A Trusting Heart

by Judith Mccoy Miller

  “Well, why should I sell it to them? I don’t want to move! My family has lived on that farm for generations,” she argued.

  “I’m not saying you should have agreed. I’m simply explaining how the process works,” Claire patiently continued. “What we are attempting to do through our lawsuit is have the government look at a different site to build the dam. One where no one will be dislocated.”

  “See, now, that makes sense,” the woman agreed. “That’s probably why John Ingmire told me I should be in on this thing,” she said, obviously referring to the lawsuit.

  “Probably,” Claire agreed, trying to keep from becoming exasperated. “You must understand that this lawsuit is twofold, Mrs. Roseman. If the jury finds that the government is correct and that Lyndon is the best site, their next step will be to decide if the prices the government has offered for your land are fair.”

  “You mean the jury gets to say how much money I should have?” she inquired.

  “Could you wait here just a few minutes? I need to visit with Mr. Johnstone for a moment,” Claire requested and promptly went to Josie’s desk. Dialing the intercom number for Lyle’s office, she let it ring until he finally picked up the phone.

  “Yes!” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Lyle, but I really need to talk to you. Can you come out here for a few minutes,” Claire requested.

  “Can’t it wait?” he asked.

  “No, we’ve got a problem with Mrs. Roseman. I think maybe she’s senile.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he replied, slamming down the phone.

  “I don’t think I want to hear this,” Lyle said, walking into the front office where Claire stood waiting.

  “Honestly, Lyle, it’s as if she doesn’t have any idea why she’s joined in this lawsuit except that John Ingmire told her it was a good idea. I’ve explained the whole process three times, and she still doesn’t understand. I even checked to make sure she attended the original meeting where the plaintiffs voted to file suit. She signed the attendance sheet. Not only that, she’s attended every meeting since then. Her name’s on all the attendance sheets, and I even performed a cursory check to see if it looked like someone else had been signing her name. It doesn’t. Do you want me to call one of her neighbors or see if she has a relative I can talk to?”

  “Guess you’d better. Tell her she can go home and we’ll talk to her later. Be sure to explain that she doesn’t need to attend the trial. I won’t call her as a witness, and I sure don’t want to take a chance that she’ll show up in court and cause any problems,” he instructed.

  Claire watched as Lyle strode toward his office and then went back to where Mrs. Roseman patiently sat waiting.

  “I think that’s all we need to go over today, Mrs. Roseman,” Claire told the woman. “By the way, do you have any children who live nearby?”

  “Never was able to have children,” she calmly explained. “Closest thing to a living relative I got is Donald’s niece, Phyllis.”

  “Where does Phyllis live?” Claire asked.

  “I’m not really sure, now that you ask. I haven’t had a Christmas card from her for several years—probably not since Donald passed.”

  “Do you know her last name?’ Claire ventured, not wanting to sound insulting but hoping she could gain some additional information.

  “Mueller, Mohler, I don’t know—something like that. Doesn’t really matter. I never was close to her—just exchanged Christmas cards. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering who you counted on for help when you need it,” Claire replied.

  “God, of course,” the woman quickly replied, causing Claire to give her a warm smile in return.

  “Of course. But I was wondering if there was any person who helped you out from time to time,” Claire questioned further.

  “Oh, sometimes John—John Ingmire. He lives close by, and if he’s feeling good enough, he’ll lend a hand. Marty Watson’s boy shovels my snow and mows the grass in summer. Is that what you’re talking about?” the woman asked.

  “Sure, that’s fine. Incidentally, do you have a doctor you go to in Lyndon, or do you come over here to Junction City?” Claire attempted.

  “Dr. Bogan over here in Junction. If you’re looking for a doctor, he’s a good one.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Claire replied. “I guess we’re through. I’ll call you if we need to discuss anything else. Just remember, there’s no need for you to attend the trial,” Claire emphasized.

  “Right! Unless John tells me I should,” she replied. “Could you call me a taxi, dear? I’ll just wait out front where I can watch until it arrives.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Claire replied, picking up the phone and dialing the Yellow Cab Company.

  As soon as the taxi arrived and Mrs. Roseman was safely on her way, Claire placed her notes on the table outside Lyle’s office. It was too late to call Dr. Bogan and check on the woman’s medical condition, and Lyle could instruct John Ingmire to encourage Mrs. Roseman to remain at home throughout the trial. She wasn’t going to interrupt Lyle to tell him she was leaving. He might convince her to stay a little longer, and she was exhausted.

  By the time she left the office, it was almost eight o’clock. Her stomach was growling, and the beckoning neon sign at the Good Eats cafe caught her attention. Think I’ll just grab a bite to eat so that I don’t have to bother fixing anything at home, she thought as she walked on down the street toward the restaurant.

  She seated herself in one of the smaller wooden booths and grabbed the menu that was resting behind the metal napkin holder.

  “You alone tonight?” the waitress inquired, holding two glasses of water and two sets of silverware.

  “Yes,” Claire replied.

  “I never guess it right,” the girl remarked, glancing at the extra utensils and water.

  Claire grinned. “Guess I’ll have the special. Is there a newspaper I could read while I’m waiting?”

  “Sure. I’ll bring it right back,” the girl replied.

  Claire was glad she had stopped. With the exception of a few customers who came in and sat at the counter, the restaurant had been quiet. She’d read through the paper, received permission to work the crossword puzzle, although she’d not been overly successful, and felt much better by the time she walked out the door. It was close to nine o’clock, but the town was relatively quiet. The Saturday night drinking crowd was just beginning to make an appearance on the streets.

  Pulling up to a stop light at Washington and Ash Streets, Claire sat watching as people parked their cars and walked toward the entrance of the Odyssey Club, a local favorite by all accounts. Just as the light turned green and Claire began to pull forward, she thought she caught a glimpse of Jake entering the club.

  It couldn’t have been Jake, she thought, turning the corner and beginning to circle the block. What are you doing? a small voice inside her asked.

  Stopping the car, she made a U-turn and headed toward home. “He’s nothing to me. Why should I be checking to see if it’s him?” she murmured.

  The telephone was ringing as she walked in the back door. Tossing her purse and a briefcase full of papers on the kitchen table, she grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Every time I call it sounds as though you’ve been jogging,” came the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Jake. What are you up to?” she inquired. Obviously it wasn’t him I saw, she thought to herself.

  “Nothing much, just talking to you. So what time are we leaving tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know we had made a decision that we were going,” she responded, giving him a dose of his own medicine.

  “How about it? I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” he joked.

  “Do you feel up to a Disney movie? Michelle loves animated films and I noticed in today’s newspaper they’re screening Snow White again. However, I certainly understand if it�
�s not your idea of an exciting afternoon,” she continued.

  “Sounds great. Nothing better than a movie filled with poisoned apples and a bunch of short little guys,” he said, giving her a laugh. “What time do you want to leave?”

  “The movie starts at two. If we leave at one, that should give us plenty of time to pick up Michelle and get there. We won’t go out to eat this time,” she said, a lilt in her voice.

  “Hey, I can handle it, if you can,” he egged her on.

  “Let’s just do the movie. You want me to pick you up?” she asked.

  “Nah. I don’t mind driving to your place and leaving my car. It’s probably safer in front of your house than it is at my apartment complex. I’ll be at your place by one o’clock.”

  “See you then,” Claire responded and hung up the phone.

  Before doing anything else, she once again picked up the phone and dialed Michelle’s house.

  “Is that you, Sandra?” Claire inquired of the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Sure is, Claire. You calling to check on our little Miss Michelle?”

  “Partially. I’m planning on coming over tomorrow. I thought we’d go see Snow White. Could you leave a note for the staff to feed her lunch and have her ready to go at one o’clock?”

  “You got it,” Sandra replied in a bouncy voice. “You want her to wear something special, or should I just pick out what I like?”

  “How about that new pair of brown slacks with the matching shirt—you know, the one with the little sunflowers on it?” Claire suggested.

  “Oh, that’s a good choice. She’s been doing just fine this past week—no sniffles, no asthma attacks, and no constipation,” Sandra diligently reported.

  “Thanks, Sandra. Give her a kiss for me,” Claire said and placed the receiver back in its cradle.

  ❧

  “I should have asked Jake if he wanted to go to church,” Claire said aloud as she walked into the bedroom an hour later. Wonder if it’s too late to call him, she mused. Glancing at the small alarm clock beside her table, she decided he’d probably still be awake. After all, it was only eleven o’clock.

  Pulling the piece of paper containing his phone number from her wallet, she walked to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed. The phone rang at the other end of the line. There was no answer.

  EIGHT

  Jake arrived promptly at one o’clock the next afternoon, wearing a pair of navy slacks, a pale blue pullover sports shirt, and black loafers. His sunglasses were tucked in the pocket of his shirt, and he carried a small bouquet of daisies, which he offered to Claire when she opened the front door.

  “They’ll just wilt and die in a trash can if you don’t take them,” he said.

  “I’m not sure. . .”

  “They’re just flowers, Claire, not a lifetime commitment,” he interrupted, forcing them into her hand.

  “Let me find a vase,” she replied, walking into the kitchen and opening the cabinet doors underneath the sink. “Success!” she said, holding out a blue and gray pottery container.

  He watched as she filled the vase with water, removed the paper wrapping, took a pair of scissors and snipped off the bottom of each stem, and then arranged the flowers, spreading them apart to fill the stoneware receptacle. Carefully, she lifted it from the counter and placed it in the center of the kitchen table.

  “Thank you, Jake. Daisies are one of my favorite flowers,” she said, gracing him with a smile.

  “You’re most welcome. Want me to do the driving?” he offered.

  Claire hesitated for just a moment. “That would be great. Driving isn’t one of my favorite things, especially when I’m tired,” she admitted.

  “So are you planning on sleeping through the movie?” he teased.

  “Not a chance. When I take Michelle to a movie, I spend my time watching her,” Claire answered as they walked into the garage.

  Pulling the pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket, Jake flipped them open and slid the aviator-style glasses onto his face. “Now that I’ve got you all to myself, how about finishing your life history for me?” he asked as they moved toward the stop sign at the end of the street.

  “I don’t even remember where we were. Besides, I think it’s time I heard about you,” Claire replied.

  “You finish your story on the way there, and I’ll talk on the way home,” he offered. “You had told me about beginning to pattern and all the volunteers,” he said, refreshing her memory.

  “Well, the patterning lasted six years. From the time Michelle was two until she was eight. In the first four years, we never missed a day unless Michelle was sick. When I was sick, the volunteers carried on. I had a wonderful coordinator who took care of scheduling volunteers, which was a tremendous help. Anyway, during the first four years, the doctors charted progress, although Glenn was skeptical. Michelle learned to sit up, and though she couldn’t actually crawl on her own, she learned to get around by rolling on her hip. She began to get into a creeping position and rock back and forth, and sometimes she would balance on her knees in an upright position. I viewed all of it as progress while Glenn felt she would have done as well on her own and even better if professionals had been working with her.

  “But he kept his word, and as long as the doctors reported there was improvement, he didn’t fight her continuation in the program. During the fifth year her progress slowed considerably, and although the doctors charted some slight advances, they were minimal. At that time, Glenn asked me to quit but I objected, telling him he had agreed that we could continue until the doctors charted a full year without progress. Unfortunately, that occurred during the sixth year. That’s not to say she didn’t make some small headway, but the doctors agreed that it couldn’t be attributed to the patterning.

  “Glenn didn’t lose any time. He had already checked into the available programs throughout the area, and immediately upon our return home, handed me the folder of information and told me to make a choice. After reading the brochures and researching as much as possible, I finally agreed to visit two of the institutions. Reluctantly, I agreed her name could be placed on the waiting list at the Kansas Neurological Institute. My one thread of hope was the fact that they had a waiting list. We were told that, barring unforeseen circumstances, it could be up to three years before they would have space available. I was overjoyed. Glenn was morose, angry with himself for overlooking that detail when he was collecting information about the various institutions.”

  “Well, at least one thing was going your way. So you got to spend several years just enjoying Michelle, without all the patterning and extra people in the house?” Jake inquired.

  “I wish. As it turned out, that remark about barring unforeseen circumstances came back to haunt me. The institution received a tax windfall six months later and was able to hire additional staff as well as resume its building program. The placement administrator called Glenn and advised we could admit Michelle just seven months after we’d been there. I was devastated,” Claire confessed.

  “Those were some of the darkest days of my life, and I still don’t talk much about it. I became extremely depressed, and had it not been for my faith in God, I don’t think I would have survived. After several months, our family doctor urged me to begin seeking a job. He thought it would help if I got out of the house. During the seven months before Michelle was institutionalized, I took several night classes in the paralegal program at the local university. I had seen it advertised as a new program at the college, and Glenn agreed that it would be good for me to expand my horizons beyond the house. I’d attended college right out of high school and received my degree in political science, but then Glenn and I married and I had never worked outside the home. In retrospect, I think he realized I would need something to fill my days. Anyway, my general education classes transferred toward the paralegal program. I finally completed the requirements and received my degree. I was already working at Wilmott and Johnstone by that time and
was going to school at night. It didn’t leave a lot of time to think,” she stated, staring at Jake’s profile and liking what she saw.

  He glanced her way, flashing a warm smile that stirred emotions she didn’t ever want to experience again. I’ve got to quit seeing him, she resolutely declared to herself.

  “Go on,” he encouraged, clearly unaware of her thoughts.

  “That’s about it—I went to work for Dave Wilmott and Lyle Johnstone, and I’m still there,” she said.

  “That can’t be it, Claire. Michelle isn’t at the Neurological Institute, and Glenn is dead,” he replied. “I’m sorry. That was callous of me,” he immediately apologized before she could say anything.

  “You’re right; it isn’t everything. About two years ago Glenn had a massive heart attack. We were attending a church retreat in Colorado, and he’d gone hiking with several of the men. From what they told me, he began to have difficulty breathing, and by the time they realized he was in distress, it was too late. Apparently they made heroic attempts to resuscitate him—at least that’s what the hospital personnel told me—but it all failed. A few months after his death, I began checking on alternative care for Michelle. More and more was becoming available outside of the institutional setting, and I decided that although I couldn’t afford to quit work and bring Michelle home, I wanted her in a family-oriented environment that was closer to where I lived. About a year ago, I settled on the group home where she’s now located.”

  “And are you happy with the decision?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, giving him a smile. “I get to see her more often, and it’s much nicer to visit in her home rather than an institutional ward among all the other children.”

  “I’m glad it’s worked out well,” he said in a genuinely kind voice.

  “Me too,” Claire agreed just as they arrived at the group home.

  Michelle was ready and waiting in the sunflower outfit Claire had requested, her dark brown hair recently shampooed and her white shoes sporting a fresh coat of polish.