The Song Weaver

by BJ Hoff

  By now the family was exhausted and in poor condition to face the harsh wind and bitter cold, but there was no relief for the suffering of this day. As much as propriety would allow, Ben Wallace kept the graveside service brief. Jonathan and Maggie stood with Maggie’s parents between them, Jonathan at Matthew’s side, Maggie beside her mother. Ray, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his cap riding low on his head, looked on from his place at the other side of Jonathan. With typical kindness, Ben’s wife, Regina, had volunteered to keep the baby at home with her.

  Near the end of the service, at Ben’s nod, Jonathan stepped forward. He’d fretted throughout the morning as to whether he could manage to keep his composure long enough to somehow comfort the family—Maggie’s family…and his.

  Eva Grace’s death had affected him deeply, not only because she was Maggie’s sister, but also because he had known her from her childhood and had cared about her throughout all the years she’d been his student. He’d also developed a great fondness for the MacAuley family long before he and Maggie had grown close.

  He glanced at Maggie before he began and saw that she was clearly holding herself together with only the most rigorous self-control. Her features were tight, her eyes darkly shadowed from lack of sleep and the throbbing headache she’d confessed to him earlier that morning. Yet she met his gaze straight on and even gave him a small nod as if to reassure him.

  He cleared his throat once and then again. Even to his ear his voice sounded thin and unsteady. “Eva Grace…was my student for many years. I knew her as a child, as a young girl, and finally as a splendid young woman. I can never say enough about the qualities that made her a pleasure to teach. She was an inspiration to the younger children, a cheerful, willing helper, a joy to her family, and the best possible influence on all who knew her.”

  He swallowed, searching for just the right words. What could he possibly say in the face of such a tragedy, with one so young being taken from her loved ones all too soon?

  He believed in the mercy and wisdom of God, but at this moment he was finding it nearly impossible to articulate that mercy and wisdom without sounding trite or vacuous. The best he could manage was to express what he believed. Even so, it didn’t come without great effort.

  “There is no minimizing the empty place she leaves behind and the loss her loved ones have suffered. This is one of those times when life brings us questions without answers, when our prayers seem to go unheard. It’s all we can do to believe that God is still here, working in the shadows, loving us in the silence. There are things we will never understand this side of heaven. But we do know this: Eva Grace left an incomparable legacy to us in the memory of a beautiful life well-lived and a precious baby daughter who will be loved with as much devotion and affection as her mother could desire for her.”

  Jonathan’s throat tightened, swollen with his own sadness. By God’s grace he had made it this far without faltering. But now his voice broke, and he trembled as he raised his head slightly to look out on the crowd of mourners.

  “I can’t help but remember Eva Grace as she was on her graduation day—so filled with the hopes and dreams and promises for the new life she was about to enter.” He hesitated, and then added, “My dear family and friends, with all my heart I believe that now is Eva Grace’s true graduation. Her faith in God was strong, and I’m convinced that her hopes and dreams and promise for a new life, a better life, have all been fulfilled in the most glorious of ways.”

  He bowed his head then, not so much to hide the tears in his eyes, for some of those gathered around the graveside had seen him weep before today, but more to offer a silent prayer for the loved ones of Eva Grace on this, her ultimate graduation day.

  Later that evening Jonathan, Maggie, and Kate sat around the coal stove in the living room. Matthew had insisted that Jonathan stay by the fire while he and Ray went to fill the coal buckets and lay in more wood.

  Jonathan wasn’t fooled. Matthew was no doubt feeling the need to get away from the house, away from the trappings of the funeral, the wake, the walls that echoed with the murmurings of death. And Ray—well, the boy was enough like his father that Matthew’s need was most likely his own.

  The baby was sleeping quietly in the bedroom. Neighbors and friends had gone back to their homes and their own lives. This was a hard time, in some ways the most wrenching time of all, when the house was finally silent and the family was left alone with their thoughts, their memories, their sorrow.

  Seated beside Maggie on the sofa, her hand in his, Jonathan was glad for the fire, which was brisk and hot and comforting. His attention went to Kate, sitting across from them on a chair beside the window. His chest felt heavy at the sight of her. How was it possible that she had faded so quickly?

  Maggie’s mother had always had such a light about her. Over the years he had known the MacAuleys, Jonathan had come to realize that even more than the rugged Matthew, Kate was the one who bolstered the family in difficult times, who encouraged and supported her husband and children as well as eased the tensions and kept the peace. She faithfully kept what the other immigrants in Skingle Creek referred to as an “Irish hearth,” making certain the fire never went out and the door was always open to anyone who would enter.

  She was the very heart of her family, but now her own heart was broken, her light flickering. How would she and Matthew get through this time, this season of grief that had come upon them like an avalanche? Even Matthew, that great, rough-hewn oak of a man, had aged years in three days.

  Three days. It was almost impossible to realize how happy he and Maggie had been only three days ago. Newly married, deeply in love with each other and with life, off to begin their honeymoon and their new life together. Tragedy had been the furthest thing from their minds.

  Maggie’s pressure on his hand as she said his name yanked him out of his thoughts. He looked at her and then followed the direction of her gaze to her mother.

  “I was saying that the two of you must go home soon now, Jonathan.” Kate MacAuley’s voice was low but steady. “Other than to take your dog home, feed him, and fetch clean clothes, you’ve not been home since you came back from Lexington.”

  Maggie turned her gaze on him again, and Jonathan knew what she was asking.

  He gave a small nod, saying, “We’ll stay over yet tonight, Kate. It’s too late—and too cold—to leave. Sometime tomorrow we’ll go.”

  Kate looked from him to Maggie, and in that instant Jonathan knew they weren’t fooling her. She knew neither the weather nor the time had anything to do with their staying longer.

  Her shoulders were hunched, her hands knotted on her lap. A ragged sigh escaped her. “All right then,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “That being the case, there’s something I need to give you.”

  She slipped her hand inside the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a piece of paper. “Here, Maggie,” she said. “This is for you. And for Jonathan as well. It’s a letter from Eva Grace—”

  She looked as if she were about to break into fresh tears. Maggie leaped to her feet and went to her, but Kate quickly rallied. “She wrote this a few days before she died. ‘Just in case,’ she said. ‘Make sure to give this to Maggie.’ ”

  Standing, she handed the folded paper to Maggie. “Don’t read it just now, alannah. I’ll be going on to bed. Your da and Ray will be in soon. Wait until later, when you and Jonathan are by yourselves. You should read it together.”

  Maggie watched her mother as she held the paper, her expression questioning and troubled. “All right, Mum,” she said, kissing Kate gently on the cheek. “You go to bed. Maybe you can rest tonight. You’ll try, won’t you?”

  Kate smiled at her. “Don’t fret yourself about me, Maggie. And don’t be letting the fire in the kitchen stove go out now. The cold will be fierce by morning.”

  Jonathan went to her then. He put his hand on her shoulder, finding it too thin, too frail by far. He bent his head so that he too could kiss her goodnight, but
she surprised him by grasping him by his forearms and searching his eyes.

  “I can’t think,” she said, her voice trembling, “what any of us would do without you, Jonathan. What a gift you have been to this family.” She turned then and hurried to the door as if to escape before she broke down in front of them.

  Jonathan’s eyes misted. When he turned to Maggie, he saw that she too was on the verge of weeping.

  “Mum’s right, you know,” Maggie asserted. “I don’t know how I would have gone through this without you. You’re my rock, Jonathan—and theirs too.”

  He put a hand to her hair, taking in her pallid complexion, her eyes weary and hollow. “You’re exhausted, Maggie. I wish you’d go to bed.”

  She flinched. “I can’t,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I told you. I can’t bear the thought of sleeping in that room…”

  Her words drifted off, but he understood. They had bundled together on the couch or on chairs the few hours they’d slept while staying here. Maggie couldn’t bring herself to spend the night in the same room she’d shared with Eva Grace. The same room in which her sister had died.

  She glanced down at the paper in her hand. “Mum said we should read this together. But not yet. I don’t think I can. Not yet.”

  Putting an arm around her shoulder, Jonathan pulled her to him. “Let’s go to the kitchen. There’s been enough food brought in to feed most of the town, and I dare say you’ve not touched a bite of it today. I’ll fix you something, and then you’re going to rest.”

  She started to protest, but he stopped her. “I mean it, Maggie. How are you going to be strong for your family if you can’t stay on your feet?”

  After a moment she nodded, leaned into him, and let him move her toward the kitchen.

  Long after her father and Ray had gone to bed, Maggie sat with Jonathan at the kitchen table, half of their cold supper still in front of them, with the oil lamp on the table the only light in the room.

  Jonathan went to punch up the fire in the stove and then came back and carried their plates to the sink.

  “I think we should read this now,” Maggie said, taking the folded paper from her pocket.

  Jonathan refilled both their glasses with milk before sitting down across from her again. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

  She pulled in a long breath. “Whatever is in this must have been important to Evie. She wasn’t a great one for writing. I can count on one hand the number of letters she sent me while I was away at school and in Chicago. Besides, I think Mum meant for us to read it tonight.”

  She pulled the lamp a bit closer and unfolded the paper. Her eyes were so tired and swollen she had to wait for them to focus before she could see the words clearly enough to make them out. Abruptly she changed her mind and handed the letter to Jonathan. “Would you read it? Please, Jonathan?”

  He looked at her and then turned his attention to the letter. For a moment he scanned down the page, and Maggie saw him pale.

  “Jonathan?”

  Finally he began to read.

  Dear Maggie,

  If you’re reading this, then I won’t be there to explain any of it, so I’ll try to make myself as clear as possible.

  A sob tore from Maggie’s chest, and Jonathan reached out to clasp her hand. She nodded that he should go on reading.

  I realize that what I’m asking of you isn’t fair. Indeed, it’s a hard thing altogether, but I think once you read this letter you’ll understand why I feel the need to ask it.

  Maggie, I’m asking you to raise my child—you and Jonathan.

  Maggie gasped. Jonathan increased the pressure on her hand but went on reading.

  The folks know about this letter, Maggie. They’ve read it, and we’ve talked about it. They understand why I feel that I have to write it. As you can imagine, Ma was quick to assure me they would raise my baby if anything should happen to me. But she also understands why I believe it should be you and Jonathan who undertake that responsibility. I can only pray that you will understand.

  You and Jonathan are young, and no doubt you’ll have children of your own before long. I want my baby to grow up in a home like we had, Maggie, with other children and parents young enough to enjoy their family and make a happy, lively home for them. It’s no secret to you that Da isn’t well anymore, and though our mother has always seemed younger than she is, in truth she doesn’t need the burden of raising another child at her age. Moreover, Ray will be leaving home before much longer to live his own life, and then there will be no one but Ma and Da to see to a little one.

  I don’t believe that would be the best thing for them or for the baby. And I want the very best thing for her. (Yes, I think of the baby as a girl, perhaps because, as I told you, I can’t bear the thought of a boy who might grow up to be even remotely like his father.) But boy or girl, I want my child to grow up as I did, in the midst of a happy family, a loud Irish family who loves their children more than everything and have the energy to keep up with them. And I want her to grow up with brothers and sisters.

  I also want her to be raised by parents with a strong faith, as we were, parents who will teach God’s love in the way they love their children. Ma and Da did that for us, and I know you and Jonathan will do the same for your own family.

  I’ll be the first to admit that it isn’t fair of me to ask such an enormous burden of you and Jonathan, with the two of you being newly married and all. And I hope it won’t come to that. I sincerely do. But if it does, and if you’re willing, I want you both to know that whatever happens to me, I’ll have peace and I’ll be comforted knowing my child will have the best possible home ever and will grow up loved as much as if she were your own.

  And that’s what I want, Maggie. I don’t want you to raise my baby as “aunt” and “uncle.” I want you and Jonathan to be her parents, to be mother and father to her so she can grow up with real parents and be as special to you as your own children will be. You can tell her about me—I hope you will—but don’t let her grow up being sad about the mother she doesn’t have. Be her mother, Maggie, and Jonathan her father.

  There’s one more thing, and then I won’t ask anything else of you. You know what I went through with Richard, Maggie. And you know the real reason I found the courage to leave him was out of fear that he might hurt the baby. Please, please, Maggie, no matter what it takes, no matter what you have to do, please don’t let Richard take my baby. Keep my baby away from him!

  I hope you and Jonathan will forgive me for asking you to take on such a huge responsibility. But with all that Dr. Gordon has told me about this problem I have—this toxemia—with that and the way I’ve been feeling of late, I just had to write down the deepest wish of my heart. My baby means everything to me, Maggie, and, oh, how I hope I’m here to watch her grow up and raise her myself. But just in case I’m not, I wrote this letter.

  What a wonderful and rare blessing it is to have a sister and a brother-in-law I can trust in all assurance with the most precious thing God has ever given me.

  Thank you for being such a wonderful sister, Maggie, and for being my dearest friend when I needed you most.

  Love,

  Evie

  It was as if Evie had stepped into the room herself to plead with them for her child. Maggie heard her sister’s voice behind every word, but more than that, she heard her heart. She thought of what it must have taken for Evie to write that letter, how difficult it must have been to confront the fear and the wrenching anguish that she might not live to raise her own child and yet find the strength to look to the future for the sake of her wee one.

  She thought of all the nights her sister had lain weeping for the evil that had been done to her and the fear she harbored for the baby. And she thought of all the ways she would miss Evie, all the firsts that would come round day after day, week after week, month after month to remind her of a loss that would always leave a corner of her heart empty.

  When she was finally able to lift her h
ead, she saw tears tracking down Jonathan’s face even as he tried to comfort her.

  “Jonathan—”

  He put a finger to her lips and then touched his lips to the wetness on each side of her face. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

  “What can do we do? I can’t ask you to—”

  He clasped her shoulders and held her away from him just enough to meet her gaze. “You don’t have to ask, Maggie. Surely you know that. Your decision is my decision.”

  There was no decision. There hadn’t been from the first words of her sister’s plea.

  “It’s not fair to you…”

  Determination flared in his eyes. “Don’t ever say that to me again, Maggie. Don’t even think it.”

  Maggie searched his face and saw the kindness, the goodness she had never failed to see looking back at her.

  “You’re quite sure…”

  “I’ve wanted a family more years than I can count, Maggie. For so long I prayed for a family, to be a husband and a father. I’d almost given up all hope. And then there you were. I don’t have to think about this, Maggie. Can you understand that? It’s a gift. Eva Grace…and God…have given us a precious gift. When someone gives you a gift, you don’t have to think about whether or not you’ll accept it. You reach out for it and be thankful.”

  “But how will we ever manage? You need me at the school—”

  “Maggie…sweetheart.” He framed her face with his hands and held her gaze. “We’ll make it work. One step at a time, we’ll work it out. I promise.”

  Again Maggie began to weep, but this time instead of feeling the weight of an unbearable sorrow darken the empty chamber in her heart, she felt the grateful smile of her older sister come to rest upon her spirit.

  Chapter Six

  Taking Gracie Home

  What e’er in life shall be their share

  Of quickening joy or burdening care,

  In power to do and grace to bear,