by Lynn Bulock
“I need help. I need help so very badly,” Miranda said softly, her words echoing off the walls. For hours she sat on the bench wondering where that help should come from, until she dragged her exhausted body back to her room and tried to sleep.
FIVE
Journal entry
June 5
I’m going to get even with those women no matter what it takes. My dear Ronald is always so upset and it’s all due to those stupid daughters of his. No matter how I’ve tried to get them out of the way they still persist in their constant aggravation of the man. I know what I have to do, but I’m not looking forward to it.
The next morning Miranda had tea and toast in her room. Every noise made her jump. Was it real, or something her mind had created to torture her? That had to be the only possible answer to the singing she’d heard the night before.
There was no way she wanted to be anywhere near her father this morning. Even intimating that she’d heard music that she couldn’t find could mean that Ronald might figure a way to hospitalize her; after all, that seemed to be his answer to such situations. And maybe he was right. It certainly wasn’t normal to hear voices when no one was there.
“This house is closing in on me,” Miranda muttered. “I have to do something about that.”
But then, what was the alternative? A panic attack caused by trying to walk out of the house was what had put her in this situation in the first place.
“Help me. I don’t know what to do,” Miranda whispered, not sure what she believed about the God she prayed to. He certainly didn’t seem to be listening most of the time right now. Mental images of Winnie and her constant prayers sprang to mind. Maybe sharing all her problems with her aunt was the answer to her doubts right now. Winnie was the one person in the house she could tell about this without fear of their reaction.
Miranda dressed slowly, rehearsing what she’d tell her aunt. She didn’t bother with makeup, but then she didn’t normally use much. Lifting her heavy dark hair off her neck, she caught it up in a clip. She told herself that the face staring back in the mirror was pale and worried looking but didn’t have the look of a madwoman. Taking a deep breath, Miranda left her room and headed to her aunt’s suite on the other side of the second floor of the house.
Winnie’s door was open, meaning that anyone was welcome to enter her sunny sitting room or the sunporch beyond. Miranda could hear soft music playing from the speakers on her aunt’s bookshelves and see slight movement on the sun porch. Winnie turned from her chair outside and smiled. “There you are. How did your trip into town go last night? I hope you came to show me the things you picked up.”
“Not exactly,” Miranda said, crossing the room and coming to drop a quick kiss on her aunt’s forehead. “I didn’t get there. In fact, I didn’t ever get out of the house.”
Winnie sighed. “Oh, dear. Things were so contentious at the dinner table last night I wondered how you might react. Are you feeling any better this morning?”
“No. I’m worried about last night.” She sank down at an empty chair near Winnie, fighting tears. “Last night I felt worse than I’ve felt in a long while. The panic attack was monumental and it had some…new features that scared me.”
When it came down to admitting that she was hearing voices, Miranda found that she couldn’t tell even Winnie, whose sweet hazel eyes would hold nothing but acceptance no matter what she said. All her life her father and grandfather had impressed on her that only the strongest survived and prospered. If she admitted a weakness like this and they heard about it, what might they do?
What she’d already said was enough to worry Winnie, and her aunt didn’t need any more worries on top of what she had now. “Did Father and Mr. Connolly behave after I left? I had hoped that perhaps they’d be better if they were deprived of some of their audience,” she said, trying to force a smile.
“They didn’t come to blows at least.” Winnie shook her head, causing a faded red curl that had escaped her chignon to bounce. “You’d think after all this time they could call a truce once in a while for my sake. I suppose I should be thankful that they’ve managed to tone it down.”
She focused on Miranda. “But back to your problems, my dear. While we could spend all morning discussing Tate and Ronald and not solve anything, perhaps we might have more success where you are concerned.” Her aunt’s look radiated only empathy and love and for a moment Miranda felt tempted to blurt out everything.
The moment passed quickly before she said anything. “I’m not sure we can solve my problems either. I know Pastor Greg was quick to tell me that everything is possible for God, but Aunt Winnie, I prayed about this last night and I still couldn’t leave the house. What could I have done to deserve this?”
Winnie reached a soft hand across the table to pat Miranda’s. “Nothing, dear. That just isn’t the way God works. If we got only what we deserved this would be a sorry, sad world. God delights in giving us so much more and I know He has something wonderful in store for you, Miranda. It just didn’t include leaving the house last night.”
Miranda saw that Winnie believed this fully. How did she have faith like that after all that had happened in her life? She could feel the tears in her eyes threatened to spill over. Talk about weakness. No faith, no self-control and a vague hold on sanity itself. It was all she could do not to put her head down on the table and sob.
“I don’t know. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea this morning. How do you believe with everything that happens?”
“A very wise man once prayed, ‘Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.’ That prayer has buoyed me up more than once,” Winnie said softly. “The Bible says we only need faith the size of a mustard seed as long as we hang on to it. And you know how small a mustard seed is.”
Miranda found herself smiling a little. “I do. You’ve shown me many times since we came to live here with you and Grandfather. You even gave me that necklace with a little globe with a mustard seed in it, remember?”
“Your twelfth birthday. Maybe we need to find another one,” Winnie said. “Or do you still have that one?”
“I do. I keep it in…my makeup pouch in my purse.” Winnie was the one person Miranda didn’t have to say any more to about the worn pink corduroy bag. Her loving aunt had given her that, as well as a way to set a little girl free of at least one of the demons that haunted her. “I still carry the same one, you know.”
“I know.” Winnie’s eyes were moist now, too. “But look at me, just sitting here and reminiscing when you need help.” She got up from the table and went back into her suite for a moment. When she returned she carried a sheaf of papers that she set before Miranda.
“There. This month’s church newsletter from Unity. They send it out now over the computer, but you know me and computers. I still print out the pages once I’ve downloaded them so that I can read the whole thing while holding it in my hand. I just get more out of it that way.”
Miranda looked down at the pages, not sure what she was looking for. “That sounds like you, Aunt. But why are you giving this to me now?”
Winnie reached over and flipped pages until she found what she was looking for. “There, on the calendar of events. That support group you used to go to still meets there. Maybe it’s time to go back and talk to the folks you were meeting with.”
Miranda noticed how her aunt’s direction had gently avoided any mention that the support group was for those with emotional illnesses, or family members of those with serious mental problems. She hadn’t been to a meeting since January when things in the Blanchard household had started slowly sliding toward collapse.
Just thinking about having someone to talk to who wouldn’t reveal her problems to her father gave Miranda’s heart a little lift. The group had always been strictly confidential with each others’ information. She suspected that at least half the people she’d met there didn’t even know her last name. If they did, they certainly didn’t give any clue outside their meetings.<
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She looked at the newsletter again. “You know, you might have a good idea, Aunt Winnie.”
The older woman smiled. “Of course I do. Almost all of my ideas are good, Miranda. Surely you wouldn’t argue about that?” Her aunt leaned down and gave her a reassuring hug.
“Not today, anyway. The group meets tomorrow night. I think I can hang on until then.”
“Good. Maybe today we can have a little girls’ day out together—go into town and get a manicure, drop by Fiber Arts while we’re there and perhaps even have lunch at the Clam Bake Café. I hear they’ve changed to their summer menu and have a lovely roasted asparagus salad with blueberry vinaigrette.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Miranda said, grateful to have this sweet, loving woman in her life. Perhaps a day in town with Winnie would distract her from her problems enough that she could hang on until the support group meeting tomorrow night.
The next day and a half weren’t exactly a breeze, but with Winnie’s help Miranda found a way through them. Lunch out and picking up her supplies at Fiber Arts helped, because then she could spend her time working on the books she was putting together. Wednesday she woke up to soft spring rain but couldn’t stand the thought of working in her studio again this soon.
Being there still made her listen every few minutes for the haunting singing she’d heard two nights before. She didn’t think she could work there happily for the present, so she took the books she wanted to assemble to Winnie’s sunporch. Sitting back from the windows she listened to the rain while she worked. Out here it sounded calming and smelled fresh.
Even when the rain cleared up mid-afternoon Miranda stayed on Winnie’s sunporch. She felt safe there and only caught herself humming her calming lullaby once. But here on the sunporch she wasn’t as worried about hearing the echo she’d heard in the night. In the daylight she could at least keep her fears at bay.
“So how many of those have you finished today?” Winnie asked, breezing onto the porch later. When Miranda looked at her watch she was surprised just how much later it was. She’d worked through the rest of the afternoon.
“I’ve only got about a dozen to finish the order,” Miranda said, taken aback by her progress. “But they’ll have to wait until tomorrow. If I don’t get ready soon, I’ll be going to that support group in my work clothes.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.” Winnie looked over her reading glasses pointedly. “Shall I have Andre bring an early dinner up for the two of us in the sitting room?”
Miranda felt like hugging her aunt. “That would be great. I’ll put these away and make myself more presentable.” A quick shower and a judicious trip through her closet found her standing in front of her mirror much more pleased than she’d been in days. The dark green pantsuit was just the right weight for a night that promised to be a little cool. She twisted her hair into a set of inlaid wood clips and put on a little mascara and lip gloss.
“I appreciate the ride into town,” Miranda told Winnie later as she sat in the comfortable leather passenger seat of her aunt’s car.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t stick around while you’re at your group?” Winnie kept her eyes on the road, for which Miranda was thankful. “I could always stop by the library or catch up with a little of the paperwork at the hospital volunteer office.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I think I can get a ride home with one of the other people in the support group. If neither of the women that I expect to see can help me out, I’ll call you.”
“All right, dear. I’ll be praying for comfort and peace for you.” As Winnie told her that, they pulled up into the parking lot of the church. Miranda looked around at the cars already parked there and tried to remember what either of her friends drove.
“Thank you for your prayers. You know they’re appreciated.” Miranda opened the door and slid out of Winnie’s car. “And I’ll be sure to call you if I need a ride home.”
“Perhaps you could call me either way, just so I know you’re all right,” Winnie said. Miranda had to admit that her aunt was the only person she knew who worried more about her family than she did herself.
“I’ll do that,” she promised. Once in the while it was good to be fussed over. Being worried about like this almost felt like she had a mother. Miranda wondered what it would really feel like to have a mother’s love as an adult. Would she ever know?
Greg Brown tidied up his desk so that he’d have a fresh start in the morning. Through the open doorway, Janice clucked at him. “You know, taking a night off once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”
“Says the woman who stayed late to finish up the newsletter and then headed over to a two-hour choir practice,” he pointed out, which earned him a sigh and an eye roll.
“Now that’s different and you know it. The newsletter is part of my job description. Choir is something I do because I enjoy it, just like everybody else in there. I really figured by now that you would have found someone else to replace Carleen. Her family moved to Boston at least three months ago, didn’t they?”
“Four, but who’s counting?” Greg smiled at her, trying to get his secretary into a more cheerful mood. “And how do you know that I don’t enjoy leading this support group just as much as you enjoy choir? I did my undergraduate degree in psychology you know, and pastoral counseling is one of the few places I don’t second-guess my abilities every fifteen minutes.”
Janice finished shutting down her computer for the night, still shaking her head. “You’re too hard on yourself, Pastor Greg. You’re good at many of the tasks you perform as senior pastor. But how long will you stay on top of everything if you’re here twelve hours a day or more almost every day of the week?”
Greg, having shut down his own computer, turned out his office lights and walked into Janice’s outer office. “You’ve got a point there. I should be guarding against burnout. But I’ll tell you a secret—I enjoy leading this Never Alone group more than I do a lot of other ministry groups in this church.” He liked talking with the various members, sharing the ups and downs of their lives and watching the support they gave one another.
All in all this group of people with mental and emotional illness and their families felt like one of the most tangible ministries at Unity. “When I’m sitting in a meeting for an hour and a half talking about replacing the copier, it sure doesn’t feel like ministry. But when I’m with this group the time flies by and I know I’ve made a difference in somebody’s life.”
“Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best example of where you could spend less time then,” Janice conceded. “But I still think you ought to actually go out once in a while, maybe even on something like a date.”
She snapped off the lights decisively and they walked down the hall together before going in their different directions. Greg wondered what Janice would say if she knew that the moment she’d mentioned a date a specific woman came to mind for him.
The image of Miranda Blanchard was still so strong in his mind that when he walked into the classroom where the support group met, Greg thought for a moment that the dark-haired woman in green facing away from him was actually Miranda. When one of the men called out a greeting to him and most of the people looked toward the doorway, Greg got a thrill of surprise. The woman was Miranda, and her golden eyes widened when she saw him.
Once more Greg was reminded of a doe in the forest when he faced Miranda. She had the startled look of a creature about to flee and he wanted to reassure her in some way that everything would be all right. But then he didn’t know that for sure. It had been a good twenty years since anyone could have reassured him in that way about his own life and only God knows what kind of difficulties Miranda faced to bring her to this group.
As usual it took a few minutes for those present to find seats in the circle of chairs arranged near the center of the room. Tonight Greg struggled to remain mindful of his purpose here. Instead his attention kept drifting to Miranda—the way she hesitantly took a seat
next to another woman in her thirties who Greg knew was there battling depression after the death of a child, and the way her troubled eyes seldom left him.
Get it together, Greg told himself silently. She’s only one of the eleven people in this room who needs your help. No, Greg thought, there were twelve people in this room in need of help tonight and they were all seeking strength from the same source. Now it was up to him to point them all, himself included, toward the unimaginable love and compassion of that Source that was Jesus.
“Let’s open with prayer and then we can start sharing with each other,” he found himself saying as he sat down. Tonight, for a change, this meeting might not “fly by” the way he’d told Janice just a few minutes earlier.
Greg watched the rest of the group as they settled down to the normal routine of the evening. Several of them welcomed Miranda. He wondered how often she’d been a part of the group before he took over. He was tempted to ask her, but it was really none of his business. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him, although he doubted that would happen. Miranda didn’t have the look of someone who planned to talk much tonight.
As the evening went on it got harder and harder to focus on anyone but Miranda. Greg felt like offering the group an apology for his distractedness. But what was he going to say? That trying not to pay attention to a beautiful woman in obvious distress had his mind elsewhere? It was the truth, but it wouldn’t help any of them to hear it. Instead he kept pressing ahead, saying little as moderator of the group and letting them help each other with their compassionate listening and caring.
He silently praised God for the reminder that it wasn’t what he did as a pastor or even as a group moderator that made this session turn out as well as it did. Tonight he could feel the participants’ awareness of Jesus in their midst, which made them reach out to one another to help the need they all had.