Love Comes in the Mourning

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

June 2, 1936

I have not got to see Samuel these past few days. I had promised him I would come back, but after dinner the other night, Papa noticed someone had been in his office. He had been on his fourth or fifth drink of the evening when he called me into his study…

“My paperweight has been moved.”

Fear raced through my veins as his gaze narrowed on me.

“What have you taken?”

I struggled to keep my voice from trembling. “I wanted to learn to draw, so I took some paper and a few pencils.”

“Show me then.” He wrapped his fingers around his glass.

I had nothing to offer, so I lied again. “I threw the pictures away because they weren’t any good.” I kept my head down, scared to look into his eyes.

“What did you try to draw?”

“My portrait, sir.”

“Your portrait. Ha!” He took a drunken sip, some of the dark drink spilling on his jacket. “You look too much like me for your own portrait to be any good. If you want to draw something worthwhile, draw Lila.” He sneered and spat alcohol between his teeth.

I smelt the whiskey on his breath from across the room. I wanted to tell him Samuel thought I was beautiful and that he told me so, but our guests were in the parlor, and I didn’t want to cause more of a scene than what we already had.

“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll never do it again.” I watched my words so as not to provoke him more. If only I had watched my actions in the same manner.

“You’re damn right you won’t.” He shuffled papers around his desk.

Feeling I had been dismissed, I turned.

“Did I say you could leave?”

His low tone tightened my spin before I pivoted to face him again. I saw the glass seconds too late to react. A piercing pain shot through my temple before Papa’s whiskey tumbler shattered on the floor where it fell at my feet. I stumbled and reached for the back of a chair, my breath gone, tears welling in my eyes. I reached up and pressed where the glass had hit. Blood trickled down my fingers.

He moved across the room so fast, I hardly saw him through my blurry vision.

“You don’t take things without asking. Ever.”

The pain booming through my head, followed by another blow to my cheek, muffled his angry voice. My ears roared with a loud whoosh and my chest burned. I imagined that was what drowning must feel like, and that was my last thought before sinking into blackness.

I awoke to Belle sitting beside me.

“Angel.” She dabbed a cool cloth on my head. “How you’s feeling?”

I struggled to talk. “My h-head hurts.”

“I imagine it do.”

“How did I get here?” I felt cool sheets under my palms. My bed sheets.

I moved my gaze around my tidy but bare room, the movement causing my head to spin. I stopped and tried to focus on the picture of Momma on my nightstand. The one picture I salvaged from the fire. My vision was somewhat fuzzy, and I took in a few, slow, deep breaths to calm my spinning head. Still, I was glad I was there instead of anywhere else in the house. Papa never came to my room.

“Jo carried you, and I wrapped your head.”

I raised a hand to the bandage.

“Your sister came to check on you. She sat here for an hour and cried, holding your hand.”

“Where is Lila?” I asked.

“With that Gentry boy. He proposed, and she accepted.”

I knew she would. Honestly, she wasn’t given much of a choice. Papa and Gentry’s father had their engagement arranged without much thought to whether the two even liked each other.

“When’s the wedding.”

“Next month. Here.”

Over the past year, ever since our brother died, I’d seen Lila’s spirit break. Papa never hit her, but I felt as though he had done other forms of torment to her. Things that she would never be willing to discuss, and I would never ask of her. I loved my sister dearly, but a part of me hated her for being so beautiful. Gentry seemed pleasant enough, and soon she would leave and make a home of her own, while I would be stuck here…alone with Papa.

I stared at Belle. “Can I have a mirror please?”

“Angel, you don’t need to do that to youself.”

“Please.” I pleaded. “I want to see what I look like.” I wanted to see if I could even be remotely considered pretty to Samuel again.

Belle shot me a warning glance before she grabbed the hand-held mirror off the nightstand and pressed the cold handle into my palm. I sucked in a deep breath as I wrapped my fingers around the base of the mirror. With shaking hands, I held it up.

My right eye sported a big, black ring, and white gauze wrapped my head. A nonstop roaring still pounded in my skull.

“How many times have you changed this bandage?” I asked her.

“Three.”

“Stitches?”

“No.” Belle shook her head.

I let out a thankful exhale and handed her the mirror. As bad as I looked, I knew it could’ve been worse.

“I want to stand,” I said. Despite my spinning head, I had to move. I had to try to get to Samuel.

“Angel, you need rest.”

Ignoring her, I tossed my legs over the side of the bed. A wave of nausea instantly rolled through my stomach. “H-help me stand.”

Reluctantly, she did as I asked. When I came to my feet, my head spun even more, the few contents in my stomach daring to come up. I fell, leaning into Belle. She caught me and placed me back to a seated position…

I cannot walk across the room, much less across the field to the old oak and Samuel. So instead, I sit here in my bed, and I write. I long for him and hope he waits for me while my wounds heal.

But I wonder if he were to see me now, would he ever find me beautiful again?

****

John stood and stared at Lesley. Sheetrock dust covered her hair, and the muscles in her shoulders had become more pronounced in the slight time he’d known her. Hard work looked sexy as hell on her.

With the sheetrock almost complete, the townspeople had really come through, helping Lesley and him, in her time of need. He knew they would. Bakersville never failed.

Pulling his attention away from the woman that gripped his heart, he turned to face one of the helpful crews. All eyes had focused on her as well.

“Hey, guys.” He snapped his fingers to gain their attention.

One man in the crew—the preacher—stared back at him. “Morning, John.” The man slapped him on the shoulder.

“Morning. Let’s finish that south wall.” John pointed in the opposite direction of Lesley.

Before he could fully gain the guys attention, she sauntered by the group in her short shorts, winking at him. As she walked past, her hips twisted, and the gazes he tried to get to focus on the sheetrock continued to follow her instead. A fit of jealousy coursed through him.

“Hey now.” He snapped his fingers again and stepped in front of the men, blocking their view. “I’m over here.” I need to have a talk with her about those damn shorts.

“Just appreciating God’s creation is all,” the pastor teased and brought his focus back to the wall.

The three other men, including Lance, his young trainee, still tried to steal a peek.

“Speaking of God’s creation,” Pastor Parks continued, “we would love to see you in church on Sunday, John.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

Not happening. Church wasn’t going to do anything more than take up his time. Time he could be working.

Lesley’s dad stepped to his side. The man had gone to the store that morning to buy a tool belt, just so he could help. The belt hung from his hips along with most of the tools Frasier would need for sheet rocking. Awesome father.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Frasier Anderson, Lesley’s dad.” John slapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.

The oglers averted their attention to the man in front of them, their eyes widening in surprise.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” The minister held out his hand. “I’m Pastor Parks.”

“Pleasure, Pastor.” Frasier shook.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Lance followed.

The other guys in the crew shook his hand, their faces red from embarrassment.

John smiled. He didn’t like them staring at Lesley any more than Frasier would’ve if he had known what they’d been doing, but he certainly couldn’t blame them. Lesley’s beauty was a thing to behold.

And she was his. All his.

Love swam through him like those mermaids his daughter watched on television.

Geez, now I sound like a pansy.

“Can I help you guys?” Frasier asked.

“Sure,” John said, glad for the distraction from love-swimming mermaids. He needed to pound something. Feel like a man again. “Grab that hammer. You can help me over here.”

“Drywall, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

He worked in a steady rhythm beside Frasier as they each positioned and nailed the material onto the two by fours.

“I can tell you’ve done this before.” John reloaded his nail gun, his testosterone levels back in check.

“Yeah. While I was in med school, Lesley’s mom and I bought a house. The place was a real dump.” He smiled. “We put our blood, sweat, and tears into that home. I sold it right after Lesley was born.” Frasier cut a piece of plaster to fit in the corner of the room.

“For something bigger and better, I’m guessing.”

“Bigger yes. Better…well, I guess that depends on your perspective. There’s something to be said about the smaller things in life. Lesley’s mom and I didn’t have much money, but we had good memories there. I loved that house.”

“If you loved it so much, why did you sell?” John lined up the sheet and shot nails through the boards.

When the noise of the nail gun stopped, Frasier spoke, “My Gwen died giving birth to Lesley. I couldn’t stand going back to that home and remembering all the memories she and I made in that little place.” He handed John another piece of sheetrock, and stared at the wall as if he had gone back in time, thinking about his past life. A smile curved Frasier’s lips. “She doted over the nursery so much. Spent hours just picking the right paint color. She had splotches all over the wall. It looked like a paint gun exploded in that tiny room.” He laughed, then his eyes suddenly turned sad. “But the day I took Lesley home from the hospital, and placed her in her crib for the first time without Gwenny by my side, my heart shattered all over again. For months after I could still smell her, still feel her presence everywhere around me. I’d look up and expect her to walk around the corner any second.” Frasier blinked for a long second, then focused his attention back to him.

John swallowed and avoided the pain in the man’s gaze by repositioning the drywall.

“I can’t tell you how many countless times I dreamed Gwen held Lesley in her arms, rocking our baby in the wooden rocking chair in the nursery, her long nightgown falling around her feet. Heck…” The older man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “For all I know, it might not have been a dream. Maybe she really was there, rocking Lesley. I’d always blamed the vision on my lack of sleep.”

“You mean, like as a ghost?” John asked.

“No.” Frasier shook his head and smiled. “Like an angel. My Gwenny, she was as angelic as they came, and she would have been a great mother.” His grin faded. “But I knew I couldn’t stay in that house, no matter how hard we’d worked on it together, or despite how much effort she’d put into the nursery. While I wasn’t ready to give her up yet, I never would have gotten past her if I didn’t move on with my own life, and she would have wanted me to start over and focus on our baby girl. So, that’s what I did. When I put our house on the market, it sold in a day, and I knew without a doubt, that was Gwenny watching over us. Helping me take care of our baby.”

“Wow.” John laid his gun down. If ever there were a man in the world who could understand him, he’d found that man in Lesley’s dad. But, as far as he knew, Frasier hadn’t found a new love yet. If this man hadn’t started over romantically in all this time, how would he? “I’m sorry to hear that. Lesley doesn’t talk about her mother.”

“No, I don’t imagine she would. She doesn’t really have anything to say since she didn’t know her.” Frasier lifted another piece of sheetrock and placed it on the saw table. “It’s sometimes surreal to me—even though the two never met, her mother had so much love for Lesley. I’m sad our daughter missed out on that.” He shook his head, and stared at the table saw.

Her trepidation for being a mother made more sense. Having never had one, she didn’t know how to be one.

Rachel and Matthew danced through his mind. Would they ever forget their mother?

“What about your kids?” Frasier asked as if he could read his thoughts. “When I met them last night, they seemed to be doing fine.”

“They’re coping. It was rough in the beginning, but slowly, it’s getting better. Time heals all things, I suppose.”

Frasier nodded. “ ‘Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.’ Hippocrates said that. I find it true, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’d never thought of it like that, really.” John let the words resonate in his heart. Was Lesley his opportunity?

“What about you?” Frasier asked.

“Oh. Well.” John shrugged and picked up his pneumatic gun again and plunged more nails through the wall. “I’m making it.”

“You know, I used to cry myself to sleep at night,” Frasier confessed.

He stopped. He’d had some nights like that himself. Thanks to time and to Lesley, he hadn’t had a bad night in a while. “I understand. I used to do the same.”

“But not anymore?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, not anymore.”

In fact, even though he hadn’t forgotten Sandra, the amount of times he thought about her slowly grew less and less every day. The idea of Lesley being right, being his opportunity grew more and more sure inside of him the longer his and Frasier’s conversation continued.

John cocked his gaze to stare where she stood next to the window talking to his sister, smiling at something Emma had said. A bit of sheetrock dust smeared her cheek now, and he felt the bubble growing inside of him, the mermaids daring to come back.

“You know, the minute I met Lesley’s ex, Peter, I didn’t trust him.” Frasier handed him the piece of sheetrock he had cut. “I wanted to, and Lord knows I tried for Lesley’s sake, but there was just something about him.”

“Yeah? But she didn’t feel the same way.” John refocused and took the drywall from him.

“No, she didn’t. In fact, when Peter asked for her hand, I wanted to say no. To protect her.”

“Why didn’t you?” He couldn’t imagine giving Rachel away to someone he didn’t trust.

“Because every time she looked at him her face lit up, and her eyes sparkled. Peter didn’t do anything to not gain my trust. He crossed all his I’s and dotted all of his T’s. He was a model son-in-law, until his affair came out.” Frasier’s shoulder slumped, and his gaze drifted to his hands flat against the saw table. Clearly, the posture of a man who blamed himself. “I hate to say, I wasn’t surprised, but it crushed Lesley. She’s one to love with all her heart.”

John thought back to the first time they made love. Her eyes had taken on a radiance he’d never seen before, and despite the fact she had yet to say she loved him, he could feel their connection. And while he would never wish her pain, he couldn’t help but feel grateful Peter screwed up.

“I hate that she was hurt that way.”

“Yes.” Frasier nodded. “Me, too. But you know, her eyes sparkle the same way they did for Peter when she looks at you. You’ve ignited a fire in her that I haven’t seen in a long time. Even before they divorced. She cares about you John. A lot.”

“Thank you, sir. I care about her, too.”

“Do you love her?”

His stomach dropped. It was the “what are your intentions with my daughter” speech. Suddenly, he envied the work crew that had been caught catching a peek. Looking and loving were two entirely different things…but he thanked his lucky stars he was the guy who got to love her.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Well, you’d be a fool not to. She’s my daughter, so I know what a great catch she is. Even though I haven’t known you for more than the span of two days, I can tell you’re a good guy. Losing a wife can be hard…I know.” He shook his head and glanced down again. “But.” Frasier brought his gaze back up. “Just be sure to keep the past in the past. Remember, you are still alive.” The man slapped him on the shoulder and picked up another piece of drywall.

Yes, he was still alive, but then again, so was Lesley’s father.

“Frasier, I have to ask. Have you met someone new since Gwen?”

The man shook his head. “No, not yet, but I still have hope. I just haven’t been as lucky as you, but my second chance is out there. Somewhere. I can feel it.”

“So, you’re open to marriage again?”

“Oh yeah. Sure. If the right lady comes along. We weren’t made to be alone, John. None of us were.”

Everything Frasier said hit him like a hammer. Moving on was right, and sometimes bigger wasn’t always better. Sandra would want him to move on. Hadn’t she told him as much? He might not be able to buy Lesley designer brands, but he could keep her safe and give her all the love he had to offer.

Had a job that started out to pay off his debts turned into his second chance?

From across the room, Lesley flashed a smile, and his heart melted. Sandra was his past, and he would never forget her, never stop loving her, but Lesley…she was his future.

Action in the corner of his eye caused John to turn his attention out the window. Dust flew in the air behind a small sports car racing down the drive. The machine barreled to a quick stop, sending gravel flying.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Frasier peeked around him. “Oh.” The man took a few steps forward and crossed his arms, he exhaled a deep sigh, and shook his head. “This can’t be good.”

“What?” He shot his gaze from Frasier to Lesley. The smile on her face diminished when she noticed the car outside. “Who is it?” he asked again, pulling his gaze back to Frasier.

The father’s eyes filled with concern. “Peter.”