After Ruth’s comments relating to Roger’s love, Violet didn’t feel as comfortable in his presence as she had previously, and at times he observed her quizzically as if he sensed a difference in her responsiveness to him and couldn’t understand it.
Although she worried that it might be another case of “using” him, she did talk to him about Janie’s needs, explaining what Janie had revealed about her parents. “Are channels available that would enable you to find out who her father is or where he might be? I think Janie is as well off if she doesn’t know where her mother is. The woman apparently abandoned her.”
“Maybe not. Judging from what you’ve told me, she could have died unidentified in some emergency room. In large cities, many incidents like that occur and are never reported to the police.”
“Is there any way we could find some member of her family?”
“In this day of computerized record keeping, there isn’t much information that can be concealed. I can make inquiries, if you like, but what does Janie think about this?”
“I believe the child is happier now than she’s ever been. Mrs. Grady has given her a good home, and she said that if she contacted her father and he didn’t want her, it would hurt her. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea and I should just tend to my own business.”
“It won’t hurt for me to do a little investigating—neither the father nor Janie would need to know. What are the names of her parents?”
“Her mother’s name is Pat, and Janie thinks the father’s name is Robert. She said she was born in Missouri. Do what you think best. I definitely won’t tell Janie anything until we return from that Social Studies Fair, which comes up in two weeks. And that’s bothering me, too,” she began, and paused as her conscience smote her. Was she just using Roger as a sounding board?
“Go ahead,” Roger prompted.
“Oh, I shouldn’t unload all my worries on you.”
He laughed in his warm, easy way. “And, why not? I told you my shoulders are broad. Cry on them all you want to.”
Violet searched his eyes. Was it love or friendship that she saw? She had wished more than once that Ruth had kept her observations to herself, for the ease that she had always known in Roger’s presence was gone.
“With the situation like it is, I’m wondering if I should go away and leave Aunt Ruth to take care of my mother. We’ll be gone four days.”
“I can’t see that Linda is any worse off than she was when she came here. And since Janie’s project has been entered in the regional competition, she has to go. Who else would take her if you don’t?”
“No one,” Violet admitted.
“Even if Linda’s condition worsens, Ruth can manage. I’ll stop by every day, and so will Pastor Tom.”
“Of course, one of the women from the church is here daily, too. I will go, but I’ll be uneasy all the time I’m gone.”
A few days before they left for Springfield, Roger reported that he may have found Janie’s father. He had stopped by for a cup of coffee on his break time as he usually did when he worked the evening shift.
“The man goes by the name of Clifford Skeen, although his first name is Robert, and he owns and operates a family restaurant in Jefferson City, Missouri. He’s married, without children, and I assume that he was married and divorced from Janie’s mother, but I haven’t verified that information yet.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Violet observed.
“As far as I can determine. It seems that he’s been searching for his daughter.”
Violet’s eyes brightened. “Good. I’ll just back off for a while—he will eventually find her. I’ll continue being Janie’s friend and pray that she can be united with her father.”
While Violet had often thought of adopting Janie and making a real home for the girl she knew it was better for the child to be united with her real parent.
The weather was pleasant for the drive to Springfield. Mrs. Grady had bought Janie some new clothes for the Social Studies fair and the girl’s happiness and excitement distracted Violet from her concerns about leaving her Aunt Ruth and mother. Janie had never stayed in a hotel, and this only added to her excitement that had increased with each mile they traveled. As soon as they arrived in their room, which had two twin-size beds, a luxurious bathroom and a good view of the city, Violet telephoned her home.
“All is well here,” Ruth said, “and we’re relieved that you’ve arrived safely. I’ll telephone Mrs. Grady and let her know that I’ve heard from you.”
“Has Mother slept most of the day? I was sorry she was sleeping when I left and I couldn’t say goodbye.”
“She knew you had gone though, because when I roused her for lunch, she asked me how long you would be away. I told her it was a four-day trip, and she said a rather strange thing—‘That will give me enough time.’ Her comment didn’t make any sense to me, but I didn’t question her.”
“Probably the effect of her medication. Well, I won’t telephone again, for we’re going to be busy, but you know where to reach me. We’re in Room 806.”
The regional fair was held in the hotel’s ballroom, and the exhibits were to be registered the next morning, so the judges could make their decisions during the afternoon. The awards banquet would follow, and the show would be open for viewing the next day with the exhibitors on hand to talk to the viewers about their projects.
During the judging, arrangements had been made for the youths and their counselors to attend a concert featuring a nationally known band. Since no one in Springfield had any hint of Janie’s background, she wasn’t intimidated by anyone, and Violet encouraged the girl to mingle freely with the other contestants.
At the banquet, Janie and Violet had the misfortune to sit at the same table with a man who was obnoxious and loud. Violet thought he certainly wasn’t a good role model for the students, and Violet hoped he wasn’t a teacher.
Assuming the role of host for their table, the man said, “My name is Conley—Mike Conley. You may have heard of Midwest Enterprises—my family owns that.”
Who hadn’t heard of Midwest Enterprises? It was one of the biggest meat distributors in the Middle West. No doubt the firm was a sponsor of this fair, and no one wanted to lose that support by throwing its representative out of the room. Conley had a reddish face and a nervous tick in his jaw that spoke of dissipation. He was a rather handsome man, probably in his thirties, with blondish features. His full lips displayed a hint of petulance, but occasionally, he seemed to drop the mask of his self-importance as a Conley, and Violet decided that under other circumstances, he might have been a decent companion.
Mostly, however, Conley complained endlessly to the waitresses and made a general nuisance of himself. After they had eaten their salads and were waiting for the main course, Conley began to quiz each of his tablemates to learn their names and find out where they lived. He usually added a cutting witticism to each of their statements, and again Violet suspected that he was playing a role, that his present behavior was a facade.
Violet hesitated when he came to her, for she didn’t want him to know that they shared the same surname. But if she didn’t answer, he would probably create a worse scene, so she simply said, “Violet Conley. I live in Maitland, Illinois.”
“Conley, eh? Not a very common name. You any relation to the Kansas Conleys?”
Violet remembered that Mrs. Holland had asked her if she was related to the Kansas City Conleys, so apparently a large number lived here. “I don’t know any Conley other than myself.”
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. There are good Conleys and there are bad Conleys. Even our branch has had a few rotten apples on it.” Violet thought she had been dismissed, and she breathed easier, but just when she started to relax, he turned quickly and snapped a question at her.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“I believe it was Ryan, but I don’t know for sure.”
He regarded her from speculative eyes for a few seconds before he turned his gaze away.
Violet was disappointed that Janie’s project wasn’t chosen for one of the high awards, but she was gratified that she had at least, among 15 others students, received Honorable Mention for her exhibit. Out of four hundred projects, that was noteworthy when one considered all the odds against Janie. When she returned from receiving her certificate, Janie’s beaming face indicated that she wasn’t disappointed, and indeed it was an honor to be recognized in such a large group.
Janie was so excited that she couldn’t go to sleep, and consequently, kept talking so that Violet couldn’t sleep either, but she managed to awaken Janie the next morning, and they arrived in the exhibit area ahead of schedule. The exhibitors were expected to stay beside their projects most of the time, but they did have opportunity to mill around and see what the other students had done. It was a rather tiring day, and by mid-afternoon the viewers had dwindled. Violet would have liked to go home tonight, but she knew by the time the show was over at five o’clock, it would be too late to start after they dismantled Janie’s project.
Contemplating these things, Violet jumped slightly when Janie nudged her. “Look. There’s Lieutenant Gibson.” She was amazed to see Roger moving slowly up the aisle across from theirs, obviously searching for someone. Who else but the two of them?
“Roger,” she called, earning her surprised looks from those around her, but Roger heard her voice and looked in her direction. He lifted his hand and came rapidly toward them, and he looked formidable in his dark business suit, white shirt and red tie.
“What is wrong?” she asked softly when he reached her side. Roger took both her hands in his.
“Brace yourself, my dear. Your mother died early this morning, and I didn’t want you to hear it by telephone. I caught the first plane I could and came to drive you home.”
“But how did it happen?” Violet gasped. “Did she take a turn for the worse?”
“Ruth couldn’t rouse her at all yesterday, and she died in her sleep last night. Ruth wasn’t even awake, so don’t you fret about not being there.”
Violet shook her head in dismay. “I’ll always regret not being with her. I bring her to my home so she can die with family, and then I’m gone when it happens.”
“Ruth believes she willed herself to die while you were gone, so you wouldn’t have to witness her death. She has always tried to spare you pain, and she continued her protection right to the end.” Violet felt stunned by the news, yet Roger’s words penetrated to her heart. Yes, her mother had always tried to protect her. If that wasn’t evidence of a mother’s love for her child, what was?
Roger turned, looked at the project and noticed Janie’s ribbon.
“Well, congratulations, Janie—I see you’ve gotten another award.”
“Only Honorable Mention, but I’m satisfied with that.”
“You should be. While I was searching for you, I saw some excellent projects, so you had more competition than at Maitland.” Turning to Violet again, he said, “When can you leave?”
“The show closes at five, but if I go and check out of our room now, we can leave immediately afterward. But that’s going to be a long drive for you after dark, Roger. Perhaps we should stay over until tomorrow.”
“I napped on the plane, and I’ll be all right. Ruth is waiting until you arrive to make arrangements.”
“You go ahead and check out,” Janie said. “I’ll be all right here. My suitcase is packed.” Violet noted that very few visitors remained in the exhibit room, and she knew that Janie could get along without her. She was suddenly obsessed with the need to return to Maitland as quickly as possible.
The elevator ride up to their room on the eighth floor was crowded, and she welcomed an excuse to lean close to Roger and rest on the solidity of his physique. She fished in her purse for the door key and had it ready when they came to her room, but her hand trembled so much, she couldn’t insert the key. Roger took it from her, opened the door and followed her into the room.
“It won’t take long for me to pack, and Janie has kept her clothes in the suitcase.”
“We aren’t in that much of a hurry. Come over here.” She hadn’t cried, but her trembling wouldn’t stop, and Roger pulled her into his arms and cuddled her in his muscular arms as if she were a child.
“I didn’t have the chance to ask her forgiveness, Roger, for my past feelings toward her. I tried to, but she wouldn’t permit any serious talk.”
“I’m sure she didn’t feel there was anything to forgive. She thought she needed to ask your forgiveness for all the grief she had caused you.”
“But if she would only have talked to me!”
“She may have talked to Ruth, and if so, she will tell you now, but Linda had kept her emotions stifled for over twenty years, and I doubt she could talk to you. To my notion, she exemplified the epitome of the sacrificial love of a mother.”
“You always make me feel better, Roger, and thanks for taking the time to come out here for me. I wouldn’t have welcomed that long drive home, but Aunt Ruth says that I take you for granted.”
He lifted her head from where she had buried it on his chest, and looked deeply into her eyes. Usually one could determine his thoughts, but today Roger’s good, strong face reflected inscrutable emotions. “When I have any complaints about how you treat me, I’ll let you know. You couldn’t make any changes that would cause me to think more of you than I do already.”
She placed a hand on his chest and leaned back to return his gaze. Almost in a whisper, she said, “Roger, what are you trying to tell me?”
“I love you,” he said simply.
“What kind?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what kind of love do you have for me? The kind that one Christian has for another, or does it go deeper than that?”
“Both.” With his hand still holding her chin, Roger pressed his lips against hers, as he answered the question with caresses that left her like putty in his arms. When her senses returned to normal, she had her arms around Roger’s neck, and he was whispering terms of endearment in her ear.
“How long have you known?” she murmured.
“For at least a year—perhaps even longer than that.”
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“Well, for one thing, Larry Holland was cluttering up the landscape, but I wouldn’t have let that deter me if you hadn’t seemed so satisfied with the status quo. I didn’t want to scare you off, as I preferred friendship to nothing.”
“We’ll have to forget this happened, for I can’t deal with it now. We have to get back to Maitland, and with Janie along, we’ll have to continue to be ‘friends.’”
“I doubt I can forget what happened, and I had no intention of speaking today, but you seemed so alone that I wanted you to know that you need never be alone again. I’ll always be there for you, Violet, any time that you need me.”
They were deprived of any further intimate conversation on their trip home because of Janie’s presence in the back seat, but once, when she knew that Janie was sleeping, Violet reached out her hand and placed it on the seat between them. He immediately covered her fingers with a touch that conveyed his warmth and concern.
Although they couldn’t talk, some of the time Violet forgot her mother’s death, and the situation she faced when she arrived home, marveling at Roger’s declaration of love, and her reaction to his embrace. How could she have been so blind as to believe all that existed between them was friendship? And she had believed it! She had enjoyed being with him, she had relied on his help and advice, but, in the years she had known Roger, she had never before experienced that tingling, breathless, giddy, awesome feeling that she had always expected from love until he had kissed her a few hours ago. Nor, except for a few glances that she couldn’t interpret, had he ever given any indication that he held for her a keen, humbling, urgent yearning that had caused a strong man like him to tremble when he took her into his arms. Considering the depth of his longing, which he had experienced for more than a year, she wondered how he could wait so long to approach her. But she had long known that Roger was self-disciplined, deliberate in his thinking, not given to hasty judgments. So, if he said he loved her, she had no doubt that he did.
And amazingly, she loved him. She’d never realized it before, yet suddenly she felt no doubt of that.
The funeral was held in the sanctuary of First Community Church, well attended by the members of the congregation. Janie and Mrs. Grady came, as did Nan Oliver. As was customary, a floral arrangement arrived from the school, and several of her fellow teachers called at the funeral home the night before to offer condolences, and to Violet’s surprise, so did Larry. While he was offering the trite words commonly spoken at a time of death, Violet met Roger’s eyes across the room. He always seemed to know her inner thoughts, but she couldn’t read his. Was he jealous of the time she had spent with Larry or was he above such petty emotions?
As Pastor Tom delivered his brief message, Violet was comforted to hear that he had talked often with Linda about her relationship with God and had been satisfied that she was spiritually prepared to go to Heaven. Yet Violet’s thoughts dwelled once again on her mother’s unhappy life—dead at forty-five, and over half of that time she had been behind bars. Before her marriage, Linda had apparently been a happy person, for Ruth had talked often about their fun-filled girlhood, so what about marriage had changed her? Would she ever learn what had brought her mother to the breaking point?
Did anyone except Ruth and herself mourn for Linda? In all honesty, Violet knew that she didn’t mourn as much for her mother, as she sorrowed for the lost years that could never be reclaimed. That was a void in her life which would never be filled. Now that she had gotten accustomed to having people in the house, she would no doubt feel lonely when Ruth returned home.
She would have liked for Roger to be at her side today, but after he had declared his love for her in Springfield, he had reverted to the caring friend he had always been. Except when he was at work, since their return to Maitland, he had been in constant attendance—most of the time at a distance, but she knew he was there. Right now, she needed friendship more than anything else from him, and although a brotherly hug around her shoulders was comforting, she longed for much more.
Several of the church women had a meal prepared at Violet’s home after the funeral, which Roger and Pastor Tom shared with them. Snow had started falling while they were at the cemetery, and within two hours, an inch of snow blanketed the ground. After he had eaten, Roger excused himself. “I’ll need to check in at headquarters. We’ll need all of our officers on duty tonight—this could be a nasty snow.”
Violet walked with him to the door and waited while he shrugged into his coat. “Let me know when you want my company,” he said softly.
“All the time,” she replied honestly. “but I do know that you have other commitments.”
He squeezed her hand, and his eyes blazed with promises of the future. “I’ll try to telephone before you go to bed.”
“Be careful, Roger,” she called as he went toward his car, wondering if his wife had often been concerned about the dangers that Roger faced as a policeman. The times he had embraced her when he was in uniform, Violet was always aware of the safety vest he wore and the reason for it. She sighed. Just another adjustment she would have to make if they were married.
The house was strangely quiet after all the guests left. Violet remembered that it had been that way when Aunt Ruth’s husband had died—he came from a large family, and when his sister, brothers, nieces and nephews had gone, Violet and Ruth had eyed each other in dismay, wondering how they could cope with the emptiness.
Ruth must have been thinking the same thing for she said, “We got through it the last time, we will manage now, too.”
“Did she ever talk to you when I wasn’t here? About the important things, I mean.”
“Not often. She did thank me one day for taking such good care of you. She was proud of the woman you had become, but I assured her that I hadn’t had much to do with it. You came from good stock on the maternal side, and the Conleys weren’t all bad—your father just happened to be the rotten egg.”
“When I was in Springfield last week, I met a Mike Conley. He was an obnoxious sort, and I figured that all Conleys were like that. He seemed rather interested in my background—could he have been a relative?”
“Possibly, for your father came from Kansas City, but I never knew any of them. But back to Linda. She wrote a letter to you one day and put it in that metal box of hers. You weren’t to see it until after her death. Do you want to read it now?”
“Yes, of course.”
Violet felt as if she’d had about all she could take, but she wondered if the contents of the letter might help her bring closure to this traumatic situation.
Ruth went into the bedroom and brought out the box and placed it on the dining table. She handed Violet the key that Linda had worn on the chain around her neck.
“I’m afraid to open it,” Violet said, “but more afraid not to.” She inserted the key and lifted the lid. On top of several other papers in the box was an envelope addressed, “Violet.”
“‘Daughter,’” Violet read aloud.
“I know that you have been troubled because I wouldn’t speak to you about matters that were of utmost importance to you. But I could not. Years ago, I put a lock on the past and forgave your father and his family for what they did to me. I want to die in peace, and I feared I could not if I resurrected memories that would not help, but might plunge me into the hatred I once knew. I cannot go to meet my Maker with unforgiveness in my heart.
“You will need to contact William O’Brien, an attorney in Kansas City, Kansas, for he is the executor of my estate. He was my friend and lawyer during the trial, and he will answer any questions you have about the past. Let me warn that you will be better off not to know, but if you can’t bury the past otherwise, William will tell you.
“On my dying bed, I ask that you forgive me, as well as your father’s family, for stunting your childhood. Forget the past, and live for the future.
Your mother, Linda Conley.”
When she finished reading, Violet looked up wonderingly at Ruth.
“The executor of her estate! What did she have?”
“Nothing to my knowledge. She had some inheritance from our father, but she spent all of that on the trial.”
Ruth hovered over Violet as she lifted documents from the box. First, they found Linda’s Last Will and Testament bequeathing her estate to Violet. With shaking hands, Violet pulled out another envelope, containing a contract between a leading publisher and Richard Cameron, a pseudonym for Violet Conley, for publishing rights to the book What’s Your Prison?
“That’s the book Pastor Tom has been quoting. Do you suppose Linda wrote that book?” Ruth asked. “She was always writing verses and stories when she was a child.”
Violet rushed into the living room and brought back the book the pastor had loaned her, but which she had never had time to read. She opened the book, and on the first page read a dedication, “To my daughter.”
She handed the book to Ruth and sorted through the other items in the box. There was a check stub for $100,000—an advance toward royalties on the book. A bank account opened in Linda’s name showed that she had received a total of $150,000 thus far for the book.
“And she died without benefitting from her labor,” Violet said.
“Oh, she benefitted from it,” Ruth said. “She died comfortably knowing that this inheritance would make up to you for what you had lost when she killed your father. The Conleys are wealthy people, and as your father’s heir you would have gotten quite a sum. Linda did exactly what she wanted to with the proceeds from that book.”
“Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve been ashamed of my mother all of my life, and now I have something to feel proud about. She made a difference in the world—no doubt this book has been a help to countless people.”
As Violet stared down at the book she knew the money made no difference to her. It was her mother’s achievement that mattered.
“Linda was always a secretive person. Even as a child, she kept most of her thoughts to herself, but she should have told us so that we could have rejoiced with her.”
“And I’ve been worrying about how to pay her funeral expenses. I wish she had told me.”
Violet sat up the rest of the night reading the book, and she felt as if each page were a personal message from her mother. With God’s help, Linda had come to terms with her restricted life, had made a contribution to uplift others through her book, and she had died in peace without any bitterness in her soul. Violet’s own faith was strengthened as she read the closing pages of the small book.
Christ can set the prisoner free. When He launched his ministry in His hometown of Nazareth, Jesus used the words of the Prophet Isaiah to announce the goal of His Kingdom: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners.” The lot of prisoners in Jesus’s day was even more severe than for those in our century, and while He had compassion for those unfortunate enough to run afoul of Roman law, we have no evidence that Jesus ever scaled literal prison walls to free such captives. No, He freed those who were in bondage to sin, ill health, selfishness, loneliness.
Those of us who have broken the laws of man and God must pay the penalty. However, those who have broken God’s laws have a powerful advocate in the Lord Jesus. He came to free spiritual prisoners! “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” Humans who have been freed from spiritual bondage have inherited the power to surmount all prison walls. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”
The ringing telephone awakened Violet the next morning, and groping sleepily from beneath the covers, she found the receiver and muttered, “Hello.”
“Did I awaken you?” Roger said guiltily. “It’s almost nine o’clock. I supposed you were awake by now.”
Violet sat up in bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. “I normally would have been, but I didn’t sleep well.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t telephone last night, but it was too late when I went off duty. I have a few hours this afternoon, if you want Jason and me to help with rearranging the furniture.”
“That will be helpful. I intend to call the hospital supply company today and have them pick up their equipment. And after you finish that, would you have time to go with me to talk with Pastor Tom?”
“Are you forcing me into marriage already?” he replied in a teasing tone.
“Then that will teach you to be careful of what you say,” Violet said, leaving him in suspense.
A telephone call to William O’Brien’s office later on in the morning confirmed the validity of the papers they had found among Linda’s possessions. She had written the book over a long period of time, and upon William’s insistence had submitted it to a publisher two years ago. She had banked all of her money, and the royalties were credited to her account twice each year. As far as O’Brien knew, Linda had never written anything else.
He assured Violet that settling the estate would be a simple matter and could be handled over the telephone and by mail, saving Violet a journey to Kansas City. Violet didn’t question the lawyer about the trial that sent her mother to prison. Perhaps one day she would.
Violet made an appointment with Pastor Tom, and he was waiting for them when Roger and Violet arrived at four o’clock. She carried the documents they had found in her mother’s possessions that pertained to What’s Your Prison? and the copy he had loaned her.
She couldn’t conceal the elation in her voice, when she said, “Pastor, did you know that the author of this book you have been quoting for the past several weeks wrote under a pseudonym?”
“No, I had never heard of Richard Cameron until I found this book on the bestsellers shelf at the local bookstore.”
“One of the few things my mother brought with her from prison was a small metal box. I found these papers in that box last night.”
She handed Roger the letter her mother had left for her and extended the contract for What’s Your Prison? to Pastor Tom. “After you’ve read them, switch papers. I wanted to share this good news with my two best friends at the same time.”
Roger read the letter and looked at Violet with glistening eyes. When he saw the contents of the contract, he knelt by her chair, lifted her hand and kissed it. “How wonderful for you, my dear! This has brought a happy ending to a situation that has caused you a lot of grief. You see, God is still faithful. He has vindicated the sacrifice you made to care for your mother, and has proven her selfless love for you.”
“Yes, I have such a sense of relief. I have a mother that I can be proud of—one who triumphed over tremendous odds and in doing so, brought help to other troubled souls. It’s a satisfying end to a much-troubled life.”
“But I believe Linda had found her peace,” Pastor Tom said. “It’s obvious from the words of this letter. And I’ve read the book several times—writing that book served as a catharsis for her wounded spirit.”
“I spoke with her attorney this morning, and he said that she had been writing the book over a period of several years, and only at his insistence did she submit it for publication.”
“With your permission, Violet,” Pastor Tom said, “I would like to contact the local paper and ask them to insert a feature about this book. I am aware that many people in town have shunned you after they found out that your mother was a convict. It might change their views if they learn that Linda was the author of this acclaimed book.”
“It doesn’t matter about me. At first I was very distressed to be mistreated by my peers, but I’ve gotten over it. I would like to honor my mother’s name, however.” Knowing that any decision she made from now would involve Roger, she said to him, “What do you think about the pastor’s suggestion?”
He was sitting on the floor at her feet, still holding her hand, and Violet wondered if the pastor had noted the change in their relationship. “Why don’t you think about it for a while? She’s waited two years for recognition—why not a few more days? Also, you should consider how Linda would feel about the publicity. She was a very private person.”
“Yes, I realize that publishing this information would be for me. She’s in a place where nothing will ever distress her again.”
When Roger stopped the truck in front of her home, he said, “When can I see you? We need to talk.”
“Tomorrow night? I go back to school on Monday, and I’ll be working late each night trying to make up for the week I’ve been gone.”
“I’m on night patrol next week, too. Tomorrow will be fine. Any choice of where we’ll go?”
Violet gazed steadily into his eyes, hoping to convey her deep love for him. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are. I love you.”
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “The next time you say that, don’t do it on Main Street in broad daylight.”
“I would prefer more privacy myself.”
“How about going to the farm for steaks? I have a gas grill on the back porch.”
“Sounds good. I’ll bring dessert.”
All the next day, Violet thought about the coming evening with Roger, considering the pending change in their relationship. She would miss his friendship, but she trembled at the hint of how much more she would be gaining.
It was a beautiful evening to be out in the country and Violet felt the relaxing effects of the setting and Roger’s company. They had ignored any serious talk while they prepared the meal, ate it and tidied up the kitchen. They pushed the two lounge chairs close to the fire, which burned slowly, hot coals glowing beneath the split oak logs Roger had placed on the fire. Violet sat in one of the chairs, with Roger on the floor beside her, his shoes off, long legs stretched out toward the warmth of the fire, an arm resting on her knees. Violet ran her hands caressingly through his short hair, and once she leaned forward and kissed the gray streaks showing vividly over his ears. For a long time, they were content to be together, touching; speech wasn’t necessary. Was this serenity and trust a preview of what their future might become?
Eventually, Roger gently pulled Violet beside him on the braided rug, and they sat with their backs against the chair, his arm around her, and her head on his shoulder. Strange, how well her head fit into the curve of his neck! A light still burned in the kitchen, but where they sat, only the glowing coals provided any illumination.
“Yesterday,” Roger said softly, “you told me something—I would like to hear it again.”
“I love you, Roger.”
“Yeah, I thought that’s what you said.” He turned toward her, putting both arms around her, nestling her close. It didn’t seem at all strange for Violet to feel safe with him. She knew that no matter how much he desired her, Roger would never step across the line of moral decency—so when he kissed her she responded with an achingly sweet tenderness that matched his own.
“Obviously, we’re in love,” Roger said, and his voice trembled slightly, “so what are we going to do about it?”
“Yes, I love you,” she said breathlessly. “I suppose I always have, and while this new emotion is the most exciting thing I’ve ever known, I’m still going to miss being friends.”
“My love will mean a lot more than mere friendship, but no man should marry a woman who isn’t his friend. We’ll always be friends—romantic love often wanes as couples grow older, friendship never does. And I guess I’m assuming that you will marry me.”
With a grin, Violet said, “I might, if I were asked.”
“I can’t very well get down on my knees. I’m already sitting on the floor. But I do want to marry you, Violet. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
“And I’ve only been thinking about it for a week, but it seems so right, Roger, that I don’t really have to deliberate. I want to marry you, yet it isn’t so simple. I’m alone, so that doesn’t pose a problem.”
With a sigh, he said, “And I have two children to complicate our decision. How can I correlate my love and responsibility for them with my love for you? I’ve always thought that I wouldn’t take a stepmother in while my children were still at home.”
“That might be a long time to wait.”
“I know, and I don’t want to wait much longer. Jason is planning to backpack over Europe this summer, and when he returns, he will probably be going to the university. He won’t be home much anymore, but Misty is only sixteen. She won’t go to college for two years.”
“And while I don’t feel any hesitancy about the difference in our ages…”
“Fourteen years,” Roger groaned. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.”
“It does bother me,” Violet continued, “that I’m not much older than your children.”
“The age difference bothers me, too, especially when I think about having more children. You should have the privilege of having a child of your own, and I want to father your child, but I do have some reservations. At an age when I might become a grandfather, I’ll be changing diapers again.”
“I’ve had good rapport with Jason and Misty in the classroom, but from teacher to stepmother is a vast step. I wonder what they will think about it?”
“There’s only one way to know—ask them. With your permission, I intend to do that. If they aren’t receptive to the idea, that doesn’t mean I won’t marry you, but it will complicate the situation. They’re at home tonight—if you’re willing, let’s go and talk to them.”
“So soon,” Violet gasped. “I’ll be nervous.”
“Not as nervous as you’ll be if you have several days to think about it.”
Violet agreed hesitantly, and Roger said, “Now, what was that you told me earlier tonight? I may have forgotten.”
She kissed her fingers and brushed them slowly across his lips. “I love you. How often do you have to hear it?”
“Oh, eventually, two or three times a day will suffice.” He kissed her again, and she left his arms reluctantly. She wasn’t looking forward to an interview with his children. It was much more pleasant to stay safely in his arms.