Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  Paul reflected upon the course that now lay open before him. Unhesitatingly he made the sweeping decision that would guide him in the days ahead. He stood, gently laying the braid of hair in the box where it had been nestled for these many years, walked to the window and opened the blinds. It was still very early, but the light of morning was on the horizon. The view from this second story window was spectacular. How beautiful was the dense green foliage against the backdrop of the clear morning sky! There was a freshness in the scene he thought to be the likely product of the early morning dew.

  Among the trees was a small lake, and leading from the veranda he could see a network of boardwalk trails that had been constructed. They meandered in and out of the greenery and then merged with the larger trail encircling the perimeter of the lake.

  There, at the edge of the lake, sat Helen in her wheelchair – an easel and canvas before her. It was obvious that the boardwalk trails had been made with her needs in mind. Paul felt the desire to speak with her, to speak with somebody on this magnificent morning.

  Oblivious to the fact that he had slept in his clothes and without his typical fastidiousness so far as appearance was concerned, Paul left his room and descended the stairs at the end of the hall. Leaving through the front door he circled the house and worked his way towards the little lake nestled amongst the trees. Helen looked up from her work as she heard his approach.

  “Good morning, Paul, you’re up early for someone who has every reason to enjoy a comfortable bed and a leisurely morning.”

  “Good morning, Helen. I saw you from my window and I … well, I thought we might visit for a moment or two.”

  “Yes, by all means. I’d invite you to sit down but not everyone carries his own chair with him as I do. How was your visit with Elizabeth last night?”

  Paul’s measured and analytical manner gave way to exuberance as he spoke. “Helen, I shall never forget last night – all of it. The whole evening was indescribably wonderful!”

  “Then the trip to Michigan has fulfilled your expectations?”

  “I came with no expectations. I could never have guessed that I would return with such an altered perspective of everything. I am indebted to the two of you. I …” There were no words to express what Paul felt.

  “Then our hopes and prayers in your behalf have been gratified, Paul.” There was comfortable silence as the two looked fondly at each other.

  “I did have a question,” said Paul finally. “Those paintings in my room, of Cathy and myself, they are your work I presume?”

  “They are.”

  “But how in the world did you manage that?”

  “Elizabeth is very resourceful. A few friendly connections and a fair amount of hunting for memorabilia produced several photos and snapshots. The rest was guesswork on my part.”

  “They are magnificent. I only wish I had copies of them.”

  “No copies, but you may have the originals of all three if you wish them.”

  Paul sought appropriate words but could not find them.

  “And what are your plans for the day?”

  “If she has time for me I’d like to visit further with Elizabeth. I feel there is much for us to talk about. I’d also like to go to the Forest Hills Cemetery here in Ann Arbor. I’ve never actually been to the spot where Cathy is buried. I could never bring myself to do it following her death.”

  “It’s in a beautiful secluded section of the cemetery,” said Helen.

  Paul reacted with some surprise. “Then you’ve been to her gravesite?”

  “It’s one of several plots my father purchased many years ago.”

  Paul’s eyes widened. “Then Elizabeth is the one who took care of Cathy’s burial arrangements.”

  “Elizabeth felt very strongly about it. She knew that you had no financial resources and said that things needed to be taken care of in a proper fashion.”

  Paul shook his head in disbelief. “And all the time I thought it was my mother who had covered the expenses.”

  “Elizabeth knew your frame of mind at the time of Cathy’s death and thought that explanations might be awkward. She asked the hospital, as well as the mortuary and cemetery, not to reveal her name. She was confident that the future would allow for any necessary explanations.”

  “When I was told that all expenses had been covered by another party, I assumed that it was an atoning act on the part of my mother. She would have had the means to do something like that. I supposed that she felt guilty for having shunned Cathy. My mother completely disconnected herself from our marriage and my bitter feelings towards her have kept me from making contact with her since my return to San Diego. I vowed that I would never give her the satisfaction of knowing that I was grateful for her financial help.”

  Paul shook his head. “Oh, Helen, I have lived a life full of anger for so many years. Resentments and animosities have become second nature to me, but I am determined to change all of that.”

  “It is true that some of our greatest heartaches in this life are of our own making,” said Helen. “I hope that the days ahead for you can be happier than those of the past.”

  “Perhaps you can satisfy one other curiosity for me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Your sister seems to have kept pretty close tabs on everything I’ve done over the past ten years. She must have connections in San Diego. Someone, a young man, hand delivered Elizabeth’s invitation for me to come to Ann Arbor. Is he the source of her information about me?”

  “Elizabeth has a lot of friends in Southern California. She and Isaac created many loyalties during his years in the private aircraft business there. The young man who came to your home is her nephew, Frank Russell. He’s a good boy but probably has too much money at his disposal. His father was Isaac’s brother, also his business partner until Isaac decided to leave the business world and live a life of semi-retirement here in Michigan. Frank’s father was traveling east on business this week and took a flight with a layover stop in Detroit. At Elizabeth’s request he brought us a packet of California newspaper clippings. He was our overnight guest and left early yesterday morning.”

  “And Michael? What about Elizabeth’s involvement with him over the years?”

  “Elizabeth took Michael into her heart the day she met Cathy. Some months after her death she paid for some investigative work to see who had custody of the child. Once she had made that connection she established a fast friendship with Anna Kirkham as only Elizabeth can do. She has helped Charles and Anna financially over the years as they cared for Michael. She won their trust sufficiently that they were willing to allow Michael to have a vacation trip here to Ann Arbor when he was five years old. And that became the pattern for the years ahead. We have always looked forward to his spending a couple of months with us each summer.

  “Charles and Anna asked for Elizabeth’s help when Michael first began to have health problems. They were very concerned when the need for specialized medical care arose. It was she who persuaded them to ask you to come for Michael. It was hard for them to accept at first, but Elizabeth had strong feelings about the outcome of things for both you and Michael. Ultimately they decided to trust her and relented, even though they would have preferred to have Michael come here for medical attention.”

  Paul nodded. Everything, yes everything, was now clear to him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Claire wiped a tear from the corner of Michael’s eye, then gently caressed his cheek. “Is the pain still as bad?”

  The boy nodded slowly. Claire had considered taking him back to the hospital when his condition worsened, but abandoned the notion, knowing full well that no more could be done there than what she could lovingly do for him in her apartment. Besides, there was some question in her mind as to whether Dr. Wolfgram would want to proceed with further treatment without a formal admission request by Paul. She had spent the last hour sitting on the side of Michael’s bed, trying to provide comfort and some measure of c
heer. Since early morning his pains had increased measurably. Moreover, there was no longer any noticeable effect from the medication that typically dulled his headaches. During the late afternoon he had become listless and pallid, and she feared that a crisis was at hand.

  When the doorbell rang, she patted Michael gently. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  It was Paul, the handsome man with twisted thinking she had allowed herself to love. She was relieved to see him but wished that her quickened feelings of anticipation would not be so unruly. She wondered if she had ever been able to fully detach herself from him emotionally. To both her dismay and delight he embraced her.

  “How is Michael?” he said, speaking softly into her ear.

  “Not good. I’m very worried about him.” She followed him as he moved quickly into Michael’s bedroom. The boy brightened considerably the moment he heard Paul’s voice.

  “Well, my man, do you think you can wake up long enough to talk with me?”

  “Hi, I was hoping you’d come. Claire said you might.” Michael’s slow, slurred speech gave evidence of the pain medication Claire had continued to give him several times each day.

  Paul sat on the bed alongside Michael, and Claire seated herself in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room beyond the foot of the bed. “Claire tells me the pains are pretty bad.”

  “Yeah, it’s especially bad when I open my eyes.” Claire had kept the room darkened throughout the day.

  “I’ve been thinking about you a lot during the past several days,” said Paul.

  “Claire said you went to see Elizabeth.”

  “Both Elizabeth and Helen. As a matter of fact we talked about you quite a bit.”

  Something about Paul’s visit had caused Michael to perk up considerably. He smiled faintly at the thought of Paul and Elizabeth talking about him.

  “Has Helen got my picture finished yet?”

  “Now which picture would that be?” Paul thought Michael might be referring to the portrait of the boy he had seen during the two nights he had spent in Elizabeth’s home.

  “She said she would paint a picture of a butterfly for me, a monarch butterfly. I have studied a lot about butterflies. I can tell you all about their markings and the way they fly, but I think the monarch butterflies are especially beautiful.”

  Paul remembered the easel and canvas he had seen the morning he had visited with Helen. It had been a painting of butterflies, many of them in flight against the backdrop of a flower garden. In the foreground there had been a large monarch butterfly poised on the branch of a tree, its wings spread to reveal the beautiful markings. “Yes, I saw the painting she is doing for you, and to me it looked like it was nearly finished.”

  “We talked about it on the telephone while I was still in Eagle Mountain,” said Michael. “Helen told me about some good library books on butterflies. She said she would send two of them to our school on loan. That was when she told me she would paint me a picture of some butterflies and that I could have it this summer for a birthday present.”

  “Elizabeth wanted me to be sure and tell you ‘hello’ for her as soon as I saw you.”

  Michael was thoughtful for a few moments. “I like her a lot. I think she is the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s the one who told me all about my mom. She even gave me a picture of her. I brought it with me from Eagle Mountain. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, I would, Michael.”

  “It’s right over there in my suitcase, inside the part that has the zipper.”

  Paul moved from the bed to the suitcase alongside the dresser and withdrew an envelope from the zippered compartment. Inside the envelope was a glossy print of Cathy in her late teens. He assumed it was probably a copy of a high school yearbook picture. Even in her younger years Cathy had been stunningly attractive. Paul sat back down on the bed and the two of them examined the picture together.

  “It reminds me of the way she looked when I first met her here in San Diego,” Paul mused, “only she was a little older then. I wish you could have known her.”

  “Sometimes I almost feel like I do know her. Maybe it’s because of all of the things Aunt Elizabeth has told me about her.”

  “Your mother loved you when you were born. I remember her holding you in her arms and singing to you.” Michael listened with great interest to what Paul had to say. “You were the most important thing in her life, even more important than me. And that is the way it should have been. You see, Michael, I wasn’t a very good husband to her back in those days. I loved her, but I made some serious mistakes. I am especially sorry for one mistake I made, and I’ve thought about this ever since that day in Eagle Mountain when I saw you again. I was jealous of her love for you, Michael. I think I was jealous even before you were born. I’m very sorry for that. I wish I had loved you then like I love you now. Do you think you can ever forgive me for being such a poor father?”

  Michael moved from his pillow towards Paul. Instinctively Paul took the boy in his arms and lifted him to where he sat on the edge of the bed. Michael wrapped his arms around Paul’s neck, laying his head on his father’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming to get me that day,” he said.

  Paul wanted to “will” the boy to get well, that he might capture a future life with this precious child. He felt the desperate need to make up for lost years, to somehow make himself worthy of a little boy’s love.

  “It’s nice to hear how much my mother loved me. I think I’ve always known that. Not because of what Aunt Elizabeth told me; I just knew it somehow. Last night I dreamed about her. It was so real, just like I was awake. She stood right in that doorway and told me not to be afraid. She promised me that my pains would soon go away forever. She told me she loved me, and I wanted her to stay with me, but then she had to go. I have been thinking about it all day today. I’m sorry she died when I was so young.”

  “Did Elizabeth ever talk to you about what happens to people when they die?”

  “She told me that it’s not really dying, that it’s just like moving through a door from one room into another. Is that what you believe?”

  “Yes, that’s what I believe, Michael. I believe that those people we refer to as being dead are, in some ways, more alive than we are. And there’s something else I believe. I didn’t always believe it, but I believe it now. I believe that even though people leave their bodies behind when they go into that other world, that a time will come when their bodies will come out of their graves, or wherever they are, even if those bodies are at the bottom of the ocean or have been burned by fire, and they’ll be made whole and beautiful again; they won’t feel pain or sadness nor will they ever be required to die again. That’s what I believe, Michael. I believe that these are gifts that are given to us from Jesus.”

  “That’s what I believe, too,” said Michael.

  The minutes ticked by and neither said anything. Finally it became apparent to Paul that Michael had dropped off to sleep. He carefully laid the boy back on his pillow and pulled the covers over him. Michael’s complexion was rosy again, and he breathed deeply and evenly, evidencing the presence of much needed, trouble-free sleep.

  Claire had watched and listened with utter astonishment as this moment of understanding and healing between Paul and Michael had played itself out. She turned off the small lamp on an end table within arm’s reach of where she had been sitting and followed Paul into the living room. He sat on the sofa, obviously wishing to speak with her. Seating herself nearby she looked into the face of this man whom she had alternately loved and detested, seeking to understand the transformation that had apparently occurred in Ann Arbor.

  “I failed to ask if you had gotten my letter,” said Paul.

  “Yes, I received it. The things you said were surprising to me, but not nearly as surprising as the things you just said to Michael. Help me to understand what all of this means.”

  The suave assertiveness and the air of self-assuredness so typical of Paul was absent as
he spoke. “Claire, I feel as if I were a newborn babe – so much so that I’m not entirely certain of who I am as yet. The last week has been an odyssey for me. I’ve been into the depths of despair and self-loathing, but I have also managed to make peace with myself and with God. I am a fledgling when it comes to talking about God, but I do know whereof I speak. I feel like a blind man who has suddenly gained sight, or perhaps a leper who has somehow been freed of his horrible disease. In all of this, my appreciation of you has grown enormously. I don’t have the capacity to fully tell you how much I admire and love you. I don’t feel justified in having any expectations so far as our relationship is concerned, but I will be grateful to you and I’ll love you as long as I live.”

  “Paul, I really don’t know what to say. This is all so unexpected.”

  Paul then recited the details of all that had happened during the last event-filled week of his life, focusing in considerable detail upon those events leading up to the unexpected morning delivery of a package from Elizabeth. He spoke of his distraught emotional condition that day, as well as the state of physical exhaustion that had brought him to the verge of an emotional collapse. He also spoke of his decision to accept Elizabeth’s invitation and the sense of expectation he had felt as he had made the cross-country flight.

  He rehearsed all the details of his visit in Ann Arbor, the impact of Elizabeth’s words upon him, and the life-altering experience he had had in the seclusion of his room that night. He spoke of the peace he had experienced at Cathy’s gravesite in the Forest Hills Cemetery and the closure that had come to a haunting chapter of his life.