Donovan's Daughter (The Californians, Book 4) (21 page)

"Marcail, I don't think you should put your hair up for
the train ride."

"I admit it would be more comfortable down, but I
don't really have a choice."

"I disagree. If you just put your coat on, and keep your
hair inside, it will never be noticed."

Marcail stared at him in amazement.

"Or," he continued, "you could put your hair up now
and take it down as soon as the train leaves town."

"I will not take my hair down on the train." Marcail's
voice was adamant.

Alex figured as much, but at this point he was willing
to try anything to save her from a headache, including
the risk of angering her.

"Well, I will not have you suffering with a headache all day," Alex told her without force. "Now I could ask you,
and then leave the choice to you, but I'm not going to do
that. I do not want you to wear your hair up today."

Marcail opened her mouth and closed it again. He had
not raised his voice an octave or made her feel at all
threatened, but she suddenly knew that every one of Dr.
Montgomery's patients took their medicine when they
were told. Still, everything inside of Marcail balked at the
idea. Her chin rose a notch.

'And if I put my hair up anyway?"

"I'll take the pins out on the ride into town," Alex
stated quietly, feeling pain for having to argue with her.

"Marcail." Alex's voice had not changed, but this time
his words got through to her. "I have no desire to start
our trip with an argument, nor do I wish to deceive
anyone in town, but your headaches concern me. We are
leaving town, so no one will be offended."

Alex had thought to have this discussion with her on
Wednesday before Bible study. He knew she would want
to keep her hair up even though they would be going to
and from the Austins after dark. But Alex had been
called out, and Marcail had stayed home.

"Did you figure I'd wear my hair down the entire
weekend in Fort Bragg?"

"Yes, I did. I rather thought you'd enjoy the change."

I would enjoy the change, Marcail thought. I'm just being
stubborn because I don't like being ordered around.

Marcail was on the verge of telling Alex her thoughts
when he disappeared into the bedroom, giving her time
alone. She stood for a moment in indecision, and then
continued with her packing, leaving the pins behind.
She figured she would have hours on the train to apologize and explain.

The scene from the*train window on the way to Fort
Bragg provided one surprise after another. The tracks
wound their way west through hills and valleys, forests
and plains. Alex and Marcail rode for the first hour in
silence, just content to take in the scenery.

"Still mad at me?" Alex was the first to break the
silence, and Marcail turned from the panorama to face
him.

"I don't know if I was actually mad, but I was frustrated. There are times I don't like to be ordered around."

"I'm afraid I didn't handle it very well. Maybe it comes
from being a doctor, but I can't stand to see suffering. We
both know how miserable you'd be at the end of the line
if your hair was up."

"I don't need to be so obstinate," Marcail admitted
and then suddenly smiled, "but up to now, I believed
that all the dictators were in other countries."

"Dictator?" Alex tried to sound outraged, but there
was laughter in his voice.

Marcail laughed with him, and then watched his face
turn serious. "I know this will seem like an abrupt change
of subject, but there's been no opportunity for me to talk
to you about my folks."

"Your folks?"

"Right. Their situation is a bit unusual, and I want to
prepare you as much as I can." Alex searched his wife's
face and then began his story. "My mother is completely
bedridden. She has been since I was little more than a
baby. I was too young to remember what happened, but
they tell me she fell from a small ladder and injured her
spine. My father found her almost immediately, but even
though several specialists came to see her, they said
nothing could be done. She has no use of her legs at all,
and at times her arms grow numb and she can't move
them."

"Does she ever get out of bed?" Marcail's face mirrored her compassion.

"No. She's propped against the headboard of the bed
for most of the day, but she never gets up."

Alex fell silent for a moment, and Marcail's mind ran
with images of a woman being bedridden for 30 years.
"How does she do it?" Marcail finally whispered.

Alex smiled before answering. "She lets God use her
right where she is. In fact, you won't be able to spend
more than 30 minutes with her before she praises Him
for her condition. She writes about ten letters a day, and
she knows if she wasn't in that bed, she would never
have been a letter writer."

"Letters to whom?"

"People all over the world who have heard about her
or come to the house to meet her. She never talks about
herself, but writes Scripture and words of encouragement to those who hurt or have not yet found the Lord."

"She sounds wonderful. How does your father handle
all of this?"

"He tells people she's the light of his life," Alex told
her with a tender gleam in his eye. "He teases her about
never going dancing with him, but when we get there
you'll see how well they manage. Their bedroom is on
the first floor and set up with all the conveniences. Dad
takes all his meals with Mother, and they sleep in the
same bed every night."

"Is there someone who comes in to be with her during
the day?"

"Yes, her name is Ida, and she's been coming for
years. She cleans and prepares supper every afternoon."

"What about mornings?"

"Well, mother usually sleeps late, and she has Danny."

"One of your brothers?"

Alex chuckled at the thought. "No, Danny is a dog-a
big dog. You'll meet him as soon as we get to the house.
He's huge, but there isn't a vicious bone in his body, so
don't let him scare you."

Alex fell silent once again and let Marcail have her
thoughts. Alex's parents did indeed sound wonderful. It
suddenly became clear why he was a thoughtful, caring
person-he'd learned from godly people. Marcail's mind
moved to his siblings.

"Tell me about the rest of your family."

"I think I told you I'm the youngest of five." Marcail
nodded and Alex went on, "the oldest is my sister Dorothy, she's 39 and doesn't live in Fort Bragg. She's married
to a man named Stan Crandall, and they live in Eureka
with their four kids.

"My brother Skip is 37, and is actually named after my
father, Samuel. He has three children, Amber, Jess, and
Cole, and his wife is Judith."

"Do they live in Fort Bragg?"

"Yes, he shares the medical practice with my father."

Nodding, Marcail understood for the first time how
her sister-in-law, Charlotte Donovan, felt when she was
new to the family and trying to place everyone.

"Susan is in the middle at 36. Her husband is Jeremy
Grey. They have four kids, Price, Nellie, Madeline, and
Stuart. Jeremy's family owns and operates the bank, so
he and Sue live right in town. My folks' house, which is
also my dad's office, is at the edge of town."

"Who's next?" Marcail asked, hoping she could keep
it all straight.

"Quinn, who just turned 34. His wife is Hannah, and
their kids are Cindy and Derek."

"What does Quinn do for a living?"

"He's a logger."

"You didn't tell me the names of Dorothy's children."

"No, I didn't. You won't meet them this trip, and I
figured you'd have enough to keep straight."

"That's true. What do I call your folks?"

"Well, they'd love to hear Mother and Dad, but something tells me you wouldn't be comfortable with that.
Don't hesitate to call them Samuel and Helen; Judith
always does."

"Is she the one who blushes?"

"No, that's my sister Sue." Alex chuckled at the thought.

"I can tell I'm going to spend the entire weekend lit up
like a candle," Marcail commented without humor. Alex
laughed, his eyes lit mischievously as he watched her.

In fact, he was still smiling impishly when Marcail
reached into her bag for the lunch she'd packed. He
sobered up when she threatened to eat his lunch. Marcail
knew without a doubt that the weekend would be anything but boring.

Marcail could smell the ocean even before she disembarked from the train. Her nose lifted as her feet hit the
platform, and her eyes closed in bliss as she inhaled the
smell of her childhood. A cold wind tugged at her coat
and hair, but Marcail took no notice.

Alex came from behind and bumped her with the
bags. The feel of the bags hitting the back of her legs and
Alex's quick apology were enough to break the reverie.
She turned to ask him the direction of his home, but she
saw that his nose was raised, and he was sporting the
same look of pleasure she'd just experienced.

Marcail watched him until he opened his eyes and
noticed her scrutiny. He smiled without embarrassment, and Marcail grinned back at him.

"Is it good to be home?" she asked softly.

"Immensely! Come on, Marc," Alex used her nickname
for the first time. "I'll take you home to Mother."

The Montgomery house was a large structure that appeared to have been added to over the years. The central
house was two stories, with wings on three of the four sides.

Alex walked directly in the front door without knocking, and Marcail followed. He moved with purpose
through a spacious living room, set their bags by the
long sofa, took Marcail's hand, and led her to a door at
the end of the room.

Marcail had envisioned someone rather sickly, but the
woman waiting in bed to meet her looked the picture of
health with her sparkling blue eyes and warm smile.

No words were spoken as Marcail approached the
bed. Helen, immediately noticing the hesitant smile of
her new daughter-in-law, reached to hug her. Marcail
couldn't help but respond to the love she saw there and
went willingly into her embrace. When Helen released
her, she patted the bed and Marcail sat down. Again the
room was silent as Helen looked at the exquisite features
of Marcail's face. She then turned to Alex.

"You didn't tell us that she has the face of an angel."

Alex's smile nearly stretched off his face as he saw
Marcail blush. He leaned from the far side of the bed to
kiss his mother's cheek.

"Hello, Mother."

"Hello, dear. Happy birthday, a few days early."

"Thank you," Alex replied with a twinkle in his eye.
'And now if you'll permit me, I'll make the introductions. Mother, this is my wife, Marcail. Marcail, this is
my mother, Helen Montgomery."

"Marcail." Helen spoke the name softly. "We've been
mispronouncing it."

"With a soft c?" Alex wanted to know.

"Yes."

"I think that's the norm, especially if a person sees the
name before they hear it."