Their new house was not large. A patch of ground outside the window grew vegetables in spring. An old table by the door opened wide enough for family meals, or for a weary traveler to sit and drink.
Chris’s father began working, measuring grain and cloth honestly. Little by little he repaid the debt. When the last receipt arrived, he did not hold a feast for the whole town to hear about. At supper he simply brought out the paper and thanked the Lord.
Chris and his sister grew. They studied, worked, and sometimes quarreled. Now and then Chris complained that she asked too many questions. Hearing himself, he would give a little smile, then stop and answer properly. She still liked to tuck the cloth rabbit into bed. Later it was mended many times. Later still, she learned to mend toys for other children.
Mercy settled nearby. She earned wages with her needle and shared clothes she could spare. She no longer proved her love by going hungry. When she needed help, she was willing to knock. Often she sat with Christiana by the window, working and talking about what they had read in the Bible.
Great-heart still guided travelers. Whenever he came, he asked about the children. Hopeful sent letters and sometimes stayed a few days. Feeble-mind was still troubled by small things at times. Ready-to-halt’s legs did not suddenly grow well. Neither had to invent a story with no difficulties left in order to remain welcome.
Christiana still did wrong too. Once her daughter broke a visitor’s cup. After a long day of work, Christiana immediately scolded her. The child lowered her head, and that movement brought the past back. Christiana stopped. First she cleared the broken pieces. Then she admitted that being tired did not excuse hurting someone. Mother and daughter went together to apologize to the visitor and arrange repayment.
The Lord’s forgiveness had not made every word she spoke right. It had freed her from waiting for someone else to give in before she admitted her own sin. Little by little, she learned to turn around while there was still time.
The years passed. The table had new legs. The tree by the window grew tall. Chris was no longer a child whose sleeves were always too short. He had work and a family of his own, and often brought his children home. His sister grew up too. She remembered calling names in the mist. Whenever the family filled the house, someone would ask who had not yet received bread.
Christiana’s hair whitened. Her husband grew old too and needed the rail when he walked. On sunny days they sat outside reading the scrolls they had kept from their younger days. If one read a line wrong, the other would point, and they would laugh together.
The oldest letter remained. Its paper was thin, and the muddy mark had never come off. Christiana no longer kept asking whether she could live that day again. Showing the letter to her granddaughter, she told her about a little boy who had stood beside her while she was busy looking in the mirror.
“What happened afterward?” the child asked.
“Afterward, the Lord did not abandon us,” she said. “Your father came back. And at last I was willing to listen.”
One autumn she became ill. Her family sent for a physician, cared for her, and prayed beside her. She improved for a while, then slowly weakened. Leaves fell outside the window. The children brought her the brightest ones and pressed them in a book.
One morning a messenger came to her bedside with the King’s call. Christiana listened, looked at the light by the window, and rested her hand on the old letter. She knew she had reached the final part of the road.