Ah, the hidden pain. Was no one exempt from it? “You never told me that before.”
“I know. I don’t like to talk about it. And I made it, right? I’m a grown-up now, and I can’t keep crying over spoiled milk.”
Spilled. Spilled milk. I sighed. “Mona, listen to me. Your daddy wasn’t a believer. He hurt you and your mama and your siblings deeply. But you can’t project that onto Rob.”
She was tearing the napkin into little shreds. “I know. But what if—”
“No. Listen to me. Rob is a godly man. He loves you.” I swept the napkin bits to the side and took her hand. It was ice. “He is not going to leave you. And neither am I. And neither is God.”
“I feel so alone. Like it’s me against this huge monster.”
“I know.” I did know. Not her exact situation, but in those first few days and weeks after my husband’s death, I felt…abandoned, somehow. I knew God had seen everything that happened, and I often felt His comforting presence, but I struggled with understanding. Or not understanding, rather. Why had He allowed such a terrible thing to happen to Kevin? To me?
It was at that time that I read Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, The Wreck of the Deutschland, and discovered the words that resonated with me, comforting me in a strange sort of way. To this day, I often thought about the part where Hopkins said God was “throned behind death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides, bodes but abides.”
Heeds, but hides. Hears, but seemingly doesn’t answer or doesn’t care. How could I explain all of that to Mona?
“I don’t know how all of this is going to turn out for you,” I said slowly. “But every time I walk through a painful situation, and then finally come out on the other side, I become more and more convinced that God is still in control. He does hear our prayers. The hard part is He doesn’t always answer them in the way we hope or think He will.”
She rubbed her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I nodded. “You’re human. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be afraid when they were facing the possibility of a scary diagnosis.” I handed her a tissue. “But it will be easier to walk through this if you are clinging to God’s hand, instead of pushing Him away with your questions and your fear.”
She picked black dog hair off the front of her blouse before answering. “It’s so hard to do that sometimes.”
“But that’s why you need to tell Rob. He’ll help you be strong.”
She sniffed, then abruptly perked up. “I know that person.”
“What?”
The newspaper was still spread out on the table in front of me. Mona tapped her fingernail on an obituary photo on the page next to Aunt Dot’s column. “I went to high school with that girl. I didn’t know she moved back into town. Must be using her married name now.”
I read the name above the obituary. “Maple Dennis. Isn’t that Kenny’s daughter?”
Mona squinted at me. “Kenny who?”
“You know. He’s at Willowbough. Across from Aunt Dot. He owns the land next to the Hope House site.”
“Oh, Kenny Carner?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, probably. I never really hung out with Maple. And then she left school right before graduation and never came back.”
Hmm. “Do I look anything like her?”
Mona gave me a funny look. “Why would you ask that?”
“Remember when I told you about the first time I met Kenny and he thought I was his daughter?”
“Kind of.” She looked at the photo, then at me. “I guess you do resemble her, especially when you wear your hair long and straight. We all wore it that way back then.”
Sometimes I forgot Mona was twenty years older than me. “Long and straight is good. I still cringe when I look at my high school pictures. Apparently, my crimping iron was my best friend.”
We laughed, and I stood to carry my dishes to the sink. “I’ll ask Aunt Dot about this person. It doesn’t seem like there could be that many women named Maple. I wonder how she died? And if she attended high school with you, then she was young. Only in her fifties.”
“I’m sure it’s the same girl.” Mona patted her short, spiky hair. “Rob will be home from Waco this evening. I guess I’ll have to think of the right time to tell him about my appointment. Maybe while he’s havin’ him his gingersnap cookies before bed.” She made a face.
“I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thank you. I knew I should tell him, but I guess I needed to hear you tell me.” She raised her eyebrows. “But don’t go thinking that I need you to tell me what to do all of the time.”
I laughed. “Only when needed?”
“You better believe it, girlfriend. You know you’re the only one who can say stuff like that to me and—”
My phone dinged, loud in my quiet kitchen. “Probably Todd.” I grabbed it from the table.
Can you talk? New info about Grandma.
Chapter Thirteen
“It’s Karen. She’s still dealing with Sister Erma’s…situation.” I wasn’t sure how much Mona was aware of regarding Erma’s death, as Mona and Karen were not close friends.
“I’ve got to run now anyways. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder.” She grabbed me in a quick hug, then pulled away to look up at me. “I was super tempted to eat a donut this morning, but I said to God, ‘God, I want a jelly donut right now, but I promised You I would give them up for Lent.’ And you know what? Right when I said that, I kinda felt like He was smiling at me.”
My throat tightened. “I’m sure He was. You’re not alone in all of this, remember?” I walked Mona to the door, trying not to look at my broken flower pots. I’d clean it all up tomorrow. Which reminded me. I hadn’t called Sheriff Wayne yet to report the vandalism.
I sighed. The police report could wait until tomorrow. First, I needed to call Karen.
My phone rang as I picked it up to call Karen. “Hi, Auntie.”
“God is working, isn’t He?”
I smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I got a message from Karen just a minute ago saying she has more info on Sister Erma.”
“Oooh, thank you, Father.” I could picture her almost bouncing in her wheelchair. “I knew it. I knew we would hear something today. What did she say?”
“I picked up the phone to call her right when you called.”
“Okay. I’ll hang up so you can call her, darlin’. Isn’t this exciting? I can’t wait to see how God works all of this out.”
“I don’t think ‘exciting’ would be exactly the term I’d use.” More like stressful. Or—
She giggled. “Life with Him is never boring. It’s always an adventure. Harry and I were talking about that the other day. This kind of feels like the part in Pilgrim’s Progress when Christian and Faithful were getting ready to enter the city of Vanity Fair.”
Sometimes I felt like I could do with less “adventure,” but I had to smile. “I love you, Auntie.”
“Love you too. Let me know what you find out about Erma.”
I called Karen while grabbing my watering can from the shelf in the pantry. My houseplants needed a touch of TLC, and I had learned by now that it took Karen a while to arrive at her point. It wouldn’t be a short phone call, so I might as well do something constructive while we talked.
“Hi, sorry it took me a few to get back to you. What’s up?”
“No worries. Did you talk to Todd about my grandma?”
I grimaced. “Yes, but he seemed to think that no one at the sheriff’s office was inclined to do anything more about it unless you had specific evidence.”
“I have some.”
My heart thumped. Was it the chamomile? I should have told her before now.
“I’ve been going through her books to get ready for the estate sale, and—John-John! Stop screaming at your brother!”
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Sorry about that. The kids have been in an uproar all day. It must be the weather change.”
Weather ch
ange?
“Anyway, Grandma kept journals for years. Her love letters, she always called them.”
“Uh huh.” I watered my massive grape leaf ivy. It was obviously happy hanging in its sunny spot in the living room window.
“They were really kind of a combination prayer journal and diary, and I remember always dying to read them when I was a little kid. But I never did.”
I moved on to the spider plants, delighted to see that they were finally sending out baby plants. “Are you reading them now?”
“Not really. I flipped through a few of them, but it felt too soon to be reading something so private.”
“I understand.” I plucked a couple of dead leaves off the kalanchoe. A tight cluster of tiny yellow buds was poking its head above the succulent leaves. “But you’re going to keep them, I hope?”
“Well, that’s the problem. I was going through them and—”
I heard muffled yelling coupled with a few loud thumps.
“Sorry, Callie, be right back.”
I dumped fertilizer into my watering can and refilled it, fervently thanking God I did not have toddlers.
“I’m back. Praise God, Justin will be home in a few minutes. Anyway, I was putting all the journals away in a box so I could read them when I was ready. Grandma always put the dates of each one inside the front cover, so I was putting them in order in the box, and I noticed that one was missing.”
“Maybe she took a break from journaling for a while.”
“Nope. They’re all numbered. And the one from 1998 is gone. Number sixteen.”
I hated to tell Karen this, but I was pretty sure it would take more than a missing journal to convince the sheriff to perform an autopsy two weeks after Sister Erma was interred.
“Maybe she had taken it out for some reason and not put it back.”
“I thought of that, but I’ve gone through all of her books, and I haven’t found it yet.”
Hmm. “Do you know if anything significant had gone on in her life that year?”
“It’s the year my grandpa died.”
I set the watering can down. “How did he die?”
“I was pretty young, but I have vague memories of visiting him in the hospital. I think he died of complications of diabetes, maybe.”
“Would your grandma have journaled about all of that? Maybe she was missing him recently and wanted to re-read it.” That’s what I wanted to believe, but somehow, I had a feeling it wasn’t that simple. Of course not. I heaved out a sigh. “I’ll ask Todd about it, but I think you’re going to have to come up with more hard evidence before the sheriff will be willing to revisit the case. Have you noticed anything else missing?”
“Not yet, but she has so much stuff. It’s taking me a long time to go through it.”
I relaxed against my pillows in bed that evening, Aunt Dot’s knit afghan draped over my shoulders. Life is always an adventure with God, she had reminded me. I snorted. That was for sure. I picked up my devotional, needing to focus my mind on Jesus, not on the circumstances that tugged at my emotions and threatened to turn my thoughts into a merry-go-round of worry.
I read the words of Henry Martyn, long-ago missionary to Persia, when he experienced the cares of life pressing in on him from all sides. “How sweet the privilege that we may lie as little children before Him. I find that my wisdom is folly and my cares useless, so that I try to live on from day to day happy in His love and care.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes. My pitiful human wisdom was folly, compared to God’s infinite knowledge…my cares useless. Useless.
Jesus said not to worry. To cast all my cares on Him. But in the craziness of the day, I had forgotten. Forgotten to rest. Forgotten to keep my eyes focused on Him.
“Please forgive me, Jesus.” I listened to the quiet and let His peace wash over me. All would be well. I could sleep as a little child, happy in his love and care, knowing that He never sleeps.
I awoke in the predawn to the sound of the cardinals chirping outside my window and the pugs snoring in their little bed out in the kitchen. I lay still, thinking and praying. I cherished these quiet moments in the morning before my busy day began.
Rolling out of bed, I shuffled to the bathroom.
I want you to pray for Mona.
I was used to hearing the voice of the Holy Spirit. If He wanted me to pray right then, I’d better do it. I squirted toothpaste on my toothbrush, silently interceding for my friend. I imagined that some days must be pretty arduous with the not-knowingness of her situation. She must need extra prayer this morning. Maybe she had waited until now to tell Rob.
I finished brushing my teeth and turned on the warm water to wash my face. I’d text her later to let her know that I was praying for her.
I want you to pray for Mona to be healed.
Oh, boy.
“Okay, Lord.” I wet the washcloth, holding my cold fingers under the warm water. She must really be having a difficult time today. And if it was true, as John Wesley said, that God “does nothing except in answer to prayer,” then I’d better be on it.
A half an hour later, the sun was just peeking over the horizon when I pulled up in front of Lonnie’s house. I waved at her husband Rick as he pulled out of the garage. Our little prayer group, made up of women from their twenties to eighties, was born out of our longing for God in the midst of life’s trials. Usually there were four of us. Lonnie, Karen, Cecelia, and me.
I pushed the front door open, glancing around for Lonnie’s cat, Fluffers. Fluffers and I had a touchy relationship, mostly because I was allergic to cats, but complicated by the fact that Fluffers adored me and wanted to rub herself on me at every opportunity. I always made sure to take my allergy medication before prayer group.
“I locked her in the laundry room.” Lonnie motioned me urgently into the kitchen and held her hand out for my jacket. “Karen’s in the bathroom. Did you see Rick?”
“I waved at him as he left.” I noticed extra lines of tension wrinkling Lonnie’s usually-placid countenance.
“You didn’t see his eye? Got a nice shiner. Things got a little heated at the city council meeting last night.”
I blinked in surprise. Rick, the mayor of Short Creek, was about the most long-suffering man I knew. “Someone hit him? At the city council meeting?”
“No, thank God for that. But a couple of citizens got into a shouting match with each other after the meeting. Rick was in the wrong place at the wrong time when they decided to duke it out.”
“Wow. Is he okay? What happened to the people who were fighting?”
Karen came out of the bathroom. “It was your friend June.”
“What? June Blackman?” The woman sure got around. First, she threatens a poor defenseless senior citizen with her umbrella, then starts a fight at the city council meeting?
Lonnie nodded, folding her plump arms across her chest. “Got a bee in her bonnet again. Last time she created a ruckus it was over the potholes on Second Street. Called Rick twenty times a day until the construction crew finally made it over there to fix them.”
“Who was she fighting with?” I almost hated to ask.
“Her husband.” Lonnie rolled her eyes and picked up a plate of pecan cinnamon rolls. “That poor man. I don’t know how he’s put up with her for so long.”
“But that’s not the worst part, Callie.” Karen swept her dark hair off her shoulder. “She’s threatening to stop Hope House from buying the acreage out on the highway.”
Chapter Fourteen
I stared at Karen. “Why?”
“No one knows. Here, the water’s hot for your tea.” Lonnie held the steaming kettle out to me.
I cupped my hands around the mug as she poured the water. The warmth felt good on a still-chilly February morning. “Why would she possibly care about Hope House?”
“She said she didn’t want Short Creek to be a ‘magnet’ for ‘those kind of people.’” Lonnie made air quotations.
I thunked
my mug on the island, making my tea splash out. “If she pays attention to the news at all, she should know that ‘those kind of people’ are already here. All we’re trying to do is help them.”
“Well, you know June.” Lonnie grimaced.
I mopped up the tea I had sloshed on the granite countertop. “Actually, I don’t. The only times I’ve met her were once when she came into the store and the other day when she was at Willowbough.” But if the cranky realtor thought she was going to stand in the way of something God had called us to do, she had another think coming. “Is she just trying to stir something up? Or is she serious? We were supposed to hear this weekend if our bid was accepted.”
“Pretty serious, it appears. She cited some kind of zoning law. Mentioned filing an injunction.” Lonnie shook her head. “Don’t know if she has legal grounds for that, but—”
“Good morning,” Cecelia called from the front door. “Sorry I’m a minute late, ladies. Alexa and I had a rough morning.” Her well-worn western boots clunked on the tile floor as she entered the kitchen, travel mug in hand.
I waved at her across the large island. She wasn’t much older than me, and my heart went out to her as always, knowing how she was struggling to raise a headstrong teenage daughter by herself. I would deal with June Blackman later.
God, please calm my spirit. It wouldn’t help for me to get riled up about June. I didn’t even know the whole situation yet.
“Let’s head into the living room.” Lonnie led the way, and we all settled in.
The flickering flames of the candles cast a soft light over our little group. All of us, of different ages and backgrounds, were knit together by our common pursuit of God.
After our chitchat in the kitchen, we sat in silence for a few minutes, quieting our hearts before God. I had already texted everyone this morning, asking for extra prayer for Mona, though I couldn’t share any details with them. This group of women were my go-to gals when it came to prayer. Along with Aunt Dot, of course. She was a sort of honorary member of the group since she couldn’t join us in person any longer.
Where There's a Will Page 9
