by Irene Brand
I am dying, and I only pray that Josiah will pass this letter on to you; otherwise, you will never know that my love for you never wavered. I pray that God will bless you.
Your grandmother, Rachel Conley
At the bottom of the letter was the name of a bank in Saint Louis and an account number. The trust fund was in the name of Violet Conley, with Rachel Conley as trustee until her death.
“Do you know what the letter says?” Violet asked her grandfather.
“I haven’t stooped to reading other people’s letters,” he said tersely.
Violet handed him the letter, and although his face remained impassive as he read, when he finished, he had to clear his throat several times before he spoke.
“I suspected something of the sort because when we settled her estate, a great deal of money was gone, but it was her money and she had the right to do what she wanted with it.”
Roger and Ruth sat without speaking, but Roger laid his hand on Violet’s shoulder.
“Do you know the size of this trust fund?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Josiah said, “but it won’t be difficult for you to find out by calling the bank and giving that account number. I would judge there could be upward of a quarter of a million dollars.”
Violet gasped. “It seems I’m bound to have money thrust upon me whether I want it or not.” She looked at Roger. “What should I do?”
“Whatever you want, but if you’re thinking this bequest will make any difference in our relationship, it won’t. Since this is a trust fund, I imagine you’ll find out that it’s one that passes from one generation to another, and you will receive the interest rather than the capital itself. Admittedly, even that will make our lives a lot easier, but not a large enough amount to intimidate me.” He looked at Josiah, who nodded.
“I’m sure that is the case—Rachel had a good head on her shoulders, and she had no idea how Violet would turn out. It’s doubtful that she would have handed the money to her carte blanche.”
“It seems I’m destined to have a rich wife, no matter how hard I’ve fought it,” Roger said, and he playfully ruffled Violet’s short hair. “You’ve turned down two fortunes to marry me, but I remember the old cliché, ‘The third time is the charm.’ I believe you’re justified in accepting this one.”
Josiah lifted his shaggy eyebrows. “Two fortunes?”
“Besides what she would have gained as your heir, she could have had Larry Holland for a husband.”
“Oh,” Josiah said, looking at Violet with what she considered added respect.
“Well, I can’t be worried about that now,” Violet said. “I’m getting married in a few hours, and money is my least concern.”
Josiah rose. “Then I’ve discharged my duty, so I’ll leave now.”
Hesitantly, Violet said, “Would you like to stay for the wedding? You are welcome.”
“I had hoped you would ask. I’ll be happy to attend.”
“And I’ll be happy to have you there. Aunt Ruth is the only other relative I have. Six o’clock at First Community Church.”
With tender eyes, Violet watched Josiah walk toward his car. “It seems that I won’t be able to forget the Conleys, after all,” Violet said.
“Who would want to forget a grandmother like her?” Roger responded, as he tapped the letter Violet held. “I believe you inherited more of her characteristics than just the physical features. She must have had a great heart.”
“This recognition erases all of the feelings of rejection I had in my childhood. I was loved more than I knew. And I’ll admit that I am relieved not to have constraint between my grandfather and me. Regardless of what he did to my mother, I’ve forgiven him—it’s unchristian to do otherwise. I hope this works out all right.”
Roger drew her close. “I believe that Josiah is convinced that you will not give in to his demands and that he respects you for it.” He smiled and said teasingly, “I believe you inherited a little of Josiah’s stubbornness, too. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s no need for you to be estranged from him.”
As Violet and Misty waited in the church office for the processional to begin, the soloist’s rendition of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s You’ll Never Walk Alone wafted into the room.
The soloist sung of the dark days that would come into each life, but in spite of storms, rain or dashed dreams, the lyrics gave assurance that one need never walk alone.
Violet knew about storms all right—for the past several months it seemed as if she weathered one storm only to be struck by another one, but even in the midst of her most discouraging moments, she hadn’t given up hope. She had relied often on a passage from the book of Hebrews, “Hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.”
What a sense of security! Hand in hand with Roger, and both of them holding God’s hand, she would never walk alone.
The song ended, and Misty prepared to enter the sanctuary. Violet went to her, straightened the white rose corsage on her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. Tears glistened in Misty’s eyes. “It will be nice to have a mother again. Please make my daddy happy,” she whispered.
“I’ll do my best, Misty,” Violet vowed. “I love him very much.”
When Misty stepped out into the hallway, Violet took one last look in the mirror and adjusted Rachel’s diamond-and-ruby necklace. The long pendant earrings dangled almost to her shoulders. The jewelry set off her gown to perfection, and today she appreciated this link to her paternal heritage—clouded though it was, she could no longer deny her Conley lineage. Besides, she knew Josiah would be pleased if she wore Rachel’s jewels.
Instead of the traditional wedding march, Violet had asked the organist to play the hymn, “Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us,” as she walked down the aisle—alone. She had never been more conscious of her lack of parents than she was now. A woman should have her mother and father on her wedding day. Perhaps if she had known ahead of time that her grandfather would be there, she might have asked him to give her away, but that could have been too memorable of the time when he rejected her when she was a child. Stop it! she mentally chided herself. No morbid thoughts today.
As she walked slowly, the delicate train flowing behind her, Violet looked forward and saw her new family waiting expectantly. Standing proudly by his father, Jason was as handsome as Roger. Misty smiled invitingly, and Violet didn’t feel any older than this girl who would soon be her daughter. When they had posed for a family portrait prior to the ceremony, Roger had joked, “People will accuse me of taking another daughter rather than a wife. But having so many children around should restore my youthful vigor.”
“As if you have ever lost any,” Jason reprimanded his father. “Get serious, Dad.”
The aisle looked long, but she knew that when the recessional was played, the aisle would seem short because Roger would walk by her side—she would never be alone again. Their glances held as she walked the few remaining steps. Roger’s hand was trembling when he reached for hers, and she gave him a tremulous smile.
Pastor Tom’s service was brief, and it seemed a very short time until they were kneeling, hand in hand, listening to the soloist sing “The Lord’s Prayer.”
Beneath the words of the soloist, Roger prayed quietly, “Lord, we love each other, but we love you more. We will need your daily guidance to be loving, considerate spouses and good parents. We praise you for bringing us together.”
Violet echoed his “Amen,” as the soloist finished the song.
The two-hundred-seat sanctuary was filled to capacity, Violet noted as they started down the aisle as man and wife. Janie sat between Clifford and Alta Skeen, all of them smiling, not only for Violet’s gladness, but for their own happiness of becoming a family. Josiah sat on the rear seat, and he nodded approvingly as they passed him.
During the reception when Josiah reached the wedding party, he leaned over to kiss Violet’s cheek. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Today has taken me back fif
ty years,” he said. “You are so much like my Rachel. She was beautiful on our wedding day.” He gently placed a hand on the diamond choker. “Thanks for wearing that. You wouldn’t have known, but Rachel also wore it at our wedding.”
Josiah turned to Roger. “You’ve made a fine choice. She looks like her grandmother, and if she has my Rachel’s spirit, she will make a wonderful wife.”
“I’ll care for her as if she were a rare treasure, and she is one to me,” Roger said as he returned Josiah’s handclasp.
“I have to leave now for I must be back in Kansas City tonight, but you do have my best wishes. I hope you will not cut me off completely, and that I can contact you occasionally.”
Violet looked at Roger, and he responded, “We’re moving into a new home in the Colonial Acres subdivision, and you’ll be welcome to visit us at anytime.”
As they watched Josiah’s departure, Violet whispered, “In case I’ve forgotten to mention it today, I love you very much, Roger.”
“I rather suspected that, but thanks for telling me anyway.”
Once all the guests had passed the receiving line, Violet and Roger went through the ritualistic cutting of the cake, feeding each other a choice bit, and drinking punch arm in arm. When they approached the heavily laden gift table, Ruth intercepted them. She handed Violet an envelope. “Your grandfather left this for you.”
Violet pulled a $5,000 check out of the envelope. She sighed and handed it to Roger. “What are we going to do with him? I’ve made it plain that we don’t want his money.”
“Keep it,” Roger said. “I figure we will make better use of it than he will. I’ll just have to swallow my pride. It isn’t your fault you were born a Conley. We’ve won most of the battles with him, so we’ll have to call a compromise on this one.”
“I’d like to do something special with the money. You mentioned once that you’d like to take a tour of the Holy Land. How far would this go toward a tour like that?”
“Probably far enough that we could swing the rest of it ourselves. I like that idea. Before the summer is out, maybe we can have a honeymoon after all.”
After they opened the rest of their gifts, and while their guests were enjoying cake and punch, Roger winked at Violet, and they dodged out the side door of the reception hall. They had acquainted Aunt Ruth and Roger’s mother with their wish to leave early, asking them to entertain the guests, and the hospitality committee of the church would take care of any necessary housekeeping activities. No one was watching as Roger opened the door of the pickup and helped Violet enter. Just as they pulled away from the curb, Jason and one of his friends came around the side of the church with tin cans and tubes of shaving cream in their hands.
“Hey,” Jason shouted. “That’s not fair.”
Roger tooted the horn, and Violet waved and laughed at them as they sped down the street.
They hadn’t told anyone of their destination, simply that they would be back on the morning of the second day to take his family to the airport—Jason off on his European tour and Misty and her grandmother to Arizona. Roger had taken their clothing to the farm several days ago, so no packing had been necessary.
“Well, Mrs. Gibson,” Roger said, “why are you so quiet? Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“I was thinking of the first day you brought me to the farm, and of all the events that have transpired since then. What a difference a few months have made! Then, I didn’t have a clue that you loved me. I was estranged from all of my family except Aunt Ruth, and I had an unforgiving spirit toward them. Loving you, and having you return my love, is the most wonderful thing that has happened to me. I’ve felt alone all my life, and now I not only have you, but you gave me a family as well.”
“You’ve brought happiness into my life, too, and I’m looking forward to our future together.”
When Roger parked in front of the small farmhouse, he said, “There’s one Scripture that I wish Pastor Tom would have included in the service. Do you remember the words of Ruth in the Old Testament that are often quoted at weddings? Perhaps we could say them together as the epitome of our mutual commitment.” They clasped hands and locked glances as they made the binding promise.
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0350-1
TO LOVE AND HONOR
Copyright © 1999 by Irene Brand
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*The Mellow Years