The Parting Gift(11)

She rose from her chair and made her way down to the kitchen to search for some tea. The cupboard was bare. Had she already used the last they had? Normally David had a housekeeper who delivered groceries and cleaned once a week. She shrugged and wrote down tea on the shopping list then decided to rummage for coffee.

“Where does he keep his coffee?” she wondered aloud.

The logical place to look was the cupboard, but she had already searched all but one. Well, it couldn’t hurt. The last cupboard was facing the dining room table and set apart from the rest. It appeared to have not been opened in years, but with the heavy Michigan wind, dust could accumulate even in a short amount of time.

Reaching out, she grasped the tiny knob and jerked it open. Packets of unopened letters fluttered out, a newspaper clipping landed on her shoe.

Hands trembling, she picked it up off the floor. The man in the picture was strikingly handsome. The date was from two years back. It said ‘Medal of Honor for valor beyond the call of duty while serving in the Royal Canadian Air Force.’ The article went on to say honors were conferred by the Canadian government as well as the American government on Captain Blaine Graham, who had saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives with his dedication and skill in the field.

Mara didn’t want to read anymore. She knew what type of man Blaine was. His work was his life; he was an arrogant pilot who couldn’t even bring himself to contact his dying father.

An impulse to sit down overwhelmed her when she saw a tiny American flag in the background of the photograph, bringing the emotions of that day slamming back.

“Will you wait for me, Mara?” She could still hear Michael’s plea.

She had swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Grinning, he had kissed her full on the mouth. “I love you, doll. Write me letters, and you take care, you hear?” One more kiss, and he was on the train.

Mara had stood paralyzed except for the tiny flag blowing in her clenched hand. As the train began moving, she lifted her hand to wave the flag. All the soldiers, drafted so young, and her husband was one of them.

They had married when he got the news. Being engaged to a soldier wasn’t enough. Information wouldn’t be sent back. Couples had to be married to receive those benefits. So they had married without thought. Michael had always been her best friend; although the passion they had shared was more of a mutual love for God, family, and country. The memory of his touch seemed to sear her forever.

Seven months after his deployment, the sound of a bicycle rattling into the driveway brought her to the kitchen window. A uniformed telegram deliveryman strode purposefully toward her front door. She watched from the kitchen and prayed it was a waking nightmare.

The doorbell rang. Putting the last dishes away, she wiped her hands on her apron and approached the screen. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

“Telegram for Mrs. Michael Crawford.” He held out the envelope in a steady hand.

She had stared at it interminably until the man had cleared his throat and said, “Ma’am?” With a trembling hand she took the news from him and sunk to the porch step. Reluctantly she peeled the envelope open, holding her breath while the knowing tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks.

The weight of the loneliness, desperation, and anger threatened to crush her. But God knew, and halfway down the drive the man had turned back and approached her sobbing form. “I almost forgot, ma’am. This package is for you as well.”

She held out her hands. The man placed a small package wrapped in brown paper into her waiting fingers. Mara opened it and drew out Michael’s dog tags. A picture fluttered onto the porch. When she reached to pick it up, she realized it was the picture of their wedding day. On the back it read, The happiest day of my life.

Mara blinked back tears as she thought about her marriage. The picture was hidden away in her things now. She was tempted to pull it out, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to look at it without bursting into tears. Yes, she was stronger now; she had to be. It was why she dedicated her life to helping others. It consumed her, allowed her no time to think about her own pain, but at times like this, too much time to think. It was why reaching Captain Graham was so important. What would she have said, if she could have seen Michael one last time before he died?

“I’m going to miss you.” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

“Odd. I wasn’t aware we were acquainted.” A man’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Stumbling out of the chair onto her feet, she spun around to address the intruder. So deep had she been in her thoughts, she hadn’t recognized the creaking of the back door. Standing by the sink was a tall, familiar man. His face wore a cynical expression. His arms crossed his broad chest, and he looked at her as if she were insane. Which was, of course, entirely understandable, considering she had just been crying and talking to herself.

“And you are?” she demanded with an air of authority. And then she looked into his eyes. The same eyes she looked into every day. The newspaper clipping was still in her hand. Bringing it up into full view she looked at the man in front of her then back at the picture. Repeating the process until she was dizzy.

“You’re… You’re…”

“Blaine Graham,” he finished for her.





Chapter Five