The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge (3 page)

BOOK: The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge
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Because the bookstore would absolutely change lives.

No question, somewhere, someone else needed a bridge in his or her own life, a way to find hope for the future. Because of that, when it came time to open their doors, the bookstore’s name was already decided.

They called it The Bridge.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
he days blended one into the other. One month after another.

Some days Edna didn’t get out of bed. She would lay on her side, her knees curled up to her waist, holding tight to one of Tom’s T-shirts, clinging to it, cradling the soft worn cotton to her chest. Her parents had moved up north to New Hampshire after Edna’s high school graduation. They were crushed by the news that Tom had been killed in action. The next day they flew down and stayed for Tom’s funeral. But after a week they had to return to their lives.

Edna understood.

“Spend time with friends, dear. That’s all you can do.” Her mom looked stricken as she kissed her cheek on the way out. “You could always move up north with us.”

But that was never really an option. She and Tom had picked out this apartment together and they had lived here, husband and wife, for three weeks. Three whole weeks of laughter and bliss and happily ever after. Their entire married life. Tom liked the view of the park from the window and the way it was only a couple of blocks’ walk to Main Street and downtown Franklin. She could still see him sitting at the kitchen table.

If Edna moved now, she would lose all that remained of him.

Her mom was right about her friends. They were there and they were willing. The problem was hers. Most of the time she didn’t answer the door when they came to call, too busy staring into space and trying to remember how to walk without falling to the floor in pain.

Her heart was that broken.

After a few months, her friends came less often. When Edna would invite one of them in for a cup of coffee, the conversation was always awkward. They would forever feel sorry for her, and she would forever be the victim. When the New Year rolled around, Edna was still talking to Tom’s photograph before she fell asleep. Still terrified about tomorrow. Still waking up each morning to the truth about Tom’s death hitting her all over again.

But she was running out of money. That was the only reason she had to finally get dressed and leave the apartment. The stipend given her by the army for Tom’s death while on active duty was running out. Still the process of leaving the house was slow. Day after day she tried and failed.

She had no idea where to work or what she would do. She had no skills to speak of, no training. Before Tom’s death she watched two neighbor kids to supplement Tom’s military income. Babysitting was out of the question now. She couldn’t focus long enough to remember what day it was, let alone take on the responsibility of watching children. Especially when she and Tom would never have any of their own. Lying in her bed she only knew that she wanted to work somewhere on Main Street—Tom’s favorite place.

It took four painful days to go from forming a plan to actually stepping through the front door and walking to Main Street. But on that fourth day Edna actually did it. She got dressed, did her hair, and walked to Main Street. The café wasn’t hiring, and neither was Cal’s Drugstore. But at the mercantile, Edna met the manager near the front counter. The woman was kind with gray hair and bright eyes.

“Hello.” She held out her hand. “I’m Edna Carlton. I . . . need a job. If you’re hiring, that is.” Her words sounded forced and awkward. She stepped back, her knees shaking.

“Hmm.” She studied Edna for a quick moment. “I
am
looking for someone to ring sales in the afternoons. I’m supposed to be retired.” She smiled sweetly. “Minimum wage, but room for advancement.”

Edna wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew one thing—she had to be honest. “I . . . don’t know how to ring sales.”

“Oh, dear, I can train you on that. I’m looking for friendly and teachable. And I have a hunch you’re all of that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Edna stood a little straighter. “Can I fill out an application?”

“Tell you what.” She pointed to the back of the store where the soda fountain always drew a crowd. “Let’s sit and have a milkshake. Half an hour from now I’ll have what I need to know.”

Edna smiled, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. An hour later she had an apron and a job. When she stepped outside onto Main Street and started north toward her apartment she realized something.

She had only thought about Tom a few times in the last hour. That, and she was walking and breathing and taking on responsibility like a regular person. It was the first time she had even the slightest glimmer of hope that she might survive. Even so she cried herself to sleep, desperate to tell Tom about her new job and the way she was trying to meet life head-on.

Not until she’d been working for a week did she notice the bookstore.

It looked quaint and cute, a storefront with a brand-new sign, just a few doors down from the mercantile. She came closer and read the wording in the window. Disappointment settled over her. It had closed ten minutes earlier, but as she stood outside the place, gradually a thought came to light in Edna’s soul.

She had forgotten about books.

Maybe that was the answer. She might not have much of a life of her own, but every book would be another escape, a way to live without actually having to do anything more than read.

Edna stared at the place, at the warm light in the windows, and she made up her mind. Tomorrow before work she would visit the bookstore. She had a feeling she would like being inside. The shelves were full, and in the back of the place she could see a worn leather sofa and a chair near a fireplace. She even liked the name.

The Bridge.

As she walked home she realized she had reached another benchmark, another signpost on her journey to living again. She was no longer afraid of tomorrow.

At least in this moment, she was actually looking forward to it.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
he grand opening of The Bridge happened the first weekend of January 1972. In some ways, Donna couldn’t believe how quickly God had given them their dream. The craziness of moving to Franklin and getting the business loan, buying the building and redoing the inside so it would be the cozy, welcoming bookstore they wanted it to be. All of it seemed to happen in a blur.

A blur that kept Donna from missing her baby girl in all but the latest hours of the night. Hours when she should’ve been feeding her or rocking her or singing her quiet songs about Jesus. Cradling her close in a pink blanket.

Charlie was so happy about The Bridge, he almost never talked about the heartache they left behind in North Carolina. He never cried late at night the way she did, at least she never heard him. Donna kept her tears to herself. They were getting on, moving ahead with life. If the tears came at night, so be it. She would probably always cry when she thought about their baby girl.

But in the daytime, their new life as bookstore owners was too exciting to do anything but celebrate. They stocked the shelves with every sort of fiction and nonfiction title. There were books about war and books about peace, volumes on making a casserole and tales of historical fiction. American favorites, British classics, and contemporary fiction.

Donna’s favorite part of the bookstore was the front room with the sofa and chair they’d purchased for around the fireplace. The welcome feeling was immediate as soon as a customer walked through the door.
Come in. Sit a while. Take your time.
Words Donna and Charlie told their customers from the first day.

The Bridge had been opened a few weeks when a pretty blond woman walked through the door at noon one day. She was young, in her early twenties at the most. But there was something old about her eyes.

“Hello.” Donna smiled at her.

“Hi.” The woman looked away, at the titles that hung over the nearest set of shelves. “I’m just looking.”

“Okay.” Donna settled back in her seat behind the counter. “Take your time.”
This one looks like she’s hurting, Lord.
Was she sick or suffering from a broken heart? Did she live alone in the area without family? Donna caught a glimpse of the woman’s wedding ring. She kept her questions to herself. Some people who walked through the door needed a little time to find their way.

Charlie walked up and put his arm around Donna. “We’re out of
Little Women.
” He kissed her on the cheek. “Four copies out the door in the last two days!”

The blond woman worked her way farther from the checkout counter, down another aisle, and out of sight. Donna held her finger to her lips. “She’s sad. Not sure why.”

“Who?” Charlie dropped his voice to barely a whisper. He peered down the closest aisle and pointed, his eyes questioning. “That way?”

“Yes. A young woman.” Compassion stirred Donna. “A little younger than us. Something’s wrong. I can tell.”

“Okay.” He nodded, his eyes bright. “I’ll pray.” In the purchase order book by the register, Charlie jotted down a note to buy more copies of
Little Women.
Then he returned to his inventory at the back of the store.

After a few minutes the young woman made her way back to the cash register. She folded her arms, and Donna could see that her hands were shaking. “I . . . need something to read.”

“Okay.” Donna faced her so only the counter separated them. “What were you thinking of?”

The woman shrugged one slim shoulder. “Something . . . happy.”

“Hmmm.” She hesitated. “Most stories get terribly sad before they find their way to happy.” She smiled, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m Donna Barton. My story’s like that.”

For a few long seconds the woman looked at Donna, searching her eyes. “I’m Edna Carlton.” Tears came quickly and fell onto her cheeks. She brushed at them with her fingers. “Sorry. I’m . . . still in the sad part.”

Donna wanted to hug her or offer to pray for her. But she had a feeling that would come in time. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She shook her head, adamant. “I . . . I’m sorry. Not today.”

“That’s fine.” Donna nodded. “Someday . . . if you have time, I’ll tell you mine.”

Edna thought about that for a beat, and then the hint of a smile softened her expression. “I’d . . . like that.”

“For now, though, let’s find you a book.” Donna came out from behind the counter and led Edna toward the classics. “Maybe something exciting.
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
?”

“Hmm.” Edna nodded slowly, lost in thought, the heartache strong in her eyes. “That might work.” By the time she left the store with her book her tone was lighter, her mood not so heavy. She looked a little more able to face the world on the other side of The Bridge’s front doors.

Whatever that world was for Edna Carlton.

When she was gone and after two newly regular customers filed into the store, Charlie found Donna again at the register. They were alone, the regulars out of sight. Charlie took her hands and looked at her for a long time. A thin layer of wetness shone in his eyes. “I miss her.”

She didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Me, too.” She angled her head, seeing easily into his heart. “I never even saw her face.”

“But you know what?” He smiled.

“What?” She closed the distance between them so their bodies were touching, their faces inches apart.

He looked over his shoulder to the place where the customers were chatting, clearly engaged in whatever book they were discussing. “One of those ladies back there is thinking about going into business. Know why?”

“Why?” Donna loved this, being in his arms, sharing a passion for The Bridge.

“Because of a book she bought here.” His brow lifted, and his eyes grew even brighter. “A book changed her life, Donna.” He looked around at the shelves of books, the walls they’d painted and the light fixtures they’d installed. “Because of our little bookstore. Because of The Bridge.”

Donna felt the satisfaction to the depths of her soul. “The lady who was here earlier . . . she’s hurting. But she’ll be back. I sent her off with Tom Sawyer.”

BOOK: The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge
6.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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