The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  He stood. Reached for her, feeling as if his fingertips barely grasped the edge of a cliff. She stepped into his embrace, and his hands trembled as he held her against him.

  “This morning in the nursery you asked me if we could love each other anyway, even when we are hurting.”

  She nodded against his shoulder. “Life won’t always be easy, and we need each other even more when it’s not.”

  “I was miserable without you, when I was pulling away from you, and when I was in Florida.”

  “Please don’t pull away now. You promised me you wouldn’t.”

  He had promised he would love her.

  She wrapped her arms around him. “Why do you always think you’re alone?”

  Because in the hidden parts of yourself, you felt alone.

  “That I will reject you?”

  Because those parts have been draped with a cloak of rejection.

  “Don’t you know you’re my life?” She pulled back, pointed at her burgeoning stomach. “I’m pregnant with your baby. What more proof of my love do you need?”

  None. Absolutely none.

  His heart beat hard in his chest as it had after he’d left Isaac and Ella’s—a sign he was at a critical crossroads. She’d always given herself fully to him. What if he chose to concentrate on loving her instead of how he felt, instead of his turmoil?

  He needed to do this. He needed to love her. Despite every worry, every unknown about his future, his certainty that his heart and head might actually explode if he met his brother and faced his father.

  “Will you lie down with me?” he asked, straining against shackles he now knew were attached to his childhood. “Will you let me love you?”

  Her expression softened, but he sensed her wariness. It had been a long time since he’d loved her simply to give.

  He coaxed her to the bed, to lie on her side facing him. He wedged a pillow at her back, a second under her stomach, and knew he’d made a good choice when she sighed with relief. Then he turned out the light. Switched on the bedside lamp. Climbed under the sheets with her and raised her hand to his lips.

  “Do you know I love your hands?” He placed a kiss on each finger, held her soft skin to his stubbly cheek. “Your hands give care, they serve, they carry kindness. I’ve been the recipient of that care, service, and kindness. What can I do for you?”

  He looked at her with all the focus he could muster. Long seconds passed, and she looked away, almost shy.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “It’s not about what I want.”

  He kissed her hand again, longer, lingering kisses with his eyes locked on hers. This time, this act with her, was how they created their own world. Hiding from her had made him feel horrible, because they were meant to hide together, with each other, in each other.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I think my hand’s getting all your attention.”

  He let himself grin. “That I can fix.”

  He shifted closer to her, slid one arm under her pillow and caressed her face with the other as if she were spun glass. He followed his fingertips with his lips, kissing her brow, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, and finally settling on her mouth.

  His hand slid over her shoulder, down her arm to her side.

  She giggled. “No tickling,” she said against his mouth.

  He stilled his hand. “Tell me how to love you, Laurie. Tell me what you need.”

  She turned her head and whispered in his ear.

  Her request made him feel like a king. He granted her wishes, gave her all she asked.

  Mysteriously, his heart opened, joined Laurie’s and locked into place.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Pierce Crane. That was John’s brother’s name.

  As John sat on his father’s porch and watched the midday sun burn its way across the sky, he let the knowledge sink in. The shock of it still shook him, rocked him as if he were in a small boat on a choppy sea. He wondered where his brother lived, if he was educated. If they shared the same affinity for knowledge, sports cars, and the uninhibited laughter of a beautiful woman.

  Did his brother’s eyes match his own? Did he remember their mother? Did he know if their father had actually buried her on the farm, near where John himself sat at that exact moment?

  Would he care to meet, or did he blame John for their mother’s death?

  Since learning of his brother’s existence, John had visited Luther more frequently and often brought meals. Getting more details from his dad had been time-consuming and frustrating. No one would ever accuse Luther Bridges of talking too much.

  But late last week, John hit pay dirt. Apparently the nutritious food and consistent company had helped his father become more coherent. More there. Although he still wouldn’t talk about John’s mother, he had finally told John his brother’s name. Pierce Crane. He’d been five years old when their mother died.

  The screen door whined open as Luther—freshly showered—stepped out to stand by his son’s chair.

  John stood. “Are you going somewhere?”

  No response.

  “Dad?”

  His father’s eyes fastened on the driveway. John turned to see a slow-moving dust cloud that could only be from an approaching vehicle. “Are you expecting someone?”

  Silence.

  His dad descended the steps, took his customary shoulder-width stance, and crossed his arms. He was either angry … or waiting.

  The dirt-coated sedan slowed to a stop, and a man the size of a refrigerator squeezed out of the driver’s-side. With his plate-round face he threw Luther a smile that said “nice to meet you,” and stepped forward. “Mr. Bridges. I apologize for being a few minutes late.”

  “Old Man Dawkins driving his tractor on the highway again?”

  John’s eyes widened. Had his father just welcomed a stranger and offered more than a three-word sentence?

  The visitor laughed. “Yes, sir. He sure is.”

  “Thought I heard it sputtering in the distance. My son,” Luther said, indicating John.

  John quickly extended his hand. “John Bridges.”

  “Gilbert Mann. Rowe City Gospel Church. Thanks for seeing me today.”

  The church offering to clean the barn.

  John returned to his chair and sat. Watched his dad play host, walk toward the barn, talking and using small hand gestures—not the same man who had raised him.

  A slow tour around the house brought them back to the front.

  “We appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Bridges.”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll be here a week from Saturday.” Gilbert glanced at John. “I’ll warn you. Teenagers can be loud. But they’re good kids, sir. We’ll do good work for you.”

  “Sure.”

  The visitor returned to his car. His dad went inside, the porch door slammed behind him.

  John bounded down the steps, trotted over to knock on Gilbert’s window. “Where’s your church?”

  “Just outside of town. Most folks call it The Barn Church.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Are you the pastor?”

  “No. I work with the youth. Pastor Daniel retired a few months back,” he answered with a cherubic smile. “His son just took over. Pierce Crane.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Laurie walked with Pierce the short distance from their car to Eric’s office door. “Do you think I’ve gained weight since we left the house?”

  “I might not be the smartest man in this county, but I know better than to answer that.”

  “I thought maternity clothes were intended to be used throughout the pregnancy. But I will not be able to wear this dress again. It’s too tight when I sit.” At thirty-two weeks she looked like she was about to pop, or that’s what she thought whenever she looked in the mirror.

  They entered, and the contrast from September’s broil to air conditioning brought a smile to her face. She dropped—there was no other way to desc
ribe it—onto the soft couch cushions and welcomed the goose bumps.

  “We’re a little late because of me,” she told Eric. “I don’t move as quickly as I used to.”

  Eric chuckled. “And I’m afraid that won’t change for a while yet.” He listened as she and Pierce filled him in on their progress. “You’ve gathered a lot of information in a short time.” Eric wrote notes as he spoke. “That can help tremendously, Pierce.”

  Laurie felt Pierce stiffen, so she shifted closer to him on the couch.

  Urgency simmered inside her. She fought the urge to fidget, to be impatient with Pierce. She’d determined to help him however she could, yet she fervently wished she could speed things up.

  Which was exactly what Eric had warned her about. Somehow her greatest strength had become her biggest weakness.

  She tapped her belly as Eric handled an interruption from his secretary.

  Had they told Eric all they’d learned? That Luther had contacted Daniel and Kay before Annabelle died, and had not told them she was still alive. Kay had described Luther as “sad.” Broken, worn, and sad. He must have loved his wife, and he must have believed she wouldn’t survive giving birth a second time.

  Had the darkness of grief swallowed up Luther, even before he lost Annabelle? The thought of losing her, the possibility of raising two children alone, maybe it was more than he could bear. Maybe his actions weren’t indicative of a malicious man—as Pierce had first described him—but rather a devastated husband, a reeling father.

  She wished she could snap her fingers and fix Pierce, so he could be happy about the baby. She needed him to be with her in the delivery room. Not just in body, but really there, emotionally, both for moral support and so they could experience the moment together. This might be their only child.

  “Pierce. I’m going to the restroom.” She stood. “Whew. When I’m sitting I forget how heavy I am. Be right back.”

  She gratefully leaned against the sealed door, then ran cold water over both hands in the sink. Too much was happening, and not enough was happening.

  She wished she knew what God had planned for Pierce. For her and the delivery.

  Why?

  Well, she needed to be prepared. Her parents’ deaths had been so unexpected, so final. The miscarriage, another awful reminder of how uncertain life can be.

  Trust me.

  The sonogram would soon be performed, wasn’t every pregnant woman nervous before having a sonogram? God, please don’t let anything be wrong with my baby.

  My baby. My miracle.

  Trust me.

  Her racing heart skidded, then slowed to a normal speed.

  Six months ago she hadn’t known she was pregnant—but she was. Less than six months ago she hadn’t known about Pierce’s mother’s death or his brother’s birth. Did she not trust God to finish His work in both of them?

  Heavenly Father, I’m sorry. Forgive me for forgetting to trust You, and not trusting You even when I remember I should.

  She returned to the couch and took Pierce’s hand.

  ***

  Today, Pierce did not want to be in Eric’s office.

  During their first appointment, he’d appreciated the homey atmosphere. The rich wood, the small bin of toys and plastic Legos shoved into the corner. For young patients? For grandkids?

  But not this time. Today he felt boxed in. Trapped in a place and a process he was too far in to get out of, and not far enough in to be excited it was almost over. Because he hadn’t had any new memories since their last meeting?

  Laurie had scooted over closer to him when Eric’s secretary entered the room. Then she went to the bathroom, came back, and took his hand. Pierce expected her to say something. He wanted her to say something—anything to distract him from the issue at hand.

  But that would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?

  Laurie whispered in his ear. “Did you see that?”

  “Hmm? What?”

  “The long look that Eric gave his wife. It was sweet.”

  Eric’s wife. And secretary.

  “I didn’t recognize her at first, either.” Laurie pointed to a photograph on the desk. “But look. It’s her. Lighter hair, shorter, too. Pretty.”

  Once again, Eric took the chair across from them. “My wife just got her hair done.”

  Laurie beamed a proud grin at Pierce, then spoke to Eric. “It looks great.”

  “That’s what I said.” The doctor re-opened his notes, looked at Pierce. “Now, where were we?”

  “You said knowing everything that happened will help me.” But how? A noose of frustration wrapped around his mind.

  “You don’t agree,” Eric said.

  “I don’t know.” Pierce released Laurie’s hand and lifted both of his.

  Eric set aside his notes, leaned forward to brace his forearms on his thighs like he and Pierce were two friends simply having a conversation in his living room. “My friend, knowing the truth won’t change your experience; but it might change how you interpret your experience. You see, a five-year-old can’t understand adult issues like a husband grieving the loss of his wife, but you can almost understand that now because you’re married to Laurie and you’re afraid for her, right?”

  “Yes.” Every muscle in Pierce’s body tightened.

  “Makes your skin crawl, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “A five-year-old can’t understand a father who would send him away from the only home he had ever known, but as a man you can understand a father who wants a better life for his child. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Pierce spread his fingers across Laurie’s stomach and locked his eyes on hers. “I’m here because I love you. Because I love our child. Because God insisted I tell you and won’t let me keep this part of myself from you.” He included Eric with a quick glance as he rose to pace. “Here’s something you need to know: I can’t stand this emotional roller coaster I’m on. One minute I think ‘Yes, I can do this. I can be the husband and father, the minister, God wants me to be.’

  “Then a tidal wave of anxiety crashes into me and I’m drowning, gasping for breath. I’m ashamed to say part of me wants to get out of the water and forget it. But now that I’ve started this process, I really can’t stop. I have to finish it.”

  He stopped in front of them, feet spread, arms crossed. And immediately grieved leaving Laurie’s side. He sat beside her, took her hand and gently massaged her fingers.

  “I get some of it right.” Like the way he’d reconnected with Laurie and managed to stay close to her. “Then I crash and burn like an idiot.” Like his attitude when he walked in here today.

  “Pierce,” Eric said. “Repeating old habits is easy; changing them is hard. It’s work to behave differently. We’re not looking for perfection here.”

  “I’m looking for relief!” Embarrassed, he lowered his voice. “I don’t want to find my father. I don’t want to see him.” He kissed Laurie’s hand. “I don’t know what to think about my brother.”

  Beside him, Laurie sighed heavily. “Your father may be the only one who can tell us exactly what happened to your mother, if your brother lived, or any number of—”

  Eric held up a hand to stop Laurie, and looked at Pierce. “But you’ll do whatever you need to, won’t you. You’ll do it for yourself and you’ll do it for her.”

  Pierce nodded. To his surprise, Laurie laid her head on his shoulder. His chest ached at the simple gesture.

  Sometimes loving someone was hard. Laurie loved him, even when doing so was difficult. She let him love her, even if their circumstances weren’t perfect, even if moments before they had shed tears together.

  Now he knew that sometimes loving God was hard, too. Sometimes obeying God was scary. And sometimes, as Jesus experienced, something—or Someone—had to die a long public death, so necessary changes could take place.

  “Sometimes I can’t believe you love me like this,” he said.

  She pulled his hand back
to their baby. “I’ve always loved you like this, you just couldn’t feel it before. I’d always thought there was a part of you I couldn’t touch. I think that part is your memories. They wrapped around you like an old, ratty blanket.”

  Hadn’t he sensed it, too? A shadowy wall. A mysterious barrier, first between him and his adoptive parents, then between him and Laurie?

  “I think you’re right. I hate it, but I think you are right.”

  “We might find that locating your father and brother won’t be as terrible as you think it will,” she said. “Yes, you lost your mother, but other reasons you felt rejected could be untrue.”

  Eric glanced at Laurie. “She’s right. There could still be parts you don’t remember. Not that your feelings aren’t real, but you don’t know any of the motives behind the actions. You feel betrayed because you believe your adoption by the Cranes is proof of your father’s rejection. Maybe that’s not true. The result, yes; but not necessarily the reason.

  “Bridges is an extremely common name around here. You’re probably related to half the occupants of the next three counties. But your father could be dead, too, Pierce. Have you considered that?”

  “No.” Did Pierce hope his father was dead, so there would be no opportunity to face him? “I’ve tried not to think about him.” He paused. “What should I do now?”

  “Keep doing whatever brings you closer to God, closer to Laurie, and you won’t go wrong. You might never have all the answers, Pierce. Some of the pain, some of the questions, you may have to give to God every day for the rest of your life.”

  ***

  In some ways, Laurie thought, everything had changed. She knew more about her husband’s struggles as a person, as a man, than ever before. While often difficult, hearing him connect emotions with his memories under Eric’s direction appeared to help Pierce. Yet inside, she couldn’t help weeping for the child her husband had once been.

  In other ways, like the way he snuggled up to her back in bed and wrapped his arm around her waist, or the fact that she could feel him lay there completely awake and practically vibrating with mischief, everything was the same.

  “You need to get some sleep before morning,” she whispered.