Dear Readers,
Thank you again for your many gracious reviews. You gave me much to contemplate. I decided to skip a part three for Saturday and to conclude with the epilogue. I hope you enjoy the ending of my musings concerning Oliver and To The Altar. The characters and the story which inspired my thoughts belong to Martha Williamson.
Epilogue
The house is empty. It is late. Oliver sits on the brown leather sofa swirling a snifter of fine brandy. It is simply not a Yoo-Hoo kind of night. He had a couple of glasses of champagne but that was earlier. He is just sitting there – thinking – thinking about her – contemplating the two of them.
An hour earlier he enters his house and hangs his coat. Walking toward his bedroom he removes his tux jacket and chuckles thinking of that ugly green tie and they way she pulled him toward her with it. He adores her. He checks his watch for the time, 1:31 a.m. He wants to call his dad – just to talk, to thank him again; however, it is too late. He will have to wait. They plan to go together to join him for a late lunch tomorrow.
Together – together takes on new meaning tonight. He dropped her at her house less than fifteen minutes earlier yet it is she who he most wants to call. He walks to the phone by his bed and picks up the receiver only to return it. She looked so tired - happy but tired when they leave the farm together. As he walks her to her door she clings to his arm and leans against his chest. He isn't certain if it is more from affection or exhaustion. But he does not care. He is glad that she rests on him. He escorts her just inside her door and kisses her once more before parting. He tells her to sleep well and he will come for her around 1:00 p.m. – less than twelve long hours now. Yes, they will go see his dad together. He will let her get her rest for tonight. Besides, what would he say if he calls? I love you. I miss you. Marry me.
He sighs.
Funny, he is standing in his bedroom in the middle of night and he does not know what to do with himself – except think of her – think of them – and smile.
He turns down his bed and thinks how she will share it with him one day. Maybe he should buy a new mattress before they get married. His musings are all over the place but they all come back to her.
He is restless. He decides a shower may help. It has been a long day. Even there the thought of her cannot be washed away. He really doesn't want to wash away anything about her – quite the opposite. Until he has pledged his intentions before God and the accompanying witnesses he will guard where those thoughts go.
And now he sits – sits on the sofa, swills brandy, and thinks of her – wishing all the while that she were with him now. How long should they wait to be married? What is a respectable engagement? Longer than three hours is a certainty. He shakes his head. Perhaps they should talk to his pastor. If he would go to bed and go to sleep he may actually ably attend church in the morning and speak to Rev. Marshall.
Church – Dale. He needs to tell Dale. She will be supportive. She will understand. She always does. In spite of Dale saying all the right things and doing all the right things she will experience a twinge of hurt; he knows. Perhaps he will tell her after the service ends. He acknowledges there once was something between the two of them. Whatever it is was it was neither meant to be nor was it ever what he has found now. Still he does not look forward to telling her. He takes a deeper draw on the glass and closes his eyes.
He rests his head back against the couch. His thoughts wander to earlier this evening. He can see her coming down the aisle; he can hear her saying yes to his proposal; he can feel her in his arms. He is thankful.
He begins to unwind, to relax and to think of so many things she did that tonight he sees in an even more grateful light. He mind drifts to a spring day and out of balance porch swing. "I have no intentions in leaving, if that matters." Why has she always known what he most needed to hear? He thinks of how she does not leave him that night in DLO after learning about his father – how she wants to put her arms around him and tell him that everything is going to be ok. She throws her arms around him and it really makes life better – him better. He thinks how her arms around him make everything better. He smiles.
He finishes the brandy and stretches out on the sofa. He thinks he will read. What better choice than The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis? He has read it before. But tonight he never opens the book. Instead, he thinks of the many ways and many times she exhibited love to him: storing Yoo-hoo's at The Mailbox Grille, saying I only dance with you, giving him a second chance after a terrible dinner, putting a camping trip ahead of their long awaited date, sitting and praying in the chapel at the hospital, faithfully writing letters while away. He can even remember what she was wearing when he found her that morning in the DLO. He smiles at her wanting to be his first dance tonight. Yes, he is thankful for her friendship, and her faith, and her love.
In helping deliver him from the controlling pain of his past, from fear, from doubt, she became the object of his affection. He is free to love her and to embrace this hope and this future with her. He is at peace.
So many beautiful memories to ponder - he begins to drift to sleep.
This odd fellow who loves words and books and things from the past and has spent his life trying to find a future with someone in it to share it with has found her.
She is his dear lady, his dear friend, his love. She is his Shane.
THE END
