As Long As I’m With You

“Take you for a ride on my big green tractor,” sang a contented country musician over a radio down the hall, and Meg knew she was at home.  Home had only a vague meaning left to her now.  It meant that she was in her own world, where she had been born, and where she had known nothing of the other worlds.  That playful ballad had been sung for her first dance.  And on her first dance she had followed a man to another world.

 

Many a girl has felt as much.  For Meg it was actually true.  Dancing has a way of transporting a person.  Meg had been caught up in the closeness the dance gave her with David.  She was following him, held by him.  His eyes were on hers, inviting and rewarding her every step.  As he led her towards the edge of the dance floor she had wondered what he was thinking.  He seemed to be planning something, his eyes eager with a surprise.

 

David spun her out and brought her back.  He leaned close to her cheek and she felt a rush pulse through the center of her.  “Stay close to me,” he whispered, and his hand was firm against her back, his other hand holding hers and directing her.  She closed her eyes to concentrate on her senses, marveling that her feet knew how to dance if only David led them.  Something brushed against her on all sides, another fantastic sensation of being in love, she though.  And the music stopped.  All sounds stopped.  Her shoes brushed against carpet instead of hard wooden flooring.  Meg opened her eyes and screamed a quiet gasping shriek, then held tightly to David – less because she trusted him than because he was the only familiar object in the unfamiliar room.

 

There have been better ways invented of introducing people to the other worlds.  For one thing, getting them to walk back through a solid wall to their home world was found to be rather difficult if they had never before known it was possible.  David had been to other worlds before, on little ventures and short training missions that Meg knew nothing about, though they had been dating for over a year.  The week before he had made a decision to jump into the life of a sort of missionary there in those other worlds, and had wanted Meg to come with him.  Using the enchantment of a dance with a young girl in love, he had spun and led, stomped and stepped right through the wooden wall of the dance hall.

 

For a moment he had held her close, studying her reaction.  He had been telling her for months that he wanted to do something important, that a settled life on a farmstead was not his dream.  Meg had pushed him and challenged him, gotten excited with him about possibilities she could barely imagine.  David knew she could do this.  She was brave and strong and good – and without her, David wasn’t sure he could be any of those things.  He waited for her to speak her question.

 

“David?  Am I crazy?”

 

The hearty laugh Meg was used to hearing from him was softened to a whispered chuckle.  But the glint of humor in his eyes was the same.  It annoyed her.

 

In two minutes David had explained that the world was built of much more than 3 spacial dimensions and that there was very little actual separation between them.  We walked up and down, left and right, forward and backward because there was nothing in our way.  But with the tiniest bit of mental energy, there was nothing preventing us from moving to the other dimensions.  In its simplest form, it involved the mental exercise of walking through a wall, like one swam through water, gently pushing the molecules and particles aside and letting them fall back in place behind you.  No one knew why the worlds they found on the other side of these dimensional gates were so similar to their own – maybe humans had been traveling back and forth for thousands of years, shaping the other worlds to match their own.  Laws were a little different, and technologies – just as you would find by traveling across traditional geographies.  His words spilled faster and faster as he explained, until he remembered that to Meg this was more than just a story or a theory; it was a reality she had been carried into.  Her face told him there were a very few specific questions she needed answered.  He stopped mid-sentence.

 

“Can we get back?”

 

He nodded.

 

“How?”

 

“Just back through the wall the way we came.”

 

Meg looked over her shoulder at the wall.  She was skeptical, but her mind was racing with new questions.  “Won’t people notice?”

 

“Probably not at the dance.  A lot of activity.  Low lights.  Crowds.  Romance.”  His smile told her he had not moved on from their romance in the world next door.  But Meg was far beyond it for now, feeling tricked and used and as though more even than her first dance had been ruined.  “Watch.”

 

He stepped towards the wall of paint and plaster and wood, put his hand through, and then stepped out of sight.  She shivered, and looked at the empty room she was in.  Whose was it?  What would happen if she was caught?  Even if this was possible, why on earth would someone want to jump blindly into a situation in which he was unexpected?  The people here might be friendly, but they wouldn’t be friends.  She moved towards the wall.  Was David coming back?  What if he couldn’t get back just to that spot?  Meg’s breaths came in panicked pants.  She put her hand on the wall and felt its firm smoothness.  When she pushed it didn’t yield.  Then how did she get here?

 

A moment later she watched David appear through the wall.  She wondered when you left one dimension and entered another, then decided not to ask.  All she wanted to do was get home.  The sight of parts of David appearing before other parts, of the wall flowing around him just like the lake he had compared it to was weird.  And then he held out his hand and said to her, “Do you want to go back?”

 

Of course she’d gone back.  The experience was intoxicating.  And dizzying.  What else was different than it seemed?  Who else knew they could walk through walls?  Why did David know, and why did he want to tell her?

 

“As long as I’m with you, it really don’t matter,” finished the radio down the hall.  Meg sighed and let go of the memories, her hands still rubbing the smooth wall at her back.  The architecture and radio station told her she was probably in the United States.  The good old US of A was a country that still hadn’t publicly acknowledged the existence of other worlds.  Studying the phenomenon occurred but in secret – by religious sects and classified government departments.  On earth there were a few countries openly using inter-dimensional travel or at least studying the physics behind it.  But the US made sure her citizens knew nothing of it; conceptual free press did keep secrets so well.

 

Some days Meg just wanted to sink to the ground when she got to a new world and take a good long nap.  Instead she took a deep breath, turned on her well-trained instincts, and began to understand her surroundings.  A trained agent knows how to get out of houses (without getting out of that world).  She knew how to avoid being seen or heard.  Training taught them the common places to find maps in each world.  Some worlds used the same alphabets and languages of Earth.  Others were unrecognizable.  So an agent was taught to look for pictures and to interact with children in non-threatening ways.  And as always, an agent had to be on guard against enemies.

 

There are three kinds of threats to an agent.  The first is called a Hassle.  Hassles are ordinary people who notice abnormal things like strangers appearing in rooms or people walking through solid objects and disappearing.  Next are Difficulties.  Those are people who would be troublemakers even if there were no different worlds to come from or go to.  Most dangerous are Combatants.  People who know about other worlds and use it as a means for anarchy instantly oppose those who know what they’re doing and would restrain or contest them.  Agents are trained primarily to suppress the plots of Combatants.  It’s a complex task.

 

Meg moved down the hall in the opposite direction of the radio, betting that any occupants were nearer the music.  She found the door to the outside and breathed fresh country air.  It was still nearly an hour before sundown, the late summer haze spilling over hills checkered with woods and corn and little lakes.  Most likely

 

Family Reunion

Once upon a time there was a little girl in a blue dress with a white collar and three pearl buttons.  Her name was Emily.  She went as a wondering child to a family reunion full of strangers more marvelous and varied than any she had read in storybooks.  Familiar characters had no appeal for her in this vast room, dressed up by tablecloths and her imagination into a party room equaling the dance floor on which the Prince had first swept Cinderella off her feet.  This little heroine could have been anywhere in the world, but she was in a community building in a little town in Oklahoma.  The attendants could have been royalty or fairies, but they were peasants, who are far less ordinary and certainly not plain.

A certain man with dark hair and tall boots walked across the room.  From her perch amid silk flowers and lace-packaged soap favors, Emily watched his legs bend madly at the knees, cutting his height by a third whenever he took a step.  If this distant relative had been all in black, he would look just like the man on the cover of her book.  She looked longingly across the rows of round tables to one long, cloth-covered rectangle piled high with wrapped books of all shapes and sizes, waiting for the book exchange amusement scheduled after lunch.  There was one large book in familiar paper which Emily’s sister Jana had discovered.  Mom had wrapped up their nursery rhyme collection to give away, the one with the endless pages of strange pictures and dim poems!

Emily took another bite of the last butterfly cracker on her plate, savoring the crisp buttery flavor.  She and Jana were determined to retrieve their beloved book, more desired now than ever before.  They longed to turn the pages again, to laugh at the funny man with the knobby knees who looked like a cousin of the man laughing across the room.  Except his cousin might actually be her.  What an odd world!

For lunch Emily had punch, carefully sipped to avoid staining her new dress, and a pickle, and more crackers.  Mom was there for the important moments of filling her plate.  Whether at other times Mom was distracted with all the people or it was Emily who was paying no attention to her family is hard to say.  An aunt belonging to her father’s mother said something to Emily’s parents, then turned awkwardly to the little girls, to whom she felt obligated to condescend.  Somehow she knew they were from Texas, and grasping for anything to say, reported first that her son’s girlfriend was from Texas, and said, “Bah, bah.” “Do you say ‘bah bah’?” she asked the confused sisters.  Jana, the younger, played with her food and ignored the aunt.  Emily, unsure how to explain that she was not a sheep though from Texas, politely shook her head and let out only the inkling of a shy smile.

Focus on her lunch resumed, Emily bit into the bright green pickle and puckered.  This was not what she expected!  What tortuous vegetable disguised as a pickle had found its way onto her plate?  The bite-sized wrinkled thing with a stem tasted nothing like the hamburger pickles she ate nearly every week and at Wendy’s on the way to Oklahoma.  Seeing her disgust, Grandma realized that Emily did not favor sweet pickles, and quietly reassured her she didn’t have to eat it.  The wide woman on the other side of Grandma offered to consume the rest of the unwanted food, and Emily watched her curiously, surprised that anyone could relish the experience.

With more good conversation and less attention to the ages of her audience, the same woman continued to talk to the two little girls, admiring the lace trimming the skirts of their matching dresses and discussing pickles, carrots, and broccoli, proceeding to a discussion of other foods that didn’t agree with her and their results.  Disinterested, Emily focused instead on the rosebuds carved into the frame of the loud woman’s glasses.

When she had finished her lunch, Emily got permission to color, just like she did while sitting quietly in church.  Up on her knees to lean over the table, Emily tilted her head to concentrate on drawing a self-portrait to which she added glasses.  The likeness was so strained that no one would guess the identity of the girl on the paper.  For one thing, her hair stretched to the sky: the only way Emily had conceived to portray her long brown locks.  A young cousin passed by and cruelly teased the art on this point before sharing a secret to three-dimensional-drawing.  “Draw the hair down like this,” she explained.

Before the recovering and grateful Emily could practice, the game began.  Each child in the family had a ticket, and in order they each chose a book and tore off the paper to exclaim over the secret contents.  Emily sat on the edge of her seat.  She eyed a prettily wrapped book on the edge of the pile.  Should she give up their book, and get something new?  Jana’s gaze was fastened on the book of rhymes, lest she forget which one was their coveted prize.  No; if Emily was called first, she would choose that one, and ensure that it returned safely to their home.  Each time another little boy or girl chose, the sisters leaned forward and held their breath.  “Don’t choose that one,” they thought, and trembled with relief as the others picked the smaller books.  Emily breathed deeply when she was summoned to pick a book.  Confidently choosing the largest one there, she brought it back to her lap.

Though selected next, Jana could not be coerced into choosing a book.  She was angry with Emily for picking her book, and didn’t understand that it was theirs to share.  Emily had secured the book for their family.  Jana could share.  But Jana, who was too young to be consoled with logic and assurance, remained ungrateful.  Emily tried to ignore her.  When she turned away, Grandma and Mom were both asking why she had chosen the book they brought from home.  Didn’t they understand?  They thought she was silly, that maybe she hadn’t realized she could choose any book.  She had the prize she wanted, and hugged it tightly against her dress.

While grown-ups retrieved purses and hats and finished making plans for the afternoon, Emily and Jana, who had given up naps the past spring, sat quietly enjoying the pages of their beloved book.  Jana, won by the patience of her sister in offering to share the book, was considerably appeased.  They laughed at the cow shown mid-jump above the moon, and asked each other questions about the three round-faced men sailing in a wooden shoe among the stars.

After an hour at a park in the sunshine in which wiggles were released and solitude embraced, Mom and Dad and Emily and Jana visited the reunion reprise, in a dark noisy parlor belonging to a busy but happy woman and her equally funny husband.  He told jokes that must have been funny, since all the parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles laughed.  There were less children at this party, and Emily was tired of company.  She felt very unimportant, and sat accordingly in a corner, where she met the lady.

The lady had white hair, by which Emily knew she was very old, because even Grandma only had a little bit of white in her hair.  She was slender because she had never been married and never had babies.  But she was kind to children, and laughed like one not yet worn out by the rambunctious children in the world.  Her lips curved in a pleasant smile, and her long hands held a plate full of olives.  What childhood obsession had made the little black fruits a favorite, she couldn’t recall.

At first the woman just smiled her pity at the lonely child.  Then she got an idea.  The lady taught Emily a game.  Glancing to ensure she had the girl’s attention, she stuck one olive onto her little finger, looked back at Emily, and then took a satisfied bite.  Using the remaining olives as bait, she coaxed Emily to stand by her knees.  Offered an olive herself, the little girl wrinkled up her nose.  Two lonely girls, one old and one young, took turns in a corner: the child putting olives on fingers and the woman plucking them off with juice-darkened lips.

When the fruit was gone, Emily moved to the floor, where she saw a collection of bells on a shelf.  She wanted to touch the fragile crystal and ceramic.  But bells make noise, and she didn’t want to get in trouble.  Jana, joining her, was easily persuaded to be the one to test the bells.  For their first choice they found a cow bell.  The deep brass instrument was heavy, and made noise like dropping a plate on the floor.  All the grown-ups noticed.  Then the sisters got to sit in their grandparents’ laps.

Jana played with Grandma’s bead necklace and listened to her talking about cakes and pies and ovens that made the house too hot in the summer.  Emily cuddled against Grandpa’s strong chest.  Her mind was not much improved by discussions of market reports on grain.  Gradually she began to wonder instead how he had lost his hair.

Mom and Dad’s voices combined with the aunts’ and uncles’ to form a quiet hum.  A blend of sunset light and the rumble of the air conditioner made the room seem fuzzy.  Emily’s head bounced once, and her eyelids lifted, fell, and rose again.  Across the room Grandma shifted Jana so she was lying across her lap.  The clock above the mantel ticked like footsteps on a sidewalk, like car doors opening and closing, like breathing when fast asleep.

To God be all glory.

Coral Wedding

Amie traded her soft white t-shirt for a long white dress: capped sleeves, layers of fabric the texture of seafoam for the skirt, and a sash tied round her in an elaborate knot people called a bow.  She was about to do the most disrespectful thing of her life, upsetting the small town world that had been her home all her days.  In her mind there had never been any question about the marriage.  And if it took until the actual ceremony for her parents to understand how serious she was, Amie’s will was enough to go through with it. 

 

Bekah piled ringlets of Amie’s soft brown hair onto the crown of her head, letting a few representative rebel-curls take their independence down the side of her friend’s cheek.  Maid of honor, Bekah was already dressed in the rich coral counterpart to Amie’s gown.  The dresses were identical except for the length of their skirts and the color.  A surreal scene met them in the mirror, neither girl excited or nervous, just going through the next step in the act that was set for them. 

 

As down payment on the agreement they had made, Amie had possession of the groom’s keys, and they clinked in her hands.  She criticized the reflection’s posture, and dared it to make eye contact with the world – a world that didn’t know what was coming, but ought, if it would only look anyone in the eye.  Marriages in their little community were arranged.  Nobody questioned it, and few worried about it.  Theirs was not one of the customs of gross abuse, of marrying children to old men, or of beating wives who were unsatisfactory.  Some cultures chose partners for their children from among the strangers in the wide world, but this town’s choices were mostly limited to the miniature metropolis of the few nearby villages and farms.  Generally the couple had grown up together, and some had connived to be matched with their favorites. 

 

Today was Amie’s wedding: the 13^th of August.  The groom was a good man, with strong attractive features, and a respected job sufficient to provide for a family.  Named for his grandfather, Nicolas had been friends with Amie as long as he could remember.  She went her own way, picking wild flowers in the morning and changing the oil in the family car during the afternoon.  Her hair darted in curls behind her ears and over her shoulders.  He’d grown enough in the last two years to be taller than her by two inches, and teased her about his new-gained height incessantly, repayment for years when she called him ‘shrimp’ and ‘dwarf.’  Once he had been ashamed to know that she disdained him.  Today he was glad, and smiled to himself in the mirror. 

 

Nick’s part of the arrangement was to book a hotel for after the wedding, a fact the whole town would have discussed by the commencement of the ceremony: which room, how expensive, how many nights.  Only at that thought did a sigh escape him.  Was it from the dent the terms put in his wallet, or from just a bit of wistfulness?  Amie owed him.  Even if all their childhood scores were erased, she would owe him for playing his part today.  What a culture of obligation they lived in! 

 

A church sanctuary filled with the couple’s neighbors, and Nick’s closest friends stood along one side of him, watching as each bridesmaid paced the aisle to the front.  Finally Nick caught sight of Bekah, and his heart betrayed him.  Amie was just behind her, a fairy likely to disappear with any sudden breath.  Music Amie had picked for the occasion sang through the room.  Bekah moved more quickly than normal, but Nick had expected that.  He didn’t know exactly how Amie had planned the next part.  “Line!” he yelled in a panic to his guys, who wore dress shirts a lighter peach counterpart to the bridesmaids.  Nick pointed at the door behind the bride.  The runaway turned her head to see them moving as one pale orange wall to bar the exit.  Another door opened at the side of the chapel, one of the caterers there for the event holding it at the ready.  Amie was much nearer the door than Nick, and Bekah had all her wits about her, leading her friend – who seemed almost to be holding the bridesmaid’s sash – to the door.

 

Those assembled gasped and began to cry out for something to be done, but it was too late.   Nick ran out through the kitchen, after the girls, who were in his car, exactly as planned.  He thought he saw Bekah wink from behind the wheel.  As soon as they were gone, Amie’s father arrived at Nick’s back, a heavy balding man whose panting gave the younger man some concern.  Offering his arm, the two turned back inside and sat at one of the tables clothed in apricot linen for the reception. 

 

“Sorry,” Nick said first, and the patriarch eyed the boy with suspicion. 

 

“She took your car.” 

 

Nick nodded, realizing how obvious his guilt would be.  The getaway was only possible because the girl had his keys.  Still, no one would take better care of his car, he reassured himself. 

 

Closer relatives handled the dismissal of the guests and helped with the clean-up.  Untying bows wound about the aisle seats gave Nick time to think.  Madness had overtaken him.  Even if he’d changed his mind, there was no way locking Amie in the sanctuary would change hers.  He should have pulled her aside and told her he really wanted to go through with the wedding, that he liked her well enough to spend an exciting lifetime together.  Exciting.  It would have been.  He shook his head.  The bigger madness was considering asking her back.  Nick didn’t want to marry Amie any more than she was ready to marry him, and he was ashamed that he had almost cowed under the pressure of expectations. 

 

Groomsmen and bridesmaids alike gave him pitying farewell glances.  Hours after most of the guests had gone home, Nick set the box of haphazardly piled decorations in a chair and sat down beside them.  People must have though he needed to be alone, because the room was empty. 

 

Soft jingling came from his right, from the door by the kitchen.  Had she jingled on the way out, too?  Amie was back in her jeans and white T-shirt, hair still piled on her head, but drooping into the secondary style that told a story of adventure.  Her head tilted as she extended the keys arm’s length towards him, still a bit out of reach.  “Thanks,” Nick said, and sat up to grab them. 

 

“Filled her up,” she replied.  They looked at each other for a while, not needing any words to ascertain that the ordeal hadn’t been too bad yet, and that neither one had any lasting regrets. 

 

Nick nodded.  “You want to come over tonight?” he asked in his old friendly way.  The question was symbolic.  Nothing had changed, and there were no hard feelings. 

 

In a step Amie was at his knees, tracing his arm towards the keys at his fingertips.  Her mesmerizing eyes held his.  “To your hotel?” 

 

Nick arched his back to pull his face away from hers, and blushed.  “That’s not what I…” 

 

Amie laughed, standing erect.  “After today, I don’t think it would be a good idea.” 

 

The main doors into the foyer pushed open to let Amie escape.  Every part of the plan was finished.  Bekah had been dropped off at home, where Amie had changed back into street clothes.  Nick had his keys, and the place was pretty much cleaned up.  Next came the step Amie was still unsure about: facing her parents.  When she found them at their car out front, Mom was still shocked – an entirely unreasonable response given the numerous times Amie had warned she would not go through with the wedding.  Dad was angry, red-faced and huffing.  Their family would have to drop out of society, maybe move away, for the shame of it.  No other daughter in memory had run away from her own wedding. 

 

It had been disrespectful, and desperate.  Amie liked to add that the escape had been daring, right there in front of everyone.  All it took was that one time; now she was free.  No one would try to match their son with her again.  Quite honestly, Nick was the most likely to succeed with her.  When even he didn’t match up to Amie’s ideals, the line of suitors was down to none. 

 

Dad told her to get in the car, and they drove home in silence.  After unloading the car, still no words were offered to scold or to question.  Mom closed herself in her room, and Dad sat on the couch, watching his daughter.  Amie would have to begin the conversation.  He would force her to start her explanation on her own. 

 

Fishing for the shortest path to the end of the lecture, Amie began with reassurance, “Nick knew.” 

 

“There’s plenty of blame to share.” 

 

“He wanted to.  He agreed.” 

 

Eyebrows arched. 

 

“This way isn’t for us…”  Answers were harder to come by when the interrogator already knew them and still wasn’t satisfied.  Several minutes more of quiet passed.

 

“You looked beautiful today,” the man choked.  No anger could stem his sentimentality.  Perhaps he, too, was relieved that custom had been breached. 

 

Amie moved towards him, and sat, back to the couch.  She leaned her head on his knee.  “I’m sorry this is hard for you,” her words whispered against his slacks. 

 

“Nick’s not a bad young man.  I thought you might even have chosen him yourself, if that was our way.”  Dad pulled his glasses by the bridge and wiped them on his tie.  “You could have been happy.” 

 

Breathing deeply against his knee was all she dared.  Who could know better whether they would be happy?  Nick had agreed with her, all along.  Only for a moment at the peak of the excitement had he doubted, and afterwards he knew again that they’d both been right. 

 

Had running been ignoble?  Should she have slammed him with her bouquet at the altar, stood facing the crowd to tell all what she thought of their tradition?  The option had been considered, and Nick had been rather against it.  Bekah argued that was more confrontational than required, and would only make matters worse when facing her parents. 

 

What now?  Could she go back to life as normal, pretending there had been no wedding?  Amie’s hometown was otherwise a beloved place.  Leaving wouldn’t be her first choice.  She had friends here, and though she wasn’t willing to marry him, she was reluctant to lose Nick’s friendship.  A threat of destiny chilled through her heart, and a sob pulled itself from her chest.  In the choices given her, Amie stood by the direction she’d gone.  Lately the limited options had seemed to carry her.  This, her most defiant move ever, was also the most constrained.  Life was going where she would rather not. 

 

Mom came into the living room and sat down beside Amie.  She rested her hand on the young woman’s curls.  Dad shifted his leg to bear the weight, and Amie realized she was still crying.  No one said anything. 

 

Days went by and still no one said anything.  Mom and Dad were reconciled to what had happened.  Not that they understood.  Amie was bothered that they seemed content to not comprehend her choice.  How would they help her move on?  Were they punishing her?  Was coping truly as difficult for them as it was for her? 

 

Bekah met Amie for lunch, which turned out to be dessert only.  When there’s no way out, chocolate makes the truth go down better.  A few months younger, Bekah hadn’t been paired off yet, but she was ready.  Her sweet temper and skill as a listener nearly guaranteed her happiness.  Additionally, wearing the chiffon bridesmaid sash as a headband today set off the faintly freckled skin of her dimpled cheeks: a sight that was turning a few eyes for a second look.  Amie fought against crying again when she realized that her best and dearest friend would in a few months be less accessible to her, even if Amie stayed in town.  The married club tended toward exclusivity, being that everyone of a certain age for miles around was a member. 

 

The girls watched each other, Bekah concerned for where Amie would go next and whether she would be happy there; Amie imagining Bekah as a housewife and momma.  Moms were good around here.  So were husbands.  With a few exceptions, even the kids were pretty easy.  Amie was always an exception. 

 

Nick entered the small café, not the slightest hesitation in his step or expression before he was at their booth, chatting as the friend he’d always been.  Already dreamy, it was a short leap for Amie to picture her two friends together.  The idea startled her in its obvious positives.  A moment more had her convinced such was the secret wish of each.  Finally a few contemplative bites more of her pie allowed Amie to conclude that there was no conspiracy, no understanding or verbal confession.  Nick was a good man, and would not have betrayed faith even on an engagement so temporary as his had been with Amie.  Now? 

 

Nick and Bekah sat side by side across from Amie, the guaranteed seed of a new way of doing things.  The collaborators in Amie’s rebellion could be the first to reap the benefits.  Love unfolded before her eyes.  A man charming a woman was a rare sight in those parts, but Amie knew it.  Nick stroked the soft tail of the scarf Bekah wore, and her fingers trembled against his on the table. 

 

She ought to say something witty, a taunt to – to what?  To bring herself back to the center of attention?  To make less awkward the most natural thing in the world?  To interrupt the developing happiness of two of her favorite people?  Amie ate the rest of her pie in silence, seeing the world with new eyes.  The sounds from the café stove and cars on the street harmonized with the reflections off forks casting shadows through the salt shaker.

Spring is My Lady’s Domain

Spring is my lady’s domain

Autumn the field of her brother

Winter waits on yarning old women

Summer sweeps in young children’s laughter.

 

Time is the tale of seasons

Space present in jumbles of ways

My friends dance in the streets of lifetime

God catches men home full by joy-worn days.

To God be all glory.

Lori’s Choice Part 23

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

Finally the guests and bridal party were gathered at the little reception. Cake was cut. The bouquet was thrown. Rebekah caught it. Lori had to borrow it back a few minutes later when they went up for the final pictures.

The photographer asked the groom to kiss the bride and the rest of the bridal party exchanged glances. Caleb looked at them all and reassured them, “It’s ok. I’ll be good.” He closed his eyes to envision the picture-perfect kiss, and Lori impulsively stood on tiptoe to plant one on him instead. He forgot about looking good. The photographer got a perfect shot, several perfect shots, in fact, before they were done. Mom rolled her eyes. Pastor Greg tapped Caleb on the shoulder. “Your guests, they’ll want to greet you,” he said.

Caleb wouldn’t let her hand go. The young Mrs. Donnigan tugged it free to hug her dear friends before they left in his blue, um, Ford. For one night Anna was staying with Mom. One night. Lori shook with excitement and held tighter to Caleb’s hand.

The truck was decked with streamers and cans trailing off the bumper, but nothing worse. They made plenty of noise bumping over the dirt road to home. At the homestead Caleb parked the pickup and carried Lori over the footbridge, careful not to drop her in the water, and over the threshold into their new house. It looked quite different than the last time she’d seen it, that fall. Tess and Ryan and Caleb had all been busy arranging furniture and putting up the curtains Lori provided them.

“It’s early, yet. You hungry?” Lori opened a cupboard.

“Yes,” Caleb said, but his eyes hinted he didn’t mean it literally.

“Caleb, you’re a fool.”

“Come on. You going to start nagging already?”

Lori smiled a huge smile. “Everyone in that whole church back there is thinking it. You didn’t have a goofy smirk, for which I’m grateful, but you had that eagerness I can’t explain. It’s not quite like you.”

“This is the married me,” Caleb said.

Lori shook her head.

“Tell me. Describe what I did. I know I rather lost my head.”

“Well, you did ok at first. You weren’t paying much attention, but that’s understandable,” Lori’s smile was teasing, like the afternoon driving back from town. “At least you were following the general flow. When you started whispering, I knew you’d been thinking your own thing instead of whatever the lyrics were saying, but that was ok, too. Then you paid close attention for the vows and the ring, which is the most important part. You said ‘I do,’ just fine. In fact incredibly.” One tiny tear glistened in her eye. The emotion had been carried away on the moment before. Now, in remembering, she was more vulnerable. “I wasn’t sure I could make it through my part after that.” Mischeivous again, she went on, “However, after you said ‘I do,’ the married you seemed to want to hurry up and get to the married privileges. Is that what you were thinking, or is it just me?”

Caleb laughed at the impression he’d given. “I’d say that’s not really what I was thinking. I was reviewing our vows, and what you meant by how you said it, and your little fingers in mine, including the one with the ring. I missed Pastor Greg saying to kiss you, and then I didn’t know what to do. After hopefully not too long a time, I recovered, but then I was embarrassed and just wanted out of there. Sorry.”

“Oh Caleb,” she laughed for him. She stroked his cheek. He blushed a little, but mostly just stood there admiring her.

“The day for which we’ve waited. Isn’t it precious?” he asked.

“I love you,” she said.

“We should have put that in our ceremony somewhere,” Caleb added. “Do you want me to tell you how you did?”

Lori tilted her head to listen.

“You came into sight just as your entry music finished the first bar. Clinging to your dad’s arm, you walked towards me. Or maybe you flew. I know it seemed fast. You were graceful every time you moved. I got mesmerized watching the way the dress flowed when you stepped aside, turned, even just shuffled. When Anna made a little noise you gave her a quick look. Otherwise your eyes were on mine. I suppose that’s because I was watching you, too. Probably not the plan for success in making it through a ceremony as scheduled. Your voice was soft and tender.” Caleb seemed to listen to his memory. “I thought you were bypassing the mind filter and speaking straight from your heart. When I missed my cue and looked to you, you waited, then hinted without moving anything but your eyes. For a second that seemed like eternity I thought, ‘This is it,’ and you leaned in when I bent to kiss you. After that you looked so stunned by my kiss that I was worried you would faint. Rather than catch you as you fell, you ended up off the ground, crying out in surprise, just as a young bride should, and clinging to my neck. Your veil fell into my eyes as I walked, but you were smiling, delighted, in the moment. And then the moment I will never forget. I wish I had a picture of it. Not for me to remember, but so I can show our great-grandkids. It will be so hard to explain you there, that ring of white flowers,” Caleb caressed her circlet, “and you beneath it, waiting and trusting and loving.”

Lori got a more exhaustive tour of the house. “I moved some of my things into the bedroom,” Caleb told her last. There were flowers on the dresser, reflected in a large mirror that hung just above it. And a whole stack of throws and quilts lined the hope chest at the end of the bed. In a corner was a space for Anna’s crib. But there were other things, things that reminded her of Caleb. There were books, and a shelf full of journals. A picture hung on the wall opposite their window. Lori spun around slowly to take it all in. Once she’d made two full rotations, Caleb closed the door behind them.

The room was small. It took him not two steps to reach her.

Lori’s eyes fluttered open when the sunlight made it to their window. Caleb looked down at her disheveled crown of white flowers. He was propped up on one elbow. He didn’t know how long he’d been like that, but his arm was asleep, so he estimated it was a while. She smiled when she saw his face. Instinctively she sat up and pulled her knees under her chin.

“Good morning, Caleb Donnigan,” she said.

“Lori,” he kissed her, “Donnigan,” another kiss, “I love you.”

To God be all glory.

Lori’s Choice Part 22

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

 

A Glimpse of Hope

by Melian

She stood at the shoreline, the water lapping at her bare feet, the loose ends of her hair whipped around her face by the wind that had come up in the last half-hour; it’s breath on her cheeks the only thing keeping her believing that this was reality and not just a muddled dream she’d somehow wandered into.

Her eyes were fixed unseeingly on the clouds that settled thickly over the gray waters. A familiar burning ache grew in her throat and her heart stood in her eyes, though no one was around to look in them.

Everyone was gone. Parents had packed up their children when the breeze had begun to pick up and the increasing cold of the once balmy air had finally chased everyone else away.

Rain began to fall from the heavens, cool and fresh. She loved rain. She loved it when she was happy and perhaps even more when she felt as she did at that moment, for it seemed to shed tears for her and the moan of the wind gave voice to the cry that was in her heart.

A sand castle stood near her feet, the by-product of someone’s earlier visit at the beach. It’s thick walls were beginning to flatten as the foam crested waves dashed against it and the rain beat down on top of it–like so much of her life, she thought. So many dreams and plans and relationships had come tumbling down around her as the life-rains poured down and before she could even catch her breath the pieces were carried off like sand castles by the sea.

Rain drops mingled with tears on her cheeks memories wakened new pain in her numb heart. Conflicting thoughts and emotions struggled inside her but the only ones that formed themselves into words escaped her lips in a breathy whisper “You know God. You know.”

She took a deep breath that threatened to break into a sob and lifted her eyes from the clouded horizon. She caught sight of a hole in the storm clouds high over her head–a small patch of blue sky beyond the storm. A small ray of sunlight escaped through the opening and sparkled on the water, making it dance and speaking peace to her heart. Another deep breath of ocean air felt like balm on the shattered pieces of her heart and she squared her shoulders. There was blue sky beyond the storm clouds, warmth beyond the cold. And even if the rest of her life was as stormy as that day, she would always have her bit of blue sky to hold onto–there was always the promise that one day the whole of her existence would open up in a bright expanse of clear blue; perfect, peaceful and perpetual. There was always hope.

Lori’s Choice Part 20

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be screened by parents before minors read it.

Caleb got a call one late spring evening. “Caleb, darling,” Lori said placidly, “the baby is coming. You want to meet us at the hospital?”

Caleb let out a whoop and jumped to the ceiling. His dad and mom rolled their eyes at their normally quiet son, gathering their things to go with him. Ryan was at a youth group outing, so they left him a note telling him where they went, and to call Michael.

Lori’s Choice Part 19

Not for younger readers. The subject of Lori’s Choice should be reviewed by parents before minors read it.
 

Tess had Lori over for long talks whenever Caleb had a long day of work.  They needed to be able to talk without interruption.  Lori had lots of questions about the life she’d agreed to.  Sometimes Mom came with Lori.  Tess and Mom hadn’t been close friends before.  Now Tess’s quiet, persistent faith began to erode Mom’s bitterness.  Soon the three women were praying together for the marriage that would be, for the pregnancy, and for the baby. 

His Treasure

Last night Abigail didn’t get enough sleep.  In fact she was sleep-deprived for the week, for various reasons.  And she was tired of trying to excel in life, tired of paying attention.  The spiritual weight of decisions was wearying her.  Without proper expression for spiritual exhaustion, she manifest the feeling by sitting down in a chair, alone in the church foyer, and telling herself that she really needed to cry.  No tears came. 

A swarm of hungry people were filling Styrofoam plates with little smokies, deviled eggs, cookies, and various unrelated potluck dishes in the church’s fellowship hall.  Abigail had just received a bit of news that needed processing before she joined the crowd.  When she walked down there one of two things would happen: she would either feel immensely lonely, surrounded by dozens of people ignoring her, or she would pretend to be alright when someone noticed her.  She could pretend, but she hated to. 

So until she composed herself, sufficiently surrendering this new weight to God through rapid, almost unintelligible thought-prayers, she would stay here in the still hall.  No one would miss her; no one could help; and it didn’t matter. 

But that was the old reality.  Now there was someone who would sit by her if she were at the fellowship meal, someone who didn’t need her to pretend to be alright, and someone who noticed she was gone.  Matt came looking.  The walk was short, and unhurried.  After all, the meal wasn’t mandatory, and he wasn’t really worried that anything horrible had happened to her.  Glancing first towards the closed and dark sanctuary, and then round the perimeter, he soon saw her.  She sat in one of those pretty, deceptive chairs that promise overstuffed comfort, but whose cushions refuse to yield when you sit in one.  The backs are stiff, affixed at the wrong angle, and cheaply made.  Yet they give a room a decorator-defined atrium look, so churches buy them. 

His treasure sat wedged into a corner, sitting straight, but with her head tipped back against the winged headrest.  Her mouth was open a bit, and her eyes were closed.  This morning had been crazily busy, between Sunday school and friends and the various errands that occupy church in the mornings distracting men from God and His people.  So this was the first time he observed her.  How had he stopped mentally photographing Abigail’s every image?  Now she sat, her long, full skirt exhibiting a natural grace that belonged both to it and its treasured owner.  Unbidden, his mind called her “his treasure.”  Each time he rationalized it.  They were only courting.  Nothing was certain.  That was the whole point.  But he knew he loved her, and didn’t Proverbs say that a good wife was worth more that rubies?  The blouse she wore, even askew, was modest, and drew his attentive eyes up to her face.  Her open mouth made him laugh quietly to himself again. 

Sleep was so peaceful.  She must be worn out.  Part of that was his fault.  He was stressing her out.  Unable to help himself, he’d been in a pattern of assured future alternating with self-doubt and second-guessing.  She refused to let him pretend everything was normal.  “I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t mean something,” she’d told him.  “Well, I’ll play games and do things that don’t mean a lot, but I don’t want to do anything that means the opposite of reality.  If things aren’t ok, and we need to be praying, I don’t want to just hang out and watch a movie.”  Matt thought that meant she loved him – the real way. 

Sliding into the equally uncomfortable seat on the other side of a potted plant and ministry flyer coffee table, he reflected that he knew what Abigail meant.  They were courting now because he had realized that no matter what, he wanted to be there for her.  He’d wanted to help her, to cheer her up, and… just be there.  He wouldn’t take distractions for a substitute.  And after he had started, Matt realized that exercising real love, like a brother in Christ should, had opened an entirely different and unexpected door.  As he shifted, half of his brain wondering who manufactures foyer chairs, and the other half continuing his philosophical musings, he realized that once again, he was where he was because he wanted to push through and get to the real her.  

Abigail wasn’t deeply asleep.  When his foot slipped from the leverage that was keeping him comfortable in his chair, and hit the leg of the table, she opened her eyes.  Raising her head and sitting up straighter, she finally got the message that her mouth was open and deliberately closed it into a smile.  Seeing the change that had arisen between them since being fellow church members to trusted friends was a mystery.  Being awakened from less-than-elegant posture didn’t leave her self conscious.  She wasn’t even shy. 

“What’s up?” he asked, dragging his reluctant eyes from the pattern in the carpet that half-matched, half-clashed with the colors in the upholstery.  He cued a piercing gaze that told her he was masking seriousness in casual. 

Peace dropped off of her face like a disguise at a masquerade.  “Oh, everything.  I don’t know what we’re going to do with Sunday school.  Joan’s not going to teach.  But I don’t want her to feel badly.  It isn’t her.  It’s everyone.  Nobody is to blame.  God is just bringing my need-to-be-made decisions all together, and I’m overwhelmed.  He hasn’t told me what to do yet.  I’m glad he told some people what they should do, you know?” 

She wished he’d wrap her in his arms.  If he asked her to marry him, she thought for the thousandth time, she’d say, “Tomorrow.”  But as long as the longing to be held was the driving force behind her enthusiasm, she was deep down glad that he hadn’t asked.  Anyway, if he held her, she wouldn’t be able to see that tender glance: the one she hoped was part of his character and not just a romantic side effect.  Someday she’d see him offer it to their children.  Her cheeks flushed, and her distracted eyes slipped a cautious look back at him.  Caught!  He’d noticed she wasn’t paying attention. 

In fact he’d caught a bit more than that.  God blessed him with insight into the spiritual struggles of those he loved and prayed for.  The extra copper tinting on the tips of her ears, which made her look a bit elven, told him she hadn’t been taking her thoughts captive.  Not that it was wrong to think of things like being a parent.  There were just safer times emotionally to do such things.  When he got embarrassed his temples burned, and he wondered absently if her ear tips were warmer now.  Someday, if he remembered, he’d brush his finger against it when she blushed, and find out. 

Now he was doing it!  They had to get out of there.  There wasn’t much more he could say to answer her dilemma.  Usually she already knew every side to the story.  “It’s just hard,” she’d explain, warding off further lectures or fix-it suggestions.  Instead, he directed her towards food.  “You’re grumpy when you’re hungry,” he said. 

To God be all glory.