A Searching Heart (25 page)

“Someone local?” Belinda wondered.

“No. In fact, they are coming from down south. They farmed down there, but the man passed away and the woman needs a place. Her daughter wants her in a town with a doctor. Understand she isn't in very good health.”

“Another patient for Luke. He's worked nearly off his feet already.”

“Or maybe it'll be another patient for Dr. Braden.”

Belinda nodded.

“How boring,” put in Francine, who must have been hoping for a much younger occupant with an interesting son or two.

“Anyway,” went on her father, “they are to come up to take a look at it on Saturday. Understand that the daughter and her husband live somewhere out west and need to get the mother settled as quickly as possible so they can get back home. Sounds like a pretty good chance they'll take it.”

Belinda smiled. “It will be good to have neighbors again.”

“A neighbor,” corrected her husband. “She'll be living alone.”

“A neighbor then. You say she hasn't been well. Is she elderly?”

“Sounds like it. But I really don't know her age.”

Virginia let her mind travel over the information. If an elderly, ailing woman moved in next door, the gardens would go unattended. She couldn't bear the thought of Mr. Adamson's flowers being neglected.
Oh dear,
she thought to herself.
This will solve nothing. I do hope they decide it doesn't suit.

But Virginia said nothing.

She decided to make it another item for prayer. She would not be selfish. At least she would try hard not to be. Instead of praying for her own way regarding the little house, she would pray that God's will be done. She couldn't help but hope that God's will might be closely matched to her own.

———

When Saturday arrived, a car pulled up next door around noon, and Virginia's father put on his suit coat and went over to meet them as arranged. Virginia tried not to be obvious, but it was hard to see what was going on without going out into the yard. She pretended to be trimming her mother's favorite rosebush, though an unspoken rule was that no one was to touch it except Belinda herself.

It actually was too late in the fall to be doing much in the yard, and her father had already raked the autumn leaves. Virginia snipped at a stray twig here and there and stole a peek now and then. A pleasant-looking woman gently led an older lady toward the house while a rather tall man stood talking to her father, his broad back toward the Simpson yard.

The two ladies chatted amiably as they took the walk toward the house. The elder stopped often to admire one plant or another, even though the time of flowers was past and most of the leaves now lay in colored crazy-quilt fashion on the ground beneath the bushes.

“What is that? A lilac bush, do you think?” Virginia heard the older woman ask. “Oh, I do hope so. I love lilacs. I remember Mama had a lilac when I was a girl. It had the most beautiful lavender blossoms, and in the spring when it bloomed, you could smell it throughout the whole yard.”

That one is pink,
Virginia wanted to answer.
And its fragrance fills the whole block.

“And is that a Hansa rose? They are lovely. Bloom all summer long.”

On and on they went, exclaiming over Mr. Adamson's sleeping flowers.

“Oh, I don't think that I will be able to bear waiting for spring,” the elderly woman enthused as her daughter coaxed her on down the walkway. Virginia noted that she walked with a distinct limp.

And who will be taking care of the flowers?
Virginia wondered.
Surely they don't think that a garden cares for itself.

They rounded the corner and passed out of earshot. Virginia turned her attention back to the man still speaking with her father.

“My wife used to live about forty miles southwest,” she heard him say. “Hasn't been back much since she was a girl. Only to visit now and then. But it's been much dryer down there. Things sure don't grow like they do here. It's pretty here. Real pretty. Bet it looks real nice in the spring and summer.”

Belinda's father agreed. “But not everyone in town has a garden like Mr. Adamson,” he hastened to add. “The old gentleman spent all his time tending it.”

Tell him, Papa.
Virginia longed to cheer him on.
Let him know how much time a garden such as that requires.

“My daughter has been caring for it since Mr. Adamson passed on,” her father continued. “She has a real love for flowers, and she seems to have a knack with them, as well.”

“Wonder if she would be interested in giving Mama a hand,” asked the man. “I know that Mama will not be able to handle this on her own, but she would enjoy it so much that I'd love to see her have the place.”

Virginia's heart sank. It seemed they had every intention of buying it.

“We tried everything we knew to try to coax her on out west with us, but she refuses. Doesn't care that much for it. Both times we managed to talk her into a visit, the wind blew the whole time and it was so dry the dust was flying every which way. For us who live there, it becomes commonplace. We're so used to it we don't much notice it anymore. But Mama says that as much as she loves her family, she'd go stark-raving mad living in the wind all the time.”

He laughed. A deep-throated, good-natured laugh. They turned to follow the women up the walk.

Virginia, her shears almost forgotten in her hands, got a good look at him then. He was taller than her father, tanned a deep bronze. Even though he was about her father's age, he looked tremendously fit. Like he could still outwork—or outrun—men half his age.

“What do you have for churches here in town?” he was asking. “It's very important to Mama to find a good church.”

Virginia's father began to describe the town's denominations, ending with their own and stressing that the elderly woman would be more than welcome to join the family in worship. “We'd be happy to give her a ride whenever she needs it,” he finished.

The other man looked pleased.

Virginia was feeling embarrassed about her pretense and finally gave up on the rosebush. She put the pruners back in the shed where they belonged and returned to the house to find her mother laying the table for tea.

“I told your father to bring them over for tea once they have seen the house,” she explained.

Virginia flushed. She could have accomplished her purpose without hanging around the rosebush. She went to wash her soiled hands so she could help her mother.

The new folks had not been in the house for ten minutes before it was forgotten that they had so recently been complete strangers, and the group was visiting like old friends.

In answer to the Simpsons' family introductions, the newcomers shared about their own. “We have seven,” the couple said in unison. They looked at each other and laughed.

“Actually,” said the younger of the two women, who to Virginia's thinking was very attractive, “we started our marriage with three.”

It sounded like an interesting story. Virginia hoped she would go on.

“There were three little children in the town who were orphans. We were not married then. I decided to take them on, and Gil kindly offered to help me with them.”

The man laughed. “ 'Course I already had my eye on her,” he admitted, “but I hadn't been brave enough to tell her so. The kids just sort of made it easier for me—gave me an excuse.”

“So we got married with three little ones to care for,” the woman explained. “Moved out to Gil's ranch. Then another four came along. Their births made seven.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” said Belinda.

“We were, but they were good years. I'd do the same all over again.”

“We only have the youngest two left at home now,” the man took up the story. “The others have married and are off on their own. Three beautiful little grandchildren. They sure do make our day.”

“We have two grandsons,” interjected Belinda. “And I agree. They are delightful.”

“The two who are still at home?” Drew prompted.

“One girl, Rebeccah—she's our youngest. She already has a beau, so I expect we'll have another wedding come next year. And Jonathan. He's been ranching with his father,” answered the woman.

“My wife gave all our four Bible names,” the man added, nodding to her with a supportive smile.

“My mother had given me a Bible name, and it was because of that I became interested in spiritual things,” the woman explained, giving her mother a look filled with love. “I decided that if it meant that much to me, it might mean something to them someday, so they became Daniel, Mark, and Jonathan— then we added Rebeccah.”

“What is your name?” Belinda asked with interest.

“Damaris.”

“Damaris. I've never known anyone with that name before. It's beautiful. But, I admit,” she went on, a slight frown creasing her forehead, “I don't recall her story.”

The woman laughed softly. “There's not much of a story there. All it said in Acts seventeen, verse thirty-four, is that a woman named Damaris became a believer.”

“Became a believer?” repeated Belinda. Then she added, “I guess that is the single most important thing that can be said of one.”

“That's exactly what Mother Dover said to me when she showed me the verse in the Bible.” The woman's eyes grew soft with emotion.

“And you, Mrs. Withers?” asked Drew, turning attention to the elderly woman. “You've never lived in the West?”

Virginia had noted that the little woman was very quiet during the exchange. She guessed that her father had noticed it, too, and wished to include her in the conversation. The mother seemed almost shy—withdrawn, listening but not taking part in what was going on. So Virginia was surprised when she responded and expressed herself so freely.

“This is as far west as I care to get,” answered the woman. “I came from the East. I met my husband back on the coast, where things were green and the ocean breakers put me to sleep every night. He had the wanderlust, and soon we were moving a little inland, then a little farther inland. And on he went, bit by bit, and I was getting farther and farther away from my family and friends.

“We ended up farming, but the land where we settled wasn't all that good. We had some real dry years. Didn't do too well on the farm. They were hard years—nearly crushed him. I wasn't sorry to sell it. I really don't know why anyone would want it. But it's been raining more the last few years, and they're talking irrigation now. Land might produce something after all. Anyway, I was offered a good price—to my thinking. I wasn't going to argue.”

Virginia could not help but smile. The woman who seemed shy—even uncertain—barely lifted her head as she spoke, but she was articulate and feisty in her own quiet way. Maybe a neighbor wasn't such a bad idea after all. Virginia thought that, perhaps, Mr. Adamson would have approved of her.

CHAPTER 19

I
really am worried about leaving Mama,” Damaris Lewis said as she shared a cup of tea with Belinda and Virginia on the following Saturday afternoon. “She insists she'll be fine, but I've noticed that she can be a bit unsteady on her feet. She's not as strong as she claims that she is, and I'm afraid that little house and big yard will be way too much for her. I do wish she would have agreed to come live with us.”

Virginia could hear the deep concern in the woman's voice. She wished there were some way she could be more help, but her job at the post office took most of her time. Right now the yard took little care, but soon there would be snow to shovel off their own walk. Shoveling snow was one thing that her father found very difficult to do with one arm.

And with the coming of spring, their yard would take a good deal of time and effort. Virginia would be able to help with the new neighbor's, but would she be able to do it all? She wasn't sure.

“I'll help all I can. . . .” she found herself saying hesitantly.

“You have all been so kind,” said a thankful Damaris. “You don't know how much that means to us. And we are so happy that Mama has found a good church. Good neighbors and a good church—those are things we all have been praying for.”

Belinda refreshed the teacups.

“We've decided that Gil will return home and I'll stay on for a couple of weeks to see how things go. I do want to be back home for Christmas, though. I hope that I'll be able to talk Mama into coming with me, at least for that long. I hate to think of her all alone for Christmas.”

“I know how you must feel,” responded Belinda. “If she . . . really doesn't want to do that, we'd be glad to have her join us. I know that it isn't the same as being with family, but at least she wouldn't be alone.”

“That's very kind.” Damaris stirred her tea for what seemed to be a long time to Virginia. When she looked up, her eyes were misty. “Mama has not had an easy life,” she began haltingly. “I . . . I don't believe in running round—spilling my soul—or laying my burden on others. But I know you will respect Mama's privacy, and it may help if you know something about her past.”

She hesitated again, then sighed deeply and went on. “She told you the other day that my papa had the wanderlust. Yes, he did. He was never too settled. But he also had a . . . a drinking problem even as a young man, I think. The . . . drinking . . . was a way to . . . I think to try to escape what he knew to be his responsibilities. But the worse things became—and they did get pretty bad—the more he needed to drink.”

She absentmindedly stirred her tea round and round.

“He became abusive. It grew worse with the years. As a child growing up I was often a target of that abuse, but so was Mama. Eventually I ran away from home and went west with a wagon train moving out that way. One of the last ones that made the journey, I suppose. Soon locomotives were taking the people to where they wanted to go.