THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN
The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart. Psalm 34:18
I feel the urgency of time pressing down onto me. Yet, I linger here by the graves, as if time was of no consequence. My grief has broken my human strength. I’m bone tired. There’s a lump in my throat, but I’ve used up all my tears. So, I sit here and I watch familiar stars becoming visible on the darkening sky. A gentle breeze is caressing my face, and stirring my hair. Dear Lord, I need your strength. Please give me wisdom.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the music of nocturnal creatures joyfully awakening. I sense peace, but my heart is yearning for what I’ve lost. My spirit senses the ghosts. Looking up, I feel awe. My family lives up there among those stars. Instantly, reverence fills my heart. Dear Lord, I’m just so conflicted. Help me walk away from the past.
Six weeks ago, I came home from Brandywine to find Gram had left me. She had passed through the pearly gates. She’d had a smile on her beautiful face . . . but her eyes . . . her eyes were vacant. Each evening, I sit beside her grave and I remember the horror of finding her. I know Old Pa and Mama are still rejoicing. All of heaven is rejoicing. I’m stronger, but my grief is too intense to rejoice. I wish she . . .. What nonsense!
I’m a wishful-thinking person. My first thought that day was she’s not dead, because her body was still warm. Denial was strong in my horrified mind. I wanted it all to just go away. But, I’m also a person that faces facts. Her eyes told me that her spirit had left her earthly tabernacle. She had often said, “Absent from the body. Present with the Lord.”
It had hurt me to see her faded blue eyes so empty of life. My knees had buckled, and all I could do was call out her name. I had tenderly kissed her cheek, and stroked it for a while with the back of my knuckles. I couldn’t bear that lifeless, vacant stare. It still haunts me. I had gently run my finger over each eyelid to close it. She had looked like she was sleeping and enjoying a sweet dream.
I had felt such regret for not being with her when she passed. Suddenly, I had started explaining to her why I wasn’t home sooner. If only I hadn’t stopped by the church to talk with Pastor and Mrs. Wilson. If only I had left for home after getting our supplies. If only God would have waited for me to be with her. If only! If only! All the wishing in the world won’t change the truth. Gram has crossed into another realm of this world.
A crushing feeling of dread and loss had gripped me. I cried out to her in my dismay. But for the first time in my life, she failed to comfort me. Terror had gripped my stomach and twisted my insides into a knot. That’s when I lost control of my mind. Anxiety and alarm overwhelmed me. I had trouble breathing and dizziness made the room spin. I had never felt such fear or pain. I had wondered if I was following her.
I sobbed until shuddering, hitching breaths left me exhausted, and gasping for air. I had sat back onto my heels and focused on her, until the pain in my throat eased. I knew to put her “funeral dress” onto her stiffing body. She had made it from white cotton and dyed it with just a hint of lavender. I had stared at her. Visions of sunrises and sunsets with clouds tinted with the many shades of purples stood out in my mind that day. She knew what she was doing when she colored that cloth for her journey.
Memories had swirled in comforting waves. I heard her voice talking about sewing. It was as clear as when she was in that room working. She had made me under-clothing and pretty things. There was an entire wardrobe of dresses and “lady-like” skirts for riding. Her own dress had been for Old Pa. He had loved to watch the Lord paint the sky.
Many times, Gram had warned me of this day. She had made a will. Even when she’d had her box made for the grave, I refused to believe she’d leave me. I refused to believe my own eyes, as I watched her become feeble. Would my loss be any different if I had let her prepare me for this dreadful day of emptiness? I doubt it, but I’ll never know.
I’d ridden on Skeeter to the Olsen Farm for help. My chestnut mare must have felt that urge in me to run, because she got me there in record time. Skeeter had been a gift from Old Pa. She has followed me everywhere since she was weaned. Just last week, I was sighting in a deer and I felt her head on my shoulder. She knew to be quiet, but the sound of her breathing in my ear had made me smile. I cherish her.
Mrs. Olsen and her daughters-in-law had helped me prepare Gram for burial. Mr. Olsen and his sons had dug the grave. He honored my wishes for him to read Scripture for the send-off. They had stayed the night and encouraged me to go home with them. They had offered me protection. But there was no way I’d ask for their help. It wasn’t my pride. I didn’t want them harmed. Old Pa had raised me to take care of myself. Gram did, too.
After breakfast, I watched them until they were out of sight. It was mighty quiet, after all that talking. When I turned to walk to the graves on the hill, I felt the loss of having no one in this world to call family. I thought of my pa, and I wondered about his life. I often wondered if he had remarried. Perhaps he had more children.
Old Pa had hated him so much that he put Mama’s maiden name on me. I guess Pa knew. We never heard from him. My last name should’ve been Galloway . . . not Campbell. Gram said it would hurt Mama to know that her pa had done such a thing. Mama truly loved my pa. I’m glad to know little things like that about them. Pa is such an unknown.
Gram hadn’t been keen on me searching for him. All my life there’s been a knowing inside my heart. He is alive. He regrets not knowing me. I rarely doubt that conviction. When I told Gram that, her eyes had turned sad. She had studied my face. “Summerlynn, you always expect good things in unlikely situations. I pray for you.”
That’s another thing. Who’s going to pray for me now? Mrs. Olsen promised to pray for me. Her hug was wonderful that day. Mr. Olsen had awkwardly patted my shoulder and encouraged me to come to them if I needed anything. I didn’t mention Pa, but finding him was strongly on my mind that day. It’s on my mind every single day. But for now, my dream will have to wait. I have some serious decisions to make.
With Gram gone, Alastair Blackburn will try to force me to marry him. His family has a ranch and land that connect to this place. My grandparents had once been friends with them, but problems started when they wanted me to marry their “baby boy” and combine the places. Even when we were small, Alastair would tell folks that we were to wed.
I’d never given him any hope of such a thing happening. My heart has always been set on finding Pa, not a husband. A few years ago, Alastair had let everyone know that we were betrothed. Old Pa had been furious. He often warned me to always keep my gun handy. He said Alastair was “a lunatic.” I know he considered killing him, but Gram always said he needed to trust God to take care of that situation. And me.
Old Pa had made certain that I knew how to handle a gun and a rifle. He had warned me that men would be after this place, and my hand in marriage. He made sure I understood what to look for in a good man and a father for my children. It had hurt me when he mentioned men running from their responsibilities. One day Pa will explain that to me.
Selling this place was never an option for Old Pa, but Gram mentioned it after he died. She told me it would be best to never tell anyone about Old Pa’s favorite spot. “Let that cave exist unknown unless the Lord leads the new owner to it. I’m sorry James ever found it.” I didn’t like the dark cavern either, but I understood why Old Pa loved it.
No one else knows about this hidden place in the middle of Campbell Land. Old Pa had named it “The Diggings.” He accidently found it through an opening behind brush at the mouth of the river. It was just big enough for his horse to enter. The large cavern opens onto a one-hundred-acre basin. The walls are steep, and mostly bare rock that extend two hundred feet up.
There’s an overhang near another entry into the cave. Old Pa had built a small cabin beneath it, and connected a root cellar to the cavern. A stream flows along one wall of the basin. It goes beneath the rock floor of the cavern and joins the river. Direct sunlight is only for a few hours a day, but the land is covered with green growing things. There are fish in the stream and wildlife.
I’ve been cleaning The Diggings and moving things dear to me into the cabin. Memories of Gram are few there, but Old Pa’s are everywhere. I think his fascination with the cave bothered her, but she blamed missing her home and the sliver of sky for not wanting to be up there. I’ll miss watching the nightly movement of the stars and moon, too, but I live in fear of Alastair’s imminent return. It’s her grave that has kept me lingering here.
I know she’s not in that grave. I know she’s in heaven, but the body that I cherish is only about six feet from me. Many evenings my morbid thoughts have alarmed me. There were times when the urge to dig her up made me question my sanity. I praise God for getting me through those moments of extreme foolishness. I need my wits about me.
Alastair had gone East some months back. I wish he’d stay there, but his mother had informed me that he was coming home. She’d told him about “dear Esther’s passing.” Remembering those polished-ice blue eyes and his handsome face twisted in rage gives me such dread. I feel my time is short for that confrontation. I know it will be bad.
If I could find a buyer for this place, maybe that would end all the talk of marriage. Any wife of his will be a possession, not a cherished helpmate. He’s an attractive man with those black curls and sparkling blue eyes. It’s when those eyes are focused on me, that I feel alarm. He’s not in love with me. He’s a violent, arrogant person that most people avoid. For some reason he believes we are to marry. That’s just insanity to me.
My grandparents had loved this place, but Gram had assured me I was to do with my life as I wanted. She wasn’t convinced that I should remain in Brandywine County. She wanted me married. She prayed often for a “good husband and my safety from Alastair Blackburn.” I will continue to pray for my safety, and guidance. I need the Lord’s help. I’m trying hard to trust Him.
Gram’s faith was something to behold. She always taught me that faith and fear can’t live in the same brain, but they both dwell in my head. She feared nothing but God. I’m ashamed to admit that fear and worry constantly battle with what faith I have. I just wish God would direct my path to Pa. I need the Lord to keep me away from any rabbit holes.
Suddenly, I hear Gram’s voice. She’s reading Proverbs 3:5-6. Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths. All my life she’s encouraged me to trust and to accept God’s will for my life. I do, but I often question Him.
I lift a clump of dirt and crush it in my hand, before letting it sift through my fingers. Discernment comes as I watch the wind spread it across the grave. Tomorrow is the beginning of a new chapter in my life. God will be there with me. It’s time to pack up the hens and move Skeeter and myself to The Diggings.
Dear Reader, are you curious about Summerlynn? If you would like to follow her unique pathway, you may order This Side of Heaven as an eBook. It’s available on this blog and at Barnes and Noble. Search them by my name Patricia Gunn Hall. I would appreciate feedback from you. Like the song says, I’m just an old chunk of coal. Lord willing, I’ll be a diamond someday.
