Words Unspoken (48 page)

Lissa shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t, because …” She thrust out the manuscript and the copy of
Eastern Crossings
.

“You wrote this book, didn’t you, Mr. MacAllister?” It came out as an accusation. “And this one too.
Driving Lessons
by S. A. Green.”

The old man lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but didn’t answer.

“It’s you! I know it!” Lissa flipped the loose-leaf pages until she came to one she had marked. She thrust it toward him. “You said these exact words to me last month. You wrote this book! And you wrote all the others too. You’re S. A. Green!”

“Why are you angry, Lissa?”

“Because you lied! You’re famous! I knew you weren’t just some old driving instructor!”

She saw a look of sadness in his eyes, a beam of light that pierced her. She lowered her voice. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that I knew there was more to you.”

If she could have taken her words back, she would have paid handsomely to retrieve them. She had injured him. Ev MacAllister stood before her, wounded in the heart.

At last he cleared his throat. “Of course there is more to me than simply being a driving instructor. It is one of my jobs, one that I feel strongly, passionately about. And yes, I’m also a novelist.”

“Why? Why have you kept it a secret?”

“It’s a long story.” He looked over at Annie, and she nodded. “Please come in the house, Lissa. There are some people here I want you to meet.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7
EARLY AFTERNOON

Katy Lynn knew the back roads of Fort Oglethorpe and Chattanooga all too well. She zipped around the turns as she cursed herself for having offered to come here with Janelle. Maybe she could rebuild some type of relationship with her sister, but not with her father.

And leave it to Gina to blurt out the truth about Hamilton. Oh, who cared? They had to find out sooner or later.

Her daughter was certainly enthralled with the old man’s story.

I used to love his stories too.

“Hey, Katy Lynn, my sweetie.” Her father’s young, handsome face was next to hers. “I’ve missed you so much. Daddy was wrong. Daddy was bad.

I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Daddy. I’m so happy you’re back. We’re back.”

She could have sat forever in his lap, folded in his arms, laughing at the way he told the stories of Mr. Snodgrass and Shiny Green and Slimey Green, the friendly snakes, and Blackie and Angelfoot, the ponies. And the Princess of the Story. She was the princess of every one of his stories. How she had missed them when she and Mommy had gone away.

“Tell me a story, Daddy.”

And he did. But ever since he’d come back, Daddy also told stories about the ark and the animals and the big sea opening up so a million people could pass through and stories of a baby born in a manger.

Katy Lynn pressed on the accelerator, tears blinding her vision.

Why did she hate him so? She was acting like Gina, who had carved her hate for her father on her arms.

I carved it on my heart. I hated him because everything changed. Janelle was born and we moved away and everything changed, my place in the family, my parents’ values, my father’s discipline. He wiped out all the fun in my life, and whenever I protested he gave me a lecture and said, “Sweetheart, what matters most is the heart.”

Katy Lynn hadn’t wanted her heart to change. She wanted to keep pretending for the rest of her life that everything was in perfect order and that she was still the Princess of the Story.

My favorite books in the whole world are those of S. A. Green.

Katy Lynn cried harder. Unbelievable! Her father had still spoken to her, still written her love letters through his books. Hadn’t she known, hadn’t she said at times that those novels were written for her?

She had turned him away because she felt betrayed. She had wanted him all to herself.

We chose anonymity because we didn’t want you to carry that heavy past. We wanted to protect you.

They wanted to protect her from what fame and power and greed could do.

But I never understood.

She had driven unconsciously to the Chickamauga Battlefield, the very place her father had taught her to drive twenty-five years ago.

She braked the car by a statue of soldiers. A deer, startled by her sudden appearance, leapt gracefully into the woods.

These soldiers paid a high price for peace, Katy Lynn. A high price. But Christ paid the highest.

Why did he have to make everything religious?

Katy Lynn sat in the car for an hour, crying, listening, thinking, even praying.

I forgive you, Daddy. But is there any way I can forgive myself?

________

Oh, Katy
, Janelle thought. She wrapped her arms around Gina and said, “Your mother’s going through a lot right now. Let her sort it out.

She’ll be okay.”

“I’ve never seen her so mad.”

“I think sometimes
mad
needs to come out.”

“She doesn’t believe Granddad, does she?”

“Oh, I think she will come around.”

Janelle believed her father, but she hardly knew how to react. Her father an author? Why was she surprised? He spoke poetry, could he not also write it? As a child, her fondest memories were when she was cuddled on her father’s lap while he invented yet another sequel to the wonderful fantasy stories he spun for her.

Her father, an acclaimed novelist. Years ago she had wondered at his profession. But then she had moved to France and had her babies and started the ministry and lost Josh. She admitted she had not thought much about her father’s life in a long time, other than to utter a brief prayer each day for the Lord to watch over her parents.

She wished Brian were with her to talk over this revelation.

Gina helped Janelle carry their coffee mugs back into the kitchen. The front door was cracked open, and from the kitchen Janelle heard her parents talking softly to someone on the front porch. A few minutes later they came back inside, followed by a teenage girl.

Her father was making an effort to appear calm, but he was not convincing.

“Janelle, Gina, I’d like you to meet one of my students, Lissa Randall. Lissa, my daughter Janelle, and my granddaughter Gina. And that was Gina’s mother, Katy Lynn, you met coming out of the house.”

The girl—Lissa—looked disheveled and fearful. But that was not what Janelle noticed first. For a brief moment, Janelle thought she was seeing the ghost of her father’s dead sister, Tate. This girl had the same thick brown hair, a thin face with full lips, and lovely brown soulful eyes.

Janelle collected herself enough to join her parents in the entrance way and give a half smile to the young woman. “Good to meet you, Lissa.”

The girl barely nodded, ill at ease, clutching a thick pile of papers to her chest.

Gina offered a quick “Hi.”

“Come into the den and have a seat, Lissa,” her mother said. “Let me get you something to drink. A Coke?”

The girl sat down on the couch and murmured, “Thanks, Annie.”

________

Lissa felt trapped. She did not want to sit on a couch with the rest of the MacAllister family looking on. She wanted to talk to Mr. MacAllister. Alone. She wanted him to explain the voices—especially that one on the road. She had made it down the mountain. Spurred on by feelings of fear, hate, anger, and betrayal, she had driven alone.

Failure!

Victory!

She set down the manuscript and novel on the couch beside her and slowly sipped her Coke. The air in the house felt heavy and tense. Thankfully, the daughter and granddaughter disappeared into some other room.

Mr. MacAllister stood staring out the den window, lost in thought. Annie sat next to her on the couch. Lissa gulped down the rest of the beverage and stood up.

“Thank you, Annie. I, I need to leave.”

Where could she go?

“Leave! Heavens, no! You need to rest. You’ve had quite a shock, and then you drove over here alone! With a broken wrist and shoulder. No, you’ll stay put. You’re pale as a ghost. Come upstairs with me.”

Lissa had no strength to argue. She glanced at Mr. MacAllister. He turned from the window, appearing to Lissa suddenly very old.

With a sad smile he said, “Rest, Lissa. We’ll talk later.”

She followed Annie upstairs.

“Gina’s using this room, but she won’t mind if you stretch out on the bed. Get a little rest.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. I need to go.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Rest.”

Thank goodness Annie could be forceful.

Lissa climbed onto the bed, exhausted, defeated, drained. Everything was going wrong, but all she wanted to do was sleep.

________

Ev felt dizzy when he walked into his office, holding the manuscript of his novel that Lissa had left on the couch. How in the world did she get a photocopy of
Driving Lessons
? One more odd occurrence to prove to him that God was at work. He sorted through the events—his meeting with Lissa and his memories of Tate, the threatening letter that had worried Annie so and caused her to fly to Chicago, the news of the foundation being drained of money, and now his daughters back in his home and learning the truth of S. A. Green. All of these circumstances, and others too, held the Lord’s fingerprints. God was nudging Ev forward into something new.

You don’t give us more than we can bear at a time. You are amazingly patient, and clean out our closets slowly and methodically. I’ve got some pretty thick cobwebs in this one, don’t I, Lord?

The truth was out—the parties and women, his conversion, their move, his secret life as a novelist. His daughters wanted to know why he had never let the world know about S. A. Green. Heavens, there were enough reasons to fill his library! He had to flee his past success as Ashton Mack. He and Annie desired to escape from his wealthy surroundings and live a peaceful life. He had made a promise to the Lord shortly after moving to the South, “If you allow me to publish again, I will write for you.” This promise he had kept.

But there was another reason for the anonymity: his heart. Twice he had touched the footstool of heaven. Born with a weak heart, the stress and alcohol and tragedy of Tate had brought him close to death in 1952. The second heart attack occurred in 1954, soon after Janelle was born. The doctors had been clear: “Mr. MacAllister, if you don’t want to face an early grave, you must slow down.” And so he had.

Throughout the years, Annie begged him to hide away from the world, long after he felt that his ego could handle the attention of a well-respected author. The Lord would keep him in line. But for Annie, he kept his anonymity while she insisted, “You write. I’ll deal with the rest.” She took the brunt of the publishing business, and whenever he expressed concern, she fired back the same remark. “Ev, the Lord gave you the genius, but He gave me the strong heart.”

It was no secret to Annie that he looked forward to the other side of life with a singing in his soul. “Going up to Jesus,” he called it. But for Annie, to stay with her a little longer, he happily sacrificed the pressures of renown.

The problem was that life’s stresses could not be counted and measured like a cup of flour for a cake. The doctor had said it in September.
Mr. MacAllister, you’re playing with fire. I heartily recommend you retire.

Annie repeated it ad nauseam.
Ev, dear, let go of Tate, let go of the driving school. You’ve done enough. Let it go.

The ringing of the phone startled him. He sat down at the desk and answered.

“Hello, Mr. MacAllister?” The voice sounded panicked. “This is Gary Randall. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for my daughter. She left here in her car about an hour and a half ago. I’m worried because she was driving alone, and you know that could be … dangerous. I wondered if—”

Ev managed to interrupt the hurried speech. “Your daughter is here, Mr. Randall. She’s safe.”

The man gave a sigh. “Thank God. I’ll come get her right now.”

Ev rubbed his forehead. “Mr. Randall, perhaps this is no business of mine, but you may need to give her a little while to calm down. She’s fine here.”

“Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her. It’s urgent.”

“I think she’s lying down. I promise she’s safe.”

“Please have her call me as soon as she wakes up.”

“I will give her your message.”

Ev hung up the phone, ran his hands over the worn keys of the old typewriter, and closed his eyes. He needed to lie down himself.

Gina appeared in the doorway. “Am I bothering you, Granddad?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Of course not. It’s such a treat to have you here, Gina. Come in and tell me how you’re doing. I’m afraid I’ve only added to your problems.”

“You didn’t know about Daddy, did you?”

“No. No, that was a surprise.”

Gina stood with her back leaning on the bookshelf. She twisted a few strands of her hair together, not looking at Ev. “I think Mom is mad at you because your life works and hers doesn’t. No matter how hard she tries, it doesn’t really work.” She brushed her hands through her hair. “And she’s been really worried about me too.”