Light on Water A Visionary Young Adult Novel

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 Dedication
This book is dedicated to the strong women in my family who have gone
before me. Thank you for your legacy of faith, hope, and love.
 Acknowledgments
A lthough this story has been in my heart for years, it would never have
been published if it weren’t for the love and patience of my family—James,
Lynette, Cameron, and Vanessa.
In addition, I extend my deepest gratitude to my editors, Susan Buckley
and Marlene Dalziel, to my teenage content readers, Daisy and Bailey, to
Reverend Noel McInnis and all the members of the writer’s group at the
Center for Spiritual Living for graciously sharing their insight, expertise,
and encouragement.
And during those moments when we forget, I thank Spirit for reminding
us that we are loved. Always.
 Prologue
T he moonless night is filled with sinuously moving shadows. The
agonized panting of the couple running through the wooded undergrowth
reverberates through the stillness. In the distance, the agitated sound of
barking hounds. Exhausted, she slows. He knows she is near the limit of her
endurance.
“Please,” she gasps, struggling for breath. “Go on without me. I’m only
slowing you down.”
Ignoring her pleas, he half drags, half carries her, hoping he has enough
strength left for both of them. They can’t stop now—to do so would mean
capture and, if not physical death, it would mean death of life as they know
it. They are so very close to freedom.
He drops the pack from his shoulders, rifles through it for money and
passports, which he stuffs into his jacket pockets. He reaches deep into the
bottom of the pack searching for the key. The cool metal slips through his
fingers into the thick undergrowth. Swearing, he drops to his knees,
frantically searching. Unhampered by darkness, she spots it easily, hands it
to him.
The barking of the hounds is much louder now. The trackers are closer.
Despite the darkness, through the periphery of the trees she can see the lake
clearly. “We’re almost there,” she murmurs.
Soon they hear the low, rhythmic sound of lapping water. In the darkness
the lake spread across to an unseen shore like an endless expanse of black
ink. The barking fades, as do the other night sounds. He steps to the edge of
the water, feels it flow over his feet, beckoning, calming, welcoming. He
knew this moment would come.
Everything he has learned, believed and hoped for is riding on this
inevitable moment. She turns toward him, hesitantly, an unspoken question
on her lips. Although he can’t see the expression in her eyes, he knows they
are filled with fear. She can’t swim.
 He lifts her into his arms, feels her relax. He presses his lips to her
forehead. If his life should end with hers, so be it. After all, the best things
in his life began with her.
Inhaling deeply, he feels the familiar energy surge through him. Carefully
edging forward, he steps up and onto the surface of the water.
 Chapter 1

L arger and better equipped than most parks found throughout the Midwest
suburbs, the locals speculated one of the county’s most prominent citizens
created Oak Park as a philanthropic gesture.
Majestic Bur oaks surrounded the park’s borders. Thick trunks almost
fifty feet tall stretched heavenward. Broad branches provided a shady
respite during sweltering Midwestern summers. Beneath the oaks, scattered
throughout the park, heavy wood and wrought iron benches offered spots
for rest and contemplation. In the very center of the park stood a circle of
maple trees.
On this oppressively hot July afternoon in the park, the molten sun vied
for attention with the cloudless, cerulean blue sky.
Fenced tennis courts and a baseball diamond with two sets of bleachers
were on the east side of the park. In spite of the heat, a man and a teenager
played catch. To the west was an Olympic-sized swimming pool where
most of the park’s occupants gathered in an attempt to keep cool.
Families assembled around shaded picnic tables, grilling hot dogs and
burgers on iron barbecues. The smoky, pungent aroma blended with the
smell of the recently mowed park lawn, and the faint scent of chlorine.
Amidst the laughter and snatches of conversation, the sweet sound of a
Meadowlark’s flute-like call graced the air.
Maddy, an attractive woman with rich mahogany-colored skin and
expressive ebony eyes, sat at a wooden picnic table shaded by one of the
large oak trees. She wore a simple white cotton dress; her wide-brimmed
straw hat lay on the table next to a wicker picnic basket.
 She sat with her chin in her hand watching her daughter, Evalyn, build
sandcastles with the brightly colored plastic bucket and shovel purchased
the day before. She sighed, thinking of the ten dollars impulsively spent on
toys when every dollar needed to be stretched to its limit just to take care of
necessities.
Although it was warm, Maddy and Evalyn had walked to the park. It was
only a couple of blocks away and they came here often. Taking the car
wouldn’t have made much difference anyway since the car’s air conditioner
was broken.
She watched her daughter play for a few more moments, then turned to
remove food and drinks from the basket. She neatly arranged sandwiches
and potato chips on paper plates and squeezed a dollop of ketchup onto her
daughter’s dish. It seemed gross to her, but Evalyn liked dipping the chips
in ketchup. Evalyn liked ketchup on almost everything. Maddy smiled,
shook her head, and poured lemonade into two flowered paper cups.
Eating outside on such a lovely day made the ordinary lunch seem
special. A picnic in the park and the plastic toys were the best she could do
now and they seemed to make her young daughter happy.
Not that Evalyn was unhappy. Unless she was having one of her rare,
stubborn spells, most of the time she seemed content and even-tempered,
Even so, Maddy wished she would laugh more—giggle in the way little
girls do. Instead, Evalyn lived in a dreamy, imaginative world of her own,
with dolls and stuffed animals as playmates. She was creative and curious
to a fault but interwoven throughout it all ran a solemn thread—for which
Maddy often blamed herself.
Perhaps there was an element of truth to the old wives’ tale that the
thoughts and emotions of expectant mothers affect the child in the womb.
She brushed her thoughts away. Don’t all mothers feel guilty about
something? She opened her library book and began to read.

A middle-class family of six, all of the Boldsens were tall, blonde, and
blue eyed—a legacy from their Scandinavian ancestry. They lived a block
away from Oak Park in a dove gray two-story house trimmed in white. A
meticulously mowed yard surrounded by neatly trimmed boxwood hedges
featured a curving stone walkway leading to wide steps, which then led to a
broad, white front door.
The three youngest members of the family often played in the park. Their
parents, Bob and Emily, didn’t mind the children’s frequent excursions to
the park as they felt the neighborhood was relatively safe. Last winter
someone called the police to remove an old drunk who had fallen asleep on
one of the park benches. Rather than reporting a crime, the anonymous
caller had been worried the man might freeze to death.
The only rule the Boldsen parents enforced regarding the park was that an
older sibling had to accompany their youngest child, six-year-old,
towheaded Christopher. This responsibility usually fell to either his sister
Becca who was ten, or his nine-year-old brother Ace. Matt was the oldest,
but at fourteen he professed he was “way too cool for playgrounds.”
Christopher loved playing in the park. The back yard of their home was
small and compared to Oak Park, seriously lacking. He would be there
every day if he could, especially if it meant he could go swimming, but his
brother and sister would often sneak off to the park without him to meet
their friends. They called him a “tag along” or a “pest.” Ace regularly told
him to “find a shovel and dig up your own friends!” As long as Becca
wasn’t doing anything else, she usually agreed to take him if asked.
On this warm summer day, Christopher, clad in swim shorts, was in the
spacious kitchen filling his glass with pure, filtered drinking water from the
spigot built into the refrigerator door. Unlike many children, he preferred
water to other beverages. Nothing pleased him more than a drink of icy cold
water on a hot day.
He held the glass up to catch the sunlight streaming in from the window.
Sometimes, when he held the glass just so, he could see a rainbow of colors
shine through the water and onto the white kitchen wall. A rainbow, even a
small one indoors, delighted him. Something told him his glass held a
mystery he was meant to solve.
Water always fascinated Christopher. For instance, he noticed that,
although it looked clear in a glass, water had a faint hint of blue when
poured into a pitcher (he remembered the family vacation to the Caribbean
where the sky’s reflection made the sea appear truly blue).
As he took a sip, he heard the front door close quietly. Too quietly. He sat
the glass down on the granite countertop and ran to the door, opening it. He
peered out and saw Ace making a beeline for the park. He’d wanted to
sneak away and see if any of his buddies were hanging out at the pool.
“Hey Ace!” Christopher yelled, running down the front steps. “Wait for
me!” Shoulders dropping with resignation, Ace realized he had not gotten
away fast enough and it was just too hot to run.
“Ok, you can come, but no whining!” Ace commanded sourly, brushing
sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. He badly needed a haircut.
“And if any of my friends show up, I’m telling you now, Christopher—
the answer is ‘No, you can’t hang out with us!’ So, just go over to the other
side of the pool and stay out of my hair!”
He glared at Christopher to make sure he got the point. Christopher
nodded his head quickly in agreement and Ace turned, walking toward the
park, swearing under his breath, even though his parents had strict rules
against such language. He’s a damn nuisance! Don’t know why he won’t
play with somebody his own age!
Ace’s eyes scanned the park to see if any of his friends were hanging out.
Christopher followed him, keeping a respectful two paces behind. Ace had
been known to swing at random, especially when he was irritated.
In this heat, a dip in the pool would be refreshing. Evidently, most of the
neighborhood thought so too. According to the sign posted outside the
fence, beside the closed entry gate, the pool had reached maximum
capacity. The attendant let people enter only when someone else left.
“Damn!” Ace exclaimed, “By the length of this line, we won’t get in the
pool today.”
Christopher was disappointed. He enjoyed the water immensely and
although he was only six, he could swim well.
Not seeing any of his friends around anyway, Ace headed for the iron
bars in the sand pit, Christopher at his heels.
 Christopher watched wistfully, as his nine-year-old brother swung agilely
on the monkey bars, a skill Christopher had yet to master. He did not have
enough strength in his arms and hands to bear his own weight while moving
along the thick iron bars.
A few weeks ago, he’d asked Ace for help. Appearing to comply, Ace
lifted Christopher until he could reach the highest bar. His brother laughed
and let him hang there until his hands hurt. Ace laughed even harder when
Christopher fell and landed in a heap in the sand.
Ace’s unrelenting teasing and bullying didn’t make Christopher cower or
intimidate him in the least. To the contrary, it fueled his resolve.
His oldest brother, Matt, was nearly as tall as their father, and Ace was
several inches shorter than Matt. Christopher knew he wouldn’t be little
forever. Until then he would bide his time.
Today he was determined to try the bars himself, without asking for help.
He crouched under the lowest rung and sprang up, straining to grasp it. He
tried until he was breathless and panting before finally giving up.
Frustrated, he wandered over to a set of slides. The smaller slide, about
six feet tall, was made of dull gray metal. Next to it, glistening in the
sunlight was a silver slide about eighteen feet high. The local kids called
this one the “Silver Bullet.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher could see Ace smirking. He
squared his small shoulders with determination and marched toward the
daunting “Silver Bullet.” He climbed the tall ladder and sat for a moment
feeling the warm metal against his bare legs, contemplating how far down
the bottom appeared. He noticed his older brother had paused to watch him.
He pushed off quickly when Ace turned away. Christopher felt a rush of
adrenaline as he gained speed. The air swooshed past, hot and dusty.
Three quarters of the way down, his shorts caught on a razor-sharp rivet
protruding from the edge of the slide, cutting him deeply from knee to
thigh. Gasping in pain, he landed in the sand at the bottom. He held his
hand over the long gash, trying hard not to cry. Beyond the throbbing pain
in his leg, he couldn’t bear the humiliation of having his brother call him a
“cry baby.” With unusual self-control, he pressed his eyes shut to hold back
the tears.
Playing in the sand nearby was a little girl with skin the color of caramel.
She wore a pale green flowered sundress. Multicolored barrettes held a
myriad of corkscrews curls neatly in place. Although smaller than
Christopher, she appeared to be around the same age. She heard his quick
intake of breath and paused, her dusky green eyes regarding him solemnly.
Immediately, she grasped his predicament, saw the pain etched across his
face. She put down the plastic shovel and nimbly crossed the sandbox to
where he sat, his left hand covering his bloody wound, his face contorted in
pain.
Hearing her approach, his tear-filled eyes saw her standing over him. She
knelt down and tenderly placed her small, warm hand on top of his.
Christopher’s blue eyes widened in amazement as a gentle tingling flowed
into his body, growing stronger, centering directly on the pain in his knee
and thigh.
The tingling intensified, a sensation that made him feel warm, safe, and
cared for. It felt great! Suddenly, she removed her hand and the pain
disappeared. Christopher wiped away the wet blood and stared at the place
where the cut had been. There was no wound—not any indication he had
ever been hurt. Speechless, he stared at the girl. It seemed she shimmered—
the way heat on hot asphalt tricks the eye into seeing water. He squinted
against the sunlight, his young mind scrambling to understand what had just
occurred.
Maddy glanced up from her book, looking toward the area where she last
saw her daughter playing. She wasn’t there! The bucket and shovel lay
abandoned in the sand. Maddy put the book on the table, her eyes quickly
scanning the grounds nearby. With relief, she spotted Evalyn standing next
to a blonde boy sitting at the bottom of the slide. She guessed he was about
six, the same age as Evalyn.
As she watched, Evalyn slowly took the boy’s hand. Maddy observed his
startled reaction as his expression changed from pain to pleasant surprise.
Maddy stood hastily, lips pressed together, her eyebrows furrowed. Oh no!
Not here! Not now!
Concern shadowed across her face. “Evalyn!” she called, beckoning to
her daughter, “Lunch!” Promptly, Evalyn dropped the boy’s hand. Running
gracefully toward her mother, she glanced over her shoulder at the boy, his
mouth still agape. With a quick wave goodbye, she tossed him a jewel of a
smile—tiny pearl-like teeth flashing in her pretty, dark face.
Evalyn scrambled into her seat at the picnic table. Happily dipping a chip
in ketchup, she popped it into her mouth. She picked up half of the
sandwich and began to eat, taking small dainty bites.
Maddy picked up her drink, her hand trembling slightly. She cleared her
throat. “Were you playing with the boy?” she asked hopefully, dreading the
answer.
Evalyn shook her head. “No,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “Not
playing… he cut his knee, there was blood.”
Sensing her mother’s apprehension, she swallowed the morsel in her
mouth and laid the rest of her sandwich on her plate, her eyes set on her
mother’s face.
“I fixed it for him,” she whispered.
The trembling in Maddy’s hand increased. Lemonade sloshed over the
rim of the paper cup. She put it down and hid her shaking hand in her lap.
This was the first time Evalyn had displayed her unusual ability outside
of the house. “Did I do something wrong, Mama?” she asked worriedly,
seeing the concern reflected in her mother’s dark eyes.
“I just fixed him … you know…” her voice lowered. “You know … the
way I fixed your headache.”
Maddy knew exactly what Evalyn had done for the boy. Not long ago, her
daughter had done a similar thing for her.
Ten years earlier, Maddy met the man who would become her husband
and the father of their child. Both born and raised in Texas, they married six
months after meeting.
 A member of the air force, Evan was stationed at Offutt Air Force Base in
Bellevue, Nebraska shortly after their marriage. They bought a charming,
three-bedroom brick house in Omaha. Their first real home, it suited them
perfectly.
Soon after Maddy discovered she was pregnant, Evan was killed while on
assignment in Bosnia. She was told his death was an accident, that he’d
been killed under “friendly fire,” a term she found ironic. Friendly fire, as
though they were describing a campfire or a hot dog roast.
She had been a schoolteacher, but had been unable to continue working.
She became ill, totally incapacitated by pregnancy complications brought
on by extreme grief. She developed migraine headaches, which she’d never
had previously.
Overpowered by this grief, she wandered through the empty, memory-
filled house. The third bedroom would never hold the second child they had
planned to have.
In spite of her poor health, Maddy didn’t want to return to Texas.
Although she loved her family dearly, they held many rigid beliefs that had
never really suited her, particularly religious ideas about an inflexible,
vengeful God hurling fire and brimstone if you didn’t follow His
instructions to the letter—vague instructions with stringent standards that
could never be reached.
Until she met her husband, she had been terrified of God. But, instead of
a punitive deity, her husband introduced her to a caring, divine being that
had her best interest at heart. This was the Being she wanted her daughter to
know.
Later on, when Evalyn’s unusual gifts were apparent to Maddy, she knew
her family would never accept her. They would find her repugnant or worse.
If she lived in such close proximity, Maddy knew she wouldn’t be able to
hide from them forever.
Besides, Omaha and the surrounding small country towns were beautiful
—not flat like most of the Midwestern plains, but liberally interspersed with
gently rolling hills. Bluffs could be seen from across the lazy Missouri river.
Yes, they would stay in the Midwest, where most people minded their own
business and life was steady and comfortable.
Although overjoyed to be carrying her beloved husband’s child, Maddy’s
joy was interspersed with sadness. Her despondency continued well into
Evalyn’s first year.
She knew there would never be another man for her other than Evan
Williamson. This was something she could live with. She counted herself
among the blessed to have been loved by such a man. His smile could light
up a room and make anyone within its radius feel good.
Evalyn inherited her father’s caramel coloring and her eyes were like his
—a deep, smoky green that could change to smoky topaz depending on
what color she was wearing—or her mood. She also had her father’s smile
—a smile which Maddy never tired of seeing.
While her grief lessened over the years, it never totally disappeared. She
channeled the fierce love she had for her husband into her love for her
daughter.
Maddy had known Evalyn was special from the moment she was born,
from the second she held her in her arms—although she couldn’t have
explained exactly how she knew at the time. She named their daughter
Evalyn, a melding of their names. She felt their daughter was a combination
of the best of both of them.
Evalyn walked when she was ten months old and learned many things
earlier than other children her age. Maddy attributed her daughter’s quick
progress to being exceptionally bright and also because Maddy began her
education so very early. Even before this, however, there had been other
things—unusual things that Maddy never taught her and couldn’t explain.
Such as Evalyn’s ability to see in the dark like a cat, and the way she
glowed. This was the only way Maddy could describe it. Glowing. She had
first seen Evalyn display this phenomenon when she was about three
months old. Evalyn had been asleep in her crib for several hours when
Maddy noticed a soft radiance that seemed to be coming from somewhere
nearby.
 Puzzled, she walked over to the crib, searching for the source of the
illumination. She had been astounded to see that the light appeared to
surround the slumbering Evalyn, extending about an inch or two from her
tiny pink pajama-clad body. Startled, Maddy realized the light was coming
from her daughter. It seemed as though she was lit up from inside. When
Evalyn stirred, the light shifted with her movement. Alarmed, Maddy
picked up her baby. Evalyn awakened for a moment before falling promptly
back to sleep in her mother’s arms.
Maddy thought she was losing her mind—that her grief was taking over
and consuming her. She sat in the nearby rocker and held her child, crying,
and praying. She talked to God regularly and this occasion was no
exception. Earnestly she prayed for sanity.
She rocked her sleeping baby for a few hours. After a while, the soft
radiance shimmered once again. Except this time, while holding her child,
Maddy felt no panic. Serene, loving warmth permeated the room. Maddy
relaxed and breathed deeply. After a few minutes, she fell peacefully asleep
in her chair, her daughter secure in her arms.
As the weeks and months, progressed, Maddy began to grow calmer and
Evalyn grew larger. The glowing occurred periodically, but it ceased to
alarm Maddy. She told no one. She no longer thought herself to be insane—
or if she was—it was a harmless type of insanity. In addition to the
unexplained phenomenon, her baby seemed to require more sleep than most
infants. Evalyn never awakened during the night and she regularly took one
or two naps every day.
Maddy noticed the shimmering radiance didn’t occur when Evalyn took a
short nap. It only seemed to occur when she had been sound asleep for more
than a few hours. She strongly suspected it happened more frequently,
during times when she must have been unaware, or perhaps asleep herself.
She also noticed it was almost impossible to see the glowing in daylight or
in a well-lit room, which made sense—for only in darkness is light fully
appreciated for what it is.
If indeed Maddy was sane and the occasional radiance surrounding her
daughter was not a figment of her imagination, she wanted to make sure her