Prologue
September 2007
Wetherby, a coastal town in Victoria, Australia
Thursday morning
By Gwen’s watch, she and her bridge partner, Brenda, were right on time. As they walked into the clubrooms, Gwen gave no indication of noticing that the clock on the wall claimed they were five minutes late.
A quick scan of the room showed the only spare seats were at the far end where the current club champions were sitting. Gwen gave them a cheery wave of her oversized multi-coloured bag. Holding it aloft, she began to cross the room, dodging the card tables. Brenda followed, her eyes focused on Gwen’s high-heeled, red shoes.
As the two women sat down, their opponents greeted them with a nod. Each player picked up his or her cards and sorted them into suits.
Brenda was the first to bid: One heart.
The next player wrote: Two diamonds.
Gwen was not concerned by the intervening bid from their opponent. They may have diamonds, but her friend was signalling she had opening points and at least five hearts. Gwen had just enough strength in her hand to respond: Two hearts.
The other opponent passed.
Brenda hesitated briefly before making the final bid: Four hearts.
Game on!
***
Friday morning 3am
Through a mental fog of tiredness, Brenda watched the cup of milk go around on the microwave turntable. Almost subconsciously, she listened out for the clunk-clunk as each revolution began.
Then she detected another sound. There was a distinct scratching noise over the extractor fan in the ceiling. A possum?
Brenda opened the microwave, removed the cup, and took it over to the sink. She slowly poured out its contents. A warm drink would not help her get back to sleep after all.
She now had something else to worry about.
***
Dairy Run farmhouse
A few kilometres inland from Wetherby
Gwen woke up suddenly. She reached to turn on the touch lamp, and in a surprisingly graceful movement for a woman of her generous size, rolled out of bed.
She made straight for her walk-in closet, shrugging into her dressing gown en route. This closet, in the ‘granny flat’ extension of the old weatherboard farmhouse, was her favourite place on earth. It contained only two pieces of furniture: a leather chair draped with a colourwash quilt and a small bookcase overflowing with devotional books. There was a clothes rail, but no clothes hung from it. Peppered over the walls and door, secured by Blutack, was a plethora of maps, photographs, church bulletins and newspaper cuttings.
Gwen took her reading glasses out of her dressing gown pocket and flicked on the light switch inside the tiny, windowless room. Now she could shut the closet door.
Settling into the chair, she tucked the quilt around her knees before picking up her Bible and prayer diary from the top shelf of the bookcase. She flicked through the diary. On each page were two columns: the first was headed Prayer Requests and the second Date Answered. The subjects in the first set of columns ranged from her grandson’s school project to natural disasters in far-flung parts of the world. A smile of satisfaction appeared on her face as she scrolled down the second set of columns, noting the number of dates filled in.
For everything there is a season, she thought.
Then she noted a concerning pattern; there were no entries next to a variety of requests on behalf of a particular young woman. Gwen looked up. Her eyes focused directly upon a photograph of this very person. The image, showing a lovely but serious girl in her twenties, was stuck crookedly beneath the map of Australia.
Gwen cleared her lap, and stood up. As she reached for the girl’s photo she accidentally knocked sideways a newspaper picture of an Israeli soldier. He was shown praying at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, his forehead pressed against the stone.
Gwen righted the newspaper cutting and then picked up the photo. Jacinda. Brenda’s daughter. She held it for a moment, face up in the palm of her hand, before turning it over to see what she had written on the back:
We know
All things
Work together
For good …
She murmured, “It’s time to push.” Pray Until Something Happens.