A Searching Heart

by Janette Oke

  At first she thought he had not heard her, then she saw his nod.

  “I would like to stay longer, but I really think I need to get back to work,” she continued. Again a brief nod of acknowledgment.

  “I feel so indebted to the Blacks. They have been very kind. I don’t know how I would have managed without them. And he so busy with his church duties and all.”

  Virginia felt, more than saw, the man’s head swivel to stare at her.

  “What did you say?” he asked bluntly.

  Virginia groped to remember what he might have missed. “They’ve been so kind,” she ventured.

  “No—that other.”

  “He’s so busy?”

  “With . . . ?” prompted Mr. Woods.

  “His church,” said Virginia simply.

  “His church?”

  Virginia looked at Mr. Woods. His jaw was working as though he were chewing through something tough and unpalatable.

  He suddenly seemed to understand but still demanded verification. “Your young man’s a preacher?”

  Virginia felt her face going pale. “You didn’t know?” Her step faltered.

  “How was I to know? No one told me.” He sounded angry as he stormed ahead toward their destination.

  They entered the doors of the diner and selected their usual table. Virginia noted that the man still looked sullen. She heard him curse beneath his breath and say something about being tricked and that he shouldn’t have been such a complete fool.

  It was too much for Virginia. She put her menu down on the table and slowly rose to her feet.

  “Mr. Woods,” she began, looking directly into his reddened eyes. “I have no idea what is troubling you or why the fact that Mr. Black is a minister should upset you, but the Blacks have been nothing but kind. Without Pastor Black you could very well still be waiting to see your daughter.

  “If you can’t appreciate the goodness of folks like him at a time like this, then I don’t think I wish to remain in your company.”

  Virginia picked up her handbag. “And he’s not my young man,” she announced further. “I hadn’t even met him until I arrived here.” With the final words she fled the diner.

  She had taken only a few steps, her eyes flowing with unbidden tears, when deep remorse overtook her. What in the world had she done now? She had longed to help the man. To see Jenny’s father come to know God as his own Savior and friend. And now, in a moment of undisciplined rebuttal, she had completely destroyed that hope. Completely. She was so ashamed.

  How am I ever to explain this to the Blacks? she mourned as she drew out her handkerchief and wiped the tears from her face.

  Virginia desperately longed to be back in her own home— in her own room—where she could throw herself on her own bed and weep. Instead, she resolutely turned her footsteps back toward the hospital. She had only a short time to be with Jenny. She had to make it count. She could do without a sandwich. She would go back to the hospital room and read another chapter—or more—to her friend.

  ———

  “Have I missed much?”

  The voice made Virginia jump. She had not heard anyone enter the room. Mr. Woods stood there, dangling the black hat from one hand to the other. Virginia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “Here,” he said a bit roughly. “Brought you a sandwich.”

  Now Virginia felt truly chastised. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “Really, I’m sorry. I had no right . . .”

  But he gruffly shoved the sandwich into her hands. It was clear to Virginia that he was awkward about apologies. It was also clear that he had no intention of pursuing the subject further. He turned their thoughts to the girl on the bed with, “Has she stirred?”

  Virginia guessed that he knew the answer. She accepted it as simply a diversion and took up the conversation. “No. She still hasn’t stirred.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” the man said as he pulled another chair up beside Virginia’s. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  They were silent while Virginia ate the sandwich, then rolled up its wrapper to discard in the nearby wastebasket. Now what? she wondered.

  Mr. Woods leaned over and picked up the book she had been reading. “Do you mind rereading the part I missed?”

  Virginia did not mind.

  ———

  Virginia’s good-bye to Jenny was one of the most difficult she had ever said. As she walked away for the last time before catching her train, she wasn’t sure if she would ever see her friend again. And if she did—if Jenny survived this awful accident—what would her condition be? Would she be able once again to take up where she had left off—or would Jenny’s life be meaningless?

  “I’ll see you, Jenny,” Virginia had told the still form through tears. “I will be praying for you every day.” She corrected her comment. “Several times a day. Promise.”

  Mr. Woods, who had stood quietly by while Virginia said her good-byes, made no comment, but as Virginia turned to him he looked wretchedly uncomfortable.

  “I . . . I hope there is improvement soon,” she managed.

  He nodded.

  “You’ll let me know if there’s a change?”

  He nodded again.

  “I must go. Pastor Black is waiting to drive me to the train.”

  Jenny’s father looked down at The Pilgrim’s Progress he held in his hand. He had asked the Blacks if he could keep it long enough to complete the story for Jenny. Now it would be he who read the chapters morning and afternoon.

  “Guess I’m somewhere in that dungeon right now,” he muttered.

  Virginia frowned. Pilgrim had already moved from the Dungeon of Despair. “No,” she explained, “I’ve marked the page. We’re—”

  “Not Pilgrim. Me.”

  Virginia’s heart constricted as she understood his admission. “You can move on, too, Mr. Woods,” she said softly. “Honest.”

  He looked at her with such complete misery in his face that Virginia nearly reached out to give him a hug. But she wasn’t sure how the man would respond. Instead she said, “Pastor Black will be available, I know. He’d be happy if you’d call him for anything.”

  The big man just nodded again. Virginia was relieved to hear no mumbled profanity. She turned and walked from the room without looking back.

  ———

  Even though the train trip home seemed to take forever, Virginia was sure she would never be able to eat all the lunch Mrs. Black had packed for her.

  They have been so kind—the Blacks, Virginia thought silently as she stared at the passing landscape. She could hardly wait to tell her folks about them. Certainly her father had chosen wisely. Or had it really been God who had done the choosing? Virginia thought maybe they had worked together on it.

  Virginia kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs. She had hated to leave Jenny, but she would be so glad to get home. At the same time she knew she would be plied with questions, not just from her family but from town folks. She wondered how many times in the next days she would need to stop her mail sorting to answer another well-meant inquiry.

  Well, she had very little to tell. At least very little that was good news. Jenny’s condition had not seemed to change, in spite of the many prayers offered on her behalf.

  Virginia felt very tired. Visiting with Jenny throughout the long week had been harder work than nursing Clara. At least with Clara there had been the hope that one day the situation would change. But would it ever change for Jenny? And if it did, would it be for the better? Jenny was not ready for eternity.

  ———

  “They were so helpful. They did everything possible for me—and for Mr. Woods. Mrs. Black invited him for tea or supper several times, and Pastor Black drove us back and forth to the hospital each day. I felt so . . . so guilty, knowing how busy he already was.”

  They were sitting around the kitchen table, Virginia sharing with her family her experiences. Already she had told them that Jenny was still in her unconscious
state. Now she filled in some of the details about her trip to Almsburg.

  “I must write the Blacks a note,” her mother responded.

  “Perhaps we could make a contribution to their church,” her father added.

  “It’s a small church—for the city,” Virginia told them. “About the size of ours. But I’m sure it will grow quickly. He has only been there for a short time. But he loves the people— you can tell. And they love him. He’s a good preacher, too. I felt challenged and encouraged after his message on Sunday.”

  “What’s his wife like?” asked Francine.

  “His wife? He doesn’t have a wife.”

  Francine frowned. “Then who’s this Mrs. Black you’ve been talking about?”

  “Oh—his mother. No, Pastor Black is young. Very young. He just graduated from seminary. When his father passed away last year, his mother came to live with him. She was going to sell her little house in a nearby town, but he discouraged it. Said she might want to go back after she’d had some time to adjust. She’s glad now. Thinks she might do that. She’s missing her friends.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Francine when Virginia stopped to take a breath. “Back up. You say he’s young?”

  “Yes.”

  “How young?”

  Virginia looked at her younger sister, puzzled. “He’s quite young,” she replied. “Early twenties—somewhere. I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  Virginia was annoyed. “Handsome? Why? I don’t know. I suppose. I didn’t bother to think about it.”

  She gave her sister a look that reflected her impatience. “Look, you might call him handsome, I suppose. And he might be young, but he’s not young enough for you.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about me,” said Francine with a smirk.

  “Jenny? She’s not even conscious.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of Jenny, either,” said the coy Francine.

  Virginia frowned, and then Francine’s inference struck her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a disapproving look at her younger sibling. Such a foolish notion was the furthest thing from her mind. She had no intention of ever giving her heart to another. Jamison was still heavy on her mind. But she could feel her cheeks getting warm.

  ———

  When the phone call came the following Wednesday, Virginia expected to hear Clara’s voice, or perhaps even young Anthony’s. But it was a man’s deep voice that returned her greeting.

  “Virginia? Jenny’s pa here. She’s waking. She’s waking!”

  Virginia’s heart leaped and she could only stand, clasping the telephone earpiece for support.

  “Hello. Are you there?”

  “Yes. Yes,” she managed. “I’m here.”

  “She’s waking. Oh, she’s not fully awake yet, but twice today she stirred a bit and her eyelids fluttered. The doctor thinks she’s rousing from the coma.” Mr. Woods’ voice was full of awe.

  Virginia was crying, but she finally was able to say, “That’s wonderful, Mr. Woods. Wonderful.”

  “I’ll keep you informed.” The man sounded too choked up himself to say more.

  “Here,” she heard Mr. Woods say, and soon another voice sounded over the wires.

  “Miss Simpson? This is Pastor Black. Dr. Moore is encouraged. Jenny does seem to be regaining consciousness. She is still in and out, but there is some response. It’s an answer to prayer.”

  “Yes” was all Virginia could manage to whisper. But if she hung up now, she would be upset for letting so many questions go unanswered.

  “Does . . . does Dr. Moore say how long it might take?” she said through her tears.

  “For full consciousness? No. He has no idea.”

  “Has she . . . said anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How is her father holding up?”

  “Doing well. Quite well. He’s staying with us now. Took over our guest room.”

  Virginia could not believe her ears. Mr. Woods—staying in the home of a pastor? This was an answer to prayer as astounding as his daughter’s recovery.

  “We’ll keep in touch,” the voice on the other end of the line was saying.

  “Thank you” was all Virginia could say.

  A click, followed by a low hum, was the only sound as Virginia sat for a long time with the telephone in her hand.

  CHAPTER 15

  Now and then another phone call provided another report from someone regarding Jenny. Slowly, ever so slowly, during the weeks following Virginia’s return home, she was wakening from her long sleep. Then the day came when she spoke her first word. “Papa.”

  Pastor Black told Virginia that Mr. Woods spent hours and hours at the bedside, massaging unused limbs, coaxing his daughter to swallow, showing her picture books, and naming each of the items to see if she could still remember. He read to her and eventually asked her if she could read to him.

  Mr. Woods was more than elated when Jenny read the first halting words from the page, and his voice told Virginia more than his words did when he called to tell her the latest good news.

  But it was going to be a long, difficult journey, the doctor soberly reminded all of those watching her progress with such interest and hope.

  Mr. Woods made a quick trip home, accompanied by a tall, slender man with long, straggly, sandy hair, faded eyes, a handlebar mustache, and a constant cigar. “Mr. Aintree will be putting out the weekly paper for me until I get back” was Mr. Woods’ introduction of the new man. “No use letting the presses sit idle.”

  In spite of his rather unkempt appearance, folks were willing to give Mr. Aintree a fair chance for the sake of Mr. Woods. Sales of the weekly paper climbed to an all-time high, even though most folks eventually concluded that he was prone to a good deal of stretching the truth in order to put interest into local news. He tried to stir up issues, attempting to make Mac Dreeves’ barking dog an entire neighborhood dispute and Mrs. Parker’s bent toward gossip a public uproar. After his first few issues of the weekly, the folks waved aside anything that was reported—or even insinuated—as an outsider’s misinterpretation. Virginia wondered if Mr. Aintree would catch on to the fact that he was mostly ignored as a source of news.

  When Mr. Woods made his second trip back home, he dropped by the post office. Virginia did not catch any whiff of liquor.

  “Jenny is able to sit up now,” he informed her. “Not for long, and not without some support, but she’s coming along.”

  Virginia was overjoyed. “When will she be able to come home again?”

  “Soon, I hope. The doctor says if she continues to improve, she might be able to manage the train ride late spring.”

  Such a long ways off, but Virginia did not express the thought aloud.

  “How is she doing?” Virginia knew that Mr. Woods would understand that her question involved more than simply how Jenny was progressing with her injuries.

  “She’s . . . she’s pretty down most days. She knows that the two friends who were with her at the time of the accident are both up and about—going on with life. She doesn’t understand why she should be the one to still be bedridden. I think—” He paused a moment, then continued, “I think she feels that someone, somewhere, has it in for Jenny Woods.”

  Virginia felt heartsick. Strange, she thought to herself, those who deny the existence of God are just as intent on blaming Him when things go wrong in their lives.

  She turned her eyes back to Mr. Woods. “And you?”

  His gaze dropped to the scuffed toes of his black boots. When he looked up again his eyes were thoughtful. “I guess I might agree—some,” he said. “But I don’t see it quite like Jenny.”

  He swallowed and seemed to struggle to express what he was thinking. When he turned back to Virginia his eyes were openly honest. “I haven’t been the man I should have been. Jenny never really had much of a chance. Living with that young parson has opened my eyes to a lot of things. I take the blame for Jenny’s tr
oubles. I s’pose this . . . this accident is the only way that . . . something could have gotten my full attention. You would’ve thought I would’ve been smart enough to sit up and take notice after her . . . her other scrape. The one in the crick when you girls were young.”

  Virginia made no comment.

  “But it doesn’t seem right somehow that Jenny has to take the knocks. I’m still having a hard time trying to work that through,” he admitted frankly.

  Virginia nodded. It didn’t seem fair. But maybe there was something they hadn’t realized yet. She would have to hang on and trust the Lord to continue what He was doing in all this.

  ———

  It was early June before Jenny could come home. Virginia was there to meet her train. She had tried to prepare herself for the worst, but even so, she was totally shocked by the sight of the girl who disembarked.

  A thin, wasted Jenny was carried from the railcar and deposited in a wheelchair that sat waiting for her. Her hair had grown back to at least a covering over her head, but it certainly was not the burnished crown she had formerly taken such pride in.

  Her eyes looked big and haunted in her white, thin face, and her arms were so skinny and frail that Virginia almost feared to touch them lest they snap.

  Jenny did manage an uncertain smile, giving Virginia hope. Perhaps her mind and her memory had been restored.

  “Papa said you’d be here,” she said huskily. Her voice held none of its old buoyancy.

  Virginia leaned over to place a kiss on the sallow cheek, hoping that Jenny would not misunderstand her tears. “It’s good to have you home,” she murmured.

  “Well, I could say it’s good to be home. But I’m not sure yet,” Jenny replied.

  Virginia determined then and there that she would do all in her power to make Jenny glad to be back.

  But the days that followed were not easy for either of them. Virginia spent every spare moment with Jenny, attempting every way she knew to bring some spark back into the girl’s eyes. Jenny fussed and complained and refused to take interest in anything about her. Enough of her memory had returned to make her grieve for her days at the university and the many friends she had left behind. Virginia wondered just how many of those friends had supported Jenny through the days following her accident. Virginia had certainly seen none of them in the week she had been there. But she wisely made no reference to that fact.