Page 119 of Always to Remember
Glancing toward the back of the church, Meg saw the door open slightly. Clay slipped in as quietly as a snowflake falls to the ground. With his hat in his hand, he slid into the last pew and bent his head until his hair fell forward and obscured his eyes.
She had little doubt that he had closed his eyes and fought his tears and grief as strongly as she did. When the final words of the eulogy drifted into silence, Meg would receive comfort from Kirk’s father and Robert, from her father and Daniel, from Helen, and Sally and every other person to whom she’d ever given comfort.
Who would comfort Clay?
With his large scarred hands, he had cut the names of their children, their parents, and their loved ones into wood or stone so they would be remembered. He’d rescued their slain sons from a mass grave and buried them with dignity.
The monument she’d asked him to carve paled in comparison to the testimony of his love that he’d already given them, that he continued to give them. He had touched the people of this town in a way more profound than the sculpting of any monument, and yet none of them knew of his actions, and if they had known, their hatred would not have allowed them to acknowledge the gift.
Just as her hatred had prevented her from daring to reach beyond the wall of despair to grasp another chance at happiness.
She knew Clay would leave after the closing prayer, before she played the final hymn. He held within his breast a deep respect for people, a respect that had been denied him.
Searching the mournful faces of the congregation, she wondered how many men believed in anything as strongly as Clay believed in his convictions. How many would stand alone?
How many women believed strongly enough in the man sitting by their side to stand beside him when the whole town stood against him?
These women had surrounded her, their fingers working as busily as hers, to sew gray uniforms for their husbands and sons. They had ripped the seams on silk gowns they’d worn on happy occasions to make a flag honoring the most terrifying day of their lives. In the lamplight, they’d gazed into each other’s eyes and known that none of them wanted their men to leave.
With meticulous stitches and perfect seams they’d sewn their doubts into the cloth, so that when they met the gazes of their soldiers that final morning, nothing was visible but their love and their belief in that love.
Clay was right. Meg didn’t know what had driven Kirk to enlist. She knew only that he believed in what he was doing, and his belief was all she had needed to stand at his side.
The bench scraped across the floor as she moved back. The reverend stopped speaking and snapped his head around to stare at her. Meg took a deep shaky breath, gave him a tremulous smile, and rose from the hardwood bench.
If possible, the congregation became quieter, and she felt their silence wrap around her like a heavy suffocating shroud. Her legs trembled and her knees felt as though they’d turned into the sandy bottom of the swimming hole in which she swam at midnight.
Skirting the bench, she somehow managed to descend the stairs without tripping. Each step she took echoed off the rafters and vibrated against the stained-glass windows as she walked down the center aisle. She halted beside the last pew, and she could have sworn she heard necks pop as people strained to see what she was doing.
Clay stared at a knothole on the back of the bench in front of him.
“I’d be honored to sit with you,” Meg said in a voice that rang through the building.
The brown depths of his eyes pleaded with her as eloquently as his words. “Don’t,” he rasped with raw emotion. “Don’t do this, Meg. Not here. Not now.”
“I said those same words to you once. I was wrong to say them then. You’re wrong to say them now. I love you, Clayton Holland.”
Gasps sounded, hymnals thudded to the floor, groans, moans, and sighs rose from the crowd like a psalm thrown toward the heavens.
Clay sprang to his feet. “You’re grieving today. You don’t know what you’re saying.” He strode past her to the door.
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” she called out, but he closed the door on her final words. She rushed through the door after him, with the disbelief of the congregation echoing in her ears.
She staggered across the porch as someone pushed past her. She glanced over her shoulder. “Daniel!”
“I’ll take care of it, Meg!” he called as he stalked toward the waiting wagons.
Meg felt a moment of panic and then relaxed. They never brought rifles or guns with them to church. Clay was striding toward the muddy road that went past the church and through the center of town.
Meg stepped off the porch. With a force that caused her to bite her tongue, she found herself jerked back and held in her father’s ironclad grasp.
“What the hell is going on here, girl?” he bellowed as people gathered around them.
She twisted but couldn’t break free of her father’s hold.
“Meg, are you crazy?” Helen asked. “The town coward—”
“He’s not a coward.” Stretching her neck, she peered over her father’s shoulder to the road. She was afraid she’d see Daniel attacking Clay, but Daniel was nowhere in sight. Clay was trudging away … alone once again.
