The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge (4 page)

BOOK: The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge
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His smile faded and the dampness returned to his eyes. He released her hands and framed her face. “It’s working.”

“It is.”

A sad laugh played on his lips. “I wasn’t sure how to take my next breath.” He spread his hands toward the books and walls that surrounded them. “God is so great . . . He hasn’t forgotten us.” He leaned in and kissed her slowly. A desperate kiss that reminded both of them how great the pain was that they were moving past.

His words stayed with her while she sorted through the cash register receipts later that day. How far they had come in the last few months. God was bringing the people who needed a bookstore, people who needed a connecting point, a way to see life through a clearer lens. People like Edna Carlton. Yes, He was bringing them a few more every day. Lives were being changed through the power of books. She and Charlie were giving their lives to make that possible. And along the way God was both healing them and using them.

Indeed, their plan really was working.

All because of The Bridge.

CHAPTER SIX

E
dna didn’t rip into the book right away.

She let it sit on her kitchen counter like a stranger. When she would look at it between cups of coffee or moments of wandering through her apartment missing Tom, she had the feeling the book was looking back at her. Smiling at her.

Finally after her few dinner dishes were cleaned she picked it up and sat with it in the chair Tom liked best. She stared at the cover. Was it the title? The fact that Tom’s name was a part of it? Something about the book called to her. Or maybe she felt this way because of the kind woman at the bookstore, the way she hadn’t hesitated before leading her to this book. A book whose title contained the name of the man she missed so much.

Almost like Donna Barton had known exactly what she might need.

Edna opened the front cover. She knew the story, of course. But she had never actually read the book. The first words tugged at her heart and tears gathered in her eyes.

Aunt Polly was looking for Tom, but he wouldn’t answer. No matter how long or loud she called him he wouldn’t respond.

The way Edna had felt since the doorbell rang.

She blinked twice so she could see as she worked her way down the first page, and somehow despite her broken heart by the end of the third paragraph she was no longer sitting in a desperately quiet apartment wondering how she might keep on living. Rather she was in Aunt Polly’s farmhouse grinning at the mischievous ways of young Tom.

A little like her own Tom had been back when he was in grade school.

When she finished the first chapter she kept reading, too caught up in the story to stop. Not until well after midnight did she close the book and set it on her bedside table. The next day at the mercantile she couldn’t stop thinking about Tom and Huckleberry Finn and the trouble the two boys were getting into. The trouble they had survived, the plotting and planning of trouble yet ahead.

She could hardly wait to get home and pick up the book.

The story so captured her she forgot to eat until darkness fell outside, and when she finished the book in the wee hours of the morning she realized something she hadn’t expected. Something other than Tom Carlton had consumed her for two full days.

The next afternoon when she was finished at the mercantile she hurried to The Bridge before the little shop closed. A sweet mix of rich coffee and worn leather filled the air and surrounded Edna. Donna was working at the counter again, and this time Edna walked up and gave the woman a hint of a curious smile. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Donna’s eyes were warm like before, warm and deeply concerned.


The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
How did you know that’s what I needed?”

“You said you were still at the sad part of your story. Tom Sawyer takes people out of their story and into his.”

“The name. Tom.” She didn’t want to explain all of what happened, but she had to share this much. “That was my husband’s name. He . . . was killed in Vietnam.”

Sorrow welled up in Donna’s eyes and after several seconds she came out from behind the counter. “Edna . . . I’m sorry.” There was no hesitation now, no formalities between them. Donna hugged her and after a while she stepped back. “Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” Edna sniffed. “I finished the book.”

“Already?” Donna waited.

“I loved it. I was there on the river with them, sneaking around at night and slipping into the back of the church during the service.” As she spoke, Edna’s heart didn’t feel as empty. “As long as I was reading the book, I . . .”

“You didn’t notice your own story.” Donna’s eyes said she understood on a personal level.

“Exactly.” Edna glanced at the shelves behind her. “I need another book.” She turned and looked again at the gentle store owner. “But I’d like to hear your story first.”

Donna’s half smile was colored in a sadness that clearly still lived inside her. “Let’s sit in the living room.” The coffeepot was plugged in behind the front counter, quaint ceramic mugs stacked beside it. Donna poured them each a cup, gave one to Edna, and led the way to the worn leather sofa. They sat on opposite sides, facing each other. Donna took a slow breath, and for a long time she only waited, as if she were digging around in the basement of her heart for details she’d put behind her. A place where maybe she kept the story so she could get through the day.

Edna could certainly relate to that.

“It all started when I met Charlie Barton.” This time her sweet smile touched her eyes. “I guess you could say God used Charlie to rescue me.” She settled her shoulder into the sofa. “Before him my life was a nightmare.” Her words came like a slow-motion flashback in a movie. She told of a childhood and adolescence marked by pain and loneliness, her parents’ drug abuse and their early deaths.

No wonder she felt rescued when Charlie Barton came into her life.

Donna talked about Charlie’s love of books and how his father wouldn’t let him read. “Cement work was the only option as far as his dad was concerned. The two haven’t spoken in some time.”

Edna nodded, understanding. “That
is
sad.”

“Actually . . . no.” Donna narrowed her eyes and stared out a distant window at the back of the store. “The sad part is coming.”

Edna took a sip of her coffee and felt her stomach tighten. She waited, determined not to interrupt the story again.

Donna went on about how she and Charlie got married and started life on their own—without any family. “We found out we were expecting much sooner than we planned.” She looked at her hands folded on her lap, as if she were gathering strength for this next part. “Even so, we were happy. We didn’t have family supporting us, so we figured God was letting us start one of our own.”

She told about how smoothly her pregnancy had gone. But everything changed when she went into labor. Quiet tears slid down Donna’s cheeks as she recounted the frightening medical emergency, the loss of her baby girl, and the reality that she could never have children.

Edna didn’t realize until the end of the story that she was crying, too. Because she wasn’t alone in her pain, in her sadness. People walking through the grocery store, and shopping at the mercantile, and even running a bookstore all had their own pain. Their own sad part of their story. She gave Donna’s hand a squeeze, and let silence surround them for a minute. The two might be strangers, but they were not strangers to heartache.

They had that in common.

“So . . .” Edna kept her voice quiet, reverent, “you and Charlie moved to Franklin and opened The Bridge.”

“Yes.” Donna wiped the tears from her cheeks. She drank her coffee and seemed to wait while it worked through her. “God gave us this store. Here . . . we’re finding our way back to happy.” She put her hand on Edna’s shoulder. “By putting books in the hands of people like you.”

“Hmm. That’s beautiful.” She waited, not wanting to rush this time between them. “Thank you. For sharing.”

“It helps.” She sniffed, and the healing she’d experienced was evident in her eyes. “I’m here. When you want to talk about yours.” She stood and nodded toward the rows of bookshelves. “Until then, let’s get you another book.”

Edna was glad Donna didn’t push her. When she was ready to talk she had a feeling she would come here first. She and Donna walked a few aisles of fiction titles, more, Donna said, to give Edna a tour of the store. But the most natural next choice was an obvious one—
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

And so began a string of good days that continued as long as Edna was reading. Huck Finn gave way to a breathless chase after the husky Buck in
The Call of the Wild.
She was caught with the schoolboys on the deserted tropical island in
Lord of the Flies,
and her heart ached on the Oklahoma plains as she finished
The Grapes of Wrath.
She fell in love with Don Quixote and Rhett Butler and Jay Gatsby, and she fought alongside Captain Ahab against the white whale in
Moby-Dick.
A whale that came to represent her fear and loss.

With each new book she would share a cup of coffee with Donna at The Bridge, and gradually bits of her story, anecdotes from her childhood, came to the surface. After a few months of reading, Edna was a different person. She got out of bed easily and caught herself humming when she made her morning coffee. Missing Tom was still a part of every breath, but her devastating heartache no longer consumed her. Books were changing her life. But she didn’t consider the idea that they could do so much more.

That they might actually heal her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
dna could see something different in Donna’s face as soon as she walked into The Bridge after work that day. It was summertime, and the city crowd from Nashville shopped Franklin’s Main Street. More people meant more hours at the mercantile, so Edna made it into her favorite bookstore only once a week or so. This was one of those days.

Donna was waiting for her.

She smiled. “I picked out your next one.” She pulled a book from beneath the register and set it on the counter. “It’s time.”

Edna and Donna were friends after so many months, but this was the first time the shopkeeper had ever chosen a book for her ahead of time. “Okay.” Edna came closer and looked at the title.
Little Women.
She knew the story, of course, knew it was about a family of girls coming of age and she vaguely knew it was sad. That was the reason she’d avoided it. For all the books she’d allowed herself to get lost in, she’d avoided stories that dealt with great tragedy or loss.

After all, she was still in the middle of her own.

But looking at the cover, something about the book called to her.
Little Women.
She looked at Donna. Despite the time that had passed, she had never gone into detail about losing Tom. It was enough that her new friend had the facts. The rest of the story would come in time. When the thought of recounting it didn’t make Edna feel sick.

Donna held out the book. “It’s about loss. I won’t hide the fact.” Tucked in her expression was a wisdom greater than her twenty-something years, a wisdom that could only have come from experience. Edna hadn’t noticed that about the shopkeeper before. “Read it . . . please.”

Something in her tone left Edna no option. She began the book that night and immediately became part of the March family. As she traveled the chapters, her deep connection to the characters had her laughing one minute and touched the next. She could see where the story was going.
Little Women
had been around as long as Edna could remember. Some of her friends had to read it in English class, but Edna’s teacher had assigned an anthology of short stories instead.

Not only had she missed this brilliant and beautiful story, but she had missed the reason it was sad. By the time she realized the inevitable tragedy just ahead, Edna was a fifth sister and sweet Beth was her best friend. As Beth’s frailty became more evident and her condition worsened, Edna read the book through streams of tears.

BOOK: The Beginning: An eShort Prequel to the Bridge
13.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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