Plucked Out of the Net

by Georgia McCain

CHAPTER THREE

  The sun was shining through the bedroom window when Donnie awoke. He checked the time. Could it be 10:30 already?

  "My! I really slept after I finally got to sleep," he chuckled to himself.

  Slipping out of bed, he headed for the bathroom, planning to get a good hot shower before doing anything else. He turned on the shower and allowed plenty of time for the hot water to get through the pipe before he jumped in. But--

  "Oh-h!" he sucked in his breath. "The hot water heater must have gone out." The water was icy cold.

  Shaking and shivering, Donnie made his shower brief, then quickly dried off and got dressed. On going to check the hot water tank, he found it had been purposely turned off. By Ralph, he surmised, remembering his mom often said that Ralph had been like a second son to her. No doubt he would be the one to take care of her affairs.

  "Why didn't 1 think about that before now?" Donnie berated himself. "I should have known Mom wouldn't want gas burning to heat with no one here."

  He searched for a match and soon had the heater going full blast. There! No more cold baths. Now to see if I can find something to eat. I'm about starved.

  But in the kitchen he found the refrigerator defrosted and unplugged. Huh! No use looking in there. He turned to the cupboards. After a diligent search, he came up with two small cans of Vienna sausage and a can of peaches. He soon had the cans emptied into bowls and was eating heartily--that is, as heartily as his meager fare would allow.

  As a matter of course, he washed the dishes he had messed up, just as he had been taught from childhood. Then he unloaded the car.

  This reminded him that time was getting away from him. Already it was past noon, and here he had been near his dear mom all these hours and still hadn't got to see her.

  Thinking to please her, Donnie took special care with his grooming, then set out for the hospital. As he drove along he wondered in what condition he would find his mom. He hoped she wasn't hurt too badly or in very much pain. But he remembered how he had suffered. And that set him thinking about the wreck he was in.

  He and Ralph had skipped afternoon classes at college that day and eagerly started for home. But instead of heading straight for Terryville, Donnie had stopped on the outskirts of town for a drink. He merely intended to get one beer, and Ralph wouldn't have taken anything if Donnie had not insisted. Just as they were finishing their drinks, several of their school chums came in, and they decided to have a drink with them. One of their friends bought a bottle of liquor and together they downed it. By then, they were having a hilarious time, completely forgetting their desire to get home early.

  When at last they did start out again, Donnie's wild driving soon sobered Ralph up a bit. He pleaded with Donnie to let him drive, since he hadn't had as much to drink, and finally Donnie turned the steering wheel over to him. It wasn't long before Donnie was sound asleep.

  Ralph drove well for a while, but then his mind became foggy and his driving unreliable. Once he crossed the yellow line and almost collided with an oncoming vehicle. This really shook him up and awakened Donnie. Again, things went smoothly for some time. Then when they were about twenty-five miles from home, Ralph dozed off, veered, and lost control of the vehicle. It skidded about thirty feet, turned all the way around in the middle of the highway, then went into a ditch and struck a telephone pole. The next thing Donnie remembered was opening his eyes in the hospital, with Connie and Mom by his bedside. He would never forget the awful suffering he had endured for weeks following the wreck.

  No wonder he had made a vow never to touch another drop of liquor! He had been sincere at the time, too, but once he was well again and away from the holy influence of home, it hadn't seemed worth it to stand up against the crowd.

  Trying to clear his mind of memories of those bygone days, Donnie turned into the hospital parking lot, parked his car and started toward the entrance of the hospital. Automatically he reached for a cigarette, but decided against it for his mother's sake. He took the pack of cigarettes and shoved them into his pants pocket where they would not be noticed.

  Stepping up to the information desk, he asked, "Can you tell me what room Elaine Slocum is in, please?"

  The receptionist spun the special register around to the S's and told him, "Room 422."

  Donnie said, "Thanks," and went on, wondering where he had heard that before. Oh, yes. Over the phone. How stupid of him!

  Still that did not satisfy him. As he walked toward the elevator, the receptionist's words kept going over and over in his head.

  Room 422. Room 422. Then he remembered. Room 422 was "his" room. The one he was in after the wreck. What a coincidence! Being in that room had almost turned his life around once before.

  Donnie pushed the elevator button and waited with sober expression for the door to open. As he entered the elevator, another gentleman and two ladies got on. Donnie pushed the button for fourth flour and asked the others,

  'What floor?"

  "Two," the man said.

  Donnie pushed number two and braced himself for the slight jolt as the elevator began to move upward. At the second floor, the other three passengers got off. The elevator stopped again at the third floor, and a man got on.

  "Going down?" the man asked.

  "No, going up."

  "1 hope to go up, too," chuckled the man. "Up to heaven someday. But right now 1 wants to go down to first floor."

  Donnie forced himself to give the semblance of a smile, knowing it was expected of him, but the man's little joke didn't amuse him. Had everybody gone off the deep end over religion? he wondered.

  Then the elevator stopped at fourth floor and Donnie exited, checked the arrows for the right direction to 422, and headed down the hall to Mrs. Slocum's room. He paused outside the door for a few seconds, drew a deep breath and knocked lightly. A lady came to the door and whispered, "Did you want to see Mrs. Slocum?"

  "Yes," Donnie answered. "I'm her son, Donnie."

  "Oh, yes," the lady's face brightened. "I'm Mrs. Melton, I go to church where your mother does. We ladies have been taking turns sitting with her."

  "Could I see her, please?"

  "Sure. Come in. She's resting right now, but you come right on in. She'll be delighted to see you."

  Donnie entered apprehensively. The sight that met his eyes really shook him up. His mom was swathed in bandages and casts. Only her right arm was free. Her left arm had a needle stuck in it, with an intravenous bottle hanging over the bed.

  Donnie quietly approached her bed. "Mom," he addressed her, gently taking her left hand in his. "This is Donnie, your prodigal son." The words didn't come out as light and cheerful as Donnie had intended. He reached down and kissed his mother on the forehead.

  She stirred a little and her eyelids flickered.

  "She's heavily sedated," Mrs. Melton said, seeming apologetic. "She talks to us every now and then, though. Maybe if you'd call her name again, she'd awaken."

  "How are you, Mom?" Donnie tried again. "This is your only son. Remember me? Wake up, old Sleepy Head, and talk to me. I've come a long way to see you."

  This time she opened her eyes and smiled. "Donnie, my boy," she whispered. Reaching out with her free arm, she pulled him down to her and wound her arm about his neck and kissed his cheek. "I'm so glad to see you."

  Donnie was too choked with emotion to trust himself to speak. He merely patted her gently.

  "Here, have a seat," Mrs. Melton offered, placing a chair conveniently for him.

  Donnie dropped onto the chair, still holding his mom's hand. She asked about Sharon and Christy, but before Donnie could think up an evasive answer, she had dozed off again.

  "Her legs hurt her so badly. That's why they keep her doped up," Mrs. Melton explained.

  "I understand. I was in about the same condition once," Donnie answered.

  "Yes, I know. We prayed and prayed for you, son."

  Donnie gave her a half-smile an
d hoped she wouldn't start talking religion. He just wanted to be left alone. He wasn't in the mood to talk to a stranger, especially a church-going stranger. Mrs. Melton seemed to sense his mood and picked up the book she had laid down when she answered his knock, and commenced reading.

  The afternoon passed slowly. Finally Donnie turned to Mrs. Melton. "If for any reason you need to go, feel free," he said. "I intend to stay with Mom the rest of the day and tonight. After all, I owe her a debt which I can never fully pay."

  He was thinking of the time his mother had spent in the hospital with him after his own wreck, and the tender, loving care he had received from her for months while he recuperated at home.

  Mrs. Melton smiled gratefully. "Why, thanks, Donnie. That's sweet of you. As a matter of fact, I have several things that need attending to, so if you think you can make it alone, I'll run now."

  "I'm sure everything will be fine, ma'am."

  "All right, then. If you should need assistance you can always push the button. And be sure to keep an eye on that glucose bottle. If it gets real low, let the nurses know." She picked up her purse to leave, then added, "Here, I'll just leave my telephone number in case anything should come up and you would happen to need me." She searched in her purse for a slip of paper and quickly wrote off the number.

  "I appreciate your kindness to my mom, Mrs. Melton," Donnie told her as he arose to shake hands with her.

  "Well, she deserves everything one can do for her. She's a wonderful saint of God. All the church people just love her and admire her spunk. We count it a privilege to help her while she's in need. She's done her share of helping others."

  With another smile and a little wave Mrs. Melton went out the door.

  Donnie felt relieved. He much preferred being alone. Those church people were all alike. The way they were always smiling, and their willingness to assist with whatever need arose. Even their mannerisms in general. There was that peculiar expression of their faith which one could always feel when in their presence. There was just something about them that made Donnie very uncomfortable. He could tolerate his mom's religion because she was his mom. And he could always give her a certain hard look that would silence her. Or else he could just walk out of the room if he didn't want to listen to her. But with all the other meek old ladies, he had to act like a gentleman, and it wasn't always the easiest thing to do.

  Mrs. Slocum stirred. Donnie was on his feet by her side at once.

  "Do you want something, Mom?"

  She opened her eyes wide and stared at him in disbelief.

  "Donnie," she whispered hoarsely. "When did you get here? Did Ralph send you word? 1 didn't want anyone to bother you."

  Donnie realized then that, though she had talked to him when he first came in, she really had not comprehended that he was there.

  "1 got in last night, Mom, but it was late and 1 didn't want to disturb you. How are you feeling?"

  "Not too good, son. 1 have lots of pain, but the shots help."

  "Do you need another shot now, Mom? 1 can call the nurse."

  "Let's wait a little while longer," she said. "1 hate to bother them. They are so busy."

  Donnie straightened her top sheet, then reached over and kissed her soft cheek. This made tears come into her eyes. He picked up her little white hand and held it between his two strong ones. Such emotion swept over him that it took all his self-control to keep from breaking down completely. He could see the pain written on her face as her hand gripped his. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Words were not needed; love flowed from one heart to the other.

  Donnie understood perfectly what his mom was going through. He knew what it was to be in a hospital, banged up and suffering. And just recently he had come to understand another suffering his mom had endured through life. He now knew what it was to have a companion walk out on you, leaving you to face life alone. The realization completely unnerved him. He gently released the hand he was holding and walked over to the window to try to get control of himself. Tears coursed down his cheeks. Why was life so cruel?

  Hearing a low moan, Donnie quickly wiped his eyes and turned back to his mother.

  "I'm calling for a shot," he said, his voice firm. "There's no use suffering when it's not necessary."

  Before Mrs. Slocum could protest, he pushed the button, and soon the needed medication was administered.

  Before Mrs. Slocum dozed off again, she said, "Donnie, there's a letter from Connie in the drawer of that little stand. You're welcome to read it if you like."

  "I'd enjoy reading a letter from my twin sis, Mom," he assured her. "I've been wondering how she's getting along with all those poor people in New Guinea."

  "She loves it, Donnie. Feels she's right in the center of God's will, though she does get awfully homesick at times."

  Tears filled Mrs. Slocum's eyes. "My dear little Connie," she said tenderly. "How I would love to see her!"

  Donnie patted his mom's shoulder awkwardly. Words failed him. He missed Connie, too. And to think it would be several more years before she'd come home on furlough! He couldn't understand it. Why would Connie willingly choose to leave her home, her family, her friends, and even her country to be a missionary to people she knew nothing about? What was in it for her? Certainly not money. He had heard Connie speak of praying in the money for transportation to New Guinea. He didn't understand exactly what was meant by "praying in" money, but he felt sure it wasn't the easiest thing to do, and if they had to pray in money for transportation, he reasoned, then they probably had to pray in money for other things they needed. So he knew she hadn't gone to New Guinea for money. And he knew Connie well enough to know it wasn't for honor or prestige. So why was she throwing away her life in New Guinea? Probably to please that guy she married. Donnie had seen him only a few times, but when he had, that was all Larry could talk about--his call to New Guinea. Well and good if that's what he wants out of life, but why did he have to go and take my only sister so far from home?

  Donnie shrugged. Takes all kinds to make up a world, I guess.

  He noticed that his mom had dropped off to sleep again, so he eased open the drawer and reached for Connie's letter. Pulling it out of the envelope, he quietly unfolded it and read:

  My dear, dear, Mom,

  How I miss you! My mind has been going back over so many home scenes today. I guess I'll have to admit I've got a touch of homesickness, but I'm sure it will soon pass, so don't let it fret you. By the time you get this letter, I'll be on top again.

  Larry has been gone for three days now, and I suppose that's one reason I feel so lonely. With his carpentry ability, they need him in so many places. Right now he's helping to build a little mission home for a new couple on the field. I hope they'll not feel disappointed over such humble quarters. It's not much like most American homes.

  There is so much adjusting when one is new on the field. In fact, I'm still adjusting. Sometimes I catch my mind going back to our little apartment range at home. Do you remember, Mom, how I detested cleaning that stove? Oh, how I grumbled, but you kept right after me until it was spotless. You should see my range now. Ha! We have a little firebox set up outside to be used for baking bread. I've tried several times but haven't been too successful yet. We did manage to eat the last I baked, so I'm learning. Also, I have a little kerosene stove, but with oil so expensive, I have to use it sparingly. I'm always scared about half to death when I light it, for if I don't watch it closely, it blazes up and nearly sets the house afire.

  But all in all, we're thriving well on my cooking. Most of our bread is fried, since I haven't learned to bake well yet. We eat lots of sweet potatoes, which is one of the main foods here. What meat we eat is usually canned, and our milk is powdered. Eggs are scarce, but sometimes they are flown in, along with frozen meats, cottage cheese, etc. But these commodities are rare, believe me. How we do feast when we can get them, though! We have some fruits and vegetables also. In spite of everything, Larry h
as gained some weight, so I guess the food here agrees with him.

  Did you think about the date of this letter? We have been here one year today. As a whole, we love it. We have been so keenly aware of God's presence. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, we feel we are right in the center of God's will. I love the natives and am slowly learning to talk with them. The main form of communication here is Pidgin English, and I'm picking it up gradually. Larry is doing better than I am. You should hear us practice talking to each other in Pidgin. We laugh more than we talk. It's hilarious.

  Larry is such a dear. I'm so glad I found God's will for a husband. He's the perfect husband, as far as I'm concerned. He's so considerate and helpful. Our love for each other continues to grow. I'll be so glad when he comes back home to me. This is the hardest part of missionary life--separation from your companion. But it takes that, too, to be able to carry on. I have a native lady with me until Larry returns. I suppose it is safer not to stay alone, though as yet I've had no reason at all to be afraid. Everyone around here has been wonderful.

  Mom, I could write on and on, but with postage so high, I must close for now. I really love you and trust all is well with you. I pray for you and for Donnie and his family every day. Dear Donnie! Do you hear from him? Sometimes, since I've been here, the most awful burden settles down on me for him. I wish he would mind God.

  Bye for now, Mom. I cherish every letter I get from you. Do pray much for us and the work here. God is working, but we long to see a greater manifestation of His wonderful power.

  With all our love,

  Connie and Larry

  Donnie slowly placed the letter back in its envelope and put it inside the drawer. He understood his mother's tears even better now. He, too, felt a wistful longing for Connie.

  "Who would have ever thought, when we used to tease and fight, that we would one day be so far apart," he mused, "and that I would have such an intense desire to see her?"

  He walked over to the window and gazed into the street below, but there was a faraway look in his eyes. "My dear little sis!" he whispered. "How I miss you!" Oh that life could be as simple as it was when we were kids!