The Forgiven

by Mike Shepherd

  CHAPTER 21

  Because I spent so much of the last year or so transitioning from a city slicker to a country boy I had neglected to work on my book. It had been more than 13 years since I left Vietnam in 1968, so I needed to get to it before I forgot some things.

  With the onset of winter I had ample time to write again, and with the advent of personal computers and printers I was able to do so much more expediently than pecking away on a manual typewriter, using White Out to cover up typos.

  I made steady progress, and by the first of March I reached what I considered to be the last chapter or two. To end the book on a positive note, I wrote that the protagonist, a Vietnam vet who suffered from PTSD, found peace of mind by going back to the land, getting married and raising children. However, before I got that far, it was time for early spring planting, so I put the book on hold again, until I could give it my undivided attention.

  Throughout the winter Cathy and I each kept to ourselves. She was busy making quilts to sell at the coop, and I had been writing, but when spring came we got together to discuss combining operations to double production, hoping it would result in double the profits to be shared equally after we went to market in the fall. To avoid duplication we would select different varieties of produce to grow.

  Even though we agreed to become farming partners, we stayed out of each others’ way until an unforeseen situation arose that would bring us closer together.

  I received a letter from Jerry, my mother’s husband, informing me that she had died of a heart attack. This left him to take care of Christine, of which he didn’t think he was capable at his age. He asked that I take her in, because I was the biological father. Cathy was Christine’s biological mother. Whose responsibility was it then, to take care of Christine now? We weren’t a couple. A difficult question that I posed when I showed the letter to Cathy.

  She proposed that we move in together, and sleep in separate bedrooms while living as a couple otherwise. That way Christine would have both of her parents in the household.

  I pondered her proposition for a moment. “Okay, then, I’m willing to give it a try. Let’s shake on it.”

  “Like in Shakers – no sex involved,” Cathy said. “But hugs are allowed. Christine should see some level of affection between mommy and daddy, don’t you think? I mean, it’s only natural, so give me a hug, Mick.”

  Mother was cremated and Jerry kept her ashes in an urn on the fireplace mantel in his house in Peoria. I cupped the urn in my hands and quietly recited the Lord’s Prayer commemorating the close of the AA meeting she and I had attended regularly. I was especially drawn to a portion of the prayer that urged us to forgive those who had trespassed against us because forgiveness is what lead to the healing of the painful relationship I once had with mother. I kissed the urn and cried a little. But then I cried more when my sisters came through the door. They, too, had come to Peoria to pay their respects. It was the first time I had seen them in person in many years. We hugged and kissed. At last our estrangement was over, and forgiveness again won the day.

  When it came time to take little Christine with me, she resisted and cried, confused about what was happening to her. I tried to explain that she was going to live with me and her new mommy on a farm. She calmed down and began sucking her thumb.

  “Old McDonald farm?” she asked between sucks.

  “Yes. E-i-e-i-o.”

  She giggled.

  Jerry had packed a couple of bags with Christine’s clothes, and he handed her a stuffed animal that she hugged, then held it up to me.

  “Kiss,” she demanded, which I did.

  Jerry picked her up and gave her a tight hug and a kiss, then he sat her down and patted her little behind.

  “Do you have to go potty?”

  She nodded, so he took her by the hand to the bathroom. When they returned we said our goodbyes. There were tears in Jerry’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 22

  It was a long drive from Peoria to Makanda, requiring occasional potty breaks, and a stop at McDonald’s for hamburgers. Jerry had given me a bottle of apple juice for Christine to drink on the way. While riding along she pointed out various farm animals that she knew, “…horsies, moomoos,” and so on, until it got dark, and she fell asleep. Her angelic face glowed in the dashboard lights. I was able to find a St. Louis radio station that played jazz. The smooth-talking DJ reminded me of my radio days. Who could have foreseen that I’d end up being a farmer?

  It was late when we arrived at Cathy’s, but she had waited up. Christine was still asleep, so I carried her into the bedroom that would eventually be mine once the sleeping arrangements were finalized -- after I moved out of my house and into Cathy’s.

  Cathy lay beside Christine so she wouldn’t wake up alone wondering where she was.

  Because I had been drinking coffee, I was wide awake, so I sat at the kitchen table and read a book while waiting for Cathy and Christine to wake up in the morning. At sunrise they came out of the bedroom. Christine was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. When she realized she wasn’t home anymore, she asked, “Where’s mommy?”

  Cathy squatted and took her hands. “She’s gone to heaven, honey, I’m your mommy now. Are you hungry? Would you like some pancakes?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay. Sit next to Mick and I’ll make some. After you eat we’ll go pet the goats.”

  When she finished eating her fill of pancakes, Christine got down from the table.

  “Go pet goats now,” she said, tugging at Cathy’s arm.

  Cathy took her hand and they went down to the barn. I followed. Watching the little girl walk along, I was amazed at how she seemed to be taking everything in stride. I was just as amazed to see how readily Cathy had adapted to being a mother. It seemed to come so naturally. As for me, would I be able to assume the role of a father as quickly?

  It wasn’t long before Christine’s typical two year old temperament emerged as tantrums that I found difficult to cope with. Cathy handled them well by not responding in kind. She accepted it as a personality trait of children of that age.

  “She’ll grow out of it,” Cathy reassured me, noticing that I had become a little frustrated especially as the tantrums became more frequent. Perhaps Christine was having some difficulty adjusting to her new family situation. I was having second thoughts about moving in with the them, but I was the little girls father, so I decided it was the right thing to do. I moved out of my little stone house, and advertised it for rent in the Carbondale paper, thinking it would appeal to some hippie there. I’d continue farming the land as a tenant farmer in reverse.

  As Cathy had anticipated, Christine grew out of the “terrible twos” around the time she turned three, and the dynamics of our relationship changed, almost overnight. She began to call me Daddy, and a special bond developed between us — naturally, as father and daughter. It was I who tucked her in every night after reading her stories and leading her in the bedtime prayer that my grandmother and I used to recite in unison while kneeling beside the bed. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  Cathy had fixed up one of the bedrooms for me, and she converted the little sewing room into a bedroom for Christine, who grew accustomed to sleeping by herself, as did I, having done it for so long. Occasionally the urge to sleep with Cathy came over me. After all, we were living as father and mother, why not husband and wife, even though we weren’t married? Why not, indeed? The reason for sleeping separately derived from Cathy’s fear of becoming pregnant again, so when she mentioned that because she had adapted so well to motherhood, she’d like to have another baby -- but not without being married. Our sleeping arrangement continued status quo.

  One afternoon as Christine napped and Cathy and I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and discussing our farming partnership, she suddenly opene
d up about our relationship.

  “Mick, I must say you’ve shown yourself to be a good father to Christine, and when you moved in you displayed the characteristics I’ve always looked for in a husband.”

  She put her hands on mine and looked deep into my eyes.

  “I’ve grown to love you, Mick. Do you love me?”

  “Yes I do. I have for quite some time.”

  We stood up, embraced and kissed longingly, like a man and a woman who had finally come together after suppressing their desires for a very long time. Then, as if we were dancing, I spun Cathy around toward her bedroom door, but she resisted.

  “I’m an old fashioned girl now, let’s wait until we’re married.”

  “But we’ve already done it, remember? Christine is proof of that.”

  “Well yes, of course, but I was awfully drunk. I want to start over, fresh and sober, when we’re married.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “How about some time in June. That’ll give us a couple of months to plan. I’d like to keep it simple. There’s a lovely little stone chapel about three miles from here that would be ideal for a small wedding. The pastor and his wife shop at Mr. Natural’s. I could talk to him about reserving it, and presiding over ours. What do you think?”

  “Sounds fine to me. I’ll design the invitations on my computer once we’ve set an exact time and date.”

  “I’ll discuss all of that with the pastor. We’ll have the reception here at the house.”

  CHAPTER 23

  June 10 was the day on which Cathy and Pastor Thomas Grey decided for the wedding at “The Stone Chapel on the Hill.” Mrs. Grey played the piano. Pepe Gonzalez was my best man, and a woman named Sally, a friend of Cathy’s from Mr. Natural’s, was her bridesmaid. Sally’s son carried the ring on a decorative cushion, and Christine carried a basket of flowers in the procession.

  Cathy looked lovely from head to toe in a low cut, full length lacy white linen dress with strappy white sandals.

  Sunbeams shining through a stained glass window splashed golden light on Cathy’s smiling face as we recited our vows.

  At the reception at the house, Pepe offered shots of tequila to those who were bold enough to partake. Homemade wine was provided for everyone by a man from Mr. Natural’s, and Cathy provided goat cheese and her signature herbal brownies to go along with the wine as a appetite stimulus. She made it clear, for the benefit of those who didn’t get high, before serving the brownies that they were of the potent variety.

  There was a buffet of roasted free range chicken, stewed rabbit, and fried fish from the pond, with a variety of fresh vegetables.

  After eating, Sally and two other women played music with a fiddle, guitar and tambourine, and they sang as the wine flowed freely, but Cathy and I abstained. As newlyweds we wanted to be sober when it was time to consummate our marriage.

  When everyone had left later that night, and when Christine was fast asleep in her bed, we made sweet love in our bed like we had never done before — as husband and wife.

  Nine months later a boy named Joshua was born.

  THE END