Return to Harmony

by Janette Oke

  As always, thoughts of the world beyond Harmony brought Jodie to mind. But Bethan was becoming accustomed to dealing with them, learning how to push them aside before they worked their way inward to where they could cause her real pain. She skipped up to Dylan and Carol’s front door, pushed it open, and called inside, “Anybody home?”

  “Upstairs,” she heard Carol respond.

  Bethan climbed the stairs and found Carol changing the baby.

  She made a picture of happy motherhood as she bent over her little one, eyes so full of love and laughter that they sparkled with intensity. “Can you come hold little Dylan for me?” she asked, half turning to greet Bethan with another smile.

  “Gladly.” Bethan’s heart reached out with her arms as she took the squirming little bundle and nestled him close, filling her senses with his freshness and clean milky scent. As always, looking at that little face for the first time each day was like seeing it anew. “What a wonderful little boy you are,” she murmured, snuggling her face into the soft neck.

  Carol washed her hands in the basin, smiling at Bethan in the mirror. “I suppose eight months old is really too young, but I do feel as though he can understand you,” she said with motherly pride.

  “Of course he can,” Bethan assured the smiling little child. “He’s a special little boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

  Carol walked over, wiping her hands on her apron, and looked at the two of them. Her eyes smiled, then darkened with seriousness.

  “You know,” she ventured softly, her tone full of love and concern, “you should be getting out more. You look pale.”

  Bethan kept her face turned toward the baby, not wanting to reveal how the words wounded. She knew the truth. She did not look pale. She looked awful. She was up all hours, helping her father take care of her mother. Her father still had a job that he did not dare give up, and her mother needed help almost constantly. It was getting to be too much, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  She tickled little Dylan under the chin and responded as casually as she could manage. “Momma’s had some bad days.”

  “But you just can’t keep going day and night, Bethan. Nobody can.”

  “Let me get Momma back on her feet,” Bethan said with forced gaiety. “Then you just watch how I start stepping out.”

  When Carol did not answer, Bethan turned and was met by a very concerned gaze. “You’re a wonderful daughter and a blessing to the family,” Carol said. “All the same, you’re about to worry Dylan and me something serious. We fear you’re going to work yourself ill. When I come over with baby Dylan to give you an occasional bit of time off, you go grocery shopping or something equally boring.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re still young. You should spend more time with people your own age. What about that pastor? Connor Mills is a fine young man, and he’s spending far too much time alone. I think—”

  “Do you know, I believe this baby needs another change,” Bethan said, holding determinedly on to her cheerful tone. She handed the baby over and said, “Don’t you worry, sister. I’ll be just fine.”

  EIGHTEEN

  THE RUN-UP TO GRADUATION was wonderfully exhilarating, and utterly confusing. Around Easter word leaked out that Jodie Harland was walking away with almost every honor, including class valedictorian.

  The result was a gradual transformation of her status among her classmates, and deferential treatment from all but a handful of stalwarts. This minority continued to proclaim loudly and resentfully that a woman had no place studying science. But Jodie was finding it easier to ignore them, especially now that so many others sought out her company. Around campus she was being hailed by total strangers. Young men stopped to smile, say hello, and pass the time of day. Young women seemed to take pride in her brains, as though higher intelligence offered them a reason to excuse her unfeminine ambitions.

  But it was difficult for her to come out of her protective shell after so long. Jodie’s ability to make friendly small talk had become rusty after the time of isolation. Then a journal article written by Dr. Dunlevy named her and Lowell Fulton among the research staff, and the attention sent her way increased even further.

  Her contacts with Harmony had been reduced to the slenderest of threads. She continued to write her father every week. Because the apothecary had its own phone, she placed a long-distance collect call the first Sunday night of the month. But his responses were brief, mumbled replies or an occasional card filled with a haphazard scrawl which she could scarcely read.

  To her utter surprise, the week before Easter Jodie found a letter from Moira Keane waiting for her in her school mailbox after classes. Shocked by the name and return address, she tore the envelope open and scanned swiftly. She saw enough to know that one name sprouted from every paragraph. Bethan. Jodie crumpled the letter, amazed that it could still hurt so much. She stuffed it into her handbag with the determination to drop it in the stove once she was home.

  But the shock and the memories it unleashed stayed with her, and she soon gave up on plans to work in the lab that afternoon. She started back toward the boardinghouse.

  Her second shock of the day came down Netty’s front steps as she turned the corner. She was tremendously unsettled to see Lowell Fulton walk out of her home. The sight of him disturbed her little protected corner of the city, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

  But his own face lit up when his eyes spotted her. “There you are. Been having a nice chat with your landlady,” he said as he approached. “Back home we’d say she’s the kind who likes to make home folks of just about everybody she meets. About the nicest compliment you could give somebody.”

  He rattled on in easy conversation, but it made her even more uncomfortable to know he had been talking with Netty. She asked coldly, “What are you doing here, Lowell?”

  “I just wanted to have a chat with you, someplace away from school,” he said, seemingly not put off by her tone. “You’re always so busy around the lab and such, I thought it would be easier to speak my piece out here in the open air.”

  “Well, you found me. What’s on your mind?”

  He gestured back toward the porch. “Mind if we go sit down?”

  Jodie gave her head a decisive shake. “I don’t think so.”

  He peered down at her. “You sure don’t make it easy for a fellow.”

  For some reason she felt the palms of her hands growing clammy. Lowell recently had been sending more and more undesired attention her way. “I asked you what it was you wanted.”

  He took a breath, let it out slowly. “I was just wondering what you had planned for next year.”

  For a moment she held back, not sure if she should answer his question. But he looked open and sincere, and before she knew it she found herself volunteering the truth. “I’m not sure yet. Probably go to work for one of the pharmaceutical companies moving into Raleigh.”

  He kicked at the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe. “Dunlevy’s offered me a chance to stay on and do postgraduate research.”

  “I know.” Professor Dunlevy had told her about it himself, and had made the same offer to her. But Jodie was not sure she could endure more of the school’s enclosed, male-dominated atmosphere, despite the attraction of doing independent research. “Congratulations.”

  “I was wondering…” He stopped, studied the sky for a long moment, took a deep breath and said, “I was wondering if you’d stay and work with me.”

  “Work with you?” Now she understood what this was all about. “You mean, work for you, isn’t that right?”

  It was Lowell’s turn to stare. “I didn’t mean anything of the sort!”

  But Jodie had already worked up a full head of steam. “I remember the way you treated me that very first day, Lowell Fulton. And how you looked at me all through that first semester, like you wished you could freeze me solid.”

  His wide shoulders slumped. “That was an awful, awful mistake.”

  “It sure was.” She looked
for another handle to grab on to, something to give her a reason to add more fury, but his tone was so abject that she could only say, “A terrible one.”

  “I’m really sorry, Jodie. I’ve been sorry for a long time, and I’ve tried to say it a couple of times, but you—well, I was a coward. I open my mouth, and you’re already turning away. I’ve wanted to apologize for a long time.”

  “I can just imagine,” she said bitterly. But she was suddenly unsettled by memories of certain moments over the past year when Lowell had approached her, or tried to. She had taken pride in how swiftly she had raised the barriers. Even now she was in no mood to listen. She pushed the thought of a reconciliation away and went on, “You were jealous then, and you’re still jealous now.”

  “I’m not going to let you bait me,” he said steadily. “I admit I was jealous. That was wrong, and I treated you awfully. I am very sorry for that.” He stopped for a moment, then said, “Even when I was acting like a selfish idiot, deep inside I admired you, your courage and your skill. Don’t you see—?”

  “I see, all right,” she interrupted, but it was a struggle to keep her anger intact. Something about his sincerity and calm tone undermined her stubborn resolve. “The same person who treated me like bacteria the first time he laid eyes on me.”

  He winced at that but kept his tone level, his gaze direct. “You are right. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I’m asking anyway.”

  A sudden flower of pain bloomed at heart level. “What?”

  “Forgiveness,” he repeated. “I have asked God’s forgiveness. Now I’m asking yours.” A touch of humor surfaced. “Our Lord said to forgive seventy times seven. I know I came close—but maybe I haven’t exceeded that limit yet.”

  Jodie only looked down at the toe of her shoe, saying nothing.

  He went on in a softer, more pleading voice. “It is almost as hard to ask for as it is to give, but that’s what I’m doing. I’m truly sorry I hurt you. And got the rest to follow suit. I was a fool. I’m ashamed of what I’ve said—and done—but I can’t undo it. I can only ask you to forgive me and let me have another chance.” Another long pause. “Could you find it in your heart to forgive me? Could we be friends?”

  Friends. The word pierced her to the deepest level, and suddenly the letter she carried in her handbag seemed to burn against her side. Jodie started around him, her legs unsteady. “No, I can’t…”

  “Jodie, please—”

  “I… you…” Jodie gave up, turned, waved a vague hand, and walked toward the house. She had no desire to be so deeply hurt again.

  “There you are.” Netty had her ironing board set up in the front parlor as Jodie walked in the door. “Been somebody here looking for you.”

  “I know.” Jodie sank into the nearest chair. “I just saw him.”

  “That the fellow you was telling me about, the one studying chemistry with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was afraid of that.” The irons rested on the top of the room’s potbellied stove. Netty picked one up with her heat-blackened hotpad, thumped it down on the ironing board, ran it back and forth, then returned it to the stove with a clang. She hefted the next one, tested it with a licked finger, sprinkled water over the tablecloth, and ironed it smooth. Netty looked up, then said, “I fear I made a terrible mistake.”

  Jodie stared at her. “What?”

  “Part of being human, I suppose, but I hate making errors with other people’s lives. Especially yours. But I’m afraid I did.” The iron was replaced, the cloth folded and another put in its place, and the ironing continued. “I think maybe I was listening to your feelings more than I should have, though it pains me to say it. And maybe meddling in your affairs when I shouldn’t have been, mixing my memories with your truth.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “That I think your fellow is a fine upstanding young man,” Netty replied crisply.

  “He’s not my anything.”

  “He would be if you let him.” The iron came down with an authoritative thunk. “Yessir, a good-hearted man and a Christian to boot.”

  Jodie stared at the pinched-face old woman and felt the axis of her world shift. Netty’s words only served to make her feel even more confused. With a catch in her throat, she spoke quietly. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ll discover something soon enough,” Netty said firmly. “Of that I have no doubt whatsoever.”

  Jodie thought of Lowell’s last words, then remembered all that had preceded them. “I don’t see how,” she said with a sigh. “It’s already over and done with.”

  “You can stop that right sharp, missie. That gloomy thinking won’t get you nowhere but down.”

  “But you don’t know what he—”

  Netty shushed her. “I’ll give you a bit of advice it took me years to discover. Don’t worry on what’s past and can’t be changed. When your mind tries to bring it up, turn yourself away, unless of course you’re looking for a solution. You can do that, you know, turn away on the inside. It ain’t easy, but you can do it. Dwelling on past wrongs does nothing but open old wounds when the Lord is trying to heal them up. What’s done is done, you hear what I’m saying?”

  Jodie nodded once. She heard.

  “Life’s full of injustice, specially to anyone blessed by being born a woman. You just have to make up your mind to let go whenever such wrongs are done to you. Just let them go, and look on to tomorrow.”

  Jodie picked at a loose thread in her hem. “I don’t know as I would call being a woman any blessing. From where I sit, the injustices are winning out.”

  “That’s your pain talking, not your head.” Netty propped two work-worn hands on her hips. “How would you like to go through life without a woman’s heart? Miss the joy of a sunrise, or birdsong, or a quiet moment of rest and prayer? You just remember what I’m telling you. A woman pays for her blessings by having a heart that stays wide open to both joy and pain.” Her eyes glistened with time-sharpened zest. “And friendship. And even love, though it must sound strange coming from the mouth of an old fogey like me. But it’s the truth. If the dear Lord chooses to bless your life with love, then be strong enough and womanly enough to open your heart and accept it. Take it in deep. Make it grow. Give it your all, as only a woman knows how to do.”

  Bethan held on to control only because Dylan Junior and baby Caroline needed her strength. Being needed was exactly what the moment required. Otherwise she would be as broken as the little ones’ father.

  Her brother Dylan made it to the grave site because his father and one of his best friends half guided, half carried him there from the church. It did not matter to any of them that the flu epidemic was all but over. Carol had caught it while still recuperating from childbirth and was gone before the family hardly realized how ill she had become. Her sudden passing had felled Dylan as squarely as an axe.

  And Bethan’s mother. Moira was going through another of her bad spells, up much of every night with the pain, needing to have liniment rubbed into her swollen joints, taking pain medicine more and more often. It left her slack-featured and frail, not at all ready to handle a crisis like this.

  Bethan walked behind the coffin, the tiny infant Caroline in her arms. Little Dylan kept hold of her skirt with one fist, the other grabbing tightly to one of Moira’s swollen fingers. The little boy was whimpering softly, but Bethan was not sure just how much his two-year-old mind truly understood. Still, a glance his father’s way was enough to paint fresh tears upon the little fellow’s cheeks.

  A wave of grief, coupled with the additional burden of even more to care for, nearly overwhelmed Bethan. As they settled into the single line of chairs, she lowered her face to the sleeping baby’s cheek. She felt weak with pain and tired from constantly being needed. It wasn’t like her to feel sorry for herself. But she truly felt as though she had no life of her own at all. Moira required so much help, not to mention the housework and all the extra chores.
And now this.

  Bethan stroked the silky dark hairs from the baby’s forehead, then reached over and drew little Dylan closer to her side. Those two warm, round little bodies were enough to strengthen her resolve and lift her tired shoulders. She would cope. Though she wasn’t sure exactly how, what with only twenty-four hours to the day and just one set of hands. Still, her brother and the children were going to need her too in the coming days.

  A tall form passed before her, blocking out the sun. She looked up into the face of the assistant pastor. Connor Mills was not smiling now as he lowered himself on a knee in front of Bethan’s chair. He reached forward, placed one strong hand on her arm, and said quietly, “You have my deepest sympathy in this moment of sorrow, Miss Keane.”

  The genuine care and concern in his voice nearly did her in, and it felt as though the dams inside were about to burst. Bethan had nowhere to hide, not with the baby in her lap and little Dylan clinging to her side. So she blinked back the tears and managed to whisper, “Thank you, Pastor Mills.”

  His gray-green eyes studied her from beneath the blond hair, so fine and light it looked almost permanently disheveled. He remained there in front of her, his eyes solemn and intent and asked quietly, “Will you manage?”

  “I don’t see how,” she replied truthfully. “But I will—because I have to.”

  He nodded, as though expecting nothing less. A moment’s hesitation, then more quietly still, “Will you let me help you?”

  This time the tears could not be held back. But there was more than sorrow pushing them out. Bethan could not understand all the strange emotions that wanted to tumble forth, one behind the other. She raised the corner of the baby’s blanket, wiped her cheeks, and gave a slow nod. Sad as the day was, there was a note of hope to be found in the offer of Connor Mills’ strength.

  NINETEEN

  YAUGUST, EVERYONE in Harmony was thinking of them as a couple. Connor was hale and hearty, his shock of white-blond hair blowing like straw in the faintest breeze. One hand was continually brushing it from his eyes, usually in the midst of an excited discussion with someone. He did everything with his hands, and everything with enthusiasm. Sometimes, when Connor was telling Bethan about a young person converted to Christ or some new program he was planning for the church, she felt as though she were the only thing holding Connor Mills to earth.