Blessings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Graham?”

  He lifted his head and met his mother’s concerned gaze. He forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. Things’ll work out for the best.”

  An ambiguous answer, but it seemed to satisfy his mother. She nodded and began clearing dishes. “Well, you run on, then, and get some rest.” A scowl marred her brow. “You look haggard, son.”

  Graham waved good-bye and headed outside. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made his way slowly toward his own little house. His empty little house. His mother’s parting comment followed him. He looked haggard? Well, he supposed it was possible. Worry and sadness could do that to a person.

  He let the screen door slam behind him; then he crossed to the sofa and threw himself onto the center cushion. Head back, eyes closed, his mind drifted over the morning’s sermon and all the strange feelings that had coursed through him when the Bible passage was read.

  Something pressed at the fringes of his mind, trying to clarify itself. He squeezed his eyes tight, pinching his lips. What is it, Lord? Unable to grasp the elusive message, he got up and retrieved his Bible. Flopping it open to Proverbs, he located the text and read it himself. Slowly. Finger underlining each word. Face pursed in fierce concentration. Heart begging for understanding.

  When he reached the final verse, a jolt as powerful as a lightning bolt straightened him in the seat. He lurched backward and then forward as he bent over the Bible and read the verse again.

  “ ‘Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.’ ” He closed the Bible and aimed his gaze unseeingly across the room. His mind raced to comprehend his strange reaction to the words. Like layers being peeled away to reveal a hidden treasure, understanding dawned bit by bit until a clear picture emerged.

  Graham leaped from the sofa and charged to the door. He hoped Trina was home. He needed to talk to her.

  A light tap roused Trina from an uneasy sleep. She rolled over on the bed, her cap coming loose. Still reclining on the mattress, she said, “Yes?”

  The door squeaked open a few inches. Mama peered in. “Trina, Graham is here and would like to see you.” A frown creased her face. “But before you come out, straighten your hair and cap.”

  Graham. Trina sighed. She wasn’t up to Graham’s disapproval after the awful lunch scene at Uncle Henry’s. Beth meant well, but she’d gotten Dad so upset he wouldn’t even speak on the way home. Trina couldn’t face another angry man.

  Her heart heavy, she shook her head. “I’d rather not visit today, Mama. Would you tell him, please?”

  Mama’s lips pursed so tightly they nearly disappeared. But then her face relaxed, her expression showing sympathy. “All right, daughter. I’ll tell him.”

  Trina lay, her heart booming as she held her breath, and listened to the mumble of voices. Graham’s raised slightly, the words indiscernible but the tone insistent. Mama’s firm reply came, then a brief rebuttal from Graham, Mama’s voice again, and finally Graham’s resigned farewell. The click of the screen door signaled his departure.

  Her breath whooshed out in relief. She rolled to her side, closing her eyes once more, but another tap at the door intruded. Without moving, she called, “What is it?”

  “Trina?”

  Tony’s whisper. Trina peeked over her shoulder. “What?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Trina released a loud huff. “All right.” Her tone wasn’t welcoming, but Tony tiptoed in anyway. When he sat on the edge of the bed, she snapped, “What do you want?”

  “I think you should’ve talked to Graham.” Tony’s youthful face puckered in concern. “He looked really disappointed when Mom sent him away.”

  Trina tried to conjure sympathy, but none would come. Graham had been sending her away, figuratively, for weeks. Why should she care about his disappointment? It certainly couldn’t equal hers. She shrugged.

  Tony shook his head, staring at her in confusion. “You and Graham’ve been seeing each other for a long time. I thought you liked each other. I thought when you really like somebody you try to work things out.”

  “Tony, how is this your business?” Trina’s words came out in a harsh hiss.

  Tony’s face blotched red. He picked at a hangnail, his eyes downcast. “Dunno. Just. . .makes me feel bad, having everybody upset with everybody else.”

  Trina shifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Everybody’s not upset with everybody. Everybody’s just upset with me. So don’t let it bother you.”

  “But it does bother me!” Tony nudged Trina on the leg, capturing her attention. “I–I’ve been thinking. . .about what Beth said at lunch today.”

  Trina groaned. “Tony, let’s not talk about lunch, please?” An image of her father’s furious face flashed through her memory. She threw her arm across her eyes to block the sight, but it replayed behind her closed lids.

  Tony yanked her arm down. “I have to. She’s right. And—and I know I bug you a lot, but I miss my happy sister.”

  Trina opened her eyes and looked at Tony. Tears pricked her eyes at the sorrow reflected in his dark eyes. She swallowed hard.

  “Are you going to be unhappy forever if you don’t get to be a veterinarian?”

  The whispered question hung in the air for several long seconds. Tony waited, silent, his unblinking gaze pinned to her face. Finally, Trina heaved a sigh. Running her fingers up and down the length of her dress’s modesty cape, she shook her head. “I wish I knew. It sure feels like it right now. But I hope not.”

  Tony hung his head. “Me, too.”

  Trina touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad, Tony. I don’t mean to make everyone feel bad. I just—” But what could she say? Tony wouldn’t understand the hollow ache that left her feeling dull and empty. How could he understand when she couldn’t understand it herself? Why, she wondered again, had God given her a desire He knew she couldn’t fulfill?

  Giving her brother’s shoulder a pat, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll be okay, Tony. Don’t worry.”

  He sent her a dubious look.

  She forced her lips into a smile, although she was certain it lacked its former spark. “You know how girls are. Moody.”

  He snorted. “Yeah.” He interjected disdain into the word while grinning.

  She punched him on the arm, as she knew he expected, then pushed to her feet. “I think I’ll go ask Mama and Dad if I can take a walk.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  Trina crinkled her nose. “If I say no, will you be offended?”

  Tony rose, shrugging. “Who wants to walk with a moody girl anyway?”

  A light chuckle found its way from Trina’s throat. A rush of love swept over her, and she impulsively threw her arms around her brother. “Thanks, Tony.”

  He gave her back a few awkward pats and pulled away. “Yeah. Okay.” His cheeks blazed red. He backed up toward the door. “I hope the walk helps.”

  “I’m sure it will.” But when he stepped out of the room, Trina felt her shoulders collapse. A walk wouldn’t cure anything even if she walked all the way to Alaska and back. She feared she would carry the weight of unfulfilled dreams forever.

  SIXTEEN

  Where are you going?” Dad nearly growled the question.

  Trina shrugged. “Just around town. Maybe to the cemetery and back.”

  “Not to McCauleys’?”

  It took effort not to sigh. “No, Dad.”

  Mama, seated on the opposite side of the sofa, stretched her hand out to touch Dad’s knee. “Let her go. Sometimes a girl just needs to. . . get off alone.”

  Trina nearly jolted in surprise. Never had Mama been so understanding. She looked at Dad—would he heed Mama’s words?

  Dad smacked his newspaper against his knee a couple of times, peering at Trina with narrowed eyes. Finally he let out a huff. “All right. But be back before supper so you can help your mother.”

  Trina nodded and headed for the door. She step
ped onto the porch, breathing in the heavy, hot air of midafternoon. Knowing her parents were probably watching through the big front-room window, she moved down the sidewalk toward the cemetery. It had been a snap decision to name the community resting place as her destination, but now that she thought about it, it seemed a likely choice. One buried the dead in a cemetery. She needed to bury her dream.

  Sweat broke out across her brow and trickled between her shoulder blades despite the thick shade offered by the towering elms and maples lining the street. In another week it would be August—and probably even hotter. Then September, when college classes traditionally began. She kicked a pebble, a feeble attempt to dislodge the thought.

  Determinedly, she turned her attention outward. As she passed neat houses, she named off the families. And their pets. Funny how she might forget the name of a child residing under the roof, but she knew the names of every cat, dog, rabbit, and parakeet. Didn’t that mean something?

  Puffing out her cheeks, she blew out a frustrated breath. Then she clenched her fists and picked up speed. Her feet smacked the brick walkway. Her arms pumped, stirring the air. Her nose stung with the desire to cry. By the time she reached the cemetery, her back was covered in sweat, and fine strands of hair, loosened from the roll on the back of her head, clung to her sticky neck. She scanned the grounds, seeking the tallest stone to crouch behind and give vent to the tears that longed for release.

  Most of the headstones were uniform in size and shape, but the Braun family stone loomed higher and wider. The sun glinted off the back of the massive sandstone marker. Surely a large slice of shade waited on the other side. Trina moved briskly across the short grass to the stone, prepared to crumple behind it. But when she rounded the chiseled edge, she came to a surprised halt. Someone was already leaning against the stone, picking apart a blade of grass.

  “Graham?” She blinked twice, shielding her eyes with her hand.

  He leaped to his feet, snatching off his ball cap at the same time. “Trina.”

  “What are you doing here?” they asked at the same time.

  Trina clamped her jaw shut, taking a hesitant step backward. Two longings filled her—to run away as quickly as she could and to throw herself into his arms. But she did neither. She simply stood with clasped hands at her waist, staring into his unsmiling face.

  “I come here a lot.” Graham held his cap against his thigh, his fingers convulsing on the brim. “It’s a good place to think. . .and pray.”

  Trina nodded. Hadn’t she come here to think? But praying. . . she hadn’t considered that. Guilt struck. She took another slow step backward. “Well, I’ll leave you alone, then.”

  “No!” His hand shot out, not quite touching her.

  She jumped, and he lowered his hand.

  “I mean, please don’t leave. I—I came by your house to see you, but your mother said you were asleep.”

  Mama fibbed? Trina could scarcely believe it. She stood stupidly, trying to make sense of her mother’s strange behavior.

  “But I’m glad you’re here. I have something I want to tell you.”

  Trina brought her focus back to Graham. Her heart began to pound. If anyone saw her out here with Graham and told her dad, he’d be madder yet. She shook her head. “Please. I don’t think—”

  “Just for a few minutes.”

  “But if my folks find out I met you here. . .” She licked her lips. Graham looked around, seeming to scan every inch of their surroundings. “There’s no one nearby, Trina. And we aren’t doing anything wrong.” He caught her elbow and pulled her into the shade of the headstone. “Just let me say this, okay?”

  Holding her arm stiffly while he grasped her elbow, she debated jerking free and dashing away. But she was tired. With a sigh, she offered a meek nod.

  He sat, tugging her down next to him. Trina tucked her legs to the side, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Graham shifted over slightly, putting a few inches of space between them. The sandstone felt rough but cool against her back, and she leaned a little more heavily against it, her head angled sharply to meet Graham’s gaze.

  “Trina, this morning’s sermon. . .I can’t get the Bible reading out of my head.”

  Trina nodded miserably. The “virtuous woman” had been preached before, always as a means of encouraging women to be godly, industrious wives and mothers. The reading of those verses this morning had been like rubbing salt in an open wound.

  “Especially the last verse—the one about giving her the fruit of her hands and letting her works praise her.”

  Trina’s brow furrowed as Graham’s face contorted with emotion.

  “Trina, I fear I’ve been wrong.”

  She tipped her head, her heart skipping a beat. Had she heard him correctly?

  “I fear. . .we’ve all been wrong.”

  Trina swallowed. “W–what do you mean?”

  Graham shifted slightly, resting one shoulder against the gravestone, his face turned toward her. “Tell me again why you want to become a veterinarian.”

  She had no difficulty finding the answer to his question. “Because for as along as I can remember, I’ve always loved caring for animals.”

  “And you think—no, you believe—God put that desire in your heart?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Trina, you said it wasn’t the desire to become a veterinarian that changed you.” Graham’s hand moved forward, his fingertips brushing against hers. “I didn’t understand at the time, but I think I do now. The reason you’ve changed—the reason you never smile anymore—is because. . .because we’re holding you back.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  “We’re keeping you from answering God’s call, and it’s crushing you inside.”

  Trina nearly wilted. Finally, someone understood! So great was her relief, tears spurted into her eyes.

  Graham leaned forward slightly, bringing his face closer. “Am I right?”

  With a choked sob, Trina nodded. “Yes. And—and it’s hurt so much, Graham.”

  He cupped her cheek with his broad hand. “I’m sorry.”

  She searched his face, seeing sincerity in his eyes. The comfort of his simple touch lessened the pain in her chest. She nodded, accepting his apology.

  With a sigh, he dropped his hand. “I can’t change what’s past, Trina, and I’m not sure that things will change for you in the future. Your parents may never grant permission; the fellowship may say it can’t be done. So you might not be able to follow through on what you want, but I want you to know I understand. And I won’t stand in your way if you want to try.”

  Trina stared, her mouth open. “Do you really mean that?”

  His solemn nod offered a response.

  “But what about—what about getting published?” She hardly dared to breathe, waiting for his answer.

  “I love you, Trina.”

  The beautiful words swept Trina from despair to delight. She had asked God to bring their hearts together so she could walk where He led, and God had answered. Despite her neglect of Him in the past days, He’d still heard and answered. A genuine smile broke across her face, bringing with it the rush of happy tears. She clasped Graham’s hand between both of hers. “Oh, Graham, I love you, too.”

  Graham rose, helping her up at the same time. “Then let’s go talk to your parents. Let’s tell them we want to be published. And let’s tell them we want to talk to the bishop about the possibility of you going to college.”

  Trina’s knees buckled, and had it not been for Graham’s strong hands holding tight, she might have collapsed onto the grass. “Are— are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Graham slid his finger along Trina’s cheek. “I know I love you. And if you believe God is calling you to this service, then I must give you the fruit of your hands.”

  “Oh, Graham. . .” Tears distorted her vision.

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “They might say no, Trina.”

  She blinked rapidly, peering into his
serious face.

  “But we’ll try.”

  Trina took in a deep breath and released it slowly. “We’ll try.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?”

  Now it seemed Graham held his breath.

  Trina shifted her hand to link her fingers with his. “Then I’ll be grateful that I at least had your support. And I’ll try to accept it.”

  “Okay.” Graham put his hand on her back, aiming her toward the cemetery gate. “Then let’s go try.”

  Graham perched in a straight-backed chair transplanted from the dining room to the living room and faced Trina’s father. The man sat in his overstuffed chair like a king on a throne, his presence stern yet attentive. Graham hoped he maintained a calm appearance. Underneath, he felt as though he might quiver to pieces. Yet a potential father-in-law should see only conviction and courage when being asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. So Graham squared his shoulders, clamped his hands over his knees, and met Troy Muller’s stern gaze without squirming.

  “I have a good job at the lumberyard—as you know, the business will be mine someday. My dad has promised that. My house is already built, so I have a home waiting.”

  Mr. Muller waved his hand. “All superficial.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know what’s important to me.”

  Graham flicked a quick glance at Trina. She sat beside her mother on the end of the sofa. The soft expression in her eyes gave him the courage to continue.

  “I love your daughter, sir, and I commit to being a godly husband to her. If God sees fit to bless us with children, they’ll be raised in the fellowship. Trina will not be left wanting physically, emotionally, or spiritually.”

  Mr. Muller gave a brusque nod and leaned back. “That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He shifted to pin a serious look on Trina. “Trina, Graham is asking permission for you to be published. Do you have any opposition to his request?”