Seasons Under Heaven (11 page)

Because Joseph wasn’t feeling up to it, Brenda didn’t take him to church Sunday. They celebrated the Lord’s Day at home, singing hymns and reading Scripture, while David worked out in his shop. That afternoon, as the children scattered around the house, engaged in their own activities, Brenda closed herself in her bedroom and began to read the book of James again. She found the passage she was looking for, and read it again. “Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well.”

She closed her eyes and recalled her argument with David. Was it better to submit to her husband on this, or follow the instructions in Scripture? She began to pray, deeply, earnestly, that the Lord would show her direction.

Finally, she told herself that David didn’t have to know. She could take Joseph to the elders, and they could pray over him.
She had never defied David before, and she wouldn’t do it now if her son’s life wasn’t at stake.

But as she saw it, she really had no choice.

The next day, she convinced David not to go with her to Joseph’s doctor’s appointment. It might be a long wait, she told him, and he had too much work to do. Then she called her pastor and asked him to get the elders of the church together on their lunch hour.

She was torn and tearful as she pulled into the church parking lot, and Joseph frowned and looked up at her. “Why are we at church?”

“I just wanted to stop by for a minute before we go to the doctor. Pastor Mike and some of the men want to pray for you.” Her eyes misted over as she reached for her son’s hand. “Is that okay with you, Joseph?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She just sat there in the car for a moment, staring across at him. “The thing is, your dad can’t know.”

“Why not?”

She swallowed. “He had some bad experiences with church people praying over him when he was a little boy.”

“Daddy went to church?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t like our church, and he doesn’t understand.” She gazed at him for a long moment. “I’ve never asked you to lie to Daddy, Joseph. And I’m not asking you now. If it comes up, you can tell him. But if it doesn’t, then just don’t bring it up, okay?”

His eyes were wide as he considered that. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She got out of the car and went around to help Joseph out. The doors to the church opened, and the pastor rushed out to help her. Several of the elders came out behind him, fussing over Joseph like doting grandfathers.

Brenda knew that she had done the right thing…even if it meant defying David.

Cathy waited three weeks before agreeing to go to a church social with Bill, the man she’d met in the parking lot at Sylvia’s church. He had called a couple times a week since she’d met him, and had piqued her interest with talk of the fellowship they had as a singles group. He had offered to take her to Thursday night volleyball, but to avoid having Annie remind her of her reason for taking them to church, she decided to wait for a weekend when the children would be at their father’s.

She agreed to go to a Saturday night ice-cream social sponsored by the singles department, and she looked forward to making some new friends.

Bill’s Porsche had only two seats, and she felt as if she was crawling into Spencer Sullivan’s Flintstone-mobile as she folded into it. He drove like a Nascar driver with a death wish, and she wondered if her fingernails were cutting holes into his armrest whenever he slammed on the brakes. She checked to see if he had air bags. Thankfully, he did. But she worried
that if they hit anything she would shoot through the bag like a torpedo.

“So…where do you stand on the perseverance of the saints issue?” he asked as they curved down Survey Mountain.

“The what?”

“You know. Once saved, always saved, or predestination, or foreknowledge. I’d like to hear your take on free will versus God’s sovereignty.”

Was this his idea of an icebreaker? “I don’t think I have a take on it,” she said. “Uh…could you slow down just a little?”

“Sure.” He glanced over at her, grinning. “I attended seminary for two years. Was going to be a preacher.”

She wondered if churches looked at people’s driving records before hiring pastors. If so, it was clear why he wasn’t preaching now. “I didn’t know that,” she said, trying to appear interested.

“That’s right. But they were so narrow-minded there. I was obviously at the wrong school, so I dropped out and got a job in computers. But I still study. And I consider myself in ministry—priesthood of believers and all that. I help with the soup kitchen every Thanksgiving, before I have my family over. I invite a few friends, too. An occasional vagrant.”

She wondered if he wanted applause. “That’s very nice of you.”

“You ever do anything like that? ‘Cause it’s real rewarding. They always need extra hands. And if you can cook, it’s even better…”

He seemed like a nice guy, she told herself. If it wasn’t for his driving, maybe she could even like him. Wasn’t a man of faith, a man of principle, what she needed? Someone strong who could be a helpmeet to her? Annie would hate him instantly, but Mark and Rick would be impressed with the car.

“So have you ever been married, Bill?” she asked, half expecting him to say that he had been widowed when his wife was thrown through the windshield.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, a short answer? Suspicious, she tried again.

“Divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Any kids?”

“Nope.”

She couldn’t decide if that was a plus or minus. If he had no children, then she didn’t have to worry about them liking her. On the other hand, his tolerance level for teenagers was bound to be low.

“How about you?” he asked. “Divorced or widowed?”

“Divorced,” she said.

“How many times?”

The question insulted her, and she looked over at him, frowning. “Just once.”

“Oh.” ’

She hadn’t thought of it before, but now she was curious. “How about you?”

He shrugged, suddenly shy.

“Bill?”

“Three,” he said. “I was married and divorced three times. Three mistakes. I have bad taste in women, I guess.”

“I see.” He picked up his speed again, and she clung, whiteknuckled, to the armrest. “I got the impression you’d been in the singles department a long time. How long since your last divorce?”

“Six months.”

She gaped at him. “Months? Then how—”

“I met all three women in the singles department,” he said proudly. “We have a real high success rate there.”

“Success?” she asked. “You call three divorces success?”

He shot her a look. “What are you saying?”

“Just that…well, it sounds like the marriage ceremony is the standard by which you judge success or failure. I mean, if you get married, you’ve succeeded. Never mind whether it works out or not.”

“Look, those divorces were not my fault. Everybody knows that.”

“Well, of course. I didn’t mean…” She didn’t know what she did mean, but suddenly she wished she’d never met Bill Blackburn.

“I had biblical divorces, you know. That makes a difference.”

She didn’t know much about the Bible, but she thought she understood what he meant. “Oh, so they cheated on you?”

“No. They were unbelievers and they left. I thought they were believers, but obviously they weren’t, or they would have been better wives. Paul said that we aren’t accountable if unbelieving spouses leave us, so that lets me off the hook. It’s almost like the marriages didn’t exist.”

As unschooled as she was in theology, she felt sure that was a misinterpretation. Maybe he could make that explanation work once, but three times?

“What about yours?” he asked. “Was yours a biblical divorce?”

She looked at him, wondering how to politely tell him it was none of his business. As if he read her mind, he said, “It’s pertinent, you know. I don’t want to date anyone with unconfessed sin.”

She almost laughed, but with great effort managed to keep a straight face. “Rest easy. I’m off the hook, too.”

He seemed happy with that. So happy, that he picked his speed up from eighty to ninety.

She was worn out by the time they reached the farm where the social was to be held. “You sure are quiet,” he said as they screeched into the driveway. She considered telling him it was difficult to talk when your jaw was clenched in terror.

“I hope my driving didn’t scare you,” he said as if reading the fear on her face.

“‘Scared’ isn’t the word I would use,” she said.

He chuckled. “I bought this car after my last divorce, and I go a little crazy when I drive it. It just handles so well.”

She tried to look impressed. “Boy, it sure does.”

He opened the door and got out, and she found herself struggling with her own door. Her hands were still shaking. He came around and opened it, and she unfolded from the car.

As they approached the crowd, Cathy saw the heads of all the women turn. Were they asking themselves if she knew about his marital history? Or were they his ex-wives?

Bill wasted no time greeting everyone like a politician the morning of an election, ignoring her completely.

Not one to play the shrinking violet, and desperately glad to be safely on her own again, she introduced herself to those on the fringes of the group who looked as if they were as new as she was. Before long, she had joined a circle of men and women basking in the shade of a huge tree, exchanging homemade ice-cream recipes.

As it grew dark and the party died down and the bug zappers began to pop with their prey, Bill made his way toward her. “Ready to hit the road?”

The relaxation that had fallen over her suddenly fled as she realized she’d have to get back in the car with him. She racked her brain for a way out. Another ride home, perhaps, or a taxi…

Then it came to her.

“Bill, let me drive. I’ve always wanted to drive a Porsche.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t usually let other people drive her. She’s delicate…”

“But you were telling me how well it—she—handles, and I’m dying to see for myself.”

Finally, he grinned, and tossed her the keys. “All right, but be careful.”

She almost laughed at the admonition when he’d been so close to liftoff just hours before. She hurried to the driver’s seat before he could change his mind.

He seemed bored as she drove the speed limit home, and kept pointing out features of the car she might have missed. He urged her to go faster, but she declined.

By the time they reached Cedar Circle, she was quite proud of her own ingenuity. “Well, Bill, I really had a nice time. Guess I’ll see you in church tomorrow.”

“That’s it?” he asked. “You’re not inviting me in?”

“No, it’s a little too late. I’m tired.”

He looked disappointed. “So how about lunch after church tomorrow?”

She started to ask him why he would want to take her to lunch, when their time together had been so underwhelming. Instead, she chose to lie her way out of it. “I can’t. I’ve already accepted an invitation from my neighbors.”

“Tomorrow night, then?”

“No, my kids will be coming home.”

“Next weekend?”

She was getting flustered at his refusal to take no for an answer. “Call me. I’m usually pretty busy, but…”

“Okay. I’ll call. I think we’re a good match, Cathy. I can see myself with you.”

“Oh, can you?” She tried to hide her amusement. “And why is that?”

“You’re my type. Classy. Professional.”

Female
, she thought. “Well, I appreciate that.”

“No, really. People expect me to be with classy women. I like the fact that you’re a vet. That’s interesting. Pays well, too.”

Again, she wanted to laugh. So that was it. He thought she was wealthy.

“So I can call you?”

“Sure.” She realized what a blessing caller ID was. “Thanks for taking me, Bill. It was fun.”

He started to get out, but she stopped him, desperately trying to avoid a kiss goodnight. “No need to walk me to the door,” she said. “Really. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said. He leaned toward her to kiss her, but she turned her head and his lips landed on her ear.

Quickly, she got out of the car and waved through the window.

She was giving up dating, she vowed as she got inside. There wasn’t a man alive worth wasting time with. Besides, she needed to put all her energy into praying for her daughter to find one decent man on this earth amidst all the losers—and making her
sons into decent men instead of the psychos she had been running into lately.

She left the television off and allowed silence—which had never been her favorite sound—to minister to her like a welcome companion.

While Cathy was giving up men, Tory was giving up writing. She had dumped her entire manuscript into her computer’s recycling bin, then defiantly pushed the button to erase it all. Systematically, she went about her house collecting all the paraphernalia relating to her writing. Her legal pads, her special pens, her books on technique, her tapes of writers’ conferences and seminars she hadn’t been able to attend. Then she gathered all the self-help books she had bought over the years, and as she did, she realized that none of them had really done her much good. She might be organized, she might know how to manage her time, she might know how to set priorities, but she had never reached her goals, and she wasn’t going to.

So she decided to choose new goals—first among them to have a house so clean it squeaked.

Barry watched her from the kitchen table where he was making a Play-Doh dinosaur with the kids. “Come sit down,” he told her, pulling out a chair. “Good grief, the house is clean enough.”

“It can never be clean enough,” she said. “I’m about to clean out the junk drawer. I’m going to be brutal, so if there’s anything in there you want to save, you might want to tell me now.”

“Honey, why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s Saturday,” she said. “And you’re home to help with the kids and I can get something done.”

“But you could be writing.”

“I told you, I’m never writing again.”

He shook his head. “Look, why don’t you just
read
that book and see what it’s like? Maybe you can learn something from it. Maybe God has a reason for this.”

“God does have a reason for it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s to tell me that I’m not supposed to be a writer. That’s not my destiny.”

“Then why have you wanted it so badly?”

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s God’s will.”

“But what if it
is
God’s will—but it’s just something you’re going to have to work harder for?”

“How can I work harder?” she asked, looking back up at him. “I can’t put any more time into it than I have, so that makes me really slow. When I started it, it was because I heard an editor on one of those writers’ conference tapes say they’re looking for World War II stories. Now that book is out, it’s a best-seller, and they’ll probably move on to something else—maybe the Civil War or the Medieval age. By the time I get anything written, it’ll be too late.”

“Then don’t write to the trends,” he said. “Write what’s in your heart.”

She breathed a laugh. “I don’t
know
what’s in my heart. I make things up, Barry. Besides, I don’t have the layers and layers of life experience that that author has. She’s probably been to France. She probably remembers the war. She’s probably had tragic affairs with passionate men. I’m just me.”

“But there are things you love, things you care about. Write about them. Write about things in the neighborhood. Heaven knows, there’s enough going on around here.”

“I don’t want to write about real stuff. I just want to make it up. Fiction, not fact.”

“But there is a lot of fact in fiction. Some of the greatest truths I’ve ever read were in fiction. Think of Jesus’ parables.”

She looked at Barry for a moment, surprised that he’d made such a profound point. Maybe
he
should be the writer, she thought bitterly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still finished with it.”

“Then what about the computer? What are we going to do with that? Sell it?”

“Nope. I’m going to start keeping recipes on it. And I’m cataloguing all my books so I can be as organized as a librarian. And the kids’ll use it when they start school. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a new goal. I was thinking of building a greenhouse onto the back of the house, so I could start growing things. And I could dig up the yard and plant some tomato plants and lady peas. Okra.”

“You hate okra. And growing things is not your gift.” He pointed out the fake plants decorating every table and shelf. She had never been able to keep anything alive. As hard as she worked to perfect things, she couldn’t perfect nature. It had a mind of its own.

“Okay,” she conceded, “but maybe if I devoted myself to it, I could learn to grow things. If I had a greenhouse I could do it.”

“Tory, you don’t need a greenhouse, and you don’t need to plow the backyard. You have enough to do.”

“All right, fine. Then I won’t grow things. I’ll find something else.”

He looked at her as if he didn’t know what more to say to her, then ambled helplessly out of the room.

Tory dropped into a chair and covered her face with both hands. This was madness, she thought. Obsessive-compulsive madness. And she should know—she’d just finished reading a book on the subject.

Barry was right. She did have plenty to do without dragging out new hobbies. Her children needed her. Her husband needed her.

She took a deep breath, got up, and straightened the chairs. Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the den, she saw the children lying on the floor watching a movie. Barry was sitting in his recliner, staring into space at thoughts she could only imagine.

“Hey, guys,” she said. “What do you say we go out tonight? It’s Saturday and we haven’t done anything in a while. We could go get ice cream and maybe head down to the river, stand on the footbridge, and watch the barges come through.”

“Yeah!” Spencer and Brittany said, jumping to their feet and bouncing like little windup toys.

Barry gave her a puzzled look. “Who are you?”

She grinned. “Don’t press your luck.”

He got up tentatively. “There must be some drawers you haven’t cleaned out. Some closets that need dusting.”

She got a pillow from the couch and threw it at him. He flinched. “Okay, so I was being obsessive,” she said. “I’ve been feeling sorry for myself, and I’ve been making everybody miserable. But look at the bright side. The house is amazingly clean.”

“Passes the white glove test,” he agreed.

“Come on,” she said, trying to work some fun into her voice. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“You sure you have time for fun?”

“You’re about to lose your window of opportunity.”

“Come on, kids,” Barry yelled. “Let’s go while Mom’s in the mood!”

She picked up the pillow and placed it perfectly on the couch before she followed her family out the door.