Tomorrow's Dream (16 page)

27 

Once again Kyle stopped
in
her front hallway to inspect the street through the narrow window. She did not yet see Kenneth. From the kitchen there came the sound of a puppy's whimper, but Kyle could not take the time to see to her dog just then. She paced back into the living room and glanced at the clock over the mantel. What could be keeping him, today of all days?

The clock's ticking followed her back into the front hall, the sound a constant, steady reminder of all that had come before—all the isolation, all the mistakes, all the selfishness. Her path took her in front of the mirror where she was confronted with her own reflection. She tried not to look, but she could not help the single glance which revealed the frantic features, the desperate eyes. Yes. That was what she had been hiding all along. Desperation. Despair and helplessness and fear and pain. And she had been hiding from God's love.

From outside came the sound of a car door slamming. Kyle ran to open the front door and flew down the steps, rushing into Kenneth's arms. He caught her in a strong embrace. “Kyle, honey, what's the matter?”

“Oh, Kenneth,” she said, and then the sobs of a year of holding back came pouring out. “I'm so afraid. I've been so wrong.”

“Sweetheart, darling, come on, let's go inside.” Gently he steered her around and brought her up the stairs and back inside the house. He closed the door behind them, then wrapped both arms around his wife. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it's so confusing. I don't even know where to start.”

“Try.”

So she started with the Millers' farm, but she couldn't get out the words Joseph Miller had spoken. They simply did not come. She wanted to confess to her conniving, self-centered ways, how she had gone up to talk Ruthie into giving Samuel to her. Instead she found herself seeing Joseph's shining eyes, the way they had stared at her with both honesty and love, and how they had pulled open the long-closed doors within her. And the weeping grew even stronger.

Kenneth gently led her into the living room and guided her onto the sofa. He kept her close, stroking her shoulder, her hair, her face.

Kyle forced herself to regain a semblance of control and tried once more. This time she started with the morning's visit to Abigail, and the words came easier. She stopped, her breathing shaky, but the weeping eased, and then she finished with, “I didn't have anything to give her. I could tell her the words, and I led her through a prayer. But there wasn't anything inside me. Nothing. A great big emptiness. I sat there and listened to Abigail talk about living a lie, and I felt as though I should have been the one saying all those words.”

He carefully eased her back to look at her. Yet Kyle did not want to meet his gaze. She felt so ashamed. Even when one hand lifted her chin slightly, still she kept her gaze averted.

“I've pushed everything away.” She forced the words out. They had to be said. She did not know why, but she was as certain of this as she was of her own mistakes. It was not enough to admit all this to herself. She had to say it. Speak the words and confess both to her husband and to God. “I've kept you out and I've kept God out. Our relationship, my relationship with God, my whole life. I've just shriveled up inside. I've been so wrong. So awful. All the things I've said, what I've done . . . oh, I just can't stand it. I can't . . .”

Kyle's bitter tears of remorse threatened to drown her in their sorrow. But Kenneth's strong arms did not let her go. He drew her up tightly once more and held her so close she could feel the good man's strength and peace reach inside and begin to fill and heal and soothe.

“Thank God,” he murmured, kissing the side of her face. “Oh, thank God.”

28 

Kyle opened her eyes
in
time to greet the dawn. Softly, softly, she turned and looked over at her sleeping husband. The strength in his face was solid and certain, even in repose. Such an incredible combination of strength and gentleness and patience. And forgiveness.

She lay there beside him remembering how he had listened to her and spoken with her the evening before. He had held her there on the living room sofa, cradling her with his love until she was all cried out. While she was still unable to lift her gaze, he had begun to speak. As though all this time he had been storing things up, not anger and accusations, but
wisdom
.

There had been no recriminations. None of the condemnation she knew she deserved. Instead he had talked about what he himself had learned concerning pain and loss, concerning trust in a good God to do
good
. And he had told her about the gift of peace that had come at a time when even asking for such a gift was beyond him. He talked about that experience as if it had been meant for both of them from the very beginning. And come to think of it, maybe it had.

“I felt I was descending into an abyss after little Charles died,” he had softly explained to her the night before, describing his own journey. “My heart was crushed, the baby was gone, you were in such deep pain, and I was utterly helpless. Helpless and frustrated and angry. There was no hope, no purpose to life except to suffer and fail.”

The words echoed inside her, giving voice to all the things she had refused to allow herself to think. She gave a quiet little sigh.

“You probably thought I was weak, that I had failed you.”

“No, not at all,” she whispered. “I knew, even when I didn't want to accept it, that you were so brave.”

“I didn't feel brave. Many times I felt angry and defeated. Often my prayers were silent cries of hopelessness and anger. But even when I dared to accuse God, underneath it all I knew He wasn't giving up on me, or on us. Then one night . . .” He hesitated there, taking a long moment before he continued more quietly than before. “That evening after our pastor's visit when you were so angry at him, at me, and probably at God, I felt like I was standing at the edge of a chasm. One utterly dark. A void that would swallow me whole.”

Kenneth's hand stopped caressing her face. His voice turned sad as he went on. “I was so tempted. I hate to say it, but that's the truth. I knew if I continued on the path I was taking, with my anger and my burning frustration, it would not matter whether we stayed together or not. It would all be lost. And the fact that you were so cold and distant made it all that much more inviting to step forward and fall into darkness. To just let it swallow me up.”

Kyle wiped quickly at new tears in order to concentrate on Kenneth's words.

“I don't know what exactly happened. Well, maybe I do. I just don't know if I can explain it. It felt as though all the years of prayer and Scripture reading had built up a reserve of strength within me, preparing me for such a moment. At least now that it's over, that's what it feels like to me. When God reached down into my heart of stone with His gift of peace, I found the ability to turn.” He took a deep breath.

“It really felt like that, Kyle. Like I turned away from the darkness and the anger and the raging frustration, and I accepted the gift. The pain was still with me. I think a part of me will always ache for little Charles. Strange how a baby who was with us for such a short while could become such a part of me. I think . . .” He stopped to gather himself with an effort that firmed the arms holding her close. “I think maybe we each gave a part of our hearts, our souls, to the little baby while he was still inside you. And when he went up to heaven, it felt like he took that part of our hearts away with him.”

She had to move back then, move far enough from within his embrace so she could look at his face. She wanted to tell him how beautiful that thought was, how restoring, even when it hurt so. But she did not want to distract him from all she saw still unfinished in his eyes.

“I made the turning. And I knew God would be there, waiting for me. There was no thunderbolt or words from on high. Just a peace, Kyle. Even when I had felt as though my very soul was shriveled inside me, the peace filled me. And I knew it wasn't mine. It was God's. And I knew right then that everything was going to be all right. No matter how bad things seemed, how bleak. He would see us—both of us—through this.”

She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, and to beg his forgiveness. Tell him just how much it meant to have such a wonderful man. How she did not deserve him, but that she wanted to love him and fill all their remaining days with a new union. A stronger one, forged by the fires of life, bonded together closer than ever.

But again she did not speak. The need to say something more was there in his gaze.

“I discovered something in those following days,” Kenneth said. “I learned that if I allowed my faith to be moved this way and that by the circumstances of life, then I was standing too far from God. If I was thinking that having good things and a good life meant being blessed by God, and that bad things meant abandonment by God, then I did not have a real faith. Not the faith that Jesus lived and died for me to have.”

Kyle nodded. She was guilty. But at that same moment she knew with a certainty that flooded her heart that she was not just guilty. She was
forgiven
. She turned her face to Kenneth's with a joy that filled her being.

“God has not deserted us,” she heard him continue. “He has been with us through it all—even when we weren't aware of it. Maybe even when we were aware of it but didn't want to be. His promise is that He will be with us from the first day to the last. In the pain, in the joy. He is here, Kyle. He is here.”

Kyle leaned back, pulling his arms from around her, holding his hands with both of hers. Looking at him, she whispered, “Would you pray with me?”

Kenneth stirred. Kyle leaned over and softly kissed his lips.

“Good morning, my beloved,” he whispered.

“I love you, my husband.”

He nodded. She knew that he knew.

After another kiss, she murmured, “I need to see someone this morning. But first I am going to serve you breakfast in bed.”

29 

Kyle stepped onto
the small
front porch, raised her hand to knock on the door, then hesitated. She brought the hand back to her mouth and stood there a long moment. She then straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and knocked.

Martha Grimes opened the door, her eyes round with astonishment. “Kyle!”

“Hello . . . hello, Mother.” A great lump of sorrow threatened to close her throat up before she had even started. Kyle swallowed with difficulty. “Am I disturbing you? May I come in?”

“Of course you're not. And of course you can.” Martha's smile was tremulous as she pushed the door fully open. “I'm so happy to see you.”

“And surprised, I know.” After so long, she had to be. Kyle stepped into the cramped front room. “Is . . . is Dad here?”

“No, he had an errand downtown.” Martha seemed at a loss to know what to do or say. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Martha drew her across the room to two chairs close together.

“No, thank you. Not today. But I do want to talk with you,” Kyle said as they sat down. She stopped and took another breath. “I want you to know how sorry I am for the way I've treated you.”

Martha's eyes filled with tears. “Kyle, dear, you don't need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” Kyle hurried on, pinching one hand with the other as she tried to keep her composure. “I was horrible. To you, to Kenneth, to Dad, to everybody.”

“You were not horrible, Kyle. You were afraid.”

Kyle looked into Martha's face for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Yes, I was afraid. I've spent a lot of time these past few days thinking about what you said when you came over to visit me. It was just after Joel and Ruthie's baby was born. Do you remember?”

Martha bit her lip and gave a jerky little nod.

“You said that I needed to let God in, and let Him help me. And you were right. I had been doing exactly what you said, trying to lock everything up inside, and shut God and everyone else out.”

Martha reached out a hand. “Oh, Kyle honey.”

“I've caused the people I love the most in the world so much pain,” Kyle said around a sob. Then she held out her arms.

Martha and Kyle embraced each other with a fierceness that seemed to pull down all the walls between them, all the time, all the distance. Martha whispered, “It's going to be all right.”

Kyle let the tears flow. She knew what Martha said was true. It was all right. And it was going to stay that way.

“Kyle!” Reverend Patrick Langdon rose quickly to his feet. “Goodness, how long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. May I come in?”

“Of course. Here, take this seat.” He pulled another chair up close to hers and seated himself without taking his eyes from her face. “Kyle, I am very glad to see you.”

“Thank you.” His genuine warmth after her behavior toward him brought a faint blush to her cheeks. “It is good to see you again.”

“How are you?” His smile hinted at more than social courtesy.

“I'm fine. Really.” She cocked her head. “Why are you smiling?”

“Oh, nothing. Well, yes, it is something, I suppose. I was thinking it is the first time in a long while I can ask you that question and look forward to what you have to say.”

“Yes. Yes, that's true.” She looked down at her hands. “God has been working in me. And Kenneth has helped. Actually, God has used many people to get my attention and point me back to Him. Including you.”

“I'm glad,” he said simply.

“I truly am sorry for my rudeness to you,” she said, her voice low.

“Kyle, don't even think about it again. I won't.” And his warm smile told her even more than his words.

She knew he had a hundred questions, but he only said, “What can I do for you?”

“I need to ask a favor.” Kyle opened her purse and extracted an envelope. “I want you to give this to Ruthie.”

He accepted it, then looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“It's some money, and it needs to be an anonymous gift. I don't want her to know it's come from me. If she knew, she might not . . .” A shadow came and went across her features, like clouds pushed by an invisible wind. “Tell her it is for her and Samuel, that she can't spend it only on the mission. She probably will anyway, but tell her that it's designated for her and for Samuel.”

He looked from the envelope to her and back again.

“It comes from dividends on Daddy's stock,” she explained.

“Your stock,” he noted quietly. “Your father left the shares to you.”

Kyle nodded and rose to her feet. “I have to be going. It took longer at the bank than I thought, and I need to get to the post office before it closes.” She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders and said determinedly, “I have a letter to write.”

“Ruthie will be delighted.” Patrick walked over and offered Kyle his hand. “As for myself, I can't tell you how nice it is to see you smile again.”

She turned for the door. “We'll see you on Sunday.”

The morning was still young, still holding to the hint of spring freshness. May was a time of transition for farmers, spring in the morning and summer by midafternoon. Joseph Miller was seated in his padded chair on the corner of the porch, watching and listening to the birth of a new day. He missed helping with the morning chores, but still he felt a part of the daily activities. His heart pulsed in time to the farm. It was in his veins.

“Papa?” Sarah came across the porch. “Here's a letter for you.”

“Thank you, kinder.”

The girl handed him a kitchen knife along with the envelope. “Mama says breakfast will be in fifteen minutes.”

“Good, good. I will be there.” But the return address was already holding his attention. He slit the envelope with the knife and extracted the letter. A slender slip of paper fluttered down to lie upon his shortened leg.

Slowly, slowly, he reached down beside his leg and picked up the slip of paper. His hand trembled as he held it up close, wanting to be sure of what he was seeing.

He unfolded the letter. He stopped to take a breath, then read the first page, turned it over, and had to stop again. Joseph Miller wiped his eyes, then started on the second page.

When he was finished he looked out over the farm for a long moment. Then he called out, “Simon!”

“I'm with the chickens, Papa.”

“Leave the eggs for later. Come here with you right now!”

There was the clatter of a pail, and Simon came running from the chicken house. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” Joseph's answer was loud enough to bring Ruth and Sarah through the front door.

His wife inspected his face. “Why do you make such a fuss on this peaceful morning?”

Joseph kept his gaze on his son. “How much land do you plan for the flowers?”

Simon exchanged a glance with his mother and sister. “But the money—”

“How much land?” Joseph quietly demanded.

“Four acres, Papa.”

“Flowers are a new crop for us. We do not know how much water they will need. Take those down by the stream.”

“But, Papa,” Simon and his sister said in unison. Then Simon finished, “Four acres means sixty thousand plants.”

“Then you best be ordering them, and seeing to some extra hands for the planting,” Joseph replied. He looked at his wife and asked, “Are you to the market this morning?”

“It's Thursday.” Ruth stared at her husband in wide-eyed disbelief. “I always go on Thursday.”

“I believe I will travel with you. I have some business at the bank. Together we will stop off by the Brueder place on the way home.” Joseph Miller allowed his smile to surface as he waved the check at them. “We have ourselves a wedding to plan.”