Changes of the Heart

by Judith Mccoy Miller

  Stooping down, he carefully lifted her onto the bed and felt for a pulse. Her breathing seemed shallow, but she was alive. Where is Georgette? he wondered, knowing that the women were seldom far apart.

  “Is Georgette here?” he asked the dog, feeling like a fool.

  The dog didn’t move from Maura’s side, which Luther took as a sign no one else was in the house. And then he remembered the Wilsons’ party. Michael Blanchard had mentioned that he would like to ask Georgette to the party. Afraid to leave and yet not sure when Georgette would return, Luther didn’t know what to do.

  “I guess you’re it,” he said to the dog. “Stay!” he commanded, pointing at the animal, hoping it would remain with Maura long enough for him to find Georgette. Relieved when the dog didn’t rise to follow him, he hurried downstairs. Scooping up the baby, he wrapped the heavy quilt around her for protection and headed toward the Wilsons’ parsonage.

  He could hear the strains of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentle-men” as he approached the house and banged on the front door.

  EIGHT

  “Luther! What’s happened? What’s wrong with the baby?” Georgette cried out in a voice filled with panic. “Where’s Maura?” she screamed, looking past him but not seeing her friend.

  “Give him a chance to answer,” Michael consoled quietly.

  “There’s no time—Maura needs a doctor, and I’ve got to re-turn to the house. I left her there alone. One of you men go for Doc Simmons—and tell him to hurry!” he commanded, shoving Becca into Georgette’s open arms.

  “The baby appears to be fine, but you might want to remain here with Mrs. Wilson for a while,” he stated as an afterthought and then took off running toward the house.

  “I think I should go back to the house,” Georgette told Michael and Mrs. Wilson, looking at both of them for confirmation.

  “It’s safer for you and the baby to remain here, my dear,” Mrs. Wilson replied, “at least until we find out what’s going on.”

  “That’s just it! I can’t stand not knowing how Maura is and if there’s some way I could be helping her,” Georgette replied as Becca began to cry.

  “Michael, why don’t you go to the house and check on the situation? By the time Georgette has finished feeding the baby, you should be back with a report for us,” Mrs. Wilson suggested.

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Edith!” Georgette exclaimed. “Would you do that for me, Michael?” she asked.

  “Of course, he will,” Edith answered for him, while guiding him toward the door. “If the news is bad, don’t tell her all the details immediately. We’ll need to soften the blow a bit so that she doesn’t become overly anxious,” Mrs. Wilson whispered to Michael as they reached the front porch.

  He nodded his head in understanding and pulled his coat tightly around him as he hurried away.

  “The baby is soaking wet,” Georgette remarked as she removed the heavy quilt that Luther had wrapped around Becca.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I have some soft white tea towels. You can use one of those. Becca will never know the difference,” Edith answered, going to the kitchen and quickly returning with the substitute diaper.

  “Thank you, Edith,” Georgette murmured, though her thoughts remained on Maura’s condition.

  “Oh, look—her wrapper is soaked, too. Let me see what I can find,” Edith offered, although not sure that Georgette was even listening to her.

  A short time later Edith reappeared, carrying two pieces of soft flannel and a blanket.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of baby clothes, but why don’t you wrap her tightly in these pieces of flannel? Then we can use the larger blanket to keep her snug.”

  Georgette smiled. Edith was fluttering about like a mother hen taking care of a brood of chicks.

  “Did I say something amusing?” Edith asked, seeing Georgette’s smile.

  “No, I was just watching you scurry about helping me. I’m so appreciative of your kindness, Edith. Do you think it’s a good sign that Michael hasn’t returned yet?”

  “He hasn’t been gone more than twenty minutes, dear. You must remember that until Maura is able to talk, there won’t be much to tell. It may take the doctor a while before he can give us any kind of prognosis. I know you feel very helpless right now, and so do I. But the two of us can do the most important thing of all. We can pray,” Edith reminded her young friend.

  And pray they did! From the moment Edith made the pronouncement until they heard a stirring at the front door.

  Charles Wilson led Michael and two of the other men into the parlor, all of them sober-faced.

  “Tell me!” Georgette cried, rising from her chair. “Tell me that she’s all right, please.”

  “She’s alive, but she hasn’t regained consciousness just yet,” Michael softly answered, moving to Georgette’s side. “The doctor said there was only superficial bleeding, but he couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t some internal bleeding or trauma to the brain itself. It appeared that she was struck with some type of blunt instrument, and we don’t know how long she was lying there unconscious.”

  “Michael! I told you not to go into all the unpleasant details. It will only cause Georgette to become overly anxious,” Edith chastised the young man.

  Michael’s face turned crimson at her reproach; then he looked toward Georgette to see if she had gone into shock or fainted from his remarks.

  “She’s not a wilting flower, Edith,” her husband said. “If anyone has a need—in fact a right—to know what is going on, it’s Georgette. I think she’d be more upset at Michael for withholding information from her, wouldn’t you, child?” the pastor inquired, seeking the girl’s affirmation.

  Georgette was beginning to feel as though she were being dissected by the pastor and his wife, yet she knew they were both just trying to protect her. Having to side with either of them would be uncomfortable.

  “Edith, I think it’s probably best that I know the full extent of Maura’s injuries and what awaits me when I return home. Hearing the news, although upsetting, is easier to bear while I am here surrounded by such loving friends,” she diplomatically responded.

  “Well, of course, dear. I was just afraid that if you became too upset, Becca would sense it and become fretful. But I see you are of a stronger character than I thought.”

  Georgette smiled benevolently and turned to Michael. “She’s going to need me there to care for her. How soon will the doctor be leaving?”

  “To be honest, the doctor has already left. He started home at the same time we did,” Michael answered.

  “What? Get my cloak, Michael, and I’ll get Becca. How could you leave her alone like that?” she rebuked the group of men standing in the parlor.

  “Georgette, you need to calm yourself. Surely you know we wouldn’t have left Maura alone. Luther is with her. The doctor gave him a list of instructions, and he insisted that he would remain to care for her. When we left, he had pulled the rocking chair close by her bed, and Waffles was curled by his feet.”

  “Luther? You left Maura to Luther’s care? What were you thinking—or were any of you thinking?”

  “He’s her husband, Georgette. He’s the one who should be with her,” Michael reminded her in a conciliatory tone.

  “He may be her husband, but as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t act like one. Besides, come morning his primary concern will be the Buchanan Mercantile—not his wife! Michael, you can escort me or not, as you choose, but I am going home right now!” she defiantly responded.

  It was obvious that she wasn’t going to be dissuaded, at least not by anyone at the pastor’s house.

  “I’ll get your cloak,” Michael immediately replied and then hastened to fetch it.

  “And I’ll get the baby,” Edith offered. “I’d be happy to come along and remain at the house with you—in fact, we both would, wouldn’t we, Charles?”

  “Wouldn’t we what?” he asked, having grown accustomed to only half-listening
when his wife spoke.

  “Charles! We wouldn’t mind staying over with Georgette and Maura tonight, would we?” she asked, giving him a look that implied that she expected only one answer.

  “Well, no, we wouldn’t mind, but Luther is there, and I don’t think they need a complete houseful of people upsetting their routine,” he answered.

  “What do you think, Georgette? Would you like us to stay with you?” Edith suggested.

  “Thank you for the offer, but Charles is right. Luther is already at the house and—”

  “But what if the baby is awake during the night so that you can’t get any rest? Come morning, if Luther leaves to tend the store, you’ll be tired and with no help to care for Becca and Maura,” she rebutted.

  “Why don’t you go along, Edith?” Charles suggested. “I won’t mind, but I don’t think there’s any need for me to in-trude.”

  It was obvious that Edith was going to insist until Georgette relented. In order to put a halt to the bantering, Georgette acquiesced.

  “Michael is going to escort me home now, Edith. I’ll be looking for you after you’ve had a chance to put together a few things for the night,” Georgette said.

  “Charles will escort me over—it won’t take me but a few minutes,” she replied, already scurrying out of the room to begin her preparations.

  “She means well,” Charles said to Georgette as they reached the front door.

  “Of course she does, and I’m sure I’ll be glad that she insisted on keeping me company,” Georgette remarked.

  “Thank you for all your help, and thank you for the wonderful evening. I’m sorry it had to be marred by this tragedy. Strange, but it seems a lifetime ago that we were singing carols, doesn’t it?” she asked and then bid Charles good night.

  As they neared the house, Georgette’s steps began to slow. “What’s that over the door?” she asked.

  “The window was broken out in the front door. Luther put boards over it until the glass can be replaced,” Michael replied.

  “You mean whoever broke into the house also broke out the window?” Georgette asked, a chill climbing her spine.

  “Luther doesn’t think so. He thinks that Waffles broke it out.”

  “Waffles? Where did he get an idea like that?”

  “Seems the dog had a pretty good-sized lump on his head and some cuts around his face and front paws,” he answered. “Course, nobody’s sure of anything right now.”

  She nodded her head as they walked up the front steps and cautiously entered the house.

  “Who’s there?” Luther called, coming to the top of the steps.

  “It’s me, Luther, Georgette—and Michael is with me,” she answered. “I’m going to put Becca in bed. Would it be all right if I come up to see Maura?”

  He nodded his head. “You leaving?” Luther questioned Michael in a manner indicating his departure was expected.

  “In just a few minutes. I plan to wait and bid Georgette good night,” he replied, surprised at Luther’s tone. “You’d think this was his house,” he murmured when Luther returned to Maura’s room.

  “What did you say?” Georgette asked.

  “I was just telling Luther I’d be leaving as soon as I bid you good night.”

  “Oh. I thought I heard you say something about the house,” she replied.

  “I know you want to get upstairs and see Maura, so I won’t keep you any longer. I do want you to know how much I enjoyed spending the evening with you at the Wilsons’. I’m just sorry all this unhappiness had to occur. I hope you’ll allow me to stop by and see how all of you are doing and permit me to do anything I can to help,” he offered, his voice hopeful.

  “Of course, please stop by. I can’t promise perfect hospitality, but I’m sure that under the circumstances, you’ll understand,” she answered. “Thank you for this evening, Michael. I’m sorry to rush you off, but I do want to get upstairs and see Maura.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Be sure to bolt the door after Edith arrives,” he instructed protectively.

  She nodded and then turned and ran up the steps.

  Quietly she tiptoed into the room. Waffles came toward her, wagging his tail and looking a bit the worse for his experience. She leaned down and started to pat him but then stopped short, not wanting to hurt him.

  “Good dog, Waffles,” she said as he licked her hand.

  “Maura?” she whispered. “Maura, it’s me, Georgette. Can you hear me?”

  “She’s still unconscious,” Luther answered. “She moved a little just before you got here, but that’s been the extent of it. The doctor said not to be overly concerned unless this continues for another day or so. I’m trying to believe him.”

  Georgette noticed that Luther was gently running his thumb back and forth over Maura’s left hand. Strange, she thought. He could barely stand to look at her withered arm before, but now that she’s in a state of trauma, he’s sitting here stroking it as though he loved her—flawed limbs included.

  “Mrs. Wilson insisted on spending the night. I tried to discourage her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Under the circumstances, it will prevent any idle gossip that might arise. She should be here soon, and I can sit with Maura while you get some rest. When Becca needs to be fed, you can come back and sit with Maura, and then I’ll get some rest. If she should wake up, I’ll come and get you immediately,” Georgette stated.

  “I guess that would work. I know you want to be with her, and I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable if I’m not around. I’m sure you don’t hold me in very high esteem.”

  “This isn’t the time for us to discuss what I think of you, Luther. Right now, all I care about is that Maura gets the best care possible. I can put aside my feelings to ensure that,” she replied, just as a rapping sounded at the front door.

  Startled by the sound, Waffles began to bark and skittishly run in and out of the bedroom door.

  “Hush, Waffles,” Maura weakly commanded the dog.

  Luther and Georgette turned simultaneously and looked at Maura. However, she didn’t appear to have moved, and her eyes were still closed.

  “Maura!” Luther called.

  “Maura—can you hear me? Oh please, Maura, answer me,” Georgette begged.

  But she didn’t move; in fact, not so much as an eyelash fluttered. They looked at each other, questioning whether they’d really heard anything; then the rapping at the front door sounded once again. This time, however, Waffles remained calm while Georgette went downstairs to answer the door.

  “Sorry it took me so long, dear,” Edith began apologizing the minute she bustled into the room. “Just point out where I should put these things and tell me what you want done. You can leave, Charles,” she said, dismissing her husband and turning her full attention to Georgette.

  Ignoring her, Charles moved toward Georgette. “Has there been any change?” he asked.

  “Not really. Luther and I both thought we heard her speak a few minutes ago when you knocked on the door, but I’m beginning to think our imaginations got the best of us,” she replied.

  “I’ll be praying. I’m sure that God is going to see both of you through this just fine. I’ll be on my way, now,” he said, leaning down to give his wife a peck on the cheek. “Good night, dear, I’ll check on you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” she answered and walked him to the door.

  “Would you lock the bolt on the door, please?” Georgette requested as Edith closed the door. “I’m going to sit up with Maura until the baby wakens for her feeding. Why don’t you sleep in my room since I may have difficulty hearing her when she wakens?”

  “I’ll come to get you when she’s hungry,” Edith replied, hastening to the bedroom on her appointed mission.

  ❧

  It seemed only minutes had passed when Georgette’s voice calling from the doorway awakened him from a restless sleep.

  “I’m going downstairs to feed Becca and rest for a while. Do you want Edith to
sit with Maura? She’s still sleeping,” Georgette informed Luther as he began to rise from the large overstuffed chair where he had been sleeping.

  “No, I want to sit with her. You go ahead,” he instructed while rubbing his eyes and moving toward Maura’s bedroom.

  He stood a moment staring down at his wife’s lifeless form. He had treated her shabbily, and he knew it. I’ve become as cruel and heartless as my father, he thought as he walked to the side of the bed. The small oil lamp on the bedside table cast a flickering glow upon the pages of Maura’s open Bible. Hoping to find comfort in the passages, he sat down and began to read.

  “‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble,’” he quietly read aloud. “I’d guess you’ve been asking God for strength all your life—strength to deal with people just like me. People who judge you before ever giving you half a chance,” he said to her sleeping figure.

  “Now me, I’ve spent the last five years dwelling on my past, constantly attempting to prove my father wrong. It appears, however, that in my zeal to prove him incorrect, I’ve become just like him—an unrelenting taskmaster, void of love or compassion,” he murmured.

  Dear God, forgive me, he silently prayed as he continued his vigil.

  NINE

  After two long days and nights, Luther agreed to reopen the store. Pastor Wilson and several others had offered to volunteer their time to keep the mercantile open, but Luther knew it would be utter chaos. None of them knew his stock or prices; moreover, his inventory lists would be botched in no time, to say nothing of what would happen to the bookkeeping system without proper accounting at day’s end.

  Georgette sighed a breath of relief as he walked out the door. “I know he’s trying to help and it’s his place to be with Maura, but I’m glad to have him out from underfoot for a while,” Georgette confided to Edith as the two of them began to clear away the kitchen dishes.

  “I know, dear, but we must remember how distressed he must be to have his wife in such a condition. I can’t even begin to think how I would feel if that were Charles,” Edith responded.