The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  His child. He wept with gratitude over God giving them a child. He cradled the phone in one hand, wiped tears with the other as they fell off his chin and onto his T-shirt.

  Finally he got his breath back, his voice back. “Laurie, are you still there?”

  She cleared her throat. “Heavenly Father, Pierce needs You.”

  Her tender words broke him again, and he shook his head at the way he’d isolated himself from her.

  “Please wrap him in Your presence.”

  He hated that he’d listened to lies and pulled away from her.

  “I’m asking You to heal his heart. Complete the work You’ve begun in him. In us.”

  “I love you, Laurie. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, Pierce. And I’m really tired. Work at the church has produced two new potential clients. I’ve got two meetings tomorrow as well as a stop by the youth building.”

  “Then you should get some sleep. Good night.”

  “Good night, Pierce.”

  He hung up and lay in the dark as midnight approached.

  “Dear God, I open every locked door inside myself to You. Show me everything I didn’t see before. Teach me. Change me.”

  Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

  ***

  Laurie couldn’t sleep. She could remember only one other instance she’d been this uncertain about her future. It was the morning of her parents’ funeral, when she’d numbly dressed in black and driven to the church. To this day, at the sight of lilies and carnations, she remembered that dismal morning, and the graveside service, as she stood under the canopy while the saddest rain she’d ever heard pelted the overhead canvas.

  Standing at the window, she glanced back at the clock, just after four a.m. Rain fell outside, the heavy drops beat the ground with such force she thought she saw the earth wince at the bruising.

  Much like her heart was feeling now.

  Was Pierce sleeping peacefully there in Florida? Was he awake, thinking of her?

  She leaned against the window frame, all her energy gone. She turned at a soft tap on her door. “Come in.”

  “I thought you were awake.” Kay stepped into the room. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You talked late with Pierce tonight.”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, Laurie. I just want you to remember that Dad and I are here to help.”

  “I know, Mom. And I appreciate it. I do.” She paused. “I think about Pierce as a little boy. He connected with you and Daniel. Many adopted children have problems with trust and feelings of abandonment. You should know he never mentioned anything like that to me about his relationship with you. He knows he’s loved.”

  “Thank you for saying that. Truly.” Kay turned to go.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think I should actively pursue more clients? Our lives have been such a whirlwind since we moved here. Except for the one project at the church, all my energy and focus have been on Pierce and the pregnancy. But what if he doesn’t come back? What if I’m left to figure out life on my own? I trust God, I do. It’s just …”

  “Pierce you’re worried about.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re afraid to trust him. Afraid to get your hopes up that he really is changing.”

  “Yeah. I feel so wounded. Like he’s kicked my heart in the same place over and over. I think I was really spoiled. Back at the church in Orlando, I saw other couples who faced problem after problem. I guess I mistakenly thought we lived above all that.”

  “Everybody faces something.” Kay paused. “Laurie, what’s your biggest concern?”

  “That even if I continue listening to God, Pierce won’t.”

  “You’re afraid in a week or two he’ll revert back and pull away from you.”

  “Yes. I’m trying to treat him like he’s sincere, still, I don’t know that I trust him. It feels like lying.”

  “Isn’t it really that you’re choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt? You’re both learning new things right now. You’ll both make mistakes. But if you learn together, you’ll end up closer than before.”

  ***

  Ina’s oldest grandson couldn’t arrive for at least two days, which pushed the funeral back. Pierce called Laurie as soon as he found out.

  “I’ve been alone a lot, here in our old apartment.” Had it only been a few months since they’d left this place? “I spend most of the time praying.”

  “Tell me what you pray,” she said in her hopeful dreamer voice.

  “I pray for your safety and our baby’s health. That God will make me strong enough to love you the way you need to be loved.” He paused. “Ina has about twenty grandchildren. They play, they aggravate each other, they cry at different times when they remember their Grandma Ina’s gone. I see myself in some of them, as their parents and other family try to explain why Ina isn’t here any longer. I understand that kind of bewilderment, you know?”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I need to tell you something. Remember the day we painted our room?”

  “When you went into the woods.”

  “When you cut yourself, I ran. But I didn’t know why I reacted that way, so I asked God to make our marriage like it was before the miscarriage. He answered me with a scripture instead.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “First Corinthians 4:5: ‘He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness.’ It shocked me.”

  “I imagine it did.”

  “Laurie, I still want you to have your dreams.”

  “Pierce, every dream I have has you in it.”

  Every dream I have has you in it. He reminded himself of Laurie’s words the next morning when, after days of postponement, the viewing and funeral service finally took place. Pierce stood outside the church, watching the long string of cars form around the building for the processional. Isaac peered over the roof of his car and motioned Pierce inside. “Pierce. We’re supposed to be at the front of the line.”

  “Sure.”

  Isaac pulled behind the hearse and family cars. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You miss Laurie.”

  “Yeah. I miss Laurie.”

  They drove through Orlando to the cemetery where the moments passed like scenes in a movie. The interment with rows of family dressed in black. A daughter whose body shook with grief. Adults’ eyes clouded with tears while bored children shuffled their feet.

  For the first time, Pierce wondered about the man his mother left behind. And let himself picture his father as a grieving husband. A devastated father. A stunned, poor widower who had no money for a proper coffin, burial plot, or headstone. Had his life ended that day, too?

  At the family dinner, relatives embraced. They reminisced over pictures and recounted memories. Pierce stood to the side near Isaac and Ella, and wondered about his own baby brother. A screaming bundle whose fate was unknown to him. A child who never felt their mother’s touch.

  Between the two of them, Pierce might still have gotten the better life, if his father had kept the baby but hadn’t loved him.

  A quiet, curious yearning entered Pierce’s heart. To know what had happened to his brother.

  Still, that same heart shuddered at the question standing like a dark shadow at the back of his mind. What had happened to his mother’s grave?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  John slowed his truck, parked beside the barn, and strode to the house.

  Lately, he’d spent his days off with his dad, rather than visiting after long days in the office or sleepless nights in the labor and delivery unit. The lazy afternoons spent together on the front porch could almost be called pleasant. He and Luther had even shared a couple of real, if short, conversations.

  The morning sun beat the ground, its heat bouncing up in waves. With no breeze and pea soup
humidity, before noon the heat would be stifling. What would it take to install an air conditioner in the cracker box home? The hottest part of summer had arrived; adding a window unit shouldn’t be difficult. Not nearly as tricky as getting his dad’s permission.

  “Dad?” John stepped onto the porch.

  He heard a groan, but not from inside. The sound came from behind him, to his right, past the pig shed.

  Not again.

  John found his dad amidst a Swiss cheese-like configuration of holes, facedown in muck and mud, shovel in hand. No telling how long Luther had been there. He took the shovel and tossed it aside, knowing he’d have to refill some of the holes before leaving today or the shed would fall over the next time it rained.

  What was wrong with Dad? Three, four times now, John had found him like this, or seen evidence he’d been out here working during the night. Luther Bridges, demented digger.

  “I can’t find her,” he said as John rolled him over.

  “Can’t find who?”

  His dad raised a knee, blinking and coughing. John checked his forehead for fever and took his pulse.

  Luther batted away John’s hands. “I have to tell her about our boys.”

  “I’m your boy. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  His dad looked straight at him. “But John’s a baby.”

  “Not anymore. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  He stood behind his dad, hooked his arms around the old man’s chest. On the third try John got him up and shuffled backward, dragging him toward the house.

  When had Luther begun shrinking? Not his height, his limbs were still long, his hands and feet still big. But he lacked meat and muscle, his bones looked like a skeleton wrapped in tissue paper. Even his boots sagged on his narrow feet.

  “Why are you pulling on me?” Luther complained.

  “To get you inside.” He thought back over his limited geriatric training. “I should’ve taken you for a physical weeks ago.”

  John’s heels hit the bottom porch step. He dragged up, up, while Luther’s feet struggled for purchase. When they backed to the doorway, Luther’s hand went out. “Put me down, boy.”

  “Dad, you need to get cleaned up.”

  Luther grunted.

  “I’ll cook lunch while you shower.” John glanced behind him, noticed the kitchen stank in its normal state of “slum meets the south.” Mud, hay, heaven-knew-what coated the floor. He would gladly pay someone to clean weekly if Dad would agree.

  Luther pushed away and straightened. “You cook. I’ve got work.” He walked down the steps swaying like a drunk, then headed for the pig shed.

  John followed, debating whether to argue or watch. The trained physician in him followed his “patient,” ready to observe, listen, and diagnose. The son wanted to speed up the process, get out of the suffocating heat, and take his father straight to the best neurologist in the area.

  “Work. Okay. How can I help?”

  Luther poked the ground with the shovel as if testing the holes, then dug between to form a ditch.

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  No answer. No surprise there.

  “Dad.” John’s hand went to Luther’s straining shoulder. “I’ll help if you tell me what we’re doing.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where’s who? Dad. Will you stop?”

  Luther stopped. He sunk the shovel into the ground then braced himself on the long handle. His deeply grooved face fell. “Your mother. I have to find her. She’s here, and I have to find her and tell her about our boys.”

  Boys? There were no boys.

  “I’m fine, Dad.” An eerie wave of apprehension swelled inside him. As a physician—an OB/GYN, but still—he’d been trained to look beyond symptoms such as the desperation and grief on his father’s face, to understand their source.

  Seeking to soothe, he lowered his voice. “Why are you looking for Mom out here? She’s been dead since the day I was born.”

  Luther grabbed John’s shirt. “I buried her here,” he whispered through trembling lips, as he surveyed the ground. “I buried her, I sent you to live with the Taylors, and I gave away your brother.”

  John barely remembered living with the Taylors. He knew they weren’t his parents, they told him so. Not unkindly, just matter-of-factly. When he turned four, they brought him back home and he met his dad. But he had never heard anything about his mother being buried in the yard, or a brother being given away.

  “Will you help me find her?” Tears merged with the mud on his dad’s cheeks.

  Could all this be true? John had never seen his dad cry, never seen anything but quiet, stern reserve in the man. Luther was either delusional, or having a nervous breakdown, or …

  The most peculiar feeling washed over John, that there might be someone who could remember their mother and talk with him about her. John didn’t know what she looked like, had never seen a picture of her. As far as he remembered, Dad had never spoken of her, until today.

  “Dad, is this the truth? Do I have a brother?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After a full eight-hour day, Laurie unlocked her front door. She went inside, dropped her purse on the console table, kicked off her shoes, and wished for a pool. Even a small one, where she could float and for a few short moments enjoy not feeling her ligaments and tendons pulling with her child’s every stretch. If this baby’s in utero behavior was any indication of after birth activity, Laurie was about to be run ragged.

  Thankfully, the youth building renovations had been completed today—she’d actually marked the final item off her list. If all went well at next week’s inspection, an occupancy license would be issued and Laurie could add another completed job to her portfolio.

  She’d prayed off and on throughout the day and reminded herself of verses she’d studied, in preparation for tonight.

  Her husband was coming home. To her. And their unborn baby.

  She supposed in some ways she’d been preparing for battle—or, rather, a new beginning.

  If Pierce was truly changing.

  She moved toward the kitchen and caught the scent of roses. A bouquet of yellow blooms filled a cut glass vase. She read the card. “Because we love you. Dinner’s in the oven.” The kitchen curtains she’d sewn last night had been pressed and hung. Even the fabric she’d measured and cut for the dining room chairs was ironed and neatly stacked on the bar beside the vase.

  Whatever would she do with herself? She’d indulge in a bubble bath.

  She ran the water deep, let herself doze and dream as the soft lavender-scented bubbles soothed her body. When her skin was wrinkled and pink, she hauled herself out of the tub.

  She worried a moment, just a moment as she dried her body, about her baby’s health. After all, the miscarriage had happened right after she’d bathed. But the little thing was practically dancing around in there, which obviously meant all was well. She was right at twenty-eight weeks, which meant only twelve to go before she’d get to hold her baby. She’d soon have a sonogram. Would Pierce keep his word and share that with her?

  Wrapped in her robe, she ate supper while standing, then returned the simmering meat with its juices to the oven, where it would stay warm until Pierce arrived. On an impulse, she dug out photo albums, perched on the couch, and let herself remember.

  She scanned snapshots of early college days. When her hair had been longer, her face thinner. Her heart lonely, having lost her parents. She traced a fingertip over herself on the page. Yes, she had been lonely. She knew God then, had a few friends, but no family. When she met Pierce, her whole world changed.

  She remembered wondering why he had picked her. He could have easily chosen someone more beautiful, smarter, more talented. But he chose her. And courted her quietly, in a determined, methodical manner. Almost like he knew and understood he was winning her heart one day, one moment, one word at a time.

  On her first trip to meet Kay and Daniel, she had been so nervous her t
eeth chattered. Pierce held her hand as he drove, rubbing his thumb over hers until it was almost sore. “They’ll love you, Laurie. Because I love you,” he’d said.

  She opened their wedding album and studied her pearled gown, his tailored tux. Pierce had looked so sure of himself then. So steady. It almost didn’t seem possible this was the same man with whom she had been living for the past few months.

  She had considered him perfect. She had neither expected nor been prepared for his flaws. That had been both naïve and unfair.

  Now they had a baby on the way.

  Would she only accept her husband back now if he was perfect, when she herself still had so much to learn, as Kay had graciously hinted? About being a wife. Being a mother. Even being a Christian.

  Did you plan on being married to him for the rest of your life?

  Of course she did.

  Did you think you would be growing together during that time?

  Yes, of course.

  Changing? Learning? Creating a family?

  Yes.

  Then you have exactly what you wanted, don’t you?

  ***

  Pierce couldn’t move. Wedged in the center seat, he tried to relax as the plane descended, but the aircraft’s stale interior nearly suffocated him. He just wanted to see Laurie, touch her, sleep beside her. He’d barely slept while in Florida.

  He rubbed eyes he knew were bloodshot and looked out the window to the evening sky. Laurie wanted them to get counseling. Maybe a professional could help him, so he could be with her during the delivery.

  Dear God, please show me how to make things right with Laurie.

  And what should he do about his brother he’d seen only as a newborn? His father, who might be dead?

  Finally the plane landed. Pierce wanted to call Laurie, but his cell didn’t have a signal. Urgency demanded he keep moving, closer to Laurie, closer to home. He hurriedly lined up to exit the cabin, and got stalled in the aisle.

  Finally he made it to the terminal and wove through the crowd, only to wait in line at the parking lot elevators. Hunger clawed at his stomach, but he didn’t want to take the time to stop and eat. He dialed Laurie and got voicemail. “Laurie, I, I’m really thanking God for you right now.” He watched a smiling couple slide into the backseat of a taxi outside the main doors.