Unto These Hills (42 page)

Daniel, my Lion-Man
knows
.

Epilogue

You don’t know how to appreciate something till you’ve lost it. That’s the way it was with joy. When it returned, I danced a celebration dance each day, honoring life and love and passion. I still do.

I also celebrate these hills upon which I was born and raised. Unto them, I give homage for safekeeping and nurturing and a sense of roots. They will also bury me. But maybe with divine providence, not for a long time.

Daniel can’t do enough to make up for all those years we were apart. Neither can I. My faith has regenerated. It’s not something I talk about often. But oh, it’s there. When I see one of the village houses that time and wear has eroded, in my mind’s eye, I see it as it should be, sparkling with a patina of newness, an honor to its past, present, and future. I pray for its complete restoration. Then I tuck the desire into my soul-niche that
believes.

Without fail, Daniel will pick that sagging, peeling, dilapidated specimen as his next project. I don’t have to utter a word. He just
knows.
With his degree in engineering, Daniel makes my dreams come true

Daniel, my Lion-Man, doesn’t simply patch it up. Heck
no.
He aggressively guts the structure, leaving only bracing support-beams. He removes the big archaic, crumbling chimneys whose small grated fireplaces served well in decades past. Then he insulates walls and installs central heating and cooling, using extra emptied-spaces for needed closets and storage.

Daniel replaces old with new: wiring, plumbing, windows, doors, walls, ceiling, light fixtures, and roof. He exchanges sagging back porches for decks, and newly floored front verandas sparkle with thick shiny coats of battleship gray or maybe a softer dove gray.

My Daniel doesn’t compromise the spirit of the mill hill village. Each of his artful restorations is a refuge, inviting folks to slow down in passing and gaze in wonder. The dwellings remind me of a Thomas Kinkade painting, where light spills from windows and you just know that inside you’ll find family, love, warmth and joy.

Family.
Has my relationship with Muffin done a dramatic turnaround? In some ways, yes. In others, changes come more gradually. After Walter’s death, Daniel took Muffin under his wing and a sweet camaraderie blossomed there. He convinced her to go through drug rehab. Since completing that, Muffin
is
reaching out more to me, listening more.

At our urging, she recently went in for a complete medical checkup, one long overdue for a gal who’s lived as hard as Muffin. She was diagnosed with Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. With daily doses of Adderall, she’s more focused and her temperament has leveled somewhat. As a result, she’s building her real estate business, and plans to move into her own condo very soon. Until then, she resides with us.

A healthy lifestyle is restoring her fabulous beauty. We get in the kitchen together and whip up nutritional, tasty meals. Most days, we enjoy long walks over our lush grounds.

Muffin will never be a Martha Stewart. But she does have spurts of neatness now, a great leap in a good direction. My heart soars when she gives me big hugs for no reason and calls often when she’s away, just to say she loves me. Her maternal nature has kicked in even more and it’s glorious. Ahhh, what more can I ask for?

Would I do anything differently if I could do it over?

Hard question. I would wait for Daniel, no matter the risk of scandal. But then, I wouldn’t have my Libby, would I? So it all worked out for the best.

Daniel…
Just this week, he stuck his head out the front door of our village-style house as I strolled the grounds inhaling late summer’s floral bouquet. “Sunny, there’s someone on the phone who wants to speak to you.”

Curious at his tone of voice, a touch cryptic, I sprinted into the house (happiness does wonders for older folks) and took the receiver from Daniel. “Hello?”

A long silence ensued, then a quiet, “Sunny? Is that you?”

The woman’s voice was rather frail. I frowned, puzzled. “Yes. Who is this?”

Another pause, then unsteadily, “Ruby. Your mama.”

“Dear God!”
Shock coursed through me. I nearly dropped the phone. Daniel helped me to the sofa to sit. “Where — why?” I finally gasped.

“Sunny, you gotta understand, honey, that I’ve been too ashamed to call y’all. I’ve thought about you so much and —” Presently, I heard soft weeping.

“Mama,” I said gently, “ don’t. Please don’t cry. I’ve wanted so many times lately to talk to you. To tell you I love you and to say I’m s-sorry.” I, too, sobbed by now.

A loud snuffle sound drifted from the other end. “But, Sunny, why’re
you
sorry? It was me —”

“I’m sorry I was so ashamed of you, Mama,” I wailed and in a heartbeat, Daniel’s arms held me while his hand gently rubbed my shoulder, arm, neck, anywhere he could touch skin.

My mother and I cried quietly for long moments.

“You had every right to be ashamed of me,” she said hoarsely. “What I did was unforgivable. That’s why I never called to ask you to forgive me. But…after Daniel called me, I began to have a little hope that just maybe, you might be able to. I know I don’t deserve it but —”

“Oh Mama. You’re forgiven.” I laughed with joy. What a
glorious
feeling it is to forgive! “Where — I mean, is your husband still living?”

A terse laugh. “
Shoot,
he’s livin’ all right. With a woman younger’n our son. We’ve been divorced over twenty years. I’m alone, now. You just don’t know how much I’ve missed y’all, how many times I reached for the phone, then lost my nerve.”

I’ve even got another brother somewhere. So much to celebrate.

“Mama, we’ve got lots of catching up to do. When can you come for a visit?”
I want time to tell you that I now understand your passions since Daniel stoked my own back to life. In many ways I’m no different from you. Just in choices.

My mother — myself.

In her eighties, Mama’s had her share of health problems, but amazingly, none life-threatening. I knew a spark of the old adventurous Ruby remained when she agreed that we arrange for her to fly here. A reunion is set for next month, here at our house.

When I rang off, I gazed at Daniel. I licked my lips nervously. “I’ve got to say this. I want everything between us open and truthful. Remember how I hated Mama’s ways and ran all my life in the other direction to get away from all that passion? Then here you come back into my life and wake that very thing up in me. Do you realize how ironic that is?” Gathering tears stung my eyes and nose.

He pulled me close and murmured in my ear. “You taught me to forgive, Sunny. Brought me down off my haughty high-horse, where I finally saw that I could love unconditionally, too.”

“How did you know I would forgive her? And how did you find her, for goodness sake? And what about Mona, your own mama?”

“Emaline told me about your change of heart,” he said softly. “I hired a private detective to locate her. Right now, he’s searching for my mama. “ His finger stroked my cheek. “I told you this was only the beginning, Sweetheart. So fasten your seat belt.”

“Ah, Daniel, I miss those days when the mill hill was alive and bustling and didn’t look so rundown.”

He let loose a big ol’ laugh and then a rebel yell. “This mill hill is gonna look like new.”

“Like us,” I whispered. “Kiss me, Daniel. I don’t care if every daggum gossip around sees us.”

Daniel did just that. Then grabbed my hand and we dashed out into the sunshine.

To the white arbor of the gazebo, to snuggle in a snow-white swing and to smell the yellow roses. And y’know, in that warm spring breeze, I caught the faintest whiff of
lemon-drops.

Dear Reader,

Having celebrated with me the miraculous triumph of Sunny and Daniel, I hope you will join me for an equally inspiring odyssey in my next novel. Soon to be released
Cocoon
takes readers to the fictional Carolina foothills town of Paradise Springs, population 2,000.

When widowed, well-to-do Seana Howard meets Barth McGrath, a newcomer to their little town, she never dreams she’ll fall in love again. Despite his somewhat quirky ways and near penury, she falls for the man. The only problem is that her married children hate the Yankee interloper. When Barth proposes, her family is not happy. They do not trust the mysterious stranger. Who is he? Where exactly did he come from? What is his past? Barth is not forthcoming.

Against their wishes, Seana elopes with Barth and, despite the family schism, is happier than she’s been in years. Then her happiness shatters when a mysterious illness suddenly befalls her, exiling her once brilliant mind to a dark nightmare from which she may never return. The eclipse is startling and complete. Will Barth, with such a short history with Seana, love her enough to endure the trials of caring for someone who has become a psychotic stranger? Can her family get past their suspicions of his dark past and trust his motives and love for their mother? Will Seana ever escape the dark cocoon and reclaim her brilliance and beauty? Her love and freedom? Her very purpose for living? Will life give her a second chance to spread her wings, like the beautiful butterfly?

Cocoon
is a life-affirming story of one family’s struggle to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, one I hope you will embrace.

Hugs,

Emily Sue Harvey