Ribbon of Years Page 8

  "Why aren't I afraid like I used to be?"

  Sarge scratched Miriam's thigh, drawing her attention.

  "It's very strange." She lifted the puppy into her arms, letting him nibble her earlobe and nuzzle her chin.

  She remembered the morning Del had told her he'd met Jesus. His remark had made her uncomfortable, even a little angry. All his life he'd gone to church, the same as Miriam. Yet what he'd seemed to be saying was that he'd found something she hadn't.

  "Has he found something more?" She looked up again. "Is it You?"

  She heard no voice from heaven. She received no miraculous sign from God. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves—and the rattle of Tuttle Ormsby's tri-wheeled mail cart as it rolled toward the Gresham home.

  Miriam's gaze darted toward the front walk.

  When Mr. Ormsby saw her sitting on the grass, he gave her one of his crooked grins and held up an envelope. "Got somethin' for ya, Miriam."

  She put Sarge down and was on her feet in an instant.

  "Looks t'me like it's from Del."

  She ran toward him, her arm outstretched. When she had the envelope in her hand, she hesitated, afraid she would be disappointed, but when she found the courage to look, she recognized Del's bold handwriting.

  Pressing the envelope to her chest, she closed her eyes. "Please be written after the sixth of June."

  "You got a few more things here," Mr. Ormsby said, interrupting her prayerful whisper.

  She looked at him, chagrined. "I'm sorry. Thanks."

  The elderly man chuckled. "Don't stand there apologizing to me, young woman. Go read that letter from your husband."

  She didn't say good-bye. She simply hurried into the house, not stopping until she reached her bedroom. She dropped the rest of the mail onto the bed, then stared once more at the only envelope that mattered to her.

  "Please."

  She slipped her finger beneath the flap and tore it open. Breathing hard, as if she'd just finished a race, she removed, then unfolded the slip of white paper. Words and phrases seemed to jump off the page: June 22 . . . leg wound . . . hospital in England . . . discbarge . . . coming home . . .

  "Mother!" She darted from her room and into her parents' room. "Mother!"

  Eliza, seated in a chair near the window, her basket of mending on the floor nearby, looked up with a startled gaze.

  "It's Del!" Miriam waved the letter. "He's coming home! He's alive and he's coming home."

  "Oh, thank God."

  "He was part of the invasion of France, and he was wounded in the leg." She scanned the letter again. "He doesn't say how badly he's hurt, but he's in a hospital in England. He's going to be discharged soon. He's coming home for good."

  "Thank You, O most merciful God," Eliza said softly.

  "Yes, thank You, God." Miriam clutched the precious letter to her chest, threw back her head, and whirled in a tight circle. "Thank You, thank You, thank You."

  Dizzy, she fell onto the bed, joyful laughter bubbling from deep inside her. She was deliriously happy. She wanted to shout her joy to the world. She wanted to run down the streets of River Bluff, proclaiming the news of Del's return.

  She might have done so if her father hadn't arrived at that precise moment.

  "Frank!" Eliza exclaimed. "Don't tell me it's the lunch hour already."

  Miriam sat up. She opened her mouth to share Del's letter, but the words died in her throat.

  Her father was holding a telegram, and his bereft expression said what he had yet to speak aloud.

  "Frank?"

  He nodded slowly.

  Miriam turned toward her mother. Eliza's right hand was pressed against the base of her throat.

  "Not our boy. Not Arledge."

  Miriam looked at her dad again. "Arledge is dead?" she asked in disbelief.

  Tears streaking his cheeks, he nodded a second time.

  Why, God? If You could keep Del safe, why couldn't You do the same for my brother?

  JULIANNA

  SUMMER 2001

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "HOW AWFUL!" I SAID, MY THROAT TIGHT.

  Jacob released a long sigh while smoothing the service cap over his thigh with one gnarled hand. "Yes, Miriam took it real hard. She felt guilty for quite a spell about Del livin' and Arledge dyin'. As if it was somehow her fault 'cause she didn't worry about her brother more."

  I could understand such feelings.

  "Mrs. Gresham never recovered her full health," Jacob continued. "I suppose it was partly because of losing her son. But her faith saw her through."

  I wondered what would sustain me were I to lose my child. A terrifying thought! I was certain I'd be angry at God rather than comforted by faith in Him.

  Leland had started going to church this past year, but I'd declined his invitations to go with him. Organized religion, as far as I could tell, was stuffy and old-fashioned and seemed pointless. Times changed. The world had grown up. Maybe the Christian church had its place in the past, but it wasn't relevant anymore.

  Sally held out a hand toward Jacob, a silent request for the service cap. He obliged, placing it onto her upturned palm.

  Softly, she said, "Miriam told me years later it was looking for answers about why Arledge died that caused her to finally surrender completely to the Lord. I wish my dad had had the same sort of experience after we lost Douglas. Dad needed God, but instead, he just got bitter."

  "You're Sally Pritchett?" I blurted in surprise, I suppose because in my mind, Sally had remained a child.

  She smiled. "Well, I've been Sally Farnsdale for nearly forty-seven years, but yes, it's me." As she spoke, she set aside the cap, then reached in and withdrew the soda-fountain glass.

  "I remember the day we unpacked these." She had a faraway look in her eyes. "Seems like only yesterday."

  MIRIAM

  AUTUMN 1952

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "IT SMELLS LIKE IT MIGHT SNOW." MIRIAM STARED OUT THE plate-glass window of the M&D Five & Dime. "I'm not ready for winter yet."

  "Me, either," Sally Pritchett replied.

  Miriam turned toward the lunch counter, where Sally was unpacking the soda glasses that had arrived earlier today. "Del might get caught in a storm."

  "You know what, Mrs. Tucker? I hope I find me a husband just like Mr. Tucker and that he'll love me and I'll love him the same way as you two."

  "Why, thank you, Sally." Miriam felt a pleased flush rise in her cheeks.

  "I mean it," the girl continued. "Sometimes you'd think you were newlyweds, the way you are around each other." She laughed. "Not like most old married couples."

  Old married couples? Miriam shook her head.

  She supposed she must seem old to sixteen-year-old Sally. Miriam had turned thirty-one this past summer. Del was forty, his hair beginning to gray at the temples, a look she rather liked on him.

  Sally set two more glasses into the sink. "So how long have you been married?"

  "Eleven years this month." Even as she said it, Miriam could scarcely believe it.

  Eleven wonderful years.

  Eleven almost perfect years.

  Almost.

  The door opened, letting in a draft of crisp November air.

  "Hey, beautiful."

  Oh, how the sound of Del's deep voice sent shivers of pleasure up her spine. She turned around.

  His face was red from the cold, his hair disheveled by the wind. "Bet you were afraid I'd get caught in a storm." He arched an eyebrow. "Weren't you?"

  Sally didn't give Miriam a chance to answer. "She sure was, Mr. Tucker. She hates it when you're gone."

  He grinned, and Miriam wondered how an old married man of forty could still make her go weak in the knees with a smile.

  "I wasn't the least bit worried," she lied, even as she hurried toward him to bury herself in his embrace.

  He brushed his lips across the crown of her head. "I can never get home to you soon enough, sweetheart."

  She tipped her hea
d back, gazing into his eyes.

  With his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers, Del whispered, "'Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.'"

  To which she replied, "'O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth! For your love is better than wine.'"

  He obliged, and she didn't even mind Sally's giggles.

  When at last they parted, Miriam put her right arm around Del's back while taking his cane in her left hand. Together, they made their way toward the rear of the store.

  "How did you find things?" she asked.

  "Discouraging."

  She pressed her head against his shoulder. "So why do you go?"

  "You know why."

  Yes, she knew. For the past six years, on the first and third Tuesdays of every month, Del had been driving to Boise to visit veterans in the hospital and at the old soldiers home. Many of those men had no other visitors, no family or friends. Some would never be released from the hospital. A few had fought in the First World War, many in the second, and now there were more young men, fresh from the fighting fields of Korea.

  Miriam wondered if mankind would ever be at peace with one another. But she knew the answer to that: Not until Christ reigns over all the earth.

  Miriam knew there were times, although Del would have never confessed it to her, that he felt a measure of guilt for surviving the invasion of Normandy. The bullet that shattered his left thigh had left him with a permanent limp and ended not only his stint as a soldier but his career in law enforcement. But deep down, Del still believed he hadn't given enough, not when others had given all.

  Of course, there were other reasons for his visits to those men. Better reasons. He went to share Christ's love. He went because he was called to go.

  "And how was your day?" he asked, interrupting her musings. "Busy?"

  "Not really. Dad came in for lunch, along with Mr. Holbright and Chief Jagger. Plenty of kids were in after school let out. Same group as always. Oh, we got that shipment of new glasses." She motioned with her head toward the counter. "Sally's unpacking them now. The order of dress patterns came in, too, but I'm waiting to sort through them until tomorrow."

  "Tired?"

  "Mmm."

  "Why don't we send Sally home and close early?"

  "Do you think we—"

  "There's nothing for sale in here that won't keep until tomorrow. You said yourself it hasn't been busy." He tightened his arm around her shoulders. "I'll build a fire in the fireplace. We can snuggle up on the couch and listen to music on the radio."

  She smiled. "It sounds delightful. I am rather tired."

  Truth was, she'd been tired a lot lately. Some mornings it was nearly impossible to make herself get out of bed.

  "Are you okay?" Del asked.

  "Yes, honey. I'm fine. Let's close up shop and go home."

  When Sally exited the five-and-dime at a quarter to six, she saw Hadley Abernathy walking toward her on the sidewalk. Her heart skipped a beat or two. When he waved at her, she flushed with pleasure.

  "Hi, Sally. Getting off early?"

  She nodded, hoping against hope it wasn't chance that had brought him there.

  "Mind if I walk you home?"

  She couldn't believe it. Her wish had come true! Hadley, the most popular senior boy at River Bluff High, was going to walk her home from work. Her, Sally Pritchett—a roach by anyone's definition, even her own. The popular crowd never noticed girls like her.

  "Cat got your tongue?"

  She blushed brighter. "No . . . I mean . . . yes. I mean . . . sure you can walk with me if you want." She stopped, shrugged, then attempted an I-couldn't-care-less toss of her head, and added, "It's a free country, isn't it?"

  "Last time I looked." He laughed softly.

  She could just die!

  Sally started walking.

  He joined her.

  Hadley was not only the most popular senior at River Bluff High. He was also the best looking, the tallest, and the smartest. His folks were well-to-do, and he had his own car, a hot rod with flames painted along both sides. He was the star football player and the class president, and he could have any girl in River Bluff. Why he seemed to like her, Sally couldn't figure out, but he was always nice to her.

  She, on the other hand, wasn't popular with the boys. Too thin and too flat-chested, she had mousy brown hair, and a too-long nose with a pointy end, like the witch in The Wizard of Oz. Her eyes were too big for the rest of her face, and her mouth was too wide, reminding her of a rainbow trout. Her folks didn't have much money, which was why she'd taken the after-school job at the M&D. A straight-A student, Sally wanted to go to college after she graduated, and if she was going to do that, she'd have to pay for it herself.

  "You mad at me or something?" Hadley asked, the teasing sound still in his voice. "Slow down. Talk to me."

  She glanced at him. "About what?"

  "I don't know. School. Your job. Your little brother."

  "Why would I want to talk about Roy?"

  Hadley put his hand on her shoulder, bringing her to a halt at the corner of Main and Elm. When her eyes finally met his, he asked, "Want to know why I'm really here?"

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  "I came to ask you to the harvest dance."

  She must have looked plenty stupid, the way she stared at him in surprise. But she couldn't help herself. Nor could she find her voice.

  "Will you?" he asked.

  Sally had this sudden image of Mr. and Mrs. Tucker kissing by the front door of the store. She remembered exactly how Mr. Tucker held his wife, the way her throat was arched, the splay of his fingers on her back.

  What if Hadley kissed me like that?

  "Will you go with me, Sally?"

  She nodded again, still staring at him like the village idiot.

  "Great." He grinned, then jerked his head toward the east end of town. "Come on. Let's get you home before it turns colder."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THREE TIMES A WEEK, FRANK GRESHAM JOINED THE TUCKERS FOR supper at their house. A widower of four years, Frank still hated to eat alone. They enjoyed his company, but Del was glad this wasn't one of those nights. He wanted Miriam to himself.

  He turned the dial on the radio until he found the station, then faced the sofa where Miriam sat, her feet drawn up beside her. She smiled when their gazes met.

  She does look tired.

  Concern niggled at him as he walked across the living room. How long had those shadows been under her eyes? How long had she looked so pale?

  Rosemary Clooney's voice, singing "Our Love Is Here to Stay," drifted from the speaker.

  She's working too hard. That's all we seem to do these days. When was the last time we did something just for fun?

  He settled onto the couch beside his wife, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. She released a sigh of pleasure as she rested her cheek against his chest.

  "I love you, Miriam. Have I told you that lately?"

  "Mmm. Yes, you have. But that's okay. Tell me again."

  He stroked her hair. "I love you."

  The fire on the hearth crackled, competing with Miss Clooney for attention.

  "Jacob was in the store this morning," Miriam said after a brief while.

  Del frowned. "What did he want?" It wasn't that Del didn't like Jacob. He was a good enough fellow, in his own way. But there was something about Jacob's friendship with Miriam that got under his skin.

  "He wants to talk to you about increasing your life insurance." Miriam shifted position, turning to lie across his lap so she could look up into his face. "He says it's important you do it soon. Rates will keep going up now that you're past forty."

  He scowled.

  Miriam laughed.

  "What?" Del said.

  "I just remembered something that happened earlier at the store. Sally referred to us as an old married couple. That old part sort of caught me by surprise."

 
; He cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders. "Well," he said, forcing his voice to quaver, "I am forty now, you know."

  "Kiss me, you old fool."

  "Gladly."

  By the time the kissing was done, Miss Clooney was singing a new melody, "You Make Me Feel So Young." Del raised an eyebrow and looked over at the radio. "How did she know?" They both laughed.

  "Maybe we ought to take a trip," Del suggested as Miriam snuggled close again. "Go to California. Maybe San Diego. Some place warm and sunny. Spend the whole winter there."

  "We couldn't afford it."

  True enough, but he didn't like hearing it. Maybe because he was getting older. Maybe because so many things had turned out differently than he'd planned on the day he married Miriam Gresham.

  He felt a twinge of shame for his ingratitude.

  Sorry, Lord.

  He was richly blessed. He had Miriam for his wife. He had a comfortable home and a business that provided for them both. It might not be the career he'd planned on. He might not be able to run a footrace with this bum leg of his. They might not have the children they'd both wanted. But he'd learned long ago that God's grace was sufficient. He only had to remember some of those vets in Boise to feel a fresh wave of remorse for his unspoken complaints.

  "Del?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I don't need a vacation in sunny California. I only need you."

  Oh yes. Del Tucker was richly blessed indeed.

  "I'm going to Mooney's," Jacob shouted above the squalling of the baby and the squeals of the twins. "I need some peace and quiet so I can finish this paperwork."

  "Fine," Elaine hurled back at him. "Run off like you do every night. We're used to it."

  "It's my job." He slapped his hat onto his head. "This is what I do, Elaine. We've got rent to pay and three kids to feed. Remember?"

  His wife was crying as she picked up Mac, their six-month-old son. "You're not going to Mooney's to work."

  "At least over there a man can hear himself think." He stormed out of the house before he said something he'd regret.

  It was snowing. Tiny, shardlike flakes blowing sideways in a blustery wind. But Jacob didn't bother to get the car. He leaned into the wind and strode into the night, hoping the chill would clear his head.