In Deep Waters, award-winning novelist, Dorene Meyer takes you on a journey into a First Nations community. This fast-paced contemporary fiction challenges the myth perpetuated by the church that some sins are greater in God’s eyes than others.
Sarah thinks it is her birth mother who has died but it is actually her aunt. The story revolves around her true birth mother, Gracie, an alcoholic, and Sarah’s fiancée, Colin, who also struggles with alcohol addiction. Sarah finds forgiveness in her heart for both her mother and Colin as she understands the deeper issues that have caused their addiction.
Deep Waters is first and foremost a “good read.” It was written to be read and enjoyed. Additionally, there is a message of hope and healing, particularly from childhood trauma. Readers will be transported to a unique setting in Canada’s far north where they will have an opportunity to “walk a mile in the moccasins” of someone who have lived a life quite different from their own and where they will perhaps find that we have much in common, after all.
Excerpt
The night passed uneventfully and the morning dawned cold and gray with wet snow falling on the frozen mud.
Tom had already decided that he wouldn’t leave Colin or Joshua’s side, no matter what. He knew the day would be a difficult one and had arranged for a friend to come and stay with Bobby. They left Gracie at the lodge, too. It would have been her third funeral in less than two weeks and likely too much for her to handle in her fragile condition.
They traveled together in the van over the bumpy road to where the funeral was being held. As they entered the church, tension once more filled the room, vying with despair as the predominant feeling in the building.
Colin sat beside Joshua with the family, despite the angry look from Russell and Yvonne. Tom had chosen a spot directly behind them.
The chief had been a friend of Amos Quill’s for years. He spoke of the tragedies that had befallen him and the difficult life that he’d had. They’d been in the same residential school and suffered under the same abuse. Amos had never been able to get past the pain from those difficult times and had struggled for most of his life with addiction to alcohol.
Tom could hear Yvonne crying as the chief spoke, and felt sympathy for her. He knew the anger she carried like a shield was another way to deal with past hurts. He, too, had carried anger for many years before finally being released from its power.
There was no singing. The weight of despair in the room made no allowance for song. A few quiet guitars had been strumming in the background, but as the mourners walked past the closed casket, the building descended into silence. Even the few children present were unnaturally quiet.
Tom walked past the family, shaking hands with those who would accept this gesture of sympathy. Joshua grasped his hand gratefully. Yvonne, Russell and Garby ignored him, but Bryan limply accepted Tom’s hand.
Neither Colin nor Joshua were invited to help with the burial, Joshua’s family purposefully standing apart from them. Tom and Martha edged closer so that the pair were not physically alone but there seemed nothing either of them could do to penetrate their wall of grief. Both young men stood silently with heads bowed, their pain crackling and flexing around them like an aura, deflecting any gesture of sympathy.
Yvonne’s grief was more demonstrative. As the casket was about to descend into the ground, Yvonne suddenly threw herself upon it, sobbing loudly. Martha took a step forward but Tom put a restraining hand out to stop her. “Let it be, Martha,” he whispered. Garby and Bryan were already moving towards their aunt; Martha’s help would not be welcome.
The chief spoke a few words, then took his place at the head of the procession, being the first to throw a clump of earth down upon the coffin. Then the family – and finally the other members of the community.
Colin and Joshua remained where they were, standing like two tiny islands in the middle of a flowing river. Tom envisioned waves sweeping over them.
He moved decisively, stepping through their armor of despair to put an arm around each of them. “Walk with me,” he spoke in a voice that was gentle but left no room for argument.
They circled past the grave but neither of the young men glanced down at the coffin or stooped to pick up the token piece of earth. Tom kept his hands firmly on their shoulders, guiding them forward. Behind him, Tom heard the heavy thump as Martha’s piece of sod hit the casket.
That’s for all of us, Amos.
Tom kept his arms around Joshua and Colin until they were well on their way back to the Community Center for the funeral feast. And even as he released them physically, he stayed close, every part of his being tuned into their slightest movements, ready for any shard of emotion that might suddenly break through.
They didn’t stay long. Martha was anxious to see how Gracie was doing and Tom wanted to get Colin and Joshua away just as soon as he could. The building seemed to pulsate with tension. Sammy had arranged for the transportation of Russell, Garby and their friends off the Reserve, and several uniformed constables were evident.
The drive back was a silent affair and when they arrived at the lodge, Martha went immediately to talk with Gracie.
The fire drew the three of them – the physical warmth for their chilled bodies – and the warmth of each other’s company to gradually thaw their frozen emotions. Tom eased down into a chair, close enough to let them know he cared, but far enough away to give them the space they needed. Colin and Joshua sat just inches apart on the sofa, still bound together in their grief.
Colin was the first to speak. His voice was hoarse as if it hurt to even talk. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
A small cry escaped from Joshua’s lips. He bent forward, clutching his stomach and began to rock back and forth.
Tom leaned toward them. His own voice was raw with emotion. “I’d do anythin’ – anythin’ – to take away the hurtin’ you boys are goin’ through.”
Joshua took a deep shuddering breath and looked up at Tom with tear-filled eyes. “I just wanted him to love me,” he spoke in a strained whisper.
Tom had to swallow past the lump in his throat before he could speak. “Joshua… There is a Father who loves you. I – I never had a daddy neither. But God has promised to be a Father to the fatherless.”
Joshua’s chest heaved and his voice shook as he raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Is God gonna take me hunting – and fishing – and trapping?”
“No, son, but I will.”
Just as life during the pandemic was color-coded with different hues representing different levels of danger, life in its aftermath has become shaded in similar ways. As a self-styled “Seeker of Beauty with Beauty,” (borrowing from a quote by W.E.B.
