A Family To Cherish
Read A Family To Cherish Online
Authors: Carole Gift Page
She was silent for a long moment, recalling the face of another childâher smiles, her laughter and tears, the bedtime ritual, the prayers, the good-night kisses. “It hurts, Doug,” she whispered. “All I can see isâ¦Caitlin, but Caitlin isn't here.”
There was no reply.
This man she had loved for over ten years was closer to her than any other human being had ever been. They were one in every way that counted. Over the years, they had shared their most private thoughts and their most intimate moments.
And yet, in the silence of this moment, in the pressing darkness of their bedroom, Barbara had never felt more alone, or more in need of comfort.
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writes from the heart about issues facing today's adults. Considered one of America's best-loved Christian fiction writers, Carole has completed her fortieth book, publishing both fiction and nonfiction with a dozen major Christian publishers, including Thomas Nelson, Moody, Crossway, Bethany, Tyndale and Harvest House. An award-winning novelist, Carole is the recipient of two Pacesetter awards and the C.S. Lewis Honor Book Award. Several of her novels have been nominees for the Campus Life Book of the Year Award and the prestigious Gold Medallion Book Award. Over 800 of her stories, articles and poems have been published in more than 100 Christian periodicals.
A frequent speaker at churches, conferences, conventions, schools and women's ministries around the country, Carole finds fulfillment in being able to share her testimony about the faithfulness of God in her life and the abundance He offers to those who come to Him. Born and raised in Jackson, Michigan, Carole taught creative writing at Biola University in La Mirada, California, for several years and currently serves on the advisory board of the American Christian Writers. She and her husband, Bill, live in Moreno Valley, California. They have three children (plus one in heaven) and three grandchildren.
Carole Gift Page
For thus says the Lord: “Behold, I will extend peace to her like a riverâ¦like a flowing stream. Then you shall feed; on her sides shall you be carried, and be dandled on her knees. As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort youâ¦.”
â
Isaiah
66:12, 13
In memory of our own Misty Lynne Page, who slipped so swiftly and silently from our arms into Jesus' loving arms.
B
arbara Logan was standing at the bedroom mirror in her silk dressing gown when her husband glanced over at her and that old familiar look passed between them. The look that said,
I love youâ¦I need youâ¦I want youâ¦now.
Barbara felt the impact of that look and caught her breath. It was like the sudden dip in the road that tickles one's tummy. For an instant she averted her gaze, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of habit. Then she looked back at Doug to be sure she hadn't imagined that beguiling glance in his smoky blue eyes. But already it was gone, replaced by his usual take-charge, matter-of-fact expression.
“Did you pick up my shirts at the cleaners, Barb?”
“They're right there on the bureau,” she replied, masking her disappointment. In the old days when
they were dressing for a dinner party, he would have swept her into his arms and teasingly insisted they make mad passionate love before the company arrived. But these days they hardly managed to carry on an ordinary conversation without a sense of awkwardness and remoteness creeping between them. Over time the aloofness had become a wall too high to scale and too thick to penetrate. For Barbara, it was easier talking with a stranger than with the man she had been married to for nearly ten years.
Of course, Barbara blamed herself for their alienation. Too many times over these past four years she had rebuffed Doug's overtures of affection. She hadn't wanted to. She hadn't even intended to. But she couldn't help herself. Loving him brought back too much pain. Didn't he feel it, too? How could he think they could simply resume their lives after they had lost so much? But he refused to talk about it, so she didn't talk about it, either. It was as if they had silently agreed they would never discuss that one shattering, profoundly significant event in their lives.
“The Van Peebles should be here any time,” said Doug, buttoning his starched white shirt. A tall, solid man with curly black hair and a swarthy complexion, Doug had an athletic build and strong, muscular arms from years of weight lifting in college. Yet he had the supple grace of a ballroom dancer.
No wonder Barbara had fallen in love with him almost at first sight that day she spotted him playing
volleyball on the beach. And when he had smiled with those riveting blue eyes and invited her to join the game, she had known there was no turning back. This was the man for her.
“I told them seven o'clock,” Doug was saying, “and Clive is a great one for punctuality. As he always says, âTime is money and money, time.'”
Barbara eased herself gingerly into her black satin evening dress with its V-neckline and scoop back. “I guess all that Van Peebles punctuality comes from him being a bank president, do you think?”
“And from being one of the richest men in town,” noted Doug. “Fortunately for the hospital, he's also one of the most generous.”
“Thanks to you,” said Barbara. “You saved his life five years ago with that quadruple bypass. He still claims you're the best surgeon on the West Coast.”
“
Was,
” Doug corrected, tight-lipped.
Barbara stole another glance at him, but didn't reply. She had never understood how her husband could give up an illustrious surgical career for a dreary administrative position in the same hospital. Yet Doug seemed to have a genuine knack for fund-raising. Mercy Hospital had already added a cancer wing and begun work on a new children's wing with the money Doug had brought in.
Barbara watched as her husband put on his gold cuff links, the diamond-studded ones she had given him on their fifth anniversary, when they still be
lieved love could conquer every obstacle. “I hope you remembered to put Tabby outside, Barb. Remember Mrs. Van Peebles's allergies.”
“Are you kidding? I scrubbed the entire house with disinfectant. I never saw anyone who hated cats like she does.”
“I suppose if the furry critters gave us sneezing fits like they give her, we'd banish Tabby to Outer Mongolia, too.”
Barbara turned her back to Doug so he could zip up her dress, which he did automatically, his fingers lingering for a moment on her bare shoulder. “You look beautiful, Barbie,” he said softly.
She turned to face him. “You, too, Doug. Handsome, I mean.”
“Thanks.” He nudged her chin, a fleeting glimpse of the old Doug shining through. “I guess we're ready. With time to spare. Five minutes at least.”
“Not me. I have to toss the salad and check on the roast.”
“You know, honey, if the roast is large enough, you can serve it to Nancy and Paul tomorrow.”
Barbara fluffed her silky blond hair so that it framed her face just so, the loose curls accenting her high cheekbones. “Doug, you know I wouldn't give your sister and brother-in-law leftovers.”
“Why not? They'd probably just as soon have a picnic in the park or chili dogs at some refreshment
stand. Unless Nancy's into sushi bars now. You know how bohemian they are.”
Barbara smiled. “A couple of hippies left over from the sixties. It still amazes me that you and your sisters were raised in the same family.”
Doug nodded. “I was the bookish one, Pam the socialite, and Nancy the flower child,” he said, a chuckle in his voice.
“I remember the last time Nancy and Paul came down from San Francisco. What was itâ¦four years ago?”
“You know when it was, Barbie. Right afterâ”
Barbara cut him off before he said the words. “Of course I know. In my mind I can still see that sister of yours. Wearing her baby like a papoose wherever she went. Always had that baby strapped to her, front or back. Like a permanent appendage. She never thought to get a stroller like other mothers.”
“Nancy just has her own way of doing things,” said Doug. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn't say there was,” said Barbara, checking her makeup in the mirror one last time and blotting her vermilion-red lips with a tissue. “It's just that she and Paul are such free spirits, you never know what to expect of them.”
“Good thing they're coming tomorrow and not tonight,” said Doug. “I'm afraid they wouldn't mix well with the Van Peebles.”
“Oh, Doug, I don't even want to imagine such a thing,” Barbara replied as she headed out the bed
room door. She crossed the hallway to the spiral staircase, her three-inch heels sinking deep into the plush turquoise carpet. Halfway down the stairs, she heard the doorbell ring.
“Right on time,” said Doug, passing her on the stairs. “You go toss the salad, Barb. I'll greet them.”
Barbara followed her husband across the marble entry to the carved oak doors. “I'm here now. I'll say hello.”
With an expansive gesture, Doug swung open the double doors and said, “Welcome! Come right inâ” But the words died in his throat as he and Barbara gaped at the trio in the doorway.
Nancy and Paul Myers, beaming smiles typical of a toothpaste commercial, stood arm in arm with their daughter, now a rosy-cheeked, curly-mopped five-year-old. “Hi, guys!” said Paul, looking like a cow-puncher in plaid shirt, leather vest, faded jeans and cowboy boots. “Surprise! Hope you don't mind us showing up a day early.”
Nancy, in a floral peasant dress, her straight blond hair flowing down her back like a sun-washed waterfall, went immediately into Doug's arms. He gave her a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “Sis, IâI never expected you tonight,” he stammered.
Nancy went from Doug to Barbara for a hug, laughing as if they were all sharing an enormous joke. “You know me, big brother. Always doing the unexpected.”
“Keeps life interesting,” said Paul, raking back a wave of sandy brown hair. As his gaze swept over Barbara's evening dress, his brow furrowed. “Hey, it looks like you folks are ready to go out on the town.”
“Oh, my, yes,” said Nancy with a little gasp. “Look at you two. Dressed to kill.”
“We're not going out,” said Barbara. “We're dining in with one of Doug's clients.”
“Not client, exactly,” Doug corrected. “One of the hospital's rather generous benefactors.”
“Oh, then we won't intrude,” said Nancy, backing toward the door. “We'll go to a hotel tonight.”
“Nonsense,” said Doug. “You're here now. Come on in.”
The two hesitated only a moment, then in chorus replied, “All right. If you insist.”
Nancy turned to Barbara. “You won't recognize Janee. She's not a baby anymore.” She turned to where the child had stood, but there was no sign of the girl. “Paul, where did Janee go?”
He looked around. “She was here just a minute ago.”
Alarm rang in Nancy's voice. “Well, she's not here now!”
Both Paul and Nancy darted into the yard in different directions and began calling Janee's name. Within moments Paul was steering the reluctant youngster up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Janee, a dimpled cherub with impish, sea-green eyes and a
profusion of honey-brown curls, was clutching Barbara's fat, furry Persian cat tightly in her arms.
“Oh, look,” said Nancy. “Janee found your cat. Tabby must have gotten out without you knowing.”
Barbara was about to explain that they had put the cat outside on purpose, but before she could get the words out, Janee set the cat down, and a terrified Tabby sprinted away into the house, taking all nine of her lives with her.
“Stop her!” cried Doug, lunging after the cat and catching nothing more than thin air.
It was too late. Tabby was gone, no doubt cowering under some sofa or table lest the little Shirley Temple look-alike in a sailor dress track her down and subject her to another breath-crushing hug.
A distraught Janee burst into tears. “I want the kitty!”
Barbara saw that the situation was deteriorating fast. “Come on in,” she prompted, ushering everyone inside. “Make them comfortable in the living room,” she told Doug. Before shutting the door, she took a quick glance outside to be sure the Van Peebles weren't coming up the walk.
To her horror, there they were in the winding driveway, emerging from their sleek luxury automobileâthe buxom Harriet Van Peebles in a full-length mink coat and the silver-haired Clive Van Peebles in a shiny black tuxedo.
Barbara stepped onto the porch and greeted them, her smile so brittle she feared her face would crack.
“Mr. and Mrs. Van Peebles, welcome! So glad you could come.”
The women exchanged polite hugs, each mouthing a kiss near the other's ear. “Are we late, dear?” enquired Harriet. “Is that why you're waiting for us on the porch?”
“Oh, no, you're right on time,” replied Barbara, flustered, warm-faced. “Please come in.”
Standing like a little sentry in the foyer was Janee, arms folded, tiny chin jutting out, her eyes focused on Mrs. Van Peebles's coat.
Harriet bent down and smiled. “Whose little girl are you?”
“My mommy's.”
“Doug's sister's child,” said Barbara. “They dropped in unexpectedly.”
“I see you looking at my coat, dear. Would you like to touch it?”
Janee ran her hand over the soft fur, then looked up wide-eyed and asked, “Did you kill a little animal?”
Mrs. Van Peebles drew back in repulsion. “Kill an animal? Good heavens, child, what are you saying?”
“Mommy says bad people kill little animals to make coats.”
Mrs. Van Peebles fanned herself with her hanky, her face draining of color except for the rouge on her cheeks. Barbara quickly helped her off with her
fur. “I'll hang this up for you, Mrs. Van Peebles. It's an exquisite coat. Just lovely!”
Doug came striding into the foyer and greeted their guests, while Barbara hung up the coat and then steered Janee back into the living room. Doug followed with the Van Peebles and made introductions all around.
“I'll go put on extra plates,” said Barbara, fighting a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The night was already a disaster, and several awkward, tension-filled hours still lay ahead. “Doug, would you pour the sparkling cider?”
“Can I help, Barb?” asked Nancy. “I make a great soy-based salad dressing. Or if there's anything else I can do⦔
“No, thanks, Nan. Everything's ready. Everyone, please come to the dining room. We'll be eating in a jiffy,” Barbara replied politely.
Barbara invited the Van Peebles to sit on one side of the linen-draped table, and Nancy, Paul, and Janee to sit on the other side. She and Doug sat at opposite ends.
“Wow, you really went all out,” Nancy marveled, gazing around. “Your best silver, china and crystal. The table looks gorgeous.”
“It certainly does,” Mrs. Van Peebles told Barbara. “You have a real knack for entertaining, dear.”
“Thank you, Harriet.” Barbara looked at Doug.
“Would you light the candelabra, darling, and ask the blessing on the food?”
Doug's prayer was short and perfunctory, not like the heartfelt prayers he used to offer when his faith and Barbara's was still alive and meaningful. He was going through the motions just as she was; it was the pattern of their lives these days.
“I'll get the salad while you eat your shrimp cocktails,” Barbara said, scooting back her chair.
“I don't like âschimps,'” said Janee, wrinkling her nose. Gingerly she held up a plump, pink shrimp between two fingers, as if it might bite. “They look ugly. Like big, fat worms.”
“I'll bring you some fruit jelly,” said Barbara, whisking Janee's shrimp cocktail away. She returned moments later with the jelly, a tossed salad and a basket of hot rolls.
Just as Mrs. Van Peebles placed a forkful of lettuce between her lips, she sneezed. “Excuse me,” she said, then promptly sneezed again. Her husband handed her his handkerchief. “Thank you, dear,” she murmured. “Goodness, it must be my allergies acting up.”
Barbara glanced around surreptitiously. Where was Tabby? Surely not close enough to make Mrs. Van Peebles sneeze! But just then, Barbara felt the cat's smooth fur rub against her leg and heard the familiar purr. Pretending to reach for her fallen napkin, Barbara nudged the cat away, then stood up abruptly and said, “I'll get the roast.”