All Things New (Virtuous Heart)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  Debbie’s head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Forgiving is making peace with our mistakes. Accepting what happened and going on from there. But it’s important not to forget. We need to remember so we can learn from our mistakes.”

  He put his arm loosely around her shoulder and guided her back to the car. “And remember, in your own human power you can’t forgive—even yourself. Just ask God to make you willing to be willing.”

  All the way home she kept thinking over and over again, willing to be willing. Was she willing to forgive herself? To put the terrible decision she had made behind her? To go on from here?

  It sounded so good. So easy. She did want to. But was that really enough? Willing to be willing? Help me.

  Chapter 15

  Dr. Thomas released Melissa the next morning. To mark the occasion Debbie brought her the teddy bear in the red flannel pajamas that she had liked so much when they went shopping together. Melissa hugged him all the way home, sitting on Debbie’s lap.

  Byrl was there to meet them with a bouquet of white daisies and pink rosebuds. They made a great party of tucking Melissa in bed and arranging everything just right for her. “Now, if you’re a good girl and rest like the doctor said, I can take you out on the beach in two days,” Greg promised. “But no bouncing around, or I’ll have to tie you down.”

  Melissa giggled and lay back against the pillows. “Thank you for the flowers, Auntie Byrl.”

  “No problem, kid. Just you get better so things will settle down around here and I can get some work done.”

  “Oh, I will. Mama will take care of me.” The little voice was half muffled.

  Debbie turned. “What did you say?” She didn’t mean for her question to sound sharp, she was just astonished at what she thought she had heard.

  “Um, I said ‘mama.’ Is that all right? The nurse called you that.”

  “Well, the nurse didn’t know us, and it didn’t seem worth making a fuss about. But I’m not sure—” Debbie backed a step toward the door. What had she gotten herself into? What in the world would Greg think?

  She stopped when she saw Melissa’s eyes fill up with tears. “I took your compact.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that.” Now she moved toward the bed. “I know you did. Your daddy found it under your pillow when you were sick.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Melissa nodded, but no words came out.

  “Were you afraid I’d leave and you’d forget me?”

  Melissa shook her head. “I thought if you left and I had it you’d have to come back for it.”

  Debbie took her hand. “How about if we do it the other way around?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’ll keep it in my purse. When you want to borrow it, you ask me. OK?”

  Melissa smiled and nodded.

  Debbie had accepted the nurse’s mistaken identity as natural in the circumstances. But how did she feel about this? Her relationship with Greg aside, if he ever asked her to be his wife, how did she feel about Melissa’s proposal that she be her mother?

  She now understood that this child, no matter how near in age, would never replace her own. She had tried to make Angie and Andy fill that role and had muffed if badly by trying to overmanage them. Thank goodness they were strongminded enough not to let her completely dominate them. But what about Melissa? Could she accept her on a completely different footing? As her own person, not a substitute for someone else?

  And what about Debbie’s position? Could she fill the role of the deceased mother? She had once felt haunted by Gayle. Would she still? She felt bombarded by questions. And she had no answers. But she knew she must find them if they were all to come through this unscathed.

  Melissa’s first outing two days later was surrounded with much preparation. The sun was warm and sparkly. Greg put up a large yellow beach umbrella to ward off the breeze. Debbie placed an old quilt over a straw mat and made a nest of pillows for the patient. Greg brought out his cassette player, and after Debbie furnished the portable room with a supply of books, toys, and a teddy bear, Melissa was borne out in her daddy’s arms to enjoy it all.

  First on the agenda was feeding the seagulls. Debbie had learned when she came to the beach never to throw a crust of bread or crumble of cracker away. She hoarded everything in a brown paper bag marked seagull food. Then enjoyed feeding the local scavengers when the sack was full.

  Only one seagull was visible, perched atop one of the streetlights along the Prom. But as soon as Greg attracted its attention with a handful of stale popcorn a whole flock joined it. Debbie propped Melissa in an upright position and let her toss the scraps when the crowd was gathered.

  “Toss some to the little one over there.” Debbie pointed to a small brown gull. “He hasn’t had any yet.” Melissa tried, but before he could swallow the kernel a large white bird snatched it out of his beak.

  “That’s not nice!” Melissa cried.

  The supply of crusts ran out, and Melissa lay back against her cushions. The shadow of a newcomer fell across the sand. “Hello. You’ve got a regular Arabian pleasure tent here, haven’t you?”

  “Hi, Auntie Byrl.” The ready grins between them showed that, whatever reservations Debbie might have about hers, no one had any problem with the honorary title Melissa had bestowed on Byrl.

  “What brings you to the surface in the middle of the day?” Debbie asked. “I thought nothing could interrupt your incredible discipline.”

  “For a workaholic it’s taking a break that requires discipline,” Byrl replied. “I suddenly realized that we leave here a week from tomorrow, so I told myself that if I didn’t get some sand between my toes now, I’d regret it all winter.”

  Bryl’s remark was a jolt to Debbie. She had tried not to count. As long as they could continue with things as they were she didn’t have to face the unsolved problems. But even if her mind would let her forget, her calendar wouldn’t. This was Friday. Tomorrow was her appointment at Rainbow Land. Greg had even offered to have Courtenay show her available apartments in Portland. Was she ready to cut her ties with the past so definitely?

  “Why don’t you two go lay in a dune or something, and let me visit with my honorary niece?” Byrl interrupted her reverie. “Want me to read to you?” Byrl looked at the book Melissa was holding.

  Melissa considered. “No, I’ll just listen to the pictures.”

  Debbie emerged from under the umbrella and looked around. The beach was never the same twice. Today, under the early afternoon sun, the sand was white, the water dark turquoise and the sky a gentle powder blue. Then a crisp breeze hit her. She hugged her sweatshirt to her. “Lounge on the beach in this wind? Byrl is crazy.”

  Greg laughed. “You should know by now, it’s the only time you get sun here—when there’s wind to blow the clouds away. Come on.” He led her a short distance from the umbrella to a spot sheltered by a mound of sand. Greg spread two oversized beach towels for them. Debbie pulled off her sweatshirt, spread sunscreen over her arms and legs exposed by the T-shirt and shorts she wore, and wiggled around to hollow out the sand beneath her towel until she had a nest custom made to fit her curves.

  On the other side of the dune Byrl changed the tape on the cassette player. The strains of “Victory at Sea” floated to them.

  “Ooh, that’s great. I think I’ll become a beach bum.” Debbie relaxed as the sun warmed her face.

  Greg stretched out beside her. “And how long would that last?”

  “Until the first creative urge struck me. But if I stayed away from fabric shops and cookbooks, I could probably hold off long enough to get a decent tan.”

  “And then you’d lose it at work.”

  “Well, in the best of all possible worlds I could move my sewing machine outside.”

  They were quiet for a while, absorbing the sun and the music. Greg picked up her hand and toyed with her fingers. She opened her eyes lazily, watching him. Then she
sat up suddenly and grabbed his hand, spreading it out flat on her knee. She was right. Only a white mark at the base of his fourth finger. His wedding band was gone. “Greg, when did that happen?”

  “When I left you alone at the hospital with Melissa.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you needed reassurance that I trusted you. I thought this might help.”

  “Because you trusted me or because Melissa needed me?”

  He sat up now. The pressure of his hand increased on her knee. “Because we both need you.”

  She pulled away. “Greg, I can’t replace Gayle.”

  Now he drew back. “Is that what you think? That I want another woman like her?”

  “Well, of course.” Didn’t he? Debbie had tried to make a child take away her pain over losing a baby. Why wouldn’t Greg try to do the same thing with a wife?

  He was quiet for a long time. At last he spoke. Slowly, quietly, with enormous control. “I should have explained this to you long ago. But it’s not easy. It’s very hard to admit … I’m supposed to be some big Christian speaker and teacher. I’m supposed to be perfect. But I have things that are hard to face too.” He took a deep breath. “You need to understand that a great deal of my grief for Gayle was guilt. She was beautiful and intelligent and witty. She was also a very good lawyer. She loved her career. And I was so infatuated with her that I pushed her into a marriage that wasn’t right for either of us. Her work always came first. I said that was fine, I understood. But not when we had a child.”

  He turned now to stare out at the rolling ocean, talking more to himself than to Debbie. “That was my fault too. Gayle should never have been a mother. I think she knew it, but she gave in to me. Then there were three people to hurt instead of two. Time and again she would promise Melissa she’d do something with her. Then the court schedule would change or a client would have an emergency. You’ve seen the results of that seesaw with Melissa. Of course, Gayle absolutely refused to consider having another child. And she was right.”

  “Greg.” Debbie reached out for his hand.

  He took her hand but didn’t move any closer to her. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved Gayle. Sometimes the loneliness still washes over me.” He was quiet for a moment. “I loved her, but we couldn’t build the kind of home together that I longed for because that takes teamwork.

  “What I’m trying to say is that it takes courage to try again. I won’t make the same mistakes. I have learned. But I’m afraid of the new ones I’ll make.”

  Debbie pulled back. He couldn’t have been clearer. He had just painted a very vivid picture of what he wanted. A teammate. Working together to build the home and family they both dreamed of. But could she do that?

  He stood up suddenly, offering his hand to pull her to her feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. I know you weren’t ready to hear that yet. Maybe after tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Tomorrow she had those appointments in Portland. What difference would that make to their relationship? Was Greg planning something special?

  Chapter 16

  The next morning Debbie sat beside Greg as he drove along the curving, wooded highway toward Portland. They had left Melissa happily tucked up in Debbie’s bed where Byrl could keep an eye on her and get some work done as well. Although Debbie wondered how much work Byrl would attempt to accomplish. It was amazing the changes she had seen in her cousin this summer. But Byrl wasn’t the only one. Debbie’s eyes were drawn repeatedly to Greg’s ringless left hand.

  He glanced over and caught the direction of her gaze. “It was time. But you understand, don’t you? It was my own decision. No obligation on your part. I don’t want you feeling responsible for anyone’s actions but your own.”

  She nodded. It was the taking responsibility for her own actions she was still struggling with. Grieve for her mother. Grieve for the aborted baby. Come to acceptance. Move on. She understood the process. She just wasn’t sure she had accomplished it. She’d done all she knew to do. But she kept feeling there should be something more. Maybe just give it time. They said time would heal, but she wasn’t sure. If anything was festering, time would just make it worse, wouldn’t it?

  “Are you enjoying your book?”

  She jumped at Greg’s voice cutting across her thoughts. She looked at the discarded volume on the seat beside her. The Power and the Glory. She had thought she might read some on the drive, not realizing how preoccupied she would be with her own thoughts. “Yes, I am. It took me awhile to get into it. But as soon as I saw the symbolism of the priest riding a donkey, being hunted by the authorities, accused of being a wine-bibber, yet loving people everywhere he went, I was hooked.”

  “It’s been years since I read it, but I remember being gripped by the picture of the suffering servant. Especially that scene where the priest offers his shirt to the man who was betraying him.”

  “Yes, I loved that too. And the police lieutenant who was such a zealous atheist. Let me see if I can find that part …” She flipped through the pages. “Oh, yes, here it is. Remember, he was watching the village children play: They deserved nothing less than the truth—a vacant universe and a cooling world … He wanted to begin the world again with them, in a desert. Isn’t that the most powerful picture of a world without faith—a desert in a vacant universe, and a cooling world.”

  Greg nodded. “Gives you chills, doesn’t it? And there was another part I liked—something about the image of God.”

  “Oh, yes. I read that yesterday.” She turned several pages and scanned for a moment. “This is it. Where the government was destroying the statues in the cemetery: It was odd—this fury to deface, because, of course, you could never deface enough. If God had been like a toad, you could have rid the globe of toads, but when God was like yourself, it was no good being content with stone figures—you had to kill yourself among the graves.”

  “Mmm, that’s great.” Then he was quiet.

  Greg’s silence was more companionable than most people’s conversation. Then, since her book was open, Debbie read for a while. Loving God isn’t any different from loving a man—or a child. It’s wanting to be with Him, to be near Him: She was so absorbed in Greene’s words it was a moment before she was aware that Greg had spoken. “Sorry. What?”

  “I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I just asked if you’re excited about your interview?”

  Well, it was a job. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be fine.” She looked toward the city from the elevation of the freeway. Pearl gray skyscrapers, their windows reflecting the midmorning sun, rose from the richly wooded hills. “Portland’s a beautiful city.”

  “It is. Hard to find your way around in it, though, because of all the bridges. We’ll have to get you a good map. You’ll soon catch on to it.” He pointed to the south. “The seminary is about three miles over that way. It’s a beautiful campus. Don’t think we’ll have time to go by it today, though. If I showed up, they’d probably try to put me to work.”

  “Is your home near there?”

  “About three blocks from the campus. On a hillside with woods behind it.” He took an exit that led along the river to a restored part of the old city and found a parking place under a bridge.

  “It’s great that they’re redoing all these old buildings.” Debbie looked around.

  “I remember this area from when I was a kid—mostly just crumbling warehouses and dirty streets. You wouldn’t believe it now, would you?” Freshly painted buildings were bordered with sidewalk planters filled with flourishing trees and flowers. “Several of these buildings have won Historic Preservation awards.”

  He escorted her toward the address she gave him. “I don’t have to be at Parkinson’s until this afternoon, so I’ll just wait for you. Then we’ll meet Courtenay for lunch.”

  In two blocks they reached the white stone building with awnings over the windows. Debbie recognized the displays of dresses made from original patterns, room furnishings such as chairs and light fixtu
res sewn from coordinating fabrics, and dozens of quilts and soft sculptures. Just like the Boise store, only larger. Not a bad place to start a career.

  “There’s a bookstore two doors down.” Greg pointed. “I can browse for hours, so don’t hurry.” He squeezed her hand. “Good luck. You’ll do great.”

  Rainbow Land was well named. It exuded color, joy, freshness, and creativity from all its displays. As Debbie waited for her interview, she could feel herself tingling with ideas: She’d love to make a quilt like that for Melissa, and those cut-out dolls—she could make one as a doll and appliqué the other on the front of a white pinafore and trim it in eyelet …

  “You’re Debbie? I’m Carol.” The manager smiled and pushed her streaky blond hair away from her round face with the back of her hand. “Come in here where we can talk. You can see we need help—one girl quit and another is out sick today.” She ushered Debbie into a small office, swept an armful of fabric samples off a chair, and indicated that Debbie should sit down.

  They talked for less than half an hour, covering Debbie’s fabric design education, her practical experience sewing, and her enthusiasm for working out her own creations with designer fabrics. Fortunately, they didn’t dwell long on her inabilities with doing math calculations when selling four and three-fourths yards of fabric at $6.95 a yard and seven and two-thirds yards of ribbon at 56 cents a yard, and fiveeighths of a yard of lace at …

  Debbie finally got up her courage to ask, “Is there a chance I could work into a design job?”

  “I can’t promise. But I would hope so. We like to encourage creativity in our clerks.”

  Well, that was as much as Debbie could reasonably expect.

  “I’ve only found one other applicant as qualified as you in three weeks of interviewing.” Carol drew the meeting to a close. “And she really just wanted part-time work, so I think I can use you both. We’re always so busy before Christmas, and it comes on so fast. When will you be able to start?”