The Finding Tree

Epilogue

Early Spring, 1958

"Mabel, open your eyes love."

Lawrence smiled at his wife and ran his hand across her cheek.

"Lawrence is that you? Am I dreaming?"

"Yes darling, you are dreaming...but open your eyes, I'm here."

Mabel blinked and looked into the most beautiful face she could imagine. His blue eyes sparked with humor and affection. His sandy hair was thick and wavy, as was the handlebar mustache she so loved.

He was young. There was no hint of grey at his temples or eyebrows.

His smile was infectious and she couldn't help but smile back. The only way she could tell was by the bunched cheek muscles that caused the laugh lines above them. This was her Lawrence, the man she fell in love with more than fifty years ago.

"Oh Lawrence, I've missed you so much."

She dove into his embrace and felt him wrap her up. She sighed then grinned as she realized she was young again too. Her breasts were where she remembered they were supposed to be and her hands weren't spotted with age. She felt her long dark braid against her back and she nuzzled Lawrence's neck where it met the collar of his shirt. She had missed that clean shaving soap smell.

"I haven't dreamt of you in over a decade, my love. To what do I owe the pleasure tonight? Are we to have an adventure? Or should I imagine that we are home and Patrick is not yet born?" She smirked, raised an eyebrow and twirled the long ends of Lawrence's mustache between her fingers.

Lawrence leaned back and she saw a flash of white teeth, while he laughed heartily. "Soon enough my dear, and I'll relish whatever you have in mind for me, but for now I need to show you something. You need to know why you must give it back."

She looked up at him in confusion, but he just smiled. He flipped her around, and held her snugly around the waist. His face was on her shoulder and he moved her hair back, revealing a bare neck above the nightdress she wore. She tilted her head and gave him access, holding his forearms and drowning in the sensation of being held.  He kissed and nuzzled the spot until she shivered.

When she opened her eyes again they were in a clearing under a large mossy oak. But not their tree. There was a small creek meandering through the clearing and the bench was not the one her Lawrence had made.

"Where are we? This isn't our tree."

"No this isn't our tree, and yet it is. All things are connected with time my darling. Please watch."

A small blond boy crashed through the thick brush on the far side of the clearing.  Stumbling into the shaded space, he fell to his knees. He screamed and cried, swinging a gnarled branch blindly. His white undershirt was bloody, torn and dirty. His face was bruised and scratched, flushed with shame and tears.

Scrabbled to his feet, he started beating the tree, then dropped the stick and turned his aggression on himself. He hit his head on the trunk, slapped himself in the face once, twice and a punch the third time that split his lip and bloodied his nose.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he wailed in a child's voice. "I didn't mean it, please take it back, bring them back. It's all my fault, my fault, I wish it was me instead."  Mabel watched in horror as he stumbled and fell at the bench.

She yearned for the boy with the puffy face.  His tears made clean tracks down his dirty cheeks as he collapsed on his bloody knees. Grubby fists clenched the wood as he buried his face into the boards.