At sunrise on Monday morning, May 2, 1887, fifty-year-old Dan Haddock awakened in the bedroom of the apartment above his furniture store in Denver, Colorado.

Dan rubbed his eyes, rolled over in the bed, and glanced at the large window, which was on the east wall of the room. The eastern horizon was rose-flushed and golden. Above the glowing rim of the sun, the intense purity of the blue sky was a sight to see. “What a beautiful world You made, Lord,” he said in an appreciative whisper.

The owner of Haddock’s Furniture Store rubbed his eyes again, and this time when he opened them, his line of sight settled on a ten-by twelve-inch framed picture that sat on the nearby dresser. Suddenly, as he focused on the face of the lovely woman in the photograph, Dan was overcome with emotion. His eyes filled with tears as he stared with infinite tenderness at the face.

He swallowed hard. “Oh, Rebecca, darlin’. I miss you terribly!”

Suddenly his mind was filled with precious memories.

Dan thought of the day he first met Rebecca Jardine when they both attended a tent revival in Jefferson City, Missouri, in June of 1856; he was nineteen and she a year younger. When the evangelist who preached the meeting finished a powerful gospel sermon, both had walked the aisle and had received the Lord Jesus Christ as their Savior. Both were baptized in the church that had sponsored the tent revival and attended the services whenever the doors of the church were open. They began seeing each other on a regular basis and soon fell in love. They were married in October of that same year, after he turned twenty and Rebecca nineteen.

Dan thought of when they moved to Denver in July of 1871 and opened the furniture store. They very much loved their new church in Denver and enjoyed serving the Lord.

His mind then went to March of 1885, when his dear wife came down with a serious case of pneumonia and, despite the excellent care she received from the doctors and nurses, died in April at Denver’s Mile High Hospital.

Heavy of heart and missing Rebecca so very much, Dan sat up in bed and lifted his Bible from the nightstand. Needing comfort, he turned to Revelation 21:4 and read about the future of the saved people in heaven’s holy city, the New Jerusalem: “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

Tears spilled down Dan’s cheeks, and he sniffled. “Oh, Rebecca, sweetheart, when you and I are together in heaven, God’s going to wipe away all our tears. There won’t be any more crying—” He choked and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “There won’t be any more crying, darling, because there’ll be no more death, no more sorrow, and no more pain.”

Dan drew a shaky breath. “Oh, dear Lord, I’ll be so glad when Rebecca and I are together again. Of course, Lord Jesus, when I first get to heaven, I want to see You, look into Your eyes, and thank You in person for dying on the cross for me and for saving me that day at the tent revival… Then I want to see my dear Rebecca and hold her in my arms again.”

This time Dan used the bed sheet to dry the tears from his eyes and face, then rose from the bed and made it up. After shaving and grooming himself and dressing in one of his business suits, he went to the kitchen and cooked breakfast.

At eight thirty, Dan descended the stairs and entered his furniture store through its rear door. He had swept the store clean after closing late Saturday afternoon, and as he made his way toward the front door, he smiled as he looked around and admired the tidiness.

When he reached the large front windows, he lifted the shades and waved at a man and his wife who were walking along the boardwalk toward their clothing store. They smiled and waved back. Dan then flipped the Closed sign on the door window to Open and unlocked the door. He was ready for the new business day.

Just as he was turning away from the door, he noticed a young man ride up on a white horse and pull rein at the hitching post. His face looked vaguely familiar, but Dan couldn’t think of where he might have seen him before. He was probably going to do business in one of the other stores.

As Dan walked toward the counter, he smiled. “Thank You, Lord, for helping Haddock’s Furniture Store do so well since Rebecca and I opened it here almost sixteen years ago.”

His smile faded as Dan thought of Rebecca again. He missed her so very much. However, as he walked behind the counter, he reminded himself that whenever it was the Lord’s time to take him to heaven, he would be with Rebecca again…and this time forever.

Dan then bent down to get into the safe below the counter. He glanced at the .45-caliber revolver that was on top of the safe as a security measure, then quickly turned the dial, working the correct combination. When the dial gave off its satisfying click, he opened the safe’s door and lifted out a bag of currency. He took a specific amount of money from the bag and placed it by denomination in the various sections of the cash register’s drawer. He placed the rest of the money back in the safe, closed the door, and spun the dial.

Just then the front door opened, and Dan looked up to see the vaguely familiar young man step into the store with a fierce look in his eyes. Dan’s eyes immediately took in the revolver in the man’s hand as he closed the door behind himself.

Fear gripped Dan’s heart, black and cold. He recognized the man now. He was an outlaw named Hank Kelner. Dan had seen his face several times on Wanted posters on the big board in front of chief United States marshal John Brockman’s office at the federal building in the center of downtown Denver. Dan’s blood froze.

The look in the outlaw’s eyes was even more piercing as he rushed up to the counter, pointing his gun at Dan. He spoke harshly, through his teeth. “I’ve been watchin’ you through the window, mister! I saw you put that money in the drawer, and I know you have more down there behind the counter. I want it all. Give it to me now, or I’ll kill you!”

Dan’s chest was tight, and he could only breathe shallowly, but anger welled up inside him. He leaned down as if reaching for the other cash but instead grabbed his .45-caliber revolver. As he raised the gun, Kelner fired first. The roar of Kelner’s weapon thundered throughout the store. The bullet struck Dan in the chest, and he collapsed behind the counter.

Kelner hurried around the counter to the safe. As he gripped the handle, he knew immediately that it was locked. Realizing that someone on the street might have heard the shot and called for the law, Kelner opened the cash register drawer, grabbed the money there, stuffed it in his pockets, and dashed out the door. He swung into the saddle on his white horse and galloped away.

Three men on the boardwalk about a half block away had heard what they thought was a gunshot in one of the store buildings along the street. When they saw the man rush out of Haddock’s, swing into the saddle, and gallop away, they agreed the gunshot must have come from Dan Haddock’s store.

As people on the street gawked, Cal Hardy, Rupert Blomgren, and Roscoe Nelson dashed down the boardwalk and hurried into the furniture store.

Once inside, they looked around. Seeing no one, Cal Hardy called out, “Dan! Dan! Are you in here?”

A slight groan sounded from behind the counter. Rupert and Roscoe followed Cal as he rushed in that direction. They saw Dan lying on his back, the chest of his suit coat wet with blood. He was gasping for breath.

Dropping to his knees beside the wounded man, Cal examined the wound as the other two crouched on the opposite side of the bleeding store owner. “Dan, what happened? Did that guy who ran out of your store rob you?”

Dan nodded slowly. Hardly able to speak, he said, “Yeah. When…I tried to stop…him, he shot me. He’s a…well-known outlaw. Name’s… Hank Kelner.”

“Oh yeah!” Cal said. “I remember seeing Kelner’s picture on the Wanted board several times.” He looked at Roscoe and Rupert. “We’ve got to get Dan to the hospital.”

The wounded man’s eyes were closed, and his jaw and mouth were set in angles that indicated the pain he was experiencing.

All three men stood, and Cal bent down over Dan’s head. “I’ll lift his shoulders. Each of you take hold of one of his legs. It’ll be easier carrying him to the hospital this way.”

They nodded and bent down to place their arms under Dan’s legs.

As Cal was adjusting his grip, he noticed Dan open his eyes and look upward, focusing on the ceiling. His down turned mouth slowly curved into a smile.

“Wh-what’s he looking at?” Rupert looked up at the ceiling.

“And what’s he smiling at?” Roscoe also lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

Cal licked his lips, glanced overhead, then looked back down at Dan Haddock.

Dan shifted his gaze to Cal. His smile widened, and he said in a weak voice, “I’m going to be with Rebecca shortly. My…my…Savior is calling me.” He closed his eyes and went limp. His head slumped to one side as he let out his last breath.

Cal bit his lower lip as he placed the palm of his right hand against the side of Dan’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He held it there for several seconds. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at his friends. “He’s— he’s gone.”

Rupert Blomgren and Roscoe Nelson were also Christians, both of them belonging to a solid Bible-believing church in Littleton, one of Denver’s suburbs. Both men also had tears in their eyes.

After a long moment of silence, Cal said, “Since I belong to the same church as Dan, I’ll go tell Pastor Robert Bayless what has happened. I—I know it will bless his heart to hear about Dan’s smile just before he died, that he said his Savior was calling him and that he would be with Rebecca shortly.”

Both men nodded, blinking back tears.

“I know Pastor Bayless will preach the funeral service, of course,” Cal said. “And he will see to it that one of the undertakers picks up the body and prepares it for burial.”

Rupert said, “Roscoe and I will go to Chief Brockman’s office and tell him what happened.”

“Let’s go.” Cal headed toward the front door of the store. He flipped over the Open sign so the Closed side showed through the window. “Let’s leave the door unlocked so the undertaker can come in to get the body.”

Breaking into a run, Cal Hardy covered the three and a half blocks from Haddock’s Furniture Store to Denver’s First Baptist Church in a matter of minutes. He hurried to the rear of the church building, where there was an outside door to the pastor’s office, and knocked on the door.

He could hear footsteps from inside the office, and the door swung open. He was greeted by a smile from Pastor Robert Bayless, who was in his early fifties, his dark brown hair beginning to show some silver. “Hello, Cal. What can I do for you?”

Cal cleared his throat. “Pastor, I have some bad news for you. May I come in?”

The pastor’s features pinched. “Why, of course. Please come in.”

At the Denver jail, chief U.S. marshal John Brockman was sitting at a table in a small room with Norman Yanek, whom he had just led to receive the Lord Jesus Christ as his Savior. Brockman had personally pursued and caught the thirty-year-old Yanek after he’d robbed Littleton National Bank the previous week.

Yanek had faced trial in Denver, and Judge Ralph Dexter had sentenced him to ten years in the Colorado State Penitentiary at Cañon City. Brockman was all set to personally take him there the next day.

In his early forties, the chief U.S. marshal stood six feet five inches tall, a strikingly handsome man with short black hair and a well trimmed matching mustache over a square jaw. His right cheekbone sported a pair of identical white-ridged scars. It appeared to Yanek that Brockman’s eyes were pools of gray that sometimes seemed to look straight through him. Brockman was slender in the hips, yet had broad shoulders and very muscular arms that showed off his light gray uniform with its shiny gold, shield-shaped badge. His lawman’s look was completed by a low-slung, tied-down Colt .45 in a black-belted holster, the handle grips of which were bone white.

John Brockman smiled. “Norman, I’m so glad that you listened to the gospel and opened your heart to the Lord Jesus.”

Yanek was still holding on to the Bible Brockman had brought with him. He matched John’s smile. “Sir, I very much appreciate you caring enough about this wicked sinner to show him how to be saved.”

“Norman, I want you to keep that Bible. Take it with you to prison, and study it every day.”

Yanek’s eyebrows arched. “Really? You’re giving it to me?”

“Yes.”

Tears misted the prisoner’s eyes. “Sir, thank you for your kindness and generosity. I promise I’ll study this book every day.”

At that moment, the door of the small room opened, and Sheriff Walt Carter stepped in with one of Brockman’s deputies, Roland Jensen, at his side.

As they walked toward the table, the sheriff said, “Chief Brockman, Deputy Jensen has some bad news for you.”

Brockman frowned and stood, towering over the sheriff and the deputy U.S. marshal. “What is it, Roland?”

Roland told the chief about Rupert Blomgren and Roscoe Nelson coming to the chief ’s office with the bad news that Dan Haddock had been robbed and killed just over half an hour ago by outlaw Hank Kelner.

Brockman’s heart lurched in his chest. His face paled, and his eyes widened. He was obviously jolted to hear about his dear Christian friend, and it showed more as the ridges of his twin jagged scars turned even whiter and tears filmed his eyes.

Deputy Jensen then told Chief Brockman that Cal Hardy was with them at the furniture store after Dan was killed and where Cal had gone afterward.

Brockman nodded. “I’m glad Cal informed Pastor Bayless. Now how do we know Hank Kelner was the one who robbed and killed Dan?”

“There’s no doubt,” Jensen responded. “Rupert and Roscoe said that before Dan died he told them and Cal that it was Kelner. He had seen Kelner’s picture on the Wanted posters in front of your office.”

“All right.” Brockman nodded again. “Now what about Kelner?”

“Some people on the street saw him as he galloped away from the furniture store. They told Rupert and Roscoe that he was on a white horse, wearing a red jacket and a low-crowned black hat. Apparently he galloped eastward on Colfax Avenue and no doubt was headed out of town.”

Brockman rubbed his angular chin. “Well, Kelner is from Kansas City. I’d bet he’s heading home.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jensen said. “I’d say that’s where he’s going, all right. He must figure he has pulled enough holdups in Colorado to do him for a while.”

“Tell you what, Roland,” the chief said. “As you know, I was going to take Norman Yanek here to the Cañon City prison tomorrow.”

The deputy laughed. “But you’re thinking of going after Hank Kelner now and want me to take Norman to Cañon City.”

Brockman grinned. “You’re pretty smart. Remind me to get you a pay raise.”

Sheriff Walt Carter chuckled. “Let me know if that happens, Roland.”

The deputy chuckled as well. “Oh, I will, Sheriff !” Then in a more serious tone he said, “Chief Brockman, I’ll tell the other deputies what has happened and that you’ll be pursuing Kelner. How soon are you going after him?”

“Just as soon as I can get to the hospital and tell my wife where I’m heading.”

“I figured you wouldn’t let any grass grow under your feet. Yanek and I will leave early in the morning.”

“Fine,” Brockman said.

“I hope you catch Kelner real quick,” Roland said.

“I’ll do my best.”

The sheriff and the deputy U.S. marshal left the room as Chief Brockman looked down at Norman Yanek. “I often take prisoners I’ve arrested to the Cañon City prison. I’m sure there will be more, so I’ll see you soon.”

Norman rose to his feet and picked up the Bible with his left hand. “Chief Brockman, thank you again for leading me to the Lord and for giving me this Bible. I’ll look forward to seeing you next time you’re at the prison.” He extended his right hand.

Brockman reached out and gripped it tightly. “It’s been my pleasure, Norman. I’ll look forward to seeing you too.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll have to lock this door, you understand. One of the sheriff’s deputies will be coming soon to take you back to your cell.”

Norman smiled and nodded.

“And if for some reason we don’t see each other here on earth again, I’m glad to say that I’ll meet you in heaven.” With that Brockman stepped into the hall, closed the door, and locked it. He dashed outside, mounted his big black horse, and galloped a few blocks to Denver’s Mile High Hospital. After dismounting and tying the reins to a hitching post, he hurried inside.

Making his way down the central hall, John entered the surgical ward and drew up to the main desk. The attendant at the desk looked up and smiled. “Hello, Chief Brockman. I imagine you’re wanting to see Breanna?”

“Yes, Millie. Is she available?”

“Well, as one of our leading nurses, she stays awfully busy, but you happened to come in at the right time. She just finished assisting Dr. Stockwell with an appendectomy, and she’s in the nurses’ washroom cleaning up. I’ll go tell her you’re here.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Millie hurried from the desk and entered a door a short distance down the hall. In less than two minutes, she returned and told him that his wife would be out shortly. John thanked her, then moved down the hall and positioned himself close to the door.

A few seconds later, the door swung open and Breanna appeared in her white nurse’s uniform, smiling warmly as she moved toward John. “Millie told me you wanted to see me, darling.”

“Yes.” He smiled down at his blond, blue-eyed wife with love in his eyes. “Let’s move to a more private spot. I have to leave town right away, and I want to tell you about it.”

John took Breanna by the hand, and they walked down the hall.

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re about to chase after some outlaw to bring him to justice.”

“You guessed right, sweetheart. You’ve heard me talk about Hank Kelner.”

“Yes. His picture has been on your Wanted board for some time. I remember looking at it once or twice.”

“Well, he robbed Dan Haddock at his furniture store a little while ago and shot him.” John clasped Breanna’s hands. “Dan’s dead.”

Her body stiffened in shock. “Oh, John! This is terrible!”

“For sure. I’m going after Kelner immediately.”

Breanna nodded. “You’re going after him alone, like you do most of the time?”

“Yes.”

Breanna took hold of John’s upper arms. “I know that you feel you must chase down this Kelner outlaw personally, darling, but can’t you take at least one of your deputies with you?”

“Right now all of my deputies are working on other assignments. Those in the office have important paperwork to do.”

Breanna’s eyes brimmed with concern.

John smiled. “Don’t you worry now, my love. I’ll be just fine. I know how you pray for my safety and success whenever I’m trailing outlaws. You just keep it up. That cold-blooded killer took the life of a good friend of ours. I’m going to make sure he pays for it.”

Breanna squeezed his arms. “I know you need to do this, John. I’ll be praying for you as always. Come back as soon as you can.”

“You know I will, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly. “Tell Paul and Ginny that I love them.”

Breanna smiled up at him. “I’ll do that, darling. I’ll walk you out to Blackie.”

They made their way outside, and John kissed her again, telling her how very much he loved her. Breanna returned the sentiment. Then his big black horse whinnied at Breanna as John mounted up. She patted his neck. “Take care of him, Blackie!”

As Blackie nodded and whinnied again, John told Breanna one more time that he loved her, and she watched horse and rider gallop away. “Go with God, my love.”

When John and Blackie disappeared, Breanna turned and walked back into the hospital with a resigned smile, knowing she had placed her husband in God’s care. There were patients who needed her expertise.

As Chief John Brockman rode out of Denver on Colfax Avenue and onto the Colorado plains, he peered eastward toward the Kansas-Colorado border. “Lord, please let me catch Hank Kelner before he kills someone else.”

June 9

My cousin Kim gave me a new diary yesterday. She received it for graduation, but she prefers to journal on her computer. “With a security lock, of course,” she confessed. Anyway, this nicely bound book (a green product made of recycled materials) seems to be enticing me to write. Especially since I already filled up my old diary, which is safely hidden away in one of my suitcases tucked into the back of the guest room closet. Okay, as both Kim and my uncle keep telling me, “It’s not the guest room, Maya. It’s your room.” I’m trying to see it that way. But it’s not easy. So much about my life is not easy…but I must admit that it’s getting better. And I do have hope.

Anyway, since today was rather interesting and the beginning of summer vacation, I will start here. Although to get “here,” I need to go back to before the school year ended. I’d been attending Harrison High for several weeks when Mr. Fenton challenged our art class to volunteer for a community project. We’d been invited by the park district to create a mural on a downtown youth center. A lot of kids signed up, and everyone seemed supportive and interested. But today, the first day of the project, Marissa Phillips and I were the only ones to actually show. “It figures,” she said as the two of us stood gazing up at the big, boring wall. The paint was splotchy looking, with random beige smears that resembled a bad case of psoriasis. Probably someone’s attempt to hide the graffiti and tagging, although a few offensive words still showed through.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “That no one else would come.” “Why’s that?” I adjusted the twisted strap of my Osh Kosh overalls. I’d gotten dressed pretty quickly this morning, barely managing to catch the downtown bus. “Because people are basically selfish.” I turned and looked at her. With hands planted on her hips, Marissa stared at the ugly wall and frowned. For some reason, when I first began attending Harrison High, I felt drawn to this girl. Like we shared some commonality. And I suppose we do have some physical similarities. We’re both tall and have long hair, although hers is straight and mine is curly. And because she dyes it black, her hair’s a lot darker than mine. I think that’s why her complexion looks so pale. Whereas mine (thanks to my dad) is the color of café au lait.

But our looks aside, we are similar in other ways too. Or maybe we both just have an attitude. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and has opinions that not everyone shares. She’s two years older than I am. In fact, she just graduated with my cousin Kim. Not that she seems older exactly. Or maybe I just feel older than sixteen. Sometimes I feel like I’m in my thirties. But a hard life can do that to a person.

“So if that’s true,” I asked Marissa, “if people are basically selfish, why are you here?”

She laughed. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew?”

“I’m doing community service.”

“For what?”

“Oh…something that happened a couple of months ago. I guess you hadn’t moved here yet.”

“What did you do?”

“I got caught with alcohol in my car.”

“Driving under the influence?” I knew Marissa was kind of a wild child, but I thought she had more sense than that.

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I wasn’t under the influence. I was underage.”

“Well, obviously.”

“It didn’t really help much that my dad’s a cop.” She made a face as she reached into her bag and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, quickly lit it, then blew out an exasperated

puff.

“Your dad’s a cop?” Now this caught me off guard. Of all people who might have law enforcement officials in their family, Marissa just doesn’t seem to fit the profile. I can only imagine how frustrated her father must feel.

“Oh yeah…” She peered back at the wall. “In fact it was his recommendation that I spend my summer vacation performing community service. If dear old Dad hadn’t been in court that day, I probably would’ve gotten off a lot easier.”

“You’re doing community service for the whole summer?”

“Yep.” She blew another puff of smoke over her shoulder.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It was either that or give up my car and move out of the house. And I wasn’t financially ready for that…not just yet.” She took in a slow drag, then looked curiously at me. “So what’s your excuse?”

“Excuse?”

“For being here.”

“You mean because I must be basically selfish too?” She shrugged.

“I just wanted to do it,” I admitted. “I mean, when Mr. Fenton described the project, it sounded kind of fun to help someone else, and he made it seem like it would only take a week.” Marissa laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, right. Think again.” I frowned back up at the wall. “With just the two of us, this mural could end up being your entire summer of community service.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much, except that it’s going to be scorching out here before long, and this wall is in the sun most of the day.” She reached in her bag again, and this time pulled out her cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Friends…Hey, Spencer,” she said warmly. “What’s up, dude?” Then she winked at me. “Well, Maya and I are downtown right now. We volunteered to do this mural project, and we sure could use some big, strong guys to help out.” She smiled knowingly. “Oh yeah, for sure. Maybe you could get Jake to come and help too…No, it’s no big hurry. I mean, we need to kind of figure out

where we’re going with this mural and get the paint and stuff. Maybe not today. But how about tomorrow? First thing in the morning?” She got a catty smile now. “Oh yeah, totally.” Then she hung up.

“Help on the way?”

“Sounds like it.” She slipped her phone back into her bag.

“Spencer is such a pushover when it comes to good-looking women.”

“I hope he didn’t get the wrong impression.”

“We’re talking about Spencer, right?” She laughed. “Of course he has the wrong impression. It’s just the way that boy’s brain is wired.” And I was fully aware of this. Spencer had begun hitting on me as soon as I started going to HHS a couple of months ago. I’d been flattered at first, but as I got to know him better, I realized that I needed to draw some boundaries. Even so, I wasn’t going to admit that Spencer wouldn’t have been my first choice for help. “So…do you think I should call anyone else?” I offered. “Sure. Do you know anyone else?” I kind of shrugged.

The truth is, I still don’t know that many people in this town. Kim and her best friend, Natalie, already have summer jobs. But I was thinking about the kids in Kim’s church youth group—particularly Dominic. Any excuse to spend time with Dominic seemed like a good excuse to me. But I didn’t know his number, so I called Caitlin. She and her husband, Josh, are the youth leaders, and she’s been sort of mentoring me since I committed my life to God a couple of weeks ago. She answered, and I quickly explained the mural project and our lack of volunteers. “It was supposed to take only a week,” I said finally. “But with just Marissa and me and this great big wall, well, it’s a little overwhelming. She’s already called a guy to help, but—” “What a cool project,” Caitlin said. “That building is a real eyesore. It’s great that someone wants to make it nice, and I’m sure that’ll be a blessing to the kids who use the center. Why don’t I call around and see who might be willing to help out?”

“That’d be awesome, Caitlin.”

“When do you want your helpers to show up?”

“We have to figure some things out first. We probably won’t need anyone until tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I hung up and smiled hopefully. But Marissa was frowning at me now. “Why are you calling in the church people?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to make you a list of reasons?”

“Are you willing to turn away free help?” She dropped her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it out with her heel as she shrugged. “I guess not. So what’s the deal, Maya? Are you one of them?”

“One of what?”

“Are you a Christian too?”

I took in a deep breath, then slowly nodded. “Actually, I am.” She shook her head in a dismal way. Like this was really unfortunate.

“I’ll admit it’s still kind of new for me,” I said.

“Why?” Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied me closely. I started to feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.

“Why?” I repeated, confused. “You mean why is it new for me?”

“No. Why did you do it?” The way she said this made a woman walking through the parking lot glance nervously at me, like she assumed I’d committed some horrendous crime.

“Become a Christian?”

“Yeah.” Marissa made a sour face. “I mean, I can understand girls like Kim and Natalie… They’re such goody two-shoes. But you, Maya? I thought you were different.”

“I am different.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was unhappy and lonely and hopeless and depressed and just really, really lost.”

“And now you’re found?” I could hear the teasing note in her voice.

“Actually, I do feel kind of found.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, Marissa, if anyone had told me just a few months ago that I was going to make a life-changing commitment like this…well, I would’ve reacted just like you. I would’ve said they were

crazy. Seriously, I never would’ve believed it myself.” Her countenance softened ever so slightly, and she didn’t question this statement.

“And like I said, it’s still new to me. Basically, all I can say is that I was totally mixed-up and messed up and just plain lost…and now I have this real sense of peace. Honestly, it’s something I never had before.”

“Peace?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes. It’s hard to describe it, but it’s like my life is in good hands now, like I feel hopeful.”

“You sound like Chloe Miller now.”

I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The fact is, of all the Christians I know, which aren’t that many, I can relate to Chloe best. I mean, Kim is cool and takes her faith seriously. And Caitlin is sweet and sincere and helpful. And Nat… Well, don’t get me going there. But right from the start, I seemed to get Chloe. And she seemed to get me. Maybe it has to do with the whole music thing—a kind of artistic, outside-the-box sort of thing.

“So what do you think we should paint on this wall?” Marissa seemed eager to change the subject, and I felt relieved.

“I’m thinking we should get some sketches going.” I unzipped my pack and retrieved a sketch pad. “We’re not supposed to do anything out here without Mrs. Albert’s approval.”

“Who’s that?”

“The superintendent. But if we can get her okay, we could probably start putting the drawing on the wall before our other volunteers show up. That way we can put them to work.”

“Yes sir.” She gave me a cheesy grin. “You the boss.” Before long we were sitting there on the curb, discussing ideas and playing with images. Unfortunately, Marissa’s ideas leaned toward the dark side, and when I challenged a particularly frightening image, she seemed slightly offended.

“So what do you want to paint?” she shot back. “Sunshine, flowers, and sweet turtledoves?”

“No, not exactly. But something more cheerful than a dragon burning a gnarled tree stump.”

“I was just trying to come up with something that graffiti artists would respect,” she said defensively. “Something they wouldn’t make fun of and want to deface.”

“That’s a good point. We don’t want it to be too childish.”

“But I suppose a dragon might be scary to some of the little kids who come here.”

“What exactly is the purpose of this building?” I ventured. She shrugged. “It’s a youth center. Duh.”

“So it’s a place for kids to come…for what purpose?”

“To hang. To play. For kids who need something like that.”

I kind of frowned at her. “Why?”

“You know, it’s for kids who might be kind of underprivileged, or maybe they’re unsupervised. The center has a day-care program and all kinds of classes and activities for after-school programs. Stuff like that.” Now she laughed. “Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have had anything like that back in Beverly Hills, little Miss Rich Girl.”

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told Marissa so much about myself. But at the time, when I needed a friend a couple of months ago, it seemed right. And I thought I could trust her. Not that I

can’t.

“I’m not a rich girl.”

“Says you.” I just rolled my eyes. The truth was, I would’ve appreciated a center like this when I was a kid. Not that I plan to admit that to Marissa. But despite her misconceptions, my childhood wasn’t exactly ideal or nurturing, and I certainly never felt rich. Of course, Beverly Hills isn’t the sort of town where people are terribly concerned over the welfare of the younger generation. Like Marissa, people just assume that if you live there, your parents have lots

of money, and you’ll be just fine.

“So it sounds like it’s a place that’s meant to encourage kids, to help themgrow into better people, to give them hope,” I finally said. Marissa laughed loudly. “Hey, maybe you should go into politics or public relations or advertising or something.”

“Come on. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can get some serious sketches going. And the sooner we can get started, the sooner we can get done, and we won’t be out here

baking in the sun all summer.”

“You seem to have it all figured out, boss. Go for it.” Marissa pulled out another cigarette. Now I was tempted to point out the risks of emphysema and lung cancer, as well as how smoke makes your hair stink and yellows your fingernails, but I figured she was probably already aware

of these facts.

“Fine. I think we should create something that feels hopeful.” I squinted up at the blotchy-looking wall again. “Something colorful and cheerful and happy.”

“Maybe we could paint a pwetty wainbow?”

Just before I made a smart retort, I stopped myself. “Hey, maybe you’re right.” I grabbed my sketch pad and began to draw.

“But we’ll design it in a more modern style. Sort of cubist.” She looked over my shoulder as I drew a series of sharply angled shapes, working them together to make an arch.

“Interesting…,” she finally admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I can kind of see it. And it would actually be fairly easy to put a team to work on it since it’s mostly shapes.”

“Exactly. We’ll draw them out, and they can paint them in.”

“We’ll need a lot of different colors.”

“So you can see the rainbow?” I asked. “I mean, since there’s no color in my sketch?”

“Yeah. I get where you’re going.” She snuffed out her cigarette, then reached in her bag for a tin of colored pencils. “Here, add some color.”

By midmorning we had a final colored sketch as well as Mrs. Albert’s approval. “Very nice, girls,” she told us as we were ushered out of her office. “And anything will be an improvement over what’s out there now.”

“Well, that was flattering,” Marissa said as we headed down to the storage room to meet the janitor and check out the ladders and painting supplies. “At least her expectations aren’t too high.”

Marissa laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at meeting people’s low expectations.” I wanted to ask her why that was, but we needed to get busy if we were going to put more volunteers to work tomorrow. And to my relief, Marissa actually knew how to work hard. By the end of the day, Marissa had gotten the paints, and I had managed to get a fair amount of the sketch onto the lower part of the wall.

“Nice work, boss,” Marissa said after we’d put the supplies away and stood looking at the beginning of our mural. “Same back at you.” And I have to admit that I was kind of excited to see how this whole thing would turn out. And hopefully more people will show up to help tomorrow.

Maya’s Green Tip for the Day

Don’t pour harmful wastes down public waterways. Storm drains on public streets are for rainwater to run off  so the streets don’t flood. They’re not a convenient way for people to get rid of chemicals or solvents or even the
bucket of soapy water after you wash your car. Unless you use bio-friendly car-wash detergent, which I highly
recommend. You need to respect that the water that runs off our streets eventually winds up in streams and waterways and can harm innocent fish or other marine wildlife.

So don’t use your street drain as a dumping spot.