A few weeks after the rest of the snow melted and we could walk around without sinking up to our ankles in mud, we held a small ceremony in the church cemetery. Ruby Mae and Grace Headley spearheaded a campaign to raise enough money for a new headstone for the real Emma River. The townsfolk were generous and early on a spring morning—April 22, seventy-two years to the day that Emma’s funeral was held—we held a ceremony for the placing of the new marker.
There was a slight breeze that day. Now and again, flittering cascades of the deep pink blossoms of the redbud trees and the white petals of the elegant dogwoods sprinkled the grass with a pastel snow. In the distance, I could see tulips and daffodils bobbing their heads throughout the grounds of Rivermanse. A robin called from the branches of a maple tree, its branches sprouting buds in that fresh green wash of springtime.
Mel and I stood on either side of Rachel as she looked down at her sister’s headstone. It read:
Emma Marie River
April 17, 1926—April 19, 1937
Daughter of Thomas and Regina River
and
Beloved Twin Sister of Rachel
I leaned over and whispered, “Are you okay, Rachel?”
She nodded, looked first at Mel, then me. Her eyes were wet with tears. “How could I have waited so long? What have I done? What was I thinking?”
“You did what you thought was right.”
Rachel leaned over and placed a small bouquet of roses, daffodils, and tulips at the base of the stone. “Rest easy, sister,” she said. “Rest easy.”
The three of us turned and Rachel was immediately surrounded by solicitous friends. Sadie commandeered the situation, took Rachel’s arm, and the two of them walked with the other ladies toward the church where a small meal awaited us. I could hear George and Dewey arguing—something about global warming—and Ruby Mae was showing off the latest version of her funeral hat. A whiff of Leo’s pipe smoke drifted past.
I heard a raucous clucking that sounded ominously like a newly-escaped Francine. Sure enough, Sadie’s head chicken-thug and her cohorts were parading toward us, no doubt bent on airing their latest grievance. I could see Pewter lurking behind a headstone, wiggling her behind in anticipation of a mighty leap. Stupid busted fence.
Mel wandered toward the church to help with the serving of the meal. Grace sidled up next to me and said, “Nice service, Pastor Colonel.”
“Thanks, Grace. It was way overdue, but Rachel had her reasons, and now it’s all out in the open. The marker looks nice, doesn’t it?” I said as I pointed to the stone. “Maybe we can do that for Roscoe.”
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know, Pastor Man. I don’t know. Roscoe was …”
“Let me guess,” I said, “…a mean one?”
She chuckled. “You got that right.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Later that night, Rachel returned to her sister’s grave. Night had tucked its blanket of black over the town and flicked on the trillions of nightlights overhead. She gazed upward at the twinkling canopy and smiled. Wonder which billion stars are mine? She shivered and nestled her neck deeper into the collar of her wool coat. She breathed a kiss against her fingertips and ran them over the Emma’s etched name. The granite was cold against her skin. “Here we are again, sister. Dressed in wool.”
Her eyes turned to the area between Emma’s grave and the plot reserved for her when the time came. It, too, lay covered with fresh sod. In the early morning hours before the funeral, Hugh and Melanie had stood beside her while she placed the journals she had written over the past seventy-odd years in a simple wooden box. Hugh nailed the cover to the box, lowered it into the ground between the gravesites, and shoveled the dirt back over it.
The journals, all 146 of them titled “Emma’s Journey,” chronicled the life that Emma and Rachel shared—a misguided, but loving effort by a grief-stricken and lonely Rachel to bring her sister back to life. The last entry read:
April 21st
For the first time in a long while, Emma, I’m living my own life. No more lies, no more missteps.
I am reborn. I can finally let you die. Rest easy, dear sister.
The dogwoods shimmered white in the starlight. A slight breeze lifted their branches and a smattering of the delicate petals drifted to the ground and came to rest atop the freshly-turned soil. Rachel smiled and turned to walk back up the hill to Rivermanse.
“This time it’s for me.” She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Discussion Questions
1. Do you have loved ones whose souls are in need of salvation? How do you handle that?
2. How do you feel about the role of the older generation in our society? What role do they play in your life?
3. In general, do you feel senior citizens are given the respect they deserve in today’s society? Can you think of ways to increase the respect shown to them?
4. In some cultures, the older generation are revered members of the household. If it were possible in your living situation, would you invite an older family member to live with you? Do you feel this is a good idea? Why or why not?
5. In your opinion, are senior citizens a good influence on children? Do they have valuable insight, experiences, and wisdom they could share with the younger generations or are their thoughts old-fashioned and outdated— not necessarily in your eyes, but in those of the younger generation?
6. The Christ Is Lord Church is a small church with a dwindling congregation. Does it sadden you to know so many of our small country (or even small town and city) churches have disappeared? Is that something that can be turned around or is our society so far removed from what it was fifty or a hundred years ago that it would be impossible?
7. In many ways, large churches offer some advantages to their parishioners over small churches, e.g., more programs, bigger facilities, greater opportunities for children and teens, more small groups, perhaps a larger budget enabling them to invite professionals to perform in concert, etc. How do you feel about larger churches? Do you attend one? Why or why not? Discuss the pros and cons of large, even mega churches.
About the Author
Deborah Dee Harper writes from Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and specializes in humorous, inspirational Christian books for both children and adults. Her novel, Misstep, is the first book in her Road’s End series for adults (although children are welcome to read them as well). She’s also written a children’s adventure series, Laramie on the Lam, that is inspirational, humorous, and full of fun. (Many of Laramie’s fans are adults!)
Deb has three grown children—Derek (married to Renee), Dennae (married to Richie), and Darice (married to Ron). Between them, they’ve given her five lively grandsons—Dustin, Hunter, Cannon, Tyler, and Adam, and one beautiful granddaughter, Molly. Deb took an early retirement from a mid-sized school district in Michigan and began writing seriously, and wrote two newspaper columns, feature columns, greeting cards, essays, articles, poetry, and had stories included in multiple anthologies and Chicken Soup. She was a member of the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild and took the Apprentice, Journeyman, and Craftsman classes. Her manuscript for Misstep was a finalist in the 2009 Operation First Novel competition.
Deb finds humor everywhere and believes God deliberately gave us a sense of humor to enjoy the truly funny or joyous or unbelievable or downright silly things in life. Humor not only gives us joy, it often changes our opinion of others (or ourselves) and helps bridge the gap between people of differing opinions. When she’s not writing, Deb enjoys photography, herb gardening, astronomy, and chasing the occasional grizzly bear for a picture.
She writes three blogs:
www.deborahdeetales.blogspot.com
www.deetrails.blogspot.com
www.laramieonthelam.blogspot.com
Visit her website is at www.deborahdeeharper.com.
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Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 31
