Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  I write ambiguously. I’d explain myself, but though you’ve read the last letters I never expected to share, I don’t even know if you’ll speak to me again much less have a chance to read these. Why am I writing this? It’s as though I can’t stop writing so I keep adding unnecessary words to these pages hoping they’ll be a balm on my heart.

  I love you, miss you, and I’ll never forget you. I pray I don’t have to try.

  Broken,

  Matt

  Lane’s tears flowed freely. That day in early July flooded her memory. She remembered realizing that she couldn’t pretend to accept that which she hated. The certainty that Matt would reject her the minute he knew she wouldn’t play the game she was tempted to try reverberated through her thoughts.

  He hadn’t given up on her. She had felt like the victim that day. She knew Matt was hurting, but in her mind, it was his own doing. He caused his pain. He caused her pain. His demands for her to yield to the call of the Lord were the reason for their separation. It wasn’t her fault! She hadn’t expected anything of him—

  But she had, and now she realized it. He had only asked her to consider. To listen. She’d refused. It was her way or no way—the exact thing she’d mentally accused him of demanding.

  Brushing aside her tears, she opened the next letter. Uncertain what she’d find, she gulped down half of her Coke and took a deep breath. “He said they weren’t all bad,” she muttered to herself.

  Dear Lane,

  You haven’t answered my emails, but I’m not surprised. Every day I come home, connect to the Internet, and watch my inbox flood with offers of credit, for pornography of every description, a date with my true soul mate, and prescription offers for cholesterol, impotence, insomnia, and birth control medications. Somehow, the combinations amuse me. I’ve been assured that I am a Nigerian widow’s only hope to save her husband’s fortune, and I have won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes four times a day for the past two weeks.

  Everyone, including strangers, writes me except you. I’m terrified that you will never write again. If I could see you, right now, I’d never ask for anything again. I’d hold you, twirl my hands in your hair, and never let you go. I’d pray for your heart to be softened, but I wouldn’t say a word to you. I’d memorize every one of your features imprinting them on my heart until there was no chance of forgetting the slightest detail of you.

  I can still see our hands as we walked behind Patience, and I want to feel that comfort and confidence again.

  I want to swear. I want to curse Mrs. Hayward for teaching me to spill my heart onto paper. I want to do foolish and unspeakable things in order to try to numb the pain and drown out your memory all while I desire nothing more than more memories of you. It is insanity.

  I guess that’s why they say some of the things that they do about love. How can anyone be “in love with love?” It is too painful.

  So very alone,

  Matt

  She wiped away a tear and tried to take another swig of her Coke, but it was empty. She flipped through several more letters and gave up trying to concentrate. Swallowing her tears always made her thirsty. She slipped on her moccasins and wandered down the hall to the vending machines. One thing life on the road had taught her was to keep a fist full of coins at all times.

  “Bit early for that?”

  Lane jumped as a man in a western suit gave her a once-over. She shrugged and tried to pass, but he didn’t move. A more timid personality might have felt threatened, but no one had ever considered Lane timid. She glared at him for a minute and then shook her head saying, “Honestly, the further south I get the more I expect gentlemanly behavior and the less of it I see. With that accent, I would have expected your ‘mama to have taught you bettah mannahs.’”

  “Spirit. I like that.” The man stepped aside, but Lane said nothing until she rounded the corner and had a straight shot to her room.

  “Too bad I don’t care what you like,” she quipped walking slowly and deliberately when she wanted nothing more to run back and kick him into a professional soprano.

  As she opened the next envelope, she wondered what Matt would say to her behavior. She mentally heard the warnings and saw the amused light in his eyes as she pictured him lecturing her. Tad would just kick her bum and tell her to behave herself, but Matt always seemed to respect her spunk.

  As she neared the end of the pile, the letters grew more intimate and angrier. Matt’s frustration spilled onto the pages and whirled into terrible storms. Lane found it amusing to see him show on paper a side of him that rarely surfaced. The closest he’d come to true anger around her was over the prostitute and with Franco.

  Lane,

  It is nice to correspond again. I enjoy getting your emails even as they tear me up inside. I miss the envelopes amid my bills, pleas for financial help for various charities, and promises of riches in the next sweepstakes. Honestly, why don’t they just quit giving away the money and drop the price of the magazines, that way, everyone wins. I like it myself.

  Your father says you refuse to acknowledge his repentance. Who do you think you are? Are you God that you could deny a person forgiveness? He apologized for leading your family down the very path that you resent so much, yet you ignore a plea of forgiveness for that. Grow up, Lane; this isn’t all about you. Others have been hurt by this whole thing; lives have been crushed. Families are ripped apart because of a faulty system of theology.

  Be the better person, Lane. Go to your father, acknowledge his pain, and forgive him. He didn’t create the Brethren alone, I grant you. But the Brethren didn’t evolve without his input and sanction. He was behind them 100%. Don’t you get that? Or are you unwilling to get it?

  Sometimes when I think of your stubbornness I grow so angry that it scares me. You are willing to toss aside a lifetime of happiness for both of us because you won’t even listen to what we have to say. Don’t confuse you with the facts; your mind is made up!

  Don’t get me wrong, I know you could be happy with someone else, and that you will probably lead a rich and wonderful life without me. I know that. I know that it is even possible, as hard as it is to admit, that I could find someone else as well. But, you won’t even give it a shot and there is a good chance that this is it for one or both of us. Anything is possible, both good and bad.

  Now I feel like one of those caricatures of the French. I rail at you and let out all of my angst only to want to hold you and never let you go in the next second. You’re a good fit for me, Lane. I’m not much taller than you, but you seem to belong with me—like an extension somehow. But you’re gone, and who knows if or when you’ll ever be back.

  Oh if I only had the nerve to actually send this letter. If only I wasn’t such a coward and could share what is truly on my heart. Do you wonder if I write you letters that I don’t send? Do you wonder what is in them? Are you wonder-full in another way that I don’t know?

  I wonder,

  Matt

  His silliness at the end of the letter told her he’d come to grips with the situation. He’d railed, he’d forgiven, and he’d sent his thoughts in another direction. Exactly the things he accused her of not doing. The irony wrung her heart.

  The final letter made her heart pound, her eyes shine, and put a smile on her face that her family hadn’t seen in months. Once finished, she read it again. Then, just in case she’d missed something or maybe because she wanted to absorb each word once more, she read it a third time.

  Laney,

  You’re coming! Tad emailed the information, and I was so excited. You—here—with me. I can see you. I can talk to you and know your thoughts as they flit across your face.

  I want to hold your hand and never let it go. Silly of me, isn’t it? Am I wrong to want to show affection for someone that I can’t even be with right now? Probably. If I hug you, will you understand, or will you despise me? If I play with your hair, will that amuse you as it has done so often in the past or will you jerk your ha
ir from my fingers and walk away from me? Would you feel cherished or degraded by my touch?

  Will I know? I wonder if I’ll have the nerve to even try, or will it be so natural I won’t realize what I’ve done until you’re offended and walk out of my life for good. I’ll be on my guard, but if I fail, please don’t be insulted. How pathetic I sound—full of sappy drivel drip. I should work on my ballad instead. That is where the sap should flow freely.

  If I were a knight of King Arthur’s court, I would sign my note,

  Adieu fair maiden,

  Matt

  “Oh, Matt, I should go meet Tad and Patience, but I can’t let things hang like that. I need to write. Something.”

  So, disregarding the brother and sister working their way through the crowds to the front of the park, Lane wrote. It didn’t take her long to compose a simple brief email sure to ease any concerns. Quicker than she’d ever thought possible; she flew down the hall, into the elevator, and out of the hotel. Silver Dollar City waited for her.

  ~*~*~*~

  “This next song is one of my sister’s favorites. She likes it because it reminds her of her boy-friend!” Tad’s emphasis on boyfriend sounded as mocking and teasing as he could make it. Patience stood in the wings watching them eagerly.

  “You’d better watch it or he’ll whip your bum next time he sees you!”

  Tad eyed her mockingly. “Let’s see…” Tad held one hand over his head and one down to Lane’s. “He’s about the same height as you…”

  “Height doesn’t make up for scrawniness, Tad. He has biceps bigger than your thighs.”

  “Wiry. I’m called wiry, not scrawny.”

  Lane whacked him, knocking him off his stool. “You’re a live wire alright. Are we going to sing this song or what?”

  The crowd loved them. Their popularity grew everywhere they went, and Lane’s dissatisfaction grew even more rapidly. The actual concerts were fun. Teasing Tad, singing, and beautiful music couldn’t be beat on the amusement scale, but the travel, the time away from home and family, and the feeling that your life is contained in a carry-on suitcase grew old quickly.

  She hated sitting on planes with elderly people who fell asleep on her shoulder. She despised the frustration she felt when a toddler had a meltdown at take-off. She loved the time with her brother and hated the time away from the rest of the family.

  While Patience listened starry-eyed to their ballads, Matt read Lane’s brief, but soothing email.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  Subject: Read your letters

  Dear Matt,

  I read them this morning. I love you. Somehow we have to find a way to make this work. I’ll try to listen as long as you promise to always treat me as wonderfully as you always have.

  Lanesy Woolsey Argosy

  Twenty-One

  Matt’s relief was premature. He’d read the email hoping that Lane was open to free discussion of all that she’d shut him out of, but she wasn’t. His reply, all twenty-three hundred forty-seven words of it, received a scathing reply.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: Lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  Subject: I was wrong.

  Matt,

  I am not as ready to discuss this as I thought. I came home and found my family preparing for church the next day. Apparently, they have taken up residence on a pew of the Community Church. Talk about hypocrisy. The “ecumenical den of wolves” is now the acceptable temple of worship. Sometimes I don’t know who my parents are anymore.

  Anyway, your sermon was more than I could take this morning.

  Confused,

  Lane

  Had he been independently wealthy, the laptop would have soared through the window and out of his life. Matt now understood the over-used phrase “each word was a dagger to his heart.” Her capriciousness made him physically ill. Uncertain what to do, he slipped on his jacket and jogged down the stairs to the street. The lights flickered in the twilight. Saturday night meant that Pastor Barnett would be in his study reading the latest military novel, eating a lone supper, and listening to the CD of the month. If anyone could help him know what to do next, it was “Barney.”

  The nauseating sound of Air Supply wafted down the hall from the open office door. Matt had tried to broaden his musical palate after becoming a Christian, but his tastes ran to more modern musical styles with Christian lyrics. Barney’s taste tended toward early Contemporary Christian music and eighties pop bands. His spine tingled for hours after a session with Barney on a Saturday night. This was one significant reason that Matt stayed away on nights when Barney played his “tunes,” if possible.

  “Hey, Barn!”

  “Matt! What brings you down here?” To Matt’s huge relief, Barney punched the stop button and jumped to grab him a cup of coffee. “You cold?”

  “No. I’m fine. Well, not fine exactly, but I’ll take the coffee anyway.”

  Something in Matt’s eyes caught Barney’s attention. “Is it the girl or her father this time?”

  “It’s Lane. Honestly, Barney, I don’t know what to think anymore. One day she’s determined to stay as far away from anything related to the Lord and the next, there is a spark that says she’ll try to understand.”

  “I take it today was a rejection notice again?”

  Matt’s head and shoulders sagged. He described their meeting, Lane’s reaction to his letters and the hope he’d allowed himself to feel as he read the email. He handed a copy of the email he’d printed and nearly begged for advice on what to do next.

  “Do you think perhaps it’s just overwhelming? I can see how she might decide, with so much to cover and all the evidence around her that screams ‘don’t trust this,’ simply to decide none of it was worth it.”

  “You mean she decided I wasn’t worth it,” Matt muttered bitterly.

  “Actually, I think you should be more concerned with the fact that she doesn’t think Jesus is worth it.”

  Matt wasn’t easily rerouted to a wiser thought plane. “No, Barney, I know I should, but right now I’m feeling pretty selfish. I got saved. I met Jesus and gave Him everything. I kept away from even the nice girls because I just didn’t think I was ready for a godly relationship. Then, one practically runs me down and had my heart before I knew it was unlocked.” He kicked Barney’s desk in frustration. “Why do I have to give up her, too?”

  “Jesus said that you must give up mother, father, wife, brother, sister, and children for Him. He must be your all in all. It is only when you can surrender that which you most desire to keep, that you truly learn complete contentment in Him.”

  “What do I do about Lane?”

  “What would you do with any young woman who wanted to know more about Jesus?” Barney’s voice held that trace of emotional huskiness that Matt knew so well.

  Matt stood. “That’s just it, Barn. She doesn’t want to know more.”

  He turned to leave. Barney’s voice was so low Matt almost didn’t hear him. “You’re a fool.”

  “What?” Matt whirled around, uncharacteristic anger flushing his face.

  “Didn’t you say she’s waffling?”

  “Well she has waffled. Tonight she says she’s sick of the hypocrisy and isn’t willing to discuss it anymore.”

  Barney waited. Each second that ticked by amused him and irritated Matt even more. Finally, when Matt was ready to retreat once more, the wise pastor said, “Matt, she’s fighting it. She was against it from the beginning. She has discovered the freedom that we have in Christ, but she doesn’t see it as possible in Christ. She doesn’t want to give that up. Frankly, I don’t blame her.”

  Matt nodded. “I do understand her reluctance. The pain goes pretty deep.”

  “But then she sees you, and she sees other Christians, and her heart softens a bit. She realizes that maybe there is more to the Lord than she ever saw. She’s willing to step into His presence and taste and see that He is g
ood. But, before she can open her mouth, someone coated with the stench of this world wearing royal garments rushes by and pushes her out of her chair at the feast. She runs again. She’s even more gun shy than before, but her heart yearns for the Lord.”

  Hope filled him. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. The Lord draws us to Him, Matt. Of course, some of us are kicking and screaming all the way. I sometimes think that the Lord should have called us his asses instead of his sheep. Donkeys are much more stubborn than sheep.”

  Silence hung over the room like a warming mantle. What made them shiver at first grew comfortable and protective. Matt drained his coffee and rose to leave. “Thanks, Barney. I’ll try again.”

  “Slowly, Matt. Woo her to the Lord. Jesus is the bridegroom. A loving bridegroom doesn’t grab his bride and ravish her like a teenager in a locker room! He is gentle. He woos her. He draws her heart to His before He declares His passion for her. He is tender and captivates her heart before He tries to possess her.”

  Matt sank back into the chair. “That’s another thing I should ask you about…” Matt fidgeted in his seat until Barney misunderstood him altogether.

  “You didn’t—” Barney’s surprise was evident.

  “No! Not—I just—” His head hung in his hands.

  “Matt, what is it? You look like every teenaged boy who has ever come to confess that he ‘went all the way’ when he didn’t mean to. If not that, what?”