With the stimulation of a new business venture, he’s ready for action and determined to move into the day with a fresh attitude—a realization that he’s been whining for far too long. “Stay busy,” Joel and Anna have told him. He has plenty to occupy himself.
Horton anticipates the immediate needs of Gaillardia Press and 100 Wildflowers, and he refers the names of a couple of editors, probably clients, and an introduction to a local book printer.
Louise greets him and hands over the manuscript. “I’m going to sit on Melanie’s bench and have a good read,” he says. As he avoids crashing through the main doors, Louise grins and says that in her very private opinion, everything is turning out for the best.
He sits in the morning sunshine and slowly reads through each page, utterly fascinated by what he holds in his hands: the culmination of their collective efforts. The flowers are broken out into families and then listed alphabetically. A glossary has been added as part of the botanical information, complete with Clotilde’s pen drawings of flower structure, leaf type and leaf arrangement.
“Melanie, I so wish you were here to see how your vision has turned to reality,” he says. “I’m just kinda blown away.”
“Hello, Mr. Brewster.” He turns to see Lily, her big blue eyes looking out at him from under her yellow straw hat. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Mom just said you were too busy, but I just knowed you’d be here one day and sitting here.” She gives a thin, pale smile.
Her sparkle, he thinks. Where’s her sparkle?
“Whatcha got, Mr. Brewster? Mom and Dad will be here soon. Mom’s getting a picnic done, and Dad—well, he’s not doing too good. His legs hurt a bit. Mom said we couldn’t come today, but Dad said we should try ’cause I wanted to see you.”
Brewster smiles at the courage of this sick little girl, ashamed of his own moods over the past few months. “I’m so happy to see you, Lily,” he says. “Come up here on Melanie’s bench and look at what I’ve got.” He helps her up onto the bench. “This is a draft copy of the book on flowers I was telling you about last time. See? Look at this picture drawn by the deaf lady, Clotilde. Remember her?”
“Yes. But she doesn’t come to the hospital now. I guess she waits for a deaf kid, but we haven’t got any.” She traces her tiny fingers around the drawing. “It’s so nice, Mr. Brewster. Is she coming today?”
“Lily must have an extra sense, Brewster,” Holly says as she wheels Wendell closer to the bench. “She was so insistent that I had to give in. It’s … well, it’s while we can.”
“You mean before the snow,” he adds, knowing full well what she meant.
Wendell nods and agrees. “An opportunity not to be missed, although it’s pretty hard on Holly, and I’m not in the best of shape these days.”
Lily has been carefully turning pages, absorbed in the pictures and the drawings. “This is the deaf lady’s book,” she announces. “And look—there’s my flower!”
Brewster gets up and invites Holly to sit down so she can look through the box with Lily. He grabs the wheelchair and he pushes the wheelchair along the path. The two men talk, and Wendell opens up that Lily’s prognosis is not good. “We’re waiting on the results of more tests to see if full recovery is really possible. She’s a brave little soul. We take it one day at a time. We have to. Things are a bit complicated too. I’ve been told they might have to amputate my left leg because of some infection.”
Brewster gently probes deeper into the family’s circumstances and learns that they are just scraping by. Holly had to quit her job as a proposal writer just to look after Wendell and take advantage of the time they could be with Lily.
“Yeah,” Wendell says. “It’s day-to-day, and I have to get this leg stuff sorted out so I can look for a job. Holly is stretched to the max, and it’s starting to show. She’s always been a very sunny person, but there are more cloudy days now.”
Back at the bench, he finds both Holly and Lily engrossed in the book. Lily wants to learn to draw like Clotilde. Holly wants to advance her skills as a graphic designer.
Brewster carries Lily back to the picnic area. Her hat falls off as she tucks her head into his neck. Wendell carries the book and Holly pushes the wheelchair. “It’s not much, but you are very welcome to share our lunch,” Holly says. “We’d love it if you could. Just sandwiches and stuff.”
Holly deftly turns the conversations away from health issues and talks of the hope they have that all will be well. Lily falls asleep in his lap. He carries her to the car, wraps her in a Tigger blanket on the back seat, looping the seat belt over her tiny body. Holly slips into an old, grey cardigan as he steadies and helps Wendell into the passenger side and then stows the wheelchair. They give Brewster their address and suggest he call ahead before visits to their home. “We spend so much time at the hospital that we are hardly ever home.”
He waves and watches the family leave the parking lot. Some people have it really hard. Oh, Lord, how can this be?
At his office, he sends a quick email to Clotilde, telling her about the book and his encounter at the park with Lily and her family. He sends a copy of the note to Hannah, adding a personal bit at the end about his new bedding and the fact that he’s eaten at home three days in a row.
Jane dumps a pile of folders on his desk. “Joel says they are self-explanatory,” she states with a smile as she wheels toward the door.
“Just a sec, Jane,” he says. “Could I get your help with something?”
He spends a few minutes talking about Holly, Wendell and Lily and their meeting at the park. “I don’t know much about them and their circumstances, but I think it must be pretty grim,” he says. “Here’s their address and phone number. That’s all the information I have. Do you have any way of learning a bit more about their situation without making any contact with them? I’d like us to do something for them if we can.” He also asks after Joel.
“He’s not in today,” she says. “I think it’s some event or registration at the school.”
Brewster remembers that now and puts his mind to work on the work of business laid out so efficiently in front of him. An hour later, he packs up, grabs the flower book and gives the folders to Jane.
“All done,” he says. “I’m off to the lawyer’s, then to a book printer place here in town. Not sure I’ll be back, but you know how to find me. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He has a light bulb moment in the car park that causes him to abandon his afternoon plans and arrange to see Holly and Wendell instead. He calls Holly and finds out they are at home after taking Lily back to the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-Five
From the address, the Palmers do not live that far away, though they’re in an older, more historic area of the city. He’s at the underpass at the Bow River, sees a couple of kayakers suiting up and slows when his hands-free phone announces an incoming call. He has the road to himself, and he makes a fast switch into the picnic area.
“Hi, Jane. Just a sec. I’m pulling off the road.”
“Just a couple of observations so far,” Jane says. “I tried Facebook, and sure enough, Holly has a site, but as far as I can see, nothing has been posted there for at least six months—probably soon after Lily was first diagnosed with leukaemia. The last post was simply that Lily was sick and that the family would like prayers. I read the comments and from that found their church. I called there, and the reception lady said they were a lovely family, but she had not seen much of them for some time. She did say that one of their pastors visited them regularly, and I should talk with him. She understandably did not want to break any confidences, but after we chatted for a bit about the nature of my inquiry, she let on that things were pretty grim.”
Brewster gets out of his car and walks to the river, where the now wetsuit-clad kayakers are pushing off for a cruise downstream. After talking with Jane, he begins to wonder i
f he’s really doing the right thing, or if he’s interfering. He decides to go with his gut. As he pulls into their driveway, he gets an inkling of why Holly had sounded a little reluctant to have him stop by late in the afternoon. Jane’s findings and his knowledge about Lily add up to some devastating news.
Wendell opens the front door before Brewster walks up the crude plywood ramp covering the front steps. They greet each other warmly, and Holly invites him in. Their little house is sparse and not equipped for any sort of wheelchair traffic. Wendell laughs and shows off the collision points where he’s negotiated the tight spots. “We had to sell our house because it was a two-storey, and we couldn’t get up the stairs,” he says. Brewster figures that means they could not keep up the mortgage payments. “So we’re renting this one until I get on my feet.”
Holly looks at him. There’s a deeper sadness in her face than what he’d seen at the park just a few hours ago. She’s been crying. He asks, “How’s Lily?”
“We’ve just been told that her tests show little progress,” Wendell says. Holly moves to the wheelchair and puts her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “So we’re not too chipper right now.”
Brewster changes the subject, not wanting to add to their sadness. “You know, Holly, you said the other day that you were a proposal writer for a large environmental company but had to quit to keep things going here at home. You also told me you’d like to do more graphic design. Tell me if I’m out of line here, but I asked Jane at my office to check your LinkedIn profile, outlining your career background and experience.”
“No, Brewster, you’re not intruding,” Holly says. “That’s all public stuff. We’ve grown quite fond of you, especially Lily, and we’ve really appreciated the fact that we’ve been able to pray for you and see God at work in your life these past few weeks.”
“Have you considered working from home until things settle down?” Brewster says. “I have an idea that might just suit you. When you and Lily looked through the book, what did you think?”
Wendell jumps right in. “She said it was awesome and couldn’t stop talking about it. She wishes she could do something like that, instead of proposals. Design and communication really are her thing. It’s how we met. She came into the dealership where I worked, wanting material and pictures for a new company website. She came over and talked to me about what I was doing to the car engine. I must have had a clean shirt on that day.” Wendell laughs at the memory.
Holly’s cheeks flame, embarrassed by her husband’s outpouring of support.
“Yes, I’ve thought of working from here, but it’s not what I can do as a proposal writer. I have to be in constant contact with people, resources and meetings. Besides, I no longer have a computer at home. That had to go, and we don’t have Internet or cable.”
Brewster asks if they have time to talk about his idea before they leave for their evening visit with Lily. “We maybe have an hour or so,” she says. “We can perhaps have supper there.”
“Let’s order in—pizza or Chinese, or whatever. Your call, my treat.”
Holly leaves the room to make the call. Wendell looks up. “She is very down, Brewster. I’m not sure how much more she can take. She does it all on her own—my appointments, the worry with my leg, very little income—and now Lily seems to be worsening. Our church helps. And there are some days folks come round to help with basic housekeeping and groceries. Not sure where it’s all going. There’s some silly holdup with the insurance for my leg, and if they have to amputate, it will take longer.”
Holly is gone for a long time and finally enters the room. She’s changed, but he can see she has been crying again—something the fresh makeup has not been able to mask. “Chinese,” she says. “Be here in about 10 minutes because they are just round the corner. Irregular hospital visits have turned us into regulars.”
Brewster goes to his car and gets the book box and his thumb drive. He looks at the house, a low-cost rental if ever he saw one. Peeling paint, roof tiles lifting, rusting eavestrough and a lawn in need of a mower. And yet in direct contrast, on either side of the ramp are flower boxes of flourishing blue, yellow, orange and red annuals, marigolds, petunias, violas, nasturtiums and geraniums. A reflection of the hope inside, he thinks.
“I like your flowers,” he says as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get that.”
Holly puts out plates and cutlery as he opens up the Chinese takeout on the table.
“Looks good. What have we got?” In turn, they dip into the boxes and load their plates. It’s a good-looking feast, particularly with their smiles and light laughter. Ginger beef, steamed rice, noodles and sweet-and-sour chicken go down just fine.
“That was great,” Brewster says, “but time is running short before you have to take off for the hospital. What would you like to see, Holly?” he asks as he lifts the lid off the Underfoot manuscript box.
“Is this a test?” she says. “The book is terrific.” Brewster sees the sad longing in her eyes as she pauses and looks up. “Not sure what you want me to say.”
“How would you like to take it to final design? Design it, lay it all out, add what needs to be added like keys and colour—you know, turn it into something, turn it into a real book?”
Holly screws up her nose, puzzled and looks to Wendell. Then she looks back at the book where she flips another couple of pages.
“I can’t,” she says. “Been several years since I did book design, and that was in an earlier life, before I got into proposal writing to earn real money. Now, I don’t even own a computer.” She rushes from the room in tears.
Brewster feels a bit of a chump. “Wendell, I didn’t mean to upset her like that. I figured she can do the job, so I asked. Someone has to do it, and when I saw her and Lily the other day, I saw she has the desire and the interest.”
Holly returns when she is composed, and she clears away the dishes and takeout packets. She sniffles and avoids eye contact with her husband and Brewster. The two men watch her. Wendell reaches out, touches Brewster and puts a finger to his lips. They wait, twiddling fingers and looking at the table. Dishes clank and clatter into the sink. Leftover portions are boxed and placed in the fridge. Another day, another meal, Brewster thinks. There’s no such thing as waste in this house.
“We’d better go, Wendell,” she says finally. “Brewster, I’m sorry. Of course I want to, but I can’t see how. C’mon, Wendell. I’ll take you to the bathroom, and then we should be off.”
As Holly manoeuvres the wheelchair into the passageway, Brewster recovers the thumb drive and asks Holly to chew it over and give him a call sometime. “Please say hi to Lily for me.”
#
Brewster stands at Claire and Heath’s front door. He needs to talk this through. “Please, Lord. Holly and Wendell need help, and their ship seems to be sinking very fast. First Lily, then Wendell. God help them.”
He’s about to hit the doorbell when Claire opens the door. “Look who’s here,” she says. “Saw you pull up in the driveway. You eaten yet? We’re having supper, but there’s plenty for all. Come in, come in.”
“Thanks,” Brewster says, “but I just ate with Holly and Wendell. But I’m up for dessert.”
Brewster enjoys their company and the friendly banter until Heath interrupts. “You don’t look as though you dropped in out of the blue just for berries and ice cream. What’s on your mind?”
Brewster opens up about Holly and Wendell and their situation. “You know, I thought I had problems, but these folks are such an amazing couple with a beautiful daughter—and look at their situation. I think they’re flat broke. They’re struggling. Where is God in their lives?”
“I’ll come to that, maybe,” Heath says. “But I’d say you’ve been put in a very special position in the lives of this family. Think about how you met, and how a small sick little girl solved your problem. So what do we do with disappointment, when
accidents happen and we feel so lonely we can’t go another day? When faith conflicts with emotion? What are you doing about it, about the loss of Melanie?”
Brewster looks at him. Maybe he should have just gone home. “Thought you’d know, is all.”
“Listen, the only thing we know is what we learn from the Bible. I don’t think there’s a lot God can do if we wallow in self-pity or get just get mad at Him,” Claire says. “Faith allows us to reach beyond ourselves. Stretch out a hand for God to hold. Remember, He says He will never leave us. Have you left Him?”
Their conversation ranges back and forth, and each time Brewster questions his faith, Claire or Heath respond with an encouragement that they say comes from a life with Christ. “Think about it, Brewster. You attended all those meetings with Melanie. Think about what you heard and what you learned, what Melanie learned.”
“But what about Holly and Wendell? Look at them. They might lose their daughter. And what about this infection Wendell has? How far will that go?”
“Brewster, we don’t know the answers. Our confidence comes from bringing the matter before God. Our faith, difficult though it might be from a human perspective, is to leave it with Him and to trust that He is listening,” Claire says.
“The final word from me in this, Brewster, is that we must listen. What is God telling you? You want my take on the blue asters you keep seeing? Let’s see it as a reminder of God’s promises that He’s always around.”
Heath and Claire walk Brewster to his vehicle. It is a lovely clear night, and they comment on the sliver of a moon. He contrasts the Palmers’ house with the Rhodes’ tidy, neat bungalow on a tidy, neat street.
With no answers, he mutters as he steers his way through the darkened neighbourhoods. Never any answers. He waits for the garage door to open, drives in, and switches off the car as the overhead door slowly closes. He thumps his steering wheel with both hands and screams, “Why, God? Why?”
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