A garbage truck lumbered past and hissed to a stop at a neighbor’s driveway. Pierce tensed as the truck started and stopped its way down the street. Air brakes. He always jumped at the sound, like that of the bus Daddy had carried Pierce to, set him on a green, vinyl seat, and sent him away to the Cranes.
Pierce rubbed his hands over his face. No, dwelling on his father’s rejection helped nothing.
He rose and walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, dressed, and sat on the bed.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Laurie stood in their bedroom doorway, holding two steaming mugs.
“How long was I on the floor?”
“What?”
“I woke on the floor.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “By the window, right before the garbage truck drove by.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, motioned with the cup in her right hand. “You were over there on the rug your parents left?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve had several nightmares these last eight months since I lost the baby.”
“It wasn’t a nightmare. I dreamed about the first night I spent here.” He turned and stared toward the window. “Were you cooking eggs?”
“You don’t eat eggs.”
But he’d been certain as he awoke, he smelled eggs frying.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly. “Do you want this coffee?”
“Sure.” He reached for the cup and looked at Laurie. He could concentrate on her, think only about her, and make the first five years of his life go away again, as he had many times during their marriage.
Her tousled, dirty-blonde hair. Her big, brown eyes. She thought her face was too round. Too freckly, though her “spots” had supposedly faded some since her childhood. He loved her face.
She was tall. Only an inch or two shorter than he, and he liked being almost eye-to-eye with her. This view of her bare legs that stretched below one of his old T-shirts wasn’t bad either. He grinned at her and set his mug aside.
“What are you smiling at?”
He lowered himself back to the floor and prowled toward her like a hunting lion. “You got any shorts on under there?”
“I guess you’re all right, then.” She giggled and took a step back. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you even think about it.”
“Think about what?” He crept closer.
“Pierce Crane.” She set her mug on a stack of boxes inside the bedroom doorway and pointed at him. “There are boxes everywhere. We have less than two weeks to unpack before I start my new job as the senior pastor’s wife.”
He stopped in front of her, looked up, and wriggled his eyebrows. “I like pastors’ wives.” He pulled her down and pinned her to the floor.
“Don’t you tickle me!”
He slid his hand up to her ribs while watching her try not to smile. Finally she laughed, pushed at his hands. “Pierce, stop!”
He pulled his hand back and braced himself above her.
Here was everything he could ever want. A job—following in his dad’s footsteps as pastor of The Barn Church. A house—even if it was the old parsonage and his childhood home. But most of all, Laurie. “You are the most beautiful pastor’s wife in the world.” He kissed her. “And the only one for me.”
She smiled as her eyes filled with tears. “You know you make me cry every time.”
From the moment they’d met he’d been pulled to her compassionate heart, her huge, tender feelings. She was soft before God. Soft to him and others. Like a bee to acres of clover, he was drawn to her. Drank her in, fed from her. She probably didn’t realize it, but almost every day she helped him forget that lonely bus ride.
“I love you, Laurie. Your sweet tears, your laughter, your ticklish places.” He kissed her again, nibbled her lips and slid his hand back under her shirt.
“Pierce,” she chided against his mouth. “We can’t. The church board and their wives, everyone will be here any minute, and—”
The doorbell rang. Pierce groaned.
Laurie laughed again, pushed him aside. “Hold that thought for about twelve hours. They’re here to help us unpack. We do need the help.” She leaned forward and nipped his earlobe. “You can have me later, when we don’t have all the deacons listening on the front porch. Besides, I have to change clothes before they see me.”
“Can I watch?”
“No.” She giggled. “Go answer the door.”
“Fine.” He stole a quick kiss. “But in twelve hours, you’re mine.”
***
Anxious to welcome folks to her home, Laurie dug through boxes stacked by their bed, searching for her jeans.
There was something to be said about folks who went out of their way to help someone new move into the neighborhood, even if that “someone” was their new pastor, a man they already knew and loved. The people of Rowe City were like that. She had known it from the first time Pierce brought her here to meet his adoptive parents.
This part of Alabama seemed frozen in time, almost decades removed from the years at the university in Montgomery, where she and Pierce met. The patch-worked, brown and green terrain rolled across soft hills and rich farmland. Long-slatted, airy fences edged dirt lane driveways. A water tower of cardinal red stood as a proud landmark near the railroad tracks. Humble outhouses dotted many backyards, not always elements of nostalgia. To Laurie’s amazement, a few were still used.
Downtown, brick buildings meshed with uneven sidewalks. Matching streets wound their way past the courthouse, Downtown Diner, and Benson’s Hardware, encircled the park, then yielded to the blacktop that merged with Highway 29. The nearest Wal-Mart was a twenty-minute drive, toward Dothan, home of the annual National Peanut Festival—a far cry from the tourist hype of Orlando. Laurie couldn’t imagine a more wonderful place to live or raise a family.
A family.
Please, God, I know it might take a miracle, but I want to have a child.
She heard car doors slam. Laughter. High-pitched female greetings—the kind that made men’s eyes roll. She knew Pierce would simply prop the front door wide open.
She found the box she needed buried in the corner, grabbed pants and a clean T-shirt, crawled over the unmade bed—and thought she heard a baby cry.
The familiar punch of grief hit her heart full force. The bitter ache trailed her to the bathroom where she leaned on the counter and struggled to take a deep breath. She looked in the mirror as she braced against a tidal wave of longing.
What was that verse in Proverbs? Hope deferred makes the heart sick. She believed it. Swallowing the bitter grief over her parents’ tragic death ten years earlier had been very, very tough, but eventually the pain subsided. Especially after she fell in love with Pierce.
But this maternal longing in her soul throbbed like a fresh wound since the miscarriage. There were moments like those she’d just spent laughing with Pierce when she’d forget about losing her child. Then the pain would return, as if someone draped a dark cloak over her heart.
She missed a child she had never known.
Laurie struggled into her jeans and rifled through bags, looking for moisturizer and lip gloss. She could easily picture three or more blue-eyed children running in the yard and playing on a swing set outside the kitchen window. She could hear their whispers dancing across the dark wood floors, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.
The doctor had said she miscarried because the baby wasn’t developing properly. “I can find no reason you shouldn’t be able to carry a child,” he’d said. Apparently, she was simply part of that thirty-or-so percent of infertile women whose inability to conceive remained unexplained. Which gave her hope.
She washed her face, ran a brush through her hair, and with stuttering breath shook off the yearning that clung like sticky scales. She tied back her hair and opened the bathroom door to find Pierce sitting on his side of their bed, staring out the window.
That same shadow had drifted across his face many times over the years, especial
ly since her miscarriage. Whenever she saw it, she had a stomach-gripping sense that something hovered in the dark at the edge of their marriage.
He would be happy now, wouldn’t he? Not just in pieces, but all of him. Even that one sad piece of Pierce he never wanted to talk about.
Then, like someone flipped a switch in his mind, he was back with her, reaching for her hand.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “About the dream? I know about your first night here, but is there more you need to talk about?”
“What? No. I simply forgot the truck keys.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” He rose, grinning like a child. “You’ve met most of them already, but there’s quite a crew out there. Ready to face them all?”
“Absolutely.” She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. “I’m thankful for their help, and I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”
***
Laurie stepped into the hall and turned toward the front of the house. If she’d built her own home, she’d have designed it like this one, with a long hallway stretching from the bedrooms at the back to the centered front door. The large living area on one side, the dining room and kitchen on the other.
Pierce had indeed propped open the front door. He and the men stood surveying the contents of the open truck.
She continued around the corner, into the dining room where coolers and gallons of tea had been stacked, then peeked into the kitchen. Milly Newman, her mother-in-law’s best friend, arranged her plates and little Ally Newman, Milly’s kindergarten-age granddaughter, stacked her pots and pans.
“There she is! Hi! Hi!” Ally rushed over. “Granny says I wasn’t born yet, but I’ve seen pictures of your wedding. You looked like a princess. When I get married, I’ll look like a princess, too.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Granny says it’s crowded in here, but that’s how a kitchen’s supposed to be.”
“She’s absolutely right. It’s wonderful.” The adult orphan inside her reveled in this personal start. How she longed to have toddling children roaming underfoot and loud teenagers reaching into cupboards.
“Where’s my girl?” Daniel set two boxes of Krispy Kremes on the counter and caught Laurie in a warm hug.
“Daniel, don’t squeeze her so.” Kay scolded from behind him. “Sorry we didn’t get here sooner, Laurie. I didn’t think retirement and sleeping late would agree with me, but it does.”
Laurie kissed Daniel’s cheek and then hugged her teenager-thin mother-in-law. “I think we’ve got plenty of help. How long can you, um, stay?” Her voice faltered as the room spun. Cold sweat skittered across her neck and scalp. She raised her palm to her forehead and blinked. “I think I need to sit.”
Daniel grabbed a chair for her. “Did you eat breakfast? Have a donut.” He reached into the box and pulled out a crème-filled, her favorite.
But Laurie’s stomach recoiled at the sweet pastry’s scent. “I don’t think I can eat right now, Dad. Thanks, anyway.”
“Daniel, go help somebody.” Kay shooed him away. “Laurie, are you all right?” She called over her shoulder. “Milly, bring some water for Laurie.”
“I think I’m fine. It’s the move.”
Kay raised an eyebrow. “The move?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mom,” she whispered. “My cycles are like clockwork.” The room resettled, and the queasy feeling left as quickly as it had come. Laurie took a deep breath. “I’m more tired than I realized.”
“Here.” Kay handed her a cup. “It’s cold. Sip.”
“I think yellow for the kitchen, clear blue for our room. Like Pierce’s eyes. I love planning it all. I’ve got a list three pages long.” Another loud thud came from the living room. “What are they doing in there?” Did she really want to know?
“I think we need some ice!” The call came from Pierce, followed by shushing sounds and stifled male laughter.
Milly turned to lean against the counter. “That’d be for my husband. If anyone’s injured, it’s him. He’s so accident-prone, I hide all my tools.” She bent and whispered loudly to her granddaughter. “He thinks we don’t have any.”
“But Granny, who fixes stuff when it gets broken?”
“I do, dear, before he realizes anything is broken,” Milly said as Ally hid her giggle in her shirt collar. “That way he doesn’t hurt himself. My Clyde can grow peanuts like a champ, but don’t give him a hammer.”
“Honey?” Pierce again.
Laurie stood and smiled at the knowing looks from the other women. She passed through the dining room into the small front entryway. “What do you need?”
There should have been a door on her right, the front door.
“Pierce, where’s the door?” Slowly, she scanned to her left. Scattered around her living room, five men desperately glanced at one another in silent debate over who would be spokesman. Daniel, red-faced with suppressed laughter, nudged Pierce. But poor Clyde Newman, the focal point, stayed crouched by the center of the half-open sleeper sofa, his hand mysteriously hidden in its folds.
Abe Floyd, a church deacon and one of the largest men Laurie had ever met, cleared his throat and wiped his wide face with a handkerchief. “The couch wouldn’t fit through the doorway. So we took the door off the hinges.”
“Yeah.” Angus Mann leaned his stocky frame against the back of the couch. “But the sofa got turned upside down, and the bed part fell out.”
Clyde, a wiry little man with a white, military crew cut, spoke with pride. “So I got under it, pushed it back in, and fixed it.”
“O-kaaay.” Laurie caught Pierce’s gaze across the room and purposely avoided looking at her quaking father-in-law.
“We can put the door back, honey, that’s not the problem.”
Daniel coughed through his hand. “Give it up, Pierce.”
Pierce shook his head. “Dad.”
Laurie wished she had her video camera. “I’m sure you can.”
Angus backed away from the couch, pointing and shifting up and down on the balls of his feet. “Then Newman got his hand caught. I told him not to stick it in there. But he did it anyway.”
Deacon Floyd refolded his handkerchief. “Oh, Angus, we’ll get him out.”
Daniel straightened and wrapped an arm around Pierce’s shoulder. “I believe God still works miracles.”
Laurie’s eyes rounded at Pierce. She bit her lower lip.
“Honey. Please get some ice. Or better yet, Milly.”
“She’s right behind me.”
“I’m all right.” Clyde didn’t seem to be fazed. “Same thing happened when I fished a mangled spoon out of the garbage disposal. Got my hand stuck. Milly filled the thing with ice. After about ten minutes, I pulled my hand out. I’ll be fine.”
Milly stood with arms crossed. “I’m so sorry, Laurie. But maybe the rest of them can re-hang the door without his help.”
“We just won’t feed them until they do.”
The room had gone silent, so everyone heard her comment. Daniel chuckled first, prompting Deacon Floyd’s thunderous hah! hah! The dam of composure broke, and Laurie watched as laughter washed like a wave through the group. These people cared for each other, worked together, and loved each other like family.
“Excuse me,” she said. Laurie went back to her room, closed the door with a quiet click, and leaned against it.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing us here.”
***
By early evening the rented truck sat empty, so Pierce and Daniel left to return it. Laurie stood on the porch and waved as the last car pulled away. She wandered back into the kitchen and stood across from Kay at the breakfast bar.
“Bet you thought you’d be a grandmother by now.”
“I want what’s best for you and Pierce. And I’ll love grandbabies whenever they come.”
“Can I tell you a secret? Something I think I’d only share with my mom if she were
alive?”
“Of course.”
“I love looking at baby clothes in stores and online.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I admit, my hands itch for an excuse to buy some. Daniel’s forever looking in the toy department.”
“I might be infertile, but I’m still regular as rain. Sometimes I feel like such a failure in the woman department.”
“Laurie, you’re not a failure. And there’s nothing wrong with hoping for a miracle.”
But how long would she have to wait? What if a baby never came? “Somehow I miss my mother more now than I did before the miscarriage. I’m so glad to be near you and Daniel.”
“Only a woman who’s endured a miscarriage can understand that pain. I lost three before God gave us Pierce. But we loved him like he came from our own bodies.”
Laurie knew that as truth. They could not have loved Pierce more. Somehow the subject of adoption had never come up between her and Pierce. Was that odd? “Had you always considered it? Adopting, I mean?”
“Heavens, no.” Kay shook her head. “Too expensive. We were both schoolteachers, and during that time we basically worked at the church for free. Though he was very poor, Pierce’s father sought us out and arranged everything. Has Pierce talked with you about that?”
“He said his father simply put him on the bus and sent him to you. I know he remembers very little before being adopted, and he doesn’t ever want to see his dad or his old home again. You know, he used to dream about his father and the bus ride. That nightmare became more frequent after my miscarriage. But, this morning, he dreamed of his first night here with you.”
“I think he had bad dreams when he first came to live with us. The first few weeks, I’d get up in the morning and there he’d be, curled on the rug on my side of the bed, though he never gave a reason. I figured he did it because everything was new to him.”
“New parents. New house.” Could what happened this morning be that simple?
“That’s what we assumed. He was only five.” Kay sighed. “He was the most thoughtful, intentional child I’d ever seen. Seemed everything he did had a purpose. And everything had to be perfect. Never had to remind him to wash his face or brush his teeth before starting the day. He and Daniel used to have such discussions.” She reached across and took Laurie’s hand in both of hers. “You’re so good for him.”
The Spindle Chair Page 2