by Irene Hannon
Fear.
And even more troubling, she had no idea why she was afraid.
Chapter Five
Jess turned off the engine and drew a shaky breath. She ought to stop coming here, she told herself as she gazed at the neat rows of headstones that surrounded her. Despite the peaceful, parklike environment, this annual trek always threw her emotions into turmoil. So much so that each year, when she left, she told herself it was her last visit. That she would end this heartbreaking ritual. And each year, when Elizabeth’s birthday dawned, she found herself heading back again.
Maybe this time it would be easier, she thought hopefully as she reached for the pink sweetheart rose surrounded by baby’s breath and fern. For a moment she gazed at the single, perfect blossom, then gently touched the delicate petals. Pink had been Elizabeth’s favorite color, she recalled wistfully, her throat tightening with emotion. And the joyful, optimistic color had suited her. But today, the gray, overcast April sky better reflected her own mood, Jess acknowledged with a sigh.
As she began the trek to the painfully familiar spot where her daughter had been laid to rest, Jess thought back to another bleak, rainy day nearly four years before, when she’d followed this same path in the wake of the small casket carried by her father and brother. The ceremony had been private, just family and a few close friends, as she had requested. Though Scott had been out on bail, she had hoped he would honor her wishes and stay away. But when she arrived at the cemetery he had been there, along with Karen and her family. They stood on one side of the grave, she and her family on the other, the gulf that had separated them far wider than the narrow opening in the ground.
She’d glanced once at Scott—only once—during the brief service. The raw grief in his haggard face, the desperate apology in his eyes had been powerful enough to penetrate her own mantle of sorrow and momentarily touch her heart. But she’d quickly averted her gaze, refusing to be moved by his anguish. He deserved to suffer for what he had done, she’d thought, hatred welling up inside her. And she never wanted to see him again. At her lawyer’s request, he had cleared his things out of their house while she was in the hospital recovering from the concussion she had sustained in the accident. By the time she returned home, there was little evidence that he’d ever lived there. She had no idea where he’d gone. And she didn’t care.
When the minister finished his prayers, he’d walked over and offered words of condolence that echoed hollowly in her heart. She’d listened numbly until he’d said that the Lord would watch over her in her sorrow, and then anger had bubbled up inside her. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to lash out at him, to ask where the Lord had been the night Elizabeth had died in a wreckage of twisted metal while Scott had walked away untouched. As if sensing her feelings, her parents had pressed close beside her, thanking the minister in her place. Then they had gently taken her arms, urging her to leave.
As she’d stumbled unseeingly across the grassy expanse, her eyes blinded by tears, she had taken one final glance over her shoulder. Karen and her family had moved off to one side, leaving Scott alone beside the small casket. He was crouched down, one hand resting on the smooth surface. As if sensing her gaze, he had looked up at her, his eyes bleak and lost and almost shell-shocked, as if to say, “How did this happen? How can Elizabeth be gone? And how have we come to this, you and I, we who were once so happy and so in love?”
But Jess had simply turned away, leaving him alone with questions to which she had no answers.
Jess choked back a sob as she now retraced her steps on this familiar path, digging in the pocket of her raincoat for a tissue. She still had no answers, nearly four years later. All she knew was that she wished she could go back to the time of Elizabeth’s birth, before the seductive glamour of success had eaten away at the foundation of their marriage, when their three-person circle of love had been the center of their world. That had been the happiest time in her life.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at the corners with her tissue, trying to clear her vision so that she didn’t trip on the uneven turf or a ground-level headstone. In fact, she was so focused on her footing that she had almost reached Elizabeth’s grave before she realized that someone was already there.
Jess stopped abruptly and stared at the familiar broad back. It was Scott, on his knees, sitting back on his heels, a discarded flowerpot and trowel beside him. One of his hands rested on the small headstone, and his head was bent.
Jess almost stopped breathing. She did not want to see Scott again! Especially here. For a moment panic overwhelmed her, but she forced herself to think logically. Her best plan was to make a quiet retreat, drive around for a few minutes, then return after he’d gone, she decided. Her heart hammering in her chest, she turned and began to walk rapidly away. But she’d gone only a few steps when his voice reached out to her across the stillness.
“Jess.”
The intensity in his hoarse plea made her step falter.
“Please. Stay.”
She wanted to ignore him. Wanted to keep walking. But something in his voice reached deep into her soul, compelling her to turn. And once she did, there was no way she could walk away.
Scott was still on his knees, his face raw with grief. Tears ran unchecked down his face, and the anguish in his eyes so closely mirrored what was in her heart that she could almost feel his pain as hers. At least in this one thing they still shared a tragic bond, she realized, her throat tightening with emotion.
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, their gazes locked, and then Scott slowly rose, never breaking eye contact. Finally, with an effort, he tore his gaze from hers and transferred it to the flower she held.
“I see we both had the same idea,” he said softly.
Jess glanced down at the grave to find that he had planted a miniature pink rosebush in front of the headstone. Her eyes blurred with tears, and she took several deep breaths, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. She would not break down, she told herself fiercely. She would cry later, in private, as she had been doing for the past four years. She was not going to share her grief with the man who had caused it.
When she finally worked up the courage to gaze at him again, she realized that Scott didn’t seem to share her concern about revealing his emotions. With a jolt of surprise she noted that he’d made no attempt to erase the evidence of his tears. She stared at him, completely taken aback by this uncharacteristic behavior. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him cry. He’d been stoic through sadness and through pain, priding himself on his strength to endure all that came his way. Now he stood before her in undisguised grief, seemingly comfortable with his vulnerability. Offering yet more evidence that he had truly changed, she acknowledged reluctantly.
Scott reached down to retrieve the pot and trowel, then stepped aside in silent invitation for Jess to come forward and place her own offering on the grave. For a moment she hesitated. What she really wanted to do was retreat to the safety of her car. She felt off balance, unsure how to react to this new Scott, no clue what he might do next. As if he understood her confusion and uncertainty, he backed off several paces to allow her to maintain a sense of personal space.
Jess realized that turning away at this point would be foolish. So she moved forward slowly until she stood directly in front of the headstone. She rested her hand on the smooth stone, as Scott had done, then knelt and gently laid the rose on the grave. After a moment she raised her gaze to her daughter’s name, etched in granite, and with an unsteady hand ran her fingers over the letters. Elizabeth Grace Mitchell. Her gaze lingered on the name she and Scott had so carefully chosen to honor their mothers, a combination of their middle names. Then her gaze moved lower, to the dates of Elizabeth’s brief life, and finally to the words at the end. “Cherished daughter of Jess and Scott Mitchell.” At first she’d planned to put only her name in the inscription. But in the end, when it had come time to erect the headstone several mont
hs after the interment, she’d been unable to leave Scott’s name off. For all his sins, she’d never doubted his love for Elizabeth.
“Thank you for that. I didn’t expect it.”
Scott’s voice, raw with emotion, told her that the gesture had not been lost on him.
“I know you loved her, Scott,” she whispered brokenly, her head bent as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
Scott’s gut clenched painfully as he looked at the woman he loved, kneeling in grief on the grave of the daughter he’d killed, her slender shoulders hunched in anguish. Her hair had swung forward, hiding her face, but he could imagine the emotions that were reflected there. Because they were the same ones that were in his heart. A sense of loss that left you cold and empty inside. A dark despair that made you wonder if life would ever be bright again. A deep, aching loneliness that never went away. And for him there was guilt, as well. Deep, wrenching guilt that had almost driven him mad, until Reverend Young had helped him to believe in, and open himself to, the healing power of God. Though it had taken many months, he had finally made his peace with the Almighty. But in many ways, that had been easier than the challenge he faced with Jess, he realized with a heavy heart. Because God was always willing to give those who repented a second chance. The same didn’t necessarily hold true for people. Even for those who have loved us.
Scott yearned to reach down and pull Jess into his arms, to hold her until the remorse and love in his heart seeped into the core of her being, until she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had changed, that his love for her had never diminished and that with all his heart he wanted a second chance to prove to her that this time it would be different. No, he couldn’t bring Elizabeth back. Dear God, he would give his life if he could! But he would do everything in his power to bring joy back into Jess’s life and to be the husband she deserved, one who never forgot that the greatest of gifts was love.
Once more Jess laid her hand on top of the small monument and then made a move to stand. Instinctively Scott stepped beside her, reaching down to assist her. At his touch on her arm she turned, startled, and he almost backed off at the alarm in her eyes. But something told him to remain where he was.
“Let me help,” he said quietly, holding his ground.
She stared at him wide-eyed. Even through her raincoat she could feel the firm, sure touch of his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as memories came flooding back of the way his strong but gentle hands had always known how to work magic. To be comforting, sensuous, powerful, playful, depending on her mood or her need. He’d been so attuned to her emotions in the beginning that it had sometimes taken her breath away, she recalled with a pang. But that, too, had changed as ambition usurped his energy and attention.
For a long moment they simply looked at each other, their gazes locked, until the overpowering intensity finally compelled Jess into action. With Scott’s assistance she rose shakily to her feet, then quickly stepped back, forcing him to drop his hold.
Scott seemed as shaken as she was by the brief touch. She saw his Adam’s apple bob convulsively when he swallowed, saw him take a deep breath. Then he withdrew the Bible that had been tucked under his arm.
“Do you mind if I read a verse?” he asked in a voice that was ragged around the edges.
Jess shrugged, and when she replied her own voice was none too steady. “If you want to.”
“Is there anything special you’d like to hear?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looked at her curiously. “You always had favorite verses. I’m sorry to say I don’t remember what they were. I guess I never paid much attention in those days. But I’d be happy to read one if you’d remind me.”
Her gaze cooled. “It really doesn’t matter,” she said more firmly. “I don’t read the Bible anymore.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“I haven’t kept up with my faith since…for the last few years.”
His eyes filled with understanding and compassion. “It’s hard to believe when things happen that don’t make sense.”
“That doesn’t seem to be the case for you.”
His eyes grew troubled. “Before I found my way back to the Lord, I had some pretty dark days, Jess,” he said quietly.
She thought of Karen’s comments about Scott’s time in prison. How he had wanted to die. How he lost forty pounds in the first few months. How his hands had shaken so badly. How he’d always had a hopeless look in his eyes. And how she had worried about him every day. Apparently he had truly known some dark—and desperate—days. Which made Scott’s return to the Lord even more remarkable, she realized.
“So what happened to renew your faith?” she heard herself asking.
“One of the prison chaplains took me under his wing. Made me realize that I wasn’t as alone as I felt, that the Lord doesn’t desert us even when we make terrible, tragic mistakes. I didn’t buy it at first. But finally, after months of talking and prayer, I began to feel His healing power in my heart.”
“Lucky you.” Jess had meant to sound sarcastic. But underlying the sarcasm was an unmistakable wistfulness.
“It wasn’t luck. It was a miracle,” he said simply.
She had no response to that.
He held up the Bible again. “Do you mind?”
Silently she shook her head.
Scott opened the book and thumbed through it familiarly, stopping when he came to Psalms. And then, in a steady, measured voice he began to read a passage that Jess had once known by heart.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. In verdant pastures He gives me repose; beside restful waters He leads me; He refreshes my soul. He guides me in right paths for His name’s sake. Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for You are at my side with Your rod and Your staff that give me courage. You spread the table before me in the sight of my foes; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come.”’
Scott slowly closed the book, then bowed his head. “Lord, we ask You to keep our Elizabeth in Your care on this, her birthday. We know she is wrapped in Your love, which far surpasses any joy that this world offers. But please help her know that she is loved and remembered by her mother and me, as well. And please give us who are left behind the grace and courage to carry on until the day we are all reunited in Your heavenly kingdom. Amen.”
Jess looked at Scott’s bowed head, his fervent prayer echoing in her heart, and suddenly she understood why she’d been afraid to talk with him. Somehow, intuitively, she had known that if she did, the wall of hatred she’d so carefully constructed would begin to crumble. Because she would be forced to admit that at heart he was a good man who had simply made tragic mistakes. Yes, the consequences of his actions had been terrible. But the actions themselves had not been undertaken with any malice. That acknowledgment, coupled with the striking changes in his personality, made it harder and harder to maintain the wall that separated them. And without that wall, she would be vulnerable again. To hurt. To betrayal. To loss. That was why she was afraid.
When Scott raised his head and glanced at Jess, his breath momentarily lodged in his throat. For the briefest second, in her unguarded eyes, he saw something that hadn’t been there before. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it warmth. But there was a…softer…look in her eyes. It was slight. It was very subtle. But it was there. And it gave him renewed hope.
Suddenly a gentle rain began to fall, and he tucked the Bible protectively in his jacket, then zipped it up. “I guess it’s time to go.”
Jess nodded. She glanced once more at the grave, where the pink flowers provided the only spot of color on this gray day. She hoped somehow that Scott’s prayer had been heard, that her daughter would know that she was still deeply loved and sorely missed. “Happy birthday, Elizabeth,” she whispered.
When she looked back at Scott,
he was standing quietly, watching her. “You were a wonderful mother, Jess,” he said hoarsely. “Just like you were a wonderful wife.”
The unexpectedness of the comment took her off guard, and she had no idea how to respond. So instead she ignored it, confining her comment to a simple goodbye. Then she turned and walked toward her car.
She didn’t look back, though she felt his gaze on her. And once in her car, hidden from his view, she sat for several minutes until her trembling subsided.
When she at last put the car into gear, she circled back toward the entrance, glancing once more at Elizabeth’s grave in the distance. To her surprise, Scott was still there, though the rain had intensified. He seemed oblivious to the cold drops of water as he stared down at the grave, a solitary figure in the gray landscape, his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. And somehow she knew that raindrops weren’t the only moisture on his cheeks.
“Oh, Frank, look at this one!”
Jess and her father glanced toward Clare, who was standing in awe over a particularly stunning specimen of iris.
“I think I’ll be adding another one to the list,” he grumbled good-naturedly, taking a small notebook out of his pocket as they headed toward the older woman.
“Frank, write this one down,” she said excitedly when they drew close.
“Sure thing,” Frank replied, pausing to give Jess an “I-told-you-so” look. “But honey, where are you going to put all of these? The bed is full already.”
“I could say the same about your roses,” she countered with an affectionate smile.
“Touché,” he acknowledged fondly.
Jess smiled. Her parents’ devotion to each other had always been an inspiration to her. Theirs was the kind of marriage she had always hoped to create, where love came first. Though her father had worked hard in a blue-collar job all his life, often coming home tired after a long day, he’d always made it a priority to spend time each evening with his wife and children. He’d rarely missed a school event or a dance recital, and each summer he’d pile the four of them into the family car, attach a pop-up camper that he’d bought secondhand, and they’d head out for a new adventure somewhere in the United States. Her mother had been equally devoted to the family, taking time each day when Jess and Mark arrived home from school to listen to their chatter over a glass of milk and cookies. It had been an idyllic childhood, and Jess would be forever grateful for the support and love her parents had lavished on their children.
