The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  “I know. The kids and youth love their building. Gilbert told them all to thank you every time they see you.” Through her gown, he caressed her belly. His fingers met the bump of her belly button and lingered there.

  “I’m glad they’re enjoying it.” She brushed his hand away.

  He moved it back.

  She rolled to face him.

  In the darkness, he kissed her cheek and happily placed his hand where it had been.

  “Why are you so fascinated with that?”

  “What do you mean?” He traced his fingers over the pinkie-sized bulge.

  She giggled. “I’m embarrassed for you to do that.”

  “It’s dark. No one can see. I can’t even see, well, barely.”

  She nudged him in the ribs.

  Pierce continued to play. “Does that happen to all pregnant women?”

  “You’re not going to sleep now, are you?”

  He rose on an elbow, braced his head in his palm. “Probably not. I like this better.” He kissed her cheek again.

  “What’s gotten into you? If this is what my dumplings do to you, I won’t make them again.”

  “Sure you should. Now let’s pick names. What do you think about Daniel for a boy?”

  “I think that would make someone very happy. I heard you call them today and tell them you’ll preach this weekend. I’m sure part of you is nervous, but the more I’ve thought about your Easter sermon, the more I’m sure you’ve made the right decision.”

  “Because?”

  “Because maybe this is just like Jesus’ crucifixion. It was more than a little change for Him. It was total humility, total exposure of His struggle between life and death, between righteousness and sin. Everyone watched Him and some believed because of what they saw. Mankind hasn’t changed. What if the greatest change that can happen for people watching you, happens because they’re watching you?”

  “Thanks, and you’re right about the nervousness. My hands are sweating right now just thinking about it. But my spirit is relieved.”

  “I’m proud of you. But.” She huffed at him. “Will you stop rubbing your fingers over my poor, deformed belly button?”

  He didn’t. “Only if the middle name can be Boone. Daniel Boone Crane.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  “We’ll buy him a furry, raccoon-tailed hat and a toy rifle.”

  She shook her head, with groans she rolled back onto her other side, and spoke over her shoulder. “It’s after midnight. I have to meet with a client tomorrow. No more dumplings for you.”

  “I bet Daniel Boone liked dumplings.”

  “What made you think of Daniel Boone?”

  “I just remembered. On the farm, we didn’t have a television. But Mrs. Taylor had an old black and white, rabbit ears and everything. Sometimes I watched it if Mother and I went for a visit. I guess that’s kind of a good memory, huh?”

  “I think so. Ouch.”

  Pierce froze behind her. “What?”

  “Baby kicked my bladder. Be right back. Push.”

  With a gentle helping hand, he nudged her off the bed.

  “I have a girl’s name picked,” she said minutes later, climbing back in bed and pulling Pierce’s arm back over her middle.

  “Tell me.”

  “Hope. I like Hope.”

  “Hope Elizabeth Crane.” He murmured against her shoulder.

  “Elizabeth was my mother’s name.”

  “I know. Now hush. I need to get some sleep.”

  “Pierce? Thank you.”

  “I love you.” He kissed the back of her neck. “I hope it’s a girl.”

  “We can find out next week. The sonogram.”

  “Right. The sonogram.”

  She clamped her hand around his retreating wrist, sang her next words. “You promised. You’re going.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” He patted her belly. “Maybe it’s twins.”

  Laurie elbowed him in the ribs. “That should take the grin off your face.”

  ***

  The music seemed extra loud in the rustic church. The dresses, ties, and lights extra brilliant. Pierce was hyperalert, hypersensitive to everything—including the welcoming handshakes and hugs he received—as though he had been gone for months instead of weeks.

  Time ticked slowly, sprinted, then slowed again.

  The choir sang about God’s divine plan—yes, there was a plan.

  The offering was collected—almost time for him to speak.

  His ears buzzed so loudly as he stood at the pulpit scanning the crowd, he half expected someone to run to the window and watch for an approaching tornado.

  Instead, all eyes stayed fixed on him. Laurie’s. His parents’. Gilbert’s.

  Those of Deacon Floyd and his petite, white-haired wife with her hand-crocheted shawl—she must have one in every possible color.

  Rick and Julie Matthews. Had she sung a solo that morning?

  Luke—what was that kid’s last name?—sat near the front. His girlfriend hadn’t accompanied him, probably still recovering from childbirth. But another girl sat with him, and an older woman. Both had eyes as black as night, and hair to match. Luke’s future in-laws?

  Clear sunlight speared between the creaking double doors at the back of the room. They eased shut as a young professional-type, in dark pants and a stiffly pressed white shirt, entered and took a seat with a bald-headed old man.

  “Good morning, everyone.”

  Deacon Floyd led the response. “Welcome back, Pastor.”

  As the applause dwindled, Pierce couldn’t help feeling ashamed. Just weeks earlier he had considered leaving these folks. They knew nothing of it. They loved him.

  He supposed despair and fear could almost blind a man. Narrow his sight to pinhole size so his spiritual vision was reduced to nothing.

  A thin thread of truth, like a delicate, gold filament, weaved its way through Pierce’s mind from where Laurie had planted it in his heart. She was right; all eyes were on him.

  A baby squealed. Someone coughed. Expectant gazes wavered as bodies shifted in their seats.

  How long had he stood there saying nothing?

  He took a deep breath. “I have no notes for you today.”

  Sweat greased his hands. He shoved them in his pockets and stepped back to pace across the stage. “My wife is responsible for what you’ll hear this morning.” He raised his chin in Laurie’s direction and stopped short. “And my parents. Who could ignore them, right?”

  He paused while knowing laughter rippled across the congregation.

  “Easter Sunday was the first time I preached with myself in mind. Remember I talked about change? The change that Jesus faced to fulfill His destiny as our Savior. That change was death, of course, but nevertheless, divinely orchestrated by our Heavenly Father, so that we could have our sins forgiven and our relationship with God restored. I prayed with some of you about changes you needed God to work in your own lives.”

  He stepped off the platform, stopped at the base with feet spread, arms crossed.

  “God’s answer for me on a personal level was no.”

  Across the room, heads cocked and brows furrowed with silent questions.

  “I didn’t like that answer.” As if in thought, he rubbed a palm over his jaw line, then placed it over his heart. “I’m sorry to say I almost resigned my position here because of it.” Again he paced, then stopped to face them. “I’m ashamed of that. I apologize to all of you, and ask your forgiveness.

  “Right now, I’m stumbling through obedience to God. I suppose I feel a lot like the children of Israel when God parted the Red Sea. The Egyptians followed, hot on their heels. And yes, God performed quite the miracle standing the waters up that way.”

  He walked to Laurie on his right and placed a hand on their unborn child. “But sometimes walking through a miracle is more frightening than staying where we are. Our feet don’t expect dry ground where there should be mud. The shock of seeing God’s
handiwork up close makes us realize how truly vulnerable we are. How needy we are. How big He is.”

  He stepped back to the foot of the stage. “Next week I’ll speak about miracles. Not how to get them, but how they impacted different people in scripture. My father and I will rotate weeks after that, so Laurie and I can prepare for our new baby.

  “Today, I’d like to end the service by offering prayer. Not mine. Yours. As I said, I’m learning as I go. So, I’ll wait here for you to come take my hand and pray, because you need to talk to God and listen to God for yourself—not hear me talk to Him. But I’ll agree with you now, and continue to pray for you this week.”

  A little red-haired girl, in a worn pink dress and dirty sandals, slipped into the aisle. Pierce bent to hear her whisper. “God told me no, too. The doctor says my daddy is dying of cancer.”

  His mouth went dry as he crouched in front of her. What could he possibly say?

  But she had already taken his hand. Already squeezed her eyes shut and begun to speak. “Dear God, so far You haven’t healed my daddy. I need him. My mommy needs him. If Your answer is still no, please don’t be mad if we cry. We need money. Tell us what to do.” Then she smiled big, hugged him, and scampered back to her seat.

  Through watery eyes he saw that no one else had moved. Had he been wrong to do this?

  Deacon Floyd raised a hand, standing and looking around. “Pastor, there’s too many of us to line up in front of you. Maybe we should all just stay and pray together for a while.”

  “Sure.” Pierce answered as he stood again. “I’ll stay as long as anyone needs.”

  He heard weeping. Faint, racking weeping.

  It came from the far left, rear corner of the building. From the old man—bald head bent, thin frame shaking—who sat near the polished professional. Pierce watched, quietly amazed and thrilled as several people walked over to pray for the distraught stranger.

  Across the congregation, some knelt at their seats. Others stood and approached the altar area. Small groups formed, grasped hands, and murmured needs.

  It was all God. It was only God.

  Pierce couldn’t have made it happen if he had sent letters, made announcements, and passed out instructions at the door. God didn’t need his help, only his participation.

  More, Father. Show us more. Show me more.

  Rick Matthews approached, then shook Pierce’s hand and held on. In a soft and tired voice he said, “My son, Lord. He believes You’re leading him to military service. We wanted direction for him, but this, this means he’ll leave in less than a year. He’s the glue in our family. Oh, God, keep him safe.” He raised his head. “Thanks, Pastor.”

  “Sure.”

  Many minutes passed and a comforting quiet filled the vaulted room. After a short benediction, Pierce proceeded to the heavy, ancient doors to greet folks as they left. His gaze locked with the well-dressed newcomer’s. He watched the visitor follow out the old man, the one who had wept.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Withering fall heat blasted John as he opened the truck door. Sweat trickled across his scalp as he jammed his key in the ignition and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for his father to fasten his seatbelt. He flipped the AC dial to blizzard and pulled onto the street.

  “So. That was my brother.”

  Luther sat like a scolded child, silent, with folded hands.

  “He stands exactly like you.” Feet spread, arms crossed.

  Pierce had the same medium build as John, though not as wiry. They both had thick, dark-brown hair, which must have matched their mother’s. His dad’s hair—when he’d had hair—reflected Luther’s Cherokee heritage. Straw straight and raven black.

  John bought a bucket of fried chicken at a drive-through, drove to the farm. What kind of childhood had Pierce had? What supposed miracle was he experiencing, and what had God told him “no” about?

  “Does he have Mom’s eyes?”

  Perfect sky blue. And John thought those eyes had followed him and his dad, their dad, right out the door ahead of the quiet, meandering crowd.

  “Yes.”

  Minutes passed. John slowed and turned onto the long, unkempt driveway. “You gave him away.” The truck lurched and rumbled along the rutty lane. “When?”

  “Days after you were born.”

  What? “The Taylors wouldn’t keep two of us?”

  “Didn’t ask.”

  “Mom died here, having me.”

  He looked ahead at the pitiful farm. She’d bled to death. Partly during labor, partly a postpartum hemorrhage. Probably due to uterine atony, he hypothesized—more commonly known as a boggy uterus. Or, a partial placental abruption—a tearing away of the placenta from the uterine wall—might have been a contributing factor.

  If she’d been in a hospital, she might have lived. She definitely would have needed blood, possibly an emergency hysterectomy, but she would have survived. Although she might not have been able to have any more children.

  John suspected she probably shouldn’t have had him.

  He glanced at his dad. “Do you blame me?”

  No answer.

  “How old was I when you sent me to live with the Taylors? Days? Weeks?”

  “Couldn’t tend you and the farm.”

  “Newborn, then.”

  One son given away. Another, a baby, sent away for years.

  “Did you love our mother?”

  Luther answered with a grainy whisper. “She died because I loved her.”

  John stopped the truck in the usual spot by the barn and shoved it in PARK. He raked a hand through his hair. “I was what, four, when you brought me back here? Why did you want me? For help? Free labor?”

  His dad looked out the broad windshield over the waist-high weedy fields, and seemed to age right before John’s eyes.

  “For the company.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  This time, Laurie sat in the front seat next to Pierce as he drove to her mid-week doctor’s appointment. And again, a train stopped them. The ten a.m. freight certainly ran like clockwork.

  Clickety-clack. Tick-tock.

  The passing boxcars marked time itself, mimicking the countdown to her delivery and highlighting the “to-do” list in her head.

  Accompany Pierce to appointments with Eric, listen and learn, pray for Pierce. Check.

  Be patient when he walks in the woods at night to pray, instead of staying with her and talking non-stop about the baby. Difficult, but Check.

  Wait on God’s timing—the hardest item on her list.

  Could the worst be over? Pierce hadn’t had a nightmare for more than a week. He’d preached last Sunday. And, most important, he would be with her this morning for the sonogram. Maybe he didn’t need to track down his father and brother after all.

  “Pierce, honey, the crossing gates are rising.”

  “So is my blood pressure.” He eased over the tracks and took Laurie’s hand. “But better to be nervous about doing the right thing than the wrong one.”

  “I’m so excited,” she said. “And a little nervous. The baby must feel it. He or she’s doing somersaults.”

  Laurie strolled into the office with a happy, expectant bounce in her step. She couldn’t help throwing a huge smile at the petite, redhead receptionist. “Hello, Pam.”

  “Sonogram day for you,” Pam said. “Very exciting.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  To Laurie’s surprise, Pam reached over the desk and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Pastor Crane, that service was so good Sunday. I just love the way you preach. And you were so sweet to my niece, Gracie. That was her first time in church, ever. She’s staying with me while her parents are at a cancer treatment center out of state. She’s been telling everyone that the preacher held her hand and hugged her in front of everybody. Thank you.”

  “Pierce. That little girl …” Laurie said as they sat in the waiting area. “I knew I’d never seen her at church before.”

&
nbsp; Pam called them back a minute later. “Slight change of plans,” she said as she led them to a room. “Dr. Nate had to leave for the hospital. Dr. John, the cute new guy, will see you today.” She wiggled her brow and Laurie laughed. “You would have to meet him anyway, eventually. You know the drill. Designer gowns are on the shelf.”

  Laurie turned her back to Pierce, slid her hair to one side. “Unzip me?”

  “Sure.” He eased down the zipper. “I’ve always loved the freckles across the back of your neck and shoulders. They glow like a sunburst.” He pressed a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

  A quick knock sounded at the door and it swung open. “Sorry,” the young doctor said. “I’ll give you another minute.” He closed the door.

  She laughed, leaned back against Pierce, and pulled his arms around her. “I know you’re mortified, probably blushing like a teenager caught making out in the church parking lot. But at this precise moment I am so happy.”

  ***

  “This is the spine. You can see the rib cage. Looks like a busy little thing.” The young Dr. John—had Pierce seen him somewhere before?—moved the ultrasound Doppler over Laurie’s gel-covered stomach.

  Pierce likened the pictures on the screen to a black and white movie, though not as grainy. His child’s spine was seashell white; it curled, wriggling as the baby rolled and kicked. The rhythmic, whirring sound—interrupted by the occasional thump—indicated a sure, strong heartbeat.

  “Now here’s the head.” The doctor pressed some buttons on the keyboard and froze the picture. “I’m taking measurements. And here is a front view of the face.”

  Pierce actually saw the features.

  Laurie laughed. “That’s my baby’s face?”

  A miracle happened inside Pierce, a sharpening of focus, as if the gears of his mind slipped into position. He snatched up every precious detail.

  Laurie, so happy. Pregnant, laughing with joy, love shining on her face.

  His baby inside her. Whose growth and movement stretched her skin. Whose very life came from Laurie’s sweet heart that Pierce loved beyond reason or words.

  Then God let Pierce glimpse his future.

  His life spread before him. Full of wonderful possibilities, unexpected problems, certainly some sorrow. And, God was giving him a family, creating it right in front of him. They meant more to him than anything.