Except John Brighton.
Her mind churned with questions. Why couldn’t she seem to give her heart fully to Jim the way he so obviously had lost his to her? Why couldn’t she put the past behind her and embrace the gift of this man’s friendship? Why couldn’t she put the ghost of Martin, and the living specter of her relationship with John out of her mind? They were both dead to her. They were in her past, and she so desperately wanted to live for today. Please, Lord, help me. I’m so confused. If this man is a gift from You…if this is Your will for me, I want to be in it. Show me, Lord. Please, show me. I need to hear from You.
They walked along the sidewalk toward Jim’s house, hand in hand, perfectly in step with each other. Only their boots, pounding out a soft rhythm on the pavement, broke the silence of the chill evening.
But Julia’s thoughts spun out of control, a tumultuous irony against the steady rhythm of their footsteps. He loves me, she told herself over and over. What more do I want? Julia wondered if she could grow to love Jim with the deep love she remembered from her marriage. Maybe her memory deceived her, and it had taken time to grow into love with Martin—and with John. Maybe she just didn’t remember.
Jim, in his sweet, quiet way, seemed to sense that she was troubled. “Julia, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I took things too fast back there.” He motioned to the sidewalk behind them, as though it were the scene of a crime.
“No, Jim. It’s not that.” It was a lie, really, but she couldn’t bear to hurt him for something of which he was innocent. “I’m just not myself tonight. I’m sorry.”
They came to his driveway, and he invited her in for a cup of hot chocolate.
“I’m sorry, Jim. It’s awfully late. Would you mind if I beg off tonight? I’d just like to get home.”
“Sure.” There was disappointment in his voice, but he opened her door for her and went around to start the car. They sat in silence waiting for the car to warm up, but after five minutes, instead of backing out of the driveway, Jim reached into his pocket and took out a small square box. Fumbling, he opened the lid and dropped the contents into his palm.
Before Julia quite realized what was happening, he reached across the console for her left hand, and pulling her glove off, he slid an exquisite diamond ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
“Julia, you have given me so much joy in these past months. I thank God every day for putting you in my life. You’ve given my life meaning again, and I love you with all my heart. Julia, I don’t want to have to take you home ever again. I want our home to be together. I want you to be my wife.”
His speech was clearly rehearsed, but Julia knew it came from his heart. His heart of gold.
Julia looked down at her hand. The ring’s brilliance was magnified through the tears that spilled onto her cheeks.
“Oh, Jim…Jim…”
John
Chapter Thirty-Four
The morning Ellen died was the kind of day she would have declared perfect. The September sun was tempered by wisps of clouds, and the air was crisp with a foretaste of autumn.
The piercing jangle of the telephone roused John from a dreamless sleep. He looked at the clock—5:30 a.m. He knew even before he was fully awake that Ellen was gone. He had stayed with her until midnight the night before, listening to her rattled breathing, wishing he could take her next breath for her. Her skin was gray and clammy, and she gasped for air with a strength she hadn’t possessed in years. John watched her, exhausted with the waiting, until finally the nurses had sent him home, promising to call him if anything changed.
Strange. Tomorrow would have been her birthday. He’d heard that people often held on until a birthday or anniversary. But, of course, Ellen had no awareness of time passing, and she had not been able to make it one more day. The fifty-sixth anniversary of her birth would have to pass without her.
More than three years had passed since John had made peace with himself and with God. While the sense of rightness he felt about his renewed commitment to Ellen pervaded everything, still, it had not been easy.
In the past year there had been one crisis after another. Ellen caught a virus that left her weak and susceptible to every bug that went around. She ended up with pneumonia, and though she finally pulled through, her lungs were scarred and weakened. In the end, it was pneumonia that came back—this time to claim her.
Mercifully, in the years since John had said goodbye to Julia, Ellen had taken on a new, quiet countenance. He felt almost as if he’d been given a gift—a reward for the sacrifices he had made. Yet he knew he had sacrificed nothing in letting Julia go. He couldn’t sacrifice what wasn’t his. Still, he was grateful for Ellen’s peace. It was a thing they could share, a thing they had in common.
When she became bedfast—unable to walk, or feed herself, or even roll over in bed—John knew the end couldn’t be far away. He felt a sort of panic at losing her. This solitary life of being Ellen’s husband was all he knew. He wasn’t sure he would know how to live any other way. What was normal, anyway? The normal he could remember from the past was full of teenagers, ball games, parties, and a pretty wife always at his side. He hadn’t had a chance to learn how to live alone—even alone with Ellen. They had been running the treadmill that Alzheimer’s forced them onto for so long. His family nest had been empty for such a long time, and today he would begin to learn how to live in its loneliness.
John arrived at the funeral home early the next morning. It had not occurred to him that walking through the doors of that building meant seeing Ellen. Recorded organ music drifted through the open doors of the sanctuary and drew John into the quiet room.
When he saw her lying in the front of the room amid a profusion of flowers, he caught his breath and reached for the back of the pew bench. He half stumbled down the aisle and stood trembling in front of the simple coffin.
She looked almost angelic. Gone were the lines that had creased her forehead. The eyes that in her last years had reflected a haunting confusion, were now peacefully closed. It was freeing for him to see Ellen this way. His breathing evened out; his heart ceased its wild pounding.
Looking down at her, he was overcome with the sense that the ethereal form that lay before him was not his Ellen. People at funerals always said the deceased looked as if they were merely sleeping. And though Ellen looked beautiful and at peace, in no way did she look alive to John. Her beauty in death was fragile and pearlescent, like that of a seashell. It struck John that indeed, it was a shell that lay before him. The Ellen John Brighton cherished had broken the shard that for so long imprisoned her and had flown away home.
John slowly looked heavenward and whispered without guilt, “Thank you.”
The funeral was a blur of familiar faces, warm with sympathy, but full of relief also. In the front row of the sanctuary Jana and Brant, along with their spouses, sat on either side of John. Howard and MaryEllen flanked Kyle, leaning on him for support. They were in their eighties now, stooped and frail, but mentally sharp as ever and so strong in spirit. The past years had aged them both. But, in a way, this day was almost a celebration for them. For all who had loved Ellen and beheld her suffering, this day gave cause for quiet rejoicing.
John held Jana’s hand tightly, and his mind was flooded with memories of Ellen as she’d been before the ogre called Alzheimer’s had come into their lives. For the first time in almost a decade, the memories came easily, and they comforted him.
He could see her sitting across from him at the China Garden, laughing and lovely. He saw the tiny apartment in Oscar and Hattie’s attic as clearly as if he sat there now. He walked the fields of Ellen’s childhood farm again as they said goodbye to their first baby. Perhaps Ellen was holding little Catherine in her arms at this very moment. The thought filled him with inexplicable joy.
He recalled not the milestones in their life together, but the little things. Impromptu picnics in the backyard when the children were small. Cheering the kids on together at ball games. And th
e too-brief time they’d had together after the children were grown. Quiet evenings by the fireplace, reading together on Saturday afternoons, unhurriedly making love.
John’s reverie was broken by the clear, sweet voices of Ellen’s nieces. They sang a hymn that Ellen had loved because of the poignant story behind it. The author had penned the lyrics in the nineteenth century after receiving the tragic news that his four beloved daughters had been lost at sea. The melody rose and soared through the rafters of the sanctuary like a living thing.
“When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Unexpectedly, John’s throat swelled and tears rolled unbidden down his cheeks. He thought he had shed all his tears, but the song moved him powerfully.
For so many months, so many endless years, he had been asked to travel a hard and bitter road. But this day he had come to the end of that path, and he could turn and look back from a new, high place. He saw each fork and each rocky incline with clarity, and he knew that his journey had been honorable and not without reason. He could say with conviction, “It is well with my soul.”
Epilogue
John came in from the backyard to fix himself a glass of tea. It was July, and the air conditioning was on in the house, so he closed the door on the laughter behind him. The quiet of the empty house enveloped him, and he found himself reflective in the sudden silence.
He filled a tall glass with ice from the freezer and poured tea from a huge Mason jar that sat in a pool of sunshine on the floor in the conservatory. John smiled as he thought of his wife’s insistence that her tea be brewed in the sun. The jar had sat in this spot all summer long—filled some days with raspberry tea, others with lemon—until a ring had formed on the dark oak floor. Once, the stain might have bothered him, marring the otherwise flawless wood. But now it was one of the things that marked this house as theirs, his and hers—the woman he loved. What joy she had brought back to this house on Oaklawn!
There were long months of bitter loneliness after Ellen’s death—and yes, bitter years before that. Moments when John wasn’t sure he could go on another day. When he sought God and felt utterly forsaken. When he screamed “Why?” to the heavens, but they were bereft of an answer, only echoing back his own tormented cries: Why? Why? Why?
In the years after he’d said goodbye to Julia, he had seen her a few times from a distance. But he made no attempt to contact her. It still sickened him when he thought how dangerously close he had come to pulling her into his trespass. In truth, though he knew he’d been forgiven, a trace of guilt still lingered for the sin that had almost entrapped him. Strange that temptation could be disguised in a package filled with such warmth and beauty.
And, too, the new purity of his love for Julia—a chaste love—had kept him from barging back into her life. He wanted in no way to be a source of confusion or a stumbling block to her as she made a new life for herself apart from him.
He had heard through the school grapevine that “Sam and Andy’s mom” was dating the city administrator. It still hurt him to think of her happy with someone else. He had to keep reminding himself that Julia was a closed chapter in his life. He could not allow himself to think of reopening the wounds that his sin had inflicted on her—on both of them, really. He had overstepped sacred boundaries, and in doing so, he felt he’d lost the right to ever again be a source of happiness to Julia.
Through the years, his own wounds had healed over. But scars remained—deep scars that would always be a reminder of his mistakes. He considered himself whole, though, and forgiven; and on another level—a more selfless, honorable plane—he was glad for the news about Julia. He hoped she was finding happiness in her life.
Then, out of the ashes of his grief, when he least expected it, Julia came back into his life. A gift. He smiled at the memory.
He had been at the library, where he could escape the deafening silence of his house for a different sort of quiet. He was browsing the shelves of biographies, and suddenly she stood beside him.
“John. I thought it was you,” she’d whispered.
“Julia.” He’d barely been able to speak. He had forgotten how beautiful her voice was. He’d not heard that lovely voice for almost five years. Even in a whisper, it stirred him as it always had.
Boldly, he asked if she could go for coffee with him. Was she free? The meaning in his question clear.
They ordered cappuccino in a small café across the street from the library. The restaurant was empty, and as they lingered over warm cups, the years fell away.
“I’m so sorry about Ellen, John. I heard…”
“It seems such a long time ago, Julia. Over a year now, but of course, it was a long time coming. I’m sure you won’t judge me if I say it was a blessing.”
She nodded slowly. “No. Of course…I understand. Are you doing okay?”
“I’ve been lonely. But I’m all right.” He’d forgotten how honest he could be with her; how comfortable she made him feel. “What about you?”
“Things are good. Different though,” she sighed. “Time is going by way too fast. The boys are both in college now.”
John shook his head and blew out a breath. “That doesn’t seem possible.”
“It was hard to send my baby off to school. I thought it was just something people said to make conversation—but kids really do grow up before you know it. I don’t know where the time has gone.” She shook her head, looking bewildered. Then she brightened. “How are your kids, John?”
“Good. Mark and Jana gave me my first grandchild two months ago.” He smiled broadly, elated to be sharing this news with her. “She’s the world’s cutest baby, if I do say so myself.”
Julia laughed, soft and low. “Oh, John. That’s wonderful! Well, congratulations, Grandpa.”
Her laughter brought the memories tumbling back into his mind. How he had missed her. She was as beautiful as ever—a few more lines creasing her forehead, a few strands of grey in her short dark hair. But as John watched her face, she became familiar to his eyes again, familiar to his heart—evoking the things that had made him cherish her so.
“I heard you might be getting married?” It was a bold question, asked tentatively. But John had to be certain of their freedom this time.
Julia smiled and shook her head. Her voice was teasing. “Boy, there are no secrets in a small town, are there?” But she quickly turned serious. “No, John. I was dating—” she rolled her eyes “—oh, how I hate that word. Anyway, I was dating Jim Vincent for, well, for quite a while. I guess the rumors got out. He did ask me to marry him, but we’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” John couldn’t tell if sympathy was in order.
She shrugged. “Don’t be sorry. It was my decision. Jim is a wonderful man—salt of the earth. But…well, I wasn’t in love—” she paused almost imperceptibly “—with him.”
She dropped her head, obviously embarrassed by the implication of the pause. “It…it didn’t seem fair to Jim. I’m afraid I made him wait far too long for an answer.”
She looked up at him. A sadness had crept into her eyes, and John guessed that it had grieved her to hurt Jim by refusing his proposal and breaking off their relationship.
Impulsively, he reached across the table and put his hand over hers. A gesture of warmth, nothing more. But his voice was thick with emotion. “It’s great to see you, Julia.”
She smiled up at him, joy written on her face.
They talked late into the night, sharing the trials of the years gone by and the joys of the present. And as they spoke, he realized that the love they had once felt for each other had been rekindled—purified now in the fires of obedience and forgiveness.
When he drove her home, and they stood on the porch at her front door, he took her in his arms and pulled her to himself. And he knew it
was right now.
With a full heart, he kissed her over and over. Gently on the forehead, the chin then more urgently on the lips. They stood together and wept in each other’s arms, not needing to explain their tears. Each knowing they were shed for all the sadness gone before—and for all the joy yet to come.
The gift of liberty was now theirs for the taking. The seed of friendship, the kernel of passion that had been denied before, now unfolded and blossomed into a thing of beauty. At last they were free to declare their love, to celebrate their passion for each other.
They’d married in the spring. The ceremony was in the big backyard on Oaklawn with all their children gathered around them. And now Julia graced this home with her joyful spirit. He had known immeasurable blessings these past months.
John replaced the lid on the jar of tea and started back through the kitchen. He glanced out the tall window that looked out over the backyard. The lacy filigree of the curtains diffused the light, giving a surreal, dreamlike quality to the scene beyond. Spellbound, he gazed at the tableau before him.
Mark and Jana stood arm in arm at the edge of the lawn. Brant and a very pregnant Cynthia, and Kyle and Lisa, Kyle’s bride of two weeks, were sprawled comfortably on the grass. Beside them, Sam and Andy—young men now—smiled as they watched their mother.
Julia stood in the middle of the lawn, barefoot and radiant in a pink summer dress. A squealing, sun-browned toddler romped at her feet as the lawn sprinkler sent a spray of glittering water high into the air above them. The icy droplets hit their target and fresh peals of happy laughter floated on the summer air into the kitchen where John stood.
Mark and Jana’s little Ellen Marie was a tiny ray of hope, a budding promise of this family’s blessing for the future. She had Ellen’s auburn curls and blue-gray eyes. And when she smiled, John saw a reflection of Ellen’s beautiful face. Such a sweet memorial to her namesake.
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