Crutches
Chapter eight
Even with the sounds of the town fading behind them, Lorelle couldn’t help but notice the way Antonio’s shoulders remained tense, his gait stiff.
Peluche kept pace a few steps behind him, his fluffy tail wagging.
Every time Antonio’s knee creaked, Peluche let out a little huff of warning to the unseen enemy above him.
“Stop that,” Antonio said, glaring at the pup.
“He’s only confused by the sound of your leg,” she answered.
“It would help if you oiled it.” She took a few quick steps to his side and removed her right glove.
“My wrist has gears, and if I didn’t oil it, I wouldn’t be able to pass as almost normal.
” She moved through a few ballet steps, arm out, then up, then with more deliberate movements of her shoulder and elbow that turned the wrist and adjusted the weighted fingers.
It wasn’t perfect form, but acceptable if the world believed she had a wrist brace.
Antonio dropped his gaze from hers. “My knees have always creaked. Brass isn’t any different . . .”
“Yeah,” she said, offering a laugh to coax out a smile, “but now your knee doesn’t heal if you strain the joint.”
And there, that dark cloud settled over him again. “Oiling it won’t give me my strength back,” he grumbled.
She stopped, and he stopped with her, surprise lighting up his features.
She looked him in the eye. Those brown eyes that saw so much and yet seemed to absorb all the light in the clearing.
“Look around.” She gestured to the large tree that shaded them, the red flowers in full bloom. “What does this look like to you?”
“A tree,” he answered dryly. But he still looked up at the red-flowered branches whispering in the breeze.
“A flamboyán,” she said. “It’s one of the most beautiful trees on this island. And have you heard the macaws overhead?”
“They haven’t shut up since we’ve been walking,” he grumbled, but he followed her gaze upward to where she spotted the blue and yellow feathers flitting through the trees. “But they are nice,” he admitted, though she had a feeling it was more for her benefit than because he really believed it.
“God made the earth and the flying things and all the universe. You and me, too. And what does His Word say? Fearfully and wonderfully made.”
“Maybe I was,” Antonio said, voice low, “but not anymore.”
She went on anyway. His words were almost exactly what she’d told herself over the years—those lies of the enemy that still tried to make their way in, even now—and she would speak truth, even if he didn’t hear it.
Even if he got mad at her for it. Because she wished someone had said something to help her then.
“If God made the world so exquisite and beautiful, Antonio, don’t you think he put just as much effort in for you? He watches over the sparrows—yes, even over the loud, annoying macaws—and he knows exactly who you are and who you are meant to be.”
As she spoke, his gaze turned thoughtful, and a smile now twitched at the corners of his lips. “You got me there. I can’t argue with you if you’re quoting Scripture,” he said.
“And if you know it,” she said with a smile, “then take it one step further and believe it. Walk in it.”
“Well, Lorelle, you’ve definitely surprised me today.” She blinked. He let out a chuckle, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You’ve got mettle.”
She blinked, then laughed. She waved her hand. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?”
He laughed with her. “Yes, but I mean mettle, as in m-e-t-t-l-e.”
She made a face at him, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not English or Spanish, Antonio.”
He laughed again. “It’s English, and it’s a compliment. You have inner strength, resilience to make it through difficult situations. You’ve spent this entire time trying to make me feel better; don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“You could have at least made my job a little easier.”
“Where do you get it from?” He picked Peluche up off the ground, now that the pup had started gnawing on his boot. “You have all the reason to be mad at God, mad at the world, for your hand . . . at least you can’t blame it on any action you took.”
She let out a breath. Definitely not the way she was expecting the conversation to go, but this might be her opportunity to help him see that his leg wasn’t a curse, wasn’t a mistake. That God could use him still.
“When Paul was writing the letter to the Corinthians, talking about the thorn in his side, do you remember what God answered him?”
Antonio blinked, then chuckled. “A test? All right . . . Leviathan, can you help me out here?” Though Antonio addressed the pup, the little bundle of fur was squirming again, so Antonio let him down.
He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.
“I don’t remember. Something about grace? Paul always wrote about grace.”
“His name is Peluche,” she said, and the pup bounded over to her. She laughed at the look on Antonio’s face. He might have murmured ‘traitor’ under his breath, and she swallowed another laugh.
“But yes, you’re right,” she said. “Paul wrote of how God said, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee: For my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ That doesn’t just apply to Paul, but to you and me.
God isn’t going to make my hand grow,” she said, “but I can lean on His strength, like a crutch that will never fail me.” She pulled up a long stick and leveraged it into the ground, leaning against it.
Antonio’s brows knit together, his shoulders tensing. “A crutch?”
“It’s okay to have a crutch,” she said. “We all do. I, for one, prefer leaning on Jesus than trying to do it on my own. Sometimes that means praying and letting it go to God, and other times that means taking the help I’m being offered.” She held out the walking stick.
Antonio tensed, a frown darkening his features. She could almost hear the silent protest written on his face.
Praying for wisdom, she went on, “What would you say if you saw a man who drowned his sorrows in drink? We all know someone who hides their fears behind a wide smile, or insecurities behind their pride, or they use anger to mask their pain. Those are things we use to get through the difficult moments, the points where we are weak. There is no shame in turning to God when He has so freely offered His help.”
As she’d spoken, Antonio’s focus had turned away, down the road, though by his stillness, she knew he’d heard her. Now, as her words dissipated into the murmurs of the forest, he met her gaze and grasped the stick.
“Thank you, Lorelle,” he said.
They started down the path again, this time at a slower pace as Antonio leaned on the stick to keep his balance. Peluche walked between them, trying to nip at the stick.
And while they settled into a peaceful silence, Lorelle worked her mind through the steps she had learned at the ballet rehearsal the night before.
She ghosted a few variations, careful not to get out of pace with Antonio, but worked on memorizing each step, every beat from the drums and the flutes and the timing, so when she returned, she might be able to take the position as principal dancer.
Or she would even take the cardinal role again, if only she made it back in time.
Cardinal wings flashed in her memory, illuminated a garish red as lightning split the sky. She stumbled mid-step. She trusted God, but maybe she could afford to adopt some of Antonio’s guardedness. Maybe there was someone out to get her, too.