The Glorious Prodigal Read online

  Again murmurs of affirmation and nods of agreement went around the courtroom. Stokes added, “In my judgment, we need men like Stuart Winslow out of prison serving their community, protecting their families. If the ruling goes against him,” he said, turning at this point to look directly at Judge Markham, “I will do all in my power to see that he does not ever enter a prison again.”

  Judge Markham had noted a brace of reporters who had come in and knew that this story would be on the front page of the Arkansas Gazette. He had no doubt that the whole state would know! Even more important than that, his whole county would know what sort of a man he was. He also understood that if he ruled against Stuart, it would avail nothing, for the governor’s power would prevail. With a smooth face but with a glad note in his voice, he said, “I find myself in total agreement with the governor. And thereby I dismiss all charges against the defendant. Mr. Winslow, you are free to go.”

  Cheers went up, and the governor left the witness chair and made his way to Stuart. The two shook hands, and Stokes said wryly, “I seem to have made a career of putting you in jail and getting you out. Let’s have no more of it, if you please, Mr. Winslow.”

  “I’ll do my part, sir. You may depend on that.”

  Stuart turned to his father, shook his hand, and said, “This is all your doing, Dad.”

  “No. It’s the Lord’s doing, and I rejoice in it. Welcome home, son. Really home at last.”

  ****

  The day following the trial was a quiet one for the Winslows. They got up and did their chores as usual. That afternoon Stuart took Raimey out rabbit hunting, and they had poor luck, but they laughed a great deal. As they were on their way home with only two undersized rabbits, Stuart said, “We didn’t do very well today, but you made two good shots.”

  “I don’t care, Dad. We’ll do better next time, won’t we?”

  “We sure will.”

  As the two trudged on, Stuart said, “Raimey, I hope you never get off the track like I did.”

  Raimey did not answer for a time, then finally he turned and gave his father a warm smile. “I won’t, Dad. I promise. Can we go run the trotline tonight?”

  “Maybe tomorrow night. I’m pretty worn out now.”

  The two reached home just in time for supper and ate hungrily. After supper Stuart played checkers with Raimey, allowing himself to be beaten once, but the next two games he was beaten not by accident. “You’re getting too good for me, Raimey,” he said. “We’re going to have to find another game.”

  “Come on, Daddy. You promised to have a tea party with me,” Merry said.

  The tea party went on until bedtime, and finally the two children were sent off. While Leah was putting them to bed, Stuart got out his fiddle. He began to play very quietly, but the room was filled with the rich tones. He played for what seemed like a long time, then turned around to see Leah standing there watching him. She came to him and put her arms up, and he embraced her, still holding the fiddle and the bow.

  “I know that song,” she said. “You played it on our wedding night.”

  “It’s ‘Leah’s Song,’ ” he said. “I’ve been putting words to it for quite a few years now.”

  “Let me hear them,” Leah said. She was looking up, and the love in her eyes was obvious. But she saw Stuart shake his head.

  “I can’t tell you the words. Not here,” he said, releasing her and laying down his fiddle and bow.

  “Why not?” she asked puzzled.

  “Well, you see they’re such—well, intimate words that they can only be spoken in very private and intimate circumstances.”

  Leah suddenly giggled. She turned and took his hand. “Come along with me, Stuart Winslow. I think I can find us a very private and intimate place!”

  He pulled her back then and took her in his arms. “You’re the only woman in the world for me, Leah.”

  “And you’re the only man for me.”

  Stuart bent and kissed her and felt complete and whole for the first time, perhaps, in his life. Then he lifted his head and said, “Come along and I’ll tell you the words to ‘Leah’s Song.’”

  GILBERT MORRIS spent ten years as a pastor before becoming Professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. During the summers of 1984 and 1985, he did postgraduate work at the University of London. A prolific writer, he has had over 25 scholarly articles and 200 poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years has had more than 70 novels published. His family includes three grown children, and he and his wife live in Alabama.