The Homecoming (27 page)
Katherine sat up, glad once again to have slept through the night without any bad dreams. That made it three nights in a row. Yesterday the final bandages had come off her head. The hair around her stitches, with a little bit of work, was starting to blend in nicely. Mrs. Fortini had said they couldn’t even be seen unless someone stared at them, and then added, “Why do we care about what people who stare think anyway.”
Katherine got out of bed and put on her robe. The sun shone brightly through her windows. She looked down the street, happy just to see all the homes standing where they belonged. No rubble in the street. No anti-aircraft guns going off day and night. No explosions or the fear of when the next one might occur.
She couldn’t remember all the details of the rocket attack that hit their street in Notting Hill. Shawn had said that was a blessing. She cherished a handful of memories, though; no more than flashes, really. A cloudy moment when she’d looked up into Shawn’s face as he called out her name. Feeling the strength in his arms as he’d carried her to the ambulance. The expression on his face as he tucked her in the stretcher and promised to be right behind her.
Shawn had rescued her. He probably had saved her life.
Then there was the amount of time he’d spent with her in the hospital the first week after the attack. The flowers. The card. And perhaps the most significant thing . . . he’d stopped calling her Miss Townsend again. It really seemed he might care for her as more than just Patrick’s nanny.
But even now, she wasn’t sure.
She looked at her watch; she better get dressed. She took off her robe in front of the mirror and put on her shirt. Except for some large, unsightly bruises, the concussion had been her only serious injury. After the third week, the doctors had felt it was safe for her to fly, so Shawn sent her and Patrick home. He’d promised to join them as soon as the Air Force allowed.
Yesterday, a telegram had arrived. Shawn would be coming home this afternoon.
He’d written a letter a week ago, saying they had figured out how to shoot down almost 80 percent of the V-1 rockets now before they ever reached London. After she finished getting dressed, she put on a little face powder in the bathroom and all but glided down the stairs.
“Aren’t you the happy one this morning?” Mrs. Fortini said. She wore her cleaning apron and was carrying some cups toward the kitchen.
“As if you didn’t know why,” she said.
Mrs. Fortini smiled through a half-scolding look. “Just be careful, my dear. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
“I’m being careful,” she said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I’ve got breakfast fixed for Patrick and Mr. Collins. It’s all on a tray on the kitchen table. Could you take it over to them? There’s plenty for you too.”
“I’d be happy to,” she said.
“Maybe after that we could do some shopping together.”
“I’d love to,” said Katherine.
“What time is Shawn supposed to arrive?”
“The telegram just said this afternoon, but I called the train station. The train’s supposed to get in to Philly about 3:00 p.m. Then it will probably take him an hour or so to catch the train from there to here. So about 4:00, I guess.”
“Patrick will be so excited to see him,” Mrs. Fortini said.
“Yes . . . yes, he will.”
Shawn looked down at his watch, then out the window. The train should be pulling into the 30th Street station in about twenty minutes. That meant twenty more minutes of thinking. Then he’d get off, switch to the shorter line heading into Allingdale, and think some more.
He was tired of thinking.
He shouldn’t be tired; he should be excited. He was coming home. Patrick sounded so happy when he’d called a few stops back. And Mrs. Fortini was undoubtedly planning a big dinner at his dad’s house. Sounded like his dad was doing okay. His leg was healing up nicely, no new problems with his heart.
But Katherine would be there when he got home.
She was the source of his conflicting thoughts. Something had happened to him during those moments two months ago when he’d thought he’d lost her. The pain was unbearable, almost equal to his heartache about Elizabeth. And then the joy at finding her alive. It was equal in intensity.
But he shouldn’t be feeling things like this. So why was he? Something inside beckoned him to go there, to think it through, to let it go wherever it needed to. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t let it happen.
It was just too soon.
“Major . . . that you?”
Shawn looked up. A Pullman porter was looking down at him, smiling widely. Then he realized who it was. “Harry? Well, what do you know?” Shawn reached out his hand. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you was back in England.”
“I was there this time yesterday. Just getting some leave to visit home. Not sure where they’ll have me go next. So what, you give up on the Hollywood tour train? I just read in the newspaper it’s still going on.”
“Well, when they headed out West my bosses offered me a chance to go, but I got no business strayin’ so far from home.” Then he bent down and whispered, “Truth be told, them stars tip big, but only every now and then. I did some figurin’ and turns out I was makin’ more on my old train route. So I come back here.”
“It’s so good to see you,” Shawn said. “Your family well?”
“Seems so. I’ll be stopping in to see ’em tonight, once this train gets down south a-ways.”
“I’ll be seeing my family too. A few hours from now.”
“Well, you take care, Major. Looks like the good Lord intends us to bump into each other pretty regular. I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
They shook hands again, and Harry headed down the aisle. Shawn smiled as he thought about Harry. He didn’t recall ever seeing him when he wasn’t smiling. He wanted to be that way again. He sat back down and looked out the window and sighed.
He didn’t want to think anymore.
An hour later, Shawn stood outside the office door of Christ Redeemer Church. He could hardly believe what he was doing. Part of him wanted to flee, but he knew he had to talk to somebody. He’d already called Pastor Harman when he’d gotten off the train in Philadelphia, after recalling something his old pastor at Penn State had said: “Sometimes in life we need a pastor for more than a Sunday sermon.” Shawn felt like this was one of those times.
He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, and was just about to knock on the door when it opened.
“Oh, excuse me,” said Pastor Harman, almost walking into Shawn. “Thought I heard a noise.”
“Just me,” Shawn said, forcing a smile. “Maybe my knees knocking.”
The pastor laughed. “Come in, have a seat.” He led Shawn back to his office, then sat behind his desk.
He had such kind eyes, Shawn thought. “This feels really strange for me.”
“I get that a lot,” the pastor said. “So . . . what’s on your mind?”
Shawn shifted in his seat but couldn’t get comfortable. Over the next twenty minutes he managed to give the pastor a summary of the situation, highlighting the events that had unfolded from Elizabeth’s death to the present.
Pastor Harman leaned back in his chair. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Shawn, but mind if I ask you something? Are you mad at God?”
“What?”
“Do you think you might be angry with God . . . for taking Elizabeth?”
Shawn knew he was but didn’t want to just say it.
“It’s okay, Shawn. But see, if you are, I imagine you’re feeling kind of stuck right now in your faith.”
Shawn thought a moment. He’d come here to get help. He should just say it. “I can’t see why God would put me through all this. Why he would take Elizabeth away.” He realized he was raising his voice.
Pastor Harman didn’t react. “Seems like you’re struggling with the goodness of God.”
“What?”
“Whether or not God is truly good.”
Shawn thought that sounded about right.
“Did you
used
to believe God is good?” the pastor asked.
“I’m sure I did.”
“How good?”
“Completely,” Shawn said. “Loving and good. But what I’m going through now . . . this doesn’t feel very good to me.”
“I understand why you’d think that, Shawn.” The pastor leaned forward, rubbed his brow. “Since the war began, I’ve had to deal with a lot of grief and grieving loved ones. One thing that’s helped me is to redefine my concept of goodness, to measure it by what God does or allows, rather than by what I agree with or understand.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“See, typically we measure goodness by whether we like something or not. I like this, so it’s good. I don’t like that, so it’s not good. We can do this with God, pretty easily, in fact. If he does something we like or agree with, then he’s good. If he does something or allows something we don’t like, we’re not so sure anymore. We won’t usually say it out loud; that would be impolite. But we can go there in our hearts. And once we do, we start to pull away from the Lord. Do you think that could have happened here?”
Seemed like this was exactly what had happened to him, but Shawn still wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Shawn, have you ever heard this verse before . . . Romans 8:28? ‘And we know that God works
all things
together
for
good
to those who love him and are called according to his purpose’?”
Shawn nodded. He’d even memorized it.
“God doesn’t just do good, Shawn. He
is
good. His goodness flows from his very nature. Because we don’t always understand what he’s doing, some of it doesn’t
seem
good to us. But that’s where our faith comes into play. We must believe, as Paul says, that God is working all things together for our good. In time, his goodness and good purposes will become clearer to us. But it can take time. This making any sense?”
Shawn nodded, but he didn’t exactly know how to say what he was thinking.
“What is it, Shawn?”
“Sounds like you’re saying . . . Elizabeth’s death was a good thing? I can’t see how that’s possible.”
Pastor Harman’s face was full of care and concern. He spoke softly. “Shawn, I don’t want to sound like some Bible answer man. I know it doesn’t seem like Elizabeth’s death could ever be a good thing. But let’s start with something simpler. Can you think of anything good God has done in your life?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“He sent Jesus to die for my sins.”
“Very good. The cross is the greatest display of God’s goodness to us. What else?”
“My son, Patrick. I still have him.”
“Patrick is a wonderful boy. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know him better. Can you think of anything good that has come into your life since Elizabeth died?”
Shawn thought a moment. “My father and I, our relationship has been restored. For years we didn’t even speak.”
“How did that happen?”
“God just changed his heart. Now it’s better than it’s ever been.”
“Good. How about Katherine? I’ve seen the way she loves and cares for Patrick. Can you see any connection between her and God’s goodness to you?”
Shawn had never thought about her like this. “I guess so . . . with all the time I’ve been away, she’s been almost the perfect caretaker for Patrick. I never worry about him when I’m gone, because of how she treats him. And how he feels about her.”
“See, Shawn. Although the gospel is the greatest proof of God’s kindness, with just a little effort, we were able to come up with some pretty big things that demonstrate his love and goodness in your life. In time, you’ll see a lot more. Because God has promised to work
all
things together for your good. I’ve got just one more question to ask. And this one might be a little tough to hear.”
Shawn sat up straight, almost bracing himself.
“I’m sure you didn’t know when you fell in love with Elizabeth how much time she had left on this earth, but if you did know, would you have walked away? Would you rather have never fallen in love and spent all the days you had with her, if you knew they’d come to an end when they did?”
Shawn shook his head, fighting back tears. “No,” he said. “I’d do it again, every bit of it. I wouldn’t trade the time I had with her for anything, or take back a single day.”
“So,” Pastor Harman said, “it was a good thing then that you met her, married her, and brought Patrick into this world.”
A tear rolled down Shawn’s cheek. He wiped it away. “A very good thing,” he said. Shawn looked at his watch. He hadn’t told anyone he was stopping off here, and if he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late for that big dinner he was sure Mrs. Fortini had coming. “I’ve gotta be going, Pastor Harman.” He stood up. “But I really appreciate you making time for me like this.”
“Shawn, I’m here anytime you want to talk. I’ll be praying for you.”
They shook hands and Shawn headed out the door. As it closed behind him, he realized he’d forgotten to talk about the one thing he came in for. What was he supposed to do about Katherine? About all these conflicting feelings he had inside? He still didn’t know.
The only thing he felt sure of was this—it was just too soon.
He and Elizabeth had talked about her remarrying if
he
died in the war . . . after a
respectable
time. He’d read an article about how wartime deaths were changing social mores. Some were saying now that six months or a year was plenty of time, because so many people were dying so young.
But this was Elizabeth. It was just too soon.
They were all together sitting around the table: Patrick, Shawn and his father, Mrs. Fortini and Katherine. “I haven’t had chicken parmesan in I don’t know how long,” Shawn said to Mrs. Fortini. “And I don’t remember it ever tasting that good.”
“Don’t thank me,” Mrs. Fortini said. “It was my recipe, but Katherine made it.”
“Really?” Shawn looked across the table at Katherine.
“Even I like it,” said Patrick.
Katherine smiled and looked down.
“It is very good, Miss Townsend,” said the elder Collins, stifling a cough. “Shawn, between the two of them I’ve been eating pretty good these last few months.”
