Epilogue: Turn Around…
The mahogany walls of the study glowed in the lamplight, the Bach concerto was playing, and the scratch of the fountain pen was familiar. This time, the nostalgia had no sense of melancholy; only peace and warm memories.
And so it ends— this chapter at least. To close the book on a 25-year journey seems so final; yet I know that the adventure is just beginning. Fresh minds, new challenges… and the opportunity to be available as my little girls grow into confident, beautiful young women.
He paused, sat back in his chair and thumbed the "pause" button on the CD remote. A song had popped into his head, and he let it flow out in the upper part of his range, a clear tenor:
Where are you going, my little one, little one,
Where are you going, my baby, my own?
Turn around and you're two, turn around and you're four,
Turn around, you're a young girl going out of my door.
Turn around, turn around,
Turn around, you're a young girl going out of my door.
Tears slid over his cheeks, tears of joy and certain anticipation of all that lay ahead…
Where are you going, my little one, little one?
Dirndls and petticoats, where have you gone?
Turn around and you're tiny, turn around and you're grown,
Turn around, you're a young wife with babes of your own.
Turn around, turn around,
Turn around, you're a young wife with babes of your own.
"I always love to hear you sing." Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice soft and filled with affection. "You okay?"
He nodded, drawing her onto his lap and burying his hands in her hair. He kissed her long and intensely, then brushed his lips across her cheek as he replied. "I'm fine," he whispered. "Let's go snuggle in the hammock for a little while."
She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Myles. It's almost the end of October. They're predicting snow for tomorrow night."
He laughed softly. Picking up his pen, he made one last note in his journal, then moved her off his lap and stood, pulling her back into his embrace as soon as he could. "That's why coats and blankets were invented," he murmured against her ear. "So crazy people like us could spend a cold, clear night out on the patio in October, curled up in the hammock, gazing at the stars. What do you say, love?"
Elizabeth considered him for a moment, her emerald eyes bright with fond emotion. "I say let's," she smiled, and twined her fingers with his as they walked out of the study.
The leather journal, its pages worn from reminiscent journeys, remained at its post, a sentinel for one man's heart and soul, and speaking in its bold script of a future bright with promise:
Turn the page… and we will love these days.