by JoAnn Durgin
Dean went on to read that stuttering—also known as stammering—is a speech disorder where the flow of speech is disrupted by involuntary repetitions and prolongations of sounds, syllables, and words or phrases. It didn’t surprise him to learn there’s a wide spectrum of severity and it has no effect on intelligence. He shook his head at the preposterous theories for the cause of stuttering: tickling an infant excessively, eating improperly during breastfeeding, allowing an infant to look in the mirror, cutting a child’s hair before the child spoke his or her first words, having too small a tongue, or being the “work of the devil.” The so-called cures were even more outlandish and included drinking lots of water from a snail shell and hitting a stutterer in the face when the weather is cloudy.
“Must be interesting reading.”
Dean jumped. His laptop slid off the briefcase and onto the bed. He smirked as Eliot fell onto the bed next to him, laughing quietly. “Sorry, buddy. I couldn’t resist. What’s got you so engrossed? Don’t tell me you’re working.”
“Not at the current time, no.”
“I’m here if you need someone to listen.”
Eliot was a close friend, so why not? “Since you asked for it, how about I read you some bedtime statistics?”
“Sure, but hold that thought. You keep reading and I’ll be back in five minutes.” Eliot grabbed his toiletry bag and darted out the door, being careful the screen door didn’t slam behind him.
Dean continued reading. Aristotle theorized that stuttering was caused by a malfunctioning tongue. In 18th and 19th century Europe, surgical interventions—including cutting of the tongue with scissors, and other cutting of nerves, neck area and lip muscles—were used. Dean cringed at the thought. Anxiety, low self-esteem, nervousness and stress don’t cause stuttering, although those things are often the result of living with a ‘highly stigmatized disability’—whatever that meant—which can exacerbate the problem. While there are many treatments, including speech therapy techniques to increase fluency, there was essentially no cure for the disorder. That made him frown although he’d suspected as much.
Closing his eyes, Dean rubbed the back of his neck since it was sore from straining to read from the computer screen. Even though he was getting tired, he pushed on, anxious to learn as much as he could about the disorder.
“Okay, I’m all ears. Care to give me a heads-up?” Eliot tucked away his toiletry bag. After changing into his sleep shorts and a tank, he sat cross-legged on his bed, facing him. They greeted Josh and Marc as they walked in together, keeping their voices low so as not to disturb Landon, who’d fallen fast asleep. Mitch and Kevin weren’t back yet. Dean assumed they must be spending a little private time with their wives. That’s what he’d be doing, given the opportunity.
“You’ll figure it out with this first sentence.” Dean began to read. “In rare cases, stuttering may start in adulthood as the result of a neurological event—head injury, tumor, stroke, or drug abuse. Congenital and hereditary factors may also play a role, and children with a first-degree relative who stutters are three times as likely to develop a stutter. However, in certain studies, 40% to 70% of stutterers have no family history of the disorder.”
“Do you know anything about Sheila’s history?” Eliot said.
“No. All I know is that she stuttered during her first TeamWork mission in San Antonio. The same one where Sam and Lexa met. Listen to this,” he said as he began reading. “Galen, known as the greatest physician of the Roman Empire, theorized that fear aggravated stuttering. Roman Emperor Claudius was initially shunned from the public eye and public office due to a perceived lack of intelligence because of his stutter. Aesop, the Greek author of fables, stuttered from infancy. Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland was afflicted with a stammer.” Dean’s eyes widened as he scanned the list of famous stutterers. “I had no idea some of these people stuttered.”
Eliot reclined on the bed. “Give me some names.”
“King George VI and Winston Churchill. Churchill suffered from a severe stutter as well as a lisp caused by a defect in his palate.”
“And he was widely considered as one of the greatest orators of all time,” Eliot mused. “You know about Moses, right?”
“Yeah. I just read the verses from Exodus. Did you know Tiger Woods is a stutterer?”
“Nope. Did not know that. Who else?”
“James Earl Jones, Mel Tillis, Jimmy Stewart, Julia and Eric Roberts, Bruce Willis, Sam Neill, Raymond Massey, Carly Simon, Anthony Quinn, Harvey Keitel, B.B. King, and even Marilyn Monroe. Also John Updike, Somerset Maugham, and Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
“Interesting. Darth Vader? Marilyn Monroe? Those are surprising,” Eliot said.
Dean read further down the list. “And what do you know? Charles Darwin made the list.”
“Huh.” Eliot’s lids seemed to be growing heavier by the second.
“Get some sleep. I’m going to read a bit more.”
“Sorry. We can talk more in the morning,” Eliot mumbled.
“Sure. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, buddy.” Eliot rolled over.
As he read about the proposed modification therapies for stuttering, Dean started to doze. It all sounded clinical, complicated, and started to run together in his mind. Closing and storing his laptop beneath his bed, Dean extinguished the light and crawled under the covers. At least he felt more informed about stuttering, not that what he’d read helped him understand Sheila’s specific case any better. If the opportunity presented itself, he might ask her about it sometime. Whether or not she’d stuttered from infancy, and even if she would always stutter, she was a perfect creation in Christ. If only he could help her understand that truth.
“You’re not damaged goods, Sheila,” Dean whispered into the darkness. “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
~~♥~~
Sam rocked on the front porch of his quarters with Hannah curled in his lap, and he hummed a new praise chorus Kevin taught them earlier at the prayer circle. He stopped when he detected sounds he couldn’t define somewhere nearby. He waited. Yes, there it was again...a saw? Lifting from the rocker, Sam carried his sleeping daughter back to her bed. He tucked her in and bent to kiss her forehead and then did the same with Leah and Joe.
Satisfied all three kids were fast asleep, he shoved his shirt into his jeans as he strolled to the middle of the campsite and waited until he heard more sounds. This time, he heard muted voices. Sounded like they came from somewhere behind the dining hall.
Heading in the direction of the sounds, he stopped when he spied Kevin and Rebekah. They stood side by side, talking quietly. His shirt was off and his tanned skin glistened with sweat in spite of the cooler temperatures. Rebekah had a lightweight blanket wrapped around her and laughed at something he’d said. When Kevin pointed to something behind her, she retrieved a short, flat piece of wood. Sam smiled when he saw Kevin plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek as he took the board from her.
“Should I ask or turn around and walk back to the campsite?”
Kevin and Rebekah glanced up at him, surprise written in their expressions.
“Hey, Sam.” Kevin wiped one arm across his brow.
Sam glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. “Kind of late to be out, isn’t it?” Walking closer, he surveyed the supplies scattered on the ground.
“Give you one guess what we’re doing.” Rebekah shared a smile with her husband.
Sam moved his hands to his hips. “Considering all the lumber, I’d guess you’re building a gazebo?”
Rebekah nodded. “You found us out.”
“We didn’t think you’d mind,” Kevin said. “We want it to be a surprise for the One Nation Church.”
“It will be.” Sam’s gaze narrowed. “It’s a great idea, and I’m sure they’ll love it. Not to put a damper on your little midnight rendezvous, but don’t stay up so late that you’ll both be exhausted. Kevin, maybe you’d better not handle any power tools in th
e morning. And it’s getting chilly. Maybe you should put your shirt back on. Or get your wife to share a corner of her blanket.”
“Thanks, Dad, but I’ll be fine.” Kevin lined up the board next to others, positioning it carefully. “We’ll stop in another half-hour or so. Promise.”
Rebekah smiled. “Kevin dreams about power tools, so I’m sure he’ll be safe with one in the morning. Plus, this is a great way for us to spend some private time together. We figured if we’re too tired in the evening, then we can get up early to work on the gazebo.”
“Fair enough. As long as you feel you can get it done while we’re here. Will it be your Rebekah’s Heart design?” Sam had been proud of Kevin for patenting the design for the gazebo. That design had also earned him a ton of money. Humble and generous, Kevin had poured a lot of his profits back into TeamWork Missions.
“None other.” Kevin nodded. “I premeasured and cut all the lumber at the store and brought it with me. I’m sure I can finish it, but if I see I’m running short on time, I’ll ask for help.”
Sam shook his head. How had he missed that load of lumber coming into the camp? “Lexa must know about this.”
“You were at the One Nation Church in a meeting when we first arrived,” Kevin said. “We pledged Lexa to secrecy. We’ll tell the others in a few days when we need their help to get it over to the church. I figured we’d get it started here and then transfer it by flatbed truck later in the week. We can present it on Sunday morning after the church service and then finish it over there.”
“Sounds like you’ve worked it all out. Carry on then.” Giving them a wave, Sam turned to leave. Thinking better of it, he turned. “You know what? Private time or not, do you want some help tonight?” With a grin, he raised his hands. “I’m offering, so I’d advise you to take advantage. Unless you two kids would rather be left alone.”
Rebekah smiled and beckoned him closer. “Sure. Come on over. You just missed Mitch and Cassie. They were here until a few minutes ago and are helping, too.”
“Is Kevin okay?” Sam nodded to where Kevin sawed a board like his life depended on it. He’d been so close to his mother, and he was taking her loss hard. Rebekah would be a great comfort to Kevin since she and Josh had lost their father in the last few years.
“He will be,” Rebekah said. “The physical release of building the gazebo is good for him.”
“I’m sure it is. His dad doing all right?”
“Richard’s lonely, as you might expect. It’ll take time like everything else. My mom’s reached out to him. When we talked a few days ago, Mom told me she invited Richard to join her at a Christian widows and widowers group. I’m hoping he will at some point.”
Sam nodded. “It’s only been a few weeks. He’ll go when he’s ready.” Sam couldn’t help but think of his own parents who were a little older than Kevin and Rebekah’s folks. His father, Sam Sr., had suffered from hearing loss, dizziness, and occasional migraine headaches from Ménière’s Disease diagnosed during his Air Force years. He’d kept himself in good physical shape and watched his diet. His mother Sarah’s cancer scare a few years ago thankfully turned out to be a benign tumor.
“Thanks for putting together this mission for us,” Rebekah said. “I’m looking forward to the fellowship time with the One Nation Church members tomorrow night. In case I haven’t told you lately, I love you, Sam.”
Emotion clogged Sam’s throat. “I love you, too, Beck. Now, we’d better get to work or your husband’s going to accuse us of slacking.”
“May it never be.” She turned back to the lumber pile.
“Beck, wait.” Knowing her as well as he did, and working with her in the TeamWork office, Sam knew. Both Winnie and Lexa had mentioned that Rebekah hadn’t been feeling particularly well since her arrival in New Mexico. The signs were there.
At his words, she turned. “Yes?”
“When’s your baby due?” Sam’s voice came out gruff with emotion.
“Six months. Early April.” That response came from Kevin. Pulling his T-shirt over his head, Kevin joined his wife. He wiped his arm over his forehead and then kissed Rebekah’s cheek. Leaning into the kiss, Rebekah reached for his hand.
“I know you’ve wanted this for a while now. I’ve been praying.” Joy for his friends swelled his heart and Sam gathered both of them in a hug and said a prayer for their child. “Now, let me help you,” he said, ending the prayer.
Entering his family’s quarters an hour later, Sam caught sight of Lexa in their bed. He always found his wife at her loveliest during these times, with her long, blonde hair loose and flowing and the flush of sleep in her cheeks. Tired to his bones but also oddly energized after working on the gazebo, he quietly closed and locked the front door before dropping into the chair next to Lexa’s side of the bed. He loved watching her sleep, so peaceful and content.
After unlacing and tugging off his work boots, he peeled off his socks as his thoughts traveled back to Lexa’s first TeamWork mission in San Antonio. Feisty and stubborn, she’d challenged him like no other woman. Like a kid, he’d wanted to tug on that long braid of hers. Kiss her after that ornery goat spit on her through the open window of his old Volvo station wagon. All before they’d reached the campsite.
A believer from a young age, she’d been left on the doorstep of her faith without a clue how to live for Christ. During that summer, Lexa had blossomed as she’d learned to trust in the Lord’s promises as well as Sam’s love for her.
Rising out of the chair, he sighed. Yes, the Lord was merciful and poured out His grace so freely. Josh was covered in that grace. As was Marc. And Winnie. Eliot. Marta. Dean. Sheila. Each one of his faithful TeamWork volunteers was covered by the blood of Jesus. Fallible people who tried their best to live godly lives. He failed often, but he did his best to lead his group, armed with the word of God and His sweet promises. And prayer. Lots of prayer.
As parents, his crew now faced the daunting task of raising children in a world rampant with sin and temptation. But it was also a world of goodness, love, and overwhelming possibilities.
“Sam, are you ever coming to bed?” Lexa’s voice was edged with sleep. Sexy. Turning over, she pushed aside the sheet, waiting as he stepped out of his shorts and shrugged out of his T-shirt. He grabbed his sleep shorts but stopped when she gave him a look he recognized.
Deciding to forego the shorts, Sam tossed them on the chair and climbed into bed beside his wife. Pulling Lexa into his arms, he nuzzled her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, appreciating her warmth. “You smell good, baby. Feel good.” Turning on his side, he cradled her face between his palms and gently kissed her. “Taste even better.” They’d been on the road and then in New Mexico for the past few days as they’d prepared the campsite. Caressing Lexa’s arm, Sam smiled as Lexa wrapped herself around him, warming him in the chill of the night.
“Everything okay? Did one of the girls have a bad dream?”
“Everyone’s fine.” When he teased her lips with his in a way he knew she liked, her response was immediate and gratifying. A quick glance at the clock on the table almost made him groan. In three hours, Lexa would meet Winnie and some of the other ladies in the dining hall to start their breakfast. He’d get up with her and another day would begin. Somehow they’d make it through with very little sleep. He’d grown accustomed to getting short spurts of sleep and the occasional catnap when he was on a mission.
Lexa smiled against his lips. “Hmm. Someone’s still awake.” She lovingly stroked his face. “Something on your mind, handsome cowboy?”
He kissed her again. He needed to be quiet with the kids sleeping in the next room, but he’d missed his wife. Needed her. “I know it’s late, Mrs. Lewis—make that early—but if you’re not too tired, care to join me in a little after hours adult camp fun?”
Sam stifled his wife’s laughter with a much more passionate kiss. It was the only way to keep the woman quiet. Based on her response, Lexa was more than willing. How
he loved her.
Chapter 16
Day 3, Wednesday
~~♥~~
Sam awoke the next morning to quiet but insistent knocking on the outer door of their quarters. “Hang on a minute!” He shook his head, dazed with sleep, and glanced at the clock. Three-thirty. Sliding out of the bed, he pulled on his clothes. After first making sure Lexa was covered with the bedsheets, he opened the door. Eliot and Marta waited in the dark, both dressed in their sleep clothes and jackets with tennis shoes.
Sam flipped the switch on the wall, illuminating the porch. “Morning.” Yawning, he stepped onto the porch and smoothed a hand over his unruly hair. “What’s up? Do you two need an ordained man to marry you?”
“Not this time.” Eliot’s tone was serious, the set of his jaw firm. “Sorry to get you up, Sam, but we need you to come with us. There’s something you need to see over at the women’s dorm.”
“Sure. Let me get my shoes. Just a second.” Slipping back inside, Sam grabbed his tennis shoes from under the bed and shoved his feet into them. After pulling the door closed behind him, he fell into step beside Eliot. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Marta hurried to keep up with them. “I went to use the facilities about a half hour ago. When I came back, I saw something painted on the outside wall of our dorm.”
“I thought we should discuss it before everyone else gets up,” Eliot told him. A couple of minutes later, they reached the dorm. Rubbing his eyes, Sam stepped forward to get a better look. A large, crudely drawn eye was painted in bold red to the right of the door. The eye was inside a circle with an arrow pointing to the bottom line of the circle. An indecipherable drawing was in the lower right quadrant of the circle, possibly a large animal—a bear or a bull perhaps.
Studying it, he puzzled over its possible meaning. Why would anyone have done this? Even more disturbing was the fact that someone had come into his camp during the early morning hours and gotten so close to the women.
