Therein lay the ultimate hope of redemption.
She moved a few steps to the left, bent down again, and brushed off the dirt from her mother’s stone. Her dad’s wedding plans were moving forward, the June date set. Elaine was wonderful; there was no denying that fact. Ashley agreed with her siblings that the marriage was the best possible option for their father. In some ways their relationship was another example of God’s unfailing love. The same way the picture of Landon with the boys at the base of the old oak tree was.
She stood and pressed her hand to the small of her back. She was definitely showing now, enough that her jeans no longer fit. Today she wore comfortable clothes she could paint in—knit pants and a button-down cotton shirt over a long-sleeved shirt. She gave a last look at the graves and then turned back to the van.
The sunny blue sky was proof that the tornado danger had passed. She slipped on her sunglasses as she pulled out of the cemetery parking lot. All the while she was consumed by the Scripture, by the truth and certainty of God’s redemption. If a theme had run through her life, that would be it. Not just for her but for the whole Baxter family.
Ashley was halfway to her dad’s house when another idea hit her. She took the next right and worked her way through a residential neighborhood until she arrived at the Sunset Hills Adult Care Home. How much time had passed since she’d been here, since she’d checked in on her old friends, if any of them were even still alive? She’d been busy with Devin and then dealing with the impending loss of Sarah, and life had gotten too busy for the sweet people at Sunset Hills.
She parked, and halfway up the walk, she noticed the window Irvel used to look out when she was watching for her forever love, Hank. Irvel had found redemption, no question about it. She had loved God and Hank until her dying day, and now . . . now the two of them were probably sitting on the bank of some heavenly river, basking in the glow of God’s love and light.
Ashley’s heart soared at the possibility. She reached the door and knocked quietly since it wasn’t quite lunchtime and the residents would probably be napping.
The door opened, and a pretty African-American woman smiled at her. “Can I help you?”
She doesn’t know me, Ashley thought. She returned the smile. “I’m Ashley Baxter Blake. I used to work here.”
Immediately recognition flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Oh yes, I know who you are. I’m Myrna.” She held open the door and gestured for Ashley to come in. “Everyone’s asleep.”
“I figured.” When Ashley was inside, she shook the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I was driving past and I had to stop. Just to check on the old place.”
“Things are good.” Myrna’s expression held admiration. “The Past-Present theory is still being used. The results always impress the doctors.”
The news brought a lump to Ashley’s throat. How wonderful that the owners of Sunset Hills were intent on continuing the work Ashley had researched and started here, the idea that a person with Alzheimer’s responded best if allowed to live in the place of their past where they were most comfortable. Dear Irvel, whose husband, Hank, had been dead for years, had been happiest believing that Hank was merely out fishing with the boys.
Myrna pointed across the room, where two people were asleep in the reclining chairs. “There’s Bert. Remember him?”
“Of course!” Ashley kept her voice low. She took a few steps toward the sleeping patients. “What’s he doing out here? He . . . he never left his room except at the very end before I left and then only for meals.”
Myrna allowed a quiet laugh. “He’s Mr. Social now. Comes out at breakfast full of stories about his horses, and then he and Helen watch The Price Is Right.”
Ashley was overcome with joy. The legacy of what God had given her to do here lived on in the lives of people who otherwise might be anxious and distraught. She glanced toward the hallway. “Can I have a look at the rooms?”
“Sure.” Myrna waved her off. “I’ll be in the kitchen. I’ve got some baking to do.”
Ashley looked back at Bert and Helen. God’s faithfulness was evident here too. No wonder she’d felt the need to stop by this afternoon. She tiptoed out of the room and quietly walked down the hallway. The room where Irvel had slept held a new patient, of course. Someone Ashley hadn’t seen before.
Beyond it was Bert’s room. Ashley stopped in the doorway and there it was, the old saddle Ashley had bought him. It was still standing at the foot of his bed, and on top of it was a worn polishing rag. Clearly Bert was still shining his saddle, continuing to find purpose in doing the one thing that had defined him as a younger man. Ashley smiled even as tears blurred her vision. She blinked them back and peered into Helen’s room. The framed photo of her daughter, Sue, as a teenager still stood on the nightstand near her bed.
Ashley felt her heart brimming with joy. God had mended her heart in her time here at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home, and He’d done something else. He’d taught her how to love again. The fact that her touch on the place remained was yet another gift from God.
She headed to the kitchen, and there in the dining room was the painting she’d done of Irvel, the one of the old woman sipping peppermint tea at this very table.
Ashley thanked Myrna and promised to stop back in sometime with her family. Then she left and this time drove without stopping. Along the way she passed a car being driven by Bailey Flanigan, and as the two waved at each other, Ashley noticed that Tim Reed was in her passenger seat.
Happiness hit her as she turned the opposite direction toward her father’s house. Joseph had been cast and was well into production. Katy and Dayne had never looked happier. Bailey was the lead narrator for the musical, and her brother Connor was Joseph. The Flanigan kids’ experience with CKT shone in every rehearsal so far. Already the creative team could tell the show was going to be something special. And not just the show but the friendships that were coming from it.
Tim was helping with the choreography, and though he was careful to keep his distance from Bailey during rehearsals, where he was in a leadership role, Ashley had a sense that the two were seeing each other away from CKT. Ashley smiled to herself. Tim was good for Bailey, the way Landon had been good for her. But Bailey was smarter than Ashley had been at that age. She would recognize the benefits of a guy like Tim and in the process spare herself the heartache Ashley had lived through.
She turned onto her dad’s street, and as she pulled into the driveway she stopped, studying the old place. The Baxter house. From this vantage point, she wanted to savor the slant of the roof and the expanse of the covered porch, the windows and the way she knew exactly what lay on the other side of each of them. But only one thing captured and held her attention—the bold For Sale sign. Ashley felt her chest tighten. Her father had told them he was getting interest from people. One couple was close to making an offer.
Maybe this was the reason she was feeling so emotional, so caught between yesterday’s redemption and tomorrow’s uncertainty. When the house was gone, nothing would be the same. Without the expanse of grassy field and the stream out back, without the familiar walls and windows, memories of every chapter of life would fade. Ashley willed herself to look past the For Sale sign to the stand of maple trees along the front side of the driveway, trees that had seen the Baxter kids go from making free throws to making families of their own.
Slowly she removed her foot from the gas pedal and eased up the driveway to her familiar parking spot. Once inside the house, she heard her father tinkering in the kitchen. She set her purse down. “Hi . . . it’s me.”
“Ash! Hi.” Her dad’s voice held a warmth that was his alone. “Did you come to paint?”
“I did.” She walked into the kitchen. Her dad was tightening a screw on the hinge of the refrigerator door. “Must be home project Saturday again.” A light bit of laughter tickled her throat. “Landon and the boys are making repairs on the tree house.”
“The door kept popping open on its own.” He
had a screwdriver in his back pants pocket. “I’ve just about got it figured out.” He glanced out the window to the backyard. “Next it’s the garden. The weeds are coming to life a lot faster than the zucchini.”
Ashley watched him. He could easily be mistaken for a decade younger than his actual age, in his sixties. She leaned against the corner of the wall. “Tell me about the house.”
Her dad looked up, and in his eyes the answer was painfully clear. “The couple was back for a third time this morning. They’re talking to their lender on Monday.”
Ashley’s knees trembled at the news. In that case, an offer could be in her father’s hands by Monday. The sale was getting close.
Her dad must’ve known the information was hard for her because he held out his arms. “Come here.”
She went to him, the way she had done so many times before. In his embrace she would always be that little girl who couldn’t get enough time playing outside with Luke and that teenage girl no one ever seemed to understand. No one but her daddy. And she would always be the grown woman who had made peace with her past and with her mother, weeping at the graveside service after her mom’s death. Safe and secure and convinced that the world would go on—that’s how she felt then and now.
“I know. . . . We’ll get through it.” She eased back and her eyes met his. “But this house belongs with us. I just wish there was some way . . .”
“Me too, honey.” He kissed her forehead. “Me too.” He moved back to the fridge and returned to work on the hinge.
Ashley poured herself a drink of water and headed toward the stairs. “I’ll find you outside when I’m finished.”
“Okay.” He looked up again, and there was fresh concern in his eyes. “How are you really? You look tired.”
“I’m okay.” She lifted the corners of her lips. Her father had enough on his mind without worrying about her. “Praying for the baby, and I don’t know . . . sort of nostalgic, I guess. Probably just the house.” She felt her smile become more sincere. “I’ll be fine.”
She took the stairs slowly, aware that her father was right. She was more tired than usual; with her previous pregnancies by now she was usually feeling lots of energy. It’s not a sign, she told herself. Everything is fine. It has to be. As she walked into her old bedroom, the sense of sadness lifted. Her easel was up and on it, a new canvas, clean and vast and screaming with possibility.
The air was stuffy, so she crossed to the window, unlatched the lock, and slid it open. A sweet-smelling breeze filled the room, and Ashley felt herself relax. Yes, everything was going to be fine. She sat on the stool in front of the canvas. A part of her wanted to take her paints and easel out front and capture the house one last time before it belonged to someone else.
But that wasn’t the image in her mind, the one she’d talked to Landon about earlier. She took one of the sharp pencils from a jar on the table beside her easel and touched it to the canvas. She moved her pencil in smooth, fast strokes, allowing the image to come to life in a preliminary form. This was sometimes the most difficult part of creating a painting, making sure the rough sketch matched the picture in her head.
Minutes became half an hour, and finally Ashley set the pencil down, stood, and stepped back. What she saw filled her heart with joy, because this was one of those rare times when the markings on the canvas were exactly what she’d been seeing in her mind. Two women—one older, one younger—walking together at sunset on a path near a stream. And in the arms of the older woman a newborn baby, bundled in blankets. The faces of both women turned down, marveling at the child in the midst of a setting that showed God’s creation bursting with life all around them.
Sometimes the image in Ashley’s head was one only God could’ve given her, and that was the case with this painting. Ashley arranged her paints and imagined the mix of colors, the vibrant streaks of yellow and green and blue in the stream and the pinks and oranges in the sunset overhead. The painting would have the only title that could possibly have fit, the title that summed up the Baxters like no other word ever could.
Redemption.
John settled into the booth and glanced at the front door just as Elaine walked in. Another thunderstorm was sweeping through Bloomington, and Elaine closed her umbrella before scanning the restaurant and spotting him. A smile spread across her face.
They’d been having lunch every Friday afternoon for the past few weeks, using the time to talk about the coming wedding. They both looked forward to the time as a special break from the week, a chance to let their excitement build about a future that included creating a home together.
John watched her walk to the table, and he stood, kissing her lightly on the lips and taking her raincoat. “Pretty stormy out there.”
“The radio said there’s a tornado warning a few counties over.” She was breathless as she sat down across from him.
It was always this way at springtime, and John didn’t mind. Back when he and Elizabeth were raising their children, they would sometimes pile into the car and drive to the lake, where they could get a better view of the thunderstorms that rolled across this part of the country each spring. He kept that detail to himself. “So, how are you?”
“Good. I had a nice visit with my kids.” Elaine wore a pretty lavender blouse, and her eyes shone. She was retired, so every few weeks she took a few days and visited her children and grandchildren. “The kids are growing up so fast.”
“They do that.” John had spent time with Elaine’s kids and grandkids over dinners at her house, and he was grateful for their overwhelming acceptance of his pending marriage to Elaine. Though her daughter lived in northern Michigan and her son in Indianapolis, John could picture times when all of their combined children and grandchildren might get together for a picnic or a dinner. “I told you about the house, right?”
“The couple backed out. That’s the last you told me.”
“They couldn’t swing the loan.” At the time, John had been relieved. He needed to sell the house, but another few weeks without a sale was okay with him. “There’s a new couple now. They’re older, looking for a place where their grandkids can visit.”
Elaine rested her forearms on the edge of the table and searched his eyes. “Is that hard?”
He smiled at her, feeling the ache that would always be there at the thought of letting go of his house. “I won’t lie to you. It’s hard. Someone else sitting on the front porch. Someone else’s little grandson hunting frogs near the pond . . . It’s definitely hard.”
The waitress approached them and dropped off two ice waters and a promise to return shortly.
When she was gone, Elaine’s expression became more intent. “I’m not asking you to sell the house. You know that.”
“Of course.” John let the hurt from earlier pass. After all, Elaine had just sold her house a week ago. He took a drink of water and kept his eyes on her. “I couldn’t do that to either of us, have us start out a life together surrounded by memories of my past.”
“It would take a while, but we’d get used to it.” Elaine reached for his hands. “We’d make new memories.”
For a moment, John actually considered the possibility. After all, Elaine had loved Elizabeth too. Their new marriage might not be hurt by the history in the old house, the fact that those were the rooms where John and Elizabeth had raised their children and welcomed grandchildren.
But just as quickly the idea fell flat. He could see himself having coffee with Elaine at the kitchen table in the Baxter house. But loving her? Being a husband to her? No, he could never make a new life with Elaine in the place where he had loved Elizabeth. The idea was crazy.
He gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hands. “You don’t know how much that means to me, that you’d consider living there.”
“I’m serious. No matter what you’ve told yourself or anyone else . . . that house is a lot more than walls and windows.” She released his hands and took hold of the menu. Her smile was sincere. “My
house had only belonged to me since I became a widow. It doesn’t hold nearly the importance as yours. I saw that from the beginning.”
“We need a new place.” John was finished considering the idea. “But thank you.” He picked up his menu, and after they had both ordered, he pulled a checklist from his coat pocket. “I made a few phone calls this week. The church is open for June 21, like we hoped.”
Elaine looked relieved. “I’m so glad. We couldn’t miss the big Fourth of July picnic at the lake.”
Originally they’d chosen the following Saturday for their wedding, but with a weeklong honeymoon, they wouldn’t be back in Bloomington until after the Fourth. Even though Erin and Sam’s move back to the area had been postponed to the end of June, it still meant the entire Baxter family would be together for the big Fourth of July picnic at Lake Monroe for the first time in years. When they realized that, they switched the wedding to the twenty-first, and now he had the church confirmed for the date.
“Pastor Mark?”
“He’s available.” John put a check mark next to the pastor’s name on the list of items he’d taken care of that week. Mark Atteberry had been there through so many family events, including the celebration of Elizabeth’s life and her homegoing to heaven. Now he had agreed to officiate the wedding between John and Elaine.
“The reception? Did you talk to Katy and Dayne?” Elaine’s body language told him she was relaxed and comfortable talking about the wedding plans. They weren’t a first-time couple worrying about every detail. The ceremony and the reception would be simple. The conversation between them felt more like two people talking about a dinner party than a wedding.
“To quote Dayne, they’d be honored if we’d have it at their house. Katy said she’d have a casual dinner, and we shouldn’t give it another thought.” He felt the familiar gratitude in the fact that he had not only connected with his firstborn son but they were now neighbors and friends as well.
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