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Restoration

By CG Clark

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PROLOGUE

Samuel had a perfect view of the farm and its two hundred acres from his rocky perch, a vista he had enjoyed for five generations. Since his promotion to Commander in the Heavenly Host’s Guardian Corps, he had missed experiencing the human aspects of the angelic transformation. It was normally reserved for Guardians on assignment, making days like this one even more exceptional. He inhaled the crisp, clear air, let it out slowly, then shifted his focus to the attractive, fifty-two-year-old woman coaching a young rider in the training ring.

Rebeka Willette loved working with new students, especially those who developed a passion for their horses—he was glad she had this time before her world shifted. He knew upcoming events would soon change her perspective and perhaps her future.

The Host never presumed to understand the Lord’s ways. His human creation was free to accept Christ’s gift of life, but they could opt for a different choice that would mean an eternity without God. That was possible for thousands if Rebeka and one small boy did not cross paths. Her faith would open the door for the child to become one of history’s greatest evangelists. However, an age-old enemy also knew Rebeka was critical to the Father’s plan.

He narrowed his eyes as he watched the training session end. With his team of twelve, he could easily defeat the enemy’s crew of dark shadows in the woods, but that was not his purpose. He was to observe, then send in their newest member, a Novice Guardian.

Samuel had also started as a Novice in the Guardian Corps. The sound of his mentor’s advice still rang in his ears. They had helped him complete his first mission, but this assignment seemed different. Rebeka was a unique case, and Samuel knew the rookie’s success warranted the same special attention his adviser had afforded him. He looked over the area once more, made sure she was safe for the moment, and then faded into the morning fog.


As her pupil and his mother drove away, Rebeka remembered when Zack started riding. He was eager to learn, worked hard, and had grown into an accomplished horseman. If this student followed Zack’s pattern, it wouldn’t be long before they graduated from the training circle to more advanced techniques.

To the left of the guest house, split wood fencing marked the perimeter of a practice ring and its jumping course. She had devoted many after-school hours soaring over those rails, preparing for upcoming horse shows … but that was years ago. She had since transitioned to coaching, helping new prospects reach their potential as riders and competitors.

Beyond the fence, the log house built by the first Willette still occupied the same location. Family needs had changed from generation to generation, and the building had altered with them—more bedrooms, another bathroom, and a modern kitchen had all been added. Rebeka could remember her enthusiastic discussions with her sister when her dad added the second-floor loft. She’d been excited to have it all to herself once Gayle married and left home.

The memory rekindled others … difficult ones.

That year a stroke took their mother, and their father’s death followed three months later—Rebeka believed he died of a broken heart. Gayle’s husband was killed in Afghanistan, and she returned to the homestead with her new baby boy, then cancer reared its ugly head. Rebeka remembered her sister’s two-year struggle and the day it ended. That was also when she learned she was the legal guardian of her nephew, Zack.

The idea of raising him as her son had terrified her—she was only twenty-two, barely an adult herself, and alone on a two-hundred-acre ranch. She wondered how she’d made it, convinced she must have had a battalion of guardian angels watching over her.

The following years weren’t easy, but Zack grew into a tall, handsome young man devoted to her and the farm. She couldn’t imagine her life without him, and the house seemed far too big now that he lived in the guest house. Still, she often wished he would spend more time with people his age. Perhaps he would meet a nice girl, get married, and have a family of his own one day.

Zack emerged from the barn as if on cue, removed his hat, closed his eyes, and lifted his chin. A cool breeze glided past her, ruffling his long, dark waves. He wiped a blue kerchief across his face, put on his hat, dropped his head, and gave Rebeka an easy smile. When he turned to reenter the building, gratitude and pride swelled within her, reminding her how much she owed to the only One who could have gotten her this far.

Rebeka headed to the stables and exchanged a silent message with Zack as she saddled Storm. She never had to tell Zack where she was going—he knew she spent her daily rides in quiet communion with God. As she rode, she took in the beauty of nature and let her mind wander. A chevron of geese honked overhead, and the scent of pine and musty earth filled the atmosphere—a sure sign that summer was ending and autumn was on its way.

A sudden current of air propelled leaves upward on invisible fingers that sent them whirling in gentle pirouettes before they returned to the ground. The graceful dance reminded Rebeka of something in the Bible—the book of Kings in the nineteenth chapter, verses describing Elijah’s encounter with the presence of God. He was not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire Elijah experienced, but was in the sound of a low whisper that followed … God’s still, small voice.

Rebeka was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t notice the sky growing darker until Storm became skittish, suddenly leaping to one side. She stroked his neck and murmured assurances, hoping to calm him, but he ignored her, his eyes bulging and his nostrils flaring. Then something stirred in the brush, a dark silhouette she couldn’t make out. When the bushes rustled on the opposite side, Storm bolted.

Rebeka struggled to dodge branches as she tugged harder on the reins, fighting unsuccessfully to regain control. Storm skidded to a halt when another shadow darted across their path, throwing her forward in the saddle. Before she could regain her balance, he reared, and Rebeka lost her grip, tumbling off his back.

The world around her slowed, and she swiped at air, trying to grab the reins, the saddle horn, the stirrups—anything to break her fall. She hit the ground hard, which knocked the breath out of her. She heard a loud crack and saw a flash of light as a sharp pain exploded in her head. Then … darkness.

CHAPTER ONE: WAKING UP

Weightlessness—sound frozen in a void, but not silent—a gentle, far-off white noise—a faint, almost imperceptible hum. I didn’t question it but allowed myself to slip deeper into a state of calm, aware of only peace and contentment—no pain, no fear. The notion did not seem strange or frightening—but right. Thoughts dissolved, transporting me further from awareness toward oblivion.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. Noise exploded—my nerve endings were on fire—all senses triggered at once.

Help! No! I can’t breathe! Stop! I don’t want to be here!

My lungs screamed for air, and I gasped.

Please! Let me go back!

I forced my eyes open, squeezed them shut, and heard a low moan.
Was that me?

“Dim the lights. They’re too bright for her.”

Who was that? What is going on?

“You’re all right, dear. Do you know where you are? Can you tell me your name?”

Words wouldn’t come.

“That’s fine. You rest.”

A sting became a chill that shifted to warmth as it traveled up my arm. Darkness took over again, but not like before. This was laced with unfamiliar images—distorted shapes, bright flashes of light, and more loud noises. As the impressions faded, I surrendered to the emptiness of this new void.

A slow, hypnotic beep—beep—beep matched the rhythm in my ears, a strangely comforting sound. Then dark memories resurfaced, distorted and unreal beyond a murky barrier. The tempo quickened, along with my heart rate, and my breathing picked up to match the pace.
Where am I? What happened?

Wires and tubing were everywhere. Panic drove me to pull and yank at the offending web as the regular beeps became a symphony of frantic alarms. Hurried footsteps grew louder and closer. Hands gripped my arms and shoulders, and I fought against them.

“Calm down, Rebeka. You’re safe.”

The voice commanded authority, and I struggled to focus. Through the fog, I saw kindness on a woman’s face. She and a young man smoothed sheets and untangled the mess I had made of everything. She kept talking, and the calmness of her voice quieted my jumpy nerves.

“Welcome back, Rebeka. You’ve been sleeping since you came back to us yesterday. I know you’re confused and probably a bit scared, but you’re safe. You’re okay.”

I tried to speak, but my dry, gritty throat choked me.

“Here. Drink this.”

I felt a straw against my lips and tasted cool, refreshing water. It trickled down my throat like life-giving nectar.

“My name is Nancy. Can you tell me your name?”

“Rebeka Willette.” My voice cracked, and she encouraged me to drink more.

“Do you know where you are?”

“A hospital, I think?”

“Yes, very good. That’ll do for now. Dr. Kendall will be in to check on you and explain everything in more detail. Until he does, I need you to rest. Could you do that for me?”

I took another deep breath and nodded. I wasn’t sure she had given me any other choice.

She connected another tube and adjusted a clamp. “Let’s try to leave all this alone. Okay? I promise we will answer all your questions.”
She patted my arm, straightened my sheets one more time, and then pulled the fabric barrier behind her as she left, blocking my view. Shadows, footsteps, and hushed conversations passed by, close but separate.

Muted voices beyond the drape were a welcome distraction as I wrestled my way out of the haze in my head. I struggled to recall anything to explain why I was in the hospital, but the harder I tried, the more my thoughts scrambled. A tear trailed down the side of my face as I stared at the ceiling.

What do I do now?

The curtain slid to one side, and a young man entered the room. Tall and handsome, he looked like a wrangler in dark jeans, a flannel shirt, and a cowboy hat. When he removed his hat, dark, wavy hair framed a weathered, tanned face, and brown eyes searched mine. He looked so familiar.

“Hi, Mom.”

That voice. I know it … I think … yes. My son?

“Zah ….”

My throat—so hard to talk.

“Yes, Mom. It’s Zack. It’s good to see you awake. I wondered if we would ever get you back.”

I tried to speak but couldn’t. Zack held the cup as I took another sip of water, then cleared my throat.

“Why?” A little easier this time, but still a hoarse whisper.

He pulled a chair next to the bed, and I saw fatigue. His answer came as a complete shock.

“Mom, you’ve been unconscious for three months.”

“What?” It sounded like a frog’s croak, but I didn’t care.

Zack rubbed his hand over his face, inhaled, and exhaled. The tired expression shifted to something else. Confusion? “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head and tried my voice again. “What happened?”

Zack sighed, looked at his hands in his lap, and raked his teeth over his bottom lip. Anxiety swelled in my chest, and my throat constricted.

He exhaled again and looked at me. “Mom, you were in a serious accident on the interstate three months ago. There were over thirty other vehicles with several fatalities. You were one of the lucky ones.” He paused again, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. “Dad was not.”

Everything around me shifted to slow motion.

“I don’t … I mean … what did you say?”

Zack’s voice faltered as he blinked back tears. “They didn’t give up, Mom, but they couldn’t save him.” The muscles in his neck flexed, his chin quivered, and a single tear trickled down his cheek.

“That doesn’t make sense. It’s not possible.”

Zack’s eyes fixed on mine. His mouth parted to speak, but a tall man in a starched white coat entered the room before he could.

“Good morning, Mrs. Willette. How are we today?”

We? Seriously? I narrowed my eyes.

“Mom, this is Dr. Kendall. He’s your neurologist.”

A neurologist? Why do I need a neurologist? My jaw tensed. The room felt too small, and I wanted out of it, but Zack and that condescending doctor were blocking my way. I lowered my head and stared at the doctor through my lashes.

“You asked how I feel?” I croaked, my voice growing stronger. “Shouldn’t you already know that?”

“Whether I know doesn’t matter. What matters is … do you?”

There’s that smirk again.

Heat radiated up my face and edged my vision in red.

“I don’t appreciate your manner, doctor—wait—what’s your name? Whatever … I really don’t care. I see nothing about my situation that warrants that smirk. I have no idea how I got here, and now I’m told I’ve been here for three months, and I have a neurologist. I expect some answers, and if you can’t provide them, why are you here?”

The doctor ignored my outburst and addressed Zack. “Have you explained what happened?”

“Excuse me. I’m right he ….”

Zack cut me off. “I tried to tell her, but she says nothing makes sense. I have no idea what else to say.”

I glared at both of them. How rude. I’m not invisible.

When Dr. Kendall looked back at me, I detected less arrogance, not that it mattered.

“I’m not amused, Rebeka. I’m pleased there’s a bit of fire in you. Patients who experienced a concussive event like yours rarely display this level of cognition so quickly after regaining consciousness. I need to determine what you do and don’t remember.”

I inhaled and exhaled, trying to control my temper, and was sure he could see the flames in my eyes. He didn’t flinch but kept flashing that irritating smile.

“Shall we try this again? We can safely say you know who and where you are. Zack has told you about the accident. My condolences about your husband, but you didn’t escape unscathed. You sustained multiple contusions, cracked ribs, and a grade-four, possibly a grade-five concussion. Our tests and imaging indicated you should have regained consciousness long before now. However, it appeared your body needed some extra time. Not really that much of a problem, as I see it ….”

He added notes to a handheld device. “… your ribs have healed nicely. Your last CT scan showed no signs of damage … odd. I expected to see some evidence of injury, but it appears you have healed completely as if it never happened.” He glanced at me.

Was that a look of surprise?

He went back to his reports. “I’m happy to hear you have no speech or muscle control challenges, but I imagine there will be gaps in your memory. That is not unusual. Reconnecting all the details will take time. I fully expect your memory to return and the confusion to subside.”

“No—no—no.” My chest muscles tightened, and tears welled up. “You don’t understand. I’m not confused. Your details are wrong. Zack said his father passed in the accident. How is that possible? Zack’s my sister’s child. After she passed away from cancer, I adopted him. His father died in Afghanistan just after Zack was born, so how could he be in the car with me?”

Zack’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as if I had slapped him.

“Mom … what are you talking about? What sister? You and Dad were married thirty-six years, and I’m your biological son. You came to visit us for my birthday and were on your way home when the weather turned bad. There was a pile-up on the highway.” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “Dad died at the scene, and you’ve been here, unconscious in the hospital since then. You woke up yesterday.”

“No.” I looked from one to the other. “No. You’re wrong. I’ve never been married. I wouldn’t forget such a thing. My sister’s name was Gayle Bennett, and I adopted you after she died.”

Zack’s expression shifted from shock to confusion to alarm. “But Mom ….” He stopped mid-sentence.

We both caught Dr. Kendall’s slight head shake, and I noticed the shift in mood. The kinder, gentler bedside manner disappeared, replaced by a more patronizing, professional tone.

“Don’t get worked up, Rebeka. As I said, it’s not unusual to experience confusion in cases like yours.”

I … am … not … a child. My inner voice wanted to scream, but I tamped down my temper. They doubted my version and disputing it with them wouldn’t help. They were convinced my head injury was the cause, but I believed … no … I knew otherwise.

Selecting silence over argument proved to be the right decision. As long as I was agreeable and did what I was told, everyone quit treating me like a basket case and focused on what I needed to be discharged. I couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises might be in store for me.

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