Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)
Bette Lee Crosby
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness
Galatians 5:22
I have been blessed with all of these things in the friendship and support of those who helped me to make this story a reality. To list the names of all to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, would take many pages, but I believe each person knows how thankful I am for their unique support. And, I hope I have stopped along the way to express my appreciation to each of you individually.
A special thank you to the ladies of my BFF Fan Club, gals who have cheered me on and generously shared my books with their friends. Without such readers, I would be lost. And I also would be remiss if I did not mention Coral Russell, Naomi Blackburn, Ekta Garg and Kathleen Valentine—I could not do without the amazing help and guidance of these awesome women.
Lastly, but certainly not least, I thank my husband Richard. It would take a forest of trees to provide enough paper to list the reasons why I love him as I do.
Dedicated to the memory of
JoAnn Braun
Special Friendships are Forever
Ida Jean Sweetwater
1989
I fell in love with Big Jim when I was seventeen and never stopped loving him. He was the kind of man you can’t stop loving. He was like his name says: big. As a baby he was born big, and as a boy he grew into a man with a fullness twice the size of life itself. When Jim laughed you’d swear it was a roll of thunder coming down from heaven, and once he’d made love to you, you knew there’d never be anybody else.
There was never a day when I didn’t love Jim, but there were plenty of times when I also came within a hair’s breadth of hating him. During the summer of fifty-five I couldn’t find a kind word to say to him. Even though he was only partly at fault, I blamed him for what happened. More than once I wished he’d walk out the door and never come back. Those were the bad years, but somehow we got through them.
I suppose that’s how marriage is. When the preacher says it’s for better or worse, you’re so blinded by the possibility of better you fail to see the reality of worse. Maybe that’s a good thing. If I had known about the heartache that lay ahead I might have turned my back and walked off. I could have avoided the misery, but I would have missed out on a whole lot of happiness too.
Nineteen fifty-four. That was the year our boy, James, stood toe to toe with his daddy and said it was his life and he’d live it however he damn well pleased. James was just like his Uncle Max, wild and irresponsible. One word led to another, and pretty soon it blossomed into an argument that could’ve been heard fifty miles away. Finally James just turned and walked out the door. That was the last I saw of our boy. He was nineteen.
I pleaded with Jim to go after James and bring him home, but it didn’t happen. Jim was big on a lot of things, but the one thing he wasn’t big on was forgiveness.
This afternoon I said goodbye to Jim, and as I stood there watching them lower him into the ground I decided to do what I should have done over thirty years ago. When that first thump of dirt landed atop his casket I said a prayer asking Jim to please forgive me, but the truth is I know he won’t. As I told you, Jim was not a forgiving man.
The Silent House
In the weeks following Big Jim’s funeral Ida began making plans for her future. Even though Jim was gone, she could set things right by finding James.
The last time she heard from him he was living in Plainview, a town ninety-seven miles north of Rose Hill. A place she’d never before been to. Plainview was where she would start her search. No major highway ran by the town, but a back road wound across a seemingly endless stretch of flat land. Land that was barren and without a gas station or roadside stand where you could stop for a sandwich or cold drink. Ida took a bottle of Pepsi Cola from the refrigerator, tucked it into her purse, then pulled on her sensible walking shoes and climbed into the car.
When she started out Ida felt optimistic, certain she’d find James and just as certain that he’d welcome the thought of returning home. Never mind that thirty years had passed; never mind that he was now a man in his fifties. Ida pictured him as only slightly older than the nineteen-year-old lad who left home, his hair still dark, his face without the creases of age. She even imagined the possibility he could be married and she delighted in thoughts of a grandchild, a feisty little tyke who would scatter toys throughout the rooms and bring the sound of laughter back to the empty house. In her handbag Ida carried a picture of James. She had taken it the week after graduation; it was the one where he leaned against the side of his green Pontiac and smiled the smile of a man without a care in the world.
Ida arrived in Plainview shortly before noon, drove to the center of town, and parked the car on Market Street. Once she stepped onto the street, the thought of “What next?” settled on her and ripped loose a bit of the optimism she’d started out with. The town was bigger than she thought it would be and busier. Much busier.
A few doors down Ida spied a coffee shop where people hustled in and out. That seemed as good a place as any to start. She walked in, sat on a counter stool, and waited. Her thought was to start up a casual conversation with the waitress and then work her way around to asking if the girl knew James, but she never got the chance. Before she could pull the picture from her purse, a group of businessmen came in hungry for lunch and in a hurry. Moments later three ladies followed, and before long every seat in the luncheonette was filled. Ida waited, thinking the rush would slow and the girl would have time to talk. But it didn’t. As soon as one group left, another took its place. After lingering over a single cup of coffee for nearly a half hour, she climbed off the stool and left.