Wildflowers (12 page)

However, Genevieve’s pride wouldn’t allow her to call Jessica and say this was finally the day she could and would come.

The others will think I’m only turning back to God because the café was demolished
.

I don’t know what chapter they were studying during the week, so I won’t have notes or thoughts to contribute to the discussion
.

When the café is back up and running, I probably won’t be able to continue with the group, so it’s pointless to start something I can’t finish
.

Two-thirty came and went on that Wednesday, and Genevieve closed the door in her mind labeled “Jessica and the Bible study group.” She pressed on with her plans to remodel the café more intensely than ever.

As the weeks went on, good-hearted, steady Steven stood with Genevieve, making few demands and even fewer complaints. He took extra time off so he could be available to her and the girls. He did extensive yard work and built shelves in the garage. He accompanied Mallory on her class field trip to the planetarium and drove Anna and two of her friends to the mall in Eugene. Steven and Genevieve spent most of their conversations discussing the girls and the café.

Five weeks after the fire an invitation came for their family to attend a special celebration for the arrival of Brad and Alissa’s adopted daughters from Romania. The ceremony was to be held the second Sunday in June as part of the morning service. Out of the blue, Steven announced he
wanted them to go, as a family, to show Brad and Alissa their support.

Genevieve was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of papers when Steven walked in and stood beside her with a glass of iced tea in his hand.

“Did you see this in the mail?” Steven asked.

“No. Anna brought in the mail, but I haven’t looked at any of it. My bookkeeping system has gotten a little behind.” That morning the builder had asked Genevieve for a significant-sized check. She didn’t have her accounts balanced yet and wasn’t sure she could write the check.

That’s when Steven showed her the invitation and made his announcement about the four of them attending church Sunday.

Genevieve put down her pen. “The event for the girls is being held at the church.”

“I know.”

“You’ve never gone to church before. For any reason.”

“I know.”

Genevieve examined her husband’s calm face. “I’m sure Brad and Alissa will know that we support them even if we can’t make it to the service.”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to go? I don’t fly out until Tuesday. You don’t have any scheduling conflicts, do you? The builders have Sunday off.”

“It’s just that …”

“What?”

Genevieve watched her husband’s unchanging expression. It crossed her mind that he certainly was a good-looking
man. Aside from his receding hairline and his fair skin, Steven’s clear eyes and his distinctive, straight nose had changed little since the day she had met him. He had an aura of confidence that made her let out a deep breath and tell him honestly, “I feel funny going to church.”

Steven waited for her to elaborate.

“I haven’t been in months. I don’t belong there. They have a new pastor. I don’t even know him. It will be awkward.”

Steven slowly sipped his tea and studied his wife. “You don’t have to go. I’ll take the girls. Anyone who asks about you will understand when I tell them you’re buried under with details on the café.”

Genevieve thought that statement certainly would be true, yet she felt unsettled down in her gut.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steven gently ran his thumb along her jaw. “You don’t have to go to church if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll go with the girls.”

Genevieve pressed her lips back in a smile. Steven bent over and gave her a soft kiss.

“I told Anna I’d pick her up from school and take her to Dairy Queen with a couple of her friends,” he said. “I better get going. Mallory should be home pretty soon.”

Genevieve nodded. Of course Mallory would be home soon. She knew the girls’ schedules; he didn’t need to tell her when her daughters got out of school.

Steven left with a wave over his shoulder. Genevieve turned and stared out the window at the improved landscape in the backyard. She knew she was looking at a labor
of love that Steven had performed for her. He didn’t care for yard work. That’s why she had plunged in and done all the gardening in Pasadena. He also didn’t need to pick up Anna or drive her around with her friends. But he was.

What was it that Leah said several months ago at the café? Something about how I’m always looking for the negative, and that’s why I always find it
.

She glanced down at the stack of invoices.

I’m never happy, am I? I have a faithful husband who could have left me at any time, but he hasn’t. He cares deeply for the girls and me; we have three, healthy, beautiful daughters, a wonderful home. I have a chance to rebuild my dream café and enough money to make it what I want it to be, and I’m still miserable. What’s wrong with me?

Genevieve didn’t linger in her thoughts long enough to allow an answer to seep into her spirit. She had work to do. Books to balance. Checks to write. She picked up her reading glasses and tried to make out the faded print on one of the invoice copies. In the back of her mind, she heard Steven’s voice. “You don’t have to go to church if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll go with the girls.”

Genevieve thought of all the years she had tried to get Steven to go to church with her in Pasadena. Never once did she say to him that he didn’t have to go with her if he felt uncomfortable. Instead, she had needled him, begged him, shamed him, and finally had given up. Now he was the one who wanted to go to church, and she was the resistant one.

Genevieve yanked off her glasses. She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and said aloud, “Okay, what’s going
on here? My husband wants to go to church.”

By Sunday morning, Genevieve had talked herself into going with Steven and the girls. She told herself it didn’t matter what other people thought or how long it had been since she had gone. This was important to Brad, Alissa, and their new daughters.

As the four of them climbed into the car, the biggest knot Genevieve had ever experienced squeezed her left shoulder, giving her a painfully stiff neck. She pulled on her seatbelt and found she couldn’t turn her head to check on the girls in the backseat.

“Wait,” she said, as Steven was about to back out onto the driveway. “I need to run inside for one more thing.”

“I got the card and the presents for the girls,” Anna said.

“I know. I just need something.” Genevieve hurried into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, searching for the strongest pain reliever they had. She swallowed two tablets with a quick glass of water and took the bottle with her.

“All set?” Steven didn’t question what she had dropped from her clenched hand into her purse.

“Yes. Thanks for waiting.”

They drove to Glenbrooke Community Church with Mallory chattering about how cute the youngest of the two Romanian sisters was. Genevieve hadn’t seen the sisters during the five days they had been with Brad and Alissa, but she had heard from several people around town that they were pretty little girls.

“Beth has the biggest eyes,” Mallory said. “You’ve never seen eyelashes this long on anybody. Beth is the little one.
Her sister is Ami. They named them like that so it would go with Brad and Alissa.
B
and
A
. Brad and Alissa. Beth and Ami.”

“No, they didn’t,” Anna said. “Their mother gave them American names because she hoped they would be adopted by an American, isn’t that right, Dad?”

“That’s what Brad said.”

“Why didn’t their mother want them?” Mallory asked.

Steven looked in the rearview mirror. “I’m sure she wanted them. Every mother wants her babies.”

“But not every mother can take care of her babies. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Anna asked. “I asked Alissa, and she said that Ami and Beth’s mom was only sixteen, and she wasn’t married.”

“That’s right,” Steven said.

“I heard their mom died,” Mallory said.

“She was in the hospital for a long time,” Anna said. “And then she died.”

“I feel so sorry for Beth and Ami,” Mallory said. “I mean, I’m happy that they’re being adopted by Brad and Alissa. I’m just sorry for them that their lives have been so hard and they’re so little. The good thing is that now they’re going to have a mom and a dad who really love them. I wish everybody could grow up with both a mom and a dad who love them.”

Steven reached over and covered Genevieve’s hand with his and gave it a squeeze. A very small corner of her stone-cold heart chipped off. Maybe a lot of things weren’t good in her marriage, but Genevieve knew it was good she and
Steven were still together. He was a wonderful father, and she tried to be a good mother. At least their daughters had the advantage of growing up with two parents who loved them.

“You know what I read in a magazine?” Anna added, as their car pulled into the church parking lot. “I read that it’s not as important for a child to know that her parents love her as it’s important for a child to know that her parents love each other.”

Genevieve tried not to flinch. Anna, their smart, sensitive, intuitive daughter didn’t miss a thing. Her words seemed to seep into Genevieve’s tightening shoulder muscle and give it a pinch, sending a shooting pain up her neck and straight out her left eyebrow.

The last thing in the world Genevieve wanted to do right now was enter a sanctuary full of smiling faces and sit in a pew between her perceptive fourteen-year-old daughter and her unruffled husband.

What has happened to me? Four years ago this moment would have been everything I prayed for. Why has my life turned inside out? All my nerves are on the outside of my skin. And to think that a month ago I thought God was going to make me well. I’ve only gotten worse
.

G
lenbrooke Community Church’s doors were doubled up with greeters. Genevieve had an aversion to greeters. She didn’t like people welcoming her when she didn’t want to be there in the first place. Their openness diametrically opposed her closeness. Four people shook Genevieve’s hand before she and her brood made it into a middle pew on the left side.

She sat down and stared at the bulletin that had been handed to her so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone sitting near her. Everything felt different from when she had been here last. The bulletin’s format was different. The new cushions on the pews were different.

She cautiously peered up and felt a sense of relief that the front of the church was as she remembered. The church’s original stained glass window was nearly 120 years old. It had been designed and cut on the East Coast,
brought overland on the Oregon Trail, and pieced together when it arrived in Glenbrooke. The image in the window was of Christ the Good Shepherd. He held a lost lamb in His arms and was gazing at it tenderly.

Genevieve felt a specific sort of hope seeing something beautiful that had been made from so many shards of broken glass. Her task, several weeks ago, of removing all the bits of glass from the flowerboxes in front of the café windows had taken her several hours, but all those pieces had been thrown away.

Someone told Genevieve when she had first attended the church and had commented on the window that two of the glass pieces that made up the lamb Jesus held in His arms had come from Georgia. They were two of only a dozen pieces of glass that survived a Civil War battle that severely damaged the church outside of Atlanta.

Setting her focus on the window, as the early summer light came streaming through, Genevieve felt a small measure of comfort despite her still racing heart. She guessed the painkillers hadn’t taken over yet because not only was her shoulder still tight but her head was also pounding.

She read the words on the front of bulletin for the third time:

“But you desire honesty from the heart, so you can teach me to be wise in my inmost being” (Psalm 51:6,
NLT
).

Mallory readjusted her position, scooting closer to Genevieve and whispering, “I don’t see Beth and Ami.”

Genevieve pressed a finger to her lips, and Mallory continued to look around the sanctuary.

The nervousness grew inside Genevieve until her stomach gurgled a loud protest to all the acid she was sending down. It was more acid than her stomach needed to work on the two painkillers, glass of grape juice, and slice of wheat toast she had fed it for breakfast.

The congregation was invited to stand and sing at the beginning of the service. Genevieve was surprised to find that the only accompaniment was a piano and the song came from a hymnbook. The last time she had been here, a white screen had come down in front, covering the stained glass window. Words to lively choruses that Genevieve didn’t know were projected on the screen as a group of instrumentalists, two young men and one rather expressive young woman, led the congregation in singing the songs.

It had impressed Genevieve as being a lively way to sing but a departure from what she had anticipated from an old, traditional church. She liked singing this morning with her head down and her gaze lost in the words in the hymnbook she held. The hymn was entitled, “Lord, Open Thou My Heart to Hear,” and Genevieve noticed in the upper right-hand corner that the song had been written in Wittenberg, Germany, in 1543. She felt comforted to have a small reminder of the Old World. She had never heard the song before, but she sang aloud as if she had.