This morning at Panera, my friend, Cori, did something unusual. She looked at me and said..."Page 129. I really love page 129. It's about the stars." I knew what she was talking about.
Thank you, Cori, for reading my books and for even remembering the page number of a portion you loved. Means a lot to me.
The sky was dark now except for the millions
of stars that winked, fixed in their galaxies, doing their jobs, moving at the
beck and call of the Creator. Isaac longed to be more like those stars.
Predictable. Trustworthy. And just so soon one fell headlong to the earth. That
would have to be Isaac, the roguish star that wouldn’t stay in its course. Why
couldn’t he be more like Jonathan, the rock, or as Henry had been for that
matter? The two smooth, near perfect brothers who always did and said the right
things. Why and how had his world turned on him? Why a complete reversal in the
mainspring of his being?
His mother had taught him that the Apostle Paul,
when he was lonely, was comforted by the presence of someone. When he
was troubled on every side, when without there were fightings, and within there
were fears, God comforted him by sending Titus or Timothy or someone.
Someone always came, bringing comfort and receiving comfort. Jennie had been
his comfort, his motivating force, and he had been hers. But Isaac had wallowed
in his anger, a safe place for him until the string of events began to take
place—the dream about his father, his confrontation with his grandfather, the whipping
Jonathan gave him, and the talk with Rachel. Now—well, now the anger was
passing. Now the menacing claws of Simon Graystone had opened, and Isaac had
slipped the surly clutches, hoping the carpetbagger was out of his life forever.
The mild days of Indian summer were passing,
the landscape changing. Isaac loved every grapevine, every majestic tree to
which they were affixed and the green moss on the north side of each. He loved
how the sweet gums, tall and straight, caught the morning sun that painted the
landscape crimson and yellow, the seed balls swinging festively on every
twig, and how the dew glimmered on the first light, and the rays
slashed across the porch of a morning. Soon the green would vanish except
for the cedars and the pines and the magnolias. That was not unsettling to
Isaac, for it would then be possible for him to see through the canebrake to
the creek beyond. The blue skies over Slate Springs would stay the same and the
dew would continue to glisten like gold and silver on the dried leaves and pine
needles. And if winter allowed an inch of snow to fall, his world would sparkle
like slithers of diamonds. Every season had its splendid advantage and from
front porch or back or from the myriad panes on every side or even from the
dogtrot he would sit and bask in the blessings of each, calling them by
name—winter, spring, summer and best of all—autumn.
Jane Bennett Gaddy
Trinity, FLA
Jane Bennett Gaddy
Trinity, FLA
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