On June 19th, 1919, the people of Saint Timothy’s Church celebrated the marriage of Paul McGivens to Mary Ellen Westshire, with much joy and much celebration. May their union be blessed. A smile crossed my face when I read those words—it seemed so like the happy endings found in books. But looking into the box, I found more papers beneath, written in Paul McGivens’s precise handwriting. Lifting the first out, I squinted in the fading light, but found I could not quite make it out. Sighing, I placed the letters back into the box and closed it carefully. . When the swallows woke me the next morning, I took my place at the kitchen table again, opening the box, sifting through the letters I had read and lifting the first bit of paper beneath, one the same size and shape as those on the table in the living room. August 1919 Marellie and I have finally had the house at the end of West Rye Road built. Strangely enough, I foundWest Rye Road actually runs north to south, so why its name is‘West,’I can’t begin to guess. It’s a fine house, though, with a field larger than Father’s.There’s a woodbehindit,anddeeroftengrazealongtheedgeofthetrees.Marellieespeciallylovesthe deer,thoughshewishestheywouldcomeclosertothehouse.Shesaystheyprobablydrink atthepond,thoughwe’veneverseenthem.Itellherthatit’sgoodtheykeeptothetrees,so that when we plant, they won’t bother our fields…
For pages, Paul described the house and the field, described how he and Marellie had painted the walls crisp white, how they had planted the potatoes in the field, how they had weathered storms, and how they had taken in their first crop. Thatthefirstyearwasasuccess…Ican’tbegintodescribehowrelievedIam,howrelieved Marellieis.She’salwayssmilingagainnow.Iknowhowworriedshe’dbeenbefore.She’s toldmethatwhenthesalesaremorestable,whenwe’reestablished,thatshe’dliketostart afamily.Tohavechildrenaroundthehouse…Ican’tdescribehowwonderfulthatwould be. It would make this house into a home. I would be so happy. The years scudded by as I read through page after page, as Paul rose from the paper and sat across from me, hands folded on the table and a lopsided grin on his face, telling me in easy, rolling tones about the house and the potato field and the pond and the deer that never came close enough for Marellie. October 1923 …The baby looks so like Marellie, though she says he looks like me. We named him after Father. His eyes look exactly like his grandfather’s.When he looks at you, you can see him thinking and memorizing every part of your face. He has a grip strong as oak timbers,andIalmostthinkhe’llbewalkingbeforethemonthisout.Iknowthathe’stoo young. But he seems that strong… May 1925 …WhatataskitiskeepingupwithWally!Todayhetoreallthroughthefieldandalmost reachedthewoodbeforeMarelliecaughthim.Shekeepsacloseeyeonhim.Stevenson saidthathesawcoyotesaroundtwonightsago,soWallymustbekeptclearoftheforest.
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