by Nan Rossiter
Chase—who was sitting on the far end of the second pew—smiled and stood up, and all the other Tennyson boys breathed quiet sighs of relief, thankful that their brother had been willing to take on this task. Gage watched Chase bump fists with Liam, and he was thankful that their mom had insisted Liam sit with the family, and then a sudden ache washed over him as he realized she would have insisted Maeve sit with them, too.
Chase strode to the pulpit, and as he adjusted the mic, he looked out at the congregation, his kind smile warming their hearts. “Even at six feet, I’m still the shortest Tennyson boy,” he joked, “but I’m a little taller than Melinda.” At this, the congregation chuckled and immediately felt at ease.
Chase scanned the page of the open Bible and then looked up. “The reading my mom chose for this morning is from the book of Ecclesiastes, and although it’s often read at memorial services, I feel like it’s especially appropriate for my dad—whose life and livelihood depended on the seasons.” He proceeded to read the well-known words, and when he finished, he looked up.
“Well, I can absolutely attest to what Melinda said—my dad knew his Bible verses! But what most people don’t know about him is that his knowledge and his interpretation of the Bible were rooted in the fact that his own dad—our grandfather”—he looked at his brothers as he said this—“was also a minister, and John Tennyson Sr. wasn’t a kind, gentle soul like Melinda. Reverend Tennyson was a fierce, Bible-thumping, fire-and-brimstone, true Southern Baptist minister—a stern man who insisted that his two sons memorize countless Bible verses and Psalms and sit through endless church services. In recent years, when I found this out from my mom”—as he said this, he looked down and smiled at the woman sitting next to Gage—“I began to see my dad in a new light, and I began to understand the influences that had shaped his thinking.
“When I was little, sitting on my dad’s broad shoulders—with him holding tightly to my ankles—I was on top of the world. Nothing could hurt me. My brothers would all traipse along after him, but I got to ride on his six-foot, four-inch frame . . . and I always knew, without a doubt, that he loved me.
“Growing up in the shadows of my mischievous fun-loving brothers, I watched as rules were set and broken, and as storms rolled in . . . and out, but peace—thanks to our mom—always seemed to prevail. My brothers paved the way, and by the time I came up through the ranks, I got away with just about anything.” He paused and looked at Liam. “Even being gay.
“As you might imagine, this revelation didn’t go over well in our house. My dad—whose faiths and beliefs, as Melinda said, were old-school—had a very hard time understanding and accepting this news, but when he started quoting the Bible to prove his point, I pulled some Bible verses out of my own back pocket. I reminded him that every time he planted his corn next to his alfalfa . . . or wore a silk tie with a cotton shirt, he was sinning . . . because in Leviticus 19:19, it says that you shall not plant your field with two kinds of seed . . . or wear clothes woven from two kinds of material.” Chase smiled. “This revelation set him back on his heels because the Bible really does say that—and this is certainly an outdated commandment—I mean, who made up such rules? Was it really God that said that? Or was it some self-righteous Pharisee? So, we talked at length about the change in thinking that happened after Jesus came along, and how the New Testament was about love . . . and not about rules and vengeance.
“As Melinda said, God did throw some hard lessons my dad’s way, but he was—as we all must be—pliable . . . and he did change.” Chase looked at Gage and smiled. “And I wasn’t the only free-range chicken that went off the farm.” Everyone chuckled at this and Chase grinned. “Just one of the many colorful and politically incorrect phrases our dad liked to use when he was characterizing people he thought were making risky decisions. But I wasn’t the only son who forced our dad to grow and change, and to consider life from other perspectives.” He paused and eyed his brothers. “We all did, in one way or another . . . because you can’t raise six sons without having a little hell break loose!” At this, everyone laughed, and then Chase’s face grew solemn as he continued.
“Another hard lesson came our dad’s way when, on a beautiful summer day—much like today—tragedy struck our family. When Cale died, it seemed like everyone in town was mourning, but no one mourned more than our parents . . . and especially, my dad . . . because he blamed and never forgave himself for what happened.” Chase looked up. “No parent should ever bury a child . . . and even though this tragic accident changed our dad, he kept his faith.
“So, this past weekend, my brothers and I . . . and our sweet mom . . . had the amazing opportunity to spend quite a bit of time together, reminiscing about the old days, remembering our dad. Although he seemed to always be serious—‘as serious as four heart attacks and a stroke,’ another saying he liked to use when he wanted to express the gravity of a situation—he also had a sense of humor and a smile that could move mountains. My brothers, Gage and Matt, recalled the time Dad and Dutch took them—and Cale—up to Bristol Motor Speedway to see a NASCAR race, and how Terry Labonte—who’d stopped for fresh tires with just five laps to go—had taken the lead, when Dale Earnhardt Sr. came up behind him and—as he so loved to do—bumped into him and spun him around so he could take the checkered flag for himself. . . . And as great as it was for my brothers to see their favorite driver win, what they remember most about that moment was seeing their ever-reserved dad pumping his fist in the air and shouting, ‘Woo-hoo! Bump and run, baby! Bump and run!’”
Chase smiled. “Now, Dad’s up in heaven, reunited with Cale . . . and maybe even meeting Dale! After this weekend, I think we all have come to realize what an amazing person our dad was—a giant of a man who loved his family, and who, I learned, as I sat beside his bed, was also a hopeless romantic . . . because his last words to our mom came from their wedding song, ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water.’ Before he closed his eyes for the last time, he smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and whispered, Sail on, silver girl.” Chase’s eyes glistened visibly as he looked at his mom and smiled. “Sail on, Dad.”
Gage put his arm around his mom and watched Chase give Melinda a hug before stepping down from the pulpit, and as they stood to sing the next hymn, “How Great Thou Art,” tears spilled down his cheeks. His brother’s wise words and open heart made him feel ashamed of his own closed mind and hardened heart, and they rendered him unable to speak, never mind sing. Why hadn’t he tried harder—or tried at all—to make amends with his dad? His mom had begged him to come home, but he’d stubbornly resisted, harboring resentment and pride, and not only hurting his dad, but also hurting himself . . . and now it was too late. His dad had loved all his sons with all his heart for all his life. Even Chase had found a way to understand their father and forgive him . . . but he—after one disagreement that had been rooted in his father’s concern for him—had never found it in his heart to forgive. Instead, he had pushed aside all the wonderful childhood memories he had of him and, for eighteen years, allowed resentment and anger to fester in his heart. Oh, God, how wrong he had been! And now, he realized, his inability and stubborn unwillingness to forgive his dad had hampered his own ability to move forward, and he wished with all his heart that he’d come home sooner to tell him, in person, that he forgave . . . and loved him, and always would.
Libby looked up, saw her son’s head bowed in sorrow, and reached up and gently brushed away his tears.
52
MAEVE DABBED HER EYES WITH HER LAST TISSUE, THANKFUL SHE’D HAD the presence of mind—at 3 A.M.—to put on water-resistant mascara. Then she tearfully gathered her things and followed the stream of people making their way downstairs to Fellowship Hall, but when she spied a ladies’ room, she ducked in to use it, and then listened as two women talked about how moving the service had been.
“That Chase Tennyson always was the cute one,” one of the women said. “I can remember when he was little, riding on his daddy’s shoulders, but I had
no idea he was gay!”
The second lady chimed in. “It’s always the cute ones,” she said, as if those in the LGBTQ community were from another class of people. “So eloquent and well-spoken, though,” she added, briefly redeeming herself. She then whispered, “Do you think that dark-haired young man is his boyfriend?”
Maeve tried to block out their conversation as she washed her hands and splashed cool water on her puffy eyes and tear-stained face. She dried her hands, slipped from the room, and stood resolutely in the hall—her stomach rumbling with hunger as the line to greet the family inched forward.
Twenty minutes later, as she neared the front, Chase saw her, and his face lit up with a smile.
“Oh, Chase,” she said, “I’m so sorry about your dad. Your eulogy was amazing and so heartfelt.”
“Thanks, Maeve,” he said, smiling.
“Did you have it written down? I never saw you look.”
He shook his head. “No, I knew what I wanted to say.
Maeve shook her head. “I could never . . .”
Chase smiled, and then looked puzzled. “How come you’re in that line and not this one?” he asked, gesturing to the receiving line. He frowned. “Does Gage know you’re here?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, and then she eyed him. “You know we broke up, right?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Has he lost his mind?!”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” she replied, laughing.
Chase smiled. “C’mon. You don’t belong here, and besides, I know someone who wants to meet you.”
Maeve started to protest. “I’ll lose my place . . .”
But it was too late. Chase had pulled her out of the line waiting to give their condolences to the family and guided her toward the woman she’d seen sitting beside Gage during the service. “Mom, do you know who this is?!”
As Libby searched Maeve’s face, a warm smile crossed her own. “You must be Maeve!” she said. “Oh, my goodness! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time!”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too. I’m so sorry about your husband.”
Libby nodded solemnly. “Thank you.” And then she pulled Maeve into a hug. “I’m so glad you came. Did you get in last night? Because you should’ve called and stayed at the house.”
Maeve shook her head. “I drove up this morning.”
“You did? You must be exhausted.”
“A little,” Maeve said, “but I’m really glad I came—the service was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Libby said, and then she looked down the line of family members and frowned. “Chase, where is Gage?”
Chase followed her gaze. “I don’t know. Dutch isn’t here, either.”
“Well, would you mind seeing if you can find them?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Chase said, glad to be released from the receiving line. “Just a second. . . .”
Maeve watched Chase walk over and say something to Liam, and when he came back, he said, “I think I know where he is.”
They walked across the parking lot, and Chase gestured to a stone wall behind the church. “This is Memorial Garden—it’s where the ashes of church members are interred. My brother is buried on the farm, and my dad will be buried next to him, but other family members are here, including my grandmother on my mom’s side, and I’ll bet that’s where Gage and Dutch are.” He smiled. “Gage hates crowds . . .”
“Don’t I know it,” Maeve said, feeling her heart race at the prospect of seeing him.
As they reached the garden, Maeve realized it was more than just one long wall—it was a courtyard of walls with more walls in the middle. They were all capped with heavy blocks of slate, and many had metal placards engraved with names and dates of loved ones.
Chase stopped when they reached the first wall, and pointed, and Maeve saw Gage sitting on a stone bench next to a wheelchair. “That’s where my grandma is interred—she died two years ago—which is also when Dutch’s own health took a downward turn. I’ll let you take it from here,” he said with a gentle smile.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she said.
“I think you can handle it.”
“All right,” she said nervously. “If you say so.”
Chase smiled, and she watched him walk back to the church, and then pressed her lips together, gathering her resolve and courage. As she walked to where Gage was sitting, she thought she could hear music, and as she drew near, she realized it was coming from his phone.
Hearing footsteps, Gage looked up, and then stood in surprise. “Maeve! What are you doing here?”
She swallowed. “I came for your dad’s service.”
Gage bit his lip. “I didn’t expect you . . .”
She nodded. “I know. I’m really sorry about your dad, Gage. Chase’s words—they . . . they were so moving. I almost felt like I knew him.”
“He did a great job. I could never . . .”
“I couldn’t, either.” She looked over at Dutch and smiled. “Is this your grandpa?”
Gage smiled. “Yeah, this is Dutch.” And then he knelt in front of the old man. “Dutch, I want you to meet someone,” he said softly. He pulled her over. “This is Maeve—the girl I’ve been telling you about.”
The old man looked up, his blue eyes seeming to smile as he nodded. Then he looked back at his grandson. “Is this the one you’re goin’ to marry?”
Gage bit his lip as tears filled his eyes. “Yeah, she’s the one,” he said, and then he looked up at Maeve. “But I’ve been a bit of an ass lately.”
“Well, I could be an ass, too, in my day. Maybe she’ll forgive you, eh?”
Gage nodded as his tears spilled down his cheeks. “I hope so,” he whispered.
“Well, why don’t you stop your blubberin’ and ask her, for Pete’s sake . . . and then we’ll both know.”
“To forgive me . . . or to marry me?” Gage asked.
“Aren’t they the same thing?” Dutch asked, his eyes sparkling with wisdom.
Gage nodded again and bit his lip again, feeling his heart pound. “I guess they are. . . .”
He turned to Maeve. “I’m so sorry for how I’ve behaved . . . and treated you, Maeve. I have been an ass . . . and listening to Chase talk about our dad today made me realize what a fool I’ve been. It broke my heart to finally realize I’d let the opportunity to make amends with someone I love slip away . . . and I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
Maeve pressed her lips together and nodded. “It’s okay, Gage. I know you’ve had a hard time.”
Gage shook his head. “No . . . it’s no excuse. Everyone has difficult things happen . . . and the things that’ve happened to me don’t even compare with what other people have been through.”
Maeve nodded as tears filled her eyes. “You’re going to make me start crying again,” she said softly. “You Tennyson men sure know how to make a girl cry.”
Gage smiled and held her face in his hands, and with his thumbs, he gently brushed her tears away. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said. “I wanted so badly for you to be here.”
“I’m here,” she said, mustering a smile.
He nodded and searched her eyes. “I’m really sorry, Maeve. I now realize what a surprise—what a wonderful surprise—it must’ve been for you to have your son come back into your life . . . and I—I was so selfish to act the way I did. Can you ever forgive me?”
Maeve pressed her lips together, recalling everything she’d thought about when she’d been driving here—everything Gage had been through when he was younger . . . and how she’d known the minute she met him at Ben and Macey’s picnic—by the way he’d scooped his sweet, sleepy puppy into his arms . . . and talked about listening to the loons at night when he was a boy, even knowing their calls—that he was shy and old-school. And how it absolutely didn’t surprise her that he’d kept all his painful memories—from having his heart b
roken to feeling like his dreams were being dismissed by his father, and from losing his favorite cow to tragically losing his brother—tucked deep in his heart, never wanting to share them. It was just like him to press on, trying to do his best and make his way in the world . . . because isn’t that what we all do when we’re hurting? Gage had been doing the best he could, not wanting to burden others with his troubles, but at the same time, wanting to trust and love . . . and be loved. How could she not forgive him? “I already have,” she said.
Gage shook his head. “I don’t deserve you.” He paused, looked around at their surroundings, and realized Dutch was watching them. He turned back to Maeve and searched her eyes. “I already talked to your parents . . .”
“You did?!”
He nodded and smiled. “They gave us their blessings . . . and I already have a ring, too, but I don’t have it with me,” he added. “And this”—he gestured around him—“isn’t the setting I had in mind, but . . . Dutch is here, and that is probably the best setting I could ask for, so . . .”
He knelt down in front of her, and Maeve’s heart raced—this was not at all what she had expected to happen today, or right now . . . or maybe ever—and she suddenly felt as if it might beat right out of her chest.
“Maeve, I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” Gage said softly. “I love you with all my heart . . .” He glanced back at his grandfather and then looked at Maeve, and in a clear voice he was sure his grandfather could hear, he said, “Maeve Lindstrom, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Maeve said, tears spilling down her cheeks. Gage grinned and pulled her into a hug and then held her face in his hands and softly kissed her, and Dutch smiled, his eyes twinkling, and reached out and rested his old gnarled hand on the wall next to him.
