“Come with me.” Most of the guests had gone when Henry grabbed Margaret’s hand and tugged her toward the door. “I want to show you something.”
Margaret thought she should probably stay and help clean up, but instead she let herself be pulled toward Henry’s truck. He opened the door and helped her inside. They drove in companionable silence to Laurel Mountain Church. Margaret knew this is where they would get married. Maybe Henry wanted to talk about the ceremony.
They parked, and when Henry helped her down he didn’t let go of her hand. His skin was calloused and warm. She let herself imagine what it would be like when he touched more than her hand. She flushed and steered her thoughts back to the wedding. First things first.
Henry walked right past the church and pushed open the gate to the cemetery. “Mom had Dad’s marker set about a month ago. It’s taken her a while, since we aren’t sure which day Dad died.”
Margaret had wondered about that. Would the stone say December 31, 1975, or January 1, 1976? Personally, she thought she’d choose the latter date. It sort of made Casewell’s too short life seem longer. Like the difference between something that cost nine ninety-nine and ten dollars.
Henry walked past his grandpa John’s grave. Margaret saw that Emily’s name was already there, along with her birth date, October 30, 1895. Then, in the shadow of a cedar tree, she saw Casewell Phillips’s still rounded grave, with a pristine stone at the head. She felt solemn. Maybe Henry wanted to share this moment in their lives with his dad, even though he was gone. That was nice.
Henry reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out two white stones—one smooth and one rough—which he placed on top of the marker. Click, click. He drew her close and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How perfect is that?” he asked, nodding toward the inscription.
Margaret admired the simple white marble. She’d never been fond of overly ornate memorials. The name Casewell Phillips was engraved in bold letters across the top. Then, “Date of Birth—Psalm 139:16.” Margaret thought that was odd and asked Henry if he knew the verse.
“‘All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be,’” he quoted. “But keep going.”
The next line read, “Date of Death—John 3:16.” She knew that one. And then at the bottom of the stone, “He has set eternity in our hearts.”
Margaret furrowed her brow. “But it doesn’t have dates.”
“I know. Isn’t it great? Mom decided that since she didn’t know for sure, she’d use this as a way to remind people that Dad isn’t really dead. He’s just gone on ahead of us into eternity.” He pulled Margaret into his arms and rested his chin on her head. “I was angry with Dad when he died—felt that he’d somehow abandoned me.”
He tightened his arms, and Margaret felt as if peace were flowing into her through him. She snuggled closer.
“But now it feels more like he’s blazing a trail for me. His whole life is like shiny white stones he’s left along a path in the woods. And here’s the last stone and the verse that we can live our whole lives on. ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’”
Margaret pillowed her head against the chest of the man she loved. They were going to have a good life together. She knew it now. And it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. She also knew—at long last—what it felt like to love and be loved in return. Not only by Henry, but by Mayfair, by Emily, by Perla, and best of all, by God, who had blessed her without even being asked.
Sarah Loudin Thomas is a fund-raiser for a children’s ministry who has also published freelance writing for Now & Then magazine, as well as the Asheville Citizen-Times and The Journey Christian Newspaper. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Coastal Carolina University. She and her husband reside in Asheville, North Carolina. Learn more at www.sarahloudinthomas.com.
Books by Sarah Loudin Thomas
Until the Harvest
Miracle in a Dry Season
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
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Until the Harvest Page 27