Season of Blessing

by Beverly LaHaye

  The three women nodded and sat where they were as she headed into the bedroom.

  Harry picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey.” She forced her voice to sound upbeat, but feared that her stopped-up nose would give away her distress.

  “Sylvia, what did you find out?”

  She tried to draw in a breath and cleared her throat. “It’s malignant, Harry.”

  Silence followed, and she pictured him covering his face, struggling with tears, trying to clear his own voice. “How big is the tumor?”

  “Three centimeters,” she said. “And the margins are poorly defined, and the cancer cells are aggressive.” There. It was all out.

  Harry didn’t say a word. She knew he was letting it sink in, running it through his database, lining it up with all of his medical knowledge. She knew he was shaking, rubbing his face, frowning, and struggling with tears.

  “Have you told the kids?”

  “No, not yet. I don’t want to, Harry. It’ll scare them to death. I’d rather wait until some things are decided. Then I can give them more information, and maybe it’ll soften the blow.”

  His sigh was shaky. “That’s my Sylvia. Always thinking about others.”

  She could hear in his voice that he was taking it hard. “Harry, we have some decisions to make.” Oh, she didn’t want to cry right now, but her throat grew tight and she felt that emotion creeping up, waiting to ambush her. “It’s so confusing. He recommended a modified radical mastectomy because of the size and nature of the tumor. But I’m thinking about maybe having a lumpectomy and radiation, and then if that doesn’t get it all, I could go back and have a mastectomy later.”

  “Sylvia, that’s not wise. You’d be giving this cancer the chance to metastasize.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “He also suggested that I could opt for a bilateral mastectomy just to keep from taking any chances with the other breast. Harry, I want to do the right thing, but this is all so unreal. I feel like I’m watching a Monday night movie.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I feel like my bride is in serious jeopardy, and I want to get home to her as fast as I can.”

  She longed to tell him that he didn’t need to come, but she knew it was all in vain. He was probably throwing things into his suitcase even as they spoke.

  “Harry, what’s going to happen to the mission work, to the clinic, and to the orphanage?”

  “Sylvia, it was God’s plan to send us here in the first place. Do you think he doesn’t have a plan now that we’re leaving?”

  “But why would he get us there only to make us come home?”

  “He knows what he’s doing. And he’s got replacements for us. We’ve got to trust him. But right now I’ve got to get home to you.”

  “Harry, my biggest wish is that you would stay there and keep doing the work and let me handle this. The girls will take care of me. I can handle it.”

  “Sylvia, I can’t think of anything more torturous than to be here while my wife is suffering at home. God doesn’t require that of me.”

  “I’m not suffering. I’m doing just fine. I don’t have any pain.”

  “You will after the mastectomy. You’re part of me, Sylvia, and when we suffer, we suffer together. That’s all there is to it. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  She closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. “When will you be here?”

  “I’ll get the first flight out of Managua tomorrow,” he said.

  “You don’t have to rush. You can take a day or two.”

  When he spoke again his voice wobbled. “They said it was aggressive, Sylvia. I want it out of you as soon as possible. I’ll see you tomorrow. Until then, honey, I want you to relax and not worry.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Call on the girls. Get them to come over and have popcorn and watch a funny movie.”

  She shook her head. “No. What I really need to do is read about breast cancer. I need information, Harry. I think I’ll feel better if I know what I’m doing.”

  “All right, whatever you need to do. But I’m here, okay? If you need to talk tonight, just call me.” His voice broke off and she knew he was crying. Anger surged through her again.

  Lord, why would you break his heart like this?

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey.”

  She hung up the phone and grabbed up his pillow, mashed it against her face, and wept into it, hoping her friends in the living room didn’t hear. She sat there like that for a long time, spending her tears, venting her anguish. Finally she went into the bathroom and washed her face. Quickly, she reapplied her makeup. Then, taking a deep breath, she went back into the living room.

  Cathy, Tory, and Brenda had been crying. Their eyes were red and puffy. They were all huddled together on the couch, and she sensed they had been praying.

  She stood in the doorway, her hand on the casing. “Harry’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Cathy’s smile was overbright. “That will help a lot.”

  Sylvia nodded and averted her eyes.

  “So what do you want to do to get your mind off of this?” Brenda asked.

  “I don’t want to get my mind off of it,” Sylvia said. “I want to keep my mind on it. I want to read the stuff the doctor gave me, and go to the bookstore and get every book I can find on the subject. And I want to stay up late tonight reading until I feel like I have a better handle on this. I know that God is in control. There’s no doubt about that. And I know that he’s faithful. I’ll hold onto that as I go. But I feel like a certain amount of this is under my control, and I need to know more to make the right decisions.”

  “Okay,” Cathy said, “then let’s go.”

  Sylvia looked around at them. “All four of us? What about the kids? What about Hannah?”

  “Annie’s got the kids,” Tory said, “and she’s great with Hannah.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Brenda added. “You trained her well in León.”

  So they headed off to the bookstore on a mission to find the information that could help save Sylvia’s life.

  CHAPTER

  Fifteen

  Harry’s hands trembled as he sat at his old desk at the back of his clinic and dialed the number for the airline. When they put him on hold, a screaming sense of injustice shivered up inside him. Jeb Anderson, one of the other missionaries who ran the orphanage, stepped into the doorway. Noting the sweat on Harry’s brow and the expression on his face, he asked, “Harry, you talked to Sylvia, didn’t you?”

  Harry nodded quickly, as if he didn’t have time to answer.

  Jeb stepped closer. “Was it malignant?”

  Harry raked his hand through his hair. “Yes, it was. I’m going home tomorrow, Jeb.” He looked up at his friend and saw the dread on his face.

  “Of course you are.” Jeb crossed the room and looked into Harry’s face. “Harry, don’t worry about anything. I’ve been talking to Carlos Gonzales, and he thinks he can run things here while you’re gone. He’s been on the phone with some churches back in the States, and he’s trying to get some doctors to come here on medical mission trips to fill in while you’re gone.”

  Harry’s eyes widened as he looked up at Jeb. “You were anticipating the worst.”

  “We know how bad Sylvia’s been feeling.”

  “It’s not supposed to have anything to do with the cancer. But if they’re wrong and it does, then it’s more advanced than we think.”

  The airline clerk finally answered the phone. “Le puedo ayudar?”

  “Yes. Uh…I need to get the first flight for the United States out of Managua tomorrow morning,” he said in Spanish. He fumbled through his wallet for his credit card.

  When the flight was finally booked, he hung up and leaned back.

  “Harry, are you all right?” Jeb asked.

  Harry evaded the question. “I’ve just got a l
ot to do tonight. I need to put things in the clinic in a little better order so that anybody who comes in here can take over. I need to check on Mrs. Hernandez and make sure she has enough antibiotics to get her through her infection. And I’d probably better go by and see baby Maria. She wasn’t doing well and I was worried she wouldn’t even make it through the week.” His voice broke off and his shoulders began to shake.

  “They’ll be all right, Harry,” Jeb said. “I’ll go see her every day and make sure they’re giving her the medicine.”

  “They sell it, you know.” Tears began to stream down his face. “They sell it to buy food. And can you blame them? But they don’t seem to understand that without it she could die.”

  “I’ll make sure,” he said. “In fact, if you want me to ration it out and take it daily one dose at a time, I will.”

  “Could you do that? That’s what I’ve been doing. It was the only way.”

  “Of course. Harry, if you’ll make a list of what needs to be done, I’ll do everything that doesn’t require a doctor. You need to be with Sylvia. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.” He came and sat down next to him, put his hand on Harry’s back. “The Lord is still in control, you know.”

  “I know,” Harry said. “I know he is. I would never want to suggest that he isn’t. But my wife…”

  He was going to lose it. He was going to break down right here in front of Jeb. He couldn’t handle that, so he got up and headed for the door. “I’ve got a lot to do, Jeb. I have to get home and pack.”

  He took off without another word, walking as fast as he could to the old Fiat parked out beside the clinic. He realized that he had just contradicted himself. He’d said that he needed to organize supplies so that the medical missionaries could come in and take over, then he’d headed off to pack.

  Jeb would understand.

  He got to his house and went in, looked around at all the things that screamed Sylvia’s name. The smell of her lingered on the air, and he suddenly felt a sense of deprivation, as if she’d already been snatched from him and he didn’t know why. He went to the bedroom, pulled her pillow out of the bed, lay down and curled up with it…and began to weep. After a while, he got off the bed and knelt beside it to pray.

  “Please,” he begged his almighty God, “heal her. Please don’t let this be the end. We’ve tried to be obedient, Lord. We’ve tried to do everything you’ve said. Father, please don’t take her. I’m begging you. I’ve never asked you for a lot, not anything really big. This is the first time, Lord. Please save my wife.”

  He fell prostrate on the floor, pleading and crying for God’s help and mercy.

  CHAPTER

  Sixteen

  It was eight-thirty the following night when darkness began to dominate the sky. Steve had finished mowing just before daylight gave up its ghost. Cathy took a glass of cold lemonade to him in the backyard. His sweaty T-shirt stuck to his chest and back. He grabbed the towel that hung over the lawn mower handle and wiped his face, then took a long swig of the drink.

  “I like a wife that brings me lemonade.”

  She smiled. “I like a husband who mows the lawn. I haven’t done it since you moved in.”

  “See? Marriage does have its perks.”

  “Lots of them.” She lowered to the chaise lounge chair under the covered patio and looked up at him. Steve touched her neck. “You’ve been quiet today. Have you talked to Sylvia?”

  “No, she made herself scarce, said she wanted to read and think about the decisions she had to make. And I think she’s out picking Harry up at the airport now.”

  “You didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “Hope I didn’t keep you awake. So many things were going through my mind. Sylvia and Mark…”

  He took another drink. “What about Mark?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about this GED thing. We’re getting down to the wire. School registration is the end of the week, and I found out that a new GED class is starting up next week. He would have the choice of going nights or mornings.”

  “If he went nights, he could work during the day.”

  Cathy sighed. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I want him doing that. Working all day and going to school at night? That’s a lot of stress.”

  Steve nodded. “It is, but I thought it might be beneficial for him to work like a dog for a few months, and find out how valuable that college degree is.”

  “You have a point,” she said. “Only you realize, don’t you, that if he’s doing a full-time job with other high school dropouts, he could be influenced by them? I mean, kids usually drop out because they hate the rules, want to party all night, take drugs and drink…”

  “That’s true,” Steve said. “But haven’t all those in the GED classes dropped out of school? Morning or night, it doesn’t really matter.”

  “You’re right.” Cathy rubbed her forehead. “And I know there is something to having him work really hard. I do want him to realize how much he needs his education.”

  “Cathy, why not just make him finish school the traditional way?”

  “Because I’ve been trying to put myself in his place. I understand why he doesn’t want to go back to high school. That’s where he met the kids he started doing drugs with in the first place. And I can understand why he doesn’t want to study with Brenda anymore. I think he’s insecure and feels stupid, because her kids are so advanced.”

  “But that would challenge him. And you know Brenda needs the money.”

  “She’s done without it for a year. I’m not even sure she wants him back. We haven’t really talked about it. And, Steve, he may be able to get his GED now, even without the class. I mean, he has gone to school straight through. Brenda put him a few steps ahead, and then he had school at River Ranch. He may very well know enough to pass it.”

  Steve finished his glass and set it down next to him. “I don’t like it much, Cathy, but if you have peace about it, go ahead and let him. The goal is to get him to go to college, and the GED shouldn’t hurt in that area, not if he plans to go to the community college first.”

  “All right,” Cathy said, “I’ll let him. Now all I have to decide is whether he should go to the morning or night class.”

  “And he has to start looking for a job.”

  “Right. A job.” Cathy held his gaze for a moment. “Do you really think that making him take the class at night and work during the day is the right choice?”

  “Depends on what you want to accomplish.”

  Cathy smiled. “I want him to hate the kind of work he can get and go to college.”

  “Then let him work his tail off for the next few months,” Steve said. “Guaranteed, he’ll be in college by the next semester.”

  CHAPTER

  Seventeen

  The moment Harry stepped off the plane Sylvia felt as if the parallel planes of her life had finally converged. She could get through this now.

  He started to cry as he walked toward her, and she took him into her arms and held him as if he were the diseased and she were comforting him. They stood there like that for a long moment, him weeping into her hair, her weeping into his shirt, while the hustle and bustle of the airport life moved around them. Then she took him back to the house he hadn’t seen since they’d left it to go to the mission field.

  The “For Sale” sign still sat in the front yard. Harry got out of the car, and instead of going toward the door, he headed to the sign.

  “Harry, what are you doing?”

  “Taking the sign down.” He moved it in the dirt, loosening it so he could pull it up.

  “No, don’t. We have to sell the house, Harry.”

  The sign came up. “Not until this is resolved. Honey, God is obviously working here. He didn’t let us sell it because he knew we’d need it. We can put the sign back up when the time is right.”

  She watched as he laid it on a shelf in the garage—one more reminder that their plans and dreams had been derailed.
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  Harry went back to the car and got his suitcase. He carried it into the kitchen and looked around. “Home,” he whispered. “I didn’t even know how much I’d missed it. Isn’t God good for not letting us sell?”

  Sylvia put her arm through his and led him through the house. “The Gonzaleses did a great job of taking care of it. Since they left, Brenda and Tory have come over here every now and then to keep it dusted.”

  She led him into the bedroom, and he set the suitcase down and sat on the bed. “Are you tired, Harry? You could rest and we could talk tomorrow.”

  “No.” He got up and fixed his eyes on her. “I want to see the pathology report and the X rays. You brought them home, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They knew you’d want them.”

  “And I don’t want to waste any time. We need to go for second and third opinions.”

  “I’ve already got the appointments booked,” Sylvia said. “I called today and Dr. Jefferson’s secretary set it all up. Monday we see Dr. Thibodeaux.”

  Harry nodded. “The oncologist?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “And before that appointment I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Simon, the plastic surgeon. Then a second-opinion appointment with Dr. Hartford.”

  He stepped into the dining room and saw the breast cancer books spread out across the table. “You’ve been studying.”

  “Yeah, I’ve learned a lot,” she said. “I at least have a little better understanding than I did yesterday.”

  He sat down and read the pathology report. His face betrayed his tension and strain as he flipped through the pages the doctor had sent home for him. Finally he looked up at her.

  “Sylvia, I don’t want any more talk about a lumpectomy. I want you to have a mastectomy. If it weren’t such an aggressive cancer and if the margins of the tumor were more defined, I might not say that. But this report convinced me.”

  She closed her eyes. “They’d be cutting off a part of me, Harry. I don’t know if I can deal with that.”