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Copyright © 2004 by Robin Lee Hatcher. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph copyright © 2003 by Michael Hudson. All rights reserved.

Edited by Traci DePree

Designed by Jenny Swanson

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used bypermission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’simagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons livingor dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hatcher, Robin Lee.Beyond the shadows : a love story / Robin Lee Hatcher.

p. cm.ISBN 0-8423-5558-81. Widows—Fiction. 2. Veterans—Fiction. 3. Male friendship—Fiction. I. Title.PS3558.A73574B49 2004813′.54—dc22 2003026186

Printed in the United States of America

10 09 08 07 06 05 049 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

P R O L O G U E

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The first time I saw him was at my husband’s funeral.It was after Pastor Clyde said his last prayer, words meant to

comfort me, Andy’s widow. It was after friends and people fromour church and the community came and whispered their con-dolences as they touched my hands, which I kept folded tightlyin my lap. It was after Andy’s father, his face stoic in grief, ledhis weeping wife away. It was after my parents kissed me andtold me they loved me. It was after I thought myself alone inthat row of gray folding chairs at the graveside, the cold windbuffeting my back.

It was after all that when I saw him, a stranger, standing undera leafless tree, staring at the casket before it was lowered into thegrave. The collar of his overcoat was turned up, and he grippedthe brim of his hat with one hand, lest it be blown away. Hewasn’t one of those soft-spoken men from the funeral home, andhe wasn’t dressed like a groundskeeper. I knew he must havecome because of Andy.

Seeing that I’d noticed him, he removed his hat andapproached. “Mrs. Haskin.” He stopped before me. “I’m sorryfor your loss, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words like sandpaper in mythroat. Meaningless words, really, in a mind gone numb withpain and loss.

“Andy was a good man.”

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“Yes.”“The best I’ve ever known.”Yes.“If there’s anything I can do for you, anything you need,

anything at all . . . ” His sentence drifted into silence.I nodded, wanting him to go away, wanting to be left alone.

What I wanted even more was to die and go to heaven withAndy.

It wasn’t right that I should be left behind. Andy and I weresupposed to grow old together. Andy was supposed to build abigger barn this summer, and I was supposed to plant roses alongthe white picket fence that bordered our backyard. Andy wassupposed to have sons to help him on our small farm, and I wassupposed to have daughters who would wear pretty ribbons intheir hair and be spoiled by their daddy.

But all of that’s gone now. All gone.I stared down at my hands. Black gloves against a black skirt.

Black like my heart. Black and empty and bottomless.Oh, Andy. Andy. Why did you have to die? What will I do with-

out you?When I looked up again, the stranger was gone.

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BEYOND THE SHADOWS

C H A P T E R O N E

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“Come home, Deborah,” my mother had said to me countlesstimes in the months since Andy died. “You’ve done your best,but it’s time to be practical. It’s time you sell that place and comehome to live with us. Dad and I want you here. You know wedo. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“This is my home, Mother,” I’d always responded—wordsI presumed I would need to repeat often before she would beconvinced I meant them.

How could I make her understand that I couldn’t leave thefarm? Not as long as I was able to meet the mortgage payments.This place had been Andy’s dream, and letting go of it wouldbe like letting go of him all over again. This land was all I hadleft of my husband, these forty acres and the small house andaging outbuildings that sat on them.

Strange, I suppose, that I wanted to stay, given it was the

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farm that took Andy from me. Yet it was here, on this farm,where I felt closest to him. He’d loved the land so. He’d had theheart of a farmer beating in his chest, despite being raised in thecity, despite the years he’d spent in the military, fighting warsand leading other soldiers.

It was on a hot August day, as I pondered my most recenttelephone conversation with my mother, that the stranger fromthe cemetery came to the farm.

“Mrs. Haskin,” he said from beyond the screen door, hat inhand.

“Yes?”“I’m Gideon Clermont. I spoke to you at . . . I met you last

March.”“Oh.” I felt a sudden chill in my heart, as if the cold wind

from that day were still buffeting me. “Yes. I remember you.We spoke at . . . at the graveside.”

“Andy and I served together in Korea.”Korea. Fear had been my constant companion when Andy

was in Korea. But he’d survived the war. He’d survived andcome back to the States. He’d come back to me, his fiancée. I’dthought God had kept him alive so we could marry and havechildren and be a family. On our wedding day, Andy had prom-ised we would grow old together.

He’d promised me.Fifteen months. That was all the time we’d had as man and

wife. Just fifteen months before he was taken away forever.My legs suddenly weak, I placed my hand on the doorjamb.

That’s the way it always happened. One moment, I was doingall right; the next, the brokenness of my life, of my heart, stolemy breath away.

“Andy saved my life,” Gideon said.

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BEYOND THE SHADOWS

Mine, too. Oh, Andy. Mine, too.The world began to blur and slip away.“Are you all right, Mrs. Haskin?” Gideon opened the screen

door and took hold of my arm. “Here, ma’am. Let me help youinside.”

I hadn’t the strength to protest, so I allowed him to assist meto the nearby kitchen table, where I sank onto one of the chrome-legged chairs.

“I’ll get you some water.” He opened a cupboard door,closed it, then opened another, this time finding the dishware.After filling the glass at the kitchen faucet, he returned to whereI sat. “You’d better drink this. You look awfully pale.”

I sipped from the glass, although what I wanted most to dowas return to my bed, pull the covers over my head, and wail.I wanted to scream and weep. I wanted to give up.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Gideon asked.I shook my head, sipped more water, then glanced at my

visitor again. He was about my age, I thought, and he had thick,inky black hair, a bit disheveled from his hat, and a dark com-plexion. Or perhaps he’d spent a great deal of time in the sun.I couldn’t be sure which. Wide-spaced brown eyes beneathdark brows watched me with gentle concern. He had a pleasant-looking mouth, and I imagined when he smiled he must bequite handsome.

I was taken by surprise by that thought. I hadn’t noticedanother man’s looks since the day I met Andy back in 1950.

Andy . . . Oh, Andy. I miss you so much.Gideon leaned forward on his chair. “Mrs. Haskin, I’d like

to help you if I can.”“Help me?” I whispered around the lump in my throat.“Andy was the best kind of friend. The best friend I’ve ever

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had. He was like a brother to me. When I heard about his death—”He stopped abruptly and closed his eyes, as if his words hurt himas much as they hurt me.

It was my turn to look away. I chose to stare out the windowabove the sink.

Beyond the glass I saw the barn—more of a large shed,really—the once bright red paint now faded to a blotchy gray.The roof sagged a little in the center.

As if reading my mind, Gideon said, “Andy wrote me lastwinter and offered me a job, working with him on your farm.”

“He did?” My gaze returned to the man seated across fromme. “He never mentioned it.”

“He said he could use my help with building and repairswhile he did the farming.” He turned his calloused hands palms-up on the table. “I’m a carpenter by trade. I was having troublefinding work down in California, so it seemed a good idea forus both.”

I remembered something about Gideon Clermont then.Something Andy had written in a letter from Korea: Gideon’sgot the hands of a carpenter, and now he’s come to know the Carpen-ter. Maybe that’s the whole reason I was sent here, Deborah, so I couldshare God’s love with men who don’t know Him.

“Andy led you to Christ,” I said softly. “While you wereoverseas.”

He smiled, a soft expression. “Yes, ma’am. He did.”“His faith was strong.” I rose from my chair.I wish mine were as strong. O God, why can’t my faith be as strong

as Andy’s was?I walked to the sink and stared out the window at the weath-

ered barn.You feel so far away, Lord. I need Your presence. Did You leave me

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when Andy died? Is that why I can’t feel You near? Is that why I can’thear Your voice? Is that why I feel so utterly lost and alone?

The sound of chair legs scraping against linoleum drew mearound. Gideon stood beside his chair, watching me, his smilegone. “I’d like to lend you a hand, Mrs. Haskin. I thought maybeI could come out here on weekends. You know, to do some ofthe things you can’t do.”

The things Andy would’ve done if he were alive.My heart ached. I felt as if my chest were being crushed

in a giant’s relentless hand. “I can’t afford to hire anyone, Mr.Clermont. I’m sorry. I’ve leased the land to a neighbor for thisyear, but—”

“I’m not asking you to hire me. I’ve got a job in Boise asa Fuller Brush salesman. It’s not work I care for much, but it’llpay the rent.”

“But you said Andy offered you—”“I just want to help out, Mrs. Haskin. As Andy’s friend.

Will you let me help you?”

w ����������� ��� � WI will tell you plain. I didn’t much care for Gideon Clermontthe first time he sauntered into our building supply and hard-ware store and told me he was working at the Haskin place.It just didn’t seem right, him being there.

The folks of Amethyst like to take care of our own.We don’t need an outsider doing it for us.

Of course, there are those who might say DeborahHaskin is herself an outsider, living here hardly more thana year. But she and Andy were active, right from the start,at Amethyst Community Church, and they both went out

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of their way to make friends. They didn’t keep to themselvesall the time, the way some newlyweds are wont to do. It’stragic, no doubt about it, what happened to her husband,and Deborah does seem mighty determined to hold on toher farm.

No, she doesn’t seem like an outsider. She belongs here.I oughta know. Me and my mister were born and raised

in Amethyst. Our roots go down deep hereabouts. Ourgrandparents helped found this town when it was nothingbut desert stolen from the jackrabbits and coyotes. We’vewatched the town grow since irrigation brought life to theland and prosperity to those willing to work hard for it.Before irrigation, Amethyst was just a stop on the UnionPacific Railroad and not much more. It’s different now.Let me tell you.

Another thing. These are good folks who live in theseparts. We don’t hold with fast-living city ways. And I cantell you, the Haskins—Andy and Deborah—they fit rightin after they bought the farm from old Mr. Smythe.

Andy Haskin had a real fire in his belly for farming, buttalk about a greenhorn! Still, he was willing to learn. TheBible says if you get all the advice and instruction you can,you’ll be wise for the rest of your life, so I figured Andy wasgoing to be plenty wise. He was like a sponge, soaking upadvice from other farmers, always asking questions of every-body he met. I couldn’t count the times he did that, righthere in our store.

Well, I’ll tell you, it was a shame, the accident that tookhis life. A real tragedy.

Deborah Haskin was tore up inside. You could see itin her eyes, even when she put a brave smile on her lips.

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BEYOND THE SHADOWS

Yes, indeedy. It was a tragedy what happened to thatyoung couple. A real tragedy.

And now there was that Clermont fellow—smiling,handsome, mighty sure of himself—from California, he toldme, saying he was making repairs and doing odd jobs at theHaskin farm. He claimed to be a friend of Andy’s. But I askyou, what did Deborah know about him? What did any ofus know about him?

No; like I said before, I didn’t care much for GideonClermont when I first met him. Not one bit.

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A N O T E F R O M T H E A U T H O R

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Dear Friends:When God first began placing this story on my heart, I knew itwouldn’t be an easy one to write. The alcoholism of a loved one hastouched me and my family, so Deborah’s story, although fictional,was also personal. I have known fear and denial and rage and shameand guilt and grief. I have been that person at the end of both herrope and her hope. But I have also found that when I am at the endof myself, that’s where I find Jesus, cradling me in His arms, restoringmy hope. He is faithful even when I am faithless.

In his book The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren writes, “Godnever wastes a hurt! In fact, your greatest ministry will most likely comeout of your greatest hurt. . . . God intentionally allows you to gothrough painful experiences to equip you for ministry to others.”

I read that paragraph not long after I finished writing Beyond theShadows, and my heart quickened as I remembered the verses Godgave me to end this novel: “You will have courage because you will havehope. You will be protected and will rest in safety. You will lie down unafraid,and many will look to you for help” (Job 11:18-19).

God hasn’t wasted the hurt of alcoholism in my life. He used itto teach me about the importance of surrendering my all to Him.He used it to equip me for ministry to others. He used it to help mewrite this novel. He took me inside my deepest hurts and fears, andI discovered courage because of my hope in Him.

Beloved, there is hope beyond the shadows in your life. His nameis Jesus.

In the grip of His grace,

Robin Lee HatcherFrom her heart . . . to yours.

www.robinleehatcher.comrobinlee@robinleehatcher.com

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What inspired you to write Beyond the Shadows?As often happens with me, I envisioned the opening scene first. In mymind, I saw Deborah at the graveside with the gray sky behind her.I heard her voice distinctly telling me her story as the scene unfolded.It was so real to me, and I couldn’t get it on paper fast enough.

What came a little more slowly was the realization that the centralconflict of the book would be alcoholism. I can’t say I was thrilledabout that. But as God began speaking to my heart, I knew this waswhat He wanted from me.

Because my life has been impacted by the alcoholism of another,I know firsthand how ill-equipped most people are to deal with it,especially when it strikes in the family of believers. My experience tellsme that very few Christians understand how prevalent this problem iswithin the church; it isn’t simply a problem for those on the outside.

How much of your personal experience is foundin Deborah’s character?In telling Deborah’s story, I relied heavily on my personal experienceand my own private struggles, both spiritual and emotional. I alsotalked to many friends and acquaintances who have been impactedby an alcoholic spouse, parent, child, sibling, etc. While our personalstories vary widely, they are hauntingly similar, too. And so it was forDeborah. Her experience in Beyond the Shadows was unique, and yetit was quite similar to mine and that of others.

Why is Gideon portrayed as a gentle, nonviolentalcoholic in the story?Because that’s what was true in my own situation. When I first beganto suspect my loved one had a problem, I went into immediate denial.After all, alcoholics were unemployed and reeked of booze. My loved

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one had a job and I never observed the drinking or smelled alcohol onthe person’s breath. I certainly never, through all the years, saw violentbehavior. In fact, the opposite was true. My loved one completelywithdrew from me, from others, and from life.

How did the Christians in your life respondas your situation became known?Not always with love and compassion, I’m sorry to say. Yet I canunderstand, because I didn’t always act with love and compassionmyself. There were times I wanted to run away and not deal with itany longer, and there were some Christians who counseled me to doexactly that. But deep in my heart, even at the worst of times, I knewthat nothing enters my life that isn’t first filtered through the fingersof my loving God. So I tried to obey Him rather than following thewisdom of this world.

What is your greatest fear and how do you handle it?My loved one is in recovery, and I suppose my secret fear is that thedrinking could begin again. But fear is the opposite of faith, and partof my own recovery is to keep faith in action. It’s a sin for children ofGod not to trust Him with every aspect of our lives. So I try to alwayschoose faith and reject fear.

For most people impacted by the alcoholism of another, the needfor control becomes a driving force and it causes them to behaveirrationally at times. Accepting that they didn’t cause the alcoholism—nor can they control either it or the alcoholic—is an important steptoward finding peace in their own hearts. God is in control, and I tryto remember that when fear presses in.

What hope can you offer readers who findthemselves in a similar situation?Rather than going into denial, get educated. Learn all you can aboutalcoholism. There are many books available, including some writtenby Christians who understand the importance of relying on the Godof the Bible to help us deal with this—or any other—problem. In myopinion, the most helpful book I’ve read on the topic of alcoholism(and I’ve read more than two dozen) is God Is for the Alcoholic by JerryDunn (Moody Press, revised and expanded version published in 1986).

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Don’t go into hiding. Shame is a common feeling among familymembers. Those who love an alcoholic often withdraw into a worldof silence and secrets. That’s the wrong place to be. Refuse to isolate.

Get involved in a recovery program yourself, whether or notyour loved one does. Alcoholism is a family illness. It impacts every-one it touches. Celebrate Recovery is a Christian recovery programbased on the Beatitudes. (Visit www.celebraterecovery.com for moreinformation.) Al-Anon, while not a Christian program, can be verybeneficial for family members. (Visit www.al-anon.alateen.org formore information.) If you can’t find a program on your own, contactChristian counselors in your area to see if they can recommend agood program for you.

Most important of all, pray. Pray for your loved one and pray foryour own needs. Pray the Bible and let God’s Word go deep intoyour heart. Seek God’s will more than your own desires. Find godlypeople who will stand in the gap for you when you’re too weak topray for yourself. And when you reach the end of your rope and yourhope, start praying all over again.

Finally, remember that God loves you. He’s a God of miracles.He keeps track of all your sorrows. He’s collected all of your tears ina bottle. He’s recorded each one in His book (Psalm 56:8). No matterhow dark the shadows may seem, there is light in Him. He really willnot waste your hurt.

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D I S C U S S I O N G U I D E

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Plans“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are

plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

J E R E M I A H 2 9 : 1 1

1. What were Deborah’s plans for her life? What circumstances

caused her plans to change?

2. How did Deborah try to hang on to her plans? What

mechanism did she use to hide her fears?

3. What were Gideon’s plans? How did God fit into them?

4. What excuses did Gideon use to justify the changes in

his plans?

5. What plans have you made, and how does God fit into them?

6. What excuses do you use to hang on to the past or ignore the

present? How have you tried to control those around you?

Promises“In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for Me

in earnest you will find Me when you seek Me. I will be

found by you,” says the Lord.

J E R E M I A H 2 9 : 1 2 - 1 3

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