After several more entries with apologies and reflections, Meg found an entry that began to talk about her father. Her grip tightened on the small book, and she read the words with fierce intensity, almost as if they would vanish off the page before she could take them all in.
When I met your father, he seemed like a good man, although Daddy told me differently. But I was only eighteen, and I thought I knew it all. And besides, I was more than ready to get away from home. Bennie had been dead several years by then, but the cold war between Mother and Daddy seemed to go on and on, growing worse with each passing year.
Finally, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. John provided me with a welcome escape from all that. What I didn’t realize was that I had just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. For several years, I blamed myself. I told myself if I were only a better wife, or if I cooked better or cleaned better, or if I were prettier or funnier. Perhaps the problem was that I had gotten pregnant with Erin so soon after we were married. But the truth is—and I don’t blame you if you can’t believe this, Megan—I kept the house spotless, and I cooked better than I ever had, before or since. And I wasn’t bad-looking, if I do say so myself. Just look at the photos if you don’t believe me, Megan. I have saved some. I know, you probably thought I blacked out your father’s face on all of them. But I didn’t. I saved a small box for you. Erin said she doesn’t want any, and I don’t blame her. I can’t stand to look at them myself. They are for you, and they are in the cedar chest. Go ahead and look at them. Then do whatever you like with them.
Meg looked through the few remaining items in the chest and picked up an old Christmas candy box. She opened it and looked at pictures of what appeared to be a nice, ordinary family. The house behind them was neat and clean. The parents were both very attractive. Her father had thick, dark hair and eyes just like Erin’s. And Sunny was blonde and beautiful; she looked almost like a movie star. The dark-haired baby, whom she knew was Erin, was pretty and wearing frilly little clothes. There were shots in front of Christmas trees. Shots outside in the yard. Shots in the nursery. Everything looked very nice and normal, just like a fifties television family might look. What could have gone so horribly wrong? Meg picked up the journal again and flipped to the next page.
So now, if you’ve looked at the pictures, you’re probably thinking: “Gee, Sunny, things couldn’t have been that bad. You lived in a cute house, he looks like a nice guy; why did you go and blow it?” For years I told myself the same thing. Besides, he only beat me once, sometimes twice, a month. Usually he tried to avoid my face, although I did have to use a lot of makeup more times than I care to remember in order to cover up bruises and the occasional black eye. But I stayed home a lot in those days. And fortunately for him, we lived away from my family, and I had no friends. His family lived someplace on the East Coast, which is why he had moved out west. You see, he hated his father. I suspect it was because his father had taught him, by example, everything he knew.
Meg shut her eyes tight and took a quick breath. Her heart was racing now. It was almost too painful to read, yet she couldn’t stop. Not yet.
The confusing part was that he would always apologize profusely afterwards. He would bring me flowers and gifts, and promise never, never to do it again. At first I believed him. I felt sorry for him. I knew when I married him that he was a creative person, with that artist’s temperament. You probably never knew that your father was an artist, Megan. Actually, he was quite good. He worked for one of the top graphic-design firms in Seattle back then.
But by the time Erin turned four, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I despised him. I even wondered if I had the nerve to kill him. I actually considered arsenic in his morning coffee. Or perhaps I could drop the electric radio into his bath. Finally, I decided it would be better to just run away. You see, it was one thing when he hurt me, but another thing when he hurt my child. When he started venting his anger on Erin, I knew we were through. I couldn’t even believe he did it at first. He had always treated Erin like his little princess, and she looked so much like him. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I was actually jealous of the attention he gave her.
When he began to lash out at her too, I knew it was time to leave. But he made sure I had no money, no car, nothing. I was his prisoner, and Erin was his hostage. If I ever mentioned leaving, he would beat me and threaten to do something dreadful to Erin. I won’t bother to horrify you with the details of how I became pregnant with you, Megan. Just know I was never sorry that I had you. I may not have been much of a mother, and you may not have known this, but I always loved you. I still do.
Meg closed the journal. She couldn’t take any more. Why did she have to read this right now? Just when she was starting to get over losing Sunny and getting used to her new life. Why had Sunny even left these things here? Erin had been right when she had said that some stones were better left unturned. Too bad Sunny hadn’t burned all of this. Ignorance in this case would have been blissful.
Meg crawled into bed, more lost and alone than she had felt in ages. All the pain of her family seemed to be wrapped into one huge bundle, and now it lay upon her chest like an enormous boulder about to crush the life out of her. She reached over to turn off the light and saw Matthew’s Bible on the bedside table. It seemed to take every ounce of strength for her to pick it up. When she did, the pages flopped open, and she stared blankly at the print. She felt bone weary, and very tired of reading. Finally her eyes focused on one spot in the middle of the right page.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” She stared at the words, which seemed to leap from the page, reading them over and over. She thought she could hear Jesus himself speaking to her. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillow, repeating the comforting words in her mind again and again until she finally fell asleep.
TWENTY NINE
The next morning, Meg ignored the cedar chest with its gaping lid, and the contents spilling across the bedroom floor. She would deal with it later. First she was going to church.
The words of the service felt dull and flat to her today, and she slipped out before the benediction, then drove down toward the beach. She parked the Jeep and got out. It was a beautiful day, with a blue sky and almost no wind, perfect for a pleasant stroll along the shore. She began to walk, not really sure what her purpose was, but she knew she needed time to sort things out. Before long, she noticed that sand was filling her shoes, and she realized belatedly that her silk dress and leather pumps weren’t exactly beachwear. She slipped off her shoes and carried them, continuing along.
After a while she sat down on a piece of smooth driftwood and looked out over the sea, watching the waves curling in, one after the other, over and over again. Finally, she realized why she had come.
“Sunny,” she whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter. But I want to tell you again how sorry I am. I never knew you had it so tough, Sunny. I held so much against you. I just didn’t know. I never realized that my father was such—such—” She burst into sobs and buried her head in her hands. If only Meg had known. Why hadn’t Sunny told her about all this? Was it to protect her? Poor, poor Sunny.
“Thanks, Sunny,” Meg continued. “I know you did the best you could. And I appreciate it.” She whispered a prayer of thanks to God for bringing her to this place, as painful as it was. It helped her to finally understand why Sunny was the way she was. Once again, Meg felt the icy edge of bitterness pressing in upon her heart, but this time it was directed toward her father. How could her very own flesh-and-blood father have been such a cruel and unfeeling person? He was really the one to blame for the mess that had been made of their lives.
“Oh, Lord,” she prayed. “Now you’re going to have to help me forgive him, too, because I don’t think I can on my own.” She stared out toward the ocean. Would she ever be done forgiving people, or did it just go on and on forever? Like the waves that kept rolling in.
“Hey, Meg,” called a voice from up the beach. She turned and looked, and saw Matthew walking toward her. She wiped the last traces of tears from her cheeks and waved.
“Thought I’d find you down here,” he said as he came closer. “Can I join you?”
“Sure, pull up a piece of log.” She smiled and patted her hand on the driftwood.
“I saw you sneaking out of church,” he said. “And I wondered if you were okay.”
If he hadn’t sounded so kind and sympathetic, she might not have started crying again. But with a sense of déjà vu, Meg’s tears started afresh. At least she wasn’t sobbing like last time.
He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“Valiant knight to the rescue again?” she said as she wiped her cheeks and tried to stop the tears.
He grinned a lopsided grin. “Sure.”
“Thanks. You always manage to catch me at my emotional worst,” said Meg. “I might start to get a complex.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re going through some tough things right now. It hasn’t been that long since you lost your mother. I know it’s not easy.”
“But the thing is, I’m really okay with Sunny now. I think I’m finally beginning to understand her. I’m just sorry I didn’t get acquainted sooner.”
Matthew smiled. “So what’s the bad news?”
Meg looked out over the ocean, wondering how much to tell. Or whether to tell anything. It was so awful to think her father had been such a loser. Matthew probably wouldn’t understand, since his father was such a great guy. And yet she needed a friend to talk to.
“The bad news is, I’ve just found out some extremely unpleasant things about my father.”
Matthew nodded with a creased brow.
She shook her head. “And now I know I have to forgive him, but I don’t want to.”
“I know. That’s not going to be easy.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
Matthew looked at her with clear blue eyes. “Sunny told me a lot about it. It wasn’t easy for her, either.”
“But did she forgive him?”
He nodded. “Eventually.”
“Then I can, too,” said Meg firmly.
“God had to help Sunny. I think it was the biggest obstacle to her coming to faith.”
“But God got her through it. He’ll have to help me too.”
Matthew grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, the other reason I was looking for you was because we are taking the Regina out and we need another crew member.”
“I’d love to come.”
“Great. Clive invited Jason yesterday. In fact, she was wondering if you’d mind picking him up.”
“No problem,” said Meg. She wondered what she’d say if she ran into Abner.
“Jason said he’d be waiting at your grandmother’s house.”
“That’s good,” said Meg, relieved.
Meg went home and changed, then picked up Jason before driving down to the dock. It was another perfect day for sailing, and Meg even managed to help Abby in the galley without getting seasick. Later, Clive allowed Meg to take the helm while she gave Jason a few sailing tips. Breathing the fresh sea air and riding the waves seemed to sweep Meg’s concerns about her father far away. She wished they could go on forever like this, but finally it was time to turn back. When they pulled into the slip, the sun was turning pink and sinking low in the sky.
Meg took Jason back to Grandmother’s and returned home. After a shower, she sat down on the bed and looked at the cedar chest, still open, still waiting. She had to finish Sunny’s journal and lay these things to rest once and for all.
To Meg’s relief, there were no more unpleasant surprises. The remainder of the journal was quite encouraging and uplifting. Sunny shared what Matthew and Abby were teaching her about how God forgave the world through Jesus Christ, and how for the first time it made sense to her. She even wrote that she realized she needed to forgive John.
I know that John will never know that I forgave him, and perhaps that’s not that important right now. But I understand that if I don’t forgive him, it will be impossible for me to accept God’s forgiveness for my life. That might not make sense to you, Meg. But let me explain it with a picture that I believe God gave me.
Imagine, if you will, that you have a beautiful puzzle that is all put together, but is missing one piece. You’re holding a puzzle piece in your hand, but it doesn’t fit. No matter how you try, it just won’t work. It’s because you need to give that piece to someone else; it’s the missing part of their puzzle. And only when you let go of that piece can God hand you the missing piece to your puzzle. I know that’s sort of silly, Meg. But you know how I always liked doing jigsaw puzzles.
Meg closed her eyes and considered her mother’s words. It did make sense. Meg prayed again that God would help her forgive her father, and this time she imagined God taking her piece of forgiveness to her father, wherever he was, and then placing his own piece of forgiveness in her hands. So simple, yet it gave her heart a tremendous feeling of peace.
She sighed and looked back at the journal. Flipping the next page, she sadly realized that she had come to the final entry, apparently written on the same day that Meg had returned to Crandale after nearly twenty years.
Dear Megan,
When I saw you today, I couldn’t believe it. My own dear Meggie standing right before me! When I hugged you, I never wanted to let go. But I didn’t want to scare you away, either. It was such an answer to prayer to see you again. Unfortunately, I put my foot right in my mouth—as usual! If only I had more time, perhaps God could show me how to manage my tongue better. But I don’t. I’m afraid that you might disappear as quickly as you came, and I so want to do and say everything just right, but I know that I can’t. So I’ll write it all down, and that way perhaps I won’t spoil it.
You are beautiful, Meg. See there, I called you Meg. You are not only beautiful on the outside, but I see a deep inner beauty in you as well. Sure, I know that you’re not at peace yet; I can see that in your eyes. But I see a deep sense of caring and rightness in you. I know that you are going to be okay, Meg. I can feel it. And I believe that God has some special plans for you and that you were supposed to come back home. I hope you will stay. You belong here. I believe that with my whole heart.
For that reason, I want to leave my apartment to you. I worked hard to make this a place I felt comfortable in, and I hope you will, too. I always felt bad that I never gave you the home you needed as a child, and I hope this will help make up for it. I want you to have a place to come home to, Meg. But more than this apartment, I want you to have God. Because, you see, I have found that he is my place to come home to. And I know it won’t be long until I’m there. I love you, Meg.
Love,
Your mother, Sunny
Meg hugged the journal to her chest, and the tears in her eyes were not from sadness tonight. She knew the time would come to read the journal again, but for now she returned it to its place in the trunk, along with the photos and other bits of memorabilia. Perhaps she would add her own things to it someday. Maybe she would have children one day who would go through it like she had, and they, too, would be blessed.
Life went smoothly for the next few weeks. The moving van arrived from San Francisco several days late, and as she unpacked, Meg was pleased at how nicely her strange collection of household goods melded with Sunny’s things. Those that didn’t, she had never cared much for anyway, and she donated them to charity.
Sigfried came back and took over the major responsibilities for the gallery, and with the coming of summer, it became increasingly busy. The warmer weather seemed to draw the shoppers to Crandale like homing pigeons, and many spent their money at the gallery. Sigfried sold a number of Meg’s photos and begged her to bring in more. Now Meg went nearly everywhere with her camera, and she was pleased to notice that her photos were getting better all the time.
Matthew took Meg and
Erin and Tom and the girls for a short sail on Mother’s Day, and they tossed flowers into the water in remembrance of Sunny.
Life seemed just about perfect when June came along, and the cranberry plants began to bloom profusely, as if they, too, were enjoying their second chance at life. Meg loved walking around the bogs, inhaling the fresh, sweet fragrance of the fragile white blossoms. And although she knew Cal’s fertilizer formulas had a lot to do with the results, it felt more like a miracle to see them blooming like this.
“Looks like we could have ourselves a freeze tonight, Meg,” said Cal one early June day as Meg purchased a new set of work gloves and some water hoses at the Feed and Seed.
“Really? Where did you hear that?” asked Meg. “The air is a little cool today, but it’s nice and sunny.”
“Hank Whitmore was just in. He still raises McFarlin berries, too, and he was more’n a little worried. You know, most everybody else’s blossoms are over by this time, so they’re not too worked up. But you need to keep a watch on things tonight, Meggie. Remember to check all those thermometers, because freeze is a strange thing. It can hit one bog and miss another one altogether. Is your sump pond and irrigation system all in order? You know that’s the only way to beat the freeze.”
“Yes, it seems to be just fine. I haven’t had to use it yet, but I gave the whole thing a trial run a couple of weeks ago after we replaced those sprinkler heads. Thanks for the tip, Cal. I’ll stay on top of it. I’d hate to lose them now, after all this work.”
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