The Widow of Saunders Creek

by Tracey Bateman

  Lola glanced up from her book and smiled. “More food from the natives.”

  “Did you get a name so we can send a thank-you card?” I lifted the foil from the baking dish, and tomato sauce tempted my senses, reminding me I’d skipped breakfast and eaten only half my lunch.

  Lola hesitated. “It was Jarrod’s mom.”

  “Liz brought this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, why didn’t you let her in?” Wasn’t there enough tension between me and Jarrod’s family? Keeping her out just seemed like another push away.

  “I invited her, but she didn’t want to interrupt your work. And I’m pretty sure she’s not holding her breath about the thank-you card, either, considering the birthday flowers and soup she made the other day.”

  Her words stung, but I knew she was right. Clearly, our encounter at the café on my birthday had tripped something and caused Jarrod’s parents to reach out.

  After grabbing the ceramic bowl, Lola removed the lid to reveal a leafy green salad.

  “What’s in the other thing?”

  I lifted a linen towel and revealed still-warm slices of homemade bread. My mouth watered.

  “She made all your favorites,” Lola said, heading into the kitchen. She returned with place settings, and we sat to eat. “This is an olive branch if I’ve ever seen one. They’re trying.”

  I knew they were, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I would have started crying, and that would have delayed my work.

  I took infrequent breaks the rest of the night and only stopped working when I could barely keep my eyes open. Finally, at three o’clock Sunday morning, I stood back and observed my finished work. I’d never painted anything like it. But somehow it felt right.

  “Lola,” I said, my throat hoarse from hours of not speaking, not to mention inhaling paint fumes. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in a long time. “Lola!”

  “Mmm.” Lola stretched out on one of the tables and had been sleeping for the past three hours. I had suggested she go home to bed several times, but she refused. Moral support was the official reason, but I figured she didn’t want to be alone in the house.

  “I’m finished.” And just in the nick of time. I knew from Sam that Eli was supposed to get home early Sunday morning.

  I walked back to the door so I could get the full effect of what it would be like to walk inside and see the painting first thing.

  But it was Lola who said what I didn’t have words to verbalize. “Wow.”

  I turned to find her sitting up on the table, her feet resting on the seat. “That’s beautiful. Eli is going to freak when he sees it.”

  “I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he walks in.”

  “Corrie!” Lola said. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What?” I walked forward to start cleaning up.

  “You can’t just let him walk in. Don’t you want to do a big reveal so you can catch the full impact of his reaction?”

  The truth was, the last thing I wanted was to be there when he saw the mural. What if he didn’t like it? I was also afraid he might still be angry with me. He wouldn’t show it, I’m sure, but I would see it in his eyes and know.

  Lola scowled, clearly disgusted at my decision not to break out the band and fireworks. “Fine, then. Let’s go home.”

  “Help me rinse my brushes and pick up the mess.” I grinned at her. “You know the rules.”

  “I hate rules.” I didn’t begrudge her the weary moan. “Can’t we come back and clean up tomorrow?”

  I shook my head. “I want Eli to see the mural without all the clutter on the floor.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “But since I gave up spending time with Joe for two evenings to help you, I think we could do something I want at least once.”

  “Stop trying to make me feel guilty. You’ve spent lots of time with Joe.”

  We cleaned up the mess, and within the hour we were home.

  “Night,” Lola said, yawning around the word. She trudged upstairs to the guest room, and I fell onto the couch and pulled up my quilt.

  I closed my eyes, aware that for once I could sleep without that aching sense of longing for Jarrod.

  My thoughts went to Eli. I imagined his reaction when he walked into the chow hall in the morning, and my lips curved into a smile and my heart fluttered. I gathered a deep breath and my body relaxed.

  Eli

  I unlocked the door to the chow hall. Normally I didn’t go to the camp until after Sunday service, but after two nights away, I rose early and headed over to check things out. I recognized the strong smell of paint before I stepped inside the chow hall. Light from the rising sun blasted into the room. Something felt different. Frowning, I walked two steps, put my hands in my pockets, and tried to make sense of the unsettled feeling, the smell of paint. And then it hit me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes toward the back of the room. I drew a sharp breath, and my jaw dropped open.

  For the instant it took for my brain to catch up, I actually felt dizzy. Then I refocused and walked to the middle of the room, where I stopped again to take in the sight before me. Only Corrie had heard me say I’d like a mural to help the kids remember that even though they were separated from their parents, God saw them both at the same time. My heart leaped in my chest as I stared at what she had done.

  This incredible piece of art she had created exceeded my wishes. I stared at the beauty in front of me, and tears burned my eyes. I didn’t even attempt to hold them back. I wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

  The scene in front of me showed a kid wearing jeans and a T-shirt standing in a kid’s bedroom. The bed was made, but books were tossed across the twin-sized comforter, as though dumped there after a long school day. A few articles of clothing cluttered the floor. The kid stood looking into a full-length mirror, but the observer could only see the child from behind.

  I don’t know how Corrie accomplished it, but you couldn’t tell the child’s gender. The teen in the mural honestly could have been a boy or a girl. Any of my campers would be able to relate.

  But the kid wasn’t looking at himself or herself. Instead, the reflected image was of a soldier in full combat uniform. Again, the gender remained neutral. The soldier knelt in the desert sand, as though deep in prayer. I got the sense that the kid was so close he or she could step through the mirror and be instantly cradled in the soldier’s arms.

  A pair of long white wings surrounded them both, as though God had sent the guardian to hold child and soldier alike.

  A soft gasp startled me, and I swung around to find my mother standing at the door, tears pouring down her face.

  Smiling, I walked back to the door to stand next to her. “Well, that explains how she got in.”

  Without apology, she nodded. “When she told me she wanted to paint you a mural, I had no idea. Oh, Eli … What a precious gift.”

  I wasn’t sure if she meant the mural was Corrie’s gift to me or if she was referring to Corrie’s God-given ability to paint a story.

  My mom swiped at her tears. “You know what Dad would say?”

  I shook my head.

  “He’d say, ‘The girl can swing a brush.’ ”

  Joy welled up inside me as I looked back at the wall. I took it all in, as though seeing it for the first time.

  I looked away only when Mom took my hand. “You know what I say?”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Corrie is worth fighting for.”

  Corrie

  I wasn’t sure if I slept. But when I opened my eyes, he was there … Jarrod. Sitting on the edge of the couch. I tried to sit up, longing to throw my arms around him. But he shook his head, holding up a staying hand, and my body refused to move. I shoved down the miniscule second of hesitation. He smiled but didn’t speak. His fingers started at my eyebrows, then lightly trailed downward, closing my eyes as though I were dead. Only I felt completely alive. My body tingled. I sighed as his fingertips continued along my jaw line. My thro
at. Tears burned my eyes, and I tried to open them, but like my limbs, they refused to obey my brain.

  “Relax,” I heard him say, but not with my ears. It was as though he spoke directly to my mind, and I understood his presence there. I felt his fingers touch my collarbone. I tensed. As much as I missed his touch, making love in every room in the house, holding each other, this wasn’t right, and I knew I had to stop it. But my body refused to move, no matter how much I wanted to sit up and push him away.

  Fear clenched my stomach. In my mind’s eye I saw myself thrashing about, fighting for release, but my body stayed immovable as fear multiplied.

  Please, I thought. Jarrod, I don’t want this. It’s not right.

  “Shh,” he spoke to my mind. “Take it easy, baby.”

  I remembered Sam telling me if I felt it wasn’t right, then it wasn’t, and I could make it stop. But I couldn’t remember what else she said because my head was so fuzzy, my stomach clenched with fear. I had never been afraid of Jarrod before.

  I’m not sure if I prayed, to be honest. I do know I thought, Oh, God, please. I suppose that’s a prayer.

  In that instant, a knock sounded, loud and purposeful. I opened my eyes, trembling, and sat up. Disoriented, I looked around. Sunlight filtered in, so I knew I had been on the couch for at least a couple of hours.

  The knock came again from the back door. Louder this time. I shoved back the quilt, stood on shaky legs, and stumbled down the hall.

  I opened it to find Eli standing on the deck, staring at me and shaking his head wordlessly. I pushed open the screen, and at the sight of his kind smile, all my fear fell away. Stepping onto the deck, I went into his arms. “I’m so sorry for what I said, Eli. Please forgive me.”

  “I forgave you before I drove away that day, honey.” I felt the simple pressure of a kiss on my head and smiled as the disturbing dream faded from my mind. His arms felt strong and warm and good. But I knew I couldn’t stay there forever. I stood back so he could come inside. “You saw the mural, I take it?”

  He nodded. “I wish I had a way to express how it made me feel.”

  “You just did, Eli.” My heart soared at his joy with the painting.

  “Want some coffee? Plenty of sugar, since you can’t drink my coffee any other way.”

  “You could just learn to make a decent pot.” A wry grin slid across his lips.

  “Ingrate.” I rolled my eyes and walked down the hall to the kitchen, aware with each step that he was close behind. If I turned around suddenly, I’d be in his arms again. My face warmed at the direction of my thoughts. I started the coffee, using a few less grounds than I’d normally use.

  He sat, stretched out his weak leg, and rubbed his thigh. “How late were you at the camp last night?”

  “Till around four, I think.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s only eight. I bet I woke you up, didn’t I?”

  Yes, but I was so glad he had. “It’s okay. I don’t want to sleep the day away anyway.” I pulled two mugs from the cabinet while the coffee brewed.

  I grabbed the sugar and cream and headed to the table, where I sat across from him. “So you really like it?”

  He grinned, spooning sugar in his coffee. “Corrie, like is so far from what I felt when I saw that painting. You have a rare talent.” He sipped his coffee. “Did Jarrod ever see any of your work?”

  Shoving out a sigh, I nodded. “Before we got engaged.”

  Jarrod had always told me he didn’t get it. I laughed at him for being unable to see beyond the obvious, but he was military. He saw everything in black and white, and I respected his perspective. And he truly tried to encourage me, but I knew he had no real passion for my work. So when we married, I put it aside and found new interests. It was enough that he had passion for me.

  Eli reached across the table and took my hand. I looked at him and felt my stomach flutter the way a girl’s does when she likes a boy. The feeling took me by surprise, and I wondered if it showed on my face. “I hope this is only the beginning of your return to painting. It’s a gift from God.”

  “Some other people had a hand in the process.”

  “Oh?” He sipped his coffee, then set it back on the table. I told him about Jerry donating the art supplies, the guy at the café whose name I’d never know sending lunch, and, of course, Jarrod’s mother.

  “There’s still food in the fridge if you get hungry and don’t feel like going to town to eat lunch. We put most of it in freezer bags so I could wash the dishes and give them back.”

  He laughed when I told him how people came and tried to get in to see the painting. “Lola ran interference, but it wasn’t easy keeping them out. You’re kind of a hero to these folks.” He had definitely been a hero to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that either.

  As if on cue, Lola stumbled into the kitchen. “Can’t someone make morning stop for a few more hours?”

  “ ’Fraid not,” Eli said, softening his words with that easy laugh of his.

  “Thank God. Caffeine—eight hours of sleep in a cup.” She poured her coffee and walked over, bringing the pot with her. “I’ll be drinking the first cup as if I’m in a chugging contest.”

  “You could have come home, you know.”

  “And leave you alone? No way.” She closed her eyes and took in the aroma of her coffee.

  “Sheesh,” I said. “You look like a coffee commercial.”

  Ignoring my remark, she focused her gaze on Eli.

  “So what do you think of Corrie’s painting?” Lola asked, perking up a little.

  “I think God gave her a piece of His heart, and she put it on the wall.”

  I sucked in a long, cool breath.

  Lola lifted her mug. “Well said, Eli.”

  The words he’d spoken were beautiful but left me feeling confused. “What does it mean to put a piece of God’s heart on a wall?”

  He reached for the Bible that I had left on the table the day Sam gave it to me.

  “Be my guest,” I offered. “It was your dad’s.”

  He didn’t seem surprised as he opened it up and flipped through the well-worn pages. “Mom said she was planning to give it to you.” He stopped ruffling pages and turned the Bible toward me. “Psalm 91 verse 4,” he said. “Will you read it?”

  I hadn’t looked at an open Bible in so many years, I felt a little embarrassed. I wanted to ask him to read the verse but knew I was just being stupid about it. “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.”

  The words sounded strange, and the cadence felt unfamiliar on my ears. I flashed back to the image of my Gramps sitting in his corner wing chair, black book in hand, weeping from the beauty and comfort of the words he read in a Bible much like this one. But I had never understood. Give me The Odyssey or any of Shakespeare’s plays, and I could read for days, but the Bible … I just didn’t get it. Perhaps that was the reason for my spiritual apathy.

  I tried on a smile. “That’s nice.”

  I knew Eli wanted me to experience the same feelings of awe he seemed to have taken away from studying the mural, but I wasn’t feeling it, and he knew my face too well to be fooled.

  “I like the Good News Translation,” Eli said. He lifted his iPhone from his pocket and slid through the pages until he found what he wanted. “Here. ‘He will cover you with his wings; you will be safe in his care; his faithfulness will protect and defend you.’ ”

  “That’s lovely, Eli,” Lola said. “And exactly the feeling that painting gives.” She shook her head and looked at me. “Your painting is going to help ease some of those kids’ fear about their folks being in a war zone. How does that make you feel?”

  I didn’t know for sure what to say. The two of them seemed to believe my motives were so much purer than they’d been. I’d just had an apology to make, and this was my Hallmark card. I still needed to process exactly how I had been able to give creative expression to Eli’s wishes for the wall. True, I
was painting again, and, true, it filled a hole that had long been empty, even though I hadn’t realized it. But I didn’t want them to think I was going to preach through art. “I’ve never thought about painting religious pictures. I mean, I admit that this one was special to me because of the camp kids, and I sincerely hope they’ll draw some comfort from it. But now that I’m starting to paint again, I don’t know if I want to do a bunch of pictures of angels and demons and old Bible stories.”

  Eli closed his dad’s Bible. “Corrie, art started in God’s heart way before He painted His first sunset across His newly created sky. The gift He gave you is so that you can give expression to the thoughts and feelings inside you. If you’re angry, paint that. If you’re sad, paint that. If you feel like laughing, try to put it on canvas. Does it really matter what you paint as long as you’re honest? Even though the mural shows God’s ability to love and protect His own, it doesn’t mean that as an artist you have to paint Bible stories.”

  “You should show him what you painted the other night when Joe took me to dinner,” Lola said. “It worried me at first, but hearing you talk, Eli, I think maybe it was something she needed to get off her chest.”

  “I’m intrigued.” Eli’s eyes captured mine. “What do you say? Mind showing it to me?”

  “I don’t really think it’s something you’d like. I was having a bit of a meltdown.”

  He smiled. “I’ve seen you have a meltdown.”

  “You saw the aftereffects of my meltdown.”

  Lola’s eyebrows rose. “Hangover?”

  My lips twisted. “Yeah, my early birthday present. The gift that made me miserable and thwarted any desire to ever sip another drop of brandy.”

  “Note to self,” she said. “Only nonalcoholic gifts from now on.”

  “You had another meltdown?” Eli asked.