The Glorious Prodigal (34 page)

They adjourned to the office where a potbellied stove cast heat throughout the room. The two men went over the plans
for building an addition to the church building, and finally Fields said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Richard. You’ve been a great help to our church.”

Waving his hand, Richard said, “It’s little enough.”

Fields hesitated, then said, “Maybe you heard about what Stuart’s doing?”

“You mean the pig business? Yes. I’ve heard.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean he’s going to the Negro church. The one where Cyrus Hawkins preaches.”

Surprised, Winslow looked up. “No. I hadn’t heard about that.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t. Everybody’s talking about it.”

“No one told me.”

Fields wanted to remark,
Perhaps you aren’t interested,
but he refrained as he studied Winslow’s troubled face.

“What’s the matter? Our church isn’t good enough for him?”

“I don’t think he feels welcome, Richard,” Fields said, surprised to hear his friend speak grudgingly.

Instantly Richard Winslow looked up and met the minister’s gaze. He did not see rebuke there but sensed some sort of reticence in Fields’s attitude. “You think it’s my fault, then?”

“No. I didn’t say that at all, but I think probably he’s embarrassed to come back.”

“Diane asked him back. I know that.”

“I think maybe he needs for all of us to encourage him. He went through a hard time.”

“So did all of us.”

Fields knew he had touched a sore spot with Richard, and he said, “I think it would be good if you would reach out and make a special effort toward Stuart.”

“I’ll think about it,” Richard answered stiffly. His own answer sounded lame, and he felt convicted, for he was well aware that his attitude was bad. He had struggled with his feelings toward Stuart ever since he’d come back from prison, but Richard could not seem to overcome them. Now he said,
“Well, I’ve got to go home for lunch. Would you care to join us?”

“No,” Fields said. “Thanks for the help with this new addition. Tell Diane I said hello.”

“I’ll do that,” Winslow said. He waited until Fields had left, then sat at his office staring at the wall for a time. Finally, sighing heavily, he got up and said to his chief clerk, “I’ll be back at one.”

“Yes, Mr. Winslow.”

He made his way home, where Diane greeted him, then sat him down to a fine lunch. He found his appetite was gone, however, and said little until Diane spoke.

“I’m going out to see the grandchildren today. Why don’t you come with me?”

Shifting uneasily in his chair, Richard said almost gruffly, “I’ve got to be at the store.”

Diane Winslow was a patient woman, kind and generous, but at this answer an anger flared through her. “How long are you going to hold your son at arm’s length, Richard?”

“Why, Diane—!”

“I’ve always admired you, Richard—until now. You’re not the man I thought you were.” She got up and without another word left the room.

Richard Winslow sat there, and when the door slammed, it was as if he had been struck. All their married life he and Diane had been close, but now this matter of Stuart had driven them apart. He sat staring at the plate before him, confused and angry, acutely aware of a tremendous sadness and frustration. “What’s the matter with me?” He had no answer but got up and made his way back to the store, wondering if things would ever change.

****

Diane stepped inside the door, and as she walked down the hall, she looked into the parlor. She saw Stuart sitting on a low stool with Merry across from him sitting on the floor.
On a box sat Merry’s tea set, an old one that she had given her to play with, and the two looked up as she entered the room. “Well, are we having a tea party?”

“Yes. Daddy and I would love to have you join us,” Merry said primly. Then her face broke into a grin. “Come on, Grandma. You can sit on the floor beside me.”

“No. My old bones are too fragile for that. I’ll just sit over here, but I will join you.”

She pulled up a chair and couldn’t help smiling as she watched her granddaughter include her in the tea party. To watch Merry so happy was a delight. She was amazed at how Stuart had won the girl’s heart completely. Merry, she could see, doted on her father, and as she stole glances at her son’s face, Diane saw that he had a deep happiness inside. He kept his eyes fixed on Merry a great deal, but Diane could see the pride written on his features.

“Where’s Raimey?” Diane asked.

“Oh, he’s in his room,” Merry said. “He wouldn’t come and have a tea party with us.”

“Well, I’ll just check in on him.”

Leaving the parlor, Diane went to Raimey’s room and knocked on the door. When a muffled “Come in” reached her, she opened the door and found Raimey sitting on the bed with his feet drawn up and an unread book before him.

“Why, Raimey, how are you?”

“I’m all right, Grandma.”

Diane sat down on his bed and tried to talk, but she saw that the young boy was troubled. “What is it? You having trouble at school?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, what is it? You don’t look happy.”

Raimey looked up, and misery was reflected in his eyes. “He saved my life, Grandma, and I’ve been so mean to him. Ever since he came home, I’ve been mean as a snake.”

Her heart suddenly knew a joy, for the misery on Raimey’s face was good news to her. Reaching out, she took one of
his hands in both of hers. “Well, it’s not too late to change, Raimey.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I think your father would like for you to show that you love him.”

“I can’t say that.”

“Well, you don’t have to say it. Just smile at him and ask him to help you with something.”

Diane talked for some time to Raimey and then patted his hand. “Your father’s a Christian now. He’s not like he was when he was home before. You just give him a chance, and you’ll see how much he really loves you, Raimey.”

Raimey said little, but after his grandmother left, he got to his feet and stood irresolutely for a moment in the middle of the floor. He had been unhappy for so long, and now he knew he had to do something. He had never stopped thinking of how his father had bravely charged into the face of Brutus to save him. He knew that as long as he lived that sight would be engraved in his memory. For days now he had struggled to find a way to say something to his father, but somehow his feelings were locked up. The years of bitterness had built a wall between the two of them, but now he suddenly left the room and went into the parlor.

“Did you come to play dolls with us?” Merry said quickly.

“No. I’m going to play with my Tinker Toys.” Raimey walked over to the room and sat down and began putting the pieces together. He listened, however, to the conversation, envious that Merry had no bad memories of her father.
It’s different for me,
he thought.
She wasn’t even born yet when he left.
What his grandmother had said weighed on him, and finally he took a deep breath and looked over and said, “Dad, I can’t make this castle. Would . . . would you help me, please?”

At once Stuart’s head turned, and he saw something in his son’s eyes that brought a pang to his own heart. Getting up at once, he came over and pulled his stool over next to
Raimey. “Well, I’m no engineer, son, but maybe between the two of us we can do it.”

Fifteen minutes later Leah entered carrying a tray with hot cocoa and cookies. She stopped abruptly, for she saw Stuart flanked by Merry and Raimey. All three were laughing, and she heard Raimey say, “Aw, Dad, that’s not the way it goes.”

Leah suddenly felt tears rise in her eyes. She could see a joy in Raimey’s face that had been missing for a long time. She simply said, “Thank you, God.” And then she entered, calling out, “Does anyone want cocoa and cookies?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I Need You!”

Raimey turned suddenly, lifted the .410, and pulled the trigger. The sharp explosion of the weapon broke the silence, and Raimey cried out, “I got him, Dad! I got him!”

“You sure did.” Stuart grinned. He watched as the boy scurried over and picked up the limp body of the gray squirrel. “That’s a fat fellow. We’ll have him with some dumplings tonight.”

“It’s your turn next time, Dad.”

Stuart shook his head. “Nope, you’re a better shot than I ever was, son. I missed that last one when I should have had him.”

“Aw, he was already behind the tree when we spotted him. You take the next shot.”

Stuart laughed and said, “I’ll tell you what. When you miss one I’ll try another, but we’ve almost got enough here. This bag’s getting heavy.”

The two had come out early on a March morning to hunt squirrels. The air was crisp, the sky was clear, and the two had good luck. Now as they tramped along, with Raimey talking excitedly, Stuart was amazed at how much had changed since that day when he had come in and asked for help with his Tinker Toys.

It’s like a miracle,
Stuart thought.
He’s not the same boy at all.
Looking down at Raimey, he felt a surge of pride at his son’s clear features, and he knew that something good had come his way.

As they walked along, Raimey suddenly asked, “Dad, what was it like in prison?”

It was the first reference Raimey had made to that time, and Stuart answered him honestly. “It was bad, son.” He related some of the hard physical conditions, but then he said quietly, “But the worst part of it all was that I brought shame on you and your mother and your sister . . . and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Raimey thought about this for a moment and then looked up and said quickly, “But it’s all over now, Dad.”

“Yep. All over. I’m home now with a son who can shoot better than I can.”

Raimey tramped on for a time and then said, “Do you think you’ll ever get over being in prison?”

“In a way I will, but look at this.” Stuart held out his hand and said, “See that white scar there? I tore it on a fence when I was about your age. I can barely remember it now, but I bled like a stuck pig, and I was afraid I was going to die. It was a bad time, but now it doesn’t hurt to even think of it. I guess prison’s like that or any bad experience we have. We just ask the Lord to forgive us, and He does. Then I think He takes away most of the memory. Just a little scar is left.”

The two walked on, and Raimey listened as Stuart spoke. He had been lonely all the years his father had been gone, and now he felt that something had been restored. A sense of belonging swelled within him, and he stole glances at the face of the tall man who walked beside him, thinking of how good life was to him now.

****

Leah had found Merry difficult to sleep with. The child sometimes muttered and, for whatever reason, would give a tremendous jump. Unable to decide if they were nightmares, since the girl never spoke of them, Leah finally decided it was simply growing pangs.

She had awakened when Merry had given a lunge, driving
her elbow into her side, and now could not go back to sleep. She had lain there for some time when she heard a sound somewhere and stiffened in the bed, straining to hear. Finally she got up and put on her robe and slippers. The room was freezing, and she shivered as she left, closing the door quietly behind her. Moving down the hall, she came to the door of the parlor and saw Stuart putting wood on the fire. He had not heard her, and she watched him silently for a moment. He was wearing a worn wool robe that she had given him years before, and she noted that he still moved somewhat stiffly. Moving inside, she said, “What’s the matter?”

Stuart, startled, turned, holding a stick of wood in his hand. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Sorry I woke you up.” He put the wood on, poked the fire with the poker, and then turned to her. The only light in the room was the pale flickering of the yellow-and-red flames. “Don’t know what was the matter with me. I’ve been sleeping like a log.”

“Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

“That would be fine.”

“You stay here and build the fire up. I’ll fix it.”

“All right.” Stuart put more logs on the fire until it was roaring, and by the time the sparks were flying up the chimney like fireworks, Leah was back.

“The fire was still warm in the oven,” she said. “I used the big mugs.”

“Here, let me drag this couch over. It’s cold in here.”

“You don’t need to be moving furniture. Your ribs are still sore.”

“It’s not heavy.”

Dragging the couch around to face the fire, Stuart took the mug and then sat down. He was surprised when Leah sat down beside him.

“I was looking at some of the pictures you made while I was in prison. I’m glad you took so many.”

“I really wasn’t very good with the camera, but some of them turned out well.”

The two sat there talking about the children for a while, and the fire roared and then finally settled down to a steady burning. A strange feeling had come over Leah. She was sitting close to Stuart, and memories came back to her. “We used to sit before the fire like this a lot. Do you remember when we were first married?”

“I’ve never forgotten anything. Some things I’d like to forget, though.”

Leah suddenly reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I wish you could forget all the bad things. I wish all of us could.”

Conscious of the light touch of her hand on his arm, Stuart turned to face her. He kept his eyes fixed on her for a moment. The fragrance of her clothes and from her hair came powerfully to him, and he felt stirred by the same beauty that had drawn him to Leah at that Fourth of July dance so many years ago. And yet he knew the deep wound he had left on her heart would not be easily healed.

“What is it, Stuart?” Leah asked. “Why are you looking at me so strangely?”

“I guess I’m thinking about all I’ve missed.”

“I think about that, too.”

Startled by this confession, so unexpected and out of character with all that had gone on in the past, Stuart leaned closer. “Do you, Leah?”

Her lips made a small change, seeming somehow softer. She held her head straight, and yet as she looked at him, the hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, of course, I think about it. Why wouldn’t I?”