Within My Heart (46 page)

She peeked out the front windows of the newly refurbished lobby and saw only a smattering of people milling about outside, despite the invitation she and Rand had extended to the entire town. She had hoped more people would come. But if not today, perhaps eventually.

She glanced down the hall. “Are all my boys ready?”

“We are,” Rand said, appearing in the arched doorway, Mitch and Kurt in tow. Rand looked handsome in his pressed suit and tie, and the boys equally dashing in their starched white-collared shirts and new trousers.

She gave an approving nod, pleased with the outcome. “You all look good enough to eat.”

Kurt giggled. “Don’t try to take a bite of me!”

Rachel tried to do just that, which sent both boys running for the next room.

Rand, however, held his ground, invitation written all over his face. “I wouldn’t mind if you tried taking a nibble or two.”

She leaned in and gave him a kiss, smoothing a hand over his shirt. “How can you be so calm?”

He shrugged. “One thing I’ve learned in recent months . . . if I’m not a little scared inside, then I’m probably not where God wants me to be.”

Rachel knew that to be true, having evidenced it in her own life.

Exactly one week from today, she would walk down the aisle, her hand tucked in the crook of James’s arm, and would publicly pledge her heart to this man. She had no misgivings about her love for Rand, or his for her, but she couldn’t deny that she’d be shaking in her boots as she took that first step toward her new future.

Since God had given her sons back to her—that’s how she thought of the night when Rand and Daniel found the boys in the cave—she viewed life differently. Things she’d once considered so very important didn’t consume her as they once had. Yes, the bills still needed to be paid, and on occasion, she still found herself worrying about how that would happen. Especially now.

But each time she caught herself not trusting the Lord, whether about money, or the boys, or Rand and his practice, or the ranch, or one of so many other uncertainties, she took herself back to that night, and she remembered waiting to hear the successive gunshots. Then she relived the night years earlier when she’d waited beside Lyda—and they hadn’t heard. Hearing the gunshots or not, Thomas being killed or not, didn’t change the eternal truth that God was sovereign, that His provision was unfailing, and that His love was perfect. She knew that. But believing it was easier when God said yes. It was when He said no, or didn’t even give you a chance to voice your plea, that trusting oftentimes became painful acceptance, excruciating surrender. And yet, though she hadn’t been aware of if then, those were all times she’d taken a step closer to Christ.

Edward Westin peered around the corner. “We’re about ready to begin. If you two are.”

Rand nodded and gave her one last hug. “Here we go. . . .” He smiled.

She followed him toward the front of the building, thinking of all that had gone into making this moment, this dream, come to fruition. Lyda waited for them in the lobby, and Rachel took hold of her hand.

“I’m so nervous,” Lyda said, reaching for the shawl that had slipped from her shoulders. But Edward Westin beat her to it. Lyda thanked him with a smile. “I hope I don’t embarrass us all.”

“That’s not possible, Mrs. Mullins,” Mr. Westin said. “I assure you.”

Rachel hugged her. “Ben would be so proud. As would Evelyn, I’m certain.”

Rand reached for the double front doors, and even before he could pull them completely open, applause broke out. Rachel walked beside him and the boys, followed by Lyda and Mr. Westin, onto the front porch, overwhelmed at the size of the crowd gathered.

The streets and boardwalks brimmed with people. It looked as if half the town was crowded around the building.

Rand stepped forward, and as the applause subsided, he greeted everyone. “We appreciate all of you coming out today to help us celebrate the opening of the new clinic.” The applause rose again. “This clinic exists to serve the entire community of Timber Ridge, and many of you have contributed your time and money to make this day and to make this—”

Rachel heard the catch in Rand’s throat and felt one in hers.

“—and to make this facility possible. On behalf of myself and my beautiful soon-to-be wife, Mrs. Rachel Boyd”—he winked at her, and whoops and hollers went up in the crowd—“we thank you for your trust and generosity.”

Rachel clapped along with everyone else and spotted Paige Foster and her family off to her left. She returned their waves and blew a kiss to James and Molly, who stood toward the very front. She still had trouble believing that James had lost the sheriff ’s election to his deputy. She couldn’t remember her older brother having lost at anything before in his life. But though his suspicions about people’s still-tentative acceptance of Molly had proven true, she’d never seen James more at peace or excited about the future.

To Rachel’s delight, James and Molly had purchased a share of the ranch, including the Scottish Highlanders now grazing in the upper pasture. They were living at the ranch now while she and the boys were staying with Daniel and Elizabeth in Ben and Lyda’s house in town. She’d had the name of the ranch officially changed to the Boyd-McPherson Ranch to reflect the family partnership, and somehow she knew Thomas would have approved.

She no longer thought so much about what Thomas’s dream had been for their boys, or even what her dream was for them. All she wanted for their sons, all she and Rand wanted together for them, was God’s will for their lives. Whatever that entailed, wherever it took them. Be it to the ranch their father had started with such hope for the future . . . or for Mitch, following Rand into the medical field . . . or for Kurt . . . Rachel smiled, wondering if a job existed that called for expertise in bug collecting.

Whatever they chose to do, she wanted her sons to be centered in the middle of God’s will for their lives, whatever that meant. The same for her and Rand.

Rand motioned for Mr. Westin to join him. “As many of you may know, Mr. Edward Westin is a relative newcomer to Timber Ridge, and he’s largely responsible for the renovation of this hotel, as is another cherished member of our community whom I’ll present to you in a moment. But first, Mr. Westin, a former executive with . . .”

Rachel searched the crowd, seeing lots of people she knew and plenty of folks she didn’t. But the person who stood out most was Charlie Daggett. He stood front and center, clapping the hardest, smiling the biggest, and with Lori Beth Matthews close at his side. As Mr. Westin spoke, Rachel marveled at how God intertwined people’s lives. Oftentimes without them ever knowing. But sometimes, like today, she glimpsed His handiwork, the attention He paid to the tiniest details in people’s lives, and it gave her fresh hope, fresh courage. And made walking into the unknown a little less frightening knowing He was waiting there for her. For them all.

She spotted Daniel and Elizabeth standing off to the side and winked in their direction. His arm around his very pregnant wife, Daniel returned the gesture, and Rachel felt a warmth of love and gratitude for him. For them both. An entire group of townspeople from Little Italy were grouped farther back on the boardwalk, and Angelo was grinning from ear to ear.

But whom she saw next nearly made her chuckle out loud. Miss Judith Stafford stood near the front, hand tucked into the crook of Brandon Tolliver’s arm. Rachel shook her head. After learning of Miss Stafford’s interest in Rand and of her rather
bold
ways of expressing it, Rachel felt confident that at least a margin of the young teacher’s coolness toward her of late was due to her upcoming marriage to Rand. But still . . . Brandon Tolliver? She hoped the young woman knew what she was doing. Yet wondered in the same breath if the two might not deserve each other.

“And now,” Rand continued, “I’d like to ask Mrs. Lyda Mullins to step forward. Mrs. Mullins, along with her late husband, Ben, has served this community for almost twenty years. And she has quietly and most generously worked alongside us to bring this dream to light.”

Lyda moved closer to the draped sign affixed to a column at the edge of the porch, watching for Rand’s cue.

“We’ve asked Mrs. Mullins to read the dedication.”

Lyda cleared her throat and glanced at the paper in her hand. “Before I read this, I’d like to personally extend my thanks to Dr. Brookston, not only for the honor of dedicating this clinic today, but”—she looked in Rand’s direction—“for the care he gave my late husband in Ben’s last days. I also want to thank him for leaving behind what I’m sure would have been a mighty fancy career back east to come and care for all of us out west.”

“Let’s hear it for Dr. Brookston!” Charlie called out. “Hip, hip—”

“Hooray!” the crowd countered, applauding and cheering.

Lyda waited until things grew quiet, then started to read. “We come together today, September seventeenth, the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-seven, to dedicate this clinic and everyone who works within it to the task of providing comfort and care to all residents of Timber Ridge, both now and in the years to come.”

She reached for the drape covering the dedication sign, and a hush fell over the gathering. “In loving memory of Benjamin Everett Mullins—” she bit her lower lip and took a deep breath— “and Evelyn Grace Westin . . .” She cast a glance toward Edward Westin, and Rachel saw a shimmer in his eyes, same as was in Lyda’s. “I’m honored to present”—Lyda’s voice carried strong and clear in the silence—“the Timber Ridge Rocky Mountain Health Center.” She removed the drape with a flourish.

The crowd responded with thunderous applause, and Rachel joined them, honoring not only the purpose for this clinic but also the man behind it, who not only taught her to open her heart to love again, but also taught her that joy costs pain. Life was full of risks, and, as Rand had told her just last night, that first step of faith was often taken neck-deep in fear.

Rand chose that moment to look at her, and Rachel knew that whatever pain and loss they would experience in their lives together, the love they shared would far outweigh it all in the end. And even as wonderful as that promised to be, she knew in her heart that it was still only a shadow of what was yet to come.

A N
OTE
F
ROM
T
AMERA

Dear Reader,

So far, all of my stories have grown out of struggles I’m having in my own faith walk or from questions I’m wrestling with at the time, and the story in these pages is no exception. I began writing
Within My Heart
in the fall of 2008 with the goal of finishing the first draft by late spring of ’09. However, with no warning, life changed, as life often does, and I had to put this book on hold for a while. My publisher graciously extended my deadline, and I took a hiatus from writing and spent the last few precious months of my mother’s life by her bedside.

Mom was diagnosed with gallbladder cancer in February 2009 and went home to be with the Lord on August 17. Six all-too-short and painful months . . . yet they were full of blessing. Mom faced the road that God asked her to walk with bravery, courage, and grace, and when my time comes to cross over from this life to the next, I’ll do a better job of it because of watching her go before me.

Many of the conversations between the characters in this story had their seeds in conversations she and I shared during those final days. Upon learning that the chemotherapy was having no effect on the cancer, which had already spread to Mom’s liver by the time it was diagnosed, Mom made the decision to spend her remaining time at home, surrounded by family in the sunroom she so enjoyed. With the assistance of hospice—for whom I’ll be eternally grateful—we made the transition and brought Mom home. We thought (hoped) we had weeks left together, but ten days after coming home she breathed her last here on earth. And as her lungs filled with the sweetness of heaven’s breath, Dad, my older brother, Doug, and I stood by her bedside as she stepped into her loving Savior’s waiting arms.

Losing Mom was painful, but we shared some humorous moments in our journey too. On her first oncology visit, I went with her and Dad, and as we were waiting on the doctor, the nurse came in and asked some preliminary questions, then asked if Mom would take some deep breaths. Seconds passed, and Mom and I looked at each other, hearing “deep breaths” coming from someone else other than Mom. It was
Dad
, sitting in the chair beside her, taking breaths for her, not even aware of what he was doing. We got so tickled. I told them I thought that was taking the “oneness in marriage” thing a little too far. We laughed about that many times, but it’s always been that way for them. They truly were
one
.

Days before Mom passed, I was getting ready for the hospice aid to arrive when I saw Kenny Chesney singing on TV. I’d muted the TV during a commercial, since Mom was resting. Yet knowing how she
loved
Kenny, I turned up the volume. She immediately started shimmying from side to side in bed, just smiling. I asked her, “What on earth are you doing?” She smiled that sweet smile of hers and said, “I’m bed dancin’. ” We laughed and danced together for a minute. She was such a hoot and such fun. She always was. That’s one thing I love most about the relationship we shared . . . we loved to laugh together, and laughed together a lot. And will again. Someday.

Closer to her passing, Mom awakened from a nap and with anticipation in her eyes, she told me and Dad, “I feel like a big surprise is coming!” She giggled, and wriggled her eyebrows. We told her, “Well, there
is
a big surprise coming.” “When is it coming?” she asked. We responded (much as Lyda did with Ben), “If we told you . . . then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” I’ve no doubt that her anticipation was spurred on by her desire to see her Lord and to be with Him in her
forever home
, cancer-free.

Two dear friends, Judy McMahan and Eva Lyn Frieden, who have already lost their precious mothers, walked this road with me as I walked it with Mom. Early on, they both told me that the person dying gets to choose . . . that when “hope for healing” gives way to “good-bye for now,” the person making the journey home should get to make the final choices. I took that advice to heart, and it made such a difference in the final weeks and days with Mom. It gave me a peace and a “release” in that my role was to aid her in her journey that God was leading her on, not to help determine the path she would take. God was already working in her to lead her steps on that path. My role became to help her take those steps, and at times when she could no longer take them on her own, quite literally.