by Clare Revell
I drove past that area of land I keep dreaming about. There’s no building there, but the view of the mountains is spot on. It’s a massive tract of land and I felt the Lord’s presence there almost as if he were trying to tell me something.
Patricia says I need to listen. To pray. To talk with the church elders and see where the Lord is leading me.
I know marriage is hard. Not a bed of roses by any means. Yes, I’m a pastor, but Patricia and I have rows just like anyone else. Don’t feel you have to stay trapped in a loveless marriage for the sake of the kids. It might be better for you and them to leave. You have every right to do so. Or better yet, let Ezra leave as he’s the one who strayed.
Love Oliver.
Reading. 17TH December 1995.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Oliver,
Happy Christmas.
Love Connie.
Reading. 28th February 1996.
Dear Oliver,
Paul has decided to quit school. He’s in his final year of Sixth Form and only has three months before he sits his ‘A’ levels. But he fell out with one of his tutors and walked out. He won’t go back. I don’t know what to do. The school won’t or can’t change his classes and Paul won’t go back to that teacher. He won’t tell me why and Ezra, of course, isn’t here.
Actually, Ezra hasn’t been here since the beginning of November. He’s flying for American Airlines for six months out of New York. Some flights to London, but most to other parts of the US. He seems to like it. He sends money home each month, but as for the rest of it, we no longer seem to exist.
In some ways it’s a relief. He’s been cold and distant for a long time. The only time I got any affection was if he knew the kids were watching or he wanted another baby.
So much for rules.
Love Connie.
PS. Sheridan.
Reading. 7th March 1996.
Dear Oliver,
Thank you so much for calling Paul last night. He was so chuffed to finally talk to Uncle Oliver. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I was at parents evening at Micah’s school. Again a solo job, but one that I am regrettably getting used to.
Anyway, back to Paul. Whatever you said worked. He’d going to finish out the year and take his exams. He’s also going to look into a photography and a computing course at the local technical college.
Truly thanks. Maybe I should have married you as you make a much better father than Ezra! Tell Patricia I’m just kidding.
As my mother said, I made my bed, now I have to lie in it.
Love Connie.
PS. Silvanus.
Breckenridge. 19th May 1996.
Dear Connie,
Just glad I could help, and you made Patricia laugh so hard. Believe me, there are days when I’m not the best father, but I do try.
I drove past that land again today. It looks as if it’s been sold as there were lorries and scaffolding there. Guess it’s not meant to be.
But I’d allowed myself to listen and plan and dream. Even so far as having an architect draw what I’d seen in my dreams. But no point in dwelling. I shall remain a provincial pastor, shepherding this flock.
It’s probably for the best. Patricia still has bouts of being unwell. I want to take her to a larger hospital. We have an appointment in Denver in June. Hopefully they can give us the answers we seek.
Love Oliver.
PS. Not Silvanus.
Breckenridge. 6th July 1996.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Connie,
Happy birthday.
Love Oliver.
Reading. 7th July 1996.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Oliver,
Happy birthday.
Love Connie.
PS. How’s Patricia?
Breckenridge. 12th December 1996.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Oliver,
Another year and not many letters. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you though.
Happy Christmas.
Love Connie.
Reading. 14th December 1996.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Connie,
Happy Christmas.
Patricia has good days and bad days. They finally diagnosed her with ME or chronic fatigue syndrome at the beginning of August. She doesn’t think much of that, stubborn woman that she is. She’s carrying on as normal as much as she’s able to do so.
Reading. 1st July 1997.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Oliver,
Yes, it’s me. Being super-efficient.
Have a great birthday.
Love Connie.
Breckenridge. 6th July 1997.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Connie,
Patricia had an accident during our annual Independence Day party. She was carrying a tray of drinks when she tripped on the porch steps, fell onto the concrete path and broke her neck. She should have been resting but insisted on hosting the party same as always.
Dad is here looking after the twins, while I’m in the hospital with Patricia. They want to transfer her to Denver.
Love Oliver.
PS. Happy birthday.
Chapter Seven
Breckenridge. 21st July 1997.
Dear Connie,
Thank you so much for calling last night. It meant a lot to hear your voice and be able to chat. Again, I’m sorry for not writing separately. Just made sense to shove the letter in your card. I didn’t think you’d keep it until your birthday.
They transferred her to Denver just over ten days ago. I drive over and see her every day.
Love Oliver.
Reading 1st December 1997.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Oliver,
How is she? I started to write so many times, but then stopped as I didn’t want to bug you, but please let me know how she is.
Love Connie.
PS. Sim, Somerset, Sandringham, Swindon and Salisbury.
Breckenridge. 2nd December 1997.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Connie,
Not sending many cards this year, so you are one of the fortunate few. I’m dividing my time between home and the hospital. She’s not great. Nor am I.
Love Oliver.
Reading. 1st January 1998.
Dear Oliver,
Another Christmas without Ezra. Is it sad that I don’t miss him? He’s home so rarely these days. He seems to enjoy the US too much. Even though I don’t miss him, I do wish things were different.
Did I tell you that Zipporah has a boyfriend? Well she is eighteen now. His name is Jason. He had dinner with us on Christmas Day. Dorcas and Jeff came as well.
Ezra just rang. His ears must have been burning. He’ll be in the UK on layover for a week and wants to stay here. I was tempted to say no, but he does pay the mortgage and all the bills.
Love Connie.
PS. Sim.
PPS. I tried calling several times, but never got an answer. Apart from that one conversation we had on the phone at the end of July. Is everything okay? Just a one line postcard to let me know how you and Patricia are doing would be fine.
Breckenridge. 17th February 1998.
Dear Connie,
I began to write so many times but every time I did, the words came out wrong.
Last year was just awful. Patricia is still in hospital. The medical bills are astronomical, despite the insurance. She’s paralysed from the waist downwards. I’m hoping and praying she’ll be home soon. I’m getting the house adapted and trying to organise a caregiver for during the day when I’m at work. It’s been one hurdle after another.
The hospital in Denver is eighty miles away. I get over there most days, childcare and work permitting. The house is so cold and empty without her. The bed is too big. The nights are too long. And yes, I’m still asking God why He allowed this to happen.
So yeah, I hear ya on the single parent front. The twins are eight and ask daily where Mommy is and point out th
at Mommy would do things differently and far better than me. Apparently I can’t braid hair to save my life and I tug the brush way harder than Mommy does.
Love Oliver.
PS. Please keep writing. Your letters are keeping me grounded and I reread them constantly.
PPS. Nope, not Sim, Somerset, Sandringham, Swindon or Salisbury. Nice try with the English place names though.
Reading. 19th February 1998.
[Wedding invitation.]
Mr and Mrs Ezra Johnson request the pleasure of the company of Mr and Mrs O Voight
To the wedding of their daughter Zipporah Johnson to Mr Jason Andrews
On: 6th June 1998
At: Carey Baptist Church, Reading.
[Handwritten letter.]
Dear Oliver,
I’m so sorry to hear that Patricia isn’t doing any better. Psalm 23 springs to mind, along with John 14. And no, I’m not going to lecture a pastor on a crisis of faith. Except to say it happens to the best (or worst of us). Think Barak and the donkey or Job or even David.
You’re not doing this alone. I’m quite fond of you. 27 years of letter writing to the same person tends to do that to a girl.
Love Connie.
PS. That’s really love love now. Has been for a long time. Like a brother.
PPS. Simpson.
Breckenridge. 19th May 1998.
Dear Connie,
Patricia is finally home. She still can’t walk, though she can feed herself and hoist herself in and out of the chair. Her temperament has changed. Where once she was sweet and loving, now she’s the opposite.
You mentioned Job. Honestly feels like it. People at church think it’s our fault. That she or I did something and we’re being punished for it. Yes, I know it’s idiotic, but I’ve too much on my plate to challenge such infantile behaviour. So, I decided to take a sabbatical. Take the time out to care for Patricia and decide what I’m going to do next.
Love Oliver.
PS. Not Simpson.
Reading. 17th June 1998.
Dear Oliver,
Thought I’d write a letter and shove it in your birthday card and post extra early.
So glad Patricia is home. I think of you both often.
There will only be Micah left at home soon. Zipporah and Jason will be moving to Lincoln after the wedding where he’s got a teaching position starting in September. He’s about four years older than her. Paul is starting university in October. A little later than usual, as he’s 20 rather than 18. He’ll be doing medicine at Nottingham. He wants to be a paediatrician. In his words, he wants to save children like Titus when they get hurt.
Dorcas is pregnant. I’ll be a grandmother next spring, give or take.
In light of that, and the fact I’m not old, I am refusing to be forty this year. I shall be thirty-ten instead.
Ezra stayed here for the wedding. Apparently he has a girlfriend in America. Probably why I never see him. However, I now have his address in the States. I’m tempted to write to his other woman, let her know Ezra has a wife and four kids over here. Let her know I exist.
Micah is ten and starting to ask questions about his dad and why he’s hardly here.
Love Connie.
PS. Slade.
PPS. I won’t really write to her. I have more integrity than that.
Reading. 12th July 1998.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Oliver,
Happy birthday.
Love Connie.
Breckenridge. 14th July 1998.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Connie,
It’s the big 4-0. Life begins and all that rubbish!
Happy birthday thirty-tenth dear friend.
Love Oliver.
Breckenridge. 15th October 1998.
Dear Connie,
I hope the birthday card arrived okay. Patricia chose it, when I finally got her out to the shops. She figured as you wanted no mention of your age (although to be honest, 40 is just a number) she picked the ‘like a sister’ card. She means it too. She’s never met you, but I always read her your letters. She thinks it funny you still haven’t worked out my name.
There’s a large house now on that tract of land I told you about a while back. The one I dreamed about. Funny enough, it’s exactly as I dreamt it. Columns, windows, the whole works.
I still haven’t decided what to do. The church elders aren’t exactly enthusiastic about my returning, so we’ll see.
And as for being too old to be a grandmother? Hmm, you were 16 when you had her. Dorcas could have returned the favour and made you one at 32!
Love Oliver.
PS. Not Slade.
PPS. Thanks for the song in my head since your last letter. Not telling you which Slade one it is either as you’ll start singing it on the answer phone for me.
Reading. 6th December 1998.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Oliver,
Hope you liked all the Slade songs on the answer phone. Decided to sing lots just in case I didn’t get the right one!
We’re going to York for Christmas. Paul is picking me up. He’s a silly boy, driving from Nottingham to Reading to get us then go back up to York. Micah and I could easily catch the train, but Paul is adamant he’ll get us.
Hope you have fun with the twins. Micah gave me a huge list of what he wants. Actually he just tore six pages out of a store catalogue and said ‘all of this’.
Love Connie.
PS. Santa.
Breckenridge. 16th December 1998.
[Christmas card.]
Dear Connie,
Remind me never to give you my phone number again. Ha ha ha. (Makes a note to sing on Connie’s answer phone shortly after midnight her time on New Years Day!)
Love Oliver.
Breckenridge. 23rd January 1999.
Dear Connie,
It’s strange how things go. We’re moving. Of all places, back to New York. Do you remember the place I worked for a while back? The mission? Well, they wrote me out of the blue and offered me a permanent job there. More money, more evangelism. So we move next week.
For now we’ll be staying in the flat in the mission offices themselves. But that’s just until we find somewhere of our own. Will send the address as soon as I can. You can write to me care of the mission.
Love Oliver.
PS. No. Not Santa. Ho. Ho. Ho.
Reading. 18th March 1999.
Dear Oliver,
I’m a grandma! Sarah Joy was born this morning. She weighs 6lb 5oz and has so much black hair. I came up by train two days ago.
Actually it’s kind of weird. Ezra was also at Dorcas’s for Christmas and we got talking. He moved back in last week. Good timing as he’s with Micah else I’d have had to stay at home as it’s not holidays and Micah has school. He’s still flying for American Airlines, but out of Heathrow now. So he lives with me on his off weeks. It’s like the past few years never happened, but they did. I know I ought to forgive him, but I can’t. He cheated once, what’s going to stop him doing it again? But I’m trying here. He’s made no effort at any kind of a reconciliation. We’re two strangers living in the same house, bound by vows that don’t seem to matter much anymore. Except to me.
Anyway, the arrangement is he house shares. He has his own bedroom. There is no affection between us at all. Not that there ever was much—at least not since we married.
Paul is enjoying medicine. Zipporah is working in a school as a teaching assistant.
Love Connie.
PS. Spade.
New York. 19th June 1999.
Dear Connie,
I’m seriously amazed your kids had proper names. Biblical ones, yes, but at least they’re proper names. Half the S names you’re suggesting are just words starting with S.
As you can see from the address on the letter, we have our own place now. It’s a small house across the river from Manhattan. We made a fair bit on the sale of the place in Breckenridge and Dad helped out a little too,
so we can afford somewhere with facilities to accommodate Patricia.
I need to take Patricia up to the restaurant at the top of the World Trade Centre at some point. The views are amazing. She’s doing better. She’s not so angry anymore. She can get around pretty niftily in her electric chair and likes doing stuff around the house.
The new job is going okay. Part preaching, part evangelism, part lecturing.
Love Oliver.
PS. No. Not Spade. Or Bucket. Or Sandcastle!
Reading. 5th July 1999.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Oliver,
Happy birthday.
But…but…but Sandcastle was my next guess. Boo you.
Love Connie.
New York. 7th July 1999.
[Birthday card.]
Dear Connie,
Happy birthday. Thirty- eleven this year isn’t it?
Love Oliver.
Reading. 9th September 1999.
[Postcard of the River Thames.]
Dear Oliver,
9/9/99!
Love Connie.
Reading. 5th November 1999.
Dear Oliver,
Paul came home from university this weekend and announced he’s getting married in April! I didn’t even know he was seeing someone, but suddenly he is and it’s true love. I can’t exactly comment anyway. We’re meeting her next weekend. Her name is Jemma and she’s a nursing student.
The kids keep telling Micah he now has to marry someone whose name starts with a J. As Dorcas has Jeff, Zipporah has Jason and now Paul has Jemma. However, Micah is at the age where girls are yuk, kissing is vile and marriage is a waste of time.
And I had a hair dye accident. I was meant to be bleaching it and it went horribly, horribly wrong. It’s now bright orange! Bright, in your face orange. So I went to the hairdressers. It wasn’t salvageable. She cut it really short and it’s now multi-coloured for a week, before she’ll recolour it.