The voice droned on, speculating about probable shortages of various items, until Valerie got up and changed the station.
“We went to the store yesterday, and everything now is just predictions anyway.” She fiddled with the dial until cheery strains of bebop filled the room. “That’s better.”
“He’s right, though,” Rosemary noted. “Abel Nannington didn’t even have twenty pounds of sugar on hand yesterday, and we bought him out.” She handed Valerie a doll to fill with stuffing.
“It’s all right, Rosemary.” Paul worked at untangling his thread for the umpteenth time that evening. “If there’d been anything else important or new, they’d have covered it at the beginning. Every station is on the lookout for updates anyway, so no matter what we listen to, we’ll hear whatever special bulletin comes along next.”
“No sense rehashing what we already know.” Roy set another completed doll in his nearly full box.
The next Sunday, Valerie stood in the choir as they led the congregation of Gethsemane Chapel in worship. The director had worked with the pastor to choose pieces befitting the sermon to come. As they sang the final piece before the pastor took the pulpit, Valerie closed her eyes at the power of the words:
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great …
How true and right those words rang as a prayer set to music. Valerie became swept away by the music, and before she knew it, they were in the midst of the third verse:
And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us, we will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us …
Soon the song was over, and the pastor bowed his head in prayer. “Lord, please defend us against the war. Our cause is just. Bless those families pulled apart by it, and let our faith remain strong that Your will may endure. Amen.”
The choir filed off the platform and took seats in the front pews. In light of the escalating war, the pastor chose to speak from Psalm 144.
He read the first two verses, speaking of faith and justice, recalling David’s words when he faced war. “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust….”
After drawing the parallel between David’s situation when he wrote those words and the situation faced by the members of the congregation, the pastor exhorted his parishioners not to curse the consequences of the war but rather to pray to the Lord in thanks for His blessings of strength.
Roy listened intently to the pastor’s words, drinking in the promise of strength as America fought in Christ’s name to protect the innocents of the world. As the pastor led them in a final prayer, Roy took the time to offer his own request.
Lord, is there no way I can serve You and my country other than through those dolls? Have I truly spent eight years learning all I could to be of use in the navy only to be relegated to sewing during a war engulfing the entire world? Lord, help me understand Your plan—and to accept Your will, whatever it may be. Amen.
As Roy lifted his head after the pastor finished, he saw Valerie standing at the fore of the entire choir. The organist began strains of a familiar hymn before Valerie’s clear alto rang throughout the chapel:
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, and to take Him at His word;
just to rest upon His promise, and to know, “Thus saith the Lord.”
For the refrain, the entire choir joined her, and the music swelled with life as they praised the Lord and asked for “grace to trust Him more.”
Roy watched Valerie’s eyes close as she sang the words to the second verse, her face lit with joy and hope. Her voice sounded pure and sweet above the others as the entire congregation rose to join her.
Lord, this woman means more to me than I ever would have thought possible, but what do I have to offer her? Help me trust in Your plan, for now more than ever I am nothing without Your grace.
Chapter 5
In the first week of February, Paul took Roy in to get his cast off, but the doctors told him he’d have to use the crutches for another two weeks, minimum, as he began physical therapy.
“Is there any way to speed this up, Doc?” Roy pumped the physician for information.
“You’ll recover better if you take it slow. Too much too fast will do you more harm than good.” Dr. Harwell fixed him with a penetrating stare. “First we’ll work on stretching to get back your range of motion. Only then is it realistic to work on strengthening the muscle. You’ve been off this leg for over two months already; it isn’t possible for you to just resume walking.”
“I was afraid of that.” Roy looked down at his legs and grimaced to see his left side so thin compared to the right.
“When you regain your muscle, they won’t look so disproportionate.” The doctor took a moment to jot down several notes on his clipboard before pronouncing, “I’ll see you after two weeks of physical therapy. I want to be perfectly clear: You’re still confined to crutches. On the bright side, it’ll be a lot less unwieldy without that big cast. But no trying to walk on that leg yet. That’s an order.”
“Yes sir.” Roy grudgingly gave his word, seeing the wisdom in the doctor’s order. He’d come too far to let a lack of patience land him back in traction.
“Quit scowling, Roy.” Valerie handed him a hot water bottle, which he gratefully placed on his shinbone. He put every ounce of determination he possessed into his daily exercises and received each measure of it back in stiffness afterward.
“Sorry, Val. I don’t mean to be a grouch. I’ll make it up to you with a game of Chinese checkers.” His offer made her chuckle.
“All right. Who knows? You just might win this time.” She opened the cupboard, grabbed the box, and set up the game on the side table next to his recliner. Since elevating the leg helped make him more comfortable, it had become his favorite chair.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just play.” He pretended to grump just a bit more to coax another smile from her beguiling lips.
“Listen.” She perched on the chair she’d pulled up and rested a soft hand on his forearm. “In a week or so, Doc Harwell will decree you’re ready to begin strength training. You’ll be walking in no time.”
He placed his hand over hers and gave it a slight squeeze. “Thanks, Valerie. I hope you’re right.”
“Well, I know I’m right.” She tossed him a mischievous smile. “Now, let’s get this game going.”
A short half hour later, Roy beamed over his hard-won victory.
“Hail the conquering her–o,” Paul sang as Roy hopped over to the dinner table. “It’s about time you won that game.”
“Well, I hope you both learned a lesson.” Rosemary ladled heaping portions of thick beef stew into bowls and passed them around.
“Oh, they’ll think twice before they say anything about how women can’t beat navy men when it comes to strategy.” Valerie nonchalantly buttered Rebekkah’s biscuit.
“True,” Roy admitted. “I should’ve remembered that you work in a bank, so you’re good with numbers and logic.” He raised his iced tea. “To a worthy opponent.”
“I’ll drink to that.” They all raised their glasses, then made a special to-do about clinking cups with Rebekkah, who giggled and sloshed her juice down the front of her dress.
Dinner remained a merry affair, and before she knew it, Valerie sat next to Roy in the living room again, listening to the evening news on the radio.
“Top news tonight, February 9. We’d like to remind everyone to set their clocks back an hour as daylight saving war time goes into effect. Although we’ll all lose an hour’s sleep tonight, we’ll gain extra daylight every day. The increased productivity is expected to be a valuable contribution to the home-front war effort. When you listen to t
omorrow’s broadcast, you’ll hardly believe it’s actually eight o’clock!
“In other news, General Clinton Pierce, the first U.S. general to be wounded in action, has become an inspiration to our armed forces. Remember him and all our boys in your prayers tonight….”
As the news broke into local headlines, Roy turned down the volume. “When they start changing the hours of the day, you know the war is getting serious.”
“I think I’ll like having an extra hour of light when I get home from the bank,” Valerie protested, determined to overlook the minor inconvenience of getting up an hour earlier and in the dark.
“If it doesn’t work out, at least it’s just for the war.” Rosemary snipped her thread and tied another knot before passing the doll so Valerie could stuff it. This new system of having Roy take over her portion—and more, in all fairness—of the sewing and leaving her to stuff the dolls meant unpricked fingers and less tired eyes.
Roy Benson had proved a blessing in more ways than she’d ever imagined. Rebekkah had taken a shine to him; Paul obviously enjoyed having another man around the house; Rosemary got more help with the dolls; and Valerie got the satisfaction of seeing everyone be happy—not to mention the warm tingles she got every time he smiled at her with those deep hazel eyes. He wasn’t going anywhere for at least another month, too. All in all, life was good.
“Come on, Valerie!” Roy called up the stairs.
“I’m coming!” She fairly flew down the stairs and gave him a quick frown before continuing along the hallway. “You do remember I’m the one who asked you about this?” she reminded him.
“I know.” He stashed his crutches in the backseat. “And I’m glad you did.”
Valerie shut the door and walked around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. “I didn’t mean to grump at you, Roy,” she apologized as they made their way to the hospital. “It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I give blood, I’m always happiest when it’s all over.”
“That’s just because they give you juice afterward,” Roy teased, knowing full well that Valerie gave blood out of nothing less than a deep determination to help others in any way possible. She’d inherited a fair portion of her mother’s generous spirit.
“Ssshhh. If you tell them, they won’t give me my favorite!”
“What’s your favorite?” he wondered aloud. “Apple or orange?”
“I’m not telling.” She pulled into a parking space and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
Despite her attempt to keep a lighthearted tone, he knew what she was thinking. “It’s just one tiny needle. You’ll be fine.”
Half an hour later, they both sat at a table drinking juice and munching on cookies.
“You know, this reminds me a lot of Rebekkah’s tea parties.” Valerie lifted a tiny paper cup. “You’re so good about attending those.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roy feigned ignorance. “Soldiers don’t go to tea parties.”
“Oh, all right. I won’t say anything more to spoil your image. I only wanted to thank you for how special you make her feel.” She touched his hand across the table. “You have a knack for that.”
“You are both special to me.” He wasn’t about to let the moment go. “Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed how much better Rebekkah has slept since you gave her that teddy bear for Christmas.”
“She’s so sweet.” Valerie smiled fondly. “She cuddles him on one side and her dolly on the other.”
“See? You’ve made sure she knows she’s always surrounded with love.”
They simply looked at each other until a man sauntered over and plunked down onto another chair.
“Hello, Mr. Twisselman,” Valerie greeted the stout fellow.
“Hello, Valerie.” His moustache twitched as he spoke. “How are you?”
“Just fine. I don’t like needles,” she admitted to the older man, “but when I’m done, I always feel wonderful.”
“Yep. Have to be careful, though.” Mr. Twisselman hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and leaned back. “I come often. Good thing we butchers are hardy stock.” He grabbed a paper cup.
“So true—” Valerie gasped. “Mr. Twisselman!” The butcher’s face grew waxen as he slumped to the floor.
“Nurse!” Roy bellowed for help as Valerie dabbed Mr. Twisselman’s forehead with a damp cloth.
“It’ll be all right, miss.” An orderly lifted the butcher off the floor.
“Happens all the time.” A tall nurse brought out a blood pressure cuff. “He’ll be fine.”
“Would you like me to call his wife?” Valerie offered.
“No need. We’ll keep him here a bit longer and send him on his way,” the nurse assured them as she swept the now-empty paper cups into a trash can and mopped up Mr. Twisselman’s juice.
As they walked out of the hospital doors, Roy smiled. Well, Lord, I suppose being of “hardy stock” just might be overrated. If a fainting butcher can help in the war effort, why can’t a lame soldier lend a hand? I’ll ask the doctor at Monday’s appointment just how much I can expect to be able to do.
“What did the doctor say?” Rosemary beat Valerie to the question before Roy so much as stepped into the room.
“Tomorrow I begin strength training.” Roy’s grin faded somewhat as he continued. “Of course, I’m still not supposed to try putting any weight on it.”
“Bouncing is fun!” Rebekkah hopped in on one foot, a habit she’d taken to whenever the subject of Roy’s leg came up. The three-year-old had to grab on to other things to manage it, but her special way of encouraging her “Uncle Roy” showed how much Roy had become a part of the family.
“Well, that’s probably for the best.” Rosemary’s practical comment didn’t seem to cheer him up any. “The streets are still icy, and we wouldn’t want any accident to set you back.”
“Look on the bright side,” Valerie broke in. “It’s a step in the right direction!”
Everybody groaned at her pun, but Roy smiled once again, making it all worthwhile.
Roy looked out the window and, for the first time in months, saw a patch of blue sky. Mid-March brought the first hope of spring and the promise of change.
A lot had changed since he’d come here. The United States had declared war against the Axis powers, hundreds of soldiers had gone off to fight, and Roy had come to terms with the reality he would never be one of them. The dolls gave him a focus and purpose as his leg recovered, and he knew that although he couldn’t engage in active combat, he could serve in other ways. No longer burdened by a large cast, Roy did so well in physical therapy that he’d graduated to using a cane this afternoon. He grasped it and rose from his chair, gritting his teeth and leaning heavily on the cane as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen. As his leg took the weight with only minor discomfort, he relaxed a bit and moved more easily.
Through all that, he’d become part of a real family. Roy would miss them when he left—Paul’s guidance, Rosemary’s mothering, Rebekkah’s high-pitched giggle, and Valerie’s … well, he’d miss everything about Valerie. Her honey curls, the mischievous sparkle in her green eyes when she teased him, the purity of her voice raised in song, how she cuddled Rebekkah, even the way she played Chinese checkers.
Before he went back, he would make a point of spending more time with her—alone, so he wouldn’t have to see Paul and Rosemary exchanging smug glances. In a few days, he would be able to walk much farther. Maybe they could go for a stroll.
Lord, I complained so bitterly about my leg, but You’ve blessed me in so many ways through the injury. Physical strength is not the only way to be of worth. Thank You for showing me that truth.
Rebekkah tugged on his sleeve. “Snack time.”
Roy grinned and took her into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of oatmeal cookies from the jar on the counter.
“Aha!” Valerie’s exclamation made him turn.
“Mmmf—what?” he muttered around a mouth
ful of cookie. Rebekkah shoved her cookie behind her back and pressed up against the white kitchen cupboards, looking about as innocent as a girl with crumbs around her mouth ever could.
“I knew it!” Valerie’s eyes flashed with suppressed laughter as she advanced into the room. “Caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.”
Roy heaved a deep sigh and ’fessed up. “Guilty as charged, ma’am.”
“I’ll let you off with just a warning this time, soldier,” Valerie intoned as she crooked a finger. “Hand over the contraband, and we’ll call it even.”
Roy winked at Rebekkah as his partner in crime crammed the second half of her cookie into her mouth. “I can’t do that, ma’am. It’s gone for good.” He tried to keep a straight face as Valerie abandoned her role of authority figure to grab the green-trimmed ceramic canister and shove her arm in clear up to her elbow.
After groping along the bottom for a few seconds, Valerie gave up. “You ate the last one when you knew oatmeal cookies are my favorite?” She stared up at him in disbelief, sending a small pang of guilt through his chest. He hadn’t meant to be so inconsiderate.
“Sorry, sissy.” Rebekkah held up one tiny hand littered with crumbs. “All gone.” Her lower lip began to quiver.
“Oh, sweetie!” Valerie scooped the toddler into her arms. “It’s all right. We’ll just have to break into the emergency supply!”
Roy watched in astonishment as Valerie nudged a cabinet open with her elbow and withdrew a round blue tin and set it on the counter. She popped off the lid and drew out three cookies before resealing it and nestling the tin behind some preserves.
“And you tried to make us feel guilty.” Roy gazed fixedly at the cookies in her hand. “You’ve been holding out on us!”
She let loose a peal of silvery laughter before passing a cookie to him and handing another to Rebekkah. “When Paul moved in, we had to start making extra and putting a few aside,” she explained.
A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection Page 29
