The Unfinished Gift (20 page)

“Elizabeth,” he said aloud. “Was a mercy you never got your chance to visit. I’d have ruined it for us all.”

After composing himself a bit, he decided to put things back the way they were and head up to bed. He wasn’t sure he could sleep but was exhausted enough to try. He put the letters back in the shoe box exactly as he’d found them. But really, who was left to know any better?

He started to slide the box back into the corner when his eyes fell on the telegram. He picked it up, trying to decide what to do with it. Better in the box, he thought, than lying around in the open for Patrick to find.

He reopened the box and was just about to put the telegram in when two other papers caught his eye. They were wedged up against the side of the box beside a hairbrush, folded in thirds. Collins lifted them out and noticed they were larger than Shawn’s letters but looked to be letters for sure, on two different kinds of stationery.

He sat back on the chair, holding them both, and picked one to read and set the other on his lap. As soon as he unfolded the pages, his hands began to tremble.

It was Ida’s handwriting.

A bit shaky, the way she wrote near the end, but it was unmistakably her writing. At the top of the letter, he was startled as he read the words “Dear Elizabeth.”

It was a letter from Ida to Shawn’s wife.

Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you so much for your visits of late. I’m sorry we have to be so sneaky, but I couldn’t take the chance that Ian would find out. He’s just not ready for something like that, but I know my time is short, and I can’t wait around for his heart to change. I know God understands and will forgive me going against his wishes.How I hoped I could see Patrick in person, but the hospital won’t allow it. But I cherish the picture you brought of him. I look at it often. You can’t imagine how much like Shawn he looks. I have asked one of the nurses a favor, and she assures me she will oblige. When my time comes, I explained this picture must be returned to you without Ian’s knowledge. He’ll have enough to worry about without trying to handle this (that we’ve been visiting).There is only one prayer I pray every day, that God would reveal himself to my husband before he dies, and that my husband would come to know him the way I have these past few months. I know that would be enough to melt his cold heart and restore his relationship with you all.I have you to thank, Elizabeth, for the change in my heart. Before you shared the gospel with me, I must admit, though I’ve believed in God all these years, I dreaded the thought of my final hour and what fate might await me. Ian always said I’d go straight to heaven, but he’s only judging the outside. God knows the sins of my heart, and I was sure great suffering awaited me the moment this illness took its final stroke.But I did as you said and began to read the Bible, starting with the Gospels. I had never read the Bible in all my life.But I saw my Savior as I read, unfolding within the pages, and marveled at his words and deeds. And it has changed me completely. Jesus is so real to me now, and now I can’t wait to see him face to face. I read the verses in Paul’s epistles that you gave me and, combined with the Gospels, I now understand what you meant about Jesus dying for my sins on the cross, once for all. Something happened in my heart as I read, and I knew it was all true.Then for the first time, maybe in my life, I talked to Jesus without formal words or recited prayers. And a peace and joy came over me like I’ve never known. Right then, I knew I had no reason to fear my death. I lay here now, my body racked with pain, life ebbing away, and totally unconcerned about it all. All I know is joy and serenity.The only thing on earth that troubles me is the brokenness in my family. But I have prayed and asked God to please sort it all out after I’m gone, and I have peace that he will.I feel inside I don’t have many days left, but please know, because of you these days will be spent so much better. You keep praying too, and I know one day God will do something to make a way for our family to be whole again.
With much love,
       Ida

Collins was stunned.

He read the letter again, slowly. By the end of the second reading, he felt totally sober. But he was so conflicted inside. Just reading something Ida had written that he’d never seen, pages that her hands had handled, warmed his heart and beckoned fond memories. But realizing the letter told of a secret betrayal and a total disregard for his wishes aroused his anger. Yet he knew Ida did these things only because he had been so stubborn—when it was now clear Elizabeth was not the enemy he’d made her out to be.

He felt more ashamed than angry.

The ache inside was painful and wholly unfamiliar. He looked around the room, as though some path might open up to him, a place he could run to and hide from the pain. He looked down at the second letter. Clearly not written by Ida. He let Ida’s letter fall to the table and picked up the other. He read the first few words, just the date and the greeting. It took a few moments for their significance to sink in. He read them again.

“Oh no,” he said aloud.

He read the greeting and especially the date again. But what else could it be? There were two pages. He quickly flipped to the second page to read the ending, and his fears were confirmed.

It said: “With all my love, Liz.”

It was a letter addressed to Shawn and written by Elizabeth . . . on the very day she died.

Shawn had never seen it. No one ever had, for it had never been sent.

Dec. 18, 1943
My dearest Shawn,
Your last letter was so wonderful. You can’t imagine what it does to my day when the mail includes something from you. Every day I quickly rummage through whatever comes in, looking for only one thing. And when it comes . . . to know I’m holding something you wrote just for me. Something your fingers have touched.Well, today is the big day. With your blessing now, I’m going to ride across town and pop in on your father for a visit. I don’t mind saying, I couldn’t be more nervous about this. I know you’ve told me not to get my hopes up, but I can’t help it. Something has got to give on this thing, and I know it grieves God that our family is so torn apart. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make an end to all this strife.Perhaps today will just be a beginning. I’m not expecting your father to throw his arms around me and give me a big kiss on the cheek. In fact, I’m bringing Patrick with me but not telling him where we’re going, just in case it doesn’t go well. I’ll leave him in the car until I see how your father responds. Hopefully, he’ll at least invite us in, and I can begin to chip away at the dividing wall between us. But I don’t think I’m going to be the primary instrument of peace.I don’t know how, but when I pray, I get the sense that Patrick is going to factor in on this somehow. He looks so much like you and yet he is so innocent (not that you are so guilty . . . you know what I mean).Wouldn’t it be an amazing thing, though, if by this Christmas this long-standing feud would finally be over? That for the first time in Patrick’s young life he’d actually get a present from his grandfather? It doesn’t have to be a big one, just anything. And then 1944 would usher in a new beginning. The war would end, and you’d come home, and we’d all be together again.I can just see your face as you read this, scrunching up in disbelief at my naiveté and optimism. Then you’d break into a smile as a glimmer of hope broke through that what I said could possibly come true (and then that smile would quickly return to a frown as you thought of the right words to say that would balance me out).Well, don’t balance me out this time, my love. Hope with me. I don’t know what God is going to do, but I’m confident his wisdom and power will make a way. He is famous for “making roadways in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”I know we’re called to overcome evil with good. So, I’m going armed with a mincemeat pie (which I abhor), because you said it was his favorite (I’m trusting you on this). And I’m wearing my green dress and hat, even though I’m not Irish. I know this is what your mom wanted too, so that gives me strength. She told me herself just before she died. I promised her, if it took the rest of my life, I wouldn’t stop trying to bring us all back together again.I’m holding on to this letter until tomorrow, so I can include with it another letter after the visit, to let you know how things went. So there should be two letters in this envelope.And there will be something else in the envelope, not so easily seen but always present . . .
That is, my unending love,
       Liz

It was too amazing to believe. Collins looked at the date again and considered everything the letter said. It had to be true.

Elizabeth was on her way to see him the day she died. With Patrick.

Collins tried to remember what little information he’d been told by Miss Townsend about the accident. It happened just two miles from where she lived, so he’d never even considered the possibility before. Elizabeth was riding through a busy intersection when some guy in a stolen car happened to be fleeing the police. He ran a red light and slammed right into her car door. It put him in the hospital with some broken bones, but Elizabeth was killed instantly. The miracle in the whole thing was Patrick, although knocked unconscious, was otherwise unharmed. Fortunately, he couldn’t recall a thing.

But the pieces of the puzzle were coming together now, and how he wished they were not. If Elizabeth hadn’t been trying so hard to reunite the family, she would not have been in the car that day, at least not heading in that direction. The juvenile fleeing the police would have missed her completely or else hit somebody else. She’d be alive, and Patrick would have a mom. And Shawn would have a—

Or would he? Would Shawn even be coming home?

This whole thing was becoming such a nightmare. Now Patrick had no one, he thought. No one but him. And look how he’d been treating his only grandson, not just recently but for his entire life. And how he had treated the boy’s father, his own son Shawn.

And Elizabeth.

Even Ida.

He had kept Ida from spending any time with her only son and grandson, even on her deathbed. For no reason except his stubborn pride.

He was the source behind all the heartache and confusion for everyone. Shawn had married, what seemed like now, a fine woman. And Collins had never given her a chance. He had more money than he could spend in two lifetimes, and here they were, barely able to make ends meet. Collins didn’t even know about their situation. Why? Because he’d cast them all into exile. So he could live all alone in this cold, dreary house, squandering his remaining years in isolation and solitude. Then Elizabeth dies, his only grandson is brought to him, and all he thinks about is . . . when is he going to leave.

What kind of punishment would a man like this face before God?

There could be no easy penance for him. Collins would be headed straight for hell.

“God forgive me,” he cried. “But I do deserve hell and more. What can I do to make this right? Can I even make it right?”

Twenty-Eight

Collins walked about downstairs, starting to close up the house. It was only a little before 8:00 p.m., but he was totally spent. His mind had mercifully gone numb, more from the day’s events than the whiskey. He was so glad that the boy—Patrick . . . his name is Patrick—stayed asleep the entire time he’d been reading the letters.

Before ascending the stairway, he took one last glance around the room to make sure everything was in place. The last thing he saw was the big box from Elizabeth’s apartment. How it had grown in value over the last few hours.

He climbed the stairs, thinking about what a fine boy Patrick really was, now that he could think more clearly. Collins knew Patrick didn’t shovel his driveway to get that wooden soldier. He did it for love, or maybe to get Collins to stop treating him so poorly. But he wasn’t some scheming conniver, just a little boy who’d lost his mother and was thrust out into the world all alone. Even in Collins’s house, he realized . . . Patrick must still feel all alone.

But tomorrow that changes, Collins thought. Tomorrow we will start over. And I will treat him the way he should be treated.

He didn’t even know where to begin, but he knew he must try. “Ida,” he whispered aloud as he reached the final step, “I’m going to do this. I’m finally going to do what you’ve wanted me to do all along.”

He turned on the hall light and glanced toward Patrick’s room. Part of him wanted to just rush in and scoop Patrick up in his arms, just to say something kind or encouraging. He headed there but stopped. Let the boy sleep, he thought. He’s had a horrible day. We’ll start fresh in the morning. He walked to his own room and got dressed for bed.

A few minutes later he went into the bathroom and turned on the light. As he reached for his toothbrush, he looked toward Patrick’s room. Something caught his eye, something seemed off. He noticed a suitcase on the floor, next to the bed. It belonged in the closet, had been there since Patrick arrived. He walked over to have a look. The suitcase was open and things were spilled out across the floor. He turned on the light.

“Oh no.” The bed was empty, still made up from this morning. Patrick was gone.