Ours for a Season

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Anthony’s chest tightened. Let Marty accept Your will, whatever it might be.

  Steve’s solemn voice rumbled, “Amen.”

  Anthony echoed, “Amen.” So be it.

  * * *

  “They didn’t even hesitate.” Anthony still marveled at the deacons’ response to his taking half the Hirschler Construction team to Kansas City, Kansas. He tapped a potato chip on the edge of his plate and gazed at Marty’s smiling face across the table. She hadn’t stopped smiling since they sat down together, and she hadn’t eaten a bite. Of course, neither had he. His stomach was too busy jumping to accept any food. “Deacon Troyer spoke first—said it sounded like the chance for me to be a missionary and I should do everything I could to make the trip.”

  Marty laughed softly. “A missionary? To Kansas? It’s not exactly the Congo.”

  He laughed, too, and shrugged, a little sheepish. “Oh, I know. They know it, too. But they said I’ll likely encounter lots of people who don’t know the Lord. It will give me a chance to witness to them while I work alongside them.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “It might be the closest I get to serving on a mission field.”

  Fingers touched his arm, and he opened his eyes to find Marty’s eyes swimming with tears. He took her hand and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, and one of the tears rolled past her eyelashes and down her cheek. “Nothing. I know it’s always been a dream of yours. I’m glad you’re getting to see it fulfilled.”

  He chuckled and released her hand. “Well, as you said, Kansas isn’t the Congo—not even close to what real missionaries get to do—but I’ll share the gospel if God opens the door.” He jolted. “Marty, the money Brooke is paying me…Maybe we could…” Worry descended. Should he mention his thought about using some of the money to adopt? Having a child was her dream. What if he didn’t end up with enough left over to pay for adoption fees? He’d only disappoint her.

  She tipped her head. “Maybe we could what?”

  He shouldn’t say anything. Not yet. No sense in getting her hopes up and then crushing them. He smiled and waved his hand. “Never mind. I’ll need to wait and see how much profit the company makes.” He picked up his sandwich and took a small bite. “The deacons had a suggestion for our house while we’re gone. Remember the Hiltons—James and Beverly?”

  She scowled for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, you’re talking about the couple who visited our church two or three years ago to share about their work in China.”

  “Yes, them.” He plopped the sandwich on his plate. “Deacon Lehman has stayed in touch with them through his nephew, who also works on a ministry team in China. They adopted a baby girl from an orphanage over there. The baby has several medical issues, things that require surgery, so they’re coming back to the Unites States for a year or so. A doctor at one of the hospitals in Lafayette has volunteered to do the surgeries. They’re looking for someplace close to Lafayette to stay, and they really can’t pay a lot, so that’s caused problems for them. Deacon Lehman wondered if we’d let them use our house if they pay for the utilities.”

  Marty’s mouth dropped open. “It’s…They…” She paused, laughed, and shook her head. “It’s like God is sending us to Kansas.”

  He grinned. Most of the apprehension he’d held on to had flown out the window when he realized he could serve a missionary family in such a personal way. If God needed to use their house, then He probably needed to use them in Kansas. Even though it still made him a little nervous to go so far away from the fellowship for a long period of time, his eagerness now outweighed his fear. “They’re due to arrive in the United States the first week of July, so I’ll leave our keys with Deacon Lehman. If for some reason they decide not to stay here, the Lehmans will keep an eye on the house, keep the yard mowed and so forth while we’re gone.”

  “I can’t believe how fast everything is falling into place.” Marty pushed her plate aside and laughed. “I’m too worked up to eat. I want to pack. Would it be a sin for me to start packing?”

  Anthony’s first impulse was to say yes—they shouldn’t labor on the Lord’s day. But the joy shining in her eyes had been absent for so long. He didn’t want to erase it. Besides, they didn’t have a lot of time to get things ready to go.

  He rose, picking up his plate. “I’ll put this in the fridge to eat later, and I’ll help pack.”

  12

  Marty

  Early Monday morning Marty walked Anthony to his truck. The grass wore a light covering of dew, and it dampened the soles of her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. The ground would warm quickly, and she loved the way the sun sparkled on the tiny droplets, turning them into a carpet of diamonds.

  He paused at the driver’s door to lean in for a kiss, and this time she met his lips with her own. Only a peck—the neighbors might be watching—but her heart rolled over. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed his affection until he offered it again.

  She wove her fingers together and looked into his face, shaded by the brim of his ball cap. “Call me tonight?”

  He grinned as he pulled the truck door open. “Even though I’ll probably be back on Wednesday? That’s not hardly long enough for you to miss me.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He climbed behind the steering wheel and closed the door.

  She curled her hands over the window opening. “Do you want me to call you if I hear from Drew or Evelyn about Lucas?”

  “Yeah. I probably won’t answer, but you can leave a message on the cell.” He shook his head, making a whew sound with an expelled breath. “I sure hope he says yes. Brooke’s got enough to do without hiring construction workers, too.”

  “I’m sure she can handle it.”

  “Probably.” He checked his wristwatch and grimaced. “I gotta go. The men’ll all be at the site by eight. I should get there first.”

  She took a backward step. “Bye, then. I’ll talk to you tonight?”

  “Tonight.” He sent another grin in her direction before starting the engine. He stuck his hand out the window and waved as he pulled from their driveway onto the street.

  She waved back, then hurried inside to start the kitchen cleanup. She washed and dried their breakfast dishes and gave the floor a good mopping. As she was putting the damp mop on its hook on the back porch, the telephone rang. She hurried to the wall phone. “Hello, Hirschler Construction, Mrs. Hirschler speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hello, Marty, this is Evelyn Mast.”

  Marty’s heart skipped a beat. “Good morning, Evelyn.”

  “I hope I’m not calling too early.”

  “Oh no, this is fine. I saw Anthony off to the jobsite in Noblesville almost an hour ago, so I’ve been up for a while.” She would have risen early even if she hadn’t wanted to send him off with a good breakfast. She had much to do to prepare for their temporary move to Kansas. “Are you”—please, please—“calling about Lucas?”

  Laughter rang. “I sure am. He wanted us to call last night already, but we wouldn’t let him bother you on a Sunday. He went with his dad and brothers this morning to help with the wheat harvest. As long as he’s still here, he might as well be working.”

  Marty double-gripped the telephone receiver. “So you told him…”

  “We’ve given him permission to go, but we told him he has to be in service on Sunday mornings. I’m sure you and Anthony will make sure of that.”

  Marty nodded even though Evelyn couldn’t see her. “We will. We’ve already committed to finding a Mennonite church in the area and taking the whole team to services every week.” If there wasn’t a Mennonite chapel within driving distance, they’d attend another evangelical church. The deacons had approved several denominations.

  “Good, good. I’ll pack plenty of work shirts and trousers along with his church clothes and necessities. Is there anyth
ing in particular he needs to bring with him other than his Bible, clothes, and toiletries?”

  She and Anthony had talked until late last night, discussing things to bring, and she repeated everything to Lucas’s mother. The trailers were furnished, and each had a compact equipped kitchen even though the men wouldn’t do much cooking—she would take care of all the meals. So they’d only need bedding, towels, games or books to entertain themselves in the evenings, a few favorite snacks to last until they located a grocery store, and tools.

  “Lucas doesn’t have any tools of his own.” Uncertainty came through in her tone.

  “Anthony has plenty of tools in his work trailer, so don’t worry about that. Just see to his personal needs.”

  “All right. When do you think you’ll set out?”

  Excitement quivered through her frame. “Unless Anthony gets stuck at the site in Noblesville longer than he expects, the end of the week. Friday morning is our plan. It’s a full day’s drive to Kansas City, and Anthony wants to have Saturday to get settled in and Sunday to rest before starting work the first Monday in July.”

  “So you’ll want to leave pretty early, won’t you?”

  “Yes. If you could have Lucas to our house by seven, we’d appreciate it.”

  “I can.” Silence fell for a few seconds, followed by a heavy sigh. “That boy of ours is as eager as a spring colt ready to break out of the corral, but I confess it’ll be hard for me to see him leave for so long. He and Justin are our oldest, you know, so this is a new experience for us.”

  Marty couldn’t imagine what Evelyn was feeling. She wanted to know, though. She wanted to feel every joy and pain of motherhood for herself. She closed her eyes, battling a sudden rush of tears.

  “At first I wanted to say no because I couldn’t imagine not having him here. I thought it’d be too hard on Justin, too. Being twins, he and Lucas are so close. But Drew told me maybe it’ll be good for them to be apart for a while, to figure out they can get along all right without the other one. And he reminded me that our children aren’t really ours anyway. They belong to God. We have them for one season of life, but then they have to move into their own season.”

  Marty tried to think of something to say that would comfort Evelyn, but no words formed. She bit her lower lip and stood in silence.

  “Well…” Evelyn sighed again. “I better let you off the phone. You have lots to do, I suppose, to get ready. If you end up needing some help, please call me. I think I’m gonna need to stay busy this week so I don’t spend too much time crying about letting Lucas go.”

  Marty cleared the lump in her throat and forced herself to speak. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll let you know, but I should be all right. Goodbye.” She hung up, then leaned against the wall and lowered her head. All the bright joy of the morning had been overshadowed. But soon she’d be away from references to children and motherhood. She’d be gone for more than a full year, which would give her time to come to terms with her childless state. Of course it would.

  She pushed off from the wall and headed for the back porch to start a load of laundry, but halfway across the kitchen floor she changed direction and returned to the phone. Brooke needed to know how many men Anthony would bring on the work crew. Hadn’t Brooke said the sooner she knew, the better?

  Marty located Brooke’s business card. A long-distance call from the home telephone was expensive, but she wouldn’t talk long. Just long enough to give Brooke the good news. She positioned her finger to punch in the first number, but then she remembered the time difference. Not much past seven in Kansas. Brooke might still be asleep. She’d better wait.

  With a sigh, she returned the card to the stack of papers on the table and trudged to the porch. She’d do what Evelyn had said—stay busy. Then she’d call Brooke around lunchtime. A talk with her friend should restore her positive outlook.

  13

  Kansas City

  Brooke

  Brooke’s phone had rung at two minutes past eight. Thirty minutes ahead of her alarm. She’d grumbled at the intrusion until she saw the name on the cell phone screen. Dr. Susan Classen. Nothing like a call from a doctor first thing in the morning to bring someone to complete wakefulness.

  The receptionist’s too-chipper request for Brooke to come in at her earliest convenience that morning—“Dr. Classen will carve out an hour for you when you get here”—had instantly raised a wave of heartburn. Although the call was already two hours past, acid still burned in her throat as she sought an empty spot in the clinic’s parking garage.

  She located a slot between an SUV and a car that looked like something from a 1930s mafia movie. Both vehicles were silver, the same color as her Lexus. For reasons beyond understanding, she found comfort in leaving her car nestled between its like-colored partners. The moment she stepped from the air-conditioned interior of her Lexus onto the concrete parking pad, perspiration broke out over her flesh. She flapped the neckline of her fuchsia silk tank as she strode to the elevator, the leather soles of her gladiator sandals slapping softly against the hard surface. Ridiculous summer heat. Or maybe it was fear sweat.

  She’d battled outbreaks of perspiration while she dressed, applied makeup, and styled her hair in its simple fluffed pixie. Not even the lightweight tank and knee-length white denim skirt—generally a combination that kept her comfortable on the hottest day—seemed to help. By the time she reached Dr. Classen’s reception area, she’d wiped her brow so many times she was sure not a touch of powder remained, and her hair felt sticky.

  Several people were already seated in chairs that lined the walls of the small waiting area. As if in sync with one another, they glanced at her upon her entrance, then shifted their attention to the big-screen television mounted between two magazine racks. The racks looked full. Didn’t anybody read anymore?

  Giving her forehead one more swipe, she moved to the first of two window openings in the glass wall separating the receptionists’ desk from the waiting patients and cleared her throat. The young woman glanced up from her computer screen. “Good morning. Name, please?”

  “Brooke Spalding. I was told—”

  The woman abruptly rose, sending her wheeled chair backward a couple of feet. “Yes, I’ll let the doctor know you’ve arrived. Please wait right here.” She hurried off. The remaining receptionist sent Brooke a tight smile and then appeared to busy herself sorting through a stack of folders next to her computer. Another outbreak of perspiration attacked.

  Brooke blocked out her surroundings and played music in her head, a Carpenters song. Sing, sing a song, let the world sing along…As the verse began its repeat with a choir of children’s voices, the door to the right of the reception wall opened. A middle-aged woman wearing pale blue scrubs and holding a clipboard pushed the door against the wall with her well-padded bottom.

  “Brooke Spalding?”

  Brooke ended the song midphrase and forced her feet forward. “That’s me.”

  Those in the chairs scowled or nudged each other and murmured, clearly irritated about her preferential treatment. She didn’t blame them. Ordinarily she would wait her turn—she’d never been pushy about being first and tried to follow the rules of fair play—but today she wouldn’t offer to trade places with any of them. If a doctor called first thing in the morning and carved out an hour that same morning, then she deserved the preferential treatment.

  The woman gestured Brooke into the long hallway, where examination room doors stood at staggered intervals on both sides. “Step up here on the scale, please.”

  Brooke complied, comforted a bit by the standard routine. The large weight was set on one hundred and the small one at zero. The nurse—her name tag identified her as Trista—slid the small weight to thirty. The right side of the bar went down. Trista used her finger to bounce the little black weight backward. When it landed on twenty-three, the bar balanced.

&
nbsp; Brooke gaped at the number. She’d been 135, give or take a pound or two, for the past ten years. If she subtracted the usual two pounds for her clothes, the weight was even more alarming.

  Trista scratched something on the clipboard’s pad and then held her hand toward a door on the right. “Let’s get your vitals now.”

  An exam table took up most of the floor space in the room. Brooke automatically headed for it. Trista pointed to the chair next to a small table. “It’s okay, honey. You can sit over here.”

  Brooke had never liked being called honey, finding the term demeaning. But at that moment it seemed warm and kind. She sank onto the chair’s seat, grimacing when her bare legs squeaked on the blue vinyl. Trista perched on a round, wheeled stool she pulled from beneath the table and took Brooke’s blood pressure. Then she pinched Brooke’s wrist, frowning at her watch.

  She released Brooke and picked up her pen. She shook her head as she recorded something on the pad. “The number of pounds you lost turned up on your blood pressure. You must be nervous.” She grinned, giving Brooke’s forearm a quick squeeze. “But don’t worry. Dr. Classen doesn’t bite. At least, not very hard.”

  Brooke tried to laugh in response, but she couldn’t find even a hint of humor in the situation. Fear gnawed at her, and her throat stung from acid. She pawed in her little cross-body bag for a new roll of antacids. Hadn’t she put them in her purse? She turned the leather pouch upside down and emptied its contents into her lap.

  Trista crossed to the door, taking the clipboard with her. “Dr. Classen will be in real soon.” She glanced at the few random items in Brooke’s lap and frowned. “Did you lose something, honey?”

  Brooke choked back a half sob, half laugh. “I must have forgotten my antacids. Do you have any?”

  Sympathy creased the woman’s round face. “I’ll see what I can find. Now, you try to relax, all right?” She stepped out and shut the door behind her.