The Scent of Lilacs (43 page)

Had the Bible-times families who had laid their ailing loved ones along the way Peter walked to the temple believed, or had it been a matter of thinking they had nothing to lose by trying? Was faith that the miracle would happen necessary? And if so, how much faith?

In the Bible, Jesus said that with faith the size of a mustard seed a person could tell a mountain to get up and move to another spot and it would. A mustard seed was so small David could hold dozens, even hundreds, of them in his hand. Yet he could not summon up even a fraction of that much faith in his heart that he could move a mountain from here to there.

David wanted to have that kind of faith for Wes, but he didn’t really believe Wes’s leg would miraculously knit back together while the doctors were getting ready to insert screws and rods to
hold the pieces of bone together while it healed. He believed it was possible. He believed God could make the bone whole again. He truly believed anything was possible with God. Yet he didn’t believe it would actually happen this hour to this man—that the doctors were even now turning back to the operating table and blinking their eyes in disbelief as Wes flexed his leg and tried to get off the table. He thought about the doctors looking at the X-rays and wondering what could have happened—how the bone in this man’s leg could be miraculously whole again. And then David felt foolish even imagining such a thing happening. The best he could honestly pray was that the doctors would be skilled and that Wes would survive the surgery. He had the faith to pray that.

And that Jocie would listen to and believe him. She’d listened to his words in the churchyard, but she’d kept her eyes away from him. She’d been afraid to believe him. And now she was afraid to sit with him, afraid of being alone with him, afraid of what truth he might tell her.

She’d been in the restroom for a long time. Too long. He waited another minute, trying to pray as he watched the second hand on his watch creep around in a circle. The restroom door didn’t open. He could feel the space between them growing wider as every second ticked past. He had to jump across the space before it got to be such a chasm that he would have no chance of landing on the other side.

He prayed for the right words to say as he walked down the hall to the restroom and knocked softly on the door. “Jocie, are you okay?” he asked.

It was a few seconds before she answered, “Yes.”

“Come on out and we’ll talk.”

“I’m not sure I want to right now.”

“If you don’t come out, I’ll come in,” he told her.

“You can’t. One of us would have to stand on the john.”

“Then I’ll stand on the john,” he said as he turned the door handle.

The door bumped into Jocie as her father started to push it open. She almost giggled as she stuck her head out the half-open door. “Dad! It’s a girls’ room.”

“And I want to talk to the girl who’s in it.” He kept pushing on the door.

“Okay, okay,” she said as she stepped back out into the hall. She concentrated on keeping her feet within the square tiles as she walked back toward the waiting area. She should have known she couldn’t hide from her father any more than she had been able to run away earlier. And why was she afraid of the truth? He’d already assured her he was her father. Why couldn’t she just grab on to that and let the rest of it be swept out of her mind the way the wind had swept away the church building?

The nurse spoke to her father as they passed the nurses’ station to let them know the cafeteria would be closing soon. “Your friend might be in surgery for hours. Why don’t you go get something to eat? We’ll page you down there if we need to.”

“I don’t think I could eat right now,” Jocie said when her father looked at her.

Her father smiled at the nurse. “We’ll go down and get something out of the vending machines later.”

The nurse frowned a bit. “You should at least get something to drink. Here, wait a minute.” She got up and disappeared into a room behind the nursing station. She came back with two paper cups full of a clear soft drink. “If you want coffee, we have that too.”

“Thanks, but this is fine.” Her father took both the cups and carried them down the hallway. He handed Jocie one of the cups after they settled back on the couch.

Jocie let the fizzy drink bubble against her lips for a second before she downed it all without taking a breath.

“You were thirsty.” Her father poured half of his soda into her cup before he took a drink.

“I guess so. I hadn’t really thought about it since I took a drink out of the creek. I know you say I shouldn’t drink creek water.” She peeked up at him and then looked back down at her cup. “But it looked clean, and I was really thirsty. But then it started raining and all, and I didn’t think about anything but getting out of the storm.”

“I’m glad the Lord kept you safe.”

“But he didn’t keep Wes safe,” she said softly. “I wish Wes hadn’t come hunting for me.”

“He had to come hunting for you. He loves you.”

“Yeah, I know, and because of that he got hurt. Dr. Markum said he might even die.” Jocie studied the ice in her cup. “It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t give up on Wes yet. We’re praying, and the Lord’s listening.”

Jocie could feel her father’s eyes on her, but she kept staring into her cup. She wanted to run back to the restroom just because she couldn’t stand this strange feeling between them. That’s why she’d run away in the first place. She couldn’t bear the truth.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Jocie. You need to talk to me.”

The questions she couldn’t ask kept swelling up inside her until finally one of them burst out her mouth. “Is it true what Ronnie Martin told me?”

“What did he tell you?”

“That I’m a bastard,” Jocie whispered.

Her father set his cup down on the floor, put his hand under her chin, and raised her face up to look at him. “You were born to my wife. You are my daughter legally and in every way that counts.”

“But is what he said about his uncle true?”

Her father’s eyes didn’t waver from hers. “It could have been.

Your mother was not always faithful to me, but what truly makes a father? A seed spilled out in a moment of passion or years of love and caring? I can’t be positive that my seed formed you, but I know without any doubt that you are my daughter. I’ve loved you since I first knew you existed. I fought for you even before you were born, and after you were born, I fed you. I changed your diapers. I walked the floor with you when you cried. I wrapped my heart around you and made you mine. You are the daughter of my heart. No one can ever take you out of my heart.”

Jocie had always believed him. There was no reason not to believe him now. “Wes told me that being your daughter that way was better than just being begatted.”

“Begatted?” Her father smiled.

“That’s not a word, is it? I told Wes it wasn’t.”

“I think it might be begotten.”

“That doesn’t sound much better. I was begatted. I was begotten,” Jocie said.

“It sounds okay in John 3:16.”

“Well, yeah, it fits there, doesn’t it? ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten
Son.’ ‘Only begatted son’ just wouldn’t work, would it?”

“You’re one of a kind, Jocie. And however you were begotten, you are truly my daughter and I am truly your father. Are we straight on that?”

Jocie smiled at him and let herself be enfolded in his love. “Thank you for being my father. I guess the Lord was answering my prayers before I could even pray them, because if I’d ever said a daddy prayer, you would have been the best answer I could have ever gotten.”

Tears filled her father’s eyes, and he pulled her close. Up the hall, the elevator door opened. Jocie peeked over her father’s arm to see Leigh coming down the hall toward them. “It’s Leigh,” she said.

“I see her,” her father answered without turning her loose.

“I’ll bet she has food.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I can start saying a stepmother prayer if you want me to,” Jocie whispered.

“I’ve never been one to tell you what to pray. That’s between you and the Lord.”

“Maybe I should wait till we get Wes prayed better, but she is nice.”

“Yes, she is.”

L
eigh stopped a few feet away from them. “Maybe I should come back later,” she said. Jocie pulled loose from her father and grabbed Leigh’s hand. “No, no. This isn’t a private hug. Of course, you might not want to hug us. We look pretty bad.” Leigh put her arms around Jocie. “I’ve never seen anybody who looked better to me. When that storm came up, we were all scared to death for you. Thank goodness you’re all right.” She looked at Jocie’s father. “How’s Wes?”

“We don’t know. He’s still in surgery,” her father said.

“I’ll have to go down and tell Zella.”

“Zella’s here?” her father asked.

“She’s downstairs in the front lobby. She was beside herself with worry after Dr. Markum’s wife called and said how bad Wes was hurt. But she wouldn’t come up. Says elevators give her the willies and she’ll just wait for news down there. I told her there would be steps somewhere, but to be honest, I think the whole hospital is giving her the willies.”

“I can’t believe she’s worried about Wes,” Jocie said.

“Zella’s not heartless,” Leigh said. “She and Wes have been working together for years. Of course she’s worried about him. She called and got her prayer chain going before we left Hollyhill.”

“He must owe her money or something,” Jocie said.

“That’s enough, Jocie,” her father said.

“Sorry.” Jocie ducked her head.

Leigh laughed. “Now that you mention it, she did say something about a book she’d loaned him.” She held out the sack she was carrying. “I hope you like peanut butter sandwiches. That’s all I had that was fast.”

“Peanut butter’s good.” Jocie sat the sack on the floor. “But first, you wouldn’t happen to have a comb I could use, would you?”

Leigh rummaged in her purse. “You do look in need of one, but I guess you’re lucky to have hair to comb after being in the middle of a tornado. Sandy Markum said that church out there—she said the name but I forget—that it was completely blown away.”

Jocie’s father stood up. “We’ll need something to drink with our sandwiches. I’ll go hunt up the vending machines downstairs and talk to Zella. I won’t be gone long.” He hesitated and looked at Jocie. “Will you be okay?”

Jocie met his eyes. “I won’t run away again, Dad. Ever. I promise.”

Leigh waited until the elevator door closed behind Jocie’s father before she asked, “Everything okay between you two now?”

“He is my father,” Jocie said.

“I know. I never doubted that.”

“I shouldn’t have either.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Leigh handed Jocie the comb she’d finally pulled out of her purse.

“It doesn’t matter what Ronnie Martin said.” Jocie tugged the comb through her hair.

“No, it doesn’t. Here, let me help.” Leigh took the comb and carefully started working some of the tangles out of Jocie’s hair.

Jocie felt funny letting Leigh comb her hair, but at the same time it felt good to just let somebody else handle the tangles. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody but Jeanne at the beauty shop had combed her hair. At least not since she was a little girl and her father had made her stand still to comb her hair before church.

As if she’d been zapped back into time, she remembered one of those mornings. She didn’t know whether it was before or after her mother left. It didn’t really matter. Her father had always been the one who had helped her get ready for church.

“Stand still and let me get this rat’s nest out of your hair, Jocie, so you’ll look your best for God,” he’d told her. “But doesn’t God see me all the time?” she had asked. “So he sees me when I just get up and my hair’s all mussy. He loves me then too, doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does. He’d love you if you didn’t have any hair at all or if you had more hair than Rapunzel. And so do I. We love the whole package, every inch.”

“Does God really know how many hairs I have? I tried to count just what was in my bangs once, but I kept losing count.”

“The Bible says every hair on every head is numbered.”