The Valentine Year

Humming to herself, Abby set the second pan on the stove, turned the heat up and added butter. Expertly flipping the top pale section of the cooking pancake to the skillet’s surface to brown, she paused to yawn. Although she’d been awake and on the go for a good three hours, the coffee seemed to be taking its time in adding necessary fuel as motivation while preparing breakfast. Not that she had much time to actually stop and enjoy a full cup before it cooled down, in fact half the time she forgot where she left the cup. Sidestepping over the dog that waited for dropped morsels, she mentally went over the days ‘to do’ list while walking down the hall. Stopped to holler up the stairs to her much too quiet boys.

“Breakfast in five minutes guys! Haul yourselves down here…dressed! With shoes! And socks!”

A sudden explosion of high energy noisily clumped, stomped with squeals of competition as Jason flew down the stairs with his younger brother at his heels. Joshua, 5 1/2 was an expert at unintentionally driving Jason ‘crazy’. Wanting to either emulate everything his 11-year-old brother did, or push the right buttons guaranteeing him attention-usually negative, he shadowed, mimicking both in gestures and sound levels his sibling.

Abby stood, quietly eyeing her sons as they suddenly turned into model citizens of best behavior. Oddly enough, she realized that the morning was not spent in the usual drama of walls vibrating, or loud complaints of mistreatment. She didn’t have to break up one argument. Squinting, she watched as they slid into their seats without poking or making faces.

Something was up.

“Hey Mom.”

“Yeah Jase?”

“Want me to water the garden?”

“Uh…I already did.”

“Bet it needs weeding…”

“Nope, did that this morning before you guys got up.”

“What about the chickens? You know Mom, I think the chicken coop needs painting…”

This was getting weird.

“Can’t stay home from school, bud. Good try though.”

Abby hid a grin.

The kitchen door opened to the spring-like day and they all listened to water rushing through the pipes, through the hose, to the garden outside. Inside, the eggs popped and sizzled on the stove as the boys made quick work of their pancakes.

Valentines Day was fast approaching and Abby reviewed the previous day's Sunday school class. Tired of the commercialism associated with the real meaning behind the ‘Holiday’, she searched for a way to convey ‘Love’ to her students. Since they were all Joshua’s age that was not an easy task, but still, she managed to formulate a plan.

Last Sunday morning after arriving at Church, she pulled three shoeboxes from the trunk of the car and carried white, pink and red cut out construction paper hearts into the classroom. Once the students arrived, she handed each a stack of multicolored papers while explaining the plan:

“When you’re thinking of someone, whether you
love them or not, leave a ‘heart-print’ hidden for them to find. You don’t have to leave your name. You don’t have to write anything ‘mushy’, you don’t have to write anything. Or write whatever you want. The idea is that someone-you! is thinking about them. That someone cares. Just like Jesus cares enough to give you all the Love He has. Maybe the person you leave the heart for will share it with another. Especially since it is almost Valentines Day.”


They prayed over the hearts, then as kids often do, each left their clear plastic zip lock bags on the tables in pursuit of other distractions until the end of the class. One more secret reminder whispered in their ears before the Parent’s retrieved them, then Abby cleaned up the room and prepared for the following week’s adventures.

***

Her sons mysteriously breezed through breakfast, giggling and whispering. She pretended not to notice, instead focused on the blessings of calm. Not only were they ready early, but also volunteered to walk, saying that they needed time to talk over ‘stuff’.

As she went about her morning chores, she noticed with a smile that Josh had indeed paid attention on Sunday. There was a construction paper heart of red hidden inside a clean glass. One taped to the milk carton in the refrigerator, one under the soap dish in the bathroom. One on top of her pillow, one (soggy) underneath the dog’s water dish.

As she hunted for these treasures, laughing, the phone rang.

It was her Mother, whom said that she had a package of colored paper to drop off for the boys. That she, Abby, was not allowed to ask questions.

Later she discovered seven hearts in the mailbox. Each crayoned in large print each day of the week.

Two hearts clung to a rosebush and inside she continued to find more: on the stereo, inside the dry dog food bag…the chickens seemed to be pecking at the remainders of a sad piece of pink paper; she even found one slipped inside a nearly empty tube of toilet tissue.

That evening the boys shared how they worked together in hiding the hearts. As they talked, the co-conspirators eyed each other, then suddenly burst out with huge peals of laughter. “Don’t ask yet, ‘kay Mom?”

“O.K….”

Valentines Day was two days away.

The following morning, about an hour after the boys left for school, a neighbor phoned.

“Um, Abby, I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I saw Josh playin’ around McDaniel’s mailbox…”

Mr. McDaniel had a reputation for being a bit surly. He liked his privacy and zero interference from any and all neighbors. If communicating were established it was only one way, with him putting the finishing touches in ending sentences as friendly sorts made a hasty retreat to calmer areas. Being an equal opportunist, he liberally sprinkled all humans of all sizes with words that didn’t include, “Ya’ll come back real soon.”

His wife passed away two years before and current gossip among those easily frightened and under the age of 12 suggested that natural causes weren’t what stopped her breathing.

After listening to her neighbor share this disheartening news, Abby thought it best to wait and confront the boys once school let out.

The phone rang again.

It was the owner of the Drive Through Dairy.

“Your boys was here this morning Abby…left me a early Valentines gift I think. Taped ‘bout a hun’red hearts to the glass door…”

No sooner did she hang up from that call than it rang again.

“Abby, darlin’,” It was the fragile older Widow across the street. She sounded…agitated. No…excited…

Abby, now just go an’ open your front livin’ room curtains and take a peek at my house…”

Dread weighing her feet, she complied and winced at the sight.

Stuck to the sweet Lady’s meticulously cared for trees and bushes were, yep, hearts. Lots.

She swallowed. Hard.

“Lindsey, dear, don’t worry. I’ll come over right now and clean them…

“No you won’t young lady!!! This is the best…”

And so it went for the remainder of the day. Someone saw one or both of her children dropping hearts and running off.

One last time the phone rang.

It was Paul, a friend and Sheriff.

“Abby. I’m calling from my cell phone. There’s been an accident…I’ll be there in about two minutes. I called Matt (Abby’s husband) at work.”

***

A fatal accident, caused by a drunk driver who jumped the curb, missing all but Josh.

***

Days passed into months.

Anger and pain seared deep against wounds that refused to heal.

One morning, Jason quietly asked if he could send a ‘heart’ to the man serving time…

Matt, overhearing the conversation that was barely whispered at the table, choked back a reply. Abby, afraid to make eye contact with her son, looked down at her untouched food and asked,

“Why?”

Both she and Matt listened as Jason’s voice, barely audible, found courage to continue.

“Well, um, I knew that if this woulda happened to me instead of Joshua, he’d want to send a heart to him…”

So, they did.

And heard nothing.

***

Every once in a while, Abby would find a heart hidden somewhere…in the toolbox, in a drawer somewhere unexpected and her breath would be sucked from her chest, sending her to her knees in grief…

***

The following Valentines Day broke darkly. The family rose from their beds by will alone.

Matt opened the front door to get the newspaper and stood motionless. Jason, curious, pushed past his Father and gasped. Called out to Abby who sat curled on the sofa.

“Mom…”

No acknowledgement. Again he called, louder.

“Mom! Come here!”

She dragged herself to stand, shuffled through the fog of what once was. Her husband and son, blocking the opened doorway, parted, allowing her to see…

The lawn, completely covered in a blanket of white, pink and red cut out construction paper hearts…some seemed to be growing directly from the ground on Popsicle sticks, looking like early spring flowers…

“Look!” Jason cried, pointing to an envelope tucked partially beneath the doormat.

Reaching down, Abby, hands shaking, opened then slid out a paper. Unfolding the letter, she read aloud, with a shaking voice,

“ Because He touched so many lives, including Joshua’s…” Beneath the eight words were 65 signatures. The first was the young man who was driving the car that day long ago. The second was Mr. McDaniel.




GIVE THANKS TO THE LORD FOR HIS UNFAILING LOVE.~Psalm 107:21


***

Dedicated to Andy’s Parents, with love.

***

The message behind this story is not one of grief, but a question that bears asking time and time again: this Love that has been given, what am I doing with it?






Karen Rice