Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  30

  On his way into town, Matt stopped by the small cemetery where his young wife was buried. Years ago, he’d constructed a fence around her grave; white pickets and a black-latched gate, for no reason other than she’d asked him to. She’d asked for a statue of Gabriel the archangel, too, and though it had been a struggle to find and afford one, Matt had given her that, too. Down on one knee, he plucked a few weeds the caretakers had missed and, tossing them aside, read the simple inscription carved into white marble:

  FAITH WARNER PHILLIPS

  BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

  8 JANUARY 1974 – 15 NOVEMBER 2002

  The wind whispered through the grass and mingled with the soft hiss of traffic that buzzed on the highway beyond the big iron gates. He hadn’t known what lesson God was trying to teach, making him a widowed father to twin boys at the tender age of twenty-eight, and all these years later, he still hadn’t figured it out.

  “Don’t know why I’m here now, either,” he whispered.

  But that was a bald-faced lie.

  Matt had come here today to say goodbye.

  Those first trips up the steep and narrow road that spiraled toward St. Paul’s church had been pleasant enough, thanks to manicured lawns on the tree-lined street. But with each visit, the ancient oaks looked more gnarled than grand, and once stunning architecture began to remind him of the Psycho house because all he could focus on was the bitter and barbaric sight that awaited him at the top of the hill.

  If there was any truth to the “she joined her Maker in the twinkling of an eye” verse Pastor Rafferty had read, ten years ago today, Faith wasn’t here. Had never been here. Her parents and his had guilt-tripped him into monthly visits “to pay respect to the dead.” But they were gone now, so why was he still going through the motions?

  Surely not for the boys. What they knew about Faith came by way of anecdotes, one for every picture in the photo album. He’d never brought them here, because, well, what would he tell them? That he’d shoved their pretty young mother into a box and planted her under a garden sculpture? If that wasn’t the stuff nightmares were made of, Matt didn’t know what was! Far better for them to hold on to the image of her walking carefree down the gold-paved streets of heaven.

  He’d first conjured the image as friends and relatives paraded by, sniffling and red-eyed as they placed long-stemmed white roses on the lid of Faith’s coffin, because it was better than admitting she’d harbored some sick, secret fixation with her own funeral. How else was he to explain the way her eyes blazed with intensity as she wrenched promise after promise from him—this kind of tombstone, that kind of ceremony, a piper to squeeze a demented, wheezing version of “Amazing

  Grace” as her loved ones gathered round the grave—when all he wanted was to hold her for as long as possible.

  If she’d put half as much effort into holding on as she’d spent on letting go, could she have summoned the strength to live?

  The question had nagged at him for ten long years, and he was tired, so tired, of beating down the resentment it roused. It was time to let it go, once and for all, and maybe grab a molecule of the peace Faith had found on those gold-paved streets of heaven. How much brighter would his life be once he let himself take comfort from knowing she was right where she’d always wanted to be … no more vacillating between anger at God for taking her, and anger at her for so willingly, eagerly leaving him.

  Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So I guess this is it, then,” he said.

  But the stone stood cold and silent against the slate-gray sky.

  Matt pulled another weed, then got to his feet and traced the curlicues flanking the cherub’s head above her name. A rush of warmth wrapped around him as he closed that white picket gate, and he took it to mean it was okay with Faith if he never opened it again.

  He wondered, as he drove away from the cemetery, what she’d think of Honor. It was such a wacky, out-of-left-field thought that it made him laugh a little. As the chuckle dimmed to a smile, he pictured her. She’d been on his mind a lot these past few days. Yesterday, in particular. Matt almost called her, more than once, but decided against it. Just because he’d gone completely loopy over the woman didn’t mean he had to show it every minute of the day. It especially didn’t mean he had to show her how completely over the top he’d gone.

  Besides, any day now, she’d call to let him know about Thanksgiving. If he didn’t hear from her by week’s end, then he’d call. Finding out how soon he needed to get the guest room ready wouldn’t make him look desperate, right?

  At the top of the next hill, a sharp left would put him on her street. Talk about desperate. And a stupid waste of time. Because of course Honor wouldn’t be there; she’d rented the house to a couple who were expecting their first baby. Soon, from the looks of the woman’s round belly. The first time he’d driven by, Matt told himself that any good friend would do the same, to check things out, make sure the tenants were taking good care of the place. Seeing the tidy yard should have given him peace of mind. Instead, it felt like a sucker punch to the gut and made him miss her all the more.

  If he knew what was good for him, he’d pop the question on Thanksgiving. “Pass the pumpkin pie and the whipped cream. Oh. And by the way, will you marry me?”

  He didn’t have to ask the question to know that the only thing that could hurt more than the empty, ache of missing her was if she said no.

  31

  Sorry to call so late,” Matt said, “but tomorrow is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and—”

  Honor hit Mute as Rerun cocked his head. His chin bobbed, the way it did out there on the trail, when he was gathering scent in those sensitive nostrils.

  “What, you sense stupidity, do ya?”

  A silent, breathy bark was his answer.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” she said, hugging him. “I feel bad enough as it is.” She padded into the kitchen, the dog on her heels. “If I give you a biscuit, will you knock it off?”

  Doggy grin in full bloom, he accepted the bribe, then followed her back to the living room and picked up right where he’d left off. Groaning, Honor hit the phone’s Erase button and flopped onto the couch and hid behind her treasured firstedition copy of White Fang. She managed to block the golden’s quiet stare but not the dizzying list of emotions that tumbled in her head. Cowardly had to come first, and because she’d been too spineless to pick up the phone and do the right thing, guilt rang in at a close second.

  Telling him she’d think about riding down on the train to spend Thanksgiving with him and the boys had been an irrational thing to do. Promising to let him know by tonight whether or not she’d actually do it had been foolish. Not making the call had been gutless. And ignoring him just now, well, that had been out and out rude.

  Why he hadn’t erased her from his phone book was anybody’s guess because from the moment of their official meeting, that night of the plane crash, she’d been nothing but troublesome.

  Matt, on the other hand, had been anything but. Thanks to him, she’d found reasons to laugh, and hope, and dream again. How sad that because she’d let her life turn into such a muddled mess, she couldn’t do all of it with him.

  “I can feel you,” she muttered to the dog, “still staring at me.”

  Sure enough, when Honor lowered the book, she saw Rerun, sitting like a tiny, blond version of the Sphinx, his brown eyes fixed to hers. She was about to go back into hiding when a sheet of ivory paper fluttered to the floor. “What’s this?” she wondered aloud, bending to pick it up. Instantly, she recognized the bold lines of Matt’s powerful script.

  Born in silence and weaned on ice, his heart beat, beat, beat with strength. His voice keened, long and low, deep into the night. Up it rose, like warm steam that rode upon the air, and floated in the streams, its echo reaching, seeking, touching every corner of the earth; a call, a plea, a prayer that he might find the one who would love him, just love him … when the time was r
ight. When life grew bitter and cruel, though he taught himself to mirror the meanness, his strong and honorable heart wasn’t in it. After the battles, he stood proud in his high place, looking, listening, waiting for the one who would love him, just love him … when the time was right. Then, at long last, he had found the one who loved him, just loved him … for now, the time was right. This was the one for whom he’d fight, to the death if need be, for he was White Fang, who was loved fiercely because he loved fiercely. The spirit of this wolf-dog lived in Rowdy, and lives in Rerun, and in the heart of their mistress, who is loved fiercely because she loves fiercely.

  It wasn’t signed or dated, like the inscription he’d made her wait to read “For Honor Mackenzie—who lives her name—a book about a wolf that did the same. Always, Matt.”

  She used her shirttail to dry her eyes as Rerun moved into the tight space between the sofa cushions and the coffee table. And Honor hugged him … fiercely.

  The twins, Austin and Mercy, Harriet and the Sullivans, even Liam asked about her, but because Matt didn’t know how to explain Honor’s behavior, he didn’t even try.

  It hurt, knowing she’d rather spend a family holiday alone than with him. But he hid it well, laughing and joking, eating too much, and dozing as the Ravens played their hearts out to put points up on the scoreboard.

  If he was keeping score, the tally would read Honor 3, Matt 0.

  But he’d learned to live with loss when Faith died, and he’d manage again. He’d been blessed with the best sons a man could hope to have, and friendship, a job he loved. Cash walked up beside him and nudged his hand, as if to say, “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” He patted the pointer’s head and sneaked him a bite of breast meat. It hadn’t escaped his notice that, yet again, the dog sensed his mood and dispensed his own fuzzy brand of TLC.

  Had it really been a year ago that he’d sat at Mercy’s table, looking across at Honor, who knew with a glance what he was thinking even before he did? It seemed much longer than that. And it seemed like only yesterday.

  “That Was Then, This Is Now” hadn’t become a song and a movie and a book because it didn’t resonate with heartgripping truth. When he called her house the night before last, Matt sensed that she’d been home, that she’d been standing right there, listening as he left his rambling verbal montage … and yet she hadn’t picked up. Not when he said, “Call me, any time, I’ll wait up,” or any of the half dozen other inane, borderline-humiliating things he’d said, not even when he finished up with, “I’m probably crazy to admit it, but I miss you like crazy, Honor Mackenzie.”

  Even if he’d been wrong, and she hadn’t been home when he’d blathered on like a love-sick fool, wouldn’t a message like that have provoked a quick return call once she got in, to tell him, at least, not to bother changing the sheets on the guest bed?

  Evidently not.

  Austin plopped down beside him, grinding an elbow into Matt’s ribs. “What’s eating you, pal?”

  Matt only shook his head. “Ate too much, I guess.”

  “Save the pretense for those jokers you interview.” He got up and with a nod of his head said, “Looks to me like Cash wants to take a walk.”

  At the mention of his name, the dog lifted his sleepy head.

  “He’d rather just stay right there, dozing in front of the fire.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know him any better than that. After all these years together? Please.” Austin hunkered down and tousled the dog’s floppy ears. “Wanna go for a walk, boy? Should we go outside?”

  On all fours now, Cash nuzzled Austin’s neck. “See? He’s rarin’ to go, man. I hope you brought his leash.”

  “It’s in Warner’s jacket pocket,” Steve called from across the room.

  “Thanks, buddy.” Austin flung open the door to the hall closet, grabbed his jacket and Matt’s, and found the leash, balled up in Warner’s pocket.

  “Reminds me of that old joke,” Matt said, putting on his coat. ” ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?’ “

  He flung open the door. “Speaking of which …” He bowed, one hand pressed to his jacket’s thick, bronze-colored zipper, the other moving in an exaggerated wave that effectively invited Matt to pass by.

  “I’m not in much of a talking mood,” he said once they hit the sidewalk.

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “I know you mean well, but I’m not much in the mood for wisecracks, either.”

  “Understood. So you won’t mind then, if I spout wise while you listen.”

  Cash glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Austin, as if to say, “Give it the old college try, buddy.”

  “Have at it, friend,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Good luck with the ‘wise’ part of that, though.”

  “Oh. So you can crack wise, but I can’t? I like that. But I digress. I’m sure you’ve noticed certain, ah, similarities in the personalities of our ladies …”

  “Thought you were going for wise not eeze.”

  “Huh?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. Sorry to interrupt your train of thought.”

  “Not hard to do, what with my one-track mind and all. And FYI, I caught your pun: similarities, personalities, ladies. What I’m referring to is, Mercy was a mixed-up mess, Honor’s still a puzzle. Have faith, Matt. Don’t give up on her just yet. She might surprise you and come around.”

  “I dunno …”

  “Look. She’s up there, minutes from where her fiancé died. No family, no friends to speak of, nothing but work and more work to keep that amazing brain of hers occupied. Too much time alone is a dangerous thing. Ask me how I know.”

  Matt remembered only too well what happened when Austin pulled back from friends. Those were dark and dangerous months, and for most of them, he wondered if the “old” Austin would ever resurface.

  “She has some great holiday memories, thanks to you. So give her some rope. Let her sit this season out and think on that. If she hasn’t come around by, say, Valentine’s Day, you can bombard her with roses and chocolates and poems. And if that doesn’t work? Then you can throw in the towel, and nobody who loves you will blame you a bit.”

  He’d already written her a poem. Poured out his heart in it, and Honor hadn’t so much as mentioned it, let alone commented on its intent. But maybe Austin had a point. Time, distance, and a chance to compare her life in Queens to what she had here in Baltimore. He nodded. “It’s worth a shot, I guess.” All except for the poetry. He’d wrung himself dry on that one.

  “So any day now, eh, buddy?”

  Austin whistled. “Hard to believe, ain’t it? Me. A dad. A dad.”

  “That’s gonna be some lucky kid.”

  His lopsided smile gave him a youthful quality that reminded Matt of a much younger, far more innocent Austin Finley.

  “Y’think?”

  “Are you kidding? The way you throw yourself into everything you do? You’re gonna be the best dad ever … with one exception.”

  Austin harrumphed. “If you say so.”

  They climbed onto the porch of the Finley’s Fells Point condo. Any day now, Mercy would go into labor, and she and

  Austin would descend these same brick steps; when next they stood here, she’d be a mother and he’d be a father. Older and wiser than he’d been when fatherhood fell into his lap, Matt knew they’d do just fine. In fact, they’d probably find a couple thousand ways to improve upon the tried and true systems parents had been employing for centuries.

  Important work, he thought, hanging up his jacket. More significant work, even, than training surgeons or missionaries, teachers or world leaders. And it wasn’t always easy, raising a child to become a productive, caring, God-fearing citizen, especially in today’s bustling world.

  Matt was proud of his boys. They’d fare well, if they stayed on this path, not only because their hard work had produced stellar test scores and the respect of their teachers and peers, but because they proved every
day that the heart was every bit as important as the head. They needed, no, deserved a mother substitute who’d give as good as she got. And sadly, that wasn’t Honor. At least, it wasn’t Honor right now.

  She’d never hurt them on purpose, but in her present state of mind? Honor could do all kinds of emotional and mental damage.

  If Austin was right and with the upcoming holidays, if she opened herself up to an epiphany, well, then maybe they had a shot at this family thing. Until and unless that happened, he’d stand firm and shield them from disappointment and regret.

  Because if her rejection hurt him this much—a grown man who’d suffered heartache a time or two in his day—how much more damaging would it be for his impressionable boys?

  32

  Thanksgiving came and went, and before she knew it, twinkling lights and carols surrounded her … on the streets and the subway, at the office, in every shop and store, and even in the library. Not to be outdone, the U.S. Weather Bureau predicted a white Christmas for New York and the vicinity. Honor didn’t think she’d ever identified more with Ebenezer Scrooge.

  Uncharacteristic blizzard conditions pummeled the mid-Atlantic states, and she was tempted to call and see how Matt and the boys were faring. Instead, she phoned Mercy, under the guise of checking on the new mother and eight-pound, seven-ounce, Cora Marie, born at two minutes to twelve, Thanksgiving night.

  “I’ve never seen snow like this,” Mercy admitted. “They’re dumping it in the harbor because there’s no place else to put it.” Baltimoreans had taken to skiing to get around, she said, and the only altercation of any measure happened when two elderly women grabbed hold of the last-standing snow shovel.

  “Goodness … I hope you stocked up on formula and diapers.”

  “Don’t need formula, but the diaper situation is getting dicey. Austin might just have to break out his snowshoes.