by Gayle Roper
Madeleine saw the questions in her daughter and nodded her understanding. She was all too familiar with them because she’d asked them daily for more than 60 years. “Open my Bible to Proverbs 3, will you?”
Liz did so and found a picture of a chubby baby boy propped up on a blanket embroidered with baskets of flowers.
“Lehman,” Madeleine said. “It’s the only proof I have that he exists beyond my imagination.”
Liz looked at the sepia print and her heart turned over. This adorable child was her brother! No wonder November was awful for her mother.
“When he was almost six months old,” Madeleine continued, “I went to the agency that had placed him. I was desperate. Enos was still somewhere in Europe, and I hadn’t heard from him for so long that I doubted he could still love me. I knew he was probably still alive only because I hadn’t read of his death in the paper, but that was all I knew. Mother and Father were still reeling from what I had done to them, and my baby was gone. I had nothing! Please, I pleaded with the people at the agency. Please get me a picture of my baby or I will surely go insane. They took one look at me and believed. A month later this photo arrived for me.”
Madeleine reached out and ran a gentle hand over the cracked and faded print. “As long as I had the picture, I knew I would survive. I knew I wouldn’t forget. I knew God would care for him. That’s why it’s in Proverbs 3. ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart.’ I did that every day for Lehman. I did it for you and Josh too, but I saw what was happening in your lives. I talked with you and prayed with you. Lehman I could only trust to God.”
Liz, herself the mother of a son who was ignoring God, knew all about trusting to God those who, for whatever reason, couldn’t be influenced.
The women sat quietly for a while, thinking, praying, wondering.
When she felt strong enough, Madeleine took up her story once again.
“When Enos finally came home from the war, my parents forbade me to see him. I was barely eighteen, sheltered, living with the consequences of the one great rebellion of my life. But I knew I loved Enos. I sent him messages through my brother, Harold. Enos sent love letters back, so I knew he loved me and felt anguish over Lehman too, especially over the fact that he hadn’t known and hadn’t been here for me. When I turned twenty-one, we ran off and married. My parents were furious, especially Father.”
Liz thought of her grandfather, a German in the old tradition, fierce, strict, unemotional. How had her mom ever had the courage to defy him?
“The first Christmas we were married, my parents refused even to accept a gift from us. By the second Christmas you were born, and you were the one who broke the barrier. They loved you, Liz. And then Josh came. And one day when you were five, Mother broke down and told me she prayed every single day for Lehman. We cried together that day, she and I, a mother and a grandmother weeping over a boy we would never know but would always love.”
“How many years older than me is Lehman?” Liz asked.
“Six years. He was born November 1, 1918. And I still pray every single day for him, just like I do for you and Josh. And I pray for his family, just like I do for yours and Josh’s.”
Madeleine grasped Liz’s hand, her expression desperate. “Lizzie, you must keep praying for them.” It was an order and a plea. “Someone has to keep praying for them because we don’t know who raised Lehman. We don’t know if anyone taught him to love God and to follow Jesus. Promise me, Lizzie. Promise me that you will pray for your brother and his family every single day of your life. Promise me that he won’t be forgotten. Promise me, Lizzie. Promise me!”
“Oh, Mom!” Tears poured down Liz’s face. “It will be an honor to take on that responsibility.” Liz leaned over and kissed her mother. No wonder there was such depth to her mom’s walk with God. Great pain and great grace had forged great intimacy. “Now you must calm down. You’re making yourself sick.”
“I am sick. And it’s November. And Enos isn’t here to help me. My one hope is that I am forgiven in Christ. I have at least learned that over the years. When I sorrow now, it’s only loss, not guilt and regret. Christ has borne my guilt, and He helps me with my pain.” A slight smile touched her pale face momentarily.
Liz’s tears fell onto her mother’s pillow, her face, her nightgown. “Every day for the rest of my life I will pray for Lehman and his family. For my brother.”
Exhausted, Madeleine fell back on her pillow and went to sleep.
“She never woke up.” Aunt Lizzie smiled sadly at Todd and me.
The three of us sat silently in the gathering dusk. My heart broke for Madeleine and her years of sorrow, and I found myself swallowing, trying to control my tears. What she had missed by not knowing Pop!
Finally Lizzie spoke. “I kept my promise. I have prayed for Lehman and his family every day for more than twenty-five years.”
“That means you’ve been praying for me.” I leaned forward and laid my hand on hers. “Thank you, Aunt Lizzie. Thank you. And from now on, I shall pray daily for you and your family.”
Aunt Lizzie smiled sweetly. “It will be nice to have someone praying for me.” She leaned forward and tried to rise from her chair, but her legs seemed to have trouble bearing her weight.
“Is there something I can get for you?” I asked, rising.
“Over there on the end table by the window. My Bible.”
I handed her the requested book and sat down. Aunt Lizzie riffled through the pages.
“Proverbs 3,” she said and took out an old photograph. She passed it to me.
I stared at the chubby baby on the embroidered blanket, holding it so Todd could see too. Once again I had to blink back tears. Todd’s arm slid around my shoulders and pressed comfortingly.
“Aunt Lizzie,” I said through a throat tight with emotion. “I know this picture. Mom had a copy of it on her bureau for as long as I can remember. ‘For when John gets too big for his britches,’ she always said. ‘Then I can remind him that he’s nothing but a grownup baby, just like the rest of us.’”
I traced the baskets of flowers with my index finger. “And we still have the blanket. It’s a family treasure. Great-Grandmother Bentley did the needlework on it, and she and Great-Grandfather Bentley brought Pop home from the adoption agency wrapped in it. Since then, each generation of Bentleys has brought their children home in that blanket. Mom and Pop brought Trey home in it, and Trey and Caroline brought Ward and me. Ward and Marnie wrapped Johnny in it to bring him home even though it was July and eighty-seven degrees. I’ve always known that someday I’ll use it for that same purpose.”
“You’ve actually seen the same picture and have the blanket?” Aunt Lizzie’s face was alight with amazement. “As if we needed more proof.”
I nodded. “I’ll bring the blanket next time I visit so that you can see it. The background is cream, the baskets are a soft aqua, and the flowers are worked in pinks and roses with light green leaves. I’m sure the colors have faded over ninety-plus years, but it’s still very beautiful. And the moths have never gotten it.”
“You’re coming to see me again?” My Aunt Lizzie looked at me with eyes bright with hope. It broke my heart that there was such surprise in her voice.
“Of course. And I’ll bring Ward and Marnie and Johnny too.”
“My cup runneth over,” she said, and I thought that Amos deserved a good kick in his posterior. And I immediately remembered I’d promised to pray for him and Jessica.
Ouch.
My first prayer for them would be that they’d realize how wonderful his mother was and come visit her as she deserved.
Todd and I were silent as we walked from Aunt Lizzie’s room to the car a few minutes later. In fact, we didn’t talk until we pulled into the drive at Todd’s dad’s cottage.
“I have a question for you, Cara,” Todd finally said as he put the car in park.
I held my breath. I knew he had been almost as moved as I was by Aunt Lizzie’s story, and I couldn�
�t imagine what was bothering him.
“Why do you think Pop never tried to find his family? From what you’ve told me, you have a drive to know and understand your genetic heritage. Didn’t he have the same compulsion? And if not, why not?”
“I’ve wondered about that myself,” I said. “And I can only come up with one answer. He didn’t care where he came from.”
Todd frowned. “But he was a creative and imaginative person. Why wouldn’t he be curious about his birth family?”
“I don’t know exactly.” I searched for the right words to explain what was only a feeling. “Pop was very secure in himself. He was one of those people who are born confident. Most people have gaps in their self-confidence, some little chinks, some gigantic holes as big as the Grand Canyon. A few, though, seem born without that internal uncertainty. Because of this, they take life and mold it to their dreams without questioning their right to do so and without questioning their abilities. Pop was one of those. He never debated with himself about who he was. He always knew.”
“Does that make those people terribly difficult to live with?”
I had to admire his delicacy in how he worded his question. He asked about people who were extremely confident—a vague, amorphous collection of faceless beings rather than his real concern, my pop.
I nodded. “They can become very controlling and assume they know what’s best for the whole world. If these people don’t develop a heart for others and a heart for God, they can be very intimidating and calculating, very manipulative. If they don’t have people who are strong enough to challenge them on their attitudes and behavior, they can overwhelm others and not even recognize the pain they’ve caused. But they don’t need the holes in their lives filled because they don’t have holes.”
“And adoption searches are often ventures in hole filling.”
“Uh-huh. At least this search is for me. But Pop was confident that being a Bentley was great. He was confident that opening the first Bentley’s store was great. And he was confident that expanding the chain was great. And Ward is the same way. He doesn’t understand why I want to know about the Biemsderfers. He doesn’t feel the holes.”
“I thought that was because he saw family in terms of heart, not body and bone.”
I pushed some straggling hair back into my ponytail. “I see family in terms of heart too, but I also think it’s body and bone. And I feel the body and bone holes. Ward doesn’t. And apparently Pop didn’t either.”
Todd opened his car door and climbed reluctantly out. “Well, let’s go visit some body and bone.”
“Todd.” I laid a hand on his arm as we walked up the sidewalk. “There’s heart here too. You just need to learn how to see it.”
He looked at me skeptically but said nothing.
We knocked on Dr. Reasoner’s door just as we had a few nights ago. A slow steady shuffle sounded, and Dr. Reasoner appeared on the other side of the screen.
“Toddy.”
“Dad.”
I poked Todd in the ribs.
“Oh. Dad, you remember Cara Bentley, my client?”
“Ah,” he said. “Of course I remember the client. Come in. Come in.” He turned to walk back into the house, assuming we would follow.
I poked Todd in the ribs again. “You’ve got to stop introducing me as your client,” I hissed. “I’m beginning to think I’m going to get billed for all the extra hours we spend together.”
He turned a broad grin on me. “Of course you’re getting billed for all those hours. How else can I afford the cabin I want on a lake in Canada?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “If you think I’m paying so you can flee the country to get away from me, you’re much mistaken, guy.”
Suddenly Todd’s grin faded and his eyes darkened. He slipped his arm around my waist and bumped his hip against mine, lifting me clean off my feet. I made a little squeak of surprise. He spun me effortlessly until I was standing with my back against the side of the cottage. I could feel the bricks through my cream knit shirt. He placed a hand against the wall on either side of my head, trapping me. Not that I was trying to escape.
“Todd,” I said breathlessly. “Your father’s waiting.”
He ignored me. Well, he actually ignored what I said. Me he paid lots of attention to. He leaned over and kissed me.
As kisses go, I don’t know how it would rate on a scale of one to ten. I haven’t had lots of experience, so I can’t make a sound judgment. But I do know that as far as I was concerned, and I was, after all, the one who counted, I felt it all the way to my toes. I also realized very quickly that I had been under-writing my heroines’ responses to my heroes.
Todd drew back and gave a devastating smile. “I’ve been wanting to do that for some time now, probably since the day you gave me that ridiculous tie.”
“Really?” It was all I could do to get one word out.
His wonderful eyes glommed onto mine, and I saw all sorts of wonderful possibilities written there. “Really,” he said.
I looked at him a minute longer and then threw myself into his arms. “Again.”
A discreet cough pulled us apart. Arms still wrapped about each other, we turned to see Dr. Reasoner standing at the door watching us.
“Toddy,” he said conversationally, “I must insist you stop ravishing your client on my front porch. What will my neighbors think? I have, after all, a reputation to consider.” And he turned and walked inside.
I felt Todd stiffen. Glancing at him, I realized he thought his father was criticizing us.
“Todd, he was teasing,” I said softly.
Todd frowned. “Teasing?”
“Didn’t you see the twinkle in his eye?”
“Twinkle? In Dad’s eye?” He looked through the screen at his father’s retreating figure, trying to wrap his mind about this alien thought.
“Trust me on this,” I said, going up on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “You’ll see.”
We sat in the same seats in the glassed-in porch that we had occupied on our last visit. I glanced with great interest at the end table beside my chair and saw that Beowulf was gone. So were Great Expectations and Through the Looking Glass. In their places and obviously read were As the Deer, So My Soul, and George Eliot’s Silas Marner.
“Wow,” I said, pointing. “You’ve got me in excellent company.”
“I must tell you, Cara, that I enjoyed your books very much. You have a distinctive and delightful style.”
If I weren’t already glowing like an incandescent bulb from Todd’s kiss, I would have from that compliment.
“Marci and Scott are memorable characters,” said Dr. Reasoner, professor of English and authority on literature who liked my books! “And you show their development as both humans and believers very realistically. You also develop their love in a delightful, thoughtful progression.”
“You have no idea what your words mean to me, Dr. Reasoner.” I hugged them to myself, metaphorically spinning like a top or, better yet, Maria as she serenaded the sky in The Sound of Music. I really wanted to ask him to write the wonderful words down so I’d have them forever, but it seemed a bit premature in our acquaintance to ask for endorsement copy. “Thank you very much.”
He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “I made one very interesting observation.” He glanced from me to Todd, who was following the conversation with great interest, and back to me. “You write about love as if you are acquainted with it.”
I felt myself blush, sitting here in front of Todd and under his father’s obviously assessing eye. “I’ve lived all my life observing it,” I managed.
Dr. Reasoner lifted an eyebrow in question, an expression I’d seen on his son’s face many times.
“My grandparents who raised me,” I explained. “Theirs was a great love affair.”
“So by observation you’ve been able to capture both the emotional and volitional aspects of love. I find that amazing.”
I blinked. “You do?”
&n
bsp; “I do. Love is so difficult to define, to portray. You have captured the essence of what I think of as love.” He glanced hesitantly at Todd, as if he weren’t certain about speaking his mind in front of his son. “I know that while I was reading, I realized I hadn’t missed Catherine so much in years. You made me yearn again for what I thought I had forgotten.”
I must have looked distressed because he hurried to say, “It was a good missing, my dear. A bringing to mind of all the joy we shared.”
His eyes grew misty with reminiscence. “Catherine taught me that sharing love makes you more than you are alone. That’s how I know you got Marci and Scott right. They made each other more than they were alone.” He smiled. “Catherine taught me laughter, something I hadn’t known before her—or after her for that matter. When she died, my life lost its joy. I became the morose and melancholy man she had thus far prevented me from becoming.”
He glanced again at Todd, but he turned to speak to me. “I think it was hard on Toddy, the lack of laughter. I tried for his sake, but I didn’t know how to be other than I was…than I am. I’m afraid his growing up was shadows instead of sunshine, and I regret that more than I can possibly say.” He smiled sadly at me, as if he were asking my forgiveness.
Together he and I turned to Todd, who was sitting with his mouth hanging open, staring at his father. In a reversal of last night, I reached over and pushed his jaw shut. He blinked and looked at me. I rested my hand along his face for a moment, smiling at him, reminding him from my heart that there was much more than body and bone between him and his father. It was just that neither of them knew how to see it yet.