A Trusting Heart

by Judith Mccoy Miller

  “I just called to say thank you for the doll,” she replied and then slammed down the receiver. Her heart was racing, her palms were wet with perspiration, and the knot in her stomach had grown to the size of a basketball. Now that was really juvenile, she thought.

  “Now what am I going to do? I never should have called,” she muttered, when suddenly the phone began ringing. “I just won’t answer it,” she said, looking at the doll. But it continued to ring—and ring—and ring. What if Sandra’s calling about Michelle, she thought. Don’t be silly. That’s not Sandra; it’s Jake, she argued to herself. But it might be Sandra. It’s not Sandra. You just want to talk to him, so you’re telling yourself it might be Sandra. That’s probably true, but I can’t listen to this phone ring all night. He’ll hang up eventually. I don’t think so—you know how persistent he can be. The phone continued to ring as the battle raged within her.

  “Hello,” she finally answered.

  “Finally!” he replied. “I thought I was going to have to listen to that thing buzzing in my ear all night. Why did. . .”

  “The only reason I answered the phone was that I thought it might be Sandra calling about Michelle,” she responded before he could finish his question.

  “I see,” he replied, his tone implying that he didn’t quite believe what she’d told him. “So if you’d known for sure it was me, you wouldn’t have answered? Is that right?” he asked, putting her on the spot.

  “Well. . .” she hesitated, “I didn’t know for sure, so I can’t answer your question.”

  “Sounds like you’re avoiding my question, but I won’t press the issue. How’s Michelle?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “She’s doing great. They built a new addition onto the training school and hired full-time physical and activity therapists for the multiply handicapped children. And they’re also working on additional integration into the community, so the girls are beginning to attend more functions in the vicinity,” she enthusiastically exclaimed. “They’re also. . .”

  “I’d like to see her,” Jake interrupted.

  “What?”

  “I said, I’d like to see her,” he repeated.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve already explained that I don’t think we should see each other.”

  “I’d still like to see her. You don’t object if I go over by my-self, do you?”

  “I think they prefer that strangers not. . .” she stammered.

  “I’ve already been there by myself, and I’m not a total stranger, you know. Is Sandra still working there? She told me to come visit when I was home on leave,” he countered.

  “Yes, Sandra’s still there, and I know you went to visit before you left for Germany. If Sandra’s already invited you to come back any time, why are you bothering to ask me?” she asked, somewhat irritated that Sandra had extended him free license to visit her daughter.

  “Because I’d prefer if you went with me. I haven’t seen Michelle for over a year, and the last thing I would want to do is upset her,” he explained.

  “Then don’t go at all. That way you won’t have to worry yourself,” she retorted.

  “I want to see her, Claire. So, either with or without you, I’m going. But I wanted to give you the choice,” he calmly told her.

  “Well, I don’t want you going over there alone, so there’s really no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice, Claire, and I’m glad you’ve chosen to go with me. Any particular time suit you best?” he inquired cordially.

  “This is not a date, Jake Lindsey, and don’t you forget it!” she snapped. “I’ll pick you up at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

  “One o’clock is fine, but I’ll pick you up,” he replied and then hung up before she could say anything further.

  ❧

  At twelve-thirty on Saturday afternoon, Jake parked his rental car in Claire’s driveway and waited twenty-five minutes before ringing her doorbell.

  “You got here nice and early,” she said, greeting him at the door.

  “Only five minutes,” he replied, looking at his watch. “It’s nice to see you, Jake. Well it’s nice to see you, too, Claire,” he mockingly pronounced when she offered no words of welcome.

  Ignoring his remark, she picked up her purse and slipped it over her shoulder. “You’ve been parked in my driveway since twelve-thirty.”

  “I was afraid you’d insist on driving if I didn’t block your car in the garage,” he admitted, giving her a grin as he leaned against the door. “You ready?”

  “Under the circumstances, I guess I’m ready,” she replied, unwilling to give him any leeway.

  He gave a mock salute and followed her to the car. “Could we call a truce? Even if it’s just for this visit,” he asked while sliding behind the wheel of the car and turning his intense blue eyes upon her.

  Claire looked directly into those eyes, which she knew immediately was a mistake. Her heart began to race, her mouth felt like cotton, her stomach churned, and her palms were wet with perspiration. She was receiving the confirmation that she had feared: she did care for Jake Lindsey—a great deal.

  “I suppose we should,” she weakly agreed, her mouth so dry her voice cracked. It was as though his eyes were filled with a magnetic force forbidding her to look away. He can see that I’m falling in love with him, she thought as he continued to hold her gaze. Her mind began sending out warning signals, but still she was unable to obey. Slowly Jake slid across the seat toward her. His right arm moved along the back of the seat and then descended across her shoulders pulling her toward him while his left arm encircled her waist. His eyes never wavered from hers as he drew her to him. She felt her mouth open slightly as his lips tenderly sought hers, capturing them with an unexpected ardor. As though attached to marionette strings over which she had no control, her arms moved upward around his shoulders while one hand continued to ascend, embracing the nape of his neck as she passionately returned his kiss.

  When their lips finally separated, she slanted her head to once again look at him. His eyes remained filled with that same searching intensity she had seen only moments earlier. “Marry me, Claire. You know I love you, and if you’ll only admit it, you love me, too,” he softly whispered, not yet releasing her from his arms.

  “I can’t, Jake,” she began.

  “Why? Tell me why you can’t. Is this some self-imposed punishment, or is it that you’re setting yourself up as a martyr for Michelle?”

  Claire felt herself bristle at his remarks. “It’s neither of those things,” she said, pulling away from him. “You already know that Michelle’s welfare is of primary concern to me, but I certainly don’t view myself as a martyr,” she vehemently responded.

  “You know how I feel about Michelle, and I hope you know that I would never try to interfere or go against your will where she is concerned. I’m willing to put it in writing,” he offered, his voice taking on a lighter tone.

  “It’s not just Michelle. You’re an alcoholic, Jake, and although you tell me you’ve accepted Christ, I have concerns about your sincerity. Please don’t take that the wrong way,” she hastily added. “I certainly can’t judge what’s gone on between you and the Lord, but. . .”

  “Oh, I get it,” he interrupted. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve turned my life around, that I’ve gone through eight weeks of profound self-examination and intense therapy to give up alcohol, or that I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. What you want is someone who never drank and has been a Christian since he was in grade school. Well, there’s no way I can do that, Claire, but let me tell you this. People don’t come with guarantees. That guy who’s been a Christian since he was in grade school may have a crisis in his life and turn away from God. Or, worse yet, turn away from God and toward alcohol. It happens every day!”

  “You’re being overly defensive. . .”

  “No, don’t interrupt me. And I’m not being overly defensive; I’m being totally hones
t with you. I don’t know that I’ll never take another drink. What I do know is that I don’t want to drink again. As for my Christianity—you’re right—that is between me and God. I know my heart, and so does God. I’m comfortable with that. So I guess it comes down to this, Claire. I love you; I love your daughter; I’ve quit drinking and have no desire to go down that road again; I’ve accepted Christ as my Savior and plan to grow in my Christian faith; and I would very much like to marry you and take care of you and Michelle. But you’ll have to trust me.”

  Before she could speak, he placed his finger across her lips. “Don’t answer right now. You give it some thought and a lot of prayer.” He removed his finger, lightly kissed her on the lips, and slid back under the steering wheel.

  “Hey, where’s Michelle’s doll?” he asked as he started the car.

  “I almost forgot,” Claire excitedly cried, jumping out of the car and running back toward the house to retrieve the gift.

  Jake smiled as moments later she walked toward him, holding the doll high in the air. “I’m glad one of us was thinking,” she said, placing the doll between them on the front seat.

  He grinned at her and backed the car out of the driveway. “I’m glad we called a truce,” he replied and gave her a wink.

  ❧

  Three weeks later, they stood exchanging wedding vows in the small chapel, with Gloria acting as Claire’s attendant and Roger serving as Jake’s best man. Michelle sat nearby, the beloved Raggedy Ann vying for space in her wheelchair. Throughout the wedding ceremony, Michelle’s fingers ran through the red yarn, busily knotting and tangling the doll’s hair, oblivious to the importance of the day’s events or the part that she had played in it.

  Claire stared deeply into Jake’s eyes, looking for any sign she’d made a mistake. He is a good man who loves me, loves my child, and loves God. We’re going to do just fine, she thought as they pledged their vows.

  “I think I finally reached one hundred points!” Jake whispered in her ear after the minister pronounced them man and wife.

  “I think so, too,” Claire replied and met his lips in a lingering kiss.

  EPILOGUE

  Claire smiled as her husband lifted Michelle into the car, fastened the seatbelt, and placed her wheelchair in the trunk. “How much time have we got?” he asked.

  “Thirty minutes,” she replied. “Plenty of time,” she assured him, although years of marriage to Jake had taught her that unless they were fifteen minutes early, he considered himself late. He had too many years of Army training to change that particular habit, and although she still hadn’t adjusted to the concept, they had learned to compromise.

  Jake maneuvered the car through traffic to the nearby theater complex and then reversed the earlier process with the wheelchair. “Here we go, girl,” he whispered in Michelle’s ear, shaking the wheelchair and making her laugh.

  Claire followed alongside, and while Jake pushed the wheelchair into the theater, she stopped to purchase the tickets for Walt Disney’s Snow White, which was once again being offered on the big screen.

  “Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” Jake asked, as the previews ended and the first scene of the movie began.

  “Sure does,” Claire replied, watching Michelle’s eyes brighten and a smile erupt upon her face as the seven dwarfs began to sing “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go.”

  “We have Michelle to thank for giving us such a timeless movie to keep our memories alive,” Jake whispered.

  Claire nodded as she settled into her seat and offered Jake the container of buttered popcorn.

  ❧

  Exactly two weeks later, they received the call advising them that Michelle’s heart had stopped beating. Although heroic attempts had been made to resuscitate her, they had been unsuccessful.

  When they had first received the news, Claire was inconsolable. But Jake, who had been her strength throughout the years of their marriage, proved to be her strength during that first tumultuous year after Michelle’s death. When words failed, Jake held her in his arms and prayed, knowing that God would provide, and that the passage of time would temper their grief.

  ❧

  Jake sat down beside Claire on the white wrought iron bench and pulled her close. “It’s getting colder. You think we should go now?” he asked gently.

  She nodded her head but didn’t move from the bench.

  “Want me to pray with you?” he asked.

  Again Claire nodded her head, but she said nothing as he took her hand and held it between his two larger ones.

  “Father, we thank You for Your abiding love and faithfulness in meeting all of our needs during this past year as we’ve mourned for our child and for teaching us that Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. We thank You for the years You allowed us to share with her, for the special bond she created in our family, and for her gentle spirit and sweet laughter. We thank You for blessing us with the privilege of rejoicing in the celebration of her life. Amen.”

  Claire rose from the bench and gave the red and green plaid bow one final adjustment. She extended her arm toward Jake and they walked hand in hand to the car.

  “You’re quite a guy, Jake Lindsey. Even if you didn’t come with a written guarantee,” she said as they began their drive home. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  “Umm, it’s probably been a day or two,” he answered, giving her a smile.

  “Well, I do love you—very much. And I’m sure glad God sent you my way,” she told him.

  “So am I, Claire. So am I.”

  . . .weeping may remain for a night,

  but rejoicing comes in the morning.

  PSALM 30:5

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JUDITH MCCOY MILLER was chosen favorite new author in the Heartsong series, and her historical novels have ranked high among readers. In her first contemporary novel, Judith drew on events in her own life to make the story come alive. She makes her home in Kansas with her family.

  DEDICATION

  With love and thanks to my mother, Gladys McCoy, whose resilient existence has been a living example of the truths professed in Ephesians 5:20 and Psalm 30:5.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:

  Judith McCoy Miller

  Author Relations

  PO Box 719

  Uhrichsville, OH 44683

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Dedication

  A Note From the Author