Bridge to Haven (5 page)

Abra awakened in the dark and heard the front door close. Daddy had gone out for his early morning prayer time. She could remember him carrying her on those walks and wished he still did.

The house felt cold and dark when he was gone, even with Mommy in the next room and Joshua out in his fort. She pushed the covers off and tiptoed into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom. Mommy shifted and raised her head. “What is it, honey?”

“I’m scared.”

Mommy lifted the covers. Abra climbed up and shimmied under. Mommy put an arm around her, covered them both, and held her close. Abra soaked in the warmth and felt drowsy. She awakened when Mommy made an odd sound, a low groan, and muttered, “Not now, Lord. Please. Not now.” She moaned again, her body stiffening. She rolled onto her back.

Abra turned over. “Mommy?”

“Go to sleep, baby. Just go back to sleep.” She spoke in a strained voice, as though talking through her teeth. She made a sobbing sound, and then she let out a long breath and relaxed.

“Mommy?” When she didn’t answer, Abra snuggled close, curling up beside her.

Awakening abruptly, Abra felt cold, strong hands lift her out of bed. “Back to your own bed, Abra,” Daddy whispered. The cold air made her shiver. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked back over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

Daddy went around the bed. “Sleeping in this morning?” He spoke in a soft, loving voice as he leaned down and kissed Mommy. “Marianne?” Straightening, he turned on the light. Her name came out then in a hoarse cry as he flipped away the covers and lifted her.

Mommy hung in Daddy’s arms like a limp rag doll, her mouth and eyes open.

Daddy sat on the bed, rocking her back and forth as he sobbed. “Oh, God, no . . . no . . .
no
.”

CHAPTER 2

The Lord gave me what I had,

and the Lord has taken it away.

Praise the name of the Lord!

JOB 1:21

J
OSHUA
SAT
IN
THE
FRONT
PEW
of the church, looking up at his father through eyes blurred with tears. Abra sat beside him, body rigid, tears running down her pale cheeks. When he took her hand, icy fingers gripped his. The pews behind them were packed with mourners, some crying softly. Dad’s voice broke and Joshua flinched, his own tears spilling over. Dad stood for a moment, head bowed, silent. Someone sobbed and Joshua didn’t know if he’d made the sound or Abra.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews moved from the row just behind them and sat on either side of Joshua and Abra. Penny squeezed in between her mother and Abra, and took Abra’s hand. Mr. Matthews put his arm around Joshua.

Dad raised his head slowly and looked at them. “It’s very difficult to say good-bye to someone you cherish, even when we know we will see her again. Marianne was a wonderful wife and mother.” He
talked about how they had known each other from childhood, back to the farm days in Iowa. He talked about how young they had been when they married, how poor, how happy. He talked about family Joshua had never met because they lived so far away. They had sent a wreath of flowers. Dad’s voice grew quieter and more strained. “If there is anyone who would like to say a word or share a story about Marianne, please do so.”

One after another, people stood. Mom had many friends, and they all had nice things to say. One lady said Marianne was a prayer warrior. Another said she was a saint. Several older parishioners said she’d come by more than once with casseroles and homemade pies. “She brought the little girl with her, too. Sure did cheer me up.” A young mother stood with her baby in her arms and said Marianne always found a way to bring the Lord into their conversation.

The congregation fell silent. No one moved. Miss Mitzi stood. Her son, Hodge Martin, said something, but she squeezed past him into the side aisle and headed for the front of the church. She blew her nose as she walked, tucking her hankie in the sleeve of her sweater. She marched up the three steps and sat at the piano. She smiled at Dad, still standing at the pulpit. “My turn, Zeke.”

Dad nodded.

Mitzi looked at Joshua and then fixed her eyes on Abra. “The first time Marianne brought Abra over for a piano lesson, I wondered why she didn’t just teach Abra herself. We all know how well she played. She said she never learned to play anything but hymns, and she wanted Abra to learn all kinds of music. I asked what she liked best, and she surprised me.” Positioning her hands over the keys, she looked up. “This is for you, honey. I hope you’re dancing up there.”

Stamping her foot a few times, Mitzi set a rhythm, then launched into the “Maple Leaf Rag.” Hodge Martin sank in his pew and covered his face. Some looked shocked, but Dad laughed. Joshua laughed, too, wiping tears from his face. When Mitzi finished, she
looked at Dad, her face softening, and started playing one of Mom’s favorite hymns. Dad closed his eyes and sang.

“‘Jesus lives, and so shall I: Death, thy sting is gone forever . . .’”

People joined in one by one until the entire congregation sang. “‘He for me hath deigned to die, lives the bands of death to sever.’”

Dad came down the steps, and Peter Matthews, dressed in a black suit, rose, squeezed Joshua’s shoulder, and joined the other pallbearers. The entire congregation stood and continued singing. “‘He shall raise me from the dust: Jesus is my hope and trust.’” Joshua took Abra’s hand, and they followed Dad and the men carrying Mom in the casket out to the hearse parked at the curb.

Three weeks after Mommy’s funeral, the car died with a loud clunk and shudder in the driveway. Daddy got out and looked under the hood while Abra sat in the front seat, waiting. After a few minutes, Daddy slammed the hood, his face tight. He opened the car door. “Come on, Abra. We’ll have to walk to school.”

It was cold, and her breath steamed, but she grew warm quickly keeping up with Daddy’s long strides. She wished she didn’t have to go to school. She hadn’t gone back for a week after Mommy died, and when she did, one of the boys teased her about being a crybaby until Penny told him to shut up, you’d cry too if your mommy died and you were right next to her when it happened, and she knew because her mommy said so. The next day another girl on the playground said Abra never had a mother. Pastor Zeke found her under a bridge where people dump kittens they don’t want.

Abra stumbled and almost fell, but Daddy caught her hand. “Can I come to church with you?”

“You have to go to school.”

Her legs ached and they still had blocks to go. “Will we have to walk home?”

“Probably. When you’re too tired to walk, I’ll carry you.”

“Can you carry me now?”

He swung her up on his hip. “Just for a block. Enough time to rest.”

She put her head against his shoulder. “I miss Mommy.”

“So do I.”

Daddy didn’t put her down until they were a block from the school. Hunkering down, he held her by the shoulders. “Mrs. Matthews is going to take you home with Penny this afternoon. I’ll come over and get you at five fifteen.”

Her lip trembled. “I want to go home.”

“Don’t argue, Abra.” He kissed her cheek. “I have to do what’s best for you, whether we like it or not.” When she started to cry, he held her close. “Please don’t cry.” His voice sounded tear-choked. “Things are hard enough as it is without you crying all the time.” He ran a finger down her nose and lifted her chin. “Go on to class now.”

When school was over, Mrs. Matthews was right outside the classroom door, talking with Robbie Austin’s mother. She looked sad and serious until she spotted them. “There are my girls!” She kissed Penny’s cheek first and then Abra’s. “How was your day?” Penny talked on and on while they walked to the car. “In you go, you two.” Mrs. Matthews let them both sit in front, Abra in the middle. Penny talked around her.

The house smelled of fresh-baked cookies. Mrs. Matthews had set the kitchen nook table for a tea party. They sipped apple juice and ate cookies. Abra started to feel better.

Penny had a canopy bed with a pink chenille bedspread, a white dresser, and walls covered with pink-and-white dogwood blossoms. The dormer window had a cushioned seat that overlooked the front yard. While Penny rummaged through her toy box, Abra sat in the window seat and looked out at the lawn and white picket fence. She remembered how red roses covered the arbor in summer. Mommy loved roses. Abra felt a hard lump growing in her throat.

“Let’s color!” Penny tossed coloring books on the flowery carpet and opened a shoe box full of crayons. Abra joined her. Penny talked and talked while Abra listened for the downstairs grandfather clock to bong five times. Then she waited for the doorbell to ring. Finally, it did. Daddy had come for her, just like he promised.

Penny let out a loud groan. “I don’t want you to go! We’re having so much fun!” She followed Abra down the hall. “I wish you were my sister. Then we could play together all the time.” Daddy and Mrs. Matthews stood in the entry, talking in low voices. “Mommy?” Penny said in a whining voice. “Can Abra spend the night?
Pleeeease?
”

“Of course she can, but it’s up to Pastor Zeke.”

Penny turned eagerly to Abra. “We can play Chinese checkers and listen to
One Man’s Family
.”

Daddy stood below, hat in hand, looking up at Abra. He looked tired. “She doesn’t have pajamas or a change of clothes for school tomorrow.”

“Oh. That’s no problem at all. She and Penny wear the same size. We even have extra toothbrushes.”

“Oh, goody!” Penny hopped up and down. “Come on, Abra. Let’s play!”

Abra rushed to Daddy, clutching his hand and hugging his side. She wanted to go home. Daddy pried her away and leaned down. “It’s a long walk home, Abra. I think it’s a good idea for you to spend the night here.” When she started to protest, he put a finger over her lips. “You’ll be fine.”

Zeke checked on Joshua before going out for his morning walk. Abra had spent the last three nights with the Matthews family. He locked the door, put the key in the flowerpot, and headed for Main Street. He followed it north past the end of town and kept going until he reached the Haven cemetery. He’d been to Marianne’s grave so many
times in the last few weeks, he could’ve found his way even if the moon hadn’t been full. The white marble headstone glowed.

His heart ached for her presence. They used to talk every morning in the kitchen before the children got up. And he needed to talk now.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Welch came by the church yesterday.” The caseworker had offered her condolences before she started asking questions. He swallowed hard, fighting tears.