Mothers and Daughters: An Anthology Page 3

  It was enough to make an old man’s head spin.

  Now that he’d finished transplanting the ivy, he moved on to other things. The church bazaar would come faster than he knew it, and everyone expected his annual offering of forced paperwhites, just in time for the holidays. He’d just pulled out a burlap bag full of bulbs, sprouts already burgeoning from beneath oniony skin, when a knock sounded on the greenhouse screen door.

  He walked over and opened it, a stack of planters in his hand. “Come in, come in,” he said to Joe. Something in his son-in-law’s face made him wary. “It’s about time we ran into each other somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I have some difficult news to tell you.”

  There had been some discussion among the congregation last year that he ought to root his paperwhites in pebbles and not in dirt. He made his final decision and chose dirt. He turned on the garden spigot and ran water. “Out with it then. No need to drag it out.”

  “Theia has breast cancer. She’s had a mastectomy today.”

  Harry’s hands faltered as they moved in the soil. “Today?” A pause. “Come help me mix this, Joe. Make yourself useful.”

  They stood side by side, old man and younger one, making mud pies. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “You might have told me a little sooner than this. I could have been at the hospital today.” Anger and fear caught like stones in his throat. Anger at Joe for not saying something until now. Fear that Theia might have to walk a path he’d never wanted to travel with anyone again.

  “We didn’t want you to be worrying.”

  “I wouldn’t have been worrying. I would have been praying.”

  “You know why we waited, Dad. It’s because of everything that happened to Edna. Theia thought this would be harder on you than on anybody else.”

  Harry said it again, for emphasis. “I would have been praying, not worrying.” But maybe Theia was right. After what had happened to his wife, he ought to be terrified. He turned from Joe and fiddled with the burlap bag, his only means of escape. He handed three bulbs from the sack to Joe, each of them plump and succulent. “You plant these. It’s nice when they’ve got tops on them like this. That way you know which end is up.”

  Lord, surely you wouldn’t take two women away from the same old man.

  He had to hand it to Joe. His son-in-law looked a whole lot more comfortable standing behind a pulpit than he did planting bulbs into buckets, but Joe was doing as he’d told him, burying the paperwhites deep and then sprinkling them with Harry’s massive watering can. For long moments, they listened together to the glub-glub-glub as moisture sank into the soil, the pleasant sound of something drinking.

  You moving me from one pot to a bigger one, Lord? You out to show me something about my roots, that I’ve been sinking them too deep in the wrong places?

  It occurred to him that the man who stood beside him had every bit as strong a reason to feel as mad and lost as he did. He turned to Joe. Paying no heed to his dirt-encrusted fingers, he wrapped his arms around the man who, through marriage, had become his son. “You’re working mighty hard to hold back your sorrow, aren’t you, Joe?”

  Joe hugged him back, hard. Harry felt Joe’s warm moist breath against his ear. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do now, Dad. I don’t know what to say to people. I don’t know what to believe.”

  “I’m here for you, Joe. There’s not much good about me, other than the fact that I’ve already been through this once. Maybe the good Lord can make some use of that.”

  Harry hoped so. He truly hoped so. Perhaps some good could come out of this, and not just sorrow.

  He’d had enough sorrow to last a lifetime.

  Chapter Three

  During the past few days, Joe had canceled at least five counseling appointments at his office.

  He had neither the time nor the inclination to listen to other people’s problems.

  Perception, he always told everyone during the sessions. It’s a matter of perception. When you see something as being hopeless, it will be.

  He leaned back in his office chair and stared out the window onto the church lawn. He’d left the hospital this afternoon because he couldn’t stand to be near the antiseptic smell any longer. He felt like he’d been wandering the halls of St. John’s for days, thanking people for bringing flowers and food, being useless.

  He’d been touched by his father-in-law’s response to news of Theia’s illness. Where Harry might have railed at the injustice of Theia’s cancer, he’d responded to Joe’s pain instead.

  Is that what You do, Lord? Use men who’ve been broken and emptied to minister, so everyone will see that it’s You?

  It occurred to him that this was the first time since they’d diagnosed his wife that he’d spoken directly to his Heavenly Father.

  Isn’t there some other, easier way?

  He’d gotten so tired of putting on the charade. Theia needed him to be strong, and he was nothing but a fraud.

  His secretary, Sarah Hodges, buzzed him on his intercom. “Joe? The church decorating committee is here. They’re meeting in the adult Sunday school room. Can you come?”

  He’d procrastinated with church business for as long as humanly possible. He’d already instructed Sarah to keep all of his appointments on the books today. “Tell them I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  When he walked in the room, he was accosted by five different churchwomen, all with varying opinions about the upcoming holiday decorating.

  “I think it’s a shame we don’t put a tree at the front of the church,” announced Mary Cathcart. “We used to do that when we were in the small sanctuary, and it was beautiful.”

  “I don’t like the idea of a tree beside the altar. It puts too much emphasis on secular Christmas celebrations.”

  “We made Christian decorations for it one year. Cut them out of those white trays that they use for the meat at Albertson’s and outlined them with glitter. Jesus fish and crosses.”

  “People like getting married that time of year because they can have the tree.”

  “I think we ought to put the manger scene on the chancel. That’s what we need to emphasize.”

  “We need to have a Saturday potluck where everyone comes prepared to decorate. A churchwide hanging-of-the-greens ceremony.”

  “The Presbyterians always do a hanging-of-the-greens. They’ll think we’re copying them.”

  “Well, aren’t we?”

  They quieted down. It became obvious as they eyed him that they were waiting for Joe to tell them who was right and who was wrong.

  “We shouldn’t copy the Presbyterians,” was all he could think to say.

  Next on Joe’s agenda came a meeting with his choir director, Ray Johnson.

  “The youth worship team feels that the Lord is leading them to do a song this Sunday called ‘Love to the Highest Power.’”

  “It sounds like a good song with a good message.”

  “It’s rock, Joe. I think it might scare some people.”

  Joe scrubbed his forehead with his fingers. What to do with this? “Can you convince them to wait a week or two? We’ll call it youth Sunday or something. That way nobody will be offended.”

  After Ray left, Joe straightened his shirt. He puffed out his cheeks and let the air go out of them. When Dr. Waterhouse had come to the room to see Theia early this morning, he’d told them everything they didn’t want to hear. “Your tumor did not have a distinct boundary, Mrs. McKinnis. We are reasonably certain that we got it all. Not positive, but reasonably certain.”

  “When can you be more than reasonably certain? When can we be positive?”

  “After her treatments are over, if there are no new recurrences in five years—then we can be positive.”

  “Five years? She’s going to have to live with this for five years?”

  The surgeon made notes on his clipboard. “We hope so, Mr. McKinnis.”

  His last appointment of the day. Joe was ashamed, but
he’d been dreading it the most. He walked into the front office and gave Winston Taylor a hearty handshake. He knew what they’d be talking about. He’d been counseling this man for well over a year.

  “Thanks for making the time for me, Joe.” Winston toted his Bible with him, tucked beneath one elbow of his sheepskin coat.

  “Come on back, Win.”

  He shut the door behind him, and they were alone. He settled Winston in one of the portly chairs arranged in a conversational grouping and settled himself in the chair opposite. He crossed his legs and cleared his throat, waiting for the other man to begin.

  “You’re going to be surprised at what I came here to talk about.” Winston uncrossed his own legs and leaned forward.

  “I will?” Good luck.

  “I came here to talk about you and your wife.”

  Joe was instantly taken aback. “Theia and I are fine, Win. There’s no need worrying yourself about that.”

  “That’s not what the Lord’s been telling me, Pastor Joe. Every time I start out trying to pray for something else, bam! There I am praying for you two instead.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Seems to me there must be some sort of a battle going on. And it isn’t about what’s going on in Theia’s body. It’s about what’s going on in your heart.”

  Joe laughed. It was the only way he knew to cover the pain welling in his own soul, the grief welling in his spirit. “I thought I was supposed to be the pastor here.”

  “I got a sermon to give you, so you just sit back and listen.”

  “Okay.” Joe repositioned himself in his chair.

  “As I see it, Joe McKinnis, God’s looking for something specific from you. He wants you to step away from all the trappings of being religious. He wants you to figure out what it is from Him that you’re expecting.”

  “Expecting?”

  “Think about it. How did everybody feel when the soldiers crucified Jesus? How did they feel when Jesus died?”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with this situation.”

  “It has everything to do with it.”

  “I don’t see that.”

  “Think what Christ’s followers expected on His crucifixion day. Then consider what they got, instead. A thousandfold more. But Christ had to die first as they stood there waiting for miracles to happen.”

  Joe slowly began to nod.

  “Those folks had to go through the experience from top to bottom. They got all of the anguish, and then they got all of the restoration. The impossible happened. The moment Christ died on the cross, life as they knew it was over. Nothing looked the way they’d expected it to look. Then, an empty tomb. Mary Magdalene in the garden. Some of them so sure He was gone that when they saw Him walking around, they didn’t even recognize Him.”

  “It’s an amazing story, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll tell you this much, Pastor Joe. What’s going to happen with Theia is going to happen, whether you let yourself expect it or not. If you don’t get anything else from me, get this. What you expect from Theia’s situation is going to influence the way you see it.”

  Should he listen to this man, this parishioner who so often had come to Joe for help before? He didn’t know. Just because he was a pastor, did it mean he was the only one who had authority to teach in Jesus’ name? The Gospel of Matthew said, “You have hidden these things from the wise, and revealed them to little children.” After Winston left his office, Joe stared at Theia’s picture.

  What do I expect, Lord?

  This hurt so much. If only he, instead of his wife, could fight this battle.

  Theia had had a chance once to be a dancer. She’d gotten a dance scholarship to Utah State. She’d married him instead. She’d fed him and nurtured him through seminary. She had mothered the girls. She’d put up with 3 a.m. phone calls during church crises. She had welcomed her father into their fold, being just as loving a daughter as she was a mother.

  Do I expect peace? Assurance that You will heal her? That she could go through all of this and not have to be afraid?

  He buried his face in his hands.

  EXPECT ME, BELOVED.

  But it was as though Joe couldn’t hear. His grief overpowered everything else, and he focused on that rather than the phone’s constant ringing in the office, the Mothers of Preschoolers meeting in the Fellowship Hall.

  And the insistent, gentle voice calling, giving him the very answer that he sought.

  “It’s okay, Grandpa.” Kate clutched Harry Harkin’s hand as she poked her nose inside the hospital room. “If Mom’s sleeping, we can wake her up. She wants to see you.”

  At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Theia rolled her head sideways on the pillow. “Hey, you.” She shot Kate a little sad smile. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking on you. Grandpa’s been driving me all around town in his old car.”

  “Grandpa’s here? Daddy?” Theia pushed herself against the mattress and did her best to sit higher. She winced.

  Harry came to the foot of the bed, a pot of pink geraniums in his hand. “Since Joe came to tell me what was going on, thought I’d better stop on over for a visit.”

  “Those are beautiful.”

  “They ought to be, coming from my greenhouse.”

  Kate took the flowers from him and set them, exuberant and lacy bright, in the hospital window.

  “Thought getting that old Ford Fairlane out of the meadow would be a good excuse.” He doffed his tweed hat. “Thought I’d best come over here and let you know that I know.”

  She could guess at the things he wanted to say to her. She knew he wanted to offer simple reassurances, but he couldn’t. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

  I never wanted this to happen to you, he might have said.

  I never wanted you to go through this a second time, she might have said.

  But they wouldn’t delve into the past or the future with Kate standing there.

  They changed the subject and talked about the Ford instead.

  “You got that old car started. With the weather this cold, too.”

  “Had to drive to Shervin’s and get a new battery. Once it turned over, though, that was it. Purred like a kitten ever since.”

  Kate plucked one yellow leaf from the geraniums in the window. She walked across the room and threw it away. “Grandpa says I can have that old car when I start driving, Mom. He thinks it’ll be the perfect car for a teenager.”

  It was clear Harry hadn’t wanted Kate to announce it like that. He had the grace to appear a little sheepish. “Thought that might take everybody’s mind off other things.”

  Theia’s lunch came rattling in on a metal cart. The candy striper moved a basket of daisies, a box of tissues, and situated the tray.

  “You want something to eat, Kate? You can get a hamburger in the cafeteria. There’s money in my bag.”

  “I’ve got money.” Harry plopped his hat on Theia’s feet and fished out his wallet. He unfolded his money and counted out three one-dollar bills. He was getting so slow, Theia thought. If she hadn’t been sick, she’d have taken money from her purse and whisked Kate out the door before he’d ever had the chance to pitch in. Those hands. Hands that had held her as a baby. She hadn’t noticed they were growing so feeble.

  “Thanks, Grandpa.” Kate took the proffered bills. “I’ll probably just get a hamburger. Nothing much. You want me to bring you anything?”

  He shook his head. “I ate already.”

  Kate headed out the door, and the moment she did, the mood between Theia and her father changed. He seemed to sag. He lowered himself into the plastic chair beside the bed. “Joe came over and told me everything last night.”

  “Of all people, I hated for you to hear this news.”

  “You’d better eat your lunch. It’s going to get cold.”

  “Jell-O is already cold. I won’t do much harm to it by waiting.”

  “You need to do everything the doctors tell you to do.�
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  “I will. I promise, Daddy.”

  “You get plenty of rest. You’ve got to do everything that they know to do to fight this thing.”

  “I’m thinking it will be different for me. They found my lump so much earlier than they found Mama’s. Treatments are much more advanced now than they were then.”

  “You take care of yourself. And take care of Joe. I told him last night, I may not be good for much, but maybe I can steer him in the right direction some.”

  “He needs that. Everybody depends on him. It’s hard to start depending on people when you’re used to them depending on you.”

  Harry rose from the chair and fiddled with the window blinds. “You know what I was thinking going off to sleep last night? About those times when your mother and I used to tuck you in bed.”

  “Oh no.” Theia smiled in spite of everything. “Not this.”

  Kate walked back in with her hamburger.

  “The ‘Purple People Eater’ song.”

  “Dad. No. It hurts too much to laugh.”

  Kate started unwrapping her burger. “What’s the ‘Purple People Eater’ song?”

  “You want to hear it?” Harry grabbed his hat again and held out one arm, vaudeville style.

  “Dad, don’t.” But Theia was already laughing. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it, giggling against it. And that made her feel just fine.

  Harry began to sing. “It was a long-haired, long-eared flying Purple People Eater.”

  “Don’t!” Oh, how her chest hurt when she laughed. But it didn’t matter. Laughter felt wonderful. “You aren’t even singing the right words!”

  “Yeah, but I’ve got the tune down exactly.”

  “Mama hated when you did that. You always made me scream and act silly right at bedtime.”

  “I’ve never heard of that song.” Kate bit into her hamburger and spoke with her mouth full. “It sounds way goofy.”

  “Mama always got stuck with the job of calming me down. She’d bring me hot cocoa and let me sip it in bed. Then she’d pray with me and tuck me in and tell me I didn’t have to worry about Dad’s crazy songs because I wasn’t purple.”