by Jane Peart
But did she really want to be alone?
chapter
25
THE SOLARIUM WAS dimly lit by the light from the corridor and by lights shining up from the parking lot outside. Still in his green scrub suit, Evan sat down on one of the leather sofas facing the mural. His shoulders slumped wearily, and he placed his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he remained there, physically exhausted, mentally drained. Slowly he lifted his head and gazed up at one of the panels. The blind man receiving his sight. A mix of emotions warred within Evan— anger, resentment, frustration. Anger that all his skill had not been able to save his patient, resentment that nothing they had attempted had stopped the inevitable, frustration that there was nothing more anyone could have done to bring life back into the body on the operating table.
Why? Why had he failed? The operation had not been that complicated. He had performed it dozens of times. Why had all the latest scientific tools not been enough? All the same helplessness he had felt when Susan died came rushing back. He experienced it all again in vivid detail. It was all such a waste. The man he had operated on had a reasonably long life ahead of him. Was there no purpose to any of it?
His gaze moved from panel to panel. It halted at the centurion’s scene. The final rendering had been different from the one for which he had originally posed. Now the Roman officer knelt on one knee, bowing his head to Jesus, the Jewish healer. Why had Joy changed it?
Evan remembered asking her about it, and at the time her reply had not been understandable to him: “It just seemed more appropriate. It was prophesied that every knee shall bow at the name of Jesus. The centurion had come to beg mercy for his servant, not stand arrogantly as though he deserved the favor.”
Evan hadn’t pursued the subject. Instinctively he had felt that Joy was trying to tell him something about himself. Something about his own attitude, maybe?
He returned to the scene of the blind man. “Once I was blind but now I see”—those were the words painted at the bottom of the panel. He remembered those words from his days long ago in Sunday school in the little Kentucky church in the mining town where he had grown up. He recalled singing the words very loudly, trying to outdo his buddy Jason during the hymn “Amazing Grace.” He thought about the phrase “God’s amazing grace” and recalled another of those disturbing conversations he’d had with Joy. He had come in here one evening when she was just finishing up and looking over her day’s work on the healing of the paralytic, the panel for which his patient Philip Kenan had posed, and he had asked, “Why did Jesus often say, ‘Your sins are forgiven’ when he was only asked for healing?”
“Sometimes it’s hidden sin, such as unforgiveness, that blocks God’s blessing,” Joy had answered. Then she had turned to him with a puzzled frown. “I should think that as a doctor, you’d know there is more and more proof that negative emotions hinder healing. Hatred, anger, bitterness, that sort of thing.”
Again Evan had dropped the subject. Sometimes Joy, for all her sweetness, her gentleness, hit too close to the mark. She knew he was still wounded by his inability to save Susan. Her death had unfairly cut off a vital, useful life. And it was that unfairness that he hated. The hatred was a grinding pain within, like a cancer that needed to be cut out. But against what or who was the hatred directed?
Tonight he couldn’t seem to take his gaze away from the paintings. Each one had a special significance, and each person looking at them might see something different. He realized the mural must be a comfort, a blessing, for the family and friends of patients as they waited here. Being reminded of these healing miracles must renew their hope, strengthen their faith. The panels did not seem to offer false hope, as he had once remarked.
God, whoever you are, wherever you are, let these paintings be the blessing Joy has painted them to be.
He thought of Joy and his heart ached. He missed her so much, in every way. He knew he loved her, but he had fallen short of what she wanted in a life partner. He had offered her everything he possessed—the security, the affluence, that came with being at the top of his profession. He had promised her freedom to pursue her art even if it meant travel, time away from him. Whatever he had, whatever it would take to possess this treasure of a woman. He thought he could overcome those doubts, those uncertainties she had—what she called being “unequally yoked.” Whatever that meant! It could have worked. Her faith was strong enough for both of them. He wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to go to church three times a week, twice a day, whatever! But that hadn’t been enough to convince her.
As he continued to sit there in the dimness of the empty solarium, Evan knew it was not enough. One by one he returned to each panel. The little girl, the paralytic, Peter’s mother-in-law, the centurion, the blind man…What was keeping him from seeing what Joy saw?
Suddenly it came to him so clearly, like the scales being removed from a blind man’s eyes. It was his own bitterness against God because of Susan’s death. Yes, that was it! That was why he couldn’t believe. It was the reason why he felt shut out from the peace, the hope, the faith—from Joy. All the old anger merged with anguish.
But I want to be free of it. I want to be forgiven…
Evan realized he had just prayed. He raked his fingers through his hair, shuddering. He looked at the centurion panel—and he saw his own pride, his arrogance, his unwillingness to surrender, everything that made faith so difficult for him.
He clenched his hands together tightly. He felt a twisting sensation, a longing to let go, to surrender himself and all the angry sadness inside.
Then out of somewhere—he must have read it or heard it at some time—the direction came so that there could be no mistake.
“Physician, heal thyself.”
Evan started, looked around. Who had spoken? His tiredness was playing mind games on him, he thought. But the words came once more from an almost forgotten source.
“Physician, heal thyself.”
Nothing would happen until then. There could be no reconciliation, no forgiveness, no faith, no future with Joy…until, as in that painting in her apartment, he opened that door without a handle, the door that invited God into the human heart.
The longer Evan sat there, the more significant the thought became. Gradually he felt as if a tight band around his chest had loosened and he could draw a deep breath.
He gazed at the painting of the centurion, and he finally understood why Joy had changed the man’s position. That is how you ask for healing, for forgiveness. On your knees.
Evan gave a self-conscious look over both shoulders. Then he slipped down and knelt.
chapter
26
AT THE END of September Joy flew home. Throughout the flight her emotions were a jumble. Excitement mixed with apprehension. Molly had written to say that Evan had kept in touch with her—that he had in fact “badgered her,” as Molly so humorously put it. He had insisted on meeting her flight, and Joy wondered how she would feel when she saw him.
Her feelings had gone through several changes while she was abroad. When she picked up her mail at the American consulate’s office in Paris, there was always a letter from Evan. His handwriting was a typically illegible doctor’s scrawl. Yet the few scribbled lines in each note somehow lodged in Joy’s heart, confirming his love for her.
I miss you terribly, long to see you, but I am also glad you are having this chance.
In return she had sent him postcards, usually ones she bought at the gallery and museum gift shops. At Saint Paul’s Cathedral she had purchased a postcard with a reproduction of Holman Hunt’s Light of the World.
Dear Evan,
I have fulfilled one of my dreams. I’ve now seen the original. It is magnificent.
There would be much to tell him when she saw him. She had never realized how much there would be to talk about when she returned. So much had happened within her these past months. What had happened with Evan?
She decided she would try t
o sleep, not think. She bunched the small pillow underneath her head and closed her eyes. She realized she had drifted off when she was awakened by the flight attendant bringing her a small, dampened towel to refresh her face and saying, “We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes.”
Joy adjusted her seat to an upright position and looked out the window. Clouds were breaking up below, and here and there she saw roads, rooftops, highways with cars and trucks moving along like toys. She felt tingly all over. How would it be when she saw Evan again?
She heard the thump of tires on the tarmac, felt the rush of deceleration. As the plane slowly maneuvered to its place next to the terminal, outside her window Joy saw airline personnel run across the landing field, a baggage truck swing into place at the side of the plane. She gathered her belongings, including her tote bag full of brochures and souvenirs, got up from her seat, moved out into the crowded aisle, and slowly made her way to the door. She thanked the flight attendant, then walked up the enclosed ramp into the terminal. All the time her heart was pounding.
Then at last into the waiting lounge and into Evan’s arms. They hugged and laughed. He held her at arm’s length, looking at her. “It’s so good to see you!” he said over and over.
There would be at least a half hour’s wait for luggage. So they went into one of the airport restaurants. They found a table, ordered sandwiches and sodas, Joy wasn’t sure what kind. The frenetic activity, the buzz of conversation, swirled around them. They just sat, smiling at each other. When their order came, Joy didn’t even notice what she was eating.
Sitting opposite him, she was very much aware that there was something different about Evan. It was subtle but significant. Something had taken place during the last four months. Something, Joy felt sure, he would soon tell her about. He seemed bursting with a new kind of enthusiasm. When nothing was forthcoming, she grew curious. But there wasn’t time, and neither was this noisy airport restaurant the place. They picked up Joy’s luggage and went to the level of the airport garage where Evan had parked his car.
On the way to Joy’s apartment, Evan said, “I talked to Molly yesterday, and she said to tell you that she came up and aired out your apartment, brought in some staples, put stuff in the refrigerator.” He paused. “She also said the contractor in Mayfield was in touch with her, and the cottage roof has been repaired and all the interior painting is done.” Evan glanced over at her. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re moving to Virginia?”
Joy laughed. “You know better than that. The big house and most of the grounds are going to the Mayfield Historical Society. She means another small building on the property.”
“I see,” Evan said, nodding. He looked serious. “Molly says it’s an idyllic spot for an artist.”
“Yes, for a vacation or a retreat. Actually, it’s too isolated for year-round living. Besides, I have to find a job.”
“Oh? I thought you’d become a lady of leisure now that you’re an heiress.”
“Of course not, Evan. I’ve learned so much about art this summer. I’m all charged up about the possibilities of what I can do to make my living. After being in the galleries in London and Paris, I’ve also learned my artistic limitations.”
“The mural is still getting rave reviews.”
“Is it? I’m so glad. I’ll probably see things I’d like to do over now that I’ve been exposed to master works.”
“Speaking of jobs, there’s something I want to talk to you about. I have a project in mind.”
They had reached the tree house, and Evan carried Joy’s baggage up the stairway. She walked inside and slowly circled the small room, saying, “Everything looks so…so unfamiliar!”
“It’ll take time to reacclimate yourself.” Evan watched her as she moved about the tiny place, touching things as if to reacquaint herself with her former environment.
“Now, tell me about your project,” Joy suggested. “I will have to get started on something soon.” She pulled a comic face. “I was terribly extravagant on my trip. Sit down, let’s talk about it.” She gestured to the two wicker chairs in the window area.
“Well,” Evan began as he sat, “I’ve always wanted to do something in Susan’s memory. Something permanent, something that would really represent her, the kind of person she was, the way she lived her life. She was the most generous person I’ve ever known—helping people was her calling. So I’ve come up with what I think it should be. Now that I can afford it, I’d like to build a hospice, like the kind they have in England. A place where terminal patients can go, where they’ll be treated with kindness, dignity, true loving care. The kind of care Susan always gave her patients.”
Joy was astonished. This was the first time Evan had mentioned Susan without a trace of bitterness. Instead he seemed happy and enthusiastic about his idea.
“I’m going to get Glendon McFarland—you know, the architect who designed the solarium at the hospital—to draw up the plans. I told him my ideas, gave him some rough sketches of what I have in mind. Everything will be light, airy, lots of windows. An atrium, maybe a fountain, in the center of the reception hall, beautiful landscaped gardens that can be seen from every room. And the rooms will have beautiful paintings, murals with peaceful, hopeful scenes.” He halted, eyes twinkling. “That is, if I can find the right artist for the job.”
“Are you making me an offer I can’t refuse?” Joy asked.
“Maybe. Are you interested?”
“I’ve often thought I’d like to paint the parables of Jesus in a mural. Would something like that be acceptable? Or would I have to make a presentation to a selection committee?”
“A committee of one,” Evan replied, grinning. Impulsively he sat forward and reached for her hands. “Oh, Joy, it’s so good to have you back. I can’t tell you what my life has been with you gone. Colorless, gray, drab. I’d go to the hospital, come home, stare at the TV without knowing what I was watching, think about you, where you were, what you were doing, if you’d met anyone.” He pressed her hands. “Did you?”
“You mean some stranger across a crowded room? No.” She shook her head, smiling.
He continued. “Sometimes I’d go back to the hospital at night to check on some of my patients, and then I’d go into the solarium and look at the mural. I’d look at each panel, try to figure out what had really taken place in those scenes. Especially the painting of the centurion. I’d ask myself why you changed it, painted it differently from the sketch you had originally decided on. I’d ask myself if there was some hidden message there for me.”
“And…was there?”
Evan’s hold on her hands tightened. “‘Physician, heal thyself.’” He paused. “A few days later I got the postcard you sent with the picture of The Light of the World, and I guess you might say I got it. I finally got it. I went back and studied the mural. And something happened. Inside me. I can’t describe it exactly, except to say that I felt a kind of loosening of a lot of old stuff, an opening to what life might be if I let go. It was as if a tight band around my chest snapped.”
Evan’s voice deepened, and he struggled for words to go on. “I realized that there was a lot of leftover junk from the past. Stuff that was making it impossible for me to understand God’s love. Why had he taken Susan? Then I began to understand that it wasn’t up to me to figure that out. Maybe it was to save her from something worse than death. I don’t know. What was making me resist was that I considered it too easy. Cheap grace, I think they call it. Just accept, let it go. Allow God’s love to heal me.”
Joy was too moved to say anything.
“Something else I found out, Joy, was that I’d made a mistake about us.”
Startled, Joy wasn’t sure what was coming next.
“I thought that I could convince you to marry me, that I could lean on your faith, that it would be enough. But now I know I had to find the key myself to open the door of my heart to God.” Evan turned and pointed to the picture of The Light of the World. “The key to ope
n that door was getting rid of resentment, bitterness, asking forgiveness for what I’d been holding against him. Once I did that, the love just kind of exploded in me.” He brought one of her hands to his lips, kissed the fingertips. “I felt free, Joy, to love you completely. So much more than I ever thought possible.”
Joy’s heart was too full to speak. She leaned forward and kissed Evan, a kiss that was loving and full of tender promise.
chapter
27
PLANS FOR THE Susan Wallace Memorial went forward, and Joy was in on most of the meetings with the architect and builder. Her suggestions and ideas were respectfully heard and accepted.
With a new confidence and a heart full of hope and gladness for the change that had come to Evan, Joy started work on her part of the hospice. She didn’t want to reproduce the Good Samaritan panels; she wanted to create something new and different and representative of all the hospice would be.
She went carefully through her portfolio of sketches and quick watercolors she had done on her painting tour through the south of France. One she had done on a day when she had climbed up a rocky hill, a little too steep for most of her fellow artists, and at the crest had found a little wayside chapel of ancient stone. It had a curved door overhung with vines. Enlarged, this might be a scene she could paint in the entrance foyer. They could get Molly to do the calligraphy, using the scriptural invitation from Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Or perhaps even more appropriate for a hospice would be John 14:27: “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
