by Robert Elmer
Dark in more ways than one. She’d been to funerals before—her Grandma Holmqvist had died a couple of years ago, and that had been sad enough. Grandma hadn’t been a churchgoer and never claimed Jesus as her Savior, so what did the preacher have to say? She made people laugh, she cooked a good meal, and she was a tough old Swede, stubborn to the end. That, it seemed, had been a legacy far more bitter than sweet.
But it had been over in less than an hour, and this funeral in Kokanee Cove—if that’s what it was—seemed to be stretching over nine months. Why would God choose to do it this way?
“Do you have something else in mind here?”
She spoke into the snow, almost expecting God to answer with specifics about how He would heal Merit. It would be the “I told you so” ending to the way nearly every newspaper, radio, and TV news station in the country had trashed the Sullivans the past several months. God could do this. The question was, would He?
Stephanie sighed, suddenly wishing the snow would melt and songbirds would return to the mountains today. Then this funeral would either be over or put aside—just like this dark day that had never quite seen sun.
The good news was that after today, every day got a little longer, a little brighter. It might still seem like the dead of winter, but tomorrow would bring a few more seconds of sunlight. And then the next day a few more, and the next…
“Right, God?”
When Stephanie stopped again to listen, she heard only the soft patter of falling snow—though perhaps she imagined the sound more than actually heard it, like the soundtrack on an old movie that added an extra clip-clop of horseshoes or echoing footsteps. As Mr. Frost would have said had he been along for the walk, the woods seemed lovely, dark, and deep.
“And miles to go before I sleep,” Stephanie quoted. It was actually only a few hundred yards, but that didn’t have the same ring to it.
Her boots crunched this unusual, first-of-season snow as she made her own trail down the road to the resort. The pungent aroma of wood smoke— one of her favorite smells—met her just before she sighted the pale orb of the porch light.
The cabin could use some preholiday cheer, and it was up to her to provide it. She thought about simply leaving her gift on the porch and going home but decided that would be rude. This required follow-up, and Michael Sullivan would need a little push.
Michael Sullivan.
She swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to put away the confused swirl of emotion that his name conjured and fool herself about the real reason she had walked all this way. It didn’t work, but she couldn’t turn back now.
She stepped onto the porch, stomped the snow off her boots, and knocked on the door.
Michael appeared and stared at her as if Frosty the Snowperson had just shown up.
She nearly swallowed her tongue. “Ho ho?” she said in a halfhearted greeting. Maybe she should have left the package anonymously, after all. “Urn… I’m helping with deliveries this year, and this one’s for you. I mean, all of you.”
She held it out, waiting for him to say something. Her heart stopped beating.
“Oh!” He blinked and seemed to focus on her. “Wow, Stephanie, you weren’t supposed to work, right? I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Obviously. But maybe.
“I’m sorry.” He stepped aside. “Come on in. Is it cold out there?”
“Not too bad. My nose fell off back there in the woods. I gave up looking for it.”
He stared at her with a puzzled expression for a moment before grinning. “Sorry. I’m a little slow. I’m getting over a cold, so my mind is kind of…you know. Blah.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I know the feeling.”
“I’m fine now. So it’s cold?”
Stephanie shrugged. “Just cold enough for snow, I guess. It’s probably snowing a lot more up the hill in Athol and Coeur d’Alene.”
The conversation seemed doomed to silly jokes and extended weather reports. Except for that one time in Mr. Mooneys store, Michael never said anything serious.
But that wasn’t why she’d come.
“Aren’t you going to open the package?” she asked, pointing to the brightly wrapped box.
“You mean I don’t have to wait for Christmas?” Michael grinned but didn’t wait for her answer before tearing off the bow and silver paper.
“No. It’s a pre-Christmas thing. Uh, for all of you.”
“Right. You said that.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I noticed that you guys could use a little Christmas spirit around here.”
“Whoa.” He held up the unwrapped boxes of white outdoor lights. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Come on,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “We’re going to put them up.”
“We are?”
“You had something better to do?”
“Well, I was going to rebuild that old forty-horse Evinrude that’s sitting in the boathouse.”
“You can do that later.” She pushed him toward the front door, and he grabbed a coat on the way.
“Guess I don’t have a choice,” he said, smiling.
For the next hour, they worked together in the snow, stringing lights around trees and along the porch. They didn’t say much, but that was okay.
Finally, Stephanie balanced on the far end of the porch railing to hang the last couple of lights at the end of the gutter.
“How’s that?” she called over her shoulder.
A snowball hit her back with a thud. She jumped down to face her attacker.
“Oh, so that’s the game, is it?” She giggled and strained her eyes but couldn’t see him in the near dusk, even though the snowfall had lightened to a thin saltshaker drizzle.
Then a movement caught her eye—just around the corner of the house, stepping out from behind the overgrown lilac bushes. Watch this, Michael Sullivan. She quickly packed the hardest snowball she could, hauled back like she’d seen major league pitchers do, and let it fly.
The snowball flew in a tight arc and connected perfectly with the top of her target’s head just as he stepped into the clear.
“Yeow!” Will clutched his head in surprise and fell to one knee.
“Oh my goodness!” Stephanie froze in horror then bolted forward to help him up. “I am so sorry. I thought you were Michael…I mean…I didn’t mean…oh…”
Will rubbed his head, wiggled his face a bit, and looked over past her. “This girl has an arm, Mike. Sign her up for the team.”
Michael Stephanie turned to see her intended victim standing behind her. He must have been hiding behind one of the big cedars in the front yard. He covered his mouth with a gloved hand, his shoulders shaking, then doubled over laughing. Will looked at his son, then at Stephanie, and joined in himself. But Stephanie just couldn’t bring herself to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad somebody thinks it’s funny,” she told them. “I’m embarrassed.”
Michael pointed at her. “You should have seen your face when you— when you realized.” He dissolved into laughter again.
“All right.” Will pulled himself together. “Let’s go inside for something hot to drink. Maybe your mother wants something too.”
“I should go,” Stephanie told them, but Michael shook his head and grabbed her arm. She didn’t pull away.
“Hey, come on,” he said. “Don’t you want to see how the lights look?”
She did. They gave Will the honor of plugging them in.
“You guys do good work.” He beamed as he admired the lights. They twinkled through the snow and outlined the cabin in warmth. “I wasn’t going to put anything up this year, you know.”
“It was her idea.” Michael pointed his thumb at Stephanie.
“He did most of the work.” She shrugged. “I mainly supervised.”
“You’ve got to stop doing that modesty thing,” Michael said.
“Me? I thought you were the one who—”
“All right.” Will rubbed his head again, then nodded toward
the front door. “Why don’t you two stop arguing about who’s the most modest and come in. Maybe Stephanie can stay for dinner.”
That hadn’t been part of her plan. She looked at Michael, who nodded toward the door as well. Stephanie moved forward.
The lights flickered once and went out. Not just the Christmas lights but the whole house’s.
“Uh-oh.” Michael made his way around the porch and pointed across the water. “Everybody else has power.”
That didn’t stop them from going inside and heating up a large bowl of homemade minestrone soup on the top of the wood stove by candlelight, which Abby and Olivia thought was totally cool. Merit chatted with Stephanie from her place on the couch while the men—and the girls—set the table, sliced bread, tossed salad, and ladled steaming soup into six bowls.
“I’m sorry we’re not having a chance to enjoy your lights, Stephanie.” Merit pulled a comforter over her shoulders. Her face looked drawn, her voice sounded strained, but she glowed in the candlelight. “That was sweet of you to think of us.”
“I just thought we needed a little extra light around here, this time of year.
That was as good an explanation as any, though Stephanie knew it missed the mark, like her snowball, by a wide margin.
“Yeah,” added Mr. Sullivan, “and you should see how well she throws.”
Merit didn’t get the joke, but Michael started laughing again. He helped his mother rise and find her place at the table, just as the lights flickered and came back on.
“Ah, there we go,” Mr. Sullivan said, turning to scan the house. The refrigerator kicked back on and the microwave beeped.
Michael stood and switched off all the inside lights again, one by one. He joined them back at the table with a smile.
“I just thought the candlelight was nice, this once,” he explained. He looked at his mom, as if he were the one hurting.
“Me too,” agreed Abby.
Their soft white lights flickered outside, and through the window Stephanie could see a small fir tree she had decorated, flocked with fresh snow and glowing with fallen stars. She took Merit’s ice cold hand in her right and Michael’s firm, warm hand in her left, and Mr. Sullivan bowed his head to ask God’s blessing.
Despite the warmth, she shivered as she gave thanks, wondering what kind of bittersweet gift she’d just been handed.
thirty-three
Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and
you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.
ROSA PARKS
Another blanket?” Will held a comforter toward her, and Merit nodded for him to drape it over her shoulders on top of the two she already wore.
“Thanks.” She set her steaming mug of tea on the end table and gestured at the snow-kissed windowpane and the dark woods beyond. “What do you think?”
“I think I might have a look at the furnace when—”
“No, no. I mean about them.”
Will looked out the window and saw Michael and Stephanie walking into the trees. He turned with a questioning look on his face. “They’re fine, Merit. It’S us I wonder about.”
She reached for his hand, but he crossed his arms and remained standing.
“It’S like you walk around with a black cloud over your head, honey,” she told him. “Please don’t—”
He sighed and paced in front of the window. “I see you getting weaker every day. I see you hurting. How am I not supposed to worry about that?”
“I know, Will. But we just can’t be like this.”
“Like we have a choice.”
“We do. I have this feeling it’s going to be okay.”
Will whispered something under his breath.
“What’s that?” she asked, but he shook his head.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Will, please don’t do this. We have to be working together, not against—”
“Yeah, it’s a little late for that.” He slammed a hand against the wall, swiping a lampshade in the process. “A little late for everything.”
“Will!”
The lamp toppled, taking her mug with it and sending a shower of hot tea onto the oval rug at their feet. He hardly noticed; his forehead rested against the wall. Merit didn’t move to pick up the mess until he caught his breath again.
“I’m sorry, Merit,” he said. “I don’t have enough faith to cover this family. I never have.”
“How much do you need?”
“I don’t know, but…” He looked at her with teary eyes and took her hands in his. “Maybe not as much as I thought.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” Stephanie told Michael as they retraced her earlier steps, back toward the parsonage. He lit the way with a powerful flashlight. They passed the giant grandfather fir that towered over the road, and it seemed to lean more than usual. Maybe the springs that dotted this hillside had started to undermine it’s roots.
“It’s okay.” Michael didn’t seem to notice things like old, leaning trees. He didn’t seem to notice a lot of things, actually. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, right? Your folks would be upset if I didn’t walk you home.”
“Maybe. But they’re used to me wandering around.”
They walked in silence until Michael slipped his gloved hand into hers. She glanced his way, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Now and again he opened his mouth to say something, then bit his lip. She could barely see his pinched face in the reflected light from his flashlight.
“Just say it,” she told him.
He stopped under a grove of firs close to town, where the snow hadn’t yet piled up. She wasn’t sure if she should expect a kiss or a speech, but she was prepared for either.
“Look,” he began, “I’m really glad you came over the way you did. My dad and mom were, too.”
“Well, you needed lights, right?”
“Yeah, we sure did.” He smiled. “Thanks. I don’t think you know what you did for us.” He paused. “I really care about you, Stephanie. You make me laugh, and you help me see things better.”
“That sounds like a good thing.” She smiled.
“I know, but…”
“But what?” But. She hated that word.
“But our timing just isn’t good.” He fumbled for more words before continuing. “You know how everything’s really…I don’t know, up in the air at my house, with my mom sick.”
“I know.” Of course she did. “But what does that have to do with…”
She nearly said something she might have regretted. She’d already been forward enough, coming to the house with the lights.
Michael sighed, his breath hovering like fog. “It’s just that—” He wrestled with the words. “I go into that house, and all I can think about is my mom dying in a few months.”
“She’s not going to die,” Stephanie blurted, finding she didn’t regret the words. She had doubted before, but not anymore, and it almost surprised her.
By the way he raised his eyebrows, it surprised Michael too.
“Oh, so you know these things, huh?” he asked.
She felt the slap of his words and didn’t know if she should duck or reply.
Michael continued, “Look, I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t want to argue with you. Especially not about this. But see, what I’m trying to say is…my dad is a wreck. Like, a total zombie sometimes. Maybe you didn’t see it when you were there, but when it’s just us, oh, wow.”
“I know it must hurt. I still don’t understand what you’re saying, though.”
“I’m saying you have no idea what’s going on in our house these days. But it just tears me apart inside, and it’s like this huge pain is the only thing I have room for right now.”
This sounded worse with each word.
“I care about you, Stephanie, but then it all comes crashing back at me, and it’s not fair for me to get you tangled in our mess. Not right now. I feel like I’d be dragging you into a pit o
f quicksand or something. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
“I know.” She bit her lip and fought back tears. She couldn’t start bawling now, but his words had cut deeply. Yes, she understood, but she had to find out—
“Michael, do you ever think about—I mean, do you ever pray for God to heal your mom?”
He bent his head back and stared at the dark, starless sky. “As if.”
Her jaw dropped, but she resisted the temptation to fire back a reply too quickly. She carefully measured out her words. “What do you mean ‘as if? Don’t you believe God could heal your mom?”
“Sure, in theory, but… No. Look, I’m sorry. It’s easy for you to say. You’re the preacher’s daughter.”
“So I’ve been told. And that’s supposed to make me more spiritual?”
“Well, it helps, doesn’t it? I mean, it kind of comes with the territory.”
“Michael, you know my family. My dad’s just a regular person, like everyone else. But that’s not the point here, is it?”
“Are you going to tell me the point?”
“The point is, you can’t tell me you haven’t prayed for your mother.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t, did I?”
“Well, why are you—”
“You started it.” He sighed. “But I don’t think you get it.”
“Yes I do, Michael.” She realized where this was going. “This isn’t about you and me. This is about you and God.”
“Oh come on. I’ve done all the right things. I’ve prayed—”
“And we pray and we pray and He doesn’t ever seem to answer. Isn’t that what you were going to say? You’ve prayed?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Sometimes I don’t understand it, either. But I believe God is going to heal your mom. I wasn’t sure before, but now I am. He’s going to do it, Michael. A lot of people around here believe that.”
“Well, that’s great.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. Besides, people don’t automatically die from cancer anymore. There are treatments. Survivors.”