Chapter 28
I sat on my front porch after the Easter service at Calvary Baptist Church and watched Gabriel play on his new jungle gym. From four hanging baskets, small petals of white trailing geraniums fell to the ground in a delicate drizzle. My spiral wind chime, a Christmas gift from Mom, played the opening notes of “Sweet Hour of Prayer” to the slow rhythm of the rose-perfumed air that always graced the ranch on warm days.
It was nice to slow down. I had been planting so much for so many people that even my new gloves looked tired. But I had finished every job, and I told everyone that I wouldn’t be landscaping anymore.
Jacqueline was teaching me about surrendering old dreams and finding God’s purpose for my life. Dance was part of that purpose, or He wouldn’t have given me the gift, but I also knew that the fruit of my old approach to dancing had come short of His glory.
I wasn’t dancing to feel justified anymore—I had all the justification I needed from Christ, and the freedom that came from not craving an audience’s approval was absolutely exhilarating. A freeing, huge step forward.
I was dancing to discover the purpose and the joy that I knew were there, pleading to be found—at last—after all those years. So I said yes to projects and ideas I wanted to reject and considered carefully the value of the ones I ached to embrace. I made sure that every effort was fresh and took me someplace new.
The first batch of changes had come immediately after the Christmas break. I’d started taking a ballet class every morning, and on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I taught and rehearsed the LaGrange Youth Ballet, part of the school.
Mrs. B. had invited me to stage Paquita for the company and to dance the lead role, and I was seriously considering it.
I’d also been teaching Jacqueline’s little girl, and her joy inspired me to develop a ballet program for Camp Dream. I would volunteer there twice a week in the summer.
“Ma! Car!” I heard a car in the distance as Gabriel ran to the porch. “Car!” He looked at me and pointed to the woods that hid the driveway.
“Yes, baby, a car.” I held his little hand and listened to the muted hum of a familiar engine.
He jumped down a step when he saw the Thunderbird. “Car!”
Claus parked next to the truck and removed the square Ray-Ban sunglasses that suited his ballet superstar status. He had the top down and was listening to Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Air.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips stretched, and he looked beautiful with a shorter haircut, navy blue shirt, and my favorite white cashmere sweater over his shoulders.
Gabriel hid behind me.
The corners of his mouth tilted up as he walked to me with a dozen sunflowers in a beautiful round bouquet. “Hi,” he said, coming up the steps.
“Hi.” I took the bouquet and noticed my old neck scarf was tied to the handle. As I freed the aquamarine chiffon, Gabriel came halfway out of hiding to look at the flowers.
Claus got down to his level. “You must be Gabriel. I’ve got something for you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a little Ostheimer knight.
Gabriel smiled and took his new toy to the jungle gym.
“He looks just like Peter.”
“Doesn’t he?” I put the scarf around my neck. “He’s a good boy.”
“I got him a whole castle set.” He pointed to the knight that was now going down the small green slide. “It’s at your mom’s. I’m staying there.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “I have that picture of you and Barysh, too, and a few more things I thought you would be missing.”
“Is that why you came? To bring back my stuff?”
He shook his head and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.
I recognized the yellow paper from the old legal pad Peter used to keep on the kitchen table. Unfolding the note, I traced the words with my fingertips. The first part was an old note. He’d used a pen and the handwriting was intact. He later added a paragraph below his name, in pencil. He’d had to erase and rewrite most words. Remembering his mighty hands, I felt a lump rise in my throat.
CLAUS,
I’M NOT SURE IF I WILL EVER MAIL THIS LETTER. I CERTAINLY HAVE NO DESIRE TO WRITE IT. BUT I HAVE TO WRITE IT WHILE I CAN.
I HAVE HUNTINGTON’S DISEASE. YOU CAN LOOK UP THE DETAILS IF YOU WISH, BUT THE BOTTOM LINE IS, I AM GOING TO DIE A SLOW DEATH, AND THIS IS GOING TO BE HARD ON ANA.
SHE IS ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH TO OUR BABY BOY. GABRIEL DIDN’T INHERIT THE DISEASE. WE HAD HIM CHECKED EARLY IN THE PREGNANCY.
WHEN I DIE, I WANT YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THEM. I WANT HER TO HAVE A FUTURE, AND I WANT GABRIEL TO HAVE A FATHER PRESENT IN HIS LIFE. I KNOW YOU ARE THEIR BEST CHANCE.
ONCE YOU GET THIS LETTER, KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ANA’S MOM TO KNOW HOW I’M DOING.
PETER
P.S. SHE LIKES WAGNER’S “BRIDAL CHORUS.”
I AM GOING TO FIND MY FAITH AND PRAY FOR A CURE, BUT IF A CURE AND A DECENT LIFE ARE OUTSIDE GOD’S WILL, I WILL PRAY THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO CONTINUE WHAT I’VE STARTED.
“I’m so sorry, Ana.”
I felt his arm around my shoulders as hot tears burned my eyes. Gabriel came our way, and Claus picked him up, spinning him around to what sounded like German nursery rhymes. I walked to the edge of the porch to the music of Gabriel’s giggles.
Peter knew my tendency to be stingy with myself. I was scared to dream again, to an extent. I wasn’t sure his plans for me would work. I had stopped planting. I was dancing more. But I wished he was still with us. I missed him. What did Peter mean by “continue what I started”? The family?
“Guess when I got his letter?” Claus approached me with slow steps.
Over his shoulder, I saw Gabriel sliding with the knight again. “When?” My voice came out hoarse.
“When I started going to that American church in Wiesbaden.”
“Calvary Baptist Church?”
He nodded.
“When was that?”
“About a year and a half ago.”
That last visit to Fantasy in Lights. “How did you end up at that church?”
“The guy who fixed your car invited me.”
“Must have been a killer pitch.”
He shook his head. “It was pretty awkward, actually.” He looked down. “There’d been enough coincidences, though. I had to go check it out.”
“Was that old tract still on your corkboard, where I’d put it?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “It was.”
“That’s funny.”
“Going there made me feel close to you, somehow, so I became a member and attended regularly. It’s been good.”
“Calvary’s been good for me too.”
He looked puzzled.
“Remember the lady from the Catholic church in Prague?”
“The one who gave you the little green Bible?”
“Her son is my pastor here.”
“Really?”
My head bobbed. “He’s good. His wife’s become a dear friend. She’s helping me with my walk.”
“That’s an amazing story. You had to leave Georgia, move to Germany, and travel to Prague to learn about a church back in Georgia where you’d one day grow. Hmm.” His royal blue eyes gleamed.
Oh, I’d missed those eyes.
He reached for the letter, folded it, and put it back in his pocket. “I realize now that if you try to make things happen your own way, somewhere down the line, there will be trouble.” He caressed my hands. “I’m sorry, Ana. I really am.”
“I know.”
“I finally let go of my dreams of a life with you. It was hard, but I did it. And then God brought me here, and I have a chance to be with you—on His terms.” Claus kissed my fingertips. “Now I know we can be happy.”
“It’s hard to let go…”
“I hope I can help.”
“You already have.”
I knew I was blushing, but I didn’t care. Is he blushing too?
He looked away with a smile. “I see you’re growing your own sunflowers now.” He’d noticed the small patch just beyond the porch.
“Trying.” I shrugged, looking at the twelve plants that were growing strong for early spring. “Your seeds. Remember?”
He cradled my hand and closed his eyes. We embraced and rocked to the slow sounds of the wind chime. I put my cheek on his shoulder and felt the softness of the white cashmere.
Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for putting Claus back in my arms. Now here it comes. This morning I didn’t feel ready, but now I am. I’m sorry for being angry and for thinking your gift was insufficient. Obviously, being a prima ballerina or dancing at the Met is not your will for my life. I’d already let go with my mind, and now I’m letting go with my heart. I’m letting go of my old dreams and making room for You to plant Yours. Guide my steps, Father. In Jesus’ precious name I pray. Amen.
A wind gust made the wind chime play forte.
“Sweet Hour of Prayer?” Claus whispered.
I nodded. I love you, Lord.