Come Before Winter – Chapter 3 – If Only
December 3rd, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER THREE – IF ONLY
The world swirled in a shimmery mist and time instantly stood still like a sentry guard. She was aware of the door’s bell jingle and the breath of fresh air that breezed through the opening and closing door; she felt Patsy’s eyes upon her. Her voice was trapped someplace in her throat along with her heartbeat, her words seemed lost, and tears clotted her vision. Mercy was acutely conscious of a ticking clock and knew she had to return to her station, but her legs felt like jelly and her bum was mired to her seat. The handwriting on the envelope looked like the scribble of a child’s, but a memory pricked at the back of her brain. Once upon a long time ago, she’d seen this hen-scratch.
‘Say something, love,’ Patsy whispered quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Mercy; maybe I shouldn’t have brought it to you. Michael and I were so certain you would be thrilled. You look like you’re going to be sick, however; I feel just terrible.’ She wrung her hands as if wringing water from a dishrag. Mercy peeked at Patsy and the expression of concern on her friend’s face almost undid her. She began shaking her head, still unable to find the lost words. She picked up the plain white envelope, staring hard at the front, mesmerized by the scribble.
‘How did he know where to send this? And why hasn’t he tried to see me if he knew where I was?’ eventually she asked, the words tiny and her voice laced with hurt. Mercy continued to stare long and hard at the envelope, and then suddenly, as if it were a hot coal, she tossed it on the hightop, backing her seat up and standing rapidly. ‘I have to get back to work, Patsy. Excuse me.’ Mercy pushed away from where they had been seated and strode toward the register. As if she had forgotten her manners though, she returned at once to Patsy and gave her a hug. ‘Tell the kiddos and Michael hi for me. Thank you for coming,’ she added quietly before disappearing into the line of customers.
~ ~ ~
Night had fallen and was draped like a cloak over the little pathway Mercy knew by heart, leading to her room. She had already missed her street, so lost in thoughts and memories, and now was backtracking. She’d floated through the afternoon like a ghost, weaving between her chores and her teammates, and had felt shock when she looked outside and saw the dark closing in and watched as others began to clock out. She hadn’t even realized the shoppe had closed, and somehow, unaware, she’d completed her tasks long before. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was her name and address scrawled in a child’s scribble. Mercy couldn’t guess at her emotion; it felt bittersweet. Her father had found her…but why had he waited fifteen years? She was plaguing herself with the thought that perhaps he’d explained himself in the letter which she’d discarded like trash on the hightop at work. Dang, maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of it, she mused, curious now about what he’d written.
Her curiosity couldn’t pale the memories, however. As if it were yesterday, they echoed like a lonesome cry from a mountaintop, reverberating in her soul. She’d been a little girl, just a child, when her family disappeared like a soap bubble that was popped. She’d waited for days for her dad to come home, hour after hour, day following day, alone in that cold barren room, her tummy crying louder than she was. Mercy shook her head as if to intimidate the memories and send them back to where they were held captive for years, where she couldn’t find them even if she tried. But the letter had stirred something inside of her she had long ago buried, and she couldn’t for the life of her make them dissipate again. If only…she thought wryly. But if onlys never went anywhere. They just piled up like trash in a garbage pit, and after too long, if onlys stunk, refusing to decompose. Like some memories. Like longing for a mother she barely could recall. Like waiting for a father who never came. Like hoping for just one more glimpse of a grampa who would always be her hero.
Climbing the stairs to her room, Mercy felt a zillion years old. She rested her head against the door and inserted her key in the lock. The knob turned, the door fell open, and at once Mercy let out a little cry. Puzzled, she jumped back. What the heck…How in the world…?
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…
