CHAPTER 15
After walking a few more feet, Gloria stopped in front of a broken sign that lay on the pavement. “This is it! This is the gift shop.” She turned toward the others, beaming.
Christina and Richard gaped at each other. Could it be—?
“Is anyone there?” Ryan hollered, approaching the front. No answer.
He raised his voice. “Rachel! Are you there?”
No reply.
“Try the back,” Tess suggested.
The group carefully circled the demolished building. At the back, Richard leaned against the tilted wall, cupped his hands, and shouted. “Rachel! Are you there, honey? It’s your dad!”
"Rachel! If you’re there, answer us!” Christina yelled.
A pause. As the assembled group stood, not daring to make a sound, a faint voice reached her ears. “Is that you, Mom?”
The whole group erupted into cheers. Richard and Christina hugged each other, then Richard again leaned against the wall, wincing as jagged edges dug into his arms. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His voice faltered. “It took us a long time to find you, but now that we have, we’re going to get you out!” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Don’t worry, Richard. Rachel is not alone.” A faint, yet familiar, Irish brogue reached his ears.
“Monica!” Christina shouted. “Are you and Rachel all right?”
“Yes.”
“Monica’s been giving me oranges and energy bars!” Rachel added.
Richard nodded. “To keep Rachel from dehydrating,” he told Christina, who nodded.
David stepped up next to them. “Rachel, this is David Weizmann,” he shouted. “My cousin Ben is with us, and he’s going to help us get you and Monica out.” He took a deep breath. “Tell me—” His voice faltered. “Is—is my Deborah in there?”
A long pause. David raised his voice higher. “Please, Rachel, I’ve got to know!”
A short pause. Rachel’s voice, evidently choked with tears. “She’s dead, Mr. Weizmann. An—an angel took her to Heaven. Andrew.”
David stepped back, grief etched on his face. He slumped his shoulders, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Excuse me,” he murmured to the others. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can help out—with this rescue job.”
“That’s all right, David. We’ve got plenty of help now, thanks to you.” Richard laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sit on that concrete slab over there and rest?”
With a nod, David trudged toward the slab and slumped down onto it, gazing down at his leather shoes. Grief and guilt flooded his heart. His worst fears had been confirmed; Deborah was dead!
It’s my fault, he thought. I killed her! If I hadn’t kicked her out, she’d still be alive.
Meanwhile, folding his arms across his chest, Ben gazed at the ruins of the gift shop for a long moment. He reached up to wipe beads of sweat from his cheeks. “Can’t believe how hot it already is. It’s only March,” he muttered. Louder, he added, “We’ll need rescue equipment to save Rachel and Monica and to recover Deborah’s body, but I dare not try to get us any. It may take more than this disguise to protect if I try--I’m a wanted man now.” Running his hands through the wig, he turned to Gloria. “Would you please get us what we need?”
Gloria nodded. “Certainly.”
“Use my cell phone.” Ryan handed his cellular phone to her. After Ben told her what supplies would be needed, she made several phone calls over the next ten minutes, asking for a crew and equipment. Within half an hour, a rescue crew had arrived on the scene.
For the next several hours, the crew cleared away the debris blocking the back entrance, assisted by Ben. Drawing on his knowledge of building construction, he gave suggestions as to the safest way to clear away the debris. To everyone's relief, his wig and sunglasses kept the construction workers and Israeli police from recognizing him.
All the while, Richard and Christina watched from across the street, holding each other, praying; Ryan and Kristen stood next to David, holding the babies. The sun beat down on their heads; again and again, they had to wipe their sweaty faces. David fidgeted and squirmed, a tense expression etched on his perspiring face. "The patch is wearing off," he told the Dalys. "I need to replace it, but I don't have my box of patches with me."
Richard put a hand on his arm. "Please, God, take the craving away from my friend here." Minutes later, David relaxed.
At sunset, a hole four feet in diameter was knocked through the back of the building. One of the firefighters approached it, shouting, “Rachel! Can you hear me?”
Rachel’s dirt-encrusted face appeared in the opening. “Yeah. I can see you, too!” Monica appeared behind her, peering around Rachel’s head. The angel’s own hair hung disheveled.
The firefighter held out his hand. “Give me your hand, ladies, and I’ll help you out. One at a time.”
“You go first, Rachel,” Monica told the young girl.
Nodding, Rachel extended both arms through the hole; the firefighter gently grasped her by the armpits and pulled her out. Her purse dangled from her shoulder. As he set her on the pavement, Monica reached through the hole next. Gently, the same firefighter helped her out.
Rachel rushed toward her mother, who clasped the young girl to her bosom. Richard wrapped his own arms around both. “Thank You, God!” Christina whispered. “Thank You for keeping our little girl alive and for helping us find her!”
“Amen!” Richard agreed. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked at Monica. “And thank you for staying with her.”
Monica smiled. “You’re welcome.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her face, then handed it to Rachel. “You need to wipe your face, too,” she told the young girl. “It’s dirty.” Nodding, Rachel rubbed the soft handkerchief over her cheeks and forehead. Monica felt her hair and laughed. “And we both need to comb our hair!” Giggling, Rachel nodded agreement. Christina pulled a comb out of her pants pocket and handed it to Rachel.
“You also need a bath,” Christina told her daughter. She looked down at her rumpled blouse, then laughed. “Fact is, we all do!” Richard and the others chuckled ruefully.
Rachel combed her hair, then handed the comb to Monica. As Monica ran it through her tangled brown hair, Rachel turned toward the ruins. “Miss Weizmann’s still in there.” She bit her lower lip as she spoke.
Her father nodded. “They’re looking for her now, honey.” He turned to Monica. “Is it true what Rachel said, earlier?”
Monica nodded, deep sadness etched on her expressive face. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “She died, the day of the earthquake. Andrew took her Home.” She clasped her hands in front of her waist. The adults slumped their shoulders, nodding and exchanging glances.
At that moment, the fire chief approached the Dalys. “We’ve found a body in there,” he said, removing his hard hat. He reached up to wipe beads of perspiration off his forehead. “The body of a woman—I’m afraid it’s badly mangled.” He looked around. “Where is David Weizmann?”
“Over there. With the Whittakers.” Richard pointed toward the concrete slab. Ryan and Kristen exchanged concerned glances; Kristen put a hand on David's shoulder.
As the others watched, the fire chief approached David and spoke to him. Silently, the grief-stricken man rose to his feet and followed the fire chief around the corner of the building. Ryan and Kristen rejoined the others. Rachel sobbed.
“I know, sweetie.” Christina put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “We all feel sad because Deborah’s gone. But she’s in Heaven now, with Jesus. And in three-and-a-half years, she’ll be getting a new body.”
“Yes.” Monica’s eyes shone. “A body that can never die or get hurt again!”
David reappeared at the corner, shoulders slumped. The fire chief had his arm around the man’s back. He dropped his hand to his side and halted, watching David approach the others.
“I—I just identified her,” he said, his voice wooden. “She—she looked...” He took a deep breath. “My sister! She was only 25 years old—she shouldn’t have died like this!” His voice choked. “I killed her! Oh, Deborah, I’m so sorry!” He covered his face with his hands and wept.
As Monica watched him, she felt so badly for him. This was a terrible time for David—his grief and his feelings of guilt had to be running deep. She so yearned to comfort the man. Silently, she prayed that God would give her the right words.
She approached David and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Deborah is in the Father’s arms now,” she told him. “You’ll be reunited with her soon, when it’s time. Either when you die, or when Jesus returns.”
David nodded. “She died without knowing that I know Him now.”
Monica nodded. “Yes, she did, but the Father told her as soon as she joined Him. She’s rejoicing that you’ve come to know His Son, David.”
David sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Deborah’s gone, and I have nothing to live for.”
Tess approached the assembled group. “As a matter of fact, David, you do.” Putting her hands on her hips, she looked from one to another. “God has an important job for you. For all of you.” She paused to scan their faces. “He wants all of you to help the Israeli Jews escape to Petra when the time comes, very soon.”
David shook his head and stumbled off, his shoes clicking on the pavement. He disappeared around the corner. “I’ll go after him,” Monica said. She hurried after David, finding him alone on an intersection corner. He had covered his face with his hands; agonized sobs erupted.
END OF CHAPTER 15