Return to Harmony (12 page)

“My, but aren’t you calm,” the woman said cheerfully. “If I were the youngest contestant—fifteen, isn’t it?—why, I’d be near about ready to faint.”

Unable to find her voice, Jodie made do with a nod. That was exactly how she felt.

But the woman laughed gaily as she led Jodie up the stairs, across the stage, and behind the big velvet curtains. “You, now, you look perfectly at ease. How on earth do you do it?”

Jodie managed a shrug and looked around the gathering. It was easy to see that the other contestants were older and more mature— but it was also true that some of them looked very nervous. She guessed there must be fifty or sixty people, all under the watchful gaze of three stern-faced chaperons. Every eye turned her way for a moment, and Jodie felt her heart quake.

The woman patted her shoulder. “I’ll just leave you in these good people’s capable hands. Good luck, my dear.”

“Phenomenon.”

“Tobacco.”

“Medieval.”

The words began on what Miss Charles would have called an intermediate level. Jodie was relieved to find that others shared her nerves, because even at this stage contestants were being dismissed right and left. If one person misspelled, the word then went to the next. Her first two words came in this way, which granted her the advantage of more time to think them over. Even so, she felt as though her mind were scattered in a thousand pieces, and spelling the simplest of words was the hardest task she had ever faced.

“Rhinoceros.”

“Irascible.”

“Auspicious.”

The hall was huge and filled to overflowing. Each time a participant was dismissed, they were sent off with polite applause. Otherwise the crowd was tense and watchful and silent. The voices of the referee and the contestants bounced back and forth over the great open space. Jodie’s voice sounded high and frail to her own ears.

“Connoisseur.”

“Supercilious.”

“Quixotic.”

The words grew increasingly difficult. As the number on stage dwindled, the applause grew louder for each departing contestant. Jodie’s heart felt as though it could not beat any harder. When it came time for her to spell “incandescence,” her voice quavered so that she was unsure the judges could make out what letters she was saying.

Then the whole scene before her altered.

The change did not come gradually. Not at all. In one great blanket of calm, a gentle peace descended upon her. She felt her surroundings come into focus. She became shielded against the pressure and the tension under invisible wings of love and comfort and serenity.

“Plenipotentiary.”

“Concupiscence.”

The contestants were dismissed one by one. Only four were left. The applause was thunderous now, each correct spelling bringing cheers. Yet the tension which brought a sheen of perspiration even to the judges’ foreheads did not touch her. The referee called out, “Apocrypha.” Jodie spelled it silently to herself, as she had most of the words throughout the contest. The older contestant standing beside her hesitated, then said, “A-p-o-c-r-i-p-h-a.” When the girl had been applauded off the stage, Jodie spelled it, her voice now clear and bell-like. She was rewarded with a great cheer from the crowd.

Without warning, Jodie had the sense of a realization flooding her mind. The thought was so sudden and so striking that she momentarily lost awareness of everything about her.
This peace is a gift from God
.

The thought had the force of a mirror placed before her heart. She could not escape the conviction that though she had turned away from God, still He was there, waiting for an opportunity to return to her, and return her to Him.

Jodie had a sudden flash of memory, not of an experience but rather of an emotion. Once again she felt the pain of her mother’s passage, and yet this time overlaid was the gentle sense of the Lord’s presence, offering her hope and healing. But her reaction was immediate. With a strength that sent a shudder through her entire frame, she shook off the invitation and the threat of again feeling all those emotions she had strived so hard to put behind her—the loneliness and the hurt and the sense of abandonment.

All this, from the sudden realization to its rejection, took less time than a half-dozen heartbeats. The hall and the contest returned instantly into focus, but the gift of peace was gone. Jodie looked around the audience, and in a sudden flood felt all her fears come crashing back.

The referee turned to her and intoned, “Bougainvillea.”

Jodie began spelling, but there was such an echo throughout the great hall, and she felt a sense of overwhelming tension. She reached the final “l” and suddenly could not remember if she had already said one or two. She hesitated a long moment, then added one more.

A rippling sigh ran through the crowd. The head judge called out, “Jodene Harland is dismissed.”

It was over.

She stood there stunned. She wanted to shout out that she knew the word, that she had been confused by the echo. But before she could speak, the applause rose and broke over her, wave after wave of great cheers. She glanced at the other contestants, realized there were only two left besides her. The cheering continued. But it did not raise her up. Instead, it felt as though all the crowd and all the noise was battering at her, pushing her around and urging her back and off the stage.

Jodie clutched the tall silver statue and the fifty dollar war bond, her prizes for coming in third place. She could see the Keanes struggling to approach through the crowd clustered around her. Everyone wanted to get a closer look at the youngest finalist ever in a state spelling bee, clap her on the back, chatter words that Jodie scarcely heard. Two photographers flashed bright lights in her face before moving off. She felt as though her smile were plastered into place.

Finally the Keanes were able to get close enough to hug her and shower her with more excited words. Jodie endured it all, trying hard to play the part of a tired but happy contestant. She allowed them to lead her from the hall, feeling eyes upon her the entire way.

She waited until they were outside and Bethan’s parents were a few steps ahead of them to look at Bethan and quietly ask, “Were you praying for me in there?”

Bethan gave her a surprised glance. “Of course I was.”

Jodie walked on in silence. Her confusion and resistance created an internal storm.

Bethan gave her a desperate look. “Don’t ask me to stop,” she pleaded, misunderstanding her friend. “I couldn’t do that. Not ever. I pray for you every night and every morning. I thank God for making you my friend. I pray that He will heal your heart.” She examined Jodie’s face, then added, “And now that I know how you feel, I’ll pray that He finds a way to bring you back to Him.”

Bethan walked alongside Jodie, her gray eyes wide and anxious. When Jodie did not say anything, she begged, “Don’t ask me to stop. I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. It’d be easier to stop breathing.”

Bethan hummed as she scurried about the dining room, checking to see that everything was in perfect readiness. She wasn’t sure if it was happiness or nerves that brought the song to her mind. She decided the table could use a bit more polishing, and her thoughts made tight little circles along with the cloth. What if no one came? What if the whole thing was a flop? What if Jodie didn’t show up?

“Land sakes, child. Isn’t that the third time you’ve been over that table?”

Bethan watched her mother enter the room, the punch bowl sloshing gently with lemonade. “I want everything to be just right.”

“And well you should. But you’ll be wearing the shine off, not putting it on.” Moira settled the bowl down on the table and began placing cups and saucers around it. That done, she settled a white linen cloth over the lot to hide it from view. “You’re sure she doesn’t know? Jodie’s far from slow witted.”

“No, she isn’t, but I don’t think she knows.” Bethan began setting little sandwiches on the crystal platter, one her mother had polished until it shimmered. She walked over and placed it under the cloth as well. “We haven’t even mentioned her birthday.”

Moira hurried out to check the two pies baking in the oven. The chocolate layer cake—Jodie’s favorite—was already prepared and set in the dining room. “What ruse did you settle on to bring her over?” she asked as Bethan followed her into the kitchen.

Bethan had to swallow. Even with her mother agreeing, it had been hard to even hint at a falsehood. “I said I needed help with my choir piece.”

“Which is true enough, far as it goes.” One by one Moira drew out the blackberry pies, tested them with a knife, and carried them into the dining room. They needed to set a moment before they could be cut. The rooms were instantly filled with the fragrance of fresh fruits and cinnamon. She returned to the kitchen and said, “She should be in the church choir herself, and that’s a fact.”

Bethan nodded agreement. It had remained a bitter disappointment that Jodie refused to join her in the church choir. It turned out that Jodie had inherited her mother’s pleasant voice, and she was finally persuaded to join the school choir, much to her mother’s delight. Earlier on, Bethan had dreamed of the two of them singing duets together before the congregation. But when the time finally came, Jodie turned her down flatly, not even listening to her arguments about how a voice as fine as Jodie’s should be used in lifting praises to God. “She won’t even talk about it,” Bethan disclosed. “There isn’t anything I can do to change her mind, except pray and hope for a miracle.”

A knock on the back door drew their attention. Bethan nervously cast a glance toward the front parlor, wondering if Jodie would choose this moment to appear. Two girls stood on the stoop, holding wrapped gifts in their hands. Bethan greeted them warmly and beckoned them inside. “Is she here yet?” one asked excitedly as she passed Bethan her shawl.

“I told her seven. I wanted to be sure everyone was here first.”

“She doesn’t suspect anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

Both girls looked pleased. Surprises were so delicious.

Swiftly the kitchen and parlor filled with excited chatter. Bethan kept one eye nervously upon the clock as she admitted one friend after another, hoping they would all arrive before Jodie showed up.

The idea for a surprise birthday party had first come to Bethan a week before. The two girls shared almost everything, including their age. For part of the year the number was the same for both girls. And then last week Bethan had referred to Jodie as being fifteen, the same age as herself. “Sixteen,” Jodie had corrected. With shock and a pang in her heart, Bethan realized she had forgotten Jodie’s birthday. “Sixteen,” Jodie had repeated. “I turned sixteen last Tuesday.”

The matter-of-fact yet empty way she had spoken the words stayed with Bethan all through the day. Jodie had a birthday, and not one person had paid it any mind. In tears she had discussed it with her mother that night. “She never mentioned it, and I forgot. I suppose her father did too.”

Moira had been incensed. “Well, we certainly needn’t allow it to happen again. We’ll be asking her to supper ourselves. If that noodlehead of a father can’t care for his own, we’ll just have to see to things here.”