Emily

by Jack Weyland

  Austin smiled to himself; he had no ill feelings, but he couldn’t help thinking: Hastings is going to go through life thinking the sun rises in the morning just because he’s planned it that way.

  When it came time to bear his testimony, Austin had nothing to brag about, so he chose to talk about his hero. “I was reading this morning in the Book of Mormon, about when the Savior, after he’d been resurrected, visited the people. They’d endured a horrible storm and earthquakes and had survived aftershocks. They’d also experienced a day with no light of any kind. It says they were talking to one another about what had happened, when they heard a voice . . .”

  Austin opened his scriptures and began reading: “‘And they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn. And it came to pass that again they heard the voice, and they understood it not. And again the third time they did hear the voice, and did open their ears to hear it; and their eyes were towards the sound thereof; and they did look steadfastly towards heaven, from whence the sound came. And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them: Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.’”

  Austin finished reading and looked over the pulpit at his fellow missionaries. “Have you ever wondered why the voice came three times? Why at first was it so soft they could not make out what was being said? Have you ever wondered about that? I have.”

  He wasn’t sure anyone was paying any attention. Other elders had talked about their success as if that were a testimony.

  Austin continued. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think this was some sound technician going, ‘Testing, testing, testing.’ I think we can assume that Father in Heaven is perfectly capable of adjusting the sound level so everyone can hear him.

  “There were little children there who’d been terrified when the earthquakes came and when there was no light. Could it be that Heavenly Father didn’t want to scare the little children, so he deliberately spoke very softly at first, so the children wouldn’t be afraid?”

  From his place on the stand behind Austin, Elder Hastings leaned forward and whispered, “We don’t have much time left.”

  “Take as long as you want,” President Merrill corrected.

  Austin continued. “If Father in Heaven is so sensitive that he is willing to repeat himself three times just so he won’t scare little children, then he is also gracious enough to bless us when we try our best to serve him. It really doesn’t matter where we serve. All that matters is that we do our best and try to pattern our lives after the Savior. Nothing else matters. Not even how many baptisms we get on our mission or whether we’re a district leader or a zone leader or a mission assistant. Those are not our goals. Baptisms are even secondary to our main goal. Our main goal is to serve the Savior with all our heart, might, and strength.”

  After he said it, he heard Hastings whispering to President Merrill. Hastings probably wants to refute that, he thought.

  But President Merrill let it stand.

  * * * * *

  Julia Brunswick, Austin’s mother, liked to anticipate and plan. That was evident in her love of redecorating. She’d redecorated every home they’d ever lived in. With her, it was never just move in some new furniture or knock out a wall. Everything was planned out well in advance, down to the tiniest detail.

  She liked to do that with her family, too. And so her husband, Lloyd, was not surprised when one morning at breakfast she said, “We need to think about the kind of girl Austin is going to marry.”

  “Can’t that wait until he gets home from his mission?” he asked.

  “If we’re going to have any say at all in it, we need to start thinking about it now.”

  “Isn’t it up to Austin who he marries?”

  “Well, of course, but there are a few things we can do to help the process along.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think we ought to be on the lookout for girls he can date.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Not yet. But he’ll need someone who will help him in his career and be a good mother for our grandchildren. It wouldn’t hurt, either, if she were poised, talented, and looked like she could be the wife of the governor of Utah.”

  “I don’t recall Austin ever saying he wants to be the governor of Utah.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to set your sights high. I’ll be looking for someone for Austin, and you can look, too, in your stake calling. We need to set it up well before he comes home.”

  As she did in home decorating, Julia worked first on paper. She established some guidelines. The girl Austin was to marry would need to come from Utah. That would increase the chances the couple would live in Utah. Her father needed to be a professional—either a doctor, dentist, or an attorney. She herself should at least be a junior in college. Girls younger than that were not mature enough to fully invest themselves in their husband and children. She also needed to be talented in singing, or possibly play a stringed instrument, such as the violin, viola, or cello.

  Once she had her list, Julia went to work trying to find girls who would qualify. She was always on the lookout.

  Her plan was, once she decided on the girl of her dreams, she would start dropping brief hints about the girl in her letters to Austin. She would have to be subtle about it, but she could plant a few seeds.

  In the midst of all this planning, while in the grocery store one day, she ran into Emily’s mother, who told her how Emily was doing at the burn center.

  “I should write Austin and tell him she’s there. I’m not sure he knows yet. Maybe if he wrote her a card, it would cheer her up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it would. I really think she had a crush on him before he left on his mission.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Julia said, recalling the stories Austin’s friends had told about how Emily had thrown her arms around him and kissed him on the day of his farewell. It was time to change the subject. “How is Jeremy doing on his mission?”

  “Oh, he’s doing great. He was just called to be mission assistant.”

  “Really?” Julia said with a raised eyebrow. “How nice for him.”

  “Well, it’s more responsibility, and it takes him away from what he most likes to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Teaching the gospel,” Jeremy’s mother said.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Austin is doing well, too. The mission president had so much confidence in him that he asked Austin to learn Vietnamese and work with the Vietnamese refugees in the Chicago area.”

  “That must be a challenge.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure it is, but you know Austin. He loves a challenge.”

  Leaving the store, Julia felt upset that Jeremy was doing so much better than Austin was. It’s not fair, she thought.

  By the time she wrote her next letter to Austin, Julia had zeroed in on the person she had chosen for him to marry. Her name was Meredith Vance. She was the youngest daughter of the man many thought would be the next judge appointed to the Supreme Court of the state of Utah. The Vance family had moved into a house four blocks away—in an adjoining ward. Meredith was quite beautiful and also very poised. She was first chair cellist in the BYU Symphony Orchestra, and, she was majoring in family science.

  Meredith was, in a word, perfect.

  To condition Austin to the idea of dating Meredith, Julia planned out what she would say in each of her letters to him, from now until he returned from his mission. Her praise of Meredith’s virtues could be no longer than one paragraph and had to be buried in the middle of the letter, so as not to tip him off.

  Chapter 7


  To make sure her campaign went well, Julia sat down and wrote out all the segments about Meredith she would include in her letters to Austin until he came home.

  In her first letter, she described Meredith’s spirituality. Because she didn’t want to cloud the issue, she chose not to convey the news that Emily had been burned in a fire and was in the burn center. I’ll wait until next week to tell him about Emily, she thought.

  I hired him an algebra tutor in junior high. I helped him earn his Eagle. I don’t mind helping him find a wife, too.

  I just want him to be happy.

  * * * * *

  When Emily woke up, she found her mother and father in her room. As soon as she opened her eyes, her mom stepped to her bed. Her father had been dozing in a chair, but he quickly got to his feet when he heard his wife’s voice.

  “Hello, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?” her mom asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Emily could hardly move because of the gauze dressings. “What day is it?” she asked. The feeding tube in her nose and throat made it difficult to speak, and her voice was hoarse and raspy.

  “Monday night.”

  “Monday?”

  “Yes. They did a skin graft on Friday.”

  “They say it went very well,” her dad said.

  “That’s good,” she said, still confused that it was Monday.

  She wanted to be more responsive, but it seemed as though her mind could only process one thought at a time. And the thought it couldn’t let go of was It’s Monday?

  Her parents stayed for a while but then, because she kept falling asleep, they said good night and left.

  The next morning Brooke came to look in on her.

  “Well, looks like you made it. You’re looking good. Everyone’s really happy with how things went on Friday. Way to go, girl.”

  “It went okay then?” she asked.

  “Very well from what everyone says. Looks like the graft is taking hold, so we’re all pretty happy around here.”

  “That’s good.”

  Brooke studied Emily’s face. “You ready to do some work?” she asked.

  “What kind of work?”

  “Let me explain what’s going to happen between your skin graft surgeries. Each morning you’ll go to the tank room where they’ll remove the gauze dressings and then put you in a tank of warm water for a few minutes. Doug will be there to help you exercise your arms and legs. After that, they’ll check how your graft is doing, clean the burn wounds, and probably do a little more debridement. Then they’ll apply a fresh layer of medication to the wounds and wrap you up again in clean gauze. You okay with all that?”

  “I guess so.” Emily said tiredly.

  “That will take care of the mornings. After lunch, in the afternoons, you’ll probably end up doing some more physical therapy. And then in the evening they’ll do another dressing change. So you’re going to be busy.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “But I have to tell you, everyone here is excited about how well things have gone for you so far.”

  “I’m glad,” Emily said, but she was thinking, I need to get ready.

  After Brooke left, Emily closed her eyes and, in her mind, prayed for help to be able to get through the day. Please help me, Father in Heaven. I can’t do this by myself. Please let me take advantage of what the Savior has done for me. Please help me stand the pain. Please, dear Father, please help me. Please help me.

  She thought about the Savior’s life and tried to recall again the miracles of healing he had performed. She also pictured herself in the room of mirrors with Jesus about to give her a blessing. If I think about Jesus Christ and trust him to take away my pain, then maybe I can get through this, she thought.

  She would have liked to have more time to prepare herself, but an hour later they came to get her.

  After transferring her from her gurney to the stainless steel washing table in the tank room, Red and Doug began removing the dressings. She tried not to cry out but sometimes she couldn’t help herself.

  “I’m sorry, Emily. I know it hurts,” Red said. She could tell they were trying to be gentle, but whatever they did and no matter how slowly they worked, it all hurt.

  Emily kept her eyes closed and prayed. That seemed to help.

  After a while, she opened her eyes and, as if for the first time, really looked at Red and Doug. Doug was older than Red, almost completely bald, wore a handlebar mustache, and looked as though he hadn’t had much sleep. Red was taller and bulkier than his partner, and he had freckled, hairy arms. She could tell by the set of his mouth and the way he was grimacing that he hated hurting her.

  “Red?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for your help,” she said.

  He nodded his head.

  “I just want you to know I’m grateful to you for caring. You, too, Doug.”

  Doug smiled. “Thanks, Emily. That’s real nice of you to say. I know this is painful, and I wish we didn’t have to hurt you, but the way to healing is through pain.”

  “I know.”

  As they continued removing the dressings, she went through the words to a song. She found herself saying over and over again in her mind, Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray.

  She felt a warmth come over her that wasn’t just that of the warm, humid air they maintained in the tank room. It came from somewhere else, and, although it didn’t totally take away the pain, it made it easier to handle.

  She looked forward to lunch because that meant they’d be done with her for a while. But even lunch was a challenge. She wasn’t very hungry, but they brought her more food than she’d ever eaten at one time in her life.

  She took a few bites and then pushed her tray away.

  The nurse who had delivered her lunch came back to check on her progress. “You have to do better than that,” he said.

  “I can’t. I’m not that hungry.”

  “You have to eat if you want to get better. Your body needs the nutrients to repair itself.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  He was a bit overweight himself, and he grinned when he said, “Boy, what I’d give for permission to eat more.”

  She forced herself to eat and drink, but there was still enough on her tray for two or three others.

  There were two large plastic trash containers in her room. When nobody was looking, she pulled one of them close to her and buried some of her food under the trash.

  Her trick wasn’t discovered, and that made her happy.

  * * * * *

  Two days went by.

  Emily had a secret, but she didn’t know whom to share it with. Her secret was that her faith in Jesus Christ was helping her get through her pain.

  When she woke each morning, she would go over in her mind each activity of the day that would bring her pain, and then she would pray, whispering the words. “Father in Heaven, you said you’d never give us more than we can bear. Well, this is more than I can take. Please help me.” She asked for help when her dressings were changed, help when she went through physical therapy, help on a day when a skin graft was scheduled, and help afterward, when she was confined to bed and had to remain in the same position for hours.

  After she had prayed, she tried to think about the Savior’s life, and how he had shown compassion for those who suffered hardship or pain.

  She had asked Brooke to get her a Bible and look up a passage, which Emily then memorized. She said it to herself over and over again through the course of a day.

  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

  As each day progressed, she thought frequently about the pains the Savior had endured. She pictured him in the Garden of Gethsemane suffering for the sins of the world,
himself amazed at the depth of the agony he was enduring, crying to his Father for relief. She pictured the angel who came to comfort him at that time. She pictured the mockery of his trial and the cruelty of the Roman guards who placed a crown of thorns on his head, then jammed the cruel points into his scalp. She pictured him being scourged with a whip and then being forced to haul the heavy cross piece through crowded streets while being mocked by the crowds that gathered to watch him struggle up the hill Golgotha. She pictured the nails being driven into his hands and feet and then his being lifted up upon the cross. And she thought about his agony as he hung there.

  He suffered for me, so that I would not have to suffer. He took upon him my sins. I know he loves the whole world, but now I feel very strongly that he loves me. He knows me by name. He knows where I am and what I’m going through. He has the power to help me get through this.

  Then a warm feeling would come over her. It wasn’t that the pain necessarily diminished, but she would feel a power to endure it. The sense of being loved would wash over her, and the relief would bring tears to her eyes. Then she would give a prayer of gratitude and try very hard to keep that feeling through the hardest parts of her day.

  She did not tell the nurses because they would have an explanation, but, because it would be purely medical, it wouldn’t be the right explanation. Brooke had become a friend. She was there consistently, explaining what the doctors and nurses were too busy to explain, providing help and assistance however she could. But Emily did not even tell Brooke about her secret.

  Each morning, as she prepared herself mentally for the day’s activities, she tried to picture the Savior: how he looked, how his voice would sound, what it would be like to look into his eyes. And when she did that, she experienced a tender, comforting presence. He loves me, she thought.

  For the first time, she felt the reality of the Savior’s love for her, not in some general way, but in a personal way—that he knew about her accident, that he knew she was undergoing great pain, and that he cared about her and would bless her.