Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  Maybe not.

  I don’t know. But I am learning something new.

  It is not for me to understand. Perhaps there was a reason. Perhaps not. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

  It is only for me to forgive.

  So, I’m doing that…and I’ll keep at it until it is complete.

  I’m forgiving you.

  ~32~

  Steam curled from the two mugs in Brock’s hands, their misty white swirls drifting into the early morning air.

  Sleep had finally claimed him somewhere in the middle of the previous night, holding him in gentle silence well after the sun had crested the eastern peaks. He couldn’t know if the same had been true for Cheryl. Probably not, as she sat in an Adirondack chair on the dock below.

  Pausing at the path’s entry leading down to the pond, he studied his wife’s profile. She was stunning, with her dark hair dancing in the breeze and the sun tickling the soft skin of her cheeks. But she was so much more than eye candy, even if she didn’t understand that yet. She made him better. Cammy, Ethan, and his mom all saw it. She’d been God’s tool to cut away the lingering bitterness and mistrust birthed by a relationship he hadn’t any business being involved in in the first place. She challenged his arrogance, keeping his feet and head where they needed to be. And she continued to grow compassion in his heart by sharing her pain.

  They were well matched. The yearning for her to know so stretched in his heart.

  Cheryl paused in her reading—probably the book she’d been working to hide from him—and tipped her face skyward. Her eyes slid shut, and after a few breaths of healing silence, her fingertips brushed against her cheeks.

  Tears. Oh Lord, let them be the good kind.

  Her attention went to the wide arm of her chair, where another book waited. After lifting a pen, she seemed to pause, to draw in courage, and then began to write.

  He should leave her.

  Brock turned and took two steps toward their home and then stopped again. Glancing over his shoulder at her, a compelling urge to be at her side gripped him.

  What could he do for her? Nothing. She didn’t want to talk to him about it.

  Go.

  But…

  No. No buts. This was why he’d married her in a way that seemed to the rest of the world rushed and foolish. He hadn’t wanted her to walk through this alone anymore, even if she continued to lock him out of it. He would go through it with her.

  Resolute, Brock returned to the footpath and followed it to the dock where Cheryl continued to write in the morning sun. So lost in her page, she didn’t notice his approach until he knelt at her side. She sucked in a breath and turned startled eyes on him. He smiled, and with one hand pushed a mug of coffee her way.

  “Morning, love.” He leaned to press a kiss to her temple.

  Pink crept over her face, and she looked at the drink. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Brock smiled, stood, and moved to the chair at her side and sat down. “I didn’t hear you get up this morning. I guess that makes us both sneaky.”

  “You were tired.” She settled back, subtly covering her book and journal with her free hand. “I’m sorry I woke you last night.”

  “Cheryl, I don’t think you’re getting this.” Brock bent to set his coffee onto the dock. “You and me, we’re doing life together. The places you have to go” —he touched her head—“here”—he moved his hand to meet the soft beat of her heart—“and here. I’m going there too.”

  She shut her eyes and inhaled. After a moment, she wrapped the hand he’d placed over her heart with her own and brought it against her cheek. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened her eyes and searched his face. He could only hope that she could read how full his heart was for her. With another long breath, she moved to retrieve the book she’d been hiding, slowly passing it to his knee.

  “When I flew back to LA, I sat next to a woman who was reading this. She gave it to me after we landed. I don’t know why. I pretended to be asleep the whole flight, but she said she felt like she was supposed to give it to me.”

  Brock shifted his attention from her face to the book. Two words screamed for his attention. Abortion and Healing. He wanted to crumble to his knees with relief.

  “Why did you think you needed to hide this?”

  “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why? I mean I already knew, so why are you afraid to talk to me?”

  She looked away, her face toward the dock at her feet. “I don’t know. What if every time you’re reminded that I’ve had an abortion, you love me less?” Turning to look at him again, desperation filled her eyes. “You’ve stripped me of every piece of armor I’ve kept, and now I’m defenseless. To lose you—”

  “You won’t.” Brock moved from his chair, scooped Cheryl from hers, and settled her on his lap. “You’re not going to lose me. You choose, Sherbert. You choose to be forgiven and to forgive. You choose to be loved and to give love. You are not locked into a future of bondage.”

  Cheryl’s brow furrowed the way it did when her thoughts ran deep and troubled. Brock tugged her against himself and cuddled her close, praying that she wouldn’t close up yet again. If only this time she’d let him—

  “I believe.”

  Her whispered words cut off his thoughtful prayers. What did she mean, she believed?

  Their fitful night returned to him. Believe Him. Believe God.

  Brock’s shoulders sagged, and he leaned back against the chair. Faith was their shield.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  At last. The real journey could begin.

  ~*~

  This is long overdue…

  But I forgive you.

  We were both a crazy, tangled-up mess.

  Alcohol had an iron grip on your life, and shame kept me wrapped up in ice.

  I am glad you found truth. You found healing.

  You found love.

  Thank you for seeking me, for your apology.

  You showed me what redemption looks like.

  I am sorry I came to you with vengeance and resentment.

  Is it too late to ask for your forgiveness?

  Cheryl reread the last three lines she’d just written. She reclined against the sloped back of the chair where she’d spent most of the day. Brock had held her for a glorious eternity that morning. Every minute of their beautiful silence spoke his strong love to her fragile heart. This life…beyond her hopes. So much more than she deserved.

  Brock believed in redemption, and now she was beginning to take hold of it too.

  Andrew had shown her what redemption looked like. Was that irony or grace? Irony, in that Andrew’s letter had brought her home. Grace that it brought her to Brock.

  Why me, God? Why even this? Tears clogged her sinuses as she felt the words lift to God.

  I am more than you imagine. I redeem. It is My power and My pleasure. I ask only for you to believe.

  The words pressed so firm in her mind she could nearly hear the great, gentle voice from heaven speak them. With one outstretched hand lifted toward the sky, she leaned forward until her face touched her knees.

  I do believe. Help me to believe more.

  She remembered the day Brock had told her he believed in redemption. It had hit her like shards of ice. Painful, cold, and cruel. Because she didn’t think it possible. How could God redeem what could not be undone?

  But maybe redeemed didn’t always mean undone. It didn’t always mean no more pain, at least not on this side of heaven. It might mean that now she could breathe again. She could live and love and feel joy, even through the pain.

  And it might mean that she give others the chance to show her grace. Like Brock’s parents.

  With her vision blurred, but her determination locked, she took up her pen and found a fresh page in the notebook she’d been writing in. Terrified, she took in a courageous breath and thought of her mother. A woman who gazed at fear an
d refused to bow. Maybe today, Cheryl could be her daughter.

  The words tumbled from her heart through her pen, her handwriting shaky and at some points barely legible. She’d never be able to speak them and probably wouldn’t even be able to deliver the letter in person, but she’d give her in-laws a chance to prove themselves. Brock had every confidence in them, which strengthened her budding courage. He was, after all, their son and the best man she’d ever met.

  Her knight. In God’s armor. Maybe he learned it from them.

  You upended all my strongholds…

  I believed You didn’t want me.

  I believed I was beyond Your reach.

  What I believed didn’t make it true.

  You came for me…

  And You sent one who would show me what was true.

  Love came for me.

  ~33~

  Cheryl slid the daypack from her shoulders, lowered it to the lightly vegetated ground at her feet, and stretched her spine.

  Brock stopped at her side, resting his hand on her back. “Doing okay?”

  She looked at the formation in front of them. It happened here, somewhere on the rock face that climbed toward the clouds in front of her. She swallowed as a small tremble waved through her core.

  “I never climbed with her here.” She looked up to him. “I never climbed a real face with her, actually. Only ever went to the training walls. I was always too scared.”

  Brock listened, his attention moving from her to the Rabbit Ears formation and back again. “It’s not for everyone. Looks pretty intense to me. There’s no shame in that.”

  “I know.” Cheryl sighed. “I guess I just always felt like maybe she was disappointed in me.”

  “Doubt it.” That charming half smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and then he leaned to kiss her temple. “Time to let it go,” he whispered.

  Yes. It was. That was why they’d taken this hike. Cheryl bent, taking up her pack again, and unzipped the front panel. Two folded letters waited, and she tugged them both free.

  “Would it be weird if I read them out loud?”

  Tenderness passed over his expression, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Not at all.”

  She nodded, drew a long breath, and unfolded the first note.

  “I never said good-bye. I was mad, and I didn’t want to.

  “But I know that it wasn’t your fault. You lived the life God intended you to live. You followed your passion for nature and climbing, and you never let life sideline you.

  “I’m not like you, with a heart for adventure. But I want to live like you in my own way. To be who God intended. To believe Him. To be willing to take risks.

  “To live.

  “But to do that, I have to say good-bye. It’s overdue, and I’m sorry I held on to my anger for so long. But here it is, Mom.

  “I love you, and I do know that you loved me. Someday, I hope to hear you say it again. But for now…”

  Cheryl paused, tears choking the words in her throat. Brock’s arm came around her, and he anchored her to his side. She cleared her throat and began again.

  “For now, I hope you’ll say it to my daughter. Say it for me. Tell her I love her, that she’s never left my heart.”

  Cheryl sniffed as she folded the letter, brushing a tear with her free hand. Brock squeezed her against him, and he leaned to graze another kiss on her hair.

  She gulped in another breath. The hard had only just begun. But sometimes the only way out of pain was through… She shuffled the second letter to the front, and her hands shook as she unfolded it. Her voice barely worked, but she began to read anyway.

  “To the little one I never held.

  “I’m sorry.

  “You are my deepest regret. Not that you were, but that I denied you. I hope, because you are perfected in heaven, you can forgive me. It seems unfathomable that I should even ask, but here I am, asking you to forgive me.

  “I don’t know why I think that you were a girl. If you’re not, forgive that too. I’ve called you Sabrina, because every child should have a name.

  “I wish I knew what you looked like. Do you have my blue eyes? My dark hair? Do your cheeks dimple when you smile? Are there freckles across your nose?

  “Questions that someday will be answered with a simple glance.

  “Someday.

  “I imagine you walking with Jesus, your hand in His.

  “Healed.

  “I am holding His hand too, and He is healing me as we go.

  “I wish I’d chosen a different path. You would have been worth every struggle.

  “But some things cannot be undone, and there is only I’m sorry. And forgiveness. And love.

  “You are loved.

  “Really, that’s what I want most for you to know. You are loved.”

  Her face soaked, Cheryl moved away from the arm that held her up, and stepped to the base of the rock formation. Brock followed—she could feel his presence as she touched the rough, volcanic stone. He shuffled behind her, unzipped the pack that he’d carried, and knelt by her side. A flash of green and red contrasted with the dark charcoal stone, and Cheryl looked down.

  Red roses. Brock had brought her mother and her baby a red rose bouquet. Cheryl came undone. Crumbling to her knees, she sagged into his arms, and together they cried.

  “Thank you, Brock,” she breathed between sobs.

  He pulled away enough to look at her, the tears trickling over the rough, sandstone stubble littering his jawline. “I love what you love.” He wiped at the trail of her tears. “And we’ll walk this path together.”

  Leaning into the hand that cradled her face, a prayer lifted from her heart. Thank you for this man.

  Shifting again so that he sat, Brock let her go and reached into his pack. “I told you I don’t know what I’m doing in all this, so I hope that this is okay—good and not hurtful.” His hand came out of the fabric holding a small box. With his palm open, he held it out to her. “But if it’s not, just say so. The last thing I want to do is add more pain.”

  Cheryl took the small gift—a jewelry box—and slid the lid off the top. Laying against pink velvet was a charm of two tiny feet clasped to a delicate silver chain. With a breath of emotion, a cocktail of heartache and love, she fingered the charm, lifting it from the box. A rough texture on the back drew her attention, and as she turned it in her palm, she found that Brock had it engraved.

  Not forgotten.

  Her fingers closed around it, and she leaned into his chest.

  “Is it okay?” Hesitation hitched his question.

  “Yes.” Her voice wobbled. “I love it.”

  His arms tightened around her. “I would have loved to meet her. I would have taken her as my own.”

  Beyond a doubt, Cheryl knew it was the truth—bittersweet, but she loved him for it. A nod against him was all she could muster. That was enough for him as he sheltered her in his arms while the intensity of all that had been, all that shouldn’t have been, and all that was tore through her one more time.

  The storm didn’t leave her devastated though. As the swirling winds of regret calmed, a gentle rain seemed to take over in her heart. Washing. Resculpting. Sinking in deep. Giving life.

  Cheryl moved so that she sat next to Brock, her head against his shoulder as she faced the world that lay beyond the mountain. The valley to the west was stunning. The Yampa meandered with its gentle curves, water gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Green pastures lay deep and rich and inviting. Blue peaks gathered around as if to protect the rare treasure of the high plain.

  A view she’d never seen before, because she’d lacked the courage to come to this place. Breathtaking. With a long draw of clean, thin mountain air, she let her chest expand, and her heart seemed to grow.

  “Will it be easier now, do you think?” She didn’t look at Brock while asking the question.

  He rubbed her shoulder with one hand and then squeezed. “I think there will be good days and there will be bad days
. I think we’ll have laughter and we’ll have tears. We’ll come back here and grieve, and we’ll go back down and dance. I think that’s the way this life is.”

  She nodded and then looked up at him. “But we’ll do it together.”

  “Yeah. Every day, together.” A gentle smile preceded his tender kiss.

  A breeze danced around them, rustling the roses Brock had placed against the stone to their right. The movement of color caught Cheryl’s attention, and his kindness once again tugged on her heart.

  Kindness that had been sent by the Healer of her heart.

  She blinked, a small smile tugging on her mouth. “I didn’t know how much I wanted Him to come for me.” She turned to look up at Brock. “But He knew, and He sent you.”

  Brock’s silent look said it all. He loved her. Because God gave him a love for her. Because he chose to love her. Because he was willing to look at her brokenness, listen to the pain, and let it break his heart.

  He loved her.

  All of it seemed beyond comprehension, but she sat in that shelter, overwhelmed by the reality.

  “So that makes me, like, your knight. Right?” Leave it to Brock to bring laughter to her tears.

  She lifted her lips to his, kissed him softly, and pulled away. “Don’t let it go to your head. I need you on the ground.”

  With a chuckle, he zipped up the packs and stood, pulling her to her feet with him. “E said you’d keep me humble.”

  “Apparently someone is supposed to.”

  He dropped another kiss against her forehead. “I can live with that.” His hand slid around hers and squeezed. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yeah.” She followed him as he made his way back to the trail. The footpath took them south before it curved back west and then began to descend. Cheryl paused at the elbow, once again looking over the valley. So amazing.

  Ten feet down the path, Brock stopped and turned back to her. Backlit by the sun, he seemed washed in the intensity of warm light. But she could make out the love in his eyes.

  “Coming?”