The Glorious Prodigal by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online Page A

new wife.” He took the violin out, tucked it under his chin, and began to play. He played so softly that no one in the nextroom could have heard it. It was such a beautiful tune. There was a poignancy and power to its lilting melody that warmed Leah’s heart. Somehow as she listened, Leah could not keep the tears from her eyes. When he put the violin back in the case, he came over and sat down beside her for a moment. “I just wrote it today,” he said. “It’s for you.”
    “What’s the name of it?” Leah asked, brushing the tears from her eyes.
    “Leah’s Song.”
    “Oh, Stuart, how beautiful!”
    Stuart rose, put out the light, and took her in his arms. “I haven’t written the words to the song yet, but I’ll write them as we live together.”
    As he kissed her, Leah could hardly believe the happiness that flooded her heart as she held on to him fiercely.
    “By the time we’ve been married fifty years,” he whispered, “it’ll be a very long song.”
    As she nestled into his strong arms, she heard herself crying out, “Never leave me, Stuart.”
    And then his voice came to her. “I never will. What we have is forever.”
    Leah felt more tears gather in her eyes, but she turned and whispered, “Yes—it’ll be forever!”

CHAPTER THREE
    First Anniversary
    Thanksgiving had always been a special holiday for Leah. Some of her earliest memories were of those times when she was little more than a toddler, following her mother around in the kitchen. She always associated the season with the smell of turkey roasting in the oven, spicy pumpkin pies, and the bustle of getting everything ready at the same time.
    Now Thanksgiving had come again, the end of her first year of marriage, and she had risen from bed determined to cook a Thanksgiving dinner that Stuart would never forget—their first together as husband and wife. She moved carefully, for the baby she carried was only a month away from entering the world. She was swollen and her face was puffy, but she ignored the discomfort as she moved around the kitchen, then reached up to get a large mixing bowl from a top shelf. The effort, slight as it was, brought a grimace to her face. Her pregnancy had been difficult. She had not complained, but she had felt guilty. She knew all too well how little patience Stuart had with any kind of distress she might speak of.
    Getting the eggs out of the icebox, she cracked four of them and then beat them with a fork until they were light yellow. She added the pumpkin that Annie had cleaned and put it in a bowl and then stirred it with a wooden mixing spoon. From time to time she added cinnamon, ginger, and allspice as she continued to stir. Finally she poured half a cup of molasses and a cup of milk into the bowl. She was just getting it allmixed together when a voice behind her said, “Now, whut you think you’re doin’?”
    Guiltily Leah held up the spoon and said defensively, “I’m making pumpkin pudding for dinner.”
    The black face of Annie Waters was a study in disgust. She was a large woman—not overweight, just big—in her middle thirties. She came quickly across the room and snatched the spoon away from Leah. “I done told you you ain’t cookin’ today! I reckon I’m able to do all the cookin’ around dis here place!”
    “But, Annie—”
    “Don’t you ‘But, Annie’ me! Dr. Morton done tol’ you to do nothin’ but lay in dat bed!”
    “But I get so tired of the bed, Annie.”
    “Then you go set down in the parlor in that big easy chair. You hear me?”
    “All right, Annie, but bring the pecans in. I can crack them for the pecan pie.”
    “I ain’t studyin’ no pecan pie! You just get in there and do what I tells you!”
    Subdued, Leah moved slowly into the parlor. She had become very fond of Annie Waters and her husband, Merle, who had been on the farm for five years. Merle, a big bruising man and strong as a bull, did the outside work, and Annie did a great deal of it, too. During