The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  They went inside. After much convincing, his parents finally went home. Laurie left him to take a quick shower, but only after he promised to call John, as he was on call.

  He sat on the couch, cell phone in hand.

  He had to do this. He had to make himself call his brother and get an appointment in the morning for Laurie. It was the one thing she had asked him to do. The one thing he could do.

  He dialed. And got voicemail.

  “This is Dr. John Bridges. Please leave a complete message including your phone number. Remember, the beep is delayed. Thanks.”

  He listened and waited. Five seconds, ten.

  Beep.

  “John, it’s Pierce. Laurie and I have been at the beach, she had a little, um, complication. She needs to see you first thing in the morning. Please call our home or my cell as soon as you get this message, even if it’s late. Thanks.”

  Ten minutes later, as Pierce sat on the couch with Laurie’s head in his lap, the doorbell rang. Then someone pounded on the front door.

  “Pierce! Pierce!”

  He opened the door and saw his brother. Hair disheveled, shirt unbuttoned and un-tucked, lipstick on his neck. And a hickey?

  “I’m here. What happened?” John rushed to Laurie. He dropped to his knees by the couch, felt his pockets. “I don’t have anything with me. Pierce, go tell Rebecca to bring my bag.”

  Okay.

  “No. Yell out to the car for Rebecca to bring my bag. It’s better that way.” He winked at Laurie.

  Rebecca didn’t hear Pierce the first time. Or the second.

  He tried waving his arms to get her attention, knowing he made quite a sight for the neighbors, standing on the porch directly under the light, waving his arms and yelling like a fool. What else could he do?

  His display roused the area dogs. Pretty soon every canine within five miles joined in. Oh, yes, the neighbors loved him.

  He had just stepped to the edge of the porch when Rebecca managed to open the passenger door and yell “Here!” She quickly tossed a standard doctor’s black bag onto the grass. Pierce walked briskly to the bag, staring fixedly at the ground.

  “Sorry, my zipper’s stuck,” Rebecca said through the open door. “Tell John I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  Pierce returned in time to hear Laurie invite John and Rebecca for dinner soon, then he passed John the bag.

  “Rebecca said she’ll wait in the car. She’s having trouble with her zipper.”

  ***

  For Laurie, time had all but stopped.

  To be extra safe, John put her on partial bed-rest, which meant she was only allowed on her feet for a few short intervals each day. As long as she had no further bleeding, no contractions, didn’t start dilating, and her water didn’t break—so many things could go wrong—she and the baby would be fine.

  But she and Pierce couldn’t have sex—they couldn’t take the chance of starting her labor early—which left her worrying about maintaining their closeness.

  Hadn’t that been a fun conversation to have with John their first night back from the beach, considering Pierce’s call had obviously interrupted John and Rebecca’s date.

  One client with whom she’d had an initial consultation had opted to sell rather than renovate, and the other possible client was still considering her designs.

  She was bored, working to hold off fear, and couldn’t help counting days. Nightly leg cramps interrupted her sleep. Though Kay offered to visit often, Laurie found she preferred solitude.

  During the second week of bed rest, Laurie had a private phone appointment with Dr. Goodnight.

  She lay on the couch, waiting for Eric’s call, trying to ignore the voices in her head spouting lists of unfinished tasks around her home. Good thing she hadn’t started working right away after moving to Rowe City. Between Pierce’s crisis and her pregnancy issues, she’d have been forced to resign.

  The phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Laurie? It’s Eric Goodnight. How are you feeling?”

  “Physically I’m all right. I’m taking precautions, as you know, to keep the baby safe. So far those adjustments seem to be working.”

  “That’s good to hear. You’ve got a delicate balance to maintain. Yes, you need to be emotionally available for Pierce, but you also have to take care of yourself and the baby. Is he still as afraid as he was before your detour to the ER?”

  “He doesn’t seem to be. He drove me there, of course. He stayed in the ER, not knowing what was happening while they worked on me. And he stayed in the room with me during the night.” That marked progress, didn’t it?

  “As I said in the beginning, one of the biggest challenges for you during this time is you can’t make a plan to fix the problem. Healing from trauma such as your husband’s often happens in stages. You’re still at the mercy of however God chooses to reveal the rest of his memories.”

  “How will I know if Pierce is healed?”

  “You probably won’t, Laurie. Not until you actually go into labor.”

  She’d let herself think they neared the end of the process. Somehow her mind had conjured a happy ending for Pierce, which coincided with her delivery. But what if that wasn’t the case?

  “Laurie? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Dr. Goodnight, I’m here,” she said.

  “Laurie, I hear your distress.”

  “I’m more afraid for the baby the closer I get to term. Before now, maybe my concern for Pierce overshadowed that.” She wrapped an arm across her stomach. Hope kicked and pushed. “I worry that the stress is bad for our baby.”

  “Then you should speak with your doctor about that.”

  “I had such a different picture in my head of what these months would be like, happy and fun.”

  “Laurie, I know this is really tough for you. Having this experience during a pregnancy isn’t normal. The question you need to ask is: why does that bother you so much?”

  “I … I don’t know. Maybe because we’d spent years dreaming and planning. I guess I had a list in my head for this, too.”

  She pondered his question long after the call ended, but wasn’t sure she’d figured out the root cause.

  ***

  Pierce walked home through the woods that night after work. Mid-October’s burnished colors popped in the trees above him and throughout the countryside. The familiar smells from Pierce’s childhood, of harvested fields comforted him. But they also brought to mind his father’s farm. He pictured his father digging near the old pig shed, trying to find his mother. How could Luther have forgotten where he buried her?

  That night, he snuggled up to Laurie in bed.

  “I’m not trying to be a nag, but I wish we’d already built the shelves.”

  “We’ll get it done. Maybe this weekend I’ll start.”

  “I wish I could help. I wish I could do things.”

  “I wish I could make love with you.” Loving her, giving her pleasure, had become one of his greatest joys.

  “Me, too,” she said. “I’m missing you right now. But if you hold me and we fall asleep, at least my heart can almost feel the same as if we were together.”

  He stayed beside her. Closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he slid into sleep.

  Mama laughed as Daddy stood behind her at the sink. She shushed him before he pinched her bottom and grabbed his hat. Then Mama shook her head and smiled, as she looked through the window and watched Daddy walk to the fields.

  Later, Pierce woke needing to go to the outhouse. He reached Mama’s doorway and heard whispers. Mama sounded happy. Daddy didn’t.

  He stood in the hall, blind from the darkness, and listened.

  “How far, Annabelle? How much time do we have left?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “How far? You know what could happen. I should never have—”

  “Shh. I’ll be fine. I’m only two or three months.”

  “In the morning
I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. It’ll be a waste of money. Mrs. Taylor and me did fine with Pierce, and she got me the birth certificate. She can help me with this one, too. We’ll give ’em part of a pig like we did last time.”

  “Belle, I’ll sell my right arm if I have to.”

  “Mama?”

  She leaned over Daddy. “You need to go?” She threw back the covers, padded to the door, and brushed her fingers through his hair. “Go on, I’ll stand on the porch.”

  He hurried. Glimmering moonlight let him see, so he ran to and from the outhouse.

  “Can I stay by you? On the rug?”

  “I’ll get your blanket.”

  She covered him. He lay in the dark, perfectly still yet determined to stay awake in case they whispered again. It felt like forever. Then Mama reached down and placed her hand on his back. His eyes grew heavy, heavier, so he let them close while he strained to listen.

  The bed creaked. A soft smooch. “Hold me, Belle. Hold me through the night.”

  Mama’s hand left him. “Shh. I’ll be fine.”

  Pierce woke as his heart cramped in his chest. Mama hadn’t been fine.

  “Laurie. Are you awake?”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath. “I can be.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “I didn’t leave the bed this time.” The baby kicked the arm he had wrapped around Laurie. “How do you sleep through that?”

  “Right now I’m not.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Pierce, just tell me what you need. We’re married. Neither of us should suffer alone.”

  “Daddy asked Mama to hold him, the night she told him she was pregnant with John.”

  “Scoot back.”

  He pulled away. In the dark, she rolled with a moan, rested their baby against his side, and draped a leg over his thigh, an arm across his chest.

  “Best I can do with a basketball between us.”

  “It’s great,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  John had the wipers on his truck working at full speed. The rain pounded down in heavy sheets, blocking visibility and soaking the terrain. But he was too worried about his dad to turn back. Dad seemed to dig more during bad weather.

  Thunder roared and lighting slashed. He turned off the highway and slowed. The lane was a swirling mass of mud. He inched forward, careful to stay on the path. As he inched close to the house, an abnormal eerie glow met him. He tried to see through the windshield to determine its source, but the raging storm prevented clear sight.

  He had no jacket with him. His un-tucked dress shirt and jeans would offer little protection. He parked, left the truck running, and pulled off his boots and socks. No way was he ruining a favorite pair of cowboy boots. He rolled up his pants and exited on the passenger side, away from the hissing wind.

  He bolted to the farmhouse. Stopped on the porch to sling excess water off his limbs and face. The house stood silent, and the light seemed to come from near the squealing pigs.

  No. No!

  John hurried down the steps and toward the light. Lightning flashed as he caught his foot on something. The orange extension cord. Dad had pulled the lamp outside and run the cord so he could see to dig.

  “Dad!” He ran the last several steps, mud squishing between his toes.

  A gas lantern sat in the mud, the lamp lay smashed a couple yards away.

  “Dad!” He yelled again, but the rain and screaming pigs drowned out his voice.

  Rain poured over his body while he quickly surveyed his father’s work. What had probably been a dozen holes dotted the ground, but the rain had filled them in until each bled into the next forming a long trench.

  Standing ankle deep in the muck, Dad raised the shovel. John surged forward, stopping it mid-swing.

  “Dad! You’ll have pneumonia in about a minute if you don’t have it already!”

  “I have to find her. I’m coming, Annabelle! I’m coming!”

  “You can’t do this now, Dad.” He jerked away the shovel. “Now come inside.” He turned toward the house. “I mean it, Dad. Get out of this weather.”

  John slung the shovel at the porch. If his dad couldn’t find it, his dad couldn’t dig.

  He heard a smack in the mud and looked back. Dad had fallen to his hands and knees and crawled away. Cool wind plastered his soaked long johns against his skin, tossed mud and pig manure at his face and chest.

  And he was digging with his hands.

  “Annabelle! I’m so sorry, ’Belle!” Dad landed facedown in pig waste.

  John lunged. The pen’s fence posts leaned, the corner post tilted. Lighting and thunder exploded overhead. The swine squealed in terror, broke through and scurried out, trampling his dad as they ran.

  He hiked through the mud, knelt to see if his father lived, and tried not to vomit at the stench.

  “I’m sorry,” his father whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Thirty-eight weeks and three days. Laurie was practically counting down the minutes to November 2.

  God, thank You. Thank You for helping me get this far.

  She couldn’t keep from smiling with relief as she and Pierce waited in an exam room at Dr. Nate’s clinic. Her pregnancy was far from what she’d imagined, her marriage unlike anything she’d ever expected. Yet in a few weeks give-or-take, she’d finally have her baby. She didn’t care if she delivered in the back of a pick-up driving through town during rush hour. She simply wanted the next phase of life to begin. For herself. For Pierce. For their daughter.

  “I hope John lets me start doing things.” She lay back and twirled a pearl earring.

  “We’re going to do whatever he tells us,” Pierce said. “For however long he tells us to do it.”

  She waved her hand, shooing away his words. “I know. But I have all this energy. The baby shower’s tomorrow. We still have to hang the border and build the shelves.”

  “We’ll get it all done, Laurie.”

  “We’ve only got a few days.” These last days would pass quickly, or so everyone said.

  Deb Jordan breezed in. “Did I hear someone say baby shower?”

  “Tomorrow. Did you get the invitation?”

  “I’ll be there,” Deb said. “Are you finished with the Lamaze DVDs?”

  “I’ve got one more to go. I’ll watch it tonight, give them back to you tomorrow. Am I really ready to do this?”

  Deb laughed. “Sweetie, you’ll have this baby whether you feel ready or not.”

  “I guess that’s good news,” Laurie said. At least, she hoped it was good news.

  ***

  When John arrived, Pierce shook his hand. His hands hardly sweat anymore, as he was used to seeing his brother now. All patients saw both docs, an attempt to help the patient be comfortable no matter who assisted in delivery.

  “So, the week’s been uneventful?” John flipped through Laurie’s chart. “You’re feeling good?”

  “I feel great, and there’s so much to do.” Excitement bubbled through her answer. “Can I be normal now?”

  John winked at Laurie and wiggled his brow at Pierce. “Well, Pastor, you ready to be normal again?”

  Pierce’s ears were on fire. They might incinerate along with his face.

  And Laurie was giggling. Blushing, but giggling. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  John snapped the chart closed. “Ten more days, you two. Then you can have at it. Deb, get the pastor here a brochure on safe sex.”

  Pierce couldn’t help but laugh.

  Laurie raised to her elbows. “I meant the baby shower is tomorrow and the nursery isn’t ready.”

  “Let me finish,” John added. “Light activity for you. No lifting, bending, heavy housework like vacuuming. But you can be on your feet for short intervals during the day, as long as you rest more than you’re up.” He patt
ed Pierce’s arm. “Harp on Casanova here to finish the nursery.”

  “Yes!” Laurie reached for Pierce’s hand. “Help me up.”

  John stood. “Do you two have a minute?”

  The simple request filled Pierce with dread. His eyes met his brother’s, then John looked away and paced.

  Laurie spoke first. “What is it, John?”

  It’s all right, Pierce thought. Her compassionate heart is one reason he married her.

  “I found Dad digging in the yard Sunday evening. I think he had been out there for a while.”

  Pierce had to ask. “The night of the storm?”

  “Yeah.” John lowered his head. “He’s going to kill himself looking for our mother. If you know where she is—”

  “She’s by the pig shed.” Pierce stepped to the window, stood with feet spread, arms crossed. He did not want to talk about this. “It’s the nastiest, worst place possible.”

  “He’s looked there,” John said. “I’ve looked there. The smell is unbearable.”

  Pierce knew. “Worse than anything you’ve ever smelled, right?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  He didn’t turn, but spoke over his shoulder. “The stench is in layers. The farther down you go, the worse it is. So the more you dig, the worse the smell.”

  God, help me. Help me. I’m facing my grief, my childhood, but I’m not ready for this part.

  Laurie’s arms slipped around him. She pressed herself against his back, then turned him around to face her. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”

  He took her hands in his.

  He cared about his mother’s grave. He even cared about John. He didn’t want to care about Luther, but a part of him already did.

  John sat again, ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why?” Laurie asked.

  “The farm will probably be gone within the year. Developers have been trying to buy out Dad since before I came back. He’s refused to sell. But now …”

  “Now, what? He’s the one who put her there almost thirty years ago. It never mattered to him before.”

  “Pierce,” said Laurie.