Kier awoke at eight o’clock, the winter sun filling his room with its gold brilliance. Almost immediately he climbed out of bed and began searching through his cupboards and drawers for something he hadn’t used for years, something he now felt drawn to. He found his Bible tucked away in a box in the bottom of his closet.
An elderly neighbor, a widow, had given it to him when he was ten years old after he had shoveled her walk for free. He had loved the smell and texture of its leather cover and the beautiful marbled endsheets, and the frontispiece with a woodcut engraving of Mary with her Child. As he grew older he learned to treasure its words.
It had been years since he’d opened the book. Its worn, onion paper pages were well marked with red pencil. Even after all the years he still remembered the passage he was looking for.
Isaiah 1:18. Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.
He carried the book over to the window. The evening’s snow had blanketed the city in white. Pure white. He wished he could be pure again. To be reborn to a second chance, washed clean from all his mistakes. Linda had said it. Wasn’t that what Christmas was about?
The doorbell rang. At first he ignored it. He didn’t want to see anyone, or anyone to see him. Then he remembered that Linda had promised to come by to check on him. He closed the Bible and set it reverently on his nightstand. The bell rang again, then he heard the door open.
“I’ll be right down,” he shouted. There was no reply. He walked out to the mezzanine overlooking the foyer. “Linda?”
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the foyer’s dim lighting. The woman standing below held a cane and was leaning backward against the door, her cap and shoulders dusted with snow. It was Sara. She looked up at him and their eyes locked in uncertainty. “I let myself in. I hope that’s all right.”
Kier stared at her. “Sara.” He hurried down the stairs. Her gaze never left him. He stopped a few feet from her, wanting to embrace her but afraid to.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
“Of course. Let me get you a chair.”
Leaning heavily on her cane she walked toward the living room. Kier took her arm and led her to the couch. He helped her sit, then sat down next to her. Her eyes welled up with tears. “I lied to you. I told you I didn’t love you. I do. I’ll always love you, Jim. And I miss you.”
He threw his arms around her and began to sob. “Oh Sara. I’m so sorry.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and rubbed her hand up and down his back. “I know you are. I am too. I should have done more.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. It was all me. Can you ever forgive me?”
She leaned back and took his face in her hands so she could look in his eyes. “I already have.”
Kier looked at her in wonder. “How could you? I don’t deserve it.”
“That’s what makes it love.”
