The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  He cleared his throat.

  “Learning the truth of his lineage changed him. As a man.”

  He caught Laurie’s eye. Then drank water from the cup that was always left on the pulpit—something he had never done before—and cleared his throat again.

  “Excuse me.”

  He coughed.

  “What I mean to say is—”

  The irony was almost laughable. His original intent had been to talk about the impact Moses’ experiences—the burning bush, the miraculous plagues, the parting of the Red Sea—had on Moses as a person.

  When preparing his sermon, he hadn’t seen the similarities. He was Moses. A man who was adopted, who viewed his family in a particular way. He learned part of the truth, did something really stupid and almost ruined his life, then God revealed His plan and confronted him with his past.

  God, You got me. You really got me. He shook his head.

  “I … just realized I’m preaching to myself.” He once again caught Laurie’s eye. She winked.

  After Pierce finished his message, he closed his Bible. “I think many of us can relate to Moses. We have a view of our past that reaches into our present. We make decisions based on our past. We embrace and we shun things because of our past. All the while battling things we believe—possibly true, possibly false—because of our past.

  “Eventually, God will intercept our chosen, planned path. He will orchestrate a detour that reroutes our journey. Ultimately, His plan is that we not be controlled by our past. Rather, He wants us to put Him in control of our lives, which requires us recognizing both His presence and His influence, in our past.”

  Pierce descended from the platform, motioning to Laurie. “Honey, come here.”

  He took her hand in both of his. “I love Laurie. As you can see, God is growing our family. Most of me is happy about that. But because of some things in my past, part of me isn’t happy. Even though I know this baby is a miracle, even though I love my wife, even though I know God is leading my life in the direction of fatherhood. Part of me is still struggling not to let my past control my present and my future.

  “If you’re in the same place—you know God’s hand is on your life, you know He’s doing things, but some part of you is unhappy about what He’s doing—ask yourself if that hesitation, that frustration, has anything to do with your past. Being happy about God’s current plan for you may begin with a shift in your perspective on your past.”

  He planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

  After the service, he greeted every person as the building emptied. His parents, his friends, the church board, people who loved him and had watched him grow up. They filed by, extended their hands, offered their love. They rejoiced with him over the coming baby.

  As Laurie had said, he had been surrounded by love and support since being adopted. He had indeed avoided a motherless childhood, possibly a loveless home.

  Yet a part of him still wanted to hold on to his resentment for being permanently given away.

  Even though he had walked over to the church early that morning, he drove Laurie home in her car, just to be near her.

  He changed into jeans, and helped her heat leftovers. They carried their plates to the nursery, ate standing, and re-planned the shelving project. It reminded him of the night they assembled the crib, how tense their relationship had been then, how uncertain she had been of his love.

  How uncertain he had been of everything.

  “Laurie, where’s the shoebox of my things Mom gave you?”

  She looked at him for several long seconds. “Are you sure?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But I think it’s time.”

  “It’s in the trunk of my car. I’ll get it,” she said.

  ***

  Pierce sat against the nursery wall, waiting for Laurie to bring the box. Brilliant sunshine pushed through the bank of tall windows, shooting shafts of light across the old wooden floor to his bare feet, much like the moonlight that had shone across his body the night his mother died.

  Laurie waddled into the room carrying the old shoebox, then sat in the rocking chair beside him. “Your mother said she found this while unpacking. She gave it to me around Easter, I think.”

  He took the box from her, still warm from baking in the trunk. “I don’t know what’s in here.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll face it together.”

  “This might be nothing.”

  “It doesn’t matter. And I’m not,” she motioned to her belly, “we’re not, going anywhere.”

  His insides shook. He could practically feel his heart vibrating. He lifted the lid.

  The smell of old metal hit him first. His hand closed over the miniature silver convertible resting on top. He held it to his ear and shook it, grinned like a child finding buried treasure. “I hid pennies in the ones that had working trunk lids.” He opened it, and several blackened pennies fell into his open hand.

  He found baseball cards, a busted yo-yo. A rusted railroad spike and three arrowheads sealed in a plastic bag. Luke Skywalker and his buddies Han Solo, R2-D2, and C3PO.

  Dead silverfish lay in the bottom with a battered red Cream of Wheat semi. “I got this truck as a gift, right after I came to live here. I thought the trailer was for hiding things.”

  “More pennies?” Laurie asked.

  But nothing jingled.

  He reached in with his fingers, pulled out a wadded woman’s handkerchief.

  His lungs seized. Mama’s handkerchief, and something was crumpled inside. Carefully, he opened the cloth. “Laurie?”

  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  The creased picture was a thumbnail, black-and-white, photo booth type. In it Pierce saw the young faces of Mama and Daddy. Kissing.

  Laurie sat forward in the rocker. “Have you seen that before?”

  “I, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I remember finding the handkerchief in the paper sack Mrs. Taylor packed for me. But I didn’t want to lose it. So I shoved it in the truck right after Daniel and Kay, you know, gave it to me.” He looked at Laurie. “I don’t remember seeing this picture.” His voice fell to a whisper as he studied the old photo. “They look happy, don’t they?”

  “You need to know,” Laurie said. “You wouldn’t let me tell you before, but you need to know about the holes in your dad’s yard.”

  Holes? Right. Gilbert had said the youth group was going to help a farmer with holes all over his yard. “What about them?”

  “Your father’s been digging, mostly around the pig shed.”

  “Why?” But as the question left his mouth, he knew the answer.

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

  “He’s searching for your mother’s grave.”

  ***

  He was shirtless and barefoot. A little, dark-haired boy in floppy overalls. Tan lines bridged his shoulders. He wore a frayed hat the color of wheat. A piece of straw dangled like a toothpick from his slightly parted lips. On a self-made path, he trod around and around the small farmhouse, holding his breath every time he passed between the putrid-smelling pig shed and his parents’ room.

  Then he heard Daddy’s truck coming home.

  Daddy had been gone all day, but before leaving he washed and shaved his face smooth. The sound always reminded Pierce of an ax being sharpened.

  Pierce had smelled the soap, heard the peculiar scraping sound of blade on beard. And wondered where Daddy was going.

  From the hall Mama had spoken to Daddy. “Your shirt’s hanging on the bed post.” But she did not look at him.

  Pierce peered in their room and saw Daddy shining his boots. The tangy odor made him think of oil mixed with sugar.

  “Can I go with you?”

  Daddy’s hands paused mid-stroke. He hung his head, then he shook it like he had when the horse kicked him flat. His voice was hoarse and hollow. “Not this time.”

  When Daddy left, Mama did not kiss him
goodbye. She did not wave or watch his truck disappear down the lane. Rather, she sat in her chair at the table and rubbed her watermelon belly.

  “Can I listen, Mama?” Pierce knelt beside her chair. “Can I hear the baby?”

  Mama let him press his ear to her stomach. The baby kicked his cheek.

  “Will it be a boy, Mama?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a surprise.”

  Then Mama said she was tired. She wanted to lie down. But he could go out and play.

  Now Daddy was back. He parked his truck in its place between the house and barn. But he didn’t get out. Instead he sat there for a long time staring over the fields.

  Then Daddy draped both arms over the steering wheel and dropped his head. His shoulders shook first, then his arms as he slowly turned his head back and forth.

  Maybe Daddy hurt himself.

  Or maybe he had come home and since Mama wasn’t sitting on the front porch, he thought she was gone. Because, lately, Daddy had been asking her to stay. Telling her he needed her. Begging her not to leave.

  Mama would never do that. Mama loved them.

  So Pierce went to Daddy’s truck. Rising on his dirt-covered toes, he grabbed the ledge of the open window for balance. “Daddy, Mama’s here. She didn’t leave.”

  Daddy’s face was red and wet. His eyes looked like you felt when you spun around and around and around, then fell to the ground.

  “Want me to get you one of Mama’s ‘kerchiefs?”

  Daddy stared at him.

  “I found a gopher turtle hole.”

  Pierce’s fingers slipped. He fell hard on his bottom.

  Daddy opened the driver’s door, stepped out, and stopped.

  “I’m okay,” Pierce said, dusting off his legs.

  Daddy nodded. Then he shoved a thick stack of papers under the front seat before going inside to Mama. Pierce followed, and from the front porch heard their bedroom door close.

  So he walked around the house again, kicking up stones, tossing them, while his insides shook like a cold puppy. Something was wrong—with Daddy, or with Mama. Or maybe both.

  He boosted himself up on an old stump and peeked in their window as the thin lace curtains hung still in the breezeless air. Seeing them hugging, kissing for so long, filled him with both relief and embarrassment. Daddy’s hands kept moving over Mama’s back. Hers were in his hair. Daddy said, “Don’t leave me, Annabelle.”

  Pierce stood watching them and wondered where Mama might want to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Just before noon, John handed the Labor and Delivery reins over to Dr. Nate as three mothers-to-be were wheeled in. He’d dodged that bullet by the skin of his teeth.

  John hopped into his truck, drove out of town under a fire-bright sun. Today he’d install the window unit he’d bought yesterday at Benson’s. He didn’t care if October was almost here, he couldn’t stand one more sweltering evening at the farm without air conditioning. Then, he’d call sweet Rebecca—with her long, dark hair and green, Greek eyes—a fine specimen of a nurse he’d charmed into offering her phone number before his shift ended.

  John faced three glorious days off. No appointments, no hospital duty. He might drive his Viper to Montgomery—he’d hardly driven it lately—get a fancy hotel room with excellent room service. Maybe sweet Rebecca had time off, too, and would join him.

  He passed huge fields covered with hordes of peanut plants sunning themselves in the early fall heat. He heard Old Mr. Dawkins’ tractor before he saw it. Being behind it added twenty minutes to the drive, but he didn’t care.

  He puttered along, remembering the weekend’s flurry of young arms and laughter. One thing was sure, with an army of good-natured teenagers and enough food, a lot of work could get done. Some stuff they tossed out had probably been in the barn since his childhood.

  Dad hadn’t spoken again of church, even while the kids had worked. Yet his expression changed when Laurie introduced herself. His eyes softened around the edges. His voice grew humble—here, let me carry that for you. Sure, you can set that over here—a tone John had never before heard from his father. Most unnerving were the tears Luther had blinked away as he later retreated inside the farmhouse.

  John parked. Lifting the box out of the truck bed, carrying it to the porch where Luther sat left him covered in sweat. Twenty minutes to install the unit and stand, another hour and his father’s one window living room would be a cool haven. Maybe Dad would sleep better at night if he weren’t so hot.

  “Dad, I’ll fix lunch as soon as I get this in.”

  He sat the box near the living room window, aside the old recliner. Parting the curtains scattered dust, but the unit’s HEPA filter would soon take care of that. The cord did reach the outlet; however, the room’s single lamp was already plugged into the only working outlet. John called out. “Dad, where’s an extension cord?”

  No response.

  He walked to the front door. “Dad. I need an extension cord for the air conditioner. Do you have one?”

  Luther rose slowly, eased down the front steps, and stopped. “Inside the barn.”

  “The kids found one in the barn?”

  Without looking back, Luther walked into the untended fields.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Laurie lay her head against the seat rest, folding her arms and closing her eyes. She should have been thrilled she and Pierce were getting away for their anniversary—a trip Eric had suggested before they last left his office. Wasn’t their anniversary October third, and hadn’t Daniel offered to fill-in for Pierce if needed?

  She’d read about energy bursts many women experience during the end of pregnancy. Apparently she’d missed out on that phenomenon, as exhausted seemed to be her new normal. From counseling appointments with Eric which drained her emotions. From gently trying to keep Pierce in bed with her at night when he had dreams and awakened her—yes, she wanted him to awaken her, to talk to her, but did it have to be in the middle of every night?

  Pierce had been quiet for days. Not depressed, simply quiet and contemplative.

  Every few hours he stopped Laurie with a touch, or called from the office, and asked her to pray with him. His petition was always the same, “God, please help me.”

  She knew he was processing something. “I can’t put the words together. It’s too much,” he said. “Keep praying for me.”

  So she had prayed. She continued to pray. But she wasn’t seeing any results.

  He didn’t appear to be hiding anything. He simply couldn’t explain. Which left them in a strange holding pattern.

  Believing that helped her be patient with him. To a point. Unfortunately, her patience was wearing thin. Pregnancy, indigestion, hormones, something was making her cranky.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “Anything close with a drive-thru.”

  “You want a burger?”

  “Yeah. A big one with extra pickles.” She opened her eyes. They’d stopped at a traffic light. She scanned signs lining the street ahead of them. “There.” She pointed to a small Mom-n-Pop hamburger joint.

  He swung in behind several cars. They ordered and continued their journey to the southern Alabama coast. She inhaled the burger, wished she’d ordered two.

  “I need to tell you about another dream,” Pierce said.

  “Honey, you woke me last night.” He’d dreamed of being given a puppy. He’d kept it by his bed in a cardboard box he’d lined with newspapers.

  “Not this one. It’s from a few nights back.”

  “Must have been Wednesday, am I right?” The one night she’d slept entirely through.

  He told her of Luther dressing in what his mother had called “uptown clothes.” How his father had seemed so tired, so burdened, and for once, Mama hadn’t kissed Luther before he left. That after Luther returned, he’d sat in the pick-up, crying, then stuffed a large manila envelope under the front seat before going inside.

  “I think he’d seen the attorney. Didn’t y
ou say my parents showed you a large folder filled with the adoption papers?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think my father had been to see the attorney. And I think my mother knew. She knew he was afraid she’d die, that he was considering giving me up. That’s why she begged him to keep me and John.”

  “I … I don’t know what to say.” She glanced at her husband. “You’re supposed to wake me. And if you don’t wake me, you’re supposed to tell me right away.” She stared out the window as they traveled through yet another small town. “I wish you’d told me sooner, rather than keeping this bottled up inside.”

  “I have a lot of pictures running through my head, even at night.”

  “I can’t help you sort through them if you don’t tell me.”

  “We’re almost to the hotel. We can finish talking about this there.”

  “You want to wait until we’re in a room with people listening on the other side of the wall?”

  “It’s a nice place, Laurie. We’ll have privacy.”

  Perfect. Privacy. A lot of good that would do while she fought being so irritable.

  No, downright snarky, she admitted. Controlling her ping-pong emotions grew more and more difficult as her due date drew near.

  They crested a hill, and the world opened before them. White sand. A cloudless sky over an endless sapphire and gray ocean. Diagonal waves lunged at the shore.

  Pierce drove into the first public parking area they saw, and leaving the A/C on, lowered the windows. At the smell of sea and salt and sand, Laurie wished she could wade in and float, if only to let the water bear her belly burden. As for the other burdens …

  She stared at the floor, knowing she couldn’t keep what she was thinking inside. “Pierce, if you keep secrets from me it’ll put your past right back between us.”

  He turned to her. With a tentative hand, he traced his fingertips across her brow. “Look at me, Laurie. Please.” With a soft hand he stroked her hair. “I’m sorry what I did upset you.”

  “More than that. It scares me.”

  “Because it feels like I kept a secret from you and secrets become walls.”