Daniel closed his Bible. “They belong here.”
“He never asked to talk to me. I didn’t see him before he died,” said Pierce.
John wiped his own eyes. “I knew he was just holding on until after we found Mama’s grave. What you did was better than going to see him. Besides, he might not have spoken to you, let alone offered an apology.”
But the little boy inside Pierce, the one who’d begged—Please, Daddy, please let me stay—had wanted one.
You don’t need his apology. You can have my healing. Every day.
Cool streams flowed. One from Pierce’s brain, head knowledge; the other from his spirit, heart knowledge. The waters rushed toward each other—roaring, racing floods—and crashed together with such force the spray shot into the sky of his life and drenched him with joy. A new beginning, with a new family, for a new year.
“I love you all. Thanks for being here with me.” He nudged his brother. “John, stay as long as you like. You’re welcome to visit them any time and attend any service.”
“Won’t the roof fall in?”
Daniel patted John’s back. “If it does, we’ll fix it.”
“One day if you have time, maybe we could talk about her. Our mother,” John said.
Pierce cleared his throat. “Sure.” And maybe one day with God’s help, he’d be brave enough to ask for details about their father.
Pierce took Hope from his mother.
“She’s just so sweet,” Kay said. “I don’t want to let her go.”
“I know what you mean.” He stood at the foot of his parents’ graves, holding his daughter, in perfect peace.
Laurie kissed him on the cheek. “Her eyes are droopy. We should go home, put her down for a nap.”
“I can hold her while she sleeps.”
“I know that,” she whispered in his ear. “But I’d rather you hold me while she sleeps.”
Always. Every night for the rest of his life.
“See y’all later,” he said to those around him. He wrapped his arm around Laurie and walked his family home through the woods.
***
Within minutes they entered through the back door into the kitchen.
“Put her in her crib for a nap,” Laurie said. “Then come to the back bedroom. I have something to show you.”
She hoped she’d done the right thing. Keeping her little project a secret had been quite a challenge, not to mention she had a newborn to take care of. But she’d been determined to give Pierce back one more piece of his mother.
She stood in the corner, her hand on the sheet-covered item, then touched fingertips to both pearl earrings and thought of her own mother. Finally Pierce found her.
She smiled at him. “Took you long enough.”
“I like to watch her sleep.”
“I know you do. Close your eyes.”
He balked.
“Just close your eyes.” He complied, and she lifted the sheet. “Okay, open them.” She watched recognition dawn—he must’ve noted the chair was missing a spindle—and his blue eyes met hers.
“That’s no ordinary chair, is it?”
She couldn’t read his expression. “No, it isn’t.”
“It’s Mama’s chair.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. “Yes. It is.”
“How? Where did you, how did you get it?”
“John gave it to me.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I told him how much I thought having it would mean to you.”
“Mama’s chair.”
She waited, bunched the sheet in her hands as he slowly moved through the open doorway and grasped the smooth top rail of the chair.
“Did you, um, refinish it as well?”
She’d loved the feeling of working with her hands, of making something old look almost new, even more so when it was a gift for Pierce. “I did. For you.”
He shook his head. “But you’ve got the baby.”
“I did it because I love you.”
She took a step away to allow him his space, and to give him time to be wholly there, in that moment, with the chair and his mama’s memory.
He closed his eyes. Eased himself down until he reached the seat. When it creaked under his weight, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. Finally his face showed both surprise and joy.
She smiled in return. How wonderful that God let her play a part in helping Pierce.
“Come here.” He reached for her.
She dropped the sheet and laced her fingers with his. Let him turn her and ease her down until she sat securely in his lap, their hands clasped under her heart. The chair creaked again, this time in protest. Startled, they looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“You better let me go,” she said, her eyes widening. “We don’t want to break it.”
He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m never letting you go.”
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The Spindle Chair Page 29
