23
Ashley stood at the edge of the kitchen table and studied the finished project. Cole had gotten an A on it. As she looked over the letters and photos she realized even now, with the interviews over, the story stayed with her. And when she was alone—the way she was this morning—it made her cry.
So much of their lives had been shaped by that summer. The choices that led to heartbreak and the fact that after that season, her father had made a commitment. He would never drink alcohol again. He and her mother both.
The Bible made it clear that getting drunk was wrong, and so was making someone else stumble. “Doesn’t leave a lot of reasons to have a drink,” her father liked to say. So none of the Baxter family drank. They didn’t want to.
Besides, they’d seen firsthand how much fun a family could have without alcohol, how much laughter and happy times. All of it around a glass of iced tea or a mug of coffee or hot chocolate.
A lifestyle that began because of that long ago summer.
That wasn’t all, of course. In the days before she died of cancer, Ashley’s mother begged God for the chance to see her baby boy. Hold him and kiss his cheek. Let him know that she’d never stopped loving him.
And in what could only be a miracle, that grown-up boy came to her. There in the hospital he found her and told her who he was. He had hired a private investigator to find his birth parents, since his adoptive parents had been killed in a single-engine plane crash over an isolated jungle.
Later that day, Ashley’s mother and father talked about the meeting. Her mother explained that she’d met their firstborn son. Ashley’s dad at first thought she was delusional, that she’d had a dream perhaps. He didn’t believe their firstborn son had actually found her and made peace with her. But eventually the boy found Ashley’s father, too, and confirmed the story. The meeting had happened.
Their firstborn was Dayne Matthews. A Hollywood movie star known by the whole world. He was a Christian now, too. Long gone were his days of wild living and partying. Now he was part of them, at every holiday and summer barbecue. Married with three children and still celebrating the miracle of their reconnection.
Thankful to finally be part of his family. The Baxter family.
And of course the most dramatic thing to come from that summer was the way her parents turned their lives to God. How they grabbed on to His Word and never let go, never again let religion or mean people stand in the way of their faith.
Just like Wilson Gage had prayed that long ago night.
Ashley wiped at a few tears on her cheeks. She ran her fingers lightly over the copy of the photo at the center of the project board. The one the justice of the peace took of her parents the day they were married. “Mom, you were so beautiful.” Ashley smiled through her tears. “I wish I’d known you back then.”
Ashley had always known that her parents had made mistakes. Learning about Dayne’s existence made it clear that no one was without fault. Not even her parents. But not until Cole’s project did Ashley truly understand the details of what had happened.
She only wished she’d known about all this when her mother was still alive. So they could’ve sat across from each other and talked about it. How her mother must’ve felt much the way Ashley did when she came home from Paris.
They had so much more in common than Ashley ever knew.
She grabbed a tissue from the counter and dabbed at her eyes. The Memorial Day barbecue was tomorrow. She had lots to do today to get ready. The younger kids were working with Landon this afternoon cleaning up the backyard. Landon’s way of giving her time with Cole.
Today was the day she was going to tell him what he wanted to hear. The details of his story. Ashley took a deep breath and tried to pull herself from the display in front of her.
She was still at the table a few minutes later when Cole came bounding into the room. “You ready, Mom?”
“Yes.” Ashley turned to face him. She smiled and tried to still the anxiety building within her. The next few hours would be critical to her relationship with Cole. “The car’s out front.”
They drove to Lake Monroe, the place the Baxters often came when they wanted fresh air and space to think. Together they hiked partway down the main path, and at the first bench they stopped. “How’s this?” Ashley smiled at him. Please, God, don’t let him see how nervous I am.
“Great.” Cole sat down beside her.
For a while they looked out at the lake and didn’t talk. Warm temperatures had hit Indiana that weekend, and combined with the sun on the water the day was beautiful. Ashley broke the serenity between them first. “You did a beautiful job on your project.”
“Thanks.” Cole smiled at her. “I’m glad you were part of it.” He turned so he could see her better. “I’ll always remember going through that with you.”
Ashley looked into his face, her handsome older son. “At the end there, all I could think was how they lost their baby. And how their pain made them so much more understanding when I came home from Paris.”
Cole nodded. “You got to keep me.” His eyes reflected the light off the water. “Like, the saddest part of Grandma and Papa’s story—giving up their son—made it easier for you to keep me. Because Grandma understood what you were going through.” He paused. “That’s so cool.” Then he reached over and took hold of her fingers for a brief moment. “You’ve been the best mother ever.”
The best mother ever? The last thing Ashley wanted to do was cry. This talk was for Cole and about Cole. She needed to keep herself together. But the words Cole had just spoken would stay in her heart as long as she lived. She could always look back and think herself a terrible person, an accidental mother without a clue how to raise her son.
But because of her mother, Ashley had learned from the best. Cole’s kind words were proof. What better endorsement could she ever have than that?
He got to grow up with her . . . and she was the best mom ever.
Ashley sniffed a few times and closed her eyes. She could do this, she could get through the story and not break down. Her son was counting on her. Her eyes opened. She took a sharp breath and lifted her face. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”
“It’s okay.” Cole rested his elbows on his knees and looked deep into her eyes. “So . . . I guess my first question is easy. How did you meet him? My dad?”
The breeze off the lake could do nothing to take the edge off her sick stomach. She could picture him, Jean Claude. The handsome well-known artist who welcomed her into his studio and raved about her paintings. The man who filled her head with dreams of becoming his protégée. Yes, she could still see him. After all, his face still looked back at her every morning over breakfast.
Ashley blinked a few times. “His name was Jean Claude. He was a famous artist with a studio in the heart of Paris.”
“Wait.” Cole looked confused. “Mom? What are you talking about?”
The confusion became hers. She shifted so she could see Cole better. “Your father. Isn’t that what you want to know?”
“No.” A slight laugh. “Mom . . . not him.” Cole shook his head. “I want to know about my dad.” He raised his brow. “You know, the one you married?”
Her mind raced ahead of her heart and an understanding began to dawn in her soul. Could it possibly be? All this time? “You . . . want to know about Landon?”
“Of course. He’s my dad.” This time Cole’s laugh came more quickly. As if he were truly astonished at the turn of events. “You’re so funny, Mom.”
“I am?” Ashley felt light-headed. She pressed her back against the wooden bench so she wouldn’t feel as dizzy.
“Yes.” Cole took her hand again. “Is that why you’ve been so worried?” His laughter died and compassion filled his expression. “You thought I wanted to know about some painter in Paris?” He shook his head. “That man wasn’t my father. Never.” He released his grip on her and sat up, his tone light. “Now that we have that out of the way, will you please tell me about my dad?”
It was Ashley’s turn to laugh, and she did so without reservation. Head tipped back, rejoicing for the turn things had taken. Thank You, God . . . How wonderful is this? When she could breathe again she looked at Cole and felt her joy double. She was going to talk about Landon. The way she had practiced. The way she had wanted to from the beginning.
And for the next hour that’s just what she did.
On the way home, Ashley’s spirit felt lighter than it had in a month. She had given Cole what he had asked for. The details of his parents’ love story. When they were still a few minutes from home it occurred to Ashley again the importance of that single meeting, decades ago, between her father and Wilson Gage.
The man had written to Cole and the two had shared a conversation. The details made it into Cole’s project and Cole earned his extra credit. But more than that, the man told Cole that whatever good he’d done for John Baxter had now come around to do good for him. He didn’t elaborate, but he did tell Cole this: I needed a good dose of my own advice. Run to Jesus. I’ll never stray from Him again.
That very quote was in Cole’s project.
Cole was singing along to a Colton Dixon song from his phone’s playlist. Ashley smiled to herself, her eyes on the road. Wilson Gage had taught Ashley something very important. She could never underestimate the power of a single conversation with a stranger. The importance of sharing God’s love with someone who needed it, the way Wilson Gage had shared with Ashley’s father that night.
The man could never have known—without Cole’s project—the impact of his words. How her father would go on to find faith in Christ. How when given the choice between four cities where he could finish his internship as a doctor, her father had chosen Bloomington.
Because it was there on that single night that his life had changed forever.
Her dad had tried to look up Wilson Gage through the years, but eventually he figured the man and his Scarlett must’ve moved on. It took Facebook and the determination of Cole to find him.
Ashley let the wonder of it all stir her heart and stay with her.
The most incredible detail of the whole story was the prayer Wilson Gage had prayed before her father left the man’s house that night. Everything he had asked God for had happened. Especially the last part. Because the Baxters were absolutely that family everyone looked to and everyone wanted for their own.
And now Ashley knew the reason why.
• • •
THERE WAS ONLY one place John wanted to be, one place where he could finish the rest of the story. The love story he shared with Elizabeth. He pulled into the cemetery and took his time walking to the plot where her body lay.
John had been here more times than he could count. On special occasions, in the early morning hours before a birthday or anniversary. The anniversary of her home-going. But this Memorial Day morning was different. He was still in the story, still caught up in the details, still listening for her voice. He could feel her in his arms, even now.
The bench where John always sat was there, waiting for him. But somehow he expected her to be there, too. His Elizabeth. Looking for him, smiling in his direction. Where have you been? she would ask. I’ve been waiting for you.
John breathed deep the sweet summer air and took his seat. He looked at the stone, engraved with her name. “Elizabeth, my darling, I’m here.”
There was no response, of course. No word from God or whisper in the wind. Elizabeth was gone. She was not here beside him. This side of heaven, she never would be again. John leaned back on the bench and lifted his eyes to the blue sky. She wasn’t here, but she was there.
He smiled, in case she could see him.
Then he let the rest of the story come. Not in great detail like before, because there were too many moments, too many beautiful years and decades to relive. He would have to spend the rest of his life trying. And that wouldn’t be fair to anyone—not his family and certainly not Elaine.
He thought back to those long ago days once again. He married Elizabeth in a civil ceremony with only the Wesley family in attendance. She wore a simple white dress and he, a plain dark suit. It didn’t matter. Even now John could see the hope in Elizabeth’s eyes that day.
John sighed and leaned forward, his eyes on her tombstone. After the wedding, the two of them begged God for a solution to their housing situation.
The next day one of John’s professors offered them a garage apartment.
It was a beginning, and John completing his medical degree was another. Years later after Erin was born, John was offered positions at two different hospitals. One of them was in Bloomington. The city where John’s car broke down, where he met Wilson Gage.
The place where his life was changed forever.
The decision was easy. Their family moved to Indiana and found a beautiful house in the country, along with a church where they could watch their family grow.
A week later Elizabeth received a letter from her mother seeking reconciliation. It was an answer to years of prayers, and finally . . . finally they had healing over the heartache of the past.
All except the loss of their firstborn son.
At the time of his birth, the social worker had told Elizabeth not to think about her baby boy. Don’t talk about the adoption or tell anyone about it. She was to act like she’d never given birth. Like none of the terrible, painful ordeal had ever happened.
“Try to forget,” the woman had told Elizabeth.
Here, still, John’s eyes stung at the pain of that time. Forgetting about that little boy was as impossible as forgetting how to breathe. For both him and Elizabeth. But the years played out anyway, in the most beautiful way. Brooke was born, then Kari, and a few years later, Ashley and Erin. The Baxters’ own little women.
And with every girl that joined their family, John rejoiced. But he still thought every day about his firstborn. His son. The years passed and John and Elizabeth were in love with their family of girls. They were chatty and tenderhearted, helpful with their mother and silly. They danced and sang around the house and they loved their daddy more than words could say.
And then God gave them Luke. Their youngest . . . their second son.
The fact that Elizabeth overcame her first bout with cancer when Luke was in elementary school was a miracle John would always be thankful for. It allowed them seasons of learning and growing in their love for God and each other. A dozen Christmases they would have otherwise not had.
But then the cancer came back.
His eyes shifted to her tombstone again. “How good is our God, to let you meet Dayne before you died.”
The wind picked up around him and played in the trees that lined the cemetery. All his life there had been one thing John wanted to give his precious Elizabeth, one thing that was completely out of his control. The chance for her to hold that baby boy one more time. To hold him and love him and whisper in his ear the precious truth: That she had never—not one day since he was born—ever stopped loving him.
And that week before she died, God again did what only He could do. He brought Dayne to Elizabeth. She died knowing the goodness of a God who answers prayers.
John lowered himself to his knees and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. The letters on the gravestone needed polishing, so he ran the cloth over each one. As if he were etching her name on his heart once more. When he was finished, he stood and breathed in deep. “I miss you, darling Elizabeth. I always will.” He looked to the heavens again. For a single moment he could see her once more, dancing in his arms that first night.
You have to teach me how to swing!
John smiled. Oh, how he still missed her.
Before she died, Elizabeth said something to the entire family, something John remembered now. She would always be with them. In Ashley’s paintings and Cole’s laugh . . . in Kari’s kindness and Luke’s gentle spirit. She would always be with them.
And so she was.
John brushed off his knees and walked back to the car. He would go home and meet up with Elaine and he would take her in his arms. The story had played itself out. He belonged to Elaine now, and he would tell her so. Something else hit him. Maybe Elaine might need time, too. Time to remember her first husband, the man who had died long before Elizabeth did. They would have to talk about that. Then later today the two of them would go to Ashley and Landon’s for the big barbecue.
They were going to be okay.
Still, as he climbed in his car, as he took a last look in the direction of her tombstone, John couldn’t help but think one thing. Someday he would take his last breath here, and the next he would be there, with her again. Not like it was on earth. But he fully believed the first thing he would see when he got there was a bench, much like the one on the U of M campus.
And there she’d be, his Elizabeth. Smiling at him, looking for him. Her pretty hair pulled back in a ponytail. There you are, Elizabeth. You get more beautiful every time I see you.
He could almost hear her words.
Come sit with me, John. I’ve been waiting for you.
• • •
WILSON GAGE PULLED into the driveway of the pretty farmhouse just outside Bloomington and for a minute he stared at the place. Just took it in. If he understood Cole Blake, this was the house where it had all happened.
The place where John and Elizabeth Baxter raised their family.
Now the house belonged to Cole’s parents. And today was the family’s annual Memorial Day barbecue. Far as Wilson knew, Cole hadn’t told anyone he was coming.
“Let’s surprise my papa.” Wilson had given Cole his phone number and the boy had called him last week. “I’ve been looking for a way to thank him. For taking time to tell me his story.”
Wilson liked the idea then, and he liked it now. The driveway was filled with cars, and as he inched closer to the house, he rolled down his window. He could hear laughter coming from somewhere inside. Tears stung his eyes.
He had a feeling Scarlett would’ve loved the Baxters.
His steps weren’t as fast as they once were. Old war injuries got worse with every sunrise. But that wasn’t going to stop him from being here today. From seeing if what Cole had said was true.
That somehow on a single evening his actions had affected this family forever.
He straightened his Vietnam veteran pin, the one he wore on the lapel of his sweater whenever he went anywhere special. Then he knocked on the door and waited. Footsteps and then the door opened and a man answered. A man not a whole lot younger than him.
“Hello.” The man looked kind and happy. He smiled. “Can I help you?”
Just then a teenage boy ran up. “Papa . . . this is your surprise.” The boy stepped forward. “I’m Cole Blake. And you’re . . . ?”
“Wilson.” His eyes moved from the boy’s to the man’s. “Wilson Gage.” He grinned. “You must be John Baxter.”
“Yes!” John’s eyes filled with recognition. He laughed a few times, like he was completely caught off guard. “Come in, Wilson. I can’t believe you’re here.”
Cole stepped up and shook Wilson’s hand. “I know it was a long drive. But thanks for coming.” He grinned at his papa. “You and my papa have a lot to catch up on.”
Which is just what they did. John welcomed Wilson into the house and introduced him to all the family. Like he was a hero.
And maybe that was part of the miracle, after all. Wilson smiled to himself.
As John bid Wilson goodbye a few hours later, they hugged and John looked at him, real deep like. “Do you remember that prayer? The one you said before I left your house that night?”
“Yes . . . Yes, I remember praying.” Wilson fiddled absently with his veteran’s pin.
“You said something I’ve never forgotten.” John hesitated, his eyes shining. “You prayed that faith would see me through every hard thing ahead . . . and that God would give me a marriage and a family so beautiful all the world will want to know the secret.”
Wilson blinked back tears. “I guess that was my prayer.”
“Yes.” John laughed. “It happened just like that, Wilson.” John smiled. “It’s not every time that a man gets to thank his hero.” He hesitated and an early summer breeze drifted through the front door to the place where they stood. “Thank you, Wilson. That night changed my life.”
Wilson couldn’t find his voice. He nodded and gave John the slightest salute. Then he waved and walked to his car. The tears didn’t come until he was behind the wheel. God had a purpose for him after all.
Him. Wilson Gage.
An old vet he figured no one would ever care about again. But God cared. He cared so much He brought him here to John Baxter and his beautiful family and He reminded him that a single prayer can change a life. Amazing grace, indeed. Wilson’s tears came for all that, but they came for another reason, too. He looked at the rearview mirror and the pin on his lapel, and a smile stretched across his face.
For the first time since the war, someone had called him a hero.