Love takes wing (Love Comes Softly #7)

by Janette Oke

  The silence hung heavy between them. Belinda, uncomfortable, toyed with her teaspoon, unable to look up at Jackson. "How long?" he asked at length.

  "I don't know," she answered honestly. "It depends on how things go. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth has even mentioned my being' a travelin' companion fer her trips abroad--"

  Jackson groaned. "After all these years," he said softly. "After

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  all these years of waiting, and you are asking me to go on waiting while--"

  Belinda's head came up. "No!" she said quickly. "No!"

  She looked directly into Jackson's face. "I have never asked ya to wait, Jackson. Never. Waiting was . . . was yer idea. I'm . . . I'm dreadfully sorry if ya've had the wrong. . . the wrong impression about . . . about us. Yer a dear friend, Jackson, an' . . . I . . . care deeply fer ya, but I don't .. . haven't ever meant to make ya think thet . . ."

  She stumbled to a stop. Jackson sat before her with an ashen face, saying nothing. He reached a shaking hand up to rub his brow. At length he was able to lift his eyes again to Belinda's.

  She was also sitting silently, the tears unwillingly forming in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't wanted to hurt Jackson. Hadn't planned to do so. She felt heartless, even though she knew the fault was not really hers.

  "I . . . I'm sorry" she whispered softly.

  Jackson reached across the table and took her hand gently in his. "My dear little Belinda," he said in not much more than a whisper. "You've always tried to tell me . . . haven't you? But I refused to listen. Refused to believe that it wouldn't work out . . . in time." He paused a moment to sort out his thoughts and then went on softly, "Go ahead. Go to Boston. And if you ever get tired of it . . . or if you ever change your mind, I'll . . . I'll be here . . . waiting."

  "No, Jackson, please," broke in Belinda. "Please . . . please don't wait anymore. I . . . I couldn't bear it. I . . . I feel thet so much of yer life has already been spent in waitin'."

  Jackson's laugh was strained, but the sound of it relieved the tension in the air. "You make me sound like an old, old man," he chided.

  Belinda shook her head in confusion and flushed. "Of course

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  I don't mean thet," she hastened to say, gently withdrawing her hand. "It's jest . . . jest . . ."

  Jackson nodded, looking as if he truly understood what she was saying. Even that nearly broke Belinda's heart. Oh, she fervently wished--hoped--he would stop waiting for her and find someone else.

  It was no easier breaking the news to Rand. He had come over that evening with the sketches he had promised. After pouring two glasses of lemonade, Belinda reluctantly followed him, with his sketches, to the picnic table under the large elm trees. Rand spread the drawings out before them.

  "I want ya to go over 'em carefully," he said, excitement in his voice. "Anythin' thet ya like, jest mark and then we'll do up another sketch combinin' it all together."

  Belinda drew in her breath. "I'm. . . I'm really excited about yer house, Rand," she said slowly, "but I don't know how much help I'll be able to give."

  At Rand's questioning gaze she hurried on, "You see, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth is able to travel now, and she has asked me to accompany her back to Boston."

  "To Boston?" echoed Rand. "Thet's a fair piece, as I understand it. How long's it take anyway?"

  "Fer the trip? I . . . I'm not sure but . . ."

  Rand began to fold the sketches, then changed his mind and spread them out again. "Iffen we have it figured out before ya leave," he said, "I could start gettin' things under way whilst ya was gone. Then when ya git back--"

  "But Mrs. Stafford-Smyth wants me to stay on," Belinda admitted hesitantly.

  "Stay on? What ya meanin'? Stay on fer how long?" "In . . . indefinitely" Belinda said, her voice low.

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  "But ya didn't agree to anythin' like thet, did ya?" asked Rand in disbelief.

  "Well, I . . . I said that I would consider it and . . . and recently I have thought thet . . . thet I would like to," Belinda finished in a rush, her chin coming up.

  "But . . . but what 'bout us?" Rand asked hoarsely. "Us?"

  "Us! Our plans?"

  "Rand," Belinda said as softly as she could, "you and I have not talked about any plans."

  Rand flushed and rustled his sketches. "Well. . . well, maybe not . . . yet," he stammered. "The timin' wasn't right. I had to git me some means first. But ya knew. . . ya knew how I felt about ya. Thet as soon as I was able I'd be askin' . . ."

  Belinda shook her head slowly, her eyes clouded. "No, Rand. I'm afraid I didn't know. Maybe I should've, but I've thought of you as a dear friend--"

  "A friend?" hissed Rand. Then he drew himself up, a set look on his face. "It's the doctor, ain't it?" he insisted. "I knew . . . I knew the minute I saw thet guy he was trouble." Rand's eyes sparked angrily.

  Belinda reached out to lay a hand on Rand's sleeve. "No," she said abruptly. "No." She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "Jackson has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I. . . I . . . care deeply about you, Rand. If there was. . . anyone. . . anyone I would . . . would like to share a home with . . . it would be you." Her lips trembled as she spoke. "But I'm not ready. I . . . I'm jest not ready."

  "Yer two nieces have been married fer a couple'a years already" Rand reminded her, then added almost bitterly, "Seems thet by the time a woman reaches yer age, she should be most ready to settle down. . . to know 'er own mind."

  Belinda turned away. His words seemed unfair . . . even if

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  they were true. Most young women were married before they were her age. She thought of her nieces. By all reports Amy Jo and Melissa were both very happy. Belinda was happy for them. But she wasn't Amy Jo . . . and she wasn't Melissa. She still didn't feel ready for marriage. Or maybe she just hadn't met the right young man. She didn't know. She was so confused. Maybe there would never be a young man in her life. Well, that was better than trying to live her life with the wrong one. She turned back to Rand.

  "I'm very sorry.. . . really. I wouldn't have misled you for the world. I . . . I . . . you are special to me . . . as . . . a . . . friend. It's jest . . . jest thet I don't care in . . . in thet way"

  Rand took Belinda's hand. But Belinda resisted his effort to draw her toward him.

  Okay, he finally conceded. Go long to Boston. Guess I can busy myself on another house. No rush on this one. But when ya git back. . . we'll. . . we'll talk about it."

  "Rand," argued Belinda. "I . . . I might stay for a long time . . . several years. I might not ever come back."

  "We'll see," said Rand darkly as he rolled up the sketches. "We'll jest have to wait an' see."

  "How soon can you be ready to go?" Belinda asked Mrs. Stafford-Smyth the next morning.

  "Am I being evicted?" the woman asked good-naturedly.

  Belinda smiled. "No! I thought ya were anxious to be on yer way home, and I asked Dr. Brown yesterday over thet cup of coffee if ya were ready to travel. He assured me there was no reason for ya to stay on here one moment longer than ya want to."

  By the time Belinda had finished her speech, Mrs. StaffordSmyth was beaming. "And you'll go with me?" she asked.

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  "I'll go with ya," promised Belinda, feeling much relief in just saying the words.

  "And stay?" asked the elderly woman.

  "And stay!" responded Belinda. "At least fer a time."

  "Good!" said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. She seemed like she was truly looking forward to having Belinda with her. The two of them got on well. And Belinda was surer than ever that she needed a change--as did two young men whose expectations she did not share.

  Luke went to the farm for a visit with Clark and Marty. Marty knew the moment she looked at his face that something important had happened, but it wasn't until they were seated around the comfortable kitchen table sharing their coffee and doughnuts that she dared to comment.

  "Ya look like a heavy weight's been lifted off ye
r shoulders," she observed.

  Luke smiled. "Not my shoulders--my heart," he said.

  Marty's face brightened. She knew Luke had attended every meeting he could, staying behind to share in the prayer times whenever possible.

  "Those meetings were just what I needed to get things back into proper focus again," he admitted.

  Marty nodded. She had found the special services a time of spiritual encouragement and refreshing, as well. In fact, she and Clark had talked and prayed together one night until near morning, and finally had been able to leave the matter of the family tension in the hands of a masterful God.

  "I'm on my way over to see Arnie," Luke went on, and Marty looked at Clark, hardly able to contain her pleasure. God was already answering their prayer.

  "To tell 'im ya forgive him?" she asked quickly, eagerly.

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  Luke looked surprised. "Forgive? I have nothing to forgive him for. No . . . I . . . I am going to beg my brother to forgive me," said Luke soberly, and the tears began to fill his eyes.

  "But . . . but I don't understand," said Marty "Arnie was angry with you. . ."

  "And for good reason," Luke explained. "I had no business to be butting into Arnie's life, assuming I knew what was best for his son, demanding he see things my way." By the time Luke had finished his speech, tears were coursing down his cheeks. "I didn't mean to be arrogant . . . and . . . and self-righteous, but I was. I just hope and pray that Arnie can find it in his heart to forgive

  me.,

  Marty looked at Clark. His eyes were also filled with tears. He reached out and took the slender, strong hand of his doctor son and squeezed it gently. She could tell he was unable to express his thoughts because of his deep emotions.

  Marty wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. When she could speak again she took Luke's other hand. "We'll be prayin'," she said. "Yer pa an' me'll be prayin' the whole time it takes ya to talk to yer brother."

  But Clark had found his voice. "I think we should start now" he stated simply, and after they had bowed their heads together, Clark led the little group in prayer.

  Luke and Arnie each talked about the incident later from his own perspective. Both said that the meeting of brother with brother was the most emotional thing they had ever been through. After Luke's initial confession and plea for Arnie to forgive him for his arrogance and interference, Luke suggested they pray together. At first Arnie was guarded and defensive, but as Luke began to pray, Arnie, too, was touched with his need to restore his relationships--first of all with his God, and then with

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  his family. Soon he, too, was crying out to God in repentance and contrition.

  They wept and prayed together, arms around each other's shoulders. By the time they had sobbed it all out to God and to each other, they both felt spent but, at the same time, refreshed. Nothing was said about young Abe. Luke knew it was not his decision, and Arnie knew he would need to deal with the matter soon and honestly.

  Arnie did not put off the matter of Abe's arm for very long. In his head he realized that already too much time had passed since the accident, and he recognized and admitted to himself that the arm was continually worsening. After talking it over with Anne, he called Abe to the kitchen where he and Anne sat at the family table.

  Arnie swallowed hard. It was not easy for him to speak honestly with his son about a matter that was so painful and had caused so much heartache.

  "Yer uncle Luke has been to see us," he began. When he hesitated, Abe looked from his father to his mother with some fear in his eyes. With effort, Arnie hurried on. "He . . . he's . . . he's concerned 'bout yer arm."

  Abe let his glance fall to the offending limb, but his gaze did not linger. Arnie noticed that the boy drew the arm closer to his side.

  "Fact is . . . fact is. . ." Arnie found it hard to keep the tears from his eyes and voice. "We've known fer some time thet the arm wasn't healin' right. Luke tried to tell me . . . but I wouldn't listen." Arnie paused to clear his throat and then said, "Luke told me at the time thet ya needed surgery to . . . to right the arm. . . butI. . . I . . ."

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  But Abe stopped him, his eyes wide with amazement. "They can do thet?"

  Arnie looked at the boy, not sure what he was asking.

  "Can they, Pa?" Abe repeated. He let his eyes return to the crooked arm, locked into its constant position. "Can they right the arm?"

  Arnie nodded slowly, blinking back the tears. "Luke says they can," he said honestly. Then seeing the light suddenly come to the eyes of his son, he hastened on, "Oh, maybe not . . . not perfectly . . . but at least . . . at least they can help it a good deal. . . straighten it some and strengthen it some an' . . . an' give it some movement."

  But Abe obviously was not hearing his pa's words of caution. He was hearing words of hope. His eyes were bright with joy as he turned back to Arnie.

  "When?" was all he asked.

  Anne finally spoke, brushing away tears that lay on her cheeks and reaching to put an arm around her son. "Abe," she said slowly, softly, "I. . . I don't think ya understand. It's not gonna be thet easy to fix. Ya don't jest walk in the doctor's office an' have him . . . do . . . do yer arm. It means a trip to the city. . . examinations, decisions . . . then iffen the city doctors think it will work out okay . . . then they . . . they need to operate . . . to break the arm again . . . an' then try to set it . . . mend it better."

  "But . . . but . . ." Abe faltered, his eyes mirroring new despair. "But ya said, Pa, thet it would help some . . . thet Uncle Luke said. . ."

  Arnie nodded solemnly.

  "Then . . . then. . . ?" But Abe stopped. His eyes misted for the first time. Arnie felt that his son now understood about the pain involved with the surgery

  But when Abe spoke, the pain was not mentioned. "It costs a lot, huh?"

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  The simple words cut Arnie to the quick. "No," he said quickly, shaking his head and starting to his feet. "No, son, thet's not the reason. We . . . we. . ." But Arnie could not go on, and again Anne took over, reaching for Arnie's hand as she spoke to Abe.

  "It was yer pain we feared--not the cost. We . . . we didn't want ya to suffer no more . . . yer pa an' me. We . .. we hoped the arm would git steadily better on its own, but . . . but . . . we think now thet it won't, not by itself" She stopped and, still clasping Arnie's hand, reached out her other hand to Abe.

  "So . . . so," she went on hesitantly, "I guess it's really yer decision. Now . . . now thet ya know about . . . about the . . . the surgery . . . the healing again . . . what do you think we should do?"

  Abe did not hurry with his answer. He looked steadily from one parent to the other. Then he looked down at his disabled limb. He swallowed hard and licked dry lips.

  "Iffen ya don't mind. . . iffen it won't be. . . be. . . too much cost, then I'd like to try it. . . the surgery Even iffen it jest makes it a little bit better, it would be . . . be good."

  The words brought a flood of tears to Arnie. He reached out and drew Abe to him, burying his face against the leanness of the young body. Abe seemed confused by his father's response, but even in his youth he knew Arnie needed him. Needed his love and his support.

  "It's okay, Pa," he mumbled, his arms wrapped firmly around Arnie's neck. "It's okay. It won't hurt thet much."

  "Don't ya see? Don't ya see?" sobbed Arnie. "We shoulda had it done first off. Luke tried to tell me. . . but I wouldn't listen. It woulda worked better. . ."

  Abe pulled back far enough to look into his father's eyes. "Is thet what's been troublin' ya?" he asked candidly.

  Arnie only nodded. Abe moved to place his arm securely

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  around his father's neck again. "Oh, Pa," he said with tears in his eyes. "We've been so scared . . . so scared . . . all of us kids. We feared ya had some awful sickness an' might die . . . an' here . . . here it was jest my silly ol' arm. It's okay, Pa!" The young boy patted his father's shoulder. "An' ya know what? Iffen ya'd asked me
way back then 'bout breakin' my arm all over agin, I'da prob'ly been scared ta death an' . . . an' run off in the woods hopin' it'd heal by itself Now we all know thet ain't gonna happen," he finished matter-of-factly. "I know ya love me. The pain . . . it . . . it won't be too bad," he reassured them.

  Father and son held each other close, and Anne breathed a prayer to God as she wiped her tears. There was much ahead for all of them--for there would be surgery to be faced just as soon as Luke could make the arrangements.

  Arnie went to see Luke the next morning, but on the way he stopped to ask forgiveness of Clare and to beg Clark and Marty to forgive him for all the suffering he had caused them in his bitterness. He pleaded to be restored to his old relationship within the family circle, and with tears of joy and prayers of thanksgiving he was drawn back into their loving arms.

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  NINETEEN

  Boston

  "Are ya comfortable?" Belinda asked Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. They were settled on the eastbound train for Boston after an emotional and teary good-bye at the station. Most of Belinda's family had been there to see her off. She was glad that neither Rand nor Jackson had appeared, although she had received messages from each of them the night before her departure.

  May your trip to Boston be smooth, uneventful--and hasty, said Jackson's light little note tucked into a basket of forget-me-nots. Belinda had not been able to hide her smile.

  Rand's message had been more direct. Sorry for any misunderstanding, it read. Whenever you are ready to come back, I'll be here. Rand. This note came with a small packet of house plans, and etched in a corner in Rand's script was the terse comment, Study at leisure.

  Poor Rand, mused Belinda. It seemed he was refusing to give