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Neither Captain H.F. Lee nor his grandmother were late sleepers – he was stirring slightly by 4:45am, and that also roused Selene Slocum-Lofton, who had experienced her first complete breakdown in 47 years the previous and had cried herself to sleep in her grandson's arms.  

Mrs. Slocum-Lofton's memory of events was not clear … she remembered her grandson giving her a hug and telling her he loved her, and that had overwhelmed her, because she knew how she had hurt him in the past.  He had hurt her too … but half of that wasn't real.  It wasn't real because she had no business being mad about who he chose to marry … even if she had been Black.  

Before all that: she had not been a good grandmother to him.  She had doted on his half-sister, Sarah, by her daughter Sarah's first marriage, but she had barely tolerated Hiram Lee and thought nothing of his son until she found out Hiram Lee had convinced her daughter to lock down that Slocum-Lofton trust fund entirely to their son, Henry. 

But that wasn't real either … that wasn't poor orphan baby Henry's fault.  He was just all that was left of Hiram Lee. 

Hiram Lee was dead.  Vanessa and Henry Victor Morton Lee were dead.  They were dust.  None of the reasons for all that bitterness and anger had ever been real, and certainly they were not real any more.

But grandson was real … Henry Fitzhugh Lee was real, and had really forgiven.  It was impossible.  But there he was, having stayed put all night, keeping her safe.  She hadn't fallen on the floor; he had pretty much buried her between his arms and that big chair.  

Captain Lee's eyes opened at precisely 5:00am, per normal.  He surveyed his surroundings in great surprise – it took a moment to remember what had happened, and where he was, and who this sleepy woman was who was all curled up with him.

“See … I should have known not to get involved with a woman like you … two days, and already ...”

Mrs. Slocum-Lofton cracked up laughing, and Captain Lee gently lifted her up and onto her sofa so she could stretch before getting up … 83 was a little different from 45 in that respect.  Not to his surprise, she had a cat's routines … complete stretches, slow and deep and full, before trying to get up.

“So, what does a devout Christian who doesn't go to church do on a Sunday morning?” she asked after he had gotten her instant coffee maker going.

“Come and see, Grandmother.”

The view at 10:00am – on the mountain, way up in the Blue Ridge, for breakfast, grandson and grandmother in their hiking gear.  Not that Captain Lee had done his usual hike, given that his companion was 83, but, she had kept up well by the route he chose after parking, and they had securely nestled in a quiet rest area.

Captain Lee wrapped his heavy coat around his grandmother.

“I must leave you for a little while, Grandmother, to do my private worship, but here is a whole pot of coffee, and my coat to keep you warm.  You will see me above you presently; if you need something, call out, and I will return.”

“Do what you need to do, Henry.  I'll be fine.”

Presently – sooner than she expected – he reappeared, a surprisingly smaller figure in the high distance, and knelt down in prayer while she sipped hot coffee and nestled in his coat, pondering many things in her heart.   

**Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash**