Bygones (39 page)

M
arie allowed Beth to drive back to Aunt Lisbeth’s from the farm. A light snow fell, the tiny flakes taking on the appearance of tossed glitter in the headlights as they drove along the silent country road toward town. She leaned against the headrest, tired yet blissfully happy. Her prayers had been answered—her family’s full acceptance was the best present she could have received this Christmas.

The gift Beth had given her was a close second, however. Although she had already thanked her, she took advantage of their time alone to express her appreciation again. “Honey, I love the stained-glass window you made for me. I’m so impressed with the arrangement of colors—it almost looks as if the tulips are in the foreground and the sun far behind. I’ve never seen stained glass with the illusion of depth before.”

Beth shot her a quick, quavery smile. “Mrs. Davidson said I had a rare talent—that creating three-dimensional stained-glass art is difficult.”

Marie’s eyebrows shot high. “Honey! Perhaps you’ve discovered a gift.”

“Could be.” Beth turned her attention back to the road, but Marie could tell by the way she nibbled her lower lip that her
thoughts drifted beyond the dirt pathway.

Marie sighed, settling back in the seat again, reflecting on the teary good-bye at the farmstead just a few minutes ago. Leaving town would be difficult, but miles could be traveled both ways. She would be back, frequently. The next twenty years would be different from the past twenty.

The headlights scanned the front of Aunt Lisbeth’s bungalow as they turned into the drive. Beth slowed, leaning forward over the steering wheel to squint out the windshield. “Mom, is there something on the porch?”

Marie looked. It appeared a square package had been wedged between the front door and storm door. “I’ll go see what it is.” She hopped out and stepped under a shimmer of moonlight that created a bluish shadow of her form as she crossed the snowy yard. When she lifted the box, her fingers slipped, surprised by the heft. She hugged it to her chest and returned to the vehicle.

Inside the car, she shook snowflakes from her hair and read the printing on the brown paper wrapping. “To Marie, from Henry.” She stared at it, unmoving, wondering what it could be.

Beth nudged her. “Well, open it!”

Her stomach jumping nervously, Marie did as her daughter bid. Under the brown paper, she discovered an age-yellowed box. She opened the box and released a gasp.

“What is it?” Beth asked.

Marie slapped the lid back in place. “Honey, I—I need to go see Henry.”

“Now?”

The girl’s incredulous tone made Marie smile. “I’m afraid so. Do you mind being alone for a little while?”

Beth’s slack-jawed expression changed to one of understanding. “I’ll be fine, Mom.” She put the car in park and slipped out the door.
Leaning back inside, her lips formed a quavering smile. “Good luck.”

Marie’s face filled with heat as Beth laughed and closed the door. Sliding behind the wheel, she reversed the vehicle and headed to Henry’s. She used one hand to drive; the other caressed the box on the seat beside her.

Henry ran his hands over his face. Fingers pulling at the skin along his jaw, he looked out the window. Again. Then glanced at the clock. Again. Grimacing, he turned away from the snow-laden night and released a groan.

It had been a foolhardy thing to do, leaving that package. It probably embarrassed her. Or scared her. Or both. While it had seemed a good idea at the time, he now realized it could lead to more heartache and regret. What had he been thinking?

Well, he’d just have to go get it. Maybe she hadn’t returned from her folks’ place yet. He could fix this if he could get there before she did. He hurried across the room to the coatrack in the corner, but as he raised his arm to lift down his coat, he spotted headlights. He froze, watching, as the car turned into his driveway.

Marie
.

Too late.

His legs turned to jelly, but he managed to move the few feet needed to reach the door and open it just as she stepped onto the porch. Snowflakes graced her head and shoulders, glistening under the light of the moon. Her blue-eyed gaze met his, and although she didn’t smile, neither did she frown. His gaze dropped to her hands. She held the box. He swallowed.

“May I come in?”

Her tremulous voice spurred him to action. Jerking out of the way, he said, “Yes. Please.” With an awkward bob of his head, he
gestured to the box. “You found the gift.”

She stood hesitantly in the doorway, her coat buttoned to her throat, her sweet face lifted to him. “Thank you, Henry. It means so much to me to have it.”

He nodded, unable to find his voice.

“You’ve kept it all this time?”

“I couldn’t take it back. I wrote in it.”

At her crestfallen expression, he could have kicked himself. Why had he blurted out something like that? Shaking his head, he took hold of her arm. “Come in, please, and sit.” He guided her to the sofa and waited until she perched on the center cushion. He sat on an overstuffed chair at the end of the sofa, clasped his hands together, and pressed them to his lap.

“I wouldn’t have taken it back anyway.” What a relief to see her expression change. Her blue eyes flickered in his direction. He found the courage to finish what he wanted to say. “It was meant for you. You should have it.”

She nodded. Her graceful hands lifted the lid on the box and set it aside. With her chin still low, she glanced at him. “May I read what you wrote inside?”

She hadn’t done that yet? His neck and ears grew hot, but he nodded.

He sat in silence while she peeled back the cover of the white Bible and read it out loud. It only took a few seconds—he’d never been a man of many words. But he sensed by the way she traced her finger over the writing that she found pleasure in the brief message. She faced him again, and he swallowed.

“Henry, thank you for this Bible. That’s why I came here tonight—to say thank you.”

He nodded stupidly. Of course that’s why she’d come. What other reason would there be?

“But may I also tell you thank you for so many other things?”

“Like what?”

She tipped her head back a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, then met his gaze once more. Tenderness showed in her expression. He tightened the grip of his fingers, the tips biting into his own knuckles.

“Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to Aunt Lisbeth. She loved you like a son. You were very special to her.”

As she was to him. He nodded.

“Thank you for your prayers over the years. Most people would have given up, but you didn’t. And now I am reaping the benefit of your steadfast devotion.”

His second nod was jerky, his neck muscles so stiff he felt he had no control of them.

“And thank you for your efforts to reunite me with my family. They were successful. This was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. I’m a part of the family again, welcomed by every member.”

“
Every
member?” his voice croaked out hoarsely.

Her smile told him she understood the simple question. “Even Dad. We made our peace. It was precious.”

Henry blew out a breath of relief. “I’m so glad.”

“Me, too.”

They sat in an uncertain silence, with their gazes aimed at their own laps. Marie seemed to examine the Bible she continued to hold; Henry begrudged the grease he could never completely remove from beneath his fingernails.

After a long while, Marie set the Bible aside and looked at him again. “Henry, about last week. When you found me—”

He held up his hand, meeting her gaze squarely. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It
does
matter. It must. You haven’t spoken to me all week.”

Henry ducked his head. He hadn’t known what to say to her. If she were innocent, his accusations were inexcusable. If she were guilty, he couldn’t reconcile himself with it.

“I need to tell you the truth, and I hope you’ll forgive me for being less than honest with you when you found me.”

Raising his head, Henry said, “I’m listening.”

Briefly, Marie explained how she had come to be in the barn that morning and why she had kept the details to herself. Henry remembered his promise to keep silent in order to prevent any negative light being cast on Lisbeth. He realized, with a start, that Marie’s motivations for silence were no different than his had been.

She finished quietly. “So now that you know it was Mitch, charges could be filed by everyone who had items taken. I’ll understand if that’s what you choose to do. And I’ll accept my responsibility for letting him go. I won’t lie about it anymore.”

Henry thought carefully before speaking. “Thank you for telling me. I think, since everyone has back what was taken, they would be willing to let the matter lie. We could talk to the deacons if it would make you feel better.”

“What would make me feel better,” she said, her eyes flooding, “is if you would forgive me. I don’t want to leave again with regrets between us.” Touching the Bible with her fingertips, she licked her lips. “You meant to give this to me before I left. . .with Jep.” She looked at him, her expression uncertain. “I don’t want another message to go unstated.”

Henry drew in a ragged breath. “Marie, my biggest regret right now is having, for even a brief time, believed you capable of thievery. I should have known. Please, will you forgive me?”

Her eyes sparkled, her lips tipping into a smile. “Yes. And can you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

Her smile grew, and she released a light bubble of laughter. “Oh, that feels good.”

Henry smiled. Yes, it felt good to have past mistakes erased, to start with a clean slate. Another silence followed, but this one lacked the unease of the last. Instead, it was a time of settling, of finding a comfortable ground together. It made his heart feel light, and although he hated to interrupt it, he had a question he wanted to ask.

“Marie, do you think Beth would be willing to sell the café to Deborah and Troy?”

She tipped her head, her fine brows coming down for a moment. “Deborah is interested in running it?”

“Yes. She and Trina would keep it going. She’s come to enjoy being there.”

Another light laugh spilled out. “Well, this is a day for surprises. I’ll have Beth get in touch with Deborah. I’m sure they can work out the details with the Realtor.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “And when it sells. . .you’ll be leaving?”

For several seconds she seemed to hold her breath, looking at him, something in her expression making his heart increase its tempo. Then, in a hesitant voice, she said, “Do I have a reason to stay?”

Slipping to her side on the sofa, Henry took her hand. “I hope you do.” Reaching across her, he lifted the Bible from its box and put it on his knee. He opened the cover and read the words he had penned there the week before Jep Quinn arrived in town. “What God brings together, let no man put asunder.” Giving her hand a squeeze, he said softly, “Marie, can I hope that. . .perhaps. . . I might be a reason for you to stay?”

Tears blurred his vision as he admitted, “I’ve never stopped loving you. Lisbeth knew it. She hoped, like I did, that one day you
would return. I know you loved Jep—I wouldn’t try to replace him in your heart or Beth’s. But if you gave me a chance—”

Marie touched her fingers to his lips. “Henry, I would never see you as a replacement for Jep.”

His chest constricted as he waited for her to continue.

“Jep was the love of my youth, and I don’t regret loving him. He once told me I helped bring him back in step with the Lord. He gave me Beth. I can’t imagine my life without her. Our relationship had a purpose.”

Her tender tone, her gentle expression—even though she spoke of another man—held Henry captive.

“But you’ve been faithful to me, expressing care for me, even when I didn’t return it. There is no substitute for that kind of dedication and love. Jep was the love of my youth. But you, Henry, are the love of my life.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, and finally formed words. “Do you mean. . .you love me, too?”

A tear burst from its perch on her thick lashes and spilled down her cheek with her nod.