Seasons Under Heaven

by Beverly LaHaye

  She wiped her face and tried to look stronger. “I’m going to ask them to lay hands on him Sunday,” she said. “I’d like for you to be there. It’s very important.”

  “No way.” He got up and his face began to redden. “They’ll lay hands on Joseph over my dead body.”

  His outburst stunned her, and she got to her feet. “David, why?”

  “I have my reasons.” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “So help me, Brenda, they’re not gonna touch my son.”

  Her face twisted as she tried to understand. “David, this is ridiculous. I know you’re bitter about church, but for heaven’s sake, the Bible tells us in the book of James that we can go to the elders of the church and they can pray—”

  “I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years, Brenda,” he cut in. The rims of his eyes were beginning to redden, and the anguish on his face astonished her. “I’ve let you drag all four children to church with you. It didn’t seem to do any harm, so I’ve allowed it. But I draw the line when it comes to laying hands on my boy.”

  “David, if you don’t believe in God, then what difference would it make to you?”

  “It’ll make a difference to Joseph!” he bit out. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a little kid and have a bunch of hateful, Scripture-chanting hypocrites surrounding you with their hands all over you. It stays with you for life, Brenda. It changes the way you think! They’re not going to do it to my son!”

  Brenda gaped at him, desperately trying to put this new information into the context of David’s background. “Stays with you for life? Changes the way you think? David, did someone lay hands on you?”

  He swung around and reached for the door handle. “I’m going home. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “No; David. Please! We need to talk about this. How can I understand you when you won’t talk to me?”

  He stopped before opening the door, and turned slowly back around. He was trying to calm himself, taking deep, deliberate breaths. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “All right. Let’s talk. You want rational reasons, I’ll give you some. It doesn’t work, for one. If it did, everybody would be doing it, and we wouldn’t need hospitals. They have funerals for Christians every day, just like everybody else.”

  She tried to think. Somehow, this was a conversation vital to David’s life. She had to answer wisely. “Because God doesn’t choose to heal everyone.”

  “That’s convenient,” he said. “You’re told that He’ll heal you, and then if He doesn’t you can say He just didn’t choose to. So how does anybody ever know what to believe?”

  Her tears assaulted her again as this disappointment she had grown accustomed to hurt her as if it was new. “Faith, David. It’s just faith.”

  “What about Joseph’s faith, when he expects to be healed but walks out of there still sick? And what happens when nothing changes, and your church friends start saying it must be because there’s sin in your life, or in Joseph’s life—or better yet, in my life, since I’m the one who doesn’t buy into all this? What they’ll be saying is that God is cursing our little boy, because otherwise their prayers would have healed him. And then they’ll say it’s a demon, not a heart problem, that’s keeping him from getting well. How’s he going to feel about having a demon in him, Brenda? What do you think that’ll do to a little kid’s mind?”

  She wasn’t angry anymore, for suddenly she understood. These weren’t hypotheticals, thrown out to win an argument. This was a scene right out of David’s childhood. It had happened. New tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked at him. “They told you you had a demon?” she asked.

  “I was one angry kid,” David whispered, as if saying it too loudly might shatter him completely. “I had reason to be. And not because of any demon. It was disappointment.”

  “About your father,” she whispered.

  He shot her a look, as if surprised she knew.

  “Your mother told me before she died,” she said. “You had never told me you were a preacher’s kid.”

  He breathed a laugh and rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe she would call him that. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you knew?”

  “I wanted you to tell me yourself,” she admitted. “It seemed like such a painful thing.”

  “Then she told you about the organist he left town with?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and stood there for a moment. Was he thinking that his mother had betrayed him? Brenda hoped not. He was angry enough at his mother already.

  “So I suppose she told you about the parsonage, too—how the dear church gave us a week to get out because they had to make room for their new preacher. How we had to live in a garage apartment…”

  No, his mother hadn’t told Brenda that. She listened to him carefully, gratefully. She’d been so desperate to understand. “No wonder you were angry,” she whispered.

  He laughed bitterly as tears misted in his eyes. “They were sure I had a demon. Tried to cast it out.”

  “David, those people didn’t know God. They couldn’t have, or they would have loved you and cared for you. They would have seen what you needed.”

  He shook his head. “I know you think your church is different, Brenda. On the surface, maybe it seems that way. But it’s not.”

  “Come and see,” she pleaded. “You can stand right there as they pray for him. It won’t be a bunch of people yelling and pushing on him, David. Just a few of the elders, gently touching him, talking to God and asking Him for healing. Nothing angry or evil. Just people of faith taking their needs to God. Look at me.”

  He raised his eyes, and she saw the trepidation, the pain there.

  “David, you know how much I love our children. Would I ever put them in jeopardy? Would I let anyone frighten them or hurt them in any way?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “It’s not going to hurt Joseph to have a group of people praying for him. It’ll just remind him that God is there, with him, that He won’t let him down.”

  Anger flashed across David’s face again, and she knew what he was thinking: That there was, as Brenda had admitted, no guarantee that God would heal Joseph—and if He didn’t, then in David’s opinion God would indeed have let Joseph down. She knew David couldn’t understand. Nor was it something she could explain to him. It was something only the Holy Spirit could convince him of.

  “David, you’ve let me take the kids to church. You’ve even said it was good for them. Don’t start putting limits on that freedom now.”

  He looked down at his feet. “Brenda, this is serious, what Joseph has. I don’t want anyone playing head games with him.”

  “What do you want me to do, David?” she asked. “Prepare him to die?”

  “No,” he bit out, his face reddening. “He’s not going to die. He’s going to be all right with this medication. You’ll see. With or without those people praying.”

  She wept at the arrogance of that statement. Softening, David held her as she cried into his shirt, her eyes so raw and heavy that she knew sleep was nearby.

  When David finally left, she made up the cot next to the bed and tried to sleep, but the sound of Joseph’s heart beating and stumbling, beating and stumbling, kept her awake. So she passed the time praying again for her little boy’s heart…and her beloved husband’s soul.

  CHAPTER

  Fifteen

  Cathy didn’t really know why she decided to take Sylvia up on her invitation to go to church Sunday morning. She supposed part of it had to do with the fact that her kids were going down the tubes. They needed some spiritual instruction. She had never been much for church herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God. It was just that she couldn’t imagine why it was necessary to get up early on her only day off, don a dress and panty hose, and force her children to put on decent clothes and come to church with her.

  That part had certainly been a challenge this morning. Annie had come out of her room looking like a runaway.
Cathy had sent her back twice before she’d come out wearing anything remotely presentable—which had reminded Cathy that she hadn’t made it a priority to shop for dresses for Annie, except on the rare occasions when she had to wear them for a dance. And none of those dresses was appropriate for church. They’d finally settled on a skirt that was too short, and a hot pink blouse that gave Cathy a headache. But it was the least offensive outfit Annie had come up with.

  Mark and Rick had fought her tooth and nail about having to wear anything other than blue jeans, but she’d finally gotten them into khakis and dress shirts. When Mark came downstairs in filthy Nikes, she told him to go back up and change his shoes.

  “I can’t, Mom. I don’t have any other shoes.”

  “You have a pair of dress shoes, Mark. Now put them on.”

  “You bought those last year! They don’t fit me anymore. What’s wrong with these?”

  She looked helplessly down at Mark’s feet. “They’re dirty, and just not right for church. Are you sure the others don’t fit?”

  “Positive, Mom. This is it.”

  “All right,” she said, giving up. “Get in the car.”

  They had argued all the way there that they didn’t know why she had to visit church on their weekend home, when she could just as easily have done it when they were with their dad.

  “I want you to come,” she said. “I’m doing this as much for you as I am for myself.”

  “Oh, so all of a sudden you think we’re heathens,” Annie said.

  “Mom!” Mark shouted. “I’m not a heathen.”

  “I don’t think any of you are heathens,” she returned. “It’s just that nice people go to church, and I want you to be nice people.”

  “We can be nice people at home,” Rick complained. “Aren’t we nice people?”

  His sister and brother agreed. Cathy couldn’t help laughing. “It’s not like I’m asking you to shave your heads. I just want you to go to Sunday school.”

  “Sunday school? Come on, Mom!” Rick said. “We’re too old for Sunday school!”

  “Is that so?” she asked, giving him a sideways glance. “I didn’t know there was an age limit in Sunday school.”

  “So what are we supposed to do? Sit at a little desk and paste Bible verses on construction paper? Sing ‘Jesus Loves Me’?”

  Had it been that long since she’d had her children in church? “I doubt very much that they still do that in your age-group.”

  “Then what do they do?”

  “They talk about God,” she said. “Believe it or not, it’s an important subject. You do believe in God, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You guess.” That made her feel even more like a failure. “Look, Rick, I know I haven’t made church a priority in this family, but that doesn’t mean I can’t set things right now. I think it’s important that we all go to church.”

  “Give me a break,” Annie said from the backseat.

  She looked in her rearview mirror at her daughter’s scowl. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means the only reason you wanted to go to church today is that there’s a huge singles department at the Bryans’ church. You’re looking for a husband.”

  “What?” Cathy gasped, appalled at how close to the truth Annie’s guess was. “Where do you get this stuff?”

  “I hear things,” she said. “I happen to know that the Bryans’ church has one of the biggest, most active singles departments in the state, and they have it for all ages, even for older divorced people like you. And I’ve heard Miss Sylvia talk to you about it, so I know that’s why you want to go.”

  “This may come as a huge surprise to you, my dear,” Cathy said sarcastically, “but it is not my aim in life to get tangled up with another man.”

  Annie looked out the window. “I’m just saying that it’s a lot to put us through just for a date.”

  Cathy had to hand it to her. Annie knew how to give her a one-two punch. “Look, we all need to go to church.” Her voice rose with each word. “So if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop complaining. Who knows? You may really like it.”

  “Yeah, right,” Mark muttered.

  As she drove, Cathy realized that there was a lot about the way she had raised her children she wished she could change. First and foremost, she wished she had started out making them treat her with respect. Who would have dreamed when they were adoring toddlers that they’d ever turn on her this way? It was her own fault, she thought miserably. Now it was almost too late.

  They pulled into the massive parking lot at the Bryans’ church, and she sat for a moment, looking at the crowded walkway that would take them across the street and into the huge building. “Look, kids, let’s just do our best not to embarrass each other, okay? I promise not to act like a floozy with the single men I encounter, if you promise you won’t act like little brats.”

  None of the children said a word.

  She got out of the car, and one by one they followed her, grudgingly, none of them walking together. They were a group of people who didn’t want to be seen with each other.

  When they reached the visitors’ booth, she glanced back at her children to make sure they were put together properly.

  “I hate being the new kid,” Mark said.

  Personally, she didn’t mind being the new person, because she liked meeting new people. She just wondered if everyone in the Sunday school department would know instantly that she had come in hopes of meeting a decent man. If they did, was that punishable by death or eternal embarrassment? Would they all turn and look, point at her and hiss, like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers?

  She swallowed her anxiety and stepped up to the booth. As she did, she glanced at her watch. A little over two hours, and she could go home with her humiliated children and a clear conscience.

  After a pleasant hour with other divorced men and women her age, Cathy rounded up her kids, and they sat with Sylvia and Harry during the worship service. The Bryans seemed proud that her family had agreed to join them for worship, though Cathy couldn’t imagine why. Mark scribbled a note on the church bulletin and tore it off, making a loud ripping noise that caused the people in front of them to look over their shoulders. Cathy clamped Mark’s leg, warning him to be quiet. Mark passed the note to Rick, who passed it on to Annie. Cathy opened her own bulletin, found a blank space, and scribbled out, “Stop writing notes!” She started to tear it off, then stopped herself. Instead, she passed the whole bulletin down. By the time it got down to Rick and Annie, they were giggling quietly at the absurdity of her writing a note to tell them to stop writing notes.

  She glanced at Sylvia and saw that she’d seen. Sylvia smiled, and Cathy wished she hadn’t come.

  When the sermon was over and the choir director asked them to stand and sing hymn number 132, Mark muttered, “Stand up, sit down, fight-fight-fight.” Cathy had to admit that the constant standing baffled her. Why did they have to keep popping up like jack-in-the-boxes, just to sing a song? Couldn’t they sing it as well sitting down?

  When the service was mercifully over, Cathy braced herself. She had made the mistake of raising her hand as a visitor, but she’d really had no choice, because Sylvia had been nudging her. Would she be greeted by a dozen well-meaning strangers before she could get to the door? Would they send someone to her home to talk to her about heaven and her responsibility to her children? If they did, she hoped they would call first so she could get the front room picked up.

  She was on the way across the parking lot when she spotted one of the better-looking men in her Sunday school class heading toward her. She tried to look approachable.

  “Hi, Cathy,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. He was tall, blonde, and had intriguing brown eyes. “I’m Bill Blackburn. I didn’t get to meet you in Sunday school, but I’m glad you came. You from around here?”

  “We live up on Survey Mountain,” she said.
<
br />   “Nice area.”

  “We like it. My next-door neighbor invited us to visit. Sylvia Bryan?”

  He didn’t show any sign that he recognized the name. “Good, good. I’m outreach chairman of the Sunday school class you visited today,” he said. “Did you like it?”

  “Sure, it was nice.” Behind Bill, Annie leaned against the car with her arms crossed and a smug I-told-you-so smile on her face. Cathy began digging into her purse for her keys.

  “I heard you were a vet,” he said.

  “That’s right.” She glanced at Mark and Rick over his shoulder, hovering behind him like judges, mentally recording the tangible proof that she had come here to meet men.

  “Would you mind if I called you sometime?” he asked. “Maybe you’d like to go to the social with me this Saturday. We try to have one every weekend. I could introduce you around.”

  She thought of telling him no just to shoot down her kids’ theories about her intentions, but she did want a life, and the kids needed to get used to it. “Maybe,” she said. She jotted her phone number on the bulletin, tore off a corner, and gave it to him. “Just call sometime this week and tell me more. It sounds fun.”

  “Good,” he said. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  He turned back to the children, eyed them one by one. “Greatlooking kids you got there,” he said, as if they couldn’t hear.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  When he’d gone, they got into the car one by one, and she cranked the engine. “So what do you think?” she asked.

  “I think you dragged us here so you could meet men,” Annie said again.

  Cathy pulled out of the parking lot. “I mean about your Sunday school class. Did you like it or not?”

  “Not,” Annie said.

  “How about you, Rick?” Cathy looked across at her big, lanky son. He had already put his Walkman headphones on and was listening, no doubt, to Jimi Hendrix. She gave up on him and glanced at Mark in the rearview mirror. “So Mark, how was yours?”

  “Okay,” he said. “I knew a couple of people.”