Abigail pulled him into an empty pew, away from the crowd. “Kenneth, that’s simply awful.”
“Yes. But you know, it didn’t seem to bother me nearly as much as you might expect. There’ve been other times like that recently.”
“Keep going,” she urged. Maybe here would be found the reason for her own unsettled feelings.
“Well, on one side it hurt terribly to have her say that. But on another side, it didn’t hurt at all.” His eyes took on a distant look. “That gift from God, that peace, seems to crowd out the pain and the worry.”
She felt like shaking him, not understanding her own tension. “Yes?”
He smiled apologetically. “Yesterday after I had finished reading a Scripture passage—actually, it was about the time when the Lord and His disciples were in a boat during a storm. His disciples were almost out of their minds with fear, and he lay there sleeping. Anyway, I was sitting there, not really praying or anything. And there in the silence I had the impression that it was all going to be okay. That everything Kyle has been trying to keep hidden deep inside was going to come out and be healed.” He paused a moment, then finished, “That we would be a family again.”
His quiet confidence flew directly in the face of everything they had experienced during those endless months. And yet Abigail could not contradict him. Not even when she felt the sense of challenge and unease rising again within herself. “Kenneth . . .”
“I know, it doesn’t seem likely when we see her like this,” he said. But the smile he gave Abigail held a sweet fragrance of earlier, happier times. “But it is very real, and I believe God is at work—in me and in Kyle.”
Still she felt no closer to understanding. As though she was being given a vital message, spoken in a voice too quiet for her to hear. “I’m very glad for you.”
“Yes.” His gaze shifted to somewhere behind her, and Abigail knew Kyle was approaching. Then he looked back to her and said, “Have you given any more thought to Martha and Harry’s dinner invitation?”
She was about to put him off again, as she had done several times already over the past few weeks. But this time something held her back. Some quiet inkling that here might be what she was searching for. Which of course was impossible. Whatever could she, a woman of society, find in the home of a couple like that?
Kyle appeared at her elbow, “Are we ready to go?”
Abigail looked at her daughter’s carefully composed facade, and then back at the quiet, peaceful confidence which surrounded Kenneth. Impossible that he could have so much hope. Impossible that things could return to how they were before.
But she found herself saying to Kenneth, “Tell them I would love to come.”
To an observer, the room held a scene of domestic tranquility. A warm fire crackled in a hearth almost too large for the cozy living room. Cups of evening tea sat on the small table before them. Kenneth sat with his slippered feet resting on a footstool, his tie removed and thrown over the back of his chair, while he read the paper.
Kyle, in a soft fleecy cotton robe, occupied the opposite chair. A piece of stitchery was held firmly in one slender hand as the needle plied back and forth, tracing out the design.
Earlier, Kenneth had made occasional comments, snippets of local news or an item of business at the office. Long before that he had exhausted all inquiries concerning her own day. There was little for Kyle to share. Her activities had simply been like all the others before that. Besides, she did not feel like talking. It was hard enough to manage a polite nod to Kenneth’s comments. Now they sat in silence, each occupied with unspoken thoughts.
Kyle’s needle threaded back and forth through the material. As unwelcome as small talk seemed to be, she was not comfortable with the silence either. Despite the fire, the room felt cold to her. Though they sat only a few feet apart, the distance between their souls was immeasurable. It was an awkward, unpleasant feeling. Cool. Remote. Lonely.
What made things worse was that Kenneth did not seem aware of any awkwardness. A swift little glance in his direction reaffirmed what she had been noticing for some time now. A kind of peace had descended upon him. She was not sure she liked it. Why shouldn’t he be suffering the same isolation and emptiness as she was? The feeling of calm emanating from him was like a silent challenge.
Perhaps it was good that the baby . . . A child would be bound to feel her emptiness. . . .
Kyle checked herself. If they had not lost the baby, she herself would not be feeling so empty.
Suddenly Kyle thought of Martha. Was this how it had been for Martha and Harry, her parents? Two people, shut away from each other by their hurt and loss, struggling to keep each day’s small events from completely overwhelming them? And then Joel. Surely he had suffered most of all, emotionally isolated as he was from the two of them. It was a wonder he had turned out as whole, as giving as he had.
Well, she couldn’t turn to them, or to any of Ruthie’s family for that matter. She could not even turn to Kenneth. Once she would have done so in a heartbeat. Such a long, long time ago. She couldn’t now. Kyle wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but the door was closed. A great distance now lay between them. She found herself wondering if perhaps the emptiness had always been in her, and all her earlier joy and satisfaction with her life had just been a myth. Perhaps they had lived in a fantasy world, one that was bound to crash in on them. She felt as though she did not even know Kenneth any longer. But then, she didn’t know herself, either.
Another brief glance assured her that Kenneth was still reading, though she had not heard the rustle of the paper for many minutes. Even the ticking mantel clock seemed to be holding its breath, not willing to break the heavy silence.
Kyle could take it no more. She laid her needlework aside and rose to her feet. “I think I’ll be off to bed.”
Kenneth glanced at the clock. “It’s only a few minutes past eight.”
She knew he disliked long evenings spent alone. No matter that her company these days was not much better. “I’ll go up and read in bed for a while.”
He put the paper aside and gave Kyle his full attention.
“I do wish you’d come with Abigail and me for supper with Harry and Martha.”
“I told you I’d think about it,” she responded, but her tone said no.
“How about bringing your book down here? It’s nice and cozy here by the fire.”
Cozy. Hardly. Kyle felt stifled, yet strangely alone. Kenneth’s eyes held her, seeming both to plead and to reach out. She turned from the look. She could not bear it. She merely shook her head in reply and started for the door.
“Good night, then.”
Kyle mumbled good night in return and hastily made her way up the stairs. She felt she was fleeing from this strange yet compelling sense of peace surrounding Kenneth.
But once in bed, she could not read. The words blurred on the page. Impatiently she set the book aside. What was happening to her? It had all been so different before. . . . Kyle shook away the thought and all the memories that she could not bring up again. Not ever.
But the image of her husband, so calm, so patient, would not be erased from her mind. Almost as though he waited for her to come back from some distant journey. He had aged; yes, the strain was there in his face. He too had lost a child, and it showed. Yet he still had something—she was not sure what it was. Maybe life. And she . . . she had nothing. Her days were just as empty and as meaningless as her nights. They blurred together into a long gray highway that stretched out behind her and endlessly before her. And there was no one who could understand, really understand. No one.
Kyle dropped her book to the floor and turned off the light. She buried her face in the pillow and fought back sudden tears. “No more,” she quietly promised herself. No more tears. No more grief.
She was fine.
16
“ABIGAIL. HOW NICE TO SEE YOU.” The graying member of Rothmore Insurance’s Board of Directors gave her a smile and bri
sk handshake. “What brings you up here today?”
“I have a meeting with Kenneth.”
“So did I. We’ve just spent the entire morning going over some figures.” He pointed toward the boardroom down by her husband’s former office. Through the open door she could see Kenneth gathering up reams of paper. “He managed to answer every one of my questions without a hitch.”
“How does he seem to you?”
Mr. Dixon examined her. They had known each other a long time. “Are you talking about Kenneth the rising company executive, or Kenneth the young man?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“The company is in good hands, Abigail. I mean that sincerely.” All traces of humor had evaporated from the senior executive’s voice. “I was worried for a while, of course. But he is bright, dedicated, and a born leader. He is going to make us a good chief executive sometime soon. I am becoming more convinced of that every day.”
Generally the man was rather miserly with his praise. She should have been very satisfied to hear such a glowing report. But the same niggling feeling she’d had in church returned. She felt there was something she was missing, something vital. “And personally?”
“That,” Mr. Dixon replied slowly, “is harder to put into words.”
Kenneth looked up from his sorting and spotted her. He waved and called, “Be right with you, Abigail.”
“Take your time, dear,” she replied, then lowered her voice to say to Mr. Dixon, “Try. Please.”
“Very well.” He looked away a moment, then back at Abigail’s face. “I think Kenneth Adams is growing into someone I can only admire from afar.”
“I beg your pardon?” Of all the things the graying gentleman could have said, nothing could have surprised her more.
“You don’t have to look hard to see how tough these past months have been for him. How long has it been since his child died, five months? Six?”
“Almost seven,” Abigail replied quietly, not needing to count the passing days. “Seven next week, in fact.”
“I have four children of my own and six grandchildren. For a while I couldn’t meet his eye. That’s the truth. He was living through my own worst nightmare. I thought for a while it would crush him. What he has endured would have done me in, and that’s for sure.”
“But it didn’t, not Kenneth,” Abigail said, aching for her daughter and for her son-in-law.
“No. It didn’t.” His gaze reached through the open door and rested on Kenneth as he finished tidying up. His words stumbled as he tried to form ideas he had not fully shaped in his mind. “He has been broken, yes, and now he is being reshaped. That’s just my own impression, mind you. But there’s something about him, something new. A calm—no, not just a calm.”
“I think I understand.”
“Serene, that’s it,” the man said, satisfied with himself for finding the word. “The man is serene. Sure, he’s still in pain from an incredible loss. But I’m seeing something new in him. A surprising depth.” He hesitated a long moment. “It’s something other than simply a coping mechanism. But I really don’t know what it is or where it comes from.” He paused again. “It challenges me.”
Abigail murmured, “You too?”
Only once did Abigail interrupt the silence on the journey out to the Grimes’ home. “Do you still feel confident about things working out with Kyle?” she asked, staring out the passenger-side window with unseeing eyes.
“Yes.” The response did not need to be loud to convey its strength. “Yes, I do.”
Abigail settled back with a sigh. She saw no need to ask if he was still finding his own comfort and peace. Kenneth’s calm blanketed the car, while at the same time she felt an accusatory finger pointed straight at her. She did not understand why she felt that way, but she did.
Kenneth pulled down a side street of modest postwar houses, all set within little postage-stamp lots. Abigail asked, “Is this where they live?”
“Just up here on the right.”
The house was similar to the others, standing neat and freshly painted at the top of a lawn which rose like three green steps. She peered through the window as Kenneth pulled up and stopped, then murmured, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”
“It’ll be fine,” Kenneth assured her.
She looked down at her designer linen and silk outfit. “I’m quite certain I could not have worn anything more inappropriate.”
“A bathing suit could have topped it,” Kenneth joked and got a small smile out of her. “No, really, you look fine.”
She waited while he came around to open the door for her. Abigail stepped onto the sidewalk and looked around uncertainly. They were miles from anywhere she knew.
“Hello! How nice to see you!” Martha Grimes allowed the front door to close behind her and hurried down the walk. “Isn’t this exciting?”
“Yes, terribly,” Abigail agreed dryly, watching Kenneth over Martha’s shoulder as she returned the woman’s embrace. Kenneth only smiled back warmly.
Martha released her to turn and hug Kenneth. “Hello, Kenneth, dear. How are you?”
“Better every day,” he replied, his tone genuine.
“I’m so glad.” Martha took a step back and looked down the walk, then glanced in the car. “She wouldn’t come?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Kenneth’s tone was impossibly gentle. “I warned you she probably wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” The sorrow was evident in Martha’s voice. “But I couldn’t help hoping.”
“You mustn’t take it personally, Martha.”
Abigail’s heart went out to the woman. She slipped her arm through Martha’s and drew her close. “You were so nice to have me over. I can’t thank you enough.”
The distraction worked. Martha dabbed at her eyes and smiled around her regret. “Oh, nonsense. After all the wonderful places you’ve been, our little home is going to be awfully simple—”
“There is no place as grand as one filled with love and friendship,” Abigail quickly said. As Martha led her toward the house, Abigail caught sight of Kenneth’s startled expression. She agreed with him wholeheartedly. She had no idea either where those words had come from.
The home’s interior was about what she had expected, threadbare carpet and worn-out furniture. Yet the little touches of color and homeyness gave their place a warmth and cheer which surprised Abigail.
The genuine welcome in Martha’s greeting was there in Harry’s eyes. His “Hello, Abigail” was a bit awkward but said with rough charm. He was wearing what she supposed was his only tie, doing his best to make her feel at home. Which she did. It amazed her how comfortable she felt. Even when they led her down the narrow hallway to the kitchen and seated her at the table right there by the back door, she felt as much at home as she ever did. The conversation quickly became effortless, and the contentment was solid and real.
The fare was simple but fresh and well prepared. Throughout the dinner, the four of them were united by their consciousness of the empty chair, the quiet absence of the one person who had drawn them all together. They covered it as best they could. There was no need to say a word.
Afterward Abigail tried to rise and help clear away the dishes, but Martha would not hear of it. Martha set everything in the sink, then pulled a steaming pie from the oven. She turned and said, “I hope you like peach cobbler.”
“I normally don’t permit myself dessert, but tonight I believe I will indulge,” Abigail replied with a smile. “I haven’t had peach cobbler in—oh, it must be years.”
“Shucks,” Kenneth quipped. “I was hoping to have yours.”
After a shared laugh, Harry commented, “Bet you’ve never eaten in a place like this before.”
“No,” Abigail agreed ruefully. “It probably would have done me some good if I had.”
There was a moment’s quiet after dessert, the room so still Abigail could hear the coffee percolating. But there was no discomfort. Silence at a table
was something she had been taught to fill. Yet here there was no need. Not for empty chatter, nor for masks, nor for the many things she had always counted as essential to her life.
Her eye was caught again by the empty chair resting at the back wall. If only Kyle had been with them this evening. Her heart felt a sudden spasm of pain as she watched Martha excuse herself to get the coffee. What Martha had lost, and found, and now lost again brought tears to Abigail’s eyes.
When Martha returned with the coffee, she noticed Abigail at once. She reached across and took her hand. “What’s the matter, my dear?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m all right.” She took a shaky breath, gathering herself. “The past is a little too close right now.”
“Funny,” Harry said, looking around the kitchen. “It can happen to me here in this room more than any other place.”
“We all have sorrows and regrets,” Martha said. “I wish . . .” But she didn’t finish the thought.
“You don’t know the things I’ve done against you,” Abigail shakily confessed. “You can’t imagine.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “Not a bit.”
“Yes, it does. It always will.”
“It can’t.” Martha spoke the words with a confidence and strength that brought Abigail up short. “Excuse me, but you are just indulging yourself, Abigail. Are you listening to me? The Lord lets go of our mistakes. They are not remembered. They are cast as far from us as the east is from the west. And we are told by the blessed Lord Jesus to forgive others as we would like the Lord to forgive us. So you and I must do the same.”
“Let it go,” Harry agreed. “We have.”
She looked from one face to the other, saw the deep lines of hard-won lessons. “You sound so . . . well, holy.”
That brought a smile and a shared look between the two of them. Harry asked his wife, “Ever think we’d hear somebody call us that?”
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