Cruel as the Grave by Dean James Page B

responsibility.
    But a healing process had begun, for which she was thankful. Their decision to come to Mississippi had been a good one. Her father could settle his debts with the past, and they could both look forward to a future which somehow included the rest of the family.
    Gerard stirred restlessly from the bed. “Father wants to see you for a few minutes this afternoon. I think he has a surprise for you, and if it’s what I suspect, I know you’ll be delighted.”
    Maggie immediately felt uncomfortable. “But I don’t want any gifts,” she protested. “There’s no need for him to give me anything, Dad.”
    Gently he reached down and tilted her face up toward his. “Just talk to him, and it will be all right, I promise you. He’s trying the best way he knows how to make amends, of a sort. So do your best to let him, okay?”
    She smiled her acquiescence. She stood up beside her father and said, “Let me have a few minutes to myself before I go to see him.” She kissed him on the cheek, then pushed him gently toward the door. “I’ll see you later. Why don’t you go lie down for a while? I think you could use some rest, don’t you?"
    Gerard gave her a quick hug before leaving her.
    Now that she was alone and could think about it, Maggie considered what her father had told her. The violence of her grandmother’s death shocked her. Sensibly she didn’t blame her father or her grandfather for the accident, but the tragedy of it saddened her. The longer she dwelled on it, though, the more likely she was to spend the afternoon crying in her room.
    Resolutely closing the door behind her, she strode down the hall toward her grandfather’s room. Her heart beating a little rapidly, Maggie knocked on his door.
    Sylvia answered Maggie’s knock, but this was a Sylvia Maggie hadn’t expected to see. Sylvia, the nurse, was cool, professional, a brisk efficiency having replaced the aloof, Madonna-like woman from earlier in the day. Maybe it’s the uniform , Maggie thought in amusement, as Sylvia ushered her into Henry McLendon’s bedroom.
    “Here’s Maggie, Uncle Henry,” Sylvia announced cheerfully, rousing her patient from a slight doze.
    Henry McLendon blinked once, twice, then Maggie could glimpse the vitality she had seen earlier return to his fierce eyes. He was visibly more tired than he had been earlier in the day, yet he still contained the spark of energy that wouldn’t let him give in completely to the restrictions of age and illness.
    He stretched out a welcoming hand that wavered only slightly before Maggie grasped it in her own. Impulsively, she bent forward to kiss his cheek, and she could tell that her action pleased the old man. He patted the bed beside him and motioned for her to sit there, rather than in the chair drawn up for visitors.
    For a long moment they gazed unblinkingly into each other’s eyes. Apparently what Henry saw pleased him, for a satisfied smile creased his worn face. She couldn’t help but smile back, although the unwelcome vision of her father in old age frightened her.
    Her grandfather’s expression turned serious. “I suppose by now Gerard has told you everything?”
    Maggie nodded. For a few moments she had forgotten her feelings of resentment, still half-realized, toward this old man for his unreasoning stiffness toward her father, and the recollection of those feelings now disturbed her. Henry read something of this from the expression in her face, for he laughed softly.
    “Don’t fret, child, it’s okay if you want to be aggravated with me just a while longer. The Lord only knows I deserve worse.” He sobered abruptly. “Your father wasn’t to blame for Magnolia’s death, and I knew that all along, I suppose.” Watching him closely, Maggie nodded, “No, he wasn’t, and neither were you.”
    He smiled again. “You’re straightforward with your feelings—I like that. I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness— it’s a little late for that, I’d