By His Hand: Truly Yours Digital Edition

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven
.
E
CCLESIASTES
3:1

Disinfectant couldn’t mask the stench of iodine mingled with other unidentifiable odors. The mixture stung Victoria Thankful’s nostrils and brought tears to her eyes. She looked at the hospital bed. She had never seen anyone like this, but this was her brother.

Kenny’s practically lifeless body lay still. Stitches raced from the left side of his forehead over his nose and finished at the right corner of his lips. Both eyes were black and swollen from the impact to the windshield.

“Hey, Bubby,” she crooned his pet name since childhood and patted his arm. “I’m waiting for you to open those eyes and look at me.”

Heavily drugged, Kenny had only spoken a few times over the last three days. He needed rest, but the doctors still wanted him to talk to her every few hours in an effort to keep up his spirits.

“I sent Grams home. She was needing a shower.” She swatted her hand before her nose and laughed at her own joke, hoping it would conjure a smile from her brother.

He didn’t move.
I’m sure he’s sleeping
. She glanced at her watch. It had been two hours since he’d spoken to her. In that time she’d swallowed down a day-old deli sandwich and finished an Algebra II test one of her friends had brought by the hospital.

A nurse opened the door. “Your parents are on the way.”

“Thank you.” Victoria sighed in relief and looked back at Kenny. “Mother and Daddy have come back from Europe early. I know they’re anxious to see that you’re all right.”

Victoria glanced down at her clothes. Her mother would disapprove of the sweatshirt and jeans. She walked to the sink and peeked in the mirror.
She’s not going to like my hair all pulled back in a ponytail either
.

Walking back to her brother, she wasn’t worried about outfits and hairstyles. She only cared about Kenny and seeing him healed and healthy.

“Sis?” His weak voice pushed past barely open lips. He opened his eyes slowly and turned his palm up, inviting her to grab his hand.

Bubble gum stuck to the roof of her mouth. The raspy weakness of his voice still struck her hard. Pushing her hand past tubes and wires, she tried to ignore the machines’ protesting beeps at having been jostled. She forced a smile.

“Do we know”—he swallowed—“how bad it is?”

“Let’s not worry.” She winked and sat in the chair beside his bed. “It’s going to be okay.”

It wasn’t okay. She knew medicine and doctors could fix a ton of ailments and injuries, and she believed anything was possible with God. Still, it didn’t appear it was going to be all right at all.

“So tired.” Kenny closed his eyes.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m here for you, Kenny. We’ll get through.” Fear lurked around her, waiting for her to succumb to it.
Give me strength, Lord
.

“Doctor,” her father’s voice boomed from outside the door.

“I’ll pay whatever it takes. You make him perfect.”

“Your son is in guarded condition. We are doing the best we can. His accident was serious.”

Victoria jumped up.
There’s no telling what Daddy will say
. She wiggled her hand past the tubes and wires then made a beeline for the door.

“I’m sure you know the Thankful name,” her father continued. “I want only the best—everyone, everything. No cost spared. Make him perfect.”

“Money isn’t the answer to everything. This is a back injury. No amount of money …”

“It would have been better if he had died,” her mother whispered.

Victoria forced the door shut. She looked at her brother. His eyes were closed, and she prayed he hadn’t heard her mother’s response. Victoria made her way back to him. She touched his leg and remembered he couldn’t feel it. She walked back to the top of the bed, leaned over, and kissed the top of his head. “You’re going to be all right.”

Eight years later

After twelve hours of chugging java to stay awake, Victoria finally spotted the specific road sign she’d been looking for. She gasped. “Forty more miles on this road! I’m never going to get to Lasso, Oklahoma.”

Resting against the leather seat of her Suburban, she glanced at the photograph taped to her dashboard. The boy’s shining eyes and chubby cheeks made her smile. “You look so much like your daddy.” She ran her finger over his brown ringlets, remembering the last time she’d seen her brother before his fatal accident. His hair had been in desperate need of a trim, and Victoria had teased him mercilessly about it. “Kenny would have been so proud of you, Matthew.”

At midmorning the flat, green land stretched as far as she could see. An occasional farmhouse, barn, or silo dotted the expanse. Cattle clustered inside the never-ending barbed wire.
I’m definitely not in Houston anymore
. Oklahoma was full and alive in a different way, and its serenity beckoned her.

She yawned then started to roll down the window to allow wisps of fresh air to wake her up. Bubble gum and fast-food wrappers swirled through the cab. Grabbing for her directions and the photograph, she popped the window back up.
What was I thinking?

She pushed the disheveled papers off the passenger seat and laid the directions in their place.
No way am I getting lost. I’ll fall
asleep for sure if I have to drive one moment longer than necessary
.

Course, I’d fit just fine if I needed to take a nap in this horse of a car
. Daddy would never see to reason on allowing her to get a smaller, more economical car. Ever since Kenny’s accidents, one paralyzing him and the other taking his life, Daddy had bought only the biggest and best of every model. “He never considered what gas would cost though, did he?”

She gripped the steering wheel.
I don’t even have the means to get back to Texas if I need to
. She cringed when she thought of the penthouse, finely decorated in the sleekest of styles, that she’d left behind. It had been Daddy’s idea to fit her in the best of everything while she finished her degree. She couldn’t afford any of it now.

God has not equipped me with a spirit of fear
. She lifted her chin. She would not be afraid. Money was not the answer to everything. God was.

She braked at a stoplight. She smiled as she read the wooden road sign aloud. “Welcome to Lawton.”

“One more turn, then thirty miles to the small town of Lasso … and to Matthew.” She opened her visor mirror. “Ugh. These freckles.” She hated them. They made her look much younger than her age. She grabbed her compact from her Gucci bag and powdered her nose and cheeks. “There.”

She turned on the radio, hoping she could pick up a Christian radio signal out here in the middle of nowhere. “Yep. That’s where I’m at.” She patted her steering wheel. “My whole life is in the middle of nowhere.” She looked up at the boundless, blue sky above her. “I’m a clean slate, Lord. Whatever You want. Wherever You wish.” The reality of it made her smile … and tremble.

“That little sister of mine is determined to put me six feet under,” growled Chris Ratliff as he finished buffing the candy-apple red hood of his pride and joy, a restored 1973 Corvette. After grabbing a clean, white cloth from his back coveralls pocket, he wiped off the rearview mirror. “You, my Mary Ann, will never make me crazy.”

As a boy, he and his dad spent many an afternoon watching reruns of
Gilligan’s Island
. Both agreed Mary Ann to be their favorite character. She had been the true beauty with her natural good looks and sweet, giving nature. When his dad gave him the beat-up car for a graduation present eight years ago, he knew she could be named nothing but Mary Ann.

“I said I was sorry. Promise, I didn’t mean to.”

Chris glared at his sister, Abby. She shoved both hands in her jean pockets. The plaid button-down shirt she wore hung much too big on her. Which made sense. It belonged to him. With her mousy brown hair pulled up in some sort of funky knot with pieces sticking out around her head, she looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. For the life of him he wasn’t sure if she meant to look that way or if she just didn’t have a clue about how to brush hair. He didn’t know the first thing about it.

Seventeen, hardheaded, difficult, and an overall nuisance, Abby was his to raise. Even after she’d slammed into the mailbox with his work truck, he still loved her and wouldn’t want her anywhere else except with him.

Well, maybe not at the moment
. “Abby, you get back in that house.”

“Brudder.” She stuck out her bottom lip.

Oh, brother
. Abby always pulled out her child name for him when she knew she was in trouble. Admittedly, it usually worked. This time he needed to be firm. “You know you didn’t have permission to drive it. Go on back in there until I decide your punishment.”

“Fine, Chris.” She spat out his name, emphasizing the
s
. “Just remember I was goin’ to the store to get some milk for breakfast.” She strode back to the house and slammed the door.

Chris knew he should go after her and make her apologize, but it was hard. Growing up, he and his sister bickered back and forth. Mom and Dad had been the ones to separate, scold, or paddle them for misbehavior. Less than two years had passed since their dad had died and only a year since their mom left.
I don’t know how to be her guardian, Lord. I’m her brother
.

He sulked to the garden, grabbed a bucket from beside the scarecrow, and picked tomatoes from the vine. Most of them were still green; nothing had ripened for picking, but he had to do something. Had to think.

No, he needed advice. He needed to talk to someone who would know what to do. Someone he could trust. He smacked his thigh.
I know. I’ll run out to the Wards’ ranch
. Snapping off a few more tomatoes, he threw them in the bucket figuring Sondra could make fried green tomatoes or whatnot with them.

He walked back to the house and stepped inside the mudroom. Grabbing his keys off the counter, he hollered, “Abby, I’ll be right back. You get lunch going and don’t leave this house.”

“Fine!”

Fury pulsed through his veins. He shouldn’t let her talk to him like that.
If I say something now, I’m sure I’ll regret it later
.

He stalked to his car, jumped into Mary Ann’s driver’s seat, and revved the engine. The growling
purr
sent a calm through this veins.
Now here’s a girl a guy can relate to
. He pulled out of the driveway and headed to Dylan and Sondra’s ranch.

Extra cautious with his prized treasure, he stopped at the first intersection as the light turned yellow.
I just can’t seem to do it, Lord. I don’t know what to do with Abby
. Flipping the radio on, one of his favorite country gospel songs sounded from the speakers. The words of God’s faithfulness were a soothing balm to the anger and frustration lit in his heart, reminding him he was not alone.
Thank You, Lord
.