Seasons Under Heaven

by Beverly LaHaye

  By the time she headed home, her feet and head ached. But it was her pride that hurt most of all. She had half expected to rake in, in one day, all the money the Dodds would need, just through sheer determination and her power of persuasion. She had not expected to arrive home empty-handed.

  She fought off tears as she headed back to the bedroom. She took off her business suit and pumps and climbed into more comfortable clothes, but physical comfort didn’t help her spirits any. Finally, she gave in to her tears and got down on her knees.

  She prayed with all her heart, asking God to go before her and make a way—asking God to raise the money, since she wasn’t able.

  Finally, she headed out back to the stables to check on her horses. The teenaged boy who worked a few hours a day grooming them had already cleaned out the stables and fed the horses.

  Sunstreak whinnied as she came in, and she wondered if the mare sensed and sympathized with her mood. She let her nuzzle her hand, then reached up to hug her.

  “Sylvia!” She heard the voice calling from a distance and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to tell of her failures and have anyone see her tearstained face.

  “Sylvia!” The voice grew closer. “Are you in there?”

  She stepped out of the stables and saw Tory, her brown hair done up in a French twist and her makeup perfectly applied, despite the heat outside. She looked like a brunette Barbie doll, and Sylvia found herself envying her. Right now, in her shorts and baggy T-shirt, Sylvia felt old and useless.

  “So how’d it go?” Tory asked. “I saw you come out and I couldn’t wait to find out.”

  Sylvia looked over her shoulder between their houses and saw Brittany and Spencer, wearing helmets, riding their bikes with training wheels in the little cul-de-sac. “Well…let’s just say it wasn’t an overwhelming success.”

  “Didn’t you get any donations?”

  She sighed, then hated herself for it. She hadn’t been a sigher before she’d married off Sarah. No wonder no one took her seriously. “I’m afraid not, Tory.”

  “So you’ll try again tomorrow,” Tory said with uncharacteristic optimism. Then she frowned and regarded Sylvia more carefully. “Sylvia, are you all right?”

  “No. Not really.” She headed around to her front porch so Tory could keep a closer eye on the kids. Wearily, she sat down in one of her wooden rockers. Tory sat down on the steps of the porch, looking up at her. “I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy,” Sylvia said. “But I was so cocky this morning. I thought I’d just prance into anyplace I tried, demand to see the president, tell him about Joseph, and voilà, he’d hand me ten grand. What arrogance.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Tory said. “I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

  Sylvia gave her a weak smile. “I’m just disappointed in myself. I was starting to feel useful again. Didn’t last long, did it?”

  “Come on, Sylvia. It’s only been one day. You’ll raise money. Let’s just brainstorm for a minute. Let’s be creative. There must be some way to get their attention.”

  “Like what? I tried telling them all about Joseph; I even had pictures of him. They weren’t interested.”

  “Well, is there some way you could find out which businessmen in town might have sick kids? Maybe Harry could get a list at the hospital or something.”

  Sylvia couldn’t believe Tory would suggest such a thing. “That wouldn’t be ethical, Tory. I would never ask him to do that.”

  “Why not? There must be businessmen who’ve had kids in Children’s Hospital. If their kids are well now, they’d be able to relate to Joseph.”

  “Either that, or they’d resent me for asking, since no one helped them with their bills.”

  “Yeah, guess you’re right.” Tory looked around for her children, who had laid their bikes down and were crouched at a manhole on the sidewalk. Spencer was trying to open it. “Spencer, get away from that! Now!”

  Spencer kept pulling at the cover. “There are fish in there, Mommy! I wanna see!”

  “There are no fish in there!” Tory called. “Let go, Spencer. One…two…”

  He yanked his hands away before she could reach “three,” as if the manhole cover would self-destruct at the word.

  Tory turned back to Sylvia. “What about heart attacks?”

  “What about them?” Sylvia asked.

  “Couldn’t you get a list of heart attack victims? People Harry’s done bypasses on? Some of them must own businesses; they might be willing to donate as a tax write-off.”

  Sylvia considered that for a moment. “I still couldn’t get the list from Harry. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “Okay, then walk into the lobby of a business, befriend the secretary, and ask her which executives have had heart attacks in the past. She would know. Then ask to see them. They’d be a whole lot more willing to listen than someone who’s never been sick.”

  “Seems awfully mercenary,” Sylvia said. “And dishonest, too.”

  “Then tell the receptionist what you’re doing. Get her interested in Joseph. Be honest with her. She’ll help you. Mark my word.”

  Tory glanced back at the street and saw only Brittany. Standing up, she called, “Spencer!”

  “He’s looking at the horses, Mommy,” Brittany tattled.

  Sylvia watched as Tory headed out to corral her young son. She smiled, remembering all the chases with her own children. They, too, had headed for the stables at every opportunity.

  She listened as Tory shouted at Spencer, then saw the child dash back to his bike. Tory was out of breath when she rejoined her on the porch.

  “Now, where were we?” Tory asked.

  Sylvia grinned. “Just wondering…If you’re so sure all this would work, why don’t you try it?”

  Tory stiffened. “Are you kidding? I could never do that.”

  Sylvia couldn’t help laughing. “You know, there’s a friend of ours, Ed Majors, who had a triple bypass last year. He owns a metalworks business in town. I know I could get in to see him. Maybe I could convince him…”

  “Why didn’t you start with him?” Tory asked.

  “It never even crossed my mind until you mentioned the heart attack victims.”

  Tory arched her eyebrows. “Who’s the brains of this outfit?”

  “You, apparently.” Sylvia laughed. “I feel better, Tory. Thank you. I think I can go out there and do it again tomorrow.”

  “Sure you can,” Tory said. “All you needed was a plan.”

  The next morning, Sylvia showed up at Majors Metalworks and asked to see Ed. He came out immediately and ushered her back to his office. It took fifteen minutes, start-to-finish, for him to agree to donate five hundred dollars toward Joseph’s fund. As he wrote out the check, he apologized for not giving more, but confided that his business was “in the red” and he couldn’t afford more.

  Sylvia expressed her gratitude with a hug, then, armed with purpose and confidence, she headed to the next business on her list. It turned out that it was time for the receptionist’s coffee break, so she offered to buy her a cup of coffee in the employee cafeteria. There, she told the woman about Joseph’s plight, and asked if she knew of any executives in the company who might have had heart problems themselves and would sympathize with the Dodds. The receptionist gave her the name of one of the vice presidents who’d had a mild heart attack earlier in the year. Before she sent Sylvia to his office, she gave twenty dollars herself to apply toward Joseph’s fund.

  The executive who’d had the heart attack wrote her a check for a hundred dollars, then walked her to the office of the president and introduced her. After hearing her pitch, the president wrote out a check for a thousand dollars.

  Though the next five stops proved fruitless, Sylvia felt victorious on her way home. She had raised $1,620 in one day, and felt that if she just kept at it, they’d have what the Dodds needed for Joseph.

  Harry was already home when she arrived, and she f
luttered in and apologized for not having supper made.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “We’ll go out.”

  “Yes, let’s go out,” she said. “We have to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “All the money I raised today for Joseph’s heart transplant.”

  “How much did you raise?” he asked.

  “One thousand six hundred twenty dollars,” she said, prancing around.

  “That much?”

  “That’s right. I know it doesn’t begin to cover it, but isn’t it wonderful? Yesterday I was so discouraged, but today I armed myself for battle and went at it with all I had. We’re on our way. I deposited the money on the way home. The Joseph Dodd Trust Fund has something in it!”

  “I knew you had it in you!” Laughing, he twirled her around, pulled her against him, and began to dance. “And you thought you had nothing left to contribute.”

  She laughed as he spun her, then launched into a jitterbug and ended with a dip that left her giggling like a teenager.

  Harry grew serious at the restaurant, while they were waiting for their food. “I was thinking about a way to help little Joseph. Of sacrifices we could make to help out.”

  “I’m willing to give whatever we can,” Sylvia said.

  “Yes, but there’s something we could sell, and it might help drum up some publicity to get others to contribute.”

  “What?”

  He looked down at his iced tea and drew a line in the condensation on the glass, as if considering how this suggestion might affect Sylvia. “Before I say it, just know that if you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to. It’s just an idea.”

  “Harry, what?” she asked. “You know I want to do whatever I can. Of course, with the wedding expenses and the possibility of our going to Nicaragua…” She halted midsentence and met Harry’s eyes. It was the first time she’d brought that up since he’d first mentioned it. “I’m just saying, if we had to, somehow, we could come up with the money to help. I’m willing to do almost anything.”

  He looked carefully at her. “I was thinking of selling the horses.”

  She caught her breath. “What?”

  “Just listen,” he said, closing his hand over hers. “Cathy’s having the animal fair at the church. That would be a good time to auction them off. It would be good advertising and draw more people to the fair. Raise public awareness.”

  “But Harry, I love my horses.”

  “I know, but hardly anyone rides them anymore. The kids aren’t here—”

  “They’ll ride them when they come home. I still ride them sometimes.”

  “But not that often. And they’re really a lot of trouble to take care of. Think how much it would mean for Joseph’s heart fund. Directly and indirectly.”

  Tears flooded her eyes as she stared down at her silverware. She rearranged it, then set it back like it was. She wondered how he could think of giving up all the things they had loved in their lives—their home, their land, his career, and now the horses. Did he consider this the first step toward shedding all their possessions and heading for the mission field? “That’s a lot to ask, Harry.”

  “I know.” He let silence sit like a warm cat between them, and finally, he touched her chin and made her look at him. “Remember in the Bible when David wanted to buy the site of a threshing floor from Araunah, to build an altar on it and offer sacrifices to the Lord? And Araunah wanted to give it to him for free?”

  “Yes, I remember,” she whispered. “David said he didn’t want to offer anything to the Lord that cost him nothing.”

  “The horses will cost us,” he said. “But it won’t be just an offering to Joseph. It’ll be an offering to the Lord.”

  The struggle in her heart was almost more than she could bear, but she knew in her mind that it was the right thing to do. Finally, she brought her misty eyes back to his. “How can I say no when you put it like that?” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “What am I going to do around the house with no kids and no horses?”

  “Maybe you’ll think of something.” It was his first reminder in weeks of his desire to go to Nicaragua. She chose to ignore it.

  But she couldn’t ignore his choice to sell the horses. She tried to find a cheerful spot in her heart from which she could make this sacrifice. “It sure will make Tory’s life easier, if Spencer’s not constandy trying to escape to pet the colt. She can rest a little easier if she has to turn her back on him for a minute.”

  He laughed softly. “That little rascal.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Remember when Jeff was that little? He loved those horses. We were training him for barrel races even then.”

  “And now he has a horse of his own in North Dakota,” he said. “He’ll be fine about this.”

  She knew he was right. It wasn’t the kids who would mourn. She was the one who didn’t want to let them go. “All right, Harry,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”

  “Just tell Cathy,” he said with a smile. “Then we can start preparing ourselves. It’ll sure bring more people to the animal fair. Everybody wants a bargain.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “I just hope it makes a difference.”

  “It won’t get him a heart any sooner,” Harry said. “But it’ll sure make things easier while they wait.”

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-One

  The impromptu meeting in the middle of Cedar Circle happened by accident. Tory had walked out to check her mailbox and seen Sylvia crossing the yard, headed for Cathy’s. Cathy had just driven up and was getting out of her car.

  Tory waved at them both, then looked down at the mail in her hand. The envelope on top was from a church—one of those she’d sent letters to the other day. Her heart began to pound as she tore it open. She pulled out the folded note, and a check fluttered to the ground. She picked it up before the wind could blow it away and saw that it was for a hundred dollars. Quickly, she read the letter.

  Dear Mrs. Sullivan,

  Thank you so much for your letter regarding Joseph Dodd’s heart transplant. We have shared this request with our congregation and have raised a small donation toward his medical bills. We intend to keep trying to raise more money, but wanted to make this first installment. We also pledge to pray for him and his family.

  Thank you for sharing this need with us and allowing us to do our part. We have a small congregation, but because of your letter, we’ve reached deep into our pockets.

  In Christ’s name,

  The Fellowship of Survey Baptist Church

  Reading the check again, Tory felt the thrill of accomplishment. Survey Baptist was just a little trailer church she passed on her way down the mountain. How had they raised this much so quickly? Didn’t they have a building fund? Weren’t there salaries to pay? Surely there were—and yet that small fellowship had found a way to contribute.

  She broke into a run across the circle.

  “Cathy! Sylvia! You won’t believe this!”

  They both turned around, and she almost assaulted them with the letter. “Read this. Look, a check for a hundred dollars! Can you believe it?”

  “You got published?” Cathy asked.

  “No!” Tory said. “Better! I sent letters out three days ago about Joseph, and look! I got this response already.” Sylvia took the letter, and Cathy read over her shoulder.

  “Wow! It must have been some letter,” Cathy said.

  “That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Tory said. “I must have sent letters to a hundred different churches. Do you think more money will come in?”

  “Well, that hundred dollars had to have been sent out the day they got your letter,” Sylvia said. “If that’s any indication, I’d say yes. A lot more will come in.” She laughed out loud and hugged Tory. “Girl, don’t ever tell me that you don’t know how to write.”

  “I just told them about Joseph,” she said. “It wasn’t any big masterpiece.”

  “Well, it got through. Th
is is wonderful. I’ll take the check and deposit it. Tory, save all the letters we get for Brenda and David. It might be nice for Brenda to see how the Lord is providing, and I think it might be vital for David.”

  “I will,” Tory said. She flipped through the rest of the mail, but found only bills.

  “Looks like we’re on our way,” Cathy said. “Sylvia, tell Tory what you’re going to do.”

  Sylvia’s grin faded a degree. “Harry and I have decided to sell the horses.”

  Tory caught her breath. “No! You’ve gotta be kidding!”

  “We’ve decided that might drum up more publicity for the animal fair that Cathy’s giving, and if we auction the horses off there, we might do real well. We’ll donate the proceeds to Joseph.”

  “But what a sacrifice! You love those horses.”

  “We hardly ever ride anymore. And we figure it’ll give you some peace of mind about Spencer.”

  Tory shook her head. “He’s going to be heartbroken.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Sylvia said. “Especially if he knows it’s to help Joseph’s heart.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She looked at Cathy. “So have we got a date for the animal fair?”

  “July Fourth,” Cathy said. “I talked to the folks at Sylvia’s church, and they’re going to let us use the grounds. And I called Brenda’s church, and they’re going to come over and help with food and extra booths and things. We’re going to make a real big deal out of it.”

  “What about your church, Tory?” Sylvia asked. “Have they agreed to help any?”

  Tory looked down at the bills in her hand, embarrassed. “Well, I’m sure they will. They just haven’t committed yet.” She sighed and looked down at the Survey Baptist letter again. It was such an encouragement. More, even, than if she had gotten published. “You know, this gives me energy. I think I’ll go back in there and write some more letters. I mean, I don’t have to stay in the state of Tennessee. I could write every church in the country if I wanted to. I mean, the more I can reach, the better, right?”