“The foundation stands upon solid stone.”
“The thieves are in their cages.”
“The motorcycle is silent.”
“The marigolds are blooming.”
“Robert’s love held true.”
“The uniform held true.”
“The ledger is closed.”
“And around here…”
I stood up from the rocking chair, holding David and young Eleanor’s hands toward the limitless blue sky as the distant chimes of the harbor chapel began to strike twelve times across the peaceful water:
“…nobody ever, ever… rides across a Mercer’s line again.”
Barnaby let out a soft, contented sigh on the porch rug, his tail thumping once against the cedar boards: thump.
Young Eleanor laughed into the warm sunlight.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The river ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
And the seventy-one-year-old widow who had stood quietly on her porch to reclaim the Republic… was finally, beautifully, eternally free.
