In His Dreams (7 page)

“I remember after Don died. I felt so alone. I was frightened, too. I was an adult, but I felt betrayed by the world. Even by God.”

Jeff heard his intake of breath before he controlled his shock. “You felt betrayed by God?”

She lifted her head, her eyes tear-rimmed. “It’s natural. God’s merciful. We’re his precious children. So why does He take the ones we love—and so horribly? Like Don, such a long, excruciating death.”

Her questions echoed his own. “Why, Marsha? Why?” He faltered, willing himself to calm and ask without attacking the God she loved. “That’s what I want to understand.”

“Read First Peter, Jeff. It’s so clear. We suffer because Christ suffered for us. Peter says, even when we suffer, we’re blessed because we have hope in Jesus. We are to keep our eyes turned to Him, and He will comfort us and give us strength.”

Marsha glowed as she spoke, and Jeff wished he believed everything she was saying. He wanted to glow. He wanted to feel that same assurance. He wanted to understand. Read First Peter? He didn’t even own a Bible.

She straightened, shifted sideways and grasped his arms. “Would you like to hear my favorite verse? The one I used as my prayer every day after Don died?” She shook her head. “Every
hour
after Don died.”

His pulse tripped, watching her face enliven as she spoke. He nodded.

“‘And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To Him be the power forever and ever. Amen.’” Her gaze locked with his. “Do you hear the hope and assurance? It’s 1 Peter 5: 10-11.” Her palms slid down his arms to his hands, and she enveloped his fists in her soft hands. “You knew God once, Jeff. You can open your heart to Him again.”

“Hey!” Bonnie’s voice sailed to them from the house.

The screen door banged, and Bonnie came charging across the stubbled grass, flailing a sheet of paper, the bright colors soaking through to the underside.

“What are you doing?” She stood in front of them, one hand on her hip, the other clasping her picture.

“Taking a break,” Jeff said. “Aunt Marsha is working my tail off.”

“Daddy, that’s silly. People don’t have tails. Dogs do.”

He shook his head, then eyed the picture she clutched. “Let me see.”

She held the paper at the corners and stuck it forward to show them.

Jeff swallowed to contain his emotion. She’d drawn three people—obviously a man, woman and child—holding hands and walking along the beach. A huge sun filled the left corner, and the rays angled down to the feet of the three people. The thought swelled in his mind.

“It’s me, you and Aunt Marsha.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jeff said, meaning it. He knew Bonnie colored well. She stayed in the lines and selected appropriate colors. The activity preoccupied her in a positive way, but, in a primitive way, Bonnie had created shapes and perspective that surprised him.

“I love it,” Marsha said, studying the drawing. “I see some talent.”

“It’s for you,” she said, handing the drawing to Marsha.

“I’ll cherish it, always.”

Bonnie plopped down beside her and pressed her head against Marsha’s shoulder.

Marsha rested her palm on Bonnie’s head. “And I’ll cherish you always, too.”

Jeff looked at the two beside him, reeling with emotion. Love. Faith. Hope. Cherish. He’d been so bogged down with trying to make it through each day he hardly knew the meaning of the words, but today was different. He saw real love in Marsha’s eyes and hope in her voice.

If only he could hear it in his.

M
arsha stood in the middle of the library, gazing at the bookshelves. The building had the look of the outdoors with its cedar interior supported by four huge cedar pillars and wide windows looking into the wooded surrounding, so appropriate for the rural setting.

“Go ahead,” she said to Barb, motioning toward the fiction section. “I’m going to look for a couple things, myself.”

Barb gave her a nod, set down the books she was returning on the checkout desk and headed down an aisle in search of some new reading material.

Marsha studied the book rows marked with Dewey decimal numbers and finally located the section she wanted. She walked along the row, eyeing books about child psychology and special-needs children. She slipped a book off the shelf, gazed at the index and slid it back.

As she eyed the rows and rows of books, the task seemed daunting. All she wanted was to learn more about emotionally impaired kids. What could parents do to help them through the crises? What were their educational needs? How did parents survive?

She rested her hands on her hips and studied the titles, unable to discern where to begin. Hoping Barb hadn’t already finished her search for a new novel, Marsha went to the end of the aisle and scanned the checkout desk. No Barb. Good.

As she took a step back, her eyes wavered across a bank of computers near the center of the floor. Her pulse skipped. She could find something there more quickly, she hoped.

Heading toward the two computers, she stopped and made her way toward Barb. When she caught her attention, she pointed, and Barb gave her a nod. Turning back to the computer, she faltered. The only empty seat had been taken. She scanned the floor but saw no others.

As her shoulders sagged, a librarian strode to her side. “We have another computer on the porch. She pointed to the center doorway where a lovely glass enclosure afforded a view of the woods. Marsha hurried to the area and sank onto the seat. She followed the instructions and logged onto the Internet. After pulling up a search engine, she typed
emotionally impaired child
into the space and, in a moment, a long list of Web sites filled the page.

She read about IEP goals—individual education plans—and school programs for disabled children. Her gaze slipped over student eligibility, services available and resource rooms. She lifted her shoulders, feeling she was getting nowhere, then looked behind her to see if Barb appeared ready. Not yet.

Assured, she looked back at the screen. She could just tell Barb what she was doing, but her sister would, once again, remind her she was butting into business that wasn’t hers. But what could she do? She wanted to know how to help Bonnie.

Jeff’s face rose in her mind. How to help him.

Near the bottom of the page, a Web site spoke to her. A Parent’s Perspective.
Thank you, Lord.
This might be exactly what she wanted. She clicked on the link and scanned the article, a touching insight into the plight of families dealing with special children.

Greedy to learn, she slowed and drank in the words—usually above-average intelligence, special talents that are not developed. Talents? She lingered over this section—science, music and art. Art. She’d seen a hint of that with Bonnie’s drawing.

Marsha paused and reread a paragraph.
Arguing or restraining the child will only cause him to up the ante to force the parent’s attention and reward, and punishment does not work and can actually escalate the problem. We pick our battles, mainly those that deal with safety issues. Instead, we seek the trigger for our child’s frustration and we remove it.

She thought about Jeff’s way of handling Bonnie, which wasn’t as bad as he seemed to think, according to what this parent said. He tried and succeeded more than he failed. Who was she to try to tell him how to raise his daughter? She closed her eyes, her spirits flagging.
Lord, I’m not trying to change him, but I want it to be better, and I know it can be if it’s Your will.
The Lord’s will. She lifted her head and took a deep breath. God will provide, she thought.

Marsha lowered her gaze again.
Give your child positive attention by helping him feel part of the family. Teach him to do simple tasks. Once he realizes he has a purpose and is valued, it will bring improvement. Do not punish, but do reward. Remember to tell him he’s done a good job. He craves your attention.

Who didn’t crave attention? She craved it, too, if she were willing to admit it. For so long, she’d given her time to Don. She never asked for anyone’s attention for herself, but now life had changed and she found it easy to sink into nothingness instead of reaching out for her own rewards.

“I’m ready.”

Barb’s voice startled her. She closed the program and turned to face her. “Me, too.”

“What were you doing?”

She faltered, not wanting to hear Barb’s lecture. “Just looking up some information.” She stood. “Let’s go to one of the shops. I want to pick up a picture frame.”

“Picture frame?”

“For Bonnie’s drawing. I think she’d be excited to see it hanging on the wall. She can use some positive attention.”

“Looking up some information? Interesting.” Barb gave her a knowing grin. “I know. You can’t help yourself.”

Marsha nodded. She couldn’t.

Water swished over Jeff’s ankles, and he checked his rolled-up cuffs to see if they had gotten wet. He bent over and gave them another roll. “Shorts would be safer.”

Marsha grinned. “A bathing suit, safer than that.”

He saw a playful look on her face as she headed toward him, her arms extended, ready to give him a good push.

“Don’t you dare. My wallet’s in my back pocket.”

“I’ve accidentally sent money through the washer and dryer. No problem.”

Mischief sparkled in her eyes, and he changed his tack. Instead of running away, he charged forward and captured her arms beneath his.

Laughter bubbled from her throat. “I was only kidding. I wouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Sure. You say that now that you’re captured.” He drew her closer, to be safe, he told himself, yet he knew he loved the feeling of her in his arms.

She wriggled beneath his grasp, trying to get loose, but he held her even tighter, laughing. “How do you like it?”

She stopped squirming, her gaze meeting his.

Warmth spread from the pit of his stomach. How do you like it? He loved it—playful fun, a wonderful woman who cared about Bonnie, a summer’s day on a beautiful Great Lake. What more could he want?

Her gaze shifted, then captured his eyes again. “It feels nice. Really nice.”

The water rippled against his legs until the wake from a passing speed boat sent a foamy wave onto his pant leg. A seagull soared overhead, its shadow darkening the blue water. He couldn’t speak for a moment, caught in the depths of his imagination.

He didn’t know what to do, so he laughed and let her go. “I hope you learned your lesson,” he said, hearing the stupid words falling from his lips. He wanted to confess he felt the same. It was nice to play and laugh. It was great to feel alive again. So why hadn’t he until recently?

Marsha searched his face, then smiled, but a hint of disappointment flickered in her eyes, and he knew he’d fallen short of being honest. She turned and scanned the beach, a frown flooding her face. “Where’s Bonnie?

Hearing her question surprised him. She always looked out for Bonnie and, somehow, she’d missed what had happened earlier. “She went up to the house a while ago, but I think she wants to see her picture in the frame you hung on the wall. She’s very proud. She told me she wanted to play with Barb.” He tilted her chin, hoping to bring back her smile. “She asked if she could go, and I know Barb
loves
to play with her.” He dragged out the word
love,
longing to see her grin.

It worked. She shook her head and smiled.

“How did I miss that?”

Jeff took her hand in his and headed back to the beach. “You were thoughtful.”

“I have been.” Her gaze drifted toward the horizon. “Sorry.”

He released her hand to slip his arm around her shoulder. “No need to be sorry. We all have our days. For the past few days, I’ve been worried about Bonnie.”

Marsha stopped. “About what?”

The sand pulled from beneath his feet as they stood where the lake met the shore. “She needs kids to play with. She’s with adults too much.”

“Bonnie’s better with adults, Jeff.”

“Why would you say that?”

She lowered her gaze and shrugged. “It just makes sense to me.”

It didn’t make sense to him, but then many things didn’t.

Marsha stepped ahead of him, and he looked at her footprints as the wet sand turned lighter beneath her feet when her weight pressed away the water. He took a step and watched the same pattern, dark sand turning pale with the pressure of his imprint. “Footprints in the sand,” he said for no reason.

She paused, then turned and looked at their prints, her mind seeming miles away. “I love that story. I received a bookmark once with a lapel pin with three little footprints. I wonder what happened to that bookmark.”

Footprints? Story? “I’ve never heard it.”

“You’re kidding. Everyone knows that story about God’s relationship with us.”

He shook his head, asking himself how he’d gotten into the situation of listening to a story about God. But as he listened, he had to stop her. “So let me get this straight. When the man needed God the most, he saw only one set of prints. Right?”

“Right.”

“Then I’m not the only one who feels as if God walked away.”

Marsha’s eyes darkened, and she pressed her hand against his cheek. “No. He didn’t, Jeff. He’s promised to never walk away.”

“Then, where was He?” Her palm felt cool against his sun-warmed cheek, and he raised his own and pressed it against hers. “Explain it.”

Marsha’s eyes looked so sad, Jeff’s stomach twisted. Why had he spoken that way to her?

“You didn’t let me finish the story. When the man asked the Lord the same question you just asked, He said something like this. ‘My son, I would never leave you. When you were at your lowest, when you were in pain, you only saw one set of prints, because I was carrying you.’”

Jeff’s chest tightened and he dropped his gaze and saw their footprints side by side. He fought back tears that pushed against his eyes, seeing Marsha’s serious expression.

“Think about it, Jeff. You were never alone. You aren’t now.”

You aren’t alone. Marsha’s words from two days earlier flooded Jeff’s mind. He dropped a cereal bowl in the dishwasher, wiped the counter and filled his coffee cup for the third time. He should switch to decaf. He’d spent the night tossing from one side of his bed to the other, sometimes reaching out to wrap his arm around his dream.

Marsha had appeared again, glowing in the sunlit beach. They talked and laughed, and then she spoke of God again. Marsha and God. They both lingered in his mind as persistent as bees around apple cider. He recalled the day he and Marilou had gone to Franklin Cider Mill. They’d bought a jug of cider along with some deep-fried doughnuts. They’d poured cups of cider and had bitten into the warm, crunchy outer crust, then had to run for their lives. The bees had swarmed in as if invited to their party.

The memory made him smile. So did Marsha, but she’d also caused him to think, and he didn’t want to do that. He liked being angry at God. How else could he get even?

The stupidity of his statement knifed through him, and he leaned against the counter, grateful for the quiet moment while Bonnie was still asleep. Jeff thought of the footprint story—the angry man who’d looked at the lone set of prints and thought they were his. “I was carrying you,” God had said. The words tumbled in Jeff’s thoughts until he felt dizzy.

“Read your Bible,” Marsha had said days earlier. “Read First Peter.” They had owned a Bible—probably two, maybe even three. Marilou had read it in the morning. She’d read passages to him. But he hadn’t seen one since she’d died.

Or had he?

He wandered into the living room and scoured the bookshelf beneath the window. He crouched and let his gaze run along the book titles until it stopped at a navy hardcover with gold letters.
Holy Bible.
He extended his hand, then drew it back.

Jeff stood and wandered to the wide window looking out on the lake. He’d once believed that God directed his steps. If he still believed that, he would think the Lord had planned for him to run into Marsha that day at the ice-cream shop. Had that been providence? A coincidence?

His gaze drifted back to the bookshelf. First Peter. The verse Marsha had memorized came to him in snatches—suffer, restore, strong. He tried to put the words together like a puzzle. After you have suffered, God will restore you and make you strong. If only he could feel strong. It had been so long.

A sound from the bedroom caught his attention and Jeff turned back to the kitchen. Bonnie would be up soon and wanting breakfast. As he pulled out a bowl, he heard the pat of her feet in the hall. She walked into the room with a wide yawn, rubbing her eyes with her fists.