The Parting Gift

The Parting Gift by Rachel Van Dyken





For my dad, a godly man of integrity, who is always around when we need him.





Prologue


April 1935



David Graham stood over his wife’s grave while the minister prayed. Her favorite spring lilies adorned her casket, and she would be laid to rest under the shade of a beautiful maple, just like the tree he had proposed under at that picnic over twenty years ago.

Their lives had revolved around her frail health for years now. David had been consumed every day with concern for Emily. Nothing else mattered in his life. He had worked, yes. Because he had had to in order to keep them afloat. The factory was mindless work though, so it had been easy to continue doing his job without allowing it to consume him.

Emily had been sick for so long, it was almost a relief for her suffering to finally come to an end. Almost. But all the prayers they had offered, begging for her healing, for her life, had been to no avail, and his faith had suffered a slow and agonizing defeat.

The casket descended inch by inch into the ground, and his pain increased exponentially, the ache encompassing him as she slipped further from his reach. Unable to watch, David’s gaze moved past the disappearing box to his son’s grieving face on the other side of the pit. The loss was tangible in the boy’s gray eyes. His grief reflected in the dark cloud that hung there. Eleven was too soon to lose a mother.

And for David, far too soon to lose a wife. The love of his life.

Strange that the sun would shine on such a day. How could the universe not be mourning Emily along with David? But it wasn’t. In fact, it seemed happy. Like God was happy.

The realization cut through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to fight against the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. It was selfish. Selfish of God to take Emily from him and Blaine. What did God want with her? He didn’t need her. They needed her.

Even as the thought churned in his mind, he knew it was wrong – knew it wasn’t for him to question God – but the anger burned in him nonetheless. God had allowed her to get sick, just as He had allowed her to suffer so long with the debilitating illness. Then He took her, trying to make it seem like He was doing them a favor.

Life wasn’t hard enough living through these tough times, but God had to take away love as well. That’s not the kind of God David wanted to follow. The preacher said God was all-powerful; so what was He trying to prove now?

A lump of fury rose in his throat. Why was the preacher taking so long to finish his prayer? A prayer to a God who toyed with the lives and hearts of good men – who took away the mothers of young innocent boys! The anger surged, and that final amen couldn’t come soon enough.

David stole another glance at his son. Eyes glistened with sorrow – his frame so frail against the dismal gray. Blaine clenched his small hands into tight fists, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly. David concentrated on them, straining to read what lay there. What would a boy say at his mother’s grave? What could he say to bring himself comfort? David desperately wanted to know. He longed to say those magic words himself. To chant something that would bring her back to them. But nothing could fix it – not a chant, not a song, and not a prayer.

The boy would realize that soon enough.

He looked abruptly away as the preacher drew his futile prayer to a close. The casket rested on the bottom of the grave now. David took his shovelful of dirt and tossed it onto the white pine box. Blaine followed suit, his jaw firm, set in the same stubborn way as Emily would have done if she had made up her mind to do something she hated. He could almost hear her voice: Sometimes you have to do things you just don’t want to do.

The dirt landed with a spatter, emphasizing the close of this chapter of their lives. She was gone now. Nothing could change that.

David couldn’t change it, but he wished he could dull the pain… somehow.

The procession of mourners offering their condolences to the two of them seemed to drag on eternally. If he heard one more God bless you both, he was certain he would lose his temper. If this was God’s blessing, David wanted no part in it.

He quelled the urge to lash out with venom as the preacher shook his hand and offered his encouragement. He smiled and nodded and said, “Thank you, Reverend. It was a beautiful service.” All perfunctory words, because in the deepest part of his soul, David wanted to scream. He wanted to rip a hole in the cloudless sky with his voice and accuse God. It’s not right! It’s not fair! What happened to your justice? Where is your love?

But he said none of those things. Instead, he swallowed them, turned to Blaine and mumbled coldly, “Let’s go home.” And without looking back he started down the gravel path to where his Model A pickup waited.

He climbed into the cab and rested his head on the steering wheel. Exhaling slowly, he lifted his head and glanced out the passenger window.

Blaine hadn’t followed him. Instead, the boy had gravitated back to his mother’s grave and stood watching the old grave digger as he refilled the six-foot hole with rich dark earth. His small frame dropped to its knees, and even from where David sat he could see his son’s shoulders shuddering with forceful sobs; sobs caused by the same heart-shattering grief threatening to suffocate him now.

David wanted to go to him. He wanted to wrap Blaine up in his arms and hold him like he used to when he was a little boy, when things were simple. Before Emily got sick. Hold him and soothe away his tears. But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, his own pain paralyzed him. He slumped back against the glass and closed his eyes.