I looked out over the forty miles of clean, sweet lake water where my father’s memory and my son’s future had finally taken root upon solid rock:
“The line is plumb, Dad,” Evelyn Mercer whispered into the morning breeze:
“The doors are locked from the inside.”
“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
“The thieves are in their cages.”
“The house is clean.”
“And around here…”
I stood up from the chair, holding my son toward the limitless blue sky as the distant chimes of the university chapel began to strike twelve times across the peaceful water:
“…nobody ever, ever… steals my family again.”
Barnaby let out a soft, contented sigh on the porch rug, his tail thumping once against the cedar boards: thump.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The lake ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
And the woman who had quietly served dinner while understanding every word… was finally, beautifully, eternally free.
