Brewster sits with his friends in the sanctuary. He enjoys the low lighting and the sense of closing out distractions. They stand and sing, and he’s once again transported into a world of praise by the exceptional talent of the band and singers on stage. Today’s message leaves him in a very introspective mood. He files out silently into the chattering crowd in the lobby. People must be thinking like him. Where is God? is the question. God is there in our sorrows, reaching out, is the answer.
Brewster talks with his friends about his new plans to move away and begin a new period in his life. He shares Harris’s wedding plans and adds that he will head south with the newly graduated Hannah to join in the nuptials.
“You’re a different person from just a few weeks ago,” Claire says. “What’s happened?”
“I went over a few things and realized that nothing’s going to get any better. I became conscious of the fact that I’m far from unique in my pain. I decided I could not write God off as I had done, and there was not a lot He could do if I was going to wallow in some sort of self-pity. Like our pastor said this morning, faith allows us to reach beyond ourselves and really reach out to God.”
Heath looks at him. “You’re not going to turn into some hermit way out in the woods, are you?”
“Ha! Not on your life, my friend. But for now, I’m going to enjoy a change of scenery, enjoy the tree house and the lake and see where life takes me. I may look for a new investment or business I can get involved in, to stay busy. I’d say there’s lots of opportunity around that part of the world.”
“What about Clotilde and the book?” Claire asks.
“All taken care of. I’ll be leaving things to Holly at the outset, and she will work with the park. For me, my part is done. Melanie’s initiative is complete. Clotilde will no doubt help; as far as I know, she’s settling into life in Cape Breton. I’ve not heard from her since she went back a few weeks ago.”
“That’s it?” Claire says. “You’re just going to leave things there?”
Brewster reaches for her hand. “Dear Claire, I have to get myself sorted out before I think about putting anyone else into my life. Besides, I have Harris and Hannah to think about.”
Signs are on the front lawn, and Brad’s listing has already attracted some interest and at least one walk-through. Brewster is impatient to leave, to move past the intersection of death, to walk beyond the park and once again find and enjoy new discoveries.
Chapter Forty-Four
Dear Harris and Hannah,
I hope this does not come as too big a surprise to you, but I’ve put the house on the market. All our treasures will stay with me, and the boxes of keepers will go into storage. I’m moving to Christina Lake in BC. I’m leasing a nice little place that I may decide to buy once I’ve settled our affairs in Calgary. In a few weeks or so, I’ll figure out my permanent base and be in touch. Internet may be patchy where the house is, but I will be in and out of nearby Grand Forks, so I’ll make sure I stay in close contact.
Please do not worry. I’m feeling very refreshed and energized to begin a new chapter. Your Mom remains the most important part of my life, but I know I need to quit mooning around and realize that life has to be lived. Your Mom gave the three of us a huge example. You two live it, and now I have to as well.
I’m looking forward to our visit and your wedding, Harris, and to see your corner of the wide, wide world. It’ll be nice to sail in one of your big boats.
You two will be the first to hear from me when I figure out the new Internet with my computer and phone. I hope it doesn’t take too long. I expect to be travelling back to Calgary now and then, and I’ll keep my current addresses just in case.
Attached is a picture I took from the deck overlooking the lake. The view is superb. It’s like living in a tree house.
All this might sound a bit impulsive, but I assure you both I’ve really thought this through. Now each of us has plans: Harris a wedding, Hannah a trip to Europe and me living in a tree hut!
Love you guys,
Dad
Chapter Forty-Five
Three weeks later, Brewster lounges on his deck in the mid-afternoon sun, tilted back in his chair and his feet resting on the railing. The year is ending, and he will begin afresh. He lovingly traces his fingers over the striped coralroot picture in Underfoot. It’s a picture of memories and the first page he turned to when he opened the carton of books Jane had shipped to him hot off the press.
“Holly,” he says on his cellphone. “The book is beautiful and more than I ever imagined it could be. You have done an amazing job. A million thank-yous for seeing this project through to the end.”
“Tanya and Louise love it,” she says. “They bought a whole bunch; Joel has the numbers. They are only sending copies to their VIPs at present. They are holding off on any official launch until the spring. I think that’s the right way to go, when the flowers will also be making their presence known in the park.”
“I got a sweet call from Jo this morning,” he says. “We put a carton of books into the Blue Aster and she tells me they are all sold. The grumpy supplier she had trouble with just before she took over the shop bought five of them. I emailed Jane a list of our special friends, and I’ve sent a few off to Harris in Australia. He’ll be really proud that his mother’s initiative has been fully realized with great success. Hannah has taken some to Europe with her. I’m so glad that Lily is doing well and is now at home full-time. Is Wendell up to marathons yet?”
“Not quite,” she replies with a laugh. “He’s very mobile now, though, and it won’t be long before he will be able to go the full day. He’s been in touch with his old firm, and things look positive there.”
“Um, any word from Clotilde?” he asks.
There’s a long pause. “Only that I think Jane was going to contact her to arrange shipping,” Holly says. “I gather you’ve not heard from her?”
“Not since I’ve been out here,” he says. “But I’ve found the Internet a random thing. I just hope she’s doing okay and enjoying the miracle of seeing her work in print.”
The afternoon drifts slowly by. Brewster sits with the book tipped forward to his chest. Jo’s comment about naming the shop rolls across his mind. “I always remember why Melanie called the shop the Blue Aster,” she’d said. “It’s a common little flower and is always around, just like Jesus promised when he said, ‘I will be with you always.’”
His eyes close, and in his sleepy state he listens to the birds in the surrounding trees and the occasional distant sound of a powerboat on the lake. It’s very peaceful.
The sound of tires rolling across the new gravel in the driveway stir his happy state. He’s not expecting any visitors, so he waits and listens. A car door slams, followed by footsteps. He slowly gets out of his chair, shakes himself awake and peers over the deck railing, high above the driveway parking pad.
A petite, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman with eyes like melted chocolate and a white curly-haired miniature poodle in a red coat look up at him. He pauses halfway down the 10 steps and looks at her for a second or two. In the silence of his forest home, he slowly moves his hands and signs:
“I am so glad, so very, very glad to see you.”
Author’s Note
“I want to always have an open mind so that new ideas may come in. In the mind of an expert, there are few possibilities, but in the mind of an amateur they become endless. This is a God given gift and I value it greatly. If I am able to bring emotion, understanding, comfort, or joy into another’s life then I am using it wisely in His glory.” —Olaf Schnieder, artist.
This book has been hugely rewarding to write because of the number of people who willingly helped me to imagine and bring words to the page. I am continually amazed that in this day and age, I can lift the phone or send an email to a person I’ve never had contact with and get the answers I need t
o lift my imagination. I thank them all, near and far.
My thanks go to: Julia Millen, Jessica Twidale, Vivian Jonathan, Sue Melin, Diane Chisholm, Ferne Watson, Jamie Hall, Sherri Turner, Tim McFarland, Angela Bentivegna, Alan Jones, Jack Heffron, Colleen Thorpe, Karyn Wog, Shula Bancik, Irwin Huberman, Fiona Connell, Rebecca Thorpe, Kevin McCartney, Sara DesRoches and Robert Sinclair.
I am deeply indebted to Terry McKinney, who as a profoundly deaf friend, inspired and helped me bring Clotilde to life, likewise Heather Forsyth and her delightful hearing dog Quill. My granddaughter Veronica Fukuda has been my on-call French tutor.
I have been utterly blessed to know Nancy Mackenzie, who has provided her editorial services above and beyond and has encouraged me to think about words and the worlds they can take us to.
Finally, where would I be today without my wife, Lois, and our ever-expanding family, from three daughters to eight grandchildren and now two great-grandsons. They are all my stars.
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