Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (20 page)

“Life is full of tests. We can pass or we can fail. It’s up to us, how we react to the pain that comes our way. You can lie down and die, or with God’s strength, you can get up and fight. You can blame God or you can join Him. You can reject or accept. When a curve ball comes your way, how are you going to handle it? On your own, or trusting Him to help? It’s not easy to have faith, but then anything worth having never is. He never promised us that being a Christian would be easier than not. He just promised us He would never leave or forsake his children. And because He is always with us, we don’t have to be afraid. Of anything. Including death.”

Selma swiped at a tear that rolled over Abigail’s nose and hovered at its tip. “I think it was Corrie ten Boom who once said, ‘When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.’ And so now,” Selma said, “when everything seems a mess, I can rest. He’s on the job. He’ll take care of Jen and the baby. And Danny is exactly where he wanted to be. With his Father.”

In the quiet of early evening, Abigail closed her eyes and mulled everything Selma said, sorting, digesting, attempting to come to grips with it all.

And as she did, Selma began to softly snore at her side.

Justin stumbled out of the den and followed his nose to the kitchen where he discovered the aromatic pot roast. His eyes felt grainy and swollen and his throat sore. He’d been glad Abigail disappeared when she did. His meltdown hadn’t been pretty. Thank God Bob Ray was as big a wuss as he was, when it came to the death of a friend, because they’d both bawled like babies. Justin still couldn’t believe it was true. Danny.

Dead. It was stupid, but he felt almost betrayed. Danny had always been there for him. Danny was the go-to guy. For everything from advice about building materials and clients, to God and women and godly women. And it wasn’t just the advice. It was the camaraderie. Danny was as much Justin’s brother as his own brothers were. Danny had rescued him when he was homesick and lonely. He’d shared his friends and family and church. Now what?

Staying here in Rawston seemed impossible now.

Poking through the cupboards, Justin discovered a dinner plate and loaded it with the amazing-smelling stuff that simmered in the Crock-Pot. He was hungry as a bear. Slept the day away after his head and heart had nearly exploded from grief. He was sitting at the table finishing his second cup when Abigail came in. Like an idiot, he sat up and tried to fix his hair. He wished he’d taken a shower before he’d come in here to eat, but his stomach had been too hollow.

“Hey.” Her smile was wan.

“Hey.” He responded. Clearly, she felt as rotten as he did.

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Want some?”

“Love it.” She sank into a chair and smiled. “Good pot roast, huh?”

“Must be. I had thirds.” He set the mug before her and filled it with dark, hot coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Black. Thanks.” She took a sip and smiled in satisfaction. “Mm. And he makes good coffee? I’m tellin’ ya, Mister. Keep this up and I’m gonna marry you by sundown.”

“I can do laundry, too,” he bragged. He put the coffee pot away and joined her at the table.

She pounded her fist on the satiny oak. “That does it. Where’s the parson?”

He chuckled and almost wished she was serious. “We’ve probably been through more in two days than most engaged people go through in two years.”

“Weird, hmm? You can get to know a person pretty fast in a pressure cooker, huh? But interesting as it’s been? I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Me neither.” He shrugged and before he could rein in his mouth, blurted, “Although, I’ve known people for more time . . . that I’ve liked less.” He hoped she attributed the sudden redness in his cheeks to his newly steaming mug.

Lashes lowered, she blew across her coffee. “Me, too.”

His pulse accelerated. If he was to stay in Rawston—big if—but if he did decide to stay, it would only be if she did. Getting to know her better might make it worthwhile. An hour whizzed by as they talked over their coffee. They mourned Danny. They grieved for Jen and the baby. They discussed their mutual survivor’s guilt. They teared up. They shared a paper towel. And then another. They talked about Kaylee and Chaz’s wedding.

Working up his courage, Justin looked at Abigail in the eye, loving the huge dimple that pushed a crevice into her right cheek and asked, “Will you go with me?”

“You mean, like a date?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“You sure? I can’t promise I can dance the way I did when you first saw me, without Bob Ray trying to read me my rights.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He angled a look at her over the top of his coffee mug.

“In that case? It’s a date.”

3:00 a.m.

They were still talking when Heather came in with a fussy Robbie. Abigail glanced at the clock and couldn’t believe it was already so late. Where had the time gone? Selma continued to sleep down in her bed, but after all the coffee with Justin just now, she’d never be able to doze off. And at the moment, she didn’t want to. “Hey, Heather,” Abigail said and smiled at her new friend with affection. “Hiya, Robbie.”

Robbie smashed his face into his mother’s neck and squealed. “Say hello, stinker,” Heather urged.

“No!”

Abigail tickled his foot as she walked by. “I was just going to see what flavors of ice cream Selma’s got in her freezer this week. She is never, ever without. Anyone else want some?”

“I keem?” Robbie’s head whipped around.

“Yep. Just for you,” Abigail said and moved to the freezer.

“I will if she has any chocolate chip mint,” Justin said.

“You’re in luck,” Abigail called over her shoulder. “She’s also got some vanilla and some Moose Track stuff and some Marion Berry Swirl.” She unloaded it all, got out some bowls and spoons, a couple of toppings, some bananas, and soon they were having a good old-fashioned ice cream social.

3:30 a.m.

Abigail looked up as Elsa staggered into the room and yawned.

“Did somebody say ice cream?” she asked, staring at the mess on the table.

Justin pulled a chair out for her and slid an empty bowl in her direction. “We wondered when you were going to show up.”

She grinned and loaded her bowl. “My sweet tooth betrays me?”

Bob Ray stumbled through the doorway next, blinking and bleary-eyed. “Anybody else feel like they’re going insane?” he asked, dazedly.

Elsa took one look at his crazy bed-head and burst out laughing. “You
look
insane.”

Heather glanced up and laughed.

“What?” Bob Ray looked around. “What?”

Abigail turned around in her chair. Bob Ray’s eyes were as swollen as Bart Simpson’s and so red they seemed to glow, like two coals burning in his head. His spiky hair and five o’clock shadow and rumpled clothing only cemented the insanity impression. Both Justin and Abigail burst out laughing.

Insulted, Bob Ray pouted until he ducked down to check his appearance in the mirror that hung by the back door. He turned around, his eyes crossed and his mouth hanging slack and everyone lost it. Soon, he was laughing as hard as the rest, and they all doubled over until they were convulsing and holding their stomachs and dabbing at the tears that streamed down their cheeks.

5:00 a.m.

Carting a laundry basket on her hip, Selma came up the stairs to the sounds of Abigail and Justin loudly accusing each other of cheating at cards. Their laughter was the giddy stuff of too little sleep and more than a little flirtation. It seemed that when Abigail had stepped away to the bathroom, Justin had rearranged her hand. They were now wrestling and tickling and inciting the other players to riot.

Everyone dropped into their seats and looked sheepish when Selma stepped into her warm, country kitchen and slid her basket onto the kitchen counter. “Good morning,” she sang, delighted with the mess and the noise and the first signs of healing hearts. She remembered laughing during some of the more stressful times in her life, including one hilarious barbecue party with the kids, right after the ’66 tornado. Clyde had barbecued a shoe as a joke. It was that, or cry. And many times, a mixture of both. The tears and the laughter both were a healthy outlet for such overwhelming tragedy.

“Since you are all awake,” Selma called above the resuming noise, “I will rustle us up some flapjacks.”

6:00 a.m.

The stacks of pancakes disappeared nearly faster than Abigail and Selma could flip them, and soon everyone was sated and seated around the kitchen table, sipping coffee. They all seemed to have a tacit agreement that the TV would stay off until they’d had a chance to digest. Over breakfast, the discussion was filled with plans for the day. Justin and Bob Ray decided to head out soon and assist in the rescue effort. Guadalupe was going to try to find some fresh produce for their dinner. Abigail and Heather were thinking about going to the hospital to check on Jen and the baby, and Abigail wanted to look in on Brooke and Isuzu.

They all decided that if they were needed, they would stay on and volunteer to help wherever they might be asked. Everyone lingered over coffee, reluctant to leave the cozy safety of Selma’s kitchen. As Abigail helped Selma and Heather tidy up the dishes, she lifted the laundry basket that Selma had brought upstairs earlier. “Did you want me to take this to the laundry room, Selma?”

“No, honey. Put it on the kitchen table, will you? I have a project I want to do and—before you all leave for the day— I’m going to show you all, since I’ll need everyone’s help. Bob Ray? Justin? Would you boys pop an extra leaf into the table? You’ll find one in the pantry. Heather, grab another chair from the dining room. Abigail, wipe the table down, honey. And Elsa, I keep a high chair on the service porch for my little guests. Would you grab that for Robbie?”

Chairs scraped over the wooden floor, and everyone exchanged expectant glances as they hustled to do Selma’s bidding. Guadalupe dried the freshly washed table, and finally they were all ready to gather and watch Selma unload the burgeoning basket.

First came the stack of scraps Abigail had collected after the storm. Then, Selma added Danny’s Bible cover, some fabric she’d collected from her shop for working in the evenings, a beautiful quilt, and a paper pattern. With Guadalupe’s help, she spread the quilt out over the surface of the table.

“Before you all rush off to your appointed rounds today, I wanted to take a moment of your time to plant some dream seeds, if you will. First,” Selma turned to Abigail as she patted the stack of scraps Abigail had brought home. “Would you mind if I took these pieces and put them to good use? I have an idea for a quilt.”

“You want to make a quilt? Out of this stuff?” Abigail asked.

“Yes. It will help me to give thanks.”

“Thanks?” The crease between Abigail’s eyes furrowed. “For . . . what?”

“Just bear with me. Doing this will bring answers to your questions. You’ll see.

“Last time something devastating like this storm happened to me, I made this quilt.” She patted the beautiful quilt now stretched across the tabletop.

“Why?”

“Because to me, the death of my son, Paul, was like a storm.”

Silence rocked the room for a moment.

“How did your son die, Selma?” Heather finally ventured.

“In a terrible mining accident, honey. He was with his best friend, who also happens to be your late father-in-law. Did you know that Bob Ray’s dad, Robert, and my son, Paul, both died in the same mining accident?”

Heather glanced at Bob Ray. “I didn’t know he was with your son.”

Bob Ray shrugged. “Mom wouldn’t talk about it and so I learned not to.”

“That was just Rayne’s way, honey. But if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask. Your father was a wonderful man, Bob Ray. As was my son, Paul. Too bad you kids didn’t get a chance to know them. Do you remember Paul, Abigail?”

“Vaguely.” Abigail did remember him washing his Mustang out in the driveway one time and threatening to squirt her with the hose. She’d thought he was handsome.

“They say,” Selma began, “that death haunts the mines. It certainly seems true enough. Paul and Robert worked for the Laurence Krieger Mining Company, back in the early ’90s together. It was—still is, to my knowledge—one of the most fertile coal seams in the country. I’ll never forget, one time I traveled out there to Barlow to visit the boys, and they took me down in the elevator. That thing dropped fifteen feet per second, and in about three minutes we’d gone down about two thousand feet into the ground. I’d never been so scared and claustrophobic in all my life. How the boys could stand working down there, in that dark underground maze of tunnels, I’ll never know.” Selma shook her head, remembering.