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Must be one of the sweet notes she often penned him onspecial occasions—and perhaps another reminder from her that he should count himself blessed to have found such a wonderful woman for a partner.
He’d also been blessed that his grandmother and Bri had clicked from the moment they met.
Lips still curved up, he pulled out the envelope, crossed to the sitting area, and sank into an upholstered chair. He ought to have a few minutes to skim this before Bri emerged.
He slit the flap to find a short note written in Nan’s hand inside, along with another envelope that said “To Marc—On Your Wedding Day,” also scrawled in a familiar penmanship.
A letter from his father?
His smile faded as he read Nan’s note.
Marc: After the fire, I found this among your father’s important papers. I’ve kept it for you all these years. Have a wonderful honeymoon!
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Marc opened the other envelope, ran his fingers over the chicken-scratch his father had called writing, and began to read the note that had been penned on his first birthday.
My dearest son,
I am writing this as you sleep beside me in your crib, my heart full of joy for the gift you have been to your mother and me. Praying life will be good to you, and that I am with you on this happy day many years in the future. But life holds no guarantees. Plus, my work can be dangerous, as you’ll have learned by now. Yet the fight for truth and justice is worth the risk, as is any worthwhile endeavor.
Including love.
In this early stage of marriage, I’m no more than a novice. But I’ve already learned three things I want to pass on to you.
First, don’t let the trials to come—and they will come—divideyou. Stick together during the tough times. Be allies and friends as well as lovers.
Second, remember to appreciate all the fine qualities that drew you to your wife in the beginning, and let her know you value them. Gratitude for each other is the foundation for a happy marriage. Put that into words and live it. Every day.
Third, don’t be afraid to say I’m sorry—and always be willing to forgive. Mistakes happen. Sometimes bad ones. If they’re yours, apologize. If they’re hers, be gracious and generous. If God can forgive, we can too.
My wish for you this day, my son, is a marriage as joyous and fulfilling and blessed as the one I share with your mother. I hope I can hand you this letter in person. But if that isn’t to be, know that I am with you in spirit always.
As Marc got to the scrawledDadat the end, his vision blurred.
The heartfelt message sounded like the father he remembered. A man who treated his wife like a partner, who loved her in words and deeds, who never held grudges and was always willing to forgive both her and his sometimes disobedient son. Who followed God’s example and offered mercy and pardon without reservation.
Slowly Marc stood and walked over to the window that offered a panoramic view of the city on this August night.
If Dad were here, there was no question what he’d advise about Joseph Butler.
But while he’d inherited his father’s fight-for-justice gene, his dad’s generous spirit had passed him by.
At least in terms of Butler.
A door behind him clicked, and he straightened. Turned.
Bri emerged, still clad in the filmy pink sheath she’d changed into before they left the reception, but minus the shoes. And she hadn’t touched her elaborate updo.
At his request.
He wanted to remove, one by one, the dozens of pins she’d said the hairstylist had used to create the flattering, elegant style.
She walked toward him barefoot, her steps silent on the carpet, and slipped her arms around his middle. “You look serious.”
“Nan gave me this as we were leaving.” He held up the notepaper. “It’s a wedding message from my father, written on my first birthday. Nan found it among his papers.”
Her mouth formed anO. “What an amazing gift.”
“Would you like to read it?”
