A Future and a Hope

  Still clutching his hair, Caleb managed a whisper. “Ellie’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “Ellie’s dead,” he repeated flatly.

  His father’s eyes darted to his mother, and then back again. “She’s dead?” He grasped his son’s shoulders. “Caleb, what did he tell you?”

  “Brain trauma. She never woke up.”

  “Son, are you sure?” his mother asked in a quavering voice.

  Caleb stopped rocking and let his hands drop limply onto the sofa. “He said she died. Two weeks ago.” Tears flooded his eyes. “Ellie’s gone. She’s really gone!”

  He turned and looked helplessly at his parents. “What am I going to do?”

  Sobs racked his body. His father and mother wrapped their arms tightly around him. The three of them clung to each other and wept. Wept like they hadn’t wept in nearly eleven years.

  Caleb awoke around nine thirty Monday morning. He’d had another awful nightmare. Still a bit groggy, he glanced around his room. His father was sitting in a chair next to the bed, dozing lightly.

  Caleb stared blankly at him. What was he doing in his room? Shouldn’t he be at the insurance office by now?

  Then it dawned on him. Last night’s phone call from John C. Smith. The awful news.

  His father stirred and awoke with a start. Caleb propped himself up on one elbow.

  “So it’s true, then. About Ellie?” He studied his father’s face for any clue that might indicate he was wrong.

  His father rose wearily from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand gently on his son’s shoulder, the one with the mending collarbone.

  “Caleb, at this point, we need to be prepared for the worst.”

  “What do you mean? Then, it’s not confirmed yet?”

  His father shook his head. “I haven’t been able to verify it officially, no. After you fell asleep last night, I called her father back. I got his voice mail, but I told him to return my call right away, or I’d be driving up to Atlanta this morning to talk to him personally.”

  “Did he call back?” Caleb recalled his similar threat to the man the previous morning.

  “Almost immediately. He told me everything he told you last night.”

  “But he said she died two weeks ago.”

  “I know he did, son. But so far, all we have to go on is his word. The word of a man we don’t know and have never met. The word of a man who—at least in his past—has been unscrupulous and dishonest.”

  “Are you saying he might be lying to us?” Caleb struggled to a sitting position, a spark of hope welling up within him.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Caleb,” his father cautioned. “All I’m saying is we need proof to be sure. Mr. Smith sounded like he was telling the truth. I don’t know why he would lie to us. He kept apologizing over and over for the pain he’s caused by not informing us sooner.”

  “But like you said, Dad, so far all we’ve got is his word.”

  His father hesitated. “Son, he’s going to send me a copy of her obituary and death certificate.”

  Caleb felt like a prize fighter who had just gotten the wind knocked out of him. But he wasn’t about to throw in the towel just yet. He sucked it up and fought back.

  “Couldn’t those be forgeries? After all, this guy was in prison for fraud.”

  His father looked compassionately at him.

  “Caleb, I wish I could give you the answer you want to hear. I thought of that, too. But there’s another piece of evidence. He said he’s ordered a headstone, and as soon as it’s in place, he’ll let us know so we can drive up to Atlanta and visit her gravesite ourselves.” His father aged ten years right before his eyes. “I’m so sorry, son.”

  Caleb’s rising hopes took a roller coaster plunge into despondency. He suddenly felt battered and bruised and bloody. This was the knockout punch he’d feared. The bout was over, and he’d lost. Lost everything.

  He embraced his father tightly. In that moment, grief flooded the room, drowning the two in a sea of sorrow. But even in the depths of his despair, Caleb stubbornly refused to concede the fight.

  I’ll believe it when I see it for myself, he promised himself.

  Two days later his father received an email from John C. Smith. Attached was a copy of a short newspaper obituary dated January 28. It didn’t say much:

  “ELINOR A. THOMPSON

  ATLANTA—Elinor A. “Ellie” Thompson, 22, Baxter, passed away January 25 due to injuries sustained in an automobile accident on December 19 in Columbus.

  Born in Hickory, Virginia, she was a senior art major at the University of Georgia, Athens. Burial arrangements are pending.”

  That was it. There was no picture or additional information. Mr. Smith said he was sending a copy of her death certificate via certified mail since he didn’t want to forward such a personal document over the internet. Again, he apologized for all he’d put the Sawyer family through, and hoped that they could find it in their hearts to forgive him.

  A certified envelope containing the copy of Ellie’s death certificate arrived a few days later. Caleb sat with his father in the home office and studied the document. It appeared to be legitimate. He re-read John Smith’s previous email and stared silently at Ellie’s obituary.

  Finally he spoke. “Dad, do you think you could ask him where Ellie is buried? I’d like to go visit her sometime this week. I need to tell her I love her one more time.” His voice cracked. “And say goodbye to her.”

  His father’s eyes misted over. “Of course, son. We’ll all drive up there and visit her together.”

  They didn’t hear back from John Smith for several days. Caleb’s father sent another email, this time urging him to reply immediately so they could make the trip as soon as possible. He finally responded late the following day.

  With his parents looking over his shoulder, Caleb read the email out loud.

  “I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, but I was hoping to be able to give you the date when the headstone will be installed. Unfortunately, it’s not going to be for a while yet. I know you’re anxious to pay your respects, so I’ve attached a map with all the information you requested. I’ll have a temporary marker set up so you know you’re at the right place. When are you planning to come up here? I’d like to meet you at the cemetery. I feel I need to offer my condolences to you good folks in person.”

  Caleb looked up at his parents. “Do you think it would be alright if I asked B.J. to come with us? We’ve been through everything together.”

  His father glanced at his mother, who nodded her approval. “If that’s what you want, then he’s more than welcome to join us.”

  Friday morning at eight o’clock, the Sawyers and B.J left Baxter for the nearly four hour drive to Atlanta. B.J., always willing to support his best friend in any way possible, took the day off from classes at Baxter Community College to join the family for the trip north. It was a mild, sunny day, but nobody seemed to notice. A heavy black cloud hung over the small group.

  When he’d first discovered that John Smith lived in Atlanta, Caleb had held onto the hope that he’d soon be making this joyous journey to finally be by Ellie’s side.

  Now, here he was, making the journey he’d longed for, but not for the reason or with the joy he’d imagined. Instead this was a somber drive, one of necessity, a trip which none of them wished to make.

  The warm anticipation was but a faded memory now, and the cold, hard truth had set in. Reality cast its awful pall over the five subdued occupants in the car heading toward Interstate 75 North.

  Almost four hours later, Caleb’s father eased the family sedan off the highway and onto the road leading to their destination.

  It was a few minutes before noon when they turned into the main entrance of the cemetery. Driving under the black metal arch bearing the name “Woodlawn” in scrolling iron letters, the car made its way through the maze of curved roads which separated the different burial sections,
each with its own name.

  Over a small rise near the back of the cemetery, they came to a section marked “Pine Hill.” That was where Ellie was buried.

  Caleb’s father pulled to the side of the road and shut off the engine. He took his phone from the pocket of his suit jacket and placed a call to Mr. Smith. He had agreed to be there by eleven thirty to meet them, but he was nowhere in sight. And the call went to voicemail. Caleb’s father left a message informing him of their arrival.

  The quintet of melancholy mourners exited the car and respectfully navigated its way between the rows of markers and headstones toward the plot identified on the map.

  His mother and Cassie, both dressed in black, carried bouquets of flowers. Caleb, wearing his best dark blue suit, clutched a single rose and a note he’d written to Ellie. Small twigs littered the grass, which needed mowing. Foxtails and thistles dotted the lawn, along with a few bare patches of red Georgia clay. Faded plastic flowers, placed next to graves long ago, had not been removed. Here and there a headstone rose angularly from the earth like the Tower of Pisa.

  Straight ahead was an old, knotty pine. A blanket of dry, brown needles and rotting pine cones lay in a circle underneath. To the right of the tree, the ground had been freshly disturbed. The mound had recently been seeded, but the grass was only beginning to sprout from the red earth.

  “This must be the place,” his father said in a subdued voice, as he studied the map. A white plastic cross with a flower-covered wreath had been placed at the head of the grave.

  Caleb, with the rose and note in his hands approached the marker. With his heart pounding rapidly in his chest he read the words on the cross.

  “ELINOR A. THOMPSON”

  There it was. The final piece of evidence he’d so desperately desired to will into non-existence. At last he’d found Ellie. Only to lose her all over again.

  Caleb clenched his fists. His body stiffened. He felt dizzy and nauseous. He couldn’t catch his breath. His head began to spin and he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

  Before anyone could react, his knees buckled and he slumped to the ground. The others rushed to his side. A tiny spot of blood oozed from his hand where a thorn from the broken rose had pierced the flesh. A lone crimson drop splattered on the crumpled note that now lay in the dirt beside him. Agonizing sobs racked his body as he grieved for his lost love.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  STARTING OVER

  ABOUT A WEEK AFTER THE Atlanta trip, Caleb came downstairs and entered the kitchen. His father was seated at the table reading the morning paper. His mother glanced up from where she was loading the dishwasher.

  “Caleb, you’re up!” She looked surprised. “How’s my Cherub? Feeling better?”

  “A little.” He slumped into a chair and spied the dirty dishes still on the table. “Where’s Cassie?”

  His father glanced up at him. “She’s already eaten, Caleb. Her bus came about an hour ago.”

  “An hour ago? What time is it?”

  His father checked his watch. “Five after eight.”

  “Oh.” Caleb sat silently for a moment before turning to his mother.

  “Mom, do you think you could make me some bacon and eggs?”

  “Of course, honey.” She scrambled to fulfill his request. “I’m glad your appetite’s back.”

  His father looked him over. “I see you’re dressed this morning. Are you planning to go out somewhere?”

  “No, I’m just sick of laying around in my pajamas all day.”

  After downing a hearty breakfast, Caleb got up and left the table. In the doorway he turned back to his parents.

  “Maybe I will go out for a while. I could use a change of scenery and some fresh air. I think I’ll go over to Miss Cora’s.”

  He caught the glance his parents gave each other.

  “I thought I’d ask if I could sit on her porch for a while,” he explained. “It might help clear my head so I can figure out what to do next. Maybe I’ll spend some time in the Word. Ellie and I used to read and pray together there.”

  “Why don’t you let your father drop you off on his way to the office,” his mother urged. “You complained yesterday about your leg aching. Driving might aggravate it.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but I think I can handle it.”

  “I can pick you up whenever you’re ready to come back,” she added, refusing to give in.

  “Mom,” he protested, “I’m not a complete invalid, you know.” He managed a faint grin. “At least, not anymore. I’ll take it easy, I promise. I just need to get back to doing things on my own again.”

  His father came to his aid. “He’ll be all right, dear. If he thinks it will do him good, then let him go.”

  His mother relented. “Alright. But, Caleb, if your leg starts hurting again or you need anything, you’ll call me right away, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Mom.” He went upstairs to his room for his wallet and keys. When he returned to the kitchen, his mother still looked uncertain. He smiled and gave her a hug.

  “Thanks for breakfast. It was awesome.” Then he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mom.”

  He grabbed his jacket from the peg next to the back door.

  With a slight limp he left the house and walked to his car, which had been parked next to the garage for the past eight weeks.

  “Caleb! It’s good to see you up and about. Please, do come in, won’t you?” Miss Cora held open the door and he stepped into the foyer of the big old Victorian. “I see you’ve left the crutches at home. How’s that leg doing?”

  “Much better, thank you. It still aches a bit, but the doctor said it’s okay to walk as long as I’m careful and take it easy.”

  “Would you like to sit down?” She motioned toward the living room off to the left.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to sit out on the porch for a while.”

  “Of course. Whatever you like.”

  They stepped back outside and made their way to the end of the veranda porch. The old woman sat down in her rocker, and Caleb sat down on the porch swing.

  She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “How are you holding up, Caleb? I’ve been praying for you and your family since I got the news.”

  Caleb let out a weary sigh. “Well, to be truthful, Miss Cora, not so good. I haven’t done much of anything lately. All I seem to be able to do is lay around all day and sleep. And feel sorry for myself.”

  “That’s quite understandable.” She reached out and patted his knee. “You’re mourning a deep and unexpected loss. But give yourself time. It takes a while to work through the grieving process.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t think I can get through it. Not this time.”

  Miss Cora smiled. “That’s exactly how I felt when Henry passed away. We’d been together so long I could hardly remember life without him. I didn’t think I could go on without him. I also felt that way when we learned we couldn’t have children. That news took the wind right out of my sails for a while.”

  “So, how did you manage to get through those times?” he wondered.

  “Well, about the same way you and your family got through the loss of Calvin. With a lot of prayer, the support of our church family, and a total reliance on God. Don’t forget, He understands our deepest thoughts and feelings. That was a great comfort to me during those times of sorrow. Isaiah describes Jesus as ‘a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.’ While on earth, He was both fully God and fully man, and as such He experienced all the emotions we do. But He not only identifies with our pain and suffering, He carries it for us. Isaiah goes on to say that ‘he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.’”

  “I know that’s all true, but I just can’t accept the fact that Ellie’s gone. I’m not sure I can move on.”

  “Caleb,” she said with a mother’s tenderness, “this is where your faith gets tested. You know in your head that God loves you and knows what you’re going through. But if you believe that wit
h your heart, you’ll cast your burdens on Him. This is much too heavy a load to carry all by yourself.” She looked at the Bible in his hand. “I see you’ve brought your Bible with you. Did you want to spend some time out here alone with God?”

  Caleb marveled at the godly woman’s wisdom and insight. “How did you know?”

  She smiled. “Just a hunch.” Leaning heavily on her cane, she struggled to get out of her chair. He hurried to assist her. “Thank you, Caleb. I’ll leave you alone for a while, then.”

  “Thanks, Miss Cora,” he replied gratefully.

  “You’re welcome. But first, may I bring you some iced tea and cookies?”

  Caleb sat alone on the porch swing, a glass of iced tea in one hand and his Bible and a plate of gingersnaps on the seat beside him. As he sipped the refreshing beverage, he stared at the heart he’d carved on the left arm of the swing three and a half years earlier. C. S. & E. T. 4EVER

  Tracing those immortalized letters with his finger, he felt a stabbing pain in his heart as sharp as the pocket knife that had cut them. A bitter thought slithered its way into his mind. At first, he fought valiantly to suppress it, but in the end it overtook him.

  Forever. Well, that didn’t last very long, did it?

  He remembered his promise to always be there for Ellie. That was supposed to be for a lifetime, not the short span of four years. And even then, he wasn’t with her at the end.

  Anger and resentment followed on the heels of the bitterness that he had allowed to access his mind. Why did Ellie have to die?

  Why did God let him fall in love with her, only to take her away from him? Was this a test of faith, like Miss Cora suggested, or was God punishing him for something?

  What had he done wrong? Nothing, as far as he knew.

  He’d done his best to be faithful to the Lord. Gave up his job for Ellie, helped her find a home, shared God’s love with her until she accepted Him for herself.

  And for what? Only to have her ripped away from him? He didn’t deserve this!