To Love and Honor

by Irene Brand

  “Did she ever talk to you when I wasn’t here? About the important things, I mean.”

  “Not often. She did thank me one day for taking such good care of you. She was proud of the woman you had become, but I assured her that I hadn’t had much to do with it. You came from good stock on the maternal side, and the Conleys weren’t all bad—your father just happened to be the rotten egg.”

  “When I was in Springfield last week, I met a Mike Conley. He was an obnoxious sort, and I figured that all Conleys were like that. He seemed rather interested in my background—could he have been a relative?”

  “Possibly, for your father came from Kansas City, but I never knew any of them. But back to Linda. She wrote a letter to you one day and put it in that metal box of hers. You weren’t to see it until after her death. Do you want to read it now?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Violet felt as if she’d had about all she could take, but she wondered if the contents of the letter might help her bring closure to this traumatic situation.

  Ruth went into the bedroom and brought out the box and placed it on the dining table. She handed Violet the key that Linda had worn on the chain around her neck.

  “I’m afraid to open it,” Violet said, “but more afraid not to.” She inserted the key and lifted the lid. On top of several other papers in the box was an envelope addressed, “Violet.”

  “‘Daughter,’” Violet read aloud.

  “I know that you have been troubled because I wouldn’t speak to you about matters that were of utmost importance to you. But I could not. Years ago, I put a lock on the past and forgave your father and his family for what they did to me. I want to die in peace, and I feared I could not if I resurrected memories that would not help, but might plunge me into the hatred I once knew. I cannot go to meet my Maker with unforgiveness in my heart.

  “You will need to contact William O’Brien, an attorney in Kansas City, Kansas, for he is the executor of my estate. He was my friend and lawyer during the trial, and he will answer any questions you have about the past. Let me warn that you will be better off not to know, but if you can’t bury the past otherwise, William will tell you.

  “On my dying bed, I ask that you forgive me, as well as your father’s family, for stunting your childhood. Forget the past, and live for the future.

  Your mother, Linda Conley.”

  When she finished reading, Violet looked up wonderingly at Ruth.

  “The executor of her estate! What did she have?”

  “Nothing to my knowledge. She had some inheritance from our father, but she spent all of that on the trial.”

  Ruth hovered over Violet as she lifted documents from the box. First, they found Linda’s Last Will and Testament bequeathing her estate to Violet. With shaking hands, Violet pulled out another envelope, containing a contract between a leading publisher and Richard Cameron, a pseudonym for Violet Conley, for publishing rights to the book What’s Your Prison?

  “That’s the book Pastor Tom has been quoting. Do you suppose Linda wrote that book?” Ruth asked. “She was always writing verses and stories when she was a child.”

  Violet rushed into the living room and brought back the book the pastor had loaned her, but which she had never had time to read. She opened the book, and on the first page read a dedication, “To my daughter.”

  She handed the book to Ruth and sorted through the other items in the box. There was a check stub for $100,000—an advance toward royalties on the book. A bank account opened in Linda’s name showed that she had received a total of $150,000 thus far for the book.

  “And she died without benefitting from her labor,” Violet said.

  “Oh, she benefitted from it,” Ruth said. “She died comfortably knowing that this inheritance would make up to you for what you had lost when she killed your father. The Conleys are wealthy people, and as your father’s heir you would have gotten quite a sum. Linda did exactly what she wanted to with the proceeds from that book.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve been ashamed of my mother all of my life, and now I have something to feel proud about. She made a difference in the world—no doubt this book has been a help to countless people.”

  As Violet stared down at the book she knew the money made no difference to her. It was her mother’s achievement that mattered.

  “Linda was always a secretive person. Even as a child, she kept most of her thoughts to herself, but she should have told us so that we could have rejoiced with her.”

  “And I’ve been worrying about how to pay her funeral expenses. I wish she had told me.”

  Violet sat up the rest of the night reading the book, and she felt as if each page were a personal message from her mother. With God’s help, Linda had come to terms with her restricted life, had made a contribution to uplift others through her book, and she had died in peace without any bitterness in her soul. Violet’s own faith was strengthened as she read the closing pages of the small book.

  Christ can set the prisoner free. When He launched his ministry in His hometown of Nazareth, Jesus used the words of the Prophet Isaiah to announce the goal of His Kingdom: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners.” The lot of prisoners in Jesus’s day was even more severe than for those in our century, and while He had compassion for those unfortunate enough to run afoul of Roman law, we have no evidence that Jesus ever scaled literal prison walls to free such captives. No, He freed those who were in bondage to sin, ill health, selfishness, loneliness.

  Those of us who have broken the laws of man and God must pay the penalty. However, those who have broken God’s laws have a powerful advocate in the Lord Jesus. He came to free spiritual prisoners! “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” Humans who have been freed from spiritual bondage have inherited the power to surmount all prison walls. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”

  The ringing telephone awakened Violet the next morning, and groping sleepily from beneath the covers, she found the receiver and muttered, “Hello.”

  “Did I awaken you?” Roger said guiltily. “It’s almost nine o’clock. I supposed you were awake by now.”

  Violet sat up in bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. “I normally would have been, but I didn’t sleep well.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t telephone last night, but it was too late when I went off duty. I have a few hours this afternoon, if you want Jason and me to help with rearranging the furniture.”

  “That will be helpful. I intend to call the hospital supply company today and have them pick up their equipment. And after you finish that, would you have time to go with me to talk with Pastor Tom?”

  “Are you forcing me into marriage already?” he replied in a teasing tone.

  “Then that will teach you to be careful of what you say,” Violet said, leaving him in suspense.

  A telephone call to William O’Brien’s office later on in the morning confirmed the validity of the papers they had found among Linda’s possessions. She had written the book over a long period of time, and upon William’s insistence had submitted it to a publisher two years ago. She had banked all of her money, and the royalties were credited to her account twice each year. As far as O’Brien knew, Linda had never written anything else.

  He assured Violet that settling the estate would be a simple matter and could be handled over the telephone and by mail, saving Violet a journey to Kansas City. Violet didn’t question the lawyer about the trial that sent her mother to prison. Perhaps one day she would.

  Violet made an appointment with Pastor Tom, and he was waiting for them when Roger and Violet arrived at four o’clock. She carried the documents they had found in her mother’s possessions that pertained to What’s Your Prison? and the copy he had loaned her.

 
; She couldn’t conceal the elation in her voice, when she said, “Pastor, did you know that the author of this book you have been quoting for the past several weeks wrote under a pseudonym?”

  “No, I had never heard of Richard Cameron until I found this book on the bestsellers shelf at the local bookstore.”

  “One of the few things my mother brought with her from prison was a small metal box. I found these papers in that box last night.”

  She handed Roger the letter her mother had left for her and extended the contract for What’s Your Prison? to Pastor Tom. “After you’ve read them, switch papers. I wanted to share this good news with my two best friends at the same time.”

  Roger read the letter and looked at Violet with glistening eyes. When he saw the contents of the contract, he knelt by her chair, lifted her hand and kissed it. “How wonderful for you, my dear! This has brought a happy ending to a situation that has caused you a lot of grief. You see, God is still faithful. He has vindicated the sacrifice you made to care for your mother, and has proven her selfless love for you.”

  “Yes, I have such a sense of relief. I have a mother that I can be proud of—one who triumphed over tremendous odds and in doing so, brought help to other troubled souls. It’s a satisfying end to a much-troubled life.”

  “But I believe Linda had found her peace,” Pastor Tom said. “It’s obvious from the words of this letter. And I’ve read the book several times—writing that book served as a catharsis for her wounded spirit.”

  “I spoke with her attorney this morning, and he said that she had been writing the book over a period of several years, and only at his insistence did she submit it for publication.”

  “With your permission, Violet,” Pastor Tom said, “I would like to contact the local paper and ask them to insert a feature about this book. I am aware that many people in town have shunned you after they found out that your mother was a convict. It might change their views if they learn that Linda was the author of this acclaimed book.”

  “It doesn’t matter about me. At first I was very distressed to be mistreated by my peers, but I’ve gotten over it. I would like to honor my mother’s name, however.” Knowing that any decision she made from now would involve Roger, she said to him, “What do you think about the pastor’s suggestion?”

  He was sitting on the floor at her feet, still holding her hand, and Violet wondered if the pastor had noted the change in their relationship. “Why don’t you think about it for a while? She’s waited two years for recognition—why not a few more days? Also, you should consider how Linda would feel about the publicity. She was a very private person.”

  “Yes, I realize that publishing this information would be for me. She’s in a place where nothing will ever distress her again.”

  When Roger stopped the truck in front of her home, he said, “When can I see you? We need to talk.”

  “Tomorrow night? I go back to school on Monday, and I’ll be working late each night trying to make up for the week I’ve been gone.”

  “I’m on night patrol next week, too. Tomorrow will be fine. Any choice of where we’ll go?”

  Violet gazed steadily into his eyes, hoping to convey her deep love for him. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are. I love you.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “The next time you say that, don’t do it on Main Street in broad daylight.”

  “I would prefer more privacy myself.”

  “How about going to the farm for steaks? I have a gas grill on the back porch.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll bring dessert.”

  All the next day, Violet thought about the coming evening with Roger, considering the pending change in their relationship. She would miss his friendship, but she trembled at the hint of how much more she would be gaining.

  It was a beautiful evening to be out in the country and Violet felt the relaxing effects of the setting and Roger’s company. They had ignored any serious talk while they prepared the meal, ate it and tidied up the kitchen. They pushed the two lounge chairs close to the fire, which burned slowly, hot coals glowing beneath the split oak logs Roger had placed on the fire. Violet sat in one of the chairs, with Roger on the floor beside her, his shoes off, long legs stretched out toward the warmth of the fire, an arm resting on her knees. Violet ran her hands caressingly through his short hair, and once she leaned forward and kissed the gray streaks showing vividly over his ears. For a long time, they were content to be together, touching; speech wasn’t necessary. Was this serenity and trust a preview of what their future might become?

  Eventually, Roger gently pulled Violet beside him on the braided rug, and they sat with their backs against the chair, his arm around her, and her head on his shoulder. Strange, how well her head fit into the curve of his neck! A light still burned in the kitchen, but where they sat, only the glowing coals provided any illumination.

  “Yesterday,” Roger said softly, “you told me something—I would like to hear it again.”

  “I love you, Roger.”

  “Yeah, I thought that’s what you said.” He turned toward her, putting both arms around her, nestling her close. It didn’t seem at all strange for Violet to feel safe with him. She knew that no matter how much he desired her, Roger would never step across the line of moral decency—so when he kissed her she responded with an achingly sweet tenderness that matched his own.

  “Obviously, we’re in love,” Roger said, and his voice trembled slightly, “so what are we going to do about it?”

  “Yes, I love you,” she said breathlessly. “I suppose I always have, and while this new emotion is the most exciting thing I’ve ever known, I’m still going to miss being friends.”

  “My love will mean a lot more than mere friendship, but no man should marry a woman who isn’t his friend. We’ll always be friends—romantic love often wanes as couples grow older, friendship never does. And I guess I’m assuming that you will marry me.”

  With a grin, Violet said, “I might, if I were asked.”

  “I can’t very well get down on my knees. I’m already sitting on the floor. But I do want to marry you, Violet. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

  “And I’ve only been thinking about it for a week, but it seems so right, Roger, that I don’t really have to deliberate. I want to marry you, yet it isn’t so simple. I’m alone, so that doesn’t pose a problem.”

  With a sigh, he said, “And I have two children to complicate our decision. How can I correlate my love and responsibility for them with my love for you? I’ve always thought that I wouldn’t take a stepmother in while my children were still at home.”

  “That might be a long time to wait.”

  “I know, and I don’t want to wait much longer. Jason is planning to backpack over Europe this summer, and when he returns, he will probably be going to the university. He won’t be home much anymore, but Misty is only sixteen. She won’t go to college for two years.”

  “And while I don’t feel any hesitancy about the difference in our ages…”

  “Fourteen years,” Roger groaned. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.”

  “It does bother me,” Violet continued, “that I’m not much older than your children.”

  “The age difference bothers me, too, especially when I think about having more children. You should have the privilege of having a child of your own, and I want to father your child, but I do have some reservations. At an age when I might become a grandfather, I’ll be changing diapers again.”

  “I’ve had good rapport with Jason and Misty in the classroom, but from teacher to stepmother is a vast step. I wonder what they will think about it?”

  “There’s only one way to know—ask them. With your permission, I intend to do that. If they aren’t receptive to the idea, that doesn’t mean I won’t marry you, but it will complicate the situation. They’re at home tonight—if you’re willing, let’s go and talk to them.”

  “So soon,” Violet
gasped. “I’ll be nervous.”

  “Not as nervous as you’ll be if you have several days to think about it.”

  Violet agreed hesitantly, and Roger said, “Now, what was that you told me earlier tonight? I may have forgotten.”

  She kissed her fingers and brushed them slowly across his lips. “I love you. How often do you have to hear it?”

  “Oh, eventually, two or three times a day will suffice.” He kissed her again, and she left his arms reluctantly. She wasn’t looking forward to an interview with his children. It was much more pleasant to stay safely in his arms.

  Chapter Six

  Roger had built the ranch-style brick home soon after he had married. A two-car garage was attached to the house, and a row of evergreen hedges bordered the front of the building. Violet had never been to Roger’s house, and her heart pounded unmercifully as they walked up the front steps; she was sustained only by Roger’s strong grip on her hand. But she could sense his nervous tension as her side brushed against his—his body was as rigid as a stretched bow ready to release an arrow.

  “Lord, help us,” Roger prayed as he opened the door and led her into the hallway. They advanced a few feet into the living room where Jason and Misty were watching television. Jason was sprawled on the couch, Misty curled up in an upholstered chair. On the table between them was a big bowl of popcorn and a bottle of cola. The abrupt entrance of their father and Violet must have startled Misty and Jason for they looked inquiringly at the adults. When a few minutes passed and no one said anything, Jason muted the sound of the football game.

  “Is something wrong?” Jason finally asked.

  Roger cleared his throat, and struggling to speak, finally blurted out, “We want to get married.”

  Jason emitted a low, throaty laugh that sounded like his father’s. “Well, get married. Who’s to stop you? You’re both old enough. Am I to understand you’re asking our permission?”

  Having gained some control, Roger tugged on Violet’s hand and led her to another couch opposite the one where Jason lounged.