Love's Embrace - Part 4

 Good morning!

    It's really foggy here this morning! Five of my nieces and nephews are going to be here all morning. We'll probably read books, build lego, and who knows what else.

Here is the final part of this story. Hard to believe it's the end of April! Well, I hope you enjoy it!

 

 Love's Embrace

Part 4

    “I’m sorry, Daddy,” seven-year-old Hope piped up.
    “Me too, Daddy,” echoed little Faith.
    “I’m glad you are sorry, girls.”
    There was silence in the room, and Lindsey wondered what was going on. She almost moved her arm but was afraid of what she might see if she did.
    Elliot spoke. “I’m sorry.”
    “And me.” It was five-year-old Nate.
    “Yeah. I’m sorry too, Dad. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” Hudson sighed.
    “I’m glad you are all sorry. But actions have consequences. I want you all to go up to your rooms right now. Faith and Nate, you two lie down for a rest. Hope, you can read if you want. Elliot and Hudson, I want you two to think about what you did and what you think would be a good consequence for your actions.”
    On the couch, Lindsey almost held her breath as the kids left the room. Would it be her turn?
    “Where was Mrs. Judd?” Aunt Joy asked.
    “Apparently,” Uncle Isaiah said, “she ate lunch and then forgot about the kids and went shopping. She got back just before we did and was confused by the police asking where she was. I don’t think she’s remembering very well now.”
    “Poor Mrs. Judd. I wonder if her children know.”
    A silence settled over the living room, and Lindsey braced herself for a harsh tongue lashing if not a punishment of some kind.
    “Linds,” Uncle Isaiah’s voice was soft and gentle, yet Lindsey cringed and kept her arm over her face as though to ward off any blows that might come. “I’m sorry.”
    Sorry? That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. She moved her arm just a little and peeked out. Her uncle was standing near the edge of the couch, and his face was almost sad.
    He spoke again. “I’m sorry we didn’t ask someone to come in and stay with you all. It might have made Hudson and Elliot think before acting. I’m sorry we laid the responsibility on you.”
    Did he really mean that?
    “What happened was not your fault. We do not blame you at all. Okay?”
    “But–” She swallowed and then blurted out, “But I was in charge!” Then the tears came.
    “Oh, sweetie!” Aunt Joy pulled her into a hug and let her cry, talking softly to her.
    Lindsey had never cried before her aunt and uncle before. Only her pillow upstairs in her own room knew of the tears of fear and pain, of loneliness and the longing to let love embrace her. Now she sobbed in the comforting arms of someone who loved her. She felt another hand stroking her hair and somehow knew it was her uncle. He wasn’t angry at her. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Somehow that knowledge brought more tears until she could hardly breathe.
    “Shh, Lindsey. Breathe, honey, breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe. We aren’t mad at you. No one is going to hurt you. Isaiah, I think she’s having a panic attack!”
    Strong but gentle hands pulled her into a sitting posture and held her there. “Take a breath, Lindsey. Come on. You can do it. One breath at a time.”
    The voice was a lot like the fireman’s, and his words came back to her.
    Smell the roses. Inhale.
    Blow out the candle. Exhale.
    “That’s it, Linds. Do it again.”
    Roses.
    Candle.
    She could breathe. She just had to keep thinking about it. In. Out. Roses, Candle. It grew easier. She relaxed and then sniffed.
    Aunt Joy handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose.
    “Are you okay now?” Uncle Isaiah asked.
    She nodded, and he eased her back onto some pillows Aunt Joy tucked behind her. They cared. Maybe Mrs. Quivira was right.
    “Do you feel like telling us what happened today after we left?” Aunt Joy asked.
    “Can I have a drink first?”
    “Of course, sweetie! Isaiah, her water-bottle is on the floor by that chair. Thanks.”
    Lindsey took a drink. Her head hurt, but if she closed her eyes it wasn’t as bad. It would be better to tell everything now and be done with it. “The kids played until it was lunch time. We had sandwiches like you said.”
    “Did you make the sandwiches?”
    “Uh huh. They were really talkative at lunch, and I got a headache, so I let them all go play while I cleaned up.”
    “You are supposed to stay off that leg, honey,” Aunt Joy chided gently.
    “I sat on the stool to wash the dishes. Then I checked on the kids, and they were wound up. I didn’t see any phone then. I guess I should have just stayed in there instead of coming in here to read. I’m sorry.”
    “Lindsey,” Uncle Isaiah’s voice was firm. “Look at me.”
    Wincing, she obeyed.
    “You did nothing wrong.”
    “And if you had a headache,” Aunt Joy put in, “being in the same room with those five when they are wound up would not have helped. Even I wouldn’t have done it. Did your headache go away?”
    Lindsey closed her eyes again and murmured. “No.”
    “I’m going to get you some Tylenol, and you are going to rest.” Aunt Joy rose and slipped away.
    A moment later Lindsey felt a hand on her head and heard her uncle’s voice.
    “Lord, I ask that You would bring healing to Lindsey’s headache, and her knee. Help her know that You love her and that we love her too. Heal her heart from the hurt caused by fifteen years of anger and abuse. Let her find Your salvation. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.” He kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, Lindsey.” Then he rose and left the room.
    Aunt Joy arrived next, and after Lindsey had swallowed the pills and was settled on a pillow with a light blanket over her, she was left alone.
    The house was quiet except for the air conditioning. Her head throbbed, and for a time all she could do was try not to think of how it pounded. Gradually the pain eased, and Lindsey drifted into sleep thinking about her uncle’s prayer, and her aunt’s arms around her. Perhaps there was a chance for love to embrace her. Perhaps there were people who loved no matter what.

Did you enjoy this story?

Do you feel like April has flown by?

If I get another short story ready, do you want to read it?