The Gathering Place

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Don’t we have any paint? We must have some white paint,” Grace said. She didn’t want him walking anywhere alone. She couldn’t leave the shop right now to go with him, either. She would miss all her business this morning, and she’d missed too much lately already. Her account books were beginning to show the strain.

  “Now what’s the problem with me walking down to the hardware store for a can of paint?” Digger picked up his wool cap from behind the counter and pulled it on. “The way you fret lately. I know you mean the best for me, Grace. But it’s getting on my last nerve.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just that I worry—” Grace stopped herself. He didn’t even realize how forgetful he’d been lately. And he had no idea of how his periods of disorientation frightened her. Just this morning she had to remind him that it was December and Christmas was coming. She had hoped the medication the doctors gave him would prevent lapses like that. But so far, it hadn’t made much difference.

  Before she could say anything more, Daisy trotted down the stairs and ran over to Digger, her tail beating the air.

  “Oh, you see I got my hat on, do you, Miss?” Digger said to the dog. “Well, where’s your leash? I’ll take you.”

  The dog raced to the door and grabbed her leash from the doorknob, then brought it to Digger in her mouth. Digger laughed and snapped it on her collar.

  Grace didn’t know what to do. She felt a strange foreboding about letting them go. It was just this way on Thanksgiving Day.

  She sighed. This was one morning when she really had to be in the shop. She had a delivery coming in, to say nothing of the Christmas shoppers. And how could she stop him? She couldn’t keep him a prisoner in his own house.

  “Got your gloves?” she said, walking with him to the door.

  “I’ve got ’em,” Digger replied, producing a pair from his pocket and waving them at her.

  “Now just to the hardware store and right back. No lollygagging,” she instructed. “I’ll have your lunch ready upstairs when you get back.”

  “Yes, Grace. I’ll be right back,” Digger promised. “I’m just going to get some paint. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a new paintbrush, too. No need to make a federal case of it.”

  Grace watched them go from the front door of the shop until they disappeared down Main Street. Finally she had to shut the door from the cold.

  She checked her watch. Half past eleven. She’d give him half an hour. She wasn’t sure why she had agreed to it this time. Maybe he’d just worn her out finally.

  It had been a daily struggle ever since he had come home from the hospital. So far, she hadn’t let him go anywhere on his own. For the most part she went with him when he insisted on leaving the house. Luckily, though, a few others had stepped up to help—Sam and Jessica Morgan and Harry Reilly. Even Carolyn Lewis had stopped in the shop last week and ended up taking Digger with her to the library.

  Grace was honestly surprised at the kindness people extended toward her and her father. Well, everyone loved her dad. She’d never been the popular one, that was for sure. But despite their help, the day-to-day responsibility came down to her. Everyone had such busy lives. They couldn’t be imposed upon all the time, and she couldn’t keep him shackled up in here.

  She turned back to her morning task, rearranging the contents of a china cabinet—pieces of Depression glass, some bone-china cups and saucers, and unusual dishes. Everything so fine and fragile, it made her nervous just to touch them. It was frightening just to be alive sometimes, walking around in the world. Once you care for something, get attached, well you set yourself up for heartbreak. You could lose someone you loved as easily as dropping a china cup. Just a beautiful, fragile thing slipping through your fingers, and no way to get the pieces back together again. No way on this earth.

  That’s how life seemed to her, anyway. When her father lost his patience, he would sometimes say, “For pity’s sake, Grace. You can find a cloud in every silver lining, can’t you?” But she couldn’t help it. She just didn’t have the kind of happy outlook some people seemed to be born with. And she didn’t look to God to soothe her and save her either, as she once did. Maybe it was just as well. The bad times didn’t hurt any less, of course, but she wasn’t nearly as surprised by them.

  By a quarter to one, Grace had finished with the cabinet. She went to the front of the shop and glanced down the street for her father, who was nowhere in sight. Then she went to the phone and called the hardware store. The owner, Tom Gill, answered.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Tom. It’s Grace Hegman. Did you see my dad in there today? Oh, about an hour or so ago?”

  “Your father? Not that I recall, Grace. Hold on, I’ll ask around.” Grace held the phone, feeling her breath grow shorter, as she waited for Tom to return. Finally, she heard him come back on the line. “Sorry Grace, nobody’s seen him this morning. Are you sure he was heading here?”

  “He said he was walking down to buy some paint. Maybe he went someplace else,” she said, thinking aloud. “I have to go now, Tom. If you see him, just make him stay there, okay? And call me?” she said anxiously.

  “Of course. We’ll call you first thing,” he promised.

  Grace dropped the phone and grabbed her coat and car keys. She first ran to the barn behind the shop, half of which was a storage area for the Bramble, the other half a workshop rented by Sam Morgan. She felt a bit of encouragement, as she heard the sound of Sam’s power tools.

  “Sam,” she called, rushing into the workshop. “I need your help. He’s lost again. It’s all my fault, I just let him go out on his own. I should—”

  Sam shut off the table saw at once. “Grace, calm down.” Gently, he took hold of her shoulders. “Digger’s gone?” She nodded, unable to speak at first.

  “He was headed to the hardware store for some paint. He really just wanted to get out of the shop a little. It’s been so hard for him—”

  “What time was this?”

  “He left about eleven-thirty. A little over an hour ago, I guess.”

  “All right. That’s not so bad.”

  “But Tom Gill said that nobody’s seen him. He never got there.”

  Sam paused to think for a second. “I’ll call the police and let them know what’s happened. Then I’ll go out in the truck and look for him. I’ll get Harry to do the same.”

  Grace nodded. “It’s all my fault. I should have told him. He didn’t understand how sick he is. I want to help look this time. I can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

  Sam stared at her a moment. “Okay. You take the north side of Main Street, I’ll go south. I’ll meet you back here in, say, an hour?”

  “All right. Thank you, Sam,” Grace said sadly.

  Sam patted her shoulder, as they headed out of the shop. “We’re going to find Digger, I promise.”

  She nodded. She didn’t know what to say. She just hoped they found her father in time.

  Grace decided not to take her car, but to go first on foot down Main Street. She stopped at each shop she passed on the way to the hardware store, asking about her father, but no one had seen him.

  Finally, she came to the village green. She saw the church at the other end. Had he gone into church? she wondered. That was possible. She walked across the green and went inside.

  The church was dark and cool, with shafts of golden and rose-tinted light filtering through the arched windows. Her gaze scanned the pews. The place was empty. He wasn’t here. But she sat down anyway in the last pew. She bowed her head and folded her hands.

  “Oh, God . . . I know I don’t deserve for you to listen to me. I’m apologizing in advance for even asking. If my father is hurt or even dead this time, it’s all my fault. I should have taken better care of him. I should have taken better care of Julie. Maybe you wouldn’t have taken her from me so soon. . . .”

  “Grace? Are you all right?” Grace looked up and saw Reverend Ben standing beside her.

  “It’s my father. He’s lost again
. . . . You haven’t seen him have you, Reverend?” she asked hopefully.

  Reverend Ben shook his head. He slipped into the pew and sat beside her. “No, Grace. I’m sorry. I haven’t.”

  “He went off to the hardware store almost two hours ago and didn’t come back. Sam called the police for me. He’s looking . . .and Harry . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she covered her face with her hands. She felt the reverend’s hand on her shoulder.

  “I was just trying to pray before,” she added quietly.

  “Yes, I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

  “That’s all right. It wasn’t going that well.”

  “God knows your heart, Grace. Even if you can’t quite find the right words.”

  “Well, then He knows I’m heartsick. It’s all my fault if my father is hurt this time. I should have never let him out on his own. Not after what happened on Thanksgiving. I never told him the truth about his condition,” she admitted. “That was wrong. I can see that now. Maybe God is punishing me.”

  “God wouldn’t do that. I don’t really believe He works that way. For one thing, it would be too simple,” Ben consoled her.

  Grace gave him a bitter smile. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

  Ben’s smile was understanding. “Digger hasn’t been gone that long. So let’s hope for the best,” he urged. “Would you like to pray together?”

  Grace couldn’t meet his eyes. “Reverend, you already went through this once with me. This is really too much to ask. I feel embarrassed to ask you to help me again. I feel ashamed to call on God.”

  “I want to help you. God wants to help you. No matter how many times we fall, He’s there to pick us up again, Grace. He’s already forgiven you for whatever you think you may have done wrong. So forgive yourself. You’ve only acted out of the best intentions. Everyone knows that.”

  “I’ve tried to have my father’s good at heart. I’ll say that.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t seem to have been enough, though.”

  “You might be surprised,” Reverend Ben said. “Tell you what, I’ll send up some prayers for your father—after all, he’s dear to me, too—and you feel free to join in or not as you like. Would you be comfortable with that?”

  Grace nodded. “I suppose that would be fine. I know he’d appreciate it.”

  LUKE PARKED AND TOOK HIS BAGS OF GROCERIES FROM THE BACKSEAT of his 4Runner. The grounds around the cottages were still covered with deep snow. He had only shoveled a narrow path from the parking area to his front door. But as he walked toward his cottage, he noticed what looked like footprints in the snow—the imprint of a man’s boots and, alongside those, scattered prints from a dog.

  He dropped the grocery bags on his doorstep and looked around. “Hello? Anyone here?” he called out.

  Having trained as a cop, he couldn’t help feeling a certain alert edge, as he followed the path the prints made. The marks curved around one of the cottages, leading to the front door. The door was ajar. Luke paused a moment before opening it all the way. He listened for the sound of someone moving around inside, but didn’t hear anything. Slowly, he opened the door and walked in.

  The living room and kitchen area were empty, but then he saw the footprints again, all over the newly finished floor. He followed them to the first bedroom, which was dark, its shades drawn.

  Still, he could make out a man lying curled in a ball in a heap of canvas drop cloths left in the corner after the place had been painted. His face was turned away, but Luke suddenly noticed the dog that had been lying nearby was now sitting up and staring at Luke, as if on guard.

  Daisy . . . and Digger. What were they doing here?

  “Easy, Daisy, you know me,” Luke said softly. He held out his hand, and Daisy walked over to him and sniffed it.

  Luke knelt down beside Digger, his heart pounding, feeling an odd déjà vu sensation as the events of Thanksgiving night replayed in his mind. He moved closer and checked the older man’s breathing. Digger seemed to be breathing fine, he thought. He touched his neck and found his pulse; it was beating even and strong.

  Digger’s eyes flew open with a start.

  “Take it easy, Digger. It’s okay,” Luke soothed him.

  He watched as the old man sat up and shook his head. Digger stared around, clearly confused about where he was. Luke waited for him to get his bearings.

  “For goodness’ sake, I was sound asleep. Sleeping like a baby. I guess I must have fallen asleep on the job. I’m sorry, Luke,” Digger said finally.

  Digger had helped paint the inside of this cottage about a week ago. Did he think they were working here today? That would make some sense, Luke thought.

  “That’s okay. You must be tired,” Luke told him gently. “Did you walk all the way here from town?”

  Digger’s thick brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t know. You didn’t drive me here? You or Sam?”

  Luke shook his head. “Sam’s not here now, Digger. It’s just you and me.”

  “I’m not sure,” Digger said. He looked around again, as if seeing the cottage for the first time, then fixed Luke with a puzzled gaze. “I ought to get home. Grace was going to fix my lunch. She’ll be worried.”

  Luke didn’t doubt for a second that Grace was worried. It was almost three o’clock. “Come on, let me help you up,” Luke said, offering Digger a hand.

  “Thank you, Luke. Grace will be worried. I ought to call her,” Digger said again.

  Grace and the police, Luke thought. “I have a cell phone in the truck. We can call on the way back to town.”

  Luke could imagine the scene at the Bramble Shop right now. The police were probably already out looking, the volunteers lining up again. Thank God, Digger hadn’t imagined that he was supposed to go out clamming or fishing today, Luke thought, sending up a silent prayer. At least his confusion had brought him indoors.

  IT WAS JUST THREE O’CLOCK WHEN BEN FINALLY PERSUADED GRACE TO return to the shop. They’d been out together, slowly cruising the village streets, searching for Digger. Ben drove while Grace stared out the window, twisting her hands in her lap and looking for any sign of her father through teary eyes.

  Ben parked in front of the Bramble Shop, bracing himself for another vigil with Grace. All the while she’d been scanning the streets, he’d been silently praying. They got out of his car and headed up the path toward the shop.

  “Maybe there’s some news for you, Grace,” he said.

  “I’m afraid to hear what that might be,” Grace replied. She paused on the walk and put her hand to her eyes. Ben moved toward her and touched her arm in a comforting gesture.

  Hearing a car approach, he turned to see Luke McAllister’s dark green SUV pulling into the shop’s gravel drive. When he saw Digger’s face peering out the passenger window, Ben felt his heart skip a beat. He gripped Grace’s arm. “Look, it’s Digger, Grace. He’s back,” Ben said excitedly.

  Grace looked up and turned toward the driveway. “Dad, you’re back! For heaven’s sake! Are you all right?” She ran toward him as he got out of the truck. Ben followed more slowly, watching the reunion across Grace’s snow-covered garden.

  “Dad . . .” She started crying, then just about collapsed against him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Gracie. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’m so sorry to give you a fright again.” Digger patted his daughter’s back, as she stood crying.

  “He’s fine, Grace,” Luke assured her. “He just fell asleep in one of the cottages. And look who else is here.” Luke handed her Daisy’s leash.

  “I don’t know how to thank you. Why don’t you come pick something special out from the shop? Anything you like.”

  “Don’t be silly, Grace,” Luke insisted. “I think Digger must be tired, though. Seems he walked all the way to the cottages from town.”

  “That’s a pretty long way,” Ben said.

  Luke nodded. “Sounds like he went there thinking we were going to work.”

/>   “I see.” Ben glanced back at Digger and Grace. Grace held her father’s arm, about to lead him back into the shop, though it was hard to say which of them supplied the support.

  “I’ll stay and help here,” Ben said to Luke. “You can go.”

  “Okay, Reverend. No problem.” Luke said good-bye to Grace and Digger, then turned to go.

  “I guess we need to get inside,” Grace said, sounding a bit more composed. “I need to call the police and everybody and tell them you’ve come home,” she told her father.

  “Oh, golly . . . You called the police again, did you?”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Dad, but I really had to,” Grace apologized. She glanced over her shoulder at Ben as they entered the shop, then went over to the phone and started making calls.

  Digger took off his jacket, then sat on the stairs, shaking his head. “I lost track of the time, I guess. It wasn’t any big deal, Grace. You didn’t have to call out the militia.”

  His tone was more mournful than reproachful, Ben thought. As if he knew in his heart that something was deeply wrong. Something more than forgetting the time.

  Her phone calls completed, Grace looked at Ben and bit down on her lower lip. He met her gaze steadily. “Grace needs to talk to you about something, Digger,” Ben began for her. “Something important.”

  Digger lifted his head. He looked first at Ben and then at his daughter. Ben saw him take a breath and sit up straight.

  “All right, what is it? Want to read me the riot act for playing hooky from work today, do you?”

  Grace came closer. “No, not exactly, Dad,” she said quietly. Ben watched her mouth pull into a thin tight line before she spoke again. “The thing is . . . you’re sick, Dad. It’s worse than I told you. I didn’t want to scare you, but I see now, I should have been honest with you.”

  “I’m sick?” Digger shook his head and scoffed. “I am not. I just lost track of the time is all. You know I’ve always been that way, Gracie.”

  “Yes, you always have been.” Grace nodded, agreeing with him. Ben almost thought she was losing her nerve, and he cast a supportive look in her direction. She glanced at him nervously, then took a few more steps closer to Digger.