Bert drew back, his gaze searching hers. Her reaction must have satisfied him, for he smiled. "I have something for you." He sat up.
Miriam did the same.
Bert reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew some folded blue tissue paper. He held it toward her. "Sorry it isn't a fancier package."
"You really shouldn't—"
"Just take it, Miriam. Please."
She felt so ridiculously shy. Silly, but true. She accepted the small package, placed it in her lap, then unfolded the paper. In the center, she found a pair of earrings. They were gold, delicate, feminine, and exactly what she would have chosen for herself.
He cleared his throat. "I've been thinking. We're not kids, you and I. We're both raising our sons alone. We know what it means to be married, to share a life with someone else. We're believers, and I imagine we both know what we'd want in a spouse." He leaned toward her. "I'd like us to think seriously about making more of this thing between us—" he flicked his hand toward her, toward himself, back to her again—"than just friendship. I'd like us to see if we aren't meant to get . . . married."
She'd suspected, of course, what he was going to say. Still, hearing it out loud took her by surprise. "Married?"
"You must have thought about it at some time or another."
She thought of the difficulties of managing a home all alone—the broken dryer, the bad latch on the screen, the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom. She thought of the times Luke had been sick in the middle of the night and the comfort it would have been to have someone with her then. She thought of those moments when she'd seen a spectacular sunset and wanted to share it, only she was alone.
"Well, I suppose . . . " She let her voice trail away.
Bert took hold of her hand. "This isn't a proposal just yet. But maybe talking about marriage will help us discover if that's what's in our future."
"It makes sense," she replied softly.
"Good." He kissed her on the cheek, then rose to his feet and grabbed the cooler in one hand, the picnic basket in the other. "Here come the boys. Guess it's time to head back to town."
That night, Miriam had a hard time falling to sleep. She lay in her bed, at times praying, at others mulling over the years.
Would I want to get married again?
She wasn't sure.
What's Your will in this, Father?
The Bible said it was better to marry than to lust, but lust hadn't been one of her particular failings in the years since she lost her husband. She had plenty other sins to take its place, of course, but not lust. She believed marriage was an honorable estate, ordained by God. He'd created man and woman and made them one.
She rose from the bed and walked to the window, pushing aside the sheer drapes to stare at the moon-bathed yard. The garden no longer lay fallow as it had a couple of weeks before. She'd been tilling and hoeing, planting and watering all this past week.
Is there planting to do in me, Lord, in this season of my life?
If she considered marriage, what would that mean for Luke? Miriam had seen stepfamily situations that didn't work. Bert was fond of Luke now, but how would it be if the two boys were living in the same house? What if there was an argument, as there would most assuredly be? Whose side would Bert take? The side of right or the side of his own son, right or not?
Her dad thought she should get married. He believed her life would be better with a man, with a whole family. He'd certainly found happiness in a new marriage. Yet Miriam suspected he still missed her mother sometimes, even though he was blissfully content with Allison. He and Allison fit together in countless ways, as if they'd been married a lifetime.
"Would it be like that for Bert and me? Could I learn to love him?" She looked up at the starry sky. "Lord, I need to know what You want for us."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
IT WAS A BALMY EVENING, THAT FRIDAY AT THE END OF MAY, THE perfect kind of evening for a gathering of friends. In preparation for the get-together, Miriam and Luke had strung lights from house to tree limbs to telephone pole, giving the backyard a festive feeling that had grown more so when twilight arrived.
Standing in the back doorway, her shoulder leaning against the jamb, her arms folded across her chest, Miriam perused the scene before her, bits and pieces of conversations carried to her on the evening breeze.
Near the barbecue grill, the men discussed the successful orbiting of Earth by Major Gordon Cooper Jr. in the Mercury capsule Faith 7. Beneath the patio awning, the women debated whether or not Lawrence of Arabia deserved the Academy Award for best picture over To Kill a Mockingbird or The Miracle Worker. And on the lower section of lawn, the children played croquet, the rules strictly enforced by the sixteen-year-old McAllister twins, Valerie and Victoria.
Miriam felt contentment wash over her, a sense of wellbeing, of rightness with her world.
At that moment, Jacob broke away from the other men—Bert Rey, Frank Gresham, Charlie Ireland from church, and her neighbor Sam Watkins—and walked toward the house. She smiled, thinking that it was good to have her old friend back.
"Great party, Miriam," he said when he reached the back stoop. "Thanks for including me and the family."
"I'm glad you could come." She moved out of the doorway and sank onto the top step, hugging her knees with her arms.
Jacob joined her. "Luke's one terrific kid. You've gotta be proud."
She nodded, her gaze shifting toward the croquet game.
"Who'd've thought it?" Jacob said with a soft chuckle.
"Thought what?"
"That this is where we'd be."
She looked at him.
"You know. You and me, middle-aged, kids, mortgages. Just living ordinary lives."
"I like my ordinary life."
He grinned. "Me too." He chuckled again. "But when I think back to when we were kids, you wanting to be a famous movie star and me . . . well, who knows what I wanted? Anything other than to take that job with Tucker's Insurance. I hated the idea of being an insurance salesman. But you know what? I'm good at it. Really good."
"I know." It was her turn to laugh. "Del swore you could sell ice to an Eskimo."
"Did he?" He sounded both surprised and pleased at the compliment.
Laughter erupted from the group of men, drawing Miriam's and Jacob's gazes. Miriam's settled on Bert, who stood at the grill, flipping burgers with one hand and drinking soda from a can with the other.
"He seems a good sort," Jacob said. "I like him."
"Me too."
"Has he asked you to marry him?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean, 'not exactly'?"
"We've talked about the possibility of it in the future. What we need to know now is if it's God's will for us."
"How does anybody know something like that?"
She looked at him, unable to hide her surprise. "Because He'll tell us, of course."
Whatever Jacob might have said next was interrupted by Bert's loud announcement that the burgers were ready. "Grab your plates and come and get it!"
Nobody had to be told twice.
Jacob turned off the TV at the close of the news broadcast and looked toward his wife, lying beside him in bed, her head and shoulders propped up with pillows as she read a paperback novel.
"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" he asked.
"What?" Elaine closed her book.
"Did you enjoy yourself tonight? I thought it was a nice group of people."
"Yes, I had a good time. Everyone was very friendly, Miriam especially. And Rose Ireland asked me to play golf with her next week."
"You should do it." He slid closer to his wife and placed his arm behind her shoulders. "I was thinking, maybe we could visit that church they all go to. It's not far from our new place, and it would probably be good for the kids, help them make friends over the summer."
She placed her head on his chest. "It might be good for you and me, too."
"Yeah, I know."
> Jacob reached over Elaine and turned out the light, then edged back into place, his wife still nestled in his arms. It wasn't long before he knew she'd fallen asleep, her breathing slow and rhythmic. But slumber escaped him.
He kept thinking about Miriam, about what she'd said tonight, about knowing God's will because God would tell her. She'd said it with such complete certainty, as if it were as ordinary an event as picking up the phone and calling her neighbor.
Back in River Bluff, the McAllister family had been a churchgoing one, like the Greshams. Jacob had memorized his Bible verses right alongside Miriam when they were in grade school. He'd eaten plenty of meals at the various socials and even been to a revival meeting or two in his youth. He believed in the things he'd learned while growing up, things like God creating the heavens and earth and Jesus' birth and death on the cross.
And yet Miriam's comment tonight had caused him to see that she had . . . oh, he didn't know . . . something beyond mere belief. It wasn't that she'd "got religion," as he'd once put it. It was something that went deeper.
He thought back to the time right before and after Del Tucker died, and he realized he'd seen the same thing in her then. Despite her grief, there'd been something stronger that carried her through. Something Jacob didn't have.
Jacob had given up booze years ago, after seeing what it was doing to him. He and Elaine had somehow managed to salvage a doomed marriage and learned to love each other. Jacob enjoyed his work and was able to provide well for his family. Elaine made a good home for them and was a terrific mother. Their kids were healthy and thriving.
Jacob was living the American dream. He had it all.
Or at least, he'd thought so.
But tonight, as he'd listened to Miriam, as he'd witnessed the expression on her face, he felt a strange hunger in his heart, and he knew he wanted . . . something more.
As Miriam drew the blankets over her son, she wondered how many more years he would allow her the pleasure of tucking him in. He was growing up so fast.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hmm?" She smiled at him.
"Are you gonna marry Mr. Rey?"
She sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't know, Luke. We've talked about it a little. What do you think? Should I?"
"Oh, it'd be okay with me." He shrugged, then nodded. "I like him. He's neat."
"Things would be different for us from what we're used to. We'd have to move to their house, or they'd have to move to ours."
He frowned. "Would I still get to have my own room if we moved to Andy's?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Then I guess it'd be okay, but I'd rather get to stay here."
Miriam leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
"Well . . ." Luke yawned. "If you love him, you oughta marry him. That's what grown-ups do, isn't it?" His eyes closed, and he was asleep before Miriam turned off the light.
"If you love him, you oughta marry him."
The words replayed in her mind as she brushed her teeth and washed her face.
Do I love Bert?
She put on her nightgown.
Wouldn't I know if I loved him?
She turned out the light, plumped the pillows on her bed, and slipped between the sheets.
I enjoy being with him. It isn't like it was with Del, but that's okay. It's comfortable.
She rolled onto her side. She tried to imagine herself married to Bert, growing old with him, but she couldn't picture it. She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.
"O God, what's the answer?"
MANY ARE THE AFFLICTIONS OF THE RIGHTEOUS.
Her pulse quickened at the familiar voice in her heart.
WHEN YOU PASS THROUGH THE WATERS, I WILL BE WITH YOU; AND THROUGH THE RIVERS, THEY WILL NOT OVERFLOW YOU.
She didn't comprehend why these verses were impressed upon her. They weren't about love or marriage. They didn't seem related at all.
"Lord?"
FOR YOUR HUSBAND IS YOUR MAKER, WHOSE NAME IS THE LORD OF HOSTS.
"I can't marry you, Bert."
It was Saturday morning. Miriam and Bert sat on a bench beneath the branches of several gnarled trees in Julia Davis Park, within sight of the Boise River.
"It isn't fair to let you hope our friendship might become more than that." An unexpected lump formed in her throat, and she fought its accompanying tears. "I think it would be better if we stopped seeing each other. As a couple, I mean."
"I don't understand. Everything seemed okay at the barbecue. What did I do to upset you between then and now?"
"You didn't do anything."
His voice took on an edge. "Well then, explain to me why we can't keep trying."
"Oh, Bert." She stared at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. "I don't know the reasons why. I only know the Lord has made it clear that, for now at least, He's to be my husband."
"Maybe you're using God as an excuse."
She met his gaze, answering with certainty. "No, I'm not."
Bert got up, paced away from the bench to a nearby tree, turned and looked at her. "I love you, Miriam. I do. Since you came into my life, I've been a different man. You gave me hope. We'd be good together, you and I. Our sons would have both a mom and a dad. We'd make a strong family unit. I think you know that."
She nodded.
"You care about me. Maybe you even love me. If you'd give us a little more time—"
"Time won't make the difference, Bert," she interrupted gently. "I have to do what I know the Lord wants." She rose from the bench. "I think I'd better go." As she turned, she added, "I'm sorry. So very sorry."
She walked home, mentally replaying everything she'd said. A flicker of uncertainty caused her to wonder if she'd done the right thing. She was fond of Bert. She might have learned to love him, given more time. They could have had a good marriage. She wouldn't have to be alone any longer. Was it possible she—?
Abruptly, she pushed away the doubts.
She'd learned over the years to recognize the voice of God when He spoke to her. She'd also learned that obedience now was better than repentance later. She knew without question the Lord had told her there would be times of affliction in her future, but He had also promised to go with her.
Jesus is my Husband, my Savior, my Beloved. I'm not alone.
Peace washed over her, a peace beyond understanding.
JULIANNA
SUMMER 2001
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JACOB'S VOICE DRIFTED INTO SILENCE, AND AFTER A MOMENT OR two, he rose to his feet and shuffled to the window. His expression was pensive as he stared through the glass.
I was thoughtful, too. I was considering the many losses Miriam had experienced before she'd reached my age.
My life, in comparison, had been one of ease. I was almost ashamed to admit how easy. My parents and grandparents were all living and in good health. My daughter had caused me no more than the usual stress associated with the teen years, raging female hormones, and pulling away from her mother's apron strings. Leland was a good provider, even if his work did force him to keep long hours. We had a lovely home in an upscale neighborhood, two new cars, and a boat for those rare times when we escaped to our cabin by the lake.
Jacob and Sally had both spoken of Miriam's faith as if it were the most natural thing in the world, about how it had strengthened her and brought her through the dark times. But what kind of God demanded that a woman raise her child alone and warned her there were even more troubles to come? It seemed extremely unfair.
Jacob McAllister had asked me why I believed life was supposed to be fair.
Well, didn't everyone think so?
Apparently not these two. Apparently not Miriam.
That bothered me. What had Miriam Tucker had that I didn't?
"What happened to Bert?" I asked, uncomfortable with the lingering silence and my own thoughts.
It was the young woman named Christy who answered me. "He met a really terrific lady and got married a co
uple years later. He was always saying how God turned things to good, just like He promised."
Sean, the middle-aged gentleman of the group who'd said little up to now, leaned forward and took an item from the box. I couldn't see what it was.
"This is about the time I came along," he said softly, as if to himself. Then he held up the 1972 campaign button.
"Was Miriam a big Nixon supporter?" I asked.
"That wasn't why she saved it." Jacob turned from the window. "She kept it 'cause it symbolized the times. Everything changed so fast. All the absolutes we grew up with disappeared overnight. The patriotism everyone felt during World War II was forgotten. Soldiers serving their country became the enemy, even those not in Vietnam."
I nodded, pretending I remembered more than I did. I hadn't cared about anything back then except ridding my face of new zits and whether or not the cutest boy on the junior high football team would invite me to the school dance.
Sally took the button from Sean. "I suppose every generation predicts the end of civilization because of the antics of the young. It's certainly how most adults felt about those years."
"Seemed like the whole world was coming apart at the seams," Jacob continued. "The Mai Lay massacre, Apollo 13, Watergate, Kent State, the invasion of Cambodia. The economy was bad and unemployment was high."
"Free love," Sally added, her voice low. "Free love that cost too much."
Jacob returned to his chair. "LSD and marijuana."
Sally pressed the campaign button into Jacob's hand, then folded his fingers over it and squeezed gently. "Thank God our kids came through okay, even if it was a bumpy ride."
"I sometimes wondered if there was more I could've done for Luke," Jacob said softly. "If only I could've done more, maybe things would've been different for him and Miriam. Maybe . . ."
MIRIAM
WINTER 1971
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MIRIAM HEARD THE SCREAM OF THE ELECTRIC GUITAR THE MOMENT she opened her car door.
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