Beneath the Night Tree (35 page)

I thought about sending Janice one last postcard, but it was time for me to let that particular dream go. Those heartfelt scribbles were lost to recycle bins or garbage cans or wherever undeliverable mail found a final resting place. Never once had I included a return address, and though I had sent each rendering of my soul with the fervent wish that it would find its way into her hands, I knew when I dropped every postcard into the mailbox that neither of us would ever see it again. I was okay with that. Janice wasn’t coming back, and if she did, she would find us a whole and happy family. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, I wished her well. Really, I did. After all, how could I fault her for all she had given me? Simon was more than enough recompense for everything I had endured.

The second thing that pitched the orbit of my world happened the same night that Simon officially became a DeSmit.

Parker had come down for the festivities, and even though it was a Tuesday night and he had to get back for work the next day, he stayed late. We tucked the boys in bed, washed the plates side by side, and sent Grandma to rest after she gave us a beatific but exhausted smile.

We found ourselves outside, beneath the stars that shone down on the farm where my boys would grow up. I loved that thought, savored the idea of our lives unfolding here with the sort of delight that accompanied rare candy. Sometimes I popped the unfinished dream of our twined futures in my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. It was so sweet, so perfect and beyond my imagination, that I could have cried at the beauty of it. Often, I did.

I think Parker knew that something had shifted in me. Not just my breakup with Michael or my adoption of Simon, though both of those things were enough to alter someone for always. It was something deeper. Maybe it was maturity. Or growth or understanding. Maybe it was just one of those nebulous things that you could never quite put your finger on even if you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was there.

Whatever it was, it caused Parker to look at me differently. I knew because I watched him watching me, and I was confused by what I saw.

We had set off in the direction of his car, but for some reason our feet kept shying from the driveway and we found ourselves walking in circles. We ambled around like we had all the time in the world, like we cared for nothing more than the rhythmic sound of our own steps and the way we seemed to roam in harmony.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I told him as we wandered toward the grove.

“Like what?” Parker stopped in the little clearing by our night tree and took me gently by the elbow. “How am I looking at you?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But you’re making me nervous.”

“Nervous? I make you nervous?”

“No, that look makes me nervous, and—”

But apparently Parker didn’t much care to hear what I had to say, because before my lips could form another word, he cupped my face in his hands and covered my mouth with his own.

I didn’t even know I wanted him to kiss me until it was happening. But once I got over the shock of it and could feel the gentle press of his lips, the way his fingers traced the line of my jaw and the slight weight of his thumb against the fluttering pulse in my throat, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back. My arms went around his neck, and he took my yielding as an invitation to draw me to him.

It was the last thing I ever expected, though when Parker laughed a little against me, his chest vibrating with the pleasure of finally finding each other, everything seemed to fit. Looking back, I could see it all play out like the separate scenes from an epic movie. There was our first meeting in statics class. Our first date and kiss. The colossal mistake that gifted me with the purest joy I had ever known.

“I thought everything was about Daniel,” I murmured, surprising myself. “The boys.”

“Me too,” Parker agreed. He gave me one last insistent kiss and then touched his forehead to mine so that when I exhaled, he breathed me in. “But it’s been about you for a very long time.”

“It has? Since when?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Since I put my coat over your shoulders?”

“That was the first day!”

Parker brushed his lips against my nose. “I guess I’m a good secret keeper.”

“I don’t want to keep secrets anymore,” I whispered. “I want your son to know who you are.”

“Our son,” Parker agreed.

“Sons,” I blurted. “I have two sons.” Suddenly I was terrified. Maybe Parker didn’t realize that we were a package deal. That if he loved me, he had to accept me, and my family, as we were. Grandma, Daniel, Simon . . . we belonged together. I put my hands on Parker’s chest and pushed away, desperate to search his face, to see his reaction to the reality of who I was.

Though I feared the worst, Parker was smiling. He took me gently by the wrists and lifted my hands to his lips. Kissing each of my palms in turn, he said, “I know. I love them equally, Julia. I have from the beginning.”

I believed him heart and soul.

But there was no rush. No wild ride down a road that left us confused and dizzy. Instead, after our kiss in the grove, he was content to let everything develop slowly.
In God’s good time,
he seemed to say. And I heard the same still voice.

In some ways, it was as if Parker began the process of courtship, a slow and gradual coming together that was neither rushed nor rash. Nothing much changed between us except for the knowledge that there was more to come. It was agonizingly delicious, a sweet ache. And if anyone noticed the shift in the air between us, they never said a word. Except Grandma.

A few days after the kiss that once again changed the trajectory of my life, Grandma cornered me in the kitchen and gave me as crushing a hug as she could muster.

“What’s this for?” I laughed, holding her close and drinking in the warm, clean scent of her skin.

“For answered prayers.”

“You’ve been praying?” But that was a ridiculous question. When didn’t my grandmother pray? I modified my inquiry. “What have you been praying for?”

Grandma looked at me and smiled. All at once, I was certain that she knew about Parker and me. But instead of digging for details, she answered my question. “I’ve been praying for many things. But even though I’ve asked for a lot, God has seen fit to give me more.” She backed away from my embrace and held out her hands, palms up. “It spills out, Julia. I can’t contain it.”

I placed my hands beneath hers, cupping her wrinkled fingers so that every blessing that leaked from her grip fell onto me. Grandma turned her eyes down for a minute, studying the way our hands folded together. Then she looked me full in the face and twisted her wrists. She emptied it all over my outstretched hands, passing on gifts and promises and hopes and dreams that were a heritage I didn’t deserve. But that was what love did. It made you generous and reckless. It made you give of yourself without pausing to consider the consequences.

The seed that had been planted in my heart became a sapling that day. Grandma whispered it forth, and it uncurled generous leaves to bask in the warmth of her sun. She made it strong. Ready to face the third thing that happened.

Nellie DeSmit passed away in her sleep on a near-perfect summer morning in June.

I was up early because the birds were singing outside my window, a predawn symphony that was too pretty to ignore. Warblers and orioles and thrushes made nests in our grove, and their liquid songs lent a magical quality to a morning that was robed in mist like a gossamer veil. I could have snuggled in my bed and listened to them for hours, but something prompted me to swing my legs out from under the sheets and descend the stairs in my pajamas. I was called, really. Nudged forward by a voice that pulled me. That lured me to come.
Come.

It wasn’t like me to open her bedroom door. I never did it unless she had asked me to wake her at a certain time. But the urge was inescapable; I didn’t even knock before I turned the handle of her door and stepped into the smoky, predawn light.

“Grandma?” I called.

She didn’t answer.

“Grandma, it’s such a beautiful morning. You should hear the birds . . .”

The realization came almost delicately, like a blanket placed across my shoulders and wrapped tight. There was something missing in the room.
She
was missing in the room.

I crossed the floor carefully, almost as if I trod on holy ground. And maybe I did. Her hand was warm yet when I took it, and there was a feeling like heaven in the air. This place was consecrated, if only for a moment. I felt like we had passed each other—one coming, one going—and in the breeze our souls stirred up, the presence of God still lingered.

Grandma’s funeral was a quiet affair, even though the church was packed with people. Everyone appeared to know her and love her, to remember her generous spirit and sacrificial life. They came out of the woodwork to honor her. But there was no weeping or gnashing of teeth. At least, not in public. Her life was a cause for celebration, and so, it seemed, was her death. A homecoming.

But I missed her.

Oh, how I missed her.

The farmhouse was bigger without her in it. Hollow, as if she had filled the space with her presence, and now that she was gone, we were left to fully grasp all the ways that she had so graciously, so selflessly filled our days. We cried for want of her in the beginning, and when we started to get used to her absence, we cried because she was becoming a memory.

And yet Grandma didn’t leave us empty-handed. Everything she had prayed for was a parting gift to us. Daniel and Simon and I discovered patience we didn’t know we had, endurance beyond what we thought was possible. If we were woven together before, the three strands of our lives were braided into an unbreakable cord when we found that we had no choice but to cling to each other. We clung.

I even found I had the dignity to let Parker care for us. He didn’t swoop in and rescue our drowning trio, for he could plainly see that we were far from drowning. But he did come alongside us; he walked with us in our pain. I knew that his role in our lives was a piece of the puzzle that Grandma had wanted in place for a very long time. And I was finally content to admit that it fit. That he fit.

By the time summer was dry and spent, the grass browning and the leaves starting to turn colors at the farthest tips, I could accept that Grandma’s legacy was more than just one of family and belonging and home. It was something that stretched far beyond the day-to-day to the deepest, most furtive desires of our hearts. It was a heritage worth more than even her presence, her spirit, her endless words of wisdom.

I had once believed that Daniel sang preludes in his sleep. Preparatory songs that tuned my heart for praise. I now knew that Grandma sang too, hemming in our days with a doxology that echoed in a round without end.

I could hear her singing over us.

My children, may you grow in grace.

Discussion Questions

1. It has been five years since we last saw Julia in
Summer Snow
. In what ways has she changed? How has she stayed the same?

2. Although she is only twenty-four years old, Julia is essentially the single mother of two young sons. Do you think she is a good mom? Why or why not?

3. How do you feel about Michael at the beginning of the book? Does your perception of him change as the story unfolds? Do you think he is a good match for Julia?

4. When Parker reenters Julia’s life, it turns her world upside down. Do you think he has a right to intrude after more than five years of silence? Why or why not?

5. Julia’s relationship with Nellie seems to be the cornerstone that holds their unorthodox family together. In what ways has that relationship changed since
After the Leaves Fall
and
Summer Snow
? In what ways has it stayed the same?

6. How do you feel about the scrap of paper that Julia finds in her grandmother’s Bible? Do you agree with Nellie’s “life list”?

I don’t want Julia to be happy.

I don’t expect her life to be easy.

I don’t insist that it be painless.

But I do want her to be content.

I want her to love and be loved.

I want her to be holy.

7. On page 243, Julia says, “Our searching souls pursued happy endings. And the heart was capable of great and deceiving beauty.” Do you think she’s right, or is she being too pessimistic?

8. In what ways, subtle and obvious, is Daniel like Parker? In what ways is he like Julia?

9. Why do you think Julia sends Janice postcards when she knows that her estranged mother will never read them?

10. Were you disappointed when Julia broke up with Michael, or do you think she made the right decision?

11. In the final chapter Julia muses, “It all comes down to the same thing: belonging. I think that’s why when God invites us into His family with arms wide open, we aren’t just honorary children. We’re adopted. We belong.” Why do you think it was so important to Simon that he belong? Do you think things will change for him now that he is legally a part of the DeSmit family?