Spring Rain (36 page)

“Pastor Paul. Ask him to pray for me.”

“I’ll be right back. I have to get a phone book.” Clay started for the door.

“Over there.” Ted managed to point to a list posted beside the medicine chart.

Clay found a list of emergency numbers, everything from the hospital to Pastor Paul. He dialed.

“Seaside Chapel. Pastor Paul Trevelyan speaking. How can I help you?”

“Paul, this is Clay Wharton.”

“Ted.” Paul said the one word, but Clay could hear him coming to attention as he spoke.

“He’s got pneumonia.”

“Yes. Julia called me.”

“He’s in pain and breathing distress. He asked me to call you and ask you to pray for him.”

“Are you still at home?”

“He doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”

Paul sighed. “I never know whether to push him or not. If he goes, he’ll probably have more time, but there’s no guarantee. And he deserves the privilege of dying at home if that’s what he wants. Okay. Can Ted hold the phone, or will you hold it for him?”

“I can hold it for him.”

“Okay, then. Put it by his ear.”

Clay did as he was told, holding the phone beside Ted who lay with his eyes closed.

“Ted, this is Pastor Paul. I hear you’re not doing very well today.” Paul’s electronic voice was audible in the quiet bedroom.

“Right,” Ted mumbled. “Hurts.”

“Ah, Father,” Paul began, “I’m so sorry to hear Ted is hurting today. It hurts me that he’s in pain, and I know it hurts You. Ease his discomfort, Lord. Touch him and relieve him. I ask You to glorify Yourself through Ted.”

Clay stared at the phone. Glorify Yourself through Ted? Through a man who has rejected God’s standards?

“Today’s Good Friday, Father,” Paul continued, “the day Your Son gave His life for us. What pain He suffered for our salvation. What love He demonstrated for a sinful people who’ve turned from You. What eternal joy is ours when we believe the truth of this sacrifice. We’ve all sinned, Father. Ted, me, Clay. But Jesus bore it all and more. Thank You, thank You.

“It’s because of today’s sacrifice made all those years ago that we have the courage to come to You and ask Your help for Ted. Touch his body, Lord. Ease his pain. Heal him if You will, we ask in Jesus’ name. And touch his spirit. May he know Your peace and Your relief. And above all, may Jesus Christ be glorified.”

The room was silent as the soothing words of Paul Trevelyan’s prayer hung in the air. Ted lay with his eyes closed, but Clay noted his breathing, though still labored, didn’t have the frantic quality it had had after the last coughing bout.

“Ted,” Pastor Paul said, “you do as the nurse tells you. If she says hospital, you go.”

Ted snorted.

“For your mom, Ted.” Paul’s voice was firm. “When it’s inevitable, that’s one thing. Stay home then. But today, well, who knows?”

“Thanks,” Ted said. “I’ll think about it.” “I’ll pray for you all day. I had planned to stop by this afternoon, and I’ll still do so.”

“Thanks,” Ted said again.

Clay lifted the phone. “If you’re coming this afternoon, you’d
better call first to see if he’s here or at the hospital.”

“I’ll be praying for you too, Clay,” Paul said. “I’m glad you’re there.”

Clay hung up the phone and sat staring at his twin. He absolutely hated seeing him so ill. He hated that he couldn’t fix it. He hated that Ted hated him.

“Stop staring.”

Clay jumped. “I thought you were asleep.”

“With you boring into me with your X-ray vision?”

“You’re breathing more easily.”

Ted nodded. “Paul’s got a great pipeline to the Lord.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to pray for you?” Clay was as startled that he’d asked the question as Ted was by the question, but Clay realized he was offended that Ted had ignored him. And hurt. Deeply hurt.

“You?”

“Yes, me.” Clay’s tone was impatient. “I pray, you know.”

Ted fluttered his hands. “I know. But I didn’t know if you’d pray for me.”

Clay flinched. “I pray for you every day. Every single day. I always have ever since I can remember.”

Ted looked stunned.

For some reason his reaction made Clay mad. “What? You think just because you make me mad I don’t love you? I do, and watching you so sick is eating me up inside.”

In answer, Ted shut his eyes.

Clay stared at the pale face before him. Here he was pouring out his heart, and Ted closed his eyes. Closed him out!

“Read to me.” The request came in a reed thin voice.

After a moment of silence where he struggled with his own labored breathing, Clay said carefully, “Sure.”

He pulled the Bible off the bedside table, knocking a small blue bottle onto the floor. The Vicks. He picked it up and put it back. Fat lot of good that would do at the level of illness they were contending with. What had he been thinking?

He flipped through the pages until he came to Habakkuk 3. He read as slowly and dramatically as he could the verses that he read to himself frequently, the verses that were to him the only possible solution to failure.

“Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the
LORD!
I will be joyful in the God of my salvation. The Sovereign
LORD
is my strength! He will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely over the mountains.”

After a moment of silence, Ted said, “Again.”

Then, “Again.”

After the third reading, Ted remained silent, and so did Clay. He stared at the verses, seeing again the barrenness of his life, the failures that ate at him. Leigh and the hurt he’d given her. And he’d thought that pained him before! His son and the ten years he’d lost, they’d lost. His brother and the gulf that his own pharisaical pride had built between them.

“The Sovereign
LORD
is my strength! He will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely over the mountains.”

He glanced at Ted, still lying with his eyes closed.
Safely over the mountains
undoubtedly meant something far different to him. But to Clay it meant that despite all the errors, all the conscious and unconscious mistakes, all the sin, God was still there for him and always would be. He would bring him safely to what? Not success. Men thought of that as the opposite of failure, but spiritually speaking, no, it wasn’t the answer. Reconciliation.

Suddenly, as clearly as if she were beside him, he saw Leigh.

“Now get this,” she was saying. “This is the important part. It was Esau, the wronged brother, who rushed to embrace his twin. He threw his arms around Jacob and kissed him.
Then
the brothers wept and reconciled.”

Safely over the mountains
meant forgiving and reconciling.

Suddenly the tears came, and Clay fell to his knees beside the bed.

“I’m sorry, Ted. I’m sorry.” He grabbed his brother’s hand and felt his jolt of surprise. “Forgive me! I’ve behaved so badly toward you.” And he threw his arm across Ted’s chest in the closest approximation he could give to an embrace, burying his head in the hollow of his brother’s shoulder.

It was a minute before Clay realized that Ted was utterly still, totally unresponsive.

Oh, dear God, he doesn’t want my confession! You might have, but he doesn’t.

Embarrassed and full of sorrow, Clay pulled back. “I’m sorry,” he began, only to freeze at the startled, no, make that appalled expression on Ted’s face and the trancelike look in his unblinking eyes.

Oh, Lord, I killed him!

Then Ted blinked. “What did you just say?”

Clay went limp with relief. “I said I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being a good brother to you. For being proud and self-righteous. For being a pharisee.”

Ted looked wary. “Watch it. Your halo’s slipping.”

“It’s fallen on the floor and deserves to be stomped underfoot.” Clay came off his knees and slid back into the chair.

“But you still think I’m wrong.”

Clay nodded. “I still think, based on Scripture, that you’re wrong, but I
know
I’ve been wrong. You’ll have to deal with your failures with the Lord. I can only deal with mine. And one of my many has been my attitude toward you. Forgive me?”

Ted stared at his feet, obviously at a loss. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted after a few minutes. “I’ve been mad at your self-righteous attitude for so long.”

Clay nodded, fighting to keep his disappointment from showing. He wanted Ted to respond like Jacob apparently did by weeping with joy and reconciling. “Take your time. I know this is a shock.”

While Ted lay still, eyes closed, for what seemed an eternity, Clay fidgeted. Finally, Ted turned and looked at him.

“Clay?” he said through chattering teeth.

“Um?” Why was Ted cold? He’d been burning only a couple of minutes ago. He reached forward and touched Ted’s forehead. Cool for the moment. The fever had dipped, and he was reacting to the great internal temperature change.

“Pray for me?”

Clay felt his spirit lift. Ted hadn’t said, “I forgive you,” but didn’t this request mean the same thing? He reached for Ted’s hand. It was cold and clammy. Suddenly he pictured Leigh lying behind Ted, hugging him. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“There’s something better than prayer?”

Clay grinned, the first relaxed smile he could remember giving his brother in years. “Can you sit up?”

“I am.”

“I mean, can you lean forward?”

Ted frowned as Clay stood and began to climb onto the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Lean forward,” Clay ordered. He slid behind his brother. “Now lean back.”

Gingerly, Ted reclined against Clay. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you get warm, I hope.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Ted asked even as he relaxed against Clay. “I’m not used to all this concern coming from you, and it’s making me nervous.”

Clay reached around Ted and pulled the covers up. “Believe me, no one’s more surprised than I am that I’m doing this, but I want to. Now we can pray.”

“You know,” Ted said, his voice drowsy, “I’m going to die of pneumonia, and you’re going to die of heat stroke.” He yawned. “Poor Mom.”

He was asleep before Clay realized how uncomfortable he was. With Ted’s pillows low behind his back, he had nothing to support his head.

Lord, I hope his nap isn’t too long. I don’t think my neck can stand it. And while he sleeps, I’d like to talk with You about him. And I’d like to ask a big favor. I know You can grant it if You choose. Can You restore Ted’s health so that I can have time to be his brother, his twin again? Would You grant us time?

Clay started when he felt Ted move. He blinked and realized he’d fallen asleep himself, right in the middle of his prayer. He smiled slightly. No better way to fall asleep than talking to the Lord. He shifted a bit and groaned. His neck creaked and cracked, incredibly stiff from the strange angle his head had assumed while he was unaware.

“You really are there.” Ted tried to look over his shoulder. “I was sure I was dreaming it.”

Clay caught Ted’s earlobe between his fingers and squeezed lightly.

“Hey!” Ted reached up and rubbed the offended flesh. “I believed in you without the pain.”

“Just wanted to be sure.” Clay pushed a pillow up behind his upper back. “Ah, wonderful. And how do you feel?”

Ted became still, and Clay could almost hear him assessing himself.

“You know, I think the fever’s gone.” There was wonder in Ted’s voice.

Clay reached a hand to Ted’s forehead. “You know, I think you’re right. When I climbed in here, I thought you were going to roast me. Now you’re certainly keeping me warmer than I like, but the oven seems to have been turned off.”

Clay climbed out of the bed as Ted took a deep breath.

“I don’t feel that tightness in my chest.” He made himself cough. It was a hollow noise, totally devoid of the croupy sounds that had plagued him for the past three days.

The brothers grinned at each other. “It’s gone,” they said in unison.

When the home health nurse arrived an hour later, she took Ted’s temperature three times, listened to his chest four times, and stared at him in amazement.

“It’s unbelievable, Dr. Traynor,” she reported over the phone, “but the pneumonia’s gone. No crackles, no fever, no coughs. Clear chest and bright eyes. It’s a miracle is what it is.”

L
EIGH, DRESSED IN
her robe after a quick shower, stood in front of her closet and knew it was hopeless. No matter what she decided to wear, she would look terrible. How could it be otherwise? She felt terrible.

“What do you mean I have to stay with Ted?” Bill demanded from the doorway. “Where are you going?”

“Clay invited me out for dinner.”

Bill frowned, and her heart checked. “Do you mind?” What should she do if Bill minded? If he got jealous?

He shook his head, and the frown slid away. “Why should I mind? The only problem is that he knows my toe-stubbing trick.”

Leigh grinned and reached for the red dress, made a disagreeable face, and drew her hand back. Too bright. Too pretty. Tonight she had to dress in a low-key manner to prove that this dinner meant nothing to her. “He and I are just friends.”

Bill looked a bit skeptical but didn’t comment. “Why don’t you wear that blue one?” He pointed to the closet.

“Which blue one?” she asked, studying the navy blue, the midnight blue, the teal blue, and the aqua outfits.

“The pretty one. You know.”

Bill turned to leave, but Leigh called him back. “Bill, we need to talk.”

“Now?”

“It’s as good a time as any.” She had rehearsed what she would say at least a million times. She shot a prayer heavenward. “It’s about Clay.”

She sat on the bed and patted the place beside her. “Sit here, champ.”

He sat. “Champ. That’s what Dad calls me.”

“Bill, a long time ago, Clay and I—What did you say?”