“Thanks, Mom.” Laurie stifled a yawn. All her energy was gone.
“A mother can’t hope for more for her son. You love him, and he knows it. It shows. I see him smile at you, hear him laugh. He was such a serious child most of the time. It’s his way.”
Laurie blushed as memories of the morning’s playful kisses flashed across her mind. If Kay only knew. Of course, she probably suspected. “I really do love him.”
“And you make him happy.”
“I hope so, Mom. I hope so.”
CHAPTER TWO
Pierce lay fully awake in his favorite place, pressed against Laurie’s back with one arm across her middle. He peeked back over his shoulder and through the slatted blinds.
The night rain had stopped, leaving behind a gray morning mist and a wet nip of cool. Perfect weather for staying in bed. The street in front of their new home sat quiet, as usual, on a Saturday morning in a community that still relied heavily on family gardens and farming for sustenance. There would be plenty of noise this weekend for Palm Sunday and a dinner-on-the-grounds farewell celebration to mark his parents’ retirement.
Not that it would be Dad’s last sermon. The man had preaching in his blood.
But the mantle would now belong to Pierce.
The bedside clock showed seventeen minutes after eight. Since he wouldn’t officially begin his new job until Monday, he relished staying in bed and snuggling with Laurie. He closed his eyes and listened to her rhythmic breathing as he dozed.
She rarely slept this late, even on weekends. She rose early, always up doing something, reading something, planning something. Having her still in bed with him was a treat.
He smiled. She would start decorating with fervor. Wouldn’t leave him alone about it until they completed every last detail. She planned to hang a swing in the tree where, one summer, he and Gilbert had built a fort.
Gilbert’s father, Angus, had given them nails and scraps of wood from his shop, loaned them tools. They worked an entire Saturday—cut boards for a ladder, hammered them up the side of the tree. They had planned a series of platforms among the branches with a hinged, drawbridge door that could be lifted with rope. Like a hideout.
But that night a terrible storm came. Tornadoes damaged nearby farms. Lightning struck the oak dead center, split it in two, and sent huge limbs crashing outside his parents’ bedroom window. It was a miracle the house hadn’t been destroyed, that none of them had been killed in their beds.
He remembered Dad holding him, his own skinny legs dangling, his feet almost touching the floor. His mother’s arms wrapped around them both. “Thank you, God,” Mom said through tears. “Thank you, God, for protecting our family.”
What remained of the tree had grown, reaching out as if to balance itself. Yet the deep, dark gouge made by the lightning remained, the bark split clear through to the meat. The scar became the symbol of a truth his parents drilled into him: unexpected things happen every day, and sometimes they leave marks. But with God’s help a person can grow despite his scars.
Waking every morning to see that tree had meant he was finally home, in a place with two inside bathrooms instead of a dark and scary outhouse. He’d been painfully afraid of that old outhouse … Pierce’s heart sputtered and he squeezed his eyes tight. The old, dark outhouse on his father’s farm. Why did he think of it now?
Laurie sighed in her sleep and rolled to face him, snuggled up to his chest. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, breathed in her scent, and relaxed.
“Go on, now.” Mama patted his shoulder when he stopped on the tilted front porch. “There’s a little moonlight. I’ll stand right here while you go.”
He wished he didn’t wake in the middle of every night needing to go. And the outhouse was so far. The ground beneath his bare feet so cold. The night so dark, but mama insisted he and Daddy not pee in the yard.
The Taylors’ German shepherds barked viciously in the distance. “Don’t worry about those dogs. They’re far away.”
“But they always chase me, Mama.”
“I know. That’s why you don’t go over there without me. But they’re far away tonight. Go on, now, so we can get back to bed.”
He stepped off the porch and—
Thud.
Pierce woke when his cheek hit the floor. He jumped up as a drowsy Laurie pushed her hair out of her face and looked at him.
“Are you okay? Did you just fall off the bed?”
His hands shook, so he rubbed them over his face. “Yeah.” He forced a laugh. “I guess I did.”
“How did you—”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She studied him a moment, then threw the covers aside and headed for the bathroom. “Then let’s go buy paint. I can’t wait to get started on everything I’ve planned for this house. I’ll take a quick shower. Promise.”
Pierce lowered to the bed after she closed the bathroom door. He lifted a hand to his shoulder, where his mother’s gentle touch had felt so real. He turned and looked at Laurie’s Cheval mirror. In his face he saw his mama’s eyes.
***
“You’re going to make me wreck this car.”
Laurie caressed the back of her husband’s neck. “Naw, you’re a tough guy.” She laid her cheek against the headrest and studied his profile. “I liked sleeping in with you this morning. How did you fall out of the bed?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, turned into the parking lot. “And we’re here.”
Benson’s Hardware occupied a coveted corner in the center of town. The hallowed landmark boldly displayed its three-generation history. To Laurie, the store was like a contained, uncomplicated country.
Benson’s aged, wide-planked, wooden floors sloped up from the front entrance, then leveled out at the rear of the store. Battleship-gray rafters crisscrossed the high ceiling above a suspended maze of air conditioning duct. Ancient open shelves, with their old-metal smell, held both newly oiled and dormant tools and everything else from fertilizers to plumbing supplies. Small items hung on humble pegboard panels, which bowed and sagged from overuse and age.
Laurie tossed her purse into a shopping cart.
“I’ll push,” said Pierce.
As usual, Angus Mann, who proudly wore his assistant manager badge, stood behind the antique manual cash register. Its playful ka-ching could be heard nearly everywhere in the building and in the beauty parlor next door. Laurie watched as Angus struggled with the bottom drawer, then finally nursed it with WD-40 and slid it back into place.
He looked up. “Mornin’, Laurie. You here to spend some of your husband’s money?”
Pierce met Angus in the aisle and shook his hand. “She probably will.”
Laurie excused herself, then wandered to the paint aisle to pick their bedroom color. She found Azure Dawn—the perfect hue—so she ordered it. She laid claim to a nearby chair, leaned her head back against a low wall stocked with drop cloths, brushes, and tape, and waited while the yellow-smocked clerk mixed the color.
“Laurie.” Pierce’s feathery whisper awakened her. Had she really dozed off? He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Her eyes flickered open, and she spotted the airless paint sprayer securely planted in their cart. Apparently this would not be a simple project.
She shook her head and laughed as he loaded their paint into the cart. “That’s what I get for leaving you alone with Angus.”
Pierce helped her to her feet. “At least it’s not the industrial sprayer he tried to talk me into buying.”
“That’s a plus.”
For insurance, she tucked an extra roller and tray set into the cart. She could not only finish the trim but be half-finished with the room in the time it would take Pierce to read and reread the instructions for the sprayer. Men. He had the easiest part to do and still needed a new tool. He would probably call his dad to come over and see it. She wouldn’t be surprised if Angus followed them home.
/> They checked out. “You’re laughing at me.” Pierce tossed her his keys as he loaded the car.
“No more than usual, Pastor.” She slid into the driver’s seat and waited. Pierce climbed in, already reading the instructions.
She pulled onto the street and decided to test a theory. “Last night your mother told me they won Publisher’s Clearing House.”
No response.
“They’re moving to Bermuda.”
Nothing.
“Said they’ll send you a postcard next year.” She glanced at him. “So are those in English, or do you have to translate from Japanese as you go?”
“I’m using my time wisely.”
“Yeah, right.” She neared the turn for their street.
“You mock me? O, ye of little faith.”
“My faith is fine.” She motioned with her chin and let herself laugh. “It’s you and that fancy sprayer thing that have me concerned. I mistakenly had high expectations about painting our bedroom today.”
He shook the papers in his hand. “This thing works fast. Like lightning.”
She parked the car in front of their home and took his face in her hands. “Like lightning, huh? Guess we’ll see.” She planted a loud, smacking kiss on his lips. “Can you unload this stuff while I run inside and fix us a quick lunch? I’m starving.”
As she worked in the kitchen, Pierce carried the painting supplies to the bedroom, muttering to himself about her lack of appreciation for technology and innovation.
She chuckled as he brought in the airless sprayer and opened the box. “You know what that looks like, don’t you? A sad laser gun from a low-budget, ’80s sci-fi movie.”
He grinned at her. “Every little boy wanted one, including me.”
“I wanted every doll in existence—Cabbage Patch, Rainbow Brite, Strawberry Shortcake.”
“Did you get them all?”
“Not all.”
“It’ll be fun to buy toys for our children.” He paused and their eyes locked. “We will, Laurie. It’s just a matter of time.”
***
Pierce would not let this alien-designed, foreign-made contraption get the best of him. So while he and Laurie ate, he read the twenty-two diagrammed instructions for the third time.
Then he called Angus, who understood perfectly that every man needed an airless sprayer. This was serious business. Angus walked Pierce through the procedures for using the device, just as a surgeon would talk a truck driver through performing open-heart surgery by the side of the road. Grateful, Pierce took notes this time.
“You’re laughing at me again.” He peered up at Laurie as he knelt on their bedroom floor and opened a gallon of paint.
“No.” She giggled as she finished the first coat on the window trim. “I’m laughing at you still.”
When he pressed the trigger on the sprayer, he knew she held her breath. Some part of him did too, so he pretended he knew exactly what he was doing.
Boy, did that thing fly. And it used a lot of paint. Thankfully, they’d bought plenty.
“Hey, Bob Vila. Don’t you have to let that first coat dry before you go around again?”
He released the power button and turned to her. “Bob Vila. Ha, ha.”
“I was just asking, you were in your own little world there.” She bent to open another quart of paint for the trim. “Ouch!”
Blood poured from the end of her finger. Fear squeezed the back of his neck as she wrapped the wound in the tail of her T-shirt. Still, the blood seeped through.
“I’d better go wash this out.” She hurried to their bathroom.
His own blood ran cold. Slowly he laid the sprayer on the drop cloth-covered floor, then rubbed his hand over his face. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t know how I cut myself with a flathead screwdriver, but I guess it can be done.” She exited the bathroom, held up her bandaged finger. “See? Good as new.”
“I need something to drink.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No.” Was that panic in his voice? He had to leave this room. The house. And get away from the image of Laurie and blood. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine. Take a break. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He marched to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, but couldn’t stand still long enough to drink it. His breath had seized in his lungs. He left through the back door and kept going, straight across the yard to the barrier of trees between the house and the church lot. Why couldn’t he simply exhale and catch his breath?
He glanced back once, expecting to see Laurie standing just outside the back door, worried. She was. But at least she didn’t follow him into the woods.
Deep inside the leafy sanctuary, Pierce lowered himself onto a decomposing log. Nervous sweat broke out all over his body. He tried to gulp the water, but his shaking hands spilled most of it down the front of his faded T-shirt.
He dropped the glass to the soft bed of bark and leaves, braced his elbows on his knees, and gripped his head in his hands. “Dear Father, help me. What is going on?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, rose to pace, and looked at his hands. His wife had cut her finger. He saw her bleeding, and immediately his thoughts went to the miscarriage. How he’d wrapped her in a robe and carried her to their car. How she’d cried as he drove her to the hospital. How he’d wept at her bedside, certain she would die.
His wife cut her finger, and he’d become petrified to his bones.
He dropped to his knees.
“Dear God, you have given me everything I want. I don’t need anything else, except for my life with Laurie to go back to the way it was before she miscarried our child. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
The quiet came as he wiped sweaty tears from his eyes. He recognized the peaceful silence that often came during worship or after taking communion. A cool, cleansing breeze straight from God’s throne—one that left him wanting to inhale deeply, fill his lungs, and hold the feeling inside. Looking through dangling moss and matted branches toward heaven, he breathed in and jumped up to pace again.
He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness.
The scripture from First Corinthians seeped through Pierce’s mind like smoke winding through every crack and crevice. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts as the calm gave way to dread. How could he be uncomfortable thinking of that verse?
He loved the Bible. Loved to read it. Memorize it. Explain it to others and see them receive comfort and help, wisdom and answers. Why else would he have become a pastor? Learning the Word, loving the Word, was in him. Had been in him since Daniel and Kay first introduced him to the Scriptures when he was a child.
“Pierce, this is for you,” Daniel had said the first night he was with them. They tucked him into bed and handed him a children’s Bible. The cover showed a dark-haired man sitting on a hillside and surrounded by children.
Kay kissed his forehead and pulled a soft blanket up to his chin. “We’ll read it to you any time you like, and when you get older you can read it yourself.”
Then Daniel took one of Kay’s hands in his, placed his other on Pierce’s head, and prayed. He thanked God for bringing Pierce to them and asked God to put a love for the Scriptures in Pierce’s heart and mind.
Pierce hadn’t understood then what that prayer meant, but he liked the feeling he had when they prayed. When Kay mothered him. When Daniel spent time with him, talked to him, and answered his questions. So he kept the Bible close, slept with it under his pillow. Soon, he realized Daniel carried one everywhere. So he did, too. Even before he could read.
Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
What truth?
Light. Darkness. Truth. As he walked back toward the light and home, the verses chanted in his mind, pursuing him like an unseen monster in a child’s nightmare. What waited in the dark would surely catch him.
Pierce lengthened his strides. He was a little shaken, that’s all. A little stressed b
y the move, which provoked the dreams. Re-establishing a routine—studying and preparing sermons, preaching—would settle him down.
He returned to their bedroom and found Laurie with her back to him, finishing the second coat on the trim. He stood unnoticed in the doorway, watching her for a minute, getting his bearings.
Didn’t a man sometimes need to plan what to say to his wife?
“Laurie?”
Long seconds passed before she faced him. Her splotchy face told him she’d been crying.
“I thought you’d be happy here.” Tears fell from her eyes. “I thought that now, finally, you’d be happy. But there’s still that sad place inside that you won’t let me touch.” She set down her brush. “I saw the tears in your eyes, the terror on your face. I don’t know where they came from, but they were there.”
“It’s not important.” He stepped toward her.
“Can’t you share with me what’s bothering you?” She shook her head, sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it me?”
He closed the space between them, hugged her. “No. It’s not you. It’s never you.” He smoothed the hair back from her face, lifted her chin to draw her gaze to his. “Believe it or not, I got really squeamish when you cut your finger.” He slid his hands down her neck, massaged her shoulders.
“I still don’t understand why you went to the woods. It felt like you walked away from me.”
“No. Not from you.” From something stupid in his head. “I don’t know how to explain.”
He held her tightly, not wanting her to see the desperation on his face. How could he tell her of his fear without making her feel guilty over losing their child or sounding like he blamed her for the miscarriage? He couldn’t live without her. Couldn’t breathe without her.
“I’m right here,” she said.
He kissed her softly, to feel her close and—
“Yo! Pierce! It’s Gilbert. You in here?”
He heard footsteps in the hall and quickly kissed her again.
The Spindle Chair Page 3
