Remnant of Forgiveness Read online

  “Great, Mom. And it does smell good—as usual.”

  She stepped nearer and gave her daughter a hug. Then with a light laugh, she embraced Mary as well, patting her back. “My two girls.”

  Mary had to swallow a huge lump in her throat but did manage a smile.

  “Think I hear Dad,” Nelson said, moving to the window. “Yeah, that’s him.” Turning back, he rubbed his palms to-gether and grinned. “Finally. I’ve had to sit here smelling all this stuff ever since I got home from work. A man can take only so much, you know.”

  The usual clomping up the outside steps brought Mr. Thomas through the door, which clapped shut behind him. “Hi, all,” he said with a glance that encompassed everyone. “Happy birthday, Snooks. Nice to see you here, Mary. Smells like supper’s waiting.”

  “It is,” his wife announced. “Go wash up, and we can start right in.”

  Not needing instruction as they all filed into the dining room, Mary Theresa claimed the spot which had been hers from the first. She chanced a quick look across at Nelson while he sat down, and he grinned, sending the butterflies inside her into chaotic flight. Did he have to be wearing the brown-checked shirt she liked so much?

  “Well,” his father said, his bifocaled glance making a circuit and settling on Mary, “the whole family is together again.” Immediately he bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we are so blessed. Thank You for Your boundless love and provision for our needs. Thank You for Stella and the bright spot she is in all our lives. Grant a special blessing at this special time set aside to commemorate the day You gave her to us. And bless our Mary, as well. Thank You for bringing her back to us. We give You our praise. In Your Son’s name, we pray. Amen.”

  Too caught up in the touching grace to echo his amen, Mary crossed herself and opened her eyes, more than aware of Nelson’s focus on her.

  “This does look luscious, my dear,” Mr. Thomas said, gazing down at the china tureen all but overflowing with its bounty. “If everyone will pass plates, I’ll see that you get served.”

  Welcoming even that small diversion, Mary gave hers to Estelle to pass on. Within moments, a generous portion of the chicken mixture and a fluffy dumpling came back. She couldn’t believe the cloudlike softness as she cut into the moist, steamed dough. . .and the taste of it and the accompanying stew seemed like a dream. “Very good this is,” she told Mrs. Thomas in all sincerity.

  “Why, thank you, Dear. I’m glad you like it.”

  “How was work today, Nelse?” his father asked. “Starting to fit in yet?”

  He chuckled. “I kind of feel like the new kid on the block, actually. But things are coming back. I can connect the names to the right faces pretty well already. Mr. Gavin’s letting me go slow. Yesterday and today, he had me refining some blueprints for a project he has in the works. Shouldn’t be long before I’ll be going out to job sites with the rest of the guys.”

  Stella shook her head. “I never could figure out what all those lines and diagrams mean.” She turned to Mary. “Engi-neers and architects can look at that stuff and somehow envision an entire building, basement to roof.”

  “We are geniuses. Just plain geniuses,” he quipped, forking a carrot chunk to his mouth.

  “And how about you girls?” Mr. Thomas went on. “Quotas coming along at the factory?”

  Estelle nodded, then shot a glare to her brother. “Of course, we do more than merely scribble stuff on paper, like some geniuses I know. But our favorite time is lunch hour.” She returned her attention to her father. “That’s when we get to put aside our grand endeavors and go sit in the fresh air with the pigeons. They like Mary.”

  “My food they like,” she corrected. “Watching them is. . . nice.”

  “I’d imagine the feeling is mutual,” Nelson teased.

  Meeting those merry light brown eyes, Mary almost couldn’t swallow.

  “Anyone care for more?” Mr. Thomas offered, the ladle ready in his hand.

  “No thanks, Daddy,” Estelle said. “I need to save room for cake.”

  Nelson, however, didn’t hesitate in the least, and handed over his plate, his eyebrows waggling in a comical fashion. “Some of us are just getting started.”

  At the close of the meal, Mary and Mrs. Thomas cleared away the main course while Estelle reveled in her lofty position as the birthday girl. Then Mary returned with a stack of cake plates, and the lady of the house brought in a triple-layer cake, iced in white frosting and decorated with colored sprinkles and lighted birthday candles.

  “Good grief! A regular inferno,” Nelson teased. “You’re gettin’ old, Sis.”

  She gave a playful kick under the table.

  But when the others broke into “Happy Birthday,” Mary could only mouth the unfamiliar words. She had to smile when Estelle made an elaborate display of blowing out those twenty-two rapidly melting candles.

  Mary couldn’t remember enjoying a moister chocolate cake in her life, and felt so full she had to force down the mound of chocolate ice cream on the side. From the sparkle in Estelle’s eyes, she sensed her friend had chosen the flavor in her honor.

  Finally, dessert dishes were whisked away, and a small pile of presents replaced them at the center of the table. Mary got caught up in Estelle’s delight over the bounty of thoughtful gifts. . .a hand-embroidered blouse her mom had made, a new alarm clock from both parents. She held her breath when her friend opened the present she’d brought, hoping it, too, would please her.

  “Oh, Mare. Thank you. I’ve been needing a new silk scarf. It’s just beautiful and my favorite shade of green.” Estelle reached over and hugged her.

  “You have one more thing, Squirt,” Nelson reminded her, nudging a small gift her way.

  Mary watched Estelle’s eyes grow misty as she gazed inside the narrow jeweler’s box and drew from the cotton lining a tiny gold cross suspended on a delicate Figaro chain. “Oh, Nelse.” She sprang up and ran to hug his neck from behind. “You remembered I broke my other one. Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Sis,” he grinned, patting the arm nearly choking him.

  Estelle straightened. “And thank you, everybody. This has been my best birthday ever. I love you all.”

  Against poignant memories of her own childhood birthdays, Mary’s heart ached at the atmosphere of love in this home. . .and the priceless joys that had been ripped away from her so long ago. She could hardly get beyond the clog of emotion in her throat.

  “Well, Mary, dear,” Mrs. Thomas said, providing a most welcome distraction, “it looks as if you and I will be dealing with the aftermath.”

  She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Fine. To help I like.” Detaching herself from old griefs she could not afford to dwell on, Mary stood and began gathering the discarded wrapping paper and ribbons, wondering if her relief was obvious to anyone else.

  She braved a shy glance at Nelson and felt somehow en-couraged to see a gentle smile on his lips. And Mary knew she would miss that sight most of all. . .

  eighteen

  Nelson began taking stock of Mary Theresa from the moment she and Stella arrived, weighing her expressions, tone of voice, her manner, the way she responded to questions and comments. He’d been convinced she’d quit coming around because of him, but he had to find out for sure. He figured if he waited long enough, watched closely enough, she’d trip up somehow, and the truth he sought would be evident. Perhaps painfully so.

  But, man, the girl was good. Whenever she knew she was the center of attention, she appeared completely composed, ever so polite, and typically pleasant. Her smile seemed genuine. Obviously she felt real affection for Estelle and their parents, and even offered Nelson a few smiles that looked sincere. But those other times. . .when she didn’t know the microscope was focused on her, that’s when Nelson caught brief flashes of sadness in her eyes. A sadness so profound it seemed almost tangible. And it did unspeakable things to his insides.

  Seated in the parlor after supper, with his father reading the
evening paper in his overstuffed chair, Nelson could hear the good-natured banter drifting from the kitchen. He pictured Estelle perched on the step stool while Mary Theresa and Mom did the dishes. Sure sounded like a happy enough group. Maybe his instincts were wrong. But if they were, it would be the first time.

  Still mulling over the events of the evening, he turned the radio on and searched the dial for music, then adjusted the volume down.

  Francis Langford’s “Harbor Lights” flowed smoothly and low in the background as the ladies finally left the drudgery and came to join the menfolk. Mom picked up her knitting and took her usual spot in the cushioned rocking chair by the fireplace, while his sister and Mary chose opposite ends of the couch. Stella immediately leaned forward to the birthday gifts she’d left on the coffee table and began examining them, this time more closely.

  “This scarf will look so pretty with my winter coat,” she said breathlessly, running the emerald silk through her fingers. “I can hardly wait for the cooler weather to come.”

  “In New York are the winters cold, like in Poland?” Mary asked.

  “Oh, we may get a few blizzards that are real doozies,” she replied. “But, fortunately, here in Manhattan the weather can be pretty mild, a good part of the time. At least now that big brother’s around, I won’t get stuck shoveling all the snow, this year.” She crimped her nose at him.

  “Hmm,” he returned in stride. “I was thinking of digging out my crutches, come winter. . . .”

  “Ha. That’s what you think. I turned them into firewood just the other day.”

  “If you did, you’ll regret it.”

  Looking from one to the other, Mary laughed softly.

  Dad peered over the top of his newspaper and nodded to Mom. “I think we just relinquished our peace and quiet to the younger generation. How about we seek solitude in the kitchen? Sure could go for a cup of coffee, maybe another slice of that cake?”

  “I think I can accommodate you, Love.” Putting aside her project, Mom rose with him, and they traipsed down the hall. The door swished shut behind them.

  “Well, apparently we’ve perfected the art of clearing a room,” Nelson said with a wry grin.

  “Time for me to go home, I think,” Mary said tentatively.

  “Just let me make a quick trip upstairs,” Stella said. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Nelson saw Mary’s blue green eyes widen as she watched after his sister. Then she settled back against the couch.

  A few measures of an introduction, and Jo Stafford’s rich voice issued from the speaker. “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places. . . .”

  Mary’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. She reached to the jeweler’s box on the coffee table and took out Stella’s necklace, fingering the delicate cross. “Very pretty,” she said, her words barely audible.

  “I kinda thought she’d like it.”

  Mary moistened her lips, then hesitated, drew a breath, and spoke. “Why do Protestants wear plain the cross? The death of Jesus they do not like remembering?”

  Turning the song down another notch, Nelson met her gaze. “Oh, we remember it, all right. It’s a precious thought to know the Lord of Creation became a man and died for our sins. But you see, the story didn’t stop there. The fact that He rose again three days later is what’s amazing. It’s the basis for all our hope. The empty cross is a reminder that all who come to Him will live again one day with Him in heaven.”

  She appeared to consider his words, then replaced the jewelry in its box. “For good people that is,” she said softly. “People who do not sin.”

  “We all sin, Mary Theresa. Ever since the Garden of Eden. No one is good. The only way any of us can be sure where we’ll spend eternity is to ask for God to forgive us and to accept the free gift of salvation He provided through His Son’s death on the cross.”

  “But. . .my past you do not know,” she whispered. “Things I have done. No one could forgive such things.”

  Astounded that she could be so hard on herself, Nelson prayed for wisdom before he answered. “God can, Mary. He promises that though our sins be as scarlet, He will make them white as snow. Here, I’ll show you.” Plucking his Bible from the lamp table beside his chair, Nelson got up and crossed to the couch. Sitting a respectful distance from her, he showed her the passage in Isaiah and waited for her to read it. “He also promises that no one who comes to Him will be turned away.”

  “Too bad are some things.”

  “Nothing, little one, is too bad.”

  “You are sure of this?”

  “Sure enough to bet the ranch on it. God cannot lie.” Tak-ing a tract from inside the cover, he gave it to her. “Here, Mary. Keep this, and read it at your leisure. If you’d like to know for certain that you have peace with God, there’s a sample prayer on back. But you can make up your own prayer instead, if you prefer. It’s not the words that count; it’s the heart behind them.”

  Those troubled eyes raised to his, and they brimmed with trust. “Much Bible I have read already, now that I am reading in Polish. I. . .this peace I would like now,” she whispered.

  With the greatest joy he had ever experienced, Nelson took the hand of the woman he loved and knelt beside her while she prayed.

  ❧

  There were no words to describe the lightness of her spirit when Mary Theresa allowed Nelson to assist her to her feet after her prayer. She felt as if a great weight had been removed from her being.

  He looped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “Welcome to God’s family.”

  She could have hugged him back. Almost. But one conviction still remained. God had forgiven and accepted her. . .but she was still the same person, with the same past. People would not be so forgiving. She braved a smile through moist eyes and eased out of his chaste embrace.

  Estelle came tripping downstairs just then, humming to herself.

  “I’ll let you tell people your good news whenever you’re ready,” Nelson whispered, moving away.

  “Okay,” Estelle sang out, entering the room. “We can drive Mary home now.”

  “Drive?” Mary echoed. “Trolley is fine.”

  Nelson grinned. “No sense hoofing up the street anymore, when I’ve got a perfectly good car sitting right outside. You’ll be safe. . .I’ve been practicing. And Stella will come, too.”

  Unsure, Mary looked to her friend and watched her nod. “Well, okay,” she said in her best American. “But thank you and good-bye I must first say, to your parents.” She couldn’t possibly leave here without doing that. Not with her future plans to consider. Those had not changed.

  Moments later, the threesome headed out front to Nelson’s coupe. The girls got into the backseat, while Nelson took his place and started the motor. “Hang on to your hats, ladies,” he teased over his shoulder.

  Mary darted an alarmed glance to Estelle but received only a reassuring pat on the arm. “Don’t mind him. He’s just feeling his oats now that he can tool around town at a whim.”

  As he pulled away from the house, Mary settled back and relaxed, watching the passing scenes in the fading twilight.

  “Nelse?” Estelle asked before they’d gone half a mile.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could we stop at Mickey’s for a root beer float?”

  “What? After all that cake and ice cream at the house? You gotta be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not,” she insisted. “Please? Can we? I’m dying for a root beer float. It is my birthday, remember.”

  He let out an exasperated huff. “Sisters.”

  “Is that a yes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yeah.” But his wagging head showed his disdain.

  Mary, too, thought it incredible that slender Estelle, who rarely consumed her whole bag lunch at work, could possibly yearn for something else after the huge cooked meal and birthday desserts. But it didn’t matter all that much. Surely he’d drop her off before they went to Mickey’s, wherever that was.

>   But her street whizzed by without Nelson even slowing down, let alone turning into it. Captive that she was, she held her peace. What other choice did she have?

  Mickey’s Soda Shoppe, she discovered, turned out to be a charming ice cream parlor not far from Woolworth’s, right around the corner from a movie theater. No doubt most of its clientele consisted of young people who frequented the theater and came after the shows.

  Nelson parked in front of the establishment, and they exited the car for the restaurant.

  Mary couldn’t help but gawk at the red-and-white-striped cushions on white wrought-iron chairs surrounding a smattering of tables. . .all the more striking on the black-and- white linoleum floor. A jukebox in one corner blared a lively new song she’d never heard before as they strode to a table in the far corner.

  A petite blond waitress in a ruffled white apron and black dress brought menus, then left.

  They barely had a chance to open and study them before a familiar voice interrupted. “Well, well. Fancy meeting you guys here.”

  “Jon!” Nelson exclaimed. “What brings you to Mickey’s?”

  His mischievous grin split his long face. “Oh, just had a hankering for some ice cream. Hi, Mary. Hi, Birthday Doll.” His blue eyes locked on Estelle’s.

  Mary slanted a glance at her friend and caught an uncharacteristic blush. And a smile the girl couldn’t seem to contain.

  Nelson, obviously on to something, tucked his chin at his tall, sandy-haired friend, then at his sister. “Okay, what’s up?”

  Estelle, all innocence by now, only shrugged.

  But Jon pulled up a chair. “So, what is it? Hot fudge sundaes all around? Chocolate milk shakes? Or do we go whole hog on the banana splits?” He winked at Estelle.

  “We were about to have root beer floats,” she supplied.

  “Great. Then let’s get ours to go. Game?” he offered her his hand.

  Hesitating the briefest of seconds, Estelle smiled. “Game.” She placed her fingers in his. “See you two,” she said gaily, and hand in hand they went to the order counter.