Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (26 page)

Lindsey stepped back and her eager gaze drank Abigail in, starting with the shoes and traveling to her hair. “Dad says we look alike. I think he’s right. Oh! And guess what? I want to be a hairdresser, too! You are so
good
. Dad made a scrapbook for me of all the articles about you and the contests you’ve won and . . . like everything.”

Abigail was completely taken back. Dave knew so much about her career? Dave had included her in his new life? Dave . . . cared? She stared back at the girl with wide eyes and was just about to reply when her father walked into the room.

“Abby?” he said the single word, but it was loaded with so much more. Her head snapped around and their gazes met. The expression in his eyes was vulnerable and filled with everything from remorse to love. He spread his arms and Abigail rushed to him and returned his fierce, emotion-packed hug.

Later that evening, Abigail parked the Olds at the curb in front of Justin’s house and cut the engine. Arms braced on the steering wheel, she sat for a moment, contemplating the glorious tangerine clouds that streaked the horizon, announcing the onset of twilight. Soft, golden light bathed their corner of the prairie, diminishing the damage done by the storm and giving the neighborhood an otherworldly feel. She could hear the sound of Justin’s chainsaw biting through the bark of a tree that had fallen in his yard. When he saw her, he cut the power and his expression told her how happy he was to see her as she climbed out of the car. The smell of sap and freshly cut wood greeted her along with his words.

“What brings you here?” he asked, dabbing at his brow with the back of his wrist as he set the chainsaw on a stump. He was months from moving back in, but the house already looked a hundred times better than it had, the night of the storm.

She pushed the car’s door shut behind her and crossed the yard. “I . . . know,” she said simply.

“You . . . know.” His grin was lopsided with confusion. Tugging off his stiff leather gloves, he gestured for her to join him on his stoop. “Good. I’m glad somebody does.”

She took a seat beside him and reached up to brush away some of the sawdust that clung to his nose and cheeks. “I saw my father today.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

Pulling her lips between her teeth, she nodded and plucked a woodchip from his hair. Holding it between her fingers, she felt its rough texture and smelled its fresh scent.

“And?”

Rawhide trotted across the yard and joined them on the porch. Tail thumping, he crawled up beside Abigail and laid his head in her lap, sniffing at the woodchip she held, examining it for chewability. “And . . . it was amazing. They were all—” she tossed the chip on the lawn and gathered the dog’s head in her hands as she groped for words in the human language that could describe her experience. But there were none. Not really. What had happened had been the kind of thing that only God could have orchestrated. With a storm.

“They,” she started again, blinking in amazement, “they were nothing like I expected. They were incredible. Awesome. A gift from God.” Rawhide nudged her hands, urging her to resume her massage with a canine groan. She laughed at him and scratched his ears. “Both he and Mindy were so sorry for the way they broke up our family. They’ve lived with a lot of regret, and it hasn’t been easy. My sister is a hoot, sort of like a mini-me. They say they pray for Mom and me every day. Isn’t that amazing? And, I never, ever would have believed it, but I think my father finally helped me figure out just what the thing on your list is, and that, my dear, is what I
know
.”

His smile was both quizzical and amused as Rawhide flipped on his back for some attention to his belly. “Do tell.”

“He said,” Abigail blinked rapidly and swallowed. She
would
get through this without crying. “He said Danny Strohacker taught him, over a decade ago, that the best marriage is a cord of three strands. And Dave wanted me to know it now. Because he wishes he would have known it when he married my mom. And, because,” she turned and looked him in the eyes as she spoke, “it’s the strongest. And so, knowing you the way I do now, I know that the number one thing on your list—and on mine now, too—is Jesus.” She slipped her arm through his and leaned her face against his shoulder. He smelled of earth and motor oil and gasoline and Armani for Men and warm flannel and fresh air, and she wondered if it was possible that she’d fallen in love with him already.

“So, am I right? Is that it? Jesus is number one your list? Because, ya know, if He’s not, then you need to let me know so that I can start looking elsewhere for someone to come a-courting.”

Chuckling, he buried his nose in her hair and whispered, “Yes. You’re right.” And then, much to Abigail’s relief and delight, he took her—ugly dog and all—in his arms and kissed her. First on her blushing cheeks and then full on her lips. Neither of them noticed the wild tattoo of Rawhide’s tail against the porch’s floor.

And, for the first time in a year, Justin finally felt at home.

D
aniel Strohacker’s memorial service was standing room only. Jen’s many brothers stood in the vestibule of the enormous North Rawston Community Church, surrounded by floral wreaths and pictures of Danny, welcoming people, directing them to the guest book and handing out programs with Danny’s smiling face featured prominently on the cover. At the doors to the sanctuary, Jen Strohacker stood holding her baby and looking beautiful, smiling and accepting hugs and condolences from friends and family as they headed into the auditorium to find their seats.

“It’s awkward, huh?” Jen murmured to Abigail and Heather as they hugged her and kissed the baby’s head. “I keep telling everyone that they don’t have to tell me they’re sorry, because I know. We all are.”

“We don’t really know what else to say,” Abigail admitted, her expression rueful.

“And, we
are
so sorry,” Heather blurted into her tissue and she blew her nose. “I’m sorry.” She laughed. “Sorry.”

“I know, honey” Jen said, and laughed sympathetically. She kissed Heather’s temple. “I don’t know what to say either, to tell you the truth.”

“Well,” Selma reached up and touched the baby’s tiny hand, “I’m betting Daniel wouldn’t want us to sit around with long faces today. This is a celebration of his beautiful life, after all. And, just because he moved to heaven before us doesn’t mean that is the end of Daniel Strohacker. We’ll see him again soon enough. And, when you get to be my age, you realize that the more people up in heaven there are waiting to greet you, the more excited you are to get there.”

Jen grinned. “I love the way you think, Selma Tully.”

“Beautiful baby, by the way,” Selma said. “You and Danny did good.”

“Thank you! I feel shameless about agreeing.” Her eyes crinkled with appreciation as they swept the group clustered around her and the baby. “I’m so glad you are all here and I’m looking forward to what you all have done for Danny today.”

Once they’d all found the seats that Bob Ray and Justin had saved for them, the program started with some music that Danny had loved, performed by several gifted artists. When everyone had arrived, his pastor welcomed the throng, gave a short but inspiring message about God’s plan of salvation and then introduced Jen’s brother—and Danny’s best friend growing up—Brett. Brett’s sorrow lurked just beneath the surface of his wide grin as he cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Danny liked to tell everyone he had the world’s smallest family. We think he did that to get sympathy from old ladies and my sister.” Laughter rippled. “But, if being an only child means not having brothers and sisters, then I’d like to refute his claim with a little slideshow from my childhood.”

The lights dimmed and a picture of a family at Christmastime was projected on two huge screens on either side of the podium. “This,” Brett turned toward one of the screens, “is Christmas at our house in 1970.” Using a laser pointer, Brett pointed at a kid under the tree. “This is me. This one is Jen. The rest of the kids are our siblings. This here is Mom. And Dad. And wait a minute . . . could it
beee
. . . Danny? Yes! See there? We’re seven. Wearing matching sweaters? Yeah. Gifts from my Aunt Marge.”

The next photo was also of Christmas. “Here we are in 1971. See the sweaters? There’s Danny, under the tree. Those are my Lincoln Logs. I think he sawed several of them in half, sort of foreshadowing his lumberyard thing. And here? In ’72? Yeah, uh . . . there he is. We’re nine. Matching sweaters, thanks, Aunt Marge. He’s holding my Hot Wheels? Never saw those again. 1973 . . . let’s see . . . oh, right, that’s us. More matching sweaters? Marge? Please? This was the year of the G.I. Joe. Look at Dan’s ’fro.” The laughter was regular now as every single Christmas featured Danny in the middle of Jen’s huge family wearing one of Aunt Marge’s specials.

“Here we are at Yellowstone on a family vacation. Danny is the one in the swim trunks. He had great legs. Us at Disneyland. Danny and me on the Matterhorn. Thanksgiving. Danny is the turkey on the left. This is our family at Easter. That’s Danny with the full basket of eggs. And that kid next to him there with the mouth open and the empty basket? That’s Jen crying.”

Dozens of pictures spanned the years and Abigail hadn’t laughed so hard in months. After Brett had finished and the lights were still dimmed, a musician friend of Danny’s stood and introduced the music video he had written and produced.

It seemed that Danny was renowned for his love of motocross. Apparently, he was equally renowned for his many and painfully splendid wipe-outs. The first familiar notes of the famous Irish song, “Danny Boy” accompanied some of Dan’s more spectacular accidents. The lyrics had been changed to suit the topic. “
Oh Danny boy, the bikes, the bikes are calling, From glen to glen, and down the mountainside. The summer’s gone, and off the bike he’s falling. ‘Tis you, ‘tis you must go—
UH-OH
—
and I must ride
.” The song went along in that vein for a number of nutty verses and eventually ended in thunderous applause and laughter and the overhead lights coming back up.

One after another, people offered heartfelt tributes, some funny, some poignant, all acknowledging Danny’s passion for the Lord. When at last it was their turn, Abigail’s knees were knocking as she headed to the podium with the rest of her and Selma’s storm family. Justin and Bob Ray carried the quilt to the stage in a box, took it out, and unfolding it, stretched it up and over a frame they’d built and assembled for the occasion.

Abigail nervously cleared her voice.
Lord,
she prayed,
please don’t let me cry and ruin this.
As she began speaking, a peace seemed to descend and her knees stilled. “Today, we have all heard how Danny was the only child of only children. So, not only did Daniel Strohacker have no siblings, he had no aunts and uncles, no cousins nor second cousins once removed.

“His parents were older when they had him so he also had no grandparents. In the ’70s, when he was only thirteen, Danny’s father passed away from a heart attack. Four short years later, when he was seventeen, he lost his mother to ovarian cancer.

“From outward appearances, it would seem that Daniel Strohacker was doomed to be alone. But as we have already heard today, nothing could be further from the truth. Danny was a family man, and right now, this room is filled with his family.” A smattering of applause quickly grew into a roar.

“Most of you probably can’t say that you ever saw Danny without this.”

Abigail picked up the laser pointer that Brett had been using earlier and pointed out the center square. “This is the fabric from Danny’s brilliant red Bible cover and the heartbeat of this quilt. It is the bloodline through which we are all related, in one way or another, to Danny. And this beautiful quilt, unfortunately, only illustrates a small fraction of Danny’s massive family. To do it justice, the quilt would fill the parking lot and beyond. And so we are limited today to this quilt, built from pieces of the lives of Danny’s brothers and sisters, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his cousins, and his sons and daughters. And of the storm that finally took his life.” Abigail moved the beam across the rows of fabric that she and Justin had gathered the night of the storm.

“Growing up, I always told people that I could identify with Danny because he was an only child. So was I, said I. We were loners in a lonely world. But this storm proved me wrong about so many things. Danny wasn’t an only child. And neither was I. It took an EF5 tornado to point that out to me, and for that, I am truly thankful.”

Amazingly, applause resounded throughout the building for a solid minute. Teary-eyed, Abigail continued. “Danny always lamented that he didn’t have a family of his own. But his legacy cries otherwise. And so, for my square, I chose mostly tattered bits of fabric I’d gathered in the storm. Disjointed pieces, like a family, coming together to form something that, to me, anyway, is beautiful. I think Danny would agree that family can come from unlikely places in unlikely circumstances.”

Abigail stepped back and one by one, each square—as different and beautiful as the members of Danny’s family—was presented by its maker. Kaylee and Chaz presented their square together and spoke to the inspiring Strohacker marriage.

“When Chaz proposed to me,” Kaylee said, “he said, ‘Kaylee, I want what Jen and Dan have,’ and so our square has pieces of our wedding clothes to symbolize how Danny’s love for Jen inspired us.”

When it was Guadalupe and Elsa’s turn, Elsa operated the pointer and Guadalupe spoke. “Elsa’s Daddy, Miguel, is in Mexico. He was deported because of some problems with his green card. But he will be back here next month, if the Good Lord is willing. The day before he left us, Miguel tells Danny, ‘Please, take care of my little girl and do some things for her that I cannot do, while I am away.’ So, Jen loans Danny to us sometimes for bike-riding lessons, and then swimming lessons, and then math homework and youth group and finally . . .” she glanced at Elsa and they giggled. “Some terrible dancing lessons.” Guadalupe paused and looked at the floor, unseeing as she gathered her words in English. “He was a good father figure to my daughter when she needed a daddy, and I can never give these minutes back to Jen. But we give her the gift of knowledge.” She craned around and looked at Jen sitting in the front row. “Knowledge that Danny Strohacker was a fine daddy. And in Elsa he has . . .
una hija
. A daughter.”

Next, Heather pointed out the square she made with the laser pointer. “My piece here looks really weird. I know. But even though it looks like an old washrag and some other scraps, it’s a symbol that probably only Danny would understand.” She cleared her throat. “The day Danny died, he was . . . he was . . . he was helping me. My baby stuffed a washcloth down the toilet and some towels into the tub and he flooded the house. Danny came over to help me unplug my drains and dry the house out. The washcloth might seem inappropriate to some people. But to me it symbolizes Danny’s willingness to help anytime . . . anywhere . . . anyone. That was Danny. Loving his neighbor. The washcloth also symbolizes forgiveness. This red velvet here is a bit of a baptismal curtain that protected me and my son the night of the storm. To me it says, my sins are washed away by faith in the Living Water, Jesus Christ. Danny taught me that.”

The Nakamura family followed, Tyler on crutches, Brooke in a wheelchair, Isuzu speaking for them all, rousing the crowd to laughter and tears. After several others, Bob Ray was up next. “This is my square, over here.” He took the pointer and drew loose circles around it with the tiny red light. “It’s a little messy, but I’m still learning the finer points of needlework.”

The laughter flowed in appreciative waves. “Selma here—” grinning, Bob Ray grasped the podium, leaned into the microphone, and nodded at the tiny woman at his side, “—her seam ripper was smokin’ sometimes while I practiced, but we finally got my patch right-side up. Anyway, in the rubble I found some clothes I wore to baseball games, back when I was in high school. The thing I remember most about Danny from those days is how he was never afraid to pray in public. And he never swore. And he always praised his team. And . . .” Bob Ray exhaled and blinked, “. . . if the other team did something cool, he’d cheer for them and no one ever thought he was like, a traitor, you know? Danny modeled what it meant to be a man. I learned a lot from watching him over the years, about being a good coach and a good husband and a good man. I hope to one day be all of those things and make him proud up there.”

Finally, it was Justin’s turn. Slowly, looking up at the video screen as he walked, he made his way to the podium. He braced his palms on each side of the podium, gripping it, head down. Abigail thought for a moment he was praying. Finally, he shook his head, sniffed, and looked out over the crowd.

“Danny would have laughed himself sick, to see me hunched over a sewing machine.” Amid hoots and catcalls and laughter, Justin glanced up at the ceiling. “I did it for you, big guy. And I want you to know I ruined a perfectly good shirt in the process . . . this here?” He picked up and pointed with the laser. “It’s the shirt I was wearing when I delivered Danny’s son right after the tornado, in the middle of a parking lot while being coached by a homeless man and a hairdresser with a flashlight.” He waited for the applause to die. “Yes, I have to say that was a moment I’d never anticipated enjoying, but it will go down in history as one of my all-time favorite experiences.”

He moved the laser’s beam. “This is the material we wrapped the baby in that night. And this is a piece of the dog bed, you had to be there, and . . . this is a prayer pocket I made . . .” Justin had to stop and gather his wits for a moment. “Sorry,” there was laughter in his sob. “And I put a prayer in there for your son, big guy. And a promise to be there for him. The way you were always there for me.”

He glanced at Abigail, and his smile said it all. He was staying.

Tears gathering in her throat, Abigail’s heart threatened to pound out of her body as she stood, staring at him and smiling. When the lights came back up, the applause thundered, and Justin stepped into Abigail’s outstretched arms.