A/N: I finally realized why the switches in time in this story are so hard to follow. Stupif text server doesn't recognize the characters that I use to mark the switches. Grr...Sorry about that. Anyway, the stories almost done. Just for the record, I know I mentioned this in the last story (Arnold's Flight) but the regular text is the flashback, the text in Italics is the writing in the journal, and the Bold text is present day.

Chapter 11: God on My Side

Now it is March. I have not written much over these past months because there has been nothing to write. I am progressively getting better and have now acquired a cane to replace my crutches. It gives me a great sense of comfort to know I can move about without aid now, and I am confident that Helga will be pleased with my progress. I miss her so. Over the months I've also been studying Dr. Brandon's Bible a bit more with the help of Jordan Reynolds. He has been able to answer many of my questions about God and His Son, Jesus. It is all very interesting. I've never been a consciously religious person until I realized that my prayers were being sent to a God I did not know and could not see. I'm beginning to know Him now, I think. I cannot see Him, but I'm getting to know Him more through the book Brandon gave me and through Jordan's helpful insight. Whether I decide that this religion is for me or not, it is always wise to know who you're praying to, I think.

Arnold skimmed through the next page or two of the journal, amazed at how much he'd written about the beginnings of his Christianity when, at the time, he hadn't even a glimpse of what it really meant to 'know' God.

What a wonderful friend Jordan had become to him during those months, he remembered, smiling fondly to himself. He rarely became depressed when he thought about his old friend, taken only a year ago by pneumonia. It had been a small epidemic that time, not nearly as bad as in previous years, and only claimed two lives – Jordan's, and that of what would have been Sara's first child. Sara fell hard with the illness and lost the child at five months along. It had been a girl., and the loss had been hard for Sara to bear.

Arnold shook his head and turned back to his reading. Sara hadn't let her sadness over the incident overtake her, and he wouldn't either. She would have another soon, after all.

Arnold was sitting in the front entranceway reading his Bible when two things happened at once. First, he hadn't heard Max running hard down the hallway before he burst through the door and shouted "They're here!"

At the same time, Arnold had just looked up when he caught a motion in his peripheral vision and saw a beat-up, green army truck edging slowly around the corner and into the parking lot. His heart stopped.

Helga…

He stood, grabbing his cane. Max was already holding the door open for him as Misha, Curly, and many others were coming fast down the hall behind them.

Arnold's feet hit the pavement outside and he had to fight against every nerve in his body that was screaming at him to run to her. In his heart, he desperately wanted to, but in his head he knew it wouldn't be wise. What if he fell and injured himself further?

The truck sputtered a bit as it made its way laboriously down the parking lot lane. Then it jerked a bit and stopped, still countless feet from the building. They had coasted into the parking lot on fumes, appearantly. The driver, Eric, climbed out of the front cab along with the three others crammed in beside him. That was all the cue Arnold needed. His heart would not let him stand there idle for another moment and he gripped his cane tightly, hurrying across the pavement to the best of his ability. He hadn't dared attempt any manner of running since the accident, but with his focus on his goal alone, he practically soared across the pavement.

"Arnold?" Max said worriedly, hurrying to catch up with him. Arnold ignored him and kept going, so Max simply trailed at his side as though waiting until he might be needed. His behavior was somewhat more attentive than usual, but Arnold hardly noticed.

He especially failed to notice at that moment, for the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on descended from the passenger side of the truck, with the help of a very disheveled-looking Misha. Before her feet touched the pavement, Helga was moving toward Arnold. Her stride was slow but purposeful, and she was crying. Her eyes barely shifted to take in his condition as she went to him, and he felt his heart swell within his chest. He never doubted that she wouldn't take him as he was now, but it still filled him with a sense of pride like nothing else.

"Arnold..."

In a matter of seconds he had her in his arms – first one arm, then both as his cane dropped to the ground and he balanced on one leg, holding her fiercely to him. They were both weak, unstrudy, but supported each other perfectly. People moved about around them, others came out to greet the newcomers, but for the longest of moments Arnold and Helga were alone in the world. The parking lot was empty, the last traces of snow melted away and the sun was shining. And Arnold's wife was in his arms at last – right where she belonged.

Once the reality of finally being together again had sunk in, and they were sure that letting go would not result in the sudden end of the dream, they both instinctively pulled back just far enough to kiss fervently, a longsuffering hunger satisfied at last.

Max had backed away a few paces from all the joyful people, watching intently as the scene played itself out. Misha, looking exhausted, circled around the back and assisted one child, then another, and a third, before reaching in and helping Sara down from the truck, his hands around her waist as he eased her to the ground. She looked horribly tired, visibly more pale and thin than the last time Max had seen her. It was the consumption – all of the ill ones looked that way, but somehow Sara managed to look worse. Max knew why, knew her well enough to know she probably hadn't slept or eaten much on the trip. She'd most likely given any comforts of her own to those three children Misha had helped out of the truck a moment ago. It was her way, he knew. A servant to the end.

Max took in every movement, every touch, every detail as Misha lifted the smaller child and supported him with one arm, then picked up another, while Sara took the other child's hand. All three children looked as exhausted as Misha and Sara did. One of the people from the school rushed up then, welcoming them and insisting on helping carry the children inside. Misha reluctantly passed one of them to the woman, and Max watched with a sinking sensation as the curly-haired man reached down with his free hand and linked his fingers with Sara's. They walked slowly toward the building together, children in tow.

Sara didn't see Max, didn't realize that he was watching with an overwhelming sense of guilt and disappointment. He'd sought wordless confirmation, and he'd recieved it. He knew his heartache was his own doing. He'd hurt her once, given her up to follow his own selfish pursuits – and he'd waited too long to try and win her back.

He watched their retreating backs for a moment before turning to the group of people before him. He used to love helping people the way Sara did, used to love serving. He'd lost the desire somewhere along the way, until recently. Until Arnold's accident, in fact. Serving himself had brought him nothing but loneliness.

A little girl, maybe seven years old, stood looking bewildered as people hurried about around her. Someone told her to follow them, and she obeyed on wobbly legs. Max strode over to her, and she stopped and looked at him.

"Would you like me to carry you?" He asked, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt. The little girl stared at him, looking as though she would refuse the help. Eventually she nodded, and he held out his arms to her. She climbed into them, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck just enough to hold on, at first. After he'd walked a few steps her grip tightened and her head rested against his shoulder.

The taller man's grip on the little girl tightened almost without his consent as his heart grew heavy inside him. In a brief moment of revelation he realized that this was a moment of redemption for him – one of many that would have to follow before he felt whole again – this was Sara in his arms. He could be for this little girl, and anyone else who needed it, what he hadn't been to Sara: A protector, a supporter...a friend.

It seemed to Arnold like the remainder of that afternoon was passed through a haze. He could remember little, the place buzzed so with excitement and commotion. Gerald had found him almost directly after Helga did, his little Lupita balanced on his hip. He hugged his best friend fiercely. Not long after that first truck had pulled in, another followed. It was also an army truck, perhaps one they'd failed to notice before among the reckage. These were the only two, though, packed full with people, all that were left.

Sara and Misha had found Arnold during some point in the day, as had Dr. Brandon MacNamara, but Arnold couldn't clearly recall when. Only little bits and pieces of activity remained in his mind between the moment he and Helga were finally reunited and that night, as things quieted down immensely.

He couldn't remember when he'd discovered that all his things had been moved from the room he shared with the other men to that far room at the end of the hall with the greatest view. Max had done it during some point in the day at Gerald's request – Gerald himself was a far too preoccupied with his 18-month-old.

Helga hadn't brought much, but a bed had been made for her on the floor beside Arnold's.

The blond man eased himself onto the bedding, his cane left to stand against the far wall by the door, which was closed. Helga bent to help him, though both knew he hardly needed it by this point. She was still holding one of his arms when he'd touched the floor, and was instantly down beside him when he took both her arms and brought her there. What followed after that was more than inevitable. No words were spoken - none needed to be spoken. Finally together, finally sure that it would remain that way, and driven by a passion that had been far too long in hibernation, the two young people shared a night that should have been shared almost a year ago.

Arnold sighed, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. That day, the moment he'd held Helga in his arms once more, had been one of the most blessed moments in his life. The conception and birth of each of his children were close runners-up. He folded the book and put it back on its shelf with his few other books.

"Helga…" He whispered her name in the quiet of the room, his children fast asleep on the bed they shared. His five-year-old twins, Leopold and Philip, and his youngest son Robbie. His seven-year-old daughter Charlotte slept in the next room over with Lupita and Curly's older daughter, Katie. He sighed again, "…I miss you so much…"

There was a stir, and Leopold shifted on the edge of the bed. His eyes opened and he peered at his father under thick lashes.

"Daddy?" It was a barely discernable mumble, but Arnold heard it and rose instantly from his chair. He never let his handicap keep him from his children even in the smallest of cases.

"I can't sleep…" The youth mumbled again, oblivious to the fact that he'd just been sleeping soundly.

"Sure you can, buddy. Close your eyes, now." Arnold said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed and stroking his son's fine blond hair. Within seconds of his closing eyes, the child's breathing became a regular pattern once more and he was asleep. Arnold knew he should get to bed himself, considering the late hour, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the bedside just yet. They were so beautiful, his children. It had taken him a long time to dismiss the belief that Helga's death was the price they'd had to pay in order to have such fine, healthy children. Both Dr. Brandon and Dr. Kinder had reassured him, from a medical perspective, that bearing children had not been a danger to Helga. They'd had their doubts at first and had monitored her carefully during her pregnancy with Charlotte. But after a successful delivery they were convinced that having children was a perfectly suitable thing to do. It was the consumption that had finally taken her from him.

An outbreak of pneumonia, to be exact. All those who'd taken ill with the consumption in the city were forever weakened in the body. It never really went away, it just became less severe with the proper nourishment and surroundings. There were only a handful of people left now who'd caught the consumption.

Helga's death three years ago, right after Robbie was born, had been nearly impossible for Arnold to bear. At that time he'd already accepted Christ into his life, as had Helga. But after her death, Arnold had blamed God, his children, and any other force he thought might have had a hand in dealing him such a cruel blow. It had taken months for him to recover, to speak to people, any people, and to go back to his children and learn to love them again. Just looking at them reminded him of his wife.

It still amazed him how forgiving children could be, specifically Charlotte, who was the only one that was really old enough to remember. She'd welcomed him back with open arms and a hug that melted his heart, and hadn't mentioned his relapse at all since then. He gazed upon his three sons for the longest while before finally rising to his feet. He didn't even bother changing his clothes and climbing into bed. He knew he'd never get to sleep and so decided to walk around a bit. He'd have to be careful, he knew, because his cane could make a bit of noise.

He was surprised to find Sara sitting down on the concourse alone, the large room just barely lit. He went over and sat beside her and was glad he'd come out for a walk, for he could sense instantly that all was not well. Sara was sitting with her legs drawn up, her arms wrapped around them and her face hidden from view. Her body language indicated something like a desire to cave in on oneself.

"Hey." He said as he sat. The look on the woman's face when she lifted her head confirmed his suspicion, for her face was red and pale at the same time and streaked with hot tears.

"Hey? Sara, what is it?" Arnold asked, one hand going instantly to her shoulder in deep empathy.

"Arnold…" She said, her voice a quiet sob, hardly audible. "I lost it. I lost the baby…"

Arnold's stomach suddenly felt hollow. They'd found out only four weeks ago that she was pregnant again.

"Oh, Sara. I'm so sorry." And he was, indescribably so, for she and Misha been trying for another child ever since the death of their first one.

"When? Does Misha know yet?"

Sara shook her head, pulling her legs closer to her. "About an hour ago…" And with that, the flood gates were released once more and the heartbroken woman dropped her head into the nest of her folded arms, sobbing silently with unparalleled grief. Arnold put one arm around her shoulders and drew her to him a bit, sharing in her sorrow, for they were both mourning someone this night.

Arnold didn't bother trying to think of something to say that might help; he knew there could be no words to comfort a grieving mother – almost mother. She hadn't actually reached that point yet, the goal of her heart to have children of her own. Curly-haired children that looked just like her husband.

Dear God, Arnold prayed inside, help us now. Help us bear these losses. Please, God, give Sara the children she so desperately wants…He could think of no more to say. He didn't understand why this had happened, why the God who proclaimed to love them would let them suffer thus. Arnold no longer blamed God for Helga's death – he felt that blaming God for his suffering was in some way a cop-out. He couldn't explain why. This world they lived in, this dragon-infested hell was only temporary. Someday he'd see Helga again, and Sara would hold both of her lost children in her arms.

Arnold wasn't aware of when it had started, but somewhere during the train of his thoughts and prayers he'd begun to sing. It was very quiet, bassy, not altogether smooth or flawless. The words faded in and out of audibility, but they were there, the words to the first worship song Jordan had taught him.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows blow;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul…"

Arnold knew they would be alright. Both of them, and their families. The world around then was gray and full of sadness, but here within these stone walls was a community of people who would take care of each other, support each other, laugh and mourn together, grow together and die together. They would go on, outlast the enemy.

Arnold knew this. Knew that he had God on his side and friends all around him.

He knew he would be ok, and that was all he needed.