Seasons Under Heaven (17 page)

Sylvia had hoped that her first visit Monday morning, to her own bank, would prove fruitful. But when the bank president declined to help, claiming that bank policy prohibited them from giving to individuals, she was deflated.

Still, not one to let the word
no
stop her, she went to her bank’s chief competitor and offered to move her own accounts if they would make a contribution to Joseph’s fund. The bank officer told her that they would take it under advisement, but that before they could contribute, she would have to make a presentation before the board of directors, and that it could take up to six weeks for a decision to be made.

She was even less confident at her next two stops, and she supposed it showed. She couldn’t get past the receptionist in the executive offices, and was told that no one had time to see her.

By the time she headed home, her feet and head ached. But it was her pride that hurt most of all. She had half expected to rake in, in one day, all the money the Dodds would need, just
through sheer determination and her power of persuasion. She had not expected to arrive home empty-handed.

She fought off tears as she headed back to the bedroom. She took off her business suit and pumps and climbed into more comfortable clothes, but physical comfort didn’t help her spirits any. Finally, she gave in to her tears and got down on her knees.

She prayed with all her heart, asking God to go before her and make a way—asking God to raise the money, since she wasn’t able.

Finally, she headed out back to the stables to check on her horses. The teenaged boy who worked a few hours a day grooming them had already cleaned out the stables and fed the horses.

Sunstreak whinnied as she came in, and she wondered if the mare sensed and sympathized with her mood. She let her nuzzle her hand, then reached up to hug her.

“Sylvia!” She heard the voice calling from a distance and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to tell of her failures and have anyone see her tearstained face.

“Sylvia!” The voice grew closer. “Are you in there?”

She stepped out of the stables and saw Tory, her brown hair done up in a French twist and her makeup perfectly applied, despite the heat outside. She looked like a brunette Barbie doll, and Sylvia found herself envying her. Right now, in her shorts and baggy T-shirt, Sylvia felt old and useless.

“So how’d it go?” Tory asked. “I saw you come out and I couldn’t wait to find out.”

Sylvia looked over her shoulder between their houses and saw Brittany and Spencer, wearing helmets, riding their bikes with training wheels in the little cul-de-sac. “Well…let’s just say it wasn’t an overwhelming success.”

“Didn’t you get
any
donations?”

She sighed, then hated herself for it. She hadn’t been a sigher before she’d married off Sarah. No wonder no one took her seriously. “I’m afraid not, Tory.”

“So you’ll try again tomorrow,” Tory said with uncharacteristic optimism. Then she frowned and regarded Sylvia more carefully. “Sylvia, are you all right?”

“No. Not really.” She headed around to her front porch so Tory could keep a closer eye on the kids. Wearily, she sat down in one of her wooden rockers. Tory sat down on the steps of the porch, looking up at her. “I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy,” Sylvia said. “But I was so cocky this morning. I thought I’d just prance into anyplace I tried, demand to see the president, tell him about Joseph, and voilà, he’d hand me ten grand. What arrogance.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Tory said. “I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

Sylvia gave her a weak smile. “I’m just disappointed in myself. I was starting to feel useful again. Didn’t last long, did it?”

“Come on, Sylvia. It’s only been one day. You’ll raise money. Let’s just brainstorm for a minute. Let’s be creative. There must be some way to get their attention.”

“Like what? I tried telling them all about Joseph; I even had pictures of him. They weren’t interested.”

“Well, is there some way you could find out which businessmen in town might have sick kids? Maybe Harry could get a list at the hospital or something.”

Sylvia couldn’t believe Tory would suggest such a thing. “That wouldn’t be ethical, Tory. I would never ask him to do that.”

“Why not? There must be businessmen who’ve had kids in Children’s Hospital. If their kids are well now, they’d be able to relate to Joseph.”

“Either that, or they’d resent me for asking, since no one helped them with their bills.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Tory looked around for her children, who had laid their bikes down and were crouched at a manhole on the sidewalk. Spencer was trying to open it. “Spencer, get away from that! Now!”

Spencer kept pulling at the cover. “There are fish in there, Mommy! I wanna see!”

“There are no fish in there!” Tory called. “Let go, Spencer. One…two…”

He yanked his hands away before she could reach “three,” as if the manhole cover would self-destruct at the word.

Tory turned back to Sylvia. “What about heart attacks?”

“What about them?” Sylvia asked.

“Couldn’t you get a list of heart attack victims? People Harry’s done bypasses on? Some of them must own businesses; they might be willing to donate as a tax write-off.”

Sylvia considered that for a moment. “I still couldn’t get the list from Harry. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Okay, then walk into the lobby of a business, befriend the secretary, and ask her which executives have had heart attacks in the past. She would know. Then ask to see them. They’d be a whole lot more willing to listen than someone who’s never been sick.”

“Seems awfully mercenary,” Sylvia said. “And dishonest, too.”

“Then tell the receptionist what you’re doing. Get
her
interested in Joseph. Be honest with her. She’ll help you. Mark my word.”

Tory glanced back at the street and saw only Brittany. Standing up, she called, “Spencer!”

“He’s looking at the horses, Mommy,” Brittany tattled.

Sylvia watched as Tory headed out to corral her young son. She smiled, remembering all the chases with her own children. They, too, had headed for the stables at every opportunity.

She listened as Tory shouted at Spencer, then saw the child dash back to his bike. Tory was out of breath when she rejoined her on the porch.

“Now, where were we?” Tory asked.

Sylvia grinned. “Just wondering…If you’re so sure all this would work, why don’t you try it?”

Tory stiffened. “Are you kidding? I could never do that.”

Sylvia couldn’t help laughing. “You know, there’s a friend of ours, Ed Majors, who had a triple bypass last year. He owns a
metalworks business in town. I know I could get in to see him. Maybe I could convince him…”

“Why didn’t you start with him?” Tory asked.

“It never even crossed my mind until you mentioned the heart attack victims.”

Tory arched her eyebrows. “Who’s the brains of this outfit?”

“You, apparently.” Sylvia laughed. “I feel better, Tory. Thank you. I think I can go out there and do it again tomorrow.”

“Sure you can,” Tory said. “All you needed was a plan.”

The next morning, Sylvia showed up at Majors Metalworks and asked to see Ed. He came out immediately and ushered her back to his office. It took fifteen minutes, start-to-finish, for him to agree to donate five hundred dollars toward Joseph’s fund. As he wrote out the check, he apologized for not giving more, but confided that his business was “in the red” and he couldn’t afford more.

Sylvia expressed her gratitude with a hug, then, armed with purpose and confidence, she headed to the next business on her list. It turned out that it was time for the receptionist’s coffee break, so she offered to buy her a cup of coffee in the employee cafeteria. There, she told the woman about Joseph’s plight, and asked if she knew of any executives in the company who might have had heart problems themselves and would sympathize with the Dodds. The receptionist gave her the name of one of the vice presidents who’d had a mild heart attack earlier in the year. Before she sent Sylvia to his office, she gave twenty dollars herself to apply toward Joseph’s fund.

The executive who’d had the heart attack wrote her a check for a hundred dollars, then walked her to the office of the president and introduced her. After hearing her pitch, the president wrote out a check for a thousand dollars.

Though the next five stops proved fruitless, Sylvia felt victorious on her way home. She had raised $1,620 in one day, and
felt that if she just kept at it, they’d have what the Dodds needed for Joseph.

Harry was already home when she arrived, and she fluttered in and apologized for not having supper made.

“That’s okay,” he said. “We’ll go out.”

“Yes, let’s go out,” she said. “We have to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“All the money I raised today for Joseph’s heart transplant.”

“How much did you raise?” he asked.

“One thousand six hundred twenty dollars,” she said, prancing around.

“That much?”

“That’s right. I know it doesn’t begin to cover it, but isn’t it wonderful? Yesterday I was so discouraged, but today I armed myself for battle and went at it with all I had. We’re on our way. I deposited the money on the way home. The Joseph Dodd Trust Fund has something in it!”

“I
knew
you had it in you!” Laughing, he twirled her around, pulled her against him, and began to dance. “And you thought you had nothing left to contribute.”

She laughed as he spun her, then launched into a jitterbug and ended with a dip that left her giggling like a teenager.

Harry grew serious at the restaurant, while they were waiting for their food. “I was thinking about a way to help little Joseph. Of sacrifices we could make to help out.”

“I’m willing to give whatever we can,” Sylvia said.

“Yes, but there’s something we could sell, and it might help drum up some publicity to get others to contribute.”

“What?”

He looked down at his iced tea and drew a line in the condensation on the glass, as if considering how this suggestion might affect Sylvia. “Before I say it, just know that if you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to. It’s just an idea.”

“Harry, what?” she asked. “You know I want to do whatever I can. Of course, with the wedding expenses and the possibility of our going to Nicaragua…” She halted midsentence and met Harry’s eyes. It was the first time she’d brought that up since he’d first mentioned it. “I’m just saying, if we had to, somehow, we could come up with the money to help. I’m willing to do almost anything.”

He looked carefully at her. “I was thinking of selling the horses.”

She caught her breath. “What?”

“Just listen,” he said, closing his hand over hers. “Cathy’s having the animal fair at the church. That would be a good time to auction them off. It would be good advertising and draw more people to the fair. Raise public awareness.”

“But Harry, I love my horses.”

“I know, but hardly anyone rides them anymore. The kids aren’t here—”

“They’ll ride them when they come home.
I
still ride them sometimes.”

“But not that often. And they’re really a lot of trouble to take care of. Think how much it would mean for Joseph’s heart fund. Directly and indirectly.”

Tears flooded her eyes as she stared down at her silverware. She rearranged it, then set it back like it was. She wondered how he could think of giving up all the things they had loved in their lives—their home, their land, his career, and now the horses. Did he consider this the first step toward shedding all their possessions and heading for the mission field? “That’s a lot to ask, Harry.”

“I know.” He let silence sit like a warm cat between them, and finally, he touched her chin and made her look at him. “Remember in the Bible when David wanted to buy the site of a threshing floor from Araunah, to build an altar on it and offer sacrifices to the Lord? And Araunah wanted to give it to him for free?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered. “David said he didn’t want to offer anything to the Lord that cost him nothing.”

“The horses will cost us,” he said. “But it won’t be just an offering to Joseph. It’ll be an offering to the Lord.”

The struggle in her heart was almost more than she could bear, but she knew in her mind that it was the right thing to do. Finally, she brought her misty eyes back to his. “How can I say no when you put it like that?” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “What am I going to do around the house with no kids and no horses?”

“Maybe you’ll think of something.” It was his first reminder in weeks of his desire to go to Nicaragua. She chose to ignore it.

But she couldn’t ignore his choice to sell the horses. She tried to find a cheerful spot in her heart from which she could make this sacrifice. “It sure will make Tory’s life easier, if Spencer’s not constandy trying to escape to pet the colt. She can rest a little easier if she has to turn her back on him for a minute.”

He laughed softly. “That little rascal.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Remember when Jeff was that little? He loved those horses. We were training him for barrel races even then.”

“And now he has a horse of his own in North Dakota,” he said. “He’ll be fine about this.”

She knew he was right. It wasn’t the kids who would mourn. She was the one who didn’t want to let them go. “All right, Harry,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”

“Just tell Cathy,” he said with a smile. “Then we can start preparing ourselves. It’ll sure bring more people to the animal fair. Everybody wants a bargain.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “I just hope it makes a difference.”

“It won’t get him a heart any sooner,” Harry said. “But it’ll sure make things easier while they wait.”

The impromptu meeting in the middle of Cedar Circle happened by accident. Tory had walked out to check her mailbox and seen Sylvia crossing the yard, headed for Cathy’s. Cathy had just driven up and was getting out of her car.

Tory waved at them both, then looked down at the mail in her hand. The envelope on top was from a church—one of those she’d sent letters to the other day. Her heart began to pound as she tore it open. She pulled out the folded note, and a check fluttered to the ground. She picked it up before the wind could blow it away and saw that it was for a hundred dollars. Quickly, she read the letter.

Dear Mrs. Sullivan
,

Thank you so much for your letter regarding Joseph Dodd’s heart transplant. We have shared this request with our congregation and have raised a small donation toward his medical bills. We intend to keep trying to raise more money, but
wanted to make this first installment. We also pledge to pray for him and his family.

Thank you for sharing this need with us and allowing us to do our part. We have a small congregation, but because of your letter, we’ve reached deep into our pockets.

In Christ’s name
,

The Fellowship of Survey Baptist Church

Reading the check again, Tory felt the thrill of accomplishment. Survey Baptist was just a little trailer church she passed on her way down the mountain. How had they raised this much so quickly? Didn’t they have a building fund? Weren’t there salaries to pay? Surely there were—and yet that small fellowship had found a way to contribute.

She broke into a run across the circle.

“Cathy! Sylvia! You won’t believe this!”

They both turned around, and she almost assaulted them with the letter. “Read this. Look, a check for a hundred dollars! Can you believe it?”

“You got published?” Cathy asked.

“No!” Tory said. “Better! I sent letters out three days ago about Joseph, and look! I got this response already.” Sylvia took the letter, and Cathy read over her shoulder.

“Wow! It must have been some letter,” Cathy said.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Tory said. “I must have sent letters to a hundred different churches. Do you think more money will come in?”

“Well, that hundred dollars had to have been sent out the day they got your letter,” Sylvia said. “If that’s any indication, I’d say yes. A
lot
more will come in.” She laughed out loud and hugged Tory. “Girl, don’t ever tell me that you don’t know how to write.”

“I just told them about Joseph,” she said. “It wasn’t any big masterpiece.”

“Well, it got through. This is wonderful. I’ll take the check and deposit it. Tory, save all the letters we get for Brenda and
David. It might be nice for Brenda to see how the Lord is providing, and I think it might be vital for David.”

“I will,” Tory said. She flipped through the rest of the mail, but found only bills.

“Looks like we’re on our way,” Cathy said. “Sylvia, tell Tory what you’re going to do.”

Sylvia’s grin faded a degree. “Harry and I have decided to sell the horses.”

Tory caught her breath. “No! You’ve gotta be kidding!”

“We’ve decided that might drum up more publicity for the animal fair that Cathy’s giving, and if we auction the horses off there, we might do real well. We’ll donate the proceeds to Joseph.”

“But what a sacrifice! You love those horses.”

“We hardly ever ride anymore. And we figure it’ll give you some peace of mind about Spencer.”

Tory shook her head. “He’s going to be heartbroken.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sylvia said. “Especially if he knows it’s to help Joseph’s heart.”

“I guess you’re right.” She looked at Cathy. “So have we got a date for the animal fair?”

“July Fourth,” Cathy said. “I talked to the folks at Sylvia’s church, and they’re going to let us use the grounds. And I called Brenda’s church, and they’re going to come over and help with food and extra booths and things. We’re going to make a real big deal out of it.”

“What about your church, Tory?” Sylvia asked. “Have they agreed to help any?”

Tory looked down at the bills in her hand, embarrassed. “Well, I’m sure they will. They just haven’t committed yet.” She sighed and looked down at the Survey Baptist letter again. It was such an encouragement. More, even, than if she had gotten published. “You know, this gives me energy. I think I’ll go back in there and write some more letters. I mean, I don’t have to stay in the state of Tennessee. I could write every church in the country if I wanted to. I mean, the more I can reach, the better, right?”

“Right,” Sylvia said. “That’s why I knew you could do it. If I’d written the letter, they would have filed it in the trash can.”

“I’ve got work to do,” Tory said with a teasing grin. “I don’t have time to stand out here flapping my jaws with you. I’ll see you later.”

She headed back into the house, more excited than she’d been in weeks.

That night, when they were getting ready for bed, Barry sat down on the edge of the bathtub and smiled up at her as she brushed her teeth. “What are you looking at?” she asked with her mouth full of toothpaste.

“You,” he said. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

She rinsed her mouth out, wiped it on a towel, and turned around to peer down at him. “Why?”

“Because your writing is so strong that it’s impacting the Dodds’ lives,” he said.

“Well, let’s not get carried away. A hundred dollars won’t go
that
far.”

“There’ll be more,” he said. “I know there will. Tory, do you realize what that means?”

“What?”

“It means you
are
called to write. You
have
got a gift. Just because some woman wrote a story you intended to write, before you could get to it, it doesn’t mean you’re supposed to quit.”

“This isn’t exactly the great American novel, Barry. It was just a few letters.”

“But not just anybody could have written them. At least, not in a way that would evoke sympathy and mobilize people into action.”

She smiled at herself in the mirror, wondering if that was true. Had God led her through the ups and downs of her writing “career” so that she could be the one to write the letters that would help Joseph? “Wouldn’t that be something?” she asked. “If we really could raise a lot of money this way?”

“It would be miraculous,” he said.

“Yeah.”

They headed back into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, and she curled up next to him, absorbing his warmth. “Barry, do you think our church will come through?”

“Sure they will. I’m going to bring it up at the finance committee meeting Wednesday night.”

“You are? And you think it’ll be approved?”

“Well, I should hope so. The thing is, there are a lot of people in our own congregation with needs, too.”

“Yeah, I know.” She looked up at her husband. “Barry, remember the other night when we were at Brenda’s church?”

“Yeah?”

“It was pretty wonderful, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve visited another church, so I didn’t have anything to compare it to. But it got me thinking. Maybe there’s something different that we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Tory, I don’t want to leave our church. I’m a deacon. I don’t take that lightly.”

“As a deacon, do you think you can get them to help us with the animal fair? They could set up a few booths, send some volunteers over, bake some cookies, anything.”

“People in our church are busy already,” he said. “We have a million programs and other things we always need volunteers for.”

“I know,” she said. “There’s a lot going on—I like that. But some things should take precedence. Hurting people should be a priority over programs.”

“Our programs are
designed
to help hurting people.”

“I know. I just wish they’d help Joseph, too.”

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Maybe our church just needs to be appealed to differently. I’ll work on them Wednesday night at the finance committee meeting. Maybe they’ll let you make a personal appeal at prayer meeting.”

“All right,” she said. “I’m counting on you. I don’t want to have to bring out the big guns.”

“What big guns?”

“These typing fingers,” she said, flexing them as if they were lethal weapons. “I don’t think they want me to get tougher with these letters.”

“You might have to,” he teased. “But that’s okay. Paint them a picture with words, Tory. Help them to understand who Joseph is, and why they want to help him.”

“I think I can do that,” Tory said.

“Oh, yeah,” Barry said with a grin. “You can do it. I have faith in you.”

Wednesday night, Barry seemed preoccupied as he came out of the finance committee meeting. Tory met him in the church corridor. “You coming to prayer meeting?” she asked, searching his face.

He nodded.

“What’s wrong, Barry?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I’m just a little disappointed.”

Her heart crashed. “They wouldn’t pledge any money?”

“Not exactly.” He sank onto a Chippendale chair placed fashionably next to an antique table in the hallway. “Oh, they acted real interested. Said they were glad we were helping the Dodds. But they didn’t want any direct official church involvement.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“They’re afraid of stepping on the toes of Brenda’s church.”

Tory’s face began to redden. “Did you tell them her church doesn’t
have
toes?”

He chuckled. “I see their point, Tory. They thought it would be more powerful if her church coordinated the efforts.”

“We weren’t asking anyone to coordinate any efforts,” she said. “We were asking for donations.”

“Well, I guess that was their way of saying no. They did put him on their prayer list, though.”

She sank down next to him. “At least maybe I can get some individual donations in prayer meeting.”

“Well…actually, I guess not,” Barry said. “When I asked them if you could speak at prayer meeting, they said tonight wasn’t a good night. There’s too much on the agenda.”

“On the
prayer
agenda?” she asked. “They’re putting a limit on prayer?”

“I guess there are a lot of needs.” He patted her knee. “I’m disappointed, too, Tory. They think they’re doing the right thing, but I don’t agree.”

“Barry, I’m so embarrassed. Sylvia’s and Brenda’s churches are coming through. What are they going to think when they hear that ours has refused? I feel like marching in there and grabbing the microphone and chewing them all out.”

“We can’t do that.” He rubbed his face roughly. “Frankly, I can’t help feeling like I’m just as guilty. I’ve been just as disinterested in other people’s needs as they’ve been over the years. The only difference in this case is that we know Joseph, we care about him. They’ve never seen him. I just keep thinking back on all those prayer meetings I’ve sat through, listening to all those needs—and never uttering a single prayer for those people, just because I didn’t know them. I figured somebody else would be praying for them. Even now, you don’t see us in there poring over the prayer list. There are a couple dozen Joseph Dodds on that list, and we’re mad because they’re not making a priority out of our request.”

They sat in silence for several moments. Finally, Tory looked at him. “Barry, can we just go home?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go get the kids out of their classes, unless they’re in the middle of something important.”

They headed for Brittany’s room first, and as they rounded the corner, they heard the teacher leading the class in “I’m a Little Teapot.”
Well
, Tory thought,
I suppose it passes the time…

She knocked on the door and got Brittany out, then headed for Spencer’s room. Spencer’s class was sitting on the floor watching
Mrs. Doubtfire.
She wondered if anyone had bleeped out the profanity.

“We’re not through with the movie,” Spencer protested as she pulled him out the door. “They didn’t even sing ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ yet. That’s my favorite song.”

“‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ is your favorite song?” Tory asked, horrified. “Where have you heard it?”

“In that movie,” he said. “I’ve saw it four times at church.”

She shot Barry an eloquent look.

“Why’re we leavin’ early?” Brittany asked.

Barry put his arm around Tory’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Mommy just wasn’t feeling very well.”

“Let’s use this time to go visit Joseph,” Tory suggested.

“Yay!” Spencer hollered. “Do we get to go in?”

“‘Fraid not, Kemo Sabe,” Barry said. “You’re not allowed out of the lobby unless you’re over twelve. We don’t want to take any germs to Joseph, do we?”

“I don’t got germs!” Spencer objected. “I had a bath.”

Barry waited in the hospital lobby with the kids while Tory went up to Joseph’s room. He was sitting up in a chair, dressed in jeans and a Mark Lowry T-shirt, trying to put together a puzzle. Brenda hugged her and welcomed her in. Though Tory had been asked to don a gown at the nurse’s station, the mask was no longer required.

“Spencer and Britty are downstairs,” she told Joseph. “They’re terribly offended by the policy that says they can’t come up.”

“I could go down and see ‘em,” Joseph said. “Can I, Mom? Please? I have thirty minutes on the battery. They said I needed to walk!”

“Can he do that?” Tory asked. “It’s allowed?”

“Sure!” Joseph spoke up before Brenda could answer.

Brenda laughed. “I guess it’ll be okay, for a few minutes. But I don’t want him in the lobby. I’ll get permission for them to come up to the waiting room on this floor.”

Tory went downstairs and got her gang, then decked them all out in gowns. Brittany bounced up and down on the elevator as they rode up, and Spencer plopped down on his little behind, because he said it felt funnier to ride up that way. Funny was a good thing to feel, Tory supposed.