From the Heart (Sandy Cove Series Book 5)

by Rosemary Hines

  They retrieved her bags and went through the process of getting Thumper and his crate. Then they were on the road, headed back to the Walker’s home. Forcing herself to stay awake for the drive, Joan was exhausted by the time they pulled into the long driveway. Thumper eagerly bolted out of the back of the van and ran around the property.

  “For an old dog, he sure has a lot of energy,” Lawrence observed.

  Joan nodded. “I hope he’ll do alright without Phil. He was so used to their walks together every day,” she added.

  “Maybe your neighbor boy will offer to take him sometimes.”

  “Yeah. Trent’s such a nice kid. I’m sure he’ll help.”

  “Well, let’s get your luggage inside,” he said, lifting the suitcases to the ground and rolling them toward the house.

  After all of Joan’s things were in her room and her suitcases were on her bed for ease of unpacking, he started for the car again. “I’ve got one more thing to bring in.”

  He returned with a small cooler. Placing it on the counter, he began lifting out the contents. “Catherine made you a casserole for dinner. It’s one of Matt’s and my favorites. She said to tell you to heat it at three-fifty for forty-five minutes. And she included some of her homemade biscuits and a slice of apple pie,” he added with a smile as he held up each container before placing them into the refrigerator.

  “Your wife is such a sweetheart,” Joan said. “Please tell her thank you. As you can guess, the cupboards are pretty bare here.”

  “About that,” he began. “She also said to tell you she’d be here in the morning to take you to the market. She sent along these zucchini muffins for breakfast,” he said as he pulled a bag out of the cooler. “She said you’d asked for the recipe one time, so she figured you liked them.”

  “I do, indeed,” Joan replied, feeling overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of her pastor and his wife.

  “Just give Catherine a call in the morning when you’re up, and you two can set up a time to go to the store together.”

  “Thank you again, so much. I really do appreciate all of this.” Joan held out her arms and gave Lawrence a warm hug. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “No thanks. I’d better get going. I’ve still got a couple of appointments this afternoon, and I promised to drop by the hospital on my way home.”

  Joan nodded. “I know how busy the life of a pastor can be. You scoot along, and I’ll get settled back into my home here.”

  “Call me if you need anything.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “I mean it, Joan. Anytime. Day or night.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be fine. But I promise I’ll call if I need you.”

  As soon as he was gone, she sank into her kitchen chair and called Sheila to let her know she’d arrived home safely. Then she sat for a few minutes, the exhaustion of the trip taking its toll.

  Gazing around the empty room, she sighed. “I can do this,” she said aloud as if to convince herself. “I’ll just unpack my bags, and then have a cup of tea on the front porch before I fix my dinner.” But standing up required more energy than she could muster. It was Thumper’s scratch at the door that finally pulled her to her feet. “I’m coming, big boy,” she called out as she headed in his direction.

  As soon as the door was open, he stormed through the house, scouring every corner before returning with Phil’s slippers in his mouth. Joan looked down at his eager eyes and could barely contain her sorrow. “I’m so sorry, boy. He’s not here.” She reached down and stroked his head, his big brown eyes starring up at her quizzically.

  “Let’s get you a little treat,” she said, heading for the pantry. Retrieving a box of dog biscuits, she held one out to him, coaxing the slippers out of his mouth in exchange.

  While he chomped on the biscuit, she took her husband’s slippers and put them back in the closet. As she gently stroked Phil’s shirts, a subtle fragrance wafted from them. She buried her nose in one of the sleeves and breathed in the remaining scent of English Leather. It was a gift she gave him each Christmas. A tradition since their first year as husband and wife.

  Closing her eyes, she could hear his voice in the recesses of her mind. “I love you, Jo.” And then his final words as he’d stared up to heaven before leaving earth. “I see it. I see it all.” Oh how she wished she were there with him now, gazing into the face of God.

  Turning to leave the closet, she carefully closed the door behind her, knowing that Thumper would try at least one more time to retrieve his slippers. Engrained in him since he was a pup, it was part of their nightly ritual. Then she returned to the kitchen and gave him his dinner.

  Although she forced herself to heat the casserole from Catherine Taylor, she could only stomach a few bites of food before the solitude began to strangle her. She picked up the phone to dial Sheila’s number again then stopped and hung up. “I can’t keep disturbing her. Besides, I’ve got to unpack and make a grocery list for the morning,” she said aloud. Thumper looked over, watching her to see if she was talking to him.

  Reaching down, she ruffled his fur. “Come on. You can keep me company,” she said, as she headed to the bedroom with him on her heels. After unpacking her bags, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Only 7:30. But she felt so tired.

  “Shall we call it a night, Thumper?”

  As if he understood her perfectly, he walked over to Phil’s side, curled up in a ball on his doggie bed, and went to sleep.

  Joan changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth, and was about to slip into bed when she remembered that Thumper would need one more trip outside. Phil was always the one to take him out before bed, and while she’d been in Sandy Cove staying with Sheila, Thumper had been in the care of her granddaughter, Michelle, and her family.

  Wrapping her robe around her and tying its belt, she roused the dog from his bed and took him out back to do his business. As she reached for the knob to let him out, she realized she’d left it unlocked earlier. I’ve got to remember these things. Once again she was painfully aware of how much her beloved husband had taken care of for her.

  “I’m trying, Phil,” she said to the air.

  As soon as Thumper returned, the two of them headed for bed. Joan reached for her husband’s pillow and hugged it to her chest as she drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When she awoke the next morning, Joan was in the same position she’d fallen asleep in the night before. She could hear a whimpering sound in the distance. The first words out of her mouth, before she even opened her eyes were, “Phil, the dog needs to go out.”

  And then she remembered. Thumper was her responsibility now. Grabbing her robe off the foot of the bed and stepping into her slippers, she went to let the dog out. As she stood on the porch, she noticed the flowerbeds were looking a little ragged. Time for some weeding and fertilizer. She’d try to get to that after breakfast.

  But first, she needed some time with the Lord.

  Feeding Thumper and then making herself a cup of tea, she sat in her rocking chair and reached for a Bible in the basket at her feet. Flipping it open, she began reading the book of Psalms. Words of pain, fear, and anguish were combined with precious promises and praises to the God who would never leave nor forsake her.

  The more she read, the more her heart found peace. There was something about the record of others’ struggles and triumphs that fanned a flame of hope within.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d barely eaten the night before. The zucchini muffins Catherine had sent called to her from the kitchen. As sun filtered in through the kitchen window, she sat in its early morning warmth, enjoyed her treat, and began drafting a grocery list.

  A soft knock on the front door caught her attention. She padded out to the front room and pulled aside the lace curtain of the window to peer outside.

  The neighbor boy, Trent, was walking down the porch steps. She quickly opened the door and immediately spotted the box of mail at her feet. “Tr
ent?” she called out.

  He turned and looked her way, raising his hand in a friendly wave. “Hello, Mrs. Walker. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “No. I’ve been up for over an hour. Thanks for bringing my mail over,” she added with a smile.

  “You’re welcome. We saw your lights on last night, so we figured you were home.”

  “Would you like to come inside?” she asked. “I’ve got an extra zucchini muffin waiting for a taker.”

  “No thanks. I’ve got to get to school. Football practice,” he replied. “Coach is pretty strict about us being on time.”

  “Has that started already? I guess I’ve lost track a little.”

  “Yeah. Summer’s basically over for me. We have practice this week and next. Then the week after that, classes start again.”

  It was moving into fall. Joan’s favorite time of year. But this fall would be different than all the rest. This time she’d be facing it alone.

  “Can I carry that box in for you?” Trent asked.

  She gave it a little nudge with her foot to test its weight. It didn’t budge. “That would be wonderful. But I don’t want to make you late.”

  “No problem. Where would you like it?”

  “On the dining room table would be good,” she replied, holding open the door for him.

  Setting it down at the head of the table, he said, “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “You take care at practice, dear. And be sure to drink plenty of water in this heat,” she added.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He walked out the door, took the porch steps two at a time, and started down the walkway. Then he stopped, turned around, and added, “I’m really sorry about Mr. Walker. He was a cool guy.”

  She nodded and gave him her best smile. “Thanks, Trent. He thought you were pretty cool yourself.”

  After he’d disappeared around the bend at the end of their driveway, she headed back inside to begin the task of sorting through the mail. She’d just finished pulling out and tossing all the junk mail, when the phone rang. It was Sheila.

  “Hi, Mom,” her daughter’s voice greeted her. “How was your first night home?”

  They chatted for several minutes and then Joan asked about Rick.

  Sheila’s voice picked up tempo as she talked about the man who was clearly winning her heart. “I honestly can’t believe this is happening to me at my age,” she said.

  “Oh, you’re not so old, dear,” Joan replied. “You two still have a lot of good years left. Why, your father and I enjoyed the last twenty-five years just as much as our first,” she added, some of her recent treasured memories drifting through her mind.

  “Thanks, Mom. That’s a good reminder for me.” She paused and then confessed, “I think I love him. I mean really love him, Mom.”

  Joan could hear the excitement and joy in her daughter’s voice. She sat back and smiled. And in her mind, she could once again hear Phil’s voice, “I love you, Jo.”

  “Mom? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. Sorry, honey. Just some old memories distracting me,” she explained. “But enough of that. I’m really happy for you two. I assume he feels the same, right?”

  “He says he does. We’re getting pretty serious in our talks about the future.”

  “Well good, sweetheart. I hope this works out for you.” Joan meant it with all her heart. Nothing would please her more than to have her daughter happily married again.

  They chatted for a few minutes, and then Joan remembered her pastor’s wife’s offer to take her shopping for groceries. “I’ve got to get going, dear,” she said. “Catherine Taylor is taking me to the market this morning, and I need to give her a call to set up a time.”

  As soon as they’d hung up, she pulled out her phone book, flipped to the back, and found Lawrence and Catherine’s home number.

  By the time Catherine dropped her off from their trip to the market, Joan was hungry for lunch. After unpacking the groceries, she made herself a quick sandwich, and Thumper planted himself at her feet, gazing up with hopeful eyes.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, with raised eyebrows.

  He just kept staring.

  “I have no intention of sneaking you bites from the table the way your papa used to.”

  As if he understood, he sighed, sunk to the floor, and rested his head on his front paws, defeat written across his face.

  “Oh, all right,” Joan said. She broke off a corner of the sandwich and handed it to him. He was immediately on his feet, carefully retrieving the morsel and wagging his tail in gratitude. “Now go lie down,” she commanded, watching him head for his usual spot by the back door.

  “Phil Walker, you spoiled that dog, and now I’m stuck with the consequences.” She shook her head and turned her attention back to her meal.

  After lunch, she had the rest of the mail to sort through, bills to pay, and weeds to pull. Her chores kept her busy until nightfall.

  Then the loneliness returned, sneaking through the door when she wasn’t looking. There was something about eating dinner alone that killed her appetite. Phil had often been gone during the day, so she was accustomed to eating breakfast and lunch on her own. But dinner—that was their special time to reconnect, share each other’s day, and lift up their family and friends in prayer.

  Even Thumper’s focused attention did nothing to alleviate the hollowness in her heart. And his repeat performance with Phil’s slippers reminded her that she was going to have to attend to sorting through and giving away her precious husband’s personal items.

  She stared at her spaghetti dinner, one of their favorite meals, and pushed it away. Maybe I’ll reheat it tomorrow, she thought with a sigh. Wandering into the living room, she settled herself in front of the television and turned on the news. Seemed that the world was falling apart, too. Wars, natural disasters, and political scandals consumed most of the current events reported.

  Lord, help us, she prayed, as she flipped the channels until she found an old comedy to fill her empty evening.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As the next couple of weeks slipped by, Joan found herself with more and more time on her hands. She’d finally figured out the bills and gotten them caught up, at least she was pretty sure she had. The weeds in the flowerbeds had been conquered through a combination of her efforts—perched on a stepstool—and hiring Trent over the weekends to help out. And she’d gotten all her clothes from the trip washed, pressed and put away.

  There was one job she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to do—cleaning out Phil’s side of the closet. Having his slacks and shirts hanging in place, his shoes neatly lined up under them, and his slippers resting in their spot was somehow comforting to her. It was as if he’d gone away on a trip and would be returning to resume their life together.

  Oh, she’d tried a few times. But she’d end up standing there staring at his clothes, leaning into them, and searching for his scent. Then she’d find some excuse to put it off for another day or two. I’ll get around to it, she reassured herself. But the time never seemed right.

  Then one day an unexpected rain swept through Mariposa, and her plans to accompany Catherine on some errands and then work in the garden were cancelled. She had nothing to do.

  “I refuse to get caught up in daytime TV,” she announced to Thumper, whose tail twitched slightly in response. “Come on, fella. Let’s get this over with.”

  Thumper rose to his feet and followed her into the bedroom, the sound of the rain pounding loudly on the roof.

  She began carrying her husband’s shirts and their hangers from the closet and placing them on the bed. Thumper must have smelled Phil on the clothes because he began circling the bed, his nose lifted as he whimpered excitedly.

  “Settle down, boy,” Joan coaxed, taking a moment to stroke his back.

  But he wouldn’t listen. He continued to pace and whine, until finally she decided to send him out of the room and close the door. “Sometimes I think this
is as hard on him as it is on me,” she muttered under her breath.

  Opening one of the windows, she breathed in the fragrance of the rain. “Thank you, Lord. We really need this,” she prayed aloud. Her lawn had developed brown patches, in spite of the sprinklers, and the nearby hills were parched.

  Turning her attention back to the shirts on the bed, she began carefully removing them from their hangers, handling each one lovingly as she tri-folded them as if to create a department store display.

  A faded barbecue sauce stain on one reminded her of a church picnic and the way Phil had playfully romped with a few of the kids from the neighborhood. A crisp white button-down collared shirt was his “wedding and funeral” best. Even into his eighties, he looked so handsome wearing it with his navy blue tie and gray suit.

  Each shirt brought back memories. Their fiftieth anniversary, baby dedications of grandchildren and great grandchildren, his favorite to wear when he preached a message at the senior home, and his old flannels for puttering around in the garden or garage.

  She studied the neatly folded stack. “I wonder if Steve would want any of these?” she asked herself, thinking about her granddaughter’s husband, the attorney. She picked up the phone and called Michelle. But a voicemail recording answered. Joan hated to talk to machines, so she hung up. I’ll try again later.

  The slacks were easier, although she did find some lists and notes in a few of the pockets. Seeing Phil’s handwriting on scraps of paper, even if they were just grocery lists or a Bible verse he was memorizing—they stopped her in her tracks. She ran her fingers over his writing, and then carefully placed them on the dresser.

  “I’m turning into an old fool, saving Phil’s pocket scraps like this,” she said.

  Thumper whimpered and scratched on the door, but when she opened it to let him back in, he bolted down the stairs. Must need to go outside.

  Sure enough, he was standing by the door, his nose pressed to the jamb. She peered out at the pouring rain. “How badly do you need to go out?” she asked.