“Does she pack it away like her daddy?” Erik asked, noting Curt’s second helping of barbecued ribs.
“She’s worse,” Curt said, grinning. “At least I don’t cry at the top of my lungs.”
Christy laughed. “I’d say it’s debatable as to who makes more noise. It just depends on the day.”
Erik smiled, while Curt ignored this comment and dug into his food. With Christy gone, Erik felt like he could get more personal about Cheryl.
“Look, Curt, I know Cheryl Fairchild is a sore subject, but I’m hoping that at least you will try to understand my thinking in this. I feel led to go to her. I’ve prayed all of this through, and count it a ‘holy mission’ or whatever else you want to call it, but I feel somehow responsible to extend Christian charity and love to that woman.”
“Cheryl will never take it,” Curt replied. “Mark my words. She’ll have you thrown from the house faster than you can say, ‘Jesus saves.’”
“But she talked to me in the hospital. I used to have to draw blood from her on my morning collection rounds. I sympathized with her situation and commented on her recovery, and she always seemed to respond.”
“Throwing a pitcher of water at you can hardly be deemed a positive response.”
Erik laughed. “Yes, but it was only that one time. After that, I made sure things were kept out of reach when I came into the room. Besides, she threw things at everybody.”
Curt leaned forward and put down his fork. “Look, Erik, I know you have a big heart, and I’m certainly not trying to tell you to disregard something God has directed you to do—if, indeed, God has directed you to minister to Cheryl. I’m simply saying that once Cheryl finds out how you are related to Grant, she’ll have nothing more to do with you.”
“But like I said, Curt,” Erik began again, “she was duped by Grant, and she has to know that we don’t hate her for it. She must be feeling fifteen kinds of fool for her involvement with him. Just imagine all the rhetoric and lies he must have told her to get her to surrender to his charms. Even you said that Cheryl wasn’t the kind of person to go from man to man and that she was most likely pure when she came to Grant.”
“But what if she doesn’t feel like a fool? You are presuming that Cheryl sees the error of her ways, and I’m telling you that the Cheryl Fairchild I know may well think herself completely in the right. She probably believes that she and Grant were the victims in this mess and that the rest of us are unfeeling liars who planted evidence and strung up the wrong man.”
“But you said that once everything sunk in—”
“I remember what I said.” Curt sighed. “Once she allows everything to sink in, she’ll see the truth of the matter for herself. And when she does that, she’s going to feel worse yet. Seeing how stupid you were and being smacked in the face with your mistaken judgment and actions is not something that anyone handles well. Cheryl will be especially hard to deal with in this area, mainly because as far as she’s concerned, she’s never been wrong about anything.”
“So you think I should stay away from her because she’ll never believe me, is that it?” Erik questioned honestly.
“That and the fact that I also don’t want my investigation messed up because you interfered in a matter you should have stayed completely out of.”
Erik looked at his brother-in-law and tried to figure out how to present his case in such a way that Curt might better respect his plan. Ever since he’d learned of Cheryl Fairchild’s plight and misguided involvement with Grant Burks, Erik had felt a strange concern for her. The more he learned about her, the more he found himself wanting to help.
“She’s gone through so much.” Erik tried another approach. “The surgeries, losing the baby, recovering from severe intestinal damage—all of it took its toll. She was lucky to only have to endure a temporary colostomy instead of a permanent one, ‘cause I can tell you from firsthand knowledge, the initial opinions on her condition weren’t that great. The surgeon thought that if she lived through the operation, she’d be permanently disabled in one way or another.”
“I know all of this, Erik. And now that her physical injuries are healed and she’s nearly the same old Cheryl in body that she was before, she’s more messed up inside than a simple visit and ‘Hey, I’m praying for you, kid,’ is going to fix.”
Erik felt suddenly put off by Curt’s attitude. “I’m not suggesting that I’m going to drop in and perform a miracle. You make it sound like I think that I alone can put her on the road to spiritual healing. Like I expect to walk on water. It isn’t that at all.”
“Then what is it?” Curt asked, eyeing him seriously.
“I’m the only one who’s offering to help,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I don’t see anyone else going the distance with her.”
“My sister tried,” Curt said softly. “That’s why I know Cheryl won’t take kindly to any kind of spiritual lecturing or pat, formula responses. I know this lady well enough to say this.” He paused as if trying to word what he would say in a precise and exact manner. “If Cheryl is determined to kill herself, you won’t stop her. She doesn’t do things by halves, and she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about her. The only person in the world she really cared about was her father, and he’s dead. Next in line was probably Grant Burks, and he’s dead, too. So you see, I have very serious doubts that anything you say or do will be the slightest bit positive.”
“I have to try, Curt,” Erik said, getting up from the table.
“Try what?” Christy asked as she returned to the room, balancing five-month-old Sarah against her shoulder.
“Your brother believes he has a mission to witness to Cheryl Fair-child, and even though I’ve tried to dissuade him, Erik feels he has to reach her.”
Christy frowned. “To what purpose, Erik?”
“To the purpose of helping her find salvation,” Erik replied. “You may not think her reachable, but I believe there is a great need inside that woman. I don’t intend for her to slip away without at least offering her the means to find her way back to God.”
He left the room, feeling for all the world as though a huge weight had fallen upon his shoulders. For all his time working in the hospital and on the mission field during his summer vacations, Erik had never before had a case present itself in such a way that it demanded his complete attention. But Cheryl Fairchild had stirred up a consciousness inside him that he couldn’t ignore. She was needy and hurting, but then, so were many others he’d seen in his twenty-five years. What exactly made Cheryl different was a mystery to Erik.
Sliding into his aged Chevy pickup, Erik turned the key and listened to the engine roar to life. She might not be much to look at, but even when the windchill registered twenty below zero, this truck would start as smooth and easy as if it were a summer’s day. And with a four-speed transmission and a four-bolt main for an engine, Erik could compete with the newest four-wheelers in exploring the mountainous back roads.
“They just don’t understand,” he said as though the truck were a living companion. “If I don’t at least try to reach her, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”
three
Cheryl stared at the flamboyant clothes hanging in her huge walk-in closet. These were the clothes of a very confident wo-man. These were the clothes of a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. She pulled a red, sequined number from the hanger and studied it for a moment. The halter-style bodice left little to the imagination either on the hanger or off. Tossing it to the middle of her bedroom floor, Cheryl reached for another. This time a silky black sheath slipped from the satin-covered hanger. She had been wearing this dress the first time she’d met Grant.
Grant. It was still so hard to get used to calling him that, and yet Cheryl knew that it was his real name. Still, it had been the name Stratton that she’d whispered in tender “I love you’s,” and Stratton was the name signed to all her love letters and cards.
The black sheath j
oined the red gown on the floor, and after those first few moments of deep consideration, Cheryl rapidly eliminated nearly every article of clothing from her closet. She finished by tossing aside the maid of honor dress she’d worn at CJ’s wedding. Standing back, she stared at the massive pile.
What should she do with it all? She couldn’t very well set it on fire, although that was her first thought. These clothes represented a large portion of her adult life. So much time and care had gone into shopping for just the right outfit, for just the right affair. She’d rather en-joyed the attention it had brought her, and while she knew people thought her overly extravagant and flashy, Cheryl thought it very im-portant to dress her role.
But what’s my role now? she wondered, still staring at the mess she’d made.
She picked up the telephone and dialed directory assistance.
“Yes, I need the number for one of those charity organizations who handle secondhand clothes.” Pause. “Yes, Goodwill, Salvation Army, any one of those is fine.” She listened as the number was given, then hung up the phone and redialed.
“This is Cheryl Fairchild. I have a large number of next-to-new clothing items that I would like to donate to your organization.” She listened as a woman rattled on about the type of clothing they were interested in before interrupting. “Look, can someone just come get these things?”
The woman objected and began to give a list of reasons for why Cheryl should bring them in herself. “Ma’am, I just got out of the hospital, and I’m unable to bring myself to your address. I have clothing here worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Do you want them or not?”
This seemed to bring the woman to life, and with little more said, Cheryl gave her the address and promised to be waiting that afternoon for their man to arrive.
With that taken care of, Cheryl went to her father’s closet and pulled on one of his white oxford shirts. It had been freshly laundered and pressed and still hung inside the dry cleaner’s plastic wrapping, but nevertheless, it made her feel closer to her dad. She accompanied the shirt with an old pair of baggy black sweats and padded down the stairs barefoot to see what else the day might offer her.
Passing the mirror in the hall, Cheryl hardly recognized her own reflection. She looked like a bag lady with her unkempt hair and mismatched clothes. But she didn’t care. She never intended to step foot outside the house again, so what did it matter if she looked a fright?
The morning passed by painfully slowly, and Cheryl found that the only way to keep her mind occupied was to keep her body busy. She made one trip after the other up and down the stairs to deliver her clothes to a growing pile in the living room. The tenderness of her left side made her think about taking a break, but she was too fearful of what might happen if she gave in and rested. No sense in having a pity party in the middle of the day, she reasoned. Better to save that for the night.
She had made the last trip downstairs and had just deposited the last of the clothes into a pile nearly as tall as herself, when the doorbell signaled the arrival of the deliveryman. At least, that was who she’d presumed would greet her from the other side of the door. Instead, she found the familiar face of a man who’d worked in the hospital where she’d convalesced.
“Hi,” Erik Connors said. Smiling rather sheepishly, he added, “How are you feeling?”
Cheryl was taken aback by the handsome young man. He was tanned from the summer sun, and his jogging shorts and T-shirt made it clear that his lifestyle lent itself to a great deal of physical activity.
“I’m fine. What are you doing here? Is this a part of that home-care service I told them to forget about?”
Erik shook his head. “No. I didn’t come here on hospital business.”
“What then?”
“I was kind of…” He paused and actually grew red in the face. “I was worried about you.”
Cheryl found his words disconcerting. “I don’t understand. Why would you be worried about me?”
“Well, it’s just that—” Erik paused, looked at the ground, and seemed to struggle to continue. “Look, could I just come in for a few minutes? I want to talk to you.”
“I hardly think that would be appropriate,” Cheryl answered in a no-nonsense manner that she hoped would put him off.
“Appropriate or not,” Erik countered, seeming to regain his self-assurance, “I need to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about you.”
Cheryl looked at him for a moment and read nothing but genuine sincerity in his expression. “You have no reason to concern yourself with me. I’m no longer a patient, and the doctors have given me a complete release from medical care.”
“Look, I know all about that, but this is different.”
“How is it different?” she asked suspiciously.
“This is personal. You don’t understand, but there are things that connect us to each other’s lives and I, well—”
“Look, if you’re thinking of asking me out, forget it,” Cheryl said, backing up in order to close the front door in his face.
“No!” Erik exclaimed and put his hand out to halt her progress. “I didn’t come for a date. I came because I know you’re hurting. I know that you were deceived, and I know that you believe no one in this world cares for you.”
Cheryl pulled the door back very slowly. She stared at the handsome face, noting laugh lines at the corners of his blue eyes. “And just how do you know all this? Surely the blood you drew from me didn’t reveal this information.”
“No, it didn’t,” Erik admitted. “The truth is, Cheryl, I’m Erik Connors.”
Cheryl shook her head. “Should that mean something to me?”
“My sister Christy is married to Curt O’Sullivan. My little sister Candy was married to Grant Burks.”
Cheryl felt the blood drain from her face. Her breathing came in tight, strained gasps. “Get out! Get off my property, and leave me alone!”
“I want to help you,” Erik insisted. “Look, I know you must feel pretty bad after all you’ve gone through, but I want you to know that I don’t hold you responsible for Grant’s actions. You were as much a victim of his deception as my sister was.”
Cheryl gave a strained little laugh. “Victim? I was no victim. I loved the man, and I can’t help it if…if…” She strained for air and began wheezing and gasping. “Can’t…breathe.”
Cheryl felt herself in complete panic. Putting her hand to her throat, she tried desperately to calm her rapid breathing. It was as if air was going in, but nothing was coming back out.
Erik took hold of her. “Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re hyperventilating.”
Cheryl shook her head and pushed him away. She wasn’t going to listen to this man. He was her enemy. He could offer her nothing but pain and misery. Still gasping, she felt the room begin to spin, and her vision tunneled down with blackness creeping in from every side.
Let me die, she thought, feeling her knees begin to buckle.
Erik half carried, half dragged her to the couch. He forced her to sit down, then pushed her head forward until her face was on her knees. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Come on, Cheryl. Long, deep breaths. Force yourself to listen.”
Cheryl found herself responding almost against her will.
It was as if Erik were breathing for her. In…out…in…out. Over and over she forced the calming breaths deeper into her lungs until the blackness faded and the dizziness passed. She felt helpless and weak, and her side ached terribly from the position in which she was bent.
“Better?” he asked most compassionately.
She nodded, afraid to speak. Gently, he eased her back against the couch and eyed her with a look of consuming attention. “I’m going to get you a glass of water and a cool cloth. You stay right here, and I mean right here. Understand?”
She nodded again, but remained silent. She watched him as he glanced first one way and then the
other, searching for some sign of the kitchen or bathroom. She wanted to be angry with him for his interference, but for some reason, she felt sorry for him, and this emotion seemed to calm her further.
He was back in a matter of minutes with the promised items. Cheryl obediently drank sips of cool water and allowed Erik to place the cold cloth on the back of her neck.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologized. “I never meant to cause you further harm. Curt and Christy warned me that you might not take too well to my company, and I guess I pushed too hard.”
Cheryl took another sip of water and securely put up her defenses. “You have no reason to be here. I’m not your concern.”
“I know that, but in another way, I know just as well that you are my concern.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever, Mr. Connors.”
“I know, but if you would just give me a chance to explain.”
“Hello!” called a voice from the still-open front door.
Cheryl sat up abruptly, fearful of who this latest visitor might be. “Yes?” she called out apprehensively.
“I’m here to pick up some clothes,” a man called back.
Erik eyed the multicolored pile in the middle of the living room. “Doing all your dry cleaning at once?” he asked with a smile.
Cheryl ignored the humor. “More like early fall cleaning or late spring cleaning,” she replied, then raised her voice. “In here!”
The man, dressed in brown work clothes, entered from the hall foyer and dropped his mouth open in surprise at the huge mound of clothes. “Wow! I’ve never seen that many—” He paused and looked at Cheryl, as if trying to rethink his thoughts. “I mean, you sure you want to get rid of all these, lady?”
“Absolutely sure,” Cheryl replied and, ignoring Erik’s concerned expression, got to her feet. “If you want to be helpful, Mr. Connors, why don’t you assist this gentleman in removing these things from my house?”
Erik looked as though he wanted to say something important, but instead he nodded and turned to the workman. “Well, what say we get at it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find some lost civilization buried beneath that mess.”
Wings Of The Dawn Page 2
