© 2008 by Jennifer Youngblood and Sandra Poole
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form, except as provided by the United States Copyright Law. Request for such permissions should be made to the publisher. Published 2008
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
—Ecclesiastes 3:1
CHAPTER ONE
He was waiting for her to die. It was a simple fact that had been staring him in the face longer than he cared to admit. He sat rigid on the side of the hospital bed, his hand gripping the white sheets as he watched the only woman he’d ever loved slip beyond his reach. Her face was resting in the hollow of the pillow, barely resembling the beautiful, vibrant face he knew so well. Ever so softly, he touched her colorless cheek. It seemed such a short time ago that it had been rosy and so full of life. Now it was as stark and dry as parchment. Her eyes fluttered like the beating of a broken butterfly against the hard pavement, and he knew she was struggling to open them.
The hint of a smile stole across her cracked lips. “Avery,” she whispered. He ignored everything else around him and concentrated on her emerald green eyes, which were still as clear as always. He winced at the pain he saw in them. 
“I’m here,” he said, unable to stop the thin line of tears coursing its way down his cheeks.
Her throat started working, and her chest expanded and contracted like a billow. Avery knew it was a struggle for her to speak. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”
“We did,” he said, barely aware that the words had left his mouth.
She raised her hand and touched his cheek, her frail fingers lingering there. “Remember our promise?”
He nodded.
She rehearsed the promise they’d gone over time and time again. “Only cry a day for me when I’m gone. That’ll be enough.”
Avery smiled. It was so like Susan to make him promise the impossible. She was dying as effortlessly as she’d lived. Neither life nor death had been that easy for him.
“Don’t cry, honey. Death isn’t all that bad—just another part of life. It’s as much a part of life as the air we breathe.” She gave him another weak smile. “It’s not the end. It’s really just the beginning.”
His shoulders shook, and he tried to hold back the sob building in his chest. He longed to take her in his arms, but that was impossible. The doctors assured him that the medicine would help ease her pain, but Avery looked at the fluid flowing in the IV and could almost see what little life Susan had left draining out. He wanted her all to himself, away from the hospital, away from the smell of sickness and death.
She gripped his hand again, and he was startled by the strength of it. “Avery!” 
“I’m here.” He clenched her arms so hard that he left marks on them. “Look at me. Don’t go.” His voice broke. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”
For the first time in weeks, a peaceful expression came over her face. She smiled. “I’m going now. Take care of Cindy.”
Her eyes closed for the last time.
* * * * *
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. … Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil …
Avery stood dazed, listening to the bald preacher in his tight, black suit. The words swirled above him in a tumultuous jumble, and he tried—tried to reach through the haze and comprehend their meaning. He fixed his gaze on a nearby dogwood tree. Despite the fact that its dying branches had turned to claw-like fingers, a handful of leaves were clinging to the emaciated twigs. A gust of wind snatched the leaves off the tree. In a flurry of motion, the wind carried them high in the air, forcing them to dance madly to an unknown beat before dropping them still and lifeless on the ground. 
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil …
The circle of people around him, teary-eyed and stooped, were like vultures closing in. So much black. His eyes fell on the cold, marble casket, and he watched, mesmerized, as it was lowered inch by inch into the ground. This was real. This was now, and yet—how could it be?
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies …
An image of Susan, so full of life with her sparkling green eyes and blonde hair floated before him. They said it would be easier to let her go. They said he would finally have peace after the long, harrowing months he’d cared for her during the illness. But nothing could have prepared him for this.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life …
A song he’d learned as a boy in church rippled through his mind. I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away. When I die hallelujah by and by. I’ll fly away. Was that what Susan was doing? Flying away? Soaring high above him, weightless and free. Free as a bird. No more sorrow. No more pain.
Pain. So much pain. He wished it would cut him clean to the bone, open him wide and scoop out this terrible hurt.
His head swam and his lips quivered. Please. The silent plea lifted to heaven. Please, help me. How am I going to go on without her? Life was Susan. Without her—nothing.
* * * * *
“Avery.” A distant voice swirled around him like an echo trying to penetrate, but he couldn’t will himself to respond. He was as still as death, staring into the open grave. It was mesmerizing. A part of the earth, hollowed out and raked naked to swallow the memory of his love. Skin and bones, dust to dust. Where was the heart? Where was his Susan?
The voice came again, this time sharper. “Avery.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”
Avery turned to face Judith. The raw hurt blurred his vision.
Judith cleared her throat. “Everyone has left. It’s time for us to go too.”
He glanced around the cemetery. “Oh. I’ll be along directly.” He studied the flowers on the fresh grave. “It’s a shame how many flowers are wasted at funerals.”
Judith’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“That’s what Susan always said. She said that people ought to send flowers to the living, not wait ’til they’re dead.”
“Yep, that sounds just like something my sister would say.”
Avery didn’t reply. He was in another world. A world in which Susan still lived. How could they have possibly known that the seemingly innocuous lump in Susan’s breast would turn out to be cancer? They certainly hadn’t fathomed that three short years later she would be lying here. The flowers, so vivid and bright. How they mocked him, a smug reminder that not even Susan had the power to escape death. He groaned inwardly. Oh Susan, look at all these flowers. He looked up at the clear blue sky. It smiled when it should have cried. A leaden sky would have been more appropriate, or a gut-wrenching storm with enough thunder and lightning to shake down the mountains. His eyes lifted to the nearby mountain. “Susan loved the mountains.”
Judith’s face tightened. “You need to ride in the car with Cindy over to the house. People are waiting for—”
“Let them wait!” A muffled sound rose in his throat, and he gulped it back down. All he wanted to do was run … run until he stopped hurting … run to Susan.
Judith’s gasp brought Avery back to reality. He was seeing it all in slow motion, like a man awakening from a deep sleep. He looked past Judith and realized for the first time that his daughter was standing there. The fire flaming in Judith’s eyes let him know that she would have given Avery a good tongue-lashing if Cindy hadn’t been present. 
“You go on to the car. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Judith told Cindy.
Cindy’s eyes darted back and forth between Avery and Judith. “We just buried my mother. Can’t you two just get along today?” A sob escaped and she turned and ran to the car.
Judith turned on Avery. “Look at your daughter. Do you think you’re the only one who’s hurting?”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
“You’ve got to pull yourself together.”
Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and walked across the cemetery. As usual, her posture was perfectly straight and her chin was in the air. Judith’s back was so stiff that Avery used to joke to Susan that he was tempted to pull up Judith’s shirt just to see if she had a board attached.
There had been a strong resemblance between Susan and her sister Judith. Judith was older than Susan and half a head taller. They both had the same blonde hair and green eyes, but Judith’s features were more striking than her younger sister’s. At first, Judith had caught Avery’s eye, but it was Susan who had stolen his heart. There was something hard and impenetrable about Judith. Susan had compassion—something that Judith would never have.
Avery looked at his wife’s grave. Enough flowers had been sent from family and friends to fill a funeral parlor. The bouquets were now sitting beside the fresh dirt. If he stood there long enough maybe he could somehow use sheer will to bring Susan back to life. He knew it was useless—ridiculous, but he didn’t know what else to do.
The image of Cindy that flashed through Avery’s mind was the only thing that gave him enough willpower to tear himself away from the grave of his beloved. He turned and headed for the car.
* * * * *
Even though Avery assured Judith that he and Cindy would be perfectly fine, she insisted on staying an additional two weeks after Susan’s funeral. He watched her place the last few items in a suitcase. She fastened it shut with a sharp click. Three nights ago, the tension between them had reached a boiling point. After a heated argument, Judith became sullen and withdrawn, speaking to him only when necessary.
“You sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”
“No, I can manage.”
Judith picked up her suitcase, and Avery grabbed it from her. “Let me help.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He knew that Judith could leave without resolving their argument, but he couldn’t. He put her suitcase down. “Look Judith, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from, that’s all.”
“I understand perfectly well.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? Cindy’s my daughter. Can’t you understand that I want her here with me? She’s all I’ve got left.”
“Must we go into this again?”
“I hate for you to leave like this. For Susan’s sake, please try to understand.”
Judith gritted her teeth. “I am thinking about Susan … and Cindy. Look at you. You can barely take care of yourself, much less a sixteen-year-old. I can give her the finest education money can buy and opportunities she’ll never have in this place.”
“What about love? Can you give her that?”
“You know how I feel about Cindy.”
The nerve. Why should she remain untouched when he hurt so much? “The high and mighty Ms. Lassiter. Always the smug ice queen. Well, I’m not gonna let you prance away this time without knocking a few chunks out of your castle.”
Her face paled.
“You know what I think? You’re just itching to get hold of something you don’t understand. You’ve always been jealous of me and Susan.”
“What?”
“Our relationship. You don’t even know what it’s like to really love someone. I won’t let you take away the only thing I have left.”
“How dare you! I loved my sister too, and I’m truly sorry for your loss.” She looked him straight in the eye, her voice quivering. “You don’t know me at all.”
“That’s just it. I know you too well.” He smirked. “You’re so caught up in yourself that you wouldn’t know what to do with Cindy if you had her.”
Judith’s hands went to her hips. “Why you sorry—”
Cindy ran into the room. “Stop it! Stop it right now! You’re supposed to be adults, and look at you.” Her voice crunched against itself like coarse gravel.
Avery cradled his forehead with his hand. When he spoke his voice was strained, the calm in the midst of the storm. “Cindy, Judith and I are having a private conversation right now.”
Judith touched Cindy on the arm. “How long have you been standing outside the door?”
Cindy jerked away. “Long enough! She glared back and forth between the two of them. “You act like I don’t exist! Why don’t you ask me what I want to do? I’m a part of this too. She was my mother!” She looked at Avery. “Why didn’t you come and get me when she was dying?”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“In the hospital. I was asleep in the lobby. You could’ve gotten me.” Her hand went to her mouth, and she choked down a sob. “I never even got to say goodbye.”
He moved to hug her. “Oh honey, I didn’t think. I’m so—” 
She flung him away. “I hate you!” Her eyes darted to Judith. “And I hate you too!” Avery winced at the avalanche of sobs that tumbled from Cindy as she fled the room.
Judith shook her head. “Look at the two of you. You’re falling apart.”
His voice rose like thunder. “That’s enough!”
“I pity you, Avery. You’re a blind fool.” She reached for her suitcase.
They were at an impasse. They had said too much—cut each other too deeply. Avery stepped back and let Judith pass. The clicking of her stiletto heels on the floor was the only sound he heard until she walked out the front door and slammed it behind her.
* * * * *
Cindy went to Susan’s closet and pulled down one of her sweatshirts. She put it on, then went to her room and lay huddled on the floor beside her bed. She buried her nose in the sleeve and let her mother’s familiar scent envelop her. She’d shed so many tears over the past few weeks that she was surprised she had any left, but they still kept coming and coming until her eyes were big and sore. She let her mind drift into nothingness until she heard the knock at the door.
“Honey.”
No answer.
“Cindy, we need to talk.”
“Go away!”
“Open the door.”
Why could he not see that she needed her privacy?
“Honey, I need to talk to you.”
Why was it always about what he needed?
His knocking grew louder. “Cindy!”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and jerked her hair out of her face. “Oh all right. I’m coming!” She opened the door then turned her back on him and sat on the bed. She could feel his eyes on her, but he didn’t say anything. After a moment, he sat beside her.
She sniffed and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. He touched her arm but she kept her eyes on her hands.
“Honey, I’m so sorry. That night your mother died, I was so upset—out of my mind. I didn’t think.”
A sob started building in Cindy’s chest and she hiccupped it down. “I miss her.” Her voice sounded small in her ears, too small to make any real difference.
He put his arm around her. “I miss her too.”
Cindy shook her head. “She won’t be here for my next birthday. Who’ll bake my cake?”
Avery hugged her tight. “Oh sweetheart. We’ll get through this. I promise you that we’ll get through it together.”
“So you’re not going to make me live with Aunt Judith?”
“What? Of course not. We’re going to stay here in this house.” His voice broke. “And we’re gonna keep your mother right here with us,” he said, putting his balled fist over his chest. They let the silence settle between them before he spoke. “I reckon I’m gonna have to learn how to bake.”
“The last time you baked Mom a cake it was only an inch tall.”
“Yeah, I guess that baking powder I couldn’t find in the cabinet was a little more important than I realized.” He paused. “But your mother was a good sport about it. She ate as much of it as she could stomach.”
“Yeah, beating her chest in between bites just to get it down her throat.” Cindy laughed then realized what she had done. She shifted on the bed.
“It’s okay to laugh. Your mother would want us to be happy.” Avery looked at her. “You know that, right?” 
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“We’re gonna be all right.”
She buried her head in the curve of his shoulder. “I hope so.”
* * * * *
Avery got out of his truck and turned side to side, stretching his back. In his younger days, he never thought he would look forward to going to work on Monday, but the weekends loomed long and lonely since Susan passed. Lately, Cindy was spending more time with her friends, which was a good thing because it indicated that she was getting back to her normal self, but he missed their time together. He shook his head. The thoughts that rushed him were tangled ropes with no ends. Too much introspection could drive a man crazy. At least he could count on work to provide a much-needed distraction. He drank in a breath of musky air and exhaled slowly, letting the moisture linger on his tongue. 
He turned and faced the mill. The sawmill resting in the shoulder of the mountain made a postcard picture. On the right he could see the log yard. Each stack of logs was marked with a different color, indicating when the logs had arrived at the mill. Over to the left were neat stacks of lumber waiting to be trucked to their final destinations. The mill itself was a two-story structure. The band saw and filing room were located on the top floor. The ground floor was a conglomeration of chains that moved the logs and lumber to the appropriate locations. Protruding from the left side of the building was a long chain where the finished lumber came out. It was known as the green chain because the lumber coming out was fresh and would need to be dried before it could be sold.
Even in its stillness the sawmill breathed of life. Its rawness was intoxicating. He didn’t realize until Susan’s death how much he depended on the sheer routine of the mill to restore a measure of sanity to his life. He could go to work and get lost in the monotony of it all, much as he’d done for the bulk of his life. It was here that he could pretend Susan would still be waiting for him at the end of the day. It was here—where the forces of man and nature blended to transform ordinary logs into the building blocks of life—that the sawdust soaked into his bones as sure as life-sustaining marrow. Here, he might have a chance. 
The spell was broken by wheels crunching gravel. Avery turned to see his secretary, Barb, drive into the parking lot. He watched her get out of her car. “You’re here early.”
“So are you.” Barb smiled and mounted the stairs in front of him.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later, Barb came in holding the pink squares that had Avery’s phone messages scribbled on them. He thumbed through the stack. 
“Isn’t it beautiful outside today?” Barb buzzed around the office, straightening the papers in his in-box and stacking files. Avery couldn’t help but notice her snug jeans, tucked neatly in her high-top red leather boots. Finally, she sat in a chair across from his desk and ran her slender fingers through her thick sable hair. The faded jeans and denim shirt clung to her lean body in all the right places. She was a looker, and she knew it. The kind of woman who had trouble written all over her. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. Only a blind man would fail to realize that she had her eye on him. He’d never taken her flirting seriously, but lately he was starting to feel like a coon on hunting day. 
“How many trucks do we have coming in?” he asked.
“We have two scheduled for this morning and four this afternoon.”
Avery leaned back in his chair. “Are the Whites on the list? They’re supposed to bring in a load of cherry. We need to get it sawed and dried in time to ship to Thomasville. They’re expecting their order in about eight weeks.”
“I don’t remember seeing them, but I’ll check.”
A couple of minutes later, Barb walked back into his office. “Sorry, they’re not on the list.”
Avery swore under his breath. “Would you please call them and tell them we need that load ASAP?”
She nodded.
“You’re a gem.”
She stopped midstream and turned to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have plans for this weekend?” Barb paused in the door and fidgeted with her long, perfectly manicured nails as she waited for him to answer.
Oops. He’d stepped right into that one. “Why do you ask?” 
Her next words came out in a jumble. “Um, well, do you think there’s—”
Sam Barnes, a shift supervisor, burst through the door, and Barb’s words were lost in the commotion that followed. “Avery, there’s been another accident! Buford’s hurt—it’s real bad!”
Before Sam could elaborate, Avery was out of his chair and halfway out the door. He turned to Barb. “Call an ambulance!”
“We’ve already done that,” Sam said, running behind Avery.
Avery pushed his way through the crowd of workers and over to Buford. The paramedics were already there. 
“Get back,” they shouted, then lifted Buford onto the stretcher and put him into the ambulance.
“Hang in there ol’ timer,” was all Avery had time to say before the doors closed.
* * * * *
Avery lightly trailed his finger across the gold letters that spelled Walter Pike, General Manager, Sawmill Division. He knocked once and then pushed open the door a hair and looked inside.
Walter was leaning back in his chair. One hand was holding the phone, the other was propped behind his neck. He motioned for Avery to enter. Avery pulled up a chair. He could tell from the forced sweetness in Walter’s tone that he was talking to Maurene, his wife. “Honey, how could you let this happen? You were going to balance your checkbook every month. Remember?”
Walter groaned and Avery smiled inwardly. Everyone knew Maurene was a spend-a-holic.
“How much are all of the bank charges?” His voice crescendoed. “What? That’s ridiculous!”
Walter glanced at Avery and then back at the wall. His face was beet-red. “I’ll call Henry. See if he can erase those charges. That’s highway robbery.”
Avery knew that Walter was channeling his anger away from Maurene and straight to the bank. And if he knew Walter, Avery guessed that Henry Tate would most definitely forgive all of the charges.
Walter hung up the phone and shook his head. “I reckon Maurene thinks money grows on trees. That woman spends it faster than I can make it.”
Avery remained silent. Even though Walter blustered and complained about Maurene, he would do whatever it took to keep her happy. 
“Anyway, enough about that. What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve been going over the report on Buford Phillips.”
“And?”
“Something just doesn’t fit.”
Walter sat up in his chair. “Shoot.”
Avery chose his words. “The report says that Phillips got too close to the band saw.”
Walter nodded, a trace of impatience on his face.
“That’s probably true, but why hasn’t anything been said about the crack in the blade?”
Walter stroked his chin. “Did you talk to Buck? What about David and Ralph?”
“They all say ol’ man Phillips was drunk. They said that if he hadn’t been standing so close, the log wouldn’t have hit him when it split off.”
“I’m inclined to agree. It sounds like carelessness on Buford’s part.”
“Yeah, maybe … but if the blade hadn’t been dull to begin with, the log wouldn’t have split off. I checked that blade. There were cracks in it almost as wide as my hand.” Avery shook his head. “Those guys know OSHA’s requirements. I’ve cautioned them a hundred times. If this were the first time, it would be one thing. But, this was the third accident in a month. The first was the chipper incident, then the edger, and now the band saw. The only common denominator I can come up with is dull saw blades.”
Walter walked around his desk and leaned against the edge. “There could have been a knot in that log.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Look, I know how hard the last couple of months have been on you, losing Susan and all, then having to look after a teenager, but you’ve got to get a grip on yourself. I know the Bartons and so do you. They’ve always done a good job filing those saws. Let’s not overreact.”
Avery nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” He closed his eyes, and an image of Buford flashed before him. He saw again the shock and fear reflected in the man’s eyes as the paramedics closed the ambulance doors. It was the last time Avery saw him alive.
“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll talk to the Bartons myself. How about that?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Walter clapped his hands. “Good, then it’s all settled. Unless I find out anything different from the Bartons, old man Phillips was drunk and got too close to the saw. That’s our report.”
“Yeah, at least for now anyway. I just hope OSHA will be satisfied with that.”
In a couple of days, OSHA would be swarming like flies, checking everything from guards on the saws, voltage on the equipment, to making sure that “Joe Blow” was wearing a hard hat and steel-toed shoes.
Avery voiced their greatest fear. “If things are not just right, they’ll close the mill.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this job.”
He looked up and saw Walter studying him with concern. He had to fight the urge to run his fingers across the shadow stubble on his jaw. He knew he looked as tired and worn as he felt. He was giving everything he could to his work, trying to kill the pain, but nothing seemed to work. It was like the chipper was taking him out one piece at a time until he was as flimsy as a piece of balsa wood.
“Do you remember?” Walter motioned to the framed picture, displayed prominently behind his desk.
“How could I forget?” The print titled The Goal Line Stand depicted a legendary football play made by Alabama Crimson Tide. The print was by Daniel A. Moore, and it was the first of his many popular football paintings. Avery knew it was Walter’s pride and joy. 
Walter studied the picture, a tone of reverence in his voice. “Sugar Bowl, Superdome, New Orleans, 1978. National Championship riding on the line. Penn State was ranked number one. Lots of people didn’t think Bama stood a chance. But there we were, fourth quarter, minutes to go … inside the Alabama one yard line, and it all came down to the goal line stand.”
The painting captured the fierce battle taking place on the goal line. Alabama linebacker Barry Krauss held back Mike Guman, Penn State’s tailback. Krauss’ body stance was a combination of anger and determination. He was a rock, holding back the wave, pitting his strength against his opponent like it was the last battle on earth.
“Alabama was ahead, and Penn State got the ball and was going for a touchdown. It was fourth down with seconds left in the game. Penn State made it to the goal line, but that’s as far as they got. Alabama held them back to win the 1978 National Championship.” Walter’s voice grew more intense. “Two football teams and a stadium packed with over seventy thousand fans, and it all came down to a battle between two men. Do you think victory that day went to the strongest or the best? No!” He paused. “It went to the man who wanted it the most.”
Walter turned to face Avery, his piercing blue eyes had the power to bore holes. “That’s what we have to do. It’s fourth down, seconds left. We’ve got to hold that line.”
* * * * *