by Lin Stepp
Carter took a drink of water from the glass on the bedside table and situated the ice pack on the right side of his head. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough,” Grampa Layman said, leaning back in the plaid bedroom chair. “Certainly long enough to see that things aren’t well with your soul.”
Carter closed his eyes. He was in for it now. Grampa possessed a strong gift for discerning the hearts of people—and evidently the Lord had shared a revealing talk with Preacher Layman during his prayer vigil.
“I don’t suppose we can avoid this talk?” He shifted the ice pack on his head slightly.
Grampa shook his head. “No. I’m accountable to give you what the Lord gave me.”
Carter looked around the familiar room, waiting. In the moonlight filtering through the window, he could see the rough beamed ceiling, the old fireplace, the familiar hunter plaid bedspreads, the car prints on the walls, and the shelf full of sports trophies and model cars he’d assembled and painted as a boy.
“You used to pray a lot in this room,” Grampa said, seeming to follow his eyes around the room.
“Those were innocent days.” Carter sighed.
“And now you don’t feel worthy to pray.” Grampa’s words were soft. “You’re having a hard time forgiving yourself for your mistakes. And you’re mighty angry at God.”
Carter made no comment.
“Oftentimes we go off on our own, make our mistakes, bear our consequences, and then get ourselves annoyed with God for the way things turn out. We pull away from the Lord and then seem surprised when things don’t get much better.”
Carter pushed at his pillow with annoyance. “There’s a lot you don’t know about my life in the years since I’ve been away.”
The old man crossed his ankle over one knee. “And there’s a lot I do. God has a way of keeping me informed about things. You need to forgive yourself for things in the past, Carter. And you need to forgive Rhea.”
Carter snorted. “Rhea? It seems to me Rhea Dean needs to forgive me. She’s outright told me she hates me now.”
“Yeah. Rhea has some of the same problems herself that you’re dealing with.” He paused thoughtfully. “The both of you have bitterness, unforgiveness, and resentments you haven’t let go of. They’ve taken root and gone down deep into your souls. It’s going to take a serious decision and some hard work to root them out—on both your parts.”
He leaned toward Carter. “Do you know studies show unforgiveness is unhealthy to human life? Even setting all the Bible knowledge aside that exists, research alone proves that unforgiveness and bitterness harbored in a life can create psychological and emotional stress. They can cause headaches, digestive problems, anxiety, depression, cognitive disorders, and increase the risk of heart disease, cancer, and stroke.” He ticked off the consequences on his fingers.
Carter took the ice pack off his head and plopped it down on the tray by the bed. “You’re making me regret teaching you how to search on the Internet when you came out to California, Grampa—and for giving you that new computer, too.”
Grampa laughed. “The same technology that can be a tool for the devil can be a fine tool for the Lord. It sure has helped me in getting my sermons together.”
A space of quiet filled the room.
At last Carter said, “What have I not forgiven myself for?”
“You know the answer to that, Son. There’s no need to ask me.”
Carter considered this. “How can I get Rhea to forgive me? I want to make things right with her. But she’s still so angry with me.”
“She’s hurt, boy. And she’s afraid. When you’ve loved and been hurt, you’re afraid to let yourself love again. When you’ve trusted and had your trust shattered, you’re fearful to open the door to potential pain again.” He paused. “It’s going to take time to rebuild love and trust.”
He laid a hand on Carter’s arm. “Think of it this way. Let’s say you’ve built a house—but then a destructive storm tears it down. You don’t just say: ‘House be built’ after it’s broken down into a shambles—and then wham!—there’s the house all whole and rebuilt again. No. It takes time and conscious effort to rebuild the house. Brick by brick. Little by little. Just because you remember how the house once was, and how pretty it was, doesn’t mean it can ever be exactly the same again either. The destructive forces of nature—and the forces of sin and wrong—incur their toll. It takes time to rebuild—and it takes love.”
Carter heaved a deep sigh. “Are you saying there’s no hope?”
“Never. I never suggested that. Where there’s love, there’s always hope.” His eyes found Carter’s. “Have you asked Rhea Dean to forgive you, Carter?”
He bristled. “I’ve told her I want to be friends again.”
“Son, you and I both know you want more than that. But that’s not what I asked you.”
Carter closed his eyes. “I guess I haven’t offered that request as fully as I might have.”
“Well, it might be a place to begin.” He leaned over to put a hand on Carter’s knee. “And another might be in praying a prayer—here and now—to get you back in a right place with God. You ready to do that, Son?”
Carter nodded, a lump forming in his throat.
Grampa’s familiar voice began to flow over him, healing in its familiarity and in the Spirit it carried. “Father God, Carter comes to you tonight—a boy come home again to his birthplace and a boy longing to come back into right fellowship with you. Welcome him home again into your love and heart tonight, Lord. Hear his prayers asking for your love and forgiveness. Hear his prayers yearning to draw nigh unto you. Meet him here as he pours out his heart before you, and before me as his witness, and draw him back into the circle of your care and love.”
The healing words flowed over Carter like warm honey. He soon added his own prayers into the quiet of the night and gradually began to feel the heaviness around his soul lighten. The Spirit of God touched him in the room of his childhood—and Carter’s faith and relationship with the Lord became renewed.
When Carter’s mother came into his room in the early hours of the morning to check on him again, she said, “Your Grampa and you have been praying in here.”
He gave her a curious look. “Why do you say that?”
She smiled at him and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “I can still feel the presence of the Lord lingering.”
Carter nodded, closed his eyes, and slept peacefully.
CHAPTER 9
Rhea walked into Laurel Springs Church on Sunday morning with a sense of dread. She considered feigning sick, just to avoid seeing Carter Layman again after last night. However, she quickly found out, as Pastor Layman gave the announcements and prayer requests, that someone had attacked Carter the night before.
Her humiliation paled beside the news. He could have been killed! Rhea leaned forward to catch the details—a hit on the head, not hospitalized, home recovering, going to be all right. She sighed with relief as Carter’s grandfather finished the account and requested prayer for Carter’s continued recovery. He also asked for everyone’s help in finding the individual, or individuals, responsible for the attack and for the repeated cases of vandalism at Laurel Springs.
Rhea wrestled with her mix of feelings throughout the service, made worse by Pastor Layman’s sermon on the topic of unforgiveness. He even presented research on how bitterness and unforgiveness could cause mental anguish and health problems—and explained that without repentance and resolution, continuing to harbor resentment and unforgiveness could interfere with an individual’s spiritual relationship with the Lord.
Well, great. Rhea found it difficult meeting Pastor Layman’s eyes as she shook hands with him at the church door. She kept wondering if he’d directed the sermon toward her.
After service, she brooded through lunch while her mother and Nana Dean talked, trying to decide if she should visit Carter. She desperately wanted the details of what happened—despite the awkward feelings bet
ween them.
Nana gratefully helped resolve her indecision. “If it’s okay with both of you, I’ll serve strawberries with whipped cream for our dessert today—so I can send that chocolate cake I baked yesterday over to the Laymans’. I feel awful about what happened to Carter.”
Lillian looked up from the Sunday paper she’d started to read. “That’s fine with me.” She glanced toward Rhea. “Could you take it, Rhea? I promised Nana I’d drive her to the Walmart in Newport after lunch to pick up fabric for her new quilting project. It’s hard to find time to get over there during the week.”
“Sure, I’ll take it over, Mother.”
Considering what to wear later, Rhea decided to keep on the long jumper she’d worn to church. It was, admittedly, a little old-fashioned with its quilted bib-top—but Rhea favored the simple, old-time garments Nana created. They seemed in character with the history of the assembly grounds, and, quite frankly, Rhea liked the idea of having on a long skirt that covered her legs after last night.
She carried Nana’s cake out to her old Volkswagen and carefully tucked the carrier into the front floorboard. She patted the car fondly as she walked around to the driver’s side. Just before her sixteenth birthday, Volkswagen had reintroduced the Beetle, and Rhea’s dad, feeling sentimental and extravagant, bought one to surprise her. Rhea still loved the old car, bright yellow in color, the paint dulled only slightly over the years. Plus, it was paid for in full and ran like a top.
Dutchie wove all around Rhea’s legs, begging to go along, so Rhea let her jump into the backseat for the short trip. When Rhea stopped the car in the Laymans’ driveway, the large Airedale mix that Rhea remembered from the day Carter arrived bounded off the porch, barking.
Taylor, playing in the front yard, came over to hold the dog’s collar as Rhea let Dutchie out of the VW. “You be good and stop barking, Jinx.” He shook a finger at the dog. “These are friends.”
The dog obeyed, surprisingly, and Taylor smiled brightly at Rhea while Jinx sniffed Dutchie out in a friendlier manner.
“What’s your dog’s name?” Taylor asked.
“Her name is Dutchess, but we call her Dutchie for short. She’s a Border collie mix.”
Dutchie woofed a small greeting to the larger dog and wagged her tail.
Taylor’s mouth dropped open. “Wow! This is the Dutchie in Daddy’s Time Traveler games. Jinx is in them, too. Did you know your dog is famous, Rhea?”
“I guess I didn’t.” She smiled. “I don’t play video games much.”
“Well, Daddy’s games are all great.” He puffed out his chest in pride. “His Time Traveler games with Jinx and Dutchie are going to be made into animated movies.” His face dropped. “The games are too hard for me to play at six, but I’ll be able to watch the movies.” He brightened again. “They’re going to be G-rated.”
“I see.” Rhea knew very little about Carter’s games. She’d purposely avoided reading about them or locating any of them to play.
“Jinx and Dutchie are making friends. See?” Taylor petted one dog after another. “They like each other.”
Satisfied that the dogs presented no problem, Rhea opened the car door to get the cake.
“Ummmm. Is that for us?” Taylor’s eyes lit up. “I like chocolate.”
“Well, I’m sure Mary Jane will let you have a piece.” Rhea carried the cake into the Layman kitchen.
Despite her problems with Carter, Rhea had refused to allow those difficulties to interfere with her relationship with Mary Jane and Wes Layman. She grew up visiting in their home, and they were like a second family to her. They all experienced awkwardness at first when Carter married, but after that, they made an effort to move on as before. Or at least somewhat as before, with the major focus of their conversations no longer centered around Carter and his life in California.
Mary Jane turned from her job of putting the clean lunch dishes away to give Rhea a hug. “Hey, you sweet thing.”
She took the cake from Rhea’s hands, taking the top off the carrier and sniffing with appreciation. “Oh, Carter will be pleased with this. One of Nana’s chocolate cakes.”
“Can I have a piece, Mamaw?” Taylor danced up and down around the kitchen.
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Sure. I’ll cut you one right now.”
“How is Carter?” Rhea asked.
“He’s still got a large pop knot on his head, but he’s okay.” She cut a large piece of cake and put it on a glass plate, holding out the plate to Rhea.
She smiled. “Why don’t you go up and say hello to him and take him a slice of Nana’s cake? He could use some company. We’re having trouble keeping him in bed like Ellie wanted today.”
Rhea hesitated. It would seem ungracious not to take the cake up.
Taylor pulled on Mary Jane’s skirt. “Will you walk me out to see the baby chickens after I eat my cake?” he asked. “We can look for eggs, too.”
Mary Jane smiled at Rhea. “Taylor is still fascinated with all the aspects of farm life just now.” She ruffled the boy’s hair. “We’ll go right after you eat your cake.”
Carrying the cake, and the glass of milk Mary Jane poured, Rhea started toward the stairs.
Mary Jane’s voice followed her. “We put Taylor in the little guest room, so you’ll find Carter in his old room. You know the way.”
Rhea did, but she’d managed to avoid Carter’s room all these years, not wanting to confront old memories. She found herself hoping Mary Jane had totally redecorated.
The door to Carter’s room stood open, and Rhea felt a moment of déjà vu seeing him propped up in bed with a laptop computer on his knees. Even in high school, he’d been a gamer, always on the computer or squatted in front of the TV with a controller in his hands.
His room looked exactly the same, too. The old hunter plaid spreads covered the twin beds, the same classic car prints hung on the walls, and Carter’s old sports trophies, school pictures, and carefully assembled model cars still cluttered his desk bookshelves. It hurt to look around.
She sighed, and the sound caused Carter to glance up. A slow smile lit his face, and Rhea’s heart clutched.
“Come to visit the sick?” He wiggled his eyebrows, catching sight of the cake. “Come closer, Little Red Riding Hood, and bring me that fine cake you’re carrying.”
She frowned at him, walking over to set the glass of milk and the cake on a tray angled by his bedside table.
He laid the laptop to one side and picked up the cake eagerly. “This is Nana Dean’s famous chocolate cake, isn’t it? Did you ever find out what her secret ingredients are that make this cake so delicious?”
Rhea grinned despite herself. “She still won’t tell. Mother says she’s written the recipe down and put it in a safety deposit box.”
“Figures.” Carter chuckled. “Sit down.” He gestured to the small easy chair close to the bed. “I’ll be glad of some company. It’s driving me crazy to be in bed.” He rolled his eyes. “But Ellie threatened the hospital if I didn’t rest for one day.”
She sat down, aware that Carter’s eyes scanned over her slowly as she did, lingering over the dress.
A faint smile played on his lips. “Did Nana make your dress?”
Rhea bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with this dress.”
“Did I say there was?” Carter cut off a chunk of cake with his fork. “I always liked your clothes. You know that. They’re distinctive.”
Rhea considered this, wondering what sort of wardrobe his wife, Judith, possessed. It was probably stunning. She’d sneaked glimpses of her once in a magazine of Jeannie’s that spotlighted the lives of the rich and famous.
“How was church?” Carter asked, after wolfing down his cake in four or five bites.
“Fine. Everyone was concerned about you.”
He drank down several gulps of milk. “What did Grampa preach about?”
Rhea hesitated, feeling a small flush start up her neck at the remembrance of that sermon.
She tried to make her voice sound light and casual. “I think it was about unforgiveness or something—you know, forgiving people their trespasses and that kind of stuff.”
Carter choked on a swallow of milk and started laughing.
Rhea scowled at him and stood up to leave.
He waved a hand at her. “Private joke, Rhea. Sit back down. I’m not laughing at you, so don’t get mad.”
Carter leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. “Grampa came to sit with me in the middle of the night and preached a sermon to me along that line.” He opened his eyes and looked intently at Rhea. “I needed that sermon and the prayer time after. I haven’t stayed close to God like I should have. It was a different life in California… .”
His voice drifted off for a moment, and he closed his eyes once more.
Rhea watched him pick at the bed covers and pop his knuckles. She knew he had something on his mind. He always fidgeted when he did.
His eyes found hers at last. “I need to ask you to forgive me. I did betray you and I married someone else. I broke promises to you and I wasn’t faithful.” He blew out a long breath, seeming to be glad to get the words out.
She sat, watching him.
“So. Will you forgive me?” He reached out a hand for hers, but Rhea crossed her arms defensively, pulling back into her chair.
Flustered at this turn of events, she considered how to answer him. “Carter, it’s easy to listen to those sermons in church about forgiving seventy times seven like Jesus told Peter to do in the book of Matthew.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I can say I forgive you because it’s the right thing to do, but my heart still hurts inside and I can’t just forget what happened, even if I do say I forgive you.”
He thought about that. “Well, it’s a start, don’t you think—just to try to forgive?” He sighed. “I want to say I forgive you, too, Rhea, for not coming when I needed you, for making me feel you didn’t care, for making me believe you loved Laurel Springs more than me.”
Her eyes popped open. “You thought that?”
Carter nodded.
She shook her head, puzzled. “But you knew my father had a heart attack and then died. You knew I was the only child, and that only Mother and Nana were left to do the work.”