra effort to cover her own skin, yet God had used it to bless her and her students. She would not have known how much she could do if she hadn’t felt like she was fighting for her survival.

Was it like that with everything else, too? While she thought her whole life was plunged into misery and blackness and doom, was God making something beautiful through it all?

“This is incredible, Jemimah. If I’d seen this before you told me last night how much you’ve been struggling, I wouldn’t have believed a word of it.”

She looked back at him to see the lurking mischief in his warm brown eyes as he went on. “Makes me wish I was five years old again. It was never this good when I was here.”

For a moment Jemimah’s mind was filled with the thought of him at five, and six, and seven and in this very room -- and couldn’t believe she’d never thought to pull out the old albums in the school office and find Michael in each of his class photos.

She bit her lip guiltily as she realised that Michael was no longer looking at her classroom displays but at her. She quickly heaved her basket over her arm.

“I’d better not take up any more of your morning,” Jemimah said, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, dear -- your afternoon, now. But ... thank you so much for everything.”

“It’s been my pleasure.” He reached out to take her basket, “I’ll carry that to your car for you.”

Jemimah kept it on her arm, shaking her head. “Thank you, but I’ve still got to clean up in the staff room. We left all the cups and plates and --”

“Oh, I’ve done all that.”

She was so surprised she offered no resistance as he took the basket from her. “Thank you. Thank you -- I never expected ...”

“What? You thought I’d just sit around reading while I waited and leave it all for you?” The teasing twinkle was back in his eyes. Jemimah slipped quickly past him through the doorway before that twinkle was her undoing.

Pastor Turnbull was right; Michael was chirpy this morning. It made her feel as light and giddy as dandelion fluff lifted by the breeze but also anxious about embarrassing herself and ruining everything, again.

Michael turned the lights off behind her and locked the door, then walked with her to her car. He held the basket while she fished out her car keys, then lifted it onto the back seat for her.

“I’ll just get your clothes.”

Jemimah stared at him blankly as he went to the ute and retrieved a small bundle wrapped in a plastic bag.

“Your clothes - from last night,” he reminded her.

Jemimah closed her eyes in mortification as it all came back to her. For a moment it seemed worse than everything else she’d been through: the image of Michael Turnbull picking up her sodden clothes from the floor of the staff change room, until with sudden relief she remembered gathering them up into the plastic bag herself after blow drying her hair. She’d completely forgotten its existence after that, but still, it wasn’t as bad as she first dreaded.

She tucked the offending bag into the basket and closed the door on it, then stood beside her open driver’s door staring down at Michael’s feet. There was nothing more to do now but leave and let Michael get on with what was left of his day ... but she owed him so much ... and why did she feel so woefully inadequate to put any of it into words?

She raised her eyes to his face. “Michael. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve--”

“It’s my pleasure, truly. I’m glad I could be here,” he cut short her awkward speech, his expression making Jemimah believe he really did mean it.

Feeling even more strangely giddy, she looked away and climbed into her car, putting her key in the ignition while he gently closed the door. She had just wound down her window, when the sound of his voice close beside the window made her look up at him again.

“Jem? Is there anything else I can do to help?”

She shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that wanted to stretch right across her face at his use of Jem. Even after everything -- it was like a sign that she was special to him. That their friendship was something special. It made no sense, that after everything she’d done, and everything she’d told him, that he would not despise her -- but it seemed he didn’t. That perhaps hers wasn’t a hopeless dream.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.” Michael stood back to let her reverse, then waved her off before returning to his dad’s ute.

By the time she had pulled up in her usual spot beside her cottage, all that was left in her heart was the flat despair of reality.

For a few moments there at the school with Michael, she’d been able to see God working through her brokenness, and believe that there might even be the hope of joy in her future. But now, alone and weary and knowing she needed to face Marlene and Bailey, all she felt was her weakness.

The temptation to skip the visit to Marlene began to form in her mind. After all, she was so tired, so worn out ... and neither Michael nor Pastor Turnbull seemed to think her actions were so very terrible. And Marlene had no idea about any of it ... maybe she could wait until after Sunday, next week sometime when she felt a bit stronger and better able to deal with it.

It would be such an encouragement to Marlene and Bailey to know about Beau’s new faith -- but she could tell them about that later on, when maybe she didn’t feel so very bad about herself.

Jemimah screwed her eyes up against the lure of locking herself in her cottage, and curling up in her warm, soft bed.

Whether Marlene knew about it or not, she’d hurt Bailey. Sinned against him. Bailey, the little lamb entrusted to her care.

“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believes in me to sin ...”

She shuddered. She knew how that verse ended -- something about it being better to have a millstone around her neck and being thrown into the sea.

“Oh, Lord, help me to trust You,” she begged in her heart, “Help me not to be so afraid of everything.”

Why was it when she was with Michael everything had seemed manageable? Somehow he’d made her feel that not only was she more than the worthless misery she felt herself now, but that there might even be something precious in her. If only he was always with her, everything would be okay. She was sure she could face anything with him by her side.

“Please, God! You know I can’t manage on my own. Would you make Michael love me, to want to be with me - take care of me? Then I could trust in You, I could be content with whatever else came if he was with me.”

She remembered his parting question at the school -- the one he’d asked that had filled her with hope and joy - was there anything else he could do to help?

What if he would come with her to speak to Marlene and Beau? She knew he’d explain everything in a way that would make it all okay ... she wouldn’t have to put it into words. And he knew now how weak and unfaithful she was -- and he was still her friend. She felt she could endure anything if Michael was with her and accepted her.

She reached into her handbag and cradled her mobile phone. As usual there was no signal this far out of town, she’d have to go into the cottage to ring him.

Michael would come if she asked -- would be pleased to come, even after everything he’d done for her the last two days -- she knew that, but knowing that, how could she ask it of him?

And if he came, and helped her through this, what would happen come Monday -- when he was back in Sydney again?

How come she could trust in Michael to solve all her problems -- but not God?

Before she could give it any more thought, she thrust her phone away and got quickly out of the car with the Esther-like resolution, ‘If I perish I perish.’ The last several weeks had been a living nightmare because of not trusting in God. She knew that it would be wrong to continue along the same path, turning away from God to try to protect herself from pain and fear -- yet she had no idea how to trust in God when he seemed okay with letting her go through so much misery.

Jemimah forced herself up the steps to Marlene's verandah. Her legs felt like rubbery lead, her heart dull and bleak.

“Hullo, Jemimah!” Marlene’s smile was as wide and welcoming as ever. “How are you doing? Have you got time to come in?”

Jemimah nodded and followed her into the sunny kitchen. Marlene continued talking as she returned to kneading a slab of dough on her kitchen bench. “I was going to pop over earlier when you came by with Angie -- but I saw it was only a quick stop in for you. Isn’t it great how things turned out with Beau last night -- what an answer to prayer! Imagine if you hadn’t known where to look and he’d been out there all night.”

Jemimah nodded. How quickly Marlene's friendliness would fade when she heard what Jemimah had done to Bailey.

She suddenly noticed the unusually quiet house. “Are the children home?”

“Not yet!” Marlene grinned as she floured a heavy wooden rolling pin and sent it rolling across the dough with quick movements. “Quiet, isn’t it? They’ve gone out with Ma for lunch. Could be coming back any time now so I’m just trying to get these in the oven while I’ve got the chance.” She glanced up, and her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong, Jemimah?”

Unable to meet her friend’s searching gaze, Jemimah dropped her gaze to the dough, watching it distort into wavering patterns as her eyes filled with tears.

“I ... I need to talk to Bailey. To apologise. I did something ... very wrong.”

The rolling pin stilled. “What do you mean?”

Jemimah took a shuddering breath and poured out the whole sorry saga amongst a flood of remorseful tears, from the first complaint from Kai’s parents to Beau’s answered prayers in the bush the night before.

“And I am so, so sorry that I made Bailey feel bad for sharing the gospel with his friend,” she finished up. “I am so ashamed and I need him to know that he was doing the right thing, and I was so wrong, so very wrong because rather than obeying God I had been frightened of what people might do.”

There was a long moment of silence as Marlene stood on the opposite side of the bench regarding Jemimah. Then she prosaically handed her a box of tissues and picked up a fluted cookie cutter.

“Well, I have to say I’m very glad that Bailey is out,” Marlene said, the cookie cutter tapping against the baking sheet as she pressed out the rounds of dough. “It’s all well and good for you to purge your soul, but Bailey’s only six -- and a sensitive six at that -- it’s not going to do him any good to lay all this on him, is it?” With one quick movement she lifted the mesh of left-over dough, leaving the biscuits neatly in place on the sheet, then glanced out the front window. “How about you go through and wash your face, while I put the kettle on, and we’ll see if we can talk this through before the kids get back. Okay?”

Unable to work out Marlene’s attitude from her response, Jemimah meekly followed her directions, returning to the kitchen to see Marlene set the baking tray in the oven and take a couple of mugs from the cupboard and set them out in its place.

With a guilty grin, Marlene broke off a lump from the left over dough and popped it in her mouth. “With all the kids, I almost never get the raw dough to myself -- would you like some?”

Jemimah shook her head miserably, no idea of what to do or say now.

“You’ll have to forgive me for setting Bailey’s needs at a higher priority than your need for confession, Jemimah,” Marlene’s genuine smile softened the sting of her blunt words, “but we’d better work out a way for you to set things right without loading him up with a whole lot of stuff he’s not capable of dealing with.”

The kettle whistled cheerily on the stove and she switched off the gas, poured the two cups and broke off another piece of dough for herself. “Okay, you’re right you probably need to confess the wrong you did to him, but I really think for his sake you ought to make it as minor a thing as possible. Our kids have to know that we’re not perfect either -- that when we sin we need to repent and put it right just like they do -- but all the rest won’t do him any good. That’s your lesson you are learning, not his. He just needs to know that sometimes the people he looks up to and trusts do make mistakes too, but they’re prepared to own up to them and put it right. I’ll have a good talk with him later on about what happened, and make sure he knows he’s doing the right thing to talk to people about God whenever he wants, even if it does make some people uncomfortable.”

Marlene removed a tea bag from one cup and set it to brew in the other. “You’ve got some wonderful news to share about Beau, about how God answered everyone’s prayers and how because of what Bailey told him he says he wants to trust in God, too. Focus on that, and try to keep the rest of it as low key as possible for his sake.”

Jemimah nodded gratefully, watching Marlene bustle around the kitchen. She still moved quickly, as if trying to fit as much as she could into limited time, but now that she had the cookies in the oven and had sorted out how Jemimah ought to approach Bailey, she was clearly more relaxed.

“I heard Michael Turnbull turned up in the nick of time last night?” Marlene raised her eyebrows in not-so-innocent interest as she slid a steaming mug across to Jemimah. “His nan rang to let me know he was taking you back to their place last night, so I wouldn’t worry about you not coming home.”

“Did she? That’s so nice of her -- I never thought,” Jemimah murmured absently, so preoccupied that for once the mention of Michael didn’t even distract her. “Marlene ... can I ask you ...”

Jemimah paused to try to put her thoughts in order, and took a tiny sip of the tea in front of her. Some kind of berry flavour, but hot and not very sweet.

“I feel ashamed even asking, because anything I’ve ever gone through is ... nothing, totally nothing compared to the things you’ve been through. And ... the thing is ... everything I’ve done wrong is because I just don’t have the confidence of knowing God is really doing the right thing by me. I know now, looking back, I do see that he was in control, but at the time when things hurt so much ... How do I trust, Marlene? When you can’t see and it doesn’t make any sense? When it doesn’t feel like he loves you?”

“Oh, dear -- if you think I’ve mastered that lesson!” Marlene reached across and patted her hand. “But trusting God is something we need to learn, and need to keep learning. And to an extent, we can learn to trust in God from experience, when we look back and keep reminding ourselves of how he’s been faithful to us in the past, but I think the most important thing is to really, really come to know God himself. Then you can trust in him because you have confidence in what he is like and what he will do.”

She tried her tea, and frowned in consideration. “Might try some honey in it. What about you?”

Marlene put a jar of local honey and a couple of teaspoons onto the bench between them. She sat down on a kitchen stool and scooped a spoonful into her tea.

“Mmm. Better,” she said, after tasting it again. “What I’m talking about, Jemimah, is really learning about the character of God. Because he doesn’t lie or change, when you know the character of God you can be sure he will always act in keeping with his character. With love, with compassion, with faithfulness and so on.”

Jemimah dipped her spoon into the jar, and then watched as it gradually dissolved into her hot tea. She swirled it slowly. “But where can I start? I keep finding out there is just so much I don’t know that I need to know.”

“I like starting simple. I’ve learned more about God and the Bible in these last few years since having kids and needing to help them understand it than I ever did before. I’ve been teaching them a catechism - it’s like a simple systematic theology in a series of questions and answers -- and I’m really taken with one of the first answers. What is God? God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth.”

“You think that is simple?”

Marlene chuckled. “Okay, it’s concise then. But it’s one sentence, and contains so much truth in it -- you can think on it for hours without running out of material. Like you might start with the implications of God being infinite, and then look at how he is infinite in his being, and infinite in his wisdom, and infinite in his power, and holiness, justice, goodness and truth and so on. Then you start thinking about how he is eternal, and eternal in his power, and eternal in his holiness -- you see what I mean?”

“Yes. Would you write it out for me? If I could remember that list, it could be a good place to start.”

“Sure -- and it is just a starting place. And once you are deliberately thinking: ‘I want to know God, who he is, what he is like’, you can really study the whole Bible with that purpose in mind. Even the tricky passages, you read them asking: what does this reveal about God, what aspect of his character is being displayed here?”

She stretched across to the notepad beside the phone and tore off a sheet and wrote out the sentence and passed it to Jemimah. “I mean, obviously you can study God forever -- it should be our life’s work -- and there are heaps of good books and sermon series, but I always think you’re better to start with something manageable rather than getting overwhelmed and not making progress with anything. But the point is, that when you are confident in knowing what God is really like, you can trust that whatever is going on, however impossible it might seem to understand why, you will know that he is in control, and that because he is a perfect and loving God, his will will be perfect and loving, too.”

Jemimah jumped as the oven timer shrilled, and Marlene hopped up to check on the biscuits. The comforting aroma of warm vanilla cookies filled the kitchen, and as Marlene bent down to retrieve the baking sheet, Jemimah heard the crunch of gravel out the front of the house.

In moments the house was full of noisily cheerful children, hands clamouring for freshly baked biscuits, a farm cat that had snuck in amongst the confusion, and Mrs Hart. Marlene firmly shooed the cat out through the front door and clipped the screen shut, hugged her mother-in-law in welcome and slid the cookies onto a wire rack to cool.

“And Miss Parker is here, too, kids,” Marlene announced above the noise, “she came to tell me all about the good news about Beau being found when he was missing last night. Will you have a cuppa with us, Ma?”

Mrs Hart shook her head, “No, better be getting back. I have a lot to get done this afternoon. But it was great news about the little boy being found last night. Home and doing fine by all accounts this morning.” She turned and caught Jemimah in a hug, “And fancy you going out there in the bush to find him! I heard you were waiting for hours for the SES to come. Felt so sorry for you when I heard that.”

“But she had Michael Turnbull looking after her, Ma,” Marlene said mischievously, but if Mrs Hart picked up on it she gave no sign and went smoothly on to invite Jemimah across for dinner that night, saying the whole family would love to catch up on all the news. Jemimah thanked her, but gracefully declined, explaining she also had a lot to get done that afternoon as well.

After another round of hugs and kisses to her grandchildren and then Marlene and Jemimah for good measure, Mrs Hart excused herself and headed home. The children were already swarming around the cooling biscuits as the Land Cruiser drove off, and Marlene told them they could pick two each and take them out to the veranda. She and Jemimah followed them outside with their mugs and sat down on the bench nearest Bailey.

“Miss Parker has told me some wonderful news about Beau she thought you would love to hear,” Marlene began, making it easy for Jemimah to go on and tell the little boy how his friend had listened to what Bailyey told him and had asked God to help him, too. “So I was very, very grateful that God gave you that chance to tell him all about trusting in God. It was just what he needed to hear at just the right time.”

A slight shadow seemed to cloud Bailey’s expression. “But I thought you didn’t want to me talk to him about God,” he said in a lowered voice.

“I know, sweetheart, I did say that -- but I was wrong, and I’m very sorry I said that and made you feel bad when you were doing a very good thing. It was a big mistake.”

His faced lightened immediately. “That’s okay, Miss Parker -- everyone makes mistakes. Did you know that Uncle Jack is going to get a big screen TV and we’re all going to go and watch the Olympics at Ma and Pa’s when it’s on later this year?”

“Really? Is that so!” his mum responded with gratifying astonishment, and just like that the conversation flowed into safer, though somewhat convoluted waters as each of the children added their own snippets and stories from their visit with Ma and Pa and their uncles.

Jemimah breathed out with unimaginable relief, took her and Marlene’s cups through to the sink and then, after catching her friend’s eye with a mouthed ‘Thank you!’ made her quiet escape out the back door and toward her own cottage to face the next unimaginably hard thing that still awaited her.