The next morning, she couldn’t wait to tell Blue how much she enjoyed the book.
He’d left before them after breakfast, and she hustled the girls across the frosty ground toward the church. The sky was a vivid blue today, and the sun promised warmth. Barely a breeze stirred. It might be winter, but she certainly couldn’t complain about the weather.
Blue was sawing a board when she entered, and she waited impatiently for him to finish. He looked up. “Something wrong?”
“Not at all. I just wanted to say how much I’m enjoying the book and to thank you for lending it to me.”
“You’re welcome.” He set aside the wood.
“Have you read it?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh.” She swallowed back disappointment.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He considered the pile of cut wood. “What do you think? Should we put together more pews today?”
“Sounds like a fine idea.” She’d sooner discuss the story, but he didn’t seem to be so inclined. She tried to convince herself it didn’t matter.
He called the girls over to help hold the end pieces and by dinnertime they had four more pews put together.
They stood and admired their work.
“What did I tell you?” he asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“Didn’t I say you’d look at the final product and know a real sense of pride?” He turned to study her face. “You do, don’t you?”
She laughed. “More than you can ever imagine. Bear in mind it’s the first time I’ve made anything of significance. Well, except for—” She nodded toward the girls and felt heat rush up her face at such a comment. But they were her greatest accomplishments, and she meant to make that clear.
He followed the direction of her gaze. She watched emotions chase across his face and tried to identify them. His smile seemed to indicate pleasure in her little girls. Then the smile faded, replaced with regret, then sorrow and pain.
She touched his arm. “Blue, I am so sorry for what you’ve lost. I know it must hurt like fury to see two healthy, growing children.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt. I have to confess I enjoy your girls. But I will never forget my own two children.” His hand rested on hers.
She wondered if he realized he squeezed her fingers. He seemed so lost in his past. “No one would ever expect you to forget them. Why, that would be an insult to the beauty of their short lives.” She turned to the girls. “Why don’t you go outside and play in the sunshine?”
They needed no second invitation.
Clara led Blue to the nearest bench and pulled him down to sit beside her. “You can do your children no greater honor than to keep their memory alive. Tell me about them.”
He leaned over his knees. “They were beautiful. To my chagrin, Nancy inherited my coloring. I confess it looked wonderful on her.”
She studied him. His reddish hair didn’t look bad on him, either, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Nancy was a little mother hen. Eleanor kind of reminds me of her. She always thought she should tell Beau what to do.” He chuckled softly. “Beau only listened to her if it suited him. He was all boy. Clumsy, rowdy. Oh, how he liked to be tossed in the air.” He sighed deeply and leaned back. “I miss them so much. I miss Alice, too.”
“Of course you do. Your wife is a part of you. Your children are a piece of your very soul. You could only forget them if you ceased to exist.”
“Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Cease existing? But why? Surely you can still enjoy the rising sun, the song of a bird, the laugh of a child. Even the pleasures of food such as Bonnie serves.”
“I guess.” He sounded less than convinced.
She considered all he’d confessed. “I don’t think I could walk through the valley of the shadow of death without the comfort of God’s rod and staff.”
“That’s the psalm they read at the funeral service.”
“The Twenty-Third Psalm.”
He continued to face ahead. She wished she could see his eyes to know what he was thinking. She didn’t have much time to wonder because he suddenly pushed to his feet. “Bonnie will be expecting us.”