The Scent of Lilacs (44 page)

“On Wes’s head too?”

“On his head too.”

“I don’t think Wes ever combs his hair.”

“He doesn’t spend much time in front of the mirror.”

“But God loves him anyway, doesn’t he? Just like he loves me?” Jocie had always tried to find ways to be sure that Wes was under God’s love, since he didn’t go to church or do the things her father was always saying a Christian should do.

“God loves everybody. God will never fail you, nor will he fail Wes. Just remember that, Jocie. God will never fail you or forsake you.”

Jocie remembered the scent of lilacs again. God hadn’t forsaken her. He’d pushed her out of the church building. He’d sent Wes to protect her from the tornado. He’d brought her father to help her and Wes. He’d kept Wes alive to get to the hospital. How could she doubt?

Leigh was still tugging on the tangles in the back of her hair, but so gently that Jocie hardly felt it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if Wes isn’t okay,” Jocie said after a moment.

“The Lord will help you stand whatever you have to stand,” Leigh said.

“You sound like a preacher’s wife already.”

“Oh, that might not be good. Who’d want to kiss a preacher’s wife?”

“A preacher?”

Leigh laughed. “I suppose that’s true. And Wes will make it through. Zella’s prayer chain will connect with another prayer chain and another until the whole town of Hollyhill will be praying for him. Along with all of us here, of course. I believe the Lord answers prayers, don’t you?”

“I do, but what if he says no? Daddy says that’s an answer too.”

Leigh stopped combing Jocie’s hair and tipped her face around until she was looking straight into her eyes. “If your Aunt Love were here, she could tell you the exact words and where in the Bible it is, but somewhere in the Bible, I think maybe in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus asks what father would give his son a stone when he asks for bread, and if earthly fathers are that way, how much more loving is our heavenly Father who gives us the good things we ask for? Wes getting better is a good thing. I have faith the Lord won’t say no.”

And he didn’t. Sometime after midnight, a doctor finally appeared in front of them and said Wes had made it through the surgery. Before the sun came up, Jocie and her father were standing by his bed. His face was pale and sunken looking, and some nurse must have combed his hair, which made him look even more unlike himself. Tubes were running medicine through IVs into his arm, and his leg was encased in a wire cage instead of a cast, with rods sticking through the bandages.

“Are you sure that’s Wes?” Jocie whispered to her father.

One eye popped open and then the other as Wes looked straight at her. “And who were you expecting? Mr. Jupiter himself?”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you with your hair combed.” Jocie grinned.

“I tell you. You let them put you out and they’re liable to do anything to you. Can you fix it for me?”

Jocie tousled his hair. “There, that’s more like it.”

“Now fix my leg.”

“I would if I could, Wes.” Jocie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry you got hurt. It’s my fault.”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, Jo. Not unless you’ve been praying some kind of tornado prayer all summer.”

“No, but I’ve been praying big time ever since the tornado hit. Everybody in Hollyhill has been praying.”

“For me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. Zella started her prayer chain.”

“Zella? Pinch me. I must be hallucinating,” Wes said.

“No, it’s true,” Jocie said. “Isn’t it, Dad?”

Jocie’s father nodded. “Zella’s camped out down in the lobby waiting to hear you’re okay.”

“That’s scary,” Wes said. “I can’t believe she drove down here all by herself.”

“No, she came with Leigh,” Jocie said. “Leigh’s out in the hall waiting on us. She said she’d come in to see you later.”

“Ah, that explains it. What that woman won’t do to do some matchmaking,” Wes said. His eyes were drooping closed. “I don’t know what they gave me, but I can’t keep awake.”

“The nurses said we couldn’t stay but a minute, that you needed to rest,” Jocie’s father said. He started toward the door, but Jocie hung back.

“We’ll be back in the morning as soon as the nurses let us,” Jocie said. “I want to get your firsthand account of the storm before I write the story for the
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next week.”

“You have your own firsthand account,” Wes said.

“Yeah, but I want the whole story. Not just a part of it,” Jocie said.

Wes pushed his eyes open again and reached for Jocie’s hand. “And do you have the whole story? From your dad?”

“It’s not begatted. It’s begotten.”

“Well, I’m glad we got that straight,” Wes said.

“And I got everything else straight too. He’s my daddy, and you’re my granddaddy.”

“Granddaddy? Who said I was old enough to be a granddaddy?”

“Me,” Jocie said. “And you’re mine, and I’m glad you missed your spaceship back to Jupiter. You know, I don’t think it’s ever coming back.”

“You could be right, Jo. You could be right. Now let a poor old stranded Jupiterian get some Earth sleep.”

Her father was waiting at the door to put his arm around her. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“That sounds great.” She walked in the circle of his love toward where Leigh was waiting for them at the elevator. “Did I tell you about the lilacs, Dad? You’re not going to believe about the lilacs.”

Ann H. Gabhart
and her husband live on a farm just over the hill from where she was born, in central Kentucky. Ann is the author of over a dozen novels for adults and young adults. She’s active in her country church, and her husband sings bass in a southern gospel quartet.