Seasons Under Heaven

by Beverly LaHaye

  “Right,” Sylvia said. “That’s why I knew you could do it. If I’d written the letter, they would have filed it in the trash can.”

  “I’ve got work to do,” Tory said with a teasing grin. “I don’t have time to stand out here flapping my jaws with you. I’ll see you later.”

  She headed back into the house, more excited than she’d been in weeks.

  That night, when they were getting ready for bed, Barry sat down on the edge of the bathtub and smiled up at her as she brushed her teeth. “What are you looking at?” she asked with her mouth full of toothpaste.

  “You,” he said. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

  She rinsed her mouth out, wiped it on a towel, and turned around to peer down at him. “Why?”

  “Because your writing is so strong that it’s impacting the Dodds’ lives,” he said.

  “Well, let’s not get carried away. A hundred dollars won’t go that far.”

  “There’ll be more,” he said. “I know there will. Tory, do you realize what that means?”

  “What?”

  “It means you are called to write. You have got a gift. Just because some woman wrote a story you intended to write, before you could get to it, it doesn’t mean you’re supposed to quit.”

  “This isn’t exactly the great American novel, Barry. It was just a few letters.”

  “But not just anybody could have written them. At least, not in a way that would evoke sympathy and mobilize people into action.”

  She smiled at herself in the mirror, wondering if that was true. Had God led her through the ups and downs of her writing “career” so that she could be the one to write the letters that would help Joseph? “Wouldn’t that be something?” she asked. “If we really could raise a lot of money this way?”

  “It would be miraculous,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  They headed back into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, and she curled up next to him, absorbing his warmth. “Barry, do you think our church will come through?”

  “Sure they will. I’m going to bring it up at the finance committee meeting Wednesday night.”

  “You are? And you think it’ll be approved?”

  “Well, I should hope so. The thing is, there are a lot of people in our own congregation with needs, too.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She looked up at her husband. “Barry, remember the other night when we were at Brenda’s church?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was pretty wonderful, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve visited another church, so I didn’t have anything to compare it to. But it got me thinking. Maybe there’s something different that we’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Tory, I don’t want to leave our church. I’m a deacon. I don’t take that lightly.”

  “As a deacon, do you think you can get them to help us with the animal fair? They could set up a few booths, send some volunteers over, bake some cookies, anything.”

  “People in our church are busy already,” he said. “We have a million programs and other things we always need volunteers for.”

  “I know,” she said. “There’s a lot going on—I like that. But some things should take precedence. Hurting people should be a priority over programs.”

  “Our programs are designed to help hurting people.”

  “I know. I just wish they’d help Joseph, too.”

  He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Maybe our church just needs to be appealed to differently. I’ll work on them Wednesday night at the finance committee meeting. Maybe they’ll let you make a personal appeal at prayer meeting.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’m counting on you. I don’t want to have to bring out the big guns.”

  “What big guns?”

  “These typing fingers,” she said, flexing them as if they were lethal weapons. “I don’t think they want me to get tougher with these letters.”

  “You might have to,” he teased. “But that’s okay. Paint them a picture with words, Tory. Help them to understand who Joseph is, and why they want to help him.”

  “I think I can do that,” Tory said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Barry said with a grin. “You can do it. I have faith in you.”

  Wednesday night, Barry seemed preoccupied as he came out of the finance committee meeting. Tory met him in the church corridor. “You coming to prayer meeting?” she asked, searching his face.

  He nodded.

  “What’s wrong, Barry?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I’m just a little disappointed.”

  Her heart crashed. “They wouldn’t pledge any money?”

  “Not exactly.” He sank onto a Chippendale chair placed fashionably next to an antique table in the hallway. “Oh, they acted real interested. Said they were glad we were helping the Dodds. But they didn’t want any direct official church involvement.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “They’re afraid of stepping on the toes of Brenda’s church.”

  Tory’s face began to redden. “Did you tell them her church doesn’t have toes?”

  He chuckled. “I see their point, Tory. They thought it would be more powerful if her church coordinated the efforts.”

  “We weren’t asking anyone to coordinate any efforts,” she said. “We were asking for donations.”

  “Well, I guess that was their way of saying no. They did put him on their prayer list, though.”

  She sank down next to him. “At least maybe I can get some individual donations in prayer meeting.”

  “Well…actually, I guess not,” Barry said. “When I asked them if you could speak at prayer meeting, they said tonight wasn’t a good night. There’s too much on the agenda.”

  “On the prayer agenda?” she asked. “They’re putting a limit on prayer?”

  “I guess there are a lot of needs.” He patted her knee. “I’m disappointed, too, Tory. They think they’re doing the right thing, but I don’t agree.”

  “Barry, I’m so embarrassed. Sylvia’s and Brenda’s churches are coming through. What are they going to think when they hear that ours has refused? I feel like marching in there and grabbing the microphone and chewing them all out.”

  “We can’t do that.” He rubbed his face roughly. “Frankly, I can’t help feeling like I’m just as guilty. I’ve been just as disinterested in other people’s needs as they’ve been over the years. The only difference in this case is that we know Joseph, we care about him. They’ve never seen him. I just keep thinking back on all those prayer meetings I’ve sat through, listening to all those needs—and never uttering a single prayer for those people, just because I didn’t know them. I figured somebody else would be praying for them. Even now, you don’t see us in there poring over the prayer list. There are a couple dozen Joseph Dodds on that list, and we’re mad because they’re not making a priority out of our request.”

  They sat in silence for several moments. Finally, Tory looked at him. “Barry, can we just go home?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go get the kids out of their classes, unless they’re in the middle of something important.”

  They headed for Brittany’s room first, and as they rounded the corner, they heard the teacher leading the class in “I’m a Little Teapot.” Well, Tory thought, I suppose it passes the time…

  She knocked on the door and got Brittany out, then headed for Spencer’s room. Spencer’s class was sitting on the floor watching Mrs. Doubtfire. She wondered if anyone had bleeped out the profanity.

  “We’re not through with the movie,” Spencer protested as she pulled him out the door. “They didn’t even sing ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ yet. That’s my favorite song.”

  “‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ is your favorite song?” Tory asked, horrified. “Where have you heard it?”

  “In that movie,” he said. “I’ve saw it four times at chur
ch.”

  She shot Barry an eloquent look.

  “Why’re we leavin’ early?” Brittany asked.

  Barry put his arm around Tory’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Mommy just wasn’t feeling very well.”

  “Let’s use this time to go visit Joseph,” Tory suggested.

  “Yay!” Spencer hollered. “Do we get to go in?”

  “‘Fraid not, Kemo Sabe,” Barry said. “You’re not allowed out of the lobby unless you’re over twelve. We don’t want to take any germs to Joseph, do we?”

  “I don’t got germs!” Spencer objected. “I had a bath.”

  Barry waited in the hospital lobby with the kids while Tory went up to Joseph’s room. He was sitting up in a chair, dressed in jeans and a Mark Lowry T-shirt, trying to put together a puzzle. Brenda hugged her and welcomed her in. Though Tory had been asked to don a gown at the nurse’s station, the mask was no longer required.

  “Spencer and Britty are downstairs,” she told Joseph. “They’re terribly offended by the policy that says they can’t come up.”

  “I could go down and see ‘em,” Joseph said. “Can I, Mom? Please? I have thirty minutes on the battery. They said I needed to walk!”

  “Can he do that?” Tory asked. “It’s allowed?”

  “Sure!” Joseph spoke up before Brenda could answer.

  Brenda laughed. “I guess it’ll be okay, for a few minutes. But I don’t want him in the lobby. I’ll get permission for them to come up to the waiting room on this floor.”

  Tory went downstairs and got her gang, then decked them all out in gowns. Brittany bounced up and down on the elevator as they rode up, and Spencer plopped down on his little behind, because he said it felt funnier to ride up that way. Funny was a good thing to feel, Tory supposed.

  She was happy to see Joseph, masked like a bandit, walking toward the waiting room to meet them, pushing a little cart in front of him to which his Heart Mate was attached. Spencer and Brittany were as impressed with all his wiring as they would have been with Robo Cop.

  Barry supervised the conversation, making sure that Spencer didn’t get a wild hare and decide to swing from one of Joseph’s tubes. Tory and Brenda sat just outside the waiting room, away from the kids. “So how’s it going?” Tory asked.

  “It’s going great,” Brenda said. “I’m enjoying the time I’m getting to spend with him. He’s not used to one-on-one attention. It’s been fun. And I’m getting some fierce homeschooling in. He’s too bored to fight it.”

  Tory shot her a disbelieving look. “No, I mean…really. You don’t have to put on that bright face with me. Your child is sitting here waiting for a heart transplant. Don’t tell me it’s been fun.”

  Brenda’s smile faded. “Does it show?”

  “What? The humanity? Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. You look like a mother who’s scared to death. Just the way I would look.”

  The smile in Brenda’s eyes vanished, and that worry returned. “I try, Tory. For Joseph’s sake, and for David’s sake…and for my sake, I try to have faith and think about the end of all this, when Joseph is healthy and back at home. But then I imagine a different ending, and I panic…I don’t guess I hide it very well.” Brenda got up and strolled to the nurse’s station, where a table was set up with a coffeepot. She poured two cups. She knew how Tory liked hers; they’d visited so many times at each other’s kitchen table.

  Tory waited, giving her time to say everything on her heart.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think the last few days,” Brenda said, handing Tory her cup. “A lot of time to pray. And I guess what this has taught me is that every minute is so important, with every child.”

  Tory’s eyes were fixed on Brenda, for she wanted to take in every drop of the wisdom Brenda had to share. “But you already seem to squeeze so much life out of every minute.”

  Brenda smiled. “Well, Tory, I guess it changes you when you realize that this moment may be the only one you have with that child. It’s changed the way I look at my other kids, too.”

  “I think I’d be hovering over them, crying and begging and bargaining with God.”

  “Trust me—I’ve done that, too,” Brenda admitted. “Oh, the bargains I’ve made. Like God’s a car dealer or something. Like if I just hit the right combination of prayer and confession and repentance and Scripture quoting and praise, He’ll say, ‘Finally, she’s done what I’ve been waiting for, so now I can answer her prayers.’”

  Her eyes misted as she sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “The day they admitted Joseph, I went into the chapel to pray, and Sylvia came in, bless her heart. She was a godsend. I really needed her. I was crying, upset, angry, and everything else you can imagine. And Sylvia said something to me that I’ve tried to remember ever since. It was that all of the blessings we have come from God. That means our children, too. We try to hold them in clenched fists, and think they’re ours. But she reminded me that Joseph belongs to God, not me. I’ve been entrusted with him for a while.” Her mouth trembled as she got the words out. “But I have to hold that blessing in an open hand, because God could take him back at any time. He has every right to. Joseph’s not an object to be bargained with, and God loves him even more than I do.”

  Tory only looked at her, unable to comprehend that much trust in God. “I don’t think I could do it, Brenda. As much as I whine and complain about my kids, that might just be the one area of my life where I can’t open my hand.”

  “I know,” Brenda agreed. “There’ve been times when I’ve read the story of Abraham and Isaac, when he was willing to offer him as a sacrifice. And I thought, how did he do it? How do you find the strength to trust God that way?” She looked at Tory with glistening eyes. “I’m afraid I might find out.”

  Tory’s own eyes began to fill, and she wished she knew what to say. Brenda was miles above her in the areas of wisdom and spirituality. How could Tory find any words adequate to comfort her? She fought the tightening in her throat. “So how do you keep that hand open?”

  “It’s not easy,” Brenda bit out. “Trust me.”

  Tory looked down at her coffee, wiping a finger along the edge of the cup. If Joseph died, what would Brenda do? Would her faith hold, or would she rail against God? “I guess we really have no choice but to trust God,” she said, feeling the words echo with emptiness.

  “Yes, we do,” Brenda said. “We can choose not to, like David.” She shook her head. “But the truth is, David’s lack of hope gives him even fewer options than I have. If Joseph dies, David’s going to feel so angry and so defeated. He’ll never be able to see any good in it.”

  “And you really will?” Tory asked.

  Brenda touched her fingertips to her mouth, as if she could stave off the tragic expression pulling at her face. “It’ll be the hardest thing that ever happened to me,” she whispered. “But God understands. He was there, remember? In Gethsemane, Jesus wanted to close His fist around His own life. But He didn’t. He kept that hand open, and told God that if it was His will to take His life—”

  “But He grieved,” Tory said quietly.

  “Oh, yeah,” Brenda whispered. “He did that. I’ll do it, too, if He takes Joseph.”

  Tory dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “You’re stronger than I am. I think, by now, I would have broken something. Put my fist through a wall. Gone on Prozac.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Brenda offered her a wan smile. “Look at all the money you’re bringing in for Joseph. You’ve got a few things going for you, too.”

  Tory’s face brightened up, and she wiped the tears away. “Yeah, we’ve gotten several small checks in the mail already, and it hasn’t even been a week since I sent the letters out. And I’m not finished yet. I’m going to send follow-up letters to the churches who don’t answer. And I’ve sent out thank-yous to the ones who have. I’ve invited them to the animal fair so they can feel even more a part of this.”

  “Good idea,” Brenda said. “I appreciate
your efforts so much. David does, too, even though he may seem ungrateful.” She sipped her coffee, then blew on the steam. “He’s got so much pride. Hates the idea of charity of any kind. So he’s putting a ‘For Sale By Owner’ sign in the yard tonight.”

  “No!” Tory said. “Brenda, he can’t. That’s why we’re raising the money. Selfishly, for ourselves. We don’t want you to move.”

  “I can’t talk him out of it.” Brenda got up, went to the door of the waiting room, and peered in to make sure Joseph was all right. Satisfied, she turned back to Tory. “It’s probably best. Even with the donations, the expenses are so high. We’ll just rent an apartment for a while.”

  “An apartment? With four kids? And what about David’s workshop?”

  “He’s been looking for a job,” Brenda said. “Something that pays better.” She couldn’t meet Tory’s eyes, and finally went back into the doorway. “Joseph’s got to go back to the room now before his battery runs out.”

  Tory followed, still disturbed, as Brenda walked Joseph to his room and plugged him back into his machine. Before she left, she hugged her friend. “Brenda, God does provide.”

  Brenda smiled, a real, genuine, ear-to-ear smile made more profound by her wet eyes. “Sometimes He even provides a ram in the thicket. I could use a couple of them right now.”

  On Cedar Circle, Leah, Rachel, and Daniel sat at their front window, watching their father hammer the For Sale sign into the ground.

  “I’ve got supper ready for you,” Sylvia said, trying to distract them.

  Daniel glanced back at her. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Me, neither,” Rachel whispered.

  Sylvia walked up behind them and saw that Leah was crying. She bent down to hug the girl. “Honey, don’t cry.”

  “I like our house,” Leah said. “Where are we gonna live?”

  “Wherever it is, it’ll be just fine.” But she had no intentions of letting them move. Somehow, she would raise the money the Dodds needed before they sold the house. Then maybe she could convince David to take it off the market.

  The front door opened, and he came back in. As he stood just inside, looking at the children’s sad faces, Sylvia saw the raw emotion on his own. “It’s gonna be okay, guys,” he said. “I haven’t ever let you down before, have I?”