Come Before Winter – Chapter Seven – Dear Mercy
December 7th, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER SEVEN – DEAR MERCY
It seemed just moments before Patsy was rapping at the door. Mercy tiptoed to answer, opening the door just a crack and peeking out, like a crime show. ‘Hello?’ she whispered through the slit, and then moved by her dramaticism, she burst into giggles. Flinging open the door, she tugged at Patsy, almost causing the poor woman to fall inside the room.
‘Whoa!’ Patsy exclaimed, and they both giggled this time. Mercy felt her friend’s eyes scan her face, and in the very next second, she was a burl of tears, a well of weeping. ‘Whoa!’ Patsy exclaimed again. ‘Slow down, girl,’ she advised, ‘I got all the time in the world. Breathe. Then, tell me, what’s happening. What has you so shook? What did the letter say?’
At that, Mercy realized she had the envelope clutched in her hand, folded and crumpled. Her knees buckled, as she sank to the floor. A decade of questions ran through her mind like horses at a derby, all vying for recognition and a place. She disentangled her fingers from the envelope and dropped it on the floor next to her. ‘I haven’t read it yet,’ she confessed, her voice raspy like a secret.
Patsy took Mercy’s hands in her own and pulled her to standing. ‘Com’on, let’s go cuddle, and we’ll read it together!’ Mercy realized at once there wouldn’t be any arguing. and although she wondered briefly why she really had called Patsy here, she also was relieved to not be facing all of this alone any longer. She allowed her friend to direct her to a futon; her room didn’t offer a lot of options in the fellowship department. Not like that place…Mercy’s eyes closed momentarily and suddenly there was the rough-hewn wood room, and the wall of books, and a table large enough to sit all the people Mercy considered true friends. She gasped, recalling instantly, that’s why she had phoned Patsy. She had questions; she needed answers. But once again, that would have to wait.
Instead, the envelope lay between the two women like a conversation piece they both were avoiding, but Patsy had lifted it and had begun to slit the seal with a tapered nail. ‘You ready?’ she toyed, and then softly, added, ‘Mercy, honey, I’m so excited for you to have this letter. If I didn’t think it was good for you, I wouldn’t have brought it to your attention. But Michael and I really believe you deserve to have some answers; at least some closure. Either way, you are fixin’ to learn something that can only help you in your future. Is that what has you so upset, the unknown of what it might say?’ she asked.
Mercy could visibly hear her heart beat insanely in her chest, like wild horses’ hooves pounding the dirt, their manes trailing and the call of their whinny on the wind. Begrudgingly, she accepted the piece of paper from her friend, unsure, was she strong enough and ready for this? Patsy nodded affirmingly, encouragingly, and Mercy grew silent as her eyes roved the page, combing her way through the childish scribble:
“Dear Mercy. Hi. It’s Dad; Da-da. Although I’m sure it has been many years since you thought of me like that. Listen. I could write pages of all the ‘I’m sorry’s’ and truths I owe you, which you certainly deserve—and I hope to someday be given a chance to do that—but right now, Mercy, you are needed. Let me explain. Grampa is dying. And I believe, he is hanging on for you; so he can finish well with you. See, he has never forgiven himself, or me actually, for us letting you down. He wishes to see you again so he can attempt to make up for the years that have been lost. I gave him my word I would do my best to find you. I have to admit that by the time this reaches you, it may already be too late. I pray that is not the case, that time is on our side and you will come soon, so he truly is able to rest in peace. I’ll explain everything in full and answer every question you have if I am able to find you and if you will respond. Do your best, Mercy, to come before winter. I fear there isn’t much time. Dad”
A hidden sob snuck out followed by a trail of tears. At once, a deluge of memories clotted her vision. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider her grampa for a long time. He had been her hero and she never thought he would let her go. But one day he was simply gone, and eventually she learned to believe she hadn’t been important enough or good enough to stick around or return for.
Suddenly a sick thought filled Mercy. ‘Patsy! What is the postmark? How much time do I have and where is my grampa? Where do I have to go?’
Psalm 68:5-6a, “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, He leads out the prisoner with singing.”
To Be Continued…
