The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

  Carter warmed his hands on a large ceramic mug of black drip coffee. He sat back in his chair and shook his head.

  “Well, I have to tell you this is a hard day. One sad day.”

  Walter nodded, not looking up. “I feel the same way, Carter. It’s a day that’ll impact all of us.”

  The comment hung in the air, and their silence was transformed into a moment of reverence.

  Cathy stirred some lemon into her tea then looked up. “Will you be in Harvest for a few days, or do you have to go back after the funeral?”

  “No, I’ll be here for a couple of days. There is the disposition of the estate to deal with.”

  Carter and Cathy glanced at each other as though searching for permission to talk. Carter took a long sip of coffee.

  “Walter, we saw Alex this morning. Had a nice chat, well…cordial, I guess. I can’t understand what went wrong with him—”

  “—with all of them.” Cathy raised her hands in frustration. “How can four children of such wonderful parents turn their backs on them like that? I’ll just never understand it.” She paused, fidgeting with her tea bag and stirring more lemon into her cup. “I assume they’ll all be here?”

  Walter nodded. He had confirmed with all four Roberts children that they would be there for two days. They couldn’t understand what would take so long, but Walter insisted, and they agreed.

  “You know how much I liked Alex when he was that little guy growing up around here.” Carter sat forward. “I taught him to throw a baseball, you remember. Sam wasn’t much for sports. I coached him every year he played. He was one smart and happy kid, so at home at the church and Sunday school. I don’t think he missed a week I taught sixth grade at Resurrection. Such a nice kid then off to seminary, and then—what do you think happened, Walt?”

  “I’m not sure we’ll ever really know. His first three years went fine, according to Sam. But something snapped when Lori died, and I guess he never recovered.”

  “God rest her soul,” Cathy whispered.

  Carter put his arm around Cathy and rubbed her shoulder.

  “And then there’s the rest of them.” Carter stared down at his coffee. “Each one seemed to drift away. All I can say is that it should be an interesting funeral.”

  “Now, dear, these are Sam and Lori’s kids, and we need to make them feel welcome here. This is their home after all, regardless of how much they’ve turned away from it… and us.”

  Walter reached across and squeezed her arm. “I know they’ll appreciate that kind of welcome. I’m sure they’re expecting the worst.”

  Dear Cathy, ever the sensitive one. He sat back and continued.

  “Cathy, may I ask you a favor?”

  She set her cup down and gave Walter a look of surprise. “Well, yes, Walter. Of course, anything.”

  “You know those amazing cinnamon rolls you bake?”

  Cathy smiled at the compliment.

  “Could you bring a batch by the house tomorrow on your way to church? I have a feeling they might be just what we need about then.”

  “I’m happy to do so.”

  As the coffee and conversation ended, the three of them rose and stepped out onto the sidewalk that glistened with ice. Walter watched as Carter took Cathy’s arm, tenderness and love on display as he tucked it under his, and they ambled away in their half-embrace down the empty brick walkway.

  Walter knew he had to watch his time, but he couldn’t help but stop in at the Mill Stone.

  The barn-like structure had dominated Main Street for more than sixty years. Walter’s dad told him stories about when it was a blacksmith and tack shop. In the sixties its flat-front facade had been whitewashed and new lettering added to showcase its transformation into a combination hardware, lawn and garden, appliance, and even clothing store. Walter smiled at the thought of the days he’d spent getting lost among its mountainous racks of goods. A person could find about anything they needed on those soaring, dusty shelves of this Harvest icon.

  Time will run out if I’m not careful…just a quick look down a couple of aisles.

  By the time he emerged onto the sidewalk, the afternoon was losing its light. Walter walked back to his car under the hiss of old-fashioned gas lamps sparking to life. They were added in the eighties in an attempt to turn Harvest into a tourist town. The tourists never came, but the gaslights remained. Each summer they supported dangling baskets of glorious nasturtiums, petunias, lobelia, alyssum, and ivy. Stripped of their floral glory, the baskets now hung empty and forgotten against the graying February sky, and the dim light of the globes added an eerie luminosity to the scene.

  Walter had one last stop before the funeral. He drove past the Harvest Gospel Mission. For the first time in its history it was closed for the day. Just seeing the mission overwhelmed him. His grief welled up, and he struggled to steer his car to a parking spot. He was suffocating in emotion. How could he accept that Sam would never again be at the door with his welcoming smile and deep compassion?

  I need to do this. Come on. Pull it together.

  For several minutes he sat and prayed and grieved. Then, collecting himself, Walter made his way to the mission.

  Carl Martinez was there to greet him. “I am so glad to see you, Mr. Graffenberger.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Carl, and you know you can call me Walt.”

  “Yes, yes, you have told me. It just doesn’t seem…respectful. But, yes, I will call you Walt.” A heavy-set Hispanic man in his early forties, Carl wore the one dark blue suit he had for special occasions. Carl was one of the most gracious men Walter had ever met. He’d worked alongside Sam for the past two years, and now he was stepping into the role of director of the mission.

  Walter put his hand on Carl’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

  “I have no time to grieve, Mr. Graffen—Walt. You know the wheat prices were down last year. Many farmers lost everything. That sent so many people to us that I started to panic every time I heard the train stop.”

  Walter shook his head. “I can’t believe they still haven’t straightened that out, after all the time and money we spent.” He’d worked for two years to help the city council correct an old law that required Burlington Northern Railroad trains to come to a full stop at the crossing on the north end of town.

  “Unfortunately not. As soon as the train stops they jump out, and more and more it’s younger men, women, and even small families. I’ve stood and watched them. It breaks your heart.”

  As a kid, Walter would run down to the tracks in the autumn to watch long trains pull hundreds of empty, red wheat cars. They rolled into Harvest, ready to be filled to capacity with the region’s golden treasure. He used to cover his ears at the screech of steel train wheels against the tracks. That sound resonated for miles, but no one in Harvest minded. It was the sound of money.

  It was so different now.

  “I had hoped that the Farm Aid and other programs would help most of them hang on.”

  “No, they just keep coming. The trains are so dangerous, but still they come to find shelter, food—and hope. They are so scared, so discouraged. Most of them need the basic things: food, a bath, a cot, and a job. They put their trust in us, Walt. They trust the people of Harvest to give them the kind of stability and hope they lost by lousy weather or the dropping wheat prices.”

  “Or just plain poor farming.”

  Carl nodded.

  “Do you still get the pros?”

  “Oh, yes. A few still show up and dupe every kindhearted soul they can find and then move on to the next town. But they’re the exception. Most of these folks are just searching for a better life. We do all we can. We have the recovery programs for the addicts, and for others we just try to restore a little dignity. It’s a lot to try to do when you’re just three blocks from the train stop. I don’t know how Mr. Roberts did it all these years.”

  “Carl, you’ve done a wonderful job here. I know it can seem overwhelming, but you h
ave a good board, lots of volunteers, and a town to support you. You’ll do well. Just trust in the good people you have around you.”

  Carl’s smile was warm. “Thank you. May I say that you almost sounded like Mr. Roberts.”

  “That’s a real compliment. Thank you.” Walter shook Carl’s hand and hoped it would convey just a small bit of the confidence he had in him. Sam had hand-picked Carl when he was a recovering meth addict. To see him now was testament to the power of God to change lives, a power that Sam relied on for all his thirty-two years at the mission.

  Walter looked at his watch. “We’d better be heading to the church. Do you need a ride?”

  “No, I will lock up and walk. This is a day for long walks and lots of talking to God.”

  On the way back to the church, Walter made the short drive to Orchard Street. He eased past the Roberts home. Four cars were parked in the driveway.

  Thank God, they’re all here. Help me, Lord. I hope I can do this. They all know Sam’s secret, and I pray that won’t destroy everything we have planned. Help me honor Sam’s wishes, Lord. I can’t do this without You.

  Walter drove on to the church and sat in his car for several minutes. All around, people dressed in their Sunday best were walking toward the Resurrection Christian Church.

  The time he’d dreaded had arrived.

  He stepped out of the car, put on his suit coat, and joined several others making their pilgrimage on the somber, late-winter day. Two thoughts flooded his mind. That the lives of four people were about to be changed forever.

  And that this little town he loved would never be the same.

  chapter

  Two

  Alex froze, suitcase in hand, staring up the front sidewalk leading to the expansive, covered front porch of the Roberts family home.

  I can’t believe I’m the first one here. Where are Merideth and Anna? They should’ve been here by now.

  But it was just him.

  I’m not ready for this.

  He would be the first to walk into the family home without a mother or father to greet him. The first to fight his way into the heartless silence of a house that, until now, had only known voices and music and life. He took a step back toward his car. He could sit there and wait—

  “Alex, is that you? Hey, it’s good to have you back here at the house.”

  Alex turned to find Frank Farquar standing in his yard. He had lived next to the Roberts family for as long as Alex could remember. He lifted his suitcase in a half wave.

  “Thanks, Frank. Good to see you.”

  “Will the other kids be here?”

  “Yup, we’re all here for, well, you know, Dad’s funeral.”

  Frank shook his head and smacked his forehead with an open palm.

  “Of course, of course you are. Stupid question. Beth and I will be there. Four o’clock, right?”

  Alex nodded. Then he turned back to face the moment.

  C’mon. Let’s get this over with.

  He walked up the stairs, and they groaned under his weight. He set his suitcase down and slid the lid off the porcelain kettle sitting on a little table next to two rattan lounge chairs. Inside was the front door key. It’d been there forever.

  Everyone in the county knew that.

  The heavy lock turned with a bit of force, and the large wooden door creaked open. Alex switched on the hall light and closed the door behind him. He was in.

  It was so quiet.

  As he turned on lights and made his way to the living room, he kept waiting to hear his dad call out from the den or see his mom come around the corner from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, preparing to give him a welcoming embrace.

  They were gone. They were really gone.

  His breathing grew heavy and his chest began to ache. He grabbed his suitcase and headed upstairs to his old bedroom. Nothing much had changed. He’d been here two years ago when his mom died, and two other times since then. He never thought he’d be back here so soon for another funeral. And burying Dad. This was really happening. He was now the oldest remaining member of the family.

  Alex put his suitcase on the bed. He could unpack later. He went downstairs and walked through the house, peering into rooms and looking out windows at the changing view of the lawn and neighborhood. With no one there, the whole place seemed bigger.

  Lonelier.

  Dad had a lot of days here by himself. How did he do it? I should’ve come over more often, but work has been so…. Okay, stop. We’re not taking this guilt trip.

  He checked his watch. 11:30 a.m.

  Plenty of time before the funeral.

  He made his way back to the kitchen to put on some coffee. He’d left Seattle at 6:00 a.m. to avoid the traffic and give himself a little time before the service. He’d not seen Anna or Merideth in over a year, and it’d been longer than that since he and Reed were together.

  With a hot cup of Kona Gold in his favorite old mug, he wandered into his father’s study. He paused at the door and studied the room.

  Everything had been left the way it was the last time he was here. It was as if Dad had just stepped out for a few minutes.

  Even the familiar smells of Old Spice and alder firewood still hung in the air, like an invisible memorial. Alex walked in and examined his dad’s desk. He sat in the leather swivel chair and looked around, his hands feeling their way along its well-worn arms. Life through Dad’s eyes. The mantel and massive bookshelves were filled with memorabilia that sat like silent talismen bearing witness to a life well lived. Alex walked to the bookshelf marked Theology. He ran his fingers along the spines, letting them stop and start again as he read the titles. On the second shelf, halfway across, his hand stopped. He read the spine. Then again.

  The Epistle to the Romans. Karl Barth.

  He reached on top of the book with his finger and began to pull it out then paused—and pushed it back in its place.

  I can’t do this. Not yet. Not today.

  Anna saw Alex’s car in the driveway. Thank heaven. She did not want to be the first one to arrive. She pulled her six-year-old Prius in beside the new Lexus. She got out and glanced back at the two cars.

  I guess that about says it all.

  She dragged her suitcase up the walk and onto the porch. The lights from the hallway shone out through the front door glass, giving warmth to the February gloom, even at noon.

  “Hey, Alex, where are you?” She wheeled her suitcase across the wooden hallway floor and into the kitchen.

  “I’m in here, Anna. In Dad’s study.”

  She left her suitcase and joined him, stopping at the door of the office and peering in. Alex stood by the bookshelves, examining various titles. He smiled when he saw her.

  “It’s like Dad never left. I think Walt wanted it that way. How are you? How was the drive?”

  Anna pressed against the doorframe, tilting her head to lean into it.

  “I was here with Dad just a couple of months ago. It was exactly like it is now. Everything is here, in its place…everything but him….” She put her hand to her lips. Alex started across the room, but she halted him with a raised hand.

  “I’ll be all right. I just need some coffee.” She turned to leave then looked back. “Oh, and the drive was fine. Just a couple of hours to Walla Walla with the new bypass.”

  Alex followed her into the kitchen. “Have you had lunch?”

  “I actually brought us all lunch from the restaurant. I figured nobody would have time to stop and eat. It’s out in the car. I’ll go grab it.”

  Alex put his coffee down. “Here, let me help.”

  They walked out together and unloaded three large brown bags from the back of her car. Each one was labeled The Boat Inn. Alex set the last one down on the kitchen counter then studied the stenciling. “How many years have you been at the Boat Inn? Ten?”

  “Fifteen, ever since I left—well, okay, ever since I dropped out of college. I’d leave it in a second if I knew where else to
go or what else I wanted to do.”

  They unpacked the bags onto the large, rectangular kitchen table and laid out an impressive spread of deli meats, cheeses, breads, salads, and all the trimmings.

  Anna waited for Alex’s critique.

  “What about the next five years from now, or ten? What do you want to do?”

  There it was.

  My big brother the planner, the strategizer. Always with goals, dreams, and ambitions. Must be nice.

  “Dear brother, you know how it is with me. Live a day at a time and try to make the most of it. You wake up from dreams and fall short of goals. I’m just happy to get through each day, and I don’t worry about tomorrow until it comes.”

  “But you can’t stay at the restaurant—”

  She was not going to get into this.

  “Alex, I appreciate your concern. But let’s just be here for Dad and not do the career counselor bit, okay?”

  That was harsh, but she couldn’t take the condescension. Not today. This was Dad’s day. Anna tried a conciliatory smile. “I’m going to unpack and get changed. Could you give me a hand with my suitcase? My back’s been giving me fits lately.”

  “Sure, and I’m sorry, sis. I just want the best for you.”

  Anna spun around. “And what is that, Alex? What is ‘the best for Anna’? Tell me. Do you know? Because I sure as heck don’t. I was pretty lost before Mom and Dad died, and now, now….” She threw her hands in the air.

  Enough. Now was not the time.

  She turned and pounded up the stairs, walked into her room and went over to the window, looking out into the backyard. Alex put her suitcase in her room and left.

  Dad, why did you have to leave me? I needed you. I needed Mom.

  And they’d both left her. Now all she had left…all she could hold on to…was the secret.

  “Look, Jack, either get that contract to FedEx today by six or clean out your desk. Is that clear enough?” Merideth punched the red end button on her phone with such force that she broke her nail.