Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  “I don’t know what you think people are saying about you, Will, but our congregation is excited to see you on Sunday, and we’d like nothing more than for you to come and talk to us about all the things God has done for you. What do you say?”

  A sense of joy, tentative and new, bubbled up from deep down in his heart and spilled over. He couldn’t help grinning. “I guess I could do that. In fact, I’d like to.”

  He had no idea what the future held for him with regard to his job or his relationship with Livvie. But he knew one thing: God had forgiven his sins and thrown them into a deep sea of forgetfulness. And if He and the people of the Wesleyan Methodist church could forgive him, then it was high time he forgave himself, as well.

  ***

  “Mommy, when’re we gonna go back t’ our own house and the rest’rant?” Nate asked Livvie, snuggling closer to her. She had been reading to him from Winnie-the-Pooh, a brand-new book Margie had picked up at the store last week, while Alex helped his aunt pick vegetables in the garden.

  Livvie laid the book facedown beside her on the sofa and looked at Nate. “Are you getting a little homesick?”

  “Yeah, and me ’n’ Alex wanna see Will.”

  Ah, the truth comes out. “You do, do you?” That makes three of us. She missed him more than she’d thought possible, but returning to the restaurant would mean reliving the sequence of events that had happened there, from seeing the vile Clem Dodd for the first time to hearing Marva Dulane’s enticing tale about a photo of Frank and her. Those memories would surely spark thoughts of Marva’s disturbing revelation about her mother’s relationship with Livvie’s father and the terrifying twenty-four hours Livvie had endured in captivity.

  And then, there were the letters Sheriff Morris had discovered at Marva’s house and brought to the farm on Monday afternoon, letters she had yet to share with Margie. They’d been sealed in a larger envelope with her name on the outside, meaning that Marva had intended for her to have them. The sheriff had been curious about the envelope’s contents, so Livvie had opened it on the spot and skimmed the letters before passing each one to him. They were the letters her father had written to Miriam Maxwell, Marva’s mother. While they had been heartbreaking to read, they had confirmed what Marva had said about Livvie’s father’s having been in love with Marva’s mother. It followed that Marva was probably right in identifying her father, Gordon Maxwell, as the person who set fire to the Newtons’ house in a jealous rage.

  The sound of the back door opening and banging shut, followed by the patter of feet across the kitchen floor, told her Alex had come inside.

  “Hey, Nate!” He bounded into the room. “Uncle Howie says he’ll take us for rides on his tractor!”

  In less time than it took to blink, Nate leaped off the sofa.

  “Hey, what about Winnie-the-Pooh?” she called after him.

  “We can read more of it at bedtime!” he hollered on the run.

  An hour later, the boys were still out in the fields with Howard, and Livvie found herself standing in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, while Margie scrubbed the oven. She’d been trying to do her fair share of housework; plus, she found that busying herself with various tasks kept her mind pleasantly occupied. While the sisters worked, they didn’t lack for conversation.

  “I think the boys are ready to go back home,” Livvie said, tossing a pared potato in the colander and then reaching for another.

  “What about you?” Margie asked. “Are you ready?”

  “I have no choice. There are bills to pay, and I’m sure Cora Mae and the others are anxious to get back to work.”

  “Speaking of the others, you haven’t said much about Will Taylor recently.” Margie walked to the sink and rinsed out her cloth. “That man seems to care a great deal about you. Did you ever return his phone calls?”

  “I tried, but, of course, he wasn’t in the restaurant when I called.”

  Margie went back to the stove and resumed her scouring. “Does his prison record bother you?” It was the first Margie had brought up the subject, even though she’d had plenty of opportunities to do so. Livvie knew where Howard stood, for she’d overheard him talking to Margie in the kitchen on Sunday night. He’d said that he was confident Will had a contrite heart and a good, solid faith in God.

  “Does it bother you?” Livvie asked.

  “I asked you first.”

  “In that case, no. He served his time and learned from it.”

  “So, the two of you have talked, then. Are you in love with him, Olivia?”

  Margie never had been one to beat around the bush. “I might be,” she answered, tossing another potato into the strainer. “Do you think it’s too soon?”

  “Pfff! Heavens, no. Plenty of women your age would have remarried by now. Those boys need a father, and I could tell when Will was here that they think the sun and moon exist solely for him.”

  That made Livvie chuckle. “I assure you, he feels the same way about them.”

  “It’s not a matter of time, anyway, honey. It’s what your heart tells you that counts.”

  “And what my older sister says, too,” Livvie added with a grin. “It wasn’t all that long ago, you made some comment similar to, ‘Olivia, he’s your employee, for goodness’ sake!’” She made sure to imitate Margie’s indignant tone.

  Margie laughed, then paused in her cleaning to look at Livvie. “I did say something like that, didn’t I? Well, you know I only want what’s best for you.”

  A few seconds of silence stretched between them before Livvie decided to dive into a whole new topic. “Margie, what was Mama and Papa’s marriage like?”

  Margie dropped an oven rack on the floor, and the sound echoed through the room like a clap of thunder. She bent to pick it up and slid it back inside the oven without replying.

  Livvie waited, then rephrased the question. “Were they happy together?”

  Her sister spun around to face her and frowned. “Olivia, what would make you ask something like that?”

  “I just…I’m curious, that’s all. And, well, Marva Dulane….”

  Margie walked back to the sink, where she rinsed out the cloth once more, wrung it out over the sink, and then hung it on a hook to dry. This process took less than a minute, but it seemed to stretch out much longer than that. Finally, she angled her body to face Livvie again. “What about Marva?”

  Livvie gave up on peeling potatoes for the time being, laid down the knife, and looked at her sister, certain she read trepidation in her eyes. “I have some letters, Margie. Letters our father wrote to Miriam Maxwell. He was trying to rescue her from her abusive husband. Did you know that our father loved a woman other than Mama?”

  “Where did you hear these things? And where did you get these—these letters?”

  “Marva held on to them for years. While I was tied up, Clem Dodd told me that Marva said her father had burned our house down. Do you believe that, Marg?”

  With slumped shoulders, Margie stepped away from the sink and walked to the back door, where she gazed out over the fields, her back to Livvie. “Part of me always suspected that the house fire wasn’t an accident.”

  “Did you ever tell the authorities and ask them to investigate?”

  She shook her head. “I had nothing to go on but a feeling. I knew things were not good between our parents. I came upon Papa and Miriam in the bank one day. He was whispering in her ear, and she was laughing. I thought it was odd. As soon as Papa saw me, he lurched back, as if he’d just been shot. He tried to act innocent, but I could tell by the looks in their eyes that something wasn’t right. It was a very uncomfortable moment.

  “It seemed like every time I went to see Mama, she was crying about one thing or another. It got so that I didn’t want to go over there. She never came right out and told me Papa was having an affair, but I surmised it from the way she dropped hints every now and again. Oh, I still feel so awful about it. I worried about you being neglected. Tell me about these letters, L
iv.”

  “You can read them, if you want, though there’s not much to them. They’re short, mostly three or four lines, and all of them were written a few months before the fire. In every note, Papa makes a point to tell Miriam he loves her and that he will get her out of that house, that they’ll go away together, just the two of them, and never return to Wabash. Gordon Maxwell must have found them and flown into a rage.”

  “It’s quite probable.”

  “And then, he convinced his daughter that I somehow played a part in the evil of it all. Marva Dulane has always treated me with utmost disdain.”

  “Odd, isn’t it, how folks can let a root of bitterness take hold and grow so out of control, they lose touch with reality. Marva’s a very lost soul.”

  Livvie took some time to digest those words. “I think I will visit her someday,” she finally stated.

  Margie cast her a surprised glance. “You would do that, after she helped kidnap you?”

  “If God can forgive me for the wrongs I’ve committed against Him, isn’t it my duty to forgive others? ‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’”

  Margie smiled and walked across the room to enfold Livvie in her arms. “It feels like you’ve come full circle, honey.”

  “I think I have.” She gently pulled away from her sister’s embrace to ask, “Would you and Howard drive the boys and me to the Wesleyan Methodist church on Sunday? We can leave extra early so you won’t be late for your own service.”

  “We’ll do one better,” Margie said. “Howard and I will go with you.”

  Livvie grinned. “And then, I want to go home. It’s time I got that restaurant going again.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “The Lord is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.”—Psalm 118:14

  Will had practiced giving his testimony in front of the mirror about a dozen times, yet he never got over feeling foolish talking to his reflection. “Lord, just give me the words to say when the time comes,” he finally prayed on Saturday night. “And, if it comes out wrong, give folks an extra dose of compassion for me. Please, let there be no egg throwing in the sanctuary.”

  On Sunday morning, the congregants squeezed through the doors of the little white clapboard church, crowding the pews and spilling into the aisles. The deacons rushed to find extra chairs, and many gentle-

  men stood to make room for women and children. From his seat in the front row, where Reverend White had asked him to sit, Will gazed around in amazement. There were at least twice as many in attendance than usual, and he couldn’t imagine why. Surely, they hadn’t all come to hear him. Good grief! If that were the case, there would be a lot of disappointed people after the service.

  “It’s a fine turnout, Will,” said Reverend White as he sat down beside him. “The Lord is going to use you this morning.” He leaned in closer and, speaking out of the side of his mouth, added, “All I had to do was tell Mrs. Garner you were going to speak today. She works about as well as the Daily Plain Dealer when it comes to spreading the word about something.”

  Will looked at him, and they both laughed. “You don’t mean to tell me all these extra folks came to hear me talk!”

  “Indeed, they did. You’re the sermon today, Will.”

  The sermon? “You mean, you’re not going to—?”

  “Nope. I didn’t tell you for fear you’d turn me down. Don’t look so worried. Let the Lord guide you and give you the words to say. There’s a message inside you that folks need to hear, a message about love, forgiveness, and a changed life. Just say whatever the Lord lays on your heart to say, son. It’ll flow; you’ll see. By the way, did you see Mrs. Beckman and her boys back there? Looks like the Grants decided to come, too.”

  That did it. Will was going to lose his breakfast. He glanced around, and, sure enough, there was Livvie, sitting about seven rows back on the other side of the aisle. She wore a pretty yellow hat that complemented her floral print dress, and her strawberry blonde hair was curled so that it curved around her cheeks and fell in waves at her shoulders. She had one arm around the shoulders of each of her sons. He imagined she’d been giving them more hugs than ever in the past few days. Man, he missed seeing them—hearing the boys’ squeals of laughter, watching them race through the restaurant like little roadrunners. He didn’t dare let his eyes linger long, lest someone catch him gawking, but he would have given just about anything for one of Livvie’s smiles about now.

  He faced forward again and took in a deep breath to steady himself. Reverend White chuckled. “It’s going to be a wonderful day. Got a good feeling about it, I do.”

  ***

  During the hymns, Livvie couldn’t help but sing at peak volume, no matter that she lacked any musical ability. Her inner joy had to find an outlet, and voicing her praises to God gave it wings to fly. That moment, she was especially thankful because she’d finally spotted Will—in the front row, of all places, seated next to the preacher—and because Clem Dodd was in jail, while she was here, breathing fresh air and tasting the goodness of life. If she had been given a million guesses as to what the past week would bring, it wouldn’t have been enough. Margie said she’d come full circle, and she had, but it felt like more than that. It felt like she’d been given a second chance to make her life—her words, actions, and everything else—count for the kingdom.

  She didn’t know exactly how or why it had happened, but, sometime in the middle of the night, she’d awakened with an almost tangible sense of God’s inimitable, abiding presence. He’d seemed to whisper, Trust Me, My child. All is well. Instead of bemoaning your cruel circumstances, remember, I will never leave you in the thick of them. I never have, and I never will. Your soul is safe for eternity, and the only thing I ask is that you surrender every care into My capable hands. Seek Me first, for when you do that, every piece of your life will fall into its proper place.

  Upon hearing that peaceful, precious assurance, she had sat up, pulled the string to turn on her bedside lamp, and begun to read her Bible. She’d cried tears of joy as she’d read promise after promise, divinely directed to passages of Scripture she’d never read before and delighting in their solid truth.

  As the congregation sang the final verse of “Standing on the Promises,” the Holy Spirit gave her another reminder of God’s grace and faithfulness, and the simple revelation made her knees buckle. Thankfully, the organ stopped playing, and Reverend White invited everyone to sit, anyway.

  ***

  While the reverend stood in the pulpit and introduced him, Will was convinced that his heart would burst straight through his chest if it didn’t quit the fierce hammering. Why on earth had he agreed to share his testimony? He tried to recall the speech he’d practiced but couldn’t remember even one word. It was as if the light in his mind had suddenly switched off, turning his entire brain into a dark maze of confusion. To make matters worse, Reverend White’s voice sounded remote and echoey. None of his words really registered, except for “Will Taylor!” at which point Will felt a hand on his shoulder, someone behind him urging him to step forward.

  In a daze, he made his way to the podium. Reverend White smiled and whispered, “Speak from your heart, Will,” then returned to his seat.

  The place was so quiet, one could have heard a fly sneeze. Lord, tell me what You want me to say. Prepare folks’ hearts for Your message, not mine.

  “Hi, Will!” The familiar voice that cut through the silence prompted a wave of gentle laughter. Will relaxed a little.

  “Hi, Nate,” he replied, searching out the sweet boy and then grinning at the three people he loved most in the world. Livvie’s beautiful smile gave him the courage he needed to proceed. “And good morning to the rest of you.” As folks nodded and smiled, he cleared his throat and rested his hands on the sides of the pulpit to steady his slightly trembling knees. With slow, deliberate enunciation, he said, “I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see.”

  From there, his story unfol
ded, beginning with his childhood—how it had started out normal and happy, with music and laughter and fun, but had wound up unusually sad. How he’d carried the guilt imposed upon him by his parents for his sister’s drowning, and how that guilt had prompted him to seek love and acceptance in other places—the wrong places.

  He spoke about the bad habits he’d acquired along the way, how life had held little purpose back then, how everything he’d seized hold of had left him feeling empty and wondering about the meaning of it all. He told them how he’d hooked up with a wicked bunch of friends—yes, Clem Dodd had been among them—and how he’d found himself on the wrong side of the law more than once as he searched for acceptance, for a way to belong. He shared how his beloved harmonica had brought him bits of joy in the midst of evil, and how he could now look back on those times as glimmers of God’s light in his deepest, darkest days.

  As he talked, Will noticed a few things. One, his knees had stopped knocking. Two, his sentences were coming out clearly. Three, folks seemed to be focusing intently on his every word; they were either sitting forward in their seats, shaking their heads in wonderment, or dabbing at damp eyes. And, four, Livvie was wearing a serene expression, a kind of half smile, which encouraged him immensely. Together, these observations impelled him to continue.

  He told about the jewelry theft that ultimately landed him in prison, and how he wouldn’t trade that experience, however dreadful and demeaning, for all the gold in the world, as it had led him straight to Harry Wilkinson. He explained how Harry had never given up on him, had always gone to bat for him, and had expected great things from him. He said that Harry had a way of preaching that made God sound appealing, and he described how he’d finally reached a dead end in his life and had come to realize it was God or nothing. He told them how, once he’d made the decision to follow Christ, his life hadn’t gone from black to white overnight, but that the change had been a process, one that continued today. He explained how he’d learned that living a Christian life meant disciplining oneself to pray and study the Word and listen for God’s voice in the day-to-day struggles. That faith didn’t come easy, but it did come.