John let go, but he stood ready, and for a minute she was standing alone, her mouth open, scarcely breathing.
Because of her long nightgown, John-Boy couldn’t tell if her legs were quivering. But she appeared to be steady and in control.
“You did it, Mama!” Jason said.
“Well, I declare!” Grandma sighed.
A smile came to John’s face as he watched her. Then he stepped forward.
She waved him away. “No. Just a minute.”
John-Boy knew what was coming. She was biting her lip, a determined look on her face, and from his angle at the side, he could see her leaning forward, preparing to take a step. Every muscle in her body was straining with the tension.
Then it happened.
“Mama!” John-Boy shouted.
He had begun to move toward her, but he was too late. Even his father’s quick grab for her arm was not enough to stop the fall. For an instant it seemed as if her effort was successful. She had taken the step and she was still upright. She might have been someone casually heading for the kitchen. In the next instant, her legs were gone from beneath her.
She hit the low table in front of the sofa, grasping at it, trying to break the fall. Then she was on the floor.
“Livvy!”
“Good Lord!” Grandma cried.
They all rushed forward. John-Boy got her other arm, and his father quickly got a hand under her shoulders.
“Are you all right, Livvy?”
She was grimacing, trying to straighten her useless legs. “I think so. I—”
With one movement, John scooped her up and put her on the sofa. John-Boy got a pillow behind her.
It had all happened so suddenly—she was down, and then back on the sofa so quickly—that even Olivia seemed stunned and speechless. John looked anxiously at her.
“You sure you’re all right? Did you hurt your legs?”
“I—” She shook her head and brought a hand to her face, touching her forehead.
At first John-Boy thought she was going to laugh. She seemed confused for a moment and a faint smile came to her lips. But then her face contorted and she covered it with both hands. She turned away, and a torrent of sobbing and tears shook her whole body.
“Does it hurt, Livvy? What’s the matter?”
She shook her head, unable to control the crying.
“Mama, you stood up,” Erin said, “For a minute you stood up all by yourself. That’s a lot more than you could do a week ago.”
John sat down and gently pulled her head to his shoulder. “Livvy, you’re doin’ fine. A lot better than anybody ever expected you to.”
“That’s right,” Grandpa said. “There’s no reason you have to walk by Easter.”
John-Boy felt his own throat clogged with tears and disappointment. Along with everyone else in the room, he knew she was not crying from pain. The tears were for the three weeks of struggle and agony, and the desperate hope that tonight she would have something to show for it. John-Boy had never before seen such rigid determination on anyone’s face as when she tried to take that step.
She finally took her hands away. She took a deep, recovering breath and shook her head. “This is silly, isn’t it.” She forced a smile. “Has anybody got a handkerchief?”
Grandpa found one in his pocket. She dried her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. I really thought I could do it. I’ve been practicin’ all week—puttin’ my feet on the floor and puttin’ some weight on them. I was goin’ to surprise you all and take a step.”
“You did fine, Livvy. You surprised us enough just standin’ up by yourself.”
She shook her head. “But I felt so good today. Even the pains were almost gone. I just—I just thought for sure I could take a step.”
“You will, Livvy,” Grandma said. “It’ll come soon enough.”
“Mama,” John-Boy said, “maybe you’ve just been tryin’ too hard. Sometimes when you’re tryin’ to learn somethin’ new and your mind wants your body to do certain things, the more you think about it, the more stubborn your body gets. You said you feel good, and there isn’t much pain anymore. Maybe you’re just concentratin’ too hard.”
“That might be, Livvy,” Grandpa nodded.
“I remember when Daddy was teachin’ me to swim,” John-Boy went on. “At first I tensed up and strained so hard to keep my mind on all the things he said, and I almost drowned. Then, when I relaxed more and stopped thinkin’ so much, it came easy.”
John-Boy wasn’t sure if she was even listening to him. She suddenly looked weak and tired and defeated. She smiled and looked wearily at John.
“I think I’d better go back up to bed.”
John nodded and started gathering the quilt around her.
“It might be somethin’ to think about, Mama,” John-Boy suggested.
She gave him a sad smile. “John-Boy, I’m so tired of thinkin’ about it, I’m not sure I even want to try anymore.”
“Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight everybody. And thank you all for a nice evenin’.”
She clung to John’s neck and her eyes were closed as they went up the stairs.
XII
It was a night John-Boy would remember for the rest of his life. Three weeks earlier when his father had sat down in the kitchen and told everyone their mother had polio, Grandpa had remarked that God worked in mysterious ways. But he hadn’t finished the quote: “God works in mysterious ways, His miracles to perform.” John-Boy guessed that the closest thing to a miracle he would ever see came on that Easter Eve.
After Olivia had gone to bed there was little more to say. They cleaned up the dishes from the cake, and as Elizabeth climbed the stairs her glum comment seemed to sum up the evening.
“The crocuses aren’t bloomin’ either,” she muttered.
John-Boy couldn’t sleep. For an hour he sat at his desk with his chin resting in his hand and stared vacantly at his notebook. He couldn’t write anything, either. The question of the Claybournes’ silver had been cleared up, and Jason had won the amateur contest. But these things seemed inconsequential now. Most of his thoughts revolved around statements that had been made by Dr. Vance: Mrs. Walton may think she has feeling in her legs, but this could be in her imagination. Most polio patients do show some improvement. But it is always limited by the extent of the nerve damage. Her recovery could stop at any time. Your wife is no different from thousands of others, Mr. Walton. They all have hopes and are confident of recovery. They are all disappointed.
Even Dr. Miller had told her that life in a wheelchair wasn’t so bad. She should accept the fact that there were other possibilities.
John-Boy finally tossed his pencil down and moved to the window. Behind him the house was silent, and he could see the broad shadow of Walton’s Mountain dominating the horizon. Tomorrow morning at sunrise the entire church congregation would be up there on its slopes celebrating the dawn of Easter. It would be the first time his mother and the rest of the family wouldn’t be with them.
He remembered the previous Easter. His mother had worn a new white dress that Grandma had made and surprised her with. And she had a new white hat with yellow flowers all around the brim. John-Boy guessed his mother had never looked so beautiful as she did that day.
And even his father had attended the service. He had marched proudly up the hill with Olivia on his arm, and then bellowed out the hymns so loud they echoed for miles through the mountains. “Welcome happy morning! Age to age shall say. Hell today is vanquished, heaven is won today!”
That day it really seemed that heaven had won.
John-Boy finally buried himself in the bed. He stretched himself out and then pulled the comforter high around his ears as if to shut out the world. Silently, as he gazed off at the dark window, he said The Lord’s Prayer to himself, and then he went to sleep.
At first he thought it was a dream. Flashes of light were all around him and a soft rumbling faded slowly into the distance. John-B
oy only half awakened. Another flash of lightning illuminated the window and at the same moment raindrops splattered across the window pane. It was a storm, but it was more, like those of summer or spring rather than the harsh thrashings they had through the winter.
John-Boy gazed at the window for a minute and then suddenly realized what had awakened him. It was not the lightning or thunder, but Elizabeth’s whimpering cries from the next room. Just as Erin had been before her, Elizabeth was scared to death of thunder. John-Boy lay silently in the bed for a minute, half expecting to hear his mother’s footsteps hurrying to comfort her. But then the realization of his mother’s condition struck him.
He quickly swung his feet from under the covers and groped for the lamp switch. When he got it turned on, he moved toward the door, rubbing his eyes, still not certain if he was completely awake.
“It’s Elizabeth, John-Boy.”
“Yes, I know, Mama, I’ll—”
The light was on in the hallway. There had been no thunder or lightning for several minutes now, and Elizabeth’s crying seemed to have stopped. But none of these facts were registering in John-Boy’s mind. Instead, he stood frozen in the doorway, gaping down the hall. Was he still asleep, dreaming?
Standing just outside her bedroom, her hand still on the light switch, was his mother. She was swaying a little, and her eyes had the faraway look of someone only half awake. But she was not going to fall.
“Mama?”
“She’s cryin’ because of the thunder, John-Boy.”
John-Boy stood petrified as he watched her come toward him. She took one step, then another, supporting herself with a hand against the wall. Then she stopped.
For a minute they gazed at each other; John-Boy’s heart pounding, almost bursting inside his chest—Olivia blinking, her mouth opening and closing.
“John-Boy,” she finally breathed, and the realization and certainty that she, too, was not dreaming suddenly hit her. “John-Boy, I’m walking! Oh, dear Lord!”
John-Boy could hardly remember what happened next. It seemed like fireworks were going off inside him, and he was rushing toward her. She reached for him with both arms and they hugged each other. And then his father was there. Then his father and mother were hugging each other, and John-Boy was shouting at the top of his lungs. Half a minute later Grandpa and Grandma, and five bleary-eyed children were coming from doorways, gaping at them.
I guess it was about the biggest celebration we ever had, John-Boy wrote later in his notebook. I don’t know what time it was—nobody looked at the clock. But none of us went back to bed.
That she had walked from her bed across the room to the door even before John-Boy saw her seemed incredible. But before that night was over she repeated the performance. Part of the way she used the bed for support. Then, after steadying herself for a minute, she wobbled her way across to the support of the doorway. There, she clung to the door frame and smiled happily at all of them.
“What were you thinkin’ about, Mama?” Elizabeth asked. “Didn’t you even know you were walkin’?”
“I was just thinkin’ about you, darlin’. And I guess I was half asleep. And John-Boy, I reckon you were right. I’ve just been concentratin’ too hard and wantin’ it too much. But if I just forget my legs and think about gettin’ somewhere—” She grinned, too filled with joy to go on.
“Well, hallelujah!” Grandma must have said twenty times that night.
We did go to the sunrise services that day. The thunder showers had left the pine boughs and new spring leaves fresh and fragrant. Daddy helped Mama up the slope, and their beaming smiles were about twice as bright as the sun when it finally came over the shoulder of Walton’s Mountain.
Dr. Vance once said he didn’t believe in miracles, and Grandma expressed pity for him. Whether what happened that night was a miracle or not doesn’t really seem important. Dr. Vance was doing the best he could, and so was Mama. For that, I’m inclined to think that God was helping them both.
What seemed as miraculous as anything was the fact that Elizabeth and Jim-Bob’s crocuses were in full bloom when we arrived home.
Mama was speechless. She stood by the truck admiring them for a long time. When she finally took Elizabeth and Jim-Bob into her arms, her happy tears were the most joyful present any of us could possibly have for Easter.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROBERT WEVERKA was born in Los Angeles and educated at the University of Southern California, where he majored in economics. His other novels include: Griff, Search, The Sting, Moonrock, The Widowed Master, One Minute to Eternity, Apple’s Way, I Love My Wife and his stories of the Walton family; The Waltons, The Waltons: Trouble on the Mountain and The Waltons: The Easter Story. He and his family currently live in Idylwild, California.
Table of Contents
Back Cover
Preview
Books
Titlepage
Copyright
THE WALTONS: THE EASTER STORY
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story Page 18