1929 (77 page)

The long line of cars stopped along the sandy
road, and Caleb looked hesitantly down at the beach. It was
Michael’s idea for a beachfront service, his brother’s memorial
still too raw for him to withstand sitting in the same chapel to
say goodbye to his son.

A small alter faced the crowd. Below it
rested an oak box in the sand, its lid leaning off the side. Many
families had offered the use of their chairs and the mismatched
seats were lined up in neat rows.

Aryl’s mother walked slowly, already having
begun to sob, supported by her husband, his face set in strangled
stone. Jonathan signaled to Caleb as he stepped out of the
Runabout. He walked quickly and took his place on one side of
Claire, Jonathan on the other, both partially holding her up as she
weakly made her way through the sand. Maura followed with Ava and
Arianna close behind. Kathleen and Michael sat in the center of the
front row, next to Aryl’s brother, Liam, who appeared
shell-shocked, eyes avoiding the empty box a few feet in front of
him. The pastor leaned down with a sympathetic hand on each of
their shoulders and spoke quietly with them in turn.

“Kathleen would like a quick service if you
don’t mind,” Michael told him. The pastor nodded understandingly
and took his place at the pulpit. The seats filled completely, and
there were a few dozen people standing behind the rows,
handkerchiefs in hand. They guided Claire to her seat on the left
side of the front row, and Jonathan and Caleb sat on each side of
her, holding her hands. Ava and Arianna sat on the other sides of
their husbands. Maura took a seat in the second row.

“No. You sit with us.” Jonathan pointed to
the one seat left in the front row.

The pastor raised his hand, silencing the low
hum of weeping. For a moment, only crashing waves and calling gulls
filled the air as the crowd of over a hundred both sat and stood in
reverence.

“Aryl Sullivan was loved by many and will be
dearly missed. Anyone who was lucky enough to know him will feel an
absence in their lives and in their hearts forever, one that can
only be consoled by the knowledge that he is now with the
Lord.”

Claire let out a strangled sob as she
recalled those exact words spoken just months ago at Aryl’s uncle’s
memorial. Jonathan put his arm around her shoulder. His other hand
gripped Ava’s unbearably hard. Jonathan tuned out much of the
service. He went somewhere deep inside his mind, only
intermittently brought up to light consciousness by the occasional
cough or muffled sob. He held Claire by the shoulder to keep her
from falling forward. The pastor explained the request of the
family for a brief service and that they would forgo public
speaking.

“Under the circumstances of Aryl’s untimely
departure, we will be laying to rest a box of letters, sentimental
items, and private thoughts. Anyone who has such an item is welcome
to come forward and place it inside.” Several people stood and made
their way to the front, forming a line. Odd things were gently laid
inside that only meant something to the mourner; notes, cards, a
set of jacks, a deck of cards, an empty flask, a few bottle caps,
some fishing hooks, flowers, a Bible.

“Are you sure, Claire?” Jonathan whispered.
Claire, crying, was working her wedding ring off her finger. She
reached for his arm to stand. He walked slowly with her to the box,
and she knelt down to touch the edges of it tenderly. She wrapped
the ring in her handkerchief and tucked it into the corner. While
trying to control her sobs, she stumbled and Caleb rushed to help
her back to her seat.

Something unintelligible rose from Jonathan’s
throat as stared down into the box. A thousand memories of Aryl
flashed through his mind from early childhood to the present. In
mere seconds, his mind touched on a thousand conversations they’d
shared. He remembered Aryl’s face happy and grinning as a boy on
the beach, solemn and sincere the day he married Claire, hollow and
stunned the day they lost everything. Remembered him dressed as a
woman on Halloween, making their first day in the tenement one they
would always look back on with laughter, remembered the hurtful
expression of betrayal as he sat beside the bathtub where Jonathan
had tried to take his own life. And finally, the very last time he
had laid eyes on him. He had turned around, his face barely visible
in the darkness, but Jonathan could see his smile.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the
worn cross. Looking briefly over his shoulder, he saw Maura with
tears in her eyes. She gave a small nod. He bent down and placed
the cross in the box.

“Goodbye, Aryl.”

∞†∞

MLG

Read on for a preview of the next book in the series,
Elizabeth’s Heart

Reading the series in order:

1929 Book One, Jonathan’s Cross

Elizabeth’s Heart Book Two

1930 Book Three Aryl's Divide

Drifter Book Four

Coming Soon:

Purgatory Cove Book Five

1931 Book Six Caleb’s Err

Simon’s Watch Book Seven

A Homespun Christmas

Also available by M.L. Gardner

Simply, Mine

Short Stories from 1929

Elizabeth’s Heart

Book Two

The first time I saw Elizabeth she was
being carried in by two orderlies. She screamed, terrified. Her
brown hair whipped around her face as she kicked and fought them
every step of the way. She hissed, spit, and cursed. I watched,
pressing myself against the cold, white wall of the corridor as
they drug her past me to the wing where they kept the women. Most
of us came here heavily sedated, barely aware of where we were, or
who we were, for that matter. She came here awake and aware. Even
in her violent panic, she must have sensed my eyes on her. She
stopped fighting, her entire body flaccid in the arms of the
orderlies. She looked right at me, huge brown eyes suddenly
sane.

“
Help me,” she whispered
and then arched her back with a primal scream, fighting again to
get away. There was something in her eyes in that single lucid
moment that haunted me. For days, it was her eyes I saw when I
closed mine. They came with the visions and dreams. They became
part of them. It was then, before I ever spoke my first words to
her, that I knew I would love her. I must tell her story for it
deserves to be told.

MLG