A Perfect Love

by Lori Copeland

  “I’m anxious to hear your reports,” Gavriel said, sinking into a chair at the head of the unadorned table. “Abner, how are Birdie and Bea?”

  Abner paused to swallow a last bite of pizza roll, then smiled. “They are well. Bea continues to answer the incoming angel mail as best she can, though it has slowed a bit in recent weeks. Birdie continues to minister to Salt and the children. Bobby and Brittany are looking forward to school, and when the weather is nice, little Georgie Graham fellowships with them. They are no longer lonely—and neither is Salt.”

  Murmurs of “Praise the Lord” filled the air, then Zuriel lifted a hand. “Speaking of the Grahams, I’ve good news to report. Charles has begun to paint with new passion, and Babette hopes to sell quite a few paintings when the tourist season begins. And—” he leaned forward, “though Babette herself doesn’t know it yet, new life has been conceived in her womb. By next fall, little Georgie will have three new sisters!”

  “Triplets?” Caleb’s lined face lit with joy. “Glory be to the Father, who does all things well!”

  “I’m looking forward to new avenues of service,” Zuriel added, “and hoping to brush up on my diapering skills. I haven’t diapered a baby in eighty-three years.”

  “It’s very different now,” Elezar said, nodding. “I watched a woman diaper her baby at the mercantile last summer. It’s all done with plastic and adhesive tape.”

  “Really?” Zuriel’s eyes grew thoughtful. “I suppose I shall have to pay closer attention to the television commercials.”

  “I see them all the time,” Micah inserted. “You’ll want to watch the ones for Huggies. Nine out of ten new mothers prefer them. They change colors when they are soiled.”

  Zuriel stroked his beard. “Amazing.”

  “Vernie’s heart is softening,” Elezar volunteered. “She and Stanley are actually eating meals together now. Stanley’s still occupying the guest room, but I daresay Vernie is beginning to consider him a friend and not a foe.”

  “Love is a powerful thing,” Zuriel observed, smiling. “It can soften even the hardest heart.”

  “And the Lansdowns?” Gavriel asked, gently leading the conversation around the table. “Are Barbara and Russell learning to walk by faith?”

  “Ayuh.” Micah beamed. “Barbara is learning to face her fears with the name of Jesus. She has scheduled a surgery for tomorrow, and will be checking into York Hospital tonight.”

  “We will remember her to the Father,” Gavriel promised. “And he will send a special detachment of angelic ministers to remain by her side while she is away from our watchcare.”

  “Olympia is learning to rest in the Lord,” Caleb offered. “She still misses Edmund, of course, but I think his home-going has caused her to envision heaven as a real place, just beyond a mortal breath. The other day I caught her staring off into space. When I asked if she was OK, she said, ‘I can almost hear them, Caleb—the sound of angels’ wings.’” The angel smiled. “Indeed, she can.”

  “Pastor Wickam,” Gavriel added, “has settled into his people’s hearts as a minister should. They see him as a man, which he is, but as a man who loves God, which he does. And lately he has been praying for wisdom to lead his little flock.”

  “Amen,” the angels chorused.

  “What about his bathroom?” Abner asked.

  Gavriel grinned. “I am happy to report that the bathroom project has been handed over to a professional crew which will complete repairs by the end of the month. And during this trial, not once did Winslow fall prey to his fleshly impulses. During the complications he was tempted to lose his temper, quit, curse, and snap at his wife, but on each of these occasions the Lord offered grace enough to resist . . . and Winslow chose grace. The parsonage will soon have a fully functioning bathroom once again.”

  Micah waved his arms. “Praise the Lord!”

  Gavriel abruptly lifted his head, raising his hands in reverent awe. For a moment he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Yakov knew from their bright gleam that his captain had been communing with the Almighty.

  “Your place of service, Yakov,” Gavriel said, his voice resonating within his mortal frame, “is filled with confusion and fear. You must help all of them—Mike, Dana, and Buddy—return to their first love.”

  Yakov spread his hands. “How?”

  “Your assignment is simple,” Gavriel said. “Make sure Buddy attends the ceremony Dana is planning.”

  Yakov acknowledged his task with a nod. The job seemed too easy, almost trivial, but every command of the Lord was supremely important.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sound of neoprene soles squeaking against waxed floors made Barbara tense. She sat in a narrow hospital bed, her eyes open, her arms at her sides. Cool as it was in the room, she felt a bead of perspiration trace a cold path from her armpit to her rib.

  Perfect love casts out fear.

  She mentally repeated the phrase over and over, her fingernails clicking on the bed railing in the rhythm of the words. From outside her room, foreign sounds drifted through the cracked door: a baby’s cry. The gentle tink of the elevator. Heavy footfalls down the long corridor.

  How odd, to be perfectly healthy and in the hospital. Russell had borrowed a car from a friend in Ogunquit; he had driven Barbara and her parents to York after church. He, not Cleta, had signed her into the hospital, and he, not Cleta, had taken Barbara to her room and helped her slip into the cotton gown. Dr. Phyllis Comeaux had dropped by to meet them, and Barbara had instinctively liked the professional, pleasant woman—and she found it oddly reassuring that she’d have a female surgeon. Then her parents and Russell left to take a hotel room near the hospital, but not before promising to be back before Barbara went into surgery the next morning.

  Barbara shifted her gaze from the door to the window, through which she could see nothing but darkness. Dr. Marc said the 7 AM procedure shouldn’t take more than an hour, but he warned her that the surgeon wouldn’t know what she’d find during the laparoscopy. The surgery could take all morning.

  Her mouth felt dry from the sedative the nurse had administered earlier. She reached for the water pitcher by her bed and heard the sound of ice cubes jostling against the side of the plastic container. She wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything, not even water, after midnight, but that was hours away. When she asked the reason for the prohibition, the nurse said they didn’t want anything on her stomach in the morning because anesthesia nauseated some people.

  Barbara winced. She had thrown up only once in her life, the day she drank some of Annie Cuvier’s experimental soda pop. She supposed she was lucky to be alive—later the concoction blew a portion of the roof off Olympia’s garage.

  She sloshed some water into a paper cup, then lifted it to her lips. She drank thirstily, then dropped the cup back to the bedside table and leaned back on her pillows.

  She missed Russell. She missed her mom and dad. She even missed Micah, for the gardener had comforted her on more occasions than she could remember. And if he were here, he’d be telling her to take her worries to the Lord.

  She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Father, for giving me a wonderful husband who’s been patient when he had every reason to want to strangle my family. I’m unworthy of him, but I’m going to work harder at being a good wife, and, if it’s your will, a good mother. I’ve been selfish, but I’m going to work on that too. Teach me how to be a daughter without sacrificing the attention I should give my husband and children. I’ll be walking a thin rope, so grant me shoes that grip.”

  A tap sounded at the door. Barbara opened her eyes to see a crown of graying hair appear in the crack.

  “Mama?”

  “Shh!” Cleta held her forefinger to her lips. “I’m not supposed to be here.” She eased through the doorway and quietly closed the door. Hurrying to the bedside, she hugged Barbara. “Are you OK?”

  Barbara wriggled out of the bear hold. “Of course I’m fine. You just left an hour ago.�
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  “I know, but things can go wrong so quickly.” Pulling a vinyl-upholstered chair closer to the bed, Cleta settled in.

  Barbara pressed her lips together. Part of her wanted to be annoyed at her mother’s continued overprotectiveness, but it was good to see a family face. “Where’s Russell?”

  “Sound asleep at the hotel. So is your daddy. I couldn’t sleep, so I grabbed a cab and came back.”

  “You slipped out without them knowing?”

  Cleta shrugged. “I suppose. Alst I know is that I wasn’t doing a bit of good just lyin’ there.”

  “Mama.” Barbara leaned over and took her mother’s hand. “Someone’s going to be here to run you out in a few minutes. Visiting hours ended at eight.”

  “I’ll take my chances. If they make me go, I’ll sleep in the waiting room.” Her eyes softened. “I won’t leave you.”

  Barbara patted her hand, then lifted it to place a kiss on the brown-speckled knuckles. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, Doodles.” They sat in silence a moment, their hands linked. Then Cleta drew a deep breath. “Now there’s nothing to be afraid of. This is a simple procedure done every day. ’Course it is surgery and anything could go wrong, but it won’t.”

  Barbara laughed at the halfhearted reassurance. “I’m not afraid. Not now.”

  Now that she’d settled her mind, she was anxious to proceed. And Russell was as excited as a kid at Christmas. “A boy,” he told her as they packed her bag for the hospital. “Let’s have a boy first. I want a son to help me on the boat.”

  “It could be a girl, you know.”

  He grinned. “That’d be fine, too. She can bait traps.”

  Barbara laughed and warned him they didn’t get to pick. “We take what we get.”

  “Maybe you’ll have twins.”

  That comment had left Barbara feeling a little weak-kneed.

  The hospital settled down for the night. Outside her window, a cold rain fell on the mounds of dirty snow.

  “Are you sleepy?”

  “A little woozy.”

  “Well, you go to sleep, darlin’. I’m right here if you need me.”

  Barbara squeezed her mother’s hand before releasing it. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed, and for a while she drifted in a shallow doze. Once she thought she heard Cleta talking to a nurse. The nurse said visiting hours were over, but Cleta refused to budge. The nurse finally left with a warning about breaking rules.

  “Been breaking ’em all my life,” Cleta muttered as the door closed.

  As Barbara slept, her breaths coming deep and even, Cleta stood and gently tucked the blanket around her child’s shoulders. She’d been performing the task for years. Bedtime was always a special hour of the day, an hour that accented the closeness between a mother and child.

  Leaning close, she whispered: “I know I have to let you go.” A tear dropped onto the blanket. “When you become a mother, you’ll find out that letting go is the hardest thing a parent can do. But I’m going to do it, Barbara. For your sake, for Russell’s, and for mine.

  “I’ll always be here if you need me. I’ll always love you as much or more as the day I brought you home from the hospital. Just allow me to be your friend. I vow to you tonight that I’ll never again tell you how to run your life, how to wear your hair, or beg you to share your private thoughts unless it’s what you want to do.”

  Resting her head on the side of the bed, Cleta made a heartful of promises, and meant every one.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The lights in the hospital room snapped on at five-thirty. Barbara had been awake, afraid to make a sound for fear of disturbing her mother. When the lights came on Cleta sat straight up, blinking at the harsh glare. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Barbara? Floyd! Something’s wrong with Barbara!”

  Barbara slid out of bed. “I’m right here, Mom. And don’t have a cow, but I’m going into the bathroom.”

  She moved into the adjoining rest room as the nurse faced Cleta.

  Through the bathroom door, Barbara heard the nurse explain. “We’re here to get your daughter ready for surgery.”

  Cleta sounded sheepish. “Oh my—I was in a deep sleep.”

  “They’ll be down to get your daughter in forty minutes or so.”

  Barbara splashed water on her face, then ran a comb through her hair. Though it was probably silly, she pulled out a tube of lip gloss, then rubbed some over her chapped lips. Russell would be coming to the hospital, and she wanted to look nice for him.

  She stepped back into the hospital room, smiled at her mother, and because there was nothing else to do, crawled back into bed.

  “You look pretty, Doodles.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Soon a nurse came with a pair of green paper slippers. Wiggling her toes in the flimsy footwear, Barbara giggled. “I won’t be wading through much snow with these.”

  “Wait until you get into the surgery,” the nurse teased. “You’ll be grateful to have something to keep your toes warm.”

  Barbara consulted the clock on her bed stand. “I was hoping Russell would—”

  At that moment Russell walked through the doorway with Floyd following. Russell bent and kissed Barbara. When he pulled away, his dark eyes were serious. “Are we ready for this?”

  She nodded. “Let’s do it!”

  Her gaze shifted to her dad, who looked grumpy and out of sorts. His frustration flared when he saw Cleta.

  “Woman,” he said, “we spent half the night looking for you. I was going to call the State Patrol until Russell thought to call the hospital.”

  Cleta gave him a guilty look. “I’m sorry, Floyd. I know I promised, but I had to be with her. Just this one last time.”

  He grunted. “Can’t say I blame you. I wanted to do the same, but I figured you were the only one who could pull it off without getting thrown out.”

  Cleta squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be OK, Floyd. I know my place now.”

  He winked at her. “Well, it better be by my side.”

  “Forever,” she promised, leaning into his warmth.

  Pastor Winslow arrived at 6:50, then family and their shepherd held hands in prayer. “Father,” Winslow prayed, “we ask that you guide the surgeon’s hands this morning. May she be an extension of your wisdom and grace. Amen.”

  At six o’clock the babies in the nursery rode out for their breakfasts. Barbara and her family watched as nurses wheeled cart after cart of newborns down the hall to their waiting mothers.

  Leaning close to Barbara’s ear, Russell whispered, “Next year, one of those could be ours.”

  Sleepy now from a shot the nurse had administered, Barbara squeezed his hand. “A girl, you said?”

  “Boy,” he reminded. “Or girl,” he added when a pink-hatted little cherub rolled by.

  A pair of smiling orderlies came into the room and helped Barbara onto the gurney, then the family walked beside her to a large bank of elevators where they each were allowed to speak a word of encouragement.

  Cleta took Barbara’s hand. “Be brave, baby. Mama’s right outside the door. Everything will be fine.”

  With tears shining behind his glasses, Floyd planted a quick kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “You’re still my little girl, no matter how sassy you get.”

  Pastor Wickam patted her arm. “God’s peace be with you, Barbara.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  Russell gave her a long kiss. “I love you, honey—and I’ll be waiting for you in the recovery room.” Their hands touched as long as they could until the orderlies wheeled Barbara into the elevator.

  Cleta finished the last of the roast beef sandwich Floyd had brought her for lunch, then rose to check Barbara’s IV drip. All was well. Sighing, she sat back down in her chair, idly wondering if the vinyl of the chair would mold itself to her old bones by the time she left.

  Floyd and Russell had gone down to the cafeteria for
lunch; Winslow had returned to the island. The hospital sounds seemed muted now, or perhaps her hearing wasn’t as acute because her nerves weren’t so edgy.

  She glanced at the sleeping form in the hospital bed. Her daughter.

  Her beautiful Barbara.

  Pale, sleeping, unaware that the surgery had been blessedly successful. Thank you, precious Lord.

  Cleta knew she didn’t need to remind God that it hurt to see one’s child in pain.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered the day Barbara had been born, the moment she’d known they had a daughter, the first startled cry, the wrinkled little face peering up from a pink blanket. What an exhilarating and frightening moment that was! She had been given a baby to hold and love, a child to nurture and teach. And after that beautiful first day had come the first laugh, first tooth, first steps, first day of school. Graduation. And a wedding.

  Her life had been rich with hopes, dreams, and promises . . . all fulfilled in Barbara. How unfair she’d been to try to deny Barbara those same gifts.

  “Mom?” Barbara’s eyes were unfocused, barely open.

  “I’m here.”

  Cleta brushed her daughter’s hair and kissed her cheek. “Everything went well. The surgery was a success.”

  “Good.” Barbara closed her eyes again. “Is Russell here?”

  “He’s right down the hall,” she said, “with your dad. And the phone’s been ringing off the hook—in fact, I turned off the ringer so you could get some rest. You know how Heavenly Daze is. Everyone cares about everyone else’s business.”

  “Send Russ in—I want him with me.”

  “Sure. I’ll visit with you later.”

  Cleta smiled as an indefinable feeling of rightness flowed through her. See? That wasn’t so hard. With a little practice the words would come automatically.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”