Page 21 of The Stone Family Warrior

A feeling crawled over her just then. It was the same one she’d gotten right before her family had all piled into the car to go to dinner, prompting her to beg her husband not to drive the car. It was the nausea that had hit the center of her chest right before the car crashed.

Liberty stopped, closing her eyes for a moment to clear her mind. She had to focus. Anger sparked to life, overtaking the fear, and she rushed up the stairs. She would not be afraid. “Hello!” she shouted forcefully. “Hello!”

She marched down the hallway, knocking on doors. Part of her wished that Trent was with her. “Who is there?” she shouted, her anger mounting with each second. She turned on a hall light and then tested the knobs on all the doors. She stopped in front of her grandmother’s office and thought she heard the sound of someone stepping on papers. Grasping for courage, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. “Who is there?”

Nothing. She turned on the light and searched the room, her heart racing like elephants thundering in an African rainforest. Her grandmother’s desk seemed the same as when she’d come in the room earlier that day, minus the pile of boxes labeled “Tom.”

When she took a second look at the desk, she spotted a letter with her name on it. It hadn’t been there before. Had Tom left it for her?

Irritated, she looked around, again, unable to see someone. Tentatively, she picked it up and stared at her name in her grandmother’s handwriting. Emotion assaulted her. For the first time, it hit her that she’d never find a letter in her mailbox written in this cursive. All the fear was gone, and she looked around the room, a warm feeling encircling her. “Grandma?” she asked, not really believing in spirits but not necessarily discounting them.

She had no idea how long she stood there, staring at the letter, until she finally, carefully turned the letter over and used her grandmother’s letter opener to slash the edges. Pink stationary and the smell of lavender flooded her senses. She smiled. Her grandmother’s perfume. As a little girl, she remembered her grandmother lightly spraying her perfume on the letters she’d send.

She unfolded the paper.

Dear Liberty—

I wanted to make sure you got this letter, no matter what happened to me. I figured you’d be the one clearing out this office because I’m leaving the house to you. If you are reading this, then I guess you already know that.

Anyway, I know it has been hard on you. I know that losing a husband and son has the capacity to wreck some women. Justifiably so. I loved your grandfather and your mother with all of my heart. Losing your grandfather was hard, but when I lost your mother … it came close to wrecking me.

Liberty thought of her mother after the heart attack. Her grandmother had hurried to Germany, and they’d spent time with her mother for the few days before she’d passed away.

I wanted to ask for a favor. Choose to remember the good times. Remember to forgive. Even forgive your father.”

Liberty paused. She couldn’t think about him. The last time she’d received anything from him was three years ago on her birthday.

And I know you’ll hate I’m bringing this up, but … losing your mother wasn’t easy on your father, either. I think he lost the only thing that grounded him. Not that it was right the way he basically left you and your brother to your own devices, but he did love your mother. So I’ll say it again: forgive him and set yourself free.

Goose bumps rippled up her arms, and she felt herself tearing up. But she didn’t know if she was ready to forgive her father yet.

Forgive Will, too.

That hit below the belt. Her hand shook.

If you’re still reading this, then remember that more than anything else, life is supposed to be fun. It can’t be fun unless you forgive others. But, once you set yourself free, and have love for others in your heart, life will be better. Liberty, you deserve fun. I included this picture so you would remember how much fun you had here.

She paused reading and spotted a photo still nestled in the envelope. A quick inspection told her that it was another picture of her and the beach crew. In this one, Trent and Hunter had their arms around her and Cheryse was on the other side of Trent. She couldn’t help but grin. He’d always been the babe slayer. She returned her attention to the letter.

Keep the house or sell it. Honestly, you do what works for you. (I’m sure you already know there are funds set aside for the maintenance and care of the house for a long time. If managed properly, probably two or three lifetimes.) Anyway, I love you.

Last thing: this is the scripture that has gotten me through the death of your grandfather and the death of your mother. And your little Ian.

Liberty broke off and began crying. No. Did she have to bring Ian into it? For a long time she kept her eyes closed and steadied her breath. She finished the letter.

This is the scripture I know to be true. Hold dear to it, sweet Liberty. I love you.

Grandma

‘Psalms 91:2 I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.’

Liberty clasped the letter to her chest, inhaling the lavender scent. Tears streamed down her face. “Grandmother,” she whispered, unable to believe she’d found this letter. “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

After holding the letter against her for a long time, Liberty left the office, closing the door and thinking about how strange it was that she'd heard something that had lead her back to this room. It was also strange that she walked down the stairs, back to the kitchen and put Trent's number into her phone. It was even more strange that she felt compelled to text Trent the picture her grandmother had included in the letter.

My grandmother left this picture in a letter to me. See, you were always the babe slayer.

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