Читать книгу Twice Her Husband - Mary J. Forbes - Страница 8

West Virginia

Late April

S he was burying her husband.

Immortalizing him in his beloved Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia, far from where he’d grown up in Oregon. From where he’d known her family but had never known her—until she was divorced and living here in Kanawha County.

Ashes to dust.

Forever goodbye.

Forever goodbye, dear Boone.

God, she wanted to crumple to the ground, bay at the moon, beat her head with stones like the Comanche women of old.

Boone!

Dr. Extraordinaire, saving her when she believed her life done, her soul vanquished. Oh, Boone. I miss you beyond words.

Even though they’d lived in the city of Charleston these past eleven years, he’d arranged for her to move back to the Oregon town where they had spent their childhoods—albeit twenty-three years apart. Now the Misty River house would welcome her. So his will conveyed.

“As you know, I’ve had the house reconstructed.” His voice on the TV monitor, so normal. Alive. And, he, still able to stand strong and true with a mop of salt-and-pepper hair. So real. But not. How had he known it would come to this? How?

“Take our children away from where I no longer am, Ginny. I’ll be there. There, with you.”

His quirky smile had made her cry all over again.

So. With ten-year-old Alexei at her side, she walked the marshy and remote Lumberjack Trail, sheltered by birch, maple and cherry trees, carrying sixteen-month-old Joselyn on her hip and a tote on her shoulder.

Here and there were the quiet signs of deer: a few bark-chewed willows, a flattened patch of grass. At a junction, she headed up the High Meadows Trail, bound for the sweep of Allegheny Mountain to the west and Mount Porte Canyon to the north where windblown rock cropped from the earth, and shale covered dry southern cliffs.

They’d hiked nearly two miles when the song of the creek drew her into the trees and down a small embankment.

“Careful,” she said as Alexei fell in behind her. He carried the precious oak box in his school knapsack. “The underbrush can be tricky.”

The creek had been Boone’s favorite spot when they’d backpacked and hiked these trails and mountains. Several times they’d lunched here, sharing an hour in quiet conversation. He’d loved the outdoors. Now the children needed to share its peace with their dad this final time before the confusion of relocating took shape.

A few yards from the water they found the spreading maple. Ginny knelt and removed a garden trowel from her tote. Holding out the tool to Alexei, she said, “The earth should be moist. Dig down at least ten inches.”

They had arranged their private ceremony at home: Alexei would dig a hole where they would place his father’s ashes along with a clump of lilies of the valley, a perennial shade plant that offered sparkling strings of waxy bell flowers to scent the dank creek air. Ginny would collect the stones.

Within a few minutes hole and stones stood ready.

From Alexei’s knapsack, she carefully extracted the treasured oak box. Her breath caught when she unlatched the wooden lid. Inside, Boone’s ashes nestled in a plastic bag. Mere crumbles of a big man. She bit her lip.

“Da?” Standing between her brother’s strong, young arms, little Joselyn pointed as Ginny removed the bag.

“Yes,” she said, eyes blurry. “Daddy.”

Alexei nuzzled his sister’s small cheek. “It’s all right, Josie,” he murmured. “We’re giving Daddy a nice place to stay. He can listen to the water and the birds here, and he’ll feel the rain and the sun and see the skies all the time. And when we look up at the stars at night, we’ll be able to see him because he told me that’s where he’d be when it got too dark. Don’t worry.”

Joselyn clapped her little hands and stamped her tiny feet on the forest floor. “Gah.”

“Oh, Alexei.” Ginny brushed a harvest-colored wing of hair from his eyes. “You break my heart with your lovely words.”

“I don’t mean to, Mama.”

With one arm, she hugged the children close. “It’s a bittersweet break, honey. The way chocolate sometimes tastes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Reassured, Alexei smoothed the baby’s flyaway curls. “Do you think she understands?”

Ginny opened the ash bag. “Maybe deep in her soul. But we’ll tell her again one day.”

“I’ll tape it for her,” Alexei said, and kissed his sister’s blond head.

“You’re a good and loving brother.” The best son.

“Even when I don’t clean up her toys?”

Ginny smiled. “Let’s not push it.”

“Hear that, Jo? Mama’s backtracking again.”

“Ma-ma-ma-mmm!” Out came the finger, pointing at Ginny, who kissed the wet digit, her eyes filling again.

“Let’s set in the letters,” she said.

Each had written to Boone. Ginny included Joselyn in hers, along with words of grief and love and hope and wishes. I wish you hadn’t died. I wish we could grow old together. I wish I could talk to you, tell you I love you. Just once more.

Alexei laid his letter in the hole and sprinkled on a bit of dirt. Swiping his nose with the back of his hand, he looked away.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ginny cupped her son’s cheek.

“Why did he have to die?”

“You know why, honey.”

“Yeah, but why him?”

She’d asked the same question endlessly. “Alexei, life is full of fog we don’t understand or have control over. The best we can do is face it square on and plow through to the other side.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “I guess.”

She kissed his cheek. “Come, let’s finish.”

Tenderly and together, they held the bag as ashes poured over the letters. Joselyn sat quietly in the crook of Ginny’s arm, sucking her thumb. Lastly, they planted the lilies of the valley, then circled the tiny plot with the stones.

She would never come back to this spot. Or to West Virginia.

They were returning to Oregon and her childhood town.

Be at peace, dearest Boone. You’ll be in my heart always.

Carrying Joselyn and holding Alexei’s hand, Ginny climbed back through the trees, to the trail and her old station wagon.