Times and Seasons

by Beverly LaHaye

  “So, tell us how it’s going in here,” she said finally. “Are you getting along with the other guys?”

  “Yeah, they’re okay, some of them,” he said. “You just figure out who to avoid.”

  “Have you been going to chapel?”

  “Yeah. The Christians love us. We’re a captive audience. They can’t pass up the opportunity to preach to us every time we turn around. Of course, the Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists have chapels, too, but I don’t go to those.”

  Annie brought her gaze back to Mark. “You talk about Christians like they were another group. I thought you were one.”

  “Yeah, I am,” Mark said with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not a fanatic or anything like Mom, but, hey, I believe there’s a God.”

  To Cathy, those did not sound like the words of someone who knew Christ. But lectures from her weren’t going to change what was in his heart. That would take prayer—and a work by the Holy Spirit.

  Later that night, as Cathy and Steve sat out on the pile of sheetrock in the backyard, looking at the new work done by the construction crew, Steve came up with an idea. “I think I’m going to do a Bible study with Mark on my own,” he said.

  “How?”

  “Well, I can do it through the mail,” he said. “Mark likes to get mail. I can just write him letters, give him things to look up, kind of disciple him like a correspondence school or something.”

  “I think that would be great. But prepare yourself. It may all be a waste. He may not even read it.”

  “Maybe not now,” he said, “but at some point he might pull them out and study them. And with the Christian groups coming to him a couple of times a week, it could turn out to be really good, you know? Maybe I could supplement what they’re doing somehow through the mail and then work with him one-on-one on visitation days. I don’t want to take away from your time with him, but I think it could work out.”

  Emotion assaulted her, and tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Did I upset you?” he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No. I was just sitting here wondering why God’s blessing me so with you.”

  “July 4th will be here before you know it,” he said. “The church is still free. The pastor’s still available.”

  She smiled. “Not yet. It’s just not time.”

  He didn’t say any more about marriage for the rest of the evening, but she knew her delay was costing him. Even so, she couldn’t think of marrying him until things had fallen more into place. Things were just too rough, too rocky right now. She was on the downward slope of a steep roller-coaster ride, and she didn’t want to bring two more people into that. No, there had to be a better time to get married, a time when the problems were fewer and the path seemed straighten Second marriages brought enough problems. She just hoped Steve wouldn’t give up.

  CHAPTER

  Fifty-Seven

  Brenda didn’t sleep at all the night before Daniel started his new job, and then she got him up early and fixed him a healthy breakfast before dropping him off at the grocery store. She found it hard to do anything that day, because she kept thinking about her baby entering the work world, earning his own money, getting to know people she didn’t know, taking orders from bosses whose motives she couldn’t predict.

  Around noon, she decided she needed a carton of milk.

  “Where you going, Mama?” Joseph asked her.

  “To the grocery store,” she said, distracted as she gathered her checkbook and truck keys. “I need some milk.”

  “But Daniel’s there,” he said. “Don’t show up at the store on Daniel’s first day! He’ll be embarrassed.”

  “He will not be embarrassed. I go to the grocery store all the time, anyway. I’m not going to quit just because Daniel’s working there.”

  “Okay,” he said, “but I want to go with you. I gotta see this.”

  They both got into the pickup truck and headed off to the store. As Brenda went in, she searched the checkout counter for Daniel, hoping he would be up front where she could find him. When he wasn’t there, she went down the meat aisle, then the produce, then the canned soup.

  “Mama, this isn’t where the milk is,” Joseph said.

  “I know.”

  “You’re looking for Daniel, aren’t you?”

  “Why would you say that? I was just trying to remember a couple of other things I need to pick up.” She peeked around a stack of cereal and still didn’t see Daniel.

  “Mama, what are you going to do? Go search the back for him?”

  “Well, where is he?” she asked. “He’s supposed to be in here bagging groceries. Why isn’t he up front? He’s not supposed to just disappear like this.”

  “Mama, he’s working.”

  “I know he’s working, Joseph,” she said. “And it’s wonderful that he’s got a job here, but when he gets a job bagging groceries, he should be up front bagging groceries.”

  “Mama, you know I’m okay.”

  Daniel’s voice came from behind her, and she swung around as if she’d been caught stealing a ham. “Daniel!”

  His cheeks had that mottled, burning look. “Mama, I can’t believe you’re here on my first day on the job. You’ll embarrass me to death. Please don’t let anybody know you’re my mom.”

  Brenda’s heart crashed. Her children had never uttered those words before, and she hadn’t been prepared for them. It sounded like something Mark would say to Cathy—something insensitive and ungrateful. Maybe she’d made a dire mistake in letting Daniel spend so much time with Mark.

  “Daniel, I just wanted to make sure everything was going—”

  “Mama, it’s going fine,” he whispered. “I was stocking canned goods on aisle four. You can’t check on me. It’s just not right.”

  “Daniel, I shop here. I’m not checking on you. I needed a carton of milk.”

  “Well, the milk is in aisle thirteen,” he said.

  She started toward it, as if she didn’t have time for chit-chat. A man who looked like he had a little authority was standing at the end of the aisle, looking to see what Daniel was doing.

  She suddenly wanted to cry. “Joseph, let’s just get the milk someplace else.”

  “Good,” Daniel whispered. “You can shop at the Jitney on Monroe Street.”

  Brenda tried to blink back the tears pushing into her eyes. “I’ll pick you up at three,” she told Daniel, then hurried out of the store with Joseph running to keep up.

  “Mama, I know he didn’t mean that,” Joseph said.

  She touched the back of his neck and tried to smile. He was her most sensitive child, the one who seemed to read her thoughts most clearly. He would never speak to her the way Daniel had. “I know he didn’t mean it,” she said.

  They got into the dented truck, and she sat for a moment, staring at the steering wheel.

  “You’re not going to cry, are you?” Joseph asked in a soft voice.

  “No, of course not,” she said. “I’m so proud of Daniel I just don’t know what to do. Working, having so much responsibility…” Despite herself, she felt her mouth quivering. “It just chokes me up.”

  “You’re not crying because you’re choked up, Mama. You’re crying because he said that to you.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “He’s right. I embarrassed him.” She started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. “I think this is going to work out just fine. This is a good job for Daniel.” But as she drove to the other grocery store, she wondered what this job would do to her son. Would he start treating her more like an embarrassment than a protector? Would he dread seeing her, instead of calling for her?

  She had always known her children would grow up, but she hadn’t expected for it to come in such a painful way.

  CHAPTER

  Fifty-Eight

  July 4th came without a wedding, and as Cathy made an effort to celebrate with barbecued chicken and sparklers in the cluttered backyard, it was clear that she was mela
ncholy about what the day could have been. Steve tried to be festive for Tracy’s sake. But that night, after he’d put her to bed, he sat at his desk in his spare bedroom and asked God to help him with the feelings of loss. There would still be a wedding day, he vowed. And in the meantime, there were things that had to be done.

  He felt a clear calling to do something for Mark, so he searched through his Bible for just the right study to begin sending to him. He racked his brain for something that would get through to the boy and make him really think about the messages God had given him. Steve thought of starting with the parables. Did Mark have the ears to hear or eyes to see?

  Or he could start with the gospel of Matthew. But would that just seem like a history lesson that didn’t apply to him?

  No…no, he needed to start with a baby step, something simple yet profound, something Mark could relate to.

  He sat back, thinking of Jerry Flaherty, and Mark’s disappointment that his father still hadn’t come to visit. That was it—the perfect story: the prodigal son, a father searching the horizon each day for his child, waiting for him to return home.

  Yes. That was it. Mark would be able to understand and relate to it, and maybe it would make a difference in his life.

  He turned to the passage in Luke 15, then closed his eyes in prayer. He pleaded with the Lord to let the Holy Spirit work in Mark’s heart through these words. Then he got out a piece of paper and started to write. “Dear Mark…”

  Two hours later, he signed the letter and sat back and looked at it, wondering if he had just wasted his time. No, God had promised that his Word would never return void, and Steve believed it.

  He addressed the envelope and applied postage. He would mail it on his way to work tomorrow. Maybe Mark would have it by Tuesday. But that wouldn’t be the end of it. Steve had a lot more to teach Mark, a lot more than he could put into letters. And when Mark went to mail call, he’d be glad to get something. He would probably take the time to read it, no matter what it was.

  Before he went to bed that night, Steve prayed again for the boy who was spending time in jail without a hint of real repentance in his heart.

  CHAPTER

  Fifty-Nine

  By Tuesday, Tory’s fatigue was like an alien invading her body, turning her into a cranky shrew so irritable that she couldn’t even stand herself. Her schedule for Hannah had every fifteen-minute segment of the day filled in, but the work she was doing to make her child progress kept her from time with Brittany and Spencer.

  As a result, both of her older children spent most of the day whining and misbehaving.

  Hannah screamed every time they began a new exercise. But there were too many things that needed to be done if Tory was to make up for the classes they weren’t attending anymore, and she was determined not to wilt under the pressure.

  She could do this.

  Over Hannah’s cries, she heard the garage door open. The kids weren’t supposed to come in that way, so she prepared to call them down as soon as they stepped over the threshold into the kitchen.

  But it wasn’t Brittany or Spencer who came in. It was Barry.

  She looked at him like a child caught running in the street. “Barry,” she said in a weak voice. “You’re home early.”

  He crossed the kitchen, came into the living room, and leaned in the doorway as he looked helplessly at his screaming child lying on her exercise mat. “Tory, what are you doing?”

  “Her exercises,” Tory said.

  He came into the room and scooped Hannah up. She stopped crying instantly.

  The sudden quiet washed over Tory like a hot bath.

  “I skipped eating lunch so I could go to the school and watch Hannah’s class,” he said.

  Tory dropped her face in her hands. She had known he’d find out. She had planned to tell him before he did.

  “Tory, why didn’t you tell me you’d quit?”

  “Because I knew what you’d say. You would tell me to take her back, that it’s good for her. But it’s not, Barry. The competition is ridiculous, and the babies that are doing better…”

  “You think she cares who’s doing better? Tory, Hannah’s not having a problem with the school. You’re the one who’s in competition. She’s just a little baby, doing the best she can.”

  “She can do better,” Tory said, “if I just work harder with her and don’t have all those other babies distracting her. I can do it. I have a schedule, and the way I’ve figured it, she’s going to progress much faster this way.”

  “Tory, Hannah needs that class. You need that class.”

  “No, we don’t.” She took Hannah out of his arms, and the little girl laid her sleepy head on her shoulder. “We’re going to do fine, Barry. It’s just been a bad day, but this is no big deal. I’ve already seen progress.”

  “She’s miserable,” Barry said. “Brittany and Spencer are miserable. You’re miserable.”

  He saw her schedule on the end table and picked it up. “I should have known you’d schedule it out like this. You’ve broken her life down into fifteen-minute segments. There’s not one break for you, Tory, and there’s not a break for her. She’ll start hating her therapy.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Tory said.

  “Yeah? Then lay her back down on that mat and see how she reacts.”

  Tory had to accept the challenge. She slowly approached the mat, got down on her knees, and laid the baby down.

  Hannah began to wail.

  Barry picked Hannah up. “Honey, you’re turning our house into a developmental laboratory, and it’s not right.”

  Tears filled Tory’s eyes. “What do you want me to do? Go to that class and wallow in the frustration? Some of the babies her age are walking now. Some are talking. All she can do is sit up.”

  “Well, a month ago, she couldn’t do that. I’ll take sitting up,” he said. “Let’s enjoy that for a while before we start to panic.”

  “It’s not panic, Barry. I just want her to be high-functioning.”

  “Well, what if she’s not?” He sat down on the recliner and cradled Hannah in his lap. Her eyelids were heavy, and Tory knew she was about to drift off to sleep. It wasn’t time for her nap. A nap now would throw the whole schedule off. She fought the urge to take her from Barry.

  “What if she’s low-functioning?” Barry asked. “Just like Nathan?”

  They had been all through this during the pregnancy. Nathan was Barry’s autistic brother, who sat in a wheelchair all day, staring into space and whistling. He had never been able to walk or talk, hold a job, or connect with another human being. At least, not on a level most people would recognize.

  “If she is, that’s fine,” Tory said. “If I know I did every single thing I could to push her to her full potential, then I’ll accept whatever level she reaches.”

  “And how will you know if you’ve really done everything?” he asked. “When will enough be enough?”

  She looked at the mat, trying to think of a stopping point.

  “I’ll tell you when,” he said softly. “Never. Whether she can walk or talk, she’ll be the most miserable child ever born with Down’s Syndrome, because you’ll never accept anything less than normal.”

  She got up, went to the couch, and dropped wearily down.

  “I’m not criticizing, Tory. I know you’re doing what you think is best. But I’m one of Hannah’s parents, too. I need a say in this. If you plan to drop out of the school, you need to talk to me. If you just need a break from the competition, maybe I could arrange my schedule so that I take Hannah for a while. But she needs to stay in the school. She’s really going to need it later, when she gets older. And the work they do there is good, Tory. You know it is.”

  “Then how come I feel so crummy every time I leave there?”

  “It’s pride, Tory. You want your baby to be the best. The smartest. But God didn’t give us Hannah to pump up our pride. Maybe he gave her to us to teach us about pride.”

  Tory wi
ped her tears. She couldn’t remember ever being this tired. “Barry, I don’t want her to be the best. I want her to have the best.”

  “So do I! And I happen to think that class and those therapists up there are best for her. Look what they’ve done so far. They’ve shown us what to expect, how to handle things, how to cope. They’ve helped her get over milestones that might have taken a lot longer.”

  “But I can’t stand it, Barry. Tilda didn’t even celebrate Hannah’s sitting up. She just criticized her positioning. Said her legs were too far apart, that her hips weren’t right…”

  “Tory, she’s trying to keep Hannah from having to wear a brace some day. Even if it rains on your parade, it’s best for Hannah. That’s what we pay her for.”

  “I know. I was just so mad…I thought I could do it.” She got up and crossed the room and kissed Hannah’s forehead. Hannah looked trustingly up at her, and Tory took her again and hugged her tight. “I didn’t hurt her,” she said. “I would never hurt her.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” Barry got up and stroked Tory’s hair, then kissed her temple. “It’s not Hannah I’m worried about,” he said. “It’s you. You’re missing everything, Tory. Hannah’s miserable, you’re exhausted…Brittany and Spencer are bouncing off the walls…You haven’t even been to one of Spencer’s ball games this summer.”

  “I have Hannah,” she said. “She’s had ear infections and bronchitis. Besides, I don’t want her to get sunburned.”

  “The heat won’t hurt her ears, and she’s over the bronchitis. And we can put up an umbrella over her stroller. She’ll be all right. She’ll love it.”

  “But…people stare at her. I hate that.”

  “People stare at all babies,” he said. “They’re cute and soft. Hannah’s no exception to that.”

  “They look at her like that at first,” she said, “but then they see that there’s something wrong…and they get this sad look on their faces and start getting nervous. I always get so defensive…”