“Oh, people have plenty of chances to reject the gospel,” she said. “Just because people are sitting in church doesn’t mean they’re Christians.”
She had been worried about Annie, because none of her children had made a profession of faith or walked down the aisle and joined the church. Yet she had seen subtle changes in both Annie and Rick.
“I know that. I’m just telling you that you’ve done a good job.”
Cathy lay back down, considering that. “Annie, have you got a personal relationship with Jesus? I mean, more than just knowing about him and quoting Scripture?”
The lamplight cast dark shadows on Annie’s face. “Well, yeah. I use it in my life, okay? I put it into practice.”
“But have you accepted Christ? Do you understand about what he did for you?”
Annie sat up and hugged her knees. “Mom, you don’t have to preach to me. I’m not Mark, okay?”
“The gospel isn’t just for Mark. It’s for you, too.”
“And I have,” she said. “One night at a youth rally. I talked to Jesus that night for the first time, and he and I have had a thing ever since.”
Cathy couldn’t have scripted a better answer. “Annie, I thought I was going to worry about you when you started college this fall, but now I know you’re going to be all right.”
Annie flopped back down and looked at the ceiling. “Oh, yeah. College.”
She had noticed a coolness in Annie’s voice whenever the subject of college came up. She had enrolled at the local community college for the fall, but Cathy knew she was looking for a way out. “Annie, why aren’t you excited about college?”
“Well, I just don’t know what I want to do yet. It seems like such a waste of time.”
“An education is never a waste of time.”
Annie slid off the bed. “Can we talk about it later? You need to sleep.”
Cathy wasn’t fooled. The college conversation could wait, but she sensed that it would be a difficult one when it came. She sat up and kissed Annie good night, then watched as her daughter left the room. She slid to her knees and whispered a prayer of tearful thanks for the night of affirmations.
CHAPTER
Forty-Three
Tory couldn’t wait to open the package that came from León, Nicaragua. She wondered what Sylvia had sent her. She tore into the package and pulled out the little rolls of film in plastic cylinders. Frowning, she pulled out the letter that came along with it. One short note was addressed to Tory individually, and the other was to all three neighbors. At the top of the letter were explicit instructions not to read it until they were all together.
She folded the long letter back up and stuck it in her pocket, then skimmed through the short one that was addressed to her.
Dear Tory,
It cost too much to get film developed here so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I sent you the film. These are pictures of other children who have come here to get fed. I thought you and the girls could use them in your presentations if you wouldn’t mind getting them made into slides. Give your precious little Hannah a kiss for me, and Brittany and Spencer, too.
I love you,
Sylvia
Tory looked down at the cylinders. Here, she knew, were priceless pictures that would move people into helping. But how would she work this around her schedule with Hannah? She supposed she could give up a little more sleep.
“Spencer, Brittany,” she cried. The two kids came running from the back of the house. “Get in the car. We’ve got to go get some film developed.”
“Can we get candy?” Spencer asked.
Tory checked Hannah’s diaper. “No, no candy.”
“Potato chips?” Brittany asked.
“It’s too close to suppertime.” Cradling Hannah, she headed out the door. “Come on, kids.”
“Where are we going?” Brittany asked.
“To the mall, to that one-hour photo place. Miss Sylvia sent us some pictures, and I want to see them as soon as we can.”
Tory paid extra to have the pictures developed quickly, and as soon as they walked out of the photo shop, Brittany begged to see them. Tory put little Hannah in her stroller, then sat on a bench with Brittany and Spencer on either side of her, and started flipping through the pictures. One by one, she saw the faces of hungry children with glazed looks in their eyes, swollen little bellies, toothpick legs.
“What’s wrong with them? Are they sick?” Brittany asked.
Tory shook her head. “They’re hungry. They don’t have enough food to eat.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because they’re poor.”
“Why don’t they just go to the grocery store?” Spencer asked.
“Because they don’t have them there. At least, not like we have. Miss Sylvia said that the stores there have a whole bunch of one thing but not enough of everything.”
“One thing like what?” Brittany asked.
“Like hats or something,” Tory said. “But not food.”
“Hats?” Spencer asked. “Why aren’t they wearing them?”
“Well, I didn’t mean hats, for sure,” Tory said. “I was just using that as an example.”
Spencer grabbed the next picture and studied the little boy. “He’s not wearing a hat.”
“I know. I was just telling you…”
“None of them are wearing hats.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I was trying to explain that, instead of having a lot of different things on the shelves of the grocery stores, they only have a few things. Those things are usually things they don’t need.”
“Well, why don’t they just get food?”
“It’s a long story,” she said, “but we’re trying to help Dr. Harry and Miss Sylvia get money so they can buy it and feed these children. It’s real important.”
She looked into the envelope; yes, the box of slides was there too. They would need them for their presentations.
“Why are there children who don’t have food?” Spencer asked. “Why can’t we give them some of ours?”
“That’s a good question,” Tory said, “and that’s exactly what we’re going to try to do. We’re very blessed, you know. We never have to go hungry, and we have those wonderful grocery stores with everything in the world.”
“You don’t think they’re wonderful,” Brittany said. “You always hate to go.”
“I always say I hate a lot of things, but then I find out that somebody is worse off than I am, and I feel really bad about it.”
As she loaded her children back into the car, she resolved that she was going to stop whining. There were people with genuine problems, much worse than hers. Even Cathy’s problem was monumental compared to Tory’s. She had been a terrible neighbor. She needed to do what Brenda had done and take Cathy a meal.
She changed her mind about heading home and pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store she frequented.
“What are we doing here?” Spencer asked. “Getting candy?”
“No,” Tory said. “I need to pick up a few things. I’m going to make a casserole for Miss Cathy tonight.”
“Is she hungry, too?” Spencer asked.
“Probably,” she said. “But that’s not why I’m doing it. Food is a good way to tell her I love her.”
Brittany and Spencer pondered that as she unloaded them again and headed into the grocery store.
CHAPTER
Forty-Four
Sylvia was exhausted by the time she had fed all the orphans in the school and all the families that had come to eat that day. It was way past dark when she finally made it home. She found Harry sitting quietly in his recliner, reading his Bible through bifocals in the light of a lamp.
She went to stand in front of him. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?” he asked, looking up at her.
“I’m ready to sell the house,” she said. “There’s no other way. We’ve got to do it to raise the money. Mo
re and more families are hearing that we’ve got provisions, and they’re coming to get food. Harry, we’re going to run out, and there’s no way on this earth that I can tell those people I can’t feed them.”
He closed his Bible and dropped his feet. “Sit down,” he said. “You look really tired.”
She sat down and realized how little energy she had left. She’d been on her feet most of the day. “So what do we do? What’s the next step?” she asked.
“I guess we call the States and get a realtor to put a sign up.”
She thought about that. “I have to tell the girls first.”
“Okay. When?”
“Soon,” she said. “We can’t wait. We have to do something quick.”
Harry took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. Holding her, he said, “I’m really surprised that you would come to this decision on your own. I didn’t think you were going to agree to it.”
She put her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” she said. “I should have been willing to turn it over in the first place. There are so many things we need here. It was my last hold on home, almost like a lifeline to Cedar Circle. But I don’t need the house. I still have the girls.”
“Yes, you do,” he whispered. “They’re not going to cut you off just because you’re not a property owner in the neighborhood anymore.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m proud of you, you know. This means you’re totally committed to your work here. Completely, unequivocally, without looking back.”
“What was it that Jesus said?” Sylvia asked. “‘He who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the kingdom of God.’”
“He did say that,” Harry agreed.
“Well, I’ve got both hands on the plow,” she said, “and all I can see is a field of children who are starving to death. I might as well send that treasure to heaven. There’s no sense in holding onto it.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll get the ball rolling with the realtor as soon as you’ve told Brenda, Tory, and Cathy. Now you go on to bed.”
With that decision made, Sylvia dragged herself to their room and fell into the bed.
CHAPTER
Forty-Five
Cathy could count on her kids for overlapping crises—after all, she had three of them, and they had each vowed not to let their mother’s life get dull. So when Annie walked into Cathy’s clinic just before it closed and announced that she wasn’t going to college that fall, Cathy wasn’t all that surprised.
Her daughter made the announcement as calmly as if she were telling Cathy that she was going to a friend’s house or getting her hair cut. She stood there happily, her hair pulled up in a flip ponytail, and big dangly earrings slapping against her face. She was chomping on a piece of gum.
“Annie, you’re already enrolled. What do you mean you’re not going?”
“I’m going to get a real job and skip college.”
She blew out her impatience. “Annie, a full-time job is no picnic. And I’m not going to let you loaf. A few months of having to support yourself and you’ll be begging to go to school. You’ll hate the routine of a job.”
“Well, you don’t hate your job,” Annie challenged.
“No, I don’t,” Cathy said, “but I happen to have college degrees, so I’m able to do something I love. What are you able to do, Annie?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I could get a job at the mall.”
“And do you ever intend to move out and get an apartment of your own, maybe get married, have a family?”
“Well, yeah, sure. Someday.”
“And how do you plan to support yourself?”
She twisted her face and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far out. All I know is I hate school and I don’t think I can stand it for four more years. This thing with Mark has just reminded me how precious my freedom is. I don’t want to be institutionalized.”
Cathy rolled her eyes at the melodrama. “Institutionalized? Annie, school can hardly be compared with juvenile detention.”
“But I bet it feels the same. Mom, I just don’t want to go to college.”
Cathy was getting flustered. She hadn’t prepared for this. She raked her fingers through her hair, feeling her spirits sinking again to their level before the breakthrough with Mark. “Look, could we talk about this later? I’m really kind of busy right now.”
“Sure,” Annie said and popped her gum. “How ‘bout we talk about it in September after I’ve already missed registration?”
“No,” Cathy said, “I meant that we’ll assume you’re going to college this fall until I’m miraculously convinced otherwise. You see, it’s like this. You live in my house and you do as I say. I’m not sacrificing another child to the world. You either go to college or you find a way to support yourself, period.”
Annie looked at her as if she’d disowned her. “You would think I came in here and told you I was pregnant.”
“No, Annie, if you came in here and told me you were pregnant, there would be a marked difference in how I responded. Trust me.”
Annie smiled, as if she wished she could pull that particular string. “So when are you coming home?”
“In a few minutes,” Cathy said. “I just need to finish up some paperwork.”
“Well, Miss Brenda left a message at home for you to call her. She said that Miss Sylvia is going to call tonight, and she wants to talk to all three of you.”
“About what?”
“She didn’t know,” Annie said.
Cathy shuffled the papers on her desk and got up. “Well, okay. I guess I’d better get home. I don’t want to miss that.” She took off her lab coat and hung it up. “Annie, I’ll meet you at home.”
“After the big phone call, can we talk some more about college?”
“We’ll see. But I’m not changing my mind, Annie. You’re going to college.”
“What if I get a job? I could get one tonight, you know. Between now and suppertime, I could join the military or get into a management program at the mall. I could be earning more than you before the day’s out.”
Cathy retrieved her purse from its hook on the wall and dug for her keys. “Tell you what, Annie. If you get a job making more than I make, you can skip college. But it has to be legal and moral.”
“Oh, right,” Annie teased. “There you go laying down a bunch of conditions.”
Cathy escorted Annie out of the clinic and locked the door behind them.
CHAPTER
Forty-Six
Cathy and Brenda gathered at Tory’s house at seven that night, when Sylvia had promised to call. Tory laid out the pictures of the Nicaraguan children on the table, and they tried to organize them into the right order for a slide show. Cathy would take the first speaking engagement for the following Sunday afternoon, since Brenda went weak in the knees at the prospect, and Tory had committed to speak at another church that evening.
They were certain that was what Sylvia was calling about. It was probably a pep talk, Cathy thought, or she was making sure that they got all the details right. They’d kept in touch by e-mail about the requests coming in for them to speak, and she supposed Sylvia was afraid they would blow it.
When the phone rang, they each picked up on a different extension in Tory’s house. “Hello?” Tory said.
“Are you all together?” Sylvia asked. Her voice sounded so clear she might have been next door.
“Yes, we’re here.” They each gave their greetings, and she spent a few valuable minutes asking about Mark and Hannah and the wrecked cars in Brenda’s driveway. Then she got to the point.
“I wanted to talk to you girls and let you know something before you heard it from someone else.”
Cathy didn’t like the sound of that. Her chest tightened. “What is it, Sylvia?”
“It’s the house.”
Cathy glanced at Tory, who stood across the room holding another phone to he
r ear.
“The house? What house?”
“My house. The empty one?”
All three women got quiet.
“Girls, we’ve decided to sell it.”
“No!” Tory’s cry carried through the house. “Sylvia, you can’t.”
Cathy sat down, and Tory leaned back against the wall.
“Sylvia, this is a big step,” Cathy said. “Are you sure you’ve given it enough thought? This is your life. It’s your history.”
“No, this is my life now,” Sylvia said. “And I’ll have my history no matter what I do with the house. It’s the future I have to think of now—of these children, and the fact that we don’t have enough money to keep feeding them. I have to think of the starving parents and the medicine Harry needs for these people.”
“But we’re raising money, Sylvia,” Tory said. “Both Cathy and I have speaking engagements Sunday. We were just organizing the slide show. We’re on it, Sylvia.”
“I know you are,” she said. “And I need for you to go ahead with that, because it might be a while before the house sells. But Harry’s calling our realtor tomorrow, and she’s going to list the house and put up a sign. I just wanted you to be prepared. I wanted you to understand.”
Cathy looked at Tory and saw the way the light caught the tears in her eyes. Brenda came out of the back room with a cordless phone to her ear. “Sylvia, please don’t,” Cathy said.
“We were hoping you could come back when you retire,” Brenda said in a cracked voice. “It’s your house. Nobody else can fill it.”
“That’s sweet.” She could hear the tears in Sylvia’s voice. “But I have to do what I’ve been called to do. And we need this money. It would do so much for the children. And I can come back there and visit and stay with one of you.”
“But you won’t,” Tory said. “Your own kids don’t live here anymore. You’ll go to see them when you’re in the States. You won’t have time to come here, if you don’t have your house to bring you back.”
Times and Seasons Page 18