Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series

by Carolyn Zane

  Smile wide, Isuzu got to her feet and grabbed her purse. “I say, let’s go.”

  That evening after dinner, while Selma set up her sewing machine on one side of the kitchen, Abigail set up a swivel chair and her new hair supplies on the other, near the sink. There was a knock at the kitchen door and Isuzu came in with a leather satchel and a TV tray. “You tell them yet?” she whispered.

  Finger to her lips, Abigail shook her head as she helped Isuzu unload and set up. That afternoon, they’d gone a little overboard at the beauty supply. Brooke had been so grateful for her pampering that they’d decided to do it for everyone. Abigail came home loaded down with specialty hair products for everyone in the household, and Isuzu had loaded up on nail supplies. They were both as giddy as children listening for Santa’s sleigh bells on Christmas Eve.

  When they were ready, Abigail used a spoon to tap on the bottom of a saucepan.

  “Excuse me!” she called over the sewing hubbub at the table, “May we have your attention please? The Doo Drop-In and Zu-Zu Nails are open again for business!”

  “We here to make you beautiful for wedding,” Isuzu explained.

  Heather and Elsa stared at each other for a second before they leapt to their feet and squealed, “Yes!” Chairs a-scraping, they charged at Abigail and Isuzu with open arms. After Abigail managed to emerge from their barrage of kisses and hugs, she handed them each a hairstyles magazine. “Why don’t you girls pick a doo, and I’ll start with Robbie.”

  Abigail brainstormed with Heather while she worked on the toddler’s hair and Elsa discussed hair styles and nail colors with Isuzu and her mom.

  The lopsided lengths of her son’s thick curls had Heather wincing. “I’ve been doing it myself, because it’s all I can afford,” she said, embarrassed. “I used to go to my mom’s salon at the country club when I was in high school. Started dying my hair when I was in the fifth grade. Isn’t that ridiculous?” Her dismay was audible as she exhaled. “I haven’t had a good haircut since I got pregnant.”

  “That’s the part I think is ridiculous,” Abigail teased as she buzzed up the back of Robbie’s head with a new pair of clippers. The child sat stock still, his eyes wide, his lips curved into a slight smile.

  “Ticky,” he said and laughed.

  “I don’t suppose you could do this one on me?” Heather held the glossy spread open so that Abigail could see and pointed out a trendy hairstyle in the magazine.

  “Sure. You’d look great in that.”

  Heather squealed and clasped her hands together and, once again, Abigail found her heart growing softer. When Robbie was done, she handed him off to Bob Ray and recommended a shower, then turned her attention on mama.

  “Time for some pampering, huh?” Abigail studied the picture and discussed the length of the various layers and the wispy bangs. “You want some color?”

  Heather was jittering with excitement. “You could do that?”

  “Highlights? Like this?” Abigail asked. She’d have thought the girl just won the lottery, Heather was so excited. Over the next hour, Abigail cut and colored and shampooed and blow dried and flat ironed. Before Heather was allowed to look in the mirror, Elsa put some mascara and lip gloss on her and Isuzu gave her a manicure. When they finally handed her the mirror, Heather burst into tears of joy. Bob Ray gave her a wolf whistle and insisted on dancing her around the kitchen. “Is my wife gorgeous, or what?”

  They all agreed. She was. The haircut had completely transformed her, and she looked like a young girl again, rather than an exhausted mom. With the exception of Selma and Guadalupe, Abigail cut and styled everyone’s hair until it was Justin’s turn.

  He eyed her warily as she pulled him from his seat at the table and led him to the sink. “What are you planning to do to me?”

  She took the opportunity to freely study his handsome face. “I’m just going to give you a good cut. C’mon. I’ll wash your hair. It’s easier to cut when it’s wet.” Somewhat dubious, he followed her to the sink, where she stood, tucking a towel around his neck. They were standing face-to-face and he grinned at her, eyes twinkling. Her stomach tingled. Oh, my. This was better than dancing. To hide her suddenly nervous hands, she turned the water on and waited for it to warm, testing it with her fingers.

  “Head in the sink,” she ordered, and clearing her throat, reached for the spray nozzle. His hair was thick and soft and she first soaked it, and then filled her hands with her favorite shampoo.

  “Suddenly I get why the girls spend the big bucks getting their hair done. I love this!” Justin shouted from the depths of the sink to Bob Ray as Abigail scrubbed his scalp, lightly running her nails through his hair as she massaged.

  “Oh, yeah.” Bob Ray ran a hand through his new haircut. “I’m a believer.”

  “I’ll give her about a year to knock this off,” Justin called back to Bob Ray.

  Abigail laughed as she rinsed the soap from his head. Though she didn’t really need to, she lathered him and rinsed once more, then she applied a good conditioner before the final rinse. While he was still bent over she wrapped his head in a towel and rubbed it half dry.

  “Take a seat,” she directed and, shaking out her cape, fastened it around his neck. Using a longer guard on the clippers, she trimmed up the back and sides, taking her time, enjoying the perfect excuse to touch his head and allow her hands to linger on his neck and shoulders. When she was satisfied with the results she took scissors and comb to the top, thinning and trimming and shaping until he looked ready for a photo shoot. Man, she thought as she lightly shaved the line at his neck and sideburns, he was handsome. Crazy handsome on the outside, but even better on the inside. There was a goodness about him. Like Danny.

  When she was done, she blew the hairs off his face and he grinned and asked, “Am I good?”

  She could feel her goofy smile light her eyes and tingle her toes. “Yeah.” She tipped his chin up and studied his face for a long moment and considered how it reflected the sweetness of his heart. “You’re good.”

  19

  Bright and early Saturday morning, Heather and Bob Ray fixed a hearty breakfast for the entire household. The savory smells of onion and garlic frying in butter, potatoes browning, bacon sizzling, and coffee perking summoned sleepyheads from their beds and drew them to the kitchen table for both food and family. While they all ate, the chatter was festive as the talk of Chaz and Kaylee’s wedding that evening buoyed their spirits. Everyone was eager to put the storm and its atrocities out of their minds for a little while and get out of the house and celebrate life.

  “Hey, you know what?” Abigail cradled her coffee mug between her hands. “It just occurred to me that I don’t have anything to wear to a wedding.” Everyone glanced around as that realization dawned for them all.

  “I don’t think anyone is going to care if we wear jeans,” Justin said with a shrug, “you know, all things considered.”

  “Yes, but it would certainly be nice to have one good Sunday-go-to-meetin’ outfit for times like this, don’t you think?” Selma said as she pinned a row of completed quilt squares together. “Why don’t you kids take the Olds and run up to the mall in Southshire? I have some money in the cookie jar that the kids sent me for my last few birthdays, but to be honest, I just haven’t needed anything and so I’ve been saving it for a rainy day. I think a tornado counts. Take it and go shopping.”

  “Oh, no,” they all demurred, but the longing expressions on their faces claimed that they were oh-so-tempted.

  Selma stood and moved to her cookie jar. Without ceremony, she brought it to the table and dropped it in the center with a thud. “Haven’t you ninnies learned anything from the storm? Seize the day, kids! Life is short! Get out there and live it. For me?”

  Grins and eyes huge, Guadalupe and Elsa, Bob Ray and Heather, Justin and Abigail all exchanged excited glances. “We’ll pay you back,” Bob Ray promised.

  “Okay, it’s a deal,” Selma agreed. “I’ve got a bunch of storm
junk in the backyard that needs hauling off—” Before she’d finished her thought, chairs rumbled across the wood floor as everyone leapt to their feet to kiss Selma’s face, and then rush pell-mell out the door. “Leave Robbie here,” Selma called after them, and then turned her attention to the child who was still seated, forgotten, in his high chair. “They’re not gonna get too far without the jar, huh kid? So. It’s just you and me and the VeggieTales, how about that?”

  “Meggie Tay!” Robbie shouted. “Bob!”

  “Bob the Tomato is my favorite, too.”

  Heather popped back into the kitchen, her face flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. “Sorry, Selma. I got a little over anxious to be on my way. Be good, Robbie.” Heather kissed her son and Selma waved the girl off. Heather bolted, squealing like a kid on her way to the candy store, the cookie jar in her arms.

  That afternoon, after a full morning spent buying wedding togs, the doorbell rang and Rawhide scrambled to loudly announce Kaylee’s arrival. She’d brought her brand-new veil and tiara and Heather and Elsa watched as Abigail deftly wove her hair and headpiece into a work of art that had her looking every inch the princess bride. When she’d gone, Abigail turned her attentions on everyone else in the household and shampooed and conditioned and gelled and sprayed and flat-ironed and blow-dried until they were all spit-shined and ready for a night out.

  “You have a servant’s heart, sweetheart,” Selma murmured, admiring Abigail’s handy work around the room. Abigail beamed under the praise. For the first time ever, Abigail was more satisfied with the status of her heart than the nature of her art. It had been fun, washing their heads and listening to their sighs of contentment and basking in their satisfied smiles.

  It took two trips with Justin driving the Olds, but they all made it to the church on time. Because of some unexpected repair work that the Midwestern General Electric Company was doing on a substation just outside Rawston, the Prairie Central Bible Church lost power about two hours before the wedding. Undaunted by this minor inconvenience, Kaylee and Chaz relied on dozens of emergency candles to light the sanctuary for their sunset ceremony. The sparkling beauty took Abigail’s breath away as she and Justin stepped inside the vestibule. A young usher lent Abigail his arm and led them both to their seats behind Selma, who had Bob Ray and Heather on one side and Guadalupe and Elsa on the other.

  Bemused, Abigail glanced at Justin’s profile as she took her seat. A week ago she’d known she was attending Kaylee’s wedding, but she’d never have guessed it would be in the company of this particular group. And, at the moment, she couldn’t imagine attending with anyone else. Odd as it seemed, they were a little family now.

  The delicate strains of a stringed quartet playing Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” filled the air as Kaylee’s bridesmaids came down the aisle before her, carrying candles—dressed in beribboned lace paper doilies to protect their hands from the wax—instead of flowers. Then the stringed music faded and the pianist played the prelude to the wedding march and they all stood as Kaylee walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. She was positively glowing, and the dress—her father brought it from Seattle—had belonged to her mother but looked as if it had been made for Kaylee. The cast on her broken arm had been painted and then beaded and sequined to match the glove on her good arm. Instead of a bouquet of flowers, she, too, carried a candle, as did Chaz, his brother, Davon, and the two groomsmen. Up at the altar, a unity candle waited for her and Chaz to light as a symbol of their marriage bond.

  Everywhere, candlelight flickered. On window ledges, table tops, railings, the piano and organ tops. It was absolutely breathtaking. The shadows muted out any repair work that needed to be done because of the tornado and gave the ceremony a feeling of splendor. Through the arch that had held the stained-glass window, the last vestiges of the setting sunlight only added to the ethereal mood.

  Sniffles began to ripple across the assemblage as Kaylee’s father tenderly kissed and handed his only daughter off to her groom. Chaz’s flickering and shadowed expression was one of adoration for his bride as he drew her to his side. Oh, how handsome and tall he stood in the tux that had been stored in the new house. Love seemed to spark and shimmer between them as warm and bright as the candles they carried. Once Mr. Johnson had taken his seat next to Kaylee’s mom, the minister—whom the wedding program listed as Pastor Caldecott— welcomed the guests.

  “Welcome, beloved. I know I speak for both Kaylee and Chaz in extending our gratitude to you for joining us to bear witness to the exchange of their wedding vows. On the heels of a devastating and tragic storm, it is a privilege and an honor to be able to unite these two young people in holy matrimony.”

  Pulse pounding, breath caught in her throat, Abigail could almost feel the collective smile of the congregation, for it was a live thing, blooming and spreading and generating warmth. Justin took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. That such joy could flow on the heels of such horrific chaos amazed Abigail. And yet, as she watched and waited, her heart was suddenly so full. Eyes creasing at the corners, Justin glanced down at her and she knew by his tender smile that he felt it, too.

  “This service is a blessing to our beleaguered community in so many ways. It is a new beginning. A fresh start. A symbol of hope. And a symbol of God’s unending grace. I know there are a number of you out there with us tonight who might be questioning how a supposed God of love could allow such tragedy to come into our lives. And believe me when I tell you, you are not alone.”

  Abigail felt her mouth drop open, and in her peripheral vision, she could feel the glances and knowing smiles of those in her household darting in her direction. Leaning forward, she wriggled around in her seat and stared hard at the pastor, as if by doing so, she could not only hear better but also absorb the meaning behind his words.

  “This is a question of the ages, is it not? And there are no simple answers. However, I think the words of beloved nineteenth-century pastor and writer J. C. Ryle sum it up best in a message that is appropriate, considering what Chaz and Kaylee have so recently lived through. It is also relevant to the storms that every marriage will encounter at one time or another over the years.”

  The pastor cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and began to read. “In his sermon entitled We Shall Thank God for Every Storm, Pastor Ryle says, ‘If we are true Christians, we must not expect everything smooth in our journey to heaven. We must count it no strange thing, if we have to endure sicknesses, losses, bereavements, and disappointments, just like other people. Free pardon and full forgiveness, grace by the way and glory to the end—all this our Savior has promised to give. But He has never promised that we shall have no afflictions. He loves us too well to promise that.

  ‘By affliction He teaches us many precious lessons, which without it we should never learn. By affliction He shows us our emptiness and weakness, draws us to the throne of grace, purifies our affections, weans us from the world and makes us long for heaven. In the resurrection morning we shall all say, “It is good for me that I was afflicted.” We shall thank God for every storm.’”

  Tears spilled down Abigail’s cheeks, and of course, she had left the house without so much as a tissue tucked in her sleeve. Shouldn’t she have known better? This was, after all, a wedding. Crying was on the agenda. She sniffed and swiped at her nose and eyes, the words of the sermon chipping away at the stone that had encased her heart since she was eleven years old. Was it good that she had been afflicted? Even though it had been terribly painful, she had to think that it was. She’d definitely changed. And she believed . . . knew it was for the better. Would she have learned so much about herself without the storm? Probably not.

  In the past week, she’d spent more time considering her priorities and searching her soul than she had in all of the other thoughtful moments of her life combined. Looking back, if she were honest, she didn’t exactly admire who she used to be and what she’d deemed important. Like a cold front sweeping in from the north,
she could feel a storm brewing in her soul. More change was on the horizon. Would her metamorphosis continue to be this painful? This emotional? Eyes squeezed tight, she took a deep breath. She would be stronger because of it. A better person, by far, than the vain, rather vapid girl she’d been only a week ago. Feeling Justin jostling around at her side, she watched, bleary-eyed, as he reached under the pew in front of them, plucked several tissues from a box that had been stored near his feet for just such occasions, and handed them to her.

  Directly in front of her, Bob Ray and Heather were sitting together. Hearing Justin find the tissues, Bob Ray reached down and grabbed several and handed one to Heather and one to Selma. One he kept for himself and proceeded to loudly blow his nose.

  Pastor Caldecott turned to Chaz. “Chaz, you and your bride have made it no secret that you and Kaylee have waited to give the gift of your virtue to each other for after the wedding. For this obedience, I believe the Lord will bless you. And for this reason, I’ll make every effort to keep what follows short and sweet.”

  Laughter rippled through the audience as Chaz winked at Kaylee. Bob Ray slid his arm around Heather and pulled her close and kissed her temple.

  “And so, Chaz, please repeat after me. I, Chaz Edwards, do take you, Kaylee Johnson, to be my lawfully wedded wife—”

  Bob Ray’s expression was solemn as he silently mouthed the vows along with Chaz into Heather’s ear. “I, Bob Ray Lathrop, do take you, Heather Bancroft, to be my lawfully wedded wife . . .”

  Abigail felt her eyes welling up all over again and this time, Justin grinned and handed her the entire box of tissue. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

  “. . . to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part.”