When Mercy Rains (46 page)

Cecil’s trusty clock, faithfully wound each Sunday morning by Alexa, ticktocked on the wall. Abigail closed her eyes and prayed for God to move in their hearts, to work His will in their lives. As she prayed, tears—warm and cleansing—poured from her eyes. The joy of her salvation, of God’s amazing ability to forgive and make things clean, rolled through her in waves. Her daughter’s courage to speak truth had given her the courage to share her long-held secrets, too. Now healing could come, if only they would set aside self and open themselves to His leading.

The floor creaked—someone rising. Abigail opened her eyes and saw Paul crossing the expanse to Suzy’s chair. She held her breath, watching her daughter lift her face to the man who’d once possessed her heart. Would healing include new love blossoming between the two of them? Abigail began another prayer in her heart, for God to awaken romance for Suzy and Paul, but a whisper of recognition changed the prayer.
Dear Father, it would please me if my precious daughter settled here in Arborville again where I could see her daily. But not my will … only Yours. Plant her where You would have her continue to grow
.

Paul spoke gruffly. “We need to talk, but I can’t now. It’s after ten already, and I should let Mrs. Lapp go home. Can we … meet tomorrow? Somewhere public yet where we can talk privately?”

Suzy crunched her forehead. “I don’t know where—”

Abigail said, “The cemetery.”

They both looked at her as if she’d spoken a curse word.

She grimaced. Why on earth had she made such a suggestion? “It is a public place, yet no one would overhear. But maybe that’s a bit … morbid.”

But Paul shook his head. “No, I think that’s fine.”

Suzy said, “All right. What time? Ten o’clock?”

“Let’s make it nine. It won’t be quite so hot then.”

Suzy agreed and Paul left.

Abigail let Suzy push her chair through the house. Party reminders were everywhere—puckered balloons sagging on their ribbons, rumpled streamers, stray plates and cups, crumbs … The girls would have quite a chore cleaning
tomorrow. She wilted into her chair, the ups and downs of the day creating an exhaustion greater than any she could recall from a day of hard labor.

Suzy helped her dress for bed, quiet and introspective yet somehow also peaceful. Abigail was grateful. Apparently her daughter’s release of secrets had let her cast off a weight. Although very tired, underneath Abigail felt light and airy. Free. Suzy tucked her into bed with a kiss on her cheek and a whispered good night, tender and loving, then switched off the light and left her alone.

She lay in the dark room, replaying what she’d told Suzy and Paul. Had she said enough? She believed so. She’d done all she could do to guide her daughter. Now it was up to Suzy and Paul to forge their pathways. If she could stay awake, Abigail would spend the night praying for them. And tomorrow, while Suzy was away talking with Paul and the girls were here cleaning up the party mess, she’d take Shelley aside for a talk about the consequences of holding to selfish pride.

Dear Lord, please don’t let my legacy of bitterness continue into the next generation
.

Suzanne

Suzanne pulled up to the cemetery gate at a quarter to nine. She wanted a little time alone with her thoughts before Paul arrived. To her surprise he was already there, bent on one knee in front of his wife’s grave. She stayed in the car, unwilling to disturb him but unable to resist observing him. His lips remained closed, so he wasn’t talking to her, but his hands were busy. Plucking weeds? Arranging flowers? She couldn’t tell from this angle.

But she could see the age-carved furrows in his forehead, the unsmiling yet somehow soft line of his lips, the slight tilt of his head as if he listened to someone share a secret. He sat back on his heels and gazed at the headstone for several minutes, his eyes shifting, seeming to examine the stone inch by inch. Then his eyes slid closed, he lifted his face to the sky, and he sighed, nodded, and rose in one smooth motion. As he stood, his gaze moved outward and locked on hers.

Suzanne quickly opened her door and hurried across the close-cropped grass. Paul moved toward her at the same time, and they met on the gravel pathway weaving between stones. Neither of them spoke. Embarrassed at having been caught watching him, she didn’t know what to say. Apparently he didn’t either because he held his hand in silent invitation toward a cement bench tucked beneath a scraggly looking weeping willow tree in the far corner of the graveyard. She gave a brief nod, and he led the way.

They sat on opposite sides of the bench. Although in full shade thanks to the drooping, leaf-filled limbs, the cement was warm against her skin, but a gentle breeze stirred the branches and fanned her face. Somewhat secluded yet in full view of anyone who happened by, they’d found a perfect spot for a talk. If one of them finally decided to speak.

She waited several minutes for Paul to start. After all, he’d asked her to meet him. When he sat quietly, seemingly intrigued by a chip in his thumbnail, she cleared her throat and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Where is Danny this morning?”

Paul gave a little jolt. “Danny?” He angled a look at her, squinting with one eye. “I dropped him off at a friend’s house on my way over here. Said I’d pick him up before noon.”

Then they needed to get their talk going. But Danny seemed a safer topic, so Suzanne said, “He seems like a very bright, well-mannered boy. I know you’re proud of him. And I’m sure your wife would be, too. You’re doing a good job with him on your own.”

“Thanks. You’ve done well with Alexa, too. She’s … she’s a wonderful young woman.”

Did a hint of melancholy color his tone? She smiled her thanks. “I’m grateful every day to have her in my life. She’s my greatest blessing.”

Paul nodded slowly, his odd one-eyed gaze locked on her. Then he looked outward and released a heavy sigh. “It’s hard for me to let go of thinking of her as my daughter. These past weeks, seeing her almost every day and talking to her, getting to know her, I kind of grew to love her.” He reached up to massage the back of his neck. Red splotches formed along his jaw. “I feel a little foolish now about that. Seeing how she isn’t mine.”

Suzanne hung her head. “I’m sorry.”

He brought down his hand, swishing it through the air as if to shoo away her words. “All the apologizing in the world won’t change the situation, so how about we quit doing it and focus on something else, huh?”

“Like what?”

“Like Anna-Grace.”

Suzanne shifted slightly, crossing her ankles and giving Paul her full attention. “What did you decide to do?”

Paul lowered his head and scowled, scuffing the toe of one boot against the grass. “I sat up most of the night thinking about what your mother said, asking myself why I wanted her to know I was her father. I tried to convince myself she has the right to know. I kept thinking, wouldn’t she wonder about her real parents? Wouldn’t she worry she wasn’t wanted by her real parents, and she’d be happy to find out she wasn’t some castoff, rejected kid? But then I thought …” He clamped his jaw so tightly the muscles near his temple twitched.

Suzanne prompted gently, “You thought what?”

He looked at her. Anguish showed in his haunted eyes and the pinch of his brow. “I thought, she
is
wanted by her ‘real’ parents. Andrew and Olivia—they wanted her. They raised her. They’ve loved her and taught her and cared for her since she was only days old. Just like you with Alexa. And I started thinking how I’d feel if someone came along and tried to take Danny from me. I’d fight them. I’d fight them to the death. Why wouldn’t Andrew feel the same way about Anna-Grace?”

“So you’re going to …” Suzanne chose her words carefully. “Let her go?”

“Yeah. It’s hard, though.”

Suzanne recalled how it had hurt last night to be in the same room with her daughter and unable to claim her. “I know.”

Paul jammed his toe against the ground once more, then bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I think it’s what Karina would tell me to do.” He sent a brief, sidelong glance at her. The red blotches deepened and rose into his cheeks. “Back before we got married, I told Karina about you—about what I did with you when we were young. It took her a while to accept it, but eventually she said she shouldn’t hold me accountable for something God had forgiven, because, in His eyes, it had never happened.”

He sat up, pressed his palms to the bench’s flat surface, and looked at her fully. “But it did happen, and you and I have to live with the consequences of
that night. Even though God forgives, we both have to live with the regrets. Am I right?”

Suzanne nodded. She would carry the regret to her grave.

“But why should we tangle Anna-Grace in our regrets? As long as she’s happy with her dad and mom, why should we upset that?”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Yeah. We shouldn’t.” There was no joy in his voice, only resignation.

She dared to reach out and place her hand very lightly over his. “Paul, if I could do it over again, I’d tell you about our baby. I’d give you a chance to decide whether or not to be her dad. But now that it’s over and she’s grown up away from us, and our lives have gone in different directions, I can’t say I regret everything. If I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have found Alexa. If I’d stayed, you wouldn’t have married Karina or had Danny. I realize we each lost something when I went away and allowed Andrew and Olivia to adopt our baby girl, but we each gained something, too. Something we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

He turned his hand upside down and wove his fingers with hers. “I’ve had a good life. I can’t complain.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

He squeezed her hand. A soft, lopsided smile formed on his lips. “I don’t want to wallow in bitterness and anger. Danny deserves better than that. I choose to forgive. I forgive you, and I forgive your mother. I’ll tell her the next time I see her.”

The last weight rolled from Suzanne’s heart. “Thank you, Paul.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth. Even if I don’t have a relationship with Anna-Grace, I’ll pray for her. And—” He pulled his hand free and reached for his shirt pocket. He withdrew a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote this. For her. A letter, in case she ever asks who her biological parents are and why she was given up.”

Suzanne stared at the sheet, wondering what he’d said.

“I thought you might want to write one, too. Then we can put them together in an envelope and give it to Andrew and Olivia—let them decide when
or if to share it with her.” He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “It was tough, putting my feelings down on paper, but it felt good. I think it helped me.” He pressed the square into her hand and closed her fingers over it. “I figured you’d want to see what I wrote. I’ll trust you to make sure it gets to Andrew and Olivia.”

She held the folded paper, its edges digging into the soft flesh of her palm. He trusted her. After everything, he trusted her. He truly had forgiven her. She whispered, “Thank you, Paul.”

“Yeah.” He rose and slipped his hands into his pockets. He didn’t smile, but tenderness lingered in his expression. “Life … it sure throws a curve ball now and then, doesn’t it?”

Suzanne laughed softly and nodded.

“But God …” Paul’s face lifted, and he seemed to peek between the branches at the blue sky. “He equips us with catcher’s mitts and the gear we need to keep from being too battered by it.”

She’d never heard life symbolized so uniquely, but she liked it.

He looked at her again. “See you in service, Suzy.” He ambled off, hands in his pockets but shoulders square and stride sure.

She waited until he climbed into his pickup and drove away before unfolding his letter and laying it flat in her lap. With the swaying branches of the willow singing a sweet lullaby and the breeze kissing her cheek, she began to read.

Dear Anna-Grace
,

If you’re reading this, it’s because your dad and mom chose to share it with you. I pray it will bring you peace and answers rather than pain and more questions. Because I only want the best for you
.

A long time ago I fell in love with a girl named Suzy. I wanted to marry her, and I convinced myself and her that because I loved her, it was okay for us to join intimately. You were conceived that night. Suzy went away after that, and I didn’t get to marry her. I didn’t even know you’d been born until so many years had passed that you weren’t a little girl anymore but a young woman planning your own wedding. I decided then it was better not to interfere in your life but to wait until you wanted to know who I am. I stayed away not because I didn’t want you but because I didn’t want to be selfish. I hope you understand
.

There are two things I want you to know. First of all, you might have been conceived out of wedlock
—
“unplanned,” some people would say—but you were also conceived in love. I loved your mother, and if we hadn’t made a mistake by breaking God’s instruction to save sex for the marriage bed, we would have gotten married. Second of all, if you ever want to get to know me, the door is always open. You have a dad who has raised you and loves you, and I wouldn’t expect you to call me dad, but if you’d like to have me as a friend or you want to know your family history, all you have to do is say so. I’ll respect whatever you want
.