The Scent of Lilacs

by Ann H. Gabhart

  And that Jocie would listen to and believe him. She’d listened to his words in the churchyard, but she’d kept her eyes away from him. She’d been afraid to believe him. And now she was afraid to sit with him, afraid of being alone with him, afraid of what truth he might tell her.

  She’d been in the restroom for a long time. Too long. He waited another minute, trying to pray as he watched the second hand on his watch creep around in a circle. The restroom door didn’t open. He could feel the space between them growing wider as every second ticked past. He had to jump across the space before it got to be such a chasm that he would have no chance of landing on the other side.

  He prayed for the right words to say as he walked down the hall to the restroom and knocked softly on the door. “Jocie, are you okay?” he asked.

  It was a few seconds before she answered, “Yes.”

  “Come on out and we’ll talk.”

  “I’m not sure I want to right now.”

  “If you don’t come out, I’ll come in,” he told her.

  “You can’t. One of us would have to stand on the john.”

  “Then I’ll stand on the john,” he said as he turned the door handle.

  The door bumped into Jocie as her father started to push it open. She almost giggled as she stuck her head out the half-open door. “Dad! It’s a girls’ room.”

  “And I want to talk to the girl who’s in it.” He kept pushing on the door.

  “Okay, okay,” she said as she stepped back out into the hall. She concentrated on keeping her feet within the square tiles as she walked back toward the waiting area. She should have known she couldn’t hide from her father any more than she had been able to run away earlier. And why was she afraid of the truth? He’d already assured her he was her father. Why couldn’t she just grab on to that and let the rest of it be swept out of her mind the way the wind had swept away the church building?

  The nurse spoke to her father as they passed the nurses’ station to let them know the cafeteria would be closing soon. “Your friend might be in surgery for hours. Why don’t you go get something to eat? We’ll page you down there if we need to.”

  “I don’t think I could eat right now,” Jocie said when her father looked at her.

  Her father smiled at the nurse. “We’ll go down and get something out of the vending machines later.”

  The nurse frowned a bit. “You should at least get something to drink. Here, wait a minute.” She got up and disappeared into a room behind the nursing station. She came back with two paper cups full of a clear soft drink. “If you want coffee, we have that too.”

  “Thanks, but this is fine.” Her father took both the cups and carried them down the hallway. He handed Jocie one of the cups after they settled back on the couch.

  Jocie let the fizzy drink bubble against her lips for a second before she downed it all without taking a breath.

  “You were thirsty.” Her father poured half of his soda into her cup before he took a drink.

  “I guess so. I hadn’t really thought about it since I took a drink out of the creek. I know you say I shouldn’t drink creek water.” She peeked up at him and then looked back down at her cup. “But it looked clean, and I was really thirsty. But then it started raining and all, and I didn’t think about anything but getting out of the storm.”

  “I’m glad the Lord kept you safe.”

  “But he didn’t keep Wes safe,” she said softly. “I wish Wes hadn’t come hunting for me.”

  “He had to come hunting for you. He loves you.”

  “Yeah, I know, and because of that he got hurt. Dr. Markum said he might even die.” Jocie studied the ice in her cup. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Don’t give up on Wes yet. We’re praying, and the Lord’s listening.”

  Jocie could feel her father’s eyes on her, but she kept staring into her cup. She wanted to run back to the restroom just because she couldn’t stand this strange feeling between them. That’s why she’d run away in the first place. She couldn’t bear the truth.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Jocie. You need to talk to me.”

  The questions she couldn’t ask kept swelling up inside her until finally one of them burst out her mouth. “Is it true what Ronnie Martin told me?”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That I’m a bastard,” Jocie whispered.

  Her father set his cup down on the floor, put his hand under her chin, and raised her face up to look at him. “You were born to my wife. You are my daughter legally and in every way that counts.”

  “But is what he said about his uncle true?”

  Her father’s eyes didn’t waver from hers. “It could have been.

  Your mother was not always faithful to me, but what truly makes a father? A seed spilled out in a moment of passion or years of love and caring? I can’t be positive that my seed formed you, but I know without any doubt that you are my daughter. I’ve loved you since I first knew you existed. I fought for you even before you were born, and after you were born, I fed you. I changed your diapers. I walked the floor with you when you cried. I wrapped my heart around you and made you mine. You are the daughter of my heart. No one can ever take you out of my heart.”

  Jocie had always believed him. There was no reason not to believe him now. “Wes told me that being your daughter that way was better than just being begatted.”

  “Begatted?” Her father smiled.

  “That’s not a word, is it? I told Wes it wasn’t.”

  “I think it might be begotten.”

  “That doesn’t sound much better. I was begatted. I was begotten,” Jocie said.

  “It sounds okay in John 3:16.”

  “Well, yeah, it fits there, doesn’t it? ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.’ ‘Only begatted son’ just wouldn’t work, would it?”

  “You’re one of a kind, Jocie. And however you were begotten, you are truly my daughter and I am truly your father. Are we straight on that?”

  Jocie smiled at him and let herself be enfolded in his love. “Thank you for being my father. I guess the Lord was answering my prayers before I could even pray them, because if I’d ever said a daddy prayer, you would have been the best answer I could have ever gotten.”

  Tears filled her father’s eyes, and he pulled her close. Up the hall, the elevator door opened. Jocie peeked over her father’s arm to see Leigh coming down the hall toward them. “It’s Leigh,” she said.

  “I see her,” her father answered without turning her loose.

  “I’ll bet she has food.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I can start saying a stepmother prayer if you want me to,” Jocie whispered.

  “I’ve never been one to tell you what to pray. That’s between you and the Lord.”

  “Maybe I should wait till we get Wes prayed better, but she is nice.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Leigh stopped a few feet away from them. “Maybe I should come back later,” she said. Jocie pulled loose from her father and grabbed Leigh’s hand. “No, no. This isn’t a private hug. Of course, you might not want to hug us. We look pretty bad.” Leigh put her arms around Jocie. “I’ve never seen anybody who looked better to me. When that storm came up, we were all scared to death for you. Thank goodness you’re all right.” She looked at Jocie’s father. “How’s Wes?”

  “We don’t know. He’s still in surgery,” her father said.

  “I’ll have to go down and tell Zella.”

  “Zella’s here?” her father asked.

  “She’s downstairs in the front lobby. She was beside herself with worry after Dr. Markum’s wife called and said how bad Wes was hurt. But she wouldn’t come up. Says elevators give her the willies and she’ll just wait for news down there. I told her there would be steps somewhere, but to be honest, I think the whole hospital is giving her the willies.”

  “I can’t believe she’s worried about Wes,
” Jocie said.

  “Zella’s not heartless,” Leigh said. “She and Wes have been working together for years. Of course she’s worried about him. She called and got her prayer chain going before we left Hollyhill.”

  “He must owe her money or something,” Jocie said.

  “That’s enough, Jocie,” her father said.

  “Sorry.” Jocie ducked her head.

  Leigh laughed. “Now that you mention it, she did say something about a book she’d loaned him.” She held out the sack she was carrying. “I hope you like peanut butter sandwiches. That’s all I had that was fast.”

  “Peanut butter’s good.” Jocie sat the sack on the floor. “But first, you wouldn’t happen to have a comb I could use, would you?”

  Leigh rummaged in her purse. “You do look in need of one, but I guess you’re lucky to have hair to comb after being in the middle of a tornado. Sandy Markum said that church out there—she said the name but I forget—that it was completely blown away.”

  Jocie’s father stood up. “We’ll need something to drink with our sandwiches. I’ll go hunt up the vending machines downstairs and talk to Zella. I won’t be gone long.” He hesitated and looked at Jocie. “Will you be okay?”

  Jocie met his eyes. “I won’t run away again, Dad. Ever. I promise.”

  Leigh waited until the elevator door closed behind Jocie’s father before she asked, “Everything okay between you two now?”

  “He is my father,” Jocie said.

  “I know. I never doubted that.”

  “I shouldn’t have either.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Leigh handed Jocie the comb she’d finally pulled out of her purse.

  “It doesn’t matter what Ronnie Martin said.” Jocie tugged the comb through her hair.

  “No, it doesn’t. Here, let me help.” Leigh took the comb and carefully started working some of the tangles out of Jocie’s hair.

  Jocie felt funny letting Leigh comb her hair, but at the same time it felt good to just let somebody else handle the tangles. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody but Jeanne at the beauty shop had combed her hair. At least not since she was a little girl and her father had made her stand still to comb her hair before church.

  As if she’d been zapped back into time, she remembered one of those mornings. She didn’t know whether it was before or after her mother left. It didn’t really matter. Her father had always been the one who had helped her get ready for church.

  “Stand still and let me get this rat’s nest out of your hair, Jocie, so you’ll look your best for God,” he’d told her. “But doesn’t God see me all the time?” she had asked. “So he sees me when I just get up and my hair’s all mussy. He loves me then too, doesn’t he?”

  “Of course he does. He’d love you if you didn’t have any hair at all or if you had more hair than Rapunzel. And so do I. We love the whole package, every inch.”

  “Does God really know how many hairs I have? I tried to count just what was in my bangs once, but I kept losing count.”

  “The Bible says every hair on every head is numbered.”

  “On Wes’s head too?”

  “On his head too.”

  “I don’t think Wes ever combs his hair.”

  “He doesn’t spend much time in front of the mirror.”

  “But God loves him anyway, doesn’t he? Just like he loves me?” Jocie had always tried to find ways to be sure that Wes was under God’s love, since he didn’t go to church or do the things her father was always saying a Christian should do.

  “God loves everybody. God will never fail you, nor will he fail Wes. Just remember that, Jocie. God will never fail you or forsake you.”

  Jocie remembered the scent of lilacs again. God hadn’t forsaken her. He’d pushed her out of the church building. He’d sent Wes to protect her from the tornado. He’d brought her father to help her and Wes. He’d kept Wes alive to get to the hospital. How could she doubt?

  Leigh was still tugging on the tangles in the back of her hair, but so gently that Jocie hardly felt it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if Wes isn’t okay,” Jocie said after a moment.

  “The Lord will help you stand whatever you have to stand,” Leigh said.

  “You sound like a preacher’s wife already.”

  “Oh, that might not be good. Who’d want to kiss a preacher’s wife?”

  “A preacher?”

  Leigh laughed. “I suppose that’s true. And Wes will make it through. Zella’s prayer chain will connect with another prayer chain and another until the whole town of Hollyhill will be praying for him. Along with all of us here, of course. I believe the Lord answers prayers, don’t you?”

  “I do, but what if he says no? Daddy says that’s an answer too.”

  Leigh stopped combing Jocie’s hair and tipped her face around until she was looking straight into her eyes. “If your Aunt Love were here, she could tell you the exact words and where in the Bible it is, but somewhere in the Bible, I think maybe in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus asks what father would give his son a stone when he asks for bread, and if earthly fathers are that way, how much more loving is our heavenly Father who gives us the good things we ask for? Wes getting better is a good thing. I have faith the Lord won’t say no.”

  And he didn’t. Sometime after midnight, a doctor finally appeared in front of them and said Wes had made it through the surgery. Before the sun came up, Jocie and her father were standing by his bed. His face was pale and sunken looking, and some nurse must have combed his hair, which made him look even more unlike himself. Tubes were running medicine through IVs into his arm, and his leg was encased in a wire cage instead of a cast, with rods sticking through the bandages.

  “Are you sure that’s Wes?” Jocie whispered to her father.

  One eye popped open and then the other as Wes looked straight at her. “And who were you expecting? Mr. Jupiter himself?”

  “It’s just that I’ve never seen you with your hair combed.” Jocie grinned.

  “I tell you. You let them put you out and they’re liable to do anything to you. Can you fix it for me?”

  Jocie tousled his hair. “There, that’s more like it.”

  “Now fix my leg.”

  “I would if I could, Wes.” Jocie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry you got hurt. It’s my fault.”

  “Ain’t nobody’s fault, Jo. Not unless you’ve been praying some kind of tornado prayer all summer.”

  “No, but I’ve been praying big time ever since the tornado hit. Everybody in Hollyhill has been praying.”

  “For me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. Zella started her prayer chain.”

  “Zella? Pinch me. I must be hallucinating,” Wes said.

  “No, it’s true,” Jocie said. “Isn’t it, Dad?”

  Jocie’s father nodded. “Zella’s camped out down in the lobby waiting to hear you’re okay.”

  “That’s scary,” Wes said. “I can’t believe she drove down here all by herself.”

  “No, she came with Leigh,” Jocie said. “Leigh’s out in the hall waiting on us. She said she’d come in to see you later.”

  “Ah, that explains it. What that woman won’t do to do some matchmaking,” Wes said. His eyes were drooping closed. “I don’t know what they gave me, but I can’t keep awake.”

  “The nurses said we couldn’t stay but a minute, that you needed to rest,” Jocie’s father said. He started toward the door, but Jocie hung back.

  “We’ll be back in the morning as soon as the nurses let us,” Jocie said. “I want to get your firsthand account of the storm before I write the story for the Banner next week.”

  “You have your own firsthand account,” Wes said.

  “Yeah, but I want the whole story. Not just a part of it,” Jocie said.

  Wes pushed his eyes open again and reached for Jocie’s hand. “And do you have the whole story? From your dad?”

  “It’s not begatt
ed. It’s begotten.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got that straight,” Wes said.

  “And I got everything else straight too. He’s my daddy, and you’re my granddaddy.”

  “Granddaddy? Who said I was old enough to be a granddaddy?”

  “Me,” Jocie said. “And you’re mine, and I’m glad you missed your spaceship back to Jupiter. You know, I don’t think it’s ever coming back.”

  “You could be right, Jo. You could be right. Now let a poor old stranded Jupiterian get some Earth sleep.”

  Her father was waiting at the door to put his arm around her. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

  “That sounds great.” She walked in the circle of his love toward where Leigh was waiting for them at the elevator. “Did I tell you about the lilacs, Dad? You’re not going to believe about the lilacs.”

  Ann H. Gabhart and her husband live on a farm just over the hill from where she was born, in central Kentucky. Ann is the author of over a dozen novels for adults and young adults. She’s active in her country church, and her husband sings bass in a southern gospel quartet.